I found this morning a beautiful review that warmed my heart to the core. Whoever you are, Sera, you really made my day. To thank you, I reviewed this chapter I'd had in store and needed some editing. I hope you'll enjoy.
And yes, Hades and Persephone… that really rings a bell in this story.
Frances reached for Hannibal's hand before he knocked on the hospital door. The psychiatrist squeezed her fingers, his gaze serene. He had accepted what she still struggled to come to terms with. She addressed him a half-hearted smile; Hannibal gathered her close, kissing her temple.
"I can visit on my own, my beautiful. You do not have to come if you do not wish it."
Frances steeled herself, resolve setting in. After all, she had embroidered that blanket yesterday with Elina's name on it, she couldn't back down now. And that little girl might very well become her favourite niece, right?
"No. I can do it."
"Very well," he stated. "Shall we, then?"
Frances nodded, leaving the safety of Hannibal's arms to knock on the door herself. The clear "come in" told them the baby – Elina – probably wasn't asleep. She pushed the heavy panel open, penetrating in a bright room with more decoration than she was used to see in a hospital. Her eyes landed on Alana who sat in bed, watching her baby girl lounging leisurely in Will's arms. The look upon his face was priceless. Frances's breath caught, marvelling at the expression that lightened his features; that mixture of awe and disbelief that all parents sported.
And suddenly, it didn't feel ridiculous anymore.
Her chest swelled with joy; at once, Frances knew she would love that baby, if only because she caused such happiness to her brother. Will looked upon Elina as if she was a miracle walking into his life. And perhaps she was.
Of course, Hannibal had not lost his wits. Walking to Alana, he greeted her with the flower arrangement he had picked up while Frances worked on Elina's blanket. The new mother's face brightened, her cheeks reddening from the attention.
"Thank you, Hannibal."
Will's eyes darted up, extracted from his own little bubble to check upon the intruders.
"Hello. It's nice to see you."
Even though his greeting was genuine, his heart and attention were engulfed by the burden that lay in his arms. And neither the weary lines on his face nor the dark circles under Alana's eyes mattered, for they both looked radiant. Happy.
Frances' heart wrenched, but she chased the feeling away; this wasn't the place to wallow into misery. She knew that the joy of having a child with Hannibal would have been burdened by worry, danger forever looming upon their head. Like an unpinned grenade… Elina would be free of those shackles, raised by loving – and sane – parents. There was naught but joy to feel today. Looming around the room, she came to her husband's side and claimed his hand.
"So, why Elina?" she asked.
"You don't like it?" Will asked, defensive.
Surprised, Frances frowned.
"I do, it is a beautiful name. I just wondered what it meant."
Hannibal's lips quirked; trust his wife to always look for the etymology of a word. This is why he learnt foreign languages so well: her brain created bridges between languages with a common ancestor.
"God is our Lord, in Hebrew," he stated.
But Alana wasn't too keen on this translation, preferring the Nordic meaning.
"It is a Celtic form of Helen."
Frances nodded, peeking at the bundle from afar.
"The most beautiful woman of Greece," she mused. "Given the parents, she has her chances."
Alana addressed her a grateful smile, surprised to be called a beautiful woman by someone she might have considered a rival.
"Given my state, you are very generous. There are things they don't tell you about birthing, believe me! Even sitting is painful, I can't wait for this mess to be healed! And don't get me started on breastfeeding. Easy my ass !"
Frances approached and took a tentative seat at the feet of Alana's bed. The things she spoke of – girls' stuff – would never quite happen to her. And somehow, she was relieved that she wouldn't have to have stitches, or work on her perineum other than to pleasure her man. But how she would miss the little suckle of an infant, looking at her in the eye !
So, she chuckled awkwardly and handed the little packet to Elina's mother.
"This is for the little lady, by the way."
"Thank you."
And while Alana opened up the present that had taken her most of the day to finish, Hannibal scooted over Will. Frances kept him in sight while the paper shuffled, her eyes widening when the empath handed his precious daughter to the psychiatrist.
The world stopped spinning. Her heart stopped beating. The air, even, was scarce and her chest heaved.
Hannibal's secure arms welcomed the bundle with care, winding around it with the ease of a doctor. Elina's head rested in the crook of his elbow, and his long fingers encased his own forearm to create a cocoon of warmth for that new soul that had graced their lives. Hannibal gazed upon the little lady with a gentle expression, the lines of his face relaxed, warmth shining in his eyes.
Frances' eyebrows knitted in anguish; she had taken fatherhood away from him. Ripped him of the choice…
No. Hannibal had chosen not to have a child. He was fifty, after all, and could have had children before she came in the picture. And he had, of his own volition, gone to surgery. Still … her heart ached. Was he thinking of Mischa when he held Elina with such tenderness?
"Oh, Will. Come and see what Frances made !"
Alana's exclamation upon finding the fluffy embroidered blanket dragged the young woman out of her misery. The word brightened again, and she watched, mesmerised, the light play with Hannibal's face. In another life, maybe. But not in this one. Still, she couldn't help but find him beautiful with a baby in his arms. The gentle care with which he rocked Elina caused her lips to quirk. She was so engrossed in her contemplation that Will's kiss landing on her cheek startled her.
"Thanks, really. It is beautiful."
"Uh?"
Will cocked his head aside, wondering what had her emotions in such a dreadful state.
"The blanket. You must have slaved over it."
Frances caught Alana's gaze, finding that she seemed really pleased with the present.
"Oh. No, it was fun to sew for a little lady. It's out of my usual zone of comfort, but I enjoyed it."
Nothing but the truth there; Frances had never, ever tried her hand at baby clothes and equipment. But something told her that Elina's birth was about to change that habit. Already, she was planning to buy patterns to make a summer dress.
"Well, that's a very thoughtful gift. And custom made!"
"Frances really is a fairy with the needle," Hannibal remarked from his spot, standing close by.
Like a bee looking for honey, Frances found that her feet took her to her husband's side. She just couldn't stay away from the strange couple – cannibal and baby. Her hand came to rest upon his, caressing his warm skin with awe.
Elina seemed to be struggling with the light, but in the shadow of the great man that held her, her eyes gently opened. She seemed to fix upon his collar where his shirt contrasted with the zipped cardigan he donned today.
"She's got the most amazing blue eyes," Frances murmured.
"Most babies are born with dark blue irises. They shift and become more stable around two years of age. Given her parent's inheritance, she might very well keep them."
Frances hummed, oblivious of the look that Alana and Will exchanged, watching them marvelling upon their daughter.
"Do you want to hold her?"
Hannibal's smooth voice failed at quelling the fear that spiked in Frances' mind. She had never been good with babies, neither young children.
"I … uh."
His warm hazel were wide open, so unlike the usual calculating Hannibal. Almost pleading.
"It's safe, you can sit if you want to."
She wanted to kiss him, or bash his head altogether. The truth was that Frances was afraid to hold Elina, and allow the baby to hold her heart. That tiny girl had the possibility to crush her, to call forth regrets and longing. Her mother's instinct was screaming at her to rape Hannibal on the spot and produce their own spawn. Her biological clock called. And sadly, even if she had her way with him a thousand times in the span of a year, it would never happen.
Will popped by her side, his hand landing upon her shoulder.
"Go on, sit. She's quiet and content, hold her for a minute, she won't break."
Frances sat like an automat, holding her arms out. Hannibal bent at the waist, laying the little bundle in the crook of her elbow, securing her hands around the blanket so that she couldn't escape. And just like that, Frances was holding little Elina.
Will sat beside her, his hand lying upon his daughter's chest.
"We wanted you to be her godmother."
Frances was too moved to respond. Blinking her tears away, she only nodded, head stubbornly kept down. Little Elina was squinting comically, trying to make out the form of that new person who was holding her tight. Her little fingers searched for something to grab, and she enclosed Will's finger.
Godmother. Fairy godmother.
That was quite the responsibility. Godmother married to the devil. But she knew Hannibal would never hurt a child; there would be no expectations on Elina. When the baby started fussing, releasing her father's finger, Will gave Frances a smirk.
"She needs movement, time to walk around."
Stunned, Frances realised she wasn't about to escape it. Hannibal's strong hands guided her to a standing position and she started a slow sway, watching Elina's expression morph from unsettled to content. She was aware of the men speaking next to the armchair, and Alana's gaze upon her precious load. But in that moment, Frances was lost in Elina's eyes, attuned to her every whim. The barest of contort in her face, and she altered her movements.
Her mother instinct was awakening. Suddenly, Frances felt much closer to Alana. She angled to the bed, talking to the baby in hopes to appease her. Taking her back to the most important person of her life; her mother.
"It is a beautiful picture," Will whispered to Hannibal.
The psychiatrist's eyes were fixed upon his wife; he was filing up this image for his memory palace. And even if the event, in itself, was fake – Frances would never be his children's mother – it didn't matter. The sight of her, holding Elina, was enough for a painting.
"Yes. She would have been a good mother," he eventually responded, his keen eyes still trailing his wife.
"And you a good father."
Hazel eyes met blue, and Hannibal imperceptibly smiled.
"It is sadly not meant to happen, but I thank you for your trust."
There was warmth in the psychiatrist's eyes, warmth than brought hope in Will's heart. Hannibal was so alike Tristan, sometimes, that he wondered if he would ever shed the blanket of aloofness inherited from the scout. And even if he died of curiosity, Will kept himself in check by remaining silent. He would never know what actually kept them both from having children of their own. They both seemed to long for it.
Elina's little noises became more insistent, and the empath turned to his daughter. She had been fed an hour ago, so he could only surmise she was tired. Or had an aching stomach. Both conditions, though, would call for a fit of crying and he was about to stand when Hannibal's hand stopped him.
"Wait," the psychiatrist whispered.
And despite his uneasiness, Will decided to trust in his friend once again. Frances' voice, high and crystal clear, rose in the air as she swayed. He didn't understand the words – French, again – , but the repetitive pattern seemed to appease Elina.
"Vent frais, Vent du matin
Vent qui souffle aux sommets des grands pins
Joie du vent qui souffle
Allons dans le grand…"
Elina's fussing abated, her eyes searching for the face that sung to her. The nursery rhyme went another round before Hannibal stood, approaching his wife with purpose. Then, the impossible happened.
Hannibal's baritone underlined Frances' melody, albeit a verse later. A canon. And both voices intertwined, so soft, merely a breeze to him for their back was turned. He watched, mesmerised, Hannibal's arms circle Frances' waist, his hand come to rest upon hers around his daughter, and their movement harmonise while they sang. Hannibal's smooth voice, a soothing breeze, complimented Frances' soprano so beautifully that he almost fell in a trance.
And thus, Will stood, joining Alana on the bed. Lulled by the song, the new parents enjoyed this moment of peace with a tired smile. Yes, Elina would be well protected in her life. The empath wasn't surprised when Alana's blue eyes conveyed her surprise; she'd never seen her mentor sing. That professional distance was shattered by the tiny piece of woman he'd taken as a wife.
The strength of this traditional song wasn't in the words, nor in the melody, but in the harmony created by those voices dancing around each other without ever catching up.
By now, Elina had closed her eyes, and Frances finished the song with a long note, allowing Hannibal to put a conclusion upon his own line before they both fell silent. The baby was gently laid inside her crib, and both adults addressed her a fond smile.
"I think it is time for a nap, Alana," Hannibal said.
The new mother nodded her assent; yes, a nap would do her good. So, the empath took upon himself to walk the Lecter couple to the door.
"Thank you. For the present, and for putting her to sleep."
Frances hugged him fiercely.
"You're welcome," she responded, kissing his gruff cheek.
And while Hannibal embraced him, Will found himself engulfed in a reassuring embrace. Is that what it was, to be loved and supported by people who cared for you? Flustered by the older man's hug – Tristan had never done that – he gave the psychiatrist a smile. That man could never replace his own father, but he sometimes posed as an older brother. One that would protect him to the end.
"I didn't know you sung, Hannibal."
And Hannibal's lips lifted slightly, even if no words passed them. His eyes, though, conveyed the message clearly enough.
There's a lot you don't know about me, dear Will.