"You can leave, Alana. Leave, and be blind. Pretend that none of this happened, that you did not see what you thought you saw, and be blind, Alana."
She couldn't shoot him. The gun was heavy in her hand, and the barely audible hitch in Hannibal's voice gave her the confidence to lower her weapon. She quickly made the calculations in her mind. He would not attack her here, not now. He was giving her the option of running away; she was not part of his plan. Her mind was made up before she even realized she was making a decision.
"I would be starting over by myself. I'm not sure I can do that," she whispered, quietly and shyly, hoping that Hannibal would hear the innocence in her voice.
He gestured the broken glass on the floor and the blood stains on his shirt. "Alana, this is messy. It would be for the best if you leave now."
For once, he didn't see what she saw. She was one step ahead of him. She had quickly made peace with the fact that Hannibal might not agree with her decision, that she may not walk out of this house. But Alana didn't seem to care.
She stood a little straighter and spoke a little louder. "I'm not leaving, Hannibal. Before you do anything, I believe you would like to hear what I have to say. Please." She was afraid of sounding needy, sounding like she was begging, though that's exactly what she was doing.
He had raised a hand in protest, but at her request, lowered it, and nodded his assent to listen.
She cleared her throat, and stepped closer. She took notice of the micro-expression on his face and the definite tensing of his body, so she moved slower, but still moved nonetheless until she was two feet from him.
"I am not leaving, Hannibal. You cannot run me off. I know what you are, who you are, and I am not likely to forget it," she enunciated every word carefully, but quietly, hoping, praying that Hannibal did not take her statement the wrong way. "Hannibal, I've been blind before. You were the one that blinded me. I'm done with that. I see you now."
She let the words settle on the air between them, felt the weight of what she was saying. She had not broken eye contact with him yet, but she noticed that he didn't seem to be breathing. His hands clenched around the knives he held, causing Alana to hesitate before she finally completed her statement.
"Hannibal, I am not leaving, unless I leave with you."
Hannibal released the air that he had been holding hostage, and blinked. Alana, aware that he no longer sensed a threat, also relaxed.
"You could have killed me a long time ago, Hannibal. It would have been easy for you to do it while I was sleeping. But you didn't. You gave me an option to leave, one that I'm sure was not offered to Jack," she whispered, nodding towards the pantry door. "I don't know if you care about me. The sensible part of me says that you're not even capable of such a thing, and truth be told, I'm not sure I care to know. But what I do know is that I cannot stay here, and if I have to leave, I want to leave with you."
Hannibal stood, calculating, considering, not saying a word. Finally, he put the knives that he had been gripping tightly back on the counter, and reached for her hand.
"You're sure?" He didn't ask anymore than that. He didn't have to. He was more than aware of how intelligent Alana was, and he knew that she would not have suggested it if she didn't mean it. Alana had thought through all of the possible scenarios, knew the dangers, and was still willing. In response to his question, she just nodded.
He dropped her hand, picked the knives back up, and took a step back, preparing to finish the job that she had interrupted earlier. "Alana, you need to leave."
She saw the shift in his eyes, the slight darkening, and she knew what had to be done. Jack would know about the two of them, about the plan to run away. She considered for a moment staying, but she knew she was not ready for that. She left wordlessly.
A short time later when Hannibal rejoined Alana in the connecting room, he reached out and held her. She smelled the blood, the sweat, but underneath that was the definite scent of Hannibal. He cradled her head, and stroked her long dark hair mindlessly while they stood in silence. His arms, though not particularly bulky, had enough strength to make her feel safe, but it was not lost on her the harm they had surely brought moments ago.
"You're the Ripper. You killed all those people."
She was not accusatory. It was a simple statement of fact, one that Hannibal didn't respond to.
"It will never get easier, will it?" she murmured.
"No. But you can come to make peace with it. You can substitute your ideas of good and evil with something else. Find a new way of thinking. Watch the shattered teacup come back together again." She noticed the last part was quiet, almost to himself. Before she could say anything else, he turned up the collar on her jacket, kissed her on the forehead, and turned to leave. "We need to hurry," he said over his shoulder.
"Hannibal, did he suffer? Jack?" She hesitated even asking the question, but she needed to know.
A moment passed. "No. They never do."
"It's inconsiderate. Rude." A statement, not a question. He only nodded in agreement.
"And we eat the rude, do we not?"
He was still for a long time, silence filled the gap between them.
"That we do, Alana. That we do."