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The Small Things

Summary:

Short peek into the life of Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling.

English is not my first language and I don't have a beta reader.

Work Text:

Dr. Hannibal Lecter smoothly pulled up to his driveway and glanced up at the single lighted window and a gentle smile played in the corners of his eyes. He had told Clarice not to wait up, but was self-aware enough to admit a fluttering in his heart that she had. He was just returning from the third of a four-lecture series at the local museum on Lorenzo the Magnificent. Clarice had joined him for the first couple, but having fallen asleep on his shoulder at the second, he advised her that the bed would be much more comfortable to sleep in. She had playfully jabbed him in the ribs but nevertheless opted to sit this one out.
He couldn't fault her. Her education had broadened so much the last few years with him by her side, and she gladly accompanied him to various theatre and culture events and usually enjoyed herself. He would know if she didn't, she was so easy to read.
The weather outside had turned bitterly cold and the house was a warm and welcome reprieve. Hannibal toed off his shoes after carefully closing the door behind him and hung up his coat. Just because the light was on, did not mean she was actually awake and he didn't want to startle her.
He quietly climbed the stairs and slowly entered their room.
Clarice was indeed asleep, with an open Ken Follet laying on her chest. Anybody but Clarice would have been surprised at the soft fondness he regarded her with, only to tilt his head slightly in quiet puzzlement. Clarice was laying on his side of the bed and he was at a loss as to why that should be so. Silently sneaking into the walk-in closet, he quickly and quietly changed into his silk pyjamas before making his way back into their bedroom. One or more of the small noises he inevitably made had woken Clarice and she was sleepy rubbing her eyes.
"Hey H. How was the lecture?" she sleepily asked while scooting over to her side. Her voice always had more of a Southern Twang when she was half-asleep that Hannibal found charming.
"It was a bit long winded and not as stimulating as I would have liked, but pleasurable nonetheless. You don't have to move if you want to sleep on this side my dear" he said approaching the bed.
"No, I kept it warm for you" she said, opening the sheets for him, inviting him in.
"Oh?" he queried as he slid into the wonderfully warm cocoon she had just vacated.
"I know you hate getting into a cold bed when it's cold like this. So I thought I'd warm it up for you" she mumbled snuggling into his chest and nestled her head on his shoulder.
Hannibal was momentary left speechless. It was indeed one of Chilton's many little cruelties and mildly sadistic manoeuvres to keep the dungeon uncomfortably cold and not provide enough blankets. That Clarice not only remembered him mentioning it once, but furthermore acted on it to make it more comfortable for him, moved him almost to tears and he swallowed hard. It was these small acts of kindness, consideration and love that Clarice was so unconsciously generous with that moved him to his very soul.
Pulling her closer to him he breathed her name on her forehead before capturing her lips in a sweet kiss, hoping to convey just how much this small act of hers meant to him. She must have understood, because she smiled into the kiss and cupped his cheek in her palm, wiping the corner of his eye.
"You are the most wondrous creature my dear" he crooned as he rolled her beneath him.
Even though it was already late, and she had been tired enough to fall asleep reading, there was no tiredness in her response to him, and as he endeavoured to show her just how much she meant to him, he quietly thought that he could never show her near enough.
This fierce empathic warrior that chose to love him.