Rabbit

Doctor Hannibal Lecter enjoys having his friends for dinner. He enjoys a lot of things, some of which may be labelled controversial at least, though. One could have called his dining room gloomy but there’s a reason for that choice. All these muted colors were carefully selected to prepare one’s senses for the feast. They should be muted so that the taste palette feels richer, wider, and broader. “Elegant and dark,” Jack says when he steps into the dining room. His eyes never leave Hannibal, though, and the latter smiles vaguely. Doctor Hannibal Lecter enjoys ambiguity as well. “I love your little garden,” Crawford adds, nodding to the wall with the shelves on it. “I’ve never seen anything like that in a dining room.” “Well, thank you. I do sometimes enjoy being a little bit… quirky.” Jack laughs, and Hannibal savours the sound, sincere and warm. “I wouldn’t choose this word to describe you, Doctor Lecter. But, maybe, your garden… it’s a clever designer choice.” “Actually, it has more use than being only visually pleasing,” Hannibal’s smile never leaves his lips but rarely touches his eyes. Jack doesn’t notice that focusing on the wet greenery and dark mural on the wall. “I use all the herbs you can find there to cook.” “Amazing.” “I just hate wasting anything. With time being on the top of the list. So… how about a drink before the main dish?” “Amazing,” this time Jack doesn’t say that but his eyes speak louder than his voice could. Hannibal enjoys. He’s good at that. “What am I about to put in my mouth?” The candles, long and slim in their glass candlelights, each polished and spotless, impress Jack even more than the name of the dish Hannibal chose for them to share. They don’t give any light but they are on the table for different reasons, the reasons Jack doesn’t know but feels. Hannibal chose candles instead of a floral centrepiece because fire represents the male principle, the “yang”. Two men sharing a dinner. Two men sharing meat. “Rabbit,” Hannibal replies without looking at him. Doctor tends to give his full attention to any thing that ends up on his plate. “He should have hopped faster,” laughs Jack, and that is enough for Hannibal to raise his eyes. An amused smile changes his features completely, he chuckles and savours this joke just as much as he savours the meat. Maybe, even more. “Yes, he should have,” this pleasant smile is something very few people have to experience. For a moment Hannibal dwells on the chase. The rabbit was trying to get away but, luckily enough, the meat didn’t taste bitter or sour afterwards. With some species it does. Fear spoils the taste of the prey. “But, fortunately for us, he did not.” A good joke makes a good meal better. Once Doctor Lecter mentioned that he would have loved to have both Jack and his wife for dinner. Jack remembers that moment vividly enough to feel restless. His best hound lost its senses and started barking not even at the wrong tree… into the void. His best hound is growling and whining miserably in the BSHCI, and there’s nothing Jack can do to help. More importantly, there’s nothing Jack wants to do to help. He dines at Hannibal’s place often enough to get used to the dark elegance of interiors, but the Doctor himself is something nobody can get used to. His eyes may seem warm with the flames dancing in the fireplace but it’s a rookie’s mistake to believe what you see. To assume. Jack doesn’t feel the void, he senses it with all the instincts begging to pay attention, to listen, to feel… he chooses to silence his instincts. It’s not because he doesn’t believe them. He just doesn’t want to listen. “Do you remember that time you served me the rabbit?” Jack asks moving closer. Hannibal uses the poker to adjust the log in the fire with his back exposed to Jack. Crawford notices the firm grip on the poker and smiles to himself. A skull is not a good match against a tool like that. “Vividly,” replies Hannibal without looking back. His eyes are fixated on the fire, and Jack knows that flames are reflecting in them right now. “Boudin noir… French blood sausage.” That is the moment to tell. That is the moment… “You liked it?” “I enjoyed it,” Jack agrees and his palms are now on Hannibal’s shoulders. Doctor Lecter isn’t tense. Not yet. “But I’ve tried rabbit before. And it wasn’t a rabbit you served me.” The silence gets so dark that even the fireplace is unable to help. “You should have hopped faster, Hannibal,” whispers Jack and his palms go lower, sliding to the forearms. Hannibal enjoys a joke. Hannibal enjoys ambiguity. And now he enjoys whatever game Jack Crawford is playing. “But, fortunately for you, Jack…” the poker takes its place against the brick of the fireplace. Hannibal is smiling, and when Jack’s lips finally touch the curve of his neck, he purrs. “I did not.”