12. Mea...culpa?

[orderfromchaos]

[Public, video]

[They're the kitchen of Dillon's parents' house: relentlessly suburban, a few southwestern touches, from the touristy Navajo-ish vase on the table to the sepia color palette, well-coordinated. There are floral magnets on the fridge, and one Hannibal Lecter humming as he makes what appears to be gourmet tomato soup and fresh-baked bread. He's wearing an open lab coat over his suit that he grabbed while attempting to join an infirmary shift, right before Dillon hurriedly hustled him out.]

I kind of...fixed him.

[Not like you fix a car; Hannibal wasn't broken, he was himself. Like you fix a dog.]

I thought it would wear off but it hasn't, and his room is the same so it doesn't count for graduation but I don't. Actually know how to undo it.

He's not faking, either.

[Voice pitched more deliberately across the room, though he hasn't been been whispering or anything; Hannibal could have heard him before if he was listening.

Hey, Hannibal, say sorry to the nice people.

[Hannibal pauses, sets down the wooden spoon and turns to the comm, contrite, shifting, a little uncertain.]

I'm terribly sorry for what I've done. It seems almost unreal, but I do not mean to belittle anyone's suffering. I apologize.

[Dillon waves him back to the soup.]


[Private to Jean]

I'm pretty sure what you do is more. Versatile, than mine. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you check and see if you can reverse it?

Comments

[lastincident]

[ The problem is he does; it makes it ugly and personal, boiling the mix into a frothing overreaction. He knows how that is, he knows how he's been used just like Dillon has, and it makes him angry at Dillon because the person that makes Bruce angriest is himself. ]

[ He's still angry for Hannibal triggering an incident, of using him as a suicide mechanism for some... unknown purpose. He's angry he was used on the helicarrier, years ago. ]

[ He's angry all the damn time, though-- it's just lately it's become harder an harder to endure. ]

When you have power like we do, you have to learn to be your own master-- or you'll be mastered by someone, something else, at every turn.

You're a warden. We're going to expect better of you.

[ He expects better of himself. ]

[orderfromchaos]

[The part of him that feels trapped and cornered wants to snarl don't treat me like a child, even though he can see the projection. The part of him that is an arrogant child wants to say there is no we, you don't have power like I do, you only kill people. But he knows that's just cruel, bitter, pointless.

Bruce doesn't know how much he's fought to lock down his temper in the two years since he lost Deanna - nearly three, counting barge time - how much he is his own master and how much he can't be, not over the part of him that's a star. Bruce doesn't know about Helena - but he promised not to tell. And in the end, the important part is that Bruce isn't wrong. He sighs, looks down.]

I know. I'm working on it. I hadn't - I hadn't snapped in almost three years. And I'd never done this on purpose. I don't ever want to again.

I'm going to take a few days, okay? Get my head on straight, make sure he's taken care of and back like he should be, god help us all. David and Ben can cover for me. But I've still got my key, and that means I have a job to do, and shirking it isn't going to make up for anything.

[lastincident]

Yes.

Do that.

[ He's got to go meditate the fuck out of this, or he's going to be turning green anytime now. ]