"Hannibal you're late!"
Alana, fussed around the hall picking up her coat, her keys, her phone, huffing in annoyance when she couldn't find her purse.
"My last patient ran over a little, and then I hit traffic.." He held her purse out to her, making her pause, then smiled gently. "I'm truly sorry."
"It's fine." She sighed, putting one hand on his shoulder as she pulled on her shoe, then looked up at him with a half smile. "Will's taking me to the Japanese place you two went to last month. He said the food's exquisite."
"It is."
"I may pass on the live octopus though."
"You're missing an experience."
"I'm fine with missing that one." She smiled, then stood up straight, holding her hands away from her sides.
"How do I look?"
"Delightful as always." He leaned forwards to kiss her softly behind her ear, that tiny spot of skin guaranteed to make her shiver. ".. And no doubt, the most beautiful woman in the restaurant, also, as always."
Alana smiled bashfully as he pulled back to look at her.
"You know... I know it's mine and Will's date night... but that doesn't mean we can't finish the evening off together."
"It's important for us all to have time together as couples. It keeps things steady, secure."
"And you're right." She agreed. "... but, healthy relationships also include spontaneity.."
"They do."
She smiled up at him, then reached up to kiss his mouth gently.
"Deirdre's upstairs." She said, pulling away and resting her hands on Hannibals chest. "She has.. Some pictures for you. Just for you... In her own words, "Not for Mommy, Not for Daddy, Just for Papa."
She smoothed down the front of his jacket and chuckled. "So... You'd better go take a peek, or she'll get mad."
"How could I refuse." He smiled, then kissed the top of her head. "Have fun. I'll see you both later."
He watched her leave, then took off his jacket, opening the closet in the hall and carefully hanging it up.
The dogs watched him from the other side of the stair gate Will had put in.
Hannibal was not advised to sharing the home with dogs, but he had requested that they stay in only two of the rooms, an arrangement everyone seemed happy with, not least the dogs who had taken up residence in the spare living room with direct access to the yard.
Deirdre often sat in with them, having tea parties in the middle of a mass of sprawling fur, and it wasn't unusual to walk in there and find one of them looking mildly embarrassed while wearing a bonnet or backpack or even once, a party dress.
But she was not there now.
She was up in her room, waiting for him.
From the outside, it might looked like an odd arrangement, but it was one the three of them had slipped into seamlessly, and when Deirdre was born, none of them ever broached the subject of who might be the father.
It would have been... Rude.
Alana had made this clear when she came home from hospital, sitting on the couch, nursing the baby, she had frowned at the seriousness of her situation, then looked up at them both.
"I don't think... That any child, ever suffered from having too many people love them."
And it had simply been.
Hannibal had changed as many diapers and given as many bottles as Will. There had been no jealousy, no resentment, all the child had done was bring them all that little bit closer together, and in the early months, three pairs of hands had made, if not light work, at least bearable work, so their house was, by and large, a peaceful and loving place.
"I often wonder..." Will had confessed to him over dinner a few months ago. ".. If having the three of us as parents is a good thing or not."
"Oh?"
Hannibal had dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, then held his finger up to the waiter, motioning for more wine.
"And what makes you think that?"
"The children of Doctors in the field of psychiatry, spend their whole lives being analyzed, whether we mean to or not."
"One would argue that this is a good thing Will." He countered, rolling his wine around the bottom of his glass before slipping at it. "She will reach adulthood with a clear idea of who she truly is, she won't be left floundering in the mental wastelands of her early twenties like so many young people are."
Will had nodded at his plate, then glanced up to meet Hannibals gaze, something he did more of now..
Deirdre had been good for Will, brought him out of himself.
He'd always taken a great comfort in looking after the dogs, they had been his reason to wake up every morning, knowing they needed him to care for them, feed them, love them... But a child is different, and as she'd grown, Will had grown as well.
"I think.." He had smiled. "That our little girl, will either be the most well adjusted child or the least... I can't see how there can be a middle ground."
"Then we must hope for the best... And be thankful that her mother is the steady creature that she is."
Will had laughed and picked up his glass.
"Well, I'll drink to that." He smiled, tapping his glass to Hannibals.
"Papa?"
Her high voice slipped down the stairs as he alighted them.
"I am coming dear one." He called back, moving swiftly to the landing and making his way to her bedroom.
Alana had been very clear that she wanted Deirdre to have choices, to not have gender or social norms pushed upon her from babyhood, and so the childs room was a mishmash of styles.
Panelled in oak, dolls sat on shelves next to toy trucks, pictures of fairytale castles shared space with pictures of dinosaurs and cowboys.
Maybe unsurprisingly, she had found her own middle ground, preferring stuffed animals to dolls, and wearing, like now, a mixture of clothes.
She had her favourite baseball shirt on and a pair of well worn jeans, around her waist sat a tutu, and he adored the way she experimented, pushed her boundaries, with herself as much as them.
"Your Mother said you have some pictures for me."
Deirdre nodded, not looking up as she continued to colour in whatever it was she was working on.
Jerking at his pants legs, Hannibal sat down on the floor opposite her and watched.
To the casual observer she was like a carbon copy of Alana. The same thick dark hair, the way her mouth set in concentration or disapproval, but equally quick to smile, wide and often.
"May I see?"
She frowned down at her work and nodded again, moving her pencil away and looking up, handing him the pad.
As he flicked through the pages, she came to sit next to him, leaning her head on his arm and letting her thumb creep into her mouth, a habit Alana disliked, but Hannibal could never quite make himself chastise her for. Let her be an innocent as long as she wishes. Five years old was still young enough to need self comfort from time to time.
Most of the pictures were standard fare.
She had his penmanship, and if she continued to practice, could be very artistic in a few years. On more than one occasion she had sat at his office desk while he worked on notes, her feet dangling from the chair as she used his very own pencils and expensive paper, mindful of the honour he was giving her, carefully sharpening the pencils with the scalpel while he watched, knowing she must never pick it up without asking.
"These are not the pictures you wanted me to see." He said finally, looking down at her.
Deirdre looked back up and him and took her thumb from her mouth. "No."
"May I see the others then? The ones you didn't want Mommy and Daddy to see?"
Reluctantly, she reached under her bed and brought out another pad.
He recognised it as one of his own, no doubt she'd sneaked it into her back pack the last time he'd picked her up from pre-school and spent an hour in his office before going home.
"You stole this?"
"Borrowed it." She said firmly. "See... I'm giving it back.."
She placed it in his hands and watched as he opened it.
The drawings in this pad were darker, more vivid, more detailed, as though the other pad was for show, containing the ponies and country houses and flowers one would expect.
This pad was truly hers though.
He looked through them in silence and stopped on a particular page.
The picture showed three figures, carefully drawn, childishly but highly detailed.
The first figure was a little girl.
It was Deirdre, she had the same long dark hair, the same backpack she wore to pre-school every day.
The next figure was also her, but now she was bent over, feathers sprouting from her body, red slashes across her head where something protruded.
... and the last was less like her, but small, deer like, bloody antlers and feathered hide, the deer was on its knees, and she'd drawn large comical tears rolling down its nose.
"Tell me about this picture." He said softly.
Deirdre shrugged.
"The girl is becoming."
"Becoming what?"
"Just becoming."
"Is the little girl you?"
"I dunno.." She said, but she looked away, answering his question for him.
"Perhaps, it is best that you do not show Mom and Dad." He smiled, closing the pad and placing it to one side. "... but tell me, why did you draw it like that?"
And the split second before she spoke, he saw it.
He saw it in her starling blue eyes as she looked up at him, in the frown that creased her brow, and he knew then what they had never talked of, he knew who's blood flowed through her veins, and maybe, he loved her a little more for it.
"This is my design." She said simply.
He smiled and placed his hand on her head.
"I feel like I would like to bake some cookies... Would you care to help?"