Chapter 7
A week later, Mika was settled in a pile of blankets and books in the living room when the doorbell rang. She groaned and put her pen down. It was rather late in the evening and she was not expecting any company. Considering how much trouble it was for her to move around, she was not happy about having to climb out of her cozy nest.
She threw her head back and yelled, "Who is it?"
Depending on the answer, she was perfectly prepared to ignore the call.
"It's Hannibal," came a muffled reply and she sighed. Looks like she was going to be getting up after all. With a huff, she threw her blankets off and hobbled up. Then, she limped over to the door.
Before she opened it, she looked at the mess that was her living room. Due to her injury, she found it too troublesome to walk up and down stairs, so she had moved all her basic necessities to the living room. She slept, ate, and worked on the couch, making it so that she did not have to move around much each day.
Since cooking required standing up and moving about, she had been ordering large amounts of takeout. Containers from several nearby restaurants lay scattered across the room. The ones from a week ago were still there, rotting silently. She did not mind the smell, but she worried about what Hannibal would say once he stepped inside. Grimacing, she turned back to the door. If he did not think she was a filthy slob before, he definitely would now.
Putting on a cheery smile, she opened the door a crack. She was surprised to see that he was holding a large picnic container. Part of her cursed. Now she had to invite him in and watch as he recoiled in horror.
"What brings you here?" she asked, grin still in place. He looked at her quizzically, then gestured to the picnic box, and said, "Since you could not come over to dinner today, I thought I would bring dinner to you."
It was a kind gesture, but as always, she was weary of his intentions. Chances were he came over to ask more personal questions to satisfy his curiosity. Still, she could not turn him away, considering she was eager to eat something other than take-out.
"That's really sweet. Please come in," she said and hobbled aside to open the door. His eyes immediately darted to the piles in the living room and she hastily gestured for him to go to the kitchen. Being too preoccupied with her embarrassment, she did not notice that he had the slightest limp as he came in. She slowly eased into a high chair at the kitchen island, and he sat across from her.
"I apologize for the mess. Cleaning has a bit of a low priority right now," she said sheepishly and avoided his gaze.
"I take it you have been at home all week," he said calmly, but she could tell he was disgusted by her living quarters by the way his nostrils flared ever so slightly.
"Yes. I had some sick days saved up from last year and I put them into this week," she replied. Even though she was on sick leave, she was still working. Being at home let her catch up on the more menial tasks of her position, such as reviewing papers and writing reference letters. She also helped edit the work of several people she worked with.
"How is your leg?" he asked and stared intently at her. When she had called to cancel dinner plans with him earlier that week, she had told him that her leg was sprained.
She shrugged and said with a wry smile, "It's getting better every day, but slowly."
It was the truth. The troublesome stab wound looked alright on the surface, but since it was so deep, it continued to ache. Most of the bleeding had stopped, though walking was really painful. So, she had been hopping around on one foot this entire time. In retrospect, she had no idea how she had managed to walk back from the warehouse a week ago.
His attentive gaze shifted to her thigh and he said, "I could take a look at it for you, to make sure it is healing properly."
Before she had replied, he stood up and started walking over to her, rolling up his sleeves. Her eyes widened and she extended her hands in front of her.
"No, no, I assure you, I am fine," she said, staring up at him. He was right in front of her, and she internally cursed at how weak she looked holding her hands out in front of her like that. He looked at her startled expression and paused.
"You do not like being touched," he said slowly and she snorted. With a dry chuckle, she said, "I most certainly do not."
Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and he said, "What if I insist?"
She could tell he was joking, but she did not like it. Taking this as a chance to stand up for herself, she said in a lower tone, "You will not be insisting on anything in myhome."
They stared at each other, tension rising in the room. Finally, Hannibal replied with a sly smile, "Then I will have to wait until we are at mine."
At this point, she was not sure what they were implying they were insisting on, so she looked away in confusion. Slowly, she sat down again, as did he. Then, as if nothing had happened, he started opening his picnic basket and explaining what was inside. He took out a full set of silverware, and quickly set the table in front of them. He used several French words to describe the meal he was serving, but it went over her head.
When he took out two wine glasses, she watched him wearily, ready to interrupt him from pouring her any alcohol if need be. He picked up on her caution and said, "Don't worry, this is cherry juice. I think it will go well with the braised pork."
Mika peered at the extravagant meal before her, then at the man serving it. Her curiosity got the best of her and she asked, "Why would you go through all of this trouble for me?"
He looked up from his plate and gave her another one of his uncomfortable piercing stares. His face was blank as he said, "I was curious to see how you were doing,"
She narrowed her eyes, not quite satisfied with his answer. He added, "Also, I suspected you lied about the nature of your injury."
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he continued, "And it seems I was correct to suspect that. You have a stab wound, not a sprain."
Mika leaned back in her chair and threw up her arms. "You've got me."
"Of course, you realize that I want to know how it happened," he said as he cut away a piece of his pork and put it in his mouth.
She pursed her lips and poked at the steamed vegetables. Then, she said quietly, "You've brought me dinner so the least I can do is be honest with you. I got stabbed in a fight."
He looked interested so she continued, "I can't tell you where I got it, or from whom."
Hannibal went back to looking at his food and for a few minutes, they ate in silence. Then, he asked, "Do you think your leg will be healed in time for Christmas?"
She furrowed her brow at the specificity of the question, but replied, "I hope so. Why?"
"I am holding a dinner party. I would like you to attend," he said frankly. She did not bother hiding her reluctance and he continued, "I realize you do not like those kinds of events, but it would mean a lot for me if you could come."
She cast him a confused look, then sighed. As politely as she could, she said, "You and I are from different circles. I do not fit in with you and your high-class friends."
He did not like her answer, because he frowned. Firmly, he retorted, "I think we have more similarities than differences."
Mika went silent and looked away. It was a loaded statement, and one she did not know how to make sense of. From what she could tell, they were complete opposites. He enjoyed the finer things in life, while she preferred to keep things simple. He was elegant and sociable, while she was plain and shy. They were like day and night. Unless he was talking about something else.
Narrowing her eyes, she pointed an accusatory finger at him and said, "Look, if you want us to be able to communicate, you are going to have to cut down on all these riddles."
He hesitated, but then drew a breath and explained, "We are the result of circumstance. I believe that if we were in similar situations, we would act the same way."
Their eyes met, and for once, she held his gaze. She stared into his deep brown eyes and she felt something strange. It felt like deja vu, as if they had locked their eyes like this before. Confused, she looked away and put her hand to her temple. It felt like she had a headache coming on.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Just a headache," she said with a small smile before digging into her meat. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he too, continued to eat.
The silence only lasted a few minutes before he broke it with a personal question. From there, their conversation was like a waterfall. They talked for hours, about everything from their past, to their goals and the future. For each personal question he asked her, she asked one in return. It was like a challenge, a game of questions where the winner was the one who got the most personal answer.
Of course, she suspected that every other answer he gave her was a lie. It was in the tiniest curl of his lips, and the faintest flicker in his eyes. Still, she let it slide, just to keep playing. Her answers were not always entirely honest either, and she knew that he knew that. So they lied, and lied, and lied. It was the most fun either of them had had in months.
On December 23rd, Mika woke up earlier than she would have liked. All she wanted to do was curl up and keep sleeping, but she was too nervous. This evening, Hannibal would be holding his dinner party and she was not looking forward to it. Though he had repeatedly assured her that she would get along alright with everyone, she still felt like an outsider.
She had to be sure she played her part well; the part of a sophisticated and intelligent scientist. She climbed out of her bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Her limp had subsided considerably, but to the sharp eye, it was still noticeable. She hoped no one would ask about it, because she would be forced to lie. After all, well-cultured people did not get into knife fights.
Her clothes were already picked out and she glared at the black dress she was going to wear. She would feel even more vulnerable in the thing, even though it did not show too much skin. For an event this emotionally involved, she would have preferred to wear some kevlar.
Cleaned up, she wandered downstairs to fix herself some breakfast. As she walked past the front door, out of habit, she peeked through the eye hole. To her surprise, there was a green box with a red ribbon on it. She narrowed her eyes at it and hesitated before opening the door. She had already exchanged presents with her friends and she was not expecting any more.
As she had guessed, there was no address on the box. Her mood turned sour. The last time a box showed at her door, she had found a human tongue. She stared at it for a long time, letting the cold winter air into her home. Finally, she shivered and took it inside.
She set it down on her counter and groaned. She did not need another human organ to have to dispose of. Tugging at her hair, she paced back and forth in front of it. She could just throw it away, not even bothering to open it. However, she knew that was not an option. Her curiosity was too strong. With a wry smile, she remembered that curiosity was something she and Hannibal shared.
Pursing her lips, she pulled the ribbon, undoing the elaborate bow. From a distance, she reached out and lifted the lid. When nothing jumped out at her, she came a bit closer. There was something wrapped in golden wrapping paper and she frowned. To open it, she would have to touch it. She steeled her mind to be prepared that she was about to touch something fleshy and disgusting.
She held her breath as she picked up the object and gingerly tore away the wrapping paper. Whatever it was, it felt hard. When she opened it, her eyes widened.
It was a knife. The hilt was black and made of wood, while the blade itself was white and very sharp. She admired the handiwork carefully, but she did not have to be a doctor to know what she was holding. The blade was made out of human bone.
She felt conflicted. The knife was beautiful, and exactly what she needed. After her last encounter with the Ripper, she never did get her switchblade back. However, the thought that some innocent person had died for this to come into her hands made her a bit ill.
Mika gripped the weapon in her hand tightly and she knew what she had to do. She would keep the knife, take it everywhere with her. Then, the next time the Ripper attacked her, she would stab him with it. She smirked and twirled the blade in the air. Now that would be justice.
End chapter 7. Hannibal is hosting a dinner party! No doubt, with lovely 'choice' ingredients. Meanwhile, at the FBI, the detectives were having quite the time trying to figure out why someone was missing several organs, as well as their hip bone. Who would remove a hip bone? Perhaps a man keen on making a knife out of human bone ;)