I hope you enjoy this little Valentine's Day one-shot — It kept me very busy on Valentine's Day— a distraction I welcomed. May we all return to the ones we love. Always.
VALENTINE'S DAY
Hannibal and Clarice frequented the opera house in Argentina. He didn't worry about being recognized by native Argentinians. They were friendly, but largely ambivalent to anyone's lifestyle or life's choices. They enjoyed their privacy, allowing Hannibal and his Love to enjoy theirs. That is, until Barney arrived.
Hannibal and Barney had spent many a night discussing art and culture. Barney was a man dissatisfied with his station in life— as well he should have been. He was an intelligent man and made every effort to broaden his intellectual horizons. Hannibal wasn't surprised to see him show up in Buenos Aires. There was a Vermeer in town. Barney was likely there to see it.
"Do you see him, Hannibal?" Clarice spoke in a whisper she knew only Hannibal could hear.
Hannibal lowered his head, turning toward her. He placed a kiss on her lips and, resting his cheek alongside hers, spoke softly into her ear, "I first caught his scent on the breeze as we exited the venue. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought my senses were deceiving me. I sighted him a moment later. He's being followed, Dearest."
"I saw." She slipped her hand beneath his arm. Threading it through the bend in his left arm, she hooked her right arm through his at the elbow. She pulled him against her body. Protection. It was her default setting. "Are you safe?"
Are you safe. Not we. Not, are we safe. She barely considers herself in our relationship.
One might think her devotion to him was a form of obsession— Stockholm syndrome even, but he knew better. These feelings were mutual. She and he were imprinted on one another. Joined in a way most others would not, could not recognize, so unique was the bond between them.
"I imagine that depends on the agents following him. We spotted them. It's likely they spotted us. I'm sorry, my Love. This is where we must part."
She gripped him hard, her fingers pressing into the muscles on his forearm to a point they would bruise him, not that he minded being marked in such a desperately loving manner. She yanked him hard, spinning him toward her. They stood face-to-face, her voice shaking in a way he'd never heard before. "If you're running, I'm running with you."
Her eyes were intense. She meant it.
"No, Clarice. You'll return to your hotel room. I'll return to mine. You won't see me again until it's safe. I have no idea how long it will take for it to be safe for me to contact you. Not in person, certainly. Keep your eyes on social media. You'll recognize me from my words." She looked away reminded him of the look on her face standing across from him in the temporary jail cell— the moment she'd realized Chilton had returned and she, and perhaps Catherine Martin, was out of time. Hannibal sought to assure. "I promise to return to you no matter how far apart we seem, or how long the wait. Think before you answer, Dearest. I have no idea what I'll have to do to return to you. I'm placing more than this key in your hands, Clarice. I'm placing my heart in your keeping. Will you wait for me, my Love?"
She looked over his shoulder.
"They're closing in on him."
"I know what is happening to Barney, Clarice. I want to know what will happen to us. Answer me. Think first. Don't commit to me if you're unsure, Clarice. I'm giving you a power over me I've never considered giving to another. Think. I am certain of my feelings. How certain of yours are you? I offer you an eternity in my arms, but only when it's safe for us— safe for you. Think before you respond. Are you capable of that level of commitment, my Love?"
She ignored the question, instead searching the crowd for anyone she might recognize as being law enforcement. "The response would have been so much larger if they were moving in on you. If we get out of here without drawing attention, maybe we're still okay, but we've got to move now." She turned and began trying to lead Hannibal through the crowd, tugging him around a corner even as the agents captured Barney and skirted him away. When they were far enough from the scene to be judged at least momentarily safe, Clarice wrapped her arms around Hannibal. She hugged him tightly, assuring, "I don't think they saw us. There weren't many of them. They couldn't have been looking for you. I doubt they know we're here."
"Barney knows. He saw us, Clarice. Perhaps he will keep our secret, perhaps he won't. Though I don't see what benefit it would be for him to draw my ire by turning us in, but he might give me up without mentioning you. Dearest, I won't chance your safety on his loyalty."
Her tears poured freely.
"But…he's your friend, isn't he? Maybe he won't say anything. Maybe we're safe."
"We may not be, but you are safe, Clarice. We didn't travel here together. We aren't registered in the same hotel. We've been very careful in our movements. If Barney is forced to give up any information, he'll stall—give me time to escape, but I cannot count on his silence. The only thing both Barney and I know with absolute certainty is, I would excuse him giving up my location, but I'd kill him if he ever mentioned you."
Hannibal gripped her hand, placing a key squarely on her palm. He closed her fingers around the key and squeezed gently. "Go directly to the bank and remove your passport and all the cash from the safety deposit box. Spend like a tourist. Mail postcards home. Take a tour or two, and make sure to buy some trinkets for yourself and Ardelia. When you've had your fill, arrange for your flight home. And don't look for me, Clarice. Don't attempt to contact me. Follow the protocols we discussed. Without deviation. Understood?"
He could see she was shaken, processing all the information, and likely much more. She nodded. "Understood."
Hannibal stroked a knuckle alongside her face. "Clarice? You haven't answered my question."
Her eyes told him she couldn't recall the question. Too much to process. Too much worry. She gripped his shoulders, her eyes searching the sky as if the answers could be found in the clouds. When she turned to face him, she lifted her chin defiantly. "You stay safe and come back to me, H. Don't worry. I'm yours. I'll wait forever, if I have to. I'm yours. Always."
He pulled her into his arms so gently it felt more like he was leading her to the dance floor than pulling her in for a final embrace. "Not forever, my Love…just…for now, yes?"
"For now…"
Hannibal smiled. "That's my girl." He cupped her face gently with his hands, tilting her head back so slightly it felt as if they were moving in slow motion. "And I shall love you, Always." She closed her eyes, lips parted waiting for the touch of his mouth to hers. His lips were so soft, his tongue dipping into her mouth as if he were scooping a taste of honey from within. He was so much softer now— his hair no longer the slicked back, otter-like style he'd worn in the dungeon. She slid her hands alongside his neck, lacing her fingers within the curling locks of his hair, grown long to disguise his appearance. Spilled across his shoulders, she breathed deeply, the sandalwood oils and bergamot scent of his toiletries filling her nostrils. kissed her so deeply and with so much passion she felt as if she were floating above them. Dizzy from the emotion of the moment, it took several seconds for her to register that he'd left— disappearing into the crowd before the sting of their final kiss left her lips.
A year passed, now approaching two, and though he'd been able to track her movements from afar, he hadn't been confident it was safe for her to travel to him. Soon. He was setting up not only a home, but life they could safely share. He'd built a bullet-proof identity as a retired Italian doctor— the credentials all verifiable if anyone thought to check. He occasionally assisted those who needed a physician, but couldn't wait for an appointment with the national health service. He didn't ask for payment, accepting only barters with men or women trading artisan goods and services or baked goods and meals prepared by grateful patients. He was trusted here, loved, even, talking to anyone who would listen about his American love. He spoke of bringing her to Argentina very soon.
Social media made it easy for him to keep tabs on her initially. She'd helped him set up an account on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook and the deep-fake photo he was using was so realistic it was impossible to detect. Hannibal was careful and maintained anonymity using the dark web as a hiding place. His server was private, using several layers of security to alter his computer's IP address and location. These layers of security made contacting her without detection easy at first. With over-sharing habits on the Internet thought of as acceptable, there was little attention paid when Clarice posted vacation photos with Ardelia, or general updates about work or her health. Hannibal noted she'd made her relationship status "It's complicated", which made him laugh. He commented on several posts, under an agreed-upon alias of course, the pair enjoying the freedom such anonymity allowed. Slowly, her posts became less frequent. She'd spoken of being busy with work, so it took Hannibal more than three weeks to realize she hadn't been posting. Knowing it was her habit to go directly home after work and the Quantico gym, unless something in her social life had change, she had enough time for a quick post. Clarice was likely choosing not to update her feed, and, by extension, him.
He sent a DM.
Clarice, are you well? I haven't heard from you in a while and thought you might be ill. If there's anything you need, let me know. I'm here for you.
He could see when she read it, but there was no response. He waited. It took more than a week for her to reply:
Hey, sorry. Not trying to be distant. Just going through a few things. It's not you, it's me. Just looking for a little space. No worries. Chat soon.
No worries? Chat soon? Hannibal paced back and forth in the living room of a home it took him 10 months to find. Arranging for all the layers of security in order to pay for it. Setting up the household in a manner that wouldn't raise any suspicions. Living a solitary life until it was safe to resurface with a new, unsuspicious, identity. He'd done it all without complaint or care. He'd done it all for her. For them. Had something happened to distract her from the future they'd planned?
He messaged: I trust you with every ounce of my being, Dearest. Rest assured, you may have all the space you need. Know that I'm here for you when you're ready.
And he did trust her. Implicitly. It was the rest of humanity with whom he had no such faith. Something had come between them. Or someone. He vowed to find out.
She was brilliant, his Clarice. If she suspected he suspected anything, she'd begin moving to either remove posts, block him, or delete her accounts. But he was suspicious. He had been for weeks, though it was hum in the back of his mind at the time— a subliminal message to which he'd paid little mind. Still, before he'd been notified she'd read his final message, Hannibal began researching Clarice's activities— both online and off. She hadn't begun to purge her social media, her frequent postings designed to provide both alibi and movements— habits that could be used to throw law enforcement of their tracks when she'd finally met up with Hannibal.
Clarice had been diligently friending people, her followers list a virtual who's who of law enforcement colleagues, college acquaintances, journalists, and judicial contacts. It was likely she'd exchanged some private messages, though he'd have to sort that out if he couldn't find an obvious candidate. If an actual person was the distraction, he'd find them. He began with her friends lists, print-screening every page of contacts across each platform. Once completed, Hannibal began the slow process of meticulously cross-referencing each contact across a wide span of social media platforms, both in the United States, and abroad. Many had privacy settings making it nearly impossible for Hannibal to do more than find their names, public profiles and their profile pictures, but with his knowledge of forensic tracking, that information proved to be quite enough. He went back from the date they'd set up the profiles, accounting for every single post she made, and any interactions on the walls of each contact.
He hadn't found much, until he began tracking the birthdays of every individual on her friends list. Apparently, posting a touching or entertaining birthday message on the "walls" of friends and followers is a common thing. Common enough to provide a bevy of information for one a thorough as Hannibal. Most were harmless— silly, even, but there was one response that appeared to be a red flag in Hannibal's eyes. A man responding to her post with an emoticon that had heart eyes and a smile. Heart eyes. Hannibal saw red. Blood red. He took the man's information. He was a fitness consultant. A painfully-pretty man, with a body Michelangelo could have cast from his statue of David. Overcompensating, much? Hannibal mused to himself that the man's genitalia was a likely match as well.
Have I taken too long, my Love? Have you lost sight of my passion for you and our plans for a lifetime together? Have you been alone so long you've sought solace in the arms of another?
Hannibal messaged:
Can we hop on a video chat? I'd like to talk.
She ignored the message. It sat, unopened for nearly a week. When, finally, she read the message, her response was less than desirable.
I've waited as long as I can. I'm moving on, H. I've realized things with you will never change. I love you, but this isn't the life I want. Not anymore. I hope you understand and that you'll respect my decision. Don't contact me any longer. I know I said I could wait for you, but I can't live like this. Please understand. Goodbye.
Hannibal replied: Who is he?
Her response was quick: There is no "he". I love you, but my heart is breaking every day. It hurts too much to wait for something that will never happen. I'm done. Goodbye.
Hannibal growled as he typed: Stop talking to other people about what I will or will not do for you and call me, Clarice. Call me, or I'm calling him. Now.
Clarice responded: Calling who? There is no one else. That's the point. I'm alone. All. The. Time. You left me alone, now leave me alone.
Alone? You expect me to believe you're alone? Give me more credit than that, will you, Clarice? I gave you the power to destroy me. I never expected you'd do it. You say you're heartbroken? Trust me when I say, I break my own heart every day to remember you, Clarice. To remember us. You knew who you were dealing with and what you promised me before we began. You may be free of a relationship with me, but you are not free of the consequences of your promises. And there will be consequences, Clarice. That, I can promise you, and, unlike you, I don't break my promises. Don't ever forget that.
Hannibal began cross-referencing the man's friends list. He made a full profile, dividing contacts among family members, friends, business associates and casual acquaintances. As far as he could see, Marcus and Clarice began interacting in September. It was now November. Two months. Two months to go from being madly in love with Hannibal, to Clarice wanting… no, needing to move on. Hannibal began accessing sites that post webcams in the area of Clarice's duplex. Ring doorbells. Hackable, to say the least.
Hannibal did a deep dive on the dark web. Credential stuffing, Hannibal searched for any breach in Marcus' user names and password combinations. Marcus continually used the same public username, FitnessGeek — branding his business, Hannibal guessed. Connected to this username, Hannibal found two compromised passwords. Both were nearly identical, with slight variations in the order of the numbers chosen. His password: FitnAssFreak69 or FitnAssFreak6669. Hannibal rolled his eyes. Sophomoric fool.
He cross-referenced Marcus' address with both the Ring Doorbell site and Amazon Sidewalk. He compared the information with social media postings— searching for any old Ring footage Marcus may have posted. Hannibal spotted old recordings shared on social media from Marcus' Facebook accounts. Apparently, a bobcat had strolled across the front lawn in Chesapeake, and Marcus couldn't wait to post the footage everywhere. Useful. Hannibal went to work. If Marcus didn't have two-factor authentication, he'd be able to hack the doorbell undetected. If he could breach the security of the doorbell, he'd be able to access every single device connected to that WiFi account, including any video cameras linked to the security system, and all computer devices connected to that network. Fortunately for Hannibal, Marcus calling himself FitnessGeek wasn't tied to any expertise in anything other than exercise— at least that's what he was presenting as his online persona. He wasn't an electronics or computer geek, or he'd have better protection. His cybersecurity seemed no better than alternating between two very well-used passwords and a single user name. It took less than an hour for Hannibal to access his entire life. Hannibal could now not only ring the doorbell and manipulate the volume, he could access Marcus' computers and monitor all the cameras within the house— including the bedroom. He'd also be able to speak to the man, or anyone else in the house.
Who and what are you, Marcus? Why my Clarice?
Grief pushed open doors in his mind Hannibal refused to answer. Rather than organized his passport and, packing up his electronic devices, booked a private flight to Maryland.
He spent more than a week tracking Marcus. Every day, rain or shine. He stayed away from Clarice. She'd sense his presence and might not react favorably. Not that his ego would be harmed in any way if she rejected him outright, but he didn't want to compromise all the progress he'd made building a life for them. Even if she wasn't interested at the moment, he hoped that might change. Clarice was mercurial. A flashpoint. She was passion personified. It didn't shock him she'd found someone else. Wouldn't the entire world fall in love with her, such was her perfection. Moving on didn't make her disloyal. It made her pragmatic. She'd done the math of their relationship and he'd come up short. Fair enough. Now, it was up to Hannibal to prove she'd used the wrong formula.
For that reason, he wasn't ready to reveal himself. Not until he had all the facts. Mornings started early. Four o'clock and he was out the door to watch as Marcus rolled up the rear metal doors and opened his business for the early clients. He was a hard worker, Marcus, and from what Hannibal could see, intelligent enough, though doubtful he was a Whartonite. No genius, he. You're obviously the more intelligent of this pairing, yes, my Love? Why? Because he's safe? Because he's not going to ask more of you than you're comfortable giving. Comfortable. Safe. Words of her past trauma bleeding through. A relationship with Hannibal would seem so much more tenuous, more terrifying than this safe life. This stale life.
Hannibal tracked his movements every night. Fourteen hour days for fourteen days. Each day after work— the grocery store. Organic food, mostly vegan. Believing that Marcus' meal choices made him akin to a Wagyu-level human, Hannibal mused that at the very least he'd make for a clean meal. Perhaps a lovely kebab with a side of spring rolls? Diligent in his surveillance, there was one regular interruption Hannibal allowed. He'd known all their plans by listening in through their hacked home doorbell and other conveniently placed listening devices throughout his home.
If there was any mention of Clarice in Marcus' schedule, Hannibal politely bowed out for the evening. On such nights, by both his demeanor and his preparations, it became obvious to Hannibal Marcus was headed to Clarice's duplex. What is seen cannot be unseen, so rather than obsess over images of Clarice making love with this man, Hannibal occupied himself with a sketchbook and his own memories of Clarice. No more was she draped in fabrics and holding a lamb in his drawings. He was too familiar with her body. Now, he sketched her nude, adding details he was certain only he'd memorized. The curve of her thigh as it met the round of her bottom. The smooth of her back as it sloped upward toward her buttocks. Her muscles, supple and long.
This was too easy. It was obvious by Marcus' nearly-obsessively precise routines that Clarice wasn't suspecting Hannibal's presence or she would have warned him to vary his movements to make him less predictable. This would be an easy kill.
It was coming up on Valentine's Day. The day he'd planned to take her home to him, though she'd left him before their final plans had been announced. Wouldn't have mattered, he thought to himself, if she'd announced a breakup, it was something long considered. Clarice was anything but impetuous. She was intelligent. Measured. Practical beyond most humans, she'd tried this man on, emotionally speaking, long before the final ax fell.
An ax. Overkill, perhaps, but wouldn't that make for a statement.
One more day until the Valentine's Day Massacre, as he'd referred to it in the memory palace room he was building for the event. The room had 3 black walls and a single Edison bulb swinging from the center of the ceiling. The final wall was similar in nature and appearance to a roughly hewn tack room wall. A variety of leather bindings were hanging there, and a cleaver driven into the wall beside the door— like the TV show Chopped, he and Clarice watched together on occasion. There was an ax wedged into a huge cross-section of a tree, sawed off like to make for a large circular butcher's block. This would be the imagined version of events, though the real-life iteration would be found in an old farm outbuilding on the Virginia border.
They'd be together if Hannibal couldn't intercept Marcus as he left the gym. Valentine's Day. As good an excuse as any to surprise one's lover. And might not Clarice try something of that nature? Hannibal made his preparations. He lifted the keys to a limo from a local livery service, driving it to the gym, he drove around the back. Employees entrance. Once Marcus locked up, Hannibal pulled the car around. In his finest English, one the queen herself would be proud of, Hannibal announced his presence. "Excuse me. Miss Clarice Starling has requested your presence. I'm to bring you to an undisclosed location for a very private meeting. May I?"
Hannibal opened the passenger door and, approaching Marcus with a smile and the tip of his hat to hide his face, lifted his gym bag from his hands and tossed it gently into the trunk. "It's not a long drive, but as I said, the location is secret, so do play along for the lady's sake, won't you? No cell phone messages. It's all part of the game, yes?" Hannibal extended his hand, waiting for Marcus to place his mobile on his palm. The moment Marcus turned over his cell phone, Hannibal escorted him within.
"I wanted to go home and change."
"No doubt this is part of the surprise. I'm certain if your attire isn't appropriate your date would have made other plans, or will provide a suitable option."
Hannibal watched Marcus in the rearview mirror. He wasn't suspicious at all. Far too trusting, this one.
"Clarice hired you?"
"Not directly. Your lady's plans for the evening don't include me." That stung. Truth be told, Hannibal didn't dislike this man. In fact, everything he learned about him in the time he'd been researching this relationship lead him to believe Marcus was a decent, if not semi-self-absorbed man. He worked in appearances. Hannibal wondered if Clarice had modified her own appearance to appeal to him. That irked him more than anything else. If even a hair was plucked from her brow to please this man or to garner any level of acceptance, Hannibal would be enraged. Not at Clarice's want to be attractive to him, but at the suggestion that she was anything less than perfect in her natural state. A state that Hannibal found so entrancing, so approaching in heavenly perfection that he distracted himself from it by formulating recipes to with which to roast her lover's well-sculpted cheeks.
As they drove, Hannibal noticed headlights. He took three left hand turns. The lights still followed. He drove another ten minutes, taking an additional three left hand turns. The lights still followed.
Clarice…
She was behind him. Fine. Let her see this. Let her feel what I feel. Let the pain I feel be demonstrated on every cleaved bone and seared piece of flesh as she screams for mercy for this fool.
Hannibal parked. Turning toward Marcus, he warned, "Don't exit the vehicle until I open the door. It's all part of the game, you see. We wouldn't want to spoil your Miss's plans, now would we. She's gone to so much trouble, you'll stay put until I return, yes?"
Marcus, confused but accepting, agreed, "Sure. No problem. Whatever Clarice wants, that's all I want."
Under any other circumstances, Hannibal might like this man. Under these circumstances, he wanted to pick his teeth with one of his distal phalange.
Hannibal left the car, walking at a brisk pace toward Clarice, now running full speed in his direction.
"Barefoot?" Hannibal questioned.
"Yeah, you try chasing down a serial killer with a stiletto up his sleeve in stiletto heals. And hello to you, too."
"Not a stiletto. My Harpy." He looked her up and down. She was wearing a simple black dress. Elegant, but open in the back, favoring the curve of her spine to the small of her back. Stunning. Her hair was shoulder length, slicked back in a wet style away from her forehead.
"You look like a fucking Kardashian, Clarice. Eyebrows threaded, or plucked?"
"Fuck you."
"If that's an offer, I'd suggest a more private place?"
"If you don't let him go I swear to God, I'll…"
He didn't let her finish, interrupted with all the fire in his brain scorching from his hissed tones, "You'll do precisely what, Clarice, and do you think I care?"
"You'll care when they're dragging you back to that fucking dungeon."
Hannibal stepped closer. He lifted his chin, inhaling deeply. "You're wearing the Versace perfume I bought for you. For him?"
Clarice stepped closer, the pair nearly bumping chests as she growled, "I would have worn it for you, but you weren't fucking here."
Hannibal took a long, deep breath. "Not by my choice, Dearest. Never by my choice."
Hannibal looked over his shoulder at the man in the limo, now turned around and looking out the back window.
"I'm bored of this charade. Tell that poor dullard anything you want about tonight. If you tire of playing house with him, your home with me awaits. I have kept every promise I ever made to you, my Love. You knew who I was and what I was when we began planning our life together. Nothing has changed in my eyes. If you want the life we planned, the life we promised one another, let me know. If not, be happy in the life you've chosen, however mundane an existence it turns out to be. Return to me and I will forget all that has happened between us. I'll place the world at your feet, Clarice. You will never want for another thing as long as I draw breath. Either way, know that I will worship you and love you until the day I die, whether you're by my side or not. The choice is yours. I've made mine. I cannot go back on my promises to you."
"I release you from every promise you ever made."
"Convenient of you. I myself, cannot. You can release yourself of any burden you like. I will not release myself of a promise I made on my soul."
Hannibal slipped a key in her hand and a phone.
"The keys to the limo are in the ignition. I'll leave your car at the gym. Happy Valentine's Day, my Love. Goodbye, for now."
He didn't try to kiss her. He simply turned and walked away. As he drove her car, inhaling her scent, committing it to memory, he closed the door to the memory palace where he'd planned to slaughter Marcus. Killing him might have felt good. It would have felt good, but it would have taken Clarice from him forever. No, if she were ever to return to him, it would have to be in her own way. In her own time. There was nothing he could do to move the clock or the calendar forward to make that day come any sooner. If that day would come at all, it would be a day of her choosing. Until then, Hannibal would have to survive. Alone.
Hannibal looked in on Clarice from time to time, but gave up messaging her. It didn't help. She was with this man. This man. A man who in any other time, in any other place, Hannibal would have slaughtered and slept well that night, but no. Clarice was with him and as much as that pained Hannibal, it was her choice. A month went by. A year. Two. Hannibal wondered how much longer he could wait. He walked the beach. He visited his memory palace, spending hours at a time imagining her body. Feeling her soul. Someone had her, yet she was his. Always his.
There had been odd text messages over the years, but nothing he could prove came from Clarice. Perhaps Marcus had come across the phone and thought he might tempt a response. Perhaps one of their children, if she'd had any, played with the phone's touchpad. Hannibal didn't know. He didn't look. Seeing her with Marcus, or with children not of Hannibal's line, would kill him. Knowing a thing is horrible enough. Seeing it makes it unimaginably real.
The messages weren't he, of that he was certain. Until one…a text that simply said, Hey you… are you still there?
Hey you. He could hear it as if she was speaking the words aloud, rather than a text.
"Still here. You?" He wondered what she'd say.
"Always."
"Would you like to come…"
Before he could finish typing the message, she responded, "Can I come home. Just to talk— I need rest. I need to see where my head is at. I need to see if you're as much a part of me as you are in my thoughts. I need to see if I made a mistake walking away. Can you give me that? The room and the grace to see and decide for myself. No pressure, H. Just let me be. Let me see where we're at. Can you?"
"Come home, my Love. If you want to stay, I'll be the happiest man in the world. If you need to leave, I'll bless every step you take as you walk out of my life and into whatever future makes you happy. All I want is the chance to fight for a love I'd never thought I deserved, and never hoped to have. Will you grant me that opportunity, Dearest. No promises to each other, just a fighting chance?"
The message came back quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow night. Pick me up at the airport. 14:00."
"I'll be there."
Hannibal's hands were shaking, but he gripped the phone as if his life depended on it. Perhaps it did. He picked up Clarice on time, meeting her at the International arrivals gate. She wore a flowing cotton sundress with eyelets— the kind you'd see in a romance movie, he thought, and wore a wide-brimmed floppy hat with a bright green ribbon.
"Hello, Clarice," Hannibal spoke softly.
"Hey, H. Thanks."
"For what? I haven't done anything."
"That's the point. You haven't done anything, and we both know how much you wanted to."
She was talking about Marcus. She'd obviously done her homework and checked out the area. Though Clarice knew, she wondered if Marcus understood how close he'd come to death that night.
"I wouldn't do anything to cause you pain, Clarice. Not intentionally, at least."
"Still…thanks for that. I know how hard it must have been to be rejected like that. I'm sorry, H. I was hoping you'd found some peace over the years."
"I have found quiet. Without you in my arms, Clarice, there is no peace." He stood with his hands at his side. "I want to hold you so very badly, Clarice, but I'm not sure you'd welcome it."
She reached for his hand, hooking her pinky with his. She swung their joined hands back and forth for a second, then let go. "Baby steps, okay, H?"
He nodded. "Baby steps."
They drove to the house Hannibal had outfitted for them both. It was a sheep and horse ranch, and she smiled when she saw it. "I can't believe you did all this."
"All this and so much more. Shall I show you to your room?"
"My room?"
"Technically, it's my room. The master suite, but was designed for us in mind. I'll be staying in the guest quarters. You'll have all the privacy you need until you make your decision, Clarice. I'll not attempt to sway your mind either way. I'll simply show you the life I'd planned for you…for us. If you decide it's the life you want to lead, you'll stay, won't you? If not, there isn't anything I will do to hold you here."
Hannibal walked her across the living room and down a long hallway the led to the Master suite. An office adjoined the room, and a private bath. Over the next few weeks she'd spend a lot of time alone in the rooms. Hannibal heard the occasional phone call to Ardelia, but none to Marcus. Perhaps that was over?
They walked along the beach after dinner. Hannibal sought, "Are you enjoying your stay?"
"I am."
"Enough to stay?"
She didn't respond.
"You might…if I gave you enough reason. But I can't, can I, my Love? I can't do anything. Not without your permission. Your consent. It's nearly Valentine's Day again. Tomorrow, in fact. Will you be my Valentine, Clarice Starling?"
Hannibal slipped his arms around her, breathing deeply to assess her response. Pheromones encircled as the February warmth swirled around them. "I want to take you to my bed and show you not only how loved you are, my most precious lover, but how missed you've been. Hold me, Clarice. Let me carry you away from all your troubles and give you a place to heal and arms to hold you close and never let you go."
"But, I can't promise you anything…I'm not sure…"
"How can you be sure if you won't try, Clarice? Let see how this goes, shall we? Let's give this one last go and see if we're meant to be together, or meant to be a memory. You walked away without warning the first time. Let me fight for you. For us." Hannibal opened his arms wide, "Come to me, my Love. Come to me and watch all of your fears and worries disappear in my arms."
She said not one word as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close.
"I was afraid to love you," Clarice whispered against his ear.
"I was afraid not to love you," Hannibal responded in hushed, heated tones. "Let's be afraid together. Afraid of love. Afraid not to love. It's all the same as long as we're fighting for each other."
They began to kiss. Tentatively, at first, the passion grew with the comfort they were finding in each other's arms. It was harder for Clarice, he expected. He hadn't held anyone else. No one was coming between them on his side. He remembered the feel of her as if it was yesterday, because, to him, it was yesterday. For her, there'd been another. One who kissed differently. One who's body felt differently in her arms. Could she forget all that and remember them again? She could if she wanted to. Could he forget she'd been with someone else? The moment their lips touched, he already had.
They stood at the foot of the bed for a very long time. Undressing each other with their eyes long before they began removing one another's clothing. Hannibal was locked into the green of her eyes— glistening with a purity and honesty he remembered from their very first kiss. He looked deep into her soul, her eyes that open to him. "I love you, Clarice. You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know it before…" He stopped. No expectations. Don't assume anything. This has been a gift. Don't unwrap it too quickly.
"Before we make love?"
"Only if it's what you want."
"It's all I want." She jumped into his arms, Hannibal carrying her to the bed as if an eagle swooping her up in flight. They didn't speak. They couldn't. Their mouths covered each other's, turning with a rhythm they'd found long ago. And they had found it again, hadn't they? That rhythm one has when you've made love so many times it's a tantric dance— primal movements learned in response to every moan, every thrust of the body and rocking of the hips. Clothing shed, they leapt across the mattress, scrambling and reaching for one another as if they'd been lost in that bed for years, desperate to be seen and found.
Slow down. Foreplay.
Hannibal was desperate to enter her, and desperate for it to last forever— both thoughts at odds with each other.
"Hurry, H…"
Fuck.
He dove for her neck, biting hard as he sucked at her flesh. He was over her body, supported by his elbows, bent on his knees as he straddled her. Though Clarice clawed at his back, pulling him close and whispering the wants of several years in his ears, Hannibal, naked body pressed to hers, rocked gently against her, careful not to enter. Rather, he kissed her throat, tracing his tongue across her collarbone as he worked his way down her body. He paused at her breasts for a very long time, teasing her nipples into peaks of delicious flesh as he nibbled and suckled so hard she gasped for breath.
"H…H…" she repeated her calls to him.
"I'm here, Clarice…I'll always be here."
He was at her stomach, now. Teasing tiny bites, he kissed her belly. Her hips undulated beneath him. Hard as any man could be, Hannibal slid himself between her legs, rubbing himself the length of her body without entering. "You're so very wet, aren't you, my Love. Know that I want you as badly…no, I want you so much more, my Love, for I have waited lifetimes to bring you home, Clarice." Hannibal pressed against her, allowing the heat and length of his phallus to stroke the slick folds of flesh he hoped ached to welcome him. She attempted to open her legs and welcome him inside, but he used his right leg to keep hers pinned together, trapping his manhood between her legs. It was torment, moving across her body in such a way, rubbing along her most private flesh, the heat of it nearly searing him with passion.
Clarice moaned low. Her hips bucking forward, she drove herself to her own orgasm as Hannibal provided enough firmness and friction to push her to the edges of ecstasy. Her breath quickened. She's close. So very close.
And he was too. Clarice, begging to be entered, pleaded in his ear. Promises of lifetimes together. Of love and of marriage and of children spilled over their lips as they grasped fistfuls of flesh and mouthfuls of lust. Their kisses were deep. Probing. Tongues circled and danced around bit of lip and hunks of flesh. Finally, when he could take no more, Hannibal lowered himself between her legs, and stroking a wet finger between the joining of her thighs, he slipped his tongue over that silky flesh and chased her orgasm with his mouth and tongue lapping up every moan and shuddering scream that leaked from between her legs. Her thighs pressing against his ears, her body pulsed, her lips trembling against his mouth, she gripped his hair in fistfuls, riding against his face as if posting in saddleback. Her back arching, head dropping back, Hannibal reached for her, arching upward to tease at her nipples as he pinched firmly. He didn't so much as twist or tug, instead applying steady pressure to the buds of flesh. Clarice groaned his name.
"Hurry…hurry, H…I want you. Now."
She clutched at his shoulders, attempting to pull him up toward him.
"As I want you, Clarice."
Hannibal rolled over onto his back.
"Come, my Love. Come and be with me. Let me watch the light in your eyes as we give ourselves over to this love we share. Look at me, Dearest. Look at me and see the love I feel for you. The love I've felt for you every day since the first time I held you in my arms. Come, Dearest. Come."
She paused. Tears filled her eyes as she straddled him. Rocking her body into place, she leaned over him. Hannibal's mouth brushed against her nipples as she lifted her hips upward to allow him the room to enter her. Eyes firmly locked, his deep maroon to her green, Hannibal thrust upward as she lowered herself onto his length. As her body opened to him, silken flesh caressing his body as her muscles closed around him, he gasped.
Hold on. Hold on and let it last…
He bit down on his lip to hold back the orgasm fighting its way up his body like a tightened band ready to snap.
Her hands. Concentrate on her hands. Where are they?
She was gripping his shoulders, her hands digging in as she clawed at his flesh, riding him to the point of no return. The sounds of sex surrounded them. Slurping noises and clapping sounds as their bodies rode onward to their ecstasy. He held off as long as he could, but when the rolling build of her orgasm washed over them both, it was all he could do to hang on, giving himself over to his own release even as she shuddered out her own. They trembled, still staring into one another's eyes, one another's souls as their bodies quaked and quivered together. Her muscles twitched and tensed around his body, now growing limp with the satisfaction of their togetherness.
They held each other for such a long time the sun had set and was nearly beginning to rise again. At one point, they were no longer joined internally, but Clarice had fallen asleep while still atop Hannibal. He held her, pulling in long draws of breath to take in every scent. Every taste. Some time not long after she fell asleep, Hannibal did as well. This was how they came together, how they stayed together, in a time long after Clarice had forgotten ever leaving Hannibal. And she did forget. She forgot that life she'd thought she'd wanted. She'd forgotten that normalcy. That quest for a life without him. A safe life, so she thought. Now, she couldn't imagine any safer life than the one she found in his arms, and he couldn't remember a time he didn't love her. For he does and he did truly love her. He is her Protector…her Passion. She is his Redemption….his Soul.
For the Love they share, they are One.
ALWAYS.
Until the next #NMSL chapter,
L.H.