A/N I've just finished watching to episode 12 of the first season of Hannibal – and loved it (why'd I be here else?) I searched and failed to find any decent (heterosexual, mind you) stories - that did sadden me and so, I am going to try and empathise best I can with the characters J hope you like it.
Moving trucks started arriving at Dr. Lecter's neighbouring property; someone had bought the tall, slim building from the previous owner. He was standing at the window looking out, hidden from view by the fine curtain catching webs of yellow rays from the high morning sun and casting shrouded shapes on the wooden floors.
Men scurried around in pairs with large pieces of furniture covered by protective fabric. The front door and garage stood wide open, allowing the ants easy exit and enter easily. Their muffled voices drifted up to his ears and he thought it one of the worst jobs in the world, if you turned a blind eye on plumbers and politicians... but they are a necessary cog of urban society, of course.
He loosened his hands from behind his back and thrust them in his pockets, regarding the changing scene with mild interest.
A smoky silver Audi drove up and pulled into the driveway where a reserved spot was thoughtfully left open by the movers. Dr. Lecter watched as the distant figure of a woman got out and walked briskly into the churning chaos of her new home. Her features were mostly covered by the thick navy coat she wore over her clothes to keep winter's final claws from her skin.
A polite cough drew him back to his own home and he turned slightly to see if the fat man in the leather chair had ceased his incessant crying. The soaked tissue was wrung between his fingers but his red rimmed eyes were raised expectantly to his psychiatrist. And so Hannibal returned to his seat.
Months passed and the building next to his morphed into a comfort zone for the new owner. The boxes pressing against the glass of the windows disappeared and drapes or blinded were hung in their stead. The driveway seemed to be filled mostly with private vehicles and small business trucks, carpenters and the sort.
The starving garden received some much needed attention and the pool was uncovered, cleaned and tiled a dark shade of grey. He noticed a gazebo set up with care, the dark wood blending into the small thicket of orange trees filling most of the space in the rectangle shaped backyard.
A collection of clay heads, all evidently created by hand and all shorting craniums with various plants growing like hair from the pots were arranged in a bed surrounded by rocks and nasturtiums. The first time he laid eyes on the fascinating display he caught himself with a half smile, the choir of heads with roots for brains amused him somehow, and the doctor considered his curiosity tickled.
It was exactly 7:45 pm and Hannibal started preparing his supper for guests he was expecting later that evening. He was engrossed in the task of carefully skinning a leg, looking for tender pieces of meat to add to the duck's stuffing. He did not fancy wasting good meat after all.
As he checked on the steaming pot of couscous movement out of the corner of his eye and a wet thud caught his immediate attention, he was supposed to be alone.
He rounded the kitchen isle with uncommon haste and found the guilty party halfway to the window cracked open. A shaggy grey feline glanced back at him, a toe from the leg he was previously busy with lodged in it's teeth. His mouth twitched and he dragged a hand over the back of his neck as he was helpless to watch the cat escape with an off-cut of his hunt. He did not have to think long, the only option was to get it back, toes could not be seen lying around.
He left the back door open as he passed through it, calling softly to the cat. His eyes adjusted to the darkness outside and he picked the shape of the animal climbing over the chest-height wooden fence between his own premises and the neighbour's. His mouth felt dry as he set after it.
He was calling tenderly to the cat he honestly wanted very much to skin alive, it sat near his neighbour's backdoor, holding him in the same unblinking gaze he held it in. He was sitting on his heels, edging ever closer to the cornered cat with one hand stretched toward it.
The next moments seemed to happen all at once. He lurched forward and grabbed the cat, wrenched the toe roughly from the thief's mouth and the owner opened the door, light streaming over him and the cat. Letting the cat drop to the ground unharmed took all the willpower he possessed and as he turned to face the woman standing above him for the first time, he slid the toe behind his back with the ease of a practiced magician.
"Hi." She greeted him, her voice betraying caution.
"Good evening... your cat," He almost faltered. "... Seemed to have stolen my doorstopper. I apologize for –"
"Your doorstopper?" The woman cut him off, he could not see her face with the sharp light at her back but he did catch a glimpse of the cat slinking up the few stairs and round it's mistresses' ankles. He noticed a faint British accent on her tongue.
"Yes." He replied simply, almost curtly. He straightened himself to his full height and brushed his hands down the front of his suit.
"Oh... well, you got it back from Richard, yes? It's quite alright... Mr.?"
"Lecter, Hannibal Lecter from 106, pleased to meet you." He raised his tone to a more friendly level, reaching to shake her hand. Richard? Silly name for a cat.
"Adelaide Heij." She took his hand, her grip stronger than he expected. He was able to make out her features in the dark, he noted her hair first, a white blonde hue, the fringe cut to frame her face in a rounded shape. The hair almost hung in her large pale eyes, darkened with make-up and drawing his attention from her pale lips and sharp chin.
"How long have you been living next door?"
"From you, a few months," he smiled briefly, reassuringly. "But I moved in about five years ago. If I might ask, where are from Miss. Heij?"
"Please, call me Adelaide." She smiled his own smile back at him, "I moved here from Rotterdam, but originally, London."
"A stranger in the country then?"
"Not at all, I've travel some for work."
Hannibal shifted his weight to his other leg and brought both his hands behind his back, the toe still gripped tightly in his one fist.
"What is it you do exactly?" He was attempting, and succeeding at keeping her busy enough with conversation that she wouldn't notice him moving again, both of his hands into the pockets of his trousers where he was finally able to drop the toe.
"I'm generally considered an artist." She smiled the words.
"I'm an enthusiast myself." He smiled again. "I would like to meet my neighbour properly, would you like to come over for dinner sometime?"
Hannibal liked guests around his table.
"Not at all, but why not rather come here, on Saturday?" He noted the casualty in her voice, the way she made it seem like no big a deal, and decided to make an exception, he was the intruder her e after all and it would be rude to refuse in his position.
"Let me cook, at least."
She chuckled lightly, "I don't see why not."
"Perfect. Have a fine evening Adelaide, and again, my apologies."
"And to you, see you on Saturday." She answered as he turned to leave.
"Hannibal?" She called, like an afterthought.
"Yes?" He turned back; she was still standing on the back porch, her palms crossed at her stomach.
"What is it you do?"
"I'm a psychiatrist." He answered from the darkness.