You're nothing more than a good alibi. A handy little thing that sticks to him like a limpet. Doesn't even seem to notice the bloody stains on the bathroom tiles, or his always terrifying calm. Oh, darling, you're not just look through rose-coloured spectacles, you're deaf.

Blind enough not to see all the bright red signs - but well, it can't be that bad, can it?

All you can hear in the kitchen is the whisk hitting the walls of the bowl, whipping the milk. Your enthusiastic eyes burning with joy, your pink lips stretched in a gentle smile - he knew. Hannibal realised almost immediately, and the small changes in your habits and preferences in food, in smells, everything around you changed to match your condition.

He knew, but he waited for your quiet voice to settle in his eardrums like the sound of thunder at the coming of Christ. Although, it reminded him more of a Buddhist rebirth. A haunting shiver.

The new house seems like a haven for angels (unless you count the one fallen), and you are a veritable sacred vessel. This stage of life seems like a miracle: warm hands gently guiding you around the house, guidance words. You feel as if you are lying on a soft featherbed under the warm rays of the sun and a light breeze.

"A healthy diet is an integral part of any stage in life, but especially during pregnancy," Hannibal places a plate of food in front of you, pouring you a mug of tea.

He doesn't feel guilty, God forbid. Just the idea that your pregnancy is some kind of karma for Misha obviously touches his heart strings. A chance at redemption beneath his palms - he touches the sacredness gently.

"I suppose it's wise to take a walk after dinner," Hannibal calmly lowers his palms to your shoulders, massaging them lightly.

It feels like love to you. To him, affection, born through patience and a decade of detachment. Through the sins he's atoning for through you, through a sense of responsibility and gardening tenderness, for what you'll both have. Well, the fact is, he's different now.