Work Text:
You knew that there had been another. You remembered reading about her: the daughter of the Minnesota Shrike. Though TattleCrime may have not published many articles about her, other news outlets had, and word had traveled fast of the peculiar relationship she shared with an FBI agent and a psychiatrist. It explained why that FBI agent was now possessively hovering around you as you sat in the back of an ambulance, shock blanket over your shoulders.
“It’s okay, stay with me…” he murmured while stroking your hair, as if you were dying rather than bleeding from a rather annoyingly placed gunshot wound in your leg. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. You were far too entranced by the psychiatrist, dressed in a smart three-piece suit, even at a crime scene. There was something behind his eyes, a spark that betrayed the rest of his persona as a carefully crafted costume.
The ease with which he passed by, unnoticed, was impressive. None around him seemed to suspect that anything was amiss. You almost didn’t notice yourself, but you knew too well that that same glint hid in the depths of your eyes as well.
They’d wanted to keep you in a psychiatric facility. At least the female psychiatrist had wanted you to stay. To work through your trauma, she’d said. Thankfully, you were of age and able to legally leave of your own accord.
It wasn’t long before you found him. Baltimore may be a big town, but you knew the types of circles he would most likely run in. High society. Elegance, decadence. He seemed wholly unsurprised to find you hiding in the shadows outside his office, opening the passenger door to his Bentley and gesturing for you to enter.
He’d made you dinner that night, asking how long you’d known and if he should kill you. No, you’d said. You wanted to learn from him. He was the best. He was so far from being found out, no one would ever believe Will Graham. His murders were art. You were nothing more than an excited student.
The next day, he drove you outside the city, to a beautiful house on the edge of a cliff. You found her inside- your sister, not by blood, but by situation. Hannibal explained that he would take care of the two of you, provide you with anything you needed. The house on the cliff was secluded enough that you didn’t have to worry about neighbors poking around, so you weren’t restricted. You fell into a rhythm with Hannibal and Abigail. He would visit whenever he had the chance, bringing food and stocking the kitchen with whatever the two of you had wished for. He’d bring flowers for the two of you. You just had to control your urges for now.
“Do you love Doctor Lecter?” You had questioned Abigail one night, sipping a white wine from Hannibal’s collection straight out of the bottle. You didn’t care that you weren’t old enough to drink. You and Abigail were alone much of the time, and if Hannibal had noticed his depleting wine collection, he hadn’t said anything. Abigail froze, her gaze turning from the television towards you as you took another sip.
“Of course I do,” she answered blankly. “He’s a father figure to me.” You smirked but shot her a pointed glance.
“You know what I mean, Abigail.”
“No,” she finally sighed, settling back against the couch. “No, I don’t love him. Not like you do.” That made you tense up, your hand twitching toward the knife you kept on the table next to you in case of any curious wanderers coming by the house.
“I don’t love, Abigail.” The sentence was flat as you forced yourself to remain calm, taking another sip of your wine. The bottle was nearly half gone. “You forget that I wasn’t the bait Abigail. I was a hunter just as much as my father was.” Abigail scoffed, rearranging the scarf around her neck.
“As if that means you couldn’t love him.” She turned more fully to face you, spreading her legs out in front of her so she was half-lying on the couch. “I see the way you look at him. When he told us that he was preparing a place for all of us, including Will, you told me that night that you wanted to rip Will’s throat out with your teeth.”
“He’s a threat to us,” you hissed. “He’s still FBI. We don’t know if he’s planning to run away with us or if he’s going to turn us all in.” Abigail looked unconvinced.
“Will is coming with us,” she said decidedly. “He wouldn’t do that to Hannibal. And he’s not a threat to us. He’s a threat to you."
You stood up with a huff and retreated to your bedroom.
“Will declined my invitation to run away tonight.” Hannibal had already eaten with Will earlier that night, but he still sat at the table with you. “I smelled Freddie Lounds’s perfume on him tonight. I believe he plans to betray us.” Your blood began boiling. You could hear your pulse in your ears. “You two will come home with me tonight. We will leave tomorrow, but not without Will.” The mention of his name again broke you.
“I fucking told you Abigail,” you yelled as you violently pushed your chair back from the table, raising yourself to your full height before turning on your heel towards the man at the head, his blank expression only fueling your anger more until your vision went red. “And you,” you accused, “you only care about Will, Will, Will, Will. He is nothing! Why do you want him so badly?! Why- why-” your voice began to waver and you felt tears threatening to spill over, but you forced yourself to hold them back. “Why do you love him?” Your grasp on your glass tightened until the glass shattered in your hand, blood dripping as it left gashes on your palm. You threw the few remaining shards to the ground before decidedly walking out the door so that you could stand on the edge of the cliff. You could smell the thunderstorm coming, and you almost wanted it to rain on you. It would be fitting. If the rain came it could wash you clean and you could walk away from all of this, return to your life. No one had suspected you, Hannibal hadn’t faked your death, you had only gone missing. You could return and say that Hannibal had kidnapped you. Or that you’d simply gone traveling and forgot to tell anyone because your family was dead so there was no one else to tell.
Still, you sighed. You knew deep down that you would never be able to leave him. You’d follow him across the world, to prison, to death. Just so long as you could be close to him.
The sound of the glass door sliding open and soft footsteps broke your reverie as you spun to face Abigail, looking almost apologetic and more than a little frightened.
“He wants to speak with you.”
“And he couldn’t come out here to speak with me himself?” You spat back, going to turn back to the cliff and the ocean before she spoke again.
“He said he wanted to speak with you inside. In his bedroom. He- he said to stay out here until it starts to rain or until the screaming stops.” A cold chill ran over you. The insinuation was clear to both of you, and you finally understood the fear painting Abigail’s features. Hannibal was going to kill you for your outburst.
“Thanks, Abigail.” You strode over to her, trying not to let your worry show in your stride. You carefully pulled her into a hug. After all, she had been your sister for all of this time.
“I love you,” she choked out, hands clutching white-knuckled at your jacket.
“I love you too, Abi.” The words felt weird on your tongue, but not untrue. “I’ll tell him to make it quick, so you can come back inside.” With a final smile, you walked back into the house to accept your fate.
You found him as composed as ever, sitting on the edge of his bed. With a sigh, you carefully shut the door behind you and directed your eyes towards the bathroom attached to his room. “Okay, Hannibal. I’m not going to fight you,” you explained. “I accept what I did. Do you want me to go to the bathroom? That might make for easier cleanup, if you were intending to get bloody.” Curiosity shone in his eyes, but his face remained near-expressionless as he replied.
“Why would it get bloody?”
“Okay, so we aren’t going for the blood angle.” You were almost impatient. You knew you shouldn’t egg on your own death, but with each passing moment your resolve was breaking and your self-preservation instinct was pushing its way forward. You really did not want to end up running, because nothing seemed less fun than having Hannibal hunt you. This didn’t have to get more violent than it needed to. “So just snap my neck or something. Just do it, Hannibal. I’m not going to stop you.” A wave of realization came over his features, but you could tell from his eyes that it wasn’t a revelation. It was another carefully calculated move. He had wanted you to be frightened.
“I would never kill you,” he whispered soothingly as he stood up, taking one step towards you with his arm outstretched. You couldn’t help but flinch away from his touch. “I merely told Abigail to wait until the screaming stopped because I did not want you to censor yourself, knowing that she could hear. You deserve your anger, I would never deny you that. You are correct,” he finally closed the distance and cupped your face, angling it so that you were looking up into his maroon eyes. “I have jeopardized our family for Will. But I do not love him.”
“You obviously do.” You pulled yourself out of his grasp, directing your eyes downward. If he wasn’t going to kill you, Abigail shouldn’t have to wait outside. You maneuvered around him to sit down on the edge of his bed, pulling out your phone and sending Abigail a text that you weren’t about to be murdered, so she could come back. You stared at him with a blank expression until you heard the glass door slide again and you were satisfied that Abigail was back. “You do love him. You’re willing to put me, us, in danger so that you can run off with him. We’re just an afterthought.”
“You are mistaken.” His voice seemed almost comforting as he lowered himself, and you expected to feel the bed dip down next to you, but Hannibal instead lowered himself to his knees and knelt in front of you. “If I have affections for someone, I aim to make it obvious. I was not subtle with Alana.” You grimaced at the mention of her name, but he pushed on. “However, I do feel that perhaps I have not made myself as clear as I was afraid to push the object of my affection. I did not want to lose their trust, but I fear they have lost their trust in me.” He paused slightly, taking your hands in his. “Are you aware that Abigail regularly updates me about what goes on here? I believe she told me a few weeks ago that you threatened to rip Will’s throat out with your teeth.”
“Bitch,” you murmured before Hannibal shot you a warning glance. “Sorry. I know. Rude. But she shouldn’t have told you.” You sighed, “your object of affection, just say it’s him. If it’s not then say it’s Alana. Or Abigail, hell, I don’t know.” You pulled your hands away from his to run them through your hair. “I can’t take it anymore, Hannibal. I’d do anything for you. I’d run away with you. I’d go to prison for you. Take the fall for your crimes. Die for you. But I won’t let you lie to me. Just get it the fuck over with, choose them, so I can rest.” Hannibal slowly stood up, nostrils flaring.
“Insolent girl,” he scolded. Before you could even properly register what was happening, Hannibal had picked you up by the waist and thrown you back on the bed, your head hitting the pillows as you stared up at him. He quickly removed his suit jacket, one knee on the bed, threatening to come over to you. “I let you drink my wine, despite you being underage and it being terribly rude of you to do so without asking. I even stocked more of the ones you seemed to like the most. I oblige anything you ask me. I’ve spent thousands on trinkets, jewelry, and dresses just to pull a smile to your face. I place roses on your bedside table.”
“You leave roses for Abigail too,” you accused, pushing yourself up on your elbows so you could look at him better. His hands moved to the buttons on his vest, slowly pushing them through the holes so he could shrug the garment off his shoulders.
“White and yellow roses,” he specified. You narrowed your eyes, trying to search your memory. He was correct. You’d only ever seen white and yellow roses on Abigail’s bedside table. Hannibal had been very insistent on you learning the symbolism of flowers- and if memory served you right, white roses were for innocence and youth while yellow roses signified joy and caring. The flowers left for you began with lavender and morphed into coral, then dark red. The most recent had been mixed white and red.
Love at first sight. Desire. Love. Unity.
“Hannibal,” you breathed, observing him as he carefully began undoing the cuffs on his shirt before moving to unbutton it fully.
“If my other actions have not conveyed my affections clearly, I apologize.” His shirt fell to the floor and you gulped, letting your eyes roam over his arms, chest, and stomach. “If physicality is what you require to understand my compassion for you, physicality is what you shall get.”