A Memory Palace Room With a View

Before reading, you should read at least parts 36 [www.deviantart.com/deviation/4… and 37 of my Hannibal fan fiction [Full list of links---bhc89.deviantart.com/gallery/4…. This takes place after the events in the story and it'll be confusing and possible spoil it for you if you haven't at least read the end of it
~BHC
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       Years seem to move slow yet fast all at the same time when you're on the run.
Hannibal felt it. He spent a good while on the run after the night he burnt his bridges and left his loved ones severely injured or even dead. But they had found out about his---tastes. How he enjoyed the thrill of the kill and taste of human. He couldn't stay after that; couldn't face the consequences that lied ahead.
But, and he knew, that they would eventually catch up to him. Will survived and he was determined to find him; bring him to justice and somewhat avenge those involved that night. And he did. Hannibal couldn't help but love Will's stubbornness.
Hannibal was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to a lifetime behind bars at the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The hospital was still under the authority of Doctor Frederick Chilton. Chilton never forgot nor forgave Hannibal for setting him up as the Chesapeake Ripper, leading a series of events that earned him a bullet hole scar on his face, and he never let Hannibal forget either.
Although, in a prison cell, Hannibal was aloud books and tools to draw, as long as he behaved. And if it was found that he didn't cooperate, these privileges were taken away, and just the slightest argument with Chilton would be enough. He wouldn't care too much though, when his books, pencils, and sketch paper were taken. No. He didn't even care if he was beaten or tortured. As long as the necklace he was wearing was left alone. A certain bargain had been made in order for him to be aloud to wear it, and even dear Will stood up for him on the subject. The Ankh he wore was that special to him.
When Hannibal wasn't in therapy, reading, or sketching, he'd sit on his bed and visit his memory palace. Drifting through its corridors to what has been or what might've been or to what could be. His favorite room was a what might've been.
He opened the special door and stepped through walking into the house he lived in when he lived a normal-ish life. He was greeted by the smell of a delicious meal cooking. He took off and hung his coat by the door, taking a small black, velvet box from a pocket and transferred it to one of his pants pockets.
“Hannibal?” Came a voice from another room. “Is that you?”
He walked into his old living room and smiled at the sight of his Claire, sitting on the couch scrolling through her iPod while waiting for him, and not pulled apart on his dining room table. She got up from her seat when he stepped farther in.
“Who else?” He joked as he gave her a big hug.
“Whoa. What's----did you miss me?”
Of course he did.
She pulled out of the embrace some and looked up at him smiling. He saw the Ankh pendant resting on her chest, right where it should be.
“I was just worried. That's all.” He tenderly kissed her forehead.
“Oh! Ok. Well, let's get to the dining room. Supper should be ready.” She gently patted his arm as she left.
She had set up the dining table with candles and flowers. The plates and silverware were in their places waiting for the food. Near the centerpiece was a package wrapped up in pastel pink and blue, with a  ribbon, and a card. He knew exactly what was under the paper and what the card said.
His darling returned with the cart loaded with the special meal. She noticed that he was staring at the present.
“That's for after we eat,” she told him; a big grin on her face.
He moved to her side. “Please, allow me.”
He held out her seat for her and then took over serving the food. She had done most of the cooking and he was pleasantly surprised at how well she had done on her own, with minimal help.
And, although, they were not of the same intelligence level, nor shared the same interests really, they chatted away at whatever had popped into their minds as they ate.
With the last bite, Claire began, “I do have a reason for wanting to do this tonight.”
He tried to keep his voice from showing that he already knew. “Oh, you do?”
“Yes.” She got up from her seat and made her way to his side of the table, taking the present with her.
Whether she intended to or not, he moved his seat enough and guided her on his lap as she held out the gift. He glanced at the card, since he had memorized what it had said and then worked on removing the wrapping paper.
“Congratulations, Daddy,” she whispered in his ear as he stared down at the baby book.
It was pretty unlike him, but he never did think of the perfect thing to say after she finally told him. All he could, and wanted, to do was give her the biggest kiss he'd ever given her and hold her so close he could feel both her's, and the baby's heartbeats.
When he finally released her, she laughed, “I take it you're thrilled.”
“I am,” he answered.
“I was worried. That's why I waited a long while to tell you.”
He chuckled, “I know. And I have known. Which is why--” He reached into his pocket as she looked at him lovingly and questioningly, he arms wrapped around his neck. “Claire Dove.” He held out the box with the full purpose of opening it, but she placed a hand to stop him. He looked up at her slightly hurt, wanting an explanation.
The adoring expression never left her face. She knew what it was. “I want to give my answer before you open it.”
That was just like her. She didn't want to appear influenced by the expensive piece of jewelry. She wanted to make sure she was influenced by her heart.
He couldn't help but smile and place his other hand against her cheek as he made a second attempt. “Claire, will you marry me?”
“Of course I will.” She moved her hand off of the box and cupped his face as she kissed him, possibly more passionate than he did.
He broke the kiss to place the ring on her finger. She giggled as it slid perfectly in place. Her face beaming, eyes shining the entire time.
He held her for a little longer before she left his lap. She made her way to clean up but he held onto her hand. And moved her so she was standing in front of him. He looked up at her and then at her belly. Gently and cautiously, he moved his hand under her blouse and placed it on the very slight bump. He always wanted to feel his growing son.
Hannibal felt Claire slightly laugh as she undid the lower buttons on the blouse to expose that area of her body. Instinctively, he leaned in and kissed it, followed by placing his ear to the spot. He knew he wouldn't feel or hear anything; he just wanted to be as close to the two people he loved the most as humanly possible. Her hand idly played with his hair, like it usually did.
As his mind wondered, the scene that played out before began to change. In comfortable fast forward, he watched many dinners, breakfasts, lunches come and go and his son and Claire grew.
It slowed down when Claire appeared to be about seven months along, belly fully showing as such, like it was meant to. It felt as if it was the day before their wedding. Again, he found himself rubbing, kissing, and cuddling the bump, then guiding her face towards his to show the mother his love. Tears formed in his eyes at what was taken from him.
“Hannibal, are you crying?” Another voice broke through the walls of his palace.
He opened his eyes, bringing himself back to the sad reality. To his side stood a woman, around the same age as Claire when he lost her, about same height, only she was darker haired and slightly more muscular.
“Good evening, Agent Starling.” He chimed, quickly blinking away what little tears were left.
Clarice looked at him worriedly. She had never seen that much emotion from him in, the past couple of weeks she'd met with him. From everything she read and heard he was incapable of it. “Where did you go just now? Must not have been a happy place.”
“No, Clarice, it was. Just a special part of my memory palace. Memories I cherish and a possibility I can never get over.” He fiddled with the necklace as he talked. She gave a half smile, not knowing how to react to him opening up to her; which he didn't mind doing so. The way she carried herself or a way she'd say something would make him think of Claire. It made things just a little more comfortable and, more importantly, reminded him that there was still something he needed to take care of. Maybe, Clarice herself could help him achieve that goal.