SUBLIME, Hannibal Lecter

xiv. Until you

Sloane tensed, her gaze fixed past Beverly, on the city lights. "When we went to investigate Tobias, before he attacked us, Hannibal pretended to be my husband. I thought I'd run right after. But I stayed. And now I don't know what I am to him. A friend? A patient? A colleague? Or..."

"Or someone who makes him forget he's Dr. Lecter for five minutes?" Beverly finished. "Look, you know I'm not the sentimental type. But that night, when you ran from the hospital straight to him... you weren't Agent Winters. You were just Sloane. And he, in his own way, was just Hannibal. I saw you when you hugged. It was disgustingly sweet."

The words hit Sloane harder than she'd admit. She wrapped her arms around herself. "What if I'm wrong? What if I open that door and find a wall?"

"Then you'll have a story to tell my future kids—your honorary nieces and nephews. That time you made out with Hannibal Lecter." Beverly nudged her playfully, but her eyes were soft. "Seriously, Sloane. When you talk about him... you seem alive. Not the usual hyper-controlled version chasing serial killers. I like this Sloane."

Beverly's cat, Sir Reginald (nicknamed Fluffy by Sloane), meowed from the rooftop hatch, interrupting them. Beverly tossed him some sushi rice. "Fluffy agrees."

Sloane chuckled, rubbing her face. "I don't even know what I want. It's all... messy."

"Fuck what you want," Beverly cut in, pointing a chopstick at her. "What matters is how you feel. If he makes you happy—which he does—then you have no reason to ignore it. Stop letting fear paralyze you."

"Easy for you to say. I don't think I've ever seen you scared of emotions."

"Oh no?" Beverly sat straighter, abandoning her food. "Third date with a BAU girl. She dumped me because I said corpses were easier to handle than feelings. I never let myself go after that. Until you."

Sloane stared, surprised. "You never mentioned that."

"Because it hurts. It even hurts to make new friends. Just like it hurts you now." Beverly went back to eating. "But if Hannibal's the one you want to risk it for... do it. Before it's too late."

The wind carried the distant wail of an ambulance. Sloane checked her phone—no messages from Hannibal. Maybe he was still in his office. Or maybe he was waiting for her to reach out. Or maybe he didn't care.

"What if I ruin everything?" she asked, her voice so low Beverly barely caught it.

"Then I'll come clean up the mess," Beverly laughed, then turned serious again. "But you won't. Because when you're with him, you're not the self-sabotaging woman anymore. You're the one who slammed the door in Jack Crawford's face to defend a friend. The one who chased Tobias Budge because you were scared he'd hurt the man you love. The one who makes me think maybe, just maybe, we're not all doomed to end up like the corpses we dissect. But before him? You wouldn't have done any of that. You were always closed off, never letting anything in. Just doing your job."

Sloane looked at her, eyes glistening. "Thanks, Bev."

"Don't thank me. Thank me when you invite me to the wedding." Beverly tossed her a piece of sushi, which Fluffy intercepted midair. "Now help me back inside before I freeze into a popsicle."

. . .

GREENWOOD, DELAWARE

Sloane was jolted awake by heavy knocking, only to find Will Graham on her doorstep. He wanted her to accompany him back to the crime scene from days earlier, and she agreed without question.

They spoke little on the drive, but Will mentioned Hannibal had taken him for brain scans to find the cause of his issues. They'd found nothing. Or rather, Hannibal had hidden what was found. He also explained why he'd woken her—he'd already returned to the scene alone and thought he'd seen a woman under the bed.