I hope that all of my American friends had a wonderful Thanksgiving. To my fan fic friends thank you so much for your patience. My husband came home this Tuesday after spending two full months in the hospital. Thanks so much for all of the well wishes my very faithful friends! Your support and kind words of encouragement have meant so very much to me.

LH

DISCLAIMER: No I didn't create them. I don't own them. Lord knows I make no money from them but God knows I love to take them out to play!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM!

LECTER THE PROTECTOR

Hannibal woke early and began the preparations for his meeting with Bloom returning to his study just after breakfast emerging hours later, long enough to prepare an afternoon meal for Clarice. She was confused when he set out the food but did not join her. She sat for what she believed would be lunch with her husband to find he would not partake.

She stood in front of the table questioning the one place setting, "What gives, H? Not eating?"

Hannibal pulled out her chair, waited for her to sit, placed a napkin over her lap and gently pushed her closer to the table, ever aware of her burgeoning belly.

"No, Clarice. I wish to be hungry in mind and body. I must be focused."

Clarice lifted the spoon to her lips, blowing on the bowl of it to cool the homemade soup.

"Can't you just eat a little bit? You didn't have much to eat this morning either. What did you have, coffee… maybe a croissant?"

Hannibal took a seat across from her and folded one leg over the other. Relaxed, he clasped his hands over one knee, tilted his head slightly and smiled as he watched her eat. His voice was low and smooth as he sought to reassure, "You needn't worry about me my Love. I've had enough to maintain my blood sugar and my electrolytes. It wouldn't due to have all of the blood rushing to my digestive system. Though I have little respect for the man I do not underestimate his intellect or his abilities. I would have my wits about me when I face him."

Clarice tilted her head to the side, mimicking the gesture he often used when thinking or challenging her. When she continued to stare, smirked and arched an eyebrow he recognized that she was teasing him and wagged a finger at her in mock disapproval.

"While I am certain you find my preparations to be…" Hannibal paused, not in confusion but more to measure his thoughts unsure of how far he wished to take the conversation.

Clarice covered the silence, "Obsessive the word you're looking for?"

He smoothed a steady palm over his forehead and swept his hair from his face. Again, his response was measured as this topic was one he long avoided with Clarice.

"…thorough is more accurate, though I would understand how you might see it as such."

Clarice was aware of the somber tone her husband reflected and set her spoon down, considering him very carefully as she spoke, "I can't see it any other way. I know this meeting is serious…I do…but you are taking this to a whole new level. You're not meeting with Moriarty, Sherlock."

Hannibal crossed his arms over his chest and inhaled deeply. After a long exhalation he responded, "I will ignore the offhanded nature of that comment because you do not understand the situation or your past participation in it."

Clarice suddenly saw just the slightest hint of vulnerability in her husband. It was almost imperceptible but she recognized it. "Okay, H…I'm sorry. What situation are you referring to and what do you mean my past participation in it?"

"Chilton was very thorough in his explanations of their methods. The treatments were quite brutal."

"Treatments?"

"Chilton and Bloom were convinced they would be able to unlock the secrets of the sociopathic or psychopathic mind if they were somehow able to quantify me. They made it their mission to crack me, to unlock my mind so to speak. I would not allow the intrusion thus the treatments became more and more…intrusive."

"Did they hurt you? Physically?"

"Yes, though that was not the worst of it. Physical pain can be compartmentalized and can thus be ignored. No the most intrusive treatments involved their idea of degradation…humiliation. Though I never felt degraded myself, the process was tedious…very tedious."

Clarice continued to eat, not realizing the direction the conversation was taking. "You said I participated…what do you mean?"

Hannibal uncrossed his legs and leaned over the table. His arms still crossed, he rested his forearms on the table and leaned over, his voice barely registered above a whisper, "Your participation was designed to be a part of that degradation Clarice, though your intrinsic morality and courage nullified their intent. You were sent to…stimulate me."

Clarice choked on her soup. "What do you mean? I would never be a part of anything like that!"

Hannibal was careful in his explanation. He did not want his wife to believe he thought her in any way complicit in the process, "Clarice, you were not the first woman they dangled in front of me to…entice me. Though I must admit that after my reaction to the previous attempt, they did not dare bring you in direct contact with me."

His wife was curious and it reflected in her tone, "Why… what'd do, H?"

A spark of mischief reflected within his maroon irises like light off a ruby, "Let us say the nurse they convinced to participate in their experiment did not fare well."

"Is that the chick whose tongue you ate? Chilton carried her photo in his wallet. He showed it to me just before I came down to see you."

"He believed incorrectly that seeing the image would frighten you. He also believed, incorrectly that sensing your fear would stimulate me."

"Sexually?"

"That was his intent. He and Bloom tried desperately to attach carnal motivations to my behaviors. As a sort of experiment they convinced the nurse to speak to me in a sexually suggestive manner. They wished to see how I would respond if…aroused."

"She did what exactly?"

"She made sexually explicit suggestions."

"So of course you ate her tongue."

Hannibal smiled a wicked smile, the centers of his irises sparking like flaming pinwheels as he imagined the moment, "Let us just say that I removed the offending organ."

Clarice shook her head, her hair tumbling over her shoulders capturing her husband's attention though she remained endearingly oblivious, "I still don't get how you think I was part of their plan?"

Hannibal hovered a palm over the table for a moment moving it up and down absentmindedly as if stacking the memories one atop the other.

He spoke very calmly, "Apparently they saw me as an aggressive individual and had assumed I would be stimulated by a sexually aggressive female. They left me alone with her in the hopes that I might…well, whatever their hope, I was less than cooperative."

"How far were they planning on taking that?"

"I wouldn't dare to venture a guess though the woman was extremely graphic. Had I taken her up on her offer, no doubt I would have had rape charges to deal with as well."

"What's that got to do with me?" Clarice questioned, obviously upset at the insinuation.

"When that plan did not work, they extrapolated that perhaps I would be attracted to someone more vulnerable. They turned to Jack Crawford and together…they chose you and they chose well, Clarice. I found you then and still find you to be absolutely irresistible. I was quite taken with you, though I was careful that it not to be seen as such. Know that it was very, very difficult to watch you leave assuming I would never see you again."

People will say we're in love.

"Jesus…I had no idea. I feel like an idiot…how could I have been so goddamned blind?"

Hannibal reached across the table and held her hand, smoothing his remaining hand lightly over hers.

"You could not recognize the devious undertones because you do not operate on that level. I recognized that instantaneously. You were not afraid to break the rules in order to be courteous even though you had been instructed against that. That is why I chose to speak to you. Why I chose to help you."

Accept nothing from him.

"When I took the towel offered to me from the carrier?"

"Precisely…a token of respect and comfort offered and accepted. You treated me humanely and showed no fear. It was quite disarming."

Clarice held his large hands within hers and squeezed them, emphasizing her sentiment, "I'm sorry to have been the cause of your discomfort, H."

Hannibal kissed his wife's hand. "You have nothing of which to be sorry. You were unaware of their perverse motivations and I took great pleasure being in your company."

Clarice whispered as if in danger of being overheard, "They'll be here soon. What do you want me to do?"

"If Bloom wishes to speak with you, and I assume he will, be honest with him. We have nothing to hide. Share with him whatever you are comfortable sharing. I will handle the rest."

"I trust you to take care of this for our family, H."

"I will do all to protect what is ours my Love."

Clarice nodded, "I know, H…I know."

"I will be in my study awaiting his arrival." Hannibal stood beside Clarice and bent to kiss her. He then turned to leave the room.

Clarice left her husband to his thoughts. She simply touched his hand for a moment as he passed her to go to his study.

They had in their time together learned much about one another. Hannibal learned to trust his wife in all things. Clarice, for her part, learned how to read his needs though they were few. Most importantly she learned, though he would ask for neither, when he needed her thoughts and when he needed only his own. This day, he needed only her presence for comfort. Her silence in that moment spoke her love to him.

Hannibal withdrew and took his place behind the large ornately carved antique desk as if it were the battlement from which he would defend his family. He sat with his eyes closed and his fingers steepled tapping them against pursed lips as he forced himself to visit the portion of his memory palace he had barricaded long ago.

Now moving very cautiously, almost tentatively within his memory palace he approached the door to a long ignored though not forgotten room. The door Hannibal stood before was identical in design to his cell front at BSFH made with thick clear plexiglass though the height was twice the size. Above the lintel was written, STANZA SENZA SPERANZA. Hannibal paused, drew in the deepest of breaths, and holding the air within his lungs as if drawing in courage and containing it, slid open the door.

His body sitting very still within his study Hannibal Lecter flinched at the assaultive and intrusive rush of sensory input that his current happiness bade him to long ignore. Travelling with the walls of his memory palace, down the long corridor of the Baltimore State Forensic Hospital Hannibal could hear the all too familiar ambient sounds of that place. The oppressive metallic clanking of locks sliding home, unforgiving bars being railed against with objects, and fists, and floods of anger. The rank smell of the musty, dungeon-like, air packed its way into his nose and drove down the back of his throat, drowning him in a tsunami of mold and misery.

Hannibal, the aspects of both Man and Beast dwelling within him as if he were the duality of Nature personified, was both seated at his desk and standing in front of his cell. He attempted to limit his respirations though to no avail. His chest burned, his ribs ached, crushed from want of air as he defiantly withheld the earlier inhalation. Finally, when his body was forced to overrule his willpower he haltingly drew in the dreaded breath and retched at the raw stench of desperation and fear.

The scent of old urine, fecal matter and fresh ejaculate mixed with the faded aftereffects of industrial cleaners not often used, the offensive olfactory assault caused warm saliva to flood his mouth. Hannibal swallowed hard choking back burning bile as the gorge rose up the back of his throat.

Hannibal now forced himself to re-explore the sensation of being strapped to the hand truck, trussed from head to toe as he cursed the hyper-sensitivity of his own olfactory system. As a control method, Chilton had insisted Hannibal's bite mask not be cleaned. Once, when Hannibal had been subjected to a particularly difficult therapeutic session involving electric stimulation he vomited while wearing the mask. The emetic aftereffects burned his sinuses combining with the stale scent of exfoliation, sweat and saliva clinging to the inside of the restraint mask etched deeply into his sense memory.

The leather straps of his memory seemed to be pulled much tighter than was the norm as Hannibal intentionally mutilated his psyche with these angst riddled recollections. The belts were so tight, the mask pressed so firmly against his skin that Hannibal could feel the cross-hatched weave of the fiberglass imprinting on his flesh. His throat ached, his flaring nostrils acidic from the stench of aged bodily fluids and decay. His eyes closed tightly he could feel his pounding pulse as it drummed against the leather straps the cold of the steel buckles caused his head to throb.

Hannibal experienced the memories of that horrific place before Clarice, before hope, when the imago of Bloom was synonymous with rage. Hannibal picked at the scabs of his memories, opening the weeping sores of his past causing the blood of his anguish to flow. He would not face Bloom with thoughts of his wife or thought of his child. He would not face him with love in his heart. He would face Bloom looking back at the man from the gaping wounds that Bloom created.

Bloom would not be meeting with Hannibal the Husband or Hannibal the Father, he would face Lecter the Protector the Guardian of the crystalline door marked My Family. Should Bloom choose to approach that door…should Protector be unleashed, Hannibal swore on all that he was, he would make Bloom would pay dearly for his insolence. He vowed with the stench of memory swirling in his nostrils that Bloom if he threatened the solemnity of his family, the sacred union between wife and husband and son that Bloom would pray for death. Much like Hannibal's childhood prayers…the Protector swore that the insolent man's prayers too, would go unanswered.

The doorbell rang, jolting Hannibal back from his restraint mask to the comfort of his desk chair. Hannibal breathed in and out as deeply as his physiology would allow as he attempted to purge the scents and sounds of the Room without Hope. Hannibal Lecter wanted nothing more than to thumb open his harpy and kill Bloom before he breached the doorway but Hannibal would not be selfish. He had a child to consider. He had Clarice to consider. If he were to kill Bloom…he would need a reason.

Lulled into a false sense of security by the friends Hannibal had cultivated within the FBI, truly unaware of the danger Hannibal still presented, Bloom… would foolishly soon oblige him.

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Until the next chapter my friends!

LH