Time passed, as it always did. In the form of hours, days, weeks...336 hours, 14 days. That marked the time that had passed between Dr. Lecter's and Ben's last appointment. 336 long, dragged out hours, and 14 long, dragged out days. Dr. Lecter, at the end of the session in which Ben had spoken about his nightmares, had kindly made the suggestion that Ben keep a journal to document whenever he had a flashback, a nightmare, or a strong feeling about what had happened to his friend. Ben had tentatively agreed. He hadn't written since coming home from Syria, even though writing had always been a love of his. He had stopped his habit of sitting down, either typing away at his computer or scrawling across paper whatever his mind spoke to him, his pen bringing the words to life. But after Gabriel's gentle urging, the wordsmith in him slowly stirred to life once more, and he found himself making entries more than he had been suggested to do. Once, twice, sometimes even three times a day, Ben's pen flew across the pages in the expensive looking leather-bound volume Dr. Huntington had given him, filling the blank pages with his words.

Once in a while, even...he caught himself writing about his doctor. He wasn't just the doctor anymore, as he had started off as...he was Ben's doctor. Maybe it was just a little fantasy to make him feel better, to help his wounded mind heal, but he liked to think that maybe Gabriel spent more time with him than he did his other patients. Maybe he treated him with a little more care, a little...Jesus, Ben. What the hell are you thinking? You're his patient, not his priority. Calm your balls down. And so, once more, the younger man would retire back to waiting, back to counting the 336 hours that had passed since his last appointment, until he could talk to, see, Dr. Huntington again. Today, in order to pass the time, Ben had decided to go for a walk down to the beach, and grab himself some dinner.

A few miles away, Dr Lecter was having some difficulties of his own dealing with time away from Ben. He had done everything he could think of to take his mind off of his tall, green eyed patient, and infuriatingly enough, none of his normal tactics were working. Reading a book, even a good one, his favorite? Wasn't working. Sketching? He only found his hand and the charcoal shader within it creating an image of Benjamin Stephens upon the paper, and frustrated, he had crumpled up the expensive sketching sheet and thrown it into some dark corner. Even attempting to relax on his balcony with a glass of Chianti in his hand, taking in the spectacular view of the Santa Monica shoreline that his townhouse boasted wasn't enough. His mind stubbornly kept drifting back to the feeling of actually having touched Ben at their last appointment, how warm his skin had been, even beneath his soft linen shirt. He imagined that Ben was probably one of those people who were natural furnaces, and found himself thinking that being pressed up against him, holding him in his arms would be even warmer...

What are you thinking, Hannibal?! Shaking his head vigorously to clear it of the inappropriate image in his mind, Dr. Lecter stood up suddenly, finishing the last of his wine in a final swallow before striding purposefully off of his balcony and through the house. Being alone in his home right now wasn't doing him any favours, and neither were the seemingly constant, vivid mental images of Ben. Tonight, he would take himself out for dinner, maybe a stroll along the beach, and perhaps if he was in the mood, go for a swim. Maybe the cool Californian waters would wash away the turmoil and confusion inside his mind. Benjamin was his patient. Nothing more. Nothing more. He was to help the man heal, aid him in defeating his nightmares, set him steadily on his own two feet, and send him on his way. Then, life would return to normal. Faceless women and wine, dinners and opera parties...what he was used to. Strangely, that thought brought no comfort to Hannibal as he left his home and headed towards the pier.

Ben had been lounging on the beach for over an hour, shirt off and in the sand beside him, soaking up the evening sun's rays. He shot a grin at a giggling college girl who was surrounded by her friends and adjusted his shades over his eyes before sitting up and stretching, the sound of his stomach growling prompting him to heave himself up and stand, brushing the sand off of his swim trunks. It wasn't abnormal for most people who lived near the beach, like Ben, to wear their swimwear when they went out and about, as he was planning to do tonight. Throwing his AC/DC t-shirt on again over his head and casting one last wink at the blushing and giggling girl, he rolled his eyes behind his shades, stepping into his flip-flops and walking away. All those preppy little college girls, tryna get some action over the break...fuck, it made his dick soft. Thought they were so damn cute. Yeah fuckin' right.

Jesus, he was pissy lately. Like he was PMSing or some shit. Shaking his head and brushing back the lock of hair that fell into his eyes, Ben kept walking towards his favorite little restaurant, a family-owned place right on the water. Nice place, called Seaside Eats. He was a regular patron there, so all he had to do was smile at the lady behind the counter and walk back into the sundeck area, where he usually sat. Walking towards his booth and seeing a head sporting a white fedora just over the top of the seat, a frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. The fuck? Nobody usually sat back here, and that seat had a kickass view. That was why it was his seat.

"Um...excuse me, man. I had a reservation for this table?"

Dr. Lecter had also enjoyed some downtime on the beach, relaxing with his book and dealing with nearly the same problems as Ben. Even for an older man, into his forties, Hannibal was naturally trim and well-toned. His skin, formally ghost pale, had picked up an even tan with healthy doses of the sun and hours spent on the beach. Resting his weight on his elbow as he sat in the sun, his loose white linen shirt open at the top few buttons and knee-length khaki colored shorts making him a sight to see as he lounged on the beach, white fedora perched neatly on his head. A few of the college girls that had giggled and batted their lashes at Ben found their gazes lingering on the handsome older man a little longer than they had meant to, but unlike Ben, Hannibal didn't take the time to acknowledge their presence.

After a while of relaxing and taking in the sight, smell, and sound of the sea, the doctor rose and strode in the direction his previously purchased map told him a restaurant was located in. Seaside Eats, or some cliche beach restaurant name. However, the reviews of the place had been positive, so he had chosen to take a chance and try it out. The worst that would happen was he would end up having paid some ridiculous price for a waste of food. Walking into the restaurant, it seemed quaint and homey, with its driftwood and pale blue interior, various fishing tools and mounted sea animals on the walls. After being shown to a booth by a waitress, who blushed and giggled softly as he thanked her, he heaved a sigh of relief and sank into the worn, padded chair, glancing out the window. He imagined that the girl had taken him to this booth in an effort to impress him with the view, and though the view was spectacular...he wasn't biting at her flirtatious advances.

He sat for a while, waiting for the waitress to come back with water and take his drink and dinner orders when a rough, gravelly voice sounded over his shoulder. His head snapped around with recognition, only to see the subject of his drawings, his thoughts over the past two weeks; standing there before him. The broad grin that split over his face was unavoidable, neither was the surge of happiness that rushed through his veins. Maybe it was wrong...but right now, he didn't care.

"Is that so? Well then, I guess we'll just have to share, Mr. Stephens." Hannibal grinned as he spoke.

Ben's eyes had widened when the man had turned in his seat and revealed himself to be Dr. Huntington, and his own wide, shit-eating grin had broken over his mouth, his heart skipping a beat as the radiant smile transformed the doctor's face. Jesus, that smile...he could get used to that sight. Gabriel looked twenty years younger when he smiled, all bright white teeth and happy eyes, and Ben's knees went a little weak. Is...is he smilin' cause I'm here? That couldn't be it...He laughed aloud at Gabriel's response, bolding swaggering over and sliding into the seat across from the psychiatrist.

"Yeah, I reckon we're gonna have to, Doc." Ben smirked in Dr. Huntington's direction, knowing how the man hated that nickname, the roll of the doctor's eyes proving his point. "What brings you to this little place?" Ben waved his hand at the restaurant in general, before resting one arm over the back of the booth's seat. "I mean, 'scuse me if I'm wrong...but I just took you for I dunno, a fancier sorta guy. Nice five star places, or somethin'. With those fancy snails, or whatever they are..."

"Indeed, Benjamin," Hannibal replied politely with a hint of a devilish grin as he countered the "Doc" comment with Ben's full name. He laughed aloud as Ben mentioned the "fancy snails" and grinned throughout his reply. "I'll admit that usually, that description fits me quite accurately. However, tonight... I was in a mood, as it were. I felt like something a little less "high end." And if you mean escargot? They never tickled my fancy. Could never stomach them." Dr. Lecter chuckled softly and patted one hand over his trim stomach, and Ben found his eyes following the movement and fully noticing for the first time what a fine male specimen his doctor was. Tan European skin, tall, taller than he was, well built, with muscle tone that was hard to miss. He'd be something to see, sprawled out on the beach and letting the sun wash over his skin...Whooooaaaa. Easy, big guy. Not cool. Before either of the two men could continue speaking, however, the flirty waitress from before had sashayed over to their table and was asking in an overly sweet voice what they would like to drink.

Ben ordered a beer and Dr. Lecter a glass of simple Chardonnay, the wait surprisingly short before the bottle and the glass were set upon the table before them, and the girl bustled off again with promises to be back in a jiffy. Ben took a swig of the ice cold brew and watched as Dr. Huntington did the same, a hell of a lot more daintily than he had. The younger man found himself staring as the doctor took a sip from his glass, the way his lips formed around the rim of the goblet, and a sudden flash of heat shot down Ben's spine. Jesus, man. Knock that shit off. Shaking his head firmly to dislodge the thoughts and sensations that had suddenly made themselves at home in his mind and body. To be honest... they scared him a little. Maybe not scared, but freaked him the fuck out. He wasn't gay. Chicks were his thing. Always had been, always would be.

Across the table, Dr. Lecter was having some similar thoughts, along with some physical feelings that were alien to him, setting his previously warm, friendly mood on slight edge. He was only having dinner. Sitting across from another man, albeit a tall, strong, handsome...Stop that. That's absurd. Placing the calm, docile smile back across his face, Hannibal opened his mouth to begin to speak before the preppy, overly cheerful waitress came bounding up to their table, yet another button undone on her shirt and an obscene amount of cleavage that she oh-so-willingly showed the two men, greeted with looks of disdain, and in Ben's place, a low snort.

Classless sluts, these days...a look of mutual disgust was shared between Ben and Gabriel, and for a moment, a thought ran rampant through Ben's mind. He wore fancy clothes, worked high-end, didn't look twice at a pair of tits practically in his face. Was...was Dr. Huntington gay? Jesus, he'd never even thought about that before...And he couldn't deny the flash of something, maybe relief, maybe arousal, something, that shot through him at the feeling.

"House burger, no onions please." Ben spoke suddenly, snapping himself out of his trance, unknowingly doing the same to Dr. Lecter, who ran his eyes over the menu once more, frustrated with himself at being so caught up in his thoughts concerning Ben that he hadn't had the time to make an appropriate decision for dinner.

"Make that two, please and thank you," Hannibal ordered a mere moment after Ben had spoken, and then added, "but keep the onions." With a sickly sweet smile and an unnecessary sway of her hips, she was off again.

Ben's eyebrows rose at Gabriel's order, eyeing him with interest. More time passed, with friendly talk passing between the two men. Ben with his arm thrown over the back of the seat, Gabriel sitting comfortably before the food arrived. Dr. Huntington's gaze dropping to the burger before the waitress left, his eyes narrowing just slightly as though he was wary of the food. Ben barked out a laugh.

"Didn't take ya for a burger and fries kinda guy, Gabriel..." He laughed as he talked, a faint flush creeping up on Dr. Huntington's face, which only made Ben grin wider. Grumbling incoherently, something about how he was perfectly capable of eating something aside from escargot, Dr. Huntington picked up the burger and bit into it, the unfamiliar taste of processed beef and sauce making his stomach roll, but keeping his face calm, chewing and swallowing serenely before looking up at Ben.

"I can be... low-end." Both Ben and Gabriel held straight faces for approximately 4 seconds before they simultaneously roared with laughter, the rest of the night accompanied by the occasional french fry flicked at each other, smiles and teasing abounding, with thoughts and feelings dancing on the edges of each of their minds. That night... was a good night.