Author's note: To every one of my fanfic friends— thanks so much for all your kind words. I want to thank you all for your many reviews, DMs on and messages on Twitter. Know that I always appreciate interacting with my readers and talking about my H and his Clarice. I love my H and consider it one of the honors of my life to be able to write the story of his relationship with Clarice, their infinite love and their journey through life together. If you've reviewed recently and I haven't responded please know that while life has been a challenge for me, but I truly do appreciate each and every one of you. If you enjoy the chapter please feel free to write a review, or connect with me on Twitter. The feedback really does keep me going in more ways than one.
Please stay safe, dear friends. Trust me, the world is far more interesting with you in it ;)
Much fanfic love to you all.
L.H.
For Anna. Always
THE ANGEL OF DEATH
Clarice lifted the photo. "Who the hell is that, H?" She asked not with an air of concern, but of curiosity, "And why is the crucifix around his neck circled in red marker?"
"A reminder, Clarice."
"A reminder. Of what?" She was touching him as she considered it, the back of her body leaning fully against the front of his. It wasn't sexual, but meant to comfort him, he thought. He placed a hand around her waist, drawing her in even closer. Not wanting to be overheard, his lips grazed her neck as he whispered in her ear. "I was present at his execution. I'd been working my way through medical school: collecting and preparing the bodies for embalming. Popil would know, even if I didn't recall the man's face— which of course I do— I'd remember him from the crucifix."
She nodded, but didn't seem convinced. Clarice didn't take anything at face value. She wouldn't be influenced or judge Popil's motivations until she'd seen evidence of it herself. In that moment, seeing her evaluating stacks of photos connected to dozens of cases, Hannibal affirmed in his mind why she was so special. Her unshakable loyalty— a rarer quality than most understand. More steadfast in her defense of him than any person had ever been, Hannibal believed Clarice would challenge the devil at the entrance of hell to spare him damnation. Challenging Popil would be a small matter to her.
She continued to stare at the photo. "What makes the crucifix more memorable than the man's face?"
Hannibal continued to watch her eyes, even as he ran an index finger along her arm. He smiled seeing the goosebumps rise to his touch. Perfection.
"Physically, he was an ordinary man— as forgettable as many found guilty of Nazi collaboration. The crucifix is memorable because I tore it from that very chain and placed it on his tongue, as one might a communion wafer, moments before his execution by guillotine."
Perhaps shocked by the comment, she turned to face him. "Making a condemned man choke on a crucifix while they chop off his head? I mean… I know you're a tease, but that's effing twisted, even for you, H."
"I shall take that as the compliment I'm sure it was meant to be, but I assure you, Dearest, I wasn't mocking the man or his God. He wanted it with him as the blade separated his head from his body. I imagine he hoped it might speed his resurrection, or grant him forgiveness in heaven."
She stared at him for a long moment, then tossed the photo onto the table and turned to head for the door. "To hell with this, H. We're leaving."
Hannibal reached for her hand to stay her movement. She tugged against him for a moment, but relented. He pulled out a chair for her. "It would be rude not to hear the man out. That, and he's got quite a lot of material here. Material that, in the right hands, could create problems for our family. It would be wise to assess what he's gathered."
She sat, and began gathering all the material in wide swaths toward her. "Oh, I'll assess it. I'll assess the hell out of it." Clarice began furiously sorting through each photograph. Hannibal, beaming with a husband's pride, watched the fire in her eyes ignite more and more with each and every piece of evidence she handled. She picked them up, determined how damaging each might be, and began tossing them in various piles. She called out each appraisal aloud, dismissing them out of turn as she collated the piles. "Beyond the statute of limitations…irrelevant…wasn't you…circumstantial... irrelevant…again, beyond the statute of limitations…not you…not you…sure as hell better have not been you…irrelevant…" Exasperated, she shoved them all into a pile in the center of the table on top of the envelope. "Not one photo here can implicate you in a single thing. These are all bullshit, and you know it, H."
"Likely so does he, Clarice, but that matters little. Once something reaches the press it's very difficult to alter public opinion. Retractions are never as well-publicized as accusations, and I'd rather not put our family through that. We have thick skins. Our children do not."
"Okay, we'll listen to him, but you're not his convenient little gun-for-hire. Especially not coercion under the threat of prosecution."
Hannibal winked. "I'll appeal to his sensibilities."
Clarice rolled her eyes and scoffed, "His sensibilities? He invited a serial killer into his home and is making obvious threats. I'm not counting on him being sensible."
"Perhaps not, but you'll allow me the opportunity to try, yes?"
Clarice once more picked up the photo of them man with the crucifix. "Why do people think you're some sort of animal they can either cage or force to perform tricks?" Frustrated, she kicked at the leg of the table. "Seriously, H. This whole thing enrages me! Fair warning… if he doesn't come to this senses and back the hell off, your old buddy won't have to worry about what you might do. He'll be dealing with me."
"He is blissfully unaware that you're the more dangerous of this pair, but I am not." Hannibal took the photos from her hands, gathered her hands together as is in prayer, and kissed them. "My cub has become a lioness of such ferocity even I am in awe of your magnificence. Have I told you today how much I love you?"
"I love you too, H. He's about to find out how much."
He kissed her hands once more, then released them. "Keep the claws in for now, my Love. Please. Allow me."
She nodded, but he could tell she didn't like it. He would watch her, and if she decided to take control Hannibal would defer. She dealt with a lot being married to him. She deserved that autonomy.
Popil returned with a tray that held cups, saucers and, by the scent of it, a small pot of espresso. Hannibal jumped to his feet and rushed to Popil's side, relieving the trembling man of the tray. Popil nodded in thanks, then turned to Clarice. "Would you mind going into the kitchen and retrieving the tray of pastry, milk and sugar? It's just down the hall on the left. I placed it on the counter beside the refrigerator."
Clarice looked to Hannibal. He nodded. "Sure, I'll be right back."
Popil waited until Clarice left the room. The kitchen was down a long corridor. It would take a moment for her to return. "She loves you very much," the elderly inspector noted.
Hannibal cleared the photos and began setting up the coffee cups. "Does that surprise you," he asked as he placed the envelope on the sill of the window beside Popil. The circled photo was left purposefully on top.
Popil shook his head. "No. You're a powerful presence, and handsome in a way women of substance would find compelling. Not to mention you're an uncommonly intelligent, charming man. What surprises me is that it appears you return her love in equal measure."
"Not equal, I assure you. I love her with every ounce of my being. With all my heart and soul," Hannibal asserted, making direct eye contact as he spoke.
"I understand you mentioning your heart, but your soul?" Popil asked, "Do you believe you have one?"
"I was raised in my mother's faith, and though my moral code might be different than most believers, it aligns with the God I've experienced."
"And what God have you experienced."
"A vengeful one, perhaps capable of compassion only when compelled to it."
Popil reached across the table for the photographs. He didn't lift them, instead he patted them gently, his hand remaining as reverently placed as one might rest on a bible. "The God I believe in his merciful. You're capable of showing mercy in your life. I've seen it."
Hannibal nodded. "The crucifix."
Popil closed his eyes for a moment, and, as if placing himself in that time again, spoke softly, "You knew, as a Catholic yourself, placing the crucifix in his mouth would lend comfort, and, for mercy's sake, you provided it."
"I understood his want of it. No more." Hannibal's voice showed no inflection.
Following that response, Popil considered Hannibal for a very long time. Was he trying to determine Hannibal's motivations then, or his mood now? If it was his current sensibilities, Popil would find nothing more than polite discourse. Hannibal's demeanor and expression spoke nothing more than the dignity of common courtesy.
"Because I believe you're capable of mercy, it's for mercy's sake I've asked you here."
Hannibal heard swift footfalls approach. Clarice, who must have hurried tremendously to arrive so soon, returned with the tray. Silent, she placed it on the table and took a seat.
Hannibal gestured that he would be willing to pour the coffee. Popil bowed a head in thanks. As Hannibal poured a cup for his host, he asked, "That I am capable of it does not mean I am of a mind to provide such mercy."
"It isn't for you do decide. It has already been decided." Popil waited for Hannibal to place the filled cup on the table in front of him, then grabbed Hannibal's hand before he could retract it. "I have prayed for an angel of mercy, and God himself has brought you back to me because of it."
"I am no angel," Hannibal asserted. "The Devil was once an angel. I carry no such burden." He'd said it before, and he meant it.
"Being an angel is not a burden, but a mission from God. And no, you're not the devil, I've come to understand that, but Death is an angel, too. I've come to know that as well."
"Death is hunter that stalks us all." Hannibal served his wife a cup prepared to her liking. "I'm curious, Clarice. What are your thoughts?"
Clarice accepted the coffee Hannibal prepared. More latte than espresso: extra light and extra sweet. She'd taken her coffee black while in the FBI. Not by choice, but because, as she'd told him, it was a long walk from her dungeon to any part of the building where she could grab a quick cup. Ever practical, not to take a break from her work, she kept an electric kettle and some instant coffee in her desk. She hated powdered creamer, and without a refrigerator, cream was a luxury not afforded her. Since then she refused to ever take it black again. She took a sip, and by the way she smiled he knew she was pleased with it. Clarice's smile. Heaven.
"So…what form does mercy take in your eyes, Inspector Popil?" She didn't blink, rather she sipped her coffee and stared at Popil overtop the cup. "Because I sorted through a pile of photos that appear to be a veiled threat. Nothing merciful about that in my mind. Yours?"
Popil reached for the photos and tucked them in their envelope as if trying to hide the shame of the implication. "I apologize. I thought it was the only way to get you here."
"An invitation was all that was needed, Inspector." Clarice asserted, "I don't know about Hannibal, but I don't respond well to threats against my family. My husband especially. He's served his time for any crimes he has been held responsible for. He's not accountable to you or anyone else for his life, or his future."
She called him Hannibal. He guessed Popil didn't warrant hearing her name for him. H. Hannibal watched the meeting of these minds. Popil, he knew, was grossly overmatched.
"He's accountable to you?" Popil asked.
"Hannibal is as accountable to me as I am to him. That's what marriage is, isn't it— a lifetime of accountability and commitment? But I'm sure by the sounds of the medical devices coming from the bedroom down the hall that's something you're all too familiar with, aren't you, Pascal?"
Hannibal smiled when she used Popil's given name. His lioness was stalking her prey, and it was a magical thing to see.
Popil heartily agreed, "A lifetime commitment…yes."
"And obligation."
"Yes. Don't you think so?"
"No. I don't."
"What is it if not an obligation?"
Hannibal leaned forward. He wanted to hear her response, though he knew what she would say. Clarice understood the nuance of language in a way most people didn't, and understood the nuances of love in a way most could never comprehend.
"Obligation has a connotation that implies compulsion. Indebtedness. In my mind love is as far from an obligation as it is from hate. Love is an honor, and honor is offered not as a duty, but as an act of nobility. Of devotion. A different connotation…a different meaning, entirely. But you see it as an obligation, and that's why you're seeking what you call mercy. To end of that commitment. That obligation would be to end that life." Clarice's eyes were as intense as her observation.
Popil, shame lowering his head, whispered, "He knows this pain and he knows how to stop it."
Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, but Clarice held a hand up, so Hannibal offered a hand, deferring to her.
"Are you implying that my husband killed Lady Murasaki?"
"He's a doctor. He would know exactly how to end her suffering, and how to end mine as well."
Clarice made no effort to hide her shock. "It's not enough you want him to kill your wife? Now you want a two-for?"
"I don't know what that is," Popil replied, "I want to end her suffering, and mine as well. I hoped, knowing our past and the fact that Hannibal is capable of such mercy, that he might be amenable to an arrangement."
"A two-for. Two for the price of one?" Clarice explained. "That's what you want, isn't it? My husband to murder you and your wife?"
A two-for. Hilarious.
Clarice's dark sense of humor often caught him off-guard. He appreciated that wit, and chuckled to himself, continually stirred a spoon within his coffee cup. The milk had been well-mixed, but he found the sound of the bowl of the spoon skimming the edges of the bone china relaxing. Though tears poured down Popil's face, Hannibal was unmoved.
"I want our suffering to end. Both of us. Hers and mine."
"What of my husband's suffering? You knew them both. You know he's loved her for more years than I've been alive, yet you've accusing him of killing her. Just so you know, he nursed her 24/7, providing comfort and tending to her dignity until her god took her home. If you want to avoid that, call it what it is. You're dancing around it like Baryshnikov, but what you're asking is for my husband to kill your wife, and, apparently, you too. If that's what you're asking you can at least have the courage to say it, Pascal. Is that the mercy you seek?"
"I want my wife and I, both of us together, to die by his hands. Please, I can't do it or I won't be able to go to heaven with her."
Hannibal hissed, "But for me to serve your measure of mercy you'd be denying me any hope of an afterlife with my Love." Hannibal asked not because he believed it himself, but because he knew Popil did.
"This isn't murder. It's an act of mercy. God would hold you in higher favor, I'm sure."
"Doubtful," Hannibal disagreed. "You mentioned our past. To what were you referring?" Popil took a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the tears from his eyes. Returning it, he explained, "I knew what you were… I knew who you were, but I kept my mouth shut because you passed the lie detector test. That gave me enough plausible deniability to avoid charging you in Paul Momund's death, but I knew who you were. That, and I didn't feel the need to pursue him for killing a man who was, frankly, an abomination."
"And you believe I owe you for that?"
"You owe me nothing. I hoped you were the answer to my prayers. Please, Hannibal…please consider this."
Clarice opened the door, waiting for Hannibal to join her.
Popil held the envelope up, offering the evidence to Hannibal. He waved it away. "I'm sure we'll see each other again."
Clarice left the door, walked up to Popil and took the envelope from his hand. As he released it she stated without emotion, "You're a retired cop…you must have a weapon around her somewhere. Do it yourself."
She headed for the door without turning back, said, "Come on, H...we're leaving."
"My wife and I thank you for your hospitality." Hannibal shook Popil's hand. "We'll see each other soon, I'm sure."
They left without another word.
Until the next chapter, my friends,
L.H.
