Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A seemingly ordinary morning. The sun had barely risen, and the reflection of the FBI’s Quantico facility reflected in perfect sunlight in the side mirrors of Annie’s 2010 White Dodge Challenger.

She flicked down the rear vision mirror and applied her blush colored lipstick, then carefully tucked a stray, blonde ringlet behind her left ear, pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes and got out of her car. Her FBI badge flashed on her belt in the sunlight.

Annie Miller had been transferred from another branch to Jack Crawford’s team in order to help him investigate the elusive Chesapeake Ripper. While the Ripper hadn’t killed anyone in a number of years, Jack was still convinced that the case was far from cold. He further worried that the unexpected silence meant an imminent reappearance. The Chesapeake Ripper had always killed in sounders of two or three. The reason? Unknown, in fact, since the FBI trainee Miriam Lass had disappeared almost two years ago, the case had not progressed much further than piles of empty evidence, and superstition.

Annie was used to working with ghosts. She had solved dozens of cold-cases, applying modern techniques to shelved operations. This was, in fact, almost her only experience with current, or at least more recent killings. The possibility that more information could possibly roll in as she investigated made a knot in her stomach. She was used to having all the facts. She was used to the surprised faces when she’d make arrests that were decades in the making.

That is what attracted Jack Crawford to request her transfer.

He stood in the lobby, checking his watch, waiting impatiently for her arrival. Despite her being twenty-minutes early.

“Agent Crawford?” Her voice asked clearly.

“Agent Miller, welcome to Quantico.” He extended his hand to her and she shook it firmly.

“I must say, I was surprised to learn you were behind my transfer.” She slid her sunglasses back onto the top of her head.

“Well, I read your dossier, very impressive, very impressive.” He gestured they walked toward the behavioral science unit and she followed.

“I am not the only agent that could have done this, I am certain that you have minds and skills under this roof already.” She was dubious of his reasons.

“No, but, we need fresh eyes. We have been working on the Ripper since it started. I worry about us becoming lax, and missing important details. Hence why I asked to borrow you.” He remarked “Your office is this way.”

“Well, I do welcome a challenge.” She agreed, keeping pace with him.

“Why cold cases? I reviewed your history, your military service, then your academy scores, your earlier career on the field as an agent, then you asked to move to cold cases, why?” Jack asked almost too casually for Annie’s liking.

“I didn’t know I was playing twenty questions, Agent Crawford, you wanted my help and I am here, am I not.” Her voice commanded a cease and desist of the conversation.

“Fair enough.” He stopped at a door where a man was installing her name upon it “This is you, take an hour to settle in, I have had all the Ripper case files delivered already.”

“Great, I will get a coffee and get started.” She nodded.

“Call me if you think of, or discover anything.” Jack turned away.

“Who or what was Miriam Lass investigating before she went missing.” Annie asked.

“Box three.”

“I didn’t ask for a location, Agent Crawford, I asked what you thought she was investigating.” There was an air of impatience in her voice.

“Surgical fields, she believed that the Ripper had surgical training, she was investigating a list she had accumulated, it is at the top of box three.” There was a slight sadness in his voice.

“I’ll start there.” She nodded.

“My office is down the hall and to the right.” Jack nodded.

“Understood. I will let you know what I think.” She watched the handyman leave before entering the box-like office. There were several crates on a small table, each labeled with a number scrawled in thick, black marker. She sighed, opening the lid on box three. She was greeted by a photo of Miriam Lass.

She picked up the photo and traced her face with her thumb “Hopefully we figure out what happened to you.” she explained to the photo before pinning it to the board next to her desk. She gave Miriam’s photo a nod before opening a file.

Less than two pages in, her phone rang, disturbing her from her concentration “Hello, Annie Miller speaking?”

“Agent Miller, it’s Jack, there has been a change of plans, I need you up in my office, I need your help on a developing case.” His voice had urgency unfamiliar to his tone.

“On my way.” She hung up frowning.

She made her way to Crawford’s office “Yes, Agent Crawford?” She stood before his desk expectantly.

“Minnesota Shrike, do you know the case?” He slapped a file down in front of her.

“Of course, anyone with a badge or newspaper has heard of the case, what of it?” She wasn’t at all curious, almost bored.

“I want you to help us catch this guy.” Jack nodded.

“I work cold cases, or at least colder. I don’t work on current cases.” She reached over and pushed the file back to him.

“You work on what I tell you to work, Agent Miller.” He slid the case back to her.

“And if I refuse? Sir.” She eyed him. Her blue eyes pierced with their gaze.

“Out of the question. Now a body was found today.” Jack ignored her hesitations.

“As you expect with serial killers, it would be otherwise weird to call them that.” she crossed her arms and tried not to look visibly annoyed.

“Yes, but this one was different, the body was placed back in her bed, in her house, and she wasn’t there this morning when the family reported her missing.”

“That makes it my case and my problem how?” She asked.

“It’s your case because I tell you it is. That is all you need to concern yourself with. You are an agent after all, you wear a badge, you carry a gun, and you trained for this, and hell you worked it for a number of years. You’ll need to brush off your skills and muck in. I have Will Graham helping.” Jack said in a warning tone.

“Is he supposed to mean something to me?” She asked, no longer able to withhold the frustration in her voice.

“Will is different, you’ll meet him soon. He has a mind that can think like a killer.” Jack explained.

“The only people that can think like killers, usually are killers, sir.”

“Before you write him off, you should meet him. He has a way of figuring out the sickos’ designs, and extrapolate the data and tell us what will likely be their undoing.” He continued.
“Sounds like you don’t need me.” She shifted her weight onto her back foot.

Jack slammed his fist on the desk “I was told you weren’t a team player.”

“Yet you requested me anyway. Seems like buyer’s remorse, I will happily go back to my unit in New York.” she frowned. “Try and intimidate me like that again and I will report you.”

“Miller, you are on paper an excellent agent, you could easily work in any department and excel, yet you waste your talents on cold cases, I am trying to understand why.”

“And I told you, it isn’t any of your business. You and I aren’t friends, you and I are colleagues, I don’t want any personal information about you, you're not entitled to any personal information about me, let’s keep it that way. I will work your Shrike case, but I am not happy about it, and I want that on the record that this, is not my department.” She took the file from his desk begrudgingly.

“Stay, Will is on his way up.” Jack insisted.

“Excellent, can’t wait.”

There was a knock on Jack’s door and Will Graham walked in. A pale, unkempt man with a wrinkled shirt and glasses. His beard was likely half a day too long. Annie studied him carefully.

“Ah, Will, perfect timing. This is Agent Annie Miller, I have had her reassigned here to help us with the Ripper case, and temporarily, I am assigning her to the shrike task force.” Jack mentioned.

“Oh, Annie Miller, like, worked on the Zodiac Killer case?” Will asked, extending a hand.

Annie shook it “Yes, that Annie Miller, and before we work together do know that I am unhappy about it and was brought here under seemingly false pretenses to work on the Chesapeake Ripper case. Colder cases are my strong point.”

“Noted. Active field work isn’t for everyone.” Will smiled briefly but didn’t meet her eyes.

Another knock came against the door.

“Ah, Dr. Lecter, come on in.” Jack waved him in.

Annie frowned slightly. There was something extremely off putting about this man in a suit. Something her senses warned her against, something unexplainable. His well pressed, expensive clothes, his slightly tanned skin and a gaze that knew too much all made Annie’s skin crawl.

“I hope I am not late.” Hannibal explained.

“Not at all Doctor, this is Agent Annie Miller, transferred from NYC, here to work on the Shrike case-”

“And the Chesapeake Ripper.” Annie interjected.

“Yes, and the Ripper, and this is Will Graham, a teacher at the FBI training college.” Jack explained “Miller, Graham, this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, psychiatrist”

“A pleasure to meet you both.” Hannibal smiled revealing his white teeth.

“I have already passed my psych evaluation with flying colors, so my guess is you’re not here for me.” Annie remarked, looking at the back of Will’s head “I will be in my office, reading up on my new case, please excuse me.” She nodded at the trio before leaving briskly, the sound of her heels echoing behind her.

“She seems… delightful.” Hannibal tried to be polite.

“She’s pissed off because she was brought here to work cold cases and now she’s working a recent case, there’s probably a specific reason why she doesn’t want to work recent cases and prefers cases in the past. Is she ex-military?” Will asked Jack.

“Yes, she was, she toured Afghanistan a couple of times before joining the FBI.” Jack looked at Will with surprise.

“How did you figure that out?” Hannibal asked with interest.

“Posture. Voice inflection.” Will shrugged, not looking at Hannibal.

“Not fond of eye-contact, are you?”

~

Annie approached Will in front of Garett Jacob Hobbs’ house “Will?” she asked, her voice unable to reach him “Will?” she gently touched his shoulder.

“Sorry, Annie.” He turned to her, his appearance drenched in blood.

“Let me take those.” She took his glasses from his nose and gently cleaned them with a cloth before replacing them, it was an unexpected kindness.

“Thanks…” He managed.

“Go home, clean up, and then we will debrief, though the evidence is pretty clean.” She remarked watching the flurry of officers around them.

“...I…”

“How about I drive you. Come this way.” She guided him to her car.

“Thanks. Why are you being nice to me?” He questioned.

“I am not a monster. I might be a bitch, but I am not heartless. Trauma is a funny thing.” She got in and began driving.

“Why did you leave the military?” Will questioned.

“Trying to make small talk? Don’t bother. We can talk about literally anything else though, like why did you leave homicide?” She questioned him back.

“I struggled to pull the trigger.”

“You just pulled the trigger ten times, so maybe you’re over it?” She smiled at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Maybe.”

“How do you do that thing you do?” She asked after a long pause.

“I’ll tell you that if you tell me why you left the military.” He bargained.

“Oh, a trade? Alright. I left because my unit got blown up. We were doing a supply run and our convoy hit an IED and I was the only one who made it, I had to walk for several hours to get help and I was injured, and it was hard for the hospital to find a donor for me when I needed blood. I’m AB negative. Most hospitals struggle to carry it. Especially field hospitals. After I ended that tour, I decided to leave, I applied to the FBI instead. At least if I get injured in the states they can probably find a donor.” She shrugged.

“Is that the whole story?”

“Yep.” She concluded “Your turn.”

“... I have an overactive imagination, at least that’s what they call it. I can.. Recreate the scenes in my head and anticipate who may have done it and why. It’s like… watching and being a part of a movie adaptation, that’s the best way I can describe it.”

“That must be terrifying?” She looked at him through the mirror again.
“It can be, I can get… lost in the scene if I am not careful.”

“Is that why you’ve never been, oh, what would Katz say real FBI?” she asked, with a half smile.

“Something like that.” Will said with a slight bitterness.

“Is that why Dr. Lecter was called to clear you for active duty?” She pressed.

“Why do you get several sub-questions?” Will chuckled.

“Well, he wasn’t there for me… truthfully he gives me the creeps and I can’t place why.”

“I don’t find him that interesting.” Will watched the scenery change.

“Handy that he was there to save that girl, Abigail, I have to admit. Is it left here?”

“Yeah, left, and then you’ll see my driveway soon, and yes, it was handy, hopefully he did enough to save her.” Will said bitterly.

“Well, I am sure he will let you know when she’s out of surgery.” Annie pulled up beside Will’s house “Are you going to be alright on your own?”

“Yeah, thanks Annie, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~

Will took aim at the paper man at the end of the shooting range firing half a dozen shots into the torso.

Beverly appeared behind him “I didn’t know firearm’s training was a prerequisite for teaching.”

“No but it is for an active field member.” He said as he sat the gun down and took off the earmuffs.

Annie appeared behind them “Katz, Graham,” she nodded “Have you told him, Katz?”

“Told me what, what does Jack want now?” Will asked curiously.

“Jack sent me down to ask you what you know about gardening.” Katz asked with a grin.

“He’s got you working current cases, and not the Ripper, how do you feel about that?” Will asked Annie as they walked to the parking garage.

“I am less than thrilled.” She stated, getting into the driver’s seat.

“Not thrilling enough for you?” He got into the passenger side and buckled up.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Too dangerous?”

“Not my job. Less time for the Ripper case.” She said as she swiped her card against the boom gate’s machine.

“Most people would love to be in this position, instead of stuck behind a desk doing intelligence reconnaissance.” Will remarked as they pulled onto the highway.

“I am not most people, Will.” She said quietly, keeping her eyes on the road.

“No. I didn’t Google you but I am going to make an assumption about you.” He watched her facial expression stay deadpan.

“Go ahead.”

“There’s a cold case you’re really interested in, one that is going nowhere. The top drawer of your desk’s case. That’s why you joined the unit. Your blood story was interesting but it makes less sense when you think about the fact the military would have known that about you and kept a blood match on hand. Tell me about the case?” He watched her shake her head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pulled the car up to the stop lights, the agonizing wait for them to turn green.

“Sibling… no… not sibling, spouse? No, no ring, no ring indent, no tan line. That just leaves… parent.” He watched for any sign that he was correct.

“Let’s keep this professional.” Annie said quietly.

“... Mother?” He pressed.

“You must be so fun at parties, you know that right?” The lights finally turned green and she hit the gas.

“I don’t go to many parties.” Will chuckled.

“Me neither. Waste of time.”

“So what happened to your Mother?” Will pressed.

“I am going to say this once. Stop digging.” She then went quiet for the rest of the trip.

~

“I have never liked mushrooms.” Annie said quietly to Zeller as she watched them bagging evidence.

“This is quite the garden.” Zeller remarked “Do you think he eats them?”

“Don’t be revolting.” Price elbowed him.

Annie ignored them, instead watching Will survey the scene, allowing herself to wonder what it would be like in his head. She watched as he seemed entranced with the scenes before him, bending over each of the victims with a vacant yet callous expression.

Then the body moved.

“Don’t touch him!”

~

Annie returned to her office, opening the top drawer as Will had so eagerly pointed out that her secret would be kept. It contained a single red file. The name Elizabeth Miller stared back at her. Elizabeth was her mother. A dark haired, freckled, brown-eyed woman who had gone missing when Annie was deployed in Afghanistan. Her parents lived in Grafton, West Virginia all her life. When she got the news her mother was missing, the military immediately allowed her safe passage back into the United States. Especially as her father was in the throes of early Alzheimer's and had no one to care for him.

That was 6 years ago this summer.

In that time, she was honorably discharged, cared for her father until she could no longer, and had to place him into a care facility until the day he died. She decided that once he was taken care of, she needed to refocus her energy into something positive. She joined the FBI and after a few years as a field agent, she requested a transfer into the cold case division.

This was her cold case.

There was no evidence that she had run, she hadn’t expressed any dissatisfaction in her life, she was happy, even though her husband’s health was failing. She was always prepared to muck in and do what needed to be done, especially while Annie was deployed.

Annie never sold the house, partly because at one stage or another during her early twenties, she thought she would like to raise her own family within its walls. The other held hope that her mother may return and once again resume her place within it. Part of her couldn’t let go. She packed up their belongings and put them in storage, and she rented the house for short stay accommodation in case she ever fancied living there once more.

She felt that familiar stone of grief. She was confident her mother was dead, rationally at least anyway, but she wasn’t yet prepared to face it as reality until she found a body.

She closed the drawer with a heavy sigh.

“How did Will seem to you when you dropped him off at Hannibal’s?” Jack’s voice cut through the silence.

She jumped and turned “You scared me. He was… spooked, distant even, not unexpected, given what we saw today.”

“You also seem spooked.”

“I was startled by your presence, didn’t anyone ever teach you how to knock?” She retorted.

“Look.” He sighed “I am sorry for throwing you on open cases, but we have them piling up, and if there is a chance we can catch a killer before they kill again, then I would rather pull you from these boxes, than hand you more in cold-case form.”

“I understand, it doesn’t make me happy about it.” She nodded “I haven’t even had time to read one box worth of information yet.”

“There will be plenty of time.” Jack reassured.

“I don’t think so. I think he will start back up soon. Seems about the right season, about the right time of year. His window is opening.” She said carefully.

“And I have every faith that you will help catch him.” Jack nodded, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk. She followed his lead and sat opposite him “but, we can’t keep locking heads.”

“What you consider butting heads is me objecting to your decision to put obstacles in the way of me doing the job you had me come here to do, which really, I could have done in New York and 26 Fed, if you simply couriered these boxes over, but you wanted my full attention.” She looked at him with slight annoyance.

“I understand, but, keep it to yourself. It unsettles the team when they see leadership bicker.”

“I am not bickering with you.” She frowned “If you can’t handle me disagreeing or questioning you, then this isn’t going to work, and I can take these boxes and go back to my office that has an external window.” She smiled almost too sweetly.

“I can get you an office with a window.” Jack interjected.

“With a view of New York?” She answered sarcastically.

“Look, if you haven’t caught him, and you are still unhappy in a month, I will send you back and keep you CC’d on any evidence, do we have a deal?” He offered his hand.

“One month.” She nodded and shook it.

“Good, well, I will let you get to reading.” He stood and went to leave her office.

“And Jack?” She began.

“Yes, Annie?”

“Good night.” she nodded.

~

A lush forest, where mushrooms of all sizes and colors seem to spring from the very ground, their caps glistening with dew. Annie stands silently among them, mesmerized as the mushrooms begin to sway gently, their stems and tops moving in perfect rhythm, as though they are alive in ways the eye can’t fully comprehend. No words are spoken, yet the mushrooms communicate in a language beyond speech—something felt deep within her chest. The sound is not of voices, but a melodic hum, low and resonant, reverberating through the air. It is as if the mushrooms are having a conversation, but their communication pulses through Annie being rather than through sound.

The mushrooms' rhythmic movements become more distinct, almost as if they are telling a story. Their energy swells and ebbs like a silent song. Annie’s heart beats in sync with the hum, and images flicker at the edges of their awareness—visions of ancient forests, hidden roots entwined deep underground, and fleeting flashes of past lives. It feels as though the mushrooms are sharing their ancient wisdom, not with words, but through a deeper, almost primal understanding. Each hum of the mushrooms is a thought, a shared memory of the earth itself, reverberating with timeless secrets. Like a whole-forest brain.

“Where you here all night, Agent Miller?” A voice forced her awake.

She pealed her head from her arm and desk, looking towards the doorway where Hannibal Lecter stood, holding two cups of coffee.

“Good morning.” She said, rubbing her eyes “I must have.”

“Here, you look like you could use this.” He sat the takeaway cup in front of her.

“What time is it?” She took the cup and took a long sip “Did you already buy this, or did you see me, buy this and bring it back?”

“Why?” He asked with a slight smile.

“You got my order right.”

“It was a good guess.” He continued to smile, and yes, I may have seen you sleeping and thought it would be better to wake you with coffee than without.”

“Well, that’s very kind.” She smiled briefly at him, before placing the coffee down and opening her top drawer again, this time finding a wide toothed comb to brush her curls with. Hannibal noticed the file.

“Elizabeth Miller?” He asked softly.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it.” She placed the comb back in the drawer and closed it.

“A relation?”

“My mother.” She nodded.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“You can ask, but I won’t answer.” She stood, checking her watch “Least I am on time for work, thank you for the coffee, I owe you one.”

“If you want to talk about it, here is my card.” Hannibal reached inside his gray suit and pulled out a business card, sitting it on her desk.

“Thank you, but I am fine, and I don’t need to talk about it.” Annie tried not to sound defensive.

“...Whatever grief is in that drawer, don’t underestimate its hold on you, don’t let it consume you.” Hannibal said kindly before leaving her door with a friendly nod.

Annie watched him leave with a frown before glancing at his business card and shoving it into her drawer.

Chapter Text

Annie returned to her office, opening the top drawer as Will had so eagerly pointed out that her secret would be kept. It contained a single red file. The name Elizabeth Miller stared back at her. Elizabeth was her mother. A dark haired, freckled, brown-eyed woman who had gone missing when Annie was deployed in Afghanistan. Her parents lived in Grafton, West Virginia all her life. When she got the news her mother was missing, the military immediately allowed her safe passage back into the United States. Especially as her father was in the throes of early Alzheimer's and had no one to care for him.

That was 6 years ago this summer.

In that time, she was honorably discharged, cared for her father until she could no longer, and had to place him into a care facility until the day he died. She decided that once he was taken care of, she needed to refocus her energy into something positive. She joined the FBI while caring for him in his later stages and after a few years as a field agent, she requested a transfer into the cold case division.

This was her cold case.

There was no evidence that she had run, she hadn’t expressed any dissatisfaction in her life, she was happy, even though her husband’s health was failing. She was always prepared to muck in and do what needed to be done, especially while Annie was deployed.

Annie never sold the house, partly because at one stage or another during her early twenties, she thought she would like to raise her own family within its walls. The other held hope that her mother may return and once again resume her place within it. Part of her couldn’t let go. She packed up their belongings and put them in storage, and she rented the house for short stay accommodation in case she ever fancied living there once more.

She felt that familiar stone of grief. She was confident her mother was dead, rationally at least anyway, but she wasn’t yet prepared to face it as reality until she found a body.

She closed the drawer with a heavy sigh.

“How did Will seem to you when you dropped him off at Hannibal’s?” Jack’s voice cut through the silence.

She jumped and turned “You scared me. He was… spooked, distant even, not unexpected, given what we saw today.”

“You also seem spooked.”

“I was startled by your presence; didn’t anyone ever teach you how to knock?” She retorted.

“Look.” He sighed “I am sorry for throwing you on open cases, but we have them piling up, and if there is a chance we can catch a killer before they kill again, then I would rather pull you from these boxes, than hand you more in cold-case form.”

“I understand, it doesn’t make me happy about it.” She nodded “I haven’t even had time to read one box worth of information yet.”

“There will be plenty of time.” Jack reassured.

“I don’t think so. I think he will start back up soon. Seems about the right season, about the right time of year. His window is opening.” She said carefully.

“And I have every faith that you will help catch him.” Jack nodded, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk. She followed his lead and sat opposite him “but, we can’t keep locking heads.”

“What you consider butting heads is me objecting to your decision to put obstacles in the way of me doing the job you had me come here to do, which really, I could have done in New York and 26 Fed, if you simply couriered these boxes over, but you wanted my full attention.” She looked at him with slight annoyance.

“I understand, but, keep it to yourself. It unsettles the team when they see leadership bicker.”

“I am not bickering with you.” She frowned “If you can’t handle me disagreeing or questioning you, then this isn’t going to work, and I can take these boxes and go back to my office that has an external window.” She smiled almost too sweetly.

“I can get you an office with a window.” Jack interjected.

“With a view of New York?” She answered sarcastically.

“Look, if you haven’t caught him, and you are still unhappy in a month, I will send you back and keep you CC’d on any evidence, do we have a deal?” He offered his hand.

“One month.” She nodded and shook it.

“Good, well, I will let you get to reading.” He stood and went to leave her office.

“And Jack?” She began.

“Yes, Annie?”

“Good night.” she nodded.

~

Alush forest, where mushrooms of all sizes and colors seem to spring from the very ground, their caps glistening with dew. The dreamer stands silently among them, mesmerized as the mushrooms begin to sway gently, their stems and tops moving in perfect rhythm, as though they are alive in ways the eye can’t fully comprehend. No words are spoken, yet the mushrooms communicate in a language beyond speech—something felt deep within her chest. The sound is not of voices, but a melodic hum, low and resonant, reverberating through the air. It is as if the mushrooms are having a conversation, but their communication pulses through the dreamer’s being rather than through sound.

The mushrooms' rhythmic movements become more distinct, almost as if they are telling a story. Their energy swells and ebbs like a silent song. Annie’s heart beats in sync with the hum, and images flicker at the edges of their awareness—visions of ancient forests, hidden roots entwined deep underground, and fleeting flashes of past lives. It feels as though the mushrooms are sharing their ancient wisdom, not with words, but through a deeper, almost primal understanding. Each hum of the mushrooms is a thought, a shared memory of the earth itself, reverberating with timeless secrets. Like a whole-forest brain.

“Were you here all night, Agent Miller?” A voice forced her awake.

She pealed her head from her arm and desk, looking towards the doorway where Hannibal Lecter stood, holding two cups of coffee.

“Good morning.” She said, rubbing her eyes “I must have.”

“Here, you look like you could use this.” He sat the takeaway cup in front of her.

“What time is it?” She took the cup and took a long sip “Did you already buy this, or did you see me, buy this and bring it back?”

“Why?” He asked with a slight smile.

“You got my order right.”

“It was a good guess.” He continued to smile, and yes, I may have seen you sleeping and thought it would be better to wake you with coffee than without.” “Well, that’s very kind.” She smiled briefly at him, before placing the coffee down and opening her top drawer again, this time finding a wide toothed comb to brush her curls with. Hannibal noticed the file.

“Elizabeth Miller?” He asked softly.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it.” She placed the comb back in the drawer and closed it.

“A relation?”

“My mother.” She nodded.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“You can ask, but I won’t answer.” She stood, checking her watch “Least I am on time for work, thank you for the coffee, I owe you one.”

“If you want to talk about it, here is my card.” Hannibal reached inside his gray suit and pulled out a business card, sitting it on her desk.

“Thank you, but I am fine, and I don’t need to talk about it.” Annie tried not to sound defensive.

“...Whatever grief is in that drawer, don’t underestimate its hold on you, don’t let it consume you.” Hannibal said kindly before leaving her door with a friendly nod.

Annie watched him leave with a frown before glancing at his business card and shoving it into her drawer.

~

Annie’s office had become a chaotic map of obsession. The once neat space was now consumed by boxes, papers, and photographs, all hastily pinned to the floor-to-ceiling windows, forming a sprawling web of evidence that she had carefully—almost desperately—unpacked over the past few hours. Her curly blond hair, barely held together by a scrunchy, hung loose around her face, strands sticking to her sweaty skin. She was exhausted, her fingers aching from sorting through endless files, each box more overwhelming than the last. Sweat dripped down her temple as she moved from one piece of evidence to the next, trying to piece together a pattern, a connection, a motive—anything that might give her some sense of understanding.

When Annie finally stepped back, she surveyed the wall of evidence that now covered the entire window. A sea of photos, maps, and timelines filled her vision, the red string she’d used to link pieces of the puzzle only adding to the confusion. She should have felt closer to the truth, but instead, she only felt more lost. The cases she had been chasing for months seemed no clearer than when Miriam Lass had first stumbled upon them. The timelines didn’t line up, the motives remained elusive, and the more she looked, the more fragmented the picture became. The silence of the room pressed in on her, amplifying her frustration. The weight of the victims’ faces—each one staring back at her from the photos, their lives reduced to cold evidence—was suffocating. She had spent hours seeking clarity, but now, staring at the mess she’d made, Annie realized that nothing made any more sense than it had when she started.

Annie sat hunched over the stack of case files, her eyes bloodshot from hours of staring at the evidence. The dim light of her office made everything feel heavy and oppressive, like the walls were closing in. She barely noticed when Jack Crawford entered, his boots making the usual soft thud on the worn carpet. His voice was a low rumble, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“Agent Miller?.”

She didn’t look up, her fingers still flipping through the files as if there was something new she might find in the same set of photographs she’d studied a hundred times. "Annie," Jack said again, this time more firmly. "It’s late."

She exhaled sharply, then leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. "I’m fine, Jack. I just need to figure this out."

“You’ve been at it for hours. You're not fine. You’re burned out."

Annie glanced at him finally, her face drawn and pale. "I can't leave it like this. I need to make sense of it. I can't go home until something—anything—clicks."

Jack’s gaze softened, but there was a hard edge in his voice when he spoke. "You’re no good in this case like this. You need rest, Annie. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. It is partly my fault because I keep distracting you from it. Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“I can drive myself.”

“I insist, you’re not safe on the road with this level of exhaustion.” He picked up her bag and offered her, her coat. She sighed and followed him “Where am I driving to? And I will pick you up in the morning.”

“14 High street, it is about 8 blocks from here.” She nodded.

~

The profile Miriam Lass had written on the Chesapeake Ripper was a meticulous collection of observations and theories, a document she had pieced together over the course of her investigation before she vanished. The first paragraph focused on the Ripper’s distinct modus operandi. She had noted that the killer’s surgical precision was consistent across each victim, his method so refined that it seemed deliberate, almost ritualistic. The victims were always found in isolated, but not entirely remote, locations—places where the killer could act without interruption. Miriam had made a point to note the absence of any physical evidence linking the Ripper to the crime scenes: no prints, no hair, no fibers. His ability to remain invisible, to leave no trace of himself, set him apart from other killers. The only thing that was always present was the meticulous nature of the crime itself.

Miriam’s second paragraph delved into the psychology of the Ripper. She had written that he was not motivated by the typical impulses of sexual gratification or power over his victims. There was no sign of emotional involvement with the murders. Instead, she speculated that the Ripper was driven by a need for control and order—his killings almost clinical in nature. Miriam had also considered the possibility that his choice of victims was not entirely random but based on some criteria that remained hidden. The women he selected did not appear to have any obvious commonalities at first glance, but Miriam had begun to hypothesize that they might represent something to the Ripper—perhaps a certain type of woman, or a group he had fixated on. Still, she couldn't make the connection, but she felt sure there was a deeper pattern she had yet to uncover.

The third paragraph shifted to a more personal theory of the Ripper’s identity. Miriam had written about her increasing suspicion that the Chesapeake Ripper might be someone within a professional field—perhaps law enforcement, medicine, or even the criminal justice system. The ease with which the Ripper operated, his ability to control his environment and avoid detection, suggested someone with both intelligence and insider knowledge. She had carefully analyzed each crime scene and noted the lack of mistakes, as if the killer was too composed to slip up. Miriam's theory was not just that he had knowledge of the system, but that he had experience with it—either through direct involvement with police procedures or through a background in medicine that allowed him to perform his acts with such precision.

In the final paragraph, Miriam’s tone shifted slightly, a subtle edge of urgency creeping into her writing. She had written about the killer’s confidence, his apparent calmness in the face of the investigation closing in on him. Miriam believed the Ripper enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game, using the investigation itself as a way to test his intelligence and patience. But what she found most disturbing was the idea that the Ripper had an endgame in mind—something bigger than just the murders themselves. Miriam’s last words in the profile were chilling, almost prophetic: “The Ripper is playing a long game. He will not stop until he is ready to reveal himself, and when he does, it will be on his terms. We must be prepared for whatever comes next.” At the time, those words seemed like the final piece of a puzzle Miriam was desperately trying to solve. They would prove to be the last words anyone would hear from her before she disappeared, her own investigation becoming part of the mystery she had sought to unravel.

Annie traced her hand against the report as she read it deep in thought as she stood leaning against the side of her apartment complex waiting for Jack to pick her up.
Jack tooted his horn and waved her over offering her a coffee as she got into his car.

“Oh, thank you, Agent Crawford.” she looked at him with surprise.

“I think you can call me Jack now.” He chuckled “What have you got there?”

“Miriam Lass’s file, the last one she made before she went missing.”

“I can practically recite that thing.” Jack lamented.

“I would expect nothing less. This was your top-drawer case. The one you kept in the drawer until you put it in the top of the box and gave it to me.” Annie tucked it into the front pocket of her satchel “Now it is my front pocket case.” she smiled briefly and sipped her coffee.

“What have you decided so far?”

“I think she was onto something. Surgeon, or ex surgeon, psychopath, highly intelligent, he knows he’s being investigated, he knows he’s not yet been caught, he probably is taking bigger and bigger risks, peacocking, showing off, but to who or for what, I don’t yet know.”

“And the only way to get new data is if we get another body.” Jack said bitterly as they pulled into his car space.

“Exactly, and lord knows we don’t want that.” Annie sighed “Let’s hope the psychos stay home because of the rain today, so I can muck in again.” she nodded, as they got out of the car and walked into the behavioral science units.

“Extreme weather usually brings the crazies out of the woodwork, unfortunately and by the look of it, I am getting a case right now.” he said pulling his phone.

“The answer is no, I’ll be in my office. Take Will Graham. And Hannibal Lecter, those two have become weirdly close.” Annie said walking away, the soft sound of her heels followed her to her office.

“Annie.” Jack called “Annie?”

“Still no, Jack!” she called, disappearing into her office.

Jack followed “Annie, I am not kidding.”

“Nor am I."

It is a family wipeout.” Jack turned his phone, Annie closed her eyes and spun her chair away.

“I am not interested.” Annie closed her eyes, turning her chair away. “...I don’t do recent crime, and I really can’t do family wipeouts.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Jack frowned.

“Both. Okay? You can bark at me all you want but I am not doing it.”

“...fine…” Jack relented “But I am booking you an appointment with Dr. Lecter.”

~

“The Lost Boys. That’s what they’re calling them in the papers.” Will said, from Hannibal’s balcony “She stole them from their families, poisoned them against their own, insisted this was how families were created, then insisted the only way to lock it in, is to destroy what they had and leave no other option open. Those boys killed their families. And the one that couldn’t, died with them.” Will leaned on the banister.

“It is an incomprehensible crime, to both lose family, and be the hand that destroys it.” Hannibal nodded “come down from there, let’s talk.”

“I like it up here.” Will remarked.

“Feels safe, I gather. You are up there with the view of all the possible ways life could come at you physically, but, I prefer not to strain my neck talking to you, come down.” Hannibal raised a wine glass in Will’s direction.

“Are you bribing me?”

“Well I am not carrying an open wine glass up there.” Hannibal smiled, sitting in one of his leather seats and waited for Will to join the space across from him.

“Thank you for the wine, isn’t it weird that you’re drinking with a patient?”

“Are you my patient or are we having conversations?”

“Yes. I think it is the answer.”

Hannibal’s inside pocket buzzed, and he reached for it in a fluid motion, reading a text from Jack.

“Who is it?” Will asked.

“Jack Crawford.” Hannibal sighed and put down his glass “Sadly I will not be drinking with you, you are no longer my last port of call for the day.”

“I’m not? You’re kicking me out?” Will chuckled.

“No the hour is still yours, it appears I have another client from the FBI.”

“Can I ask who?”

“That would be a breach, especially as this would be an actual client.”

“Oh well, I will eventually guess, so you may as well tell me.” Will smiled, with a cocky smirk falling on his face.

“Drink your wine and grab your coat on the way out.”

~

Hannibal wandered the halls of the FBI in the darkness and stillness of the after hours. The light from Annie’s office spilling out from the gap of her door. He knocked and then opened it wide. Annie had her feet up on her desk and headphones connected to her computer, watching what seemed to be surveillance footage. She looked up.

“I believe we had an appointment.” Hannibal stated.

Annie slid off her headphones “Jack made the appointment, not me.”

Hannibal made himself comfortable in the chair across from her “be that as it may, he made it because he is worried about you.”

“He made it because I spoke back to him because he isn’t allowing me to do the job he brought me here to do, in favor of field work, which I don’t want to do.” Annie sighed.

“Is this to do with the file in your top drawer?” Hannibal probed.

“I work cold cases, by request, and by design, because I don’t want to do field work. He didn’t like that answer, and now he thinks it is because I am… unstable.”

“Do you feel unstable?” Hannibal continued.

“I feel pissed off but that’s a pretty normal emotion to feel when one is being prodded and made to do what they don’t want to do.” Annie continued.

“Why did you stop doing field work?”

“My mother went missing, my dad was ill, and I had to take care of him until he died, and though that I found cold cases, and I formed an interest.”

“You took it for safety so someone would be alive for your father. But now he is gone, why not go back on the field?” Hannibal reached into his backpack “have you eaten?”

“I believe, I didn’t want to go back in the field, is a complete answer, I don’t owe you a why, and no, I have been working.”

“Then I insist you eat with me. Nothing fancy, just a roast roll.” Hannibal pulled out two sandwiches

“Sorry, I am a vegetarian.” Annie smiled.

“That had occurred to me, so, this one is an eggplant roast.” He smiled back and passed her a sandwich.

“So you hedge your bets.” Annie chuckled.

“I did, can you blame me? Please, try it.”

“What if I had told you I was vegan?” Annie unwrapped the sandwich.

“Then we could not be friends.” He chuckled, unwrapping his meat-laden sandwich.

Annie took a bite. “This is delicious. Hey, you used to be a surgeon, right, or am I confused?”

“No, you are correct.”

“And you stopped doing something you loved originally and was probably really good at, do people ask you why?”

“Are you reverse psychoanalyzing me?” Hannibal chuckled between bites.

“I am doing the same thing you have done to me. Frankly, why you changed doesn’t really bother me, or interest me.” she shrugged.

“I was a surgeon, I lost one too many patients, I turned to psychiatry, and I turned my love for being a surgeon into the culinary arts. And there is nothing shameful in anything I said.”

“I didn’t ask about shame.”

“No, but, it's worth mentioning that the things that happened to me in my surgical career, it could have caused me to go into a breakdown of guilt, but it didn’t. I think you did the same, only you haven’t made peace with whatever it is. People died at my hands, because I couldn’t save them, I am sure you have killed before, in the military, you came home, and suddenly… your life falls apart and you choose a safe option and moved off the field into cold cases. Help me understand why?”

“Because my mother went missing and my dad was in poor shape and working a desk job meant I could look after him, until I couldn’t and now I like the desk and I don’t want to go back, satisfied?”

“That wasn’t so hard to say out loud now was it?”

“I didn’t say any of it was difficult. The only difficult part is everyone minding their own business and letting me do my job.” she let out an exacerbated sigh.

“Would the file in your top drawer be part of it?” he gestured.

“It’s my mother’s missing person’s report, never solved, unlikely to be and I accept that.” She finished her sandwich and put the bag in the bin under her desk.

“So you can’t move on because there is unfinished business in this space, and you can’t go back to field work, because you’d be abandoning her.” Hannibal suggested kindly.

“No, I just don’t want to.” she assured him.

“Why don’t you come by my office and we can talk through it?”

“No, thank you, but I have done my therapy when I needed it and I don’t need any more, but if it makes you happy I will keep you on standby if I ever feel like talking about it.”

“I appreciate it. I will tell Jack that there are no issues and he should let you stay on the desk dealing with the cold cases.”

“I would appreciate it.” She nodded “And thank you for dinner.”

“You know we could do dinner again, and talk, it doesn’t have to be formal therapy, besides, I could use the practice cooking vegetarian?”

“Good to know, thank you, Dr. Lecter, but no, and goodnight.”

“Are you not going to go home?” he quizzed further.

“I am a night owl, I like working when it is quiet, when there are fewer disturbances.” she reasoned.

“My mother was a night owl too. She used to say that my sister and I ruined her body clock, my sister was still very young, so she was also up all night and would sleep most of the day.”

“You have a sister?” Annie inquired curiously.

“Her name was Mischa, she passed away when I was ten and she was three, along with our parents. My aunt and uncle raised me.”

“I am sorry to hear of their deaths but I am glad your family was able to raise you.” She said sincerely.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, just me.”

“Well, goodnight, Agent Miller.”

“Goodnight Dr. Lecter.”

Chapter Text

Annie took the Saturday to drive to Grafton to check up on her family property. No one had rented it since the snow started falling, and that suited her fine. She’d hired a local man to keep an eye on it, Fletcher Marshall to keep an eye on it. They were friends a long time ago when Annie was growing up. Fletcher had agreed to meet her to discuss repairs needed, but when she arrived at the house, his car was there but he wasn’t. Fletcher was old, the same age her parents would be. He’d been a life-long family friend, going to Church together every Sunday. He was also one of the only people who had visited her father in the weeks leading up to his passing.

Something more than the cold sent a shiver down her spine. She unclipped her service weapon and stepped into the unlocked house.
“Mr. Marshall? It’s Annie, are you here?” She stepped through the quiet house

She walked through the front door of the small ranch-style house, its familiar yellow exterior now faded slightly by time. Despite the unfamiliar furniture that filled the rooms, a quiet presence of the past lingered. The living room, once dominated by a worn, floral couch and a rocking chair, now held sleek, modern pieces that lacked the comfort of those old, well-loved seats. Yet, the scent of the hardwood floors, polished over the years, stirred memories of childhood laughter. She could still hear her own voice echoing down the hall, calling for dinner.

The kitchen, where she'd spent countless hours after school, now looked foreign with its stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops, but in the corners of her mind, she could almost feel her mother's hands on the old wooden table, rolling dough for cookies. The din of the nearby street outside still reached her ears, faintly muffled through the walls, reminding her of days spent riding bikes down the block with friends, sunburned and carefree.

She wandered down the hallway to her old bedroom. The walls, once plastered with posters of pop stars and tacked-up drawings, were now bare, the wallpaper replaced with a neutral tone that seemed to erase the vibrancy of her youth. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet in a way she remembered, and it was as if the house whispered her name, as it always had. She closed her eyes for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe, and let the flood of childhood memories wash over her—racing through the living room, jumping on the bed, the warmth of her mother’s voice calling from the kitchen.

The furniture had changed, but the essence of the house—its warmth, its history—remained. And for a moment, it was as though the passage of time had bent back on itself, and she was a child again, standing in the very same place, with the echoes of her past dancing softly in the quiet corners of the house.

Now she was walking through it as if expecting a crime scene. She canvased the interior spaces before walking to the outside yard. Their house was a few minutes walk from the beach, and in low tide it looked as though you could walk across it.

Something caught her attention, a large structure on the beach. She approached it slowly, her gun drawn when something moved out of the corner of her eye and cracked something across the back of her head. Causing her to fall into unconsciousness.

Annie didn’t know how long she was out for but awoke to the smell of death stinging her nostrils, and a giant, totem pole of atrocities.

“...what’s going on?” Annie groaned.

“You interrupted me.” An older, male voice pulled her attention.

“...Who are you?” she found herself bound tightly.

“You don’t recognize your old neighbor, Annie?” The man walked slowly toward her, towering over her despite his advanced age and slight frame.

“...Mr. Marshall?” Annie’s lips trembled.

“My, how you have grown up. Your Daddy told me you were training in the FBI, I didn’t believe you’d make it, not after you flunked out of the military when your Mommy went missing.” he spat with a menacing look “You almost missed his funeral because of a case. You didn’t even stick around to eat the finger-sandwiches with the rest of your father’s friends.”

“...What’s wrong with you?” She eyed him and tried to contain her nerves.

“I know what happened to your Mommy, baby girl, do you want to know how I know? Do you see what’s behind me?” He pulled her into a sitting position, then gestured to the structure behind him “Isn’t it beautiful? It is my body of work so to speak. All of these deaths, all by my hand. Do you recognise this face…?” He went up and cupped the head of a woman gently.

“...Mom…?” Annie whispered.

“Oh so you can keep up. Yes, I killed her the night she went missing, you see, I’d lusted after her for years and with your Daddy in mental decline I thought I might be able to convince her to dump his ass and get with me, but she was loyal, oh how she was loyal, she wasn’t interested, so I thought: if I can’t have her, no one can. I buried her on this beach until I was ready to finish what I had started. Say hi to your daughter, Elizabeth.” He used his thumb to move her almost frozen lips “Hi baby girl.” He mocked Annie.

“...You’re sick, you’re evil.” Annie swallowed back tears.

“Yes, I am sure they will write those things for a long time, they’ll remember me and not your mother.” he chuckled “I’d add you to the pole right beside her if I had the room, but sadly all spots are taken, so I’m just going to gut you and leave you out here for them to find, a nice surprise - one of their own.” He pulled a small knife from his pocket and squatted down before her “Seems a shame to waste a pretty face, so I’ll let you keep your neck intact.”

~

Annie awoke some time later, she could hear muffled voices around her. She was unable to take a deep breath due to sand and snow.She felt herself slipping, unable to make words, she tried moving her lips but the sand fell in. She was strangely at peace with the situation, finding herself uncaring if she lived or died.

“...That’s… not part of my design.” She heard the voice of Will Graham above her “Why would I dig up a dozen graves, but leave you buried. Can I get some help over here?” there was the sudden sound of shovels, and the damp dark began to make way for a blinding light “Oh my god, it’s Agent Miller, JACK?! Call an ambulance!” Will’s hands swept the sand off her face, cupping it under her chin “Annie, open your eyes for me.”

“...Hi Will…” She whispered.

“Who did this to you?”

“Fletcher… Marshall…” She struggled to speak. “He killed my mom, she’s on the pole.”

“Don’t worry about the pole, you can’t help the dead right now, stay with me, look at me.” He urged.

“You don’t look well, WIll.” She studied his pale, sweaty face.

“Neither do you.” Will forced a small smile, trying not to look worried.

Annie felt herself being lifted onto a stretcher “She’s got a rare blood type,” she heard Will explain “AB negative.”

“How do you know that?” an EMT asked.

“She told me.”

The last thing Annie remembered was the sound of sirens slowly fading into blackness.

~

Hannibal opened his office door to find Will Graham standing in his waiting room “Will? I wasn’t expecting you?”

“...How did I get here?” He looked as though he had awoken from a dream.

“Come in…” Hannibal ushered him into the office.

“I was in Grafton on a beach, and now I am here, but I wasn’t asleep.”

“Grafton is more than three hours away, you lost time Will. Sit down, I will get you some water.”

“Agent Miller, Annie, she was there, the killer gutted her, she’s in surgery but they’re having a hard time finding enough blood for her.”

“What type of blood does she need?” Hannibal asked curiously.

“AB negative.” Will looked at him “Everyone is getting tested for a match if they don’t already know their blood type.”

“...I am AB Negative, let us go to the hospital, you need to be checked out too, and I can donate while we are there.”

~

Will, Jack and Hannibal sat in the surgical waiting room, awaiting news on Annie. Jack was almost asleep, as was Will. Hannibal was buying a bottle of water from the vending machine when a doctor approached him.

“Hi, are you next of kin for Annie Miller?” She asked.

“No, no, we are just work friends, I don’t believe Agent Miller has any family.” Hannibal walked back toward the waiting room.

“...Huh? That’s very odd then.” the doctor continued.

“I’m sorry?” Hannibal was genuinely confused.

“Well, we ran your blood and it was a perfect match for Ms. Miller's… like… a perfect match, that usually only happens with relatives, siblings mostly, I assumed you might be her older brother or something.” The doctor watched him.

“...How much would it cost for a DNA test?” Hannibal found himself asking.

“They’re quite expensive.” the doctor started “I would need her consent too.”

“I’ll get it.” Hannibal nodded “Jack, Will, we have updates.”

“You can come in and see her now, she’s drowsy but stable.” The doctor led the three of them through to Annie’s room.

“Hi you three.” Annie said with a weak smile.

“Well, you look good for this side of dead.” Will chuckled.

“You almost become your own cold case.” Hannibal found himself examining her face in detail for the first time: blue eyes, blonde hair, pale skin.

“I would murder for a coffee.” Annie smiled.

“I’ll go get it.” Will insisted.

Jack’s phone rang “Ah, it’s my wife, please excuse me, I’ll join you, Will.” and the pair left the room.

Hannibal sat beside Annie’s bed.

“They tell me that you donate some blood for me, thank you. Who’d have thought you’d have the same blood type as me.” Annie remarked with surprise.

“...Yes, quite fortuitous. I am glad you’re alright.”

“I am sure Jack is going to insist I go to therapy for this, frankly, I actually think I want to this time, if you’ll have me?” she looked over to him.

“I would be glad to have you as a patient.” Hannibal smiled softly “As soon as you’re discharged, and you’re ready. I suggest taking some time off.”

“I have a body to bury.” she exhaled.

“You have your Mom to put to rest.” Hannibal nodded.

“No, I put her to rest a long time ago, but now I will have a place to visit her. I’ll bury her next to my father. Where she belongs. Is it strange… I feel… nothing… at the moment.” She looked guilty.

“No, you’re in shock, and you have a cocktail of drugs in your system. Don’t beat yourself up for not immediately grieving.” Hannibal reassured her.

~

Jack was on his way back to Annie’s room when he got another phone call from Price and Zeller.

“Yes?” Jack answered.

“Hey Jack, listen, weirdest thing, Fletcher Marshall confessed to killing and adding Annie’s mother to the pole, Will stated that he even heard her say that she recognized her Mom on the pole, however, we ran the DNA sample on Annie’s file, against all the women on that pole and none of them are a DNA match for Annie.” Zeller explained.

“I think we are wrong, and we need a fresh sample from Annie.” Price was further away from the phone.

“I think… she’s adopted. Or it could be one of those crazy babies swapped at birth stories.” Zeller continued.

“I’ll talk to her.” Jack concluded.

“She could be her father’s kid, and her mother is her stepmother?” Price continued.

“I. Will talk to her.” Jack hung up as he walked back into the room.

“I am sorry to have to ask you this, at this time Annie.” he made himself comfortable in a chair opposite Hannibal.

“What is it, Jack?” Annie frowned.

“We tested your DNA against all the women on that totem pole, none of them match you.” Jack said carefully.

“...I don’t understand, you think I mistakenly ID’d my own mother on that pole, no, not possible, and Mom had a turtle tattoo on the back of her neck.”

“We have a woman with a turtle tattoo on the back of her neck that we can ID as Elizabeth Miller, what I am saying to you is, that her DNA and your DNA are not a match… she can’t possibly be your mother Annie and I am trying to figure out how this has happened.”

Annie looked at Jack in disbelief “Are you asking me if you think I think I am adopted? No, it isn’t possible, they’re my parents.”

“It’s possible they adopted you and never told you…” Hannibal started “there are also more sinister motivations.”

“You think I could have been trafficked? Stolen? No, your lab tests are wrong, do them again.” Annie’s confusion mixed with rage.

“I think this could wait, Jack.” Hannibal found himself saying

“I need to get to the bottom of this.” Jack insisted.

“And I get that, but Fletcher Marshall is arrested, Annie is injured, and she needs to rest.” Hannibal “I insist this waits.”

“Alright, I will take your medical advice, but I will be back, so Annie, if you can think of anything-”

“Get out, Jack.” Annie spat “Just get out.” she rested her head in her hands.

“I will go too.” Hannibal stood “here is my mobile number, please text or call me, at any time.” he sat a sticky note down on her bedside table “Tell the nurses who you do and do not want to visit, they can keep Jack away as long as you like.”

“Thanks, Hannibal.” Annie said sincerely “The doctors said I am lucky it was cold, I would have bled out if it wasn’t for the cold and your donation, they only had a few bags here, and I used all of them, they’re flying some more units to me just in case.”

“I am more than happy to have helped.” Hannibal squeezed her hand “Please text me.”

~

Bedelia sat across from Hannibal in her office, her fingers delicately tracing the rim of her glass as she regarded him with a practiced neutrality. He was uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze focused on the desk between them rather than meeting her eyes. There was an air of nervousness about him, a reclusive quality that wasn’t quite his usual.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Hannibal,” Bedelia remarked, her voice gentle yet probing. “What’s on your mind?”

Hannibal shifted slightly, his fingers tapping on the polished surface of the desk, his gaze momentarily dropping to the untouched wine in front of him. He seemed to be toying with the glass, avoiding her eyes.

“...Can I be candid with you, Bedelia? Maybe a little... insane?” He asked, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

“Of course,” she replied, her brow lifting slightly in curiosity, though her expression remained calm. She knew him too well to think that this would be an idle conversation.
Hannibal hesitated, his fingers twitching. “So, I donated blood to Annie Miller, right?”

“Yes,” Bedelia answered, her voice quiet but encouraging. “You saved her life.”

“Right... well, the doctors told me something strange when she came out of the ward to let us know Annie could have visitors,” Hannibal continued, his voice faltering slightly, as though the weight of his thoughts were heavy on his tongue.

“Oh?” Bedelia’s gaze sharpened, the conversation now holding a different weight.

“They said that my blood type was an extraordinary match... something they would typically see in siblings,” Hannibal explained, his fingers gripping the edge of his glass. “But I don’t have any living siblings. My parents died, and my sister, Mischa... she died when she was only three. I was ten at the time.” He paused, twisting hands, his eyes clouding with distant memories. “It’s... it’s strange, don’t you think?”

Bedelia studied him closely, a quiet understanding in her gaze. “So, what are you thinking?”

Hannibal’s eyes met hers for the first time, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “What if she’s Mischa? What if I’ve been misremembering everything about my past? What if... my memories aren’t mine at all?”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Bedelia processed his words. She watched him carefully, sensing the conflict that stirred within him. After a long, deliberate silence, she asked, her voice soft but insistent, “Tell me what happened, Hannibal. I need to understand.”

Hannibal’s fingers tightened around the glass, his thoughts a tangle of confusion and doubt. “I haven’t told anyone this story, not in years...” he said quietly, his voice betraying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show.

“Take your time, this is a safe place.”

We had a hunting lodge, and we retreated there when the castle become under threat of invasion, a group of lone wolves, a group who abandoned their post, they came to our lodge to get out of the weather, when they came upon myself, my sister, and our parents, they decided that the only way for them to rob us, was to kill my parents. They kept us for several days but then we ran out of food, Mischa was ill, I was ill too but I did all I could to protect her. They took her from me, and from my memory, they cooked her, and they ate her, feeding her to me. It was something I only realized many months later when I was picked up by my aunt and uncle.” Hannibal looked relieved to have the memory off of his chest.

“And you now distrust your memory of events and suspect that maybe it had gone differently. I want you to remember that you were a child through this, and this was almost 30 years ago. It is possible that you were ill, delirious, you were also shocked, grieving and starving.”

“It is possible my mind doesn’t remember what really happened and invented a version of events to fill in a blank, to explain why she wasn’t with me when we were at the orphanage.” Hannibal sighed.

“Yes, it is, did you tell your aunt and uncle this story?”

“I told my aunt after my uncle died.” he nodded.

“What did she say?” Bedelia tilted her head. Vulnerable Hannibal was unnerving to her.

“...it doesn’t matter. My question to you is, what if I did a DNA test to see? Between myself and Annie, to put my mind at ease, would it help, or would it hinder?”

“You would have to get her consent to do so, and how would that conversation play out?”

“I… I don’t know. All I know is… she’s the right age. And when I looked, really looked at her in the hospital bed, she resembles a memory of my mother, but I can’t be sure I am not projecting.”

“My advice to you is to talk with Annie.” Bedelia said decisively.

“It’s complicated, she just found out that the woman she called Mom, the one that has been missing for several years, is not biologically related to her. That just furthers my suspicions.” Hannibal swallowed.

“It may be the ideal time to talk to her. She’s alone. If you are indeed her brother, you both might fill a hole the other has carried for a long time. Fill loneliness.” Bedelia smiled at him.

“And if we aren’t?”

“Then you are no worse off, you can trust your memory once again, and she can move on trying to find her family, discover where she came from and you can help her do that.”

“And if we are?” Hannibal met her eyes. A slight sadness welling in them.

“One bridge at a time.”

~

Annie pulled herself painfully from her hospital bed onto her feet, walking gingerly to the window of her room to watch the snow fall softly across the park nearby.
She took her phone that was charging off the bench, taking painful steps to retrieve the sticky note that Hannibal had left. She texted him.

“Hannibal, it’s Annie.”

“Good morning, Annie, how are you feeling?” came a quick reply.

“Sore. Really sore, and also curious. The doctor said something weird. She said that our blood was too profound of a match, so much so we might be relatives. She encouraged me to reach out and ask for a DNA test… that’s weird isn’t it?”

“I confess she said the same thing to me. I have been wracking my mind as to why that would ever be the case.”

“As have I. Look, is it silly if we did it? I just… I have so many questions. I don’t know where to begin.”

“Of course it isn’t silly, Annie. I agree to do it, if that is what you would like to do, how about I come in?”

“Would you? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Of course, I will be straight in.”

~

Hannibal arrived a short time later, hanging his overcoat on the hook by her door, a few snowflakes falling to the floor.

“Thank you for indulging me.” Annie said from the window she was still standing at.

“Should you be out of bed?” Hannibal asked.

“Probably not.” she confessed, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Let me help you back to bed, please?” He approached her slowly, supporting her under her arms to take the few pain-filled steps to her bed.

“Thanks.” Annie said in a pained strain.

“Let me call the nurse, you are more than uncomfortable.” Hannibal insisted.

Annie shook her head “Not yet, the drugs they give make me feel sleepy and I want to talk to you while I am lucid.”

“OK. Let us be brief then.” Hannibal found himself holding her hand.

“You said you had a sister. Mischa, what happened to her?” Annie asked quietly, squeezing his hand.

“I believe she died along with my parents, but I am starting not to trust my memory.” Hannibal confessed “let me show you something.” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few old photos.

“This is my mother; she would have been about your age when she died. Let me just -” he used his phone to take a photo of Annie with the picture beside her face “Look at the similarities.” he gave his phone to her.

“...You’re right. I never looked like my mother, or my father, they were… darker than me, tanner, dark, thicker hair, I was blonde, and pale, mom used to say that it was probably a throw back to ancestors. I always felt out of place. We were isolated from the rest of their family, I never met grandparents, or aunts or uncles, it was just us three and the Grafton community.” Annie reached for her phone and flicked through photos to show Hannibal.

“In my medical opinion, you are very unlikely to be related to either of these people, you carry none of their dominant traits. None at all.” Hannibal noted.
“I don’t want to get my hopes up.” She swallowed.

“Me neither.” Hannibal smiled kindly.

A nurse joined them “We have enough blood from the both of you, we took blood from Annie at admission so it is untainted by the donations. And we took enough from you, Dr. Lecter. So, we just need you two to sign off.” he passed Annie a clipboard and a pen.

Annie looked at Hannibal for reassurance, he nodded, and she signed, she passed it to him, and he did the same. He stood and handed it back to the nurse.

“Great, we have an onsite DNA tester, so it will be a few hours, maximum tomorrow morning, and we should have results. I have the lab expediting it.”

“Thank you.” Annie nodded.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“She’s in a lot of pain, perhaps something to take the edge off?” Hannibal said caringly.

“Of course, I’ll be right back.” the nurse nodded and then left.

“Hannibal. I am scared.” Annie admitted.

“Talk to me.”

“If you’re my brother, that means I am Mischa, and I have never been Annie Miller, and my whole life is based on a lie, and all of my documents, my name, my awards, my passport, they’re all wrong, they’re all wrong and I am not who I say I am, and-” tears filled her eyes.

“You work for the FBI, your achievements are your own, and they can help us clear up your identity and we can get all the documents swapped over. One hurdle at a time.” he squeezed her hand reassuringly" Besides, you might want to keep the name you have always used.”

“I’ve never liked the name Annie. Something about it felt… wrong. I can’t place it.” She shrugged “This all begs the question as to what happened, if I am not Annie Miller, and if I am Mischa Lecter, how the hell did this all happen.”

“I don’t know. It is something you and I can work on together if it turns out you are who I think you are.”

“And if I am neither? If I am not Annie, nor Mischa?”

“I won’t abandon you. I will help you find out who you are and how you came to be, regardless of the outcome of the test. I promise. It would be my honor.” he assured her.

"I just want to know who I am." She swallowed back tears.

Chapter Text

Hannibal was asleep in the chair beside Annie’s bed. Annie was asleep too when the nurse returned.

“Hey, you two, sorry it is so late, but these are hot off the press. Who wants to open the results?” The kind nurse was carrying a large envelope.

Hannibal stirred, gently shaking Annie “Hey, the results are in.”

“You open them.” She smiled an uncertain smile.

“Ok, if, you’re sure.” He took the envelope and broke the seal. Pulling the paperwork out as the nurse left the room.

There was a long pause, and Annie watched his eyes dart back and forth across the page, anxiety building in her throat.

“With 99% certainty, the samples collected from Annie Miller, and Hannibal Lecter are a genetic match, this lab concludes that they are siblings.” He turned the paperwork around and pointed to the section he was reading.

Annie’s face went white, tears falling silently down her face. She looked up at Hannibal, his face filled with silent tears as well.

“I-” she started but choked.

“You’re Mischa Lecter. You’re my sister.” Hannibal repeated to himself as much as her.

She sobbed suddenly, her hands gripping her wounds and hunching over, her body heaving with grief, confusion and pain. Hannibal felt frozen to the spot, unable to move. His life flashing before his eyes, memories of when Mischa was born, when she walked, when she spoke his name for the first time, now a woman laid in a hospital bed before him, owning the idea of her name for the first time since it was last spoken by him, that night in the hunting lodge.

Slowly, the space between them felt vast and cavernous, he took what seemed like a million steps to be standing near her before wrapping his arms around her shaking, hearing her heart face. His face resting against her hair. Distant memories of when her curls first came in, now a full head of living curls, on a woman, separated from him for what was a lifetime.

“It’s ok, breathe. We will work out what this means later. It doesn’t matter today, you don’t have to make any decisions today. For today, we are together, and you are my sister, and whatever form we choose to be, that fact doesn’t change.” Hannibal whispered.

“How is it possible? How did it happen?” She said through sobs.

“I don’t know. I really… I really don’t know, but it doesn’t matter tonight, tonight, I am your brother, you are my sister, and I am here and you need to heal.” He held her tighter, rocking her from side to side a little, easing her sobs.

Hannibal waited until she was asleep again to return home, deciding to call Bedelia Du Marier from his car.

“Hannibal, it’s late, is everything alright?” Bedelia’s voice came clearly over his car speakers.

“Annie is my sister. She is Mischa. She didn’t die in the hunting lodge. I was wrong. She wasn’t eaten.”

“...Come to my office, immediately.” Bedelia urged.

“OK.” Hannibal didn’t protest, hanging up and changing lanes, and driving with increased speed to Bedelia’s residence. When he arrived, her lights turned on and she was already standing at the door in a silk robe “I am sorry to disturb you.” his eyes were red from tears.

“Come in, don’t be silly. I have some coco in the kitchen.” She gestured and he followed. She passed him a cup as they leaned against the counters.

“So we took the test, and with 99% certainty that she is Mischa Lecter.” Hannibal began after a long draw of coco.

“And how are you reconciling that?” Bedelia prompted.

“Truthfully, I am not. I cannot believe my mind tricked me.” He said truthfully.

“If you were your own patient and they explained to you what you just had to me, what would you say to them.”

Hannibal paused for a moment. “They invented a fantasy that was easier to perceive than reality, and they accepted the facts before them, and the memories and the trauma, and that it is OK to be wrong and discover it was wrong.”

“So allow that same realization, time and space for yourself to decide that it’s OK and that life will just look a little different.” Bedelia sipped her coco.

“Ah, how easy when we compartmentalize.” Hannibal chuckled.

“How does Annie feel?” Bedelia asked.

“Confused, overwhelmed, she doesn’t know who she is anymore.” Hannibal swallowed “And all of it came because she was gutted, like a fish and left on the beach of her childhood home.”

“An unexpected complication that turned fortuitous.” Bedelia shrugged.

“Yes, but now there are more questions than answers. How did she come to be in Grafton, West Virginia, when we were in Lithuania, and she was supposed to be dead.” he exhaled slowly.

“Lucky for the both of you, you have FBI resources. I am sure you will uncover how she came to be in the hospital bed she is laying in. You will discover it together, and it will likely bring you closer, establish your relationship as siblings.” Bedelia nodded.

“What if she doesn’t want that?”

“Then you are no worse off than if she was dead.” She concluded.

“Harsh…” Hannibal watched her curiously.

“Is it not true?”

“It is true, but it is harsh to hear outside of my own head.” He chuckled.

“My advice would be to let her lead. You have gained a sister in all of this, a sister you believe to have been dead for nearly 30 years. She has lost her identity overnight. Whatever truths she held, are gone. Let her rebuild but be there to hold her hand and catch her if she falls.” Bedelia patted his arm.

“This will be an incredible story to tell Jack and Will.” Hannibal sat his empty mug on the sink.

“I am sure it will be. Given Jack’s curiosity, I am sure he will help you get to the bottom of it.”

“Thank you for the coco, and the late night consultation.” Hannibal said fondly.

“I hope you found some of my words helpful.”

~

Hannibal walked past Annie’s office on the way to Jack Crawford’s mere hours after leaving Bedelia’s kitchen. He had called Will Graham to meet him there as well.

“I am sorry for calling such an early, impromptu meeting.” Hannibal explained “There has been a development in my personal life I need to share with you, and then your help with.”

“What’s going on, Hannibal?” Will looked at him in pale confusion.

“Annie and I got a DNA test on the advice of the hospital. It turns out, we are siblings, and her real name is Mischa Lecter. She is seven years my junior, and she has a grave without a body on my estate in Lithuania because she died almost 30 years ago. When she was three. As it turns out, that can’t be the case, and I need your help to find out how she ended up with Elizabeth and Andrew Miller, in Grafton, West Virginia.” Hannibal put the report on Jack’s desk and was met with stunned silence.

“Right. Of course, of course we will help.” Jack nodded “What angle do you think this is?”

“Truthfully Jack, for the first time in my life, I don’t know. I have spent this time thinking she died the night my parents did…and...”

“But there was no body.” Will interjected “why wouldn’t there be her body?”

“...I believed the men that killed my parents.” He paused, “Ate her.” he concluded.

“Ate her, like cannibals?” Jack clarified.

“It was winter, we were snowed in, Mischa had a fever, she was sick, and I believed they thought she would die anyway, they took her, and then all of a sudden there was a meaty soup which years later, dawned on me, could have been my sister.” Hannibal had tears in his eyes “it made the most sense with what I had seen, and there were bones, bones that looked like an infant.”

“You were only a boy.” Jack looked at him with compassion “What happened to the men?”

“We were raided by soldiers and they saved me, but I landed in an orphanage until my Aunt and Uncle could be contacted, then they adopted me to France.”

“We will work this case for you, and Annie… Mischa? What name will she use?” Jack asked.

“I don’t think she knows either.” Hannibal turned to wipe his eyes without Will and Jack seeing.

“... I am speaking out of turn, but how much do we know about Andrew Miller? Could he have any connection to Lithuania?” Will asked.

“It would be as good a place as any to start.” Jack agreed. We start there. Leave it with us Hannibal, we will get to the bottom of this.

“I trust you will, gentlemen.” Hannibal nodded.

“We will need to question Annie; she may want you there.” Jack stood.

“I’ll do it, Jack.” Will offered “No offence but you pissed her off last interaction.”

“She seems to like you, Will, it would be a good fit.” Hannibal nodded “I’ll drive.”

~

Hannibal and Will got to the hospital within the hour and walked up to Annie’s room to find it vacant.

“Excuse me, where did Annie Miller go?” Will asked the front desk.

“Is she not in her room?” The young female nurse looked confused.

“No, no she is not, when was the last time you saw her?” Hannibal demanded.

“I just got here, I haven’t even had the chance to do my rounds.” the nurse said quietly “Go check her room and bathroom, I will let the right people know, maybe she just went outside to go for a walk?”

“No, I don’t think she’s here. Where would she go?” Will asked no one in particular “Home, I’d go home in this case, somewhere that felt familiar at least. I think she’s gone back to the scene of the crime.” Will looked at Hannibal “let’s go.”

“This is my card, call me if you find her.” Hannibal slammed down his card with a handwritten mobile number.

~

Hannibal tried to call ahead to the local law enforcement in Grafton, but it became clear that a snowstorm had damaged their phone lines. He looked frustrated. “You try calling them again, and then call Jack, see if he can’t get a chopper or something, I’ll drive.

“OK, but try to breathe, we will find her.” Will reassured.

“Yes, but she’s barely three days post-surgical, if she pops a stitch, or falls, she could bleed out, and that is increasingly more dangerous, because I can’t donate anymore blood at this stage.”

Hannibal drove as on the speed limits as his nerves allowed, as he sped from the hospital to Grafton. Will managed to get Jack to meet them there with an EMT.

They pulled into the driveway behind Annie’s car and bolted out. The door was ajar, and a silent home greeted them.

A black duffle bag sat on the kitchen counter, a hospital gown and bloodied clothing tossed hap-hazard in a bin beside the oven.

“Annie, it’s Will and Hannibal, where are you?”

A single gunshot rang out, causing both men to jump and look in the direction they thought it came.

“ANNIE?!” Hannibal ran, finding a ladder pulled down to an attic cavity, he climbed it as fast as he could, below him Will tried to ring out with no service.

“Hannibal? What are you doing here?” Annie was standing with a gun draw and pointed at a locked, large, metal safe.

“Oh thank God, we thought, it doesn’t matter, what on Earth are you doing.” Hannibal said with relief “Will, she’s OK, she fired at a safe.”

“What? Move over I am climbing up.” Hannibal moved over, allowing Will to climb up behind him “What’s going on, Annie?”

“Even after Dad died, I never found the key and he couldn’t remember where it was, so I sort of forgot about this thing.” She knelt down gingerly and checked the lock “Could one of you yank this open, I don’t have the strength.”

Will walked over, kneeling beside her and pulled the door open. Within it was a stack of papers, small boxes “Where did you get that gun? We have your service weapon.”

“I keep one in my car as a precaution.” She shrugged.

“You should be in the hospital.” Hannibal scolded.

“Yeah, I couldn’t lay there and keep thinking. I needed to do something.” Annie explained.

“Come here and let me check your stitches at least.” Hannibal joined the pair of them.

Annie sighed, rolling her shirt up, a small amount of blood seeping from her bandages.

“You’ve popped a stitch or two.” He tutted, pulling back the dressing. One, you’re lucky. Let’s get you downstairs, Will and I will bring you the contents of the safe.

Hannibal helped Annie take the ladder back down to the Livingroom, seating her in an armchair “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Yeah, under the sink. There’s a military one in my car, my keys are on the bench, that’d have supplies for stitches.” She tried not to look pained.

“I will get that one.” Hannibal nodded, taking her keys “Will, I am just getting a first aid kit.”

“I am coming down with the first armful.” Will called back, descending the stairs with a handful of papers, he sat them down on the coffee table and went back to retrieve more. Annie watched with curiosity and horror as the coffee table soon filled.

Hannibal returned with the first aid kit “You keep an immaculate car.” he complimented, sitting the box down on the lounge suite, then digging in for supplies “How did you get out here?”

“Uber.” Annie said as if it were a stupid question.

“What were you wearing?” He probed.

“The clothes I was attacked in, and the gown tucked in. Trust me, I paid extra for the driver to take me home.” Annie chuckled slightly.

“Alright, let me have a look at those stitches, come lay down on the couch for me.” he stood with the box and allowed her to lay out, sitting the box on the floor as he knelt beside her.

Annie complied, rolling up her shirt to allow him a full view of the cut from her lower stomach, vertically to under her ribs.

“The skin around this wound is red, I think you might have an infection.” Hannibal noted as he put on gloves and opened an alcohol swab, cleaning the area around her incision “You’ll need IV antibiotics, and this is going to sting but I need to close this.”

“Do what you need to.” Annie nodded.

“Why didn’t you call me, or text, or let anyone know.”

“I feared that if I sent someone else, whatever it was that I needed to find might disappear, go missing, or be taken, my guess is my father didn’t work alone, and that this could be a lot bigger than just me, and I was scared if I sent anything over any kind of device, I could be watched or listened in to. So, I took the chance while the nursing shift was on a swap, to sneak out, so I could get here first.” she winced as Hannibal began stitching.

“I understand, but that is more paranoid than we need to be right now. I think perhaps pain relief, antibiotics and shock have made you more paranoid than usual, but I understand your thinking.” Hannibal explained “Almost done, I am adding an extra couple to reinforce the top few.”

“I just… My plan was to bring it all back and sneak back into bed before anyone noticed.” Annie nodded.

“Then why throw out your hospital robe?” Will asked.

“Excuse me?” Annie frowned.

“You threw out the hospital gown, if you planned to sneak back in, you’d have needed it.”

“It has blood on it, I was going to use the fresh one in the bathroom they left me to have a shower last night, that I didn’t end up using, what are you accusing me of, Will, come out with it.”

“Nothing, Annie, it was just an observation.” Will reassured “Ah, Jack is here.”

“Can I roll my top back down now?” Annie asked.

“Just a second.” Hannibal cut the string “there, you go. You’re free, let me help you sit up, slowly.” He helped her sit up slowly.

Jack burst through the door “Hannibal, Will, Annie!” he called.

“Livingroom!” Called Will.

“Everything OK here?” Jack looked extremely worried; a paramedic came in behind him.

“Yeah, everything is fine, I unlocked the safe in my roof and this is what we found.” Annie gestured at the table.

“She’s popped a stitch, but I have sewn it back, I was a surgeon, but I am worried about infection.” Hannibal spoke with the paramedic.

“Ma’am you should really come back to the hospital.”

“I’ll come, now that I know all of that is in safe hands.” Annie agreed.

“This was reckless of you.” Jack scolded.

“I know. I know.” Annie nodded.

“She was worried someone would take or cover this up.” Will told Jack.

“We will look after all of this. You go back to hospital, go back to bed.” Jack told Annie.

“Could one of you grab my duffle bag?”

“Here.” Will grabbed it and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” Annie nodded.

“We haven’t got a spare ambulance, but we have a car, if you feel you can sit while we drive.” The paramedic concluded.

“Absolutely, I am sorry for the fuss.”

“Check her temperature.” Hannibal told the medic.

“Yes sir.” He responded, using a device to check her temperature “Elevated.”

“She has an infection.” Hannibal sighed.

“I will take good care of her for you, sir.”

“We will all meet you at the hospital, Annie.” Jack nodded.

“Could I have some help standing?” Annie asked Hannibal.

“I will carry you.” Hannibal picked her up easily and walked to the medic’s car.

“...He seems different.” Jack watched them.

“Wouldn’t you be? Finding out what you have? He thought she was dead, now she’s very much alive and he’s… feeling that deeply.” Will watched from Jack’s side.

“What do you think is in these papers?” Jack asked with curiosity.

“I don’t know but she thinks it is important enough to risk her health, so we owe it to her to have a look. Have any evidence boxes in your car?”

“Plenty, I’ll go get some.” Jack stepped out.

Will looked at the pile and sighed. Hannibal soon joined him “Jack is getting some evidence boxes; we will take this back to the FBI and go through it.”

“I would like to join you, once I make sure Annie is safely on antibiotics.” Hannibal nodded.

“Of course, and I will update you.” Will nodded “I’ll ride with Jack.”

“I will see you later.” Hannibal nodded, leaving to follow the medic.

“Here are the boxes. Is Hannibal going to the hospital?” Jack asked as he turned a flattened box into something useful and began to fill it with paperwork.
“Yeah, he wants to look after his sister. I feel as though he feels… partially responsible for her situation.” Will did the same, and several boxes later they were driving to the FBI once again.

“What do you think this is? Do you think it is possible that Mischa and he got separated at orphanages for boys and girls, and he got in contact with his uncle and aunt, and Mischa was regarded as a Jane Doe?” Jack inquired, breaking the silence of the drive.

“Maybe, but why would he remember eating her?” Will retorted.

“Sounds like something someone would make up to taunt him, maybe it was orphanage teasing and he internalized it, and it became his narrative?” Jack offered.

“No, no, I think even at ten Hannibal would be more rational about most things than most people.” Will sighed.

“What do you think then?”

“I think one of the men that killed her parents took her.” He thought “then, I think she was likely rescued by one of the guards that arrested the men, then, I don’t know, maybe she was kept by one of them, or the person who took her got away before they were arrested. Unlikely police would look for a man with a kid in the middle of an attack, he probably used her as cover to get out of Lithuania.”

“It’s possible.”

“Anything is possible.” Will agreed.

“You think any of what we have in the car will explain it?”

“Anything is possible.” Will repeated.

Chapter Text

Hannibal met the team in Jack’s office hours later, looking more tired than usual.

“I have explained what’s going on to Katz, Price and Zeller, and they have all agreed to help us find answers for you and Annie.” Jack explained, the stack of papers from Annie’s safe stacked neatly on a large table.

“Thank you, all of you.” Hannibal nodded.

“Alright, everyone take a stack and start reading. We are looking for birth certificates, travel documents, visas, bank records, or anything else that might be telling.” Jack gestured and each one of the team took a stack and sat down.

“How is Annie?” Price asked Hannibal.

“She has an infection. The staff are confident that she will be OK so long as she doesn’t go wondering.

~

Abigail Hobbs climbed over the walls of the hospital and walked to the street. Summoning an uber to where Annie was staying.

Finding her way to Annie’s room avoiding all staff, she found Annie awake and reading.

“Are you Agent Miller?” Abigail asked from the doorway.

“I am.” Annie looked over “You’re Abigail Hobbs? What are you doing here?” Annie gestured at the chair next to her bed “Come, sit down.”

Abigail complied “I needed to speak to someone, someone that is Will or Hannibal Lecter.”

“There are plenty of FBI agents on active duty you could have spoken to, why come here?”

“It’s about Will and Hannibal, and I remember you as I was loaded up in the ambulance.” Abigail nodded.

“OK, I’m listening.” Annie was more than curious.

“I don’t want you to think I am crazy.” Abigail noted.

“Just start from the beginning.” Annie encouraged.

Abigail swallowed hard “Alana Bloom said that the FBI thinks that whoever called my Dad the morning of my attack, was a serial killer.”

“Yes, that is the running theory. Why? Do you recognise the voice?” Annie studied her face.

“I think the voice was Hannibal Lecter.” Abigail finally found the courage to spit out.

“...That’s a very serious accusation, and one we can’t prove. We have no idea who called, only when and from where.” Annie frowned slightly.

“I know it sounds crazy but…”

“You can trust me, Abigail, whatever it is that you tell me, I will manage.” Annie felt a lump of confusion sit in her throat.

“I can’t tell you.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Is this to do with Nick Boyle’s body?” Annie prompted “Do you know something?”

“I have to go.” Abigail stood up “I am sorry to bother you on your sick bed.”

“Abigail, wait.”

Abigail left as quickly as she had come, leaving Annie to scratch her head over the interaction.

“You should be asleep.” Hannibal’s voice was at the door a few minutes later.

“Yet here we both are.” Annie smiled at him.

“I have a breakthrough for us, I was going to leave it for you, but I am glad you are awake.”

“Antibiotics are making me nauseated when I lay down.” Annie explained.

“A common but annoying side effect.” Hannibal sat in the chair that Abigail had recently abandoned. “Did you just have a visitor?” He noted the slight temperature increase of the cushion.

“The nurse came in and we had a bit of a chat, I’m the only one awake of her patients.” She lied, convincingly.

“Well, here.” Hannibal passed her a file.

“What am I looking at?” Annie asked curiously.

“Elizabeth Miller did indeed birth a daughter she named Annie the same year you were born. We don’t know what happened, but we know that you took her place, we think the original Annie died and provided you with the perfect cover. We just don’t know how you became Annie yet, but it is a start.” Hannibal noted.

“I must have seen this document a thousand times, I used it to enroll in the military, the FBI, get my first driver's license, firearm’s license, college, everything. I only have certified copies though.” She traced the name Annie with her thumb.

“Yes, it was a very effective cover. I, however, have something else to show you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fragile piece of folded paper, handing it to her gently “Be careful, it isn’t in the best shape.”

Annie carefully unfolded it, laying it across the file over her lap, then looked at Hannibal in confusion.

“My apologies, of course you don’t speak Lithuanian. This is your original birth certificate.” Hannibal watched her read it with a slight smile.

“... Our father was a count?” She looked at him with confusion.

“Yes, and by technicality, I am a count. Count Lecter the 8th.” He chuckled.

“All that makes me think of is the Muppet, one ha, ha, ha, two ha, ha, ha. Or Count Dracula” Annie smiled, “What language is this?”

“Lithuanian.” Hannibal nodded. “And I am offended that the American education system allowed you to pull Count the Muppet before Count Dracula.” He chuckled.

“This is not a language I am familiar with.” She traced the words.

“I can teach you, if you like?”

“What is it closest to?”

“What languages do you speak?” he queried.

“Dari, Pashto, they were essential when I was in the military. I learned Latin because of the church but I am rusty.”

“I believe you will pick this up quite quickly then.” He smiled.

“Does that say that our mother’s name is Simonetta?”

“Yes.” Hannibal smiled.

“... Can I be honest?” She paused and looked at Hannibal.

“Yes.”

“Neither of these documents feel like who I am.” She swallowed.

“I understand.”

“What happened to the real Annie, if she is dead she would have had to be buried or disposed of…” She asked.

“That is what the team is trying to figure out.” Hannibal nodded.

“I wonder if there is another body in my backyard.” She lamented.

“It may not be as sinister as we think. Babies die of SIDS all the time, perhaps that is what happened to Annie, and Elizabeth never registered her death out of shame, and you had an identity ready for you because of it.” Hannibal suggested.

“Three-year-olds don’t die of SIDS.” She countered.

“We will get to the bottom of this, I promise.” He held her hand.

“Alright, Count.” She smirked slightly.

“I should also tell you then, that we have a castle.” Hannibal reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone, showing her pictures of their estate.

“...Are we vampires?” She looked at him only half joking.

Hannibal couldn’t help but laugh “Maybe one day, but no. This has been in our family for generations, we are the last two in line, however; unless either of us are planning children.”

“It is enormous…”

“It is.”

“Who looks after it?”

“I have staff.” Hannibal nodded.

“Wait, so you’re like, really rich.” She looked him up and down.

“We are really rich. A portion of the estate has always been kept in your name. I didn’t have the heart to liquidate it. It will be yours when we get your identity confirmed and legalized.”

“I don’t want your money, Hannibal.” she explained.

“It isn’t my money, it has always been your money, your birthright.” Hannibal squeezed her hand “It isn’t like you made yourself into my sister to fleece me, that is impossible, I even got the FBI to run a second test to make sure, and they said it is absolutely certain.”

“Is there any possibility that there was a third child, and I am them?” She asked quietly.

“No. No you are definitely Mischa. You were three when I thought you died, and mother was told she’d never have more children, and she had a procedure that all bar made it certain.”

“This is a lot to take in.” She swallowed.

“Yes, it will continue to be.” He nodded “I wanted to ask what your plans were when you are discharged?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been staying at a hotel paid by the FBI, have you not?”

“Yes, this is a temporary assignment, to help with the Ripper case. Why do you ask?”

“I have many spare rooms at my house, I would be honoured if you would stay with me while you are posted here.” Hannibal offered.

“I feel like that would be overstepping, imposing? I don’t know what word I mean.”

“Who better to look after you than your brother who was also a surgeon, and is still a doctor.” He felt a sincere smile pull at his cheeks.

“...OK… but if I bother you, or I piss you off, I can leave.” She nodded.

“Unfortunately for you, you are stuck with me now.”

“This is all… really strange, isn’t it?” She said after a quiet pause.

“Well, stranger things have happened.” Hannibal started “But yes, this isn’t how I planned my year going.”

“Nor mine.” She agreed “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yes, and I look forward to hearing it.”

“The doctors said I can leave the day after tomorrow, but I am on a heavy dose of antibiotics for three weeks.” She lamented.

“Then I will pick you up tomorrow, and we will go and get your things from the hotel, and you will come and stay with me.” he smiled at her.

“...Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Your brain invented my death as a way to cope with whatever happened to us. Mine… doesn’t remember at all. Is that normal?” she fiddled with her hospital wristband nervously.

“Not only is it normal, but I am entirely glad you don’t remember it. You were barely three.”

“Will you tell me the story?”

“One day. When I think you’re ready to hear it.” he reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear affectionately.

~

The next day, Hannibal collected Annie from the hospital and drove her home via her hotel room, carrying her three suitcases down to his car for her while she gingerly made her way from place to place.

“I feel as though they discharged you too soon.” Hannibal remarked as they drove to his house.

“You needn’t worry, I have pain relief, antibiotics, and, luckily for me, my job is a desk job so I can have evidence delivered and work from home, a bed even.” She chuckled.

“I am actually relieved you’re a desk agent.” he smiled at her.

“You grilled me for not telling you why I didn’t like the field or want to do it, remember, over a roast roll. You told me that I had put my life on hold because of a dead woman in a drawer, not in those terms, but context clues and all.” She raised her eyebrows at him with a smirk.

“Ah, yes, I was harsh. It is a little different advising a stranger than it will be my own flesh and blood from now on.” he chuckled.

“You were right though.” She sighed “It annoyed me, but you were right. I knew that my… the man that raised me, was going to die. I had come to terms with that, even if it meant leaving the military and doing something else closer to home, it was something manageable, the disease he suffered had instructions. What I was unprepared to… have him die with me alone. For months I expected her to come back, to explain, to say that she couldn’t cope, and I would have forgiven her, of course I would have. However,… she never did, and in the later stages of…” She hesitated “his illness I requested a desk job so I could be on call for the hospice nurse, so I could say goodbye, and then died and I took some leave, came back to the desk and never left.” She shrugged, “You were right about unfinished business.”

“It was pretty easy to solve your mystery in that respect. It is interesting that in a different context, if you weren’t admitted to hospital, if you weren’t in need of blood, if you merely arrived at the crime scene on the beach and found your mother, what we might be talking about in terms of your career.” He pulled into his driveway “This is us.”

“Well, to be honest, being gutted like a fish is a very difficult pain to forget. I don’t know, I have nothing tying me to the desk anymore except the ripper case, and God knows he will start up again and it will become an active investigation with fresh bodies. Maybe I will return to the field. When I feel like my guts can hold itself in… Wow, your house is… impressive.”

“Let me help you inside before I grab your things.” he got out and went to her door, offering his hand to support her.

“Thank you.” she stood with her face screwed up.

“Are you alright?”

“Hurts, but it’s doable. I may need to immediately sit down.”

“I am going to put my arm around your waist to hold a little of your weight, is that OK? Put your arm around me.” Hannibal supported her into his kitchen, helping her onto a stool.

“Thanks. Wow, who would have thought walking would be so hard.” She sighed.

“After what you had happened, you’re lucky you’re just sore now, I’ll make you some tea in a minute.”

“Knock, knock.” Will Graham appeared in the doorway with a bunch of flowers “The door was open, so I came in, sorry to barge in.” He was blushing slightly “These are for you, Annie.”

“Thanks, Will, you shouldn’t have.” She smiled.

“Could I borrow your arms, my friend?” Hannibal asked.

“Of course.” Will followed him to the car, being handed one of Annie’s suitcases “How are you doing with all of this?” He eyed him curiously.

“I have spent many hours of my life wondering what would be different if Mischa or my parents had survived our past, now I finally get a chance to have some semblance of that.” He was smiling a genuine smile.

“I am happy for you, but don’t you think this is rushing it slightly?”

“Not at all. She is my sister after all.” The men walked back into the kitchen to join Annie.

“Thanks Will.” Annie smiled at him.

“No problem, you must feel glad to be out of the hospital?”

“Yeah… It is far from a restful place.”

“Well I hope you find this house restful, so you can get back on your feet quickly.” Hannibal said, pouring three cups for tea, sliding a saucer and cup to Will and then Annie.

~

Annie settled herself into Hannibal’s spare room and spent most of the day resting in bed. Hannibal took patients in his study and checked on her every few hours. Carrying a bowl of soup up to her at the end of the day.

He knocked “Annie? Hey.”

Annie sat up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes “What time is it?”

“It is 7pm, I think you need something in your stomach so you can have your antibiotics, so I made you vegetable soup, completely vegetarian, and easy on your stomach.”

“You brought me soup in bed.” she raised his eyebrows at him.

“Yes, I did, and a pocket full of antibiotics and pain relief, and I thought we could talk if you were up to it?” He sat a tray over her lap.

“Of course.” She patted the other side of the bed.

Hannibal sat beside her. “I want to know what you remember about your early childhood.” He asked kindly.

“Alright. This soup is delicious by the way.”

“I must say, your desire to be vegetarian has me vexed for recipes. Why are you vegetarian?” He quizzed.

“I have always been, as long as I can remember” She tilted her head at him.

“Always?”

“I can’t stand the smell of it raw, or cooking, I can’t stomach the idea of putting it in my mouth again. I have never been big on meat, M…” she paused.

“It is OK if you still call Elizabeth Mom, it is completely understandable.” Hannibal reassured.

“No, the word feels wrong now. Anyway, Elizabeth always said that I was an extremely picky eater, they took me to countless doctors, psychiatrists. Nothing was wrong with me, it was just I couldn’t handle meat in many forms. I would cry, and sit at the table for hours, go hungry, I would throw my sandwiches out at preschool, refuse school lunches, I was a very thin child until they gave up, fed me a vegetarian diet.” She shrugged “Can’t say I have tried meat since I was five.”

“What is your earliest memory of meat then?” Hannibal chuckled.

“I don’t know… I don’t,” she paused between spoonfuls. “I…” she had an expression that suggested she was searching for a memory.

“Annie?”

“I am just… trying to run through my memories. I have a system.” she said quietly.

“Take your time.” He was interested in “Do you have a memory palace?”

“Not quite so grand, more like a library, with a catalog, I learned to store memories that way, and it works. I don’t remember who taught me though, funny thing about that. I remember. I was somewhere I felt like I shouldn’t be. It’s an early memory. It's strange, cloudy, like a blown-out photo, it was in this bowl, a weird soup, thick, awful, someone is feeding it to me and I am spitting it out, throwing a fit. But they’re not angry at me for it, they hush me. They’re young, talking to me but I can’t hear it anymore, I feel like they’re telling me I have to eat because I’m sick and if I don’t eat, I’ll die. Similar, but I can’t hear their voices anymore. I remember the taste, I remember the smell, I remember feeling as though I am not right for eating it. Like it was cursed, or poisoned or off, just wrong. Every now and then, I smell that smell again and it churns my stomach.” She took another mouthful of soup.

“I use the same method of memory; I believe our parents taught us how to do it but not even I remember how they taught it.” Hannibal explained.

“Interesting, a very good method for remembering information for tests, and intel for strikes and seizes in my case. I was very good at remembering where bombs were found on maps, and in the end, it didn’t help me. There was one we didn’t know about, and my convoy drove right over it…” she reflected, unemotionally “Still, I have never lost a bar quiz.” she smiled.

“Unfortunately, vast information and memories are only good at prediction, not certainty.” Hannibal explained.

“Did it answer your question as to why I am vegetarian though?” She put the empty bowl on the tray.

“When do you smell this… memory smell of yours?” Hannibal probed “Do you remember when the last time you smelled it was?”

“When do I get a line of questioning?” She chuckled, looking at him with their mother’s eyes.

“I’m not done, and your answer isn’t either. I want you to think, now was it a place that would explain the smell, like a butcher, or was it a place that was unusual, unexplainable?” Hannibal pressed.

“The last time the smell on the outside of my nose matched the memory I have stored, was when I pulled myself free from the burning wreck of one of the vehicles. I was in the second, the first hit the bomb, we hit the first, well, it hit us. I was the only survivor of the first two cares, the third was wiped out by gunfire. I pulled myself out, and it was all I could smell. Turns out, I had second- and third-degree burns, what I was smelling, was my own burnt flesh. It smelled exactly like the memory of that disgusting stew.”

“Like burned, rancid, infected meat?” Hannibal pushed.

“Human. That soup smelled human. Unmistakably so. Every now and again, I think I smell it around meat products and dishes, I guess it means my vegetarianism is accompanied by the fear I might be eating people. As irrational as that sounds.”

“That is a very interesting take on vegetarianism.” Hannibal smiled, but then it faltered “What if there was truth in your fear?”

“My fear of eating people, cannibalism?” She looked at him curiously “Are you about to tell me that we come from a long-forgotten line of cannibals?” She chuckled “Wait. You’re not laughing.”

“You… We, you and me, and maybe a handful of others, probably ate a person, when you were three.” He said calmly.

“Excuse me?” She looked at him with disbelief.

“When you were three, and I was ten, there was an incident in Lithuanian, we were… attacked, it doesn’t matter really what the reason was, but a group of men decided to leave their posts, go AWOL, they came across our hunting lodge, where you, me and our parents were hiding out. We were snowed in, they killed our parents, and up until the DNA results came back, I theorized that we ate you. Clearly, I was mistaken, but I am almost 100% certain that the horrible soup you remember being fed, was human meat. Because it was the only meat available.” He swallowed.

“... You’re joking, please tell me you’re joking.” Her voice failed.

“No, sadly I am not.”

“I need to sit with this information for a minute. Actually no, no, I need to vomit.” She looked pale, her lips began to tremble, and she tried to pull herself out of the bed. “Ah- I can't, it hurts, it hurts…”

“Woah, woah, easy, here.” He handed her a small wastepaper basket.

“I don’t want to vomit in front of you.” she protested.

“Let me hold your hair. It’s OK.” he pulled her hair back allowing her to vomit freely.

She coughed “I wasted your soup.”

“There is more soup for later, do what your body needs you to do.” Hannibal held her hair kindly.

“All these years, an irrational fear-”

“Was built on something you don’t fully remember, exactly, how are you feeling?”

“Nauseated.”

“I can give you something for that.”

“No, it’s psychosomatic, I am sick because of the idea, not sick physically.”

“You are taking this surprisingly well. I expected you to flip out a little.”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t flip out, but if I did, this is what it would look like.” She smiled, Hannibal let go of her hair “thank you for holding my hair.”

“What sort of brother would I be if I allowed you to puke on yourself.”

“Sorry about the puke too.”

“Very normal reaction to a disgusting fact.” He nodded, setting the bin on the ground but in reach “I’ll clean that up in a minute, I am sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, you never need to apologize to me.” He smiled again.

“Right, so fear of meat confirmed, possible cannibalism, also on the table, this is a weird first night even for siblings, right?” She chuckled, then gripped her stomach.

“Your vomiting may have pulled your stitches, may I check?”

“Sure.”

“Lay back for me, and roll up your top.”

Annie complied, and Hannibal checked her wounds “Your surgeon did a nice job on this, you’ll have a scar, but it will be a perfect one, and it looks like your infection is clearing, and good news, no pulled stitches, you’re just sore from the retching and your bruised, cut muscles, though, if you have the urge to vomit, call me, just in case.”

“Do you have anything for nausea?” She asked seriously.

“Yes, your doctor prescribed ondansetron, it’s an anti-nausea medicine, I will get it for you, then you should really have your next dose and some more soup.”

“Could I trouble you for some dry toast instead?” She asked sincerely.

“You can have anything you want; do you want butter?”

“No, just slightly burned white toast if you have any.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Leave the bin, I think I need another round.” Annie smiled weakly.

“Let me get you a hair tie, did you bring any? I can’t say I have them laying around the house.”

“Yeah, I put some in the ensuite.”

Hannibal fetched her a scrunchie before making her some toast and returning to her bedside “I don’t know how anyone can stomach dry bread.”

“Ah, you didn’t grow up a picky eater, this was what I ate when I refused anything else, I hate spreads, butter is not really my favorite either.” she confessed, taking small bites of toast.

“Well, I will take you eating anything at this point now too, let me get your meds.” He opened her pill containers and gave her the dosage; she took it with the glass of water on her bedside.

“Thanks.”

“That little one was the anti-nausea it should kick in first.” He sat next to her again “So we narrowed down why you’re a vegetarian, and I told you about where we were separated, so, it occurs to me that neither of us know anything about the last thirty years.”

“That’s true. So, we got separated and I ended up… well, we are working through that mess, so what happened to you, where did you end up?” She continued to nibble to toast, watching him.

“Our castle became an orphanage, lots of kids around her lost their parents, our uncle, Robert, you would have liked him, and his wife, Lady Murasaki, they came and got me. Well, they sent for me, and then eventually they fought for the castle, and it was put in my name.”

“What happened to our aunt and Uncle?”

“Uncle Robert died; I was about 18.”

“And… Lady Murasaki?” She looked confused.

“A beautiful, younger Japanese woman that Uncle Robert married.”

“Where is she, dead too?”

“I actually have it on good authority that she is very much alive.”

“Alive? Can I meet her?” Annie’s eyes lit up for a few seconds.

“If I knew how to contact her, of course, but we had a falling out after my uncle’s death. We aren’t speaking, so I don’t know. We could look for her.”

“I work for the FBI, pretty sure with a little more information, I could find her. What did you have falling out over?” She probed.

“Nosy.” He chuckled.

“Hey, you just told me I might have eaten a person, I get to ask a few hard-hitting questions.” She reasoned.

“I… may have kissed her, after my uncle died, it was over-stepping, it was wrong.” Hannibal confessed.

“Grief for your Uncle stirred up feelings, I get it, and she sounds like she was much younger, and probably closer to your age, I get it. No judgement.” She gave him a compassionate smile “I take it you’re single.”

“Yes, yourself?”

“I was engaged. My partner got blown up.” She swallowed the last mouthful of toast.

“... Partner… man or…?”

“Woman. I’m bisexual. Happened to fall in love with a woman, we were assigned to the same tour when we met, the first time, then we got on so well we started dating. She actually proposed the night before she died. She was in the first car. I was in the second.” She smiled sadly.

“... I am also bisexual.” Hannibal looked at her curiously.

“I wonder how common that is? Both children being bi?” She considered.

“Not that unusual.”

“So, you’re not interested in anyone. Not even one… Will Graham…?” She smiled at him.

“Alright Mischa, that’s too much probing.” He laughed but she didn't. She looked shocked. “What’s wrong…?”

“You called me Mischa…”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“I am sorry. That was probably a Freudian slip.” He nodded “I won’t do it again.”

“No, it’s ok… It is after all my actual name, maybe I should start using it. At least… between us.”

“Alright, Mischa it is.”

Chapter Text

Miriam Lass stepped cautiously into Hannibal Lecter's office, her eyes scanning the room with the trained precision of an investigator who had learned to read spaces, to see the details that were meant to be overlooked. The office was immaculately organized, a reflection of the man himself—unassuming, yet always meticulously arranged, with no sign of disarray or emotion. She walked past the polished desk, the chairs, and the shelves lined with books and oddities, her boots making no sound on the gleaming floor. But there was something here, something that made her feel as if the air itself was holding its breath.

She wasn’t just here to interview Dr. Lecter; she was here to draw connections, to find the thread that linked him to the Chesapeake Ripper. The case had become an obsession. She'd followed every lead, checked every corner, and yet, the sense of being outpaced by the killer had always been there. But Hannibal? He wasn’t just a suspect in her mind anymore. He was an enigma she was determined to crack.

Her fingers brushed against a stack of papers on the desk, and she paused, her eyes falling on a familiar sketch. The Wound Man. She had seen this drawing before, a chilling image of a body covered in wounds, a kind of grotesque map of the human anatomy. She’d never truly understood the significance of it—until now. Her gut twisted as she studied the lines, the curves of the body marked by dark, deliberate strokes. It was the way the wounds were arranged. The way they looked almost... intentional. Almost like a message.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of a door opening behind her. She turned, her hand still hovering over the drawing, and saw him. Hannibal Lecter, standing in the doorway, his gaze calm and unreadable. He knew what she had found.

Mischa was in the same but different office of time. She stood there, just as Miriam had, taking in the objects that filled the room: the carefully arranged books, the neat stack of papers on the desk, and the familiar scent of leather and cologne. She wasn’t an investigator, not in the professional sense, but the curiosity in her had always driven her to find answers. She needed to understand the man her brother had become. To make sense of him, of everything that had changed between them.

As she walked across the room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was trespassing. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Yet, here she was, drawn to the very space that he helped people within. Her fingers traced the edge of a framed photo on the desk. The image of a younger, happier time, his graduation day.
It was then that her eyes fell upon the drawing.

The Wound Man.

Her breath caught in her throat. The same image that haunted Miriam’s files. She reached for it, her hands trembling as she lifted the paper. There it was—the same grotesque body, the same tortured expression, as if it was more than just a drawing. This wasn’t a printed image, but hand drawn in exquisite details.
She looked closer, her mind racing with questions she wasn’t sure she was ready to ask.

Both women stood, each with a different purpose but brought to the same discovery. Miriam’s investigative instinct pulsed through her, a chill of recognition settling into her bones. Mischa’s was the yearning, the desperate desire to piece together the puzzle of her brother’s mind. And both, as though on opposite sides of time, had found themselves holding the same chilling image: a map of a life twisted beyond recognition, the anatomy of a man who had been torn apart by his own secrets.

For Miriam, the discovery confirmed what she had feared. For Mischa, it felt like the first step toward uncovering a truth she may not be ready to face.

She heard footsteps approaching and she moved as quick as her recovering body allowed, to sit in one of Hannibal’s therapy chairs.

“Mischa?” His voice stopped as he paused in the doorway “Is everything alright?”

“You mentioned a library, but not that it was only accessible by ladder, I tried to climb it, but it hurt too much, so I am sat here catching my breath.” She watched him cautiously.

“Anything particular you want to read?” Hannibal chuckled “My apology for guarding the library with a ladder.”

“Better than, I don’t know, Cerberus the three-headed dog.” she shrugged.

“Are you interested in Greek mythology?” He smiled at her, sitting in the opposite chair.

“I feel like there were three stages of childhood geekiness: Egyptian, Roman and Greek. With a side of horse girl.” She smiled, “American high schools are weird.”

“You don’t strike me as a geek, or a horse girl. So, what were you?” He tilted his head.

“Probably closest to a jock.” She smiled “I was into sports, then the recruiters came to the school during careers week, with one of those… I don’t know, bars you had to do chin ups to get a shirt, well, I got the shirt, and I signed up on the spot. They paid for college, and I joined the military.” She shrugged again.

“What did you study at university?”

“Do you really want to know?” She watched him closely.

“Of course. I want to know everything.”

“Psychiatry.” She laughed “I never got to start my residency though, so I am not a practicing doctor. I wanted to be, and then… Then Kate died, and dad was sick, then Mom went missing, and I decided that joining the FBI would be an easier transition than taking up a residency, because I would be out on the field in no time, and then at a desk. It’s all a bit of a blur to be honest. I made rash decisions with no time to really think about it.”

“Would you ever want to do psychiatry again?” Hannibal watched her.

“No, I don’t think so, I like my job. I might even go back on the field.”

“What did you do in the military?”

“I was a sniper.”

“Were you good at it?”

Mischa gave a small nod “I haven’t picked up a sniper rifle in a while so who would know now. A Glock is enough. Terrible thing to have to pull a gun on another human, though.”

“You were trained to take out targets, adept with a gun, yet you don’t enjoy it?” He watched her carefully.

“No, I don’t enjoy taking lives, unfortunately it is part of my job.”

“Why did you go into the military if you don’t like death?”

“I am at peace with death, I don’t take pleasure in dealing it out, a sniper rifle just allowed me to take out a target with more precision, accuracy and less collateral damage.” She explained, unnerved by the line of questioning.

“Clean kills.”

“There’s no such thing.” Mischa said quietly “not truly. If there is a place of judgement after death, I will still be judged for those I have taken, regardless of the motivations and reasons for doing so.”

“Do you expect there is a place of judgement awaiting you?” Hannibal watched her face for any changes.

“Don’t you?” She wondered “There is truly a difference between losing a life on a surgery table, and actively taking one, I believe you would be absolved from your deaths, because you were ultimately trying to save them. They weren’t healthy when they were brought to you, but you were trying to mend them. I took healthy lives because the government decided we would be safer without them.”

“I invite you to consider what would have happened if you hadn’t.” Hannibal leaned forward.

“Are we in therapy?” She chuckled “There are no certainties in life, I have no way of knowing if I truly prevented anything from happening, if it would have happened regardless, or if it didn’t happen because, and I am OK with that.” she smiled at him.

“You’re a very strong woman. Many would have crumbled at any one of the incidents you have been through.”

“Please, I am not strong, or different, or special, I did the work, I processed what I had to, I got help when I needed, and I stepped away when I felt what I was doing wasn’t good for me.”

“...or did you run?” Hannibal pressed.

“Does this tactic work with your patients?” She leaned forward gingerly “You can frame it in whatever way you need to, to make sense of me, however; I watched my lover get blown up. I saw… parts of her laying around. I... smelled it… Then I had to walk miles to get help. That did leave some scars. Then … D-.” she paused “His neuro-decay, and M-” She closed her eyes briefly “Elizabeth’s disappearance, it was a hell of a few years.”

“And so, you retreated from the battlefields, and the frontlines, to a desk.” Hannibal shrugged “What will you do now that Elizabeth is buried?”

“I have to find out who I am now.” She looked out the window and not directly at them “Am I Annie the FBI agent, or Mischa, and then, who is she?” She shrugged “I think I’ll be at the desk a little longer, until I figure it out.”

“What if neither is at the desk with you?” Hannibal wondered, watching discomfort steadily rise in her.

“I guess I have to figure that out. Oh, and there’s the small problem of maybe having been an unwilling cannibal.” She chuckled.

“You’re very good at compartmentalizing.” Hannibal noted “Is it because you have truly worked through it all, or is it because you don’t want to, or don’t feel like you deserve to?”

“Why wouldn’t I be entitled to my own grief?” She looked back at him with a confused look.

“You tell me, you’re not the practicing psychiatrist, you might have the degree, but I have the experience.”

“Yet you’re asking me what I think?” She tilted her head.

“I think? You really want to know?”

“Yes.” she nodded.

“I think you keep yourself busy, so you don’t have to think about things.” Hannibal started “You change places, positions, jobs, so that you always have something to be busy over. I don’t think you’ve dealt with any of it, deeply, you deal with it just enough to function, and soon, something will happen to tip you over the edge. Am I close?”

“No.” She shook her head “No, well, you’re partially correct, I do like a challenge, but I didn’t run away from anything. I discharged myself after being injured so I could be with my family. I have been cleared for active duty by several psychiatrists. I am not dealing with any side effects.”

“No nightmares?”

“No.”

“No moments where you feel a lack of control?”

“You don’t believe I could possibly face all that and be mentally well, fit and capable?” She frowned at him.

“I think that might be an anomaly. But you do have…”

“A repulsion to meat, thankfully I am rarely in a place where it matters. I can’t eat meat, OK. I have a very good dietician, and I am very good in very health, beside the, you know, being gutted. Does it bother you that I am not traumatized?” she tilted her head at him curiously.

“No, I am grateful.” he nodded “I am curious about your coping mechanisms, but I am grateful you’re ok.”

“Good, now can we stop playing doctor, because I am not your patient.” She stood, doubling over and screwing up her face.

“Mischa, what is it?”

“I…” she collapsed with a soft thud.

Hannibal carried her to her room, laying her out “Mischa… Are you awake yet?”

Mischa’s eyes fluttered open “Did I faint?”

“Yeah, yeah you did, have you been taking your meds?” He sat on the edge of her bed.

“The antibiotics?”

“The pain meds. Why are you avoiding them?”

“Ah, you found my coping mechanism. When I was burned, they prescribed me pain meds just like that, I started… relying on them… I bordered on addiction, nothing full blown but I recognized the issue, and I got help for it, and now… I just don’t trust myself around them.” She sat up with pain.

“OK, how about I keep them on me, and I give you the right dose at the right time. You can’t heal if you’re in this much pain.”

“I have dealt with worse.” She explained.

“That doesn’t mean you have to suffer… unless, I have stumbled upon another coping mechanism. Self. Harm.” He looked at her seriously.

“I don’t cut, or purge, or starve, this isn’t self-harm.”

“Ah, you sound like a student, self-harm doesn’t have to be any of that, it can be the absence of taking care of yourself, including ignoring pain.” He had a stern tone to his voice.

“OK. I understand, no need to sound patronizing.” She frowned, “I never considered it like that.”

“Yes. You did. Yet you did it anyway. You’re no fool, Mischa. Why do you let yourself be in pain? Actually, I don't answer that, because I already know the answer: physical pain is easier to manage than emotional pain.” He took a bottle from his pocket and gave her two pills “I can help you understand the emotional, but you need to take the physical away.”

“I’m fine.” she took the pills “I see your point, but it isn’t true, I am a person with an addictive personality trait that got way too close to being hooked on narcotics, and I recognized myself, and stopped it before it became a problem.”

“And yet you don’t trust yourself to control your intake now. Interested.”

“Not everything has to be psychoanalyzed, Hannibal.” Mischa said, leaning back against the pillows.

“Oh, but it’s so fun, we are non-physically sparring are we not.”

“Oh, you might have the upper hand on the smarts, I would take you down at several hundred meters.” She smiled.

“Yet… There are no guns in this room.” Hannibal chuckled.

“Untrue. There’s one in my top drawer.”

“You brought a gun into my house.”

“You didn't, so couldn't, it’s in a case and the case has a code. Perfectly safe.”

“I didn’t say it was unsafe.”

“I’m an FBI agent, are you really surprised I have a firearm? I have several, but most of them are in my gun case at my residence in New York, although actually I did ask the FBI to take care of them while I am here.” She looked at him seriously.

“Why bring that one?”

“It’s the pistol I keep in my car. Safety first.” She nodded.

“Alright, shall I put it in my safe?” Hannibal offered.

“No, it’s in its own case, and I am the only one with the code.” She smiled “Worried I’ll pull it on you? Would I ever have a reason?” She chuckled.

“I should hope not.” he smiled at her softly "I should hope not."

Chapter Text

Abel Gideon had been declared the Chesapeake Ripper after a dramatic reenactment of the Ripper’s Wound Man. He was now set to be moved for trial and conviction as the Ripper. He was loaded into a van, and began to make his way to the courthouse when the incident happened.

Annie stood next to Will Graham “Welcome back.” He muttered to her as the both approached a tree of organs.

“If I wasn’t a vegetarian this morning, I certainly am no.” She wrinkled her nose.

“How is field work treating you?” Jack asked as he joined the pair.

“Luckily it is snowing, the meat won’t spoil. This doesn’t read Ripper.” She looked at Jack.

“I already told him that, now there’s two people he doesn’t believe.” Will chuckled.

“Where is he heading, Will?” Jack asked.

“Well, he’s probably going after those he deems responsible for this, he doesn’t know who he is, he’s looking for someone to blame.” Will told them.

“Like… his psychiatrist.” Annie thought out loud.

“I will ring a team and have Dr. Chilton covered by security.” Jack started dialing.

“Alana Bloom should also be on that list, Jack.” Will added.

“You’re still looking pale Will, you have done for weeks, have you seen a doctor?” Annie asked him quietly as they examined the scene.

“Yes, Hannibal and I are looking into it.”

“You look like you’re running a fever.” She noted.

“I always run a little warm.”

“... Is Hannibal on the list of treating physicians of Abel Gideon?” She asked.

“Yes.” Will nodded.

“I should go home.”

“I don’t think he is high on Abel’s list. It will be Chilton, I think Hannibal is safe.”
“I’ll give him the code to my gun safe anyway.” Annie got out her phone, and rang Hannibal.

“Mischa, what is it?”

“Abel Gideon has escaped, we think he’s going after his doctors, you might be on the list, can you fire a gun?” She said calmly.

“Yes, I know how to shoot a gun.”

“Good, go to my gun safe, get my pistol, and keep it on you, I will be home in an hour.”

“I don’t need a gun.”

“I insist. And Hannibal?”

“Yes Mischa?”

“Don’t hesitate to pull the trigger, shoot on sight.”

“Are you encouraging me to kill Abel Gideon?”

“I didn’t say kill. Blow out his kneecaps, he won’t get far and he’ll still answer to his crimes. I am sure your steady, surgical hands and aim can manage that.” she clarified.

“I think so.”

“Good. Don’t hesitate. Keep your phone near you. I’ll be home soon. Also, side note, Will looks awful today, you should tell him to go to a hospital.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“He doesn’t love me.” She hung up with a smirk.

~

“I was expecting Chesapeake, are you he?”

~

“There’s no one there Will, Will, you’re having an episode.”

~
Will woke up in a hospital bed, Hannibal seating beside him, Annie at the doorway.

“Hannibal, he’s awake.” Her voice was fuzzy and unclear.

“You’re back with us.” Hannibal smiled at him, squeezing his hand.

“What happened?” Will managed to say weakly.

“Encephalitis, they found out what you have, you have a massive fever, but you’re beginning to improve.” Hannibal explained.

“Is Alana?”

“You shot Abel Gideon, with my gun, which you stole off Hannibal in your episode, but you took him down, he’s alive, as is Alana, well done.” Annie continued.

“I’m glad.” Will sat up gingerly.

“You’ll be in here a few days, maybe a week or two but so long as you keep your antibiotics up, you’ll be fine.” Hannibal explained.

“You scared us.” Annie continued.

“Sorry I stole the gun.” He said sincerely.

“It isn’t about the gun, we are both glad you’re alright.” Annie smiled “I am heading home, are you right to get home, Hannibal?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you there. Don’t wait up.” Hannibal smiled at Will fondly.

~

Mischa got home a little after midnight and brewed herself a mug of tea, when she collected the milk from the fridge she was met with a plate of meat. She cringed and quickly grabbed the bottle, pouring a little into her mug before replacing it into the door with her eyes closed.

She stood over the sink trying not to heave “This is stupid.” she whispered to herself before turning around and reopening the fridge. She steadily took the plate out and sat it on the bench, staring at it “No need to panic, it is just a steak on a plate. One steak, on a plate. It can’t hurt you, it’s already dead. Very dead. Dead and sliced.”

She stood over the plate and took a knife out of the drawer, then took a seat on the stool and looked over it “Just a steak on a plate. It can’t hurt you, and no one is forcing you to eat it.” She took the wrapper off of it and held back her gag “Just a steak, a raw steak, you can’t even eat it this raw.” She gagged, then shoved the knife in, hearing it clink onto the plate as it sliced through.
“What… are you doing?” Hannibal asked as he placed his keys on the bench “Do you know how much that cost?”

“I’ll cover it.” She said looking pale.

“Exposure therapy? On a steak? An interesting approach.” Hannibal walked to the side of her before taking the steak and putting it back in the fridge.

“I.. saw hanging human organs on a tree today, and my first thought was that I was glad of it being freezing because if this were summer, they’d have smelled, and I would have puked on the field.” Mischa confessed.

“I am sure you would have buried your fears to do your job.”

“I am actually not sure about that.” She smiled sadly.

“I am. I am 100% certain you’d have buried it, because it’s easier than dealing with it.”

“Yet here I am at 2 in the morning, attempting to be near a steak, and hey, I haven’t vomited yet.”

“Go to bed, and don’t forget your antibiotics.”

“... I need to talk…” She confessed “About the organs. In a tree, or I am worried it is going to become a nightmare.”

“Tell me about the tree.”

“I can show you, I have photos.”

“I am not interested in the photos, tell me about the tree. Where are you standing?”

“The road is behind Will and I… The truck crashed a little up the road to the left. There were no survivors, except Gideon. The bodies were… I can’t remember.”

“Yes you do.”

“They’re nearby, near the tree, he dragged them, out of sight of the road, where he could work. Took a uniform.”

“What did he take from them?”

“Bits of everything. Hearts, intestines…” she held back a heave “ He left the brains but he scrambled them. Like what he thinks the doctors did to him.”

“You sound like Will Graham.”

“I’m quoting Will Graham.” She chuckled “I like his creative spin on everything. He sees a story in everything, I just saw the psychopath. It’s kind of interesting having someone to connect the dots on a creative level.”

“How do you feel about the tree right now, at this moment. Knowing it didn’t smell like your fears, knowing it was frozen?”

“I feel… indifferent now. I think I just needed to share the experience with someone else to accept that it is real, but it can't hurt me.” She looked over her shoulder at him.

“Exactly, the meat can’t hurt you. You will never be attacked by a piece of meat.” Hannibal nodded.

“I should hope not, that’s a really scary, silly thought though.”

“Drink your tea before it gets cold, then go to bed.” Hannibal winked.

“I don’t think I’ll sleep. I am on alert.” She sat on the stool and sipped her tea.

“On alert for what?”

“The real ripper isn’t going to be too happy that someone is stealing his brand, I expect retaliation kills, or more peacocking, more of his look at me antics.” she set the cup down.

“Care to elaborate?” he made himself a tea and joined her.

“Well, what else would he do. He can’t allow someone else to claim his name. That would be.. Against his design as Will would say, and Will is correct. He likes to be known as being the Ripper, even if his name isn’t attached, it gives him power over others, control, and he certainly wouldn’t want a half-witted idiot to claim his title, not Abel Gideon at least. No, we will hear from the Ripper, sooner rather than later I’ll bet. What neither of us can work out is…” She trailed off and sipped her tea, frowning.

“Is?”

“He’s not trophy collecting… he’s certainly not taking anything that would fit the description of a trophy killer. He does take, but weird things. I can’t help but wondering what he does with it all.” she shrugged.

“What does Will Graham think?” Hannibal watched her carefully.

“He thinks the Ripper is eating his victims.” She moved her tongue around her mouth as if to suppress a gag.

“What do you think about that?”

“I think he might be right. Great way of disposing of evidence is to eat it. No one is going to look for a lost kidney in human waste, or inside a human stomach,” she reached into her pocket and popped a pill, swallowing it with a sip of tea “An anti-nausea pill, the whole idea churns my stomach. How can we have a cluster of Cannibals?”

“A cluster?” Hannibal inquired.

“Garret Jacob Hobbs ate his victims, the Ripper likely eats his, and here you an I are, two unwilling cannibals, that’s four in this half of the country, that’s got to be rare.” She finished her cup and sat it on the sink.

“You include yourself in the data? And me?” Hannibal watched her curiously.

“It wouldn’t be just data without the inclusion of us, would it? Despite unwillingness, we have dined on human meat, that’s uncommon.” She shrugged, looking a few shades paler.

“I don’t think you should judge yourself as a cannibal because of what was done to you to ensure your survival, you’d only be a cannibal if you enjoyed it and went back for seconds. Your whole body rejects the idea with every cell. You are not a cannibal, Mischa.” Hannibal said calmly, kindly.

“I am changing my name on all my documents, the FBI is handy in that aspect, from Monday, I will be Mischa to everyone I meet. It feels… right to.” She smiled at him.

“Mischa Lecter?”

“Mischa Lecter.” She nodded “I… feel the need to do this, but if you don’t like it.” She stepped forward and hugged him warmly, resting her head on his shoulder. Without hesitation his arms returned the favour, holding her tightly, protectively.

“I like it…” he whispered in her ear “The name change, and the hug.” he waited for her to let go before releasing.

Mischa smiled at him “Good night, brother.”

“Good night, sister.”

~

Mischa stirred in her sleep before waking while it was still dark, she checked her clock on the bedside, 4:30am, she sat up, wide awake a twinge in her abdomen. She stood, before quietly walking toward the kitchen.

A light beamed up from a square in the middle of the floor, a trapdoor she hadn’t seen before. She hesitated at the kitchen's door frame, watching the trapdoor. She saw a shadow ascending what she suspected was a ladder, her heart rate climbing as she decided to quietly creep back up the stairs and into the bathroom, closing the door as normally as she could manage. She sat on the toilet lid and played with the toilet roll before flushing and washing her hands. Hoping it would be convincing enough for Hannibal not to suspect. She stared at herself in the mirror.

“I am probably dreaming.” She whispered to her reflection, she noticed the clock behind her and turned “Not dreaming… you can’t read clocks in dreams. 4:34am.” she crept out of the bathroom.

“Mischa, are you awake?” Hannibal called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yeah, sorry, had to pee, did I wake you?” She asked.

“No, I couldn’t sleep, I have been in my office, reading, would you like some tea?”

“Sure.” She fetched her robe, and quietly walked down the stairs again, the whole kitchen was bright with the overhead lights, not a memory of the trapdoor. She brushed it off as a dream, or the memory of a one “Nice pajamas.” She smiled, relaxing once more.

“Silk is good for the skin, that or something with bamboo in it.” He smiled.

“You don’t like my flannelette, with the holes and the dog print?” She chuckled, “Is it too early for coffee?”

“No, I doubt either of us are getting any sleep now. Coffee it is. What woke you up?”

“I needed to pee.” She smiled “I don’t know, I wasn’t dreaming or anything, just completely… dead sleep. Death without commitment.” She leaned against the counter.

“An interesting metaphor.” Hannibal passed her a cup “I should get you better pajamas.” he pointed at the holes in her knees.

“No, don’t worry, they’re only for sleeping.”

“Sentimental…?”

Mischa sighed “That obvious?”

“Yes.”

“They were Kate’s.” She nodded, sipping her coffee “I like wearing them.”

“I won’t pry any further.” Hannibal nodded “Breakfast?”

“Sure.” She turned and went to sit down when a strange smell hit her nose. A very familiar, yet abstract smell. She paused.

“Mischa, what’s wrong?” Hannibal wondered, watching her with a frown.

“No-nothing. It’s all good.” She found herself stuttering.

“Not nothing, hey…?” He walked to her, cupping her face “What’s wrong?”

“... I’m fine. I just… thought I smelled Kate’s perfume, weird right?” She didn’t meet his eyes, instead pulling away and sitting at the table.

“Maybe her spirit is visiting you?”

“Maybe…” She sat quietly, wondering why her brother’s kitchen smelled faintly of human meat.

“I think that voice was Hannibal Lecter calling my father as a serial killer.” Abigail’s voice echoed in her ears.

Chapter Text

“Mischa? Mischa.” Jack’s voice fell on deaf ears.

“Sorry, I was somewhere else.” She looked at him from her desk.

“Not used to the name change?” He sat before her.

“No. Just. Thoughts.”

“I need your help.” He asked quietly. Mischa noticed the door was closed.

“What’s happened?”

“Hannibal just called, we need to go to Will Graham’s house.” His voice was detached, disbelieving.

“I don’t understand, do you not want to drive today?” Mischa probed.

“No… he coughed up an ear. A human ear.”

“I think Hannibal Lecter called my dad as a serial killer.”

“Abigail Hobbs?” She asked quietly.

“A good a guess as any.” Jack sat forward “I am going to ask you a question, I need an honest answer.”

“I think Hannibal Lecter called my dad as a serial killer.” Abigail’s voice echoed again.

“Jack. I know what you’re going to ask.” She started, feeling a lump in her throat.

~

Mischa and Jack arrived at Will’s house to the scene of dogs being loaded into Animal control vehicles, and a haphazardly dressed Will Graham sitting with Hannibal. Time seemed to make the air as thick as water. Every step felt as though a year had passed.

“Where’s the rest of her, Will?” She heard Jack ask as she approached the sink.

“Mischa, don’t look.” Hannibal was at her side, distant, muted.

Mischa leaned over the sink and stared at the ear. Feeling her mouth fill with saliva, she turned away human meat her brain processed the thought quickly as she made sure her gloves were on appropriately. As the flurry of activity moved around her she felt still, her nose picked up a faint, familiar stench and she was drawn to a desk of fishing lures. Picking up one which looked out of place she held it up to the light from the window. Human meat that familiar gag reflex threatened as she processed the scene. Another lure captured her gaze, she coughed and stepped back for air “This entire table.” she gestured “It is all human.”

“What?” Jack was at her side “What are you talking about?”

“He’s made fishing lures with his trophies. I need a minute.” She took herself outside, standing in the cold wind with her eyes closed, the opened them to watch Will being loaded into a car. He mouthed something to her.

Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal Lecter she gave him an understanding nod.

“Are you alright, Mischa?” Hannibal stood beside her.

“Are you?” She raised her eyebrows at him “We just arrested a friend as the Chesapeake Ripper. I am not OK.”

“Neither am I.” He held her hand, comfortingly.

The smell tickled her nose again, thick, grabbing around her neck, she choked it down “I am going to go inform Alana Bloom before she hears it on the news. She was his friend, it is the least I can do, I am the least emotionally involved, so it makes sense to be me.” She looked at Hannibal “I’ll see you at the FBI, you’ll need to have your statement taken.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Hannibal nodded.

~

Alana Bloom opened the door of her house to the steady knocks of Mischa.

“...Agent Lecter.”

“I confess, I am still not used to that name, may I come in?” Alana noticed similar characteristics of her and Hannibal’s faces she hadn’t noticed.

“Sure, would you like some coffee, and to what do I owe the visit?”

“I am afraid you are not going to like it. We arrested Will Graham today for the Chesapeake Ripper murders.” She said calmly.

“No.” Alana’s voice drew out, as if all the air had left her lungs.

“It is not how I expected this chapter to end.” Mischa confessed.

“I warned Jack not to let him get too close!” Alana yelled, knocking her fruit bowl to the floor with a loud smash.

“I know. I remember.” Mischa confirmed.

“Yet he did, and then he got lost in his own head!” She knocked over more things off her counter, allowing them to smash on her hardwood floor.

“The FBI is almost entirely responsible. I agree with you.” Mischa explained.

“Hannibal should have done something, he would have had to have known. I feel like screaming.” She leaned on the counter.

“You can scream. If you need to scream, scream.” Mischa explained.

“How did this happen? How did we all miss the signs?!” She sunk to her knees with her back against her counters, narrowly avoiding the carnage on her floor.

“Can I confess something to you?” Mischa didn’t flinch at any crash, moving around the kitchen island to squat before Alana.

“Of course.” Alana said.

Mischa offered her hand and helped Alana stand “...I don’t think… I don’t think that this is Will Graham’s design.” She said quietly.

“...What?” The statement took Alana off-guard.

“I don’t think this is Will Graham’s doing.” She said even quieter, a sparkling of tears in her eyes.

“Mischa, what are you saying?” Alana looked confused, her anger fizzling out, replaced with gut-wrenching confusion.

“I think it was Hannibal Lecter.” The words felt like knives in her mouth.

“You think Hannibal is behind this, your brother?” Alana watched Mischa’s face.

“I wouldn’t be confessing what I have if I didn’t have reason to believe it?” She said seriously.

“I think you should sit down and tell me everything.” Alana gestured toward her living room. Mischa hesitated and Alana found herself reaching to touch her face, offering a touch of comfort “You can’t let it eat you, destroy you.” Alana tried to encourage her.

Mischa turned to face her, a strange look upon her face “You’re… awfully close, Dr. Bloom.” but she didn’t move, instead meeting her eyes and turning toward her.

“I’m sorry, I lost track of myself. You were telling me you think your brother is a killer.” Alana didn’t move away either.

“I don’t know how to… explain it, it is probably going to sound insane.”

“I think you’re confused, I’m confused, this is all very confusing.” Alana suggested.

“I need a drink.” Mischa confessed.

“I do too.” Alana agreed “My minibar is this way.” She walked into another room, leading Mischa away “What do you drink?”

“What do you have?” Mischa leaned against the doorframe, watching Alana and her tailored suit bring out two large glasses.

“I would murder for a martini, but sadly, I have never been very good at making them.” Alana’s smile faltered.

“Move over, I can do it, take a seat.” Mischa suggested, throwing her suit jacket aside, revealing a white shirt and black waistcoat.

“Do all the Lecter’s wear suits this well?” Alana remarked, finding herself checking Mischa out.

“Must be a family trait.” Mischa remarked. As she expertly mixed the ingredients for two dirty martinis, her fingers danced over the polished glassware, each twist and turn a display of practiced finesse. The subtle clinking of the ice added a rhythmic backdrop to the scene, and her lips curled into a sly smile as she imagined the evening ahead. With a flick of her wrist, she poured the concoction, the olive floating gracefully atop the shimmering liquid. In that moment, she embodied both elegance and seduction “Here you are.” Mischa passed her a glass.

The sight of the blonde woman, effortlessly commanding attention as she prepared martinis, left her momentarily speechless. The energy in the room was intoxicating, and though her initial expectations were dashed, she found herself pleasantly surprised, intrigued by the unexpected allure of the gathering. A soft smile played on her lips “What an unexpected treat, Mischa.” Alana found herself undressing Mischa with her eyes.

“Well, what’s life without our little treats? Please, take a seat.” Mischa gestured at Alana’s cobalt blue couch “We were talking about my brother.” She sighed.

“Well, you were the one that suggested he was behind this.” Alana sipped the martini “Where did you learn to make this, like this?” Alana looked at her oddly.

“My ex was a bartender before she joined the military with me.” Mischa smiled.

“Why did you break up?”

“She died. Let’s not let it sour the conversation.” Mischa chuckled.

“It isn’t as if the conversation hasn’t already taken a dark turn.” Alana sighed “So much loss.”

“Will Graham deserved better.” Mischa said bitterly.

“Tell me what you suspect Hannibal of doing?” Alana found her resting a hand on Mischa’s thigh subconsciously.

“I don’t like to speculate. I will tell you what I know. I know that someone accused him of being the voice on the other end of the phone talking to Garrett Jacob Hobbs the morning he slaughtered his family, the next is… a smell.”

“A smell?”

“I don’t know how else to explain it. A smell of human flesh.”

“Could you be mistaken?” Alana sipped her drink again.

“I wish I was kidding.” Mischa took a long drink and then put her glass aside.

“You’re going to need to offer more if you’re going to accuse him.” Alana frowned.

“Rest assured, I know.” Mischa looked at her “I know.” She sighed.

“I feel like you’re holding back on me.” Alana.

“And I…” Mischa leaned into Alana’s ear “Feel like you’re holding onto me.” Mischa cupped her hand.

“Oh.” Alana went scarlet.

“Are you hitting on me, Dr. Bloom?” Mischa whispered.

“I have a confession of my own.” Alana swallowed.

“I’m listening.”

“I have never slept with a woman before, and until you stepped through my door, I don’t know I had ever considered it.” Alana said quietly.

“That’s not the deal-breaker you think it is.” Mischa reassured “I am happy to lead, if you are happy to follow.”

“...I’ll follow…” Alana took a large sip of her drink.

“Alright… Stand up then.”

“...Ok.” Alana stood, waiting for Mischa to stand soon after.

“Good girl, then just relax, take your jacket off.” Mischa stood, putting Alana’s drink to the side, she walked behind Alana and gently removed her jacket. She folded it delicately and placed it aside. She watched Alana’s chest rise and fall rapidly, she stood behind the couch, reaching her hands to Alana’s neck, she ran two light fingers along both of Alana’s collarbones, up the sides of her neck, and across her jaw in fluid strokes. She stopped her hands on both of Alana’s earlobes, gently stroking behind them with her thumbs to her lower jaw “Relax…” she said softly “Let me touch you…”

Alana closed her eyes, enjoying Mischa’s touch. Her marble-like flesh radiated an ethereal glow, reminiscent of smooth alabaster, capturing the light in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. As she moved, a subtle scent enveloped her, a captivating blend of electricity that tingled in the air, mingling with the warm, rich notes of mahogany. The luxurious aroma of velvet wrapped around her, interwoven with the sweet, spicy essence of cinnamon and the comforting warmth of vanilla, creating an intoxicating signature that lingered long after she had passed. It was a sensory experience that left an indelible impression, evoking both intrigue and desire in those fortunate enough to be near her.

Mischa reached for Alana’s hairpin, pulling it from her chocolate brown hair “Do you always wear your hair so tightly bound?” she queried, using her hand to brush through Alana’s hair.
“Usually… yes…” Alana admitted.

“What a way to treat such beauty.” Mischa leaned in, allowing herself to smell Alana’s hair. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back in soft, shimmering waves, catching the light like a flowing river. Each strand released a refreshing scent of citrus, bright and invigorating, blended with delicate floral notes of rose that added an air of enchantment. As fingers raked through it, the silky texture felt like fine liquid, smooth and fluid, slipping effortlessly through hands as if it were a gentle breeze. The combination of the enticing fragrance and the luxurious feel created an irresistible allure, drawing Mischa closer, captivated by the sensory experience she effortlessly exuded.

“I’m… nervous.” Alana confessed.

“Don’t be, you’re in good hands, and if you want to stop at any time, we stop… all you have to do is say stop.” Mischa sat beside her on the couch.

“I trust you.” Alana nodded.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” Mischa stated, placing one hand on Alana’s cheek and the other on her waist.

As their lips met for the first time, Alana felt a rush of warmth spread through her, igniting a thrill that made her heart race. The world around them faded, leaving only the soft pressure of his mouth against hers, a tender exploration filled with nervous excitement. Every brush of their lips sent shivers down her spine, a spark of electricity that felt both familiar and utterly new. Time seemed to stand still as she leaned into the kiss, feeling the gentle pulse of connection deepen, an unspoken promise woven into that shared moment. It was a perfect blend of sweetness and anticipation, a memory etched into her mind that she would cherish forever. She found herself pulling Mischa closer, her hands feeling Mischa’s sides.

Mischa took a gentle hand and unbuttoned Alana’s shirt, placing her hand inside it, she reached around and unclipped her bra. She casually slipped both off of Alana’s shoulders, tossing them aside. Alana blushed at her sudden bare chest “Look at you, you’re perfect.” Mischa admired “Show me to your bedroom.” Mischa smiled and gestured to the door.

“This way.” Alana blushed, taking Mischa’s hand and leading her up to her bedroom.

“You can unbutton me if you like.” Mischa suggested.

“Of course…” Alana took hold of her waist coat, and then her shirt buttons, revealing an entirely naked torso “Do you not wear a bra?” Alana joked slightly.

“Oh, not on special occasions, it just gets in the way.” Mischa smiled, dropping her trousers and throwing them to the side “There… Now I’m bare too.”

Alana blushed, unable to find a place to rest her gaze.

“Would I be naked if I didn’t want you to look… go ahead, you’ve been undressing me with your eyes all week. Now you get to see it.” Mischa cupped her chin “You can even touch it if you like. It’s OK to be shy.” Mischa reassured.

“You’re so beautiful, Mischa.” Alana remarked, a twinkle in her blue eyes as she rested a hand on Mischa’s bare hip.

“As are you, Alana.” Mischa pulled her forward, allowing their breasts to touch, their nipples grazing each other “You know that nipples are a pleasure center for women? So many men forget just how sensitive they are, how heightened our sexual experiences can be, with just a little stimulation.” She took her hand and gently stroked Alana’s right breast, using a finger to trace clockwise circles around her areola.

“...You’re very attentive…” Alana managed to say, stumbling over her words slightly.

“Are you ready for me to see the rest of you?” Mischa asked, holding onto Alana’s belt loops.

“Yes.” Alana nodded.

“Great, take a seat, let’s get these off then.” Mischa smiled, sitting Alana on the bed before kneeling down before her and unzipping her suit pants, pulling them off in one go “Are you sure you didn’t suspect anything?”

“Why do you ask?” Alana wondered.

“Matching bra and panties… black at that, and lacy, expensive.” Mischa noted, giving her a cheeky wink.

“At least my laundry is fortunately lined up, at least they match.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered to the floor either way.”

“Did you imagine this…?” Mischa asked, leaning forward and taking the side of her panties in her mouth and pulling them off.

“That… was better than any fantasy I could imagine.” Alana swallowed, watching Mischa toss them aside without her hands.

“Oh, good, I have a low bar.” Mischa smiled “I didn’t take you as being easy to please…”

“Oh don’t worry… I’m not.” Alana smiled.

“Good, I want to earn it.” Mischa slipped her hands up the inside of Alana’s legs, resting them on her hips “Lay back, lean against the pillows, if you need more I have plenty.” She watched as Alana made herself comfortable before crawling up the bed to join her.

The silk sheets draped gracefully across her fingers, a luxurious fabric that shimmered with a soft glow under the light. Its smooth texture felt like a river flowing through her hands, cool and inviting. Each movement revealed the intricate weave, the way it caught the air and danced gently with the slightest breath, creating a delicate rustle that was almost musical. She marveled at their elegance, appreciating how it embodied both opulence and comfort, wrapping her in a world of refined beauty that made her feel both cherished and free.

“There’s nothing quite like silk on a naked body… You have expensive taste, I appreciate it.” Mischa explained “Well, it’s almost as good as what I’m about to do with you.” she smirked, crawling over her to kiss her.

Alana enthusiastically kissed her back, pulling Mischa closer, their skin creating electrifying friction. Mischa paused, then began kissing across her jaw, down her neck and to her clavicle. Alana melted on her tongue. She tasted like a delightful blend of ripe peaches and rich cream that danced in perfect harmony. Each kiss came with a burst with the sweet, juicy essence of sun-kissed peaches, evoking memories of summer afternoons, while the creamy base added a luscious texture that felt indulgent. A subtle hint of sea salt emerged, enhancing the sweetness and adding a surprising depth that lingered on her palate.

Mischa continued her descent, changing from kissing to an occasional lick at just the right place to keep Alana on her toes. Until she came to the vulva. Mischa looked up at Alana, locking eyes with her as her lips touched her clitoris. She placed one hand on her outer lips and one on her hip. She felt Alana’s body twitch slightly.

Mischa’s tongue traced over Alana as if it were the quill writing the first chapter of their story.

~

Mischa left while Alana slept, unable to say goodbye, she quietly cleaned the mess from Alana’s earlier tears before leaving, driving back to Hannibal’s house more confused than she had been when she arrived.

Hannibal was just pulling up himself and they met each other at the front door. Hannibal gave her a strange look “..How did it go with Alana?”

“She was upset, as one would be when their friend turns out to be a murderer.”

“She still wears Red Door, but the smell of it.” Hannibal smirked slightly.

“You can quiz me in the kitchen, but you get two questions, and two questions only.” Mischa chuckled.

“I will brew the tea.”

“I will go and shower, then get changed.” She took herself upstairs and showered before putting on her pajamas, taking pause to play with the holes in her knees “It isn’t like I have forgotten about you.” She whispered before joining Hannibal in the kitchen.

“So. You slept with Alana.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” She asked, taking the cup of tea from Hannibal.

“A statement. My first question is: How did that come about?”

“I think we were trauma bonding, truthfully. You have one more question.” She sipped on the tea.

“...Why did you leave before morning?”

“Not the question I thought, but I didn’t have my antibiotics with me and the fear of turning into Will Graham was enough to bring me home to ensure my nightly dose.”

“Sub-question to question two then…”

“Bending the rules, but I’ll allow it.”

“Were you scared about her reaction in the morning?”

“Yes, with no elaborations.” She drank from the cup “I assume you went to the FBI.”

“Yes and they took a statement and elimination prints.”

“Did you watch Will Graham be processed and transported to the Hospital for the Criminally insane?”

“Yes. With no elaborations.”

Chapter Text

“I need you.” Alana stood in Mischa’s office doorway.

Mischa looked up from her files “Physically, emotionally, spiritually?” she joked.

“As a witness.” Alana said seriously.

“If you are about to commit a crime, Alana, I am not the woman you want.”

“No, I am about to accuse Jack Crawford of negligence and I need an impartial witness.” Alana confessed.

“Who is to say I can be impartial?”

“I just need you to stand there, and say nothing. Come on.” She gestured that Mischa follow.

Mischa stood with a sigh and walked behind her “This is a very bad idea.”

“I know.”

“It probably won’t help Will.”

“I know.”

“Then why do it?” Mischa frowned.

“I can’t just, I can’t just do nothing.” Alana stopped at the door of internal affairs.

“Is this the kind of action you want to take?” Mischa said softly.

“Just stand there and be quiet.” Alana frowned, knocking the door before opening it.

“Dr. Bloom, Agent Lecter, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Kade Purnell greeted them without standing.

“I have a complaint to make.” Alana started.

“And you, Agent Lecter?”

“I am but a witness.” Mischa said quietly “To stand and say nothing.”

“I want to make a complaint of negligence against Agent Jack Crawford.” Alana explained.

“In relation to?”

“Will Graham.”

~
The door seemed to shut in silence behind Alana and Mischa as they exited the internal affairs office “Do you feel better?” Mischa asked her.

“I don’t know how I feel.” She confessed, looking up at her.

“How about hungry?” Mischa suggested.

“You want to go get some food?” Alana raised an eyebrow with a confused smile.

“I could eat, there’s a nice little vegetarian cafe a block or so from here, I could do with a walk, the air in here feels thin.” Mischa offered Alana her arm.

“Aright, I’ll consider this an apology for leaving during the middle of the night.” Alana took her arm as they walked onto the bright, cold street.

“Do you want an explanation?” Mischa asked as they walked.

“Will it hurt my feelings?” Alana chuckled.

“I was afraid.” Mischa confessed “I was afraid you’d wake up and freak out, and regret, and be angry at me. So instead, I retreated instead of faced it. I was afraid, because you’re the first woman I have slept with since… well, since Kate died.”

Alana paused. “Well, I was expecting something else, so thank you for being honest.” they continued walking to the cafe.

“I will always be honest… about most things.” She smiled.

“You’re still not forthcoming about Hannibal.” Alana quizzed as they retrieved coffee and treats from the counter.

“I am not ready.” She said quietly “I have to be sure.”

“Do you want an alternative opinion?” Alana asked.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Will is pointing to Hannibal because in part, he is partially responsible for him ending up where he is, he didn’t protect Will, and Will blames him for it, the easiest way to spite Hannibal is to try and smear it.” Alana explained, taking a mouthful of a scone with cream and jam.

“And what about the accusation of somebody, and the smell.” Mischa picked up a cookie, hesitated and sat it back down.

“I think whoever told you it was Hannibal calling, doesn’t know their right from their left, and if you had honestly thought there was anything to the accusation, you would have already done something about it.” Alana held her hand across the table “Noses are also deceptive.”

“You’re quick to defend Hannibal.” She frowned.

“I am only offering an alternative narrative for you to consider.” Alana watched her “Suddenly not hungry?”

“Lost my appetite.” She moved her tongue around her mouth awkwardly, as if tasting a thought.

“I hope it wasn’t me that did that.”

“No, I’m just… in my own head.” her phone beeped “Jack Crawford wants to see me.”

“Would you like me to come? Perhaps it is retaliation for what I did.”

“I can handle it.” She stood, leaving her food and striding out quickly, rushing back to Jack’s office “You wanted to see me.”

“Alana Bloom gave a statement to internal affairs about me today, and you were a witness.” He said as he angrily slapped down a stack of papers.

“I was a witness, I didn’t say anything, I just was a second set of ears, to attest to a correct recount of information as required. You can yell at me all you like, but I did nothing wrong.” She stood resolute and defiant.

“So you agree with her? That I deserve to be investigated.” Jack said, steam rolling off his tongue.

“Did you even listen to what I said? I didn’t say I agreed. Anyway, I am going to go down to the lab and talk to Price and Zeller about the evidence from Will’s house.” She stepped away with a look of disgust on her face.
~

Mischa made her way down to the lab, pausing at the door to stop herself gagging, she swallowed her pride and entered “Boys, show me everything.”

“Oh boy, Mischa, you are not prepared. We found… more than we bargained for.” Price said excitedly.

“Elaborate.” She said quietly.

“We found evidence that Will Graham is the copycat, as well as the Ripper.” Zeller explained, “Come and look at this.” He waved her over to a table “He made them into fishing lures.”

Mischa closed her eyes for what seemed like a second and woke up after what seemed like an age. Zeller was kneeling beside her, her legs elevated and his lab coat folded under her head “Welcome back my love, you decided to eat some floor.” he said kindly.

“Do we need an ambulance?” Price asked, joining him.

“She did hit her head on the table,” Zeller explained “Could be a concussion, might be worth giving them a ring.”

“Don’t you dare.” Mischa mumbled, her mouth feeling fuzzy and dry at the same time “I’ll be fine.” She sat up suddenly.

“Woah, woah.” Both Zeller and Price caught her “Too fast.” Zeller explained.

“Call an ambulance.” Price instructed, “I have her. Mischa, my love, I am laying you back down, and we are going to roll you on your side.”

“Mm-mm.” Mischa protested “No, let me up, I’m OK.” She fought weakly before closing her eyes again.

Alana Bloom’s heels came quickly across the lab’s floor to the scene “What happened here, have you called an Ambulance? Mischa.” Alana joined Price on the floor.

“Zeller is calling an ambulance, Mischa fainted and hit the table on the way down.” Price explained as he and Alana rolled Mischa into the recovery position.

“I’ll call Hannibal, I think he is upstairs anyway.” Alana got out her phone and dialed for Hannibal “Hannibal are you still at the FBI?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Come down to the lab, please, with haste.” She hung up “How long has she been out for?”

“Minutes, she was awake, fighting me about sitting up, then she was unconscious again.” Price explained.

“Mischa, can you hear me? Wake up?” Alana rubbed her chest with a fist.

Hannibal was suddenly in Price’s place “Receptive to pain?”

“No, Price said she hit her head on the table as she went down you can see the bruising on coming up around her hairline, there’s some blood.” Alana explained.

“How long on that ambulance?” Hannibal asked Zeller.

“Ten-minutes, there’s a crash nearby.” Price relayed.

“She’s bleeding from her ear.” Hannibal showed Alana, “Tell them not to bother, we will drive her, we are four minutes to the nearest hospital. Tell the dispatcher that we may have a brain bleed.” He scooped up Mischa’s limp body carefully “Alana, can you join me?”

“Yes, of course yes, I’ll drive.”
~
“I think Hannibal Lecter called my dad as a serial killer.”

Mischa Lecter stood, or perhaps floated, in the depths of her mind’s library. The walls stretched infinitely in every direction, an endless maze of bookshelves, the air heavy with the weight of knowledge, yet somehow detached from the world she knew. She felt the calm, familiar presence of the place, but something was amiss. Her feet didn’t quite touch the floor, and as she turned to look around, there was an unsettling sense of dislocation—like being lost inside herself. She knew she was asleep. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was pulling her deeper into the dream.

Suddenly, Abigail Hobbs’s voice echoed through the vast, silent library. It was soft, yet insistent, repeating over and over again like a haunting mantra. "I think Hannibal Lecter called my dad a serial killer." The words bounced off the shelves, unsettling in their familiarity, but Mischa couldn’t quite place the context. It felt wrong, surreal. Her eyes scanned the shadows of the room, trying to find a thread to hold on to, something to explain the disjointed fragments of this vision.

Then, in an instant, the scene shifted. The library dissolved, and she found herself standing in one of the rooms of Hannibal's house. The air was thick with an eerie stillness. A soft, almost imperceptible rustling broke the silence, and she turned to see Abigail standing there. The girl held something in her hands, and when she extended them toward Mischa, the object was clear: a missing ear.

Abigail’s voice came again, but it was quiet, distant, as if coming from the edge of the world. "I didn’t know what else to do, so I did what he told me." The words seemed to hang in the air like a confession, but they felt empty, like they had been spoken long ago. Mischa stared at the ear, an object of grotesque familiarity in this place, and she felt a chill seep into her bones.

Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the room around her shifted once more. A new image emerged, vivid and disturbing: Will Graham’s finished lures, lined up meticulously, ready for their gruesome purpose. She felt the weight of their significance pressing in on her. She could almost hear the water rippling from the creek where they would end up. Her gaze flicked up, and there, standing in the periphery, was Hannibal. He was not visible in full, but she could feel him—a presence more palpable than the walls of the house itself.

The hands that had created the lures... they were Hannibal's. His hands had shaped and arranged them, crafting these horrific pieces of art, a work only he could understand. The realization was slow, creeping. Mischa’s breath caught in her chest. How could this be? How could something so real exist in a place that was not real? The room shifted again, the air growing heavy and suffocating.

The cycle repeated itself. The words from Abigail, the ear in her hands, the lures… all of it flickered, repeating, echoing through the dream like some incomprehensible, maddening loop. Mischa couldn’t tell if the scenes were stretching out into infinity or folding in on themselves. She couldn’t escape the feeling that something, or someone, was pulling her down, deeper and deeper into the madness.

Antlers. They appeared, slowly, impossibly, emerging from the darkness in the far corners of the room. Tall, gleaming, like some grotesque crown. They twisted and spiraled, impossibly large, casting shadows that stretched across the floor like fingers reaching for her.

And then, a voice. Hannibal’s voice. It wasn’t a command, but it was a beckoning, a pull she couldn’t resist. "Wake up, Mischa."

The clock began to tick. The sound was sharp, insistent, growing louder with each passing moment. Mischa tried to reach for it, to understand, but the ticking was like a pulse, the heartbeat of this dream she couldn’t escape.

The antlers loomed larger. The ticking grew louder.

She was trapped.

“If you took me seriously that night in the hospital, maybe I’d be alive.” Abigail was mounted on a thicket of antlers that pierced her flesh from a wall that appeared directly in front of Mischa, she was paralyzed to the spot.

Mischa's heart raced, but her limbs felt frozen, unable to move or speak. She knew she was dreaming, but the dream was too real, too tangible. Her breath became shallow, panicked, but it was as though the very air around her was thickening, trapping her in place.

And then, as if summoned by her panic, the clock struck an invisible hour. The dream shattered.

Mischa woke with a start, gasping for air, her heart hammering in her chest, the echoes of the dream still reverberating in her mind. The room was dark, but the sounds of the ticking clock lingered in her ears.

“Mischa, lay still.” A calm voice urged her “You’re in the hospital, it’s alright, you hit your head.” Hannibal’s hands cupped her face “Open your eyes. Mischa, open your eyes for me, please.”

The sleep pulled her back in, her eyelids felt glued as she fought to pull them open.

“Mischa, open your eyes.” She felt Hannibal’s thumbs move her eyelid and saw a light shine “Mischa, come on now. Wake up.”

“What’s wrong, Hannibal?” Alana’s voice came from beside her.

“She’s here but she’s not, it could be a seizure.” Hannibal explained.

“Will she be alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“... I’m alright…” Mischa’s eyes flicked open, Hannibal sighed with relief.

“You had us worried.” Alana squeezed her hand.

“I took a bit of a dirt nap.” Mischa chuckled.

“You took a bit more than a nap, you cracked your skull.” Hannibal tutted.

“To be completely fair, I hit a mortuary table, it was a case of force against an immovable object.” Mischa touched her head.

“What caused you to faint?” Hannibal asked.

“I didn’t have lunch, or breakfast, or enough water, I think it was just a clusterfuck.”

"Did it have anything to do with what you were examining in the lab?" Hannibal probed.

"No, why would it?"

"I think -"

Chapter Text

“I had a horrible dream. About you.” Mischa confessed to Hannibal as he helped her through their front door.

“Oh?” Hannibal asked, carrying her night bag and sitting it by the stairs.

“I had a dream that you were the Chesapeake Ripper.” She frowned “Crazy right?”

“Ah, concussion dreams, nothing makes any sense. You dreamed I was a murderer, with the same likelihood as if you had dreamed of me becoming a drag queen.” He chuckled “A cup of tea?”

“Just water.” Mischa sat at the kitchen island.

“Are you hungry? I could make you some pasta?”

“Just toast is fine.” She explained.

“I am beginning to get a full picture of why you passed out.” He sighed, boiling the jug “I won’t insult you by asking if this is an eating disorder-”

“By subtly asking if I have an eating disorder?” She chuckled “No, I’m just not that hungry, seems like a wasted effort on your part.” she sighed.

“Never a wasted effort, I insist you eat something more nutritious than toast. And you’ll have a cup of tea.” he delicately made two cups and slid one over to her.

“Did Alana tell you about Jack?” Mischa sipped the tea as she watched Hannibal roll up his sleeves and put on an apron.

“That she had made an ethics complaint against him, regarding Will, yes.” he pulled out some pots, pans and chopping boards.

“What do you think of it all?” She asked quietly.

“I think she did the right thing.”

“You know you’ll be called upon, as his doctor, for missing his flawed character.” She sipped her tea and watched him.

“Yes, I am aware, but Will has carefully orchestrated this whole thing, no one saw it, not myself, nor Jack, nor Alana. It is reasonable that Alana would want to finger the blame at someone. She blames Jack.”

“Who do you blame?” She titled her head.

“I also blame Jack.” he nodded “And Will himself.”

“Will blames you.” She stated quietly.

“I am aware of Will’s accusations.” He began chopping an onion.

Mischa went to say something and then paused, and sipped her tea.

“What were you going to say?” Hannibal paused his cut to look at her, she could see his reflection in the knife’s edge.

“Nothing. I forgot mid-sentence. I have had a head injury after all.” She sighed.

“Just keep an eye on that symptom. I might run a few tests on you after dinner, check for cognitive impairment.”

“You think I am impaired?” She chuckled.

“No, it’s just a term, you narrowly avoided brain serious damage, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t still damage. How long do the doctors say you should be off work?”

“A week, until I have my next check up, said I should worry about headaches, memory problems, unusual thought patterns, a whole bunch of scary stuff.”

“Was it the smell of Will’s fishing lures that made you faint?” Hannibal began chopping some mushrooms.

“No. I hadn’t eaten, I was just…”

“A clusterfuck, but I believe you and I know what honestly caused it. You believed you smelled the human flesh on those lures, and your body shut itself down to avoid it.” He paused “I think it is a serious phobia.”

“You can’t convince me human meat is not a warranted phobia considering our past. Considering the shit we have seen in the last few weeks.”

“I am not saying it isn’t unwarranted, I am saying you have developed a phobia so severe it causes you to black out. I should tell Jack.” Hannibal looked conflicted.

“You were the one to encourage me to go back on the field, and now you want me back behind a desk, I am fine, Hannibal, it won’t happen again.”

“I am not confident you are fine, but I will respect your boundaries.” He nodded.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She asked politely, gesturing at him cooking.

“If you could get the spinach from the fridge, that would be amazing, thank you.” He smiled.

“Sure.” Mischa stood, putting her cup in the sink before going to the fridge and opening both doors, she pulled open the crisper and got a bunch of spinach. She was just about to close the doors when something caught her attention.

The flesh on the plate under a tight layer of cling-film looked wrong. Not like chicken, or pork, or anything remotely close. She tilted her head and stared at it.

“Mischa? Is something wrong, is the spinach bad?” Hannibal inquired, watching her with a sinister smirk eating away at his cheek.

“What kind of meat is this?” She said, staring at it intensely.

“That is a rabbit.” He explained.

“No it isn’t.” She said angrily.

“Mischa… I don’t know what you think you are seeing, but that is very much a loin of rabbit, nothing sinister, unless you like rabbits.” He set down the knife carefully, walking up behind her quietly “What do you see?”

“It’s human, it’s human meat, I can smell it.” She whispered.

“Mischa, it is a rabbit, I think you are hallucinating, I don’t think your head wound is healed well enough, you need to go back to hospital.” He touched her on the shoulders, she threw him to the floor in one fluid motion, bolting upstairs.

“Mischa! Where are you going?!” He pulled himself up and chased her.

Mischa slammed her door and locked it, rushing to her bedside table and fumbling with her gun case.

“Mischa, I am calling you an ambulance, then I am coming in.” Hannibal stood at the door.

“I have a gun, leave me alone! You really could be the Ripper, so many people were so quick to defend you, I was blinded by you, but I see what I see in your fridge and I know that Will is right, this is all you!” She fumbled with the code, opening up the empty case.

“The FBI still has your gun, Mischa, because Will Graham used it on Abel Gideon, remember. Now come on, let me in, I’m not going to hurt you.” Hannibal reasoned.

Mischa paced before remembering her FBI issued gun. It was in her bag at the bottom of the stairs, she took a deep breath before opening her door.

“Come downstairs, I’m going to take you back to hospital, I think you need another head scan.” Hannibal walked down the stairs “Come on.”

Mischa followed quietly, Hannibal went to the kitchen to put his apron away and grab his coat, when he returned Mischa was poised with her glock “Hands where I can see them.” She said quietly.

“Mischa, you’re not well.”

“I am perfectly fine, you’re the one with human meat on your fridge shelf.” She took the safety off.

“Mischa, you’ve got a concussion and probably a brain bleed again, you’re hallucinating.” Hannibal raised his hands in surrender.

“Mischa, put down the gun.” Jack Crawford was standing in the door frame.

“Jack, he’s the Ripper, he’s got a person in the fridge.” Mischa spat at him.

“I think her brain is swelling, I think she needs to go to the hospital, Jack.” Hannibal said calmly.

“Yes, I got your 911 text. Mischa, put down the gun, let’s talk about this.” Jack reasoned.

“Go and get the plate.” Mischa demanded.

“What plate?” Jack asked.

“She thinks I have a human in my fridge, but it is a rabbit.” Hannibal said calmly.

“Get it anyway.” Mischa persisted, watching Hannibal leave the room and return seconds later with the plate.

“I will give this to Jack, and you will put down the gun.” Hannibal reasoned.

“...” Mischa’s eyes suddenly rolled to the back of her head, she began to fall forward, dropping the gun and being caught by Hannibal who quietly lowered her to the ground.

“I’ll get an ambulance.” Jack got out his phone and picked up Mischa’s gun, putting the safety back on.

“Thank you, Jack.” Hannibal said quietly.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked after making a call “They’re two minutes out.”

“She just held a gun up to me and called me the ripper because I had rabbit in my fridge, no I am not alright, but neither is she and she probably won’t even remember when she wakes up.”

“Hopefully not, she’s not the irrational type, so hopefully she is fine when she’s treated.” Jack sighed.

“I fear that her opinion won’t change when she wakes up, and she will see me as a monster.” Hannibal lamented.

“You’re no monster, Hannibal, anyone who thinks you are is… unstable, and/or ill.” Jack chuckled “I see the lights coming down the streets, they’re on their way.”

“Good. Mischa, the paramedics are on almost here, can you hear me?” He cupped her face.

Mischa stood at the edge of a moonlit forest, her eyes fixed on a rabbit hopping gracefully through the undergrowth. The small creature moved with fluid ease, its tiny paws barely touching the forest floor as it weaved between the ferns and tangled roots. Mischa watched in silence, captivated by its delicate movements, as the rabbit picked up speed, its form flickering in and out of view like a shadow.

She couldn’t resist. She began to follow, her steps light and quick as she moved deeper into the forest. The rabbit darted ahead, its motions growing faster and more erratic, almost as if daring her to chase. Mischa’s breath quickened in excitement, the thrill of the pursuit coursing through her veins.

As the rabbit raced through the trees, something shifted. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air colder. Mischa’s pace faltered for a moment as a strange sensation crept over her—an unsettling feeling that she wasn’t alone in the forest. The trees seemed to close in, their trunks casting long, twisting shadows on the ground. She slowed, confused, and then it struck her.

She wasn’t the hunter anymore. She was the rabbit.

Panic surged through her as she realized the terrifying truth. Something was moving behind her, something unseen, but its presence was undeniable. The forest that once seemed open and inviting now felt suffocating. The leaves rustled with a sound that sent chills down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs felt heavy, her breaths shallow.

The unseen force was gaining on her. She could sense it, closing in from all directions. The air seemed to thicken, the shadows growing darker and more oppressive. The rabbit’s frantic speed, once exhilarating, now felt like her only chance to survive. She pushed herself harder, the ground beneath her feet becoming uneven, as if the forest itself were shifting to trap her.

The sound of footsteps, though absent, loomed in her mind, and Mischa’s heart raced faster. She couldn’t see her pursuer, but she felt it, an invisible predator stalking her every move. Her breath hitched in her throat as the relentless pressure of the chase closed in. She could feel the darkness pressing against her, and no matter how fast she ran, the gap was narrowing.

Mischa's legs buckled beneath her, the forest floor rising up to meet her with brutal force. She collapsed into the undergrowth, her body jerking with the impact, the air knocked from her lungs in a sharp gasp. The forest seemed to still for a moment, the only sound her ragged breathing. She scrambled to get up, but the weight of the fear pressing against her was too much, and she froze, staring into the darkness.

Suddenly, the shadows parted, and there, standing over her, was a figure. Tall, imposing, and coldly composed, his presence filled the clearing with a quiet authority. His eyes were dark, intense, unwavering. Mischa’s heart pounded in her chest as she realized who it was—Hannibal Lecter.

He didn’t move at first, simply looking down at her, his gaze unreadable. For a moment, there was no recognition, just the oppressive feeling of being trapped, cornered. Mischa tried to speak, but her throat was dry, her voice a strained whisper. "Hannibal..." she breathed, the name barely escaping her lips.

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze shifted downward, assessing her with a chilling calmness, as if she were a puzzle to be studied, a creature to be examined. His silence wrapped around her like a vice, tightening until it became almost unbearable. The air felt heavy, the weight of his presence suffocating.

Then, as if by some unspoken cue, the darkness began to recede. The forest around her faded, the looming sense of danger ebbing away. Her vision blurred, and she felt her consciousness flickering, as if the dream were unraveling.

The next thing she knew, Mischa’s eyes snapped open. She wasn’t in the forest anymore. The walls of the room were familiar—dimly lit, sterile. Her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, the remnants of the dream still clinging to her like a shadow. She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding, only to find Hannibal standing at the edge of her bed, watching her.

He was real. The nightmare was over, but his presence was just as unsettling in the waking world as it had been in her dream. His gaze was calm, almost disinterested, as if he had been standing there for some time, waiting for her to awaken.

Mischa's pulse raced, and she instinctively drew back, startled by the sudden shift from dream to reality. Her eyes locked with his, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it was hard to tell if she was still caught between worlds. The fear from the dream still gripped her, but in his presence, it became something more—something cold and calculating.

"Did you sleep well?" Hannibal asked, his voice smooth, almost gentle, as though nothing was amiss. But Mischa could hear the unspoken question in his tone: What did you dream?

For a long moment, she couldn’t answer. Her breath came slowly, steadily now, as she tried to piece together the fractured remnants of her nightmare. Her body still felt the echoes of the chase, the sense of being hunted, of being at the mercy of something darker, more dangerous than anything in the waking world.

Yet, there he was, standing over her like some quiet, omnipresent force, his eyes watching her, always watching.

Mischa swallowed, forcing herself to speak, her voice hoarse but steady. "I—" she hesitated, unsure whether to speak the truth, to acknowledge the terror that had just gripped her.

But before she could finish, Hannibal tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing through her defenses.

"You were dreaming of something... unsettling, I presume?"

Mischa's lips parted, but she said nothing. The line between her nightmare and the reality of his presence blurred, and for a moment, it felt like there was no escape from him—no safety from the shadows that clung to her even in the waking world.

“You have some complications of your concussion, you need to stay here in the hospital a few more days.” Hannibal patted her arm.

“What happened… When did I leave the hospital…?” Mischa said in confusion “Haven’t I always been here?”

"You don't remember, that's OK, you've forgotten."

"What happened to the rabbit?"

Chapter Text

Bedelia Du Maurier sat across from Hannibal Lecter in the familiar, dimly lit room. The polished wood paneling and the soft glow of the lights created an atmosphere of sterile comfort, but beneath the quiet veneer, tension thrummed. It had been a few weeks since Mischa’s head injury, and the younger woman’s behavior had taken a disturbing turn.

Hannibal leaned back in his chair, his fingers delicately holding a glass of wine, his gaze fixed on Bedelia with a slight, almost amused smile playing at the corner of his lips. He had been calm, detached even, throughout their therapy sessions, but today, his focus was more intent than usual, as if something, or someone, had unsettled him.

"Mischa’s vegetarianism," Hannibal began, swirling the wine in his glass, "has gone rather... militant. A curious reaction, don’t you think? All because of a mere bump to the head."
Bedelia’s eyes narrowed, her expression tight with concern. She leaned forward, folding her arms as her voice dropped a fraction. "You’re underestimating her, Hannibal. This isn’t just some fleeting reaction. Mischa’s vegetarianism is a symptom of something much deeper. She’s trying to exert control over something, anything, and her body, her choices—they’ve become her battleground."

Hannibal chuckled softly, dismissing her with a tilt of his head. "She is... fragile. You know as well as I do that she’ll return to a sense of normalcy once the novelty wears off. It's just a phase. A minor diversion, at best."

Bedelia didn’t flinch at his response. Her gaze remained steady, the lines of her face taut with quiet intensity. "It’s not about a ‘phase.’ She’s shifting, Hannibal. And this is a shift toward something dangerous. She’s clawing at something you’ve created in her—a version of herself that doesn’t recognize the hold you have over her."

Hannibal’s smile didn’t waver, though there was a slight, imperceptible tightening around his eyes. "Mischa is my responsibility. She’ll learn to accept what I’ve offered her. Her recent choices are nothing but a rebellion—a tantrum from a child who doesn’t understand her place."

Bedelia’s lips thinned into a tight line, her gaze cutting through the calm mask he wore. "You’re not seeing the bigger picture. She’s withdrawing into something more fundamental than her diet. She’s trying to escape. You’ve pushed her too far, Hannibal, and now she’s lashing out. You’ve treated her like an experiment—like you always do—but she’s growing... resistant. She’s not going to be so easy to pull the wool over her eyes, she’s starting to analyze things about you"

For a moment, the air between them crackled with a strange, quiet tension. Hannibal’s gaze remained steady, but there was something in the way he tightened his grip on his glass that betrayed his thoughts. "You think I am not aware of her mind?" he said, his tone soft but edged with a rare sharpness. "I have always known what she is capable of. The challenge lies in controlling it."

Bedelia’s eyes narrowed further, a warning in her voice as she leaned forward even more. "Control? Is that what you think this is? You’re not controlling her, Hannibal. You’re pushing her to the edge, and the more you push, the harder she’ll fight back. Perhaps two playthings are too many between her and Will Graham?"

Her words lingered in the air between them, a dangerous pulse in the room. Hannibal set his glass down, his posture shifting ever so slightly. "You misunderstand, Bedelia. I do not push without purpose. Mischa’s behavior is... manageable. And Will is contained."

"No," Bedelia countered, her voice low, but laden with a quiet urgency. "You’re not managing her anymore. She’s... turning. And the more you distance yourself from that truth, the more you risk exposing everything—everything—you’ve worked for. You’re not the only one watching her." She leaned forward, her eyes locking with his, intense and unyielding. "You’re becoming careless. Getting too close to being found out."

Hannibal’s eyes darkened, though the calm on his face remained. He stared at her for a long moment, as though weighing her words. "You think she will expose me? That she is the threat?"

"No," Bedelia said quietly, her gaze unwavering. "I think you’re becoming your own worst enemy. You’ve been walking a very fine line, Hannibal, and now... now you’re playing with fire. Mischa isn’t the only one who sees your manipulation. There are others who are starting to put the pieces together."

Hannibal remained silent for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. The faintest flicker of something—perhaps anger, perhaps a realization—flashed behind his eyes before he masked it with his usual composure.

"I do not need warnings," he said, his voice steady and cold, but with an edge that was sharp enough to cut. "I control what happens. And Mischa... she will come to understand that."

Bedelia’s lips parted slightly, her tone almost imperceptible, but heavy with truth. "Confidence always leaves gaps, Hannibal. And there are people out there who are patient enough to exploit them."

He studied her for a moment longer, the tension between them palpable. Finally, Hannibal stood, smooth and deliberate, his voice low, almost dismissive. "I do not fear those who play the game without understanding the rules. And neither should you."

Bedelia remained seated, her expression unreadable, though there was a faint, knowing smile at the corners of her lips. "Then let’s see how long your rules hold, Hannibal. Mischa is already bending them."

As Hannibal moved toward the door, he paused, looking back at her with that same calculating gaze. "I’ll handle Mischa, Bedelia. You worry about yourself."

With that, he left the room, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Bedelia alone with her thoughts. She watched the empty space where he had stood, her fingers lightly tapping the armrest, a soft sigh escaping her lips. The game had shifted. It wasn’t just about Mischa anymore. It was about Hannibal—and she knew that he was starting to make mistakes. And mistakes, in his world, were the most dangerous thing of all.

~~

Mischa awoke some time the next afternoon, the sun peeked through the gaps in her blinds.

Alana stood by her side “Hey, Mischa…”

“Alana, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I heard about what happened with Hannibal.” She explained.

“What happened with Hannibal?” Mischa inquired.

“You pulled a gun on him, accused him of being the Ripper.” Alana continued.

“I don’t remember that.”

“No, I don’t expect you to, your head injury is to blame.”

~

Beverly Katz knocked on Jack’s door “Oh, you’re going somewhere?”

“Yeah, I need to check on Mischa, she took a turn for the worse. What do you need?”

“Oh, it’s just about our muralist, I think I have discovered what makes him tick. I think it’s a colour palette.” She explained.

Jack paused “And how is Will Graham?”

Katz went to speak “...”

“Don’t say anything. I don’t want to know. What did you promise him?”

“I said I would look into his case in exchange for a consult, that he is not the Ripper.”

“I don’t have time for this, Beverly, I need to meet Hannibal at the hospital.” He explained “Stay away from Will Graham.”

“Hannibal is meeting you?” Katz considered.

“Yes, Mischa also accused him of being the Ripper, because he had a rabbit in his fridge, we are both meeting to discuss her wellbeing, now good night, Katz.” he nodded.

~

Katz carefully broke into the Lecter house, creeping into the darkened hallway into the kitchen, she opened the fridge to reveal its pristine emptiness. She sighed, it wasn’t unexpected. She shut the doors and began the rest of her search, accidentally knocking a glass of water over.

It was then she found the seam of the basement’s trapdoor.

~

“Take me to her.” Will Graham said quietly.

~

“Beverly Katz is dead.” Alana explained to Mischa quietly “Hannibal is going to be working with the team, he’s asked me to take care of you for a few days now you’re discharged.” Alana said, linking arms with Mischa as they walked to her car.

“And you agreed?” Mischa chuckled, her face bruised but healing.

“I thought you could do with some time away from Hannibal.” Alana agreed as they climbed into her car.

“He needs time away from me, I hurt his feelings, I am not making excuses but I was out of my mind.” She sighed.

“He forgives you, I think he genuinely is just helping the team deal with Beverly’s death in a more professional capacity, shall we pick up some take away?” She looked over at her.

“Toast will be just fine.” She sighed.

“Hannibal insisted you eat decent meals, but you can eat toast if it makes you happy.” Alana chuckled.

“I can’t believe you’re taking me in.” Mischa chuckled “I hope I don’t become your Will Graham.” she said quietly.

“You’re not my Will Graham.” Alana began driving.

“Not yet. But we were supposedly wrong about him.”

“I am going to ask you to be quiet, you can talk about anything else you want, but this is still a sore topic.” Alana said kindly.

“OK.” Mischa leaned against the window.

“Is your head sore?”

“I don’t think it will ever stop throbbing at this point.” she confessed.

“Did they give you something?”

“Yeah, but I can’t take it.” Mischa continued “I have… problematic addictive tendencies.”

“I will keep them safe and all you need to do is ask.” Alana suggested.

“OK.”

“Don’t worry, we are reasonably close, you can rest when you get there as much as you want.”

~

Mischa showered in Alana’s bathroom, her bathtub-shower combo allowing her to sit and properly wash her curls for the first time in a while, the coppery dark blood washing around her feet. The pounding of her skull temporarily subsided with the steam and the water.

She stood carefully and out of the tub, drying herself with Alana’s towels, she noticed a pair of cotton pajamas folded neatly on the sink. A small label in Alana’s handwriting read “Mischa.”
Mischa smiled and pulled them on, taking a look at herself in the mirror to admire them. She examined her face, shades of green and purple, her bruises were almost healed, she bundled up her laundry and carried it out.

“Thank you for the gift.” She smiled at Alana “Where could I put my clothes?”

“Let me take them.” Alana took her laundry and threw them in a hamper. “Now, I am no chef, but I made some pasta, fully vegetarian if you felt like joining me.” her kind smile comforted Mischa.

“I would love that.”

The two women sat on Alana’s couch with their simple bowls of pasta and a flavoured, sparkling-water, and Mischa for the first time felt some semblance of peace. Alana watched her body relax for the first time.

“It isn’t much, I am not a very good cook.” Alana confessed.

“It is perfection, I am perfectly happy.” Mischa smiled at her genuinely.

“How’s your head?”

“Still throbbing, at this point I am convinced it throbs with my heartbeat.” Her smile faded.

Alana checked her watch, a fine gold thing, simple but elegant in design “You can have a dose, I’ll get it for you.” She put her bowl on the coffee table, stood and walked out of the room, returning with a handful of tablets “Here.” She placed them on Mischa’s hand.

Mischa swallowed them as Alana returned to her seat “I truthfully expected more questions.”

“I was going to ask, but I thought I would wait for you to volunteer.” Alana picked up her bowl.

“Well. It starts in the military.” Mischa sighed “Kate and I were both Military, she was a bomb tech, I was a sniper. We had to move from one point to the next on a known road, one we had traveled hundreds of times, yet that morning, we hit an IED, her car hit it, mine hit hers, she was killed instantaneously, my crew died on impact, I was the only one who survived because I was thrown. I had to walk the miles to the base, under fire half the time. I was burned badly, broken bones, they gave me lots of pain meds, but… after a while, I noticed myself… relying on them, so, I went cold turkey and swore I’d never touch them again. But then I got gutted, and now I’m dealing with a skull fracture, so they gave them back to me, but I don’t trust myself.” She said carefully.

“That’s a lot to deal with.” Alana held her hand.

“Yeah, and my Dad was ill, and my Mom well she went missing, and they were an easy escape. But I cleaned up, joined the FBI and well, here we are.” Mischa finished “And, well you know the complications of the last couple of months.”

“Well, you need them to heal, and I will be a hand to hold to ensure you don’t become reliant.”

“Thank you…”

“Have you told Hannibal?”

“Of course.” She nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He told me I was escaping dealing with my trauma.” Mischa exhaled.

“Do you think he might be right?”

“Let’s not ruin dinner with psychiatry.” Mischa smiled.

~

“You say you interpret the evidence, so interpret the evidence…”

The voice repeated in Will’s ears. He was the one that sent her to investigate Hannibal, and Mischa’s recent hospital visit would have been a perfect time, but if she got caught…

“Good evening, Will.” it was an unfamiliar voice at his cell.

Will turned and stood up “I don’t know you.”

“My name is Bedelia Du Maurier.” she said quietly

“You’re Hannibal’s therapist, what’s that like?”

“I have heard so much about you, I as though I know you.”

“You don’t.” Will shut her down immediately.

“No, I don’t.” She agreed quietly “But I understand you better than I thought. I wanted to meet you before I withdraw.”

“What are you withdrawing from?” Will asked curiously.

“Social ties.”

“Well you’re a psychiatrist, isn’t our sense of self a consequence of social ties?”

“They certainly are in your case. It may be small comfort but I believe Hannibal has done what he honestly believes is best for you.”

“No that isn’t small comfort, that would be no comfort.” Will spat.

“The traumatised are unpredictable because we know we can survive. You can survive this happening to you…”

“Happening to me?”

Bedelia carefully stepped forward, her heels overstepping the chalk line on the ground until she was right on the bars. Will stepped forward until their lips almost met, where she whispered “I believe you…”

~

Alana left for work the next day, leaving a single dosage of Mischa’s medications on the counter and the time she could take it. Mischa sipped coffee and stared at the cup when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she walked over and opened it. A blonde woman in a blue suit and overcoat stood before her.

“Alana Bloom isn’t home, Ma’am.” Mischa said.

“Oh… look at you, what happened to your face?” Bedelia asked quietly.

“Hit my head on a mortuary table. I am sorry, who are you?”

“My name is Bedelia Du Maurier, I am Hannibal Lecter’s psychiatrist. I needed to meet you before I left, may I come in?”

“I guess.” Mischa frowned, allowing her to walk in.

“You do bear some resemblance to Hannibal,but my guess is you take after your mother more.” Bedelia stood in the kitchen.

“Can I make you some tea?” Mischa offered.

“No I can’t stay long, I just… Hannibal told me about your meat phobia.”

“I don’t need a second opinion.”

“He also told me about how you freaked out and pulled a gun on him. Over a rabbit steak.” Bedelia said quietly.

“It wasn’t a rabbit.” Mischa cut her off.

“... I came here to tell you that for what it is worth, I believe you.” Bedelia nodded.

“You can’t breach patient-doctor confidentiality, or anything we do to act upon it will be fruit of the tainted tree. Poisoned, it would be inadmissible.” Mischa frowned at her.

“All I said was that I believe you.”

“Do you believe he is torturing me into madness?”

“I believe you there as well.”

Mischa leaned on the bench, hanging her head low, exhaling hard “What do I do then, Bedelia Du Maurier.”

“You do what you do best, you’re an FBI agent, allow the badge to weigh more than the water of the womb.”

“He’s my brother.”

“He can still be your brother and accountable for his actions, and you are no worse off than you were last year with no brother…” Bedelia reminded her.

“I know, but how do I catch him? How do I get him to make a mistake.” She rubbed her throbbing skull.

“Two words: Will Graham.”

Chapter Text

Mischa took herself to the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane by taxi. She stood in Dr. Frederick Chilton’s office awaiting approval to visit Will Graham.

“My, I heard the story of your existence and frankly I was expecting Hannibal but with longer hair. Thankfully you bear few resemblances to him.” Chilton quipped from behind his desk.

“Which is the only room you’re not allowed to record in?” Mischa asked, ignoring his annoyance.

“The interview room.” Chilton explained.

“Great, we will meet there.” She rubbed her temple.

“You’re on leave are you not?” Chilton quipped.

“I just want to have a conversation without listening ears.” Mischa explained.

“I’ll allow it, but I think we should get some dinner afterwards?” Chilton was bold, annoyingly so.

“Sorry, I am already courting somebody else.” Mischa didn’t miss a beat.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Chilton frowned.

“Girl, and that would be telling, I never kiss and tell. Is this going to take much longer?”

“We are just moving him for you. You can leave anything sharp, or weapon like with me.” Chilton could barely hide his disappointment.

“I only have my phone with me, if you’d like to pat me down you’re going to have to get a warrant.” She smirked.

A guard knocked and then entered “He’s ready.”

“Great, you have one hour, Agent Lecter, that is all.”

“One hour is more than enough, thank you, Dr. Chilton.”

She carefully followed the guard down, trying to block out the screams and crazed babble of the inmates, she was let into a small room where a shackled Will sat at a metal table.

“Mischa Lecter? What are you doing here?” He said with confusion, and a hint of delight.

“I have come to talk about my brother.” She sat opposite him.

“What happened to your face?”

“We don’t have time. I was visited by one Bedelia Du Maurier…” She began explaining.

“She came to see me too.” Will looked interested.

“What did she tell you?”

“She said she believed me. About Hannibal… What did she say to you?”

“She said the same thing, and to let my connection with my badge outweigh the idea that we are related.” She swallowed hard “I know you didn’t commit these crimes, Jack knows it to, but we are hard pressed to find any evidence to stop this trial continuing. I want your advice on how to catch Hannibal, how to make him slip up, how to make him make a mistake.” She leaned her elbows on the table, making prayer hands and then resting her chin on top.

“You believe me too…” Will looked relieved “Are you still staying with him?”

“No, I may have had an episode and pulled a gun on him. I am staying with Alana.”

“Alana… have you told her what you think?”

“No. She is very quick to defend Hannibal.”

“He was her mentor after all…” Will took a moment to pause “Every bit of evidence will lead you away from Hannibal Lecter.”

“I know. But my thinking is that Hannibal doesn’t have a lot of friends, and he would do almost anything to keep them. What if we played on that…?” Mischa winced.

“A headache?”

“Constant at the moment, it is what happens when you smack your head on a mortuary table when you pass out at the sight of your fishing lures.”

“Not my fishing lures.” Will reminded her “I will help you catch Hannibal, I want him caught too, but I need you to keep looking for unexpected ways to catch him.”

“How you suppose I do that?”

“...Crawl back to him, make him think that he’s won, make him think that he has beaten you into blindness, pretend not to notice things, pretend to defend him, become his biggest fan and eventually he will get so comfortable and forgetful, that he will likely slip up. And get me out of here, I don’t care how you do it, but get me out and I will help you.” Will reached over as best he could and took her hand “We can’t let the monster win, Mischa, the only way the pair of us will ever be free is if he is dead or behind bars.”

“...I could kill him.” Mischa muttered.

“Kill him now and no justice will happen, and I won’t get out of here.” Will chuckled “but I see the appeal.” He reached for her hands and held them “Don’t let him become someone and something that you aren’t.”

“His murder would be righteous.” She squeezed his hands a little.

“You might still get the chance.” He smirked.

~~

Mischa made it home after Alana, who looked at her with annoyance and confusion “I tried calling.”
Wha
“Sorry, my phone was off.”

“Where were you? I was worried.”

“I went to visit Will.” She said in almost a whisper.

“Why?”

“I just fancied paying him a visit.” Mischa shrugged.

“If you two are conspiring…”

“Relax, it was just a social visit. To remind myself that he is human after all.” She sat on a stool at the breakfast bar.

“I don’t think I believe you.” Alana said, passing her a cup of coffee.

“That is your choice. How was your day?”

“Usual, patients and rounds, then a lecture at the university.” Alana smiled.

“Sounds fulfilling.” Mischa nodded.

“You studying psychiatry, why aren’t you practicing?” Alana titled her head.

“I’m a better FBI agent than I would be a therapist. Though all things considered, maybe I need another career change.” She chuckled as there was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it.” Alana walked over, opening it to Jack Crawford.

“Mischa, Alana, I am not here on a social visit. Hannibal Lecter has been injured, Will Graham may be responsible.”

“Will Graham, but he’s in the psych hospital?” Alana questioned but eyed Mischa carefully.

“Yes, but it would seem he recruited one of the orderlies to do his bidding. You went and visited him today, didn’t you Mischa, you requested a private room.”

“I don’t like my conversations recorded, it was merely a social visit.” Mischa explained, frowning “You think I told Will Graham to kill Hannibal?”

“No, but I need to know if he said anything, revealed any of his plans?” Jack questioned.

“No, I would have alerted you straight away, I just wanted to chat, that’s all.” Mischa’s frowned deepened “Take me to Hannibal.”

“I don’t think you should go.” Alana jumped in.

“I’m going, you can’t stop me, he’s my brother. Jack, let’s go.” Mischa stood, wobbling slightly before straightening up.

“...Alright.” Jack offered his arm for her to take but she walked past him and waited by his car.

~~

“Mischa?” Hannibal’s eyes flicked open.

“You’re lucky they found you…” She was holding his hand.

“Are you ok?”

“Don’t worry about me, for what it’s worth I am sorry I ever doubted you, you’re right, Will Graham is pointing in all directions except himself.” She brushed his hair off his forehead with affection.

“I am not mad at you, I understand your… episode.”

“You can understand and still be frustrated by my actions, hurt by them.” She kissed his head.

“You went and saw him today? I heard Jack say it.” Hannibal questioned.

“I just wanted to see him, to remind myself that he was human. Sadly what hope I had has been shattered.” She explained.

“Will is not well, but I can tell you’re getting better.” He gave her a soft smile.

“I will be taking care of you when you’re released.” She explained “It is my turn.”

~~
“His death would be justified.” Mischa’s words echoed in Will’s ears.

~~

“Are you coming to Will’s trial?” Mischa offered to Hannibal, half a piece of toast in her hand, and her badge attached firmly on her hip.

“Yes, actually, I would like to be there.” Hannibal said smiling “It is nice to see you well and back at work, Mischa.”

“Desk duty for now unless something comes up, I guess.” She shrugged “It is nice not to have a constant headache.”

“I’ll bet. Can I tempt you with anything other than toast this morning?”

“Toast and coffee, breakfast of late FBI agents.” She stood “We don’t have time anyway. I’ll drive. Let’s go.” She tossed him his suit jacket.

“That would be appreciated.” he nodded.

“I am meeting Alana at the court room too.” She explained.

“Are you an item?”

“No, I don’t think so anyway.” She watched with fleeting glances “Not holding out hope that he’s innocent.” She said kindly as she held the toast in her teeth as she put on her suit jacket.

“I don’t know what I believe now.”

~~

Mischa met Alana outside of the court room “Ready?” Mischa asked, holding her hand.

“I don’t think I can ever be.”

Both women and Hannibal sat through the proceedings until recess when Will’s lawyer was delivered a package, emptying it onto the desk before Will.

“I think I opened your mail.” He said in a quiet, shocked tone, as a human ear bounced limply before them.

Mischa immediately stood up “don’t touch it.” She rushed to the front, pulling out gloves from the inside pocket of her coat and quickly putting them on, she picked up the ear “I believe we should delay court proceedings for today, your honor.” She turned to the judge who was actively heaving.

Mischa pulled an evidence bag from another pocket and put the ear within it, then a second for the envelope “Alana, call Jack, tell him what we have found.” She felt her mouth fill with saliva.

~~

“The same knife that Will used to cut off Abigail Hobbs’ ear, was used on this one.” Jack said definitively “Are you alright agent Lecter?” he watched Mischa turn a slight shade of pale.

“I’m fine, and I found out something, the knife was checked out of evidence by the bailiff on Will’s trial. I have his address.”

“Then let’s orchestrate a raid, everyone get ready, the sooner the better.”

“I would like to come, Jack.” Hannibal said from beside Mischa.

“You can come but you can’t infiltrate.”

~~

Mischa drove the pair to the bailiff’s house, a bullet proof vest firmly around her torso.

“Your being in that vest is unsettling.” Hannibal noted.

“I have a dreadful feeling about this.” She confessed.

“What do you expect to find?”

“Not a bailiff sitting at home drinking a beer. No, truthfully, I think he’s already dead.” She said, a bitter taste in her mouth.

“You think he is already dead?”

“I think the real Ripper is active again, and realises that another man going down for his crimes, isn’t what he wanted when he set Will up, he still wants the glory and the name all to himself. Why wouldn’t he? He’s proud of his work… just make sure you stay in the car.”

“I will, until the scene is cleared.” Hannibal watched her pull up, get out and join the infiltration team.

“Something is wrong Jack, I can feel it.” Mischa said to Jack “We should wait…”

“We can’t wait, we go in now.”

Jack set up the teams and then called the order.

It was seconds later that the bomb went off.

“Mischa.” Hannibal was before her, passing her a bottle of water as she sat on the pavement awaiting the scene to be cleared by the bomb squad.

“...there’s someone in there, burned, I can smell it.” She said quietly, undoing the cap on the water bottle and drinking it.

“I can smell it too this time.” He sat next to her “It is profound.”

“It’s the bailiff, and if I am right, we will see… Will Graham’s greatest hits, proving he is not the Ripper.”

“And you believe it isn’t Will Graham after all?”

“I don’t think I ever believed it was Will Graham.”

“Mischa?” Jack called her over “You need to go to the court house, we can deal with the burned body.”

“The court house, why?”

“The Judge in Will’s trial has been killed, it’s gruesome but it isn’t burned flesh.” he nodded.

“Right. Thank you, Jack.” She nodded “Hannibal, do you want to stay here or come with me?”

“I’ll make my own way home, good luck.” he waved as she left.

~~

“This poses a real problem, doesn’t it.” Mischa stood in the doorway of the courtroom, looking at the various parts of the judge in places they shouldn’t be.

“This will cause a mistrial, like the other one never happened.” Prurnell explained.

“That sounds like someone’s design. Not sure who.”

“You sound like Will Graham.”

“Well the rest of my team is at another scene, we have enough evidence to confirm that Will Graham is not the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she spat.

“You’ll have to let him go.” Mischa said quietly.

“I know that too.”

Chapter Text

“Your uber is here.” Mischa declared, meeting Will Graham in the lobby of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

“I didn’t call an uber.” He chuckled.

“It was me, or Jack, I figured we could talk. Alana is dropping off your dogs as we speak, they’ll be there when you get back.”

Will followed her to her car “So, elephant in the room…”

“You tried to kill Hannibal, after telling me not to kill Hannibal.” She sighed as she pulled out of the car space.

“Yeah, I told you not to do it, you don’t need to become someone you aren’t.”

“Neither do you, Will, you don’t have to try and save me.”

“I was trying to save us both.”

“What happened to you believing if he was dead you wouldn’t be able to get out?” Mischa reminded him.

“I think we should turn our attention to, what do we do next, Mischa, what’s Hannibal going to do next?”

“...I think you should resume therapy with Hannibal, I will mic his office, record and listen in, it might not be admissible in that form, but… it might be enough to point us in a direction.”

Will shook his head “no, we can’t, he would use it against you, you being the FBI, we have to do this… smart.”

“We need Prurnell.” Mischa said “We need a plan that doesn’t get either of us in trouble. We need it by the book.”

“You want to… involve internal affairs.”

“Yes, I want this by the book” she nodded “ts crossed, I can’t risk my career, you shouldn’t either, we could both end up in prison.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, you can back out and I can handle it myself.”

“Two brains are better than one. I’ll organize Prurnell.”

The tension in the small, dimly lit room was palpable. Kade Prurnell sat at the head of the table, her expression serious as she addressed the team. Mischa, Will, and Jack were gathered around her, each one aware of the gravity of the situation. The weight of the moment hung in the air like a thick fog.

Kade leaned forward, her voice steady but tinged with the urgency of the task at hand. "Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. We've gathered enough evidence to prove it. The pieces are there. But he's careful, meticulous—he won't make a mistake unless we push him into a corner. If we want to bring him down, we have to play along with his twisted game. We have to be his puppets, all of us."

Mischa wiped at her face, trying to hide the tremor in her hands. She knew what this meant. She knew the risks. But the thought of letting Hannibal continue his reign of terror was unbearable. Will's fingers gently brushed hers, grounding her. His presence, calm and steady, helped her hold it together. But she could still feel the sting of fear.

"We've played this dangerous game before," Jack said, his voice heavy with the burden of past losses. "And we've seen what happens when we push too far, when we miscalculate."

Kade met his gaze. "I know the stakes, Jack. But we don't have a choice. He's too smart. Too dangerous. If we let him slip through our fingers again, more people will die. We have to do whatever it takes to get him to make a mistake. But I want everyone clear on one thing," she added, her tone softening just slightly. "We can’t save everyone. People will die along the way. And I won’t pretend otherwise."

Mischa’s breath hitched, the reality of what she was about to sign crashing into her like a wave. She knew what Kade meant—this wasn’t going to be clean, and it wasn’t going to be easy. They were diving headfirst into a nightmare, and there was no guarantee of coming out alive.

Kade reached over to slide a form toward Mischa. "I give you and Will Graham permission to do what you need to do. You’ll have the authority, but know that the cost is steep."

Mischa’s heart pounded as she stared down at the document, her hand trembling. She could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on her, but she also knew there was no turning back. If they didn’t stop Hannibal now, everything would be lost. She lifted her pen, her hand still shaking as she signed, sliding the paper over to Will, who signed without hesitation.

Will stood beside her, his voice barely above a whisper. "We’ll get through this together, Mischa."

Tears rolled down her cheeks, unbidden and hot. She didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to show her weakness. But the emotions were overwhelming. This wasn’t just about catching a killer; this was about facing the darkness head-on, knowing that their choices would haunt them, no matter the outcome.

Kade, though her face remained stoic, gave a slight nod of approval. "It’s done. Now, we move forward. All of us, together. And remember: Hannibal Lecter is clever, but he’s not invincible. We just have to be patient. Eventually, he’ll slip. And when he does, we’ll be ready."

Will squeezed Mischa’s hand. "We’ll be ready."

Jack “Burner phones.” He handed one each to Mischa and Will “If Hannibal is to find yours, Mischa, say it is a back up, the FBI is having phone issues, we’ve back issued an internal mail so it looks confirmed. There’s a panic button, if you hold down the star key, it will ping us an exact location and we will be there as fast as we can.”

“Which won’t be fast enough to save either of us from certain death.” Mischa swallowed.

“Don’t be negative. We can do this.”
~
Will and Mischa met at a nondescript coffee shop the next day to plot their attack. Mischa looked tired even under a layer of makeup.

“Good morning.” Will said, cheerily.

“Don’t.” Mischa sat, Will slid a cup of coffee over to her.

“Are you getting cold feet?”

“Aren’t you?” She looked at him seriously.

“...I run hot.” He smiled.

“And sarcastic.” She frowned.

“We need to form a game plan.” She nodded.

“If we poke too hard, he will run.”

“If he runs, we chase.”

“It might not be that simple, he will have had an escape route planned for years.” Will sipped his coffee.

“I… can’t do this now, I will come by your house after work.” Mischa stood.

“Mischa… Mischa wait!” Will picked up his cup and chased her down the street to her car.

“Will, I can’t have this conversation with you right now, I just can’t…” She leaned against her door.

“What’s wrong?” Will asked her, finding himself holding her hand tightly.

“I’m… scared.” She looked at him truthfully.

“So am I…” He nodded.

“I am scared for a different reason, not of him, of myself.” She pulled herself from him “I’m scared I’m going to kill him, that there will be a moment in time where I… something like him awakens in me and I end up on just the same side as the law.”

“Nature versus nurture… Mischa you are not Hannibal Lecter, you’re your own person.” He explained.

“We share a bloodline, and who’s to say we are genetically predisposed to psychopathy?” She reasoned.

“So you back out, then what, people keep dying, we ignore him, starve him of attention like a child, and see if he pouts and stops, or, if he does something bigger, more grandiose, more horrible?” Will asked, a slight anger on his tongue.

“I don’t know, Will.” She said quietly.
“Say it!” He yelled.

“I DON’T KNOW, WILL!” she yelled, people were now looking.

“Say you love him! Admit it!”

Mischa sank to the ground, holding her head. Will felt a sudden wave of guilt flood over him, he joined her on the ground “Hey… I am sorry.”

“You’re right, despite brevity, despite everything, I love him. It’s ridiculous.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You can love him, and put him in prison.” Will rationalized.

“Do you love him?” She asked softly.

“Yes.” Will said, equaling her tone.

“What do we do, Will.”

“I don’t know.” He pulled her in for a hug, resting his cheek against her head.
~
“Jack, it’s Miriam, I don’t know where I am, I can’t see anything, I was so wrong, I was so wrong. Jack, please, I don’t want to die like this.”

Chapter Text

The club was alive, a swirling vortex of flashing lights and pulsating music. The bass reverberated through the floor, each beat syncing with the thrum of Mischa’s heart as she stood near the bar, surveying the crowd. She had come to lose herself, to forget for just a moment. The music, the people, the flashing neon—it all blended into a blur, but one person caught her eye.

Across the room, a woman with dark, exotic features stood like a magnet, drawing Mischa in without even trying. Her skin was a rich caramel, glowing in the dim club lights, and her black hair cascaded down her back in waves, soft yet controlled. She wore a sleek, deep green dress that clung to her body in all the right ways, the fabric catching the light with each subtle movement. Her eyes, dark and piercing, scanned the room lazily before landing on Mischa.

Mischa hesitated for only a second before walking over, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. The woman’s gaze didn’t waver, and when Mischa stood in front of her, the corners of her lips curled into a confident, knowing smile.

"Hey," the woman said, her voice low and velvety, with a hint of something foreign that Mischa couldn’t place. "I’m Tiffany."

"Mischa," she replied, her voice a little shakier than she’d intended, but she didn’t mind. There was something magnetic about Tiffany. "Nice to meet you."

Tiffany studied her for a beat, those dark eyes never leaving Mischa’s face. "I’m glad you came over," she said, her smile turning playful. "I can tell you’re here for more than just a drink."

Mischa couldn’t help but chuckle, unsure how to respond to such an intense, yet somehow alluring, statement. "Maybe I am," she said, her lips curving in a teasing smile of her own.

Without missing a beat, Tiffany reached out, taking Mischa’s hand and leading her to the dance floor, where the crowd was moving in sync with the music. They pressed close together, their bodies swaying to the rhythm. Tiffany was a master at this, her movements fluid and confident, while Mischa was a little more tentative, still finding her footing. It didn’t take long before they were dancing as one, the chemistry between them undeniable.

Tiffany leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of Mischa’s ear. "You’re a good dancer," she whispered, her breath warm against Mischa’s skin. "You like to be controlled, don’t you?"

Mischa shivered, caught off guard by the boldness in Tiffany’s voice. "I like to be free," she responded, though it felt like an incomplete answer.

Tiffany pulled back just enough to catch her eye; her expression serious, intense. "Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go," she said, her lips curling into a predatory smile.

They danced until the edges of Mischa’s awareness started to fray, the world spinning slightly, the music growing louder, more insistent. Tiffany never broke contact, her hands always on Mischa’s body, guiding her, pulling her closer. There was a certain hypnotic pull to her touch, a strange intensity that Mischa couldn’t quite place, but it felt thrilling.

At some point, Tiffany leaned in and kissed her, slow and teasing at first, just the barest touch of their lips. Mischa felt a spark ignite deep in her chest, and she kissed back, her hands sliding up to Tiffany’s neck, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if they both wanted to claim the other.

After a few moments, they broke apart, both of them slightly breathless. Tiffany smiled, her eyes gleaming. "You’re incredible," she murmured, her voice smooth and low.

Mischa couldn’t help but laugh, a little nervous, a little dizzy. "You’re not so bad yourself."

Tiffany’s smile was slow, her fingers tracing along the edge of Mischa’s jawline, sending a shiver through her. "How about a drink?" she suggested, her voice filled with a kind of silky command.
Mischa, still reeling from the kiss, nodded and let Tiffany led her back to the bar. They stood side by side, the music still thumping in their ears as they ordered drinks. Tiffany handed Mischa a glass, the amber liquid shimmering in the low light.

"To new experiences," Tiffany said, raising her glass. Her smile was almost too perfect, too knowing. Mischa met her eyes, feeling a flutter of uncertainty deep in her chest, but the alcohol already in her system was making everything feel a little more distant, a little easier to handle.

"To new experiences," Mischa repeated, clinking her glass against Tiffany’s.

The liquid slid down her throat, smooth and rich, but with an odd aftertaste that Mischa couldn’t quite place. She frowned for a split second, but Tiffany was already looking at her with a soft, encouraging smile, her eyes glittering with something darker.

"Feeling good?" Tiffany asked, her voice laced with something too casual, too calm.

Mischa nodded, but the room around her suddenly seemed to tilt, the world becoming a little harder to focus on. Her legs felt unsteady, and her vision began to blur. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze that was quickly taking over her senses.

"Just a little lightheaded," Mischa muttered, but even as she spoke, her words slurred slightly, and she could feel herself swaying where she stood.

Tiffany’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her hand reaching out to steady Mischa as she swayed. "It’s okay," she whispered, her voice soft and reassuring. "Just relax. I’ve got you."

Even through the fog clouding her mind, Mischa couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The edges of her vision grew fuzzier, and she struggled to hold onto reality as Tiffany’s grip tightened around her waist. Her words, once so charming, now sounded laced with a kind of dark intent.

"Everything’s going to be just fine," Tiffany whispered again, her lips brushing against Mischa’s ear. "Trust me."

Mischa felt her burner phone buzz in her back pocket “I have to take that, I’ll be back.” She pulled away from Tiffany stumbling outside, as the world slid around her, she leaned up against a wall. She pulled the burner phone and called Will back.

“You said you were coming over…” Will said quietly.

“I got distracted.” Mischa said with a slur.

“Are you drunk, where are you?”

“Katrina’s Dance Bar.” She said with great difficulty “I think someone slipped something in my drink.”

“I’m coming to get you, stay where you are, in fact, push the star key on this phone, it’ll alert Jack, he’s closer.”

“No. I’m alright, I’ll find a cab - ah!” Mischa tripped over her feet, landing with a thud on the pavement, scraping both knees.

“Mischa, I’m on my way, stay on the phone with me.”

“I tripped, I’m ok, but everything is getting dark.” She explained.

“You’re passing out, where are you, are there people?” Will sounded panicked.

“I’m near a road.”

“What road, Mischa, what road?” Her line cut out.

“Sugar, where are you going? Tiffany’s voice followed her “It’s cold out here, you should come back inside.”

“Stay away from me.” Mischa mumbled, stumbling as fast as she could to the main road.

“Come on, let me walk you back inside.”

“I said stay away from me.” Mischa reached into her purse, pulling her FBI badge out and shining it toward the looming figure of Tiffany.

“Aw man, nah, you’re a cop, what the fuck…”

It was enough to send her running back to the club. Mischa sighed with relief, leaning on a wall near a streetlamp. As she slid down the wall, darkness creeping into her vision, she pressed and held the star key before she dropped the phone and fell unconscious.

~~

“Mischa.” A hand cupped her face “Come on, up you get…” Jack lifted her up under her arms, sitting her in the back of Will’s car “Come on, wake up…”
Mischa’s head lifted; her eyes barely awake “Sorry…”

“You’re really lucky.” Will said “Who did this to you?”

“A woman named Tiffany.”

“Go get her, Will, now.” Jack instructed, “I’ll take care of her.”

“Wait… don’t…” Mischa looked serious.

“What, no, she’s a predator.”

“...I’m not saying don’t get her, I’m saying… We tell Hannibal.” She looked almost cruel.

~~

“Jack, it’s Miriam, I don’t know where I am, I can’t see anything, I was so wrong, I was so wrong. Jack, please, I don’t want to die like this.”

~~

“He was here, in my house.” Jack spat.

“He laid on your pillow.” Will remarked.

“Interesting.” Misch frowned “Where was the last place someone left you a gift, Jack.”

“What? I am going to need you to explain yourself, Agent Lecter.”

“How about I show you.” Mischa insisted.

~~
Every man and their dog arrived at the observatory as soon as Mischa put the call in, Miriam Lass’s arm was waiting for them, proudly on display holding her cellphone.

“He kept her arm for two years.” Jack asked Mischa and Will.

“No, I would say that arm is… recently cut.” Mischa looked slightly green “God, why do we have to deal with so many body parts.”

“Recently cut, how recent?” Jack pressed.

“I’m no lab tech, but I would say… days, or weeks, not years. It looks like it was frozen.” She confessed.

“Zeller, Price, please confirm.” Jack nodded “So where would the rest of her be?”

“I don’t know.” Mischa looked serious.

“Have you been staying with Hannibal?” Jack asked her quietly, off to the side of the others.

“On and off… Not consistently.” She said cautiously.

“On, and off, Mischa, you’re our eyes and ears on the inside.” Jack had anger boiling in his voice.

“I… I have no excuses.”

“We pulled you, drugged from a bar, you look like shit…” Jack explained “How often have you gone home with someone to avoid Hannibal’s house.”

“Since Will got out.” She swallowed.

“That’s self-destructive.” Jack exclaimed.

“I know, I know, I’ll go home tonight.”

“You better, or I’ll sit outside your house.”

~~

Mischa returned to Hannibal’s house looking worse for wear.

“You’re home. It’s been four days.” Hannibal looked annoyed at the doorway “You look terrible.”

“Hi, how are you, I’m fine thanks for asking. I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been avoiding me. I have been trying to figure out why.” Hannibal explained.

“Not avoiding you, I am avoiding life itself.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She hung her jacket up.

“Mischa, I am worried about you.”

“Save it, Hannibal.” She frowned at him.

“Since you hit your head, your behavior has changed, I am worried it is a long-term side effect of your head injury.” Hannibal caught her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen.

“Maybe I am just dealing with some stuff.”

“You smell like a bar…”

“Because I was at a bar, well done, that nose is really something.” she frowned.

“Are you seeing someone, many someones?”

“Hannibal. Don’t.”

“Is this because Alana hasn’t spoken to you?”

“I said don’t.” She glared at him.

“What happened at the bar? You’re pale, twitchy, are you doing drugs?”

“No, I was drugged deliberately, without consent.” She confessed, boiling the kettle while she stood with her back turned to him.

“Did you catch their name?” Hannibal’s tone shifted.

“Tiffany, though, it was probably her hooker name, probably planned to steal my wallet more than anything.” Mischa brushed him off.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Wasn’t in a position to, the bouncer found my FBI badge, called the FBI and Jack picked me up, I spent the night with Zeller and Price and Jack at the FBI while I came out of it and also worked on our next case.”

“Jack should have called me.”

“I insisted I didn’t want to wake you, no offence, but I didn’t fancy getting scolded by my older brother until I could communicate properly. Anyway, we found Miriam Lass’s hand, arm? Forearm and hand. At the observatory.” Mischa made them both tea.

“Oh, that’s a development.”

“Hmm.” Mischa sipped the tea, looking agitated.

“You should go shower and rest.”

“No, I am waiting for the rest of Lass to show up.”

“You can set your phone to loud.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Why are you self-destructing, is this delayed reaction to everything that has happened to you so far this year alone. Do you need a holiday, I could take us somewhere, we could go to Italy?”

“What’s so special about Italy?”

Chapter Text

Mischa was called early the next morning, well before full sun up, she dressed as she spoke hurriedly on the phone and was flying out the door in seconds. She drove to the carpark Jack directed her to.

A large tree was placed in the middle, what was odd about the tree was that it had a human grafted into it.

Mischa looked at the scene with a surprising lack of empathy “It is beautiful, who is he?”

“Sheldon Isley, Baltimore councilman, he tore down a habitat of an endangered bird to put up this parking lot.” Jack explained, and leaned over to whisper in Mischa’s ear “He also owns the club where you were drugged.”

“I only told Hannibal about that yesterday, this would have taken days.” She met his eyes “Right well, we need to work out where this guy was held, maybe there is something in the water that can tell us where he was kept. Get will Graham to figure out his design, I need to go talk to someone.” Mischa frowned.

“We aren’t done here…” Jack called after her but she was already in her car and driving away.
~~
Bedelia Du Maurier opened her door, Mischa was waiting “Bedelia, I need to speak to you.”

“Mischa, what are you doing here?” Bedelia frowned.

“I have come to talk about Hannibal Lecter, and I could really do with a cup of coffee and a few straight answers. Can I please come in.”

“You may.” Bedelia let her through “Kitchen is on the right.”

“I think Hannibal murdered someone and put them in a tree, do you want to see it?”

“Not before breakfast, thank you. How do you have your coffee?”

“Black will do.” She scratched the tops of her knuckles subconsciously.

“Do you need an allergy tablet, or is that a nervous scratch?” Bedelia passed her a mug.

“It is a side-effect of being roofied, it probably isn’t fully out of my system yet, that’s a story for another day.” She sipped the coffee.

“Do you have a therapist?”

“Should I?”

“It sounds like you need one.” Bedelia leaned on the cupboards.

“I am not here about me, well, there’s a link but I will get to that later. You told Will you believed him, you told me you believed me. Now I looked into your history, and Hannibal referred you a patient that attacked you and died in your front room, because he swallowed his tongue - I don’t buy it, what really happened?”

“Is that anger in your voice?” Bedelia looked at her with interest.

“I’m not your patient and I am not asking about a patient, I am asking about you, the patient in question is dead so there are no laws broken.”

“He choked on his own tongue.”

“Yes, and I read the autopsy reports, he had… scratches on the inside of his throat, could have been fingernails. I think your hand went into his mouth, I think he suffocated because of you. Now don’t worry, you’re not being charged, I think it was Hannibal’s Influence, just like I think what happened to Will was also Hannibal’s influence, he is very good at influencing people to do things he wants to see the outcome of.” Mischa continued.

“You think I am under Hannibal’s influence?” Bedelia frowned “I think you’re acting erratically. Is there a possibility the roofie was laced with something?”

“Potentially, but only the lab knows the answer to that, Price and Zeller took my blood, I filed a report, all is good, if it was anything too nasty I am sure they would have told me by now.”

“Combined that with a head knock recently and some very out of character behaviors, I think you should see a doctor.”

“You think I am going full Will Graham, no, now are we going to continue our conversation?”

“I want you to leave Mischa.”

“Suit yourself, I can’t protect you.” Mischa put the cup down “Good luck Bedelia. I don’t know what’s coming but you’d better be prepared.” She smiled, left the kitchen and went back to her car.
She looked at a text from Will “Hannibal scheduled therapy tonight because I said I wanted to talk about treeman.”

“Good, I am at Bedelia’s, well, leaving.”

“Why?”

“I’ll fill you in over dinner?”

“You can come to mine, and we can have take away, and discuss.”

“No, Hannibal will get jealous, suggest dinner after therapy, I’ll join, I’ll talk him into my needing a good meal.”

“Mischa, I’m worried about you.”

“Worry about yourself, and not provoking Hannibal, and not giving us evidence that is inadmissible. I am going to go and check on tree man.”

Jack Called her “Mischa, I am texting you an address… We have traced where the tree man came from, meet us there, Will is coming too.”

“Alright, on my way.”

~~

It was nightfall by the time Mischa, Jack, Will and the team arrived at the seemingly abandoned farm. Mischa and Will followed Jack in, where he’d lifted the lid of two wells. One was empty, the other contained a very much alive Miriam Lass.

“Why would Hannibal schedule therapy tonight if he knew we would be out there dealing with this.”

“I’ll ask him when I get there.” he whispered in her ear “You’re twitchy.”

“The roofies were probably laced with something, I’m going to go with Miriam, she should have another woman with her.”

“No, your last name might set her off, let Alana handle it, we have a dinner date.”

~~

Will drove them back to Hannibal’s, Mischa looked worse for wear, pale and a little sweaty “Are you alright?” He asked.

“Of course. I’m just tired, let’s go in, you have therapy, I need a shower.” She got out of the car, and the both walked into Hannibal’s kitchen.

“I found a stray.” Will announced, gesturing at Mischa.

“Ah, you’re both here for dinner, good, you look like you could do with a good feeding.” Hannibal smiled at the both.

“Is it too late to request toast?” Mischa asked.

“Much too late, you don’t look well.” Hannibal’s smile faltered.

“I’m just… I need a shower, I believe you boys have a session, I will stay upstairs, text me when it is time for me to come down and eat.”

Both men watched as she made her way up the stairs.

“What happened today?” Hannibal asked still watching.

“We found the rest of Miriam Lass.”

“Alive?”

“Very much so, seems the same person who made tree man, was responsible for keeping her.” Will explained.

“Jack must be so relieved.” Hannibal picked up a bottle of wine and gestured they move to the study.

Will immediately noticed the chairs were much closer than last time.

“Perhaps I could ask you for advice tonight, Will, but first I have to ask if you are going to try and kill me again.”

“No.” Will watched him pour his glass full of wine “I tried to kill you, you tried to kill me, even stevens.”

“Good, because it would be pointless to do therapy then.” Hannibal smiled, filling his own glass, the two leaned on his desk.

“What did you want my advice on?” Will asked curiously.

“I think Mischa should go back to New York, I don’t believe it is healthy for her to be here.”

“You’re sending her away, your own sister?” Will watched him but his face was unreadable.

“I worry about her mental health, and physical if I am honest, it appears the Ripper is active, I am… feeling protective.” Hannibal smelled and then sipped his wine.

“She’s a full grown woman, Hannibal, an FBI agent, he’ll she can wield a sniper-rifle, I think she’ll be ok, I think she’s been through some stuff the past few days that has her a little rattled, but with a good meal and a good sleep she’ll probably bounce back.” Will sipped his drink “Unless you don’t like having her around?” Will queried.

“No I’d love her to stay, I just worry she’s hating it here, and wants to go home.” Hannibal sat in one of his therapy chairs, gesturing that Will do the same.

The two men sat in silence for a moment.

“So, Miriam Lass… do you think it is the Ripper?” Hannibal asked quietly.

“It would make a nice change, don’t you think?” The comment took Hannibal off guard.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well the mess he’s made, the people he’s framed, the… throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks on the wall, it would be nice if he actually went back to what he’s good at.” Will continued “nice and simple, nice and clean, way more creepy and effective, no field kabuki.”

“You want him to… keep killing?” Hannibal tilted his head.

“Well, he should almost be through this sounder, then he lulls for a while and we get a chance to catch up.” Will continued.

“And if he doesn’t stop, if this snowballs?”

“Then… the sooner we catch them, and the sooner the vegetarian goes back home of her own accord.” Will chuckled “How’s that going by the way?”

“Separate meals? It’s hard to get her to eat anything other than dry bread, she complains about meat smells.”

“She has your nose, and you expected she wouldn’t use it to smell?” Will chuckled.

“She’s like a bloodhound.” Hannibal finished his glass “Well considering we are chatting, I should go start dinner.”

“What are we having?”

“We are having rabbit, Mischa is not.” He smiled.

~~

The dinner table was set with the kind of meticulous precision Hannibal always maintained. The dim candlelight flickered softly, casting warm glows across the polished wood, the soft music playing in the background almost imperceptible against the silence that hung between the three of them. The scent of roasted rabbit and rosemary filled the air, but the conversation—or lack thereof—was far more pungent.

Hannibal, ever the gracious host, sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, his movements measured. Mischa sat to his right, her face unreadable, her eyes shifting between him and Will with a subtle attentiveness. Will, sitting to Hannibal’s left, was the most animated, his brow furrowed in thought, his lips pressed tight as he cut into his rabbit, not quite tasting it. His mind was elsewhere, the tension in his body revealing more than he cared to let on.

"You’re quiet tonight, Will," Hannibal remarked, his voice smooth, but the slight edge of observation threaded through it.

Will gave a tight, almost imperceptible shrug. "I’m listening."

Hannibal’s smile deepened, the flicker of amusement passing across his face like a shadow. "Listening is an art," he said, his eyes lingering on Will’s face for just a moment longer than necessary. "But I suspect you’re listening to more than the music."

Will met his gaze, his expression carefully neutral, but there was something behind his eyes—a calculation, an awareness. "I’m always listening," he replied, his voice steady, but it carried an undertone of challenge, like a promise that he wasn’t quite done with Hannibal.

The quiet stretched on, punctuated by the clink of silverware against plates. Mischa had remained mostly silent, her glass of wine barely touched. Hannibal glanced at her, momentarily distracted by the mystery of her calm demeanor. She was unreadable in a way that made him cautious, though he wasn’t sure why. She had been in his life long enough, yet there was something about her still that made him uncertain.

"How about you, Mischa?" Hannibal asked, turning his attention to her. "You seem deep in thought this evening."

Mischa’s gaze flicked briefly to Will before returning to Hannibal. "Just thinking," she said softly. "You’ve always been a man of... many layers, Hannibal."

There was a shift in the air—a subtle tension that might have been overlooked by anyone else. But Hannibal noticed. He held her gaze, his expression unchanged, though the smallest of flickers passed through his eyes. "And what do you think those layers conceal?" he asked, his voice smooth, probing, but not quite giving away his intentions.

Mischa smiled faintly, her eyes narrowing just slightly, as though weighing the answer. "Maybe the real question is whether you’ll let me see through them."

Will’s gaze flicked between the two, a brief flash of something passing through his eyes. "She’s right," he said, his voice low. "You’re a man of many layers, Hannibal. You wear them well."

Hannibal's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Is that so?"

Mischa took a slow sip of her wine, her fingers lightly resting on the rim of the glass, her eyes locked onto Hannibal. "Some layers are harder to peel back than others," she said, her tone barely a whisper, yet heavy with unspoken meaning. "Even the best layers, no matter how well-hidden."

There was a stillness in the air, a quiet wariness that settled between them. Hannibal’s gaze shifted to her, calculating, but his face remained composed, carefully neutral. "Perhaps," he said finally, "but sometimes, the more elusive the layer, the more... intriguing it becomes."

Will cleared his throat, setting his knife and fork down with a deliberate motion. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes focused on Hannibal, but his words were directed at both him and Mischa. "I wonder," he said quietly, "how long you can keep up the act. How long you can hide everything beneath those layers before something slips. Before something *breaks*."

Hannibal didn’t react immediately, but his eyes darkened just the slightest bit, his gaze sharpening, as if evaluating the sincerity of Will’s words. "We all have our... secrets," Hannibal replied after a moment, his voice still light, though the subtle tension in his posture betrayed a quiet unease. "Some of us are better at keeping them than others."

Mischa watched Hannibal closely, her lips curling slightly. "But secrets have a way of coming to light," she said, her tone light but laced with an edge that sent a subtle shiver through the air. "Even the best secrets, no matter how well-hidden."

There was a quiet pause, the weight of her words settling like a heavy cloud. Hannibal’s lips pressed together, but his eyes never wavered. He gave her a calm smile, though there was something calculating behind it. "Perhaps," he said, his voice low, "but sometimes, the truth is far more dangerous than the secret."

Will’s lips twitched in the beginning of a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m sure you know that better than most."

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something like recognition passing through them, but he said nothing. He simply leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving Will’s.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the soft clink of Mischa’s glass as she set it down. She broke the silence once again, her voice cutting through the tension like a quiet blade. "You know," she said, her eyes flicking toward Will, then back to Hannibal, "sometimes, even the most composed people are just waiting for the moment when it all unravels."

Will shifted in his seat, his eyes fixed on Hannibal, but his words were for both of them. "I’m patient," he said, his voice low, but carrying an edge of something colder. "I can wait. I always do."

Hannibal studied him for a long moment, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "Then we shall see, won’t we?"

The silence that followed was thick, charged with unspoken understanding and unacknowledged truths. They all knew more than they let on, but no one spoke of it directly—not yet. The game was still in play, and Hannibal’s layers were intact—for now.

As the meal continued, the three of them danced around the truth, each in their own way, each trying to provoke, to bait, to unveil what was carefully hidden beneath the surface. But the truth, like the best secrets, remained just out of reach.

Chapter Text

Will met Mischa in her office the next morning with coffee.

“You’re early.” She steadied her gaze at him.

“Yeah, we need to talk about dinner.” Will sat in the chair opposite her.

“Yeah, you egged him on.” She shot him a look.

“You agreed with me, you also did you share of egging.” He grinned.

“You don’t sleep under the same roof as him.” She glared.

“Oh Mischa, don’t you sleep with your gun?”

“Oh I get it, you’re trying to manipulate me.” She stood, beginning to leave, he followed.

“Manipulate? Please.” Will met her pace.

“We are supposed to be working together, are you trying to have me off side? Do you want Hannibal for yourself?” She paused, watching his pupils dilate.

“No.” Will said quietly.

“It didn’t require an answer. I don’t have time for this Will. Bodies are about to fall.” She said cautiously.

“I’m aware, but whose body and when it happens is up for debate.”

“You shouldn’t joke about this, we shouldn’t be wishing people to die, so that more people can live.” She lamented.

“Sacrifices have to be made, you heard internal affairs.” Will shrugged.

“Is it too much to ask for him to admit guilt?” She whispered.

“Yes, Mischa, he has to be either prepared to give up, shot down, or caught in the act.” Will touched her arm.

“I can understand it, and not like it at the same time.”

“Have faith, we can do this, we can capture him.” Will reassured.

“For the safety of others, or for you?”

~

In the bitter cold of a Lithuanian winter, the man carried the small, feverish girl through the heavy snow. Mischa's face, flushed with fever, was nestled against his chest, her tiny hands limp in the folds of his coat. She had been sick for days, but he dared not stop. The shadows of the snow-covered trees seemed to stretch forever as he made his way toward the distant train station.

He was a man on the run, but the child was his only concern. She had no family to speak of, no place to go. He’d escaped the hunting lodge with her just days before, too weak to cry, too sick to move. Her name was Mischa, or so the boy she was with had called her. The man had no idea who she was, only that she needed help, and so, he had taken her - afraid she would be killed in the cross-fire if he and his counterparts were found.

The train station loomed ahead, its lights flickering in the distance. It was late, and there were no trains to Poland for hours. But the man wasn’t waiting. He’d found a way to smuggle her aboard, to get her to safety. He glanced nervously at the few souls milling about, his heart pounding in his chest. If anyone saw them together, it could all be over.

He slipped into the shadows of the station, carrying Mischa carefully as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. He knew the train would be crowded, the staff too distracted to notice him sneaking aboard, but he couldn’t risk it. They would be on the move soon. He just had to hold on a little longer.

Inside the train, it was cramped and cold, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and worn leather. The man found a corner in the back, hidden away from prying eyes. He settled Mischa in his arms, her fever burning through his coat. She whimpered faintly, shifting uncomfortably against him.

“Hold on, little one,” he whispered, brushing her damp hair from her forehead. “We’re almost there.”

Hours passed. He stayed awake, watching her closely as the train rattled its way through the snowy wilderness. He knew the journey would be long, but they were close—closer than ever. When they finally reached Poland, he would take her to the orphanage, to the nuns who ran it. They could give her the care she needed, the care he couldn’t provide.

By the time they arrived at the orphanage, Mischa’s fever had spiked. The man’s heart ached as he handed her over to the nuns, their soft, caring hands taking her from his arms. He could see the worry in their eyes, but there was nothing more he could do. His time with her was over.

He said nothing as he stepped back into the cold night, his heart heavy. He had done what he could. Now, it was up to the nuns—and fate.

The girl was given a new name, Annie, and over the next few weeks, she regained her strength. The fever that had once consumed her began to subside, and the gentle care of the nuns saw her through. It wasn’t long before the orphanage received word from a couple in America, a couple from West Virginia who had been waiting for a child of their own. They arrived with warm smiles and open arms, ready to welcome “Annie” into their home.

By the time she was on the plane bound for the United States, the little girl who had once been Mischa—sickly, alone, abandoned—was a new child, with a new name, a new family, and a new life ahead of her.

In Grafton, West Virginia, the American couple’s home was warm, filled with the sounds of laughter and love. Annie, once lost in the cold of winter, had found a place to belong.

“It was a legitimate adoption?” Mischa said quietly.

“It appears so, you were dropped off by one of the men that killed your parents, apparently, he saw how sick you were and deserted his group in order to save you, at least that was the note Elizabeth kept from the nuns.” Jack explained “You were right, it was all in the safe you pulled from your family’s roof.”

“So it wasn’t so sinister…” She continued.

“No, they probably had no idea you were who you are, you were given a new name, the man who gave you to the orphanage either didn’t remember or didn’t bother to give them your real name.”

“...Don’t tell Hannibal.” She whispered.

“I think you should tell Hannibal, it might… ignite something in him.” Jack continued.

Mischa slammed the paper down “We shouldn’t be poking the bear, let the bear hibernate, he will come out when he’s hungry without us prodding at him” she said with a sting of anger.

“Miscah, he’s a monster.” Jack reminded.

Mischa stared at him, her anger shown in the quickness of her breathing, and the slight flare of her nostrils.

“If you are losing your head, you can go back to New York.” Jack frowned.

“Fuck you Jack, I am just sick of you and Will playing games, we are trying to catch a killer, we aren’t in a movie.” She whispered.

“I did not just hear that!” Jack raised his voice.

“Thanks for the report on my identity, I have work to do.”
~
Hannibal sat across from the disgusting beast that is Mason Verger. Picturing 1000 different ways to kill him.

Consciously aware that both Will and Mischa were onto his truest form, he needed it to be as indirect as possible.

At his own hand, preferably

Then his mobile rang “Excuse me Mason, it is my sister.”

“Oh, by all means, we all must attend to our women sisters, them and their emotional needs, go ahead.” Mason waved him away like a servant.

“Mischa?” Hannibal stepped into the waiting room “What is wrong?”

“...Jack found out what happened, how I came to be in the US.” She said quietly.

“Where are you?”

“In my office.”

“Come home. I have to finish with my last patient, but then we can talk.”

“OK, thank you.” she abruptly hung up.

Hannibal walked back into his office “Very sorry Mason, I am going to have to cut our session short, urgent family business.”

“That’s fine Doctor, that’s fine. Wait, is Mischa single…?”

Hannibal swallowed in order to contain his rage.
~~
Mischa paused before opening the door, taking a minute to wipe the tears away from her face. Hannibal opened the door, then she found herself wrapped in his arms “It’s OK.”

Her body was stiff, but then against half of her will it softened, allowing herself to be held and comforted, despite herself.

“It’s OK…” he repeated “Come on, let’s talk about it…” he guided her inside “I have made you some toast.”

“...” Mischa opened her mouth, but no words came out, she nodded.

Chapter Text

Hannibal sat her in the dining room, then brought her a cup of tea, sitting in the seat next to her “Mischa. I have a question to ask you.” he started quietly.

“What is it?” She tilted her head.

“How would you kill someone…?”

Mischa coughed and choked on her tea “I’m sorry, what?”

“Surely you’ve thought about it at least once in your life.” Hannibal passed her a napkin.

“Surely you can’t be serious.” she frowned.

“Oh I am.”

“Why are you asking?” her frown deepened.

“To discover your design, as Will Graham would say.” Hannibal chuckled, then waited.

“Sniper-rifle, on a roof, in a crowded area, so the sound reverberates, confusing the people, giving me a crowd to escape in. Satisfied?”

“So a professional hit, you’re a sniper, you can wait for hours in one spot, leave no trace, except the bullet in the victim's head.” he explained.

“Correct.” She said coldly.

“Not up close, not personal, a problem to be eliminated…” He continued.

“Death doesn’t have to be personal, does it? It doesn’t have to be theatre, or a dinner party.” She eyed him carefully.

“No, I guess it doesn’t.” Hannibal chuckled again.

“What does it tell me of my design then?” She crossed her arms.

“It tells me you don’t like to get involved, you distance yourself as far as you can while still being able to do your job correctly, and to the best of your ability… It would never have worked out with Kate had she lived.” He added.

“Excuse me?” Mischa kept a levelled voice.

“She liked to walk toward the problem in order to solve it, you like to walk away, and then take it out, quickly, and then flee.”

Mischa stood, balling her hand into a fist beside her.

“Take it back.” she demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Or what?” He tilted his head.

Mischa turned away, moving to walk around him.

“So you run away again? Distance yourself from the problem” He asked with a twisted grin.

Mischa turned, a glint in her eye before she sunk a right hook into his face.

Hannibal’s nose splattered with blood, then he laughed “That has to be the first time you have confronted an issue head on. Good job.”

Mischa felt her back pocket vibrate, a text from Will.

“I’m leaving.” She announced “I’m going back to the hotel. I can’t be here with you.”

“How will you keep an eye on me for Jack Crawford from there?”

Mischa’s heart missed a beat.

“Now why don’t you confront that problem head on too…?”

Mischa felt herself lose control and she turned it on Hannibal, punching him again and again until he buckled to the floor.

“Just like that?” She asked coldly.

Hannibal laughed hysterically “That is probably the most in control you have ever been in your whole life, Mischa. Now, ask your question.”

She squatted before him “Are you the Chesapeake Ripper?”

She watched his pupils dilate.

“You could kill me now, if you wanted, Mischa.” he grinned.

“I don’t want you dead. I have no way to justify it right now.” She lamented then began to stand up.

Hannibal took her by the ankles, pulling her to the ground with a thud “You could say I attacked you.” he chuckled.

“No.” Mischa stood, offering him a hand to pull him up.

Hannibal looked at her with some surprise, and then took it. The pair stood a few inches apart.

The room was charged with a tension so thick it seemed to hang in the air. The fire crackled softly in the corner, but there was no warmth to it. Mischa stood opposite her brother, her mind racing but her body calm, trained for moments like this. She had uncovered the truth, the one thing that had been haunting her for years—the Chesapeake Ripper. Her brother. Hannibal.

Hannibal, who had always been so perfect in his manner, now stood before her, his face expressionless but his eyes sharp and calculating. There was no surprise in his gaze. No regret.

“You’ve figured it out,” he said softly, his voice smooth as ever, the words almost a compliment. “I always knew you would, eventually. You and Will Graham, I know you have been plotting.”

Mischa’s heart pounded, but she didn’t let it show. She had always trusted him, believed him to be the pillar of reason in a chaotic world, but now she knew the horrific truth. He wasn’t the man she thought he was. He was a killer, a monster who had been hiding in plain sight for far too long.

“You killed them,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the words were sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “The people... the ones you butchered. You’re the Ripper.”
Hannibal didn’t flinch. His lips curved upward in a slight, knowing smile. “They were not worth saving,” he said, as if the murders were some kind of grand philosophical exercise. “I released them. Gave them freedom.”

The disgust and rage surged through Mischa, but she controlled it. She had trained for years, as a soldier and an FBI agent. She would not be swayed by his manipulations. Not this time.
“You’re a monster,” she spat, her voice trembling with barely-contained anger. “And I’m going to stop you.”

Hannibal’s smile deepened, darkening with a mixture of amusement and something far more sinister. “You think you can stop me? You think you can defeat me? You’re still just a little girl trying to play in a man’s game.”

Mischa’s eyes narrowed, but her focus never wavered. She moved swiftly, her hand already reaching for her gun. She drew it and aimed it at him in one fluid motion, her training taking over. There was no hesitation. This was it. The moment of truth.

But before she could pull the trigger, Hannibal was on her. His body moved with a terrifying speed, his hand snapping out to knock the gun from her grip. The weapon hit the floor with a metallic clatter, and before she could react, he grabbed her wrist with the strength of a vice, twisting it behind her back.

“You still don’t understand,” Hannibal said, his voice low and smooth as velvet, almost a whisper against her ear. “You can’t stop me. No one can.”

Mischa’s heart raced, but she gritted her teeth and fought back. She used her free hand to drive her elbow into his ribs, forcing him to release her. She spun, her foot snapping out to kick him in the stomach. He staggered back, momentarily caught off guard, but quickly regained his composure.

“Is this all you’ve got?” Hannibal taunted, wiping the blood from his lip. “You think you can defeat me with your strength? You are not the first to try.”

Mischa’s eyes flashed with determination. She wasn’t going to give up. Not now. Not when she was this close. She rushed him again, faster this time, aiming a series of calculated punches toward his chest and face. Hannibal dodged most of them, but one connected, landing a blow across his cheek. He barely flinched.

“You’re strong,” he said, almost with a hint of pride, but it was quickly gone, replaced by cold calculation. “But it won’t be enough.”

Mischa growled, frustration mixing with her resolve. She needed to outthink him, outmaneuver him. She couldn’t beat him with sheer force—he was faster, stronger, and far more experienced. But she had one advantage: her mind.

She moved left, causing Hannibal to shift his weight. The moment his guard dropped, she pivoted, kicking his knee out from under him. He collapsed to the floor, and for a split second, she thought she had him. But Hannibal was already rolling, using the momentum to launch himself back to his feet.

"You’ll never win, Mischa," he said, his voice now filled with something darker, something dangerously close to reverence. "You’re still trapped in a world of rules and morality. You’re not willing to cross the line."

Mischa narrowed her eyes, her breath coming in sharp gasps. "I’ll cross whatever line I need to in order to stop you."

With a roar, she lunged at him again. But this time, it wasn’t just brute force. She grabbed his arm and used his own momentum against him, flipping him onto the floor. She landed on top of him, pinning him down with her full weight. She reached for the knife strapped to back of her belt, drawing it with precision, and brought the blade to his throat.

Hannibal’s eyes widened, not in fear, but in a strange, almost approving recognition. “So this is it, then?” he whispered, his voice oddly calm. “This is how you end it.”

Mischa didn’t answer. Her grip on the knife tightened. She wasn’t just fighting him physically anymore—she was fighting the years of manipulation, the years of him turning her into something she wasn’t. She was fighting everything he had turned her into.

"Yes," she said, her voice hard, steady. "It ends now."

For a moment, Hannibal’s smile returned, but it was different this time. There was no amusement in it. Only something darker, more knowing. "You’re still not ready," he said, almost pityingly. "You’ll never be free of me."

And then, in an instant, he moved. His legs shot up, wrapping around her waist, and with a brutal twist, he flipped them both over. Mischa hit the floor hard, the wind knocked out of her, but she wasn’t done. She gripped the knife tighter, struggling to get back on her feet.

Hannibal was already there, too fast, too strong. He pinned her to the floor with one hand on her throat, the other wrapping around her wrist.

“You’re so close,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “But it’s never enough, Mischa. You’re still too much of a child to understand.”

Her vision was blurring, but Mischa refused to give in. She reached deep, tapping into the reserve of strength she had learned to cultivate. She twisted her body, her knee coming up to strike him in the stomach. The impact sent Hannibal back just enough for her to break free, she pulled herself up, stumbling to the kitchen, she pulled the phone from her back pocket and held down the star key, praying that Jack and Will would be close enough to intervene.

~~

Jack and Will rushed to the scene as quickly as possible, Jack arrived first, finding Hannibal alone in the kitchen.

“Hannibal… Where’s Mischa?”

“She’s gone out… Do you need her?” Jack noticed a gun, badge and the burner phone placed neatly on his kitchen bench, yet Hannibal was cooking.

“...Where has she gone Hannibal…?”

“Would you like something to eat, Jack?” Hannibal poured some wine into a pan “I don’t have another portion here, but I can get one, a fresh portion.”

“Hannibal… Where is Mischa?” Jack lowered his tone “It’s over…”

“Oh, not yet…”

Hannibal pulled a large knife out of his knife block before throwing it at Jack.

Chapter Text

Twenty Minutes Earlier

Mischa stumbled into the kitchen, the brief choking causing the room to spin. She stumbled over to the butchers block and pulled a knife, only for Hannibal to pounce on her, his arm around her throat as he choked her into unconsciousness.

She awoke minutes later in an unfamiliar room, the floorplan didn’t make sense with the brevity of her unconsciousness, then she saw the small trapdoor in the roof.

She was below the kitchen.

“You thought you could win, didn’t you, Mischa.”

She found herself on a cold, metal table, her whole body strapped down. She said nothing.

“Awfully quiet, well. Let’s see if we can change that.”

Hannibal stood at the end of the table, moving to the right to reveal a saw. He slid her left leg toward it “I think I’ll take a few cuts… considering you weren’t eaten the first time, maybe we can rewrite history.”

Hannibal switched the saw on, lowering the saw over her ankle, she could feel the air rush past it. She tried pulling away, but was completely powerless.

Then… Hannibal amputated her ankle.

She wanted not to scream but one escaped before she could contain it. A loud, visceral, painfilled scream.

“There we go, you finally did have something to say, are you going to beg me to stop?” Hannibal watched her foot fall to the floor.

Mischa breathed rapidly, eyeing him but saying nothing.

“No. Stoic to the end. Well, slightly higher is a better cut.” He lowered the saw again, picking up the rounded segment of calf and holding it up “Now… how many people am I expecting to arrive when you pressed your little panic-button? Will, and Jack?”

Mischa screamed but resisted the urge to fail and argue.

“I better cut another portion to be safe.” It was then he heard the front door shut “Oh, no time, we have company.”

He turned his back and climbed the ladder to the surface.

~~

Alana Bloom lay in the doorway with a shattered spine under Will’s jacket.

Jack lay in the pantry, his neck wound held together by a prayer to Bella and a necktie.

Will Graham lay on the floor, Hannibal’s voice lingering in his ears, his blood spilling from the wounds Hannibal inflicted.

Abigail Hobbs lay beside will, cold and dead, her head barely holding onto her body.

Mischa heard the sound of sirens as she slipped in and out of death. She heard paramedics, agents and cops all swarming. No one would know she was below them. She mustered all her strength and screamed.

“Someone is down here!”

Price opened the trapdoor and climbed down, running over to her “Oh God, Mischa.”

“...Untie me, please…”

Price pulled the restraints from her limbs and scooped her into his arms and called for more assistance.

As the paramedics took over, he looked around the room in disbelief. Then a fridge came to his attention, there was a collection of blood bags on the shelf with a large note For Mischa in Hannibal’s handwriting.

Without hesitation, he bundled them up and passed them to the medics “She’ll need these, she’s AB negative.”

~~

Breaking News: Hannibal Lecter Goes Missing After a Brutal Attack on Those Who Tried to Stop Him

By Freddie Lounds

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, once a celebrated psychiatrist and trusted member of the medical community, has gone missing after an explosion of violence that has left a shocking trail of devastation in its wake. The notorious Chesapeake Ripper, whose twisted and methodical killing spree has terrorized the nation, is believed to have been responsible for a series of attacks that have left several prominent figures in critical condition. Among the casualties is Abigail Hobbs, the latest victim of his gruesome killing spree. But the violence doesn’t end there. Lecter’s bloodbath extended to his closest allies, many of whom had been in pursuit of the truth about him.

In a tragic twist, the first victim of his violence was Abigail Hobbs, the daughter of Garrett Hobbs, a serial killer who had been the Ripper’s first victim. Abigail’s death at the hands of Lecter seemed to signal the beginning of a horrifying rampage that targeted those closest to the investigation into his crimes.

Alana Bloom, once an ally and confidante of Lecter, was attacked in her own home, left with severe injuries that required immediate surgery. The assault has left Alana in stable but uncertain condition, though it’s unclear if she will ever fully recover from the psychological trauma inflicted by her betrayal at the hands of someone she trusted implicitly.

Jack Crawford, the FBI’s head of the Behavioral Science Unit, was also brutally attacked by Lecter. The once-vocal critic of Lecter’s activities now lies in stable condition after suffering severe stab wounds. While Jack is expected to recover physically, the emotional toll of his ordeal is immeasurable.

Will Graham, the FBI profiler also lays in the same ward as his counterparts. Many people have always felt strange about his connection with Hannibal Lecter, but those fears can lay at rest, considering how severe the wounds Lecter inflicted to him were. No love lost there.

However, perhaps the most tragic and unexpected of the victims was Mischa Lecter, Hannibal’s sister, who had recently moved into his home while investigating the Ripper murders. Mischa, an active FBI agent and former military sniper, had been tirelessly working to uncover the truth about the Chesapeake Ripper, and in her brother, she thought she had found the key to solving the case. She had been living with Hannibal, trying to piece together the evidence that would expose him, unaware of the horror that awaited her.

In a brutal act of violence, Mischa was ambushed by Hannibal, the man she had trusted and thought of as family. In a horrifying attack that shocked even those accustomed to the brutality of the Ripper, Hannibal inflicted devastating injuries on his sister. Mischa suffered a traumatic amputation of her leg, a vicious reminder of her brother's descent into madness. Despite the severity of the attack, Mischa is currently stable and receiving treatment, but her recovery will be a long and painful process, both physically and emotionally.

The brutal attacks on Alana, Jack, Will, and Mischa have left everyone involved in the investigation reeling. All the victims are stable, but the psychological toll of their experiences, especially Mischa, whose connection to Hannibal was so deeply personal, cannot be understated.

The real tragedy of this entire ordeal, however, is the fact that Hannibal Lecter, despite the devastation he has caused, remains at large. After the brutal attacks, he vanished without a trace. Authorities are at a loss as to where he might be, as he has proven time and again to be a master of manipulation and evasion.

While law enforcement and the FBI are pulling out all the stops to locate the Chesapeake Ripper, the question remains: how did Hannibal manage to disappear yet again? His ability to evade capture has left the authorities stumped, and the search for the man responsible for so much death continues with little progress.

The attack on Mischa, an FBI agent and former military sniper, adds an even more complex layer to this already terrifying story. Mischa had once believed she could bring her brother to justice—now, she’s left to reckon with the brutal truth of what he has become. As the investigation continues, it is unclear if the remaining survivors will be able to come to terms with their traumatic experiences or if they will be able to put a stop to the reign of terror that Hannibal Lecter has unleashed.

For now, all the victims are stable, but the trauma of what has happened is far from over. As for Hannibal Lecter, he is still out there, a shadow in the night, and the hunt for the Chesapeake Ripper continues.

Chapter Text

Mischa awoke in agony in a darkened hospital ward, a curtain pulled around her space, a few rings pulled from their holders. She screwed up her face and tried to breathe through it, but her monitors beeped and gave her consciousness away.

“Mischa?” Will Graham’s voice asked “Are you awake?”

“Will. Where are you?”

“To your left.” Will sounded groggy and pained himself.

“Where are we?”

“ICU, we have the whole ward.” Will pulled the curtain that separated them away, he was sitting in bed, shirtless and covered in dressings “You’re hurting, I’ll call the nurse.

“I’m fine. "She pulled herself into a sitting position.

“No, you’re not, you lost a leg.” Will stated.

“...What?” Mischa looked at him.

“He took your leg.” Will pointed.

Mischa reached but couldn’t move past the pain, several nurses rushed to her side, muttering things and shining lights in her eyes.

“Here, take these, they’ll help with the pain.” A nurse handed her two tablets and a small glass of water.

Mischa shook her head “If they’re narcotics, no thank you.”

“We’re aware… of your history, we will monitor you closely, but you’ve had major surgery, and pain is stress.”

Mischa begrudgingly took the pills “How bad is my leg?”

“It was a clean cut, a very clean below the knee amputation. With physical therapy and a prosthetic limb, you’ll be ok.” The nurse reassured her.

“Back to my desk job.” She smiled and chuckled slightly.

“You got lucky.” Will said to her.

“If he wanted me disabled, if he wanted me off the field, he’d have taken my hands, specifically my trigger fingers even. He did this to slow me down, not to stop me. He cut you surgically, to slow you, but not stop you.” She noted “He wants us to chase him.”

“We won’t be chasing him for a while.” Will noted.

“Well, he has to have time to prepare. Where’s Bedelia Du Marier?” Mischa asked “Has anybody seen her?”

“Bedelia?” Will frowned “What are you thinking?”

“He would have taken one of us with him, if we hadn’t betrayed him. Bedelia hasn’t betrayed him yet, in fact, she’s almost… rooting for him.”

“You think he’s taken Bedelia? Where?”

“Italy. Can you push us closer, talking hurts, and yelling hurts my head, I want to talk to Will, please…” She looked at the nurses, who shrugged and slid her bed over to Will’s.

“Why Italy?”

“He said he wanted to take me on holiday there but never told me the significance. I figure a detail like that… could be a lead.”

“Let the rest of the team deal and chase Hannibal, we have other things to focus on.”

“Yeah, physical pain, which is a great motivator. He’s in Italy. Or he will be.” She winced.

“You can text Price, or Zeller, let them deal. You’re recovering. You have a long road ahead of you.”

Mischa shook her head “I am as physically fit as I could be except the leg, all I need to do is be fitted with a prosthetic once the stitches heal and swelling goes down. Then, I am going right back to chasing Hannibal.”

The nurses left the room, leaving them to talk.

“I have another idea.” Will groaned “We… let him go.”

“You’re not real FBI, not really, you’ve been in a classroom, I have been doing this a while, and once you get it in your blood, you want to see it out.”

“This is different, this isn't a garden variety killer, you know that.”

“No. This is my psychopathic brother, and it is personal.” her eyes looked darker than usual.

“I know you don’t want my advice. But he’s given you a second chance. Go back to New York.” Will sighed “Go find a nice girl, or guy to settle down with, whatever you prefer, and get away from Hannibal Lecter. That would throw him.” Will looked at her seriously.

“Or, he actually expects me to do that, as to leave you by yourself, because he wants you to chase him, and he doesn’t want me to.”

“It definitely could be that too.” Will nodded.

“He’s in love with you.” Mischa nodded.

“...in love with me?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

“When we were in the getting to know you phase, and not the, chopping steaks off my legs… loins? I don’t know, I think I am vegan now, anyway, we talked about partners, I told him about Kate, he asked if I was gay, I said no, I am bisexual, and… low and behold… so is he, I wonder what the statistical likelihood of both siblings being bisexual is.” She shrugged, feeling the pain relief wash over her.

“...Huh.” Will nodded “That is interesting.”

“He likes you because you see him. You understand him, you played his game, he framed you and you still came back. At the moment he’s testing us, I think, he wants to know if after all that has happened, we still go back to him. We still understand him, we still want to know more. Though, I am not a profiler.”

“It’s a good theory.” Will nodded “So… is this us deciding we are chasing him?”

“When I can run… yes. I think we chase. I want to see what happens. And I’m going to bring a sniper rifle with me this time, so that means, you chase, I fabricate a story about going back to New York, and I could… take him out from a distance.”

“You want to… take Hannibal out?”

“You don’t want him dead?” She looked at him with eyebrows raised.

“...I don’t know what I want. I’m sore, I’ve been cut like a fish, but I’ve lived. Part of me wants to run away. You could come with me, you know?”

“And where would we go?” Mischa chuckled.

“Somewhere quiet, do you like fishing?” he laughed “Do you like dogs?”

“Are you flirting with me, Will Graham?” She laughed.

“No, I don’t actually know, it’s probably the morphine talking.”

“You’re not my type.” She smiled “But I am glad to be your friend.”

“Is Alana Bloom your type?” He asked curiously.

“Oh come on, like she isn’t yours?”

They laughed for a few minutes before they settled. Will looked over to her “What did you and Hannibal fight over, what caused you to press the panic button?”

“...He asked me how I would kill someone. He quoted you, he said it was to understand my design better.” She balled her fist subconsciously.

“What did you tell him?” Will looked even more curious.

“I said I would snipe them. I’m a sniper, I don’t know what else he expected. He said that, that proves that I avoid my problems and keep them at a distance. What started it is that he made a comment about Kate. Saying that she and I would never work. Kate was a bomb tech, she walked toward the danger and the problem to solve it, I stayed away from the problem and left a safe distance, took my targets out from afar.. I went to walk out to get some space and he told me that I was proving my point. So I hit him. We fought. He choked me, I managed to scramble to the kitchen and then he choked me out again. Woke up to him amputating my foot, then again to the chaos.” She recounted coldly “What happened to you?”

“I arrived after Jack, he was bleeding out in the pantry. Hannibal brought Abigail out, probably hiding her in the room you were in, I don’t know. He slit her throat and gutted me, telling me that I could die if I wanted to.” Will stated plainly.

“You didn’t have a conversation? Where did Alana fit in, in all of this?” She looked over to where an unconscious Alana was laying.

“I don’t know, she might have just been there to see Hannibal or you, she was already on your stoop, she’d fallen from the upstairs window.”

“...She wasn’t there when I was attacked, so she arrived before Jack, and you. Interesting.” She frowned in Alana’s direction.

“My guess is she was there to see you.” Will nodded. She probably heard the news from Jack about how you came to be in America, she probably wanted to comfort you… or fuck you…” Will chuckled.

“...I wonder what she saw. Wait… Was Hannibal cooking?”

“He had been… yes.”

“...Maybe he made her eat me.” She screwed her face up, swallowing hard and then looked queasy.

“...Maybe… Only she can tell us.” Will shrugs.

“Well. My guess is that our relationship is over either way.” Mischa tried to smile but looked green.

“Hey… think of something else, think about how good it will feel to sink a bullet in Hannibal’s head, anything but his cooking. Hey, come on, Mischa, look at me.” Will urged, waving a hand do draw her attention, but pressing the button for the nurses.

Mischa proceeded to vomit over the side of the bed, she then gasped in horror “Will, how long was it between the time I pressed the panic button, and you arriving?”

“About half an hour, why?”

“I don’t think he fed my leg to Alana, I think he fed it to me… that looks like meat to me…” She looked down at the vomit with increasing panic.

“Mischa, look at me, Mischa!” Will called.

“I’m going to kill him…” She whispered angrily.

~~

Mischa moved out of Hannibal’s apartment and into one set up by the FBI, lower floor with accessibility improvements. She’d adapted well to life without her left leg, and the FBI spared no expense on getting her an impressive array of prosthetic legs.

She discharged herself from rehabilitation three weeks early, and engaged in a very intense gym regime. Will had reached out many times and gotten no response since being discharged himself.
He decided to take the direct path and knock on her door.

Mischa answered it, sweaty from a workout and in activewear, her hair pulled up in a messy bun by one stray curl. She rolled her eyes and went to shut the door, Will blocked it with his foot.
“I come in peace, and I bring wine.” He held up a bottle in a paper-bag “Can we talk.”

“I’ll give you 15 minutes.” She let him in.

“Great. Nice place.”

“Yeah, the FBI really felt bad about putting us undercover and then having my leg forcibly amputated, I got lucky.” she said bitterly.

“Have you lost weight?” Will said looking her up and down. Her frame was smaller, but her muscle mass was more.

“Yeah, losing a limb will do that, my lack of left calf is really slimming. What do you want, Will?”

“I want your bottle opener.” He said, looking in her cutlery drawer.

“Give it to me.” She extended her hand, took the bottle and took the cork out easily “Glasses are in the cupboard above the toaster.”

Will nodded, took the glasses and poured them each a serve “To your health.” he raised the glass.

“You have 8 minutes. What do you want, Will?” She sipped the wine.

“I wanted to know how your head is.” he asked seriously.

“No complaints.” she watched him with a frown.

“I more wanted to ask what your plan is for Hannibal.” he sipped the wine.

“I thought we decided we were chasing him.” She tilted her head.

“I agree, but you've not been answering my phone calls. Which means you’re reconsidering, or deeply in a plan I know nothing about.”

“Third option. I’m recovering.”

“No, you stopped rehab weeks ago, and, you’re literally just waiting to be signed of for active duty, so I am going to go with… knee deep in a plan that doesn’t involve me.” Will watched her shift uncomfortable.

“Good chat, You can take the rest of the bottle if you want.”

“Mischa…” He caught her arm, sitting the glass down on the bench “Hey… talk to me.”

“Why?” she looked into his eyes “Why do you care so much?”

“I like you, and I don’t want you to be destroyed by this.” he stroked a thumb on her arm.

The pair shared a brief moment of understanding. Will suddenly found himself cupping her face and kissing her gently. For a second, she kissed back. It felt like the first moment of true kindness since her night with Alana. They paused; she looked into his eyes “I can’t replace Hannibal.” she whispered.

“...Maybe I don’t want you to.” He kissed her again, pulling her closer by the waist.

Mischa kissed him back, reaching her hands under his shirt as he backed her into her bedroom.

“Wait.” She paused, but it was too late, Will’s eyes found their way to two of four of her bedroom walls, which were made up of thousands of photos, pieces of string, thumbtacks, reports in several languages.

“Mischa…” Will looked around “What… the fuck…”

She stood to the side, arms crossed but head down “Your second theory is correct.”

“This is…”

“Insane, obsessive, yeah, I get it.”

“How did you get all of this?” Will asked, following some of her strings.

“Does it matter, it’s on the wall which means I got it.” she walked back to the kitchen and got the wine and glasses, sitting Will’s on the bedside table, and sipping her own.

“Mischa, I think you should talk to someone about this…”

“Therapist? No.”

“I mean Jack, he’s got resources, he could help you.”

“No. I’m over Jack, I’ll use the FBI’s resources how I see fit when I return on Monday, but then, I am going hunting.” She poured herself another glass.

“...and also a therapist might help.” Will suggested.

“Had my leg cut off by one recently, and I slept with one before that, not having the best run with therapists.” Mischa chuckled and sat on the bed “Sex is off the table now you’ve seen my weird shine, right?”

“Yeah, sorry…” Will sounded distant, his focus solely on her wall.

“Great, I’m going to have a shower, help yourself to the fridge.” Mischa sighed and walked into her bathroom, the shower turning on seconds later.

~~

Will stared at the wall for what could have been hours, not talking, following every piece that Mischa had dug up.

He didn’t notice when Mischa had come out of the bathroom, collected a suitcase, and left for the airport in a taxi. He got up from the edge of her bed to get some water and found a note on her counter.

Rent is paid by the FBI, but, could you please turn off the lights and lock the door behind yourself? There’s a spare key under the sink if you’d like to keep visiting my wall. Ta x Mischa.”

Will pulled out his phone “Jack, Mischa has gone to Italy.”

“How do you know that?”

“Check your images, I sent you a photo of her shine to Hannibal. She told me in the hospital that she expects Hannibal to be in Italy, so, my deductions believe that she is on her way to Italy.”

“When did she leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“I thought you were at her house?” Jack sounded annoyed.

“She’s probably already on a plane.” Will confessed.

“Then I’m booking the next one out for us. Go home, pack some stuff, I’ll get someone to take care of your dogs, oh, but before you go, pull down everything and put it in something, we need what she’s been thinking about. And take more photos, we will discuss it on the plane.”

Chapter Text

Mischa Lecter sank into her plush first-class seat, the gentle hum of the airplane’s engines lulling her into a rare moment of calm. Her flight to Italy had been delayed, the hours stretching longer than she had hoped, but it gave her a moment to breathe, to let the stress of the past few weeks ease away. She ordered a glass of wine, savoring the smooth warmth as it slipped down her throat. She stared out the window, watching the last streaks of sunset fade into the inky sky, lost in her own thoughts.

Then, the serenity of her solitude was interrupted. The quiet shuffle of footsteps approached her row, and she glanced up just in time to see Jack Crawford and Will Graham sliding into the seats beside her. Will’s eyes met hers, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. Jack, as ever, appeared unfazed, but there was a tense undercurrent in his posture as he settled in beside her.

Mischa raised an eyebrow, her glass of wine halfway to her lips. "I didn't expect company," she said, her voice steady but carrying a trace of irony. Will gave her a tight smile, his usual intensity softened by the fatigue of their recent ordeals. Jack only nodded, taking his seat without a word.

It wasn’t long before the tension among them was palpable, yet the silence settled like an old, worn blanket, wrapping them all in the awkwardness of shared history and unspoken truths. Mischa let out a small sigh, resigned to the fact that her peaceful flight had just become anything but.

“Why are we going to Italy, Mischa?” Will asked quietly.

“I fancied a holiday.” She lied.

“Will filled me in on your wall.”

“Did you lock my apartment?” Mischa asked Will.

“It’s taken care of.” Will nodded as he was handed a wine by the well-dressed flight attendant.

“What are you going to do to Hannibal when you get to Italy, Mischa.” Will quizzed.

“I’ve taken a pain pill, and a sleeping pill, I’m going to be unconscious in 20 minutes. This conversation will have to wait.” She downed the rest of the wine, pulled her hoody up over her face, and put on an eye mask that she pulled from her hoodie pocket. “You have more than enough time to pull my wall apart in the eleven hours or so we will be stuck in this aircraft together.”

“Mischa?” Will pressed.

“Shut up Will, you’re plenty smart, if you haven’t worked it out by landing, that’s on you.” Mischa leaned against her window.

“I guess we are on our own.” Will shrugged and looked at Jack.

“What happened between you two. You’ve got a strange vibe between you.” Jack frowned, drinking his wine.

“...We kissed earlier tonight, I don’t know what came over either of us.” Will whispered.

“That aside, what do you think she’s going to do?”

“She’s been tracking him for weeks. Him and Bedelia, she could have alerted the Italians, but she didn’t, so she’s either uncertain, and going to confirm, or so certain she thinks she can deal with it on her own, not get caught, or, if she does, who’s really going to care if a murderer… well, gets murdered?” He looked at Jack with a shrug.

“You think she’s capable of murdering someone.” Jack asked in hush tones.

“She’s a former sniper Jack, and something broke the day Hannibal cut her leg off.”

“We are crossing international jurisdictions left and right here, we need to keep eyes and ears on her at all times.”

“I agree.”

~~

“Why are you bunking with me… and not Jack?” Mischa questioned, angrily, as they settled into the hotel.

“He’s an old man, and you’re better company.” Will joked.

“You’re the watchman.” Mischa put her suitcase down “Jack thinks I am going to kill him.”

“I also think you’re going to kill him to be fair.” Will nodded.
“Would it really be so bad if I did?” She asked quietly.
“Mischa…” He put his case down, then walked toward her, holding her by the shoulders “Don’t let this hate define you. Let someone else pull the trigger, it doesn’t have to be you.”
Mischa looked up at him, cupping his face and stroking a thumb against his stubble. She couldn’t help by reach up and kissed him again.

~~

Will awoke naked and alone, it was approximately 7am “Mischa?” he sat up “Mischa?” he exhaled.

~~

Mischa meanwhile found “Dr. Fell” in the courtyard. She leaned against an archway, dressed in a smart black skirt suit that showed off an impressive metal prosthetic. Her long charcoal grey coat accenting it. She lit a cigarette and waited for him to walk past.

“Dr. Fell. So good to see you.”

Hannibal turned slowly “Can I help you?”

“You don’t recognize your sister?” Mischa smirked.

“...What are you doing here?”

“Relax, I’m not going to blow your cover.” She smiled with her head tilted.

“Yet you’re here.” Hannibal narrowed his eyes, walking toward her slowly, he paused. A familiar scent tickling his nose “You smell like something with a ship on the bottle.”

“I’m aware.” She said coyly “I just wanted you to know that I am watching, Dr. Fell, and I am not the only one, have a good day, doing whatever it is that you stole off of a dead man. My love to Bedelia.”

She walked away, looking back over her shoulder at him as she disappeared into the streets.

Her phone rang “Yes Will?”

“Where are you?”

“Getting us some coffee, do you want a muffin?”

“Mischa.”

She hung up, collected some food and coffee and made her way back up to the hotel, Will opened the door.

“See, coffee and a muffin, my Italian is a little rusty, so it took me a bit longer.” She sat the cup holder down on the bedside table.

“You can’t go anywhere with me, Jack’s orders.”

“Well, this could be fun or really annoying.” She sipped her coffee.

“Where’s Hannibal, Mischa?”

“All will be revealed soon enough, have your coffee.” She sat on the bed.

“Are we going to talk about last night?” He took his coffee and sat beside her.

“Do we need to? I understand the birds and the bees as much as anyone…”

“Do you understand what it means…?” He asked “Because I don’t.”

“Does it have to mean anything? Maybe it was just stress relief.”

“You’re too smart for this, Mischa.” Will chuckled “Is this manipulation on your end? Am I a way to get back at Hannibal?”

“Am I a way to replace Hannibal?” She equaled his look.

“I guess we are serving a purpose for each other.” Will swallowed.

“Apparently yes, and, well, sex is ridiculously fun, don’t you think?” She chuckled.

“So, how did you find Hannibal?” Will asked “And I want honesty.”

“I had resources that weren’t exactly legal and were privately funded.” She said quietly.

“Who helped you, who paid you, because that prosthetic is far about what the FBI would pay for.”

“Mason… Verger.” She looked at him seriously “He wants Hannibal dead more than I do. He’s more disfigured than me from what Hannibal has done. He gave me access to a lot of things the FBI wouldn’t allow, and I tracked him down here, pretending to be one Dr. Fell, with one Bedelia Du Maurier pretending to be his wife. I am here to make sure that Hannibal is transported back to Mason Verger.”

“...You sold out…”

“No, I levelled up. I did what I had to do. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same?”

“Mason Verger… really, really, really creepy guy, absolutely not.”

“Shame. Have you met his sister? Oh wait, yeah, you almost became her baby Daddy.” She chuckled.

“Ouch Mischa.” Will spat.

“Don’t worry, I have beef with her too. She’s dating Alana now.” She sipped her coffee.

“So you took an under-the-table deal, to secure Hannibal, to have him transported back to the Verger manor, and then what?” He asked, taking the wrapper off a muffin.

“Whatever will be, will be.” She took her muffin and did the same.

“Did you go see Hannibal this morning?” Mischa immediately looked away, avoiding his gaze “If you know where he is… We need to call the authorities.”

“No, that’s not part of the plan.” She looked up at him defiantly.

“...Mischa, he could kill people here.”

“Sacrifices have to be made. You heard Prurnell.” She bit the muffin while maintaining eye contact.

“You are not God, Mischa, you don’t get to make those kinds of choices.” Will felt a rise of an unfamiliar form of anger, or disgust.

“Hannibal isn’t God either, yet look what he has done.” Mischa reminded him.

“What’s gotten into you?” Will asked quietly.

“Maybe it was always there, maybe it just needed igniting.” She reasoned.

“You’re not God… you’re also not Hannibal. You know that right.” He pulled her toward him in by the waist.

She set the muffin aside, put her hands around his shoulders “I know I am not Hannibal, but a certain part of me wonders if his DNA and mine don’t have some predisposition of violence, his lead to cruelty, and murder… mine will be used for revenge that will ultimately improve the world.”

“Righteous vindictive murder, is still murder, Mischa.” Will reminded quietly.

“As are all the targets I sniped from hundreds of meters away. If there is a God, I am already going to hell. What is one more body, especially, Hannibal’s body?” She rested a head on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.

“He might just be one more body, but that body will change you forever. You’re thinking of killing your own brother, Mischa, that’s personal.” He held a hand on the back of her head.

“Yet, not once have you told me not to do it.” She whispered.

“I’m not going to tell you not to do it… I just want you to be prepared for the aftermath.”

“Are you prepared for the aftermath, a life without Hannibal?”

“I believe it will be manageable.”

Jack knocked on their door and the pair jumped apart, Will walked over and opened the door.

“There’s been a body, I need the pair of you.” He said and beckoned.

~~

Jack drove them to Norman Chapel, where police tape and Italian officers were converging. “They invited us here.” Jack explained.

“You introduced us to… both the Poliza de Stato and.. Wow, the Carabinieri are here too.” She frowned “Must be particularly interesting.”

“Of course I introduced us, we’re FBI on their turf, I don’t want to start an international relations incident.” Jack pulled up “We are working with an Italian detective named Pazzi.”

“Of course not. Wouldn’t want the FBI to go without the credit they’re due.” Mischa got out of the car, pulling her badge from her pocket and flashing it “We’re with Jack Crawford, here for Pazzi.” She said to an officer.

“This way Ma’am, Sirs, follow us.” They waved them into the inner foyer of the Chapel.

“Ah, the FBI…” A man called from between the first row of pews.

“Are you Pazzi?” Misch asked with limited interest.

“... You… have his face.” Pazzi looked at her.

“I also have his name. Mischa Lecter… Hannibal Lecter’s little sister. The monster you are hunting.” She said carefully as she walked past him towards the deepening smell of human flesh.

“His sister is dead, she was eaten. That is the story we know.”

“The story is true; the timeline is wrong.” Mischa frowned.

Before them was a large, human heart. Mischa closed her eyes for a few seconds. Will was beside her in an instant “We broke his heart, so he gave us his…” He said quietly “If you’re queasy, go take a minute.”

“Do we know who it is?” She looked at him.

“You think this is human?” Pazzi looked at them.

“I can smell that it’s human. So, we know who it is.”

“Not yet.” Pazzi eyeballed her “You share DNA with this monster, how come you are not like him?”

“Who says I am not?” She whispered.

“Mischa.” Jack said in a warning tone.

“I’ll be outside.” She sighed.

“Is she going to be a problem?” Pazzi asked Jack.

“Not for you, or your police force.” Jack reassured.

“We will keep an eye on her.” Will confirmed.

Chapter Text

The warm, golden light of the Italian afternoon filtered through the open windows of their home, casting soft shadows across the elegant room. Bedelia sat in the large, freestanding bathtub, the water rising to her shoulders, steam swirling around her like a veil. Her eyes were half-closed, relaxed, but her mind was far from calm. She shifted slightly, letting the warmth of the water soothe her tension, though the knot in her stomach remained. Hannibal, ever the composed figure, knelt beside the tub, his large hands moving gently through her hair as he washed it. His touch was delicate, methodical, and calming—but there was an underlying current of something darker in his presence.

"Mischa cornered you," Bedelia said softly, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern. She glanced at him from under her lashes, watching his face for a hint of emotion. "She actually cornered you."
Hannibal’s lips curved into a knowing smile, his fingers massaging her scalp with practiced ease. "She did," he replied, his tone almost amused, as if the situation had entertained him in some way.

"She’s clever, though not as clever as she thinks. I let her think she had me, for a moment."

Bedelia’s brow furrowed slightly. "And what, you wanted her to think that? Let her trap you?"

"Not trap," Hannibal corrected, his chuckle low and rich, almost like a soft melody. "She was... testing the waters, I suppose. I allowed her the illusion of control. It’s what she needed, to feel some measure of victory."

Bedelia closed her eyes for a moment, trying to piece the conversation together. The idea of Hannibal, always so composed and precise, being put into a corner by his sister was both fascinating and unsettling. Mischa’s strength had always been underestimated, but the true depth of her determination was now becoming clear. Yet, there was something in Hannibal's response that set her on edge. She could feel the tension creeping back into her body. "You don’t fear them coming after you, do you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the hint of anxiety slipping through.

Hannibal paused for a moment, his hands stilling in her hair. He looked at her then, his dark eyes reflecting a depth of something unsettling, something deeply familiar to her. "Fear?" He chuckled again, the sound low and rich. "No, Lydia. I find the thought... invigorating."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, but she didn’t flinch. Bedelia had long known the depths of Hannibal's psyche, had long come to understand that he did not fear what others might consider threats. In fact, he welcomed them. She watched as he returned to washing her hair, his fingers moving through her wet locks with the same tenderness as before.

"You’re not afraid of them hunting you down," she murmured, more to herself than to him, the pieces of their conversation falling into place. "You want them to."

He didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, Bedelia thought she’d misunderstood him, but then, as he rinsed the last of the soap from her hair, he spoke again. "They’ll come, eventually. And when they do, it will be... a game of sorts," he said with an almost childlike enthusiasm that made her skin prickle. "The hunt will be... exciting."

Bedelia’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but now she could see the twisted logic behind it. Mischa’s pursuit, the hunt for Hannibal, was exactly what he wanted. It was an affirmation of his dominance, of his control over the chaos he’d created. There was no escape for him—not really. Only the satisfaction of knowing that he was always two steps ahead.

"You’ve become quite a master at nurturing your nature, Hannibal," Bedelia said, her voice even, but laced with an underlying wariness. "All these years of cultivation, of being the nurturer... only to have your nature overtake it in the end."

Hannibal's eyes gleamed, his fingers still working through her hair as he studied her face. "Nurture has its place," he said thoughtfully. "But nature, Lydia, nature is what is always waiting beneath the surface. It doesn’t disappear. It can be fed, yes, but it can also be freed."

A small shiver ran down her spine at his words, but she said nothing. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, the weight of his intentions, and the weight of their shared past. Bedelia had long understood that Hannibal was a force of nature, and in the silence that stretched between them, she wondered just how far that nature would take him—and if she would be able to keep up with it.
But for now, she sank deeper into the water, allowing the soft, rhythmic strokes of his hands to lull her back into a semblance of calm. Their lives had always been an intricate dance of nurture and nature, and there was no telling how much longer the balance could last.

“Do you think she will end up killing you?” Bedelia spoke quietly.

“No, I don’t think she has the guts. Yet.” He concluded.

“Why if you underestimated her, what if this is what she wants you to do?”

“Oh Lydia Fell, don’t worry about it, I have it covered, get dressed, we have a ball to go to.”

~~

The grand ballroom was a vision of opulence, adorned with towering crystal chandeliers that cast a soft, golden glow over the gathering of Italy’s finest scholars, aristocrats, and intellectuals. Rich tapestries lined the walls, and the polished marble floors reflected the gleam of expensive shoes and gowns. The air was thick with the hum of soft conversations, punctuated by the occasional laughter of those lost in a world of culture and privilege.

Bedelia stood beside Hannibal, both of them the very picture of elegance, dressed in a gown of deep emerald green that shimmered under the lights. Hannibal, impeccably tailored as always, wore a black tuxedo that seemed to mold to his form with effortless precision. Their smiles were polite, carefully measured as they moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with some of the evening’s distinguished guests. But there was something about the way they moved together—almost as if they were the eye of the storm, a magnetic force that drew the attention of everyone in the room.

The music swelled, the orchestra playing a delicate waltz that filled the room with its haunting melody. Hannibal extended his hand, his gaze meeting Bedelia’s. She accepted without hesitation, stepping into his arms with practiced ease as they began to dance. The world seemed to slow around them, their steps fluid and synchronized, the grace of the movement almost hypnotic. As they danced, their conversation drifted easily, the topics light yet laced with the subtle tension of two minds that could never quite be in sync with the world around them.

“So much attention, yet it all feels so... meaningless,” Bedelia murmured, her voice soft, but laced with a sharp edge.

Hannibal’s lips quirked into a smile, his eyes gleaming with a knowing warmth. “It is the illusion of belonging, of purpose,” he replied, guiding her effortlessly through the dance. “But the truth, my dear Lydia Fell, is that they are all so easily swayed by the artifice of it all.”

Just as the final note of the waltz rang out, a sudden shift in the atmosphere stilled the room. The doors to the ballroom opened with a deliberate slowness, drawing every eye to the entrance. The chatter tapered off as the guests turned their heads, and all at once, the room seemed to hold its collective breath.

Mischa stepped into the room, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze.

She was a vision of striking beauty and malevolent elegance, a presence so commanding that it threatened to swallow the room whole. Her red and black gown clung to her form, the fabric flowing like liquid fire, the contrast between the rich crimson and deep black adding to the aura of danger she exuded. Her blonde ringlets were pulled into an elaborate, high bun, a few tendrils falling loose to frame her pale face. She looked like something torn from a gothic fairytale—vulnerable yet dangerous, stunning yet cruel.

The guests stared, transfixed by her appearance, some with curiosity, others with a touch of unease. But no one dared speak as Mischa glided across the room, her every movement deliberate, her gaze sharp and cold. Her eyes scanned the crowd before settling on the familiar faces of Hannibal and Bedelia.

Bedelia felt a sharp jolt in her chest as she saw her—Mischa, standing at the threshold like a storm that had just broken free. Her heart raced, but her expression remained steady. She glanced up at Hannibal, who was equally still, his face unreadable.

In one swift motion, Bedelia downed her glass of wine in a single mouthful, her grip tightening around Hannibal’s arm, as if steadying herself against the hurricane that had just entered their carefully curated world. Mischa’s presence was not just a surprise—it was a declaration. A vengeful, villainous proclamation that could only mean one thing: the game was far from over.

The tension in the air thickened as the room held its collective breath, all eyes now on the woman who had just stepped into their world. Mischa moved toward them, her stride unyielding, her gaze never leaving Hannibal’s. She was a force of nature, a reminder of the past that neither of them could outrun.

Hannibal, ever composed, simply smiled faintly, his eyes flicking from Mischa to Bedelia, as though relishing the chaos that was about to unfold.

Hannibal walked over, picking up a glass of wine on his way “What are you doing here.” he passed her the wine, and the party went back to normal.

“I was invited.” She looked up at him as she took the wine.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.” Hannibal tutted “What’s your cover story?”

“I’m Lydia’s little sister. I came to see you and congratulate you on your new position.” She sipped the wine.

“And your name is?”

“Annie.” She winked at him.

“I will tell Lydia.” He smiled.

“Good, I’ll give you a few minutes to set her straight, I am going to get a refill.” She walked away to the table.

Hannibal walked back to his counterparts.

“Who is that woman?” An older man asked.

“That would be my sister-in-law, Annie, she heard we were here and decided to drop by, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all Roman. She’s most welcome. Tell me, is she single?” A younger man asked.

“I think she is spoken for, will you excuse Lydia and I? We would like to go and say hi.” He pulled Bedelia by her waist toward her, and whispered in her ear “She’s your sister, she’s come to say hi.”

“You want me to lie.”

“I want you to act.”

They walked toward Mischa who waited patiently “Sister, darling, so good to see you and Roman, I hope you don’t mind me gatecrashing your party.” Mischa kissed both Bedelia’s cheeks.

“Annie, what are you doing here?” Bedelia faked genuine love for Mischa.

“I missed you, you couldn’t expect me to let you move all the way here without me visiting, now could you?”

“No I guess not. So, are you seeing anyone?” Bedelia continued.

“He should be here any minute…” Mischa eyed Hannibal, a glint sparking in her eyes.

“You brought someone with you?” Hannibal tilted his head.

“Not safe for a woman to travel alone.” She smirked, the doors opened.

Will Graham stepped inside, tall and deliberate, his presence cutting through the already heavy tension in the room like a blade. He was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, the dark fabric fitting his frame perfectly, his hair slightly disheveled, but the look suited him. His expression was focused, as though he were processing everything at once—observing, calculating, and perhaps, just for a fleeting moment, letting the weight of the situation settle in his chest.

Only Hannibal seemed to see him.

Hannibal’s sharp eyes caught the flicker of Will’s presence, and for a fraction of a second, something in his expression softened, a faint acknowledgment of the man who had been his obsession, his adversary, his... prey. The subtle shift in Hannibal’s demeanor did not escape Bedelia, who, even in her moment of unease, sensed the undercurrent of that silent recognition.

But for Will, standing there in the shadows, something inside him stirred. It was a longing—a deep, visceral pull that settled like a knot in his chest. It wasn’t just the sight of Hannibal, or the chaos of the evening. It was something deeper, something darker. His thoughts, however hard he tried to push them away, turned inevitably toward the twisted bond they shared, the strange affection and terror that had grown between them. And in that instant, as he locked eyes with Hannibal for a brief, intense moment, that old connection seemed to surge to the surface, making his heart race with both longing and fear.

Mischa’s eyes flicked between Will and Hannibal, her lips curling into a slight, knowing smile. There was a satisfaction in her gaze as she watched Hannibal’s reaction to Will’s arrival. She understood the dynamic—the intricate web of emotions that tied them all together. She saw what Will could not, or perhaps what he refused to admit: that even in the midst of their quiet war, in the chaos they had all created, Hannibal was still a force that could summon the deepest of desires, the most dangerous of obsessions.

Mischa, in her villainous elegance, took a small step forward, her gaze fixed on Hannibal with a strange satisfaction. She knew something he might not—something about the unspoken dance between him and Will, the way their lives had become inextricably linked, no matter how much either of them tried to break free “You’re late.” She smiled.

“I got stuck in traffic.” Will whispered as Mischa took his arm.

“Have you met my sister, Lydia, and her husband Roman? Everyone, this is Will.”

“I trust you are taking good care of my sister.” Bedelia spoke softly, passing him a glass of wine.

“She takes very good care of me too.” Will smiled.

“This is bold, Will.” Hannibal whispered.

“Why? Plenty of eyes in here, and we are just here to have a dance and a conversation.” Will’s smile became a smirk.

“Would you care to join me for a cigarette outside?” Hannibal offered

“Yes, if Annie can stand guard at the door so we aren’t completely alone.”

“There are other people out there, I promise not to kill you in front of all these witnesses.” Hannibal guided Will outside, pulling two cigars from an inside pocket of his suit and passing one to Will with a lighter. The pair lit up “So, you’re dating my sister.”

“No, we aren’t an item, I think we are just fulfilling a need for each other for now.”

“You’re using each other.” Hannibal nodded “For just sex? Are you replacing the idea of me with my sister?”

“Is this therapy or a cigar break away from the girls?” Will chuckled, “If you wanted to have sex with me, you could have just asked.” Will said with a hint of sass.

“You could have done the same, instead of pretending it is me but fucking my sister.”

“Are you genuinely hurt I had sex with Mischa?” Will looked at him seriously.

“She’s manipulating you.”

“I could also be doing the same to her.”

“What’s her plan, Will? What is she going to do?” Hannibal looked at him seriously.

“I don’t know.”

“You know more than you’re saying. It would be discourteous if you didn’t share.”

“Would it be rude?”

“It would be.” Hannibal flicked ash to the side.

“She’s working with Mason Verger, on the side. He wants you about as much as the rest of the world.” Will explained.

“Then you need to get out of here, out of Italy and hide somewhere too.” Hannibal said quietly after a few seconds of pause.

“What… why?” Will looked at him with genuine confusion.

“Because I think we are a package deal, Will. I think she sold both of our souls to the devil.” Hannibal explained “God, I did underestimate her.”

“What are you saying, Hannibal?”

“I’m saying that I think you’re in as much danger as I am. And you let a dominant portion of it sleep beside you.”

"I don't...?" Will started.

"You're. My. Bait."

Chapter Text

Bedelia and Mischa took a cab, Bedelia reaching over and linking her fingers with Mischa in a strange act of comfort.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Bedelia asked.

“Not with you.” Mischa watched as the streets went by “How far are we out?”

“Ten minutes or so.” Bedelia nodded “You don’t have to become him, Mischa.”

“The only way I can ensure that, is to erase him.” Mischa whispered, then sat in quiet for the remainder of the trip.

“It won’t be the reckoning you think it will be. Pull over here.” She instructed the driver “Follow me.”

Mischa followed Bedelia up the stairs to the apartment and watched as she unlocked the door with a key from her bra.

“Stay behind me.” Mischa instructed, pulling a gun from her thigh, she tossed Bedelia her phone “Call Jack. Tell him where we are.”

“Wouldn’t life be so much easier, if we had pockets.” Bedelia whispered as Mischa kicked the door in, her gun raised, she moved through the apartment “Hannibal? Will, where are you?”

Bedelia looked at Mischa’s phone and turned it off, slipping it into a decorative vase on the side table before grabbing a large statue of a philosopher’s head from the stand. She raised it carefully above Mischa’s head before slamming it down, watching her crumple softly to the floor, the blood matching the same perfect shade of her dress.

“Lydia? What are you doing, it’s late and you haven’t had your medicine.” Hannibal appeared from the kitchen, ever so slightly ruffled.

“Sorry…” Bedelia said softly.

“Why did you bring her here?” Hannibal looked down at Mischa.

“I don’t know.”

“Come and sit down, my love.” Hannibal guided her over to a seat, then went to a box where he pulled a syringe, injecting it into the top of Bedelia’s arm “Go clean up and go to bed, I will deal with this. Unless you are the one who wants to kill her…?” Hannibal offered.

“I don’t want her dead any more than I want you.” Bedelia stood “Can you unzip me?”

“Of course.” Hannibal gently pulled the zipped of her gown down.

“Where’s Will Graham?”

“Not here.” Hannibal concluded “I encouraged him to leave.” there was a hint of a lie in his voice.

“Hannibal?”

“Yes?”

“Just… make it painless when you kill her. For me…”

Hannibal kissed her forehead “Why do you care so much?”

“Promise me her death will be painless.”

“Go to bed, Lydia.”

~~

Mischa awoke in an unfamiliar, lavish room, dressed in a silk set of sleepwear. Everything was blurred or spinning, her head ached. She went to feel the back of it when she realized she was handcuffed, she shook it.

“Just in case you wanted to run.” Hannibal said from the doorway, holding a wine glass and wearing a white shirt rolled to his elbows.

“In case you hadn’t realized, there was an easier way to disable me. Take my leg or take my other leg.” Mischa said sarcastically.

“That would still leave your arms to mess with me, and you’re right-handed.” Hannibal sat on the bed beside her “Mason Verger, hey?”

“Didn’t think I would give up so easily, did you? My head really hurts, what did Bedelia hit me with?”

“Concrete statue, don’t worry, your skull isn’t cracked. Here.” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills “Open.”

“What is it?”

“Oxy, it’ll help your head.”

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No. I mean by all accounts I should, but the most you’ve done is fight me, you haven’t made a direct attempt, you’re just really annoying. And you’re also my sister. Open your mouth.”

“Swear you won’t kill me.”

“I won’t kill you. You have my word.”

Mischa studied his face “What did Will say to you?”

“We can talk when you don’t have a headache, here.” He opened her mouth and put the pills in, before offering her the wine glass.

“Pain pills and wine, what kind of doctor are you?” She said after two mouthfuls.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Not until you want me dead, at least.” She pulled herself up to look at him better.

“I don’t want you dead. I don’t know why you find that so hard to believe? That I could possibly care about you.”

“You make me feel like a science experiment.” She confessed.

“Nature vs. nurture?”

“Can you untie me? Please?”

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked seriously.

“No, I promise, and I really have to pee.” She confessed.

“Alright.” Hannibal unlocked the handcuff.

“Thank you, now, can I have my leg back so I cannot cause myself further injury?” Mischa requested

“Are you going to try and run away?” Hannibal clarified.

“With two Oxy and wine in my system, I’ll be asleep in an hour, but I really would like not to hop to the bathroom. My head already pounds.”

“I’ll carry you, here.” He placed his arm around her waist, then stood her up “Lean on me”

“This is humiliating.” She concluded, hopping beside him to the bathroom.

“Are you good now you’re in here?”

“Yeah, I’ll yell if I need you.”

Mischa watched him close the door before she pulled herself to the bathroom mirror, turning on the faucet.

She sat on the toilet and examined herself, looking for any traces of needle points. Taking off her clothes and looking at herself with the mirror, she opened the top drawer and found a hand mirror of Bedelia’s she used to further the search, she breathed a sigh of relief. No needlepoints like Bedelia.

She put her clothes back on, used the toilet, flushed and washed her hands before opening the door again.

Hannibal was nowhere to be seen. “Hannibal…? Where are you?” She looked around, there was a pair of crutches waiting for her, she sighed with relief and used them to move to the kitchen.

“You got me crutches, how long was I unconscious for?”

“Two days. Don’t worry…”

“I’m not worried. I am hungry. I’m surprised you didn’t carve off another slice of me while you had the chance.” She joked and sat at the breakfast bar.

“You didn’t taste good.” Hannibal passed her a bowl of cereal, fruit and yogurt “And before you ask, no toast. I think you have vitamin deficiency, so, fruit, yogurt, carbs. Oh, and some orange juice, vitamin c.”

“Explain how you got to vitamin deficiency?” She asked taking a bite of cereal and wrinkled her nose.

“You’ve lost weight, other than the leg, but you have good muscle mass, so you’re eating protein, well, plant based, to build muscle mass, you’re paler than you were which means you’ve been going to an indoor gym and spending a lot of inside, probably obsessing about me, and given how you like to focus on your work, I would say that plain toast, and maybe toast with peanut butter might be the extent of your diet, except for alcohol and pain pills. So, you’re not getting your way, eat the cereal, it will help you feel better.”

“Assuming I stay.” she sipped the orange juice “Would taste better with vodka.” She joked.

“You’ll stay because you want to stay, and I have your leg.”

“Yeah, but you gave me crutches, I could still get away.”

“You wouldn’t make it five minutes up the road.” Hannibal chuckled.

“I could make a whole lot of noise doing it. Someone is bound to call the poliza.” She finished the cereal and passed him the bowl “Where is Bedelia?”

“Shopping, she likes to go to it once a week.”

“You have her under a spell. What did you give her?”

“The less you know, the more plausible deniability you have.” Hannibal smiled.

“I can’t believe she hit me with a statue.” She rubbed the soft spot on her head.

“Pain meds kicked in yet?”

“Not yet, I’m not asleep, am I?”

“You’re not going to fall asleep; you’ve got too high of a tolerance.” Hannibal smirked.

“Well, I did develop a reliance on them, because well, you took my leg. I am ridiculously tired though, so I will go and take a nap if that’s OK?” She stood with the crutches and made her way back to the room.

She lay in bed, she could take Hannibal’s word, or she could build his trust and escape. All she really needed was a phone so she could alert either Will or Mason, whoever’s arsenal would come the quickest.

The only person who knew where it was, unfortunately, was Bedelia.

Chapter Text

Several weeks earlier.

Mischa Lecter stood at the grand entrance of Verger Manor, the imposing stone walls and darkened windows casting long shadows under the moonlight. The silence of the estate was overwhelming, the kind of stillness that hinted at power—power that could crush you without a second thought. She wasn’t sure what to expect when Mason Verger had summoned her here, but as the doors to the manor swung open, a cold sense of inevitability gripped her chest. This was no mere meeting; it was a proposition. One she knew she couldn't afford to ignore.

Inside, Mason Verger sat in a large, ornately decorated room, his wheelchair positioned in the center of the space like a throne. His pale face twisted into something that resembled a smile, though it was more unsettling than inviting. He was a shell of the man he had once been, his body broken and battered, the result of Hannibal’s cruelty. A twisted reminder of the price of crossing the wrong person.

"Mischa," he said smoothly, his voice soft but laced with an unsettling edge. "It's been a long time."

Mischa's jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond immediately. She had no interest in pleasantries. She had come for one reason only: revenge. The moment she stepped further into the room, the weight of Mason's gaze fell upon her like a heavy blanket.

"You know why you're here," he continued, his eyes flickering with something close to satisfaction. "I’m going to make you an offer you won’t be able to refuse. A hefty sum, a fortune really, for the tracking and capture of Hannibal Lecter —difficult to pin down. But with your help, that could change."

Mischa didn’t flinch, but the coldness in her eyes betrayed the simmering hatred she felt for Hannibal. She didn’t care about the money, the power, the promise of wealth. There was something in Mason’s tone that made her pause—a recognition of the damage Hannibal had done to both of them.

Mason leaned back in his wheelchair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrests. He spoke with a kind of detached amusement, the cruelty in his words masked by the softness of his voice. "You know, Mischa, Hannibal didn’t just take your leg. He took your life. Your freedom. He took everything from you. And for what? So you could be left with nothing but your rage and a phantom limb." He chuckled darkly. "But this... this is your chance to get it back. To hurt him the way he hurt you."

The words hit Mischa like a slap to the face, but she didn’t let them show. She had heard it all before—about the leg, about the violation, the pain. She had spent years trying to push past it, to find herself again after what Hannibal had done. Mason's words cut through the surface, carving into a wound she had worked so hard to bury.

"Revenge, Mischa. Think about it," he continued, the quiet malice in his voice thickening. "You won’t get it from the FBI. You know that. You and I both know they’ll never help you. They’ll never give you what you truly want. They’ll give you justice, maybe. But justice won’t bring you back what you lost. You’ll never get close enough to him with the FBI’s rules holding you back. But I’m not bound by those limitations. Money, power, influence—I have all of it. Across borders, across countries. I can give you access to the kind of resources the FBI could only dream of."

Mischa’s eyes darkened as she clenched her fists at her sides, the urge to tear into him rising. But she had learned long ago to control her impulses. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not in front of him. Not now.

Mason’s smirk deepened, and he wheeled closer, his gaze never leaving her. "Think of it, Mischa. You can track Hannibal. You can get close to him. I can provide everything you need to make him pay. But if you do this, if you help me, I will make sure that you can strike back in ways the FBI could never even dream of."

The air in the room was thick with the promise of something dangerous. Mason wasn’t asking for help—he was offering her the tools to destroy Hannibal. She could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on her, the temptation of revenge whispering in her ear. He knew exactly what to say, how to exploit her pain and her anger.

"You don’t have to do this alone," Mason added, his tone soft but insistent. "I’ll make sure you have everything you need. No more waiting. No more hesitation. You can make Hannibal feel the same kind of helplessness you did. And I promise you, once he’s caught, once he’s at your mercy, you’ll have the power to finish what he started."

Mischa’s eyes were cold, calculating as she stared at him. The offer was tempting, too tempting to dismiss outright. But she wasn’t here for power or wealth. She was here for something more personal. Something more visceral. She wanted Hannibal to understand the price of his cruelty. She wanted him to feel the agony she had lived with every single day since he’d destroyed her.
"I’ll do it," she said, her voice low but firm, the anger behind her words simmering just below the surface. "But not just for your money. I want him. I want revenge."

Mason chuckled, his smile wide and cruel. "Oh, Mischa," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "That’s the spirit. Let’s begin."

“I’ll need to take Will Graham with me.” She remarked quietly.

“Why’s that?”

“Bait.”

“I’ve always liked Will Graham, such a nice face.” Mason spat.

~~
Present day

The air in the dimly lit parlor was thick with tension, heavy with the weight of secrets long buried and truths left unsaid. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls. Mischa stood just inside the doorway, her eyes focused intently on Bedelia, who sat in an armchair, her posture stiff and unyielding. The woman before her was not the Bedelia she had once known, not the woman who had been sharp and calculating—this was someone else entirely. Someone lost.

Bedelia's gaze was distant, unfocused, her fingers absently twisting a ring on her finger, a nervous habit that Mischa had come to recognize. But there was something different in her expression now, something empty. Something wrong.

“Bedelia,” Mischa said softly, taking a step closer, her voice a quiet thread of urgency. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

Bedelia didn’t answer immediately. She blinked slowly, as though processing the question. The room seemed to grow colder as she stared blankly ahead. “No, I don’t,” Bedelia said at last, her voice slow, but sure, as though the words were fact, as though there was no question in her mind. “You’ve been here... for so long. Watching me. Watching him.”

Mischa’s chest tightened. She had known that Hannibal’s influence over Bedelia had gone deep, but hearing her speak so matter-of-factly about her mistaken identity was a punch to the gut. Bedelia was so far gone, so ensnared in Hannibal’s web, that she could no longer even remember the truth of who she was.

“No, Bedelia,” Mischa said firmly, trying to reign in her frustration. She needed to focus, needed to cut through the fog that “I’m Mischa, Hannibal’s sister, and you’re Bedelia Du Maurier, his psychiatrist, I need you to remember the night we were at the ball, when I got here, I handed you a phone, where is it?”

Bedelia only stared at her, her expression vacant, her eyes empty as though nothing could reach her. Her mind was locked in a place where Mischa’s words couldn’t break through. She was lost in an illusion, a version of herself that had been carefully constructed by Hannibal, and it was now impossible to pry her free.

“I’m Lydia Fell,” Bedelia repeated, her voice quiet but unwavering.

Mischa felt a flicker of panic rising in her chest, but she tamped it down. She couldn’t let Bedelia’s delusions derail her mission. She had to stay focused.

“Bedelia,” Mischa said, her voice colder now, the urgency beginning to seep through. “You hid my phone. I need to know where you put it.”

There was a long pause, as though Bedelia hadn’t fully processed the question. Her fingers tightened around the ring in her hands, her gaze still fixed on the empty space in front of her. But then, as if something inside her finally sparked, a glimmer of recognition flashed in her eyes.

“The vase,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper, but clear enough for Mischa to catch the words. “In the doorway. It’s in the vase.”

Mischa’s pulse quickened. Bedelia’s words were like a lifeline, the answer she needed. Without hesitation, she moved toward the large vase by the doorway, her heart racing with the knowledge that this could be the turning point. She reached inside, her fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface, and felt it—the phone, exactly where Bedelia had said it would be.

She grabbed it quickly, almost greedily, her fingers flying over the screen to unlock it. With swift precision, she typed a short, urgent SOS message to Mason Verger before tucking it back into the vase.
As soon as the message was sent, she heard the sound of the front door creaking open, the unmistakable click of shoes against the floor. Hannibal was home.

Mischa froze for just a moment, a shiver of tension running through her. She quickly shoved the phone into her pocket, moving back toward the armchair where Bedelia still sat, her gaze unwavering, locked in her own world.

Mischa didn’t look at Bedelia anymore. She didn’t need to. She knew what was coming—the cold, calculated presence of Hannibal. And as she heard him approach, the faint click of his footsteps echoing down the hallway, she straightened, a quiet calm settling over her.

Bedelia didn’t react. Her mind was too far gone, too entangled in the web Hannibal had spun for her. But Mischa—Mischa still knew what needed to be done. She could feel the shift in the air as Hannibal entered, his presence filling the room with a sharp, predatory grace.

Mischa straightened her back, her lips curling into a slight, knowing smile. The game, she thought, was still very much in play. And this time, she wasn’t the prey.

“Welcome home.” She said carefully.

“Mischa, what are you doing up, you should be resting.”

“Just chewing the fat with Lydia.” She stepped back as best her crutches allowed her.

“We have a dinner guest.” Hannibal noted, another man looming behind him. Will Graham.

“Will, what are you doing here?” She frowned.

“Dinner.” He said carefully.

Mischa swallowed “Very well. I’ll let you get on with the cooking.” She made her way back to Bedelia, sitting opposite her, watching the door carefully “Come on.” She muttered under her breath.
“Would you like a wine, Mischa?” Hannibal called from the kitchen.

“Sure… I thought you said you convinced Will to leave.” She eyed Hannibal carefully as he poured her wine and walked it over to her.

“I couldn’t stay away.” Will noted.

“Poor survival instincts.” Mischa took the glass and downed it in one mouthful, handing it back to Hannibal instantaneously.

“You’re cut off.” He chuckled, returning to the kitchen.

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of dim kitchen lights. Will and Hannibal stood near the counter, the hum of the city just faintly reaching their ears through the windows. It had been a long evening, the tension between them thick, yet something had shifted in the air—an unsettling feeling that neither could ignore.

Hannibal stood with his back to the door, facing Will, a glass of red wine in hand. He spoke softly, the words measured, almost casual, but his eyes flickered with something unreadable. Will, ever alert, had grown increasingly uneasy. Something about tonight didn’t sit right. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.

Just as Will shifted, his eyes narrowing toward the hallway, the front door to the apartment suddenly burst open with a force that rattled the kitchen door. Without warning, a swarm of men in tactical gear flooded in, filling the small entryway like a wall of darkness. They were fast, efficient—trained to overwhelm in an instant.

Hannibal didn’t flinch. He only turned his head slightly, his gaze sharp, taking in the sight of Mason Verger’s men as they poured into the apartment. The first two agents moved swiftly toward Will, grabbing him by the shoulders with a roughness that contrasted sharply with the calmness Hannibal had always instilled in him. One man clamped a hand over Will’s mouth, while the other twisted his arms behind his back, the cold snap of handcuffs locking around his wrists. Will struggled, instinctively, but it was futile. Within seconds, the men had him under control, forcing him to the ground, holding him still.

Hannibal watched, unbothered, as the agents moved toward him. His eyes flickered briefly to Will’s pinned form but returned to the men now circling him. A pair of agents closed in on him, one pulling his arm behind his back, while the other fastened cuffs around his wrists with swift efficiency. The cold metal bit into his skin, but there was no trace of fear in Hannibal’s expression—only quiet amusement. He didn’t fight. He allowed them to secure him, his posture unnervingly calm, almost regal.

As the agents tightened their grip on both men, one of them stepped forward. He was a little taller than the others, his face obscured by a mask, but his voice was cold and commanding. “Mason’s orders,” he said, the finality of his words cutting through the tension in the room. "You’re coming with us."

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with a strange kind of victory that pulsed through the agents’ movements. They’d captured their prey. But there was no celebration in Hannibal’s eyes—only an unreadable look of quiet resolve, a dangerous kind of stillness that suggested the game was far from over.

The agents held both Hannibal and Will steady, making sure neither of them could move, but the tension between them was palpable. Hannibal, even now, exuded an unsettling calm. He was restrained, but he was never truly defeated. His eyes met Will’s, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something unspoken between them—an understanding, perhaps, or maybe an acknowledgment of the twisted path that had brought them here.

One man stepped forward, grinning at the pair of men knelt before them.

“You took your time.” Mischa remarked.

“Sorry Ma’am, but we do have a gift for you.” The balding man nodded to another who came forward with a prosthetic leg “A gift from Mr. Verger.”

“Thank you.” Mischa remarked as she put it on, standing for the first time unaided in many days “See to it that Bedelia gets to a psychiatric hospital.”
The men nodded, and one carried Bedelia out of the house carefully.

“Mischa… you can undo me now.” Will asked, looking up at her.

“Undo him.” Mischa instructed the balding man.

“Sorry Ma’am, change of plans, Mason wants Will too.”

“He wasn’t part of the deal, my contract was for Hannibal and Hannibal alone.”

“There’s no bounty on Will Graham, Mr. Verger just wants to talk with him as well.”

Mischa frowned.

“You sold your soul to the devil, Mischa, and he betrayed you, I hope your thirty pieces of silver are satisfying.” Hannibal remarked.

“At least I had one worth something. Get them out of here.” She nodded to the men. They placed two black hoods over Will and Hannibal’s heads and carried them out.

“A private jet is waiting for you, Ma’am.” the balding man offered his arm.

“You’ll regret this, Mischa!” Hannibal called out to her, muffled by the fabric.

Such a nice face

Chapter Text

Mischa arrived at work as usual, parking in her assigned spot and walking into the FBI unbothered by the events of the day before.

She saw Jack approaching from the far end of the corridor, accompanied by Alana bloom.

“Mischa, we need to talk.” Jack said quietly.

“Your office or mine?” Mischa asked.

“Mine.” Jack beckoned and the three walked towards his door.

“I see you’ve recovered well, Alana, my love to Margot.” Mischa smiled.

“Don’t.” Alana said quietly.

Jack walked behind his desk, tight lipped anger gnawing on his cheeks “I am only going to ask this once, but WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE?!” He hit his fist against the table.
Mischa stood still, eying him carefully “I require more context.” she said calmly

“YOU RUN OFF TO ITALY, MYSELF AND WILL IN TOE AND THEN YOU DISAPPEAR FOR DAYS AND WHEN I FIND OUT YOU’RE BACK HERE ALREADY, WILL GRAHAM AND HANNIBAL LECTER ARE NOWHERE IN SIGHT. EXPLAIN YOURSELF!” he continued yelling.

“I told you I would catch Hannibal, I agreed to your and the FBI’s plan, the unfortunate case of it all is that you, nor the FBI were equipped enough to deal with the problem, so I sought out other solutions.” Mischa explained.

“By other solutions, you mean the Vergers.” Alana clarified.

“You both already know the details, why drag me in here. If you’re going to fire me, do it.” Mischa looked impatient.

“FIRE YOU, I SHOULD HAVE YOU ARRESTED FOR AIDING AND ABETTING CRIMINAL ACTIVITY.” Jack continued to roar, making Alana flinch. Mischa remained stoic.

“What are you mad about, the fact I did exactly what I said I would, or the fact I did haul Hannibal’s ass to you first?” She titled her head.

“THE DEAL WAS YOU WOULD BRING HIM HERE, WILL AND YOU, NOW WHERE IS WILL?!”

“Mason wanted to talk to him.” Mischa shrugged.

“Mason has… other plans for Will Graham.” Alana looked at her carefully.

“She knows more than I do, why are you yelling at me?”

“BECAUSE SHE’S NOT FBI, YOU ARE, YOU TOOK AN OATH.” Jack advanced on her, shouting mere inches from her face.

“If the problem gets solved, what does it matter, truly. Arrest Mason for Hannibal’s murder, even stevens.”

“Hannibal isn’t going to be murdered, because you’re going to get him and Will Graham out of there.” Jack lowered his voice.

“If I refuse?” She didn’t blink.

“Then you’ll be fired.”

“OK.” Mischa unclipped her gun and sat her badge on his desk calmly.

“No, no, no, that’s not how this works. You’re going to the Verger Manor, and I expect both Will and Hannibal out.”

“No.” Mischa turned.

“This isn’t the kind of justice Hannibal deserves.” Alana called to her.

“No. But it is a start.”

“You’ll regret this.” Jack’s blood was boiling.

“You’re not mad about Hannibal, you’re mad about Will Graham, stop pretending this is about Hannibal, Hannibal could die and the world as we know it would keep spinning, better for it, Will dies, and you’ve lost your magic bullet. Stop making this about Hannibal, you don’t care what happens to him. Now, if you want to talk about Will Graham and a plan to get him out of this mess, I am all ears, but as for Hannibal, he gets what he gets, and you don’t throw a fit.” She turned at the door, arms crossed.

“...OK this is about Will, he doesn’t deserve whatever fate Mason has for him.” Jack said quietly.

“Then let me handle it.” She offered.

“I want to know how.”

“No, you really don’t Jack. You really, really don’t.”

Jack handed her back the gun and badge then both he and Alana watched her leave silently.

“...Keep me updated on whatever you hear or see.” Jack said quietly to Alana.

“Absolutely.”

~~

Mischa made her way to the foreboding Verger empire, striding in without much care, ignoring the bodyguards and staff until she reached the dining room, pushing the double doors open.
“Mischa Lecter, didn’t your brother ever teach you how to knock?” Spat Mason.

“We had a deal Mason, I came to collect payment.”

“Oh, well, of course, now why don’t you stay for the show, I’m about to cook and eat your brother.”

“Why is Will here?” She crossed her arms looking annoyed.

“Well, Mischa, your brother took my face and fed it to Will’s dogs, that means I’m owed a face.”

“..You want to eat Hannibal… with my face?” Will asked from a restrained trolley.

“And everyone's a winner.”

“And if I don’t want you to take Will’s face?” Mischa frowned.

“Aw, Mischa, do you like your boy toy? How does it feel knowing you and Hannibal have both fucked Will Graham?”

“It is a less disgusting thought than the idea of fucking you.” Mischa smiled.

Mason laughed “God you’re funny, I can see you got all the humor.”

“So when is the face transplant, and I am assuming you need a few days to recover so that you can use your new face to eat my brother.”

“Tonight, you can watch it if you want?” Mason offered.

“Sounds… Interesting, I’m in, but until then I’m going to go hang out with your sister, if that’s ok.”

“I’d pay to watch you and Alana….” Mason called after her.

~~

Mischa went upstairs to Margot’s room, knocking on the ornate door. Margot opened it a few seconds later “We need to talk, where’s Alana?” Mischa pushed past her.

“Come in.” Margot said sarcastically.

“I'm in here Mischa.” Alana beckoned.

“Good, now we have a problem. Mason dies, Margot loses everything, you need a male heir to insure you inherit. Now, Mason took your womb, but there’s another one in this room that is viable.” Mischa looked at Alana.

“You can’t be serious.” Alana looked at her, dumbstruck.

“Well, you love Margot, I am assuming you two are an item, make it official, marry into the family. Harvest Mason’s sperm, impregnate yourself, grow your own heir, get rid of him.”

“...How do we do that?” Alana looked at her with horror.

“Do you really need the birds and the bees talk, Alana?” Mischa chuckled.

“No, I mean how do we do that without… sex… or touching?” Margot jumped in.

“Cattle prod?” Mischa leaned on the wall, her arms crossed.

“You can’t be serious.” Alana continued to look shocked.

“Can you think of any other way?” Mischa asked quietly.

“...Is this about Hannibal?” Alana.

“No, this is about Will. And getting even with Mason, personally, I’d love to let him kill Hannibal. Cook his legs one by one, but… for Hannibal to die that way, Mason wants to wear Will’s face to do it. I would like Will to keep his face.” Mischa stated plainly.

“For you, or for Hannibal?” Alana asked curiously.

~~

Hannibal was stripped naked and tied like a pig in a sow stall. Head down and arms at each side.

Meanwhile Will was being prepped for surgery in a custom built OR in Mason’s basement.

Mischa crept past the guards on the way down, knocking the last out with the back of her gun. Then she stood for a moment in front of Hannibal, gun in hand lowered to her side, but finger still on the trigger.

“Admiring the view?” Hannibal asked with a slight strain.

“Considering my options.” She said with complete malice.

“You won’t kill me, you can’t kill me and save Will.”

“Who says I want to save either of you?” She bent down before him.

“Because part of you feels guilty.” Hannibal considered.

“No. I used Will, he used me, we were even. The issue I have is that he hasn’t done anything directly to me out of hatred or evil, so to let him die would be an injustice. Now, I need your help.” She continued.

“My help?”

“Mason Verger is the only heir, without him, Margot loses everything. How are you with a cattle prod?” She asked seriously.

“You want to have Mason’s baby? There are easier ways.”

“I don’t. Alana does.” She continued “I cut you free, we go save Will, then, we milk Mason… then I need a drink.”

“And if you release me and I kill you?”

“Oh well, none of the events later will bother me, or be my problem.” she pulled a knife from her boot “So if this is goodbye, I wish you good luck.” She said, cutting the ropes.

She took the clothes from the unconscious guard, tossing them at Hannibal.

“Couldn’t bring me my own clothes?”

“Yeah, that would look really normal… carrying an overnight bag. Put his clothes on and shut up.”

“Where is Will?”

“Basement. Mason constructed an OR, that… large grunt of a man… taking his face.” Mischa frowned.

“Not on my watch…” Hannibal said, “Give me your knife.” he opened his hand.

Mischa hesitated and gave it to him.

“Tell me one thing?” He continued.

“Sure?”

“Do you love Will Graham?”

“No, do you?”

Hannibal pushed passed her and ran toward the basement, stopping at the doorway to look back at her.

“You… You…” Mischa looked down at her stomach, a large cut across it, spilling blood onto the floor “You killed me?”

Hannibal smirked and turned away, her blood dripping down his hand.

Mischa raised her gun and fired.

Chapter Text

“Hold still, let me clean it.” Will whispered, dabbing a cloth to the bullet hole in Hannibal’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe she shot me.” Hannibal grimaced.

“You did gut her, I know what that’s like… you cut her like you cut me, not to kill her, but to inflict incapacitating pain.” Will noted.

“Well, she was the reason we got caught.”

“We were always going to get caught, it was just a matter of time.” Will sighed “Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know.” Hannibal pulled his shirt back up “Will you miss me?”

“No.” Will stood and walked to the window, looking out at the snow covered ground.

“No?”

“No, I miss my dogs, but you. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to look for you. I don’t want to know where you are or what you do. I don’t want to think about you anymore.” He concluded, turning to an empty room as the lights and sirens approached. He casually walked outside.

“Where is he?!” Jack demanded.

“He’s gone, Jack.” Will whispered.

“I’m here.” Hannibal appeared, his hands lifted in surrender as he was swarmed and cuffed “You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“I didn’t catch you. You surrendered.”

~~

Mischa awoke in an all-to-familiar setting, hearing the soft beeps of medical devices.

“You’re awake.” Will’s voice was distant.

“I’m not dead?” She queried.

“No. He made sure of that.”

“You’re not dead either, that means he got to you in time.”

“... You could have let Mason kill us.”

“My contract was for Hannibal. Not you.” She groaned as she sat up.

“You came to save me.”

“Sadly, that involved freeing Hannibal. How many hours does he have ahead of us?” She screwed her face up in pain.

“He’s not.” Will pressed the button on her morphine pump.

“...I don’t understand.” She looked at him curiously.

“He surrendered.” He found himself holding her hand.

“...I still don’t understand.”

“He surrendered, and he’s being held at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.”

Mischa studied his face “... You rejected him.”

“Excuse me?”

“...The only reason Hannibal would ever surrender, was if the novelty or, who he was trying to impress, was no longer interesting or interested, you rejected him.” She concluded “Press that button again for me.”

Will chucked and pressed it “I told him I didn’t want to know him anymore.”

“Ouch.” Mischa chuckled.

“Well, Mischa, what do you expect me to do?” Will sighed "Have you considered protective custody, new identity, moving away?"

"To be honest, I didn't expect to wake up. I think it is time for me to leave the FBI at least." Mischa sighed.

"What will you do?" Will stroked the hair from her face affectionately.

“I don’t know. I do know I need a new name. Again.” She sighed.

“What would you call yourself?”

“I’m thinking… Molly.”