Hey guys. I know it's been a while, but I do actually have a valid excuse. I kind of got into an accident and screwed my head up a little for a while. But don't worry, I'm back and my writing is back to its shiny full potential!

Also, to everyone who's read/reviewed/favorite/followed my story thank you so much. Reading your reviews and seeing how many people like this just makes me SO happy, you guys have no idea. :)

To Aguna, yes I do totally own the DVD box set. When I write these (no one asked but I'm gonna tell y'all anyways) I watch the episode, pause it and write some jokes, then move on. That's why sometimes you see actual lines from the show stuck in here. Going back to Aguna, I'll try and think of an angle for a gag reel special chapter of awesomeness, but if I can't I'll write a special chapter anyways for you and I'll of my other readers who're awesome (which is ALL of them) once I get to like fifteen chapters or so.

Okay, I'll try and make this one extra long for you guys to make up for not updating! And here... we... go.

Will Graham set Hannibal Lecter's letter on Hannibal's desk.

"This may have been premature," Will said.

"Why?" asked Hannibal. "Because you were unstable to begin with and were never comfortable with the idea of this in the first place?"

"No," Will said, "I saw Garret Jacob Hobbes. Wait," Will said, realizing something. "Why do we always refer to him by his entire name? Can't we just say Hobbes? We say the whole thing nearly every time, what's up with that?"

Hannibal shrugged. "This is your country, not mine."

"Oh yeah," Will said. "Normally I don't like to think about you because it's confusing. You're from Lichtenstein or something, right?"

"Yes... I'm from Lichtenstein," Hannibal said through gritted teeth. He wondered why he even bothered. Maybe he should move back to Europe, take up a new hobby. Maybe golf... or perhaps beekeeping.

Hannibal suddenly had a strange feeling someone in the future was going to steal beekeeping as a hobby from him. Well, there was still golf...

"So you saw Hobbes," said Hannibal, shaking off the distraction of the idea of not being surrounded by idiots. "An association?"

"A hallucination," corrected Will, pulling out a bottle of aspirin and downing five without batting an eye.

"Have you told Jack?" asked Hannibal.

Will snorted. "Of course not. He's my boss who's supposed to care about my mental wellbeing and make sure I'm not too far in over my head, why on earth would I tell him I'm hallucinating about some guy I killed and a ravenstag?"

"A ravenstag?" asked Hannibal curiously.

"Yeah," Will said. "It's like a deer, y'know," he explained, throwing his arm above his head as fake antlers and clopping around the room making what he thought were fairly accurate stag sounds but in reality sounded more like a dying hyena on speed. "And it had feathers, too," Will continued, this time flapping his arms like a bird.

"Oh," Hannibal said. "How many of those aspirin have you taken, Will?"

"Enough to know that this is all stupid. Therapy doesn't work on me."

"Have you ever tried before?"

"No," Will said, making a face. "It just sounds so... whatever."

Hannibal sighed. "Your hallucination is most likely stress, Will. You swapped someone else's victim for your own."

"I don't consider Hobbes my victim."

"What do you consider him?" asked Hannibal.

"Dead," said Will like a badass. He even gave a little swag nod because he was just that cool.

"How badass," Hannibal observed, echoing Will's thoughts easily since Will had gotten the word tattooed on his forearm right after he killed Hobbes. He'd also considered getting a teardrop tattoo, but he figured that would've been tasteless. Even more tasteless than the T-shirt he made that said 'I KILLED GARRET JACOB HOBBES AND ALL I GOT WAS THESE LOUSY HALLUCINATIONS.'

"Now that you have killed someone do you find it harder to understand the thrill others, like myself but not, of course me, get when they take a life?" Hannibal asked, wondering if killing someone in front of Will would make Will suspect he was up to something. Probably not. At this point Hannibal figured he could probably run for president and win.

Will thought about Hannibal's question for a moment, swallowing. Then he nodded and smiled nervously, because if you smile that means everything is okay.

Hannibal, wisely deciding he didn't give a damn, moved from behind his desk over to Will, thinking.

"The mushroom killer. Why did he leave the arms exposed, Will?"

"I dunno. Cuz he was crazy?"

Hannibal stared at him for a full minute until Will said. "Or, uh, maybe he wanted to keep them alive?"

"Like fungus," Hannibal said, nodding at Will like he was a five year-old who had just spelled C-A-T on the chalkboard. "It mirrors the human brain. Connections, neural pathways, all these parts of what makes us human and the human experience."

Will's eyes widened with understanding. "That's it, Hannibal. This serial killer... he's seeking out humanity... that must mean... he's an alien!"

Hannibal paused, then said, very calmly, "excuse me for one moment while you rethink that, Will."

Hannibal left his office, grabbed a knife, murdered three cats and the neighbor who always played his music too loud, and returned.

Will still hadn't figured it out yet.

"Connections!" Hannibal almost yelled. "The killer is seeking connection!"

"Oh..." Will said. "That's better than the theory I thought up when you were gone. It involved giant spiders and Stephen King."

Hannibal decided he would kill Will's dogs in front of him before actually taking Will's life.

Hannibal slammed the door on his next client, a woman with curly red hair.

"Wait!" she squawked. "I'm important to the plot!"

Hannibal sighed and took several calming deep breaths, pictured wide open fields full of dead bodies, then opened the door and smiled.

"Please come in," he said to Freddie Lounds invitingly.

She smiled and followed him into his office.

"So, I'm looking for a therapist," said Freddie. "Because I need one. I have no ulterior motives whatsoever. Or interior motives. Or exterior motives. In fact I have no movies at all. I don't know why I'm here."

Hannibal let out a long sigh.

"Give me your purse."

"What?" asked Freddie. "Why?"

"Because I have a tampon fetish," Hannibal said sarcastically. "Now hand it over."

Freddie complied and Hannibal pulled out her phone.

"You were recording my conversation with Will Graham, Ms. Lounds," Hannibal said, adding you bitch to the end of the sentence in his head.

Freddie didn't have the common decency to look embarrassed, instead she looked disturbingly proud. "Yeah. Pretty clever of me, right? I'm a total BAMF. Now the Hannibal fandom will have to love me!"

"Yeah, no," said Hannibal, taking the phone and slamming it to the ground, proceeding to stomp on it.

"WAIT! That's not in the script!" Freddie said, aghast.

"Screw the script, you're all idiots," Hannibal said. "Now give me your wallet!"

"It's in my purse. Which your holding," Freddie said, feeling resigned to her fate.

Hannibal pocketed the 25 dollars Freddie had in her purse, took the Kleenex and the mints from the bottom and put them in his desk to give to Franklyn, and then gave her the purse back.

"If you ever come back I will impale you on a flag pole," Hannibal said calmly.

Freddie left immediately and never returned to Hannibal's house, except in that one episode that's coming up, but that's not 'till later, so screw that.

Jack Crawford sat down to a meal with much pomp and circumstance.

"Loin," Hannibal said as he gave Jack his dish for the evening, which had a red sauce that looked like blood. And also was blood. Human blood. From a person. That Hannibal was gonna eat. With Jack Crawford.

"Ah, what kind?" asked Jack, appraising the meat with a discerning eye.

"Human," Hannibal told Jack.

Jack chortled with laughter. "Cannibal, sorry, Hannibal Lecter, you are a riot. Honestly, why didn't you become a comedian? Well, I suppose they don't have any comedians in Belarus."

Hannibal, who had officially given up on everything, just smiled and nodded.

"But it's nice to have a home cooked meal. My wife, who may or may not become important later on in the story, doesn't cook, since she works all day. In fact my mother didn't either... Or, at least not well. I was very skinny as a youngster," Jack said with a nostalgic grin.

"Well that most certainly has changed," muttered Hannibal.

"What?" asked Jack.

"What?" asked Hannibal. "Maybe you should bring your wife with you next time. She sounds like someone who would be fun to torture."

"The only torture my wife knows is the torture of bad cooking!" Jack joked. "And cancer. Also that."

"You don't know that yet," said Hannibal, biting into his delicious human meal.

"It was a good joke," Jack said. "Rule of funny, look it up, Hannibal. Or didn't they have internet in Kazakhstan?"

At this point Hannibal didn't know whether or not to be insulted or just depressed. He settled on taking out his anger on that mean he'd seen a few days ago with his trousers hanging low and his underwear exposed. Perhaps he should start killing teenagers...

"Why do you think that Will Graham came back?" asked Jack.

Hannibal frowned. "Why do you think Will Graham came back?"

"You really are a shrink, aren't you?"

"I want to know if you trust Will, Jack. Are you so careful with him because you think he is a broken pony?"

It was Jack's turn to frown now. "What're you implying?"

"Have you ever lost a pony, Jack?"

Jack sighed. "Hannibal, can we wait a few more episodes before we get into this?"

Hannibal sighed. "Alright. A toast?"

Jack smiled and they clinked their glasses.

"I'm the Chesapeake Ripper," whispered Hannibal.

Jack, who had selective hearing, ignored him and instead pictured everyone in the FBI as centaurs and decided he wanted a painting done of him riding centaur Will Graham into battle against evil while brandishing a broadsword. It seemed pretty cool.

And Jack Crawford knew cool. He was in the motherfucking Matrix.

Okay, that's all guys! You know what to do. :)