[He touches her and she flinches. Flinches hard, even though last time he did he was trying to save her. It doesn't matter, intent doesn't matter: last time he touched her she died. Every time he touches her she gets closer and closer to death.]

[That and it's uncomfortable, him touching that absence of space, that abnormality. One of those reasons she wouldn't have wanted to go outside even if it had been safe to: she does not look like an ordinary girl anymore. She looks like someone who has experienced trauma. Who's fought and lost. She doesn't want people to see that, no.]

[She fights to get away, just for a moment, then stops. This isn't right. He hurt Hannibal, but he's here, he's here and it's--good. Probably.]

[She stops struggling.]

He didn't hurt me. [Well, he did--but that wasn't until later.] He just kept me safe. He kept me away. From people. He was going to help us--he was going to save us both.

I'm sorry, I had to die. It had to seem--like I died. Or else no one would believe, and they'd find me. That's what he said.

[She had to do what he said.]