(no subject)

[possiblybeokay]

"Just don't... touch anything in here."

Comments

[eatsyourheart]

I wouldn't worry too much, Doctor. I come prepared. [Hannibal draws a pair of latex gloves from the top pocket of his suit jacket, shaking them out like a magic trick before snapping them into place. He wasn't allowed past the police tape without them.] Jack asked me to have a look. In Will's absence.

[possiblybeokay]

[It's not entirely orthodox. But then, if a person wanted things to be perfectly clean-cut every time, this isn't the line of work to go into.]

I guess what Jack wants, Jack gets. [Which doesn't mean there isn't a touch of speculation to the glance she shoots in Dr Lecter's direction, rocking back properly onto her heels. Teams fall into balance, after all; a change in lineup meant readjusting.] Can't promise anything particularly interesting today.

[eatsyourheart]

If that's the case, I can't help but wonder why Jack asked me here. [Not much about a corpse, however exotically arranged - it always puts him in mind of topiary in some rich, bloody garden - holds much of Hannibal's interest. He's seen his fair share and the fascination he might once have felt has eroded over time, worn by repeated exposure. But watching the team Jack has carefully constructed around himself slowly start to fragment... Well. That could be interesting to watch.]

I can't do what Will does. He is unique in that respect, singular. [A snowflake, Hannibal imagines Will snarking at him, self-deprecatingly, squirming in his seat. Distantly, he wonders what might make Beverly squirm.] What I can offer is only speculation.

[possiblybeokay]

[There's no subtlety to the lift of her shoulders, the small shake of her head. She's sharp, true, but she's hardly a mind-reader--even with the man she's been working under for what felt like an eternity now. Jack Crawford went into left field now and then, but hadn't it got them closed cases? Theirs not and all that.

She lifts one arm briefly to brush a few loose strands of hair back from her face, gloved hand extended away from her face.] Saving the big guns, probably. Not-- [and her already raised hand lifts a touch submissively in his direction] --that you aren't a big gun. More like...

[Her hand wavers, drops to her knee, lips pressing together for half a second. A gun less likely to explode in its own face? Seemed harsh.]

A gun that lets another gun stay home and try to get some sleep.