milliways_bar | (no subject)

In a chair nearby, there is Hannibal Lecter, reading something on his tablet.

Sinric doesn't notice him at first. Too intent on the coin. His sigh is tired and unhappy.

"Sinric?" Hannibal says.

Sinric looks up with a start, his breath catching. It's not like him to be so unaware of his surroundings.

He gives Hannibal a forced smile. "Forgive me, I was far away."

Hannibal softly shakes his head, as if to tell him not to bother.

"How far?" he says. "And how long?"

He stares at the coin. "Half the western world. And nearly thirty years."

He holds it out to Hannibal. Gold never truly tarnishes but it carries the patina of time. This coin has travelled through many hands.

"Constantine."

"A solidus, minted during his reign." Sinric nods, leaning back against the cushions of the couch. "I played for a wedding tonight. The daughter of a Frankish merchant who frequents the inn I'm staying at. He offered me twelve denier; a fair sum for a night's playing. And enough to pay my tab here."

He gestures to the coin. "But at the end of the night, he gave me this instead."

"You cannot possibly pay anything with that," Hannibal agrees.

"Oh no. Quite the opposite. There is so such I could pay for with that coin. A good horse. A suit of silk and fur with boots to match." He cocks his head and looks at Hannibal with a wry, almost sad smile. "A golden haired slave of less than fire."

He sighs again. "That was my worth. That coin."

"Aureus," Hannibal whispers, putting his arms around Sinric.

This may be the closest he has come yet, outside of sex, to touching the very core of Hannibal.

"The Aureus returned to you."

Sinric curls into his arms, burying his face in Hannibal's shirt. "I don't feel the threads of objects, not the way I do with people but-" He takes a deep breath, a little shaky. "As soon as I touched it, I knew."

Hannibal holds him.

"Yours. Your freedom, and your past."

"My worth. As a child, my whole life was worth this. Now, it's one night of my voice." And he really doesn't know how to feel about that.

Hannibal strokes his back.

"And yet, the coin has nothing to do with your worth as a person, and everything to do with all the aspects of you remembering Constantine. For what that coin would fetch at auction in my world, I might be able to entice Hollywood's highest paid actor to some event I was hosting -- if I were still hosting any. But as a person, I would rather spend the evening with you."

Sinric reaches up to brush his hand over Hannibal's cheek before taking back the coin. He closes his palm around it with a sigh, as if feeling a part of him come back to him.

He leans into Hannibal, looking at the coin. At the face of the man who made him. "Cyril had an eye for potential. That's what made him who he was - the best Master of Slaves the palace ever knew. That's why Constantine never questioned paying so much for a boy, so young and untested."

He shakes his head. "You will host such parties again. If not in your own name, then under another."

"For the annual banquet of the Psychiatric Society of Montevideo, or wherever I end up?" Hannibal smiles. "Maybe. I would be tempted."

Even though the former Nazis that used to make a new life there will be mostly inedible by now.

Sinric cocks his head, distracted from his thoughts. "Where is Montevideo?"

"The capital of Uruguay, a South American country unfairly infamous for harbouring all sorts of the most unsavoury fugitives," Hannibal says. "It's notionally where ousted regimes and successful bank robbers go to enjoy the rest of their lives in peace."

Sinric chuckles softly. "A good place then, for both predator and prey. It sounds like a place you would do very well."

"It does, at that," Hannibal says. "It's in fact the most stable, democratic and wealthy country of the area, has lovely weather, isn't too hot, and totally doesn't deserve the reputation as haven for European and North American riff-raff. Or the riff-raff itself."

The latter, Hannibal would be able to do something about.

"Maybe that's where you will make your home with Will, after the dragon." Sinric closes his eyes and leaves into Hannibal, soaking up the comfort of his company. It has been a long night.

"It's a contender, yes," Hannibal says, running his hands through Sinric's hair. "But for now, let me find you something to drink to soothe your throat after all that music, and maybe a bite to eat?"

"I'd like that very much." Sinric smiles, turning his face into the touch. "I ate a little at the wedding but not so much that I'm not rather hungry."

"What is your stance about pumpkins?" Hannibal asks, already plotting recipes.