Who do you suppose I am? A producing machine? A robot?
Well, robots usually don't drink brandy /grin/.
Disclaimer applies.
A/N: I haven't planned this. It has just dawned on me today. Don't blame
Angie – she can't be good at everything. Everyone is a man, not a God.
Chapter 5. Giving life.
And he told her about his first meeting with little cub, which appeared to be Clarice. She listened, sitting on her knees, so close to him. Again, he couldn't guess her reaction. When he finished, he saw the strange smile on her face – a smile he recognized at once.
"It's terrible. I mean the semen. Ugly. Now I understand why you decided to help her."
"So you didn't tell me about Felix and Ruben."
"And I won't. Because the relationships between them and my mother is called 'a very good friendship'. Nothing more."
Hannibal wanted to argue, but something in the Creature's scent stopped him. He produced the best disarming smile he could – as if wanting to show he gave up his intention to know the answer. At once he felt that Angie became relaxed. "Who decided to name you Angie?"
"Rolling Stones." You know, their most famous song was the first I've ever heard in my life. Mummy was confining hard, with pain. And when I finally saw the world this song was on the radio at hospital."
"Clarice..." Hannibal thought. "American dream, sex, drugs, rock&roll..."
"She taught me to read when I was two years old. After that she started to study herself. In ten years she got Doctor degree in philosophy."
"Clarice? Got Doctor degree?..." he was shocked. "But what about the business?"
"Well, she had plenty of time to read and study. Guess, it was the competition. Competition with my dead father. I still hear her late at nights talking to him. Mostly she's crying. Saying some stupid words like she didn't want to leave him, but she had to. Sometimes asking for advice. I have a strange feeling she hears him inside her head. A unique ability, I'll tell you. Absolutely marvelous. I wish I had it..."
"Who was your father?" Who was this man? The man who took away his Clarice. Who was whispering her tender words late at nights? Who was at his place?...
"Oh, he was Italian I guess," she smiled. "Just because I'm French."
He was stunned. Either he is a complete fool or the Creature had a strange sense of humor.
"But it's logical!" She saw the expression on his face or she read his thoughts. Since my mother is American, white trash, then my father must be Italian! You know the old joke: a Frenchman is really an Italian – only just in a bad mood."
When he at last understood her, the grin was overtaking his gloomy face. Angie suddenly got pale. "I'm sorry, I don't feel so good. May I leave you for a while?"
"O'K. But be back, because if Clarice comes and you're not here, she would be thinking I ate you. What will she do then, umm?"
She was absent only for a few minutes. But he understood she vomitted. "Are you all right now?"
"Guess so," she tried to smile. "Let's continue." Tell me what happened next. Did you help her to catch that criminal?"
And he went on with the story. She listened to him, but he couldn't say whether her eyes were closed. Suddenly he discovered her little hand in his, after a few minutes – her head on his lap. And instantly – his strong need to protect her. Angie, he thought. Little daughter of Clarice. Who could be my daughter...
"Angie, are you following me?" he asked, because for a few minutes she haven't given out nothing – just breathing quietly.
"Umm, of course. When did you realise you loved mum?"
Again she found out the main thing easily. "When she came to me after seeing the head in the garage. Her hair was wet, her foot was bleeding, she could catch cold, but instead of going home she went to asylum. To me. I understood then that she had a passion for her work, she loved what she was doing, and she devoted herself to the thing she loved. I've never seen anyone like her... she was the better side of me..."
"And how can a man not love himself, umm?" she took off her sunglasses, but her eyes were closed and she wasn't intending to open them. "I can almost tell you what happened. You helped her. Then you ran away, but preferred not to risk yourself. You, of course, told your conscience she is happy without you. After some time you discovered she is not happy and came to offer her another life. And she refused, didn't she. Why? Because you offered her a complete destruction of what she lived for all those years. You know what they say – habit is another soul. And it was YOU who let her get this habit."
"On the other hand," she continued, "she wouldn't let you kill anymore, so you didn't run after her when she refused. You were afraid to lose your freedom too. And what does your freedom consist of? Killing? You think you have the right to kill annoying people and you haven't discovered the greater pleasure yet. But don't you think that giving life is the greatest pleasure of all. Not taking, but giving! Seeing how the new life grows inside the woman you love! Seeing the birth of it, always being beside, watching how it grows, how it loves you for no reason at all – just because you are his or her father! Loving him or her – for no reason at all, just because it's a part of you!..."
She cried and he couldn't help her. His heart ached for Angie. He held her in his arms, she hid her face in his lap. Suddenly he understood why she was feeling so bad.
"You were here last night, weren't you? Your mother was in Paris and you discovered you are pregnant. He is older, married, already has his own children. You told him and he was frightened, he suggested you to go to doctor, but you don't want to."
"I know this is not good. He's committed the crime, I will be expelled from school, my life and career will be over. I don't know what my mother will do to me. I only hope she won't throw me away, because she did her best to protect me from my own stupidity. I have only myself to blame... But I'll leave the baby."
"How long?" he asked.
"Seven weeks," she answered. "This is too easy for me, I wasn't feeling bad for a long time, I didn't want something special to eat. And now it's seven weeks. It already has a heart..."
"And sex," he smiled. "Don't worry. We'll just stay here, waiting for your mother. We''l decide what to do. Don't worry." He stroke her hair from her tear-stained face. She opened her eyes and looked at him.
Maroon.
"My daughter," he said. "My little girl."
What a spoilt brat this Angie is... /grin/. How's going? Should I continue? Or should I leave it like this? Need your reviews, like the air to breathe /smile/.
Protégé.
Chapter 5. Giving life.
And he told her about his first meeting with little cub, which appeared to be Clarice. She listened, sitting on her knees, so close to him. Again, he couldn't guess her reaction. When he finished, he saw the strange smile on her face – a smile he recognized at once.
"It's terrible. I mean the semen. Ugly. Now I understand why you decided to help her."
"So you didn't tell me about Felix and Ruben."
"And I won't. Because the relationships between them and my mother is called 'a very good friendship'. Nothing more."
Hannibal wanted to argue, but something in the Creature's scent stopped him. He produced the best disarming smile he could – as if wanting to show he gave up his intention to know the answer. At once he felt that Angie became relaxed. "Who decided to name you Angie?"
"Rolling Stones." You know, their most famous song was the first I've ever heard in my life. Mummy was confining hard, with pain. And when I finally saw the world this song was on the radio at hospital."
"Clarice..." Hannibal thought. "American dream, sex, drugs, rock&roll..."
"She taught me to read when I was two years old. After that she started to study herself. In ten years she got Doctor degree in philosophy."
"Clarice? Got Doctor degree?..." he was shocked. "But what about the business?"
"Well, she had plenty of time to read and study. Guess, it was the competition. Competition with my dead father. I still hear her late at nights talking to him. Mostly she's crying. Saying some stupid words like she didn't want to leave him, but she had to. Sometimes asking for advice. I have a strange feeling she hears him inside her head. A unique ability, I'll tell you. Absolutely marvelous. I wish I had it..."
"Who was your father?" Who was this man? The man who took away his Clarice. Who was whispering her tender words late at nights? Who was at his place?...
"Oh, he was Italian I guess," she smiled. "Just because I'm French."
He was stunned. Either he is a complete fool or the Creature had a strange sense of humor.
"But it's logical!" She saw the expression on his face or she read his thoughts. Since my mother is American, white trash, then my father must be Italian! You know the old joke: a Frenchman is really an Italian – only just in a bad mood."
When he at last understood her, the grin was overtaking his gloomy face. Angie suddenly got pale. "I'm sorry, I don't feel so good. May I leave you for a while?"
"O'K. But be back, because if Clarice comes and you're not here, she would be thinking I ate you. What will she do then, umm?"
She was absent only for a few minutes. But he understood she vomitted. "Are you all right now?"
"Guess so," she tried to smile. "Let's continue." Tell me what happened next. Did you help her to catch that criminal?"
And he went on with the story. She listened to him, but he couldn't say whether her eyes were closed. Suddenly he discovered her little hand in his, after a few minutes – her head on his lap. And instantly – his strong need to protect her. Angie, he thought. Little daughter of Clarice. Who could be my daughter...
"Angie, are you following me?" he asked, because for a few minutes she haven't given out nothing – just breathing quietly.
"Umm, of course. When did you realise you loved mum?"
Again she found out the main thing easily. "When she came to me after seeing the head in the garage. Her hair was wet, her foot was bleeding, she could catch cold, but instead of going home she went to asylum. To me. I understood then that she had a passion for her work, she loved what she was doing, and she devoted herself to the thing she loved. I've never seen anyone like her... she was the better side of me..."
"And how can a man not love himself, umm?" she took off her sunglasses, but her eyes were closed and she wasn't intending to open them. "I can almost tell you what happened. You helped her. Then you ran away, but preferred not to risk yourself. You, of course, told your conscience she is happy without you. After some time you discovered she is not happy and came to offer her another life. And she refused, didn't she. Why? Because you offered her a complete destruction of what she lived for all those years. You know what they say – habit is another soul. And it was YOU who let her get this habit."
"On the other hand," she continued, "she wouldn't let you kill anymore, so you didn't run after her when she refused. You were afraid to lose your freedom too. And what does your freedom consist of? Killing? You think you have the right to kill annoying people and you haven't discovered the greater pleasure yet. But don't you think that giving life is the greatest pleasure of all. Not taking, but giving! Seeing how the new life grows inside the woman you love! Seeing the birth of it, always being beside, watching how it grows, how it loves you for no reason at all – just because you are his or her father! Loving him or her – for no reason at all, just because it's a part of you!..."
She cried and he couldn't help her. His heart ached for Angie. He held her in his arms, she hid her face in his lap. Suddenly he understood why she was feeling so bad.
"You were here last night, weren't you? Your mother was in Paris and you discovered you are pregnant. He is older, married, already has his own children. You told him and he was frightened, he suggested you to go to doctor, but you don't want to."
"I know this is not good. He's committed the crime, I will be expelled from school, my life and career will be over. I don't know what my mother will do to me. I only hope she won't throw me away, because she did her best to protect me from my own stupidity. I have only myself to blame... But I'll leave the baby."
"How long?" he asked.
"Seven weeks," she answered. "This is too easy for me, I wasn't feeling bad for a long time, I didn't want something special to eat. And now it's seven weeks. It already has a heart..."
"And sex," he smiled. "Don't worry. We'll just stay here, waiting for your mother. We''l decide what to do. Don't worry." He stroke her hair from her tear-stained face. She opened her eyes and looked at him.
Maroon.
"My daughter," he said. "My little girl."
What a spoilt brat this Angie is... /grin/. How's going? Should I continue? Or should I leave it like this? Need your reviews, like the air to breathe /smile/.
Protégé.