Work Text:
Post-Hannibal novel.
The rain in Maryland reached its peak sometime around mid-evening. The clouds spoke of impending thunder. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling were making their steady way up to New York.
They’d been traveling for two weeks. The plan originally had been to catch a plane- it would’ve been far quicker- but driving was safer and time was something they both had in abundance. The pair of them didn’t mind the long, long drive up from South America. Company made it bearable.
They’d been hunkering down in a jacked-up old pickup that Lecter had bought second-hand from a hick yard sale just outside of Montgomery city a few months back. It wasn’t pretty and, being car lovers, the both of them were almost offended with the notion of having to drive it, but enduring a long journey in a well-disguised truck was preferable to being caught and imprisoned. There was a pricey mattress in the bed of the truck. They slept in it when hotels weren’t available and found it agreeable enough.
Starling, during her time with the doctor, had adopted many of his own quirks and habits. In turn, it was only fair he adopt some of hers; it couldn't always be chandeliers and five-star suites and thousand-dollar wines. Dr Lecter had discovered that making love under the stars whilst parked in some rural patch of woodland was both remarkably pedestrian and increasingly satisfying.
They hadn’t intended on staying in Baltimore for any more than half a day, however the turning weather had forced a slight change in their plans. Starling thought it was fitting that the weather had turned determinedly sour just as they’d driven into Maryland. The mood was low all around; Baltimore held bad memories for the both of them.
Surprisingly, it was Lecter himself who had suggested a trip to the old asylum just as they’d driven past the cheery Welcome to Baltimore! road sign.The storm’s short notice meant they hadn’t been able to find a decent hotel and thus they needed to waste the night somehow. The lilting tone of jest had been present in the doctor’s voice but Starling had grown adept at telling when Dr Lecter was or wasn’t joking. Morbid curiosity got the better of the both of them.
So, in the dead of night, they stood before the asylum, soaked through, staring at the gnarled metal gate. She’d been there just once since his escape over a decade ago, when she’d braved a visit to try and find Dr Lecter’s old files. She did not want to go in again.
Dr Lecter, quiet beside her, was within his own head. He too could remember the last time he’d stared down the asylum gates, just as well as he could remember anything.
It’d been what was supposed to have been the first day of the rest of his life. Of course, plans had changed.
Fate had a funny way of presenting itself. Hannibal Lecter supposed he had a good enough grip on reality, yet standing there with Clarice Starling felt just as surreal as anything ever could.
They’d both walked through those grey, looming wrought-iron gates before, but never together.
Public affection wasn’t quite their thing but, just that once, Starling’s hand crept across the space between them and found his. He squeezed. His hands were cool and slick with rainwater.
“Ugly son of a bitch, ain’t it?”
Dr Lecter hummed. “I’m rather surprised it’s still standing.”
“Hardly.”
The gate hung open, half off of its hinges, long broken down by looters and thrill-seeking teenagers. The outer brick was well weathered from decades of storms. Starling remembered the red brick facade as it had been when she’d first visited- it’d reminded her of a prison or an old Victorian workhouse.
She supposed that the asylum almost looked nicer in its decay. It was more colourful, at the very least. Nature had taken hold, with vines of ivy climbing up the plain face of the building and the few areas of stone still exposed were dotted with vibrant graffiti tags and colourful phrases.
“For old times’ sake, Special Agent Starling?”
Her head quirked at the long-gone moniker. “Sure. For old times sake.”
Inside, then. Flashlight on. The main floor was dark and littered with leaves and filth. Through the reception. Past Chilton’s den. Towards the staircase leading to the dungeon. She recalled the cool fear she’d felt in the pit of her stomach the last time she’d visited. Fear of the monsters in the dark. She had the monster beside her, this time, and found that the anxiety didn’t squeeze her throat quite as tight.
“You know,” Starling started as they began to descend, needing desperately to fill the silence, “when I came here last, your old neighbour was squatting in the basement.”
“Hm?”
“Yeah. Sammie had been here the whole time. Or most of it, anyways.”
“You left him alone?”
Starling pursed her lips. “He wasn’t alone,” she spoke softly. And then added, “and, regardless, institutions clearly did him no good. I hadn’t come here for him- I didn’t wanna get involved.”
Dr Lecter hummed thoughtfully. Starling thought she might’ve seen humor in his expression, though it was too dark to tell.
“I wan’ too go to Jesa,” Lecter half-sang, reminiscing.
“I want to go with Christ,” Clarice replied straight. “He’s not here anymore, is he?”
“I’d likely be able to smell him, I’m sure.”
Starling nodded, and then recalled something. “Trans-methyl-hexenoic acid. The smell of schizophrenia.”
He smiled. Almost laughed. “Very good.”
They came down to the long corridor that split off into the orderlies’ room and the cleaning cupboard. They took the left. Starling remembered her first encounter with the cool, calm island that was Barney. She remembered hanging her coat on that exact coat peg- the one closest to the door.
The metal gate was open. They walked straight through. No slamming iron this time.
The long corridor. The one with the cells running down the far wall. Lines and lines of steel bars set into pale brick, like a mouth of rotted teeth.
“I see the conditions have improved,” Lecter remarked dryly.
Starling managed a small smile.
They walked down, side by side. Dr Lecter was closest to the bars. Stay towards the middle of the corridor as you walk down.
Lecter stopped just short at Miggs’ cell. He turned his head slightly. Starling found she couldn’t read his expression. She placed a hand on his arm. “You okay?”
He seemed surprised at the question- amused, even. “I’m just fine, Clarice.” A pause. “Reminiscing.” He could still hear the rush of blood. Could still remember the ways Miggs’ whimpers had echoed off of the walls like dripping water in a cavern. His jagged, obtrusive breathing faltering and slowing and stopping. “Pleasant thoughts to pass the time.”
Starling’s mouth thinned grimly and she walked ahead of him to the last cell. His cell.
It was in even more of a mess than it had been the last time she’d visited. She felt Dr Lecter step up behind her; his presence was like a physical force at her back.
“It’s strange, huh?” she spoke softly.
“Hmm.”
Lecter stepped around her and tried the barred door. It creaked open, jolting a little from rust and disuse. It was even darker within. His cell seemed to suck away light like a void. Starling raised the flashlight and shone it into the space. Still cluttered with mess- his desk had been tipped over at one point and the cot had been torn from the walls. Graffiti covered the brick. The large cartoon penis drew their attention in particular. Lecter’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How charming.”
“I think I preferred your drawings.”
Lecter swung the door open fully.
“I went in there when I came here last,” Clarice said quietly.
He looked back at her, head cocked curiously. “Inside the cell?”
“Yeah. I stood in there for a while.”
“And how did that feel?”
A thoughtful pause. “It felt empty. I couldn't sense any of you in there.”
“Hmm. Perhaps because I left nothing of myself behind.” He glanced at her, pointedly.
“You going in?”
He nodded once. “Care to join me?”
“You know, I think I’ll pass.”
“Very well.” He took a step forward, but glanced back. “Just don’t lock the door behind me, Special Agent Starling.”
“Ex-special agent, remember?”
“Old habits die hard.”
“Well, in that case, don’t start throwing insults at me.”
“Now, I never insulted you, Clarice.”
Starling arched her brow. “You called me a hustling rube and said my shoes were cheap.”
“Ah, but I said I liked your bag.”
“So that cancels it all out?”
“Of course.” He smiled with his teeth. “And, regardless, your shoes have improved.”
“You’re only saying that because you bought them.”
“You wouldn’t wear anything you didn’t approve of, my dear.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t.”
He smiled and then stepped forward into the cell. Starling stepped backward against the wall. She watched him slip into the cover of darkness. He looked so much bigger than the small square of concrete. He always had, in truth. And to think he’d spent so long in that cage- no bigger than that of a dog kennel.
Dr Lecter seemed to be entertaining a similar train of thought. He turned slowly in a circle, head tilted. “Eight years,” he muttered, his tone clipped.
“First place we ever saw each other,” Starling added. He looked up at her and the edges of her lips turned up. “Some first date, huh?”
“It certainly wouldn't have been my first choice. The food was subpar.”
“Should’ve put in a complaint for the chef.”
“Oh, believe me, I did.”
Starling laughed a little and the sound echoed. Lecter realized he hadn’t heard her laugh, not once, during his time in the dungeon. He wasn’t sure he’d seen her smile, either. What an odd sight it was, to see her bright expression in the gloomiest of places.
He turned to face forth in the cage and ran his hand along the metal edge of the food tray. He gave it a small push and it creaked and scraped against the wall, rust flaking away. The sound went straight through Starling. “Deja vu?” she spoke softly.
He looked up at her slowly and a smile spread over his lips. A thought came to him. A memory. He lowered his voice deliberately, attempting to lace it with the gravelly scratch of disuse that it’d once had. “May I see your credentials, Agent Starling?”
She laughed again. How wonderfully morbid. “Sorry, doctor, I’m not supposed to pass you anything.”
“Barney isn’t here, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” A wink. She remembered him winking at her like that, before- he’d been standing in that exact position. “I certainly won’t tell.”
They looked at each other for a moment more and then Starling shook her head, the humor of the moment leaving her. “Get outta there, H. It’s creeping me out.”
He seemed to relax a little and spared no time stepping out of the cell, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. “I'm pleased to know you still prefer me on this side of the bars.”
“Always,” she nodded, her tone surprisingly serious. And then her expression lightened as she took his arm in her hand and they made their way back to the stairs, about ready to ascend from the dungeon and leave Baltimore behind for good.
“Although…” He looked at her, brow raised. “You did look good in prison scrubs.”