You Are Now Entering Gate #12

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING GATE #12
chapter four

Hannibal was not content with the lacklustre ingredients in their refrigerator, but he managed to scrape together a passable protein scramble, even if it was devoid of human sausage. Breakfast appeared to be a common family ritual, one that Hannibal was glad he wasn't forced to implement. His children were sombre and silent as they perched themselves on stools at the kitchen island, while Hannibal fussed over the final touches of french pressed coffee and poured his children glasses of orange juice. He was tired from lack of sleep, but his body held a pleasant ache that Will Graham was entirely responsible for. The odd pair of pyjamas had been put hurriedly back on, and he'd found a familiar looking navy housecoat he had long thought was lost to him. He'd been up a good hour before everyone else and had begun what was thankfully a regular morning routine.

The stairs creaked heavily as Will stumbled down them, his palm roving over his ragged beard as he entered their small kitchen, wearing a fresh pair of boxer shorts and a grey t-shirt. Hannibal watched his entrance with a renewed expectation, his skeleton mug filled with steaming hot coffee and held aloft as he greeted him. Their two children were busy poking forks slowly into their food and eating Hannibal's prized scramble with tired, bored contemplation.

"Good morning, Will, the coffee is fresh," Hannibal promised, and Will, softly smiling, wrapped his arms around Hannibal's waist and gave him a chaste kiss on his neck that made both of their children grimace in disgust. He grinned at Mona's stricken look of horror as Will got himself a mug and poured a fresh cup with what was left in the french press.

"Do you guys have to be so gross *every* morning?" She sneered over her eggs, and gave her brother a knowing look that he merely nodded at in agreement.

"It's healthy for a child to witness their parents showing affection for one another," Hannibal said and, smiling at a secret he thought only he and Will shared, brought his mug of coffee to his lips. Mona poked her fork anxiously into her plate, the metal making heavy dings against the ceramic. She was decked out in what was her usual gothic attire, various layers and shades of black, silks mixed with poly blends and chunks of wrinkled, broken lace. She could never wear just one necklace, or ring, her ears adorned with a series of holes, and to Hannibal's observation she had enough silver on her to repel any amorous, hormonal werewolves who might be tempted by her fierce nature. It was a suitable deterrent from male attention, Hannibal felt, and he wasn't about to interfere with its effectiveness.

She sucked on her teeth and gave her father a worried grimace. "Did you guys have fun at the concert?"

Will grinned widely at the memory, and Hannibal was delighted to see the relief that flooded over Mona as she responded to Will's genuine joy. "It was amazing! Front row, and loud enough to blow out an eardrum, just the way I love it."

Mona eagerly grinned at this, and even giggled along with her father. "That's so awesome! What was their last set? I bet it was on FIRE!"

"Sadly, your father and I had to leave before the concert was finished," Hannibal carefully said, watching every flicker of Mona's changing mood and calculating exactly what to say so as to not upset her. She was wound tight with worry, this child of his, as though expecting every aspect of her world to crumble at any moment. He wondered what had put such an unhappy belief in her heart, and he decided he would do all he could to heal it. "I wasn't feeling well, so we came home."

"Man, that blows," Mona said. She ate a few more mouthfuls of her protein scramble and pushed the remainder of it aside. "Good thing you got that appointment today. Are you picking me and Abigail up from school? She texted me last night, she wants to sleep over."

"It is a school night," Hannibal reminded her and Mona fretfully sighed. An appointment? Frowning, he turned to look at the various papers tacked with magnets on his refrigerator and discovered a yellow sticky note with the day's date on it, and Dr. DuMaurier inked on it in Will's familiar scrawl. Interesting. He wondered in what capacity Bedelia counselled him here. It was no doubt a long, protracted discussion that lasted fifteen years and involved the near tragedy that Frederick Chilton had inflicted on his body. From what Will had told him last night, Fred's series of crimes had been particularly brutal, all involving patients in the last few weeks of their pregnancies. The Caesarean Ripper would stalk the maternity ward of various hospitals and seek out those who had been left alone. He would pretend to be a doctor giving a simple examination and then would strike, splitting the victims apart and tearing out their infants, leaving them to rest on dying breasts.

Hannibal had no clue what Fred's insane reasoning was for this act, he'd always seemed such a bland and pointless, small man. Since he attacked the especially vulnerable, Hannibal couldn't say he felt any manner of respect in the fact the man had it in him to kill. It was rude to kill someone who had no ability to fight back and what possible slight could a newborn infant have afforded the ignorant lout? He tried to imagine the gory scene of such a birthing and was instead brought back to that fateful morning in Lithuania, when Mischa was pulled into the snow and the sickening crack of that axe when it fell upon her neck.

A soft kiss at his cheek. "You okay?"

Will's palm pressed against the back of Hannibal's neck and the touch was so soothing Hannibal couldn't stop himself from sighing into it. He couldn't ruminate too much on what Fred had done. Though Hannibal prided himself on the fact he had no limits, it seemed Chilton had found one for him.

"Are you feeling sick to your stomach?"

Hannibal frowned at Will's gentle concern, only to discover he had placed his coffee mug down and had both of his hands pressed tight against his abdomen, along that terrible scar. Hannibal looked up at Mona, who stared back at him, piercing blue eyes wide with that ever present, simmering worry. "Nothing a doctor's check up can't solve," Hannibal said, and she was instantly happier at this, and he had to concede his daughter had been born with her father's intuition enough to know that the physical was far easier to heal than the mental.

His son, however, was far more of a puzzle, and Hannibal watched Marcus carefully as he sipped his orange juice in silence and ate the offering on his plate with an equally stoic resolve. As the eldest by three years, he had placed himself in the role of family observer, gaining an insight that Hannibal found unsettling. Where he had a near miraculous instant closeness to his daughter that had very little to do with biology, the connection to his son was meant to be earned. He was much like his father in this respect, and Hannibal wondered if he was likewise gifted with his fascinating empathy.

"What are your plans for the day, Marcus?" Hannibal ventured.

Marcus shrugged. "Going to work."

Hannibal glanced at a time sheet tacked onto the refrigerator. Quite the array of lives were organized on that steel door. "At the veterinary clinic, with Beverly?"

"That's the one," Marcus dully replied. "I quit the night shift at the grocery store."

Hannibal gave him a thin smile. "I'm glad to hear it, it was far too tiring for you." He picked up his mug and took a long sip of coffee. Will had left the kitchen and was pacing around the dining room, searching through papers left on a sideboard and clearly gleaning all manner of information about their lives from it. "Have you given any more thought to college?" Hannibal asked his son, knowing this was a question often asked of children his son's age, and wouldn't be considered odd. Besides, a choice of vocation would give him a further hint into his eldest, enigmatic child's personality.

Marcus finished his glass of orange juice before replying. "Not really. I got everything saved up, though, should be able to get on the plane to Lithuania starting in the fall. Figure I'll start with the Lecter family castle and then move my way around the Baltics, there's lots of couch surfing spots I can stop at along the way. Maybe a hostel or two if I have to, or just sleep rough if the weather's good enough."

"I see," Hannibal said, and he forced himself to keep smiling. "And how long do you plan this trip to last?"

Marcus shrugged, as though he'd answered this question several times before, "I've told you, until the money runs out and then I'll come home, work my ass off in odd jobs around the clock another year and then take off to India next."

Hannibal paused over his coffee at this. "And how long is this pattern meant to repeat itself?"

Marcus shrugged again. "I dunno. Until the world runs out, I guess."

Much as he wanted to respect his son's choices, Hannibal felt a jolt of disappointment course through him. A sense of adventure was one thing, but there were practicalities that had to be observed, long range responsibilities that would enhance and shape his son's life into a champion's future, filled with naught but success. He tried, hard, to keep the judgement from his voice, but it crept in on every vowel, and in the way he couldn't meet Marcus's steady glare. "So. You are keen to become a professional hobo. I hope you understand, Marcus, that while such adventures are fascinating in the short term, there is the problem of what you will do with the knowledge you acquire, and it doesn't sound to me that you have a plan in place. You cannot support a family in such a lifestyle, for one, and lack of education will bar you from putting in roots, no matter where you may find yourself. There is also the problem of living so close to the Earth, as you plan to do, for it is as all jungles are, fraught with predators keen to eat you alive. It can be a very dangerous thing for a coddled young man from suburban Baltimore to be plunked amidst the guerilla warfare of some as yet unknown point on an unstable continent. I suggest you reconsider, or at the very least start reading the news with more interest."

Marcus let his fork loudly drop to his empty plate. "I am so sick of this. This is why I can't talk to you."

"Well, I'm very sorry if my injection of reality is hitting a little close to the bone, Marcus." Hannibal could feel his irritation seeping out, and he was relieved when Will returned to them in the kitchen, frowning over a series of papers in his hands, which he shuffled through in distracted concentration as he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. "Will," Hannibal said, gaining his attention as he looked up, their eyes meeting. "Our son has decided to opt out of human evolution and become a bum. Being a man familiar with the immediate effects of severe hypothermia, violent assault, recreational abuse and animal attacks, perhaps you can remind him what kind of corpse we will be picking up from whatever obscure airport he decides to be shipped to."

Will gave his a son a quizzical glance, which Mona answered for him. "Mommy's worried Marcus is going to die while he's hiking across the world."

"You're planning on travelling?" Will asked, and Marcus gave him an eager nod at this. Contrary to Hannibal's wishes, Will grinned widely at the prospect, a sense of pride emanating from him that Hannibal did not at all agree with. "That's great. It takes guts to do something out of the box like that, you'll have lots of stories to tell."

"You agree with this nonsense?"

"It's his life, Hannibal, you of all people should be happy he's doing what he wants with it. I'm sure Marcus has already made a very detailed list of the pros and cons of his decision and I trust him to be well aware of the dangers and to have plans in place to deal with them." Will reached out, and--How infuriating! He was smiling!--squeezed his son's shoulder in a show of paternal support.

"Thanks, Dad," Marcus said, and Hannibal could have gutted Will then and there, the pleasures of the night before so readily forgotten in the wake of Will's reckless, irresponsible attitude towards the future of their eldest child. Though he'd had plenty of experience with murderous intent upon the world, traipsing across it without a shred of sense was hardly a life choice he wanted for his presently healthy family.

Really, Will!

But Hannibal held his disappointment in check, and braced his shoulders as he looked on both of his children who were now about to scurry off to their busy lives, leaving him to figure out how to best shape the one he now owned. Not wanting the day to start on ill feeling, he followed them out of the kitchen and into to the front foyer, where he offered their parting forms a request for peace that had been used by mothers for a millennia:

"What do you want for dinner?"

"JERK CHICKEN!" Mona immediately shouted, and Will spilled his coffee at the sudden outburst, nearly scalding his wrist. Hannibal could hear him curse behind him. "Really spicy this time, it's not proper jerk chicken if it doesn't make your eyes bleed!"

"I'll see what I can do," Hannibal promised.

He kissed them both goodbye as they opened the front door and disappeared into their world, leaving behind a dull ache in Hannibal's heart that he wasn't able to readily identify. With his coffee still in hand he headed back into his tiny kitchen. It really was far too small, a renovation on several points in the house was in order.

Their phone rang and it took Will a few moments to locate it back in the dining room, and from the boisterous, loud voice booming out of the earpiece it was clearly a call from Jack Crawford. Hannibal could hear every word the man said without the phone being on speaker, and Will held the phone aloft, protecting his sensitive eardrums. "Heya Will! Rise and shine! How's that heat holiday? You got all that Omega business ironed out? Heheh, I bet you do! Listen, if the ball and chain is feeling better, how do you feel about coming to work this morning? Got a head on crash with six fatalities and I could really use your shovelling skills!"

Will tucked the phone under his chin and nodded at Hannibal. "Jack wants me to go in. You feeling okay enough for me to go to work?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Will," Hannibal said, and meant it. He was still feeling slightly feverish but the nausea was gone as was its accompanying needy ache. All things considered, they were as back to normal as could possibly be. He eyed the appointment with Dr. Bedelia DuMaurier with some consternation, and wondered what his relationship with her was like. She was his lapdog in that other world, a cut out doll that was as deep as the thin layers he placed upon her, and no substitute for the complex man at his side.

"Yeah, I'm good to go," Will said, and Jack let out a happy whoop at this that made Will wince.

"Be ready in five, Graham, I'm bringing 'round the van!"

Will agreed and hung up, the phone neatly juggled in one hand before he placed it back in its charger. "Looks like we're back to our normal routines, whatever they are." Will placed his empty coffee cup in the sink and embraced Hannibal's waist with his arms, pulling him tightly close and giving him a very not chaste kiss now that they were once again alone. "You still taste gorgeous. You sure you'll be okay without me?"

"Not without you, no," Hannibal said, fervently kissing him back. "But a few hours are not such a tragedy."

~*~

It was mid-morning and he was on the highway when Mischa called, and Hannibal put her on speaker as he drove to the other side of Baltimore. "Good morning," he said to her, a giddy sensation in his breast at the thought of hearing her voice once again. If this was all he had for the rest of his life it would be enough, he knew, for her death had been the catalyst for so much tragedy. The resurrection of all that had been destroyed was still a murky miracle for him to fathom.

"I got bad news," Mischa said. "Some jackass groupie died in the drummer's bathroom. The cops are crawling all over the place, the news reporters are here, it's a damned mess. I hope you didn't have plans with Will today, he's riding with the coroner and you know how Jack is, he'll be chatting up everybody, they'll be here for hours. We're waiting on them right now. We're not sure how the idiot died, something to do with a sheep and a kick to the head that caved his brain in, and I don't know. Looks like you'll be busy once Will and Jack are done with him, I gave the sister of the dead guy your card when she asked if I knew of any funeral homes in the area. Hope you don't mind."

"Rock stars make for booming business on my end, Mischa," Hannibal said, and this seemed to be an adequate response if her snorting laugh was any indication. "I'll give Will a call and let him know to cart the body home when they are done with it."

"Dammit. I'm so sorry, Hannibal, I know this sucks. You guys are supposed to be having a nice romantic couple of days and this shit always gets in the way. How are you feeling? You looked really rough the last time I saw you, you weren't yourself at all. Hopefully Bedelia can tell you why they're getting worse, though you know what my theory is--With all this shit with Chilton happening you're under too much stress." She paused for a long moment, as though fighting to find the right words to say. To Hannibal's surprise when she spoke again it was in their native tongue, the heady lilt of Lithuanian coursing through the Bentley's speaker. To hear his beloved sister's voice like this, in exactly the way he remembered it...He choked down the feeling that threatened to well up and turned up the volume, not willing to miss one syllable.

*"I was talking to Lady Murasaki. She's getting so old, Hannibal, but her mind is razor sharp. She wants to know when we're next going over to visit her in Paris and she really wants to see Marcus and Mona again. I think we need to make the trip and soon, I don't think we're going to have her for much longer."*

Hannibal hesitated over this, remembering the smashed teacup he tossed to the floor, shattering all illusion of family, a gesture that Lady Murasaki had understood well, her shocked expression the last thing he remembered of her. His mother tongue rolled from him as he spoke it, the words creaking out of him with rusty lack of use. *"We should talk about it over dinner. I was thinking of a pleasant family gathering, myself. With Will, the children. And you."*

*"You've been feeling sick and you want to go through all that trouble. Don't make anything too weird, you know I don't like that fancy crap. No fish Jell-O, honestly, Hannibal, what were you thinking?"*

*"I was thinking along the lines of a lamb stew,"* Hannibal replied.

*"Yeah, sure. Tomorrow, six o'clock like usual? You're a doll, big brother. Shit, the cops want to talk to me now, and I'm getting stink eye from your old friend Jimmy Price. Dunno why the FBI is creeping around here, other than the fact the guy who died has tons of money."*

Hannibal was curious. *"Who was he?"*

*"Some creeper named Mason Verger."*

Hannibal paused at this information. *"Explains the FBI presence. From what I understand he's quite the nasty piece of work. I believe he was in the news recently for accusations of child abuse at some of his daycare facilities?"*

Mischa scoffed at this. *"The Verger clan doesn't run day cares! Where'd you get that information? Nah, this guy was really into drugs, big time, and he was involved in some gang styled murders a while back. I guess the FBI is here to see if it's an official hit, but it looks to me like stupidity."* There was a shout in the background and Mischa cursed. She switched back to English with fluid ease. "Coppers want their chat. Talk to you later, big brother. Good luck today. It's going to be a long one for the rest of us."

"Thank you, Mischa," he said, and he waited far longer than he should have to hang up the call after she said good-bye. Her conversation with him had left his heart singing, and he drove the remainder of the way to Dr. DuMaurier's office with a sense of peace he hadn't experienced in, if he examined it, his entire life. He fiddled with his CD player, calling up Goldberg's Variations and flooded the interior of the Bentley with its smooth, silken notes. His fingertips tapped in time to its cadence, soft matching leathers dancing upon one another. He hummed the notes as he made his way through an empty intersection, Dr. Bedelia DuMaurier's office set to come up on his right.

~*~
He had parked the Bentley in a space on the street outside of her medical office, the smells of fresh coffee and sweets pouring out of the bakery next door to it. The Bedelia he knew was fond of such temptations, and Hannibal took it as a positive reinforcement that not too much had changed. He was fully expecting to find that same, icy creature he had tucked into his unfolding drama, like a canary kept as an advanced warning signal of danger. But as he entered her narrow, crowded office, it was clear that there was little of the Bedelia he knew lurking in any of its spotless corners. There were several other patients waiting, most in various stages of pregnancy, and it was with a sinking sense of horror that Hannibal realized, no Dr. DuMaurier was not his therapist, she was, in its stead, his Ob/Gyn. This suspicion was confirmed by the presence of a secretary and various examining rooms down the thin corridor, and the near imperceptible beeping of an ultrasound machine somewhere at the other end of that hallway's winding vein.

His first instinct was to flee, and he smoothed out the length of his black tie, giving a very pregnant fellow Omega male a pleasant nod before turning to do just that, when Bedelia herself suddenly shouted out over the head of her secretary: "Hannibal! You're early!"

How strange to find her so happy to see him, her face alight with a wide grin, and not one of restrained, frosty grimacing. She was still the same slender, beautiful perfection, this time cloaked in a white lab coat and sporting a stethoscope, which both looked out of place on her, as though she was wearing a costume. She waved him impatiently through, ignoring the protests of her secretary that she had other patients ahead of him.

She still had her impossible, golden coif, perfectly shaped and cascading in carefully arranged curls across and down her shoulders, the thin spindle of her tall spiked heels clicking on the industrial flooring. She led him into an examining room, and Hannibal instinctively placed his palm against his stomach, an anxiety brewing at the prospect of what about to take place eating at him. Though it was apparently necessary, the indignity of it was not something he found he could easily dismiss. He was only just getting used to this new formation of his body, aided in great strides thanks to Will's keen attention, and the clinical examination of it felt more like violation.

Bedelia was cheerful as she entered the room, tossing a disposable dressing gown at him. "You know the drill," she said, and gave him a smile that had a ridiculous amount of warmth and set him further ill at ease. "I know how you much hate this, and if you get really anxious at any point, you know I'll stop the examination immediately."

"You don't have to remind me, Bedelia."

She raised her brows and gave him a knowing look. "After coming to me for nearly eighteen years, I know a thing or two about you, Hannibal, and one of them is that you love to suffer in silence. As you recall, I was there when Marcus was born, a little ob/gyn residency student, scared out of her wits helping birth the first child of an Omega male, who was also terrified. You hid yours a lot better than I did. Not a hair out of place and barely a howl of discomfort. You didn't lose it until Will showed up an hour later, well after everything was over. A delayed reaction, the surgeon on call called it. You went absolutely ballistic, the nurse on the maternity ward was ready to call security. It was disappointing knowing it wasn't my efforts that helped you face the birth of your child with such stoicism. I thought it was my smooth delivery, but it was just you, holding your breath."

Hannibal darkly chuckled at this. "I suppose we all look for safe places upon which to fall."

The suggestion that she wasn't a safe haven was completely lost on this Bedelia, who busied herself with washing her hands and arranging the disposable tools of her trade in a small, metal, kidney shaped bin. "This armour you wear is thick, Hannibal, and when one piece falls off, the whole thing clatters in a heap to the ground." She paused in the doorway, shaking her head at the memory. "Poor Will. Both of his children handed to him in tears and terror. I'll give you a few moments to get undressed."

She left him alone in the examining room, shutting the door for privacy. Hannibal crushed the papery material in his grip, reluctant to put it on. She was far less the ice queen he once knew, but she still managed to creep under his skin in barbed little nicks that irritated him.

He took off his tie and jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt, getting a good view of the various medical posters lining the walls of the small examining room. This one was particularly geared towards the examination of the Omega gender, Hannibal realized, and with the curious scope of a surgeon he was able to pinpoint all similarities and differences of his now alien body with ease. If one wanted to be supremely technical, it was obvious that he was now female regardless of his masculine outward appearance. In that most classical of all Greek mythology he had become Tiresias, though he doubted this version of himself was ever to truly reclaim his full masculinity. Considering the pleasures he'd enjoyed the night before, he was sure he didn't want to, for as Tiresias himself had informed Zeus, 'Of ten parts, a man enjoys one only.'

He carefully folded his shirt and placed it on the chair next to the examining table, which was followed by trousers and underwear, the discarding of the latter revealing, again, the long, jagged scar across his lower abdomen, and the misshapen stretch of his skin that had once housed life. A knock at the door made him quickly put the paper gown on, and he sat on the examining table with a feeling of overexposure, one that he quelled with a mask of cold professionalism as Dr. DuMaurier stepped back into the room, and closed the door behind her. She didn't look up at him immediately, but instead was frowning as she went over his medical folder.

"You've been having fevers and nausea during your heats," she said. She flipped through past visits and results, of which there was a fairly large stack. "Are the symptoms alleviated with intercourse?"

"For a short time, yes."

"Which actually means no." She made a notation in her doctor's notes. "I'm suspecting it's the usual culprit, scarring in your fallopian tubes due to the trauma induced by Chilton's assault. As usual, I know you are going to say no to a salpingo-oophorectomy..."

"I will not consider it," Hannibal snapped.

"...So I won't go into all the details of why this would not only cure this particular ailment but render the need for invasive lacroscopic surgery every few years unnecessary. Nor am I going to remind you that it is a procedure that is fairly simple to implement, and that at your age you are already in the first stages of menopause, and yes you would continue to very much enjoy sex despite no longer having heats, which frankly many an Omega would be thrilled to have as an option. I will not need your explanation that this is about how Chilton stole your future children from you, which he did, and the last thing you want is something else taken from your body with or without your permission." She closed the beige medical folder with a delicate snap and impatiently tossed it on the small counter beside her. She fixed Hannibal in her sights with a familiar poignancy. "Other than feeling sick when you're in heat, how are you doing? I heard all about Chilton's impending release, the news stations are gorging themselves on it. Hannibal, no matter how much of a front you are putting up about it, I know you are anxious about this, and you know I am your friend. Please talk to me."

Hannibal felt a small tic at her easy proclamation that she was his 'friend'. That certainly hadn't been the case in that other world, one that was fast diminishing on the horizon as this one took up the fore. "I am fine, Bedelia. But thank you, for your concern."

Bedelia rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh at this, for it was not the answer she wanted. She waved at the stirrups at the end of the examining table. "Let's find out what's going on, shall we?"

~*~

He had to admit, Bedelia's curt bedside manner aside, she was an excellent ob/gyn, a far cry from her sorry attempts at being a psychiatrist. She was wonderfully efficient, his examination rendered with only a hint of awkwardness, and it hardly lasted two minutes before he was told to redress and that the results would be back within a matter of days and, as the tenderness in his groin revealed all was as she suspected, he was to schedule an appointment to have an ultrasound on his way out. She was sure she could fit him in for the following week and would no doubt be in surgery within the month.

He did as instructed, a gum chewing secretary taking his information and handing him back a small card with the time and date for his appointment on it. He placed the small card in the pocket of his eel skin wallet and paused at what he found there. He frowned at the images within the plastic partitions of the wallet, small photographs of two infants, both stained and ancient, well worn from being placed from one wallet into another, a daily talisman brought with him wherever he went. He left Bedelia's office still staring at the small images, the bump of pregnant bellies brushed against him as he passed a couple of her patients. It was cold and overcast when he got outside, his Bentley sitting in a thick puddle of black slush. He got into his car, with every intention of putting the key in the ignition and driving home, content to spend the rest of the day reading and catching up on what funeral arrangements needed to be done, and other assorted chores his other self performed throughout the day. But he found himself propping his wallet onto the steering wheel and staring at the two small photographs, at the smiling infant boy in pinstripe overalls, his almond shaped eyes offset from the camera. 'Had he been looking at me?' Hannibal had to wonder. The tiny infant girl, clearly a preemie, was dwarfed in a massive array of soft, pink fluffy fabrics, her doll's arm wrapped in gauze. She had survived, where others hadn't. Hannibal's family was whole. Intact.

And yet...How jealous he was of this other version of himself, who despite all tragedy managed to exist amongst such miracle! Hannibal pressed his palms to his stomach, wondering what it had been like, feeling them kicking in life within him, living with that for months, outlines of tiny feet and hands pressed against his skin. Had Will kissed that rounded stomach, had he had his fill on that experience, feasting on the pride that it was his doing that had filled that once empty womb? Will had been fed all that Hannibal's body could offer, and now--Now it was hollowed out, children he hadn't known now almost grown and ready to leave, a lurking hunger left in his belly for memories that didn't exist for this version of self. He had tempted God to stop him, had burned and slashed his way through life, pushing the boundaries open and making room for monsters. That mysterious deity had allowed it, had taken perverse delight in it, Hannibal was sure, and now it had it's ultimate revenge in giving its favourite demon everything it had ever wanted. For what greater cruelty is there for an unjust man than to receive a kind reward?

A wet drop hit his thigh and Hannibal raised his hand to his cheek, surprised to discover he was weeping. It sent a panic of feeling through him, images of his children and Will, the pleasurable night of Will's attentive eroticism, the smiling laughter of his sister, the resurrection of those who were long dead brought to life. Hannibal felt himself collapse under the weight of the kindness of physics.

These had to be lies, all of them, that he told himself, for the weight was unbearable, it was crushing, it was ripping his flesh to shreds.

In truth, he felt destroyed.

He was openly sobbing in the front seat of the Bentley when Bedelia stepped out of her office, intent on heading into the bakery next door to pick up a sweet treat. She stopped when she saw Hannibal, and with determined steps she approached the Bentley, her sharp knuckles rapping loudly against the driver's side window. Surprised by her intrusion, Hannibal composed himself and reluctantly rolled it down, allowing in a thick waft of her expensive perfume. The wallet was still open in front of him, and he closed it with one hand and tossed it onto the passenger seat beside him. "Bedelia, I am fine," he said, and attempted to start the car.

She reached in and nimbly plucked the keys from the ignition and opened the driver's door. "I knew this was going to happen."

"Bedelia, give me back my keys."

Like that other, icy self serving creature, this Bedelia was not to be daunted, though her delivery was far less carefully constructed and bordered on indelicate. "Out of the car, Hannibal. It seems I just saw my last patient of the day. Dr. Sutcliffe can take over the rest of them for the afternoon, his schedule isn't that busy and he owes me one anyway." She tapped an impatient foot, the length of her thin heel near invisible against the black puddle she was standing in as Hannibal hesitated. "Come on, upstairs we go. That drink isn't going to pour itself."

~*~

This Dr. Bedelia DuMaurier most certainly did like her creature comforts, but they were far less elaborate or controlled than that Other who Hannibal felt he had only thinly understood. This Bedelia was yet a further enigma, one with latent snobbery he could relate to and yet there was a coarseness beneath it that occasionally spilled out. Her large, open spaced condominium situated above her work held nothing of the stuffy, office decor that had decorated the home of her antithesis. She was happy here, Hannibal realized, tucked into a place where she lived amongst her patients and their files, drawing joy out of the busy bustle of the uptown street outside of her large, picture window. She hadn't had a family, instead dedicating her life to her work, travelling to distant, poor countries every July and August where she assisted in hospitals that were nothing more than pup tents. No children of her own, for she had a universe of them by her hand, evidence of this wallpapering the massive wall that went from the ground floor entrance right up to the ceiling. Tiny prints of feet or palms, each with a name and a date written neatly in Bedelia's handwriting on the bottom left corner of each hospital ID card. There looked to be close to a thousand of them.

"And here we are," Bedelia said, moving from her large, spacious kitchen that was more atrium than a place for gathering, two cocktail glasses balanced in her grip. This Bedelia was no fan of wine, and was more of a gin and tonic girl. Hannibal took the offering with polite grace.

"It was not my intention to put you out like this, Bedelia," Hannibal said. He took a sip of his cocktail and inwardly remarked that it was perfect. "I am truly sorry."

Bedelia flopped onto her sofa and propped her feet, now encased in ridiculous, huge bright blue bunny slippers, onto her coffee table, the cocktail held aloft. "Donald is always taking holidays right when I want or need to schedule mine. He has an uncanny sixth sense about it. Any time I can ruin his day is the right time." She took a near gulp of her drink and focused on Hannibal over its rim. "You don't really think Chilton is going to go after your family, do you?"

Hannibal frowned over the cocktail, both bemused and annoyed that Bedelia had grossly missed the mark over what had upset him. "There are promises that he is cured. I would not be so certain, the insane can be highly manipulative. They are very good at hiding their most dangerous thoughts and proclivities. I'm curious as to what your opinion is on the matter."

"Mine?" Bedelia raised her brow.

"Yes. You were the doctor who assisted me in the aftermath of the attack, and as I am your friend, as I was then, I imagine the thought of him going free fills you with a likewise anxiety."

"So you are anxious," Bedelia said.

"I am anticipatory," Hannibal replied, and sipped at his cocktail. Was that a hint of fresh mint?

Bedelia's word were carefully measured. "If you would like my most frank and honest opinion, it would be thus: Dr. Frederick Chilton is a crazy son of a bitch who I would not hesitate to shoot on sight. Right here." Bedelia pressed a well manicured nail at the centre of her forehead. "Is that clarity enough on the matter, Hannibal?"

"So you, like many others, believe he is incapable of cure."

"I believe he is a madman who tore apart my friend and left him and his newly born baby for dead in an empty hospital room. He nearly killed Mona, he butchered you so badly he nicked her arm with his scalpel and I had to put stitches on the flesh of a preemie. I have fantasized for near a decade of the things I would do to him to make him suffer and I hate to admit it, but I take great pleasure in those thoughts."

Hannibal couldn't help but smile at this unexpected openness. He near grinned as he took another sip of the cocktail, liking the way it was taking the tense edge off of the afternoon. "I rather like this frankness of yours, Bedelia. It suits you far better."

Bedelia sighed. "How is Will taking all of this?"

Hannibal chose his words on that subject very carefully. "As one could expect. He is concerned."

"As I recall, the last time you were forced into this kind of protracted stress, he folded like a paper doll and left you and your children for two months while he went on a suicidal drunken bender in the swamps of Louisiana. You were still recovering from the attack, Hannibal. You could barely walk, let alone take care of two children, and if it wasn't for Mischa floating you that loan you would have lost everything. I've never understood how you could let him back into your bed after that. I couldn't have forgiven that kind of betrayal."

"Extreme events often bring out the worst in us," Hannibal said. "I have seen Will at his lowest and the understanding we have come to have with one another is woven tightly by our mutual, tragic history. He would never harm me like that again."

Bedelia swirled her fingertip in her martini and watched the tiny whirlpool it made intently. "I wish I had your confidence. But, he is your husband, and you did choose him over other options. And it's not like you didn't have plenty." She gave him a smirk over the rim of the glass. "Has Agent Jimmy Price contacted you yet?"

Hannibal frowned, not at all sure he liked this connotation. "I'm sorry, what do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me, Hannibal, I know how close the two of you became when Will ran like a frightened rabbit off into the bushes. It's no secret he's always been on the periphery, peeking in beyond the perfect white picket fence you've erected up as a rather ineffective barricade."

"I suppose it should be no surprise that the FBI has been keeping a close watch on me over the years," Hannibal said, without humour.

Bedelia laughed at this. "Serial killers get less attention. I see you've finished. Would you care for another? I do have all afternoon."

Hannibal gave her a terse smile, though it was at the thought of what she'd said over any actual need to leave. He was sorely tempted, but he found himself declining. "I have dinner to make," he said by way of excuse. "My exceptionally fussy family wants to imagine this winter day as a holiday in the Caribbean. Jerk chicken, one more of a jerk than the others, as per Mona's request."

Bedelia actually snorted at this. "Like that kid needs more fire to add to that temper of hers. When I think of all the times I had to peel her off of the floor when she was having one of her little breakdowns..."

Hannibal faltered at this information. He thought about what she had told him, that he had been on his own for two months, that he'd been physically incapacitated...

"You took care of my children," he said, aloud, disbelieving it.

"You're damn right I did. Every other weekend until Marcus was thirteen." She sighed, and placed her martini glass on her coffee table, following Hannibal to the top of her stairs. To his shock she embraced him in a tight hug, and he didn't know what to do with the genuine emotion emitting from her, the unexpected kindness of it leaving his arms open to dead air.

"Take care of yourself, if you need anything, let me know."

"I will, Bedelia." He sidestepped her awkwardly, hating the way she looked at him as though he was in need of steadying. Apparently there was something far worse than Bedelia's selfish apathy. Her compassion was unbearable.