River was never, ever a fan of taking a pill for any reason. Thanks to the Academy, and the work of the Alliance, anything that was given to her--even by Simon--was met with suspicion.
This did extend to Hannibal, but she fought the idea less. River hadn't slept much while in her cell, and she knew that she was nearing mental and physical exhaustion. She also knew that she was avoiding reality by sleeping, and while she did not admire this particular observation of her behavior, she did know that was normal when someone was hurting, or depressed.
Or grieving.
Hannibal had been taking good care of her, and River knew that he was partially doing so to avoid triggering her.
She was lying in bed, on her side, half of her face buried in a thick pillow, when she heard her name. River wasn't tired anymore, but she wasn't an avid television watcher, and she'd already finished the book she'd brought with her from her apartment.
She knew he had food; she could hear the plates, smell the smells. There was a time she could pick what was on the plates out of his head, like cherries. She swung her bare feet onto the floor and brushed her hair behind her ears, both in graceful, fluid motions. Blinking, she stepped out into the hallway and made her way to the dining area. Her head tilted as she got closer, soundlessly.