Together Forever

Summary: Hannibal becomes infatuated with a sweet and fragile patient of his, hoping he can help her become more comfortable with herself. Fem!Reader x Hannibal Lecter.

Category: Angst/Hurt, unhappy ending

Warnings (CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS): Unhappy endings, angst, blood, gore, cannibalism, violence, knives, murder, major character death, general Hannibal-related material/violence, reader death, reader has anxiety

A/N: This was my first Hannibal fanfic, and I have to admit I really loved getting inside Hannibal's head. After finishing the show for the first time earlier this year, like many, I immediately became obsessed with the murder husbands. This fic was written as part of a fic swap, and it is for a very dear friend of mine. Lastly, the tags contain spoilers, so read at your own risk. Love you.

Word Count: 6.0K

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Set boundaries.

That was among the first things my professors told me in medical school.

A line must be placed between doctor and patient for the sake of both of your well beings.

I was well accustomed with that policy. I was taught it several times when I began med school, and I heard it time and time again during my career as a surgeon. It was one of the reasons surgeons placed drapes over a patient during surgery: to keep a barrier between them and us.

That was supposed to make it easier to cut them open.

Truth be told, I was capable of cutting them open whether I could see them or not. Whether they were awake or not. It meant nothing to me, but of course, nobody else knew that, and I wasn't keen on having that information shared with the wrong people.

Things were no different when I became a psychiatrist.

We were taught to keep boundaries between ourselves and our patients too. To keep our patients at arm's length. To help them, but to not become too attached. And in all of the years that I'd been a psychiatrist, it had never been a problem before.

Of course, I was rather unorthodox in my methods of treatment. But that was between myself and my patients.

I wasn't concerned with the ethics of it any more than I was concerned about the reason.

People were disposable. Some bothered me more than others, some were more useful to me than others, and some were more deserving of falling into an ill fate. No matter what the case was, I remained steady in my ways. They were lesser beings.

It was false to say that I lacked the skills of empathy.

The Chesapeake Ripper was branded a sociopath, but that label wasn't entirely true. I spared the people who deserved it if I could help it.

The rude were another matter entirely.

I couldn't stand someone who lacked respect, and I had yet to let one walk away unscathed. They were the ones who deserved to have their lives cut short by my hands.

The thought made me smile because the pun was absolutely intended.

My behaviour translated into my practice, and it made it easier to keep patients at a distance. I had an advantage other therapists did not that way. I viewed them all as objects who served only to fit into my agenda if needed.

Although I had crossed professional boundaries before, I never once struggled with personal ones.

That was until Y/N came into my care.