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Tate Langdon (
2016-07-08 02:06 am (UTC)
not being screamed at or threatened or bullied into giving up the goods. It's...bizarrely dignifying? Tate gets the sense that Hannibal is like someone walking through tall grass and has stumbled upon a rattlesnake, and instead of throwing rock or high-tailing it in the other direction with a scream, he's instead chosen to calmly side-step the situation, with all of the knowledge he needs for now.
Tate feels like he deserves to keep his truths, his information, that they are
to give when he wants, not just desperate scraps that he has people fighting to rip out of his filthy hands.
Yes, Tate can feel the intention for contact again -- he wonders if it's originating in him, wishing it hadn't gone. But Hannibal is still close, isn't withdrawing from that proximity, and it's a physical presence of its own. In fact, it's safer than touch: Tate could abandon it at any time.
He doesn't doubt Hannibal for a moment. Almost mesmerized, he nods and jostles himself back to the present. Blinking, breathing, swallowing against a strangely drying throat. It's as if he's never heard these kind of encouragements leveled at him before.
Oh, right. He hasn't.
He huffs a soft laugh, almost sardonic. He's the one that breaks their eye contact. "Sorry, I'm not...used to someone putting that much faith in me."
It's actually fucking terrifying. His face drops as he realizes that. "This idea of a better person is...is what I want to gain, but...it's really hard." Eyes find Lecter's paler ones. "I just can't help but think that either, I'm not going to be able to do it, or... Or that I won't
to stop being a bad person." Constance loved saying that evil appears attractive to entice people toward it. Boy, can he attest to that.
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