Colliding worlds (Hannibal x OC)

The power of earth

Have you ever seen a volcano erupt ? Climbed on that steep cone and watched it spit molten lava ? If you never did, I advise you try it out one day. It is a life changing experience. Excuse the poor picture, I forgot to take my tripod that day !

Hannibal held his breath, as if the outcome of the world, of his life, depended on this very moment. He held his breath just like he would before the sharp exhale that came with a death strike. Beside him, Frances was frozen, but not fearful. No. She was ecstatic, vibrating in anticipation for what was to come. And he...

He wasn't sure if that display of power mesmerised him, or terrified him. His heartbeat had increased when the lights went down, missing a beat when the deep rumble of the volcano had ceased. One, two, three...

A deep boom rumbled under his feet, as if the very mountain was about to take flight. Hannibal's breath hitched. The explosion came, violent, projecting lava all around the crater below him. Grits flew around, brightened by the breeze until, little by little, they lost their incandescent colour. He, that loved Dante's inferno so much, felt like he had stepped into hell.

It drew colours over Frances' face; her wide eyes took in the spectacle with glee. She loved the elements, loved to be reminded of her condition of tiny human upon this planet.

He did not.

The poised, unshakeable psychiatrist was, for once, totally out of his depth. He that craved control had been stripped of everything that made his life; his clothes, rugged and filled with ashes, his hair, strewn astray. His mind, educated, held no sway over the power of earth. It made him feel useless. Worse, he was humbled. For if that volcano decided to erupt properly, it would swallow them whole. No amount of intelligence could protect them, little ants huddled at the summit if the ground decided to slide down. They'd be crushed, or blown away in a heartbeat.

Granted, the probabilities were scarce. But the zero risk never existed. And Hannibal sat there, in equilibrium upon a rock that was once projected from that mouth of hell, in a sea of ashes and fire. The slope was steep; they had both dug their mountain shoes into the ground. It felt like, any moment now, they could topple over and finish into the Stromboli's bocca.

Hannibal shuddered, a deep, unsettling feeling washing over him. One he knew well, but had not experienced ever since Mischa died. Powerlessness. To be at the mercy of anything he couldn't control reminded him of his cries when, this day, the soldiers had dragged Mischa away.

Yet, he would never forget that incredible experience. One he would have safely stayed away if not for Frances. But her family loved volcanos ... so there he was, taking the worst lesson of humility, and swearing he would never put himself at the mercy of the elements again. His hand reached for Frances, and she frowned immediately. For once, his fingers were cold.

The young woman stole a glance at his face, shadows outlined with red in the darkness of the night. She was ... otherworldly. The lines of her face morphed from wonder to worry; he wondered what she could read, truly. Then she tugged at his hand.

— "Do you want to come down?"

She had not asked what was wrong, or to explain. How subtle she was, his little woman! And in that moment of vulnerability, he couldn't worship her more. Hannibal stole one last glance at the fiery sparks, then nodded. Yes. He yearned to retreat to a controlled environment. And truth be told, he didn't know if he would be able to sleep without nightmares in this place anymore. To know, to feel what power resided under his feet...

It took them two hours to retreat, fortunately, Frances knew the way. The path was carved into the ashes – under the wind – until midway down, then meandered in a strange sea of reeds. Reeds! With their feet planted into the ashes, on a freaking mountain of fire! There probably was a subterrain source in the midst of that inferno. Then the path returned to normal, rocky ground and they both took a minute to empty their poor mountain shoes from all the ash accumulated. It felt like sand, but sticking like hell.