From across the dinner table, Hannibal Lecter observed the child that was, by all accounts, his.
She exhibited no fear in his presence, which told him that Clarice Starling had likely imparted very little information to her previously.
In the centre of the table the candles flickered, as if dancing to the hum of the soft opera music which played in the background.
"If you're my father, how come I've never met you before?" she asked, glancing up from her plate.
"What makes you so sure I'm your father?"
"I heard you talking," Everleigh admitted.
"Eat your salad," he said. "It is impolite to eavesdrop, you know?"
Tucking a stray strange of hair behind her ear, Everleigh speared a leaf with her fork.
"I know. But if I don't, Clarice won't tell me anything."
"Why do you think that is?" he enquired.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"What brought you here tonight?" Hannibal continued.
"She kind of lost it after you left," Everleigh told him.
"Oh?"
"She wanted to leave again. But I don't want to," she said, firmly. "I told her I wasn't going and she got really mad. She shouted at me."
"I see. But surely, this is sometimes what parents do?" the Doctor suggested.
But Everleigh shook her head now. "Not Clarice. She never shouts - it scared me. May I have some wine?"
He suppressed a smile. "No, you may not. What is so terrible about moving around?"
"Well… I just get used to one place, and then we have to go again. And it's hard starting at new schools all the time, trying to catch up with the other kids. Trying to make them like me," she said, concentrating on her plate.
"Understandable, I suppose. Tell me, have you ever shared this with your mother?" he asked.
"I tried tonight. But she didn't want to listen," Everleigh said, a small furrow appearing in her brow. "I don't understand why she wants to run away all the time."
"You don't?" he asked. "If I am not mistaken, you yourself ran away this evening, did you not?"
"I guess."
"And why was that?" he probed. "What did you feel?"
Everleigh frowned. "You think Clarice is scared? Of what? Of you?"
He quirked a brow at her, taking a sip of his own wine.
"But why?" the girl asked. "If you're my father, and Clarice is my mother… then… you must have loved her once. Why would she be scared?"
"Perhaps," Hannibal began. "It is not me she is scared of, per se. Rather, what my presence might mean for her, were she to look in the mirror."
Everleigh gave him a look of complete confusion.
"Thanks for clearing that up," she said, flatly.
With that, Hannibal Lecter stood to prepare the main course – he did not suppress his smile any further.
oOoOoOo
Clarice Starling was a practiced runner.
She did it often – she had since her days in Quantico, so many years ago.
She ran for work, to keep fit. She ran outside of work to clear her head.
And now, it seemed, she ran faster than she ever had in her life in the direction of the old farmhouse. She ran for her child – a child about whom she had never quite known how to feel, but to whom, she knew in that moment, she would never let any harm come to.
Her boots pounded against the tarmac finally cooling in the twilight and she ignored the sharp pain in her side as she heaved for air, finally reaching the gentle slope which led to the Miller residence.
The FBI had trained her to approach with caution – to go slowly with her weapon drawn, to avoid setting her sights only on the main target and to be aware of other possible dangers that may be lurking behind.
But now, pistol aside, she did none of it.
Instead, she ran straight into the enemy's lair – flinging herself a the front door with such force that it surprised her when it opened smoothly, easily.
She stopped for a millisecond to catch her breath, instantly becoming aware of two things. The first was the soft music playing somewhere to the back of the house – familiar, music she had heard before.
The second, and far more concerning, was the delicious smell of cooked meat that filled her nostrils.
Her senses coming back to her somewhat, Clarice crept through the hallway and towards the door through which she could hear low voices.
Pausing with her back to the wall, she turned her head to peer through the small gap in the doorway.
Hannibal Lecter, dressed in his finest dinner suit, stood with his back to her. Though somehow, Clarice knew, he was already aware of her presence.
Opposite him, Everleigh picked up her knife and fork, cutting into the meat on her plate.
Propelling herself away from the wall, Clarice kicked open the door with one foot, pistol trained on the back of Hannibal Lecter's head.
Everleigh startled, dropping her knife in surprise.
"Don't move. Put your hands in the air," she told him.
With a soft snort of amusement, the Doctor did just that.
"As you wish, Clarice."
She turned back to the child, who was watching her with wide eyes, fork hanging limply from her right hand.
Clarice took a breath before addressing her daughter, and what followed was an order.
"Do not put that in your mouth."
