Hannibal: Sam & Cris Who: Sam and Cris What: Visiting Where: Hannibal, woods When: Nowish Warnings/Rating: Language, TBD
So maybe asking Cris to come before her grand sacrificial bullshit gesture with Micah was a bad fucking idea, but Sam had it in her head that it would be better, yeah? If she felt better, or if she was on her feet or whatever when she saw Micah. It was easy to blame the fiasco on the stairs, her own fucking cowardice, on feeling like shit. Maybe if she felt better this time, she'd go through with it. Maybe.
She felt better than she had the first few days, even if she looked like shit. Dark circles, skin pale from cold and shaking like a fucking leaf. But she wasn't curled up in the snow puking her guts out anymore, and she had no fucking clue how much time had passed with her on the floor of the hunter's shack. She still couldn't get far, the ache in her bones like this fucking thing that never abated. It was like being outside for too fucking long without mittens. Like that, but everywhere, not just her fingers, and it never fucking left. She wondered if this was what old people felt like, and she was kind of glad she'd never live long enough to figure that shit out. Because, yeah, she wasn't stupid. She didn't think Micah was going to tire of her and toss her out like some overused rag doll. She wasn't that fucking stupid.
New snow had fallen around the shack, and the outside smelled clean and fresh, the smell of vomit gone, and Sam had managed to shove open the one window and let the frigid air in. It cleaned shit, yeah? She couldn't get it closed after, and the coals in the stove had long since fucking died, but at least the place smelled less like sick than it had before.
Inside, there was a cot, the stove, an open ice box with the remaining plastic bottles gone and littered on the floor of the hut. The rug was still flipped up, too heavy for Sam to flip back, but there was snow on the floor in places where she'd managed to clean a little. The water from the corner was gone, the pot and bowl empty, and she'd managed to clean herself up some too, despite the water being fucking ice.
She propped the door with a twig, and that was all she managed to fucking do, Back in the cot, back to the wall and knees drawn up, the blankets around her naked form, clothes too fucking gross for her to wear and tossed out into the snow a day earlier. She was kind of clean at least, yeah? She told herself that counted for something. If she could just get some coal or wood, or if she could catch some fucking snow for water, but maybe tomorrow or whatever. Then, she just sat, watching the place go black and dark because she couldn't get to the lantern that hung near the open door, snow whirling in and letting moonlight in the crack.