When Hannibal passed the threshold, the music that graced his ears caused him to mark a pause. He ever listened to 'pop' music, but had to admit that Frances' choices were acceptable; she fortunately didn't enjoy the horrible brew they served on the radio frequencies, except for the classic channel of course. This particular one he had heard before, for his aunt loved James Blunt. The merry tune of 'Bonfire heart' sounded in the living room where his little lady was once more wielding a needle. Mending, or embroidering. Perhaps finishing a hem, who knew?
Her head lifted when she saw him; her eyes were shielded, but the sadness seeped through. Was it the joy of the music that touched her so? The fact that, despite his best efforts, he still was a sociopath and unable to really love? How long until she realised that she wasn't happy? That she deserved more? Another life, with a man whose heart shone light rather than darkness? How long would he be able to stretch things? To repress his own urges?
Sighing internally, the psychiatrist plucked the remote from Frances hands before she could switch the music off. Her surprise brought him the answer he sook; he still had a few tricks up his sleeve that might very well change the dynamic. He just needed to step out of his zone of comfort, and find ways to make her laugh. Yes, his little lady needed to laugh more, to be the carefree young woman she had never been. To leave behind the Keeper of Time, and enjoy life.
A pull to her wrist brought her to her feet, and he circled her back to pull her into a waltz. Frances smiled then, an expression that reached her eyes and warmed both of their hearts. And while James Blunt sung of his bonfire heart, Hannibal led his future wife through the house in a merry round that left her breathless and radiating happiness. And once the song was over, he turned the device off and picked her up, dragging her to the master bedroom, shedding her clothes one by one, covering her beautiful body with kisses.
He was always careful not to be forceful in bed, to let her take over whenever she wanted to. Most of the time, she was just happy to keep him in the lead. Akin to the waltz, akin to their life, Hannibal was in control. He made love to her very slowly, worshipping her like the gift she was in his life. And despite her pleas that he increased the pace, her refused her, resisting with all his might to turn into the animal that sometimes broke his bonds. Not that she didn't appreciate it – Frances wasn't afraid of the beast within. But today was another exercise entirely. A sweet, sweet torture to them both that brought her to a mighty peak. And when her walls clenched around him, her body tightening around his frame with tremendous strength, Hannibal went over the edge.
The feelings of his seed gracing her insides caused him to groan softly, his hips burying deeper and deeper until he fell above her, content. She kept him close, her legs wrapped about him as she tried to regain her breathing. Hannibal's mind drifted to the impossibility of a child. How beautiful she would look, her womb filled with his baby. And despite the fact that they agreed not to allow children to be born from their union – for obvious reasons – Hannibal couldn't push away the longing to see a bump on her slender form. The present to his lineage, his essence to the world.
At last, he forced himself away from the fantasy and untangled his limbs from Frances', settling beside her. His hand came to rest upon her chest, lifting and falling with her breathing. The young woman watched him, silent, her eyes contemplating the lines of his face. What did she see? An old man? A reminiscence of her silent knight? A stern, broken soul?
— "You are beautiful," she whispered, as if answering his questions.
And Hannibal's heart soared, for of all things, he wasn't expecting this to be her vision. And he was glad not to be alone, for her point of view was so different from his own. It brought a whole new world to his eyes, a set of ideas and structures to dissect and study at his leisure. And soft skin under his touch, affection and intimacy such as he had never experienced.
In fifteen days, she would be his. Mrs Lecter. Passing a tongue over his upper lip, he told her:
— "I have invited Bedelia to dine with us tomorrow. I want you to meet my witness before the wedding."
Frances nodded, her eyes curious about the woman who acted as his psychiatrist. Wondering what kind of person, she would be. He hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. He had no idea how true that statement was.
Jaw agape, Frances watched the blond woman as Hannibal led her to the kitchen.
— "Dana ? Dana Scully ?"
Doctor Du Maurier froze in her tracks, her blue eyes widening at the use of a forgotten name. By her side, Hannibal watched the scene unravel, curious. Eager, even. Frances sent him a shocked look; obviously, her husband to be had no idea what was happening. Was it karma ? The young woman took a sharp breath, wondering how, in all the world, she was facing the woman who had brought her to be the Keeper of Time in the first place. The woman who had been by her side when they discovered the Stargate. A woman whom she had admired, and befriended for years in Interpol. A woman who used to bear a different name.
At last, Dr Du Maurier regained her bearings and spoke.
— "I have not used than name for a very long time. How do you know of it ?"
— "I…"
Frances was stunned, speechless. Seeing her flustered state, Hannibal approached and kissed the side of her head.
— "Perhaps your incredible memory had stored the souvenir of Bedelia. A family gathering, perhaps ?"
Glad for the offer of a master liar, Frances gave her man a grateful glance, then turned to Scul.. no, Bedelia. Ugh, what a weird name.
— "I remember your father. He was in the Navy, right ?"
— "Yes."
Good. The realities were close enough to hold similar people.
— "We probably met at one of the military gatherings, I had an uncle in the army. You were a readhead then, right ?"
That line was a bit far-fetched, but if this Bedelia and Dana had a past in common, it wasn't too delirious to think they might have share their love for rusty hair. The blond woman smiled gently then, remembering better times.
— "Yes, I was. You probably were pretty young then"
— "Probably five or six. But I remember your hair, I found it beautiful"
A discreet blush coloured the woman's cheek and Hannibal squeezed Frances' waist, as if to say 'well done'. Given her own hair colour, Bededia might even conclude that the memory might have pushed her to adopt the same. From a psychiatrist's point of view, it made sense.
— "You have an incredible memory, Frances", she stated.
Her voice lagged, as if she wanted every syllable to last and imprint the mood. It was such a weird contrast with the striking personality of Dana Scully. What had happened to her ? Realising that she was staring, Frances gave Hannibal a fond look.
— "Edeitic, if a little less powerful than his"
— "Yes. I can see why you two get along so well. Then I am glad to see you again, Frances"
Frances' heart lurched painfully. How she would have wished this to be true, to see her friend again. The Dana Scully, not this mock copy. For Bedelia du Maurier was murky woman, afraid of her own shadow. Her voice was low, sensual, affected. The passion was gone from her eyes, the strength that caused Scully to stand up to Mulder tremendously absent. As if she feared to be crushed at any time.
How much of this was due to Hannibal's hold over the woman ? For Frances was no fool. By choosing her to acknowledge his marriage, he was throwing her – his therapist – off his scent. To confuse her so that she saw the human in him, to force her to meet the lovesick fool that he played perfectly this very evening. And If she admired his intelligence, Frances couldn't help but weeping – internally – for the friend she had lost. The more she conversed with Bedelia, the more her heart accepted that Scully would never be alive in this world. Was it a difference in character, or the fact that they had taken different paths ? This change of name could only come from a trauma. Was it the reason Bedelia had chosen psychology rather than being a legist ?
Frances resolved herself to ignore it, for Bedelia was a master at swiping questions aside. Much like Hannibal. Much like her. What strange dinner it was, this reunion of people that weren't friends, where no one could speak plainly and most truths were hidden. How she longed for Will's earnestness. Dessert was about to be served, bringing Hannibal to the kitchen once more when Bedelia fixed her blue gaze upon Frances.
— "So. I haven't heard your side of the story. Tell me how you met Hannibal"
It was a strange thing, to stare in the eyes of a friend only to realise she had turned into a snake. Damn manipulators ! Bedelia was probably trying to assess whether she was a naïve young woman about to fall into an older's man's clutches. But the fact that she waited until her future husband was in the kitchen to ask said questions pissed her off royally.
— "I doubt it will be much different than the other side", she retorted.
Bedelia froze; she didn't expect retaliation on such a polite request. Gulping a mouthful of wine, the blond lady chose to try another angle instead.
— "Everything Hannibal told me if sealed under patient confidentiality. It doesn't taste the same, to hear about a love story outside of the office, without the hassle of mind structures and a professional ear. Humour me"
Frances smirked then, wondering on which merry chase Hannibal sent her whenever he was in session. The poor woman had no clue what she was dealing with; Dr Lecter had been hiding in plain sight for so long, pulling wool over so many people's eyes. But she could see that Bedelia suspected his manipulative ways, hence her questioning.
When in doubt, just stick to the truth. The young woman smiled then, remembering the day she had found Hannibal in his office. Her heart sped up, joy spreading in her limbs; it was such a vivid memory.
— "After my amnesia, I tried to see a psychiatrist to help me recover. This is how I ended in Hannibal's office"
Bedelia hummed, taking another sip of the delicious white Muscadet, waiting for her to continue.
— "As the young say in this country, we hit it off"
— "You did, from the very first session ?"
A loaded question, for she knew that a psychiatrist was forbidden to have a relationship with a patient. It was just a subtle way to prod if Hannibal had been instated as her psychiatrist – in her mind - before they started being lovers.
— "We didn't speak much of my issues, but found out we had common interests. Needless to say there was no second session"
The noises coming from the kitchen had abated; Hannibal was listening. And she could imagine the smirk on his lips right now. Yes, they had certainly not spoken much that day, choosing instead to end up in bed.
— "So, love at first sight then ?"
Bedelia's smoky voice rattled Frances' nerves, especially how her 's' lingered over her tongue. Yet, she graced her with a fake smile.
— "I knew, for the moment I saw him, that he was my one"
Blond eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
— "How so ?"
It was time to give her a glimpse of the truth, without revealing too much. Just enough to stir Bedelia away from her fear that Hannibal manipulated her. And if her husband's psychiatrist couldn't accept in love at first sight, she might bow to mystic beliefs.
— "I am a firm believer in past lives, Dr Du Maurier. We have already met, and I don't intend to let him go. As you probably know, I do rely a lot on instinct"
— "Ah yes. Hannibal told me you saved his life on a hunch"
Grateful that the woman was as intelligent as Scully had been, Frances nailed it.
— "Yes. I know when to trust myself, and when not to. It might seem irrational, but it works for me."
— "Knowing yourself if one of the most important tasks in life", she said, her smile appreciative.
— "Yes. And it is convenient as well to send all those worriers – the people who think Hannibal is taking advantage of me, or the contrary – back to hell. We belong together. Period."
Appearing with a tray of tiramisu cups, Hannibal settled it on the table.
— "And this, my little fairy, I why I love you"
The conclusion was sealed with a fond kiss, and Hannibal took his seat by his future wife's side. Thus were abated Bedelia's fears about Frances. For she could see the strength of character, and her determination. And truth be told, the doctor was rather jealous to see such an unwavering soul when she had trouble facing Hannibal for their weekly session. So much seemed to escape her when it came to him, but Frances seemed to know exactly what kind of man she was about to marry.
— "So, why the change of name ?"
Shocked that Frances would dare delving into her trauma, Bedelia stuttered.
— "I had a difficult experience in the past. It felt better to start afresh"
Hannibal's smirk irradiated with pride. Yes. Despite her youth, she definitely was a match to the old loner that was Dr Lecter.
— "Oh. Well. To new lives then"
And Frances lifted her glass, her chocolate eyes fixed upon Bedelia's blue ones.
— "Did you recover your memory, Frances ?"
— "Yes. It came back, little by little."
— "So you have no use for a psychiatrist anymore ?"
Frances bit her tongue discreetly then. She would need a thousand psycho-analising people to get rid of her PTSD, but none of them would ever be able to hear what she had to say. For the moment, writing her missions and discussing them with Will and Hannibal would have to do. And if Bedelia thought she was going to be her patient, she could shove the toothpick up her…
— "Frances had not emitted the wish to see another, but if she so wishes, nothing stops her from talking to a psychologist, or any other health personnel she might see fit"
Well, that was a diplomatic response. Seeing the battle of wills between the two psychiatrists, Frances quipped in:
— "Getting a husband was a much better bargain. There are things that psychiatrists can't do for your own happiness"
Shedding aside the innuendo, Bedelia answered very seriously.
— "As things than a husband cannot do either"
Frances rolled her eyes; her third glass of wine was starting to lower her mental shields, and she was pissed that Du Maurier had not even laughed at the quip. Dana would have.
— "Bedelia. You have tasted Hannibal's cooking. Nothing can ever beat that"
The blond woman laughed then, along with her hosts. Never in the world would she imagine how far from the truth she was, for Hannibal's cooking was the main subject of disagreement between them.
An hour later, Frances greeted Bedelia du Maurier goodnight with mixed feelings. Watching as Hannibal, like the gentleman he was, accompanied her to her car, she couldn't help but regret her involvement. As they retreated to the kitchen to wash the dishes, Frances asked Hannibal bluntly.
— "Why are you toying with her ?"
Hannibal didn't lift his eyes from the glasses.
— "She can be an alibi, and attest of my mental health if needed."
— "She has doubts"
He paused.
— "I know. And assuming your past acquaintance, it would probably be best if I stopped seeing her altogether"
Surprised, Frances nodded she wasn't expecting him to accept it so easily. Still, this 'chance' encounter left her bereft. Meeting Bedelia was akin to loosing another friend. Was Fox Mulder alive ? Who would he be ? How about Jack O'Neill and Daniel Jackson ? Samantha Carter ? Air force officers ? Taking the glass out of her hands, Hannibal washed and rinsed it before his fingers found her cheek. Frances snapped out of her haze at the contact.
— "What are the odds, really ? Out of the three hundred thousand million people in the US, that she would be the witness to our marriage"
The psychiatrist slid his arms around her waist, kissing her hair.
— "I don't understand it either, my beautiful. I guess the universe is stranger that I thought. This can be no mere coincidence"
As his nose caressed the loose ringlets, Hannibal's mind drifted to the image of a red-haired Bedelia.
— "I never asked you why you dye your hair. Was it because of your friend ?"
— "Dana Scully ? No. It was the mark of the Keeper of Time"
Hannibal regarded her curiously, wondering if she would shed the colour now that her title had been transferred to another.
— "How so, my beautiful ?"
— "My first mission was in ancient Roma. I was captured, and sold."
Speechless, Hannibal could only tighten his hold around Frances. A young woman sold as a slave could only lead to one outcome. Rape. Frozen, he waited for the rest of the story, hope and fear mingling in his mind.
— "When I made it clear that I wasn't going to be a domestic, obedient slave and willing to fight, they died my hair with henna to make me stand out. They called me the red witch"
So she had escaped that gruesome fate… And it made sense, for if she was a shy woman, she never recoiled from him in bed. Meaning she didn't fear men. Still, those missions had brought her to many hopeless situations.
There was so much she had yet to share, so much he had not been willing to hear at first. And now that he believed her, he realised he was avoiding any mention of her travels for fear of talking about the elf she had fallen in love with before him. His possessive streak couldn't handle it. Perhaps now was time to open his horizon and have her recount her tales.
Grabbing a reddish ringlet between his fingers, he studied the intense color.
— "It suits you well, my beautiful"
— "I have some reddish highlights by default, so it's not too far-fetched. But I kept the symbol, it gave me strength"
Like him, Frances had been through hell. Like him, she had grown a tight armor to protect herself. But where he had lost his humanity, the trauma too early in his life, she had retained hers.
— "Aye. You have strength aplenty. Perhaps you should write this text as well"
Frances lifted an eyebrow, watching as he fiddled with her hair.
— "Because you want to read it, or because it will help me evacuate the emotions of this first travel ?"
Hannibal sighed, letting the ringlet escape his hold to search Frances' gaze.
— "Both, my beautiful. It is time for you to shed the hardships of your past life."
— "And admit it, you are curious"
Curious ? He was giddy, bouncing internally like a two-year-old in front of a candy shop.
— "To think that you have seen Rome in the 2nd century. Of course, I am curious. You know of my fondness for Italy"
A shadow passed behind her wide chocolate orbs.
— "Yeah. I love this country too, it flows in my blood. But I will never set foot in Rome again"
He could understand her reasons, traumatic events could do that to someone. He avoided his childhood him like the plague. Yet, his curiosity was peaked.
— "But the architecture ?"
— "I didn't see much of it, being locked in dingeons and such. But the Colyseum was neat"
— "You saw it ?"
There was such intensity in the silence that followed that his insides twisted. And when at last she answered, it left him stunned.
— "I fought in the arena"
The enormity of it struck him speechless. His tongue darted over his upper lip, giving him time to consider it. Frances, fighting in the Colyseum. His heart lurched, protectiveness over his wife taking over as he tightened his hold over her arms. How did she survive such an ordeal ?
— "How old were you?", he whispered, his face inches from hers.
Her soft breath fanned upon his lips.
— "Sixteen."
— "How… how was it ?"
She plunged her ageless eyes into his, and Hannibal understood why she didn't care about his age. For no amount of experience could possibly come close to hers.
— "Frightening. But the structure was complete. Compared to what I've seen during my school years, it's half better."
Hannibal' lips quirked. Would she ever cease to amaze him ? Gathering the young woman in his arms, he gently lay his cheek upon the crown of her head.
— "Hannibal ?"
— "Mmm ?"
— "How old were you when your world changed"
What a subtle way to ask… about Mischa. In this very moment, the psychiatrist remembered that she had never enquired about what had made him… him. Gathering that she knew – just like the fact that he was a cannibal - he had failed to mention it. Now, he was assessing anew. Perhaps she didn't know, but feared to ask. Or perhaps it was the way she accepted him, respecting the privacy of his trauma.
— "Twelve."
He pulled slightly away to be able to meet her eyes, trying to read the reasons behind her question. Failing at finding the answers he sook, he decided to voice his doubts.
— "I thought you knew. Didn't you?"
Her head shook from left to right, her gaze earnest.
— "No. I knew nothing about it. Will you tell me, someday ?"
Someday. No matter what, she always offered a way out. And he took it without shame.
— "Yes, my beautiful. Someday"