Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Much thanks to SlowChemial77 for help with ideas! You go girl!
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Clarice fell asleep a few minutes after he left and woke up about six hours later, feeling horrible. She started coughing and was very dismayed to hear that she was hacking quite badly. A few seconds later Hannibal appeared in the door.
"Are you ok, Clarice?" he asked, the worry evident in his voice.
"What does it look like?" Clarice said between coughs. Her voice came out as a barely audible croak, but Hannibal understood her anyways and left, returning a few minutes later with some medicine and a glass of water.
"Here," he said and handed them to her. Clarice took them and swallowed them as soon as she could and then taking a huge sip of water. "If you're nauseous, you shouldn't drink water that quickly."
"I know. I was thirsty," Clarice croaked.
"Don't talk. It will only make your throat worse," Hannibal said. Clarice eyed him suspiciously.
"There's another reason why you don't want me to talk, isn't there?"
"No, of course not." His tone wasn't at all convincing and the look on his face was vacant, as if he wasn't there.
"Doctor Lecter?" She asked, concerned. He was never like this with her. He didn't give any sign of hearing her. "Doctor Lecter? Are you alright? Doctor Lecter . . ."
Hannibal's footsteps echoed down the long halls of his memory palace. He had been walking, but now he was running, looking desperately for something he knew that he wouldn't find here.
"Hannibal! Hannibal!" Mischa's little voice also echoed, giving it an eerie effect that sent shivers along Hannibal's spine. "Hannibal! I'm in here!" Hannibal began opening doors until he found the right one.
"Hello, Mischa," he said. Even though he was only six, his voice had the same metallic sound to it, but not edged with arrogance and all the other qualities it now had.
"Hannibal! What took you so long?" she asked him, looking at him out of her dark maroon eyes, much like his. They should have been innocent. She was, after all, much younger than him, but instead they held sorrow, hurt and anger beyond the capacity of anyone her age. The bleeding cut on her neck didn't help anything.
"I'm sorry," Hannibal answered. He knew what this conversation was going to turn into. It happened every time.
"You came too late. They came. You didn't save me," she said. Her eyes widened, blaming him.
"I'm so sorry, Mischa. But I need your help now," he said. His stare bore into hers and Hannibal realized that this was one of the very rare occasions where information was being withheld from him. He would have to fight for it, as opposed to the other way around.
"I can't help you with Clarice, Hannibal. You know that."
"Please, Mischa. You know the answer."
"But I can't tell you. That would be breaking the rules." Her voice was now reproachful.
"Just this once, please. It's so important to me. I'm going to loose her unless you tell me how not to."
"I can't," she whined. "I want to, but I can't."
"What if I asked you questions and you answered them. Clues," he was using all of tricks that he knew from being a doctor. Technically, that was breaking the rules as well; he wasn't supposed to have an advantage over Mischa, but he couldn't help it. He needed her help, and this was the only way he knew how to get it.
"I can't." Hannibal looked at her, his eyes full of sadness threatening to fall over in unshed tears. The look on her face didn't soften, but her eyes lost some of their hardness.
"Please," he whispered. Mischa broke down. She didn't cry, but her face contorted into a look of someone crying.
"Hannibal, if I do, you won't be able to come back. I want to. I want to so much!" She said, her voice raising until she was yelling. "It's not fair! You shouldn't be putting this much pressure on me! I'm your little sister!"
"I know. I'm sorry. I'll go now," Hannibal turned and left the room, not looking back because he knew if he did he wouldn't be able to leave.
"Do for her what you didn't do for me!" Mischa yelled after him. At that, Hannibal couldn't help but turn around. Mischa was at the door, unable to leave the room. "Don't let her be taken away!" Mischa was now crying for real, tears coursing down her face. "You have to go now!" She turned around and went back into the room. Hannibal ran back to the room and tried to get through, but couldn't.
"Mischa!" Hannibal yelled through the invisible barrier. She mouthed the words I'm sorry at him and turned away sadly. "MISCHA!" She turned around once more. She mouthed something else at him. "What?" Get out of here! she said silently to him. "No! I won't leave you again!" GO! Hannibal heard a cracking sound and looked up. The ceiling had deep cracks in it. As he stared up in horror, little pieces started to fall down. He turned back to Mischa.
"Leave before it's too late!" This time he could hear her, the genuine fear in her voice. "It's all coming down and you have to get out!"
"You'll die!"
"I'm already dead, now get out of here!"
"I can't leave you, not again."
"You have to!" Mischa looked up suddenly. A large piece of the ceiling fell on her, crushing her.
"MISCHA!" Hannibal stared at her. He didn't know what to do. He ran at the door again and this time got through. He rushed to her side.
"G-g-g-go away . . ." she stuttered. Her head fell forward onto the floor and lay there, still.
"No. Not again." Hannibal picked the piece of ceiling off her and picked her up, intent on getting her out of here. But as soon as he reached the door, re realized that he couldn't leave with her. The palace was coming down faster now, and if he didn't leave very soon, he would be trapped. He sat down, torn between the two people he loved most, the two he had only ever loved. He knew that Mischa was dead, and he would be soon, but he couldn't leave her. Hannibal looked down at her again and brushed her hair out of here face. "I love you, Mischa." He gently placed her beside him and got up. He now walked through the door and looked around. Parts of the palace lay everywhere and more were coming every second. He narrowly dodged one and started running towards the exit.
He began to jog quickly down the hall, avoiding the chunks on the floor and dodging the ones that were coming down on him. Hannibal could hear his memories screaming to be let out from their various rooms before they died but he didn't stop. Only one caught his attention.
"Doctor Lecter! Doctor Lecter! Help me!" a voice called to him from his right. He stopped running and turned to look at it. A much younger version of Clarice stood trapped in a room, begin to be let out. Her short hair fell into her face and she looked like they way she did when he had first met her and she was about to leave, but the other prisoners had started screaming. That was when he had told her about Mofet.
"Oh, Clarice. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said and began to run once more, her cries still echoing in his head long after he had gotten far enough away that he shouldn't be able to hear her. He could see the exit now and began to sprint towards it. He heard a huge booming noise and looked up. Directly before the door a large chunk of ceiling was about to fall. He started running faster, determined to beat it. He was thirty yards away, twenty, ten, five when the ceiling started to fall.
"NO!!!!!" Hannibal yelled and threw himself the last three yards.
"Doctor Lecter! Doctor Lecter!" Clarice was shaking him, her face deathly pale and her forehead was creased with worry.
"Wha . . .?" Hannibal said, looking around.
"Doctor Lecter! You're alright!" Clarice smiled a little, clearly extremely relieved.
"What just happened?" he asked, bewildered. He remembered nothing of the past five minutes.
"I'm not sure. You went into a trance or something," she said, the lines of worry coming back. It all came back to him in a rush and he collapsed onto her bed. He put his head into his hands and cried for the first time since he could remember. He felt Clarice sit down next to him and put and arm around him, but he shook it away, turning to face the wall. She put her hand on his back and this time he didn't do anything about it. He sobbed for what was probably only about five minutes but felt like an eternity for both of them. Hannibal slowly recovered himself and turned to face Clarice. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and he looked like a mess.
"I'm sorry, Clarice. My sister died again." Hannibal could feel the tears building up behind his eyes again, but he refused to let them fall. "Everyone did. Everyone who I've ever cared about died. Every memory I've ever had, very feeling I've ever experienced, it all died." A single tear slid down his cheek but he didn't bother to wipe it away. Clarice put her arms around him and held him like a mother would do with a child who was upset.
"It's ok. I'm still here. I always will be," she said in a soothing voice, stroking his back.
"But you won't be!" Hannibal said pulling away from her. "It doesn't matter that we're in love! It's completely impossible for us to be together!"
"No it isn't. It's the love that will make it work," Clarice said. Hannibal shook his head.
"I shouldn't have come here," he said.
"If this is the attitude you're going to have then no you shouldn'tv'e," Clarice said, her tone hardening. "If you aren't going to make this work, then you shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed now. Please get up," Clarice said, climbing into bed and pushing him off. "And if you see me shivering, don't bother warming me up. You apparently don't have a problem with breaking my heart so you should care much if I die."
"Clarice, of course I care. And I never meant to break your heart," Hannibal said and put a hand on her shoulder. It wasn't the right this to do. She whipped around angrily, her eyes shooting daggers at him.
"Don't you dare touch me again," Clarice hissed and turned back around, hitting Hannibal in the face with her long ponytail. She started snoring, obviously fake, but they both knew what it meant.
"Very well. Good night," Hannibal said quietly and left.
A/N: Much thanks to SlowChemial77 for help with ideas! You go girl!
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Clarice fell asleep a few minutes after he left and woke up about six hours later, feeling horrible. She started coughing and was very dismayed to hear that she was hacking quite badly. A few seconds later Hannibal appeared in the door.
"Are you ok, Clarice?" he asked, the worry evident in his voice.
"What does it look like?" Clarice said between coughs. Her voice came out as a barely audible croak, but Hannibal understood her anyways and left, returning a few minutes later with some medicine and a glass of water.
"Here," he said and handed them to her. Clarice took them and swallowed them as soon as she could and then taking a huge sip of water. "If you're nauseous, you shouldn't drink water that quickly."
"I know. I was thirsty," Clarice croaked.
"Don't talk. It will only make your throat worse," Hannibal said. Clarice eyed him suspiciously.
"There's another reason why you don't want me to talk, isn't there?"
"No, of course not." His tone wasn't at all convincing and the look on his face was vacant, as if he wasn't there.
"Doctor Lecter?" She asked, concerned. He was never like this with her. He didn't give any sign of hearing her. "Doctor Lecter? Are you alright? Doctor Lecter . . ."
Hannibal's footsteps echoed down the long halls of his memory palace. He had been walking, but now he was running, looking desperately for something he knew that he wouldn't find here.
"Hannibal! Hannibal!" Mischa's little voice also echoed, giving it an eerie effect that sent shivers along Hannibal's spine. "Hannibal! I'm in here!" Hannibal began opening doors until he found the right one.
"Hello, Mischa," he said. Even though he was only six, his voice had the same metallic sound to it, but not edged with arrogance and all the other qualities it now had.
"Hannibal! What took you so long?" she asked him, looking at him out of her dark maroon eyes, much like his. They should have been innocent. She was, after all, much younger than him, but instead they held sorrow, hurt and anger beyond the capacity of anyone her age. The bleeding cut on her neck didn't help anything.
"I'm sorry," Hannibal answered. He knew what this conversation was going to turn into. It happened every time.
"You came too late. They came. You didn't save me," she said. Her eyes widened, blaming him.
"I'm so sorry, Mischa. But I need your help now," he said. His stare bore into hers and Hannibal realized that this was one of the very rare occasions where information was being withheld from him. He would have to fight for it, as opposed to the other way around.
"I can't help you with Clarice, Hannibal. You know that."
"Please, Mischa. You know the answer."
"But I can't tell you. That would be breaking the rules." Her voice was now reproachful.
"Just this once, please. It's so important to me. I'm going to loose her unless you tell me how not to."
"I can't," she whined. "I want to, but I can't."
"What if I asked you questions and you answered them. Clues," he was using all of tricks that he knew from being a doctor. Technically, that was breaking the rules as well; he wasn't supposed to have an advantage over Mischa, but he couldn't help it. He needed her help, and this was the only way he knew how to get it.
"I can't." Hannibal looked at her, his eyes full of sadness threatening to fall over in unshed tears. The look on her face didn't soften, but her eyes lost some of their hardness.
"Please," he whispered. Mischa broke down. She didn't cry, but her face contorted into a look of someone crying.
"Hannibal, if I do, you won't be able to come back. I want to. I want to so much!" She said, her voice raising until she was yelling. "It's not fair! You shouldn't be putting this much pressure on me! I'm your little sister!"
"I know. I'm sorry. I'll go now," Hannibal turned and left the room, not looking back because he knew if he did he wouldn't be able to leave.
"Do for her what you didn't do for me!" Mischa yelled after him. At that, Hannibal couldn't help but turn around. Mischa was at the door, unable to leave the room. "Don't let her be taken away!" Mischa was now crying for real, tears coursing down her face. "You have to go now!" She turned around and went back into the room. Hannibal ran back to the room and tried to get through, but couldn't.
"Mischa!" Hannibal yelled through the invisible barrier. She mouthed the words I'm sorry at him and turned away sadly. "MISCHA!" She turned around once more. She mouthed something else at him. "What?" Get out of here! she said silently to him. "No! I won't leave you again!" GO! Hannibal heard a cracking sound and looked up. The ceiling had deep cracks in it. As he stared up in horror, little pieces started to fall down. He turned back to Mischa.
"Leave before it's too late!" This time he could hear her, the genuine fear in her voice. "It's all coming down and you have to get out!"
"You'll die!"
"I'm already dead, now get out of here!"
"I can't leave you, not again."
"You have to!" Mischa looked up suddenly. A large piece of the ceiling fell on her, crushing her.
"MISCHA!" Hannibal stared at her. He didn't know what to do. He ran at the door again and this time got through. He rushed to her side.
"G-g-g-go away . . ." she stuttered. Her head fell forward onto the floor and lay there, still.
"No. Not again." Hannibal picked the piece of ceiling off her and picked her up, intent on getting her out of here. But as soon as he reached the door, re realized that he couldn't leave with her. The palace was coming down faster now, and if he didn't leave very soon, he would be trapped. He sat down, torn between the two people he loved most, the two he had only ever loved. He knew that Mischa was dead, and he would be soon, but he couldn't leave her. Hannibal looked down at her again and brushed her hair out of here face. "I love you, Mischa." He gently placed her beside him and got up. He now walked through the door and looked around. Parts of the palace lay everywhere and more were coming every second. He narrowly dodged one and started running towards the exit.
He began to jog quickly down the hall, avoiding the chunks on the floor and dodging the ones that were coming down on him. Hannibal could hear his memories screaming to be let out from their various rooms before they died but he didn't stop. Only one caught his attention.
"Doctor Lecter! Doctor Lecter! Help me!" a voice called to him from his right. He stopped running and turned to look at it. A much younger version of Clarice stood trapped in a room, begin to be let out. Her short hair fell into her face and she looked like they way she did when he had first met her and she was about to leave, but the other prisoners had started screaming. That was when he had told her about Mofet.
"Oh, Clarice. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said and began to run once more, her cries still echoing in his head long after he had gotten far enough away that he shouldn't be able to hear her. He could see the exit now and began to sprint towards it. He heard a huge booming noise and looked up. Directly before the door a large chunk of ceiling was about to fall. He started running faster, determined to beat it. He was thirty yards away, twenty, ten, five when the ceiling started to fall.
"NO!!!!!" Hannibal yelled and threw himself the last three yards.
"Doctor Lecter! Doctor Lecter!" Clarice was shaking him, her face deathly pale and her forehead was creased with worry.
"Wha . . .?" Hannibal said, looking around.
"Doctor Lecter! You're alright!" Clarice smiled a little, clearly extremely relieved.
"What just happened?" he asked, bewildered. He remembered nothing of the past five minutes.
"I'm not sure. You went into a trance or something," she said, the lines of worry coming back. It all came back to him in a rush and he collapsed onto her bed. He put his head into his hands and cried for the first time since he could remember. He felt Clarice sit down next to him and put and arm around him, but he shook it away, turning to face the wall. She put her hand on his back and this time he didn't do anything about it. He sobbed for what was probably only about five minutes but felt like an eternity for both of them. Hannibal slowly recovered himself and turned to face Clarice. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and he looked like a mess.
"I'm sorry, Clarice. My sister died again." Hannibal could feel the tears building up behind his eyes again, but he refused to let them fall. "Everyone did. Everyone who I've ever cared about died. Every memory I've ever had, very feeling I've ever experienced, it all died." A single tear slid down his cheek but he didn't bother to wipe it away. Clarice put her arms around him and held him like a mother would do with a child who was upset.
"It's ok. I'm still here. I always will be," she said in a soothing voice, stroking his back.
"But you won't be!" Hannibal said pulling away from her. "It doesn't matter that we're in love! It's completely impossible for us to be together!"
"No it isn't. It's the love that will make it work," Clarice said. Hannibal shook his head.
"I shouldn't have come here," he said.
"If this is the attitude you're going to have then no you shouldn'tv'e," Clarice said, her tone hardening. "If you aren't going to make this work, then you shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed now. Please get up," Clarice said, climbing into bed and pushing him off. "And if you see me shivering, don't bother warming me up. You apparently don't have a problem with breaking my heart so you should care much if I die."
"Clarice, of course I care. And I never meant to break your heart," Hannibal said and put a hand on her shoulder. It wasn't the right this to do. She whipped around angrily, her eyes shooting daggers at him.
"Don't you dare touch me again," Clarice hissed and turned back around, hitting Hannibal in the face with her long ponytail. She started snoring, obviously fake, but they both knew what it meant.
"Very well. Good night," Hannibal said quietly and left.