They Can Smell Your Intentions

THEY CAN SMELL YOUR INTENTIONS
chapter sixteen

He was sure it was the moon, burning bright behind the back of his skull, the pockmarked sphere smacking hard against the bone, pushing aside the membrane lining the grey matter that made up his own inner universe. His head felt full of these moons, and they danced in spinning orbits within his head, pinging against the sides of his skull's prison, holding them in place for his darling Adam to investigate when he brought them home. They spun faster as he called them by name, the large mounds of rock responding to his observation, bringing the vast reaches of space into a tamed command.

"Io...Europa...Ganymede...Callisto...Dione...Rhea.."

He tried to open his eyes to get a better look at them, the large, perfectly formed blocks of ice and minerals stunning marbles of reds and blues, as unique as the planets they circled. Space was so cold, he shivered within its black opacity, floating along chunks of ice as the moons drifted past him. So many different shapes and colours, he would have to ask Adam why there was so much variation between them, it was the kind of question he would find interesting, and though the reply would be eager and overly detailed, Nigel knew he would get the gist of it. He would simply float along their orbits with his little spaceman and kiss him while the heels of their feet nicked the rings of Saturn.

It took a great deal of effort to open his eyes, and he blinked in confusion at the bright, white moon staring back into his face, and lucidity gave him the disappointed shock of realizing this was simply a spotlight shining down on him. He was still cold and shivering, as though his body was waking from trauma, a feeling that inched its way towards panic as his consciousness returned and he still wasn't able to move his limbs. With a confused sort of relief he saw that he was shackled to a chair, in much the same manner as the GSF officers he'd found in the bunker, and while this should have concerned him, Nigel was at least grateful he was in a far cleaner room than that wet pit, one with metal walls and a large drain in its centre. It was definitely a kill room, a place to properly be shredded. He wondered if this was where Mason Verger met his end, and figured such an intimate stage was the exact sort of place Dr. Lecter and Will Graham would use for carnage. After all, clean up would be easy enough, a good hose down of the walls and filtering of the larger chunks of flesh so they didn't clog up the drain. A well thought out theatre of homicide, just the sort a surgeon might use. He imagined it's original purpose was a walk in freezer, the temperature dipped low enough to make his bare arms pucker into gooseflesh and smart against the frosty air within. It was the same size as the pits, five feet by five feet. He wondered why Dr. Lecter would need to keep that much meat in storage.

He was still trying to focus, the metal walls bending and slipping into melted lava as he forced his eyes open and tried to get a better look at the small, freezing, antiseptic surroundings. He was handcuffed to a chair, as were his ankles, and between this and the drugs still coursing through his system, it was impossible to move. The Chesapeake Ripper was set to create yet another of his overdone masterpieces of rendered flesh using Nigel's miserable, nicotine poisoned body as the material for his art. He wondered what kind of story was going to be told at Nigel's expense, and he figured it would be one of misplaced longing, of discovering that which you believed to be of worth to suddenly be garbage. It was what Nigel would have created of himself at this point. What was Adam going to make of it, he wondered, and the thought of Adam being exposed to that kind of narcissistic evil tore at Nigel's heart and he fought against his bindings, even though he knew it was useless. His poor little spaceman, he loved him so much. Adam would be destroyed by this. How could that bastard do that to him?

He swallowed, his throat dry. He was going to die here, he knew, he was not going to keep his promise after all, and he was going to leave his spaceman angel alone to travel the galaxies without him. The sadness of this hit Nigel with far more force than any torture the fucking Chesapeake Ripper was set to inflict, and with a stubbornness that made him tougher than every criminal he'd ever met, he inwardly promised he would not shed one tear for that sick prick's benefit. He would hold his head high and face the death that was waiting for him with his eyes wide open and his pride fully intact. He would suffer for Adam. He would find a way to let him know his last thoughts were of him and the Chesapeake Ripper could kiss Nigel's glorious ass, that's right, lick my fucking hole you sick, sorry bitch.

It was no surprise to find the outline of said monster seated across from him in the steel gloom, stock still and waiting with predator patience. As Nigel's consciousness gradually returned, Dr. Hannibal Lecter remained seated with his hands primly folded on his lap. He was even more formally dressed than he had been at dinner, the slight iridescence of his suit reminding Nigel of the body of a bluebottle fly. Beauty hinting at decay and death. His posture was, as usual, comprised of that stubborn graceful elegance that spoke of dark forest nights and careful steps made beneath moonlight. His slender neck was covered in what Nigel assumed was bonding silk, a herringbone pattern woven along the length of his throat and ending in a french knot at the base at its centre. The inference to knotting was clear, if not old fashioned.

Though near frozen, Nigel had muscle control enough to sneer at him, his chapped lips dry and cracked, the taste of blood slipping onto his tongue. Come on you, fucker, why waste your time staring when it's clear you've got a taste for some good old fashioned torture and murder? I'm so sorry, my darling angel. Fuck this devil and all his fucking army.

"A l-little overdressed for s-surgery, aren't you?" Nigel said, and his voice was a gravel croak that echoed in the empty, metallic space. "If you are going to c-cut out my heart, you of all people should be s-smart enough to roll up your s-sleeves. I'm a f-fucking b-bleeder, and I'll make it a point to s-soak that expensive, fancy suit of y-yours, you son of a bitch! You w-want to f-fucking kill me? Slice an artery and get y-yourself a f-fucking glass, you m-might as w-well drink up y-you evil strigoi!"

His anger echoed against the metal of the sparse room, cold air assaulting him as he shook, muscles freezing as he remained immobilized in his chair. Though he was underdressed for the sub zero temperature himself, Dr. Lecter remained unperturbed by it, as though he was long used to this sort of exposure. He was stoic in the face of Nigel's outburst and, much to Nigel's disgust, that same, calm smile crept across his features like a cut slit across his mouth. "It is a shame we must have such an uncomfortable conversation, but it is one that I have been longing to have since I have been told about you."

"I'm n-not in the m-mood to talk."

"This won't take long. I have but one question for you, Inspector Nigel Ionescu." Dr. Lecter leaned close, his curled lips inches from Nigel's ear, a whispered request from a demon inching its way inside. "Why are you rescuing Omegas?"

Nigel frowned at this, his sneer deepening. "What the f-fuck k-kind of question is that? I have to, it's my f-fucking j-job."

"No." Lecter sat back, his hands primly clasped once again across his stomach. Nigel could see warm mist escape his lips as he spoke. "You have chosen this profession and you are quite adept at it. This belies a certain passion for your efforts and I wonder where that comes from. You have no discernable religious background from which to be ferreting favour from an omniscient deity. You lack interest in karma and do not seek revenge. You are dogged in your pursuit, unable to relent even when it is in the best interests of those you love and you are willing to throw yourself upon the hoary pyre of self-sacrifice. And yet none will mourn you more than that precious Omega you leave behind. You are leaving suffering in your absence, Nigel, you do understand this. So, I ask again, why are you saving Omegas at such ridiculous risk to yourself and those you profess to care about?"

Nigel frowned at this, Lecter's head cocked to one side as though trying to piece together a complex puzzle that surely had a simple solution, one he couldn't readily identify. Nigel's breath came in unsteady gasps as he shook with shock and cold in the chair, thoughts of his darling spaceman floating amongst moons cutting into his heart more than any blade could dare. Mist surrounded him like smoke, and Nigel had the insane idea that this setting was some sort of dig at his one most obvious vice.

"I r-rescue them b-because no one else will," Nigel said.

Lecter remained impassive at this. "You believe yourself responsible for them. Why?"

"They're v-vulnerable, they're innocent, m-mostly. It makes me sick what h-happens to them, they n-need someone to take c-care of them, to help them..."

"Your wish is to protect them." Lecter's eyes were little pools of black in the steel gloom. Nigel was really feeling the cold now that he was conscious, his knees involuntarily knocking together as his body temperature dropped further. How long had he been waiting here? "Alpha instincts are strong in you, Nigel, but it's odd that you would sacrifice the Omega you already have for strangers."

"For a m-monster like you, m-maybe," Nigel spat back. His teeth chattered, and Nigel grimaced, trying to form his words without stuttering. "I rescued Adam, t-too, or have you f-forgotten that?" He kept his teeth clenched and shied away from the light that was shining so brightly into his eyes--how could Lecter, as an Omega, stand it? Perhaps it was an effect of the drugs he'd been pumped full of, leaving his senses overly attuned. He was so fucking cold, fuck his arms felt like they were being stuck with a million little pins. He hunched his shoulders forward in a vain attempt to warm himself. His fingers were numb, the tips turning blue. The piercing bulb swayed above him, and it took a few moments for Nigel to realize it was the same mining lamp that had been in the bunker. The metal caging the light in was covered in frost.

"I should think after finding your diamond, you wouldn't be hunting for more."

"It's not about that." Nigel tried to move his arms, but they were dead weights, the shackles superfluous. His chest felt heavy, as though bricks were weighted down on them. Every gasp sent a shockwave of unwelcome winter into his lungs. "They s-suffer for n-no reason, it's w-wrong."

"Thus suffering *for* a reason is perfectly acceptable?"

"No, it's just...F-fuck's sake, call it biology, call it w-whatever, I don't like knowing that someone innocent is out there h-hurting, is that so b-beyond your understanding?" Nigel's shoulders shook. "F-for f-fuck's sake, it's t-too d-damn c-cold in here!"

"In my experience with Alphas, yes. It is." Lecter narrowed his maroon gaze on him. "As for this room, you have a hot temper, Nigel, it was important to quell it."

Nigel sighed, wondering just what in the hell this crazy bitch wanted from him. He was trapped in the grip of the Chesapeake Ripper, set to be murdered, no doubt painfully, and this bitch wanted to fucking psychoanalyze his motivations and worse yet talk philosophical bullshit, as if Nigel understood either of them. He cursed, and curled his aching hands into fists.

"So what m-more do you want me to t-tell you? I don't know w-why it f-feels important. It p-probably isn't, but we h-h-have to try and m-make those terrible things m-matter, don't we? Isn't that w-what life is? M-making up shit that m-matters?"

"If you are asking me why suffering must begin and end I was hoping you could explain it better," Lecter coldly said.

Nigel frowned. "I'm n-not the one you sh-should have asked."

"What do you mean?"

"I m-mean I'm n-not the one studying the nature of the f-f-fucking universe every f-fucking minute of the day, am I?"

Lecter cocked his head at this, curious. "I have no intention of bringing my dear child into this."

So, back to that. Fucking weirdo. "You already h-have, you sick f-fuck, and you aren't to l-lay a f-finger on him, do you understand? He's n-not the b-b-baby you lost, that's a theory you've m-made up in your head, it's a c-connection that d-doesn't exist."

"So you say."

" Adam is thirty f-four years old, your b-baby died twenty-two years ago, do the f-fucking m-math, you're ten years off you f-fucking lunatic!"

Dr. Lecter crossed his legs at this and let out a long suffering sigh, as though he was explaining something of vast importance and complexity to a dull dog. Nigel couldn't understand this reasoning, he made this connection during a knotting high of all things, and for fuck's sake, it's not like Adam didn't have different parents, just how in the hell was this bitch believing in this lie he told himself?

"I don't expect you to understand the mutable, changeable fabric that is reality, Nigel. Adam is my child. I don't expect you to understand how or why, it is enough that I know it. This is a lesson of physics, not one of small minded reasoning."

"Just f-fucking listen, I'm t-telling you what I understand to be t-true. When Adam t-talks about space...Every s-speck of light in the sky is a f-fascination to h-him. He thinks all the t-time, he's so f-fucking h-huge in his h-head, his mind is f-fucking m-monumental and the universe, it's b-billions of times that size. And here w-we are, so small and s-s-stupid and d-doing all we can to h-hurt each other. Those Omegas...I j-just want them to have a ch-chance. I want th-them to b-burn bright, give them back that light that g-got torn out. Is that so w-wrong to y-you? Is that j-just b-being an Alpha b-bastard? I d-don't need your f-f-fucking j-judgement, I do it b-because if I d-didn't the lights would g-go out and all that's l-left is the d-dark and f-f-fuck that shit. Someone has to k-keep them l-lit, you f-fucker. There has to be f-f-fucking h-hope."

He could feel the pain of tears spilling down his cheeks now and he scowled as they froze to his skin, leaving chafed red splotches behind. He hated himself because goddammit he didn't want to be weak in front of this monster. He ground his teeth together tight against the hypothermia, it was making him tired now, and it was hard to focus on much more than the brightness of the light blasting into his eyes. He growled out, "Where the f-fuck are the Omegas?"

Lecter remained calm, so still he could have been carved into place, an ice statue of poise and restraint. "Safe," Lecter assured him. "I rescued them the very night you called Will, when you were still in Romania. There were ninety-seven, not eighty as you had originally thought, and they are now housed in Mainland strongholds, ones that are far from the violence of the Coastline. They were more than happy to assist me in overpowering their captors and rendering a proper punishment. One particularly talented daughter of mine is a heart specialist from Turkey. She was quite good at assisting me in securing the arterial lines from the GSF donors, one had to keep the heart pumping. The donor, of course, was an accountant you had believed was on his way to a Siberian gulag, a Mr. Gregory Masters. He was brought back alive, on pretence of extradition of course, and truly it's amazing how easy it is to transport a mostly unconscious human being on a flight these days, there just isn't that personal touch any more, they churn you in and out of airports, eager to be rid of you. Especially slimy United Main citizens. That particular display originally had Masters corpse propped on the surgical table as well, his chest flayed wide open with the rib cage offering a decorative touch but, sadly, he began to decay due to your delay in arrival. We were concerned the body's rot would affect the continuous life of the heart." He cocked his head at this and regarded Nigel as though he was still a curious object more than a person. "You held that beating heart in your hands. How did it feel to you?"

Nigel frowned, his voice shaking in both rage and hypothermia. "F-Fragile."

Lecter caught his breath at this, his stoicism tested. He clasped his hands tight across his stomach and seemed to brace himself, that old, unbearable hurt still haunting his body.

"You pitied me."

"I know what h-happened to y-you."

"I know nothing of pity!"

Lecter spat with a venom that was unexpectedly vicious. His lower lip trembled as he spoke, fury creeping along his cold facade. "I have an army waiting, Nigel, one that will exact upon this place exactly what it deserves, and I fully intend to express my deepest gratitude to those who volunteer to assist me. You are not to interfere, this is not your fight. It is, however, theirs, no matter how much you may deny this." Lecter held his head high. "Where you see delicate weakness I understand there to be great, enduring strength. The only fragility here, Nigel, is the grip of the Coastline upon archaic values that cause nothing but harm. It must be destroyed."

"S-so you're g-going to s-start a w-war. You d-don't s-see this as overkill, that the wh-whole s-system was g-going to go to sh-shit anyway. You c-could h-have j-just whittled it a-away f-from w-within, started l-lobbies, f-fucking p-protests, it's n-not like the w-world isn't w-watching already and n-now you're going to k-kill more p-people..."

"There was no escaping it, the war is already here. As for death, I am very familiar with its grip." Lecter's eyes glassed over in the near gloom, and Nigel was surprised to note they were black with emotion, devoid of any sense of righteousness. He gave Nigel a careful once over, as though detailing every portion of him into his inward little catalogue and was still fighting to find a category into which he'd fit. "You know what happened to me, all those years ago. You claim to understand that pain."

"I d-don't claim that a-at a-all," Nigel said. He turned away from Lecter's scrutiny, feeling weirdly ashamed beneath it. He was so fucking cold, he felt tired, like he wanted to just curl up into himself and go to sleep. "I'm j-just a w-witness. I just p-pick up all the b-broken p-pieces and hope they c-can f-find a way to not be f-fucked up and smashed any m-more. It d-doesn't w-work that way, though, d-does it?"

Lecter's eyes shimmered black. A flash of red lit an ember inside of him that Nigel was sure came from Hell itself.

"No."

He turned away from Nigel and left his seat, and Nigel was sure this was it, this was the fucking end, the last moments of his existence, he was going to die right now, right this very fucking second. And he put an image of Adam in the forefront of his mind as he clasped his frozen fists tight, the effort stinging with frostbite, and he waited for that scalpel to find its mark at his chest and start carving out his used up, broken heart. Adam, his big blue eyes like twin Earths and his sweet smile and his innocent love for all that the universe revealed to him beyond the pain of their little marble of a prison. Nigel stubbornly reached for him and clung to him with all he had.

But Lecter only paced the length of the cold room, his hand working the button of his suit jacket as he opened it and traced fingers along the inseam. His hands were red, the monster himself finally being affected by the cold.

"When I was a child in Lithuania, I lived in a large, imposing castle that overlooked a small village. The population there thought we were wealthy and I suppose the Lecter name with its royal connotations still held that reputation. But there were cobwebs in most of the rooms and half of one wing was unlivable. We existed in a crumbling empire, old money mostly spent with only a few artefacts left as collateral. It was not an easy life, we were as threadbare as the villagers, just with a loftier view from our version of poverty."

"What is t-this sh-shit?" Nigel asked. "Y-You're telling m-me a f-fucking f-fairy st-story n-now?"

Lecter smiled with an inward fondness, ignoring Nigel's words. "It was my father who taught me to hunt. Meat, food in general, was hard to come by in the village and it was expensive and, as we were royalty and had ample acreage we were free to hunt the grounds at will. I was a small child, only seven years old when one day my father placed a rifle in my hands and bid me to join him. I will never forget the rush of excitement within me when I took down my first deer, nor the exclamation of pride from my father and the warmth of his arms as he held me tight and told me I was a worthy heir to the Lecter legacy. I had a warrior's blood in me, he said. When we brought the deer I had shot home, I did not hesitate to slice its throat after it was hung to bleed it out. I wanted my father to be proud.

I remember my younger sister, Mischa, playing with this hideous, cracked porcelain doll in front of the hearth's fire while my father sat in his wide leather chair by the fireside. He held me curled up in his arms while he talked of ancient battles and wars and the fury of kings. The details of that history are not what is of importance, it was the feel of my father's arms around me, holding out the chill from the encroaching winter. There was no such thing as central heat in that ancient castle, we relied on firewood, and myself the warmth his love afforded. He would smoke cigars as he talked, long thin ones of a make and brand I doubt exists any more. You don't know what that's like, do you, Nigel? That feeling of being warm and secure, the illusion that nothing at all can harm you because you are in the arms of someone so strong and powerful they can snuff out life, a person whose whole existence is dedicated to your future, to your protection."

"My dad was a d-drunk," Nigel chattered, shrugging. Why were they talking about this shit?Just kill me and get it over with, you crazy bitch.

Lecter approached him and crouched down at his knees, his face looking up at Nigel in an unsettling supplication. "You would have saved me. You would have done everything in your power to rescue that injured Omega who had been so cruelly used, you would have killed them all, you would have brought them to slaughter just to make sure I didn't feel afraid. I could have come to you, Nigel Ionescu, and felt that same feeling in your arms that I did so very long ago, a sensation I have never been able to recapture no matter how many times I sink into my dear Will's embrace."

Lecter rose from his knees, his body unfurling in the manner of gently unravelling smoke, a slow ghosting of his nose along Nigel's body, ending with a nostalgic sigh at his neck, poignant longing breathed warm onto Nigel's skin as Lecter deeply scented him.

"You're r-right," Nigel said, swallowing though his throat was so dry it felt like he was downing broken shards of ice. "I w-wouldn't have h-hesitated. I w-would have d-done that for you, if I'd known y-you. We d-do things d-differently in the Eastern Union r-region, f-fuckers like that g-get their p-punishment quickly en-enough. If they h-happen to d-die on their way to Siberia, n-no one cares." Nigel winced as Lecter continued to hover close, his nose close to the pulse of Nigel's neck. "I n-never w-would have l-let you s-suffer like that, I w-would h-have d-done everything in my p-power to keep you s-safe. You must have felt s-so alone. It's no w-wonder you're s-so f-f-f-fucked u-up."

Lecter smiled at this, and lightly caressed Nigel's cheek with the back of his hand, the unexpected heat of his touch making Nigel flinch. "As are you, Nigel."

"Yeah. C-Can't argue th-there."

Lecter continued to scent him and Nigel was frozen, tense and miserable beneath it, the action strangely violating and one he was desperate to cringe away from. The expression on Lecter's face was one of transfixed bliss and Nigel could bear it no longer. "What the f-fuck are you d-doing? Are you f-fucking smelling me? W-Why??"

Lecter closed his eyes and breathed Nigel in deep.

"You smell like my father."

He barely felt the pinprick as it made its mark into the underbelly of his wrist. There was the soft wisp of Lecter's lips on his own, a sharp smile taking back that which he had thought was long abandoned. Nigel fought to stay awake, but the overhead light blasted into a supernova of such brilliance he was plunged headfirst into the heart of a white dwarf.

Somewhere in there, Adam's satellites were spinning along the periphery of the Orion nebula, galaxies so distant from where Nigel found himself he was a grain of desert sand in the Antarctic, he was the last burnt out ember of a comet. He was on a boat, sailing through the wintry debris of the Milky Way, never stopping long enough to get a proper, in depth, look.

~*~

"Sir, would you like a cup of coffee?"

He startled into the question, unable to process it, the young woman staring down at him with a mixture of concern and patience that was not registering into Nigel's reality. He groaned as he wiped his hand across his face, the tiny confines of his seat making him claustrophobic.

"Coffee? What the fuck?"

An elderly woman sitting beside him clucked her disapproval at his foul language and nodded at the stewardess, yes, she would love a cup.

Nigel near jumped from his seat before quickly settling back into it, shocked at the images of clouds outside the tiny window at his elbow. He watched the stewardess amble her way down the aisle of the plane, for he was in the air, that much was clear, his destination a mystery. Was he heading for the United Main or Romania? What the fuck was going on?

"Excuse me," he said to the elderly woman to his left and she was nothing like the sweet Hungarian grandmother who had given him reassuring grasps of his arm in empathy during his first trip. "Where the fuck is this plane going?"

"Sicily," the woman replied, in a clipped, annoyed English accent. She glared at Nigel as though he was a robber set to steal the dusty mints from her purse. "From there, it's a connecting flight to Bucharest, in Romania." She sipped at her coffee leaving coral coloured lipstick on the paper cup. "They reassured you hours ago when they checked your ticket, you kept asking over and over. It's hardly likely you're on the wrong plane. You kept going about how you had to get back to Bucharest, you didn't want to wait."

Sicily, then to Bucharest. He had been tossed on a plane, but how? He had no clue how he'd gotten here, the last he remembered was being drugged in a steel lined room, shivering out his last breath in the cold as Lecter hovered above him in predator purpose, ready to strike.

No...No, that wasn't true. Because the more he thought on it, the more little snippets suddenly erupted into his memory, half formed dreams that had the size and shape of a certain former FBI profiler named Will Graham.

He was alive, somehow, and yet he couldn't remember leaving that small, icy freezer, he could recall nothing of Lecter's actions or voice or even properly regaining consciousness. But he could remember Will Graham, his stance one that Nigel had familiarity with.

He'd been almost bored, that wiry man standing on his front porch, Nigel's glock in hand as he took out the three GSF officers pacing in front of the house, a single bullet between three sets of eyes in quick succession. Will Graham was an excellent shot, and he certainly knew how to wield a gun, a talent he was sure the Omega mate in his midst absolutely adored. He wondered if there would be eye-liner and rounded mounds to both reward and celebrate this victory later.

He remembered rough hands on him, and a gruff voice huffing curses over how heavy and awkward he was in his current, mostly unconscious state. Nigel had been transported into the passenger seat of the GSF van, and it was someone else familiar who had taken control from there on in, a figure that was bulky and booming in his cheer as he began tickling the belly of a happy baby giggling on the front porch.

Jack Crawford. The FBI agent had driven him to the airport.

How deep was the FBI involved in this? Did they know they had crept into bed with the Ripper and he was going to chop their hands clean off if they tried to cop a fucking feel?

"So this is how the story goes, Inspector Nigel Ionescu, of the Politia Romana, went rogue, shot the GSF guards and headed for the warehouses." He turned towards Dr. Lecter, who was holding baby Judith in his arms, her giggling form again tickled by an enamoured Uncle Jack. The bodies of the three GSF bled out on the front steps, blood dripping from one layer to the next in wet splotches onto the white concrete. Nigel's forehead was pressed hard against the passenger window, giving him a good look that he couldn't turn away from no matter how hard he tried to move his muscles.

"The best I could do was a connecting flight, he has a stopover in Sicily before it moves on to Bucharest. You got that script ready for that cop you're going to call?"

Lecter chuckled at this. "Officer Neil Brogan will be more than happy to assist a helpless, distraught Omega nearly caught in the crossfire of an insane inspector from the Romanian police force. You will play your part as well, won't you sweet, little Judith? A baby at my breast and a sense of panic can do wonders when deflecting the investigative attention of a dull Alpha. Don't look at me like that Will, I will not be allowing him to get a grab at them to gentle me, though I'm sure he would love to. He looks the sort who likes a pair of pillows to rest his overly large head on.  As far as being overpowered, I'm sure the bruises you left along the tendons of my neck will suffice enough.  I'm sure Officer Brogan will be quite enraged, Jack, so please ensure he is well on his way, I wouldn't want a squad car showing up at the airport with a homicidal, overly eager police officer ready to take the law into his own hands."

Will was not impressed with this.  "There's no need for you to leave your neck uncovered like this."

"There's nothing like a bit of hinted at violence to temper an Alpha's instincts.  Authenticity is necessary, dear Will.  He does not need to know those bruises occurred from pleasure and not pain."

Dr. Lecter's voice was always clear in his memory, its hypnotic urging breaking through all chemical barriers, the drugs swimming in Nigel's system thick enough to make his plasma shimmer. "I have administered significant amounts of a sedative along with another psychoactive which is referred to colloquially as the zombie cucumber, a Haitian plant known for inducing docile suggestibility. Such an amusing name for such a potent, dangerous drug! It's Latin label, datura stramonium, hardly has the same memorable ring to it. Inspector Ionescu is in a highly suggestible state at present, he will be more mobile by the time you arrive at the airport and getting him onto the plane should not pose a risk, especially since GSF are very eager to get foreign eyes off of United Main soil."

He could hear Will Graham fussing, still arguing over the exposure of Lecter's neck and the annoyance in his voice was irking, as though he'd felt threatened by forces Lecter was imposing on the situation himself.  

"Dear Will, I will hear no further argument, you know the role you are to play, you're supposed to be my inattentive mate." A sincere, affectionate kiss. "Go to the store, as planned, I'll call Officer Brogan about five minutes into your absence. You might as well get some additional ingredients for dinner while you are there, shiitake mushrooms and perhaps some silkie chicken since you are going by the Asian market. Make sure the skin is still on and that it's fresh, it should look quite black. Yes, my dear Will, and watercress, don't forget it."

There was another memory, one disconnected in time from the scenario he had just remembered, where Dr. Lecter's smooth hand had found its way into the side pocket of Nigel's leather jacket, and slid an envelope inside. He was in the white GSF van, then, propped up beside Jack. The passenger window was open. He felt lips on his cheek, and the soft caress of feather light fingers across his brow as the mysterious, oh so delicately sure footed forest creature crept away, back to the front porch drenched in blood. He could hear baby Judith crying, and Dr. Lecter telling her to hush, that Daddy and Uncle Jack would be back soon. Wave bye-bye to the nice man who smells like cigarettes. The van was in motion, and then there were vague snippets, Jack leading him to the passenger loading gate, a helpful airport security guard, a quick ushering into a crowded plane.

Nigel bolted up in his seat, alarming the annoying elderly Englishwoman beside him who offered him up a curse. "You damn near knocked the coffee out me hand!"

"How long have we been on this plane?"

"You're bloody daft, you are, we'll be landing in Sicily in less than twenty minutes, you've been out cold nearly seven hours." She adjusted her glasses on her nose, pushing them up further as she gave him a renewed judgemental glare. "There's something not right about you. You're on the drugs!"

If the way his brain was currently sloshing around in his skull was any indication, she was fucking right. Nigel groaned again, his mouth so dry his tongue was like sandpaper on wood, chunks of sawdust catching in his throat. He coughed roughly into his fist and forced his eyes to remain open, sticky, miserably pained things that they were. Fucking bastards, they'd conned him. Right from the start, pretending all along and watching him sweat, it was all a fucking farce, from Crawford on down. He turned his bleary eye onto the snotty Englishwoman again and begged of her compassion. "Can you please tell the stewardess I need a glass of water?"

"She already came round with the canteen and you didn't want nothing."

"Well, I'm fucking thirsty now."

"Don't use that language on me you little gobshite, serves you right for doing the E. afore you ride a plane, you daft little prick." She began rummaging in the bottom of her purse, pulling out massive wads of tissues before finally finding her prize. "Oi, here, have a glycerin candy, it's for me diabetes but it'll do for you."

He took it from her gratefully, and she kept her rheumy little watery blue eyes on him, judging every crinkle of the wrapper as he shakily took it out of its tiny packaging. He popped it in his mouth, the flood of saccharine orange making him gag.

"I'm visiting family," she said, keeping up a conversation he most definitely didn't want to have. "My sister. She married an Italian police officer, some Inspector Pazzi. Poor thing, really, he doesn't know how expensive her tastes are just yet, but he'll learn when she gets the wandering eye because the diamonds stop dropping. Family. They're right cunts."

Nigel frowned as he patted down the inside of his leather jacket and pulled out the beige linen envelope that Dr. Lecter had tucked there. "You can say that again."

Thankful to see her unpleasant fellow passenger was occupied, the elderly woman put her headphones back on and continued watching the remainder of 'Deadpool'. Nigel shrank in his seat and crouched closer to the window, keeping the envelope secreted. At this point he couldn't trust anyone. He glanced up and down the aisles and, with his paranoia in high gear, he left his seat, annoying his companion yet again as she was forced to take out her earphones and let him out into the aisle. He headed for the washrooms at the front of the plane. He was clumsy, his steps uneven thanks to the drugs in his system and he fought his way up, clutching on the backs of chairs to give him support. By the time he made it to the washroom, he'd earned the elbow bumped ire of everyone in the aisle seats and he could feel their scrutiny on him. It didn't help ease the sense of impending dread still creeping through him.

He went into the tiny washroom and locked the door behind him, sitting on the metal toilet seat as he pulled the envelope out. It was of a heavy sort of paper, similar to linen, expensive and of a high weight count. The paper within it was similar, folded in that exactitude that had Dr. Lecter's fussy imprint all over it.

The script was as careful and as perfect as every move he made, the words upon the page doubly so:

'My dear Nigel,

I am terribly sorry to have put you through this unorthodox methodology in order to arrange our meeting. Making you worry as you did, and sending precious Adam into such a state of panic, it was uncalled for, and I do promise to make it up to you. I must say, you were not quite what I expected, but I am pleased to discover that you have indeed become much more. Like a sampling of post-modern art, you seem simplistic on the surface, and yet there is profound meaning in your messy arrangement of morality and care. You are the screaming popes of Francis Bacon, bringing attention to the rot of that which professes to be infallible. I do enjoy your frank and ugly revelations, they are a refreshing difference to the sidestepping that so many here on the Coastline have deigned to call conversation. They lie to themselves on this shore, as they have done since the United Main became independent two hundred years ago, they feed on that ignorance and perpetuate it. How much easier it is to make money and retain power when no one else is allowed to have it! We live in an unthinking, selfish world, Nigel. I would be remiss not to remind them of that fact. They hate that I expose them. This is the nature of truth, and one must anticipate becoming its martyr.

I had anticipated needing to kill you, but I now believe that would be an unfortunate omission upon this world, for men like you are rare, Nigel Ionescu, and this world so desperately needs you in it. Do tell Adam that I will be in contact with him in future, as I will you. We are family now. Those are bonds tied in permanence.

Yours,

Dr. Hannibal Lecter

PS: The drugs will make you feel a tad paranoid, but only for the first half hour after you regain full consciousness. The effects will diminish quickly once this phase has passed. This is a guideline only, I did have to create a cocktail of pharmaceuticals that may or may not work in the exact capacity I have anticipated. You are a heavy smoker, after all, and nicotine can create adverse affects. Be that as it may, do hurry home to your Omega the minute you set foot on the soil of your beloved Bucharest. I was not lying when I told you Adam is in heat.'

~*~

By the time Nigel arrived in Bucharest, the sun was blasting the sky purple and he still had no idea what day it was or if the sun was setting or rising. At this point, it didn't matter, he needed to get home to his little spaceman and no amount of traffic or highway gridlock was going to stop him. He could feel his breath hitching as the taxi finally made it after cruising for two hours to his shitty neighbourhood and crappy apartment building, the place never so beautiful and blessed, the ugly grey facade sending waves of poignant relief throughout his soul. Nigel paid the cab driver too much money for the frantic ride from the airport to his home, and he dove into the parking lot, past the disturbing graffiti and the image of the tortured Omega, past his beat up Olticit Club, into the elevator and up to his floor and heedless of the sticky coffee that had dried into a black puddle of goop on the elevator tiles. His hands were shaking as he put the various keys into the locks of his apartment, 815B, mixing them up several times before they were summarily opened by someone on the other side, and there, with the door standing wide open and Nigel stepping past the threshold, his darling spaceman, his little angel, his Adam Fucking Raki, staring back at him with bleary, watery blue eyes and a shocked expression as though he was witnessing a fucking mirage.

Oh yes, he could smell it, the delicate flower of his little spaceman angel's suffering, the heat creeping along the sweat of his skin and leaving an unmistakable sweetness in its wake. Nigel tossed off his leather jacket and let it fall to the floor, and stepped out of his shoes and left them in the hall as he wordlessly slammed the front door behind him and paced after Adam, who was slowly backing up down the hall, towards their bedroom. His darling, precious angel was clothed in Nigel's dark blue bathrobe and from what Nigel could gather, nothing else. He'd just showered, no doubt trying to relieve his heat, his poor, sweet little angel, his poor darling, and here he was suffering without his Alpha to take care of him, and dammit, fuck it all, as if Nigel wasn't stripping off his stinking black polo shirt and unzipping the fly of his jeans and yes, they were in the bedroom now. Dear, sweet little spaceman, one tug on that knot on that robe and it all just fell away, didn't it?

And doesn't that feel so good, hands on that taut little body that was tense and yielding all at the same time, and fuck, oh fuck, he was so hard and he just *wanted* so badly, and before he knew it, Nigel was on him, pinning that sweet little spaceman on his back on the mattress, the taste of his skin so delicious on his tongue he could damned well *eat* him.

"N-Nigel..."

"Shh, baby, shh, my darling, I'm doing good things to you right now. Mm, you like it when I do that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Let me do those things you like, darling. Fuck, you smell so good, you taste so fucking good..."

"I missed you..."

"The stars don't shine without you, darling. Let me, oh, let me, Adam...Let me..."

The scent of slick was thick in the air of the bedroom and Nigel was dizzy with want, sliding so easily into place, the boneless writhing of his mate beneath him answering in need. He was fucking a little flame, his spaceman was so hot, and it felt so good being inside, so, fucking good...

A tiny whine of distress and Nigel released his darling's wrists, kissing them in apology, he was so hungry for him, so very fucking needy, he was sorry, he didn't mean to press him down so hard, and Adam's mouth was half open, and panting, and there he was leaning up and stealing Nigel's mouth into a searching kiss, his frantic hands all over Nigel's back and shoulders, kneading the muscles working hard over him.

And holy fuck, the way he tensed as he came, his hot little spaceman on fire like the last gasp of a comet, legs spread wide and head tossed back on that pillow, his throat making those keening noises that told Nigel yes, yes, he liked this, he missed him, how he loved him, kiss him, kiss him again, touch him, touch him like *that*...and then, a sticky warning on Nigel's stomach and Adam was shuddering in his arms, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he was knotted so tight and deep and fuck, the stars were everywhere now, my darling angel, reach out and grab them and let them burn our fingers right the fuck off...

Then Nigel, weeping into his little spaceman darling angel's neck, crying so hard he couldn't catch his breath, and Adam spent and limp in his arms, lost in the boneless floating space where his knotting took him. "I promised you I was coming back, my darling," Nigel sobbed into his skin. "I love you so much. I promise you, I won't do that again. I won't ever. I fucking love you Adam Fucking Raki. That's the universe pulling us together again, can you feel it, darling? That's the stars and moons and planets dancing only for us." He wrapped him tight in a suffocating embrace, content to never let his darling spaceman go. He was spinning out, spilling into him, a relentless wave after wave of pleasure that Adam's body melted in surrender to. "I keep my promises, my darling. Never again. Just you. Just me. The stars and moons and planets and sky. That's all that matters. There's nothing else at all."