Chapter Text
Mischa blinked into awareness at the sounds of shouts. Her head still throbbed and she had a new awareness of the fire burning down her throat. It hurt to breathe, she realized. She wanted nothing more than to be asleep. Something about the shouting was stopping her, however. It took her longer than she cared to admit to recognize the words and voices.
“ – over here! Jack!” Will was shouting, and distantly she could hear the howl of dogs and the loud chorus of agents swarming closer.
She had been wrapped in a jacket, and Hannibal was clutching her as Will stood on top of the large rock overlooking the clearing and waving at what she presumed was the search party. She curled closer into Hannibal’s shoulder, not appreciating the stabbing pain the sun was slamming through her eyes.
“Will!” Jack’s bellowing shout was the only warning they got before several teams of federal agents burst into the clearing.
“Thank god,” Will breathed before he began climbing back down to the ground.
Mischa saw that the agents pause, taking in the scene. Jack was poised, his intense sharp eyes taking in the sight of it all: Her and Hannibal curled next to an obvious open grave, the littering of medical/farm supplies not too far off, Winston standing at attention beside them with a bloody muzzle, the prone form of Stammets next to a blood-covered shovel a few feet away, Will coated in blood spatter. Jack inhaled, but she saw his shoulders relax and his eyebrows smooth out. He didn’t look upset at all, she realized. In fact, he was looking quite relieved and pleased. He gave the scene another glance over and then nodded to himself. When his eyes caught on the stalled agents around him, he frowned and began barking orders. Like a kicked bee nest, they scattered, scurrying to do their jobs. Jack and Will wandered over to them, Will frowning worriedly at her.
“Jack.” Will greeted, exhaustion coating his tone.
“Will. Is she okay?” Jack clamped a hand on Will’s shoulder, attempting to be comforting.
She saw Will give a feeble smile, and for all she didn’t like the man and how he treated Will, she would give him credit for asking about her first.
“She’s…” Will sighed, turning to glance at her unsurely. “She’s hurt.”
She felt Hannibal shifting her, and realized belatedly that Beverly Katz had come to squat beside them. She was beginning to examine her, processing her for evidence. She felt a gentle hand on one of her bare feet and heard a flash of a camera. Mischa allowed it.
“She needs medical attention.” Hannibal asserted firmly to Jack.
“We have paramedics coming in with the Rangers. Now that we have a precise location they should be here soon.” Jack told him, eyes resting on her still covered form in Hannibal’s arms.
Hannibal exhaled a small sigh but nodded at the agent. Before anyone could say anything else, one of the agents that had been inspecting Stammets began cursing.
“Zeller?” Jack turned, voice demanding.
“He’s definitely dead, sir. He was beaten to death, only apparently, he was half mauled by a dog and had a quarter of his face ripped off before then. Jesus Christ!” Zeller was sending Will wide-eyed looks.
Mischa felt irritation curling inside of her at the man, but apparently, she wasn’t the only one.
Jack was growling as he stomped over to loom above the man. “And what did you expect, Zeller? How exactly would you have defended yourself and your 5-old-daughter from a serial killer in the middle of the god damn woods? You think that he deserves any of your sympathy? He was burying that girl alive, Zeller! Quite frankly, I’m surprised that we found him in as good a condition as this!”
“I didn’t mean it like that!” The agent tried to protest, looking pale. The agent next to him that Mischa presumed to be Price was also looking concerned and reached a hand out to ground the man currently getting chewed out by Jack.
“Good,” Jack uttered, still looking the man down. He turned abruptly back to Will, and said, “What happened, Will? I know you aren’t one to do this unnecessarily; you hate violence too much.”
Mischa held in her snort at that. He didn’t know Will nearly as well as he thought he did. Will ducked his head, and she saw that he was hiding his own flicker of a smile. When he turned back to Jack his face was bathed in concern. Every agent in the clearing was not so subtly listening in, eager for the story.
“Winston is Mischa’s. The dog.” Will jerked a hand at the dog, now lolling in the grass. “He goes with her everywhere. He was locked upstairs when Stammets took her. When the police on the scene arrived, they brought him out, but he broke from his leash. Hannibal and I were in the back. Saw him come pelting around the corner of the house. He was chasing something, and I figured there was nothing to lose. We followed.”
Jack was nodding. “I remember. I was just getting in the car when he slipped from Johnson – tore the rope right out of his hands. When I went back there neither of you were to be found.”
“We were running through the forest. That’s when we got your call.” Jack nodded again. Clearly Will and Hannibal had ironed out the story before-hand. “We came to the clearing. He had her in the grave with his hands wrapped around her throat. Before we could do anything, Winston was tearing at him. Hannibal and I went to Mischa. She was in bad shape. Next thing I know, Winston is yelping. I look over and Stammets got him with a shovel in the ribs. He started to come for us. We wrestled for the shovel while Hannibal took Mischa. When I got it out of his hands Stammets started to go for Mischa again.”
There was silence in clearing for a few seconds. Beverly was still prodding at his gently, her fingers had already been photographed and scraped. She tugged at the coat around Mischa, but Hannibal kept it closed.
“And you had to beat the man to death?” The incredulous question came from Zeller again, but she could see some of the other agents frowning in agreement.
“I needed to make sure he wasn’t going to hurt her again,” Will replied sharply, eyes narrowed in anger. Jack was standing beside him, a furious scowl on his face.
Zeller stood, dusting his hands off and undeterred. “And what exactly was so terrifying about him that you had to bash his head in to achieve that? He’s not that big. You had the shovel, and he didn’t have his gun.”
Will's eyes flared, and his body jerked towards the agent. Just as he opened his mouth to reply, Beverly’s shout interrupted everything.
“Jack!” The woman’s voice was alarmed, but there was horror outlining her tone.
The entire clearing was abruptly centered on her. Mischa realized only belatedly that Hannibal was using her condition for dramatic timing as he finally untucked the coat from around her. She wasn’t entirely sure what she looked like, but she knew it wasn’t pretty. The left side of her face was still a mass of swollen and painful skin, and she imagined that it had molted and bruised rather spectacularly. She could feel blood tacking to her skin and hair thickly, and what felt like a gash across her forehead. Beverly pulled the coat away fully, and she heard several gasps and curses as her throat came into view. There was something to be said about having skin like porcelain. It made the bruising that much worse.
“Jesus Christ!” Jack cursed, looking unnerved.
Zeller looked frightened now, his eyes wide as he stared at the devastation that was her face. He made a small sound, and it drew Will’s irritated gaze back to him.
“I don’t know Zeller; how dangerous do you think he was?” Will’s voice dripped with hostility and anger.
Zeller jerked, eyes flicking to the man before coming back to stare at the handprints wrapped around her neck. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” The man’s voice was small.
Will inhaled, his body still jittering in anger, but he seemed to think better of it. He stalked over to them, coming to settle as close to Hannibal as he could get. One hand found its way to touch one of the only undamaged parts of her face, and she couldn’t help the small pleased sound she made. There was no talking in the clearing for a while as the agents began processing and collecting. Their eyes would land on her every few minutes, however, and she knew by the looks on their faces that Will wouldn’t be getting into any trouble from this. She couldn’t help but commend Hannibal for his blatant use of her injuries to help protect Will from the ramifications this would have otherwise brought about. Almost ten minutes later, the Rangers arrived. There were shouts and answering shouts. Mischa saw the lead ranger jog up to Jack directly, looking around. Immediately the man turned back towards them and pointed finger at Mischa. She watched as all the newcomers turned to look at her, and felt a little smugly justified at the resulting looks on their faces.
Yes, Will would be just fine.
She was swarmed then. Hannibal was speaking medical terms above them, making the dark looks of the response team turn even darker. A collar was very carefully placed around her neck as a back brace slid behind her. A heart monitor was strapped to her, and an oxygen mask was being tucked beneath her nose. She blinked as she was quickly strapped down and wrapped up. Will refused to let go of her hand, and her own clenched down in response.
Mischa must have dozed off for a bit then because the next thing she knew the sounds of a helicopter were waking her up. She blinked up at the darkening sky, watching as the medical helicopter hovered in the air above them. She made a small irritated sound when Wills's hand was forced to leave hers, but there wasn’t anything to be done. She felt the carrier she was enclosed in beginning to lift in the air. Mischa let her eyes flutter shut, unable to keep conscious anymore.
Hannibal rested his chin in his palm as he contemplated this new turn of events. In front of him, Will was twitching and pacing restlessly. In any other situation, this would have irritated the doctor. But it was taking all of his patience not to join him. Hannibal breathed into the quiet of the hospital waiting room, the familiar smell of antiseptic, blood, and sickness not helping him. He had never minded the smell as a surgeon. Now, all he could think about was Mischa in this place. It wasn’t somewhere she belonged. He felt his fingers twitch as he recalled her face. Her bloated, bruised face.
He was somewhat disappointed that the man responsible had died so quickly. Not that he didn’t appreciate the show.
It had been a glorious thing.
Hannibal would forever remember that moment beneath the trees. Watching the blood splatter so beautifully over Will’s oh so handsomely enraged face. Hannibal hadn’t been able to breathe let alone look away. Mischa encircled in his arms, safe and protected. Will staring back at them, darkness fully consuming him. Hannibal couldn’t help a small shudder of pleasure as he recalled the moment. He straightened in the plastic chair. Will made a wounded, impatient noise and turned abruptly to begin pacing faster. Hannibal let him.
He was…unsure. His interest in the Grahams had been something he had accepted. There were just oh so many things that fascinated him. That continued to fascinate him. He could recall being vaguely surprised that he hadn’t grown bored of at least the girl, but she had been growing on him so much he was utterly surprised to realize that she was just as intriguing as her father. Something he hadn’t thought anyone else on this earth could claim. He had accepted his fascination with them.
What he had not expected was this attachment.
Hannibal frowned at the scuffed tile flooring. There was no mistaking it for anything else. Just remembering the fear and unease that had gripped him at the revelation of Mischa’s kidnapping was proof enough. He hadn’t felt that way since his sister had been yanked from his arms. It was obvious now that this wasn’t merely a curiosity anymore, and he felt all his plans crumbling around him. He eyed the man in front of him, breath unexpectedly catching as the fierce look on Will’s face gave him a small flashback to the forest clearing.
Yes. New plans would need to be made.
“Will?”
Hannibal twitched slightly in surprise, not having been paying attention to his surroundings. Jack and his team had arrived, apparently. Hannibal carefully hid his displeasure.
“Jack,” Will uttered back at the man, undeterred in his pacing.
“What’s going on? How is she?” Beverly Katz, at least, wasn’t so bad. Hannibal looked at her approvingly as she slid into a chair, not attempting to crowd Will.
Will was scowling, however. “She had a seizure in the helicopter. Apparently, she was hit multiple times in the head by something hard. They said she has skull fractures in the front and back. A grade 3 concussion. Her windpipe was virtually crushed and is so bruised that it swelled shut and they had to intubate her. Her left eye may be damaged, but they won’t be able to tell until the swelling goes down. Which won’t be for a while because her cheekbone is cracked. Her ankle is badly twisted, so she won’t be able to walk along with being half-blind. That’s on top of the massive bruising and tissue trauma all over the rest of her body.”
Hannibal inhaled at the reminder, rage flickering through him briefly. Yes, as much as he enjoyed Will’s performance, he was disappointed that the man had died so quickly. Hannibal had thought of a number of things that he could have done to the man while sitting in this hospital. He ignored the placating and sympathetic comments that the FBI agents were now throwing at Will.
“Where is she now?” Jack was questioning.
“MRI,” Will replied tersely.
Neither of the men were happy the girl had been taken from their sight so often. The doctors had stated the need repeated scans; worried about more seizures and bleeds. But they had been gone for a while now, and both of them were eager to see the girl again. It seemed to take longer each time they took her.
“I hate to ask Will, but her things?” Price enquired gently, attempting to do his job.
Will fluttered his hand irritably at the nurse’s station off to the side. Price went, and Zeller followed hesitantly, his expression guilty. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed at the agent in question. Hannibal hadn’t appreciated the accusations he had made at the scene. The agent was already in a spot with him based on his previous behaviors towards Will. Now as he stared at the man, Hannibal wondered what else the man had done to put that look in his eyes. It was obvious he was guilty of something, and if he had anything to do with this event…Hannibal stared at the agent.
He leaned back into his seat, smoothing his expression into something non-threatening. As the agents settled around them and Will continued his pacing, the doctor forced his irritation down.
Hannibal wanted Mischa.
Hannibal couldn’t keep the pleased smile off his face as Mischa’s eyes began fluttering open. The soft light of the setting sun lit up the private room she was in. He had pulled a number of strings in order to get her to the right hospital in the right room. Will hadn’t objected once to this, Hannibal had noted pleasingly. But then he never seemed to object when the force of Hannibal’s wealth was pointed at his daughter, only when it was pointed at him. It was a start, however.
Now, the girl stirred in the overly large hospital bed. Her face was even worse than it had been yesterday, he noted in displeasure. The large gash in her hairline had been carefully stitched closed, and from what he could tell the scaring would be minimal, if at all. Her whole face was swollen and molted with bruises; the majority of it on her left side. The swelling had only gone down slightly, but at the very least he could now see her eye. The entire side of her face a mass of purple and black skin. Her mouth was pulled to the side by a fat lip, currently wrapped around the intubation tube down her throat. His eyes slid down to the wealth of bruises that necklaced her, the shape of that man’s hands prominent and obvious.
Hannibal would have thought her dead if not for the steady beeping of the heart monitor.
He shifted forward, suddenly more eager to see her awaken then he was before. She was twitching now, her tiny fingers clenching and unclenching on themselves. Something in him breathed a sigh of relief when her radiantly blue eyes opened long enough to fix on him. She blinked at him, then let her gaze wander over the room. It took in everything for a few seconds before finally settling on Will’s sleeping form laid out on the couch. He couldn’t tell because of the damage and the tube, but he thought she looked relieved to see him. Her hands rose clumsily, and he stepped to her side automatically as her fingers explored the tube in her mouth.
“Your throat swelled too much and closed off your airway. They had to put it in so you could breathe. It should be coming out tonight if you are up for it.” He spoke lowly to her, one hand reaching up gently grasp her fingers and move them away from the tube.
It would do no good for her to pull at it. She blinked at him again but didn’t fight it when he gently tucked her hand into his. Her eyes were slightly dilated from the medications, but that didn’t stop her from meeting his gaze steadily. He said nothing. Just settled in the chair next to her bedside, hand still firmly gripping her tiny one. His eyes slid up to the bandages wrapped around her head and the machines that dwarfed her. A tug at his fingers drew his attention back to Mischa’s face.
Her free hand flicked at him as best as it could. How long?
“Almost two days, now. You had a seizure in the helicopter from your skull fractures. They thought it best to keep you unconscious for the worst of it given your condition. You’ll be here for a few more days until there sure your head and throat injuries are past the worst.” He informed her calmly.
He saw her brows pinch together slightly in displeasure and Hannibal couldn’t help but chuckle. “You are too much like your father sometimes. Unfortunately, he will be agreeing with us on this matter. Your injuries are very serious, and we need to make sure that you are okay before we can take you back home.”
The girl made another face at him through the tubes and bruises. He ignored it. She settled back into her pillow, eyes roaming around the room again in a closer inspection. She spent an inordinate amount of time observing Will; taking in the bags under his eyes, the greasy curls, the overgrown stubble, the still bloody clothes. When she finally appeared to have gotten her fill, Hannibal was somewhat surprised to find himself undergoing the same treatment. He wasn’t sure what she saw in his appearance, only that he himself was rather upset about it. He hadn’t been able to take himself out of the hospital to shower or even change while the girl had still been unconscious. His clothes held lingering traces of Mischa’s own blood and dirt, and while he was slightly more groomed then Will, his own stubble was becoming obvious. Now that the girl was awake, he should have no problems leaving her in Will’s care for an hour or two. It would be another matter to get the other man out of the room even with the girl awake, but for the sake of his nose, he would have to try. For now, however, he leaned back into the cushioned chair and observed the girl before him in return.
Neither of them removed their hands from where they still lay together.
Mischa breathed in the smell of dog and clenched her hands in brown fur. Winston hadn’t left her side the moment she had stepped into the house. She was grateful. She had ended up spending almost a week in the hospital, getting so many MRI’s she had lost count. Both Will and Hannibal had refused to leave her. Things had been a little hazy the first few days she had been awake, and it had taken her a few days to focus on anything. By the end of the week, however, she had been ready to claw her way out of the room. She didn’t like hospitals. In her own house once again, she let all the tension and unease bleed from her. She had done nothing but cuddle dogs since they had gotten home. Will and Hannibal both appeared regularly, checking on her and attempting to feed and hydrate her. It worked for Will, but not so much for Hannibal.
A hand came down and pressed itself very gently against the top of her head. She opened one eye to see Will settling beside her on the floor. Well dressed legs entered her vision, and she saw Hannibal settle himself upon the lone chair. The fireplace crackled and flickered, heat spreading through the room gently. Mischa buried her face into Winston’s fur, and let her eyes close.
She was home.
She was safe.
It took them almost 2 weeks to get back to normal. With each passing day, the bruises on her grew steadily paler. She went back to Mrs. Hollingsworth accompanied by a round of relieved tears from the older woman. John attempted to apologize to her and Will, but it was entirely unnecessary and made more pitiful by the fact that he was still in a cast and sling from the bullet wound in his shoulder. Will had been hesitant to leave her anywhere without him, and it had taken Mischa a considerable amount of time and effort to reassure him that she would be fine. Hannibal hadn’t been entirely helpful in the endeavor. She hadn’t been surprised when they had both came to pick her up that first day back almost 2 hours earlier than usual. Hannibal had become entirely more present in their lives as well. More nights than most now, had them either at his house or the doctor in theirs. Mischa was slightly irritated at this fact only because her food intake had started to drop. The girl wondered sometimes whether or not it was the instinctual human aversion to cannibalism or the visceral reaction to her brother cooking in front of her that put her so off of food whenever Hannibal was around. It said something that he was able to put her off food at all considering she had starved for almost three weeks. But she couldn’t help the curl in her stomach and the leaden feeling that entered it whenever the doctor was around.
There was something to be said about his presence though. Mischa couldn’t deny that she felt safer whenever the cannibal was around. She wondered if anyone would ever be stupid enough to go after her when he was present. The thought amused her. As much as she felt safe with Will, her confidence had begun to dwindle slightly as she noticed his encephalitis symptoms growing. He had begun to forget small things. The night sweets had begun to come almost every night now, forcing Mischa into her own bed. His temper had become touchier, becoming irritated at the smallest things. Mischa hadn’t been quite sure if she was just imagining things until Hannibal had pulled her aside one night and asked about things he had begun to notice. He had frowned in concern when he was met with her grim look. He hadn’t asked again, but she had noticed the hidden assessing looks he would level at Will whenever her father wasn’t looking.
Whenever he wasn’t leveling them at her, that is.
Mischa had been waiting for him to confront her about a number of things. Or Will, at least. So far, however, he had not come to either of them. But that might be changing tonight, she realized as she watched Hannibal’s gaze settle on them firmly. He was making his decision face. He shifted, bringing a mug of coffee to his lips. Beside her, she heard Will huff a small laugh as he realized Hannibal’s intentions as well. She pulled herself off of Winston, shifting instead to lean into her father’s side. He wrapped an arm around her automatically but didn’t take his eyes off Hannibal. The doctor shifted again, placing his cup on the floor beside his feet.
He looked at them both squarely. “I was under the impression that Mischa was mute.”
Will looked at him steadily. “I told you that she doesn’t like to communicate.”
“Yes, I have gathered that much.” Hannibal returned dryly. His face grew more serious suddenly, looking at them sharply. “Why?”
Will shrugged. “It’s easier.”
The doctor blinked, letting his intense eyes flicker between them. Her eyes caught Wills, and she shrugged as well. He sent her a soft smile, one hand coming up to stroke through her curls. Hannibal watched it all possessively. Will stared back at Hannibal heavily. His face was considering; questioning and defensive. Mischa felt a little surprised that he was still so protective of her given how trusting he had become of the doctor. The silence seemed to get tenser the longer it went on. Finally, Will’s face turned unreadable. He let his gaze turn to Mischa. She couldn’t help the pleased surprise that swept through her. He was letting her decide. She flicked a gaze over to Hannibal and caught the small frown that danced around his lips. He was displeased to realize that Will didn’t trust him as completely as he had thought.
Mischa contemplated the man. Her mind brought forth every terrible thing he had done in the Before. All the betrayals. Just as the unease was starting to take her over, the events of the Now suddenly overtook her thought. The toy chest, the blankets, the sign language, and the parenting books. The intense look of concern and relief when he had found her in that clearing. How he had clutched her as gently and as tightly as he could. The obsessive care he had taken at the hospital afterward. She peered at Hannibal through half-lidded eyes. She nodded into Will’s side.
“Mischa isn’t like other kids,” Will said into the expectant silence.
Hannibal tilted his head to the side. “I was more than aware of that as well.”
“No.” Will denied. “I mean Mischa isn’t like other people at all.”
Hannibal couldn’t keep the confusion from his face.
Will frowned, then looked off into the fire. “Something happened when Mischa was younger. Before she came to me. I’ve never been sure if she was like this before then, or if it was a result of what happened. With my genetics, it’s a little hard to tell, and she was so young it makes it harder to recognize. Maybe it’s a mix of both. We’ll probably never know.”
Hannibal had straightened abruptly. The firelight had caught his eyes, making the red in them much more prominent. He was staring at her now, focused and dark. Assessing.
“What happened?” He pressed when it was becoming more obvious that Will had been lost in his own recollections.
Will blinked, gave him a passing glance, and then turned back to the fire. Mischa was well aware that her body had stilled.
“Her family died,” Will said with grave finality.
They both saw Hannibal’s frown at the lack of information, but he seemed to realize that neither of them would be giving anything further. Mischa was at once very grateful that Will was able to read her so well. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted Hannibal to know about what had happened to her; what she had done.
“I assume it was traumatic.” Hannibal eventually offered.
Mischa’s breath caught. She had never seen this look on her father’s face before. He had turned to let his eyes bore into Hannibal’s. His features had twisted into a simulacrum of an expression. There was something…foreboding about his gaze. Even Mischa was entirely unsure of what lay behind it. It had become quite clear, however, that Will apparently had just as many dark feelings about the basement as she had.
“That bad, then?” Hannibal asked quietly, his own voice holding a breathless quality.
Will took a moment, then nodded. He pulled his face back into something less volatile.
“Traumatic events can induce selective mutism. Especially in children.” Hannibal murmured.
“No.” Will interrupted. “I mean, yes it probably can, but that’s not why she’s like that. She can speak just fine whenever she wants. She just doesn’t like to.”
Hannibal blinked, confused. “If her mutism doesn’t have to do with her family’s deaths then why bring it up?”
Will rolled his shoulders, looking uneasy. “I didn’t want anyone to judge her. To look at her like they did me. Like there was something wrong with her. There isn’t anything wrong with her.”
Hannibal leaned forward, curiosity eating at his face. “Why would anyone think something is wrong with her?”
Will pressed Mischa closer to him, curling around her protectively like he hadn’t done in front of Hannibal since the first night. “She’s a sociopath. Or as close to one as she can get with a few psychopathic tendencies thrown in. High functioning, of course. Most of what she does feel is either about her or things that she thinks are hers. It’s why she’s so obsessed with me.”
Hannibal scrutinized her heavily, most likely going over all her behavior since they had met. There was a blanket of silence. The fire crackled and popped into the air. It was almost ten minutes later that Hannibal finally found his voice.
“She is not autistic.”
Will tilted his head to the side. “No. Some behaviors coincide, but it is largely by choice.”
Hannibal considered them both. “She doesn’t speak because she doesn’t want to.”
Will couldn’t help the small grin tugging at his mouth. “She thinks that most people are stupid. Refuses to encourage it, according to her.”
Hannibal raised a brow at her. She shrugged. It was true. The cannibal let out a reluctant huff of amusement.
“You’ve encouraged the autistic diagnosis.” He continued, rubbing a palm over his jaw.
“It’s easier. They don’t question her when she doesn’t do something she’s supposed to or does something she’s not. And to be fair, I wasn’t the one that gave it to her. She had an assessment done with a psychologist. And a doctor. They saw her social awkwardness, unwillingness to communicate, aversion to touch, and me. They saw what they wanted, both in her and in me.” Will replied, shrugging.
“Yes, they would certainly assume such.” He agreed, distractedly. Hannibal seemed to be mulling over a thought. “When we met you said she might have inherited your condition.”
Will drew a sip of whiskey from his tumbler, his face flickering into something worrying. “Yes, I wasn’t lying about that. It’s been concerning me, actually.”
Mischa blinked, and let her own brows rise in question. Why was he worried about her?
Will frowned at them both but directed the explanation at Hannibal. “She’s a sociopath, or at least severely limited in her emotions towards others. But she has a very deep understanding of emotion themselves and is inherently talented at identifying them. Even mine.”
“Yes, I have noticed as well. I attributed it to your condition, even if it doesn’t quite work like yours. I thought the autistic tendencies were at fault for that alteration.” Hannibal agreed, still puzzled.
“Exactly. I have an empathy disorder.” Will stated.
Something sparked in Hannibal, and he gave a small jerk of surprise. “Empathy.” He breathed. “Exactly what a sociopath doesn’t have.”
Will nodded.
Mischa gaped slightly in astonishment. She had put that thought to Will himself but had never thought to assign it herself. She hadn’t even been sure that she was a sociopath. She knew she had emotions, but she was startled to realize that Will had indeed been right and that she only had them in relation to either herself or Will. It was also true that she had no problems recognizing emotions in people. She had just figured that it was because she had almost 30 years of living with them. If Will had noticed that she was particularly good at it though, there was reason to believe that she might have inherited something after all.
Still.
Even if she had, why did it matter? Was it so worrying? Mischa peered at her father and frowned.
“Does it matter?” She voiced the question.
Hannibal froze across from them. Will looked at her in contemplation. He opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it, looking thoughtful. He seemed to be searching for words. It was Hannibal, however, that found them first.
“It is not that it matters, per se, just that the duality of the situation might lead to some potentially problematic psychological situations for you.”
Mischa allowed herself a slow blink.
Well.
She supposed she was grateful that they were worried about her.
Mischa shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really care.”
Will gave a small snort, and relaxed. “I figured you wouldn’t.”
Hannibal shifted in his seat. “I don’t suppose you mean to end the charade at any point?”
It took Mischa a moment to realize that he had directed the question at her. “Why would I?”
Hannibal allowed his eyebrow to rise. “You have no desire to interact with society? You would be considerably skilled at it.”
Mischa couldn’t keep the amusement off of her face or out of her tone. “Skill isn’t the issue. I could be whatever I wanted to be. I just don’t want to. People – society – is boring. And largely fictitious. I don’t want to have to pretend to other pretenders.”
Hannibal tilted his head in consideration. “I won’t deny you if that is what you wish. However, you will have to forgive me if I attempt to convince you otherwise. There are a number of positives that can come out of interfacing with society, even if it can be tedious.”
Mischa made a small sound of amusement, unoffended. She flicked a hand at him. He could do what he wished. He would probably do so anyway. It was unlikely he would convince her – she was well set in her opinion.
Will huffed out his own amusement. “Now that that is settled, there was something I’ve been meaning to ask. Mischa’s 6th birthday is in a couple of weeks – Thanksgiving just a few days after. Mrs. Hollingsworth is making a fuss about celebrating. If we’re not doing anything on our own then she’s insisting on the two of us going to her annual thanksgiving festival. I promise you, neither of us wants that.”
Hannibal chuckled, lips curling in amusement. “I suppose we can’t subject you that. Are you perhaps thinking of celebrating the holiday in tandem with the birthday celebrations?”
“It’s what we always do.” Will agreed.
The doctor was looking inordinately pleased. “If you wouldn’t mind then, perhaps a small dinner party at my house? Jack has been asking about you and Mischa both quite insistently. Even Beverly has made inquiries into her health and well-being. And I know that Alana has been bothering you as well. It would serve well to help on all fronts.”
Will was frowning, obviously displeased with the idea of socializing. Mischa understood that all too well. Unfortunately, she also knew the alternative. Even with the realization that she would likely not be eating on her birthday.
“Yes.” She told the doctor.
Will looked down at her, startled. “Really?’
She looked back at him evenly. “You would rather face Mrs. Hollingsworth’s festival? The whole town will be there.”
Will’s face spasmed in disgust and horror. Hannibal didn’t even try to hide his utter amusement as he observed them.
“Fine. Dinner at Hannibal’s.” Will insisted, still frowning.
“I am flattered,” Hannibal replied dryly.
Will made a face at the man. He was well aware that the doctor wasn’t offended.
“Do you know if they will even be able to come? Jack and them?” Will asked suddenly, turning to look at him curiously.
Hannibal lifted a brow in question.
“They said they wouldn’t be available until after the review board. Do you know when the hearing is?”
“Ah. Yes, the hearing is tomorrow actually.”
Will’s head tilted, catching the unsaid. “They’ve asked you to go?”
Hannibal nodded. “Lounds has been fairly active, and news about the kidnapping has been highlighting all the outlets for almost a week now. It’s why they’ve had to move it to a full hearing. As a prime witness, they’ve asked me to testify. Everything has been culminating to tomorrow.”
Will scowled reflexively at the mention of Lounds. Since her kidnapping, Lounds had become the subject of much anger and resentment in their house. Jack had revealed to Will and Hannibal Lounds’ exact role in Mischa’s kidnapping. Neither man had taken it especially well. In fact, Mischa was fairly certain that Lounds had managed to put herself on a certain cannibal's rude list. She was feeling fairly smug about it actually. She hadn’t liked the woman in the Before. She disliked her even more after realizing that the selfish woman had literally given a serial killer the exact location of a 5-year-old girl, knowing that the man was trying to kill her.
“I suppose you’ll probably be leaving soon then.” Will sighed a little, glancing at the clock.
Hannibal followed his gaze and gave his own sigh. “Unfortunately, I must.”
Both men levered themselves to their feet, beginning to clean up the living room. Mischa laid across Winston’s back, basking on the warmth of the fire on her back and the fur beneath her. Before she could potentially doze off, she was suddenly airborne. She couldn’t help the displeased noise that left her. The arms around her didn’t move, just gripped her tighter and began towing her up the stairs. She didn’t even realize that it wasn’t her father holding her until she passed the man in the kitchen watching them with soft eyes. Mischa stared in bemused curiosity as the serial killer tucked her into her bed. Winston clambered up the end of the bed, for once not earning a suffering glance from the doctor. He had taken to the dogs more since the kidnapping – Winston especially. Over Hannibal’s shoulder, Will leaned in the doorway, arms crossed as savored the sight of them. Hannibal stood beside her bed, staring down at her with glittering eyes.
She stared back up at him.
A single hand rose hesitantly, and she watched as a single long, elegant finger slid down her cheek.
“Good night, little one.” He murmured quietly to her.
Mischa leaned into his hand; eyes hooded. “Night.”