[week three - monday]

[ceded]

[ That sure was a thing that happened outside the hotel this morning.

Xion had found herself staring at the corpses - until they got cut down, at the very least - for probably an unhealthy amount of time. Just watching as they swayed in the wind, macabre decorations to suit all their moods.

If death hadn't already been weighing heavily on her thoughts, this certainly would have put her in the right frame of mind.

It's still fairly early in the day when she goes to track down Dr. Lecter. She's starting to get used to his patterns, seeking him out not infrequently, so she has a good idea of where she'll find him. When she finds him, she doesn't really waste time, instead being quite direct: ]

Are you free?

[ This is more for the benefit of anyone who might overhear. He'll likely understand she's really asking to have one of their "sessions." ]

Comments

[ceded]

[ No.

Slowly, Xion lifts her gaze to just stare at him, like she's never seen him before.

Well, the answer you come up with can't just be right for you. It has to be one that works best for everybody, you and your friends and everyone else.

She's long since internalized that whatever is best for her can't possibly be best for the people around her. So if there's something that she and she alone wants... it's probably the wrong thing. Especially if that thing... is continuing to exist, when doing so just hurts her best friends.

But this isn't home. She isn't in the Organization. She can't hurt these people by staying alive. What will happen back home ... if she gets too attached to the idea of living? ]

But...! If I do ... then there are people who will suffer. So, isn't it selfish then? If I put myself... over the people who really matter?

[ For the first time, she sounds bitter. ]

[sating]

[ Hannibal stares back at her, not quite impassive, but certainly not shying away from the intensity and the uncertainty in her gaze. All that comes is a very light tilt of his head, which she can probably recognize now as Hannibal distinct little gesture of interest and of prompting someone to continue talking. In comparison to her distress, he's calm, as always.

Though in truth, he's not indifferent to her conflict here. Quite the opposite. It captures his interest in the way that patients occasionally do, because her conflict is an interesting, tragic one. When faced with terrible circumstances where no solution is truly good and correct... What do people do? What do they do when they're pushed to change?

It's a question that always fascinates him. ]

It could be called selfish. But the problem with 'selfishness' is that it tends to be objective, Xion. It is not a judgement that can be made the same way by ever person. One person may call it selfish. I would not.

[ He pauses, giving time for those words to sink in, since he thinks that his own opinion there might be something she needs time to process. But after he's given her time, he continues with only a simple question. ]

Why are their lives more valuable than your own?

[ceded]

Because...!

[ If it's quite clicked with her that Dr. Lecter doesn't think she's selfish for wanting to keep living even despite the stakes, she doesn't give a sign just yet. She does uncurl, her feet falling to the floor and her hands gesturing broadly. She looks agitated, in more than just her expression. It's in the set of her shoulders, her abrupt, short gestures. The way she leans forward, like she can make him get it.

(Make him get what? That she's not supposed to exist?) ]

I'm made of memories. The memories I have... they're not mine. They belong to someone else. A boy, named Sora. As long as I have these memories inside me... he'll never wake up. And without him... whole worlds will be in danger! He's the only one that can save them. Sora needs me ... to go away. I was never supposed to exist in the first place. I was just a big mistake, from the very beginning.

[ Her anger burns out, and she slumps, letting her hands fall into her lap. ]

I never should have been created in the first place. This girl that people care so much about ... is just a sham.

[ When she looks up at him, it's with a glare. But he's not the one she's angry at. ]

Dr. Lecter ... why doesn't anything about this bother you? You know ... what I am. I'm just some fake. You could even say ... that I'm deceiving everyone. So why...?

[ Why don't you hate me? ]

[sating]

[ The fantastic description again strikes him as bizarre, since the idea that this girl might be "made of memories" is something almost frustratingly beyond his understanding, and yet oddly appropriate. There was irony in how certain people came to meet each other, he thought, and Xion could certainly be counted amongst those acquaintances. For all the time he's spent in his palace of memories in the past three years of his incarceration, it's distantly funny to him that he would meet a girl made of them. Whatever that might mean, though as with a lot of things he's encountered here, he dismisses the logistics. He can take it at face value, because he knows dishonesty. The people here may not be forthcoming (which he can hardly blame them for), but they're earnest, generally speaking.

His answer, at least to start, comes simply: ]

Because they are not the ones sitting in front of me. They are not my patients.

[ Though that's not a satisfying answer, he knows. Hannibal leans forward and lets his elbows rest on his knees. His posture is casual in that way, but also more personal as he mirrors that gesture of hers. ]

In truth, much of what you've told me of what you are is beyond my understanding. Normally, I would take such ideas as delusion, since I have had patients who believe themselves to be things they are not. For example, though he was not my patient, I did recently meet a man who was quite convinced that he was a great, red dragon. But delusion is familiar to me. Delusion is also dangerous. I do not get the sense of either from what you tell me. So in the face of that and the other oddities I cannot explain, I must accept it as truth. My ignorance is not your burden.

[ Which is the practical matter, and the easier one to explain. He's not surprised that she's concerned with his lack of reaction, so perhaps that part of the explanation was a bit overdue. But he never pushes too far. He only answers questions when asked, gives information when it's appropriate. Now was that time. ]

And here, I'm speaking less as a psychiatrist. But personally, I don't believe any life has more weight than another. Your life is just as important as my own, and as important as those who you would protect. So, the decision is your own. I cannot guide you on how you feel on this. It is a difficult one to reconcile. But— You do not need to sacrifice yourself. Not if you do not want to. Others may have consequences for that choice, as you yourself may. But everyone is afforded the right to survive. It may be a struggle, of course.

[ He nods to her ]

But your life and the path it takes is your own. No one else's.

[ceded]

Maybe it'll help ... if you think of me like the Sheriff.

[ She says this softly, without looking at him. The source of so many moments of tension between her and the other people here... her constant and, to many, inexplicable defense of their jailer. Hannibal likely figured it out after their very first talk, but to her, Sheriff Hal is a kindred spirit. Someone that the rest of the group would be willing to dispose of to get answers, even though he seems to think and feel just like the rest of them do. But he's just a robot, just something that somebody built, and they hate him, so why shouldn't they break him and throw him away?

A mistake. Garbage. It. ]

We're a lot alike. Both of us were built for a purpose that we have to fulfill. The people we work for give us orders, and it's our job to carry them out. The Sheriff might be a robot instead of a doll, and it doesn't seem like he was made with someone else's memories, but... I've thought a lot that I'm probably more like him than all the people here.

[ Then come back with us.

I can’t… not the way I am now. But… what would it take for me to be like you?

Maybe her whole short life, she's wanted nothing more than to be like the people she loves.

She's quiet after that, though, seeming to consider his words. ]

I don't, [ she finally says, rather abruptly. ] I don't want to sacrifice myself. I want to be with my friends, and get ice cream together. I want to live...! [ Her voice twists up tight and high, and with a flinch she stops. Sighing, she lowers her head so she can rub at her eyes. After that, she just kind of ... stares down at her hands, wide-eyed and intense. ]

I'm not sure it's ever really mattered, what I wanted.

[ Well, what do you want to do, Xion?

You want to go back?

... what should I do, then?

There's a set to her expression that's different, now. Something sort of hard. ]

Right now, if we go back home, I won't have a choice. I already made that sacrifice. If I want to live, my only option is to rely on the Sheriff.

[sating]

Then you should live.

[ Rather than pause to consider his words thoughtfully and carefully as he often seems to, there's an easy, definite certainty to how he confirms her own wishes. What she is doesn't particularly matter to him, after all. It may be beyond his experience in terms of technicalities, but for who he's speaking to, it's wholly familiar. Xion may not see herself as such, but to Hannibal, she's easily human enough in how she thinks, and this is what matters to him.

Though it does strike him as almost funny, in a way.

Their circumstances couldn't be more different, but in terms of the emotions that come with them, he can't help but draw a comparison to Abigail. Abigail helped her father kill girls exactly like herself so that she could live. Xion, on the other hand, stands on the precipice of that sort of decision, though he doubts she realizes it. Not fully. Returning to the life she had clearly means losing choice, and she says as much. But to take a chance to grasp at a life of her own... It will be a life gained through blood. Here, it must be. ]

If it has not mattered, then to me, this seems like your chance to make it matter. You have walked through the valley, and you have emerged on the other side. You have made your sacrifice once. You do not need to make it again.

[ This time, Hannibal pauses. He considers her, and though his expression is sympathetic, he's really more just interested to see her response. ]

—And if nothing else, I believe this: you are a survivor. I will never begrudge people doing what they must to cling to life. There is nothing more precious than that.