Disclaimer: I don't own "Hannibal," but all original characters are mine.

February, 2013.

Victoria took the blood test as she and Hannibal had agreed she would.

It was a girl.

Their baby was going to be a girl.

Victoria was thrilled, Hannibal would make a better father for a daughter, at least the first time around. There would be piano lessons and ballet, and art classes, too. She could see him teaching their daughter how to draw, how to find perspective, how to play the harpsichord, the differences in columns.

Things would have to change, though, as their daughter got older. He'd have to be more circumspect about killing. There was no way around it. He would have to be.

She texted him to let him know the baby was a girl. He would smile at the news, his eyes growing soft. It was always the sperm from the father that decided the baby's gender, wasn't it? At least that was what she remembered from her science classes in high school and college.

She sighed as she texted her mother, too. Claire would be excited. She'd probably go and start shipping for baby clothes right away. And there'd be a baby shower to plan. God, two, if Victoria could fly to California for a week or so. Now that she had the time.

As she waited in Dr. du Maurier's office, she found that there were some creative writing classes that were being offered through the community center, held at one of the branches of the local library on Wednesday nights. That should be a good thing to do, she thought. A good place to start.

Dr. du Maurier remarked on how well-rested Victoria looked, and the conversation this time centered around the baby. "Congratulations on having a girl," Dr. du Maurier said to her. "I'm sure Hannibal is thrilled."

"He is," Victoria replied.

Dr. du Maurier's brightened a little bit as a smile graced it. "I think it will be good for him, being a father," she told Victoria. "Especially since he lost his own family when he was so young."

Victoria sat stone still for a moment, her jaw going slack. "How did you know that about him?" she demanded.

Dr. du Maurier sighed. "He told me about it, Victoria. Just like he told me everything about you."

Everything.

Oh, God.

Oh, God, did she know?

"He loves you very much, Victoria," Dr. du Maurier went on. "He spoke of it as being feelings he couldn't deny. He tried to put them aside, not only for you, but for himself. He sincerely wants you to be happy. He would do anything he could to see you that wat."

Victoria leaned back against the chair. "And how would he do that?"

"By being the husband he ought to be for you." Dr. du Maurier's voice, strangely musical, lulling her into a sense of peace, of security. Just as Hannibal would do. Just as Hannibal had always done.

Be blind, Victoria. Be blind. That's all you need to do. And I'll give you what you've always wanted.

She'd been blind for so long. Even though she knew full well what he was doing.

But she wasn't blind anymore. Somehow, with all of her silence, she had become complicit.

And somehow, she was sure, so had Dr. du Maurier.

He came back late that evening, awakening her as he went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. She heard the shower running, and she got up out of bed. She went toward he bathroom and saw that he had tossed his clothes into the hamper. Despite how neat he might be during a murder, there were times when he couldn't help it if blood or gore spattered on his clothes. She picked up his shirt and turned on the cold water in one of the bathroom sinks. She rinsed the blood off of the sleeve as best as she could, then placed it back in the hamper.

"You'll be doing laundry tomorrow, won't you?" he asked her. Normally he liked to have his shirts and other clothing professionally cleaned and pressed.

She heard him turn off the shower, and presently he emerged from the stall, reaching for a towel on the rack.

"Yes," she replied. "Do you want me to wash some of your shirts?"

He smiled. "Would you?" he said, wrapping the towel around his waist and kissing him on the cheek.

She managed to kiss him on the mouth. Whatever he had done, she could forgive, she thought to herself as she watched him wander into the bedroom. He was home, he'd come home to her, hadn't he?

"You're all right?" she asked him, following him into the bedroom.

He began to get ready for bed, and she watched him while she slowly made her way to the bed. Hannibal was taut and lean, his muscles honed to perfection by the hours he spent swimming in the local pool and running on the treadmill in the exercise room on the third floor. He was a god among men, Victoria thought to herself, remembering how his hands had brought her so much ecstasy after he'd been able to coax her out of her anxiety of having sex for the first time after her assault.

"I'm perfectly well," he replied, his eyes not leaving her as she went to sit on the edge of their bed. He didn't betray whatever it was he might be thinking. Somehow Victoria didn't think it right to ask.

"Do you mind telling me where you were?" she ventured as he made his way toward his side of the bed.

"Where I was doesn't matter," he said to her, pulling back the blankets and climbing into bed beside her. "But what you tell the police, if asked, will matter."

She closed her eyes, swallowed over the lump in her throat. "You were home tonight. With me." There, it was so easy to spin the tale…

"And what did we do?" he asked her gently, cupping her face in his hands.

"We had dinner. After dinner, we went to the living room. I wrote while you sketched. We went to bed early. You have an early workout at the pool tomorrow. I want to work on some yoga. We're both trying to be better. Having a baby has made us think…"

He stared into her eyes for a few moments, then leaned over and pressed her lips to her forehead. "You are invaluable," he told her. "Without you, I don't know what my life would be like right now."

She closed her eyes. God, why did he have to do that, make her feel like he needed her in every way imaginable when she was only useful to him in just a few ways?

Because she let him. Because he knew how to prey on her weaknesses and she let him, because she needed him so much.

"It would be a very lonely life," she mustered, kissing him. "But you have me, and soon you'll have the baby, too. You'll never be alone again, Hannibal."

As he lay down beside her, his eyes were quiet, contemplative. "No," he murmured. "No, I'll never be alone again, will I?"

"Never," she promised, taking his hand in hers.

She hadn't realized that Franklyn Froideveaux had been following them for the past few weeks, until she saw him at the art museum gala.

It was supposed to be a charity dinner for the donors of the art museum; Hannibal had always been one of its biggest supporters, and in turn the museum had done some work with the Landry Foundation, letting a group of young survivors come in for an art therapy class three times a month. Hannibal had done so much for the foundation, too, Victoria thought, her lips thinning as she listened to the singer performing before the dinner. Hannibal had made it into something better than it was, and now his influence could be gone, just like that, too.

It wasn't fair.

Jeannette would have to pay.

Someone else would be perfectly happy with this life. Someone else would enjoy being Mrs. Victoria Landry-Lecter, the daughter of a famous writer and the wife of an eminent psychiatrist. But that wasn't what Victoria wanted.

She wanted to be known for herself and the things she had done, not for being attached to a man who had accomplished so much.

Not for the things a certain man had done to her. All to get her father's attention.

She felt her stomach lurch, then quietly got up and made her wat to the bathroom. She hated the way her mind would go back to what she had survived, those years of torment, that night she'd fought for her life but had emerged triumphant, rising from the ashes…

She was quietly sick in the bathroom.

It wasn't so bad being Victoria Landry-Lecter. Her husband loved her – or so it seemed – and he was handsome, intelligent, attentive. What more could she ask for?

She took a paper cup from the bathroom counter and pumped a bit of mouthwash from the fancy dispenser into it. She tossed it back into her mouth, swirling the liquid about before spitting it out. IT would have to do, she thought, though her teeth still felt gritty.

"You're looking lovely, Victoria!" Mrs. Komeda exclaimed a few moments later when she came out to join Hannibal. She allowed Mrs. Komeda to air-kiss her cheek. "I was just telling Hannibal that he needs to host another dinner for us – like he used to do! You're the only one who can seem to get him to commit to anything…" Here Mrs. Komeda's eyes flicked down to Victoria's belly. "And you're starting to show! You look wonderful!"

It could be worse, Victoria thought, offering a false smile of acknowledgment. At least Mrs. Komeda wasn't trying to touch her belly. At least Mrs. Komeda remembered she didn't like to be touched all the time…

She forced a smile. "I'll see what I might be able to do to convince him," she said, reaching for Hannibal's hand. He gently lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, as though to make it clear that he loved his wife. But clear to whom?

She felt her heart leap to her throat when Franklyn Froideveaux stepped forward, with a handsome young African-American man at his side.

"Franklyn, have you met my wife, Victoria?" Hannibal's voice came to her from what seemed a million miles away, and the short, dumpy man smiled at her.

"We have met – once. When I came to Dr. Lecter's office. Do you remember?" he said, extending hid hand so Victoria could shake it. For some reason it was clammy.

"I remember. I was there to get the mail." And I slammed the door in your doughy face, she added silently to herself.

"I saw both of you at the grocery, too," Franklyn went on.

"How could I forget?" Hannibal murmured.

Victoria felt her stomach roil again as she grabbed Hannibal's arm for support when the dinner gong rang. He made a clever joke, setting everyone around them laughing, and she even smiled through her apprehension of Franklyn Froideveaux.

******

"He's stalking you." Victoria broached the subject as soon as they stepped into the house. Hannibal turned on the lights and went to sit on the couch in the living room.

"And what do you think I should do about that, Victoria?" he asked, inviting her to sit beside him by patting the cushion.

"Cut him loose," she said. "Get rid of him as a patient. The fit clearly isn't good."

He stared at the painting in front of them as he drew her closer to him. "Would it mean that much to you?"

"You know it would." She buried her face into his shoulder. The thought of losing him to some kind of bodily harm was all too much for her to bear. "What would I do without you, Hannibal?"

"You'd survive without me," he said. She lifted her head from his shoulder, staring up at his amused expression with dismay.

"I couldn't. You know I couldn't." Because they had become so inextricably tied together, she couldn't imagine it any other way. He was the one who protected her from all of the evils of the world, he was her rock when she needed it. There was nothing else without him. No matter how much she might want to leave, there was nothing else without him…

She hardly knew where she ended and he began, now that she was pregnant with his baby.

She had become completely devoted to him.