Max opened the door eagerly- perhaps a bit too eagerly, Lecter thought with an internal smirk as his red eyes met the boy's blue ones and Max blushed. A dog barked excitedly around Max's legs, a big dog with brown fur and a pug face.
"Dr. Lecter!" the boy exclaimed, and he smiled briefly, his smile small, pink against his pale face. Briefly and a little painfully Lecter noted. How very interesting, when happiness caused a person pain. It really was the most intriguing kind of pain.
At the boy's gestured invitation, Lecter slid gracefully through the specifically less-than-dog-sized crack in the door and into the apartment. The rooms were sparsely furnished, the furniture as well as the clothing draped over it tattered and threadbare thrift store items. A second dog peered nervously at Max's guest from the linoleum corner that served as a kitchen.
"That's Rory," Max said when he saw that Lecter was watching the trembling dog with interest. "This is Buster. Frances is probably under my bed somewhere." Max smiled, for a moment a child again, trying to please.
"I'd like very much to meet Frances," Lecter said, and Max nodded and went into what appeared to be his bedroom to look. Lecter moved into the sitting room space and then into the kitchen, Buster following with a lolling tongue and a wagging tail. Rory, a darker shade of brown than her fellow, sat nervously still as Lecter approached. When he scratched her behind the ears, she whined happily and relaxed.
Lecter settled himself comfortably on one of two stools that sat next to the island counter Max clearly used as a dining table. That day's lunch- a ham and cheese sandwich- sat partially eaten on a paper towel on the countertop. Lecter fed the dogs bits of cheese as he waited.
After a minute or two, Max emerged from his bedroom, his brown hair ruffled and his arms scratched from his struggle. Clutched to his thin chest he held a disgruntled cat. The cat was a soft gray and it squirmed as Max carried it across the apartment.
"Dr. Lecter, this is Frances. Frances, meet Dr. Lecter." Max set the cat on the counter, but before either Lecter or the boy could react, the cat sprang from the surface and dashed under a chair. Lecter blinked, unperturbed, but Max frowned. "I'm really sorry, Doctor. He doesn't much like guests. Actually, he doesn't much like anyone, as you can see." Max smiled ruefully and offered his fresh scratches in penance. Lecter met the boy's smile with one of his own, accepting the offering.
Normally, Lecter would have probed, would have asked- Does it hurt, Maxie? To be rejected even by the animals? When dear Frances jumps out of your arms, does it remind you of the day your father kicked you out and called you a fag?
But today Max was allowed a reprieve. "You feed him, don't you?" Lecter asked, and Max nodded. "Well, that's as close as a cat gets to friendship anyway." Max's smile and accompanying flash of pain were all the reward Lecter needed.
Without a word, Lecter reached into his pocket for the reason he'd come. He set the pill on the counter- an innocuous little thing, seeming as though it was unaware of its own purpose- and he drew his hand away slowly enough to give it meaning but not so slowly as to make it dramatic. Max stared at the pill blankly, as if he did not know what it was for. For a full five minutes they sat, the only sound the skittering of the dog's claws as they begged for attention.
It was with an odd determination that Max finally looked up at Dr. Lecter.
"I'm not sure I can do this," he said.
"Then don't take the pill," the doctor replied. But they both knew he would.
Max made one fluid motion out of it, as if afraid that, if he stopped, he would not start again. Lift, drop, swallow. And then relax. Relax and smile. Smile without pain. And Lecter smiled back.
"You'll feel sleepy in a moment, Maxie. Do you want to go lie down?" Max nodded, his eyes beginning to unfocus. Lecter helped him to the couch and laid him out with a blanket over him. The dogs, somehow sensing what was going on, sat quietly by Max's head. Rory licked Max's nose affectionately and Max giggled, fighting to keep his eyes open.
"Would you like me to take care of Frances and the dogs, Maxie, when you're gone?" Lecter asked gently. Max nodded.
"Give them to someone nice," he mumbled, almost incoherent. Suddenly he gasped and smiled. "I always- always knew God looked like my daddy," he said, his eyes far away.
And he was gone.
Lecter buried Max far away from the city, out in the woods where an old oak wrapped its roots around the grave like an embrace. Frances, Rory, and Buster went to a patient who had spent seven fruitless months trying to decide whether to get a cat or a dog. Lecter told her they were a gift and was rewarded with three months of offered and retracted thank-you gifts.
Lecter dug Max's next-of-kin information out of his patient files and went himself to tell Max's father that his son was in the arms of God. It was worth the trip to watch a grown man cry.