A fleeting glance
Author's note: Hello readers, Saima here! Just to let you know that this is my first published work so if there are any mistakes please don't hesitate to tell me! Do please leave your thoughts by reviewing! Oh, I'm going to warn you now that I'm the type of person who uses really long sentences, sorry!
This is a short one-shot based on the characters from Hannibal Rising and NBC's Hannibal. None of the characters belong to me.
He saw her out of the corner of his eye and did a double take. It couldn't be her, could it? He needed to be sure; he needed to know that no action was necessary. Calmly stepping sideways, he leant against a marble pillar where he was able to inspect her more effectively from afar, without being noticed. She wore heels and a black pencil skirt with a neat fitted blazer, reminiscent of the 50's period. She stood in front of the painting observing it, her head slightly tilted.
A jolt of recognition hit him. It was her. She was alive and safe. To him, she was still as beautiful as ever but the years were starting to show on her face and her hair, which was up in an elegant French twist, was streaked with silver. Taking a better look, he noticed that her once full cheeks were now hollow, those plump rouge lips he had once kissed were now thin and the lines on her face were now more prominent than ever, revealing her true age. The glow to her skin seemed duller, although it had not yet truly disappeared; there was still a compelling aura surrounding her. Her brows furrowed slightly as she concentrated on the artwork trying to understand it. A sudden memory formed in his thoughts, the same woman, but younger, was gazing at him in a similar way, a look of sort of admiration and fascination yet not fully being able to comprehend him.
Closing his eyes he let out a deep sigh. It was then that he caught a delicate waft of a familiar scent. Her scent. He could taste it once more on his tongue, the incense mingled with special oils masked under a hint of her light, flowery cherry blossom fragrance. He wouldn't - he couldn't hurt her, no matter what risk she brought him with her very being there. No, he never would allow any harm to befall her and if that meant he had to stay away from her to protect them both, that was what he would do. He allowed tears to form in his eyes as a wave of melancholy engulfed him whilst he resisted the temptation to speak to her and longed to be in her embrace once more.
Feeling as though somebody was watching her, the woman stiffened and slowly revolved, scanning the crowded art gallery for her spy. She focused on a figure beside a marble pillar, a few feet away from her; he was a tall, slim middle-aged man in a sophisticated, pale powder-blue suit. He felt somewhat familiar to her, as if they had met somewhere before. Her dark eyes met his. A sudden overwhelming feeling of recognition and love stirred inside her. Her mouth opened slightly in shock and she felt her heart flutter as she trembled at the very thought of him. Had he survived?
She stared at his face fervently, looking for resemblances. He had high, defined cheekbones that could almost cut you, a thin straight nose and full lips that had maybe once lingered on hers and most importantly his gleaming eyes of burnt umber that seemed to pierce into your very soul. Yes, it was him. No one else had eyes like his. Eyes that you could draw you into him as you got lost in their infinite depth or eyes that could make you shiver as they conveyed no emotion whatsoever. It seemed like centuries ago since she had lost him yet she hungrily kept her eyes on him, taking in all his details, trying to remember as much of this man, who had returned from the dead, as she could. It really was her 'Hannibal'. The name escaped her lips but no sound came out.
He knew immediately what she had uttered and at once placed his hand on his heart and bowed deeply before her. Still bent over, he lifted his head up slowly to meet her gaze, no longer teary eyed, and grinned, spreading his lips wide across his face with glinting eyes that now evoked delight and love for her only, as he had done previously in the past, before he had been consumed by the darkness. Stunned, she brought a shaking hand to her mouth, eyes still locked in his, remembering that Cheshire-cat smile that used to brighten up her day. Of all the things he could have done next, he winked at her and murmured the name of the person he had loved, "My Lady Murasaki."
Even over the noise of the people, she still heard him. Just as she was about to reach out to him, the gallery curator called to her from behind, asking her to join his company. She spun around to face him and hastily replied that she would be there in a few minutes.
In that briefest of moments, when she broke eye contact with Hannibal, he slipped away into the shadows of the night, leaving his Lady behind forever more, with nothing but a small ray of hope of his existence.
When she turned back to speak with him, he was no longer there. Frantically, she glanced over the crowds, hoping to see a man in a smart blue suit amongst them. Striding here and there in the gallery she searched to no avail. Her heart felt as if it had been torn again and a dull ache now filled her body. The sliver of doubt that was wedged in the back of her mind was now buried deep as the fleeting glance she had had with a man she believed to be Hannibal Lecter, replayed over and over again in her head. It had been many years since she had shed tears for him but now a lone tear trickled down her face.
Hannibal Lecter had thought he was being kind by allowing Lady Murasaki to see his face and acknowledging her for one last time. How he was wrong! Instead he had tortured her, leaving her to always regret never approaching him earlier or that moment she had turned away from him.
The image of the older smiling Hannibal was imprinted in her mind, never to leave her waking thoughts again, keeping her up all night and filling her with remorse.