SUBLIME, Hannibal Lecter

x. another version of me

She tried to shake off the tension, forcing a wry smile. "That almost sounds like a threat."

Hannibal chuckled softly, a deep sound that echoed in her ears. "A promise, my dear," he corrected. "I don't need to keep you here. You are already staying."

Sloane looked away, fixing her gaze on the rim of the cup abandoned on the nightstand, as if she could hide the lump in her throat there. She had never planned a future like this with anyone. She'd never even thought about it. And now someone else was doing it for her, with her, and doing it with an unsettling kind of certainty.

The doorbell rang. The sound sliced the moment clean in two. Winston barked from the living room, and Fluffy jumped up from the rug, darting toward the door, more alert than any alarm system.

Hannibal smiled. "I'll see who it is. Last time someone rang my doorbell this early, it was a census taker" he chuckled.

Sloane gave a tight smile, sitting up on the bed as she watched Hannibal's back leave the room. Finally, she was alone with her thoughts.

Hannibal left the room, but not before giving Sloane one last glance. As he walked down the hallway, his face slipped back into its usual perfect mask: elegant composure, a polite smile, no trace of what had happened the night before. While he walked, he slid on his best red sweater, Sloane's favorite.

When he opened the door, he found Jack Crawford standing there.

"Jack," he greeted, polite but with a faint, feigned note of surprise.

"Hannibal," Jack replied, his tone harder as he stepped inside. He wasn't sure if he was angrier about Hannibal proposing to Sloane without asking his blessing or about everything he was beginning to believe the man was guilty of.

"What can I do for you?" Hannibal asked gently, as Jack closed the door behind him.

"We need to talk," Jack said without wasting time on pleasantries. His gaze was cold.

The two walked into the living room. Jack had his hands in his pockets as he paced the room. "Abel Gideon fell down a stairwell last night. He was hospitalized. The security guard standing watch has been killed in what appears to be another Chesapeake Ripper murder. Gideon is nowhere to be found."

A slight arch formed in Hannibal's brow. It wasn't surprise, just a calculated expression. "He escaped?" Hannibal suggested, halfway between a question and a statement.

"We know he didn't leave the hospital on his own. His back was broken," Jack shot back, full of skepticism toward Hannibal's false air of innocence. "He was taken by someone... someone who knew him."

The sentence hung between them. For several moments, they just stared at each other in silence, one accusatory, the other unreadable.

Jack broke the silence. "Where were you last night?" he asked.

The ghost of a smirk flickered on Hannibal's lips. Not mocking, just enough to make the question feel almost insulting. "I was here," he said simply.

"All night?"

"Yes."

"Anyone other than yourself that can verify that?" Jack asked, almost amused, as if he already knew the answer would be no. He was sure of Hannibal's guilt, and equally sure he couldn't have done anything to Abel Gideon with Sloane in the house.

But the answer didn't come from Hannibal. It came from behind him. A door had swung open sharply, and Sloane Winters burst into the living room, still barefoot and sleepy. She was wearing the shirt Hannibal had left in the bedroom the night before, which hung down to mid-thigh.