TITLE: One Night In The Asylum
AUTHOR: Lady Sirius
PAIRING: n/a
RATING: NC17
FEEDBACK:
DISCLAIMER: Of course all rights to Hannibal Lecter & co belong to Thomas Harris, I am just playing with the good doctor for a little bit.
It had not been difficult to persuade Miggs to commit suicide, even though the method of his death was both unusual and difficult to achieve. But Hannibal Lecter had a silver tongue, and he had a way with words that transcended the ability of most people to withstand - albeit his jailers seemed to think that they were immune from his capacity for slick speech. But even they kept a biting mask upon him when they drew too near. They understood, whether they were willing to admit to it or not. Although Dr. Chilton did not understand nearly well enough. But he would pay the price for that misunderstanding.
Hannibal's motivation had been most simple - Miggs had disrespected Clarice. And more than anything in this world, Hannibal Lecter could not abide disrespectfulness. Rudeness. It was simply unendurable, and he would not tolerate it, not when he could do something to change it. Which he did.
As the last strangling gasps of Miggs' final breaths faded from his hearing, Hannibal smiled to himself, a very self-satisfied and smug smile, tightlipped as ever, but greatly pleased. He closed his eyes to allow his olfactory senses a chance to take in and enjoy the smell of death which wafted from Migg's cell even now. And he stored the experience in his Memory Palace, as the night continued to wind down around him.
He became aware by slow degrees of a subtle change in the atmosphere, and not merely because of the posthumous odours which were being emitted by the late Mr. Miggs. No, this was a much more pleasant aroma - a wafting of soft oriental breezes, of mystery, of respect - and of desire. Slowly Hannibal opened his maroon eyes, because as greatly as he wished to savor the scent, he longed to possess the visual. A soft silhouette, a grey gradient in the darkness of the hallway - no longer illuminated, it had been returned to dark after Clarice's rushed departure - the quiescent blackness of the night, which held no sway over Hannibal Lecter for he needed very little sleep. Lithe and graceful - how could he forget? He could never forget, no matter how many years had intervened in between. Gone, but never forgotten.
Lady Murasaki.
She did not seem surprised to find him here. In this condition. The man, no longer the boy. She blinked up at him with those almond eyes, enigmatically dark, regarding him for a few moments without speaking. He did not disturb the silence, waited for her to speak. The polite thing to do.
"This is not what I would wish for you, Hannibal..."
How familiar the lilting voice, echoes of a lost youth embedded in the vibrations of the past. But no, if he were to be strictly truthful, that youth had been lost long before, with Mischa. The boy had ceased to exist when his sister was taken from him and... He pushed that thought away, he invariably stopped at the point at which she screamed his name. "'Anniba! 'Anniba!" There was no need to pursue the pain. He returned instead to the present.
"Perhaps if I had stayed..." the voice continued, almost disembodied, disconnected. Hannibal knew that feeling well.
"You could not have known," he replied graciously, ever the soul of discretion.
"Perhaps I should have," the voice filled with self-abnegation, "I knew you very well, what you were capable of. I should have stayed, perhaps this would not be, Hannibal..." Although there was nothing she could have done to prevented it, truth be told.
"This is but a moment in time," he demurred, "nothing more, nothing less, my dear Lady Murasaki, and as such is endurable. Nothing lasts forever, as well you know."
"I know..." A soft sigh, a susurration wafting on the air. He closed his eyes, inhaling her anew, drinking deep of the fragrance of her being. "Will there be an end to this, Hannibal?"
He was not sure if she referred to his incarceration, which he considered to be a temporary inconvenience, or to the way in which he chose to live his life when not a guest of the government. He decided to ignore both questions.
"That girl...she is not like the others..." A simple statement.
Starling? That he already knew, but he gently nodded his head in acquiescence, not speaking, feeling there was more that she wished to say. And there was.
"She has mysteries of her own... secrets which only you may unravel..."
Hannibal made no response to this. None was called for. Obviously.
"I did love you, you know..." Regret lingered in her voice, promises unfulfilled. Hopes strangled at birth. But history once surrendered cannot be resuscitated to the new life. That always ended badly.
"I know..." His acknowledgement of her words, his own feelings buried deep inside. But she understood.
"You were meant for better things, Hannibal," she said at last, following what seemed like a long silence, but was actually only minutes. "Please take care of yourself..."
"I always do..." His smile was self-satisfied, but it did not reach his eyes, wide open and staring into the gloom. Large and maroon and inscrutable.
Footsteps echoed down the otherwise silent corridor. Keys jingled. A deep voice could be heard, muttering to itself, as if discoursing on something the outside world was not privy to, the tenor of which suddenly changed, as oaths littered the air. "Miggs, what the fuck?" A light suddenly thrown, illuminating the hall suddenly, flooding it with unwelcome brightness. But no one else was there.
And as the hullaballoo began, Hannibal Lecter closed his eyes, distancing himself from it all, and retreated to his Memory Palace to add another entry.