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On this wonderful bright May afternoon, Dr. Hannibal Lecter is sitting in a booth near the back window, with a large sheet of paper and a number of pencils and scalpels, drawing.

He's drawing a re-imagination of a classic painting, 'Judith Slaying Holofernes', the version by Artemisia Gentileschi.

In his pencil version, Holofernes has no beard, is blond, and looks remarkably like Eric Northman. Judith does look a little like Sunshine in the original already; now she looks even more so.

The maid, in Hannibal's version, is wearing round glasses and a worried expression.

He is whistling as he works.

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"Yes, she has," Dr. Lecter says. "And your guess is as good as mine as to why she did it. Perhaps she simply couldn't bear the idea of leaving somebody outside to die. Somebody who wasn't currently actively harming her."

"Yes, that sounds like her all right," Autor says, shifting his book under his arm. "Well, as long as she's safe, that's all I care about. Thank you."

Dr. Lecter brings out another sheet of paper, and starts drawing something else.

"She's safe, yes," he says. "She better had be, for the sake of whoever would have harmed her. I don't like the idea."

Autor watches the hypnotic movements of Dr. Lecter's pencil, trying to guess at what the drawing will be. "Oh? And what would you do about that, should it occur?"

"I do hope Security would do something very decisive," Dr. Lecter says, "because of if they don't, she'd be quite justified in defending herself."

His eyes slide to the other drawing.

"And capable," Autor says, peering at the first drawing, "though I doubt she'd do so in such a gruesome fashion--unless the situation was truly dire."

He adjusts his glasses again. "What are you drawing now?"

"It's a metaphor."

His new drawing is not; it's just a sketch of Sunshine and Autor, quietly whispering to each other.

Autor doesn't squirm. Through a great show of willpower, he doesn't even move. "I must say, your choice of models is surprising."

"Why shouldn't I draw my friends?" Hannibal says, with a little smile.

Autor doesn't have much to say to that. He places his book on the table away from the drawings and orders a cup of tea from a passing wait rat.

"Anything interesting happen while I was away?" he asks. "With the exception of Sunshine leading Eric Northman around, of course."

"Javert and Valjean left," Dr. Lecter says.

"Left?" Autor says, raising his brows. "Where did they go?"

"From what I heard," Dr. Lecter says, "Javert ewent back into the Seine, and Valjean grabbed some sort of life raft and ran after him. That was the last anybody saw, but people are of course very upset about it."

"How very strange," Autor says, accepting his teacup from the returned rat. "I wonder why."

"He had become quite upset," Hannibal says. "Something had apparently happened with Ganymede, he decided to stop building his church, and was acting more dis-oriented than usual. If Javert is upset, he tends to deprive himself of whatever he likes best. It seems to be one of his coping mechanisms."

"What?" Autor says, blinking. "Javert was building a church? Here?"

He shakes his head. "I hadn't heard that. Well, I can see why people would be upset about his jumping back into the Seine," he says. "I wonder if Ganymede feels responsible."

"I very much hope he doesn't," Dr. Lecter says. "There is no reason to; it's most likely something that just popped up in Javert's mind the way things do, with him."

Pause.

"Yes, he was building a church in the forest. Another one of those ideas. In his world-view, they of course make sense."

"He's allowed to have ideas," Autor says, furrowing his brow. "And it doesn't seem like a church would hurt anyone, anyway."

"His ideas are different from those of other people," Dr. Lecter says. "And of course, his church is a very good idea, for reasons completely unconnected with Javert's reasons for building it. In connection with that, it turned out that Javert can draw, a natural gift he'd never discovered before. He drew sketches for his church that took your breath away. He can draw anything. He's better at it than I am, and I say that completely without envy."

"Who cares if he's different?" Autor says, feeling a little silly. He takes a sip of his cooling tea. "It's strange that he'd be able to express himself with art. Most people take years to develop that talent."

"Javert isn't most people," Dr. Lecter says, gravely. "That's most likely part of his problem."

"You have an uncanny habit of finding problems in people," Autor huffs.

"I'm a psychiatrist," Dr. Lecter points out. "If I couldn't do that, I wouldn't be a very good one."

Autor shakes his head. "Still," he says. "In any case, I believe I've learned from you what I set out to. Good luck with your drawings."

"This one is for you," Dr. Lecter says, handing him the finished sketch. "What you set out? What did you set out to learn?"