"I'm sorry, darling."

Regrets, once more. Oh, he regretted truly and fully to be in this position again, his wife used against him. Boredom was better than putting Frances in danger. He swore that he would take boredom over this any time if he made it out alive. The odds weren't in his favour right now, and he savoured the rush of adrenalin that kept him humming with energy. The notion that, maybe, five minutes from now, he'd be kicking and screaming at the bottom of the pig pit. Eaten alive… a fitting end for a cannibal.

Fortunately, Frances would be spared this fate… and Elina was fine. If the baby had been harmed, well… forgiveness would have been an impossibility. A meager consolation, but one nonetheless for there was not much to be found in his situation. Dangling from the roof like a piece of meat, his arms stuck in a straight jacket while Mason Verger issued preposterous proposals to his wife…

His arms ached, and his legs were starting to feel numb. The professional mask had slipped, once, at the idea of Verger laying a single hand upon her soft skin. Hannibal struggled to keep it in place. It could be their saving grace, but damn, he was getting tired of the leering. Frances was his. His to care for, his to caress and dig into the mattress, HIS ! Yet, that panther of a woman wasn't pleased with him.

Would she even forgive him, really ? For a moment, Hannibal really wondered if she was about to slit his throat. She was so angry, her eyes set upon his face, memorising it. As if to say goodbye. Hannibal was getting emotional.

Then his brain kicked in; she would never let him die this way. If she killed him someday, he was sure she'd make it quick and as painless as possible.

His little fairy.

The sirens grew louder, now, and Mason sent his bodyguard to investigate. Had Will found them, by any chance ? It took one look shared with the woman of his life to guess she was responsible for that. A spark of hope bloomed in the psychiatrist's chest; perhaps they wouldn't have to die after all. Perhaps Frances wouldn't have to fight to push away the assaults of that despicable man ! The only thought of his big, clumsy paws touching his wife made his blood boil.

The sirens were sending a wave of panic amongst the thugs. Julio looked fidgety, but Cordell – the bodyguard – was downright panicking.

"But … what about them ?" he said.

Mason smirked, his psychosis forcing him to ignore the sad reality that he was about to be apprehended… or die by his hands.

"Go !" he ordered like a king upon his throne. "Dr Lecter is done for, Cordell. Don't make me repeat myself."

Done for… because Frances held the knife below his throat, the blade touching his skin ? Perhaps, yes. Perhaps she'd had enough; he couldn't blame her. She'd accepted far more than a normal human would have for his sake. But she wasn't normal, after all. The Keeper of Time was an exceptional being.

The gleam of steel in her gaze was so bright, the blade hoovering above his skin. The sound of wheels across the gravels echoed in the slaughter house, and Julio started mumbling in Italian, distracting Mason. At once, Frances grabbed him and twisted him around. Dangling helplessly, Hannibal pivoted in her hand, senses strained. She attacked the straps at his back, cutting the first one without effort.

Julio's head snapped up, eyes widening. The middle strap was resisting, and Hannibal pulled with all his might. Unfortunately, the Italian lunged at his wife. The psychiatrist pulled his feet up brutally, catching him in the chest. Caught by surprise, he crashed to the ground.

A sharp pain at his back, a cry of anguish - Frances. Pushed by the momentum of the blow, Hannibal's back had met the knife. The pain barely registered; his resistance took over as he pulled at the jacket with brute strength.

Behind him, Frances slashed one last time. The strap gave in with a sharp tearing sound. Hannibal fell to the ground. Free. And the beast within called for retribution. The psychiatrist shed his skin, the professional mask slipping away. In his place stood Hannibal the Cannibal, intend on defending what was his. Mason, wide-eyed, took a step back.

Hannibal smirked; it wouldn't save him.

Julio was back on his feet, another knife in hand, his face contorted in rage. Hannibal met him with a dodge and a sharp uppercut, sending him reeling backwards. The knife clattered on the ground. At once, Frances took over the fight; Hannibal watched, at the corner of his eyes, the young woman land blow after blow until her opponent was on the ground. His attention returned to Mason who had paled even more than usual and retreated ten yards away from the enraged couple.

"Hannibal !" Frances cried.

Mason had pulled a gun out of his pocket, and was fumbling with the safety. Son of a bitch thought he could have him, eh ? Hannibal launched himself on the ground, grabbing Julio's knife deftly. With barely a flick of his wrist, the knife was sent plummeting towards his opponent. It landed in Mason's throat, blade digging into his trachea. The gun fell from his hands and Verger's wide blue eyes caught his.

A feral smirk lifted the corner of Hannibal's lips before he lunged for the insufferable patient. Mason stumbled forward gurgling inconsistent sounds. Hannibal crouched, using Verger's momentum to propel him across his shoulders. The cut upon his back tore, causing him to hiss. Hannibal stilled for a second, getting used to the painful sensation, fuelling his wrath with the sting. By now, Verger's blood was seeping through, his helpless breathing music to his ears as he went to throw him over the railing. Hannibal's eyes met Frances as he hurled the heavy man forward; she didn't move an inch, eyes wide, adrenalin filling her veins.

Then, in a deliberate slow move, Hannibal turned to the pit. Mason, still alive, tried to grab at his neck. To no avail; Hannibal pushed in his knees sharply, sending the man tumbling down to his death. Pig's cries rose in the air, followed by the dull thud of a body landing, squashed, on the ground. Then the screaming started.

Wailing sirens couldn't drown the noise.

Panting, Hannibal turned to his wife, wondering if, this time, she would turn away and leave. He'd let her. For the love that held him together this time. He would let her walk away.

The fact that she didn't strike him speechless. He, the great psychiatrist, unable to form coherent words as his wife walked up to him, and slid her arms around his battered frame. Hannibal sagged with relief, his body still simmering with anger, arms circling her. His large hand covered her head, pulling her against his tattered suit, shielding her from the noises of pigs eating at Mason.

She remained there, stuck in his embrace until the screams died. Shaking, but unharmed. She didn't move when the Italian came to his sense. Not even when Will barged into the place, Jack hot upon his heels.

"What the hell happened here ?" he boomed. Then he spotted them. "Dr Lecter, are you alright ?"

"Fortunately, yes. Both, I surmise. Graži ?"

Frances only shook her head, eyes deadened. Hannibal frowned.

"Thank God," Jack sighed. "Care to tell me what this mess is about ?"

His agents were already handcuffing the Italian, and having a look at the gruesome scene down the pig den. The psychiatrist's face remained blank; they wouldn't enjoy what they found down there. A hand landed upon his shoulder, and he found Will's clear eyes peering at him with concern.

"Hannibal, you're bleeding."

Will's care warmed his heart as he remembered why his back stung so much. The cut must have been deeper than he thought. The psychiatrist took advantage of the adrenalin dying down, and wavered on his feet. A convincing weakness; Frances played along, moving under his shoulder to support him. Or was he the one who supported her ?

She remained silent as they dragged them to the ambulance. Silent again when they took a statement, only responding in short sentences to Jack who was getting frustrated. At last, Will pulled the heavy man away.

"She's in shock, Jack."

The director turned to Hannibal instead, wincing when he saw the stitches being performed upon his back. Seven; not such a shallow cut then.

"Dr Lecter ?"

"Mason Verger was referred to me instead of doing jail time. He had this obsession over perpetuating his line. I'm afraid my wife was chosen for the task…"

Jack's mouth dropped in shock, his eyes drifting slowly to the redhead whose eyes were lost in the void. Then he shook his head, as if he couldn't believe how crazy Verger had been.

"So what, he decided to kidnap her, like Scheherazade?"

"No," Hannibal said, partially amused by the image of an oriental Frances, buried in silks and jewels. "He planned to have her kill me and thrown down the pig den. Mason Verger couldn't fathom that money wasn't her primary reason for being married to me."

Jack's eyebrows climbed even higher; he knew to what length that particular lady could go to protect her husband. How crazy had Mason Verger been to overlook the affection shared between those two ? How could he even consider the young woman might have harmed her own husband ?

"You mean he offered more ?"

"He offered to house her and pay her expenses in exchange for an heir."

Frances' voice rose, then. Cold and brittle.

"A golden cage for an expensive whore."

Will shuddered, sitting by her side. When she didn't react, he brought his arm across her shoulders, and squeezed her tight. Hannibal's jealousy flared when she titled over, lying in Will's comforting embrace. An unknown hand landed upon his shoulder, tensing him further.

"Sorry, sir," the nurse said, taking her hand away. "But you need to relax or I'm going to mess the stitches."

"My apologies," he responded through clenched teeth.

Albeit he'd earned Frances' scorn a thousand times, the psychiatrist still had trouble sharing. And that friendship pushed him to share both of them; Will with Frances, and Frances with Will.

"You really have some nut cases, Dr Lecter."

Jack's conclusion offered him an opportunity, and Hannibal caught it mid-flight.

"Yes. It's the last time I act as court mandated psychiatrist."

"I can relate to you. And I thought working for the FBI was a dangerous job."

Frances' lips almost quirked as she struggled to keep her snort at bay. Hannibal reached out to squeeze her hand, grateful that she would keep his secret secured. This was the third incident with one of his patients; he ought to be careful. More careful, for his sake and for hers. But the excuse of court patients seemed to satisfy Jack who gave Frances a pity look, and turned on his heels to handle the rest of the crime scene.

Would Frances give him an earful ? He would let her scream at him. Hit him, even, to apologise for such a major screw up. She deserved to beat him black and blue for letting Mason so close to her. If he had not been so pressed up by the police, The Verger heir would have died in a slow, painful way. He might have been the first one not getting eaten; there was nothing good to savour in that despicable man.

"You really are unlucky with your patients Hannibal," Will said.

"My line of work doesn't leave much room for luck, Will," he replied with a wince as the last stitch was put in place. He needed to deviate the empath's attention as much as possible. Unfortunately, Will had sniffed a trail, and was unwilling to relent.

"Tobias. Then the Red Dragon…"

"Tobias played with me because of my closeness with the FBI. As for Francis… I have to take responsibility. I was young and too naïve, and not fully armed to handle the notoriety."

Will's eyebrows shot up, asking for more. But like the skilled manipulator he was, Hannibal wouldn't provide the expected information. No straight answers, no getting to the point. Always circumvoluted suggestions. Better to let people forge their own answers; those were more efficient, more believable that any idea planted by another in one's mind.

The empath shook his head.

"I don't get it. What does it have to do with Francis becoming the Red Dragon ?"

Hannibal licked his lips, as if he was hesitating.

"Being renown has its drawbacks. My colleagues sent in the people they can't help, hence a high proportion of difficult patients in my practice."

Will didn't blink, watching him intensely. Was he seeing the murders ? Peeling off his layers, shedding the person suit to find the Chesapeake Ripper ? Was he going to …

"Tristan is still down there, right ?" he asked. "There was a blade embedded in Verger's throat. Did you throw it ?"

Hannibal kept eye contact, pouring forth his protectiveness towards his wife.

"I couldn't let him get his hands on Frances. She's suffered enough."

Will scrunched his nose, his eyes still embedded in Hannibal's. He was so close… so very close to finding out the truth in this moment. Frances stepped in, breaking the silent contest just like she used to step in between Tristan and Galahad. She lifted her head, then, eyes blazing with anger, distanced herself from Will.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't kill to protect your daughter. Or Alana."

The former knight turned to her, surprised to hear such steel in her voice. Distant memories flooded him, memories of battle-clad warriors and brothers in arms defending their own.

"I would. Like I killed Garett Jacob Hobbs to save Abigail, I would do anything to keep Elina safe…"

Silence settled for a moment, before Will's eyes dropped to the ground.

"Thank you for protecting her, sister."

Sister. Sister in arms.

"Anytime," Frances responded as she joined him. And the set of her jaw told them she meant it. Anytime, anything, no matter the cost. Hannibal allowed the nurse to finish the bandage and grabbed his soiled shirt before he stood.

"And now, wife, let us get some rest."

The young woman lifted her head to watch him, sunrays lighting her hair on fire, golden flecks marring the chocolate irises. And he saw, once more, the Keeper of Time. More powerful than he ever would be, for the brightness of her soul would always outshine his own. Hannibal lifted a tentative hand, brushing her cheekbone.

Frances closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. Accepting him back. His heart leapt; she was a miracle in his life. His lips brushed hers, and he poured into the kiss all of his love, his admiration, and his apology. She welcomed him as if he belonged in the warm embrace of her arms.

Home.

So, enjoyed the fight ?