Chapter Text
Her father once told her that showing emotions was a sign of weakness.
"One can certainly feel them," he stated, his breath tinted with cigar smoke. "But to display them is nothing short of foolish."
She listened half-heartedly, her thoughts distracted by the hollow, bubbly sound from his throat and the orange light from the heater softly distorting his features.
Many years later, Bedelia would remember that afternoon at the Du Maurier Manor: sitting by her father's deathbed, the bay window open, his words etched in her mind and playing on repeat in broken patterns.
"...and we, the Du Mauriers, are no fools."
The autumn air in Baltimore was pleasant enough for her to dwell in reminiscences. She brushed a hand through her platinum hair and turned the steering wheel with the other.
When she arrived at campus, Hannibal Lecter was already waiting by her regular parking lot with two cups of americano in his hands.
"Dr. Du Maurier," he greeted as she stepped out of her car. His eyes glinted with unsuppressed delight as she accepted his offered drink.
"Dr. Lecter." She nodded both as a sign of greeting and gratitude. She was in dire need of a caffeine rush this morning.
They walked toward the lecture hall in companionable silence, their footsteps synchronized against the brick pathway. Hannibal broke the quiet first, as he often did.
"You seem distant this morning," he observed, his tone carefully neutral, though she detected the question beneath it.
Bedelia took a slow sip of her americano, buying herself a moment. He was perceptive, unnervingly so, and she had learned that deflection only sharpened his curiosity.
"Just reflecting," she said simply. "Is it not fascinating that the human mind has the capacity to conjure distant pasts by solidifying memories?"
"Memories stored in time, distilled but kept alive." He glanced at her briefly before continuing. "Every step we took leads us further into the future-past."
"You are certainly philosophical this morning." She watched him from the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction.
He paused slightly, waiting for her to turn and meet his gaze fully.
"Who is to say we are not solidifying and living in our memories now?"
She held his gaze with the same measured composure she'd cultivated.
"If it were the case," she said, her voice steady, "then there must be something extraordinary about this moment."
A smile ghosted across his lips, barely there. "That would be an understatement."
They separated once they reached her office. She did not ask him to stay and he did not linger.