IC - INBOX/VOICEMAIL/TEXT/THREATENING LETTER

[il_mostro]

Please leave all IC correspondence for Dr Hannibal Lecter here.

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[il_mostro]

Thank you, in turn, Mr. Pennyworth.

[It won't take him long to get there, honestly. He put on his leather jacket, his motorcycle boots and headed out immediately. When he finally reached the Arena, his dark eyes were immediately looking for a familiar figure.]

[inforapound]

[He won't be hard to find at all. He's already in the arena, stripped down to a simple white undershirt, now pinkish red with his own blood and sweat. He's in the middle of boxing another dominant that is at least a head above him in height. Larger and younger. Much younger. He's perhaps Bruce's age. It means something. The hair color is wrong though, blond not black. It's still David verses Goliath here, and "David" is taking the blows like he wants them. It's clear he picked the largest fight he could in order to work out the grief and the aggression that comes with it. It's also increasingly clear that Alfred is toying with his opponent. He's using the man as his punishment, purposely leaving openings without much in the way of retaliation except for a token effort.

He catches Hannibal out of the corner of his eye and his shoulders slump apologetically as he takes more blows from his blond Bruce stand-in. He looks properly guilty, for being unable to wait for the doctor. For seeking out his punishment in such a way. He can only hope Hannibal will let him complete his pennance.]

[il_mostro]

[Hannibal exhales slowly, giving Alfred a Pointed Look. This is a huge step backwards in their therapy. Especially the way that Alfred is letting this stand-in, who is not actually Alfred's proxy son, beat him.

So he arches an eyebrow at Alfred and then calls out to the other opponent.]

He is dropping his guard, Bruce! Go for the left side!

[Now, to wait for the younger, taller dominant to yell out that he is not Bruce -- and to bring Hannibal's point home for him.

If Alfred wants to get beaten for 'failing', then Hannibal is going to strip away the delusions behind it. This is self-pity, nothing more.]

[inforapound]

[He catches the look. It's hard to miss when he's really not giving it his all in the ring. But more than that, he catches the sound of Hannibal calling out to his young opponent. The reaction is what the men is hoping for. The larger Dom does yell that he's not Bruce.

It's not like Alfed doesn't know that. Doesn't know what he's doing. And for a moment, there's a bit of anger there. There's a flash of heated ire directed Hannibal's way. It's resentment. Anger that he's not even allowed a moment of self-pity. He can't be selfish, not even once, to take what he believes he deserves. It's self-destruction without use of chemicals. A temporary high of adrenaline and pain because the person that should be chastising him isn't there anymore.

He'll find no pennance here and the pain is only a temporary distraction from the underlying grief.

The anger is brief and the resentment becomes resignation.

But at least he's not playing with the boy anymore. He makes it quick, dropping the blond with a single uppercut, large kid but glass jaw. He ignores the crowd to lean down and carefully arrange the kid, like he's tucking him in, so the medics have an easier time with him, before he's limping his way to Hannibal.]

Why?

[A single word, loaded with possibilities.]

[il_mostro]

[Hannibal meets that angry look coolly, his sharp features impassive as he holds Alfred's gaze without flinching. Self-destruction is one thing when it is at the bidding of someone who knows how to put you back together again. Doing out of some mis-placed feeling of guilt and grief is entirely another, and Hannibal simply will not allow it for Alfred. No, if he is going to get hi emotions out -- then it is going to be through anger.

As Alfred limps over to him, Hannibal starts to strip out of his coat, putting it aside as he works on his shirt.]

If you are going to work out your grief, Alfred, you are going to do it with someone whom you can actually hit and not render them immediately unconscious.

[The shirt unbuttoned, he slips it off and folds it neatly, before raising his hand.]

I call the next fight.

[Then he meets Alfred's gaze once more.]

Come on, then. Let us start our session.

[inforapound]

[For a moment, Alfred just stares at the man. Watches him as he calls the next fight. A part of him wants to protest. It's the part of him that still somewhat sees the shadow of Thomas in Hannibal. He would never, could never, hurt Thomas. But there's a darker, angrier voice that reminds him that Thomas is dead. Hannibal is Hannibal. There might be similarities, but they are superficial.

His jaw clenches. His hands tighten at his side. He knows this man's skill, seen him in a fight. Hannibal knows him as well. Seen what he can do when he's not held back. The old monster of his youth stirs in recognition, in eagerness. He's not allowed drugs so the fight will feed it. Will feed the chasm and help him forgot for a brief moment just how badly he's handling things.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep shaking breath. The grief still clings. And the anger. At himself mostly. But it's easy to turn it towards Hannibal. When he opens his eyes again, they're sharply focused, like they'd been at the Fort.]

A bit unconventional, but fine with me. [And unlike with the boy, Hellboy defend. He knows with a man like Hannibal, you need to go on attack and not let up. A single opening is all he'd need. He's even falling back on older techniques. No proper boxing but a true street match, one trained killer to another.]

[il_mostro]

[Hannibal smiles then - and it's the Ripper's smile. Wide and dangerous, as he comes around to enter the ring. Never looking away from Alfred as he moves around to the opening of the ring, and then climbs in gracefully. He has taken off his shoes as well, and is fighting in his bare feet, something that will give him greater traction when he needs it.

The smile fades as the ring closes, and he puts himself in a ready stance. A killer watching a killer - predator on predator. He expects this to be vicious until Alfred manages to break down. He trusts his control not to kill the other man that he considers ... closer than most.

Alfred is his, after all. Wouldn't do to break him completely. He almost wishes he had a knife in hand, so he could scar Alfred appropriately. Ah well, when needs must. Fists would have to do.]

So ... [He says, as if they were back in his office.] How are you feeling today, Alfred?

[inforapound]

[Of all the questions to ask. It's something he's asked every time he has a session with Dr Lector. At first, he'd be reticent. It's simply not done to talk about feelings. He's gotten more open. More willing to talk about what is bothering him. It's the only reason he had called, honestly. Because he'd felt safe enough to at least warn the man he'd not be around for a while.

But the fact that he told the doctor where he was, that he kind of waited for him, it means he understands, at least unconsciously, that he can't deal with this on his own in a remotely healthy manner.

He attacks, darting in, his aim for those vulnerable parts of the body, his voice a growl. The Wayne family's rabid dog finally broke his leash.]

Weak. Unless. Worthless. Disgusting.

[Each word is a blow, or tries to be. Each word is an answer. He feels weak because he'd been unable to protect Bruce again. Weak because all of Thomas' hard work to break him of these habits meant nothing. He'd gone right back to dealing with his hurt the old ways. Not chamicals, but the distraction of physical pain and the high of adrenaline to keep him from thinking about it for a while. Worthless because that's his meaning in life, to look after the boy, now a man. But also worthless because he's failing another boy, waiting for him back at Blackworth. He's probably worrying Regulus sick. Useless, because as much as he loves his 'son', the man hasn't truly needed him here. He'd been nothing but a problem. But mostly disgusted. Sick to his stomach that he would rather have Bruce here with him, where he might be some help, than back in Gotham and his own adult life. He hates that he mourns for the loss of a son, who is far better off at home, with another Alfred. And under all that, it's regret. That deep hurting feeling that he could have done more for Bruce. Been there more for him. Been better for him. That he'd never gotten to really tell the man how much he loved him and how proud he was of the man he'd become. He'd been given a gift, allowed to see his ward all grown up. He'd squandered it.]

It hurts. [Is the gravely conclusion even as he works to get past Hannibal's guard.]

[il_mostro]

[Hannibal shifted his body out of the way of each strike easily - he after all did not just get into a fight with a man younger and stronger than him and then let him punch repeatedly.

Rabid dog Alfred might be, but Hannibal has one thing over him right now. Self control and presence. Another shift, duck to the right, and he danced out of Alfred's reach.]

Why do you feel these things about yourself? [Is his simple question.] When you have done everything possible for Bruce's development?

[He swung to the side, let Alfred get in a punch so he could grab the other man's arm and twist it around, then shove Alfred away from him and hopefully to the ground.]

[inforapound]

[It's true. He is tired. He's tired and he's hurting. But it's not nearly what he needs. Hannibal dodges so easily and he puts in even more effort. Once upon a time, he'd told Bruce not to let the fight pick him. Right now, that advice is far away. Each swing is avoided but he won't give up. He's determined and he needs this agression and hurt worked out of him before it festers and rots.

He growls again at the question. He should focus on where Hannibal is, not what he asks. It's habitual as breathing to answer though, even when he's also trying to punch the man very hard in the sternum.]

It isn't enough! [To him, devoting the rest of his life to supporting Bruce wouldn't be enough. When it comes to the most important thing that's ever been asked of him, not even dying is enough.] And I shouldn't want him here!

[The punch Hannibal allows has quite a bit of force behind it still. Alfred is known for his stamina in a fight, but it's not as strong as what laid out the blond. He's exhausting himself, not just physically, but emotionally.

He hits the ground hard. His arm aches from where it's been twisted. For a moment he remains in the dirt.] I shouldn't want him here in this place. I should be over the moon that he's back where he belongs! [But he isn't and that's the problem. He hates himself because he'd rather have Bruce here in this sex crazed city, suffering as a Submissive than to know he's gone and back with his Alfred. And he mourns because there's a deep fear that those who disappear don't actually go home at all. He can't outlive another Wayne. He can't.]

I should have been there more for him. I'm supposed to protect him,to support him, so he can walk his path unimpeded. [And when the day comes when Bruce no longer needed him, he'd still be there. He'd stand guard, loyal til the end.]

I should have been stronger for him. [It's with that that he gains his feel again. There's a bit of a sway before he's trying to close in again. The blows a little sharper, slightly more precise, but only because he's just so tired now. He can no longer keep up the bombastic flurry of punches and Hannibal hasn't backed him into the sort of corner where fight becomes kill. That and it had been Bruce's one demand for him here. No more killing.]