Author's note:
Normally, Hannibal would have moved to Baltimore in 1970. This begins in 1969, thus stopping Hannibal from going there in 1970, and being caught by Will Graham.
It was a very nice day, warm with a slight breeze, and summer was almost here. Mid-May, and even in New York it wasn't sweltering. Most children were out playing, school had been out for a few hours today and it was nearly dinner time for most families. Except for the Donovan family. Lucas, a young boy of 10, had finally snapped. He had watched his father beat his mother, and he couldn't take it any longer.
A knife from the kitchen was his weapon, but his father heard him coming, and Lucas only managed to just barely stab him under his knee. He was unable to run after his son, but he caught him before he could even pull the knife out, and the two fought until Lucas was able to squirm away. His mother called for him to run, and so he did, blood running out of his nose and mouth, tears in his eyes, he ran.
He finally settled by a dumpster, hoping to allow his injuries to stop throbbing before he returned home. His nose was broken, and it was not the first one. Knuckles were ripped apart from the force with which he had struck his father, and one of his baby molars, not quite ready to fall out, sat in his palm.
It hurt to cry, it did nothing but stuff up his nose, but he found it hard to calm down, worrying about his mother and feeling quite a bit of pain from his injuries. He curled up tighter, trying to touch his nose, his fingers tender.
Hannibal Lecter had just finished a lecture at the community college in Manhattan, exhausted by the constant incoherent chatter among the students in the auditorium, and far beyond irritated with the people of the city. The smell of garbage, pollution and cheap cologne filled the air, coupled with various pitches of car horns and the muffled echos of shouting. As he walked along the street side, his footsteps barely made a sound, and the tails of his coat trailed behind him, kicking the unpleasant scents in the air up at him. He stopped mid-step about ten feet from an alleyway when he caught the smell of fresh blood in the air. His left hand remained in his pocket, but his right found its way to the harpy he kept in his jacket sleeve. Hannibal stepped around the corner into the alleyway, only to find a young boy sitting on the ground, bleeding from various areas on his face. He knew better than to approach someone who had been injured, so he lowered to one knee, paying no attention to his expensive clothing, and made himself appear smaller and less threatening than usual. Lecter removed his hat and held it with both hands by the fingertips in front of him. "I'd ask you why you're hiding, but I think we both know that's none of my business. Would you like a handkerchief?"
Lucas had tensed when Hannibal first walked around the dumpster, but he began to relax, just a little, as Hannibal knelt. Lucas locked his dark hazel eyes onto Hannibal's face, studying him in a way that children didn't study adults. He seemed startled by Hannibal's eyes, but not enough to pull away or not respond to him. He folded his hand around his tooth and twisted his lips to one side. "Yeah," he says, his voice a bit thick from blood. He realizes something and after a beat follows up with, "Please."
Hannibal smiled softly at the young man catching himself on his manners. Some small part of him breathed a sigh of relief at seeing someone so young genuinely display good manners. He pulled a maroon silk cloth from his jacket pocket and only got close enough to hand it over. As soon as it left his hand he returned to his original spot. Lecter knew all too well how fast one could snap when overwhelmed with fear. Something about the boy's eyes reminded him of himself, though much younger. It unnerved him. "My name is Hannibal, Hannibal Lecter. And you are?"
"Lucas Donovan." he responds, and even offers a nod to Hannibal, much like a man double his age would. He took the handkerchief carefully, and seemed a bit relieved that it wasn't white. At least his blood wouldn't be so visible on this one. He he cautious, with the hands of someone who has tended to their own wounds before. A "Thank you" escapes him as he checks to see how much his nose is still bleeding after doing away with the remains of tears on his cheeks. Normally, Lucas would have commented that it was nice to meet Hannibal, and it was great to have a friendly presence, but he was far more focused on the pain he was experiencing to remember all of his manners.
Hannibal perked his brow at the name. It had a nice ring to it, and flowed well when spoken. He nodded in response to his 'thank you' and tried to find a comfortable position as he spoke. "Well, I am pleased to meet you." He settled on his heels, though he still squatted down to level with Lucas. "Is there anywhere you'd like to go? I'm sure someone is worried about you somewhere. My car is just around the corner, and I would be more than willing to give you a ride." He had a sullen look in his eyes as he looked Lucas over. Lecter knew the look of those wounds. He wasn't beaten by anyone his age. At first he had thought the boy was mugged, but as he watched him tend his cuts and bruises, it seemed far too routine.
Lucas bit at his lip in consideration. His one hand thumbed at the handkerchief, his other continued to hold his tooth. "I don't know what will happen if I go back." He was considering lying, and it was obvious. Why he decided to be honest with Hannibal he had no idea, but his eyes tensed in annoyance at himself. He looked back up to Hannibal, mentally going over the few warnings he had gotten from his parents regarding strangers. "You know what they say about trusting strangers." It's an offhanded comment, and his dark eyes seem to grow even darker. He is conflicted with the choices between going home to where he knew his father would be waiting, sleeping out here in the alley, or trusting the kind man before him. He sighs, laughs a bit and it makes his ribs tighten, but it barely shows. "Well, I never was one to follow the rules." He seems so adult it's almost to the point of being unnerving.
Hannibal gave him a somewhat disturbed look, though he masked it as surprised as well as he could. "If you don't want to go home, I'll take you anywhere you'd like. And so far as rules, one can make their own." He gave Lucas a grin, though he let it fade quickly into a stern expression, as if he was trying to get a point across. "But I will say this: Making your own rules is far more difficult than following the ones in place. You have to follow them without question. The consequences of breaking them are far worse than those of society." He could tell something about the boy was off, and to his dismay it was strikingly similar to how he was as a child. He locked eyes with Lucas to make sure he was paying attention, and to be certain he go the point.
Lucas gave Hannibal a grim nod, understanding what he meant. Maybe not to the most extreme extent Hannibal meant it, but the seed had been planted and Lucas completely understood and respected it. Again he considered for a few moments and then he shook his head at Hannibal. "I don't really have anywhere to go." If he had any aunts or uncles he didn't know of them, and his father knew where his friends lived. He didn't want to get his friends in trouble, nor get caught. As if the thought would make his father appear Lucas cast a worried glance to the mouth of the alley.
Hannibal held his hand up dismissively and smiled as he lowered his head. "I assure you that no one will manage to surprise me. You're safe." He stood up slowly and extended his hand to Lucas as he raised to his feet. "If you'd like, you can stay with me until you find a place to go." He wasn't sure why he offered Lucas a place to stay, as he had never had any children and his wife had been dead for almost 3 years. There was also the issue of how similar the two of them were. A part of him wanted to prevent the boy from ever becoming what he was, a miserable, old murderer, alone in the world with nothing but painful memories. The other part of him was terrified to see what he could become, but if that was the case, at least he could take him under his wing.
Lucas considered and then accepted Hannibal's help up, again thanking him in a quiet voice. He was about 4'7, so it was obvious he would not be a very tall man once he hit his adulthood. He stood with his back fairly straight, and with a posture of pride and almost defiance. With the eye of a man who knows anatomy like Hannibal does, it would be obvious that the young boy had been in many fights, and rarely with people his own age. He tucked his tooth into his pocket and carefully followed the folded lines in the handkerchief to return it to how it had been before. He offered it back to Hannibal, looking a bit more childish, as if looking to make sure he had folded it correctly.
He accepted the handkerchief graciously, and patted him once on the back of the head softly. He walked close beside him with the protective presence of a father. At one point he set his hand on his shoulder reassuringly, and all the while made sure to walk on the curb side of the path. He wanted to believe that there was still good in Lucas, that he could bring that out in him and possibly even redeem himself. If he could preserve one life, maybe on some small scale he could atone for the countless he had taken. Once they were to his car, a solid black Mercedes with beautiful chrome rims, black leather covering the seats, dashboard and armrest, and suede carpeting on the floor panels, he held the door open for him. It hardly looked used, in fact, it appeared as if it were directly off the production line. "Before I bring you to my home, I want to be certain that you are one hundred percent on leaving yours. Just think it over while I drive. I'll take the long route home." He smiled down at him, though he still had the stern look of a father teaching his son a lesson. Somewhere behind his current compassionate expression, the dead eyes of a ruthless murderer remained. Looking into them was like watching a light dim slowly, until every spark of light faded into the dark.
Lucas was oddly unbothered by Hannibal's eyes, but he nodded to show he understood. He carefully got into the car and held himself in order to not get any blood on the inside of the car, as if that was his largest worry. It was odd, he had to admit, having a male presence that he wasn't scared of. Though that fear was quickly turning into rage.
His breathing was a bit heavy on the way to Hannibal's home, the thought of his mother and father putting him back into fight or flight mode. He broke the silence of the drive in order to say, "The only thing is my mom. But I can't help her anyway." The shame in his voice was heavy, as if he failed some important task. His eyes hardened and tensed yet again, his posture stiffening as well.
Hannibal sighed in empathy. The memory of his parents' deaths played back in his mind, and Mischa, poor little Mischa crying out for them. He halted his thoughts there, as his had begun to tighten around the steering wheel. One deep breath and his heart slowed down enough that he could speak calmly. "It sounds cliche, but I understand your worry. Not for one's mother, but for the one person you love most."
He pulled the car over alongside the road and shifted into park. "Now is when you get to decide the rest of your life." He cast his eyes down in consideration, then brought them back up to meet Lucas'. "Will you spend your life caring for your mother, suffering through the pain in hope that things will be alright, or will you put that all behind you and begin anew. Whatever you choose, be sure you are willing to follow through. A life of indecisiveness is a troubled one." He stared out the front of the car with a heavy feeling in his forehead, as if his thoughts were piling up so high that they were weighing down his skull. The more he spoke with Lucas, the more he saw himself, and it made him uneasy.
Lucas had been a selfless boy up until the moment he ran. He couldn't turn back, and he knew if he return his father would beat him so badly he would almost die. Maybe even cut off his fingers or something. He glanced back down the road, as if his house would be right there, and then he looked back forward. "I'm not turning back." His voice was again very adult like, his hands squeezing his knees, the dried blood in the wounds on his knuckles tugging and cracking.
Hannibal looked him over for a few seconds to assess just how serious he was, and realized that he wasn't speaking with a child, though he wasn't an adult either. He was some strange phase in between, forced to grow beyond his years, but still had the childish ambitions and desires of a young boy. At least this was his impression. Hannibal knew better than to jump to conclusions, especially regarding people. He himself was extremely unpredictable, aside from his good manners and methods of killing anyway.
"Alright, then it's decided. I'll have you in a new school by next week, and new clothing for you by tomorrow. Until then you just let your injuries heal. If at any point you decide against this, just say the word and you're home, but I don't believe you're the kind of person to go back on your word. Deal?" He felt ridiculous making such a deal with a child. Regardless of his opinions, however, he knew the boy needed someone to guide him. Sure, he could more than likely make it through life alone, but why let him? Lecter had more than enough money, an abundance of space in his home, and had always wanted children.
Lucas looks unsure about new clothing, as if it's odd to get, but he twists in his seat to offer Hannibal his right hand to shake on the deal. His jaw is set with determination and it seems that he feels that if he doesn't shake hands with this man that the deal isn't real. It's not only to prove himself a truthful man, but to ensure Hannibal isn't either. Again his eyes gain a hint of childishness, but there's still the very adult emotion of power and determination.
Hannibal smirked at him in amusement and shook his hand firmly. "Okie dokie then, let's head home." His mind was racing from the anxiety. He had no clue what he was doing, what children needed. Aside from all of that, he had just met this boy less than an hour ago, and was already taking him into his home as if he were a foster parent of sorts. Lecter hadn't even considered the fact that he traveled for work, was a wanted man in several of the countries he traveled to on a regular basis, and somewhat regularly dined on the choice organs of human beings. He had already come off as creepy as it was, and assumed that the child before him had heard his name in the news at least once. It seemed like just a few years ago that he had been inspected by a detective in France. The worry over his possible nature had followed him like a fog ever since. Before he knew it, they were parked out front of his home, and the engine cooling and settling seemed louder than usual in the awkward silence.
Lucas seemed to be thinking about what he was doing as well, but the only question he asked once they got home, yet again breaking the silence, was, "Do you have rubbing alcohol? I need to clean my knuckles." Disregarding his obviously broken nose, and the tooth his father had beat out of him, his main worry was his knuckles. Maybe because he could actually clean those, and feel like he was doing something, but he didn't know how to fix his nose, and his mouth just hurt. Some part of him worried Hannibal would call the police on him, that he could get taken away and put with some horrible plastic foster family. Going with Hannibal had been his choice. Lucas wanted to make his own choices from that point on. He had no idea who Hannibal was, however, as his father didn't like anyone reading the news or watching TV.
Hannibal's head jerked slightly, barely a quarter inch as if he was snapping out of some sort of trance. "Of course. My apologies." He stepped out of the car without another word, and made his way around to the other side to walk Lucas to the house.
Lucas got out and cast a worried eye to his seat, making sure there was no blood there. He followed Hannibal, but didn't keep too close. He was poking at the new space in his mouth with his tongue, but it was silent. He was not the type of child who got bored easily, and could sit in a room with nothing to do with complete patience. His father had tried all manners to make Lucas lose his mind, it seemed. He felt a pang of guilt as he wondered what would happen to his mother in his absence, but he continued to walk forward.
Once they were inside of his home, he stood by the door, holding it open to invite him in to look around. It was a large two-story house with polished redwood floors, maroon walls, hand carved crown-molding, vaulted ceilings and several classic paintings hanging from the walls. The kitchen had black marble flooring, red granite counter-tops and a stainless steel sink and fridge. The house, much like his car, hardly seemed lived in, but the scent of him and a faint trace of blood and steel hung in the air. "I am a doctor you know. I could help you with those injuries if you'd like." He assumed Lucas would want to tend to them himself if he was at all similar.
Lucas had wondered in the car but now it was confirmed, this man was money. He glanced to him, twisting his lips as he considered. There was already a butterfly bruise forming from his broken nose, and he looked down at his knuckles again. "Well... It might be best," he admits, looking back up at Hannibal. He glances back around and then asks, "Should I take off my shoes?" Some of his friends, though few they were, had parents who demanded shoes be taken off at the door. Lucas was more than happy to do this for Hannibal.
Hannibal smiled warmly at him, though a bit of uncertainty remained in his eyes. It was strange having someone in his home that he didn't intend to kill. "Unless they're completely filthy, just wipe them off."
Lucas just decided it would be best to be safe, and he got off his shoes, hiding his cringing as his knuckles protested the treatment. He didn't allow it to slow him down and within a few moments he was standing again next to Hannibal, looking up at him like how a dog trying to learn a new trick would, eager to learn and please.
"Alright then, let me show you to the rest room. We'll get you patched up and I'll show you around the house." He gestured to the stairs and headed toward them slowly, stopping at the bottom of them to wait for Lucas. Once he had him seated on the closed lid of the toilet, he looked him over quickly. "I'll need to reset your nose, and so far as the tooth we'll have to find a dentist. Were you hit in the abdomen at all?" Usually he would have had to provide the definition of an abdomen, but Lucas already struck him as an intelligent young man.
"Nah, got my ribs a bit, but not enough that I can't move and breathe." he offers. The idea of his nose getting set makes him squirm. His father had done it last time, more than likely just to hurt Lucas yet again. He shrugged his shoulders at the tooth, obviously trying to answer Hannibal by order of importance. "I think it was supposed to come out at some point. Looks like a baby tooth." He kept his hands loose and on his knees so Hannibal could get to them easily to clean them.
Hannibal shook his head in disapproval. The thought of a man knocking out his own son's baby teeth sickened him, in fact, it made him angry enough to kill him. "Regardless, we should have it looked at. Now, hold still, and exhale out of your mouth when I say." He locked eyes with him to make sure he was ready. The last thing he wanted to do was startle the boy.
Lucas locked their eyes for a moment and took one breath to calm himself before tensing up his body and screwing his eyes shut, his hands gripping tightly at his knees yet again. His nose had to have been set before, as he made sure to not wrinkle his nose or tense his jaw too much. "Ready," he whispered, his voice tense, the slightly twinge of fear to it.
Hannibal exhaled and let his wrist loosen as he raised his hand to Lucas' nose. "Now." He made the motion quick and precise to minimize the pain. He rubbed Lucas' shoulder to comfort him, and offered him a wet washrag with his free hand. "There you are. Just don't lean your head back."
Lucas had fought to keep his hands on his knees, to keep from grabbing Hannibal by the wrist, but he managed. He relaxed his body as soon as it was over, keeping his eyes closed as he willed the tears of pain to go away again. They opened the second he felt Hannibal's hand on his shoulder. It was strange, but oddly comforting. He took the rag with a small whisper of thanks and very, very carefully worked on getting the blood off his skin. "Thank you." he said, meaning this time for the nose.
"You are most welcome." Lecter tried to keep casual conversation going while he worked on his hands in hopes it would distract him from the pain. "Luckily your hands aren't hurt too bad. I'll let you tend to them yourself. I know how much it hurts having someone else do this." He smiled warmly at Lucas and made his way out of the bathroom. "I'll be in my bedroom until you're finished, and after that I'll show you your choice of rooms." There were 6 bedrooms in the house, 3 of which he used for himself, but the rest of them were available.
Lucas worked quickly on his knuckles, and used some water to rinse out his mouth from the blood. He greedily drank some water as well, as he had fought, run, and sat crying, with only blood and a few tears to wet his dry throat.
He looked at himself in the mirror, the bruising fairly bad on one side of his face, his nose just looked tender, and his eyes were still rimmed with red from his crying. He carefully rinsed the washcloth and wrung it out before carefully hanging it over the faucet.
Lucas moved quite quietly, and only someone as alert as Hannibal would hear him. Lucas knocked with his second knuckle instead of his third to avoid getting blood on the door jam.
Hannibal appeared at the door almost instantly, and the only noise that followed him was the air moving past him as he walked. He had mastered the art of walking silently, and was quite impressed with Lucas for learning at such a young age. His harpy was still sitting out on his nightstand next to his sharpening stone, the blade folded in and only half sharpened.
"Normally I can hear people all the way downstairs. You're a clever young man." Lecter had heard him walking to his room, but not until he was just five or so feet away from his door. He moved past him and shut the door behind him, and gestured to the room just ten feet down the hall. "This is the first room you can choose from, but I'm sure you'll want a bit more privacy than that."
Lucas seemed happy at the praise, and he even smiled over it. At Hannibal's offer of privacy, Lucas seemed confused about it. "You wouldn't want me in the closest room to keep tabs on me?" he asked, looking up at the older man.
This seems surreal to him, possibly why he is still so calm. He wonders if he is in some coma and Hannibal is some doctor and his brain has made up some new fantasy world. Lucas wouldn't doubt it with how hard his father hits.
Hannibal smirked at him as he opened the door for him to inspect the room. "If I felt the need to keep tabs on you I wouldn't have offered for you to pick your room. I trust you to behave until you give me reason not to." He gave him the same stern look he had been using to get points across.
The truth was, he didn't trust anyone, but he knew that the young man before him appreciated what he was being given, a second chance to live the life he wanted. His assumption was that he would behave so long as Hannibal was fair, even if he was punishing him. It would be difficult not to use his mind games against Lucas. Since he was so mature, Hannibal was already making the mistake of treating him as an equal of sorts, he just didn't want that to filter into his malicious side.
Lucas glanced at the rooms Hannibal offered, and found himself almost annoyed that none of them seemed of a lower quality, so he gave up and picked the last room Hannibal had shown him with a very gracious thanks. Before Hannibal could suggest anything else, Lucas looked up at him and in a very serious voice asked, "Is this some crazy dream I'm having?" As if Hannibal would know. Lucas looks extremely vulnerable at the idea of this being fake.
Hannibal laughed softly. It wasn't in a mocking way, in fact, it was in a very fatherly, reassuring manner. "No. Sometimes I wish it all were, but sadly things don't work that way." He stared off into the distance for a moment, lost in the far off place his mind wandered whenever one of his many bad memories floated through his thoughts.
Lucas waited patiently for him to return, not even watching him. He stood still, like a little soldier, awaiting for Hannibal to either send him to bed or give him something to eat or tell him the rules. Lucas didn't know how normal people acted, not with his family life, so he allowed Hannibal to lead the way and show him what he was supposed to do. Even if it hurt to do so, Lucas straightened his posture a little more as if getting ready for inspection.
Lecter snapped out of his odd trance and blinked slowly a few times. "Well, what would you say to something to eat? I have fresh lamb in the fridge. Sound good?" The innocent way he spoke paired with his metallic, raspy voice was just plain eerie. It was the kind of contrast that would offset anyone's comfort, so naturally it was strange to him that Lucas was so relaxed. Even those who had found him charming believed him to be someone dark under it all, and sadly they couldn't have been more right.
"I don't know what lamb tastes like," admits Lucas. By the tone of his voice, he didn't even know people ate lamb. His family must have been the burgers and steak type who never deviated from a ritual of beef, cheese, and good pure Americana. Lucas didn't find Hannibal odd in the least. The only cruel people Lucas knew of were well off boys his age, or his father, who spoke very differently than Hannibal. In Lucas's eyes, Hannibal was the good guy, nothing dark about him.
"Well then, you're in for a treat. It's far more rich in flavor than beef, more of a... bloody taste to it, and more tender than veal if you cook it right." His eyes warmed over at the thought of it, but to his disappointment he only had enough for one person. Hannibal was wary to tap into his 'special reserve' in his locked freezer, but it seemed he had no choice.
Lucas wrinkles his nose just ever so slightly in confusion, but quickly regrets it as his nose throbs. "What's veal?" he asks, his voice a little tight from the recent swell of pain.
Hannibal tilted his head in confusion, but said nothing on the matter. Instead, he replied casually so as not to embarrass Lucas in any way. "It is the meat of a very young calf. Often kept in veal crates, away from their herd and mother. Some are killed at a few days, some a few weeks. Depends on the taste and texture you're going for." He had a sinister tone, as if he were hissing into someones ear the process through which he was mutilating them, guiding them through every pass of the knife with his low, scraping voice.
That almost threw Lucas off, but he didn't really understand the 'darker' places of this world. The only things he knew were from his schooling, when he could focus, or from his home life, which told him that women needed protection and some men were monsters. Lucas had never feared something under his bed, the only thing in his house to fear had been his own father. "Oh. I don't know much about food, I guess." He shrugs his shoulders that actually have some form of muscle. Lucas had been trying to build up his muscle for years, as if once he got enough he would be able to defend his mother.
"Well, if you'd like to learn I am more than willing to teach you." Hannibal made his way to the kitchen without another word. He figured Lucas would come to him for something to do, whether it was helping him cook or watching television. Either way, he just wanted the boy to relax.
Lucas followed Hannibal with a timidness, looking around at the house. He very, very carefully sat in a chair at the breakfast table, watching Hannibal with a calculating look, making sure that what he was doing was okay. Lucas was a very quiet child, and seemed to only ask questions if he felt he needed to.
Hannibal made his way to the fridge and noticed a package of meat beside it. He knew it was the liver left over from his last victim, and breathed a sigh of relief knowing he didn't have to make a trip to his freezer. The liver was already well prepared, and in noticing this he realized it was supposed to be for tomorrow.
It didn't take long for him to prepare everything. He cooked the lamb as it was, though he did add a bit of red wine vinegar to bring the inner flavor to the surface. Normally he would have made a guest a gourmet meal, but he decided that it was best to taste lamb as it was for the first time. He paired everything with fresh sourdough bread, brown rice and a spinach salad with crushed walnuts, mushrooms, dried cranberries and an Italian dressing that was just a little less sharp than usual. It tied everything together beautifully, and the aromas in the air only made it more appetizing. He had forgotten all about the liver after running into Lucas, which made it all the more appealing.
Lucas was a bit thrown off by the fact that, not only did Hannibal cook better than his mother, but he cooked in some special way that Lucas didn't understand. His mother made his waffles, and that was the most advanced thing she made. He seemed unsure if it was art, or food, and just looked at it. He thanked Hannibal, gracious as ever, and after almost hurting the messed up side of his mouth, he made sure he only chewed on the right side.
He didn't eat ravenously, despite being hungry, and he tried to figure out what Hannibal had been speaking of before hand, when he explained how veal and lamb and beef were all different. He wasn't speaking, and though it wasn't unusual for him thus far, it was obvious he was quiet thanks to appreciating the food and finding it good.
Hannibal ate quietly beside him, happy to have company during his meal for once. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was analyzing the whole situation, him dining on a vital organ of another human being, while the abused runaway beside him ate lamb for the first time. It was just a different type of dysfunction, though he thought this to be far less harmful, as he wasn't knocking Lucas around and he was none the wiser that the man sheltering him was a cannibalistic serial killer. "How does it taste?"
Lucas had the presence of mind to swallow his bite of food before answering. "It's great. I didn't know there was food like this." This was the child of fast food, and school line lunches, he had only had red sauced pasta and always from a jar. He knew that there was cheddar and swiss cheese, but nothing beyond that. He doesn't want to look like a fool so he doesn't ask if this is some rare thing. He just accepts it, but now that Hannibal is speaking to him he doesn't dare eat until Hannibal has finished speaking to him.
Hannibal smiled warmly at him. He knew how it felt to have one's guard up constantly, so he made no mention of how tense Lucas was. He would rather he calmed down naturally than force it the way he seemed to with everything else about himself. "I'm glad to hear it. Please, eat." He gestured to Lucas' plate casually and returned to his own meal. The liver was wonderful. Succulent to the last bite, and filled with flavor. He savored every bit of it, and once he was finished eating, stood up to clear the table. "I'll handle the dishes. You've had a rough day."
Lucas blinked at not having to wash dishes, but accepted Hannibal's graciousness. He carefully placed their chairs back in and waited patiently for Hannibal to finish with the dishes. Once he was sent off to bed he wandered back to the room he had picked. He glanced at the expensive looking sheets and then down at himself. He cringed a bit, tugged off his shirt and folded it. He figured his mouth or nose might bleed in the middle of the night, and he didn't want to wake up Hannibal to tell him that he had gotten blood in his sheets. He set it on the pillow, and only got under the comforter, not the sheet, not wanting to dirty anything. He made sure his head was on his t-shirt before allowing himself to relax. His door was still open a bit, training from his father who didn't like closed doors.
Hannibal finished with the dishes, cleaned off the counters and poured himself a glass of wine. He headed for his study and sat down in his favorite chair, picked up a random book and absentmindedly stared at the text. After nearly five minutes of staring and having read almost nothing, he admitted defeat and headed for the stairs. As odd as it was, he walked down the hall a ways to check on Lucas. He didn't go near the door, but listened to see if he was still awake.
Lucas froze when he heard someone outside his door, and his dark eyes opened to lock onto the crack. He sank down a bit in the bed, as if worried his father had some how not only found him, but had gotten past Hannibal. He gripped the comforter closer to his chest and tried to not breathe.
Hannibal heard him shuffle around a bit and called down the hall way calmly before he cracked the door open. "I just wanted to see if you were still awake. I forgot to tell you there is a restroom down the hall and to the left. I'm sure you want to wash off before climbing into bed." He didn't even look into the room as he spoke. Lecter believed it was best to give people their privacy. "I'm heading upstairs to bed. Sleep well young man."
Lucas blinked at the door, relaxing down into the sheets. He didn't get up, just remained as he was. He told himself he would wash in the morning. Besides, he worried about the steam making his nose bleed. It took him a long time to get to sleep, but he finally managed, curled up but sleeping well thanks to the soft bed and his long, tiring day.
Hannibal headed up to his bedroom, his mind full of thoughts that until today had been foreign to him. He wondered how he would manage to keep Lucas in his custody without forging documents, how he would continue to travel, how he would keep his secrets hidden, and what Lucas would become. It was odd having someone else consume his thoughts to this extent. Lecter decided it was best to just put it out of his mind, to act as if nothing had changed.
As soon as he was finished sharpening his harpy, he set it back in his drawer, rinsed off and climbed into bed. He slept somewhat restlessly, though when morning came he was well rested. A few stretches to ease his aching bones and scar tissue and he headed downstairs to cook breakfast, still clad in his red silk pajamas.
Lucas woke up when he heard Hannibal moving around, and he took a very quick shower. Lucas was a morning shower person, not an evening shower person. He got back into his clothing from the day before, carefully hung up his towel and made sure no water hit the bathroom floor, as if scared water would some how ruin the floors. His sandy colored hair was still a little damp as he wandered out to the kitchen to observe Hannibal, moving quietly like before. A small stain of blood was on his shirt from the damage to his mouth, and his molar was still in his pocket. He kept near the entrance to the kitchen, looking down at the blood on his shirt.
"Good morning." Hannibal spoke with a small smile, though he didn't turn to greet Lucas. He was too focused on cooking the omelette. Usually he could cook a high quality meal while reciting a classical work from memory, but this particular morning he was feeling somewhat distracted. By what he couldn't be certain, but nevertheless it was a problem. "I hope mushrooms and peppers are alright with you." Lecter turned to face him and set the plate on the breakfast table along with a fork and an empty glass. "Is there anything in particular you like to drink in the morning?"
Lucas laughed to himself and said, "Finally, something you are cooking that I know what it is." He moved further into the kitchen now that Hannibal had acknowledged him, and he moved with his quiet steps, that didn't seem to be his focus though they were well planned out, and settled at the table, slowly. "Er, water?" He shrugs his small shoulders. "Coffee. That's really it." He had had juice at friends houses, and milk when he was younger, but his parents never had either of those things around.
Hannibal smirked at him in amusement. "Well you're in luck. The coffee finished brewing a few minutes ago." He poured him a mug, but just when it reached the point where there was room for additives he stopped. "Would you like cream and sugar?" Something told him that he preferred his coffee as it was, but with his good manners he automatically asked.
"Regular." he answered, his shoulders shrugging softly, as if he wasn't sure what could be added to coffee and had only had it black. He watched Hannibal with his seemingly always calculating stare, but there was a softness at being taken care of. It make him look more like the child he was, instead of the young adult he had been forced into acting like for the past few years.
"Ah. I thought so." Lecter set the coffee down beside Lucas' plate and got to work on preparing his own. He too had black coffee with his omelette, and sat beside Lucas just as before. "So. Today we'll buy you some clothing. Is there anything else you need?" His fatherly tone was becoming more natural already, though he still had the rigid hesitance of a conflicted man.
Lucas seemed unsure about Hannibal buying him clothing, but he decided if Hannibal was going to try and take care of him, he needed to follow and be helpful. He bowed his head and studied the plate in front of him for a few moments. "I really want to thank you, for this. I don't know why you didn't turn me over to my parents or the cops, but I am glad you didn't." Lucas was still a kid and authorities or appreciate were still words he hadn't yet mastered shoving into everyday speech, so he opted for words he knew for sure, and he offered Hannibal a smile.
Hannibal paused and finished chewing, then softened his expression for a moment. "You are most welcome. From what I have seen, you're an intelligent young man. I trust you'll make the right decisions, and when you don't that you'll take into account the advice I have to offer." He took a sip of his coffee and fell silent.
The conversation was oddly domestic, and far too friendly for what he was used to. The idea of company on any level of permanence unnerved him, so he did his best to push it out of his mind. The less he thought of the future, the more he could enjoy himself in the moment.
Lucas wants to please Hannibal and be a good kid, but he isn't entirely sure that he could, so he doesn't promise anything of the sort. He just returns to his breakfast, which he told Hannibal was good, and drank his coffee. He still looks like a man, with his posturing to deal with wounds, the bruises on his face, and the way his jaw is set. He offers to take Hannibal's dish once they were finished, wanting to some how earn his keep and the clothing Hannibal offered.
"Ah, thank you." Hannibal sipped at his coffee happily and retrieved his phone book from the cabinet beneath the phone. He thumbed through the business listings for local clothing stores and jotted a few down on his notepad. He knew nothing about what any of them sold, so he decided to leave the choice of where to go to Lucas.
Lucas did the dishes, well, and carefully dried his hands, moving closer to Hannibal with the awkwardness of a child. He waits with his eyes on the ground, letting Hannibal take his time and acknowledge him when he desired. Some trait picked up by his father, more than likely.
Hannibal waited several seconds for Lucas to speak, still glancing over the pages for any other clothing stores in the area, and after nearly a minute he glanced up at the edge of the counter, barely catching sight of the boy in his peripherals and then up again to meet his eyes. Rather than make mention of his awkwardness, Hannibal simply smiled and slid the notepad across the counter along with the phone book. "I'm not sure if any of the stores I have written down carry clothing suited to your taste, so if there is anywhere your parents would take you please, feel free to write it down." Lecter forgot Lucas was a child most of the time, what with his constant silence and ever present self discipline. Some part of him knew this would cause issues later on, but like the rest of his fleeting thoughts, he beat them away.
Lucas bites back a bitter laugh at the idea of his parents taking him out to get clothing, and he glanced at the list. He shrugged his shoulders a bit and glanced back to Hannibal. "Well, honestly, whatever is closest. I only need a few things. A pair of jeans, a shirt and maybe a sweater." He steps back a half step, awkwardly clasping his hands together. Lucas is used to two pairs of clothing, and a zip-up that had too short of sleeves and did very little against the harsh winters of New York.
Hannibal tilted his head and glanced into the distance as if to say, "If that's what you'd prefer," and closed the phone book. "Okay. I'll be ready to leave in half an hour. I trust you can entertain yourself for that long. Feel free to turn on the television." He walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs and laid out his clothing for the day before he headed to the shower to rinse off. The warm water always helped to ease his aches and pains for the day. Despite his unusually high pain tolerance and ability to become immersed so deeply in his thoughts he was practically unconscious, like everyone else he hurt in the morning.
Lucas simply sat, not on the couch because he was wary of it, but he remained by the front door. He studied the grain of the wooden floors below him, but aside from his eyes moving and the infrequent shifting to regain comfort, he didn't move, nor make a sound. His home life had instilled in him great patience. He could sit for hours upon hours, completely alone. He just wanted to get himself clothing and get back here. He was worried about running into his parents, and he was reflecting on the idea that the police just might be looking for him. He didn't know what would happen if he was listed as a runaway.
Hannibal dressed in his more casually clothing, blue jeans, a white t-shirt, a loose fitting leather jacket and a baseball cap. He tried to remain inconspicuous at all times, as there were still many people that believed him to be guilty of murder. Even now, more than 15 years after the ordeal in Europe, the stories caught up with him from time to time.
As he descended the stairs, he saw Lucas doing just what he had expected: Absolutely nothing. The parallels between them were becoming more and more as time went by, but still Hannibal insisted on treating him like any other child. "If you don't prefer television or radio, perhaps you'd like a book to read in your free time?"
Lucas stood up quick as if some how disrespecting Hannibal by sitting down. He brushed himself off a bit, and glanced up at Hannibal. "Oh, maybe." He obviously hadn't thought much of it. They didn't have a radio at his parents home, and the TV wasn't for him to watch or listen to. The only reading he did was at school. "I'll try out a few things," he offers to Hannibal, shrugging his shoulders and looking up at the older man.
"If we're as much alike as I believe us to be, I think you'll rather enjoy reading." Lecter looked down at the boy with admiration, though there was still a bit of caution about him. He was proud of Lucas for persevering through the hell he had experienced, and for remaining so well disciplined even when he had found sanctuary, but he knew better than to get attached to anyone or put an kind of stock into them. "Now, let's get going." He held open the door for Lucas and waited for him to step out, and sniffed at the vibrant morning air.
Lucas thanked him in a quiet voice and headed out to the car, pausing once at the end of the porch to wait for Hannibal, and then pausing again near his side of the car, waiting for Hannibal to get to it first. Lucas did not want to be seen as bad, didn't want to be punished, and didn't want to be sent back to his father. His mother, the saint she was, was dearly missed by Lucas. But he didn't have the strength within himself to return back. He was too much of a coward, though it is to be expected of a child his age, dealing with what he had. It didn't help his view of himself.
Hannibal settled into his seat and unlocked the door for Lucas from the inside of the car. While the engine warmed, he flipped on the radio and turned to channel to the only one that played classical music. "I hope you don't mind the music."
Lucas shook his head. Judging by his interest, he hadn't heard much music, and certainly never anything like this. He seemed quite focused on it the entire drive, his eyes locked with a sharpened, calculating stare at the radio. He didn't notice where they were driving as he was too focused on the classical pieces.
Hannibal glanced over at him at one point during the drive in amusement. Observing Lucas in his curious state mind made him realize that he had never lost his own childish way of learning.
It was odd to think that in all of his sophistication, all of his knowledge and wisdom, the process by which he had advanced beyond the norm was that of a child. A small smile inched across his lips, but only for a brief moment, as they had just arrived in the parking lot of the first clothing outlet. "Here we are. The first store on our list."
"First? It's just jeans and a shirt." Lucas looks at Hannibal with confusion, not get going for his seatbelt, his hands resting on his knees and his head tilted a bit as he observed him.
"Well, the way I see it one should have school clothing and play clothing. However, if you insist on just two pairs and a sweater, then I won't force anything upon you." Lecter turned off the car and stepped out into the parking lot without another word. He called to Lucas from the sidewalk, a fatherly smile across his lips. "Please remember to lock the door."
Lucas had forgotten and laughed to himself, softly, before fixing his mistake and loping after Hannibal, stopping right at his side. "In the end it's your money, but why waste it when I'll just grow too big for it in a year or so?" This seemed to be a legitimate issue for Lucas.
Hannibal let out a very brief grumble of a laugh at his words. "My boy, I have no other use for money. If I was in any way worried about expenses I would have dropped you off with your parents and went about my business." He made no mention of his travels, of his extravagant dinner parties or his odd taste in food. There was no point in any of it, as he knew Lucas would come to know these things with time.
Lucas tilted his head. "You don't want to use your money for, you know, you?" he asked, his brows furrowing in further confusion. He kept to Hannibal's side like any child does with a parent, and despite the obvious physical differences, Lucas seemed to seemingly alter his body language to appear more relaxed with Hannibal than he was. No one would even blink about it because of his subtle closer position to Hannibal, and he made their stride match so they seemed to have been at the same speed for a long time, as if this was normal.
Hannibal found Lucas' adaptivity peculiar, though as usual he said nothing. "One day you'll see that money does nothing but create issues. It's a tool, nothing more. The only things that matter in life are what you keep in here." He tapped his temple with his index finger to drive the point home. His smile faded during his explanation, bringing out the cold, dead haze in his eyes. His fatherly aura reappeared almost instantly, however. When in the company of an innocent, his softer side seemed to show far more often.
Lucas decided to redirect him as they got to the boys section and he mildly glared at the far-too-many clothing racks. "So, what was that playing in the car?" he asked, glancing around a bit lazily.
Hannibal separated several articles of clothing from one another so Lucas could inspect them a bit easier. "The first song was Nocturne in G Minor. It was written in the early 1800's by a man named Frederic Chopin. The second was The four seasons and was written by an Italian named Antonio Vivaldi." He still found it odd being asked such questions by a child, though it gave him a sliver of hope that the future still held some promise for the generations to come.
"Do they have any other stuff?" he asked, giving into defeat as he had with the room selection. Hannibal wouldn't let up with getting him clothes, just as he wouldn't have a poorly maintained room with a cheap bed and sheets. He picked out a few things with the air of 'Alright, I will play the game'.
Lecter's jaw and eyes tensed a bit at Lucas' manner of speaking. At times he was so well spoken, and other times he butchered somehow managed to butcher the English language, which in Hannibal's opinion was difficult to accomplish. Still, he said nothing, and assumed that being the bright young man he was, over time he would assimilate Lecter's manner of speaking with his own. "I'm not sure. Shall we ask a sales attendant? Or would you rather move on to the next store?"
Lucas wrinkled his nose. "Nooo. Chopin and Vivaldi." he corrected, though he some how managed to do it with the innocence of the child he was, and the respect of the adult he acted like. His eyes tensed. "Like, did they make more than just Nocturne and The Four Seasons?" Lucas must have had a good memory to instantly remember how to pronounce the words Hannibal just used in a fairly passing comment. However, since Lucas had not heard the words before he spoke with the slight metallic rasp and influx that Hannibal used.
Hannibal tilted his head in amusement and smiled with fatherly pride. "Yes, in fact they were both famous composers of their time. I'll show you some of my EP's when we're done shopping." He was surprised by Lucas' instant interest in classical music. Things seemed as if they would be easier than he imagined. Educate the boy in ways his grade level couldn't offer, putting him ahead of the rest, and culture him well so that he would be as refined a gentleman as any. The potential was there, it always had been, now all he needed was a bit of guidance, at least that was Hannibal's opinion on the matter.
Lucas nodded to the suggestion, and like a man who had dealt with women shopping lengthily for far too long, just decided on a few things by glancing at the tags and folding them over his arm. "Well, who else did music like that? I haven't really listened to any music." It was odd for him to admit it, as even as he listened to the store around him he could hear music from the speakers in the ceiling. Music in Hannibal's car, in everyone's car, it seemed as if he had missed some great important part of life.
Hannibal looked Lucas over as if to assess whether he was actually done picking out clothing, and answered as he walked to the register with him. "Yes, in fact there are many more composers, all with their own manner of expression. Liszt, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Beethoven. Those are the most well known, anyway. We'll talk more about it when we're back at home." He pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket and sifted through for any denominations smaller than $100 bills, but could find none. It was an odd dilemma, one of a wealthy man, and all he could do was chuckle to himself quietly. It made him think of Lucas' earlier comment about money, which only furthered his amusement.
Lucas perked a brow at him as he chuckled, but didn't say anything about it. He just kept close to Hannibal and patiently waited until they were heading out. Hannibal using a hundred was not lost on Lucas, and on their way to the car, Lucas asked, "What are you going to do with me when you go to the hospital or your office or where ever you work?" Lucas had remembered 'doctor', from before, and the ease Hannibal had set his nose, so he assumed he was a doctor and that was how he got his money.
"I hadn't given that much thought. I suppose I should get to work on transferring you to a different school." Lecter wouldn't dare hire a sitter. He detested the idea of strangers in his home when he was present, so naturally the idea of one being there while he was at work was just plain unsettling.
He worried Hannibal wasn't sure what exactly he was getting himself in to. He twisted his lips as he studied him. "You're not sure what to do, are you?" he asked, pausing by the car, but with his posture he seemed more focused on their conversation than on how close to the car he was.
Hannibal chuckled to himself and leaned against the car as they spoke. "No, no I'm afraid I don't. However, I've made it this far without a plan, and as difficult as it has been I always have hope that the next day will be better than the last." He smiled down at Lucas and set his hands in his jacket pockets, still leaning against the car. "What do you think we should do? You have to go to school, there's no question about that, but at the moment I'm not entirely sure that's the best idea."
Lucas shrugged his shoulders a little. "I don't know. I've gone from no freedom to tons of it. I really should go to school, but I can't very well go back to my old one. I'm probably a runaway or something. Kinda weird, knowing I have to change everything in life." He sighs to himself, and pushes his sandy hair out of his face. "I guess day by day." Having a plan means things could go wrong, but without a plan it felt like he was floating aimlessly. Honestly, all he wanted to do was to get to know Hannibal better, but he had no clue how to go about asking, nor what to ask.
"Well, that is quite the dilemma. Now is another one of those times I mentioned. The ones when you have to ask yourself, "Am I willing to live my life running away?" I've run from my past since I was younger than you my boy. No matter how far, how fast I flee, it catches me the moment I lay my head down at night." The pained look returned to his eyes, but just as quickly as it had come, it faded into the murky haze, and his fatherly expression returned to him. He was worried he had scared the boy. As far as he was concerned, Lucas had lived in fear for long enough, but he also knew that if one lived with it long enough, it was all they knew in life.
Fear and rage, scraping the rusted metal box that was your mind for those last few untarnished speckles of sanity before you went to sleep every night, hoping for the sake of those around you that they lit your way through the night and lasted til morning. Hannibal's had burnt out long ago, but some part of his human side seemed to return upon meeting Lucas, and it had become his goal to preserve the innocence of the young boy come Hell or high water. The last thing the world needed was another Hannibal Lecter.
His hands had tightened on the bag he held, just a little, just enough to show that the gears within his head were turns more rapidly than before. After a moment of his dark hazel eyes locked with Hannibal's odd maroon ones, he nodded a bit. "I don't want to be a coward, and I don't like to see it as running. More like not looking back." It's how he justifies it, at least for now. It's how he managed to get to sleep last night.
Hannibal knew better than to take such a thing away from a person, and as cold as he may have been he refused to speak the difficult truth to the child before him. "Very well then. You don't have to call me dad, sir, or Dr. Lecter. Just call me Hannibal. I'll teach you what I can, but the rest is up to you my boy." He smiled warmly at him and unlocked the passenger door for him, disappeared around the back of the car and settled into the driver's seat. It had been many years since he had endured such an intense conversation, in fact he couldn't remember exactly when it was he had last spoken of his personal demons. As always, the current issues plaguing him were erased and forgotten almost instantly.
Lucas settled in, though his mind was buzzing with not only the conversation, but Hannibal reassuring him that he didn't have to call him dad. Was that normal? Was he supposed to be doing that this whole time? Would Hannibal be upset that Lucas didn't call him 'dad'? He gripped at his knees and his body tightened though he seemed far away, looking at nothing and going over the multitude of questions that suddenly were popping up within his mind.
Hannibal managed to escape into the depths of his mind as they drove home. He had mastered the ability to tune the outside world out completely, both physically and mentally. If anything kept him alive it was knowing how to do this. It wasn't until they were back in his home that he spoke again. "There should be hangars in the closet, and plenty of drawer space in the dresser beside the bed. I think I'll head out back. I'd like a cigarillo and some wine."
Lucas nodded to Hannibal, his voice dragging him back out of the recesses of his mind. Lucas gathered up his bag, and assumed that by Hannibal telling him this, he didn't want him around, so he just waited for Hannibal to unlock the front door and then Lucas would disappear into his room, and wait for Hannibal to tell him it was time for dinner, or to seek him out for something. Lucas was very good at the out of sight, out of mind game