InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "DO THE MOO SHOO!!!"

Erik (i_haunt) wrote in we_coexist,
@ 2015-01-22 19:24:00

Entry tags:

arya stark, erik, hannibal lecter, zz:status complete

Delicacy (Hannibal, Arya)
The girl he left in his kitchen was in pain. She suffered. She waited for him. The girl left in his kitchen was in pain. He was responsible for her. Erik drew his scattering thoughts back to Arie again and again. Above it all, she was a singular thread, iron and brutal and ugly, but nothing like the horrors left in the vacuum of Christine's absence.

His servants had relocated to basement storage the wheelchair that Hannibal once sent to his manor. On his way down to the storage room, Erik remembered to grab the phone. The doctor's number was still on speed dial - a courtesy and convenience built in for his servants (and his wife, his wife) when Erik was too ill to dial the number himself. When Hannibal's voice answered, Erik opened his mouth and said something - less than a handful of words. As soon as he dropped the handset on the last bit of furniture he passed, he forgot whatever it was he'd said. The door to the basement stairs closed behind him.

There were a few minutes lost to his memory. He could remember only the presence of old friends - the hand of rage on his shoulder, the breath of helplessness against the back of his neck, the claws of pain raking his chest. What had drawn him back? He looked at the handles of the wheelchair in both blood-speckled hands, knuckles stinging, then checked behind him. The basement door was destroyed, and the blood must have been his own.

A sound came to him, the siren bell, ringing. He walked with the wheelchair (the girl is hurting) to the door of his manor, straightening last night's rumpled shirt with one flattened hand. Hannibal. Yes, of course. Erik pressed the button that would allow the doctor entrance through the otherwise-inpenetrable security around his manor, then turned back toward the kitchen. Arie was waiting. She needed him.

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fear_cuts
2015-02-08 02:23 am UTC (link)

"Good," Arya said.

The fierceness in her answer seemed to be the last fierceness in her at the moment. Her injuries, the fright at her discovery, and telling her story had all seemed to drain her, it felt like. Like she was a waterskin with a hole in it and suddenly all the water was gone, leaving her empty. She leaned back in the chair, suddenly looking no different than any other tired child save that she was dirty and bruised. "Can I sleep now?"

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i_consume
2015-02-08 04:01 am UTC (link)

"Yes." Hannibal said, and stood.

He moved across the room to summon the staff. She needed to rest, but first she needed to be clean. When they arrived, he directed one toward the bed, and another toward the attendance of Arya specifically. She could choose if she wanted a real bath or just to be cleaned with a sponge. He imagined she might want the former, he would. He would want to soak away the ache and the dirt, allow himself to become relaxed and sleepy, before getting into bed.

There were also instructions to not give her any further morphine, if she had pain she could have acetaminophen or ibuprofen. He would not have her on opiates of any kind. He did, however, allow that she could take a sleeping pill if she desired. He promised her that it would not harm her in any way, and that she would sleep a long and dreamless sleep.

Hannibal left Arya to be tended to, spoiled in ways she probably had not been in a long time.

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