Last joy of the lifetime.
(fanfic 'bout H&C)
in several chapters (10 planning).
Summary: Post "Hannibal": after 14 years Hannibal decides to commit a suicide, but his old friend forses him to go to Nice. Who is he going to find there? R&R.
Disclaimer's Note: As You have probably understood, I do not own anything that belongs to Mr. Thomas Harris. However I DO own some main characters, like Angie, Felix, Ruben and the Cat. I am not making profit of using Hannibal and Clarice characters, I've borrowed them just for Your fun.
Author's Note: Well, what can I say? I know, my interpretation of Clarice is quite unusual, but I hope you like it. The story first seemed to consist only of 4 chapters, but the more I work, the more the characters seem to find adventures, sometimes even on the wrong side of justice. So I guess there will be approx. 10 chapters. Again I'm not making profit of quotating – some songs, writers, books are mentioned here, but I will try to avoid this as much as possible. Please, read and review – I appreciate your attention. And – try to get more fun out of life /grin/.
Chapter I. The Shelter of Marginals.
"How 'bout going to Nice?" asked Dr. S., 'the-man-having-his-own-opinion- about-everything'. "It's a great place. Have you ever been to Nice?"
"Yes."
"Then you certainly know 'bout "The Shelter". Everyone, who's been to Nice knows this place."
Though Dr. S. was one of his best friends here, in Peru, sometimes he was quite annoying. Especially those days when he has a date with a new student body – mostly those girls were less than 22, blondes, blue eyes... Barby dolls. Those Dr. S. feels 'happy' and tries to make everyone around happy too – in an odd way. Now Doctor's trying to give him the ticket to Nice.
"No, I haven't heard about the shelter, my dear friend. I am sure there is a shelter for dogs, because nowadays these little creatures lose their owners more often..."
"Hey, I've never seen a man who doesn't know about "The Shelter". This is not what you think, old buddy. This is a coffee-shop."
"There are lots of coffee-shops in Nice. And Sally, I appreciate you not calling me 'buddy'. You know I don't like that."
"O'K, I didn't mean to insult you," Dr. S. grinned. Sometimes Hadrian was unbearable. Dr. S. was sure his friend had lost a taste of life and that really hurt him. Hadrian seemed to fade, the spring seemed to come and there was something wrong about that. "But I'm sure you have to visit it. "The Shelter" is the place for gourmets like you. The cook there is worth of every praise visitors leave in the guest book... And the owner is a well- read, broad-minded and very beautiful person."
"So the owner is a woman."
"Yes! A remarkable woman I must tell you! She's the most interesting person I've ever met – except you, of course. And a perfect hostess."
"Hmm, knowing you I would say this place is rather a public house than a coffee-shop."
Dr. S. laughed until he understood that maroon eyes became almost black of anger. 'The awakening of a maniac' – that's how he called such his firend's look. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Hadrian. I know you don't like women. But this woman is a great one." Doctor saw Hadrian looking at his watch. "Are you in a hurry?"
"Yes, I've promised to pick up some books in the shop at two."
"Thank you for a company! See you again tomorrow!"
"Good-bye, Sally."
Dr. S. watched Hadrian going away. When that man came here, he was full of life and energy. Now he is saying "Hallo" to the Death. And Dr. S. couldn't deny the thought – Hadrian IS willing to die.
Hannibal was walking down the street, not noticing the birds, singing, the trees greening, the flowers spreading most wonderful fragrances – nature's rebirth, which happens every spring. Not for him anymore. Maybe even the very next day is not for him.
It suddenly occurred to him that he's lost the taste of life. Nothing interested him – drinks, food, books, people – all this was a dust in the sand-glass. He hadn't lived, he only existed since that time. The time at the Chesapeake.
"Would you ever say to me, stop if you loved me you'd stop?" – the slight echo of the memory. "Stop if you love me!" she answered. His little Clarice Starling. She tried to kill him some minutes before those words. How could he know she would choose not to be with him? Everything seemed perfect that time. They escaped, leaving Krendler on his own, they went to a house he had rented for that occasion, they were making love. Even now he couldn't forget her beautiful blue eyes, slightly covered by a cornflower haze of lust, her soft lips, her quiet voice whispering his name again and again, her silken skin, her body exposed to his, the taste of her tears on his tongue... They lay on a silken sheet, planing their future life, then she got asleep and he, wishing to accomplish his dream to wake up with a woman he loved beside him, also fell asleep.
And when he woke up, she was gone.
It's only morning, he thought. I could still find her. But then he looked at his wrist-watch... and couldn't believe his eyes. He had been sleeping for almost 18 hours. After a closer examination he found the thing he was searching for. Clever girl, she injected him morphine before leaving. He went to the kitchen to make a so-called breakfast – and found the plain white envelope on a kitchen table. She wrote him a letter. It was his prerogative to write her, so he thought one more time about how much they are alike.
"Dear Hannibal!
I'm leaving with only one hope – you will not appear in my life again and I'll try to do the same. Last night I understood that I belong to you too much. Too much of what I can afford. I'm running in order to save you – and me. There cannot be 'us' in this world. I cannot be yours.
Last night when you were sleeping I was thinking about us. About you and your instincts of predator. Of your willing to hunt. Of your abilities to conquer. And I ask myself – how long will you love me? What does 'forever' mean to you anyway? I really don't think it means much.
We're one, but we're not the same, Hannibal. I don't know what intends to come after your lust is gone. You'll get bored of me. And if you don't – I'll embarrase you. I have too many habits I can't give up. Because then it's not me. You love classical music – I love rock and alternative. I am used to waking up early in the morning and singing in a shower. I am used to sitting in front of TV with Jack Daniels and watching dirty comedies. I am not used to changing my clothes before every meal. But most of all – I am running to chase, not to escape. I need action. That's just a part of my nature. And I know you want a different life. If you remembered a story with two fish you would know exactly what I mean. I can change, but then I won't be myself – the woman that you love and the woman that loves you.
Always yours,
C."
He knew she was right. But the pain couldn't diappear because of that. Two months he spent on reading the mass-media gossips. He got to know FBI threw her away with nothing. But she didn't call him. Then came the night he suddenly realised there is no more connection between them. And he did the only right thing he could. Some of his money were transferred to her account and then he disappeared with no willing to hear anything about her. It was his girl's choice.
It was late in the evening, some would say it was already a night when he took his Harpy. He kne what to do – lying in a hot bath for two hours, drinking wine... It was so easy to die like that – watching his own blood flowing away through his veins, mixing with red wine and water, feeling at the same time weak and light, learning to fly...
The phone rang. After usual five calls the messenger worked: "Hallo, you've reached Hadrian Mofet, unfortunately I speak only with those who alert me about them calling. Please, leave the message and I'll call you back." Then at the other end of the line the familiar voice said: "Hi, you've made an order of a table at "The Shelter of Marginals" for the whole day next Tuesday. I'm calling to verify if that's O'K. Please call me back..."
He knew that voice. He knew that voice better of all in the world.
He was going to Nice.
(fanfic 'bout H&C)
in several chapters (10 planning).
Summary: Post "Hannibal": after 14 years Hannibal decides to commit a suicide, but his old friend forses him to go to Nice. Who is he going to find there? R&R.
Disclaimer's Note: As You have probably understood, I do not own anything that belongs to Mr. Thomas Harris. However I DO own some main characters, like Angie, Felix, Ruben and the Cat. I am not making profit of using Hannibal and Clarice characters, I've borrowed them just for Your fun.
Author's Note: Well, what can I say? I know, my interpretation of Clarice is quite unusual, but I hope you like it. The story first seemed to consist only of 4 chapters, but the more I work, the more the characters seem to find adventures, sometimes even on the wrong side of justice. So I guess there will be approx. 10 chapters. Again I'm not making profit of quotating – some songs, writers, books are mentioned here, but I will try to avoid this as much as possible. Please, read and review – I appreciate your attention. And – try to get more fun out of life /grin/.
Chapter I. The Shelter of Marginals.
"How 'bout going to Nice?" asked Dr. S., 'the-man-having-his-own-opinion- about-everything'. "It's a great place. Have you ever been to Nice?"
"Yes."
"Then you certainly know 'bout "The Shelter". Everyone, who's been to Nice knows this place."
Though Dr. S. was one of his best friends here, in Peru, sometimes he was quite annoying. Especially those days when he has a date with a new student body – mostly those girls were less than 22, blondes, blue eyes... Barby dolls. Those Dr. S. feels 'happy' and tries to make everyone around happy too – in an odd way. Now Doctor's trying to give him the ticket to Nice.
"No, I haven't heard about the shelter, my dear friend. I am sure there is a shelter for dogs, because nowadays these little creatures lose their owners more often..."
"Hey, I've never seen a man who doesn't know about "The Shelter". This is not what you think, old buddy. This is a coffee-shop."
"There are lots of coffee-shops in Nice. And Sally, I appreciate you not calling me 'buddy'. You know I don't like that."
"O'K, I didn't mean to insult you," Dr. S. grinned. Sometimes Hadrian was unbearable. Dr. S. was sure his friend had lost a taste of life and that really hurt him. Hadrian seemed to fade, the spring seemed to come and there was something wrong about that. "But I'm sure you have to visit it. "The Shelter" is the place for gourmets like you. The cook there is worth of every praise visitors leave in the guest book... And the owner is a well- read, broad-minded and very beautiful person."
"So the owner is a woman."
"Yes! A remarkable woman I must tell you! She's the most interesting person I've ever met – except you, of course. And a perfect hostess."
"Hmm, knowing you I would say this place is rather a public house than a coffee-shop."
Dr. S. laughed until he understood that maroon eyes became almost black of anger. 'The awakening of a maniac' – that's how he called such his firend's look. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Hadrian. I know you don't like women. But this woman is a great one." Doctor saw Hadrian looking at his watch. "Are you in a hurry?"
"Yes, I've promised to pick up some books in the shop at two."
"Thank you for a company! See you again tomorrow!"
"Good-bye, Sally."
Dr. S. watched Hadrian going away. When that man came here, he was full of life and energy. Now he is saying "Hallo" to the Death. And Dr. S. couldn't deny the thought – Hadrian IS willing to die.
Hannibal was walking down the street, not noticing the birds, singing, the trees greening, the flowers spreading most wonderful fragrances – nature's rebirth, which happens every spring. Not for him anymore. Maybe even the very next day is not for him.
It suddenly occurred to him that he's lost the taste of life. Nothing interested him – drinks, food, books, people – all this was a dust in the sand-glass. He hadn't lived, he only existed since that time. The time at the Chesapeake.
"Would you ever say to me, stop if you loved me you'd stop?" – the slight echo of the memory. "Stop if you love me!" she answered. His little Clarice Starling. She tried to kill him some minutes before those words. How could he know she would choose not to be with him? Everything seemed perfect that time. They escaped, leaving Krendler on his own, they went to a house he had rented for that occasion, they were making love. Even now he couldn't forget her beautiful blue eyes, slightly covered by a cornflower haze of lust, her soft lips, her quiet voice whispering his name again and again, her silken skin, her body exposed to his, the taste of her tears on his tongue... They lay on a silken sheet, planing their future life, then she got asleep and he, wishing to accomplish his dream to wake up with a woman he loved beside him, also fell asleep.
And when he woke up, she was gone.
It's only morning, he thought. I could still find her. But then he looked at his wrist-watch... and couldn't believe his eyes. He had been sleeping for almost 18 hours. After a closer examination he found the thing he was searching for. Clever girl, she injected him morphine before leaving. He went to the kitchen to make a so-called breakfast – and found the plain white envelope on a kitchen table. She wrote him a letter. It was his prerogative to write her, so he thought one more time about how much they are alike.
"Dear Hannibal!
I'm leaving with only one hope – you will not appear in my life again and I'll try to do the same. Last night I understood that I belong to you too much. Too much of what I can afford. I'm running in order to save you – and me. There cannot be 'us' in this world. I cannot be yours.
Last night when you were sleeping I was thinking about us. About you and your instincts of predator. Of your willing to hunt. Of your abilities to conquer. And I ask myself – how long will you love me? What does 'forever' mean to you anyway? I really don't think it means much.
We're one, but we're not the same, Hannibal. I don't know what intends to come after your lust is gone. You'll get bored of me. And if you don't – I'll embarrase you. I have too many habits I can't give up. Because then it's not me. You love classical music – I love rock and alternative. I am used to waking up early in the morning and singing in a shower. I am used to sitting in front of TV with Jack Daniels and watching dirty comedies. I am not used to changing my clothes before every meal. But most of all – I am running to chase, not to escape. I need action. That's just a part of my nature. And I know you want a different life. If you remembered a story with two fish you would know exactly what I mean. I can change, but then I won't be myself – the woman that you love and the woman that loves you.
Always yours,
C."
He knew she was right. But the pain couldn't diappear because of that. Two months he spent on reading the mass-media gossips. He got to know FBI threw her away with nothing. But she didn't call him. Then came the night he suddenly realised there is no more connection between them. And he did the only right thing he could. Some of his money were transferred to her account and then he disappeared with no willing to hear anything about her. It was his girl's choice.
It was late in the evening, some would say it was already a night when he took his Harpy. He kne what to do – lying in a hot bath for two hours, drinking wine... It was so easy to die like that – watching his own blood flowing away through his veins, mixing with red wine and water, feeling at the same time weak and light, learning to fly...
The phone rang. After usual five calls the messenger worked: "Hallo, you've reached Hadrian Mofet, unfortunately I speak only with those who alert me about them calling. Please, leave the message and I'll call you back." Then at the other end of the line the familiar voice said: "Hi, you've made an order of a table at "The Shelter of Marginals" for the whole day next Tuesday. I'm calling to verify if that's O'K. Please call me back..."
He knew that voice. He knew that voice better of all in the world.
He was going to Nice.