Title: I am Destroyer, I am Lover, Day 16 of 30 Days of Hannibloom
Fandom: Hannibal
Pairing: Hannibloom
Rating: r
Author's notes: I guess people didn't like my last chapter very much? I feel a bit sad about that, and wonder why. Well, if it helps, we're back to a darker, more manipulative Hannibal this chapter…
WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE.

It started like any other day. She woke up to the sound of her alarm on her phone, the mimic of chirping birds. She stretched and snoozed the alarm once. When her alarm went off again, she sighed and stretched her arms above her head, arching her back off her bed. Then she swung her legs off her bed and sat up, then stood, heading to her shower.

Often, Hannibal called her in the morning while she showered. There would be a voicemail message on her phone from him when she got out of the shower. Sometimes, he'd recite a poem for her, or ask her for her opinion on a paper he was writing. Sometimes, he'd just leave her a promise to see her later, sometimes even telling her not to bring lunch because he'd be consulting at the FBI and he'd planned to bring her his cooking. He did not approve of her eating fast food or plain sandwiches she'd throw together on a rushed morning.

She relished every message from him.

When she got out of the shower that morning, she checked her phone, but there was no missed call and no voicemail message. It did not cause her to pause; after all, it was not every morning that Hannibal left her a message, and she was not worried.

Later, she'd chastise herself harshly. Even though by the time she'd have worried about him not calling her during her shower, it would already be too late.

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She taught her morning class, then had lunch with her colleague, Dr. Amelia Granville. Next came her afternoon class. As she walked the hall to class, her phone rang. She smiled, assuming Hannibal was calling, but when she looked at her phone, she saw that it was Jack Crawford. She answered the call.

"Dr. Bloom, we have a new Ripper case. This appears to be an unusual one, and Will is requesting you consult."

"Will is requesting that I consult? Do I need to cancel my afternoon class? Why isn't Dr. Lecter consulting?"

"Yes, please. We have been unable to reach Dr. Lecter this morning."

A small trickle of fear crept into Alana's throat. She swallowed. He just had a patient. Right?

"I'm just going to go inform my students and then I'll head to the lab."

She printed off a quick notice that class was cancelled and posted it outside of her classroom door. Then she walked to her car while calling Hannibal. She called thrice, but he didn't answer.

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She walked into the lab and the reek of burning flesh accosted her, like meat charred on a grill. As she moved closer to the exam table, she saw that that was precisely what was on the table: a human kabob. Cubes of human meat on a giant charred stick.

She gagged. Will turned to her and silently handed her a jar of VapoRub. She gratefully accepted the jar and opened it, then rubbed some of the white cream under her nostrils. She inhaled tentatively; the scent of the barely recognizable body was covered by the pungent chemical scent of the VapoRub. Still, she could see the human kabob, and that was bad enough.

"This isn't like the other Ripper victims," she stated.

Will confirmed her claim. "No, it's not. This is…a waste. The Ripper doesn't usually waste his meat."

"Then how do we know it's a Ripper victim at all?" Jack asked.

Brian Zeller answered. "The Ripper takes his victim's organs. This victim's thymus and pancreas are gone, the sweetbreads are gone, as is the liver and heart. He left this one at a campground." He paused. "Will says it is the Ripper."

Will stood silent, his eyes closed. Alana watched him, waiting for one of his astute, out-of-nowhere observations about the killer. Meanwhile, she asked, "Do we know the identity of the victim?"

"Price couldn't get prints. We're waiting on dental. He should be here any moment with the results," Jack told her.

Will spoke up. "This was an offering. From the Ripper to…a lover. He is offering this meat...as a feast," he spit out the last. He looked pointedly at her. Was he implying that this offering was for her? Did he still believe Hannibal to be the Chesapeake Ripper?

"It's not…" she started to angrily object, but then Jimmy Price rushed into the room, carrying a file. He scurried to Jack's side and whispered in his ear. Jack grabbed the file from Price and opened it. His eyes moved quickly down the page. Alana watched him read it, then re-read it. Jack paled, then stared at Alana. Price stared at her too. Their eyes read pity.

"What?"

"Alana. The victim. It's Hannibal Lecter."

She backed away from the table, nearly tripping over her own feet. "No. No!" she cried out. She turned and ran from the room, pulling her phone from her purse. She held it like a lifeline as she called Hannibal. She listened to the ringing with rising panic; again, he didn't answer. She called again. And again. No answer.

She pulled her keys from her purse too, and ran from the building to her car. "It can't be him," she thought desperately. But she kept seeing the body in chunks on the exam table. She pictured her love's smooth thighs, his strong arms, his hairy chest, all butchered and charred.

When she reached her car, she bent over and vomited on the concrete. Then she drove the long drive to Hannibal's house.

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When she reached Hannibal's house, she was weak. She nearly had to crawl up his steps because her legs felt so weak. But her arms were strong as she pounded on his door. She forced herself to stand tall. Pound, pound, pound. But there was no answer and the lights were off. She screamed, "Hannibal! Hannibal, please!" Still, there was no answer.

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Hannibal Lecter stood on the other side of the door, listening to Alana. Should he continue his charade? "No," he thought, "She is distraught enough."

He opened the door. Alana paused with her hand raised. Then she shrieked and threw herself at him. She pounded his hard chest with a now weak fist. Then she brought her arms around his body, holding him tight. She sobbed.

"What happened, my darling? What happened?" He asked, his voice resonating tones of puzzlement.

"You were dead! You…" her voice trailed off; she couldn't continue speaking. She sobbed even harder.

Hannibal held the sobbing Alana Bloom against his body. She clutched at him like he might disappear at any moment if she didn't hold on tightly enough. He smiled as he patted her heaving back; his plan had worked. Alana was now even more attached to him. Every move he made brought her closer to being his-his lover, and most importantly, his tool–forever.

Be very afraid of a Hannibal Lecter "in love." Anyways, since I love naming my stories after songs, the title of this one comes from "Death to Death" by Stars.