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Title: A Defensive Stance
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Prompt: 39, Death
Author's Note: Sequel to "Disturbing Dreams."
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***"Will, seeing your own death in dreams is hardly unusual," Hannibal told him.
Will stared at Hannibal as though he couldn't believe what he had just heard.
"It's unusual for me," Will retorted, feeling his temper fray around the edges. Hannibal's words so far hadn't been what he'd wanted to hear.
Hannibal seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was incredibly disturbed by these dreams; he was acting as though Will should simply brush them off and not be bothered by them, even though they became more horrific with each dream, each vision.
He couldn't stop feeling that they were visions, that they were prophetic, that they were showing him his probable future as some kind of warning.
He couldn't simply push those dreams away and forget about them.
"Seeing your own death is disconcerting, I'm sure," Hannibal told him, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. "But I do not believe it is prophetic."
"Given the kind of job I have, and what I deal with every day, I believe that it is," Will shot back as he sank lower in his own chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't think I can discount anything. And I'm having these dreams almost every night now."
Too late, he realized that his posture, the crossing of his arms over his chest in an almost protective way, the stance he was taking, must look horribly defensive.
He wanted to be open to other interpretations of his dreams, but it was hard to feel that way when panic was beginning to rise in him.
It was hard to accept what Hannibal was saying when every fiber of his being screamed at Will that he had to be cautious, to be wary, that he had to watch his back every moment of every day. He couldn't simply ignore those dreams; they meant something.
A little voice in the back of his head was hammering at him, telling him that if Hannibal didn't believe those dreams were prophetic visions, then perhaps he couldn't trust Hannibal.
No. He didn't want to feel that way. He needed to trust someone.
And who better than his psychiatrist? But this wasn't helping anything; the two of them being at odds was only making him back away, rather than helping him to trust.
Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He was starting to feel even more anxious, and worse, he was feeling angry and resentful. That wasn't how he should feel about someone who was his psychiatrist, and more than that, his friend.
He had to push those feelings aside, and talk to Hannibal when his emotions weren't in such an uproar. He didn't want to lose one of the few friends he had.
"Let's change the subject," he said, trying to keep his voice calm and controlled.
If they didn't walk about something else, then he would say something he'd regret.
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