RATHER BE THE HUNTER THAN THE PREY

"It's gonna be alright, Con. Let's go home."

Reassuring your boyfriend after a tough day at work.

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His ego, steeped in sadism, pushed him forward, though he never deluded himself into thinking he could evade the authorities indefinitely. Sooner or later, there would be a mind sharp enough to unmask him—to unravel who he truly was and what he had become.

Connor could either coax the mask from Hannibal with delicate caution or forcefully remove it, shattering it in the process.

Hannibal was willing to be seen again, it seemed. If not understood to some varying level. That intimacy and perception was terribly addicting it seemed. Although he did have a healthy sense of self-preservation... he hungered more for recognition for his truer nature. Peeling back his face to reveal the stag.

"I came to understand I could not control someone's cancer, a car crash, these inevitabilities we will all eventually face that will alter us to our very being. But the mind… the mind is something I can influence one way or another. I can offer it peace, a fleeting solace, a semblance of kinship amid their particular madness. We crave to be seen, to be understood, even if we fight against it with every ounce of our strength. I find this new calling far more fulfilling, Connor. For within these minds, I am granted a gift; a rare and precious gift, one I do not take lightly."

It was intriguing, catching those faint glimpses into the mind of another, timid ventures of exploration deeper, beneath the veil. This wasn’t the young detective’s first time traversing the landscape of introspection with a mind not unlike his own, but he had to admit that Lecter was of a different class. He was poised, careful. Ever mindful with his words, just as Connor himself was. People often liked to talk, to inflate their own egos. The psychiatrist wanted to learn, seeking just as much as he was offering. It did come to mind that both of them were playing a game, trying to unmask the other as they conversed. Both allowed small glimpses into themselves, just enough to tease, to tantalize. It was just a little exciting.

The conversation once again turned to him as questions left Lecter’s lips, queries that felt as pointed as they did intentional. Was he, too, seeking a kindred spirit? Lecter seemed the type to be mindful of company kept, enemies held as closely as friends. But there was something genuine about that desire. Everybody wanted to be understood.

A thoughtful pause, almost pensive. The detective decided to be candid. “I don’t see them as sins.” This answer was surprisingly unfiltered, raw as it was honest. His voice remained that same neutral tone, dusky notes soft. “Morally, I’ve done questionable things. But I don’t feel any particular way about them.” He didn’t mind showing his hand, as his apathy wasn’t a shameful part of his character, nor one unknown. His partner knew that Connor had problems processing certain emotions, that empathy was selective & not always under his control. But he was very good at playing a part, showing the world his sweet, charming personality. Just a gentle boy, harmless.

Hank knew him as nobody else ever had; even, to a degree, his brothers. The only person to witness him completely unfiltered, see him to the most animalistic core of his being. There were those who might glimpse that truest of self & see something akin to a machine, but Hank saw something different. He saw something truly human. Connor appreciated that. He wondered if the psychiatrist could see the same, if he looked hard enough.

“There is risk & reward in everything. I don’t risk without the promise of reward,” he informed. It was true. Everything Connor did remained within the bounds of the law. It wasn’t entirely ethics that stayed him, but a lack of desire to do something illegal. His reward for giving his all to his profession was to see justice done, & to do that effectively, he needed to follow protocol. Connor was an expert negotiator & interrogator as much as he was an investigator. What people didn’t realize was just how tightly he rode the blurred lines of ethics. It was unlawful to intimidate a suspect, but there was no precedent against fucking with their head.

Connor was very good at that, both on & off the field. He was manipulative, unyielding & used knowledge as a tactical strategy to get what he wanted. Nobody knew. No one but his family & his partner. It was for them that Connor shifted his morals. “It isn’t necessarily for my benefit. Love & loyalty are also strong motivators.” He would never do to them what he did to offenders, though sometimes it wasn’t under his control. Not entirely. He was still doing the work to improve himself. He wondered if Lecter was motivated by self improvement. “Wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Lecter?”

Detroit: Become Human

Rarely does the questioning get turned back on him. It’s an opportunity to undo the doctor and often, he’s not up for such a game. There was an unspoken power in truth and his own morality twisted and warped from avaricious perspective. Bent, waterlogged, and broken. Pus-filled and weeping — his heart was a cruel greedy thing, consumed with hunger & overtaken with desires. And it’s as if with the right questions Connor might be able to peel back his skin and expose vulnerable organs, needled bones and even truer intentions.

Hannibal is a gracious man under the right circumstances. Or at least, he’s capable of playing the part. The duality is hidden there in broad daylight. Sinister but painfully polite. Until that part of the mirrored hypocrisy shattered and all that was left was the meaning spelled out in the broken pieces.

So why had he left surgeonhood? The evocative memories played out as he chuckles, gaze taunt and mouth wet. His nails splintering under the muscle and tendon, fingers wrapping around cuts of meat and blood and cartilage all parting under the pressure of a scapula. Flesh and sinew, it was all the same.

“Other things… called to me,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on the others pacing form with an unsettling intent. “I came to realize I couldn’t always save people with a scalpel. People die. You aren't the god you delude yourself into thinking you are, standing there in the sterile quiet of the emergency room. My hands, my skills— they were better suited to psychiatry. There, the strings of control are far tighter, far more predictable, than in the chaotic throes of a hospital."

Soft footsteps echoed slow & gentle, soles against polished wood. The detective listened intently to the doctor - not just his words, but his tone, the way in which he paused. Methodical. Thoughtful. To say that Hannibal Lecter was secretive was to say the day was long, that the sky was blue & faded sweetly into an ocean of blackness when nightfall came. He was just as careful & precise with his answers as the young detective, ever mindful of what impression he would give. It was all about control, over himself & the space in which he occupied, or those that he did not occupy. He wanted to be perceived in a very particular light. Connor understood this perfectly, for he, too, walked that thin red line like a tightrope. It was effortless now. He was well practiced since childhood.

He wasn’t offended that his own meager shedding of that expertly crafted mask of his was not met in mutual fashion. He wasn’t naive enough to assume that he would be granted such a courtesy. Nevertheless, he refused to erect those walls of his own again, allowing the older man to view just that little bit more of him. Whether or not Lecter could be coaxed into openness was as of yet undetermined, but the detective was a patient being, relentless. He hummed softly in consideration.

“I think that its debatable; the body or the mind being a bastion of presumed control as it relates to a medical outcome.” The comment was passive, yet it held no undertones of aggression nor opposition. He merely wanted to offer his own point of view. “Having authority over the mind… I’d argue that makes a person much more godlike.”

Finally, he stopped his exploratory pacing to look at one of the paintings on the wall, a lovely piece that had been crafted with care. There was a long pause, seconds ticking by like hours. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Rather, the quiet was made pensive by a moments introspection. When Connor looked at the doctor, it was with a faint, barely there smile upon his placid visage. “But then again, I usually become acquainted with a body post-mortem. Admittedly, my perception might be skewed.” A hint of joviality as he touched upon his own naivety. The detective was not naive by any means, but he was willing to accept & even tease at his ignorance. Had he no ego?

“Are you guilty, Dr. Lecter?” A somber shift in conversation, another question that was so innocuous, yet it probed beneath the surface. It came with an air of empathy. Connor had trained himself very well to display it. “Guiding others as a form of repentance… It sounds very noble.”

@replicantdeviancy asked: “Merry Christmas, handsome. Why don’t you come unwrap your present?” - Connor

Slowly, the greying Englishman sat himself up in bed, a few quiet groans leaving him from the light aches and pains of finally moving again before finally, a quiet smirk quaked in the back of his throat. He may enjoy acting up the old age thing at times. "I figured waking up to you was gift enough." He teased as he slid over to the edge of the bed. Admittedly, he was only half joking, he really did feel as though waking up to Connor being in his apartment was more of a gift than anything he could possibly give him.

A gentle chuckle escaped delicately smiling lips, quiet elation in the sound. All of those silly little eccentricities were at the core of what made the priest so precious to Connor. James was a warm & loving soul, a man whose vibrancy refused to wither with age. He went easy into the older man’s arms, graciously leaning into every one of those tender kisses. When they were together like this, Connor could relax completely, & simply let himself be. He hoped that James felt equally at peace in his arms.

“I could say the same thing about you.” His head turned to gaze deeply into those brilliant blue eyes as he shifted in James’ lap to face him, a little box wrapped in festively green paper in one hand. It smelled faintly of oak & amber. “Being here with you… It’s more than I could ask for.” Better than he deserved, he believed, but that alone made the detective a thousand times more grateful. Lean arms wrapped around the priest’s shoulders, legs draped carelessly on either side of his hips. For a long while, Connor said nothing. He just wanted to enjoy this moment, wanted to look at his handsome man & reflect upon their time spent together since that meeting of happenstance so many months ago in Detroit.

Listening to the woman speak of Tor, Connor was reminded of his own brothers. They were wonderful, good & decent men who had always been there for him in times of need. Even when he & Colin were at odds in their younger years, the petty but loving middle child would rush to his side like a homing dove at the first sign of trouble. Xander was similar, overly protective & blessed (or was it cursed) with a sternness to his features that escaped the older two. Connor smiled at the thought of this small connection sparked between he & Angharad. Perhaps she would get him talking, after all.

“My brothers are just the same,” he explained, a soft huff of laughter escaping him. “I can’t say that I’ve ever been in a bad relationship before, but they’re just as protective over me as Tor is towards you.” Perhaps more so, though not entirely in a positive light. Colin had a cruel streak in him a mile wide, & Xander had a temper. “You should have seen the hell they gave my partner when they found out we were dating.” It was with all due respect, of course. The boys had taken careful consideration of the whole picture, & Connor was quick to present his own counterarguments. All things having been said & done, they had a great relationship with Hank now.