Hiya readers I'm back with a second chapter! Woohoo! I would really like to thank my reviewers and other readers who didn't review for taking a look at this little brainchild of mine.

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.

Chapter 2: Pascal Popil and The Dream

Despite the promise that she made to herself Lady Murasaki did not throw away the newspaperas she should have. Instead she found herself zooming through the article over and over, going down back to the market to buy more American papers. Lady Murasaki refused to admit that she had become obsessed with Hannibal once again, let alone in love with him.

Still a week later when Pascal Popil stopped by her apartment for tea he entered a chaotic room of old newspapers photos, instead of the calming atmosphere that he was expecting. Lady Murasaki hidden behind a flurry of newspapers in only a robe didn't even register his invasion. Finally after clearing his throat she looked up. At first a startled look came over her face only to be replaced with a warm smile.

"Pascal, what are you doing here? Surely it cannot already be Thursday can it?" her accented voice tilted with each word.

Ignoring her question Pascal reached down and read the title of the nearest paper. 'I guess I shouldn't have been surprised' he thought. On the front page of the Paper was the title Starling of the FBI a photo of a muddy red haired woman stood next too a picture of the one criminal that Pascal had never been able to apprehend, Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

Even in the grainy photo he could see the odd hue of Lecter's maroon eyes. So entranced by the photo was he that he didn't even notice Lady Murasaki come up beside him. "He hasn't aged at all has he?" Her voice was sad, and regretful, Lady Murasaki looked down at the photo her brow furrowed as her eyes also darted to the face of the FBI agent.

"No, no he hasn't changed at all has he?" Pascal's was mixed, he could remember over twenty years ago when he had first met Lecter and Lady Murasaki how they had both fascinated him so. He had never wanted to personally apprehend Lecter but his duty called for it especially after Lecter began his revenge.

Turning away from Lecter's haunting stare, Pascal looked again at Lady Murasaki, she looked thinner, paler, her gray-black hair that she usually had styled perfectly was mussed and her eyes had bags under them. Glancing once more at Lecter's face he saw just how deep the grip he had into the Lady was.

Clearing his throat once more "Madame please allow me to take you out for a bite to eat, you look like it would do you some good." She began to protest weakly. "Please Madame, I am an old man now and it would give no pleasure than to have your company on this day."

She smiled her features instantly softening, "You always knew the ways to sway me Pascal. Just give me a moment to change into something more suitable."

As her figure disappeared into another room Pascal cleared off some of the papers on one of the lounges, he glanced down again at the paper, reading the article. His English was by no means perfect but the article was easy enough to understand.

Most of what he read he had already heard at the station. Although in his late 60s Pascal was still called down to the police station to analyze a criminal or so. Today had been one of those few times. While down there he had gotten involved with one the older officers who remembered Lecter. He learned of this knew criminal Buffalo Bill, and the FBI agent Clarice Starling who seemed to be making such an uproar in the American Papers.

His eyes flitted to the picture of the woman who he assumed was Clarice Starling, she was muddy, and dressed like a man, but she had a very pretty almost beautiful face even when covered in mud. Her arm was raised in a position almost as if to strike something and a gritty determination shown through in the set of her jaw.

If Lecter had truly been interested some much in this girl to talk let alone help her there must have been something about her that reminded Lecter of Murasaki or Mischa. Glancing once more at the picture he definitely crossed out the Mischa possibility, although this Starling was young her eyes held no childish innocence.

Pascal's musing were interrupted by the return of Lady Murasaki, folding up the paper he placed it back on the lounge where it slipped through one of the cushions, forgotten.

He took her to a quiet but stylish cafe near the heart of the city. As she glanced through the menu he found himself gazing at her face. She was still so beautiful after all these years, her oval face have a few wrinkles here and there but they looked natural on her, made her look more human instead of the exotic deity that he thought she was when he first met her. She was still very slim and her hair was streaked through with gray and white.

Shaking his head he knew that it had been more than her beauty that Pascal Popil, Hannibal and Robert Lecter had been attracted to. It was her calm and serene personality. She was delicate but immeasurably strong at the same time. Pascal loved her but knew that it was not meant to be, so close friends they were instead, and Pascal found that he treasured this bond even more than any love that he could've had with her.

Thinking back to the picture of Clarice Starling he at first could find nothing in common between the two. Starling seemed gritty and tough from; she seemed plain and unrefined compared to the beauty in front of him. Sure she was very pretty maybe even beautiful, in a distinctly American way.

He explored his mind, why did Hannibal help her? Perhaps he was over thinking it too much Lecter enjoyed playing with people's head, and chances were he was merely playing with the poor girl by sending her to find one of his former victim's heads. He pushed away the thought before turning to gaze at the lovely woman in front of him.

Lady Murasaki felt naked being outside, her skin unable to hide her secrets. Focusing at her menu once more she flicked her eyes sup every now and then to see that Pascal was openly staring at her, a serious look in his eyes. Lady Murasaki was used to people staring at her in Japan it had been because of her status and beauty. In France it had been because of her exotic looks, and foreign beauty.

Lady Murasaki let herself fall into her thoughts after Pascal's influence. As always lately she found herself thinking of Hannibal. He was mute when Robert first brought him home, a quiet, thin boy of thirteen but looked only to be eleven because of years of malnutrition she guessed. Although he had been mute she never saw anyone with the kind of intelligence that he possessed. Sometimes it had even scared her; it scared her that he might use his brilliance to do horrible things, which he'd gone onto do.

Lady Murasaki remembered when he first began talking his words were always clear and articulate and he spoke without an accent despite the fact French was far from his first language. But his voice still held a metallic rasp to it, and still did up until the day that he disappeared. 'I wonder does he still have that rasp...'

She was tugged away from her thoughts though when Pascal cleared his throat, motioning for her to order. It wouldn't do her any good to dwell on things of the past, she should really stop.

It was late by the time Lady Murasaki returned home, Popil had been right. It was a beautiful afternoon; perhaps she had been spending too much time inside. Flipping on a light switch she immediately saw Lecter's face once again.

A tidal wave of emotion came at her, shaking her head she forced it away she was to old to be feeling this way over a man twenty years her junior. And on a whim she picked up the papers, and shoved them into the wastebasket lighting a match and incinerating them in her kitchen.

She dreamed that night. Lady Murasaki hadn't dreamed for almost eight years, eight years ago her dreams were of Hannibal, and before that she had dreams of Hannibal killing that awful man, Grutas.

But that night she dreamt of Hannibal, he was not young as he had appeared in her dreams before but he looked as he did now with the lines and creases around his eyes and mouth. They seemed to be in a cage of some sort, bars all around them he was dressed in a pair of white pajamas. He was not looking at her, and when Lady Murasaki tried to call out to him she found that she couldn't.

Suddenly the scene changed he was in a tuxedo looking so handsome, his lithe body was cocked to the side strength thrumming throughout his stance. Suddenly she saw him reach out his arm she began to walk towards it, his hand extended more and she saw it pass through her, gasping soundlessly she turned to see what Hannibal was looking at what she saw was herself, but not really herself. It was like her face was being replaced by Starling's.

Looking around the scene changed once again and she was in a traditional Kimono and her late husband Robert was giving her away at her wedding but looking up she saw that she had been led into a cage. A person stood at the other side. It was Pascal she tried to call out to him but he couldn't hear her. Glancing around she saw Lecter leading away the nameless woman, she saw Hannibal glance back once more at her, before turning away unseeing eyes.

The bars around her disappeared and she tried to run after Hannibal but he was merely a speck in the distance. Lady Murasaki awoke with a shriek, it was still dark and by the time she managed to fall asleep that night she had forgotten her dream.

The next day Lady's Muraski's promise to herself once again failed her as she set out to the market to replace the magazines that she had lost before.
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