Colliding worlds (Hannibal x OC)

What now ?

Three days later, Frances was awakened by the sound of voices conversing in the kitchen. Frowning, she extracted herself from the bed and put on Hannibal's bathrobe. Needless to say that her fingers barely made it past the sleeve. The door to their room was slightly ajar; strange, he usually closed it when he cooked breakfast. The aroma of coffee reached her nose, and Frances wondered who has stopped by. Jack ? Will ? Alana ?

She took a tentative step down the stairs, careful not to make any noise. Ever since that attack on Hannibal, she was always careful to keep an advantage until she was sure no danger lurked about. But she recognised the voice at once. Will. Scrunching her nose, she stilled on the steps; she didn't know quite how to feel about him. He, too, had lied to her about the Red Dragon, pretexting he didn't have time for their weekly lunch rather than telling her the truth. That a monster, a former patient of her husband, was on the loose and very intent on making him pay.

Biting her lip, Frances considered climbing the steps back when Will's words caught her attention.

— "I can never tell her, Hannibal. She'd never forgive me."

— "Do not presume anything about Frances, Will. You would be surprised by her ability to accept"

— "But..."

Hannibal's stern voice cut his friend's retort swiftly.

— "She's awake, Will"

Damn, busted. Frances hobbled down the stairs, careful not to apply weight on the torn muscle of her calf. Easier said than done, and Hannibal climbed the last steps to offer his arm. She took it gratefully

— "You should use the crunches I got you", he gently chastised.

— "And the nurse said you should refrain from cooking. Apparently, we are both really undisciplined"

Hannibal's hold tightened on her waist, and she refrained from attacking him any further. Yet, she wasn't about to be lectured when he could no less find the heart to obey. Twice already, he had burst a stitch trying to slice vegetables. His tolerance for pain, for once, was a hindrance rather than a blessing.

Was it the unusual tension between them that sent Will away ? She would never know. For he only stuttered a few inconsistent things, then hugged her and left as if in a hurry. Considering she had not seen him from the day he had pulled her out of the water, his flight left her a little bereft.

— "What just happened ?", she asked Hannibal.

The psychiatrist pursed his lips, and her eyes narrowed. Three days after the truce, and the lies were back full swing.

— "Hannibal ?", she growled.

— "I'm afraid it is not my secret to tell."

And despite the seriousness of his tone, Frances' stomach tightened into knots for he seemed... almost giddy. Not in appearance of course, but she knew him better than anyone, and the light in his eyes sold him out. Something had happened. Something that brought him satisfaction and solace.

This could not be good.

A week later...

Sinking... sinking to the depths of the Ocean. Slowing her breath down, calming her racing heart to use as little oxygen as possible. Blue, deep, dark blue everywhere, and something calling at her on the surface. Something important... No. Someone important. Someone needed her, but she couldn't join him. No. Sinking, sinking deeper. She needed to...

Air ! Her lungs screamed for it. The great red dragon awaited - tail full of hard scales - for the moment she would resurface. No, she was as good as dead if she listened to her lungs. Oxygen became scare, the need to breathe unbearable. Yet she sunk lower and lower into the warm water, blue becoming dark as spots danced before her eyes. Dizziness, nothing made sense anymore. She was drowning.

It was just as well; dying would be the easy way out. After all, this life was just temporary. A mistake. It only brought pain... pain, frustration and fear. Frances closed her eyes, surrendering to the darkness. A protector no more.

"Bang! Bang"

Two shots caused her head to snap. Her mouth opened, a reflex, to inhale precious oxygen. Only water came through. A great splash. A hand grabbed her, forcing her out of the comfort of death. She struggled, but the grip was too strong. No ! She couldn't come up ... she couldn't !

Her body broke the surface, her mouth opening wide to gulp the much-needed air into her lungs. A set of clear blue eyes, dark curls plastered over his face...

Frances started awake.

Hannibal's hand snaked around her waist, crushing her to his chest.

— "Shhh, my beautiful. It was but a nightmare."

The young woman opened her eyes, watching Hannibal's reassuring smile. The psychiatrist looked at her as if she was the most precious gem of history, dark eyes gleaming.

At the corner of his lips, a trail of blood trickled... It grew, becoming a steady stream that tainted his skin and the Egyptian cotton. Frances sprang on her knees, her heart leaping out of her chest. Blood, everywhere. His blood. Pooling in a never-ending crimson shroud, the circle wider and wider around his still frame. Yet Hannibal smiled, oblivious to the life flowing out of him.

Frances fell backwards, screaming her distress. She couldn't breathe.

She started in bed again, her chest painfully constricted. Tears sprang from her eyes, her lips mumbling 'oh my god, of my god', her stomach lurching painfully. The pressure increased tenfold on her sternum, core muscles reacting to the dry heaving. Cuddling into a ball, she didn't register the calm voice that tried to shake her out of her trance. Her brain simply couldn't filter it. Her arms shook, her lips trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she struggled to draw breath. Her lungs refused to expand, the tightness squeezing the life out of her.

A large, gentle hand landed over her upon her sternum; she grabbed it like a lifeline, squeezing the proffered fingers like a stress ball. Warmth flooded her sternum as skin made contact all along her back. Another hand engulfed her forehead, a soothing, beautiful voice repeating its mantra until she could understand it. The moist of his breath upon her the skin of her neck. The tightness receded slightly as she panted, her body uncoiling little by little, gaining more contact with the warm, giant cuddle her husband was offering.

For it was he; the saviour that dug her out of her hole. After a moment, his tone changed and he eventually addressed her.

— "All is well, my beautiful. You are safe and sound, and so am I"

Frances frowned then ; had she ranted about her vision in the midst of her panick attack ? Deflating in his arms, the young woman cuddled against his body, and drifted to sleep anew. Exhausted.

But Hannibal didn't. Aware of the toll his misadventures had taken on his wife – it wasn't her first nightmare ever since the Red Dragon - he was considering his next move. Perhaps a honeymoon was in order. A break, a real one.

He would have to give his patients a proper referral. Margot Verger, for one, wouldn't be too happy about it but her situation smelt like... trouble again. And after seeing Frances almost die in that pool, he wasn't too keen on causing mayhem. A pity; she would have been good sport. He had been forward to pushing Margot to kill Mason Verger. But he had made a promise to care for his wife, if not before God, to himself. And care she needed. And air, and a radical change.