~ CHAPTER 03 ~
Des oeufs brouillés et de la saucisse — scrambled eggs and sausage
He takes the earliest flight available back to Baltimore after one of the shortest naps of his life. He doesn't need much sleep to function properly; he is unsure as to whether it is a genetic gift or something he has trained into himself. Regardless, he feels the strain he has put on his body over the last 24 hours when he gets off the plane and grabs his bag. Just as he was able to get his knives through customs under the cover of being a private chef, he brings the lungs through under the guise that they are a pig's.
Technically, neither of those statements is incorrect.
When he gets home, Hannibal put the lungs in the fridge. Then he busies himself with cleaning his suit and hanging it up in the basement to dry. His phone rings mid-afternoon. Hannibal is slightly surprised when he picks up the phone and hears a familiar voice.
"Hello?"
"Dr. Hannibal Lecter, this is Jack Crawford with the FBI. I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty to search for your number so I could call you."
Hannibal does mind, but he lets it go. Jack must've found the body, which hopefully means that Will has passed his test. He is letting Hannibal in on the case, which is another bonus. And if the urgency in Jack's voice is any indication, Jack's feathers have been ruffled by the appearance of another body.
Good.
"Agent Crawford. How may I help you?"
There is shuffling on the other end of the phone. "I would love to chat, but I'm on a time crunch, so I'll just cut to the chase. We've found another body."
Hannibal strolls into the kitchen, pulls out a bottle of wine, and sets it on the counter. "Same killer?"
Jack lets out a frustrated sigh. "The victim fits the profile, and the killer was clearly aware of how the previous killings were executed, but Will insists that this is a copycat."
"Another cannibal running loose."
"He cut out her lungs while she was still alive," Jack says, sounding disgusted. Then, slipping into what Hannibal is sure was his real reason for calling, he says, "I'm worried about the effect on Will. I'm going to be in court tomorrow, but I want somebody to keep an eye on him. Go with him on his rounds, make sure he's okay. I need him at maximum sharpness for this case."
Hannibal pours himself a glass of wine. "You want me to fill in for the day, so to speak."
"If you are available, it would be greatly appreciated, yes."
There it is again, the same attempt at manipulation that Jack tried to use on him during their first meeting: flattery and effuse gratitude. It doesn't work, but something else pulls him in. After a moment of reflection, he concludes that he is curious as to what will happen next. It can't hurt to get a glimpse behind the FBI curtain.
"I can be there first thing tomorrow morning."
Jack gives him the details before he hangs up. Hannibal allows himself only a short moment to ruminate over this development before he makes dinner, kneading the air out of the lungs and expertly slicing them. Thankfully, the lungs don't show any sign of disease and the meat smells fine. It would've been a tremendous waste if they had turned out to be inedible. Some of it he sears and tosses in a pan with liquor, while the rest he sets aside for sausage to bring to Will in the morning.
After dinner, Hannibal takes a quick shower and packs his bag. This time he will be flying under his own name. It is an early bedtime for him, considering how early in the morning his flight is and how he will need time to prep and properly store his planned breakfast.
Before the sun has risen, Hannibal is up. In the adjacent room, the Badinerie from Bach's second orchestral suite plays on his record player as he prepares breakfast. He pays careful attention to the ratio between the sausage, eggs, and tomatoes before putting the meal into two separate containers and packing a thermos of hot coffee.
Hannibal takes a nap on the plane and is grateful when he lands in Duluth and picks up the rental car that the FBI was generous enough to provide. When he reaches Will's motel, he parks in one of the empty spots near the room number Jack gave: 33. It's not exactly a luxury motel, with only two floors and no sense of aesthetic beyond lots of white and beige. Hannibal idly wonders if the FBI is paying for Will's lodging, or if this place was Will's choosing.
He raps loudly but politely on the door. After several long seconds, he hears a shuffling and the door opens, shedding light onto a blinking, sleepy Will Graham.
« Good morning, Will, » he says lightly. « May I come in? »
Will's eyes, which had stayed locked to his for longer than expected, flit away. His jaw works in a little tick that Hannibal has already come to associate with him. « Where's Crawford? »
« Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today. » When Will doesn't move, Hannibal pointedly glances past him into the dark motel room and then back. « May I come in? »
Will's jaw works again as his eyes flit across Hannibal, but when it becomes obvious that there is no opportunity to say no, he reluctantly turns away and lets him in.
Hannibal opens the curtains slightly and settles in at the cramped table by the window, letting his eyes stray from Will's face for the first time since arriving. The man is in a plain white t-shirt and boxers, his curly hair ruffled from sleep. As Will hastily throws the blankets over his bed in some semblance of order, Hannibal appreciates the muscles flexing in his arms and legs. He is a very handsome man, no doubt about it. Hannibal could get used to his intriguing intellectual company coming in such pretty packaging.
Will sits down and pours himself a cup of coffee silently.
« I'm very careful about what I put into my body, which means I end up preparing most meals myself, » Hannibal says as he takes the top off Will's breakfast. « A little protein scramble to start the day. Some eggs, some sausage. » He sets it on the table and slides it towards Will before opening his own serving.
Will pulls the container towards him and spears a piece of sausage. Hannibal watches him put it in his mouth and hears the satisfying sound of meat crushing between his molars.
« Mm. It's delicious, thank you. »
« My pleasure. »
Hannibal pauses despite himself, watching Will scoop the rest of the meal from the container onto his plate. His thank you sounded a little forced, but Hannibal can tell it is from disliking company, not because he dislikes the food; he takes great pride in his culinary prowess above most else. He readies his silverware and chooses his next words with great care.
« I would apologize for my analytical ambush, but I know I will soon be apologizing again and you'll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly. »
Will's response comes so quickly on the heels of his words that he nearly runs over the end of Hannibal's sentence. « Just keep it professional. »
Will is making eye contact with him again. Hannibal keeps it for only a beat before giving the man space by breaking it first.
« Or we could socialize, like adults. » Hannibal takes a bite and looks at his fork as if it had just held something more interesting than scrambled eggs and human lung sausage. « God forbid we become friendly. »
He looks back up. Will is staring into his coffee, purposefully avoiding eye contact.
« I don't find you that interesting, » he says coolly, before taking a sip.
Hannibal takes a moment to marvel at the man's petulance and barbed exterior. But something else is stirring in the depths of his mind: hope. Has he hit the jackpot? Is Will only able — or willing — to sympathize with people he finds interesting, like serial killers?
Hannibal scrutinizes him, hearing his words play over again in his head: I don't find you that interesting. « You will, » he replies. You will.
Will says nothing.
Hannibal takes another bite before trying a different course of action. « Agent Crawford tells me you have a knack for the monsters. »
It works instantly. Will looks at him, puts his fork down, and pushes his plate away. « I don't think the Shrike killed that girl in the field, » he says, leaning forward on his arms.
Another sprig of hope unfurls in Hannibal's chest. He puts down his silverware and leans forward against the table to match Will. « The devil is in the details. What didn't your copycat do to the girl in the field? What gave it away? »
« Everything, » Will says emphatically, with a wave of his arm. He reaches up to rub his beard. His eyes are alight in a way that Hannibal hasn't seen before, his voice nearly cracking with emotion. « It's like he had to show me a negative so that I could see the positive. It... » He scrubs his face in frustration and sighs into his hands. « That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped. »
Hannibal struggles not to look pleased and tips his head. « The mathematics of human behavior — all those ugly variables. Some bad math with this Shrike fellow, huh? » But Will has lost interest already. He barely flicks his eyes in Hannibal's direction and pours himself more coffee. After a pause, Hannibal tries again. « Are you reconstructing his fantasies? » Will lets out a quiet chuckle. He's heading in the right direction. « What kind of problems does he have? »
« Uh, he has a few. » Will's voice is delightfully sardonic.
« You ever have any problems, Will? »
Will places his cup down. He places a hand to his chest as if to mockingly ask, who, me? and says, his voice dripping in amusement and sarcasm, « No. »
« Of course you don't. You and I are just alike — problem-free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about. » If Will has any inkling as to what Hannibal could be hinting, he doesn't show it; he is back to focusing on his breakfast. Hannibal pauses again, choosing his words carefully. « You know, Will... I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. » The edge of Will's lips quirks up into a smirk; his eyes are on Hannibal again. « The finest china used for only special guests. »
The smirk on Will's face breaks into a genuine grin as he chuckles harder than anything Hannibal has heard from him yet. He puts down his fork and leans back in his chair, his shoulders shaking from laughter. Hannibal can't help it; he lets out a chuckle, too, relieved that this has gone so well and pleased that he could make Will laugh.
Will lets out one last chuckle. « How do you see me? » he asks, his tone turning serious.
Hannibal contemplates how to answer. Their eyes meet across the table.
Interesting. Skillful. Overflowing with potential.
Beautiful.
Captivating.
« The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by. »
Will's curious expression slowly dissolves into one of slight confusion and contemplation. Hannibal smiles innocently and motions towards his plate.
« Finish your breakfast. »
All in due time, Will. All in due time.