A/N: Hey! I just wanted to briefly apologize for how long it's taken me to update. Life gets in the way, but rest assured this story has not been – and will not be – abandoned. Sometimes, it may just take me a bit longer than usual to upload a chapter. This one is a bit longer than the others. I hope that makes up for it... maybe? Thank you so much for reading!
Chapter 11
The sound of bones being cut through with a handheld circular saw was unreasonably unpleasant – much too loud, and much too high a pitch. But it had to be done.
Why it had to be done, Delilah couldn't honestly say; she just felt the need to take him apart.
When a pile of parts were all that remained of Travis Bloom, she took up his head first and drilled a hole in the back with the largest bit she could find, grimacing as she waited for a majority of the gunk to ooze from the opening and splatter out onto the concrete; she then climbed up the step stool and finagled it onto a large hook that stuck out at the highest point of Travis' tool display. It had been strong enough to hang his chainsaw, and his thick head had no problem staying put.
The trunk was the worst and most strenuous part of the entire ordeal. It took a lot of critical thinking and a hell of a lot more rope to finally get it situated just so beneath his head – but once it was in place, the rest was fairly simple. She positioned his arms, each in three pieces, to stretch out open at either side, using a hefty nail gun to affix his hands to the wall. The legs were another minor hassle, but after the torso ordeal, she decided to hack through his femurs and affix them in two parts each – much easier. Then came his lower legs, which she placed at a slight angle so she could nail his feet together with one folded over the other.
Bits and pieces looked a little awkward and, as she stood back to observe her work, she watched his innards slowly slide out of his torso – but on the whole it was quite spectacular, in her opinion. Every muscle in her body was screaming for her to take a hot shower and at least a day-long nap, but as she began rinsing the blood and other nasty bits from her legs, a thought occurred to her...
Climbing back up the step stool, armed with a utility knife, she reached up under Travis' rib cage and carefully cut out his heart. His intestines suddenly lost their grip on themselves and unraveled, sliding down to hit the concrete with a sickening plop. Cautiously stepping back down, she set his heart on the work bench and peeled off her clothes before going back to rinsing off all she could think to – paying closest attention to her legs, feet, and anything she had touched. After drying herself off, she gathered her clothes and the towel, then picked up the heart and moved back into the kitchen to wrap it up in a few plastic bags she'd found stuffed in a drawer.
Leaving the plastic-wrapped heart on the counter, she slowly moved to the living room to start a fire in the hearth; as she waited for it to catch, she suddenly found herself standing smack dab in the center of the garage again – fully clothed, with Travis twitching and bleeding out before her.
"What the–"
"Oh, Delilah," a familiar voice sounded just beside her, and she whirled around to find Hannibal standing there, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at the dying man. "What have you done?"
Delilah frowned and looked back to Travis. "What do you mean? I thought you said this wasn't–"
"Wrong?" He interjected, and she nodded. "I'm not talking about that. Kill anyone your little heart desires, my dear, I would just rather you be more mindful with how you go about it."
"Mom left a voicemail saying she wouldn't be home until tonight..."
Hannibal sniffed lightly and checked his watch. "It's almost noon, which leaves you... how long, do you think?" She opened her mouth to reply, but came up short and he speculated for her. "Let's see... If Patricia is driving her friend to Scranton, it will take her three and half hours to get there without traffic; she will likely stay at least twenty minutes, to make sure everything is alright...
"So, I'd wager she'll be heading home during rush hour, which will tack another thirty to forty minutes onto her drive home..."
"So that leaves, what... eight hours?"
He shrugged. "Possibly."
"Well, it doesn't take me that long."
"How long does it take?"
Delilah watched Travis finally cease his twitching and sighed as she moved to retrieve the circular saw. "I think maybe... five hours? It's still daylight when I leave."
"Be that as it may, it's only by luck that you manage to pull this off," he reminded her sternly. "If you'd taken much longer, or happened to fall asleep..."
"I know."
"Or if traffic had been unexpectedly light –"
"I know," she repeated firmly, locating the saw and hefting it up as she turned to face him. Hannibal was crouched by the corpse now, moving it about to inspect it.
"Good grief," he muttered, closely studying the stab wound in Travis' back. "Your knife slid in at the exact perfect spot to puncture a lung. Any higher or lower, you would have bounced off a rib, and I imagine things would have gone very differently."
She let out a frustrated growl and threw the power tool to the ground; it bounced once and disappeared, but she couldn't be bothered by that. "God damn it, Hannibal, I know! I was stupid, and lucky – and stupidly lucky! Trust me, I fucking get it. Would you quit riding me, already?"
"I am merely concerned," he replied with a frown.
"...I'm sorry. I know," she whispered, stepping up beside him and absently threading her fingers through his hair. He hummed contentedly, rising to envelop her in his arms, and she hooked her own around his neck as she molded herself to him at once. He was so warm, and strong, and they fit together so perfectly.
Never had she felt so safe.
"You will do better next time," he said into the top of her head, and it was more a promise than a command.
Delilah nodded and tightened her grip on him, digging her nails into his neck as she leaned up on her toes to find his lips. He swiftly captured her mouth with his, and suddenly they were rolling to the side and tumbling to the ground. Just as a loud slam echoed throughout the garage, her back hit the solid – yet strangely soft – concrete and the wind was abruptly knocked out of her.
"Are you sleeping?" Hannibal suddenly asked, his voice warping into a bizarrely higher register than normal.
"Wha-...?"
"Delilah, it's four in the afternoon – get off of the floor!"
Delilah's eyes snapped open at once to find Alana leaning over the coffee table and squinting at her incredulously. Thoroughly disoriented, she gently rubbed at her eyes and blinked up at her surroundings; she realized, as she stared up from her place between the coffee table and couch, just how close she'd come to cracking her head open.
"Meh... Fell asleep; must'a fallen," she mumbled, grasping onto the table to heave herself up onto the couch. She yawned loudly, stretching out her back and groaning as she both felt and heard her spine crackle.
"Why are you so tired?" She asked, to which Delilah huffed and glared at her.
For all the complaining she did about her job and the people she served coffee to, it turned out having absolutely nothing of consequence to do with her time suited Delilah terribly. Vacations were for elderly people and parents on the verge of snapping because their children wouldn't stop whining – and no one could convince her otherwise. Over the last day and a half, while Alana was out, Delilah had washed, dried, and ironed every scrap of laundry she could find; Windex'd and Lemon-Pledge'd every square inch of the apartment; cleaned every dish; organized, then reorganized, all the cabinets – kitchen and bathroom alike; and had just finished sorting, alphabetizing, and re-shelving Alana's DVD collection approximately fifteen minutes prior to her arrival – which was when she'd decided she deserved a nap.
"I organized your dumb assortment of documentaries and I was so bored by the end of it I fell asleep," she grumbled teasingly.
Alana blinked at her for a long moment, then snorted and kicked off her shoes. "Wow, you need a hobby," she muttered, suddenly turning and rushing toward the hall.
Delilah scowled at her shoes, so flagrantly discarded in the middle of the living room, then glanced up to find her sister stripping off articles of clothing as she disappeared into her bedroom. "What the hell are you doing?" She hollered, gathering Alana's shoes and tossing them into the designated 'shoe corner' – which she'd only just decided was a thing – before quickly trailing after her.
"Will's car broke down," she explained unhelpfully, rifling through a sea of dull blue suits and even more boring blouses.
"And you're having a crisis because...?"
Alana paused and stared at her in disbelief. "Delilah, it's Sunday."
"Why, yes, it is," she replied sarcastically. "I'm happy to know you've learned the days of the- oh, duh!" She slapped a hand to her forehead, as the realization that Sunday meant dinner at Hannibal's dawned on her.
"Right, duh," her sister said with a huff, turning back to commence ransacking her closet.
Delilah fished her phone out of her pocket to check the time. "But it's not even four-"
"Are you deaf? I said Will's car died. Which means he needs a ride and you're either throwing something on and heading to Wolf Trap with me in less than ten minutes, or you're taking a cab."
"Both of those options sound grotesquely unpleasant... Like that outfit. Ew, what is that?" She stalked forward to snatch the olive drab abomination from Alana's hands.
"It's a friggin' dress- hey!" She yelped, watching as Delilah balled it up and flung it into a distant corner of the room.
"It's better suited to be a curtain in a nursing home. Come on," she insisted, grabbing Alana's arm and dragging her into her own room.
After a moment of searching, she unearthed an emerald, satin gown from the very back of her closet. "I found this on clearance and always meant to get it tailored... Ugh, it's so pretty." She sighed sadly, caressing the much too long, for herself, mermaid-flared hemline, before taking it off the hanger and holding it up to Alana's front. "Oh, yeah. Will's gonna piss himself when he sees you in this."
Alana scoffed and rolled her eyes, but took the dress without argument and stepped into it; as she pulled it up over her chest, she deftly removed her bra and pulled the halter strap over her head, tugging her hair up out of the way and turning so Delilah could zip her up.
"Halter dresses demand an updo," Delilah announced, forcibly guiding her over to her vanity and pushing her onto the bench. "So, did you call Doctor Lecter to let him know you might be late?" she asked, quickly running a brush through Alana's waves before beginning to wrap and pin them into a sleek chignon at the nape of her neck.
"Will already called him. Apparently, he said, 'the longer the lamb marinates, the more tender it will be,' so I don't think it matters how late we are."
"Oh good. You guys can have a quickie before-"
"Delilah!"
Snickering, she patted Alana's shoulders and stepped back. "I'm only teasing. Alright, you may go."
Alana admired her hair in the mirror before standing and smoothing the silky fabric over her hips. "So, you're taking a cab?"
"Absolutely. Do you really think I want to be stuck in the backseat while you two make googly eyes at each other? Please."
"Oh shut up." Alana rolled her eyes, grinning in spite of herself, and gave Delilah a playful shove before suddenly pulling her into a brief hug. "Thanks, sis."
With that, she turned to hurry out of the room and Delilah shouted after her, "You'd better wear higher heels than you wear to work with that dress – and a shawl, not a coat!"
"Got it!"
"And don't you dare think it's yours now. I want it back!"
"We'll see," Alana hollered back in a singsong, and Delilah laughed as she heard copious amounts of shuffling around, a few muttered curses, and then finally the front door slamming shut.
Shaking her head, Delilah smiled and returned to Alana's room to clean up the mess of clothes she'd painstakingly washed and hung up yesterday. Ordinarily, she'd be annoyed at the blatant lack of care her sister had shown, but she couldn't find it in herself to be too terribly upset. Over the course of one short month, their dynamic had changed so drastically it was a wonder neither of them had gotten whiplash; in fact, since starting therapy with Hannibal, most things in her life seemed to be going better than they had in years – her relationship with Alana was bordering on normal; she had found a new friend in Will; and, after their last session in particular, a weight had been lifted from her chest and she felt freer than she had in months.
As she took an excessively long shower, she thought back on that first afternoon that she and Hannibal had met. High-strung didn't begin to describe how she'd felt that day; Alana's hovering was fast beginning to rival the most helicopter-y of helicopter parents, and the countless therapists she'd had to slog through over the several months prior were wearing thin on her already far-stretched nerves. If she was honest with herself, Delilah had always been rather disturbed by her sister's sudden interest in her well-being. When they were children, she was just an added annoyance to everyone but their mother, but now that she'd gone off the deep end, apparently she was interesting.
If Alana had been working on her thesis for college at the time, she would have assumed the woman only wanted her around as a sick psychological experiment; being forced to look at pictures of Travis every time she came 'home' had initially been more torturous than her sister would ever know. She was constantly terrified, deep down, that she would spill some bit of information she wasn't supposed to know – or simply snap and outright confess – thereby getting herself incarcerated, or hidden away in a padded room somewhere.
'Your issues stem from your conscience...' Hannibal's words resonated in her mind, as she stepped out of the shower to towel off. 'It's the potential ramifications of your actions spurring your subconscious' penance, so to speak.'
It was bizarre what a sentence spoken aloud could do for someone's psyche. She hadn't thought of it that way, but he must be right. "Is he ever not?" She muttered aloud, squeezing a dollop of leave-in conditioner onto her palm and working it into her hair. Her phone suddenly began to ring beside the sink and she stepped over to find a number she didn't recognize. Frowning, she accepted the call and switched it to speakerphone, bending over to gently scrunch the ends of her curls as she answered hesitantly, "Uh, hello?"
"Good afternoon, Delilah," Hannibal's voice poured from the speakers like warm champagne, catching her by surprise, and she could swear her heart stilled for a moment.
Clearing her throat, she straightened up much too quickly and pressed a hand to her forehead to wait for the subsequent dizzy spell to pass. "Oof."
"...Delilah?"
"Y-Yes, I'm here. Er, hi," she stammered, rolling her eyes at herself as she sat down on the edge of the tub and stared at the phone.
Hannibal chuckled softly, sending a delicious tingle up her spine as she listened to it echo in the small room. "I am calling to ask if I may pick you up for our dinner tonight."
As usual, it sounded more like he was informing her of a new development, rather than asking anything at all; her instinct was to assure him he didn't have to – but she knew he wouldn't accept that and she would concede eventually, anyway.
"Yes, please," she replied instead. "Saves me the trouble of having to deal with some karaoke-obsessed Lyft driver again..."
"Pardon?"
Delilah snorted and picked up the phone, taking it along as she moved to her room to get started on her makeup. "A few months ago, I decided to try a ride-share service and the guy forced me to sing karaoke with him the entire drive."
"Show tunes?" He inquired, his tone rife with amusement, and she scoffed.
"Oh, no. Thatwould have been tolerable... It was nineties pop hits. 'Chicago,' I can handle, but 'Hit Me Baby, One More Time'?" She let out an audible shudder. "Please do – preferably over the head. I'd much rather be unconscious."
Hannibal laughed again and she scowled at the phone as she sat it on the vanity. "I'm sorry darling, but that is absolutely hilarious," he said, and her heart skipped again.
"I-It was awful," she insisted, trying her best to really drive home how miserable an experience it had been – though she couldn't stop smiling if her life depended on it. Had he actually called her darling, or had she imagined that? Even after their tryst on Friday, and the times he'd called her something in Italian, his use of such a blatant pet name was entirely unexpected – she wasn't about to complain, though.
"Well, I promise I won't force you to sing in my car," he assured her, then added teasingly, "though I won't stop you if you choose to regale me with some hidden talent." She snorted as she rifled through her makeup drawer in search of primer and foundation.
"Oh Hannibal, trust me," she muttered, finding the products she sought and quickly sweeping primer over her face, "dying cats would serenade you better than I could ever hope to."
"Oh Delilah, if the dulcet sounds I've heard echo in my office are any indication, I beg to differ," he replied, and she hastened to apply foundation over the heat that flooded her cheeks.
"So, uh, wh-what time should I expect you?"
She heard him hum thoughtfully, as she set her buffed and blended foundation with loose powder and started on adding a light contour to bring life back into her pasty face. "Six should give you enough time to finish preening, I think."
"...Alana and Will probably won't arrive until seven, at the earliest."
"I'm aware," he said simply, and she pursed her lips to quash a titter of excitement.
"I'll be ready by six, then."
"Until then," he replied, hanging up at once.
Delilah blinked at her phone for several long moments, before dropping her makeup brush and snatching it up to save his personal number in her contacts; she debated saving him under a false name, but quickly decided against it. While she may have snooped in Alana's phone, just the once, it wasn't as though she made a habit of doing such a thing and she was fairly certain Alana wouldn't either.
"This won't end well, will it," she mumbled aloud, staring at the words 'Hannibal (Home)' on her phone screen.
Having an affair with her psychiatrist may well be the stupidest thing she could do, but she thought she'd be foolish to entertain the idea that any other man could have such a profound effect on her as Hannibal Lecter. There was a flawless balance of passion and tenderness in the way he touched her; a constant intensity in his eyes whenever he so much as glanced in her direction. She'd never experienced anything like it before and, while she could say with confidence that she was an attractive woman, Hannibal made her feel as though she were utter perfection – Aphrodite herself couldn't compare.
It was a singularly heady thing, and though her cheeks were so often sanguine whenever he was near, she found his fierce interest in her to be empowering rather than distressing. What they'd done on Friday afternoon could easily cost him his license, were anyone to find out, and yet he'd initiated such intimacy; if Alana hadn't called, she was quite sure they would have ended up entangled on the Persian rug beside his desk.
Perhaps it was stupid, but she thought it absolutely moronic not to see this through – whatever it was, or may become. And so, with her nerves sufficiently squashed for the time-being, Delilah allowed herself to rekindle her excitement at the prospect of an hour alone with Hannibal, outside of his office, and swiftly returned to her ever-fastidious 'preening.'
...
At precisely 5:55 PM, Hannibal arrived at the apartment complex and began to pull into the space he'd last parked, the day he'd had an unconscious Delilah Bloom clinging to his arm. The glint of honey curls caught his eye and he glanced left to find her already making her way down the walk; he wasn't entirely prepared for the bizarre twinge he felt in his chest while watching her hips sway, as she slowly moved toward the aforementioned parking spot.
Absorbed in her phone, she hadn't yet noticed his presence, so he sped up and made a sharp u-turn, rolling down the passenger's side window as he crawled to a stop before her. He leaned over the center console and ducked his head to see her clearly, taking a moment to admire her knee-length, 50's style swing dress, before letting out a long, low wolf whistle. Her brow furrowed at once and her head snapped up, to presumably chastise whoever had dared, but her deadly gaze softened at once and a sweet rouge crept over the apples of her cheeks.
"You cad," she hissed with clearly feigned offense.
Grinning, he set the emergency brake and swiftly rounded the vehicle to greet her. "Forgive me," he insisted, taking her hand and bending to press a kiss to her knuckles; he straightened and gave her fingers a squeeze before releasing her. "Much too perfect an opportunity to pass up."
Delilah sighed exaggeratedly as she stuffed her phone into her purse and snapped it shut. "I suppose I can let it slide – just this once."
He chuckled softly and inclined his head, stepping back to hold her door open. As she moved past him to get in, he noticed the back of her deceptively plain black dress had a remarkably wide, lace-trimmed cutout, which plunged down in a v-shape that ended at the very base of her spine. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and splayed his hand flush against her exposed skin. She paused, one kitten-heeled pump already in the car, and peeked coyly over her shoulder at him. "What, is it too much?"
Hannibal slowly shook his head as he traced the scalloped edge of the lace with a single finger. The stark contrast of his tanned hand against her porcelain skin kicked his libido into high gear, and he had to focus on the roof of the car for a moment to collect himself. "Not at all," he replied quietly, bringing his attention back to her face. "You're stunning."
Her red-painted lips twisted into a smile and she turned to give him a brief kiss, quickly brushing her thumb across his mouth, to presumably remove any lipstick smears, then ducked into the car before he could reciprocate. He stared down at her as she buckled herself in, then gently shut the door and returned to his seat behind the wheel. After taking a glance in the rear view mirror to be sure she hadn't left any lipstick behind, he disengaged the emergency brake and smoothly pulled out of the lot.
They drove in ever-amicable quiet for several minutes before he leaned toward her slightly and – dutifully keeping his eyes on the road ahead – said in a conspiratorial tone, "Since we've an hour or more to ourselves, I leave the decision up to you..."
"Decision?" She repeated, eyeing him curiously.
He nodded, as he rolled to a stop at a red light, and turned to face her. "What shall we do with our time together?"
Will Graham's Residence
346 Leigh Mill Rd., Wolf Trap, VA
– 6:04 PM
Heading up the driveway to Will's farmhouse, Alana chuckled lightly as she slowly pulled around his discarded Volvo, noting he'd left the hazard lights on – most likely for her benefit, she figured, as she was pretty sure he didn't entertain visitors enough to worry anyone else would crash into it. She slowed to a stop near the house and tapped the horn, her eyes fixed on the barn off to the right. Part of her wanted to go in and see the precise spot where Will had found her sister just weeks ago, but her urge to push forward from all the madness she'd dealt with regarding Delilah was much stronger. Hannibal's therapy truly seemed to be having a positive effect, and Alana hoped that soon enough they could put this entire mess behind them. It was wishful thinking, she knew – mental illness wasn't something that just went away... But she had noticed a marked change in her sister, specifically over the last few days. She seemed lighter, somehow. Hopefully, it was a sign that she was healing from whatever ailed her.
"Hey," Will's slightly muffled voice sounded just beside her and she jumped, turning to find him bent down and peering in at her; she cursed under her breath and rolled down the window.
"Hey, yourself," she said, surprised to find him clean-shaven for once. He was dressed in slacks and a nice, blue button down, and she couldn't help but notice what a great job it did of bringing out the colour in his eyes. "Look at you all cleaned up... You look nice."
"Thanks," he replied with an awkward chuckle. He held up a black tie and wiggled it at her before hooking it around his neck. "Could you help me? I don't really... make a habit of wearing these things."
Alana laughed and nodded, gesturing for him to step back before opening the door and stepping out.
"Wow," he muttered, his jaw dropping as he looked her up and down; he seemed to realize he was ogling and quickly turned away. "Y-You, uh... You look... wow, uh..."
Grinning, she snatched the tie from around his neck and wrapped it around her own. "If you keep muttering I'm sure you'll come up with a full sentence, eventually," she teased, quickly tying the tie around her own neck. She then loosened it and hooked it back over his head, pulling at his shoulders to turn him around to face her. As she smoothed his collar over the neck of the tie and tightened the knot, he stared at a spot on her face but unsurprisingly refused to make eye contact.
"You look beautiful, Alana," he finally said coherently, and she felt a slight warmth creep into her face.
"Thank you, Will." She smiled up at him and his eyes suddenly shifted to her own; he held her gaze for only a moment before clearing his throat and backing away.
"Yeah, uh... Okay, thanks. I'm- uh, I'll go grab my jacket."
About five minutes later, they were headed back down the driveway and on to Baltimore; the silence in the car was stifling and Alana was nearly ready to turn on the radio, when Will suddenly spoke. "Transmission blew, I think," he mumbled, nodding toward his car.
"Huh... Are you sure?" Alana peered at the car in her rear view mirror as they drove away and started toward the freeway. "Volvo's transmissions are pretty stellar, from my understanding. What exactly happened?"
Will blinked at her for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Uh, well, I was headed up the driveway and it stopped accelerating... and then it just, y'know, stopped."
"No weird noises or anything?"
"Not that I can recall."
"Might be a belt, or something electrical. I think Volvos are notorious for electrical problems. I'd suggest just getting a new car. It's an '08, right?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, that sucks." She shook her head and offered a sympathetic click of her tongue. "The repair costs are probably going to run about the same as buying another used vehicle. It just wouldn't be worth it."
"Okay..." He muttered. She could feel him staring at her and she glanced at him sideways.
"What?"
"Nothing, it's just... Who are you?"
Alana snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Because I don't have a penis I can't know a thing or two about cars?"
"No!"
"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows shot up her forehead and she turned to glare at him.
"No! I mean... I mean, no, I didn't mean it like that," he fumbled hastily. "I just had no idea you were a mechanic."
She let out a puff of laughter and shook her head. "I'm not. My, uh... dad-" She paused to clear her throat and gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter; she hardly liked to think about Travis, let alone talk about him. "H-He just... knew a lot about cars and, uh, taught me some things. It's a hobby that stuck with me as I got older."
"Ah," he replied quietly.
Another awkward silence descended upon the cabin and Alana moved once more with the intention to switch the radio on, but Will cleared his throat and spoke again. "So uh, Jack stopped by today."
"Is that so," she replied, her words indicating a question though her tone insinuated otherwise; she had a feeling she knew exactly where this was going and she honestly wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.
"He asked about that day... You know, when you d-"
"Dumped my sister off on you. Yeah, I figured."
"I was going to say dropped her off, but... Tomato, potato, or whatever..."
Alana couldn't help but laugh at that and shook her head. "Sorry, I'm still disappointed in myself for that mess. What, uh... what did he say?"
Taking a deep breath, Will straightened up in his seat and she could see him fiddling with his tie out of her peripheral. "He just asked why she was there; what exactly happened; did she attack me... Did she say anything, did I provoke her... Typical stuff. I mean, all he knew was that she was in the hospital for a few minor injuries and that she was brought from my house, so..."
"So... what did you say?" she asked tentatively, her stomach doing backflips as she nervously awaited his response.
"I told him the truth – she has Dissociative episodes, had one while she was visiting, and got hurt in the woods."
Alana swallowed thickly. "I still haven't had a chance to talk to him."
"Well, he knows now, so... Hopefully, tonight, he'll see she's doing better and he'll back off."
"Yeah..." It took a moment for his words to really sink in, but when they did her foot nearly slipped off the gas pedal; she steadied herself and canted her head to make sure she could hear him clearly. "I'm sorry, what?"
"What... what?"
"What do you mean 'tonight?'"
"Uh... Jack and his wife are invited to dinner tonight. I thought you knew."
"No..."
"Oh."
The oppressive quiet returned and this time Alana didn't bother to reach for the radio. All she could think about was the fact that Jack Crawford would be sitting at the same dinner table as her sister. If she knew Jack at all – and she did – she knew he was going to try interrogating the poor girl, probably halfway through the first course. While Will fidgeted beside her in complete silence, she spent the entire hour's drive to Hannibal's house going over possible scenarios in her mind, constructing ways to deflect and redirect any potential unpleasant conversations.
At Hannibal's words, the very vivid memory of being splayed across his desk with his face buried between her thighs pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. Delilah squirmed a little in her seat and flipped the sun visor down to check her makeup in the lighted mirror – simply for something to do in lieu of returning his gaze. She could feel his eyes upon her even as the light turned green and the vehicle rolled forward.
"It is impolite to ignore a direct question," he said softly, a teasing lilt to his tone. She watched in the mirror as colour filled her cheeks and she quickly snapped the visor back up.
"I think you know exactly how I'd like to spend our time," she finally replied, chancing a sideways glance at him to find he was blatantly grinning at her expense.
Hannibal tapped his fingers upon the steering wheel as he carefully made a right turn; she felt her own fingers twitch as he merely sighed and let out a thoughtful hum.
"So often we get interrupted..." she continued, allowing her left hand to glide over the center console and rest gently upon his thigh.
"An hour is not nearly enough time for all the things I plan to do to you," he replied simply, the straightforwardness of it sending shivers down her spine.
It was her turn to only hum in response, as his much larger and warmer hand folded over her own. Thinking he would push her away, she tried to preemptively retrieve her hand, but he suddenly squeezed her fingers and gave her a firm tug; she yelped softly as she collided with his arm and she quickly unbuckled her seat belt so she could turn to face him. As the car rolled to a stop at another light, he leaned down and teased her lips with his own.
"Hm, take this off," he whispered against her mouth.
At her befuddled squint, he gave her a pointed look and licked a tiny smear of crimson off his lower lip. "Oh, of course." She laughed softly, retrieving her purse from beside her feet and rummaging within it, one-handed, to find a tissue; she carefully wiped the lipstick away and stuffed it back into her bag.
The light changed then and Hannibal turned away to focus on the road again, pulling through the intersection and parking off to the side. Releasing her hand, he suddenly unbuckled his seat belt, shoved her back into the leather seat, and leaned heavily over the center console to smother her in a long, passionate kiss. When she had very nearly lost her ability to breathe or think straight, he pulled away just as abruptly, shifted the vehicle back into drive, and sped off down the road.
"Please refasten your seat belt," he said, doing so himself. "I'd rather not get a ticket."
Chest heaving and face flushed, she nodded jerkily and fumbled for the belt – finding it after a moment's struggle and snapping it back into place. "...Will you always take my breath away?" she asked quietly. It was a rhetorical question, mostly to herself, but he chuckled and gathered her hand again, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles.
"Here's hoping," he replied smoothly, and she peered over at him to find a wide grin plastered on his face.
Delilah took a moment to steady her breathing, noting just how beautiful he was when he smiled so genuinely; the corners of his eyes crinkled with crows feet and his sharp canines gleamed beneath his firm, sensual lips... Lips that so often seemed to perpetually toe the line between smirking at something, or frowning with disappointment. She brushed the back of her hand against his sharp cheekbone and down to trace the outline of his jaw.
"At first, I was furious with Alana for forcing me to come see you," she muttered. "Now I think perhaps I should buy her a gift basket."
"Mm, why do you say that?" he asked quietly.
With a soft sigh, she leaned back against her seat and pulled his hand to herself, threading her fingers with his once more and tracing the veins that trailed up and disappeared under the sleeve of his coat. She hadn't thought before speaking and now she wondered what she'd truly meant by that statement. "I am... fond of you, is all," she replied carefully, keeping her eyes downcast. "I think I am quite lucky to have met you, Doctor Lecter. Possibly more than I can know, right now."
Hannibal stayed silent long enough to make her begin to feel uncomfortable; he was quite possibly the only man she'd ever known that could make her feel simultaneously indestructible and like an awkward, starry-eyed teenager – and she nearly told him as much, when he finally chose to speak.
"I am fond of you, as well," he said, his tone soft and sincere. Her eyes darted to his face and she watched him drag his teeth over his lower lip before he added, "But I must disagree – if anyone is lucky, it would certainly be myself, though I seldom entertain the thought of luck."
"A real man makes his own luck, right Cal?"
He seemed puzzled for a moment, then snorted lightly. "Always so quick with the outdated pop-culture references..."
"How dare you. There's nothing outdated about Titanic," she grumbled, trying to feign insult though she had to fight not to laugh. "It's a classic, okay?"
Disentangling his hand from hers, he tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger and shot her a withering stare. "Remind me to teach you the definition of the word," he muttered teasingly, turning on to a street lined with houses Delilah was sure must be large enough to qualify as mansions.
"Oh, hush," she replied, sticking her tongue out at him before leaning against the door to peer out her window at the passing homes.
"Next time you stick your tongue out at me I'll be forced to bite it," he warned, snapping his teeth together for emphasis.
Delilah snickered and muttered under her breath, "Don't threaten me with a good time."
After another few minutes of following along a strangely winding residential road, Hannibal pulled his Bentley onto the driveway of one of the more looming houses on the block and killed the engine; she felt him brush her hair away from her neck and she turned to find him staring at her with a striking hunger in his eyes.
Swallowing thickly, she suddenly found herself unsure as to whether she should be afraid or aroused. His large hand encircled her throat and for a wild moment she thought he may snap her neck; it dawned on her then how easily he could. He didn't, of course, and instead hooked his fingers around the base of her neck and urged her toward him. Like a moth to a flame, she unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over to press her lips to his. He gripped her face with both hands and kissed her breathless again, before releasing her and stepping out of the car.
Before she could get her bearings, he was opening her door and helping her out of the vehicle. She snagged her purse along the way and he snapped her door shut before slipping an arm around her waist and guiding her to the house. He left her at the top of the steps and continued forward to unlock the door; she stared at the back of his head for a moment, then hooked an arm around one of the pillars of the portico and leaned back to get a better view of the massive building.
"Jeez," she muttered, counting at least ten large windows on the face of the house.
"What, is it too much?" he asked playfully, pushing the door open and turning to watch her.
"Mm-mm." She shook her head, pushing a curl out of her eyes as she smiled at him. "Just enough to impress or intimidate, as needed... I wouldn't expect any less from you."
He returned her smile and reached a hand out to her, which she stepped forward to take at once and he quickly tugged her over the threshold.
"Welcome to my home," he said, taking her purse and storing it in the coat closet to the right of the impressive foyer; he then removed his coat and suit jacket and hung them up, as well. He was wearing his typical white button up and as he began systematically folding his sleeves up to his elbows, she wandered about to observe the space.
All the designs and accoutrements of his psychiatry office had spilled over into his home décor, and she couldn't say she was surprised. "Do you do all of your own decorating?"
Hannibal simply nodded and placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the foyer. She studied painting after painting and statue after statue, as they slowly moved through the hallway – then into and around what he called his study, and back out again – with Hannibal giving her succinct yet thorough explanations of each piece of artwork they came across. He seemed to particularly enjoy Edo Period Japanese artwork, but had accumulated many pieces from every other culture and era imaginable. Every piece of furniture seemed to be genuine antique and his home expertly danced the fine line between being a stuffy, personal museum and a cozy place to curl up with a book and some coffee.
They ended the little tour in a very chic and modern kitchen – an environment entirely separate from what she'd seen so far. It was decked out in what she assumed to be only the highest-end equipment, with everything from the stainless steel refrigerator to the marble – and also stainless steel – countertops looking remarkably expensive and very... sanitary.
"...Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, sounding genuinely eager, almost apprehensive, to know what she thought of his home.
"I was going to say this feels like a surgical environment," she mused, wandering around to observe the space. "But I suppose that's to be expected."
Smirking, Hannibal inclined his head and moved past her to rummage in the fridge. "I have something for you," he said, instantly piquing her interest.
"Oh?"
"Close your eyes and hold out your hands," he instructed, and she did so without hesitation.
Feeling a bit silly, she listened for several moments through quiet shuffling and what sounded to her like plastic being sliced open, before she heard his shoes click dully upon the tile floor and felt his presence come to a halt before her. Without warning, something startlingly cold and heavy landed in her palms – she very nearly dropped it in her surprise, but managed to hold on tight as her eyelids fluttered open. "Oh," was all she could think to say, at first, taking a moment to observe what she knew at once to be a heart in her hands, before squinting curiously up at Hannibal. "This is...?"
"Beef heart," he replied, clearly scrutinizing her face; though why, she hadn't the slightest clue.
Though her first question was 'Why in the hell am I holding it?' she found herself muttering instead, "Huh. Seems a bit small..."
"Well, veal, to be precise. Much more tender and flavourful – perfect for tartare."
"I see." She turned the heart over and smoothed her thumbs along the ventricles, watching a trickle of blood ooze over the meat and pool against her palm. "And um... Why am I holding it?"
"These are about the size and weight of the average human heart; I was curious to see if you would have an adverse reaction," he replied, smiling as he plucked the heart from her hands. "I am pleased you didn't."
A twinge of annoyance niggled at her as she watched Hannibal casually step over to the kitchen island, but she said nothing as she watched him set about effortlessly trimming and de-veining the heart she'd just been holding – along with two others. The fact that he'd so blatantly attempted to trigger an episode made her feel uneasy, but she tried to tamp it down as she moved to the sink.
"Delilah, it's just us," he said softly. "You must trust that I would have been able to handle things, had you reacted negatively."
"I-I know," she muttered, staring down at her palms as she carefully scrubbed the minute traces of blood from her skin. "I just... I don't quite appreciate being toyed with."
Hannibal's movements ceased at once and she tentatively peeked over her shoulder to find him staring at her, looking rather wounded. "You think I'm toying with you?"
"Well, I-..." She shrugged and opted to chew on her lip rather than respond, unsure of what to say; honestly, she wasn't entirely sure what to think.
He carefully set his knife down and crossed to wash his hands, quickly drying them on a kitchen towel before handing it to her to dry her own. She took the plush bit of cloth and kept her head down as she took more time than necessary to dry her hands; the last thing she wanted to do, at the moment, was look at him.
"Delilah, please," he spoke softly, nearly pleading, as his hands came to rest heavily upon her shoulders. She took a steadying breath and finally brought her eyes up to his. "I only wanted you to see how far you've come," he explained, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. "...Tell me what you're thinking."
She licked her lips and blinked rapidly up at the ceiling, refusing to allow herself to cry and ruin her meticulously painted eyeliner. "I just... I'm constantly worrying whether I'm going to lose myself again – or, if it's inevitable, then... when? I think I've felt a change since telling you everything that happened. Honestly, I do. I-I mean, I put the pictures back up in the living room and I can look at his stupid face without being bothered now... I know that must be progress.
"But it's only been two days and I've mostly been alone, so I can't say for certain whether I've had an episode or not. I don't think I have..." She inhaled deeply and shook her head as she exhaled loudly, retreating from his touch and shaking her arms out as she stepped away. "Oh, I just-... I just don't know, and it's terrifying. I can't possibly be better already, can I? I mean, people don't just stop being insane."
Hannibal's nostrils flared in temper and raked his teeth over his upper lip. "This is the last time I will say this and I ask you to listen," he said sternly, "you are not insane."
"...I would think separating from reality would be a fair indicator of sanity, or a distinct lack thereof, Hannibal."
"Delilah, stop this at once. Come." Snatching the towel from her hands and tossing it at the sink, he abruptly grabbed her by the arm and ushered her toward the island. He swiftly took up a massive, silver knife and flipped it around to offer it by the handle. "Cut the meat into thin slices," he commanded, and she simply stared up at him.
"I-... I don't-... I've never sliced up a heart before."
Hannibal suddenly slipped behind her and forced the hilt of the knife into her right palm, wrapping his hand over hers and lacing the fingers of his free hand with her other. He leaned forward so his cheek was right beside hers; she tried to look at him but he pushed his face flush against hers and nodded down at the trimmed hunks of meat. "Imagine this is Travis Bloom's heart," he whispered, his voice a low rumble against her skin. She felt like a puppet in his arms, watching as he took her empty hand and grabbed the nearest heart, pulling it forward before maneuvering her hands into proper position. "Knuckles forward, always; you can be sure my knives are thoroughly sharpened at all times and you wouldn't want to lose a finger."
Before she could argue, he began slicing the heart, with her hands, into near-paper-thin strips. Once he was halfway through, he paused and asked, "Do you see how it's done?"
Delilah swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, and he suddenly released her hands; the knife was absurdly heavy and she clutched it tight to avoid dropping it. Gripping the edge of the counter at either side of her waist, he laid his chin upon her shoulder and said softly, "Your turn, then."
Gently digging her fingertips into the meat, she curled her fingers as instructed and carefully began slicing away. Her first two cuts were wider than his own by a small margin, but it didn't take her long to get the hang of it and soon she had reduced the rest of the heart to long, thin slivers of its former self. She vaguely wondered how Travis' actual heart had ended up and decided she hoped some filthy rats had gotten to it.
"Very good," he commended, turning to press his lips to her earlobe. "Now the others..."
She was mildly surprised to find her hand didn't tremble as she reached for a second lump of flesh, pushing the pile of meat slices to one side with the blade of her knife before setting to task. It was much easier now.
"Are you imagining this is Travis as well?" he inquired, his warm breath caressing her ear and forcing her to actively retain her focus.
"Mm, no," she replied, slowly slicing away as he kissed lightly down her neck. "This one's a bit fatter... I think it could be that oaf Franklyn's."
Hannibal froze for a moment and she felt him smile against her skin; he wrapped his arms around her waist, using his forearms to hold her close. "Tu es parfaite, ma chérie," he whispered in her ear.
Delilah offered a pleased hum in response and finished with the second heart, before setting the knife down and leaning back heavily against him. "I think you could tell me I'm hideous in French and my knees would still go weak," she muttered, turning to catch his lips as they both laughed softly.
He nipped her bottom lip before replying firmly, "I wouldn't dare." He then released her and she stepped aside so he could take over with the final veal heart. Leaning her hip against the counter, she watched him lazily before wandering off to wash her hands again.
"I've only done this for your benefit," he said suddenly, his tone quite serious again. "I know full well how arduous the journey toward a clean bill of mental health can be, but I also know there are exceptions to every case... With yours, in particular, I have a strong suspicion you'll be doing just fine from now on."
"Is that a promise?"
"It is an observation. I take responsibility for your mental health and well-being, but I will not guarantee that your recovery is set in stone. There is always a chance for regression, though I doubt it so long as you continue to see me."
Delilah blinked over at him before scanning the room for a clock; finding one on the oven, she noted it was a quarter to seven and frowned slightly.
"Something the matter, my dear?"
"I've never been one for the tired 'where is this going' cliché but... I would be lying if I were to say I don't have some questions..."
Hannibal nodded pensively, pulling a second knife from the block and gathering all the strips of meat into a massive pile. "Ask away; we have plenty of time," he said simply, before utilizing both knives in tandem to pulverize the remains of the three veal hearts.
"Alright..." she began tentatively, wandering around the perimeter of the kitchen as she chose her words carefully. "Say we find ourselves... distracted... during or after a session, again – if I'm spending more time with you than our allotted hour a week, I'm sure Alana will have some questions."
"We just won't do that again," he replied, much too quickly for her liking.
She paused mid-stride, her fingertips resting on the handle of the refrigerator. "...I see," she muttered, unable to hide her disappointment. To her dismay, Hannibal laughed and she shot him a thoroughly wounded glare.
"So, so sweet." He sighed, smirking to himself as he began transferring the now thoroughly mutilated bits of heart into a glass storage container. "What I mean is we will find other times, other ways, to see each other... recreationally, for lack of a better word."
"I see," she said again, a relieved titter escaping her lips. "Well, good."
"Good."
"...Oh, stop smirking at me," she groused, taking the now sealed container as he handed it over. Hannibal laughed again and tossed her a wink, before stepping back to the island to clean up.
Once his hands were washed and dried and the kitchen was pristine again, he pulled her into his arms and she pressed her ear his chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart as he gently swayed them in place.
"Was that all the prep work needed?" she asked, tilting her chin up to look at him.
Hannibal nodded once and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "Everything else has been taken care of."
"How much time do we have?"
He peered over her shoulder to look at his watch, and sighed heavily. "Guests should be arriving... three minutes ago."
"Three-" she began, momentarily bewildered, but was suddenly cut off by the doorbell.
"Ah. Showtime," he muttered, taking a moment to smooth a hand over his hair. A flurry of nervous butterflies unexpectedly filled her belly, and she only partially heard him ask, "Shall we?"
"Wha-...? Oh, yes, of course," she muttered, taking his arm and lightly digging her nails into his skin for support as they traveled back to the foyer together.
"Jack Crawford and his wife will be in attendance," he suddenly informed her, and she nearly tripped over her own feet in shock. She clung to his arm like a spooked cat and he paused to give her a moment to collect herself.
"I-I'm sorry, what? Why?"
"You heard me, and because he is good to keep around," he replied calmly. "There's no need to fall to pieces, Delilah – just be your polite, charming self and all will be well." He glanced briefly to the door as the bell rang again, then tucked a lock of hair away from her face and bent down. "I have faith in you," he whispered earnestly, pressing a kiss to her cheek before leaving her feeling entirely exposed in the center of the foyer and moving to greet his first dinner guest.
"Jack, Bella, come in," Hannibal began affably, stepping aside and gesturing them over the threshold. "It's so good to see-" he continued, but was abruptly cut off by Jack's naturally booming voice –
"What the hell is she doing here?"