Back turned to where his brother lies prone on the operating table
like twenty-seven dismembered bodies before him, Hannibal taps the
handle of a sterile scalpel with gloved finger just so to complete the
presentation of a perfectly aligned instrument tray; every cold, gleaming
tool in its proper place. The slight, pleased smile at Nigel’s caustic disp-
aragement of his moral character is quickly hidden behind a disposable
surgical mask. This is quite different, procedurally, than his normal fare.
But then, Hannibal doesn’t usually anticipate those who set foot in his
operating theater to leave again.
❝If you could properly perform an open nephrectomy, I would
be honored to share my kidney with you.❞
Methodically and with fluid movements of the highly practiced, Hannibal
attaches his twin’s pulse oximeter, blood pressure cuff, and leads to a
monitor. A quick beep-beep-beep rhythm permeates the room, melodious.
❝The incidence of infection due to exposure decreases markedly
with fewer individuals present.❞
Hannibal places a reassuring hand on Nigel’s bare shoulder, the hint of
animal fear swallowing glossy maroon whole a delightfully unimagined
display. ❝In that matter, the journey will be yours and mine, today,❞ he
says cheerfully, nitrile catching on the drug lord’s three-day stubble when
he cups Nigel’s cheek with tender care.
❝Now, shall I choose the side or do you have a preference?❞
Resigned was Nigel to his fate, medicine wins out over sheer
determination, regrettably. Hannibal always did have his own
way ever since childhood, a pattern which remains unchanged
yet lends little comfort-- especially when Nigel could barely talk
without the slowness that comes with certain paralytics, hindering
his ability to aggressively articulate his displeasure.
❝ Providing you don’t fuck this up enough to leave
your one and ONLY brother a fucking vegetable,
I might just consider learning, to return the favour. ❞
A hollow threat born of frustration and fear, not of death, Nigel had
tempted him many times and yet lived to see the next dawn, but of
the repercussions that come with having a vital organ ripped away.
Hannibal’s skills were unmatched, Nigel had faith in them but if
asked again, or more accurately if asked at all, he can’t say with
confidence that he’d WILLINGLY put himself in the situation once
more. Not that it mattered now. The heightened awareness of his
own heart rate only further caused discomfort: briefly he wonders
if Hannibal’s own heartbeat raced at the thought of PENETRATING
flesh, that of his own siblings. A low huff of dry laughter spills from
Nigel’s lips at the idea.
❝ Surrendering control, or the illusion of it won’t make this
fucking acceptable Hannibal, take whatever you want,
we BOTH know you will regardless but wouldn't have it
tasted sweeter, if I’d come of my own accord, asking for
your b u t c h e r y? Though not the first time you've
settled for mediocrity I suppose. ❞
dailybridgerton
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