THE ANSWER

By the end of the second day, Hannibal was going stir crazy. It had been a lovely spring day and he wanted to take his family out for a walk, but thought better of it. Until the birth of the child was officially announced, the Tattler's offer made them veritable hostages in their own home.

This fact confirmed by Lora when she left the Lecter's to return home later that evening. She called Clarice to warn her of all the photo opportunists camped out in the neighborhood.

"I saw one guy climbing the tree across the street from your front door, Clarice," she warned. "And no one even knows the baby's born. When word of this gets out, it'll be bedlam."

Clarice hung up the phone and went to find Hannibal. He was at the piano with the baby in a portable infant carrier beside him on the bench. She stood behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"H, we've gotta talk."

Hannibal turned his head toward his wife, but continued playing as he questioned, "I am perceiving an increased level of what I am presuming to be cortisol. Aside from the expected anxiety of new motherhood, is there something causing you stress?"

Touching his body comforted her. She placed her hand on his back just below his scapula, feeling his ribs expand with his breath. Hannibal's impeccable posture relaxed slightly at the contact. Feeling his ease, Clarice sought her own, sharing her worry with her husband by seeking his counsel.

There was an ominous tone to her voice as she stated, "So, H…I just spoke to Lora."

Hannibal moved his hands gracefully from the keys, phrasing the final note with flair rolling up on his fingertips, lifting his hand first at the wrist. He set his hands on his lap, paused for a moment and arched an eyebrow at the comment.

"What would cause her to call so quickly? She hasn't been injured?"

Feeling his body tense at the thought, Clarice bent to him, kissed his neck and began to massage his shoulders.

"No, don't worry, she's fine. She called because she wanted to give us the head's up about something. She's worried about us."

Hannibal closed his eyes and allowed his head to roll back, obviously enjoying the attention. He leaned into his wife's body, resting his head between her breasts.

Clarice smiled as her husband reflexively placed a protective hand on the baby snuggled safely in the carrier. Though his eyes were off his son; his hand wouldn't be.

Clarice continued to knead his flesh, wanting to comfort him; wishing for the same herself. Not the massage. No, she was worried about her family. She needed reassurance. She needed Hannibal. Again she lowered to kiss his forehead.

Hannibal reached back and cupped his hand gently on his wife's neck holding her to him. He kissed her tenderly, her hair forming a curtain around his head. Sympathetic to his wife's unease, Hannibal sought closure.

"Though I am thoroughly enjoying this, Clarice, you entered the room with a thought. Please elucidate."

Clarice relayed the earlier conversation with apprehension, "Lora told me she saw a ton of people hanging around outside. She said it looked like people were camping in their cars. Seriously, this is a real problem, H…we've got to figure something out."

The music ended, having been with his father for more than an hour and needing to nurse the baby began to fuss. Hannibal reached for his son, kissed his cheek and handed him up over his head to Clarice.

"Your health and that of Devyni must come first, Clarice. When you are calm and the baby is sated, we will determine a course of action. The people of whom you speak are outside our home, not within and as such, pose no immediate threat. We are secure."

Placing the now empty carrier on a chair beside the piano, Hannibal patted his hand on the bench.

"My Love, sit, please."

Clarice, holding her son close, stepped carefully around the bench and taking a seat, explained quietly, "I looked outside before I came in here, H. There are people…everywhere."

Hannibal's eyes searched as he processed, "The individuals who've gathered are attempting to be the first to photograph our son to collect the Tattler's bounty?"

Clarice nodded as she sought a resolution, "Exactly, pathetic sons of bitches! What should we do?"

Turning on the bench to face Clarice, Hannibal rationalized, "It would then stand to reason, once the first series of photographs is published, there would be no further interest. Yes?"

Clarice settled beside her husband and, opening her blouse with one hand, turned open the flap of her nursing bra, and encouraged the baby. Pausing for a moment, she waited until her son latched, then concurred, "Stands to reason, but we don't have any control over which idiot takes the first picture."

Hannibal returned his hands to the keyboard and began to play a whimsical tune of his own composition. This spontaneous arrangement was light and carefree, his hands flying with precision up and down the keys.

He had come to a conclusion and as such, was no longer preoccupied by the thought. His mind was now running parallel to the conversation as his hands moved lightly up and down the keys. The question, and by extension his wife's concerns now seemed an afterthought.

Clarice nudged him with her shoulder. "What the hell, H? Are you ignoring me?"

Hannibal was confident in the resolution and believed Clarice would agree. He interrupted his playing long enough to assure, "Of course not, my Love. I would never demean your concerns. I have simply made a determination and thought it best to wait for you to finish feeding our son to share it with you."

Clarice spoke in a hushed tone, not wishing to disturb the baby suckling happily, "H…I'm totally freaked out over this. If you've got a plan that doesn't involve me going out there with my gun and shooting every last bastard holding a camera, I think I'd like to hear it sooner, rather than later."

Hannibal loved his wife's fighting nature. Ever the warrior in his eyes, he inhaled deeply, his swelling chest affirmed his pride. After a protracted exhalation, he declared, "My brave Clarice, I do believe you would go out there and challenge the masses waving your weapon to protect your family."

Nodding her head defiantly, she avowed, "Damn straight I would."

The baby was resting in the crook of Clarice's arm. Hannibal was taken in as he closely observed the intimacy between mother and son. His heart warmed at the sight of the woman he loved, feeding his child from the body he worshipped.

Somewhere in his vast store of sense memories, he could feel the warmth of his own mother's breast. He ran a hand over the child's head.

He assured, "If it were necessary, I would do no less, though I believe there is an easier approach."

Shifting from the sentiment, he placed that same calming hand on his wife's knee and detailed his thought, "Very well, Clarice. What is to stop us from choosing the photographer and periodical to publish the first photo, thus controlling the process entirely?"

Unconvinced, she questioned her husband, "Why is that any different? Why should we allow people to make money off our baby? Screw them!"

Hannibal turned his attention to sheet music he had been composing. He picked up a quill, dipped it in ink and began making notations. As he outlined his idea to Clarice, the loveliest phrasing for the right hand came to mind. He wrote as he spoke, "We could require the paper or magazine to donate a portion of their profits to a charity in our son's name in exchange for the photo spread."

Feeling the baby pause for a moment, Clarice lifted him to her shoulder and began to rub his back.

"Okay, I'm game…what charity?"

Hannibal set the quill to the side and placed his hands on the keys testing the phrasing of his composition. Satisfied, he spoke as he played, "In honor of the mother of my son, I believed the orphanage in Bozeman might be an appropriate choice."

Clarice sat quietly with her son, now sleeping peacefully with his head tucked contently against her neck. Taking a moment to consider Hannibal's proposition, she allowed her head to tip slightly resting it on Hannibal's shoulder. Though she was intensely pleased, she didn't speak.

Hannibal waited a moment before inquiring, "What are your thoughts, Clarice?"

Touched that Hannibal would connect her lack of family growing up to the formation of their own, she rested against him, content to be.

The baby's breath huffing in tiny puffs warmed her neck even as her husband's thoughtfulness warmed her heart. There was an edge of feistiness in her voice illustrating her desire to pay back the Tattler for putting them in this position.

"I think it's a brilliant idea. It solves the problem, it screws over the Tattler big-time, and it gives back to a charity close to my heart."

Pleased with his wife's approval a self-satisfied smile evolved as he confirmed, "My thoughts precisely."

Clarice continually traced her hand in small circles over the baby's back.

"That's what I love about you, H. I get myself all worked up and pissed off, but you don't let emotions cloud your thoughts. I swear, if it were up to me, I'd go the that rag of a paper, find the son of a bitch who put up the money for that piece of shit offer, and pistol whip the motherfucker."

"And that is what I love about you, Clarice. You challenge everything. You aren't afraid of anyone. Keep in mind, however, the name Lecter has been on enough court dockets for one lifetime. Though I would love to see you mete out your brand of justice it wouldn't be practical to add your name to that particular list. As I am unable to breastfeed our son, you'll be forced to refrain."

"Very funny, H."

"Quite."

"Seriously, all humor aside, who should we allow to handle this?"

"I am of several minds on that point. I would insist this be handled with dignity. Other than that, I do not have a preference, though I have been considering the options. Do you have any thoughts?"

Seeing the baby was now soundly sleeping, Hannibal stood and helped Clarice from the bench. He lifted the carrier and walked beside his wife as she debated, "I suppose that would depend on whether or not we want a parenting magazine or a news magazine to handle the story. Or, we could screw them all and do a filmed interview."

Hannibal kept a watchful eye and a guiding hand on his wife as they ascended the stairs with their son.

"As I stated, I have no preference, though if it is filmed, you can expect my past habits to come into play during the interview."

Steadying her hand on the bannister Clarice was cautious of the landing as she held her son. She was caught off-guard when Hannibal brought up his past.

"Why, H? Would that bother you?"

As they approached their child's room, Hannibal preceded his wife and held the door. He responded as she passed, "No, it wouldn't bother me in the least. I am not ashamed of anything I've done, though I wouldn't want to put you in a compromising position."

Clarice very cautiously set the baby on the changing table as she questioned, "What do you mean a compromising position?"

Hannibal placed his hand on his wife's shoulder and gently guided her to move to the side. He retrieved the items needed and as he began to change his son's diaper, he stated, "You love me, Clarice."

Clarice wrapped her arms around her husband's waist resting her cheek on his back as she admitted, "Yes, of course I love you. I love you and our son more than anything in the world."

Continuing, Hannibal questioned, "And you are a warrior, yes?"

Stepping aside as Hannibal picked up their son and carried him to his crib she pursued, "What the hell are you getting at, H?"

Placing his son in the crib, Hannibal paused for a moment, watching. When he was certain the baby would not wake, he put an arm around his wife and walked with her from the room, turning on the intercom as they exited. Both parents understood he wouldn't respond until they were in the hallway.

Walking to their bedroom, Hannibal took her hand. He stopped outside the door to their suite, allowing Clarice to enter first. Upon entering he, put his arms around his wife's waist and pulled her against him, rocking slightly as they embraced. He leaned to her, lifted her chin, and kissed her softly on the lips. The moment they separated, he stroked his cheek against hers, speaking close.

"Clarice, you love me intensely, are guarded about my past, and sensitive to the way in which I am depicted. If a question was to come up that you believed painted me in an unflattering light, you would defend me vociferously."

Clarice pulled him close and asserted vehemently, "You're damn right, I'd defend you!"

Hannibal began to undress his wife, unbuttoning her blouse, helping her remove it.

Following his lead, she reached for his shirt and began to unbutton it. Upon reaching the final button, Clarice Hannibal smoothed his hands over her shoulders, slipping the straps of her bra down to her elbows, exposing her body to him.

Unabashed, his eyes seemed to caress her body as the loving husband admired her form. Hannibal sought to seduce as he reached for her breasts, smoothing his hands over the outer curves of each, as if shaping, sculpting them.

He explained his point, though his eyes never left her torso. "

You are rarely sedate in your defense of me, Clarice. If you decide upon a filmed interview, be certain the guidelines are clear and the person is someone who can be trusted. It would be unseemly for you to tell a journalist to go fuck themselves while holding our son."

Reaching for his belt, Clarice slipped the strap from the loops and, bending back the leather, opened the hasp. "Yeah, I get your point. What about the producer and director who shot the documentary with Bloom?"

Hannibal lowered the zipper of his trousers and bending, lifted his legs one by one stepping out of them. There was a faraway look in his eyes he stepped out of the pants and stood before Clarice in his boxers. "That's very interesting, Clarice. I hadn't considered that to be a possibility."

Clarice slipped her hands over his wife's hips, under the waistband of the undergarment and helped her husband step out of them.

"Why not? They were tremendous advocates for you. That crew was really respectful and the editing supported you fully. They wouldn't skew the story unfairly or it would negate their own documentary."

Hannibal was surprised at the leap Clarice made from the idea of photographing the baby and publishing it in print media, to the use of the video crew. He voiced his approval immediately as he began to assist the removal of her remaining garments.

"You never cease to surprise and amaze me, Clarice. That thought is actually quite inspired. Do you have the contact information?"

"Sure. When they came here to get permission to film, I put copies of the signed release forms in a file in the desk in your study."

Now both fully nude, Hannibal walked to Clarice's side of the bed, turning back the bed covers with the flair of a matador twirling his cape. Clarice voiced her thoughts as she sat on the bed and pulled her legs in. Hannibal covered her, then, proceeded to his side of the bed. As he slipped beneath the covers he sidled his body, spooning Clarice.

Hannibal pulled her closely to him. He continually kissed her neck back and shoulders, and spoke in her ear, "Would you feel comfortable making the contact or would you like me to handle the process?"

"I don't mind making the call if you trust me to handle it, H."

Hannibal closed his eyes. Of this, he was certain. "My Love, I trust you implicitly."

"I'll make the call. Would you mind meeting with them tomorrow if they're available."

"Clarice, trust me, when they hear the terms, with the amount of interest this story is generating, they will be available. Not to mention, this is an excellent follow-up to their original story."

"True. It would be better to get this done pretty quickly, right?"

"Unless we wish to be hostages within our own home, yes, it would be far more convenient to resolve this situation sooner, rather than later. I will leave the arrangements and the circumstances of the interview to your discretion. Be certain, however, they put the donation agreement in writing."

"Definitely. Anything I should stress."

"Only that the donation to the orphanage is to be based on an equitable percentage of the gross, not net profits, including ancillary sales to secondary markets."

"Got it...Is there anything else you need."

"No, my Love…your presence is all I will ever need."

Hannibal held his wife in his arms and slowly drifted to sleep. The cameras would return soon and he wanted to find a measure of peace before that time.

Clarice wondered if the cameras were indeed a good idea.

She was about to receive an answer.

Until the Next Chapter, my friends.

LH