Disclaimer: I do not know Elijah Wood or Viggo Mortensen in any way, shape or form. I cannot know Doctor Hannibal Lecter as he does not, as far as I am aware, exist outside of the imagination of the great Thomas Harris.

Summary: Elijah runs from the wolves. Doctor Lecter is waiting.

Pairing: EW/VM

Rating: This Chapter is PG15.

Warnings: Slightly AU. Violence. Dark Themes. Off the wall.

Feedback: Yes please, much appreciated.

AN: This just cried out to me: be assured this is meant to be rather tongue in cheek and camp, not a horror fest, though there is danger and an underlying exploration of relationships and the media.

Setting: Late autumn in the run up to "The Return of the King" and immediately before the events of "Hannibal", which I have tampered with to suit my purposes, because that is how I am.

The chapter headings are quotations from Dante.

Around him, people push and shove, and there is scant regard for personal space. Personal. As in private, something to call your own. He will never have that again, either.

As he walks, he hears the voices and he smells the smells - cooking smells, perfume smells, flower smells - he is amidst a teeming mass of humanity and he hates every single part of it. Humanity. Fuck humanity. Like it fucked him.

"Elijah Wood! Wait!" The voice is joined by another, and then another. In the periphery of his vision he sees a flash. Shit. Pretence gone, he breaks into a trot and dives across a busy intersection, narrowly avoiding a speeding car. A horn blares, people shout, fists are raised.

He does not glance back, will not glance back. They like fear, they taste it and live on it. They are vampires that suck not blood but fame, and they are lusting for his.

A group of nuns in traditional dress have emerged from a bookshop onto the street, blocking the way, laughing and chattering in Italian. He swerves past them, muttering a hasty apology, then he is through the door and into the shop. Behind him his pursuers have become embroiled in the bevy of sisters and are cursing, pushing and shoving to get by. Onlookers misreading the situation, have come to the aid of the nuns and are manhandling the pack. A camera is smashed and there is much cursing and gesticulating, but in the shop, the prey neither understands the words nor cares what they mean.

The interior is dark after the bright, harsh sunlight, and he has to find his bearings. The old woman behind the wooden counter has stopped counting out change and stares at the cornered animal in her premises.

Before she can open her mouth to say anything, he has dodged past her and out the back door.

He can hear voices receding into the distance as he runs down the alley.

He has seen it. The chase. The young man evading the hounds and entering the shop. Unseen but seeing, standing in the shadows, he has witnessed events with passing interest. He has seen the look of fear on the face of the prey and would have dismissed it as out of hand. Fear in itself is nothing new to him, though it is an emotion he has rarely experienced personally - if it had not been mingled with something entirely different.

Rage.

The rage interests him.

With the slightest nod of his head to the elderly proprietor, he reaches out to close and then lock the shop door. She says nothing. She has not lived for seventy years without understanding that sometimes silence is the wisest course. Smiling graciously, he leaves the shop the same way as its most recent visitor, barely breaking his stride, discerning the direction he must take. Behind him he can hear the clamouring of rapacious dogs, pounding on the door and bellowing, but dogs such as these are commonplace.

It is a glorious day and there is little else that he needs do. He has all the time in the world.

Elijah has reached the end of the alley, dodging an overturned garbage can and mangy cat. He pauses to consider his options. He is in a strange city in a foreign country and does not speak the language. Great. Fucking great. And he has no cell phone. Good planning, Elijah.

He decides to turn left because it would seem to take him further from the shop, but after a minute or two he realises that he really hasn't a clue where he is. He needs to get back to the hotel or to a call box or something, but he cannot risk being seen. This is bad. He wants more than anything to turn around and see the face of the man he loves.

He wants to see Viggo, despite everything. He would know what to do. He would protect him, embrace him, soothe him. Elijah would be able to let go of the fear and the anger.

"Excuse me, but you appear to be lost. Allow me to help you."

He spins around but the face he now sees is not that of the man he loves but that of a stranger. A stranger who has managed to come within two feet of him without his knowing.

"Oh," Elijah begins, wanting to dismiss the interloper, get away, be alone. But good breeding will win out. He smiles, wondering if the man knows that he is in the presence of a movie star and instantly regrets even thinking such a thing. What a prick you are, Elwood, he chides himself.

"I am lost, you are quite right. Perhaps if you could direct me to the nearest public telephone, I would be grateful." Mom would be proud.

The man, Elijah notices, has barely moved an inch; he stands very still. Elijah thinks this man may never have fidgeted in his life. But he is smiling, this courteous stranger, and his eyes, almost on a level with Elijah's own, are bright. His voice is so soft that when he speaks Elijah has to lean in slightly to hear.

"I said I can take you someplace to make a private telephone call. I know there are - paparazzi - looking for you. Would you like me to help?"

"God, no!" thinks Elijah Wood, film veteran.. Paparazzi? Does this man recognise him? Is he planning to take him straight to the pack, to make money out of this fortuitous meeting?

Sensing his reticence, the stranger smiles and winks almost conspiratorially. Such a gesture from a man of his age and with his erect, slightly olde worlde bearing, should be worrying, but Elijah finds he is being guided along the alley and it seems the most natural thing in the world.