It Felt Good
by pirateystripes
Summary: Just how did Hannibal get Miggs to swallow his tongue? Hannibal Rising/Silence of the Lambs crossoverish type of drabble thing. This is my first attempt at a Hannibal fanfic, so be gentle.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hannibal. He'd probably eat me if I did.
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Hannibal Lecter lay on the cot in his dim cell, unblinkingly staring at the ceiling. On the small bedside table to his right lay a drawing of a peaceful lake surrounded by a dense forest, a medieval castle towering in the distance. It was already completed; all of the shading done with the felt-tipped pen he was allowed to use, despite the fact that he would have preferred a pencil, or even a piece of charcoal. Dr. Chilton didn't trust him with pencils; it would have been rather nasty if he had buried the lead tip into one of his beady eyes.
He blinked slowly when he heard the cell next door being opened, followed by the calm, low voice of Barney. "Ok, Miggs, back into your cell you go. And don't try anything funny tonight."
Miggs laughed crazily, flopping down hard onto the cot that was in the corner of his cell. He continued to chuckle, the mattress springs squeaking with every movement he made. "I got her, I got her good. Right in the face… Cunt, cunt, cunt.." More shrieking laughter.
"I'm serious Miggs. I'll get the jacket and restraints," said Barney, still quite calm. He slammed the metal gate shut with a clang and locked it, checking it twice just to be on the safe side. "I don't want to hear anything else from you this evening, you hear me?"
At the imminent threat of the straight jacket, Miggs's continuing tirade died in his throat, and his body shrunk slightly into a fetal position, "O-ok, Barney. I'll be quiet. Don't get the jacket, please. I don't like that."
"Alright then, goodnight." A jingle of keys, and then all that could be heard was the sound of Barney's footsteps shuffling softly along the corridor. The lights flickered once and then shut off completely. Another gate slammed, a buzzer, and then total silence.
Hannibal rolled onto his side, now facing the wall separating him from the cell that Miggs currently occupied. He closed his eyes then, remembering the humiliation and desperation that had crossed Agent Starling's face when he had called out to her, after Miggs had done the most offensive thing he possibly could have.
"I bit my wrist so I can dieeeeee.. See how it bleeds?" Miggs's heavy breathing, followed by gurgling laughter, almost infantile with excitement. Clarice's mud-colored hair, now slightly dampened, her face pale and drawn, her blue eyes wide with shock. His own metallic voice sounding foreign to him as he rasped out after her, "Officer Starling! Officer Starling!" She had come back to him, when she probably should have just flown away. Like a little starling. Fly, fly, fly. Fly, fly, fly.
"I can smell your cunt," Miggs had hissed.
All he could smell was her skin cream, and the flowery scent of shampoo, which was no doubt just as cheap as her shoes. But not her cunt. Cunt, what a coarse word that was. Cunt, pussy…
Hannibal's eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids, continuing to watch and hear and smell the events he had stored carefully in his memory palace.
Miggs hissing, "I can smell your cunt!" … The slovenly butcher, Paul Momund, yelling, "Hey, Japonnaise, tell me, is it true that your pussy runs crossways? With a little puff of straight hair like an explosion?" Lady Murasaki in the crowd, eyes cast downward, trying to ignore the foul comment. Clarice's gasps of surprise and disgust when Miggs flicked his come at her. The satisfying feel of his knife sliding through the flesh and bone of Paul Momund's squat neck. Oh, and the blood, so much warm, thick blood. It felt good. Very good. It could still feel good…
Hannibal's eyes snapped open in the darkness. He listened carefully, and could hear the labored breathing of Miggs next door. Filthy, discourteous Miggs.
Sitting up, he gracefully lowered his feet to the floor and stood up. Even in the pitch black he knew where he was going, having been caged in his cell for far too long. He stopped directly in front of the plastic barrier. "Miggs. Oh, Miggs," he sang softly. "Can you hear me, Miggs?"
He listened intently. There was a rustling noise, and an inmate further down the corridor coughing. But, no reply from Miggs. My my, how un-neighborly.
Hannibal inhaled slowly, and exhaled sharply, feeling a little irritable. "Miiiiiiiggs. Miiiiiiiggs."
Another rustle, followed by a soft groan. "D-Doctor Lecter? S'at you?"
"Shh. Keep your voice low, Miggs," said Hannibal.
"Barney said I had to be quiet, or else he'd get the jacket," Miggs whispered. "I don't like the jacket, Doctor Lecter."
"Neither do I," Hannibal conceded. "But perhaps if we are very very quiet, Barney will not hear us, and he will not bring the jacket."
Miggs started to laugh, but then covered his mouth, smothering the sound. "Okay, Doctor. Shh, shhhhh…"
"Very good," replied Hannibal. "Tell me, Miggs. What did you find so amusing before, when Barney returned you to your cell, hmm?"
"Oh, I got her good, Doctor Lecter. Real good. Right in the face."
"Who did you get 'right in the face'?"
"The lady, the one who came here today," Miggs said excitedly, trying to suppress another fit of giggles with his hands.
"Ah, I see. Agent Starling. Did you want to fuck her, Miggs?"
More giggles. "Yeah, yeahyeahyeah. Fuck her, fuckerfucker. You too, I bet. Right?"
"Did I want to fuck her, you ask? Now Miggs, it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to answer that question, would it? In fact, it would be rude to speak of Agent Starling in such a vulgar way. I hardly know her very well. Yet." He paused for a moment. "I doubt she'll again grace us with a visit after what you did today." Another pause. "Unless.."
"What?"
"Unless you apologize to her, for your behavior."
"Nope."
"No? Why ever not?"
"Cuz I'm not sorry."
"But you should be sorry. You should be very sorry, Miggs. What you did was very wrong and offensive."
"I'm not saying sorry to that stupid cunt. Cuntcuntcunt." More laughter.
"Well, if you won't apologize to her, then maybe I can get you to apologize to me."
"To you, Doctor Lecter? For what?"
"For frightening away the only guest I've entertained in quite a long while, Miggs."
"Oh, okay. I'm sorry, then."
"I'm afraid that's simply not good enough. Not good enough by a long shot," said Hannibal. "Can I tell you a bedtime story, Miggs? I promise you'll like it a lot."
"You're not mad at me, are you?"
"No, no, of course not." A smile.
"Okay then, I like stories."
"Very well." Hannibal began to speak very slowly. "Once there was a fat butcher named Paul, who also, like yourself, was rude to one of my friends. He made a rather lewd inquiry about her 'pussy', similar to the comment you made about Agent Starling's 'cunt'."
"I like this story, Doctor Lecter," Miggs interrupted, his breathing coming harder. They didn't call him Multiple Miggs for nothing. "Tell me about your friend's pussy."
"No, and if you interrupt me further I shall not tell you the rest of the story. Do you understand?"
"Okay. I'm listening. I'll be good."
"And on we go. As I was saying, Paul the Butcher was rude to my dear friend, so I had to teach him a lesson in civility," explained Hannibal. "I discovered Paul fishing one afternoon, and waited patiently for him to come back to shore. When he did, I told him that my friend was owed an apology for his behavior. He too would not apologize for his ignorance, just as you will not apologize to Agent Starling. So, I sliced him up with a sword and then neatly chopped off his head."
Miggs had gone silent in his cell, but Hannibal could still hear him breathing.
"There was so much blood, Miggs. The grass was stained red with it. And he squealed like a pig when my blade cut through his thick hide. That was the best part. Have you ever heard a pig cry out when it gets injured? It almost sounds like a-"
"Please Doctor Lecter, I don't like this story anymore," Miggs said pleadingly. "Tell me something nicer, please."
"Oh dear, I have already warned you about interrupting me, Miggs," said Hannibal. "Now I shall have to punish you. Perhaps I should slice you up like Paul. Hmm? It's almost Sunday, you know. They always serve ham on Sunday… I haven't had broiled ham in ages…"
"Oh please no, Doctor," whimpered Miggs.
"It's going to hurt, real bad, and you're going to bleed, and bleed, and bleed.. Unless, I can't get to you in time. If you were to say, oh I don't know, perhaps, swallow your tongue… then I couldn't do these terrible things to you, now could I? Miggs?"
Miggs was weeping now, low and pitifully. "No, no, Doctor. I don't want to be red. Please.. no.."
"Then do it, Miggs. Swallow your tongue. Bite down hard, and then swallow that uncouth tongue of yours. Do it. Now, Miggs. Now. Or else I'm going to get you, and have myself a Sunday ham. It will only hurt for a moment, far less than what I have in store for you," said Hannibal. "Why, Miggs rhymes with Pig. How convenient."
"No.. please…!"
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Hannibal stood whispering to Miggs until the early hours of the morning, until his back went stiff and throat was raw from his ceaseless urgings.
Finally, he heard the horrible gurgling he had been waiting for, followed by the wet trickle of something hitting the concrete floor. Miggs was moaning with pain, choking and gagging, and trying to clear something from his throat. There was another gush of something wet, and a ragged gasp for air. Then once again, silence reigned.
Hannibal lay down on his cot and closed his eyes. He fell asleep almost immediately, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He slept peacefully, until the screams awoke him early that morning.
He knew that Doctor Chilton was going to find some way to pin Miggs's death on him, to punish and humiliate him, but he didn't care.
It felt too good to care.
End