Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year to all of my #NMSL friends! Thank you for spending another year with me and my H. May you all experience the love and happiness you so richly deserve, and may the new year be filled with good health and prosperity for you all.

For Anna. Always.

LOVE IS A RIDDLE

Hannibal understood when Clarice told him she wanted to check in with Ardelia and Logan, preferring to spend the day with the children as Hannibal prepared for their interaction with Popil. She longed for them. Craved them, as any good mother would, he thought. Hannibal understood the compulsion: to be reminded of everything she sought to protect, though he felt no such yearnings. It wasn't that he didn't love his children, but seeing them would distract from the task at hand. Fatherhood, in itself, did not fortify him. In fact, paternity was something he'd given very little thought over the years, having resigned himself to a solitary life. Until Clarice. She unlocked parts of him he'd long discarded, bursting wide long-placed barricades in his memory palace. Doors leading to thoughts of any family life had been closed off. Abandoned. The very sight of Clarice cast off such boundaries, kicking down doors and throwing open windows long-barred. He was glad of that, but such thoughts wouldn't serve him now. Now he was Predator. He had no room in his mind for anything else.

Popil left his home just before noon. Hannibal followed him through the streets of Paris, always a few steps behind, unnoticed. He mirrored each of his steps, even as Popil entered the local chemists, purchasing what Hannibal recognized to be analgesics and an over the counter stomach medicine. Nothing scandalous, but evidence his health needed daily intervention and he wasn't seeking proper medical assistance. He followed him to the same bakery Clarice mentioned. Standing outside, he watched as Popil purchased two loaves of fresh bread, and half-dozen croissants. Simple food for a simple man, Hannibal thought.

He sensed opportunity when Popil turned his attentions a small cafe, choosing a table outside. Hannibal took a seat at a nearby table opposite the man.

"Good afternoon," Hannibal spoke softly, no threat evident in his tone.

"Is it?" Popil answered with his characteristically crooked grin, "I hadn't noticed."

"It is very good for me, as my family very happy and very healthy. I suppose the same cannot be said by you, can it? With your wife's health in question, and yours a challenge as well. Though I suppose goodness is a subjective term. Whether or not the morning is good— a person. You've shaded me in inky tones, have you not? Dark hues that warn of danger and nefarious deeds. I am Evil in your mind, am I not?"

"Good may be subjective, but Evil isn't open to debate. Evil simply Is."

Hannibal waved a waiter over and ordered an espresso. He motioned for the waiter to take Popil's order, but Popil waved him away, asking for more time.

Hannibal continued the conversation. "There is no such thing as good or evil. We are what we are, that is all."

Nothing happened to me, Officer Starling. I happened.

"We are products of our environment and our genetic programming. What you are given may not be your fault, but what you do with it decides whether or not you're good or evil." Popil dismissed an eager waiter, waving a finger to request more time. He then sat forward in his chair, body bowed by his ill health and advanced years. "Good or bad, the day is. That's all. It simply is. That is my life now. It is."

"A nihilistic viewpoint, but one I understand. The mortality of a loved one is a difficult thing to face."

"What do you know of love?" Popil questioned with a scowl. "Chopping off a man's head isn't exactly the type of courtship normal men undertake."

Hannibal ignored Popil's reference to Paul Momund, taking a generic approach to the comment.

"Who said I strive for normality? Normal is ordinary, and I am anything but. It's not only a pedestrian goal in life, it's beneath the standards of my forefathers, and myself. As for what I know of love, I understand its ethereal nature. Love. An immutable gift that, once given, can't be taken back. You may fight hard against it, attempting to deny its very existence in your life, but you can't erase the fact that, if even for a brief moment in time, they meant everything to you and you to them."

"I live in the now."

"As did Clarice. Fortunately, I was very patient, preparing the "here" for her. When, finally, she was ready to admit her love to me and live in the here and now, I was well equipped to welcome her home to me."

"You speak of love as if it's a riddle to be solved."

"Love is a riddle— a conundrum of the most complex kind. I am fortunate that the one I love has recognized my worth, and has returned my love. There is no greater tragedy, no greater torment than to feel that love for someone, and have it remain unrequited. Fortunately, you and I have experienced great love, yes? Your wife is important to you?"

"Very."

"I would follow my wife to the ends of the earth if she left me. I sense you're attempting to follow yours to her next destination, though you're not meant to join her yet, are you?"

"I won't make it without her. I know that."

"I understand that sentiment as well. Hannibal lifted his head, turning his nose up to a coming breeze. "You have a scent that's difficult to pinpoint. Distinctive— musty in a way people may confuse with the scent of unkempt clothing, though yours has been recently laundered. It's more than that, isn't it, Pascal? Or perhaps you are nose-blind to it? If you're having trouble placing it, the name is Fetor hepaticus. Advanced liver failure, if I were to diagnose based on scent alone. Have you been to see a specialist? I'm certain my diagnosis is correct based on the yellow of your eyes, and the tinge of ochre to your flesh. Perhaps you should seek a second opinion? I'd request a hepatologist, if you've not already seen someone. A gastroenterologist would also serve."

The waiter returned to the table with Hannibal's espresso. Popil ordered tea with honey, and a simple crepe dish— asking for the toppings to be removed before being brought to tableside.

"Such a bland meal. A shame to live in such a culinary gem as Paris and not avail yourself of the epicurean delights," Hannibal tempted, lifting his hand to hold the waiter for a moment longer.

"My palate isn't what it once was," Popil responded, waving the man away.

"Indeed."

The waiter returned with Popil's tea. He placed a honey pot on the table. Popil reached for the small wooden dipper, twirling it between his fingers to wrap the honey around the grooves.

"I'd stay away from that," Hannibal advised. "It has protective properties in appropriate quantities, but you've ingested far too much in your system. I fear your biology has been adversely affected. Your wife as well, if I were to guess."

Popil's eyes flashed what seemed shock. "What I do with my diet is my own affair, Dr. Lecter. I'll never get used to calling you a doctor. Funny, isn't it? You were the most promising medical student Paris has ever seen, yet you spent most of your career murdering people rather than saving them."

"I wouldn't call it funny, necessarily. And the definition of murder is to kill someone unlawfully, not simply to kill. If I have killed, and this is a purely hypothetical suggestion, it would be to protect myself or those I love, or to improve the world as a whole— after all, I'm nothing if not magnanimous. As for the suggestion that I've murdered anyone, I've no guilty knowledge of any such crimes."

"Guilty knowledge?" Popil's voice elevated as he pounded a weak fist on the table, "You throw my own words at me? From you they're as good as daggers flung toward an already wounded man."

Hannibal lifted his palms toward Popil, gesturing for him to calm. "You mistake my intentions. I am merely noting there is a difference between taking a life and murdering a person. If your wife were to die at your hands, which she most certainly will if her diet, and yours, in point of fact, remains unchanged, would that be murder? I'm not capable of such atrocity against the woman I love. Can you say the same thing, I wonder? No doubt your wife didn't agree to a slow death by malnutrition. I don't think that appears anywhere on the DNR forms either of you filled out in hospital, though I'm sure it's likely the reason she isn't hospitalized or in a care home of some sort. A shame, really."

At the word shame, Popil's eyes flashed anger. "The only shame I see is a murderer who brought dishonor upon his own house— the Lecter name was once revered in Paris. Now, it is reviled. Nothing I've done compares to that."

"Revered? In Paris? My uncle Robert was a talented artist, yes, and well-respected, but easily misguided or Lady Murasaki wouldn't have fallen onto such financial distress when he passed away. He had the Lecter name, but not the apex mentality necessary for true reverence. Hannibal's maroon irises glowed like lit flares, burning, not with anger, but with such intensity Popil looked away. "I couldn't care less what people of low birth think of a House as mighty as mine. Because you knew my Lady and were in some way acquainted with my uncle Robert, do not presume you know a thing about the great Houses from which I was born and bred. I am descended from Hannibal the Grim. My father was a Count Hannibal Lecter the Seventh. My mother was Florentine royalty. It was their unfettered strength and intellectual magnificence that brought me forth in this world. What are you, no more a generation from the swill-drinking peasantry of the outer-Paris farms? Laughable that you'd presume to speak of my heritage with such modest parentage. Your class and station in life are so far beneath me you are but a slug in my presence. Your family was wallowing in slop as mine thrived amongst combatants, cardinals and popes. You're a mutt of Europe's ghettos, while my family pedigree, as is my stewardship of it, is impeccable."

"Daddy!"

Daddy?

Hannibal turned to see Devyni running toward him, arms wide, with Logan dodging through traffic in hot pursuit. He caught up to Dev, and scooped him up in his arms just before he reached Hannibal at the table.

"Sorry, Doc. Dev saw you and got too excited."

"It's fine, Logan. Thank you for keeping up with him. This is Inspector Popil. Inspector, this is Special Agent Logan Marley. FBI. Logan, Inspector Popil was responsible for rounding up Nazis and their sympathizers when I was a young man. He knew my aunt."

"Good to meet you, Sir. Thank you for your service."

Hannibal opened his arms to welcome his son. "Come, my son. Come give your father a hug."

The boy jumped from Logan's arms and ran to Hannibal, hugging and kissed his father as if it had been years since they'd seen each other. "I've missed you, Daddy."

"And I you, my son."

Standing beside his father, Dev turned toward Popil. "Hello sir, my name is Hannibal." Dev extended his hand. Popil took his hand and smiled as he shook it.

"Hello young Hannibal. I knew your daddy when he wasn't very much older than you are now. I must say you look very much like him, though it seems you have your mother's eyes."

"Yes, I do. Thank you."

"This is Inspector Pascal Popil, Devyni," Hannibal responded using his son's nickname— a sign to Popil the boy wasn't carrying his Christian name throughout his days.

"Devyni?" Popil questioned, "The number nine in Lithuanian, yes?"

"Yes, it is," Dev responded, like any true Lecter man would, proudly, "as I am the ninth of my line to carry the name."

"May you carry it with honor and dignity, young man."

Clarice and Ardelia rushed across the street. Ardelia was lugging shopping bags. Clarice was carrying Angel.

"You already know my wife, Clarice. Allow me to introduce Special Agent Ardelia Mapp-Marley. Logan's wife, and Clarice's former colleague."

"My pleasure."

"Ours as well," Ardelia responded. She then lifted her arms, raising the packages as she tipped her chin upward toward Logan. Understanding her meaning, he joined her, relieving half the packages from her arms. He must have handed them off to her to give chase when Dev took off across the street. They were good friends. Hannibal nodded at them: a recognition of that fact.

Looking at Angel, Popil noticed her eyes. "Amazing, her eyes. It's as if I see Hannibal looking back at me."

Hannibal chuckled at the comment, "You have no idea how accurate that statement is, Inspector."

Clarice laughed, "Dead on accurate. Dead. On."

"Where have you been, Daddy?" Angel asked with no small measure of irritation. "I have been looking for you EVERYWHERE."

Adorable, how she spoke with such hyperbole. He was certain she'd given him little thought, as Angel was curious and quick to seek out whatever caught her interest at the moment.

"I was out searching for treats to bring home to you, and I noticed my friend having his tea alone and thought it would be polite to join him. Angel, this is Inspector Popil. Inspector, this is my daughter, Angelina Simonetta."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Angelina."

"I'm pleased to meet you, too." She turned her attention to her father. "That was kind of you to have a snack with your friend, Daddy, but where are the treats?"

"Being delivered as we speak, but not here. To Lecter Castle."

Popil's eyes lit with interest. "Are you on your way to the castle? You'll be leaving Paris soon?"

"Yes. Very soon." Hannibal answered with as he lifted his hat from the table. "But not before I attend to several last-minute tasks."

"Perhaps our interests will overlap?"

"Perhaps." Hannibal fixed his hat a rakish angle, took a final sip of his espresso. Setting his cup on the saucer, he left enough cash on the table to more than cover both their bills. "We shall see. After all, life is an ephemeral thing."

The family spent the rest of the day together, then returned to the hotel. "I was under the impression you had plans with the children. Those plans did not include Inspector Popil." Hannibal was mildly irritated, though his tone remained neutral, not revealing his disturbance.

Clarice scooted the children through the entry. Angel darted through the doorway, paying no mind to her parents or brother. Devyni stayed close to his mother, hiding slightly behind her left leg as Clarice put her shopping bags down on a chair. "I had plans, then we saw you. Once the kids spotted you, H, it was all over."

Devyni tugged at a pleat of his mother's coat. "It's not Angel's fault. I saw Daddy. I ran across the street. I was bad, not her."

"No one was bad, Dev. You were just excited. It's not a bad thing to love Daddy."

Clarice shot Hannibal one of her just-say-something-to-make-him-feel-better looks. Rather than espouse platitudes, he tilted his head to one side as he processed the gesture. "I'm unclear as to that expression, Clarice. Am I to shoulder this responsibility?"

She rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't hurt to take on a little of the blame, would it? We haven't exactly spent a lot of time with them. You especially."

Devyni took a step forward. Lowering his head, his hat clutched in his small fists, he bowed slightly before of his father. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I know I shouldn't have left Mommy's side, but I was so excited to see you, and I really did look both ways before I crossed the street."

"I appreciate your contrition my son, and I'm pleased you were careful," Hannibal responded, "but there are people to whom I don't want you introduced. Popil was one of them, though that point is now moot."

"I'll know better next time, Daddy. I didn't mean to be an embarrassment. Forgive me?"

An embarrassment. Damn.

If Clarice had been any closer to him, Hannibal was certain she would have smacked his arm. Knocking sense into him, she called it. Seeing the crestfallen expression on Devyni's face, Hannibal believed he would have deserved it.

"You are never an embarrassment, my son. I am more proud of you and your sister than any accomplishment I've ever achieved. You are the culmination of my life, and I love you very much. It's simply a trust issue. I don't want people to meet my family if I don't fully understand their intentions. Do you remember Aunt Ardelia and Uncle Logan's wedding? That in mind, do you understand why that might frighten me, not knowing?"

Devyni, hat still being twisted in his fists, nodded. "Yes. I understand."

"I knew you would. Now run off and play with your sister. She's been alone long enough and we all know she gets up to mischief if left to her own devices for very long."

Clarice took the hat gently from Devyni's hands and scooted him toward the next room. "You go on now and do as Daddy says. Play with your sister for a bit, then Daddy will play with you in a little while."

Devyni smiled. "And you, Mommy?"

"Mommy has an errand to run, Dev, but Daddy will be here. You can watch movies or play a game."

"Chess?"

Hannibal tousled the boy's hair. "Chess it is."

Devyni ran into the next room. Hannibal watched, making certain the boy was out of earshot when he asked, "Errand, my Love? Hasn't Ardelia spent enough money in the shops of Paris to suit her tastes?"

"Why? Are you worried I might spend too much money if I'm out with Ardelia?"

"I'm not concerned with how much you spend, Clarice. nor do I wish to spend hours holding your purse in every dressing room in Paris. You're a capable adult. If you need items for your wardrobe, I trust you to make your own clothing choices."

"Now that my shoes have matched the level of my bag?"

"Your taste was always classic, Clarice, even when your bank account didn't meet your needs."

"And if I'm not shopping?" she asked. He knew better than to pursue this question.

"You're a capable adult. I don't feel the need to micromanage your free time."

"Smart man," she commented as she kissed his cheek. "I'll be back in a few hours." She picked up her purse. "Want me to send Logan over to help with the kids?"

Hannibal shook his head. "I'm quite capable of calling room service for dinner and not letting them escape the suite, Clarice. You'll call me if you need me?"

"If I need you, of course I'll call." She opened the door. Athletic, she slipped through the barely opened door like a matador might sidestep a bull. "Don't let them stay up too late."

"I understand the concept of bedtime, Clarice. Enjoy your evening out." Just as the door was closing, Hannibal added, "And tell Inspector Popil I said hello."

Clarice ducked her head back around the door. "There's just no fooling you, is there, H?"

"One must be a fool to be fooled, my Love, though I do commend your efforts to execute your mission covertly, Ex-special Agent Starling."

"Don't be such a wiseass, H," Clarice responded as she blew him a kiss.

Pretending to catch it, Hannibal replied, "Heaven forbid, Clarice…heaven forbid."

With that, Clarice slipped out the door and into the streets of Paris, with Hannibal keeping his phone close beside him, just in case.

Until the next chapter, my friends,

L.H.