SUBLIME, Hannibal Lecter

x. another version of me

"I can," she snapped, her voice hoarse but laced with irritation. She clutched the fabric instinctively around herself, almost defensively. "I can even tell you what time he turned the damn lights off, if that helps."

For a moment, Jack was silent, not because of her words, but because of the sight before him. He had expected it but hoped it wasn't true. Then his gaze dropped to her ring. Chilton had been telling the truth. His eyes flicked from her to Hannibal, then back again.

Hannibal, meanwhile, was watching her with something like subtle satisfaction. He took a small step closer, almost protective.

Sloane spoke again. "I told you not to come back into my house with these fucking accusations," she said through clenched teeth.

"I'm not accusing him of anything. Only asking his whereabouts," Jack replied, defensive now.

"That's not all you're asking," Hannibal said, with a falsely regretful tone.

The silence that followed was slow, heavy, and intense. Hannibal tilted his head, meeting Jack's eyes, his gaze calm and glacial. Then he turned and left the room.

Jack, however, stayed, staring helplessly at the woman he had once thought of almost as a daughter. Was she truly caught in Hannibal Lecter's web of lies, or was she, deep down, fully aware of the man she was about to marry?

Jack almost hoped he'd never find out.

. . .

The air around Jack had grown thinner, but the air surrounding the B.A.U. building was still heavy, dense with that kind of tension he knew all too well. It wasn't just the weather. It was that feeling that seeps into your bones when something doesn't add up, when reality tells you one thing, but instinct whispers another.

He walked down the brightly lit hallway, each step marked by the sound of his soles against the floor. He hadn't slept. He hadn't been able to since the call from the hospital, since they'd found Abel Gideon's bed empty, except for the guard hanging from the ceiling.

His earlier encounter with Hannibal still burned behind his eyes: too calm, too perfect, as if nothing in the world could touch him. And then there was Sloane. She'd been there too. Defending him.

Jack clenched his jaw as he crossed the threshold of the forensics lab. He needed answers.

If there was one thing years of service had taught him, it was this: the most uncomfortable truths are always the ones hiding behind the most familiar faces.

He'd spent all that time believing Hannibal Lecter was an innocent man and Will Graham the unstable one. The idea that Sloane Winters might be the key to all his questions had never once crossed his mind.

But maybe it was time it did.

That's why he needed the results from the meat samples he'd asked Zeller and Price to analyze.

"Goose, pig, cow," Zeller said, pointing to the various cuts Jack had brought from the dinner the two hadn't attended.

"Not just cow," Price interrupted. "Wagyu beef. There's about hundreds dollars worth right there," he said, pointing it out. "Our Sloane's made quite an impression..." he muttered under his breath.

"How do you know it's not kobe?" Zeller countered, irritating Price.

"Well, all kobe is Wagyu, not all wagyu is kobe," he replied simply.

"Okay" Zeller muttered sarcastically.

"Well, at least we know Dr. Lecter wasn't serving up people," Price added. "And Sloane can sleep soundly." Then he looked at Jack.