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Sinric comes down from his room, still dressed his furs and heavily embroiled tunic but looking fresh and scrubbed.

He smiles brightly to see Hannibal.

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thewidewideworld

Niketas considers as Sinric guides him onto the bench. "A better man, a stronger man, would bear his own fear and trust in God." he keeps hold of Sinric's hand. "As my father would have done."

Sinric strokes Niketas' dark curls back from his face and kisses his brow. "You remember your father as an icon. As still and strong as a saint. He was often in doubt and sometimes in fear. That was what we little birds were for. What he could say to us, confide in us, gave him strength to present to the world as imperious as the face in his coins. We were there to give him the freedom to be weak when he needed to be. As I shall be here for you."

Sinric pulls up a chair at Niketas' side, down near his thighs so he is out of Hannibal's way but can still hold Niketas' hand.

He looks up at Hannibal, eyes tinged with gold. And nods. "Shall we have music?"

From:

cook_the_rude

"We shall," Hannibal says, touching a small device he set out.

The beginning of Bach's first Brandenburg Concerto quietly floats through the small room.

"I will now prick you with needles around the eyes," he then announces to Niketas while picking up a syringe, "which are hollow like a serpent's fangs and through which a medicine will flow into your nerves to take away all pain while I work. If you had stitches on wounds, it will feel a little like that."

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Niketas gasps at the swell of music, so strange and full. Surely this little room can't contain so much.

But Sinric hums, singing a soft sweet counterpoint, adding his voice to the tapestry of music. "Float into it." Sinric whispers as he nods for Hannibal to begin, "Let the music carry you. I have your hand, I will keep you from being washed away."

"The serpent's tooth." Niketas echoes, already starting to drift a little under the warmth of Sinric's touch.

For all he sings, his hands holding Niketas', Sinric watches Hannibal, alert for any help he can be, or sign of trouble.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal works very, very carefully, first injecting a little of the anaesthetic into the places where he needs to go deeper, then doing a second round, sinking the needles deeply and emptying the syringe's load judiciously into Niketas' constantly hurting eyes, lids and eye-sockets.

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Niketas stays still, relaxing under the spell of Sinric's song. "I don't remember when last I was without pain. It seems like so long ago. And yet, I am the lucky one."

From:

cook_the_rude

"You are alive," Hannibal says, "and so much is still ahead of you."

He takes up a scalpel and pincers.

"I am going to try and open the burned, scarred-shut lid now."

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Sinric looks away, unsure of his own fortitude when it comes to surgery. He will help if Hannibal needs more hands. He will make himself then. But until needed-

"Your brothers?" Sinric asks softly.

"Christopher died only a few hours of being blinded. His skin was so cold and all the will went out of him. Anthimos took with fever and died later."

"Nikephoros and Eudokimos?" Sinric's eyes flair as he calms a surge of panic in Niketas at the sound of peeling flesh.

Beneath the twisted and puckered lid, Niketas' eye is cloudy. The burn is not so bad. Damaging his sight yes but not so severely.

"I think I see light." Niketas gasps. The distorted tear duct leave his eye dry and pained, almost as it chaffed.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal picks up a little vial and puts in a few drops, just to alleviate the dryness. "Can you open and close it on your own?"

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Niketas tries, muscles long disused fluttering weakly.

His eye seems to bleed as lubricant washed dirt and dried blood from the minute fissures and cracks in the surface of his eye.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal adds more drops, with each fluttering movement of the scarred, disused eyelids, dabbing ashes and dried blood at the edges of the eye.

"I will try and reopen your tear duct," he says, "but if that doesn't work, I'll give you a recipe for eye drops your adlatus of the moment can easily make for you, but you'll need those all your life."

From:

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Niketas has to remember not to nod. "I'm very grateful. Anything that prevents me from weeping blood would be appreciated. It tends to disquieten people."

Sinric keeps holding his hand, singing softly as he watches Hannibal word from the corner of his eye. Watching for any signal of need.

From:

cook_the_rude

"It was a dramatic and fitting reaction to Sinric's beautiful song," Hannibal says, "but rather inconvenient on the long run. Please keep very still now. Sinric, can you please lay your flat palms on his cheeks from both sides?"

He unfolds a large magnifying glass he had attached to the bench, and very carefully begins to pluck at the tear duct with a tiny scalpel and pincer while peering through it.

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Sinric nods and moves Niketas' hand to rest on his hip as he holds the prince as Hannibal needs.

Sinric' eyes are hooded and low, protecting Niketas from the glow of gold as he pours calm into him.

From:

cook_the_rude

"Thank you," Hannibal murmurs. "We are getting somewhere."

He is working with the eye drops and something like a blunted needle now. Blood is swirling in a thin, brownish line over the eyeball.

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Sinric turns away a little, keeping his hands where they are. He could bear the knowledge of what Hannibal intended to do to the man in New Orleans. But this - this kindness of precision pain, unsettles him.

Already tired and feeling the strain of keeping Niketas calm, Sinric is looking a little pale.

From:

cook_the_rude

After a bit, Hannibal adds drops from another bottle, then places some gauze over the eye.

"Let us take a little breather and give this time to work and, maybe, unclog the tear duct," he suggests.

From:

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Sinric gives Hannibal a grateful nod and waits till Hannibal is done before give Niketas a squeeze and stepping away.

He puts the pot of water on the brazier, adding some of the apple tea mix he brought with him from the bar. His gestures are careful and controlled.

"Thank you, Doctor." Niketas reaches up to touch the gauze but stops himself in time."

From:

cook_the_rude

"Just rest," Hannibal says, soothingly. "This medicine needs time to work."

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Niketas turns his head, tracking the sounds of Sinric's tidy movements . It's clear he doesn't like that Sinric has gone so quiet but doesn't know how to do anything about it.

Instead he focuses on Hannibal again. "Thank you. I'm very grateful for what you're doing for me. It is a debt I can never replay."

From:

cook_the_rude

"Do not feel indebted; I do what I can," Hannibal assures him. "I couldn't not do this; the pull of the challenge is too strong. There is a reason I am a doctor."

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"A seeker of challenge and learning." Niketas nods, smiling softly. "I respect that greatly. No wonder you and Sinric because fast friends. Both journeying for new experience."

Sinric offers Hannibal a beaker of tea, helping Niketas to sit up a bit and sip some tea of his own. "It will help you keep up your strength."

Niketas wraps his hand around Sinric's fingers, holding him as he sips. "Apple? I haven't had this since I left the Empire. How?"

Sinric smiles his soft smile. "Milliways. I will bring you some if you wish? Along with what ever medicines you need."

Niketas'

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal sips his tea, and watches them.

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"You are too good to me." Niketas brushes his fingers over Sinric's wrist. "Better than I deserve."

"Hush and drink your tea. I'm sure there is more Dr. Lecter needs to do and hours of light are precious."

Sinric slips away to make himself some tea and set some fresh water to boil. He's very aware of Hannibal's eyes on him - caught between a man who encouraged his pleasures, however complex or dark, and a man who reminds him of the simplicity of his cage, in service of the pleasure of others.

His cheeks flush, unable to meet Hannibal's eye.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal quietly sips his tea and smiles, calm as a tiger at rest.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric glances to him, studying Hannibal's impassive expression from the corner of his eye. He brings a series of dark and passionate thoughts to mind, focusing on them as if reminding himself he's no-longer that passive pet.

He moves to collect their cups, humming under his breath as he brushes his fingers over Hannibal's, his eyes bright gold as he shares them.

Sinric winged as Lucifer, perched on the chapel altar, tunic ruffled and drawn up to reveal one pale thigh. The shadows suggesting the heat of his sex. Inviting and inciting defilement.

He must have put too much behind it because in the other side of the room, Niketas shifts almost uncomfortably, his breathing quickens a pace.