yellowspraypaintedsmiles: Of course, that'd be awesome! *Barely contained joy*

Act 2, scene 3: Cooking

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If you really want to make a friend, go to someone's house and eat with him...the people who give you their food give you their heart. -Cesar Chavez

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Precisely ten minutes before Hannibal arrived, panic set in. Will rushed around his house in a shark like frenzy, attacking any weak piece of litter that blocked the path from door to kitchen. His dogs, even Winston, would shrink from Will, waiting for the tsunami of cleaning fury to dissipate.

Two minutes before five thirty, the door bell rang.

Will ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to contain the defiant locks. He looked in the mirror and frowned. It looked as if he had tried to brush the leaves of a tree.

Rushing to the door Will tried to ignore the small but prominent pattering in his chest and the way his throat squeezed itself.

Pulling the door open slowly, and with induced grace Will stared at Hannibal's now visible brown leather shoes.

"Hello William."

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Will resists the urge to snort.

"You call this simple?" He says, disbelieving as he rereads the recipe that Hannibal has brought with him. The recipe is for a warm salad with Lamb chops and Mediterranean dressing.

"Yes, considering that I've taken the liberty of pre cutting the meat for simple marinade and removal of fat, if necessary, and brought all ingredients and utilities needed. I'll be helping every step of the way."

"Isn't this a little, excessive? Where'd you get it anyway?"

Hannibal doesn't look up from his lamb. Which he had personally harvested yesterday. The middle aged traffic enforcer with conservative blue sued who had shouted at passerby's for no particular reason, had favored cars over others and bent the rules many times. His thighs had a soft tenderness that Hannibal thought Will would enjoy.

"Just a lost lamb in the woods that wandered to a butcher's shop."

"Lucky us."

Hannibal smirks as he pulls at the muscles on the meat.

"Would you like to begin the cutting of the meat?"

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They're given forty five minutes at least as the meat soaks in a bowl of red liquid, a mixture of its own blood, vinegar, rosemary, and garlic. Hannibal smiled lightly as he noted Will's red tinted fingertips, well suited he thought.

Winston pushes forward and leans his large snout on Hannibal's thigh. Eyes wandering subtly to the man's pocket.

"He likes you." Will say's after a moment, observing the interaction as Hannibal uses his nails to scratch between the dogs eyes.

"I suppose he is accustomed to my scent."

Will doesn't want to think about how accurate that statement most likely is.

"Although, Will, I must know, why dogs?"

"Why dogs? Well...I-they're just easy I guess. I don't have to think to figure them out. They're open books, there's no hidden agenda, no personality disorder, no murders in the dark. Unlike cats...The only purpose of cats is that they constitute mobile decorative objects."

Hannibal chuckles.

"Why do you think they are easier than people?"

Will shifts.

"Most people are just... We think we can make honey without sharing in the fate of bees, but we are in truth nothing but poor bees, destined to accomplish our task and then die. And dogs are easy in this manner because well, they're not bee's."

"How enlightening."

"I haven't slept clearly in at least twenty hours. I'm allowed a little leeway."

Hannibal's eyebrows raise in concern as he shifts his legs and stands, moving toward Will, who shies slightly.

"More dreams? Tell me about them?"

"No. Not dreams...just realizations."

Hannibal allows a brief smirk as he holds out his hand, waiting for Will to grasp it.

"Come. I believe we should continue our efforts in the kitchen."

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Will is surprisingly skilled with a blade, Hannibal finds. Whether it is because of the great amount of free time he possesses or the many designs he's carefully examined Hannibal can hardly contain his excitement as he watches over the empath's shoulder in delight.

Will's fingers move with a dancing velocity that can only be found in a teacher who has used a dry erase marker to many times, and the writing calluses on index and pointer finger rub against the handle of the kitchen knife as he pushes down gingerly, cutting through the meats redness.

Hannibal closes his eyes and looks. He see's then, what his future will be, Will the protégé, more promising than Abigail, but more damaged than a fractured mirror, holding the linoleum knife that Hannibal kept in his office. He'd hold it like a chef, and when the blow needed to be dealt he'd deal with practiced precision that only a professional could have.

Hannibal inhales deeply.

Will jumps slightly and the knife clatters to the countertop.

The lamb is forgotten as Hannibal and Will's eyes meet, gaze held in glistening silence.

"Did you know, that it is in your company that I have had my finest thoughts?" Hannibal's asks suddenly, teeth revealed slightly as he grins at Will.

"What are you doing?" Will whispers, voice cracking. He steps back, and his tailbone hits the counter top. His glasses tumble off. He stares at his feet.

"Look at me."

Hannibal's voice rumbles with a profound importance as he steps forward slightly. Will looks.

He suddenly remembers why he hates eye contact.

Hannibal's eyes have flashed a brilliant maroon and the irises bloat with the dimness of the kitchen, suit jacket slightly wrinkled.

"What are you thinking Will?"

He tells him, not really realizing that he has no idea that Hannibal's left hand has gripped his own.

"Our eyes may perceive, yet they do not observe; they may believe, yet they do not question; they may receive yet they do not search: they are emptied of desire, with neither hunger nor passion."

"How poetic. Renee Michel I believe?"

Will has lost the ability to speak as all he can see is Hannibal, only Hannibal with the blaring brightness of truth illuminating behind the shine in maroon filled holes. His tongue loses some of its weight.

"I may know that the world is an ugly place, doesn't mean that I want to see it."

"But vulgarity can be forgiven, in the sight of beauty."

"And what's so beautiful that it could do that?"

"You of course."

Hannibal closes the distance between them by using his grip on Will's hand to pull the other man into an uncomfortable meeting as his hand is pulled behind Hannibal's own back.

It's unpracticed and sloppy, but Will can feel his knee's weaken and he knows that he's falling, and he also knows that Hannibal's other arm has moved to wrap around his waist, and now they're both falling. Will crumples first, forehead resting against Hannibal's shoulder as he feels his face heat and his eyes smear.

"What are you doing?" Will whispers for the second time.

Hannibal's grip merely tightens around Will as a slow smile creeps up to his face.

"No need to worry. I've got you."

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The dinner is never made, but neither seem to mind.