Hannibal Lecter's Office
— 7 November, Tuesday
— 3:11 PM
Hannibal could hear the soft tapping of her footfalls long before she reached the landing; she was taking the stairs two at a time, by the sound of it, and he smiled to himself. It had only been five days, but clearly she'd missed his company as much as he had missed hers. With his hand resting on the doorknob, he waited just long enough for her steps to grow in intensity and cease, then swiftly tugged open the door.
As expected, Delilah startled and froze, her half-curled fist raised in preparation to knock. "Well, then… Good afternoon," she laughingly muttered, dropping her arm and readjusting the overlarge messenger bag hanging off her shoulder. He glanced down at it in silent question, then back up to find her leaning in for a kiss.
His eyes briefly scanned the empty waiting room behind her before he allowed himself to indulge, as was procedure, and he vaguely wished in the moment that they didn't have to hide their affair. Lurid public displays were undoubtedly crass, but some deeply petty part of him longed that he could at least hold her near outside of lock and key — if only to witness the jealousy in others' eyes when they realized that this stunning creature belonged to him.
A contented hum escaped her as she melted against him, the sweet sound tugging him from his thoughts. He smiled and pulled back slightly, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. "Good afternoon," he finally replied. Curling his fingers around the base of her neck, he gently guided her over the threshold and kissed her again while shutting and locking the door; she grabbed a fistful of his suit jacket, stretching herself upward to return his affection in earnest.
When the pair had sufficiently lost their breath, they parted to catch it in tandem and Delilah suddenly laughed.
"Something amusing?" He asked softly.
She shook her head as she smoothed his lapel. "You can smell encephalitis and you have ears like a bat… Any other superpowers I should know about, Clark?"
Hannibal blinked down at her in mild surprise. It wasn't the reference that tripped him up, but the fact that she still seemed to think him the hero — even after watching him obliterate Franklyn's cervical spine with his bare hands.
"Mm, none that readily come to mind."
"Are you sure? Because if you can fly and you've been holding out on me, I'll be furious with you."
"Unless you're referring to business-class… regrettably, no," he replied with a light snort. "Moths have been found to have even greater audition than bats," he added absently, watching her move toward the coat rack.
"Moths, eh?" She muttered, glancing over her shoulder as she hung up her things. Something seemed to catch her eye, then, and her brow twitched as she peered past him.
"Something amiss?"
"No, it's just… This place looked like a war zone, last I was here. How did you manage to fix the—"
"Oh, no," he interrupted with a soft chuckle. "Repairs would have taken much too long; my patients need the stability that comes with familiarity. I repurchased the tables and chairs… and this, of course," he added, gesturing casually with his left hand toward the Persian rug beneath his desk. "It was littered with slivers of glass and, given your penchant for going barefoot at every opportunity, I thought it best to buy a new one."
"Ehm, thanks," she mumbled, flushing slightly.
Hannibal moved to take his usual seat and watched her curiously as she stayed planted beside the coat rack, her hand resting atop her bag. Though she didn't speak, he could plainly see some sort of internal struggle etched in the finest of lines between her eyebrows.
"Do you have something to share with me?" He prompted, canting his head.
"I do," she said, skirting her palm down to the latch and flipping the bag open. "I, um… I finally had a chance to peruse your sketchbook."
"I see."
Resting his chin on his fist, he waited as patiently as his mounting interest would allow; she was moving painfully slowly, dipping her slender fingertips into the bag and pausing yet again. "Have you… come across something that upset you?" His tone was pointed, as he had a suspicion he knew exactly why she was so hesitant.
"Upset me?" She muttered, sounding amused. "No, Hannibal. Was that the goal?"
"No," he clipped. "You should know better than that."
Delilah finally extricated the sketchbook from her bag and moved to sit opposite him. Opening the book across her lap with a tender respectfulness that pleased him, she carefully searched through to find, not the sketch he had anticipated, but a small stack of others, which she leaned across the slight gap to hand to him. Taking them, he glanced down as he settled back in his seat and his brow jumped in surprise.
"Did you wish to keep these?" He inquired, thoroughly bemused.
"No, I was just wondering… what is that place?" She asked softly. "You've drawn it many times."
Hannibal shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "This was my childhood home, in Lithuania," he replied, slowly rifling through the sketches.
"Your childhood home was a castle?"
He studied a page in silence for a moment, before looking up and nodding stiffly. "My father was a Count."
"I see," she murmured, eyes widening some as she stared down at her fingers splayed across the cover of the sketchbook. A multitude of questions were clearly jostling around in her mind, but she seemed to intuitively comprehend that she was treading into delicate territory here.
Intuition didn't hold her tongue for long, however.
"Y'know, speaking of keeping some…" She hedged, sounding nervous.
"Hm?"
She came forward suddenly and thumbed through the pages in his hands, slipping one in particular out of the stack and laying it gingerly atop the rest. "I-… I was honestly a little tempted to set this one aside, but—"
Hannibal inhaled sharply as his eyes fell upon a portrait of his late baby sister, and he felt his heart seize. "Why this one," he asked, perhaps more harshly than deserved.
"I-I just think she's beautiful," she said in a small voice, and in his peripheral he watched her take a hesitant step backward.
"She was, yes," he replied flatly.
"Was?"
Hannibal threaded the paper back into the stack and stood abruptly, not wishing to see it any longer. He chewed on the inner corner of his mouth as he stared, unseeingly, at a portion of the roaring hearth.
"She looks quite a lot like y—"
"Don't," he cut across her, endeavoring to keep his voice level. "Please."
"Sorry, I'm not meaning to pry…" She said delicately, sounding much like someone trying to coax a potential suicide away from the ledge. "I just don't understand why you would allow me to find that picture, i-if you don't wish to speak of her."
It wasn't often that Hannibal felt uncomfortably exposed, but the moment had arrived and he didn't much care for it. She knew him well enough now to comprehend that seldom, if ever, did he make mistakes. The truth was he had deliberately left that sketch, knowing she would find it; hoping she would ask. It was a puzzling dichotomy he hadn't yet sorted out for himself — this desire to open up, while still wishing to maintain the painstakingly constructed walls he'd built around all things Mischa.
"I will tell you her story, one day," he replied quietly, loathing how his voice wavered. "But now is not the time."
All was silent for a long while as Hannibal continued to glare across the room, not quite knowing how to proceed. He eventually glanced over and found Delilah was not gazing expectantly at him, as he would have presumed, but had instead planted herself back in her own seat and appeared to be studying the leather stitching of the armrest. When he eased himself back down onto his chair, her eyes shot to him at once and she offered him a sweet, demure smile.
He opened his mouth to segue out of the awkwardness that had become their afternoon, when she suddenly tugged another sketch from the book and held it up to him — it was that of Travis Bloom's crucifixion. His jaw slackened briefly before he let out a soft puff of laughter.
"I was expecting this one first," he mused quietly.
"I know," Delilah replied, a smug lilt to her tone. "While it doesn't bother me, I will admit it gave me quite a start."
"Oh?"
"Mhm. For a second I was convinced that you must have been there, somehow," she murmured, flipping the page around to study it herself. "I'm aware I didn't have much in the way of foresight that day, but… I was fairly certain I wasn't being watched, at least." She paused and shot him a suspicious squint. "Or was I?"
A gentle snort escaped Hannibal's nose and he shook his head. "Unfortunately, no… Had I been present, I might have strongly suggested a Lorena Bobbitt moment — derivative work can sometimes have its merits."
She seemed puzzled, at first, then tittered once comprehension evidently dawned. "Ah, damn missed opportunities," she said with a sigh. "I should've done... and crammed it down his throat."
"And thus, the derivative becomes inspired," he said, grinning broadly at her.
Delilah canted her head, gazing at him with a sudden fondness while blindly setting the page and book aside. He quirked a brow in question and she rose, crossing to him and settling herself down sideways upon his lap; he felt his arms move to encircle her waist even before making a conscious effort to hold her, as she snaked an arm around his shoulders.
"I do so appreciate the rare moments when your smile touches your eyes," she murmured, reaching up to delicately touch at the place where his crow's feet scratched toward his temple.
"The moments that precipitate such are, themselves, scarce."
"I hope, perhaps… one day… they might not be," she said, her words staggered between pressing kisses to the corner of his lips, his temple and, lastly, the very centre of his forehead.
Hannibal's eyes squeezed shut and he stilled — feeling suddenly and unconscionably vulnerable again, though not immediately sure why; he could not recall an instance, in recent memory, when anyone had kissed his forehead. In the time it took for Delilah to become concerned and ask if he was all right, it occurred to him that the last person to have ever done so was his late mother.
That was two wounds, now, ripped open in a span of mere minutes and again he could not fathom how to move forward. Hannibal found himself wanting, or perhaps needing, to open up the floodgates; to reveal all the horrid, unhappy details of things long-suppressed. She had given him so much of herself in so many ways and, for once, he thought perhaps he could do the same.
Truly, this just wasn't the time.
After a meditative breath, he opened his eyes to study her face and took a moment to absorb every facet of her anxiety — from the deepening crease between her brows, to the uncertain pout of her full lips. A hushed, significant, "Thank you," was all he could manage.
"For… what?" She asked slowly, her brow still knitted though her lips began to twist into a bemused smile.
"For being you," he said simply, knowing full well that this would only serve to confuse her further. He reached up to cradle her cheek and urged her face to his, kissing her deeply enough to tease a sighing moan past her lips before letting go and smiling placidly. "Now, then… Tea?"
Mercy Hospital
Neurology Department
Room 617
— 3:30 PM
"Jesus christ, pear medley again…" Will was complaining as Alana entered the room; he seemed to register her footsteps a moment later and glanced up, dropping the fruit cup back onto his tray and looking pathetically despondent. "D'you think they'll let you bring me some human food? I'm sick of this hospital slop."
Alana came to a halt at his bedside and snorted. "And what's 'human food' to you, fast food slop?"
"Listen, I really don't care. You could bring me pickled eggs and it would be an improvement."
She watched him poke his plastic spork into the heinous, greige meatloaf and crinkled her nose. "Ugh, is it supposed to be so… wet?"
"I don't think so…"
He started to tentatively bring a scoop of the mush to his mouth and she quickly plucked the utensil out of his hand, dropping it onto the tray.
"No. Just no," she muttered, pulling the table away from his bed and sitting down on the edge. "There's a taco shop just down the road. I can grab you a burrito or—"
"Nope. Too much sodium," a voice startled them both from the doorway.
Alana turned to find Doctor Bennett swiftly crossing the room, his head down and focused on the clipboard in his hands; she quickly hopped off the stiff mattress and wheeled the tray back over Will's lap.
"God damn it," Will groaned, and the doctor laughed sympathetically.
"Sorry bud. I know the food isn't stellar, but it's got all the nutrients you need without all that extra crap you don't."
"Fair enough," Alana agreed — to which Will scowled and muttered, "Soylent green is people," under his breath.
Chuckling, Doctor Bennett set up the light box and flipped the switch. "Aaaalrighty, let's all have a look at your noggin pictures, shall we?"
Will raised the upper half of his bed a bit and scrubbed a hand over his face, scratching at the copious amounts of stubble on his cheeks. "H-Have you not… seen them yet?" He shot a nervous glance to Alana and she offered him a soothing smile, taking his free hand to give him a squeeze.
"Oh, I have," he replied genially. "That's why I said 'let's all,' my dude." He cleared his throat and turned to point with the end of his pen. "I know they don't look much different than the last scans, but I promise you—"
"The swelling's gone down," Alana muttered in shock, her focus mostly on Will's occipital lobe. "Already?" She added, looking hopefully toward Doctor Bennett.
He smiled and rocked back on his heels a bit. "Yep! Just a skosh, but it's progress and we love to see it."
She let out a half-chuckle, half-sigh of relief, as Will asked bluntly, "So, how much longer will I be stuck here?"
"Well, it's only been a couple weeks, with just that one minor complication. My game plan is to finish this week with the two treatments, as we've been doing, then pare it down to once a week for the following two weeks. Barring any other complications, we'll plan for one more scan on the twenty… eighth?" He paused to check the calendar on his phone, and nodded. "Yeah, the twenty-eighth. If all is well, we'll spring ya and, fingers crossed, you won't have to see me again for another three months. Sound good?"
Will looked very much like he would protest, but instead he took a deep breath and nodded stiffly. "Yeah.. Yep. Sure thing, doc."
"Chin up, bud," he muttered distractedly. "The follow-up will be in late February, and I'll get to make the 'I haven't seen you since last year' joke. It'll be great!"
Alana forced a polite chuckle and thanked the doctor as he left, then turned back to Will and let out a long, slow breath. He certainly didn't look as reassured as she felt, as he went back to prodding at his pitiful dinner, so she tried on a little positivity. "Hey… I know any amount of weeks more here seems like hell, but, you know, I did some reading on your condition and usually it takes much, much longer for people to get out of the hospital. Compared to six months, or more, three weeks doesn't sound so bad… eh?"
"S'pose not," he grumbled, cramming a spork full of meat-mush into his mouth and forcing it down.
Alana frowned and shifted her purse on her shoulder. "Y'know, I'm sure I could find something more palatable that's still relatively healthy. There's that new vegan restaurant on—"
"No thanks," he muttered, his nose scrunching the moment she'd uttered the word 'vegan.'
"Oh come on, Will." She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "It's not just flavourless tofu these days."
"I know. I'm sure it's… fine." He took a deep breath and let it out with an annoyed groan. "I don't want to fight with you anymore. As a matter of fact, I don't want to fight with anyone anymore. You, Jack, Delilah and… whoever. I'm tired."
She opened her mouth to reply, but Will shifted to sit up a bit more and, though he seemed to struggle with the effort, suddenly made full eye-contact. "Speaking of Delilah and… H-Hannibal," he said, clearing his throat and cringing after forcing out Hannibal's name, as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth. "Could-… Could you ask if they'd be willing to speak with me? I want to apologize for my behaviour."
"Uh… I can do that, yeah," she replied, mildly surprised. This wasn't the route she'd expected their conversation to go. "For what it's worth, I'm sure they understand. You can't exactly control your actions when—"
"I know," he cut across her, digging his fingers into his eyes. "You're right, but I still want to apologize. I was such an asshole, to both of them. I've already told the doc that they're welcome to visit. I just need to make it right. Okay?"
"Alright, Will. Alright. I'll talk to them as soon as I can."
"Thank you."
"Of course." Alana hesitated for a moment, then took a step back from his bedside. "Well, I'd better get going… Oh, and speaking of Delilah, she's moving out this weekend," she added, making it sound like an inconsequential afterthought.
Will froze in the middle of opening his fruit cup. "What?"
"Yeah. She's doing well enough now, I suppose. Doesn't need me breathing down her neck anymore…" She forced a smile. "She's moving into the apartment above that café where she works."
"Oh, wow! Good for her," he said, a little too earnestly. "I'm happy she's doing so much better."
"Yeah. Me too." She started to leave, when Will spoke up again.
"Hey," he called, and she half-turned back. "You're gonna be okay, Alana, and so is she. This is a good thing, for both of you."
For all the bravery she'd shown Delilah, even going so far as to push her into it sooner than she'd been planning — why had she done that? — it didn't feel any less like she was somehow abandoning her sister to the wolves. Who or what the wolves were, she wasn't sure, but a niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that this was all wrong. Instead of saying as much, she forced another smile and nodded. "Yep. See you later, Will."
"Moving?" Hannibal repeated the word, his eyes crinkling the way she liked again as he smiled. "Well, this is wonderful news."
Delilah nodded cheerily, thanking him as he handed her a cup of tea. She took a deep inhale of the amber liquid and sighed, enjoying the soothing scents of lavender and bergamot, before taking a sip. "Mm… Yeah, Maggie's closing the café this Saturday, and possibly Sunday, so we can get it all done as quickly as possible. I've been bringing little things over every day I've worked, just to make it easier on me and Ala—"
"Pardon me," he interrupted, setting his teacup down and smoothing his tie as he shifted forward in his seat. "Do you mean to tell me that you and Alana plan on doing this by yourselves?"
"Well, I mean, yes…" She trailed off, confused.
"The dresser, the bed, et alia… Down the stairs. And then, what, you'll balance them on Alana's cute little hybrid?"
Delilah felt her cheeks burn and she cleared her throat. "We're going to rent a truck, obviously…" He continued to simply blink at her and she fidgeted uncomfortably. "I promise we can manage," she grumbled, mostly to herself.
Hannibal stared at her a moment longer, then rose abruptly and moved to his desk. She watched him lift the phone to his ear, pause a moment, then begin dialing.
"What're you—" He held up a finger to silence her and she huffed in annoyance.
"Yes, good afternoon. This is Doctor Hannibal Lecter," he spoke pleasantly but with authority. "I would like to request a vehicle for this Saturday, all inclusive. Yes, I'll hold."
"Oh Jesus Christ, Hannibal," she hissed, "you can't be serious."
His eyes rolled to the ceiling and he put a finger to his lips to shush her again. "That's correct. Just two should do. Yes, that will be perfect, thank you."
Delilah's ears burned and she turned away to fixate on her tea, trying her best to ignore him as he rattled off Alana's address. Part of her wanted to be upset with him at the mere suggestion that they couldn't handle the move on their own… But a much greater part of her found it wonderfully, tooth-achingly sweet.
It was so obvious he cared.
What worried her was just how exactly she was going to tell Alana about this without opening that entire can of worms. Will's suspicions were easy to circumnavigate, what with the encephalitis toasting his brain, but any questioning from Alana would be much less easily swayed or ignored.
Before she could dwell too much, she heard the tell-tale click of a phone being set back down and Hannibal spoke to her. "They will arrive at eight o'clock on Saturday morning and, apart from letting them in, you needn't lift so much as a finger."
She could only bring herself to reply with a noncommittal grunt into her teacup.
"While I can personally attest to the dependability of this company," he continued seamlessly, "I would still suggest you keep anything terribly important with your person. Accidents do, unfortunately, happen."
"With my person… meaning you?" She replied, not startling herself with her daring, for once.
Hannibal canted his head and smiled warmly. "Come here, darling."
A pleasant shiver trailed down her spine and she crossed the room, setting her tea down on his desk. He enveloped her in his arms and a sigh escaped her as she snugged her head to his chest. "I should be cross with you for assuming us mere women can't handle things on our own… But I suppose I'll choose to be grateful, instead."
"A wise decision," he murmured, his rumbling chuckle tickling her ear. "As much faith as I have in you and Alana's self-sufficiency, I have the same doubt in either of your ability to cart that dresser down - or up - any amount of stairs."
"… Fair enough," she grumbled.
"Mmhm."
They stood there for a time, Delilah with her eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of Hannibal stroking her hair. Laughter suddenly bubbled up in her chest and escaped with a squeak, to which he leaned back and blinked down at her.
"Pardon?" He asked, a corner of his mouth lifting in amusement.
"I've just realized how quiet it is, now that idiot is gone. I certainly hope we won't have to deal with any new Franklyns barging in, in the future."
"I believe I've learned my lesson there," Hannibal replied with a sniff. "A patient shows up in the artisanal grocery store I frequent once, it's likely happenstance — three times, it's a pattern and should be dealt with promptly. Admittedly, I couldn't help my curiosity regarding him and his… friend."
Delilah snickered and leaned up to kiss him, when the telephone abruptly rang and she scowled. "No more Franklyn, but your telephone could do with some snapping…"
He seemed to actually debate just letting it go to voicemail, but sighed and picked up the phone instead. "Good afternoon, Doctor Lecter speaking— Ah, Alana, is everything all right?"
Interest piqued at the mention of her sister, Delilah leaned up on her tippiest of tiptoes in a blatant attempt to eavesdrop; he leaned back pointedly and canted his head in disapproval, then extricated himself and stepped around to sit at his desk.
Pouting, Delilah snatched up her tea and planted herself on the corner of the desk to impatiently wait.
"That's hardly necessary-… Yes, well," Hannibal was saying, "I cannot speak for your sister, but I can certainly pay Will a visit some time later this week… We are, yes. It's quite all right. Would you like to speak with— All right. Take care, Alana." He hung up the phone, then wordlessly went about retrieving his schedule from the desk and set to skimming through it with a pen in hand.
She waited as long as she could before the suspense threatened to devour her. "So—"
"Shh," he chastised at once, making her scowl again.
After another lengthy silence, wherein he simply tapped the end of his pen on the corner of the page, he finally sighed and looked up at her somberly. "I'm afraid I'll have to cancel our Friday meeting this week."
"What?" Her stomach flipped — just a little. As pathetic as it may be, she didn't want to wait longer than necessary to see him again. "Why?"
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, which settled her stomach at once. He must be teasing. "Because we will be visiting Will Graham in the hospital, to graciously accept his apology," he replied calmly.
"Oh. Right. Okay." Her millisecond of unease dissipated, then morphed abruptly into confusion. "He's apologizing for…"
"For making a fool of himself, I suppose," he answered flippantly. "Will I be picking you up from work, or Alana's?"
"Uh, work— Wait." She stood from the desk and sat her teacup down. "Do… Do you really think it wise for us to visit him together?"
Hannibal turned his chair to cross his legs and canted his head questioningly.
"I just think…" She trailed off, trying to suss out just what she was thinking. "Well, I mean, given the fact that he's already guessed that we're—"
"Participating in a societally-deemed inappropriate relationship?"
"… Sure, that."
"Well…" He shrugged, clearly unbothered. "I trust you responded with a socially acceptable level of abhorrence at the mere suggestion?"
"Of course," she replied with a huff. "Still, I worry—"
"That he'll continue to suspect," he finished for her, irksomely shrugging yet again.
"You are being far too cavalier about this. Will isn't stupid."
"Neither am I," he countered at once, and his tone could only be described as ominous.
Delilah frowned. "Of course you aren't. You know that's not what I meant."
"Come here," he murmured, plucking her delicately by the wrist and pulling her to him; holding her hand in both of his, he leaned forward and peered up at her through smiling eyes. "Everything will be fine," he said, his tone soft and placating. "I know you worry. I do find it sweet but, rest assured, my job is secure — and will continue to be, regardless of whether Will Graham suspects I am involved in an intimate relationship with a patient. Moreover," he added, "there is the reality that you won't always be my patient."
Delilah took in a deep breath and exhaled it in a huff that launched a strand of hair away from her face. His words held a promise that he would still seek a relationship with her outside of obligation, which should set off butterflies anew, but this notion somehow made her more nervous. No matter how well they played it off — no matter how long they waited — she highly doubted Alana would take the news very well, never mind Will's reaction- or Jack Crawford's, even.
"You remain unconvinced," he concluded from her silence, releasing her wrist and settling back in his seat.
"If we go together, I'd prefer to stagger our arrivals," she finally announced. "One of us can go in first, I don't care who, then the other can join after whatever amount of time makes it clear it wasn't on purpose."
"If that's what will make you happy," he conceded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was obvious he thought she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't care less.
"Better safe than sorry," Delilah argued, and he held up his hands in surrender.
"Better safe than sorry," he parroted, that smug little smirk spreading into a grin. "Now that's settled…" He rose to tower over her and his arms coiled around her like hungry pythons as he rumbled seductively in her ear, "Let's put the last of our hour to good use, hm?"
Alana Bloom's Residence
103 W. Cross St, #44, Baltimore, MD
7:33AM — Saturday
"So, what ever happened to your boyfriend?"
Delilah froze with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to her mouth and shot Alana a baffled squint. "My what?"
"You know, the guy you were seeing." She clarified unhelpfully, taking a sip of her coffee. "The lip-biter?"
Those last words sent a flood of memories back to Delilah, of being laid out on Hannibal's desk after telling him what she'd done to Travis; her fingers finding blood on her lower lip; his head buried between her thighs…
She internally shook herself and made to set her fork down, but released it too soon and startled as it clattered against the plate. "Uh, o-oh yeah, that guy," she muttered, quickly scooping eggs off the table and wadding her napkin around them. "That was, um, just a one-off. I never bothered to see him again."
Alana quirked a brow at her as she finished chewing a bite of toast. "Huh… Not judging, but I never really pictured you as the one-night-stand type."
"I'm not," she replied indignantly. "Well, I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that. But it was just a goodbye kiss, Alana. We didn't sleep together."
"Alright, fair enough. What was his name, anyway?"
"Dan… something," she replied with a noncommittal shrug.
"Dan?" Alana repeated with a crinkle of her nose. "Probably for the best; what a dull name. What did he do for a living?"
Delilah let out an exasperated sigh. "Accounting or… financial… something-ing? What does it matter? I'm never seeing the guy again." She knew her tone was a little sharper than necessary, but she was busy still trying to worry about how she was going to break the news that Hannibal had paid for an expensive moving company— not whether she could keep fictional details straight about some man who didn't exist.
"Jeez. I'm just trying to have a conversation."
"Sorry, I'm just… not in the mood to discuss my supreme lack of a love life, if I'm being totally honest."
"Same boat. Fair enough," Alana replied with a snort. She fell silent and Delilah was left to eat and panic in peace for a few minutes, before she seemed unable to stop herself yet again. "Oh, hey, did you get a chance to visit Will yet?"
"Mm-yep," she replied, washing down a mouthful of egg and toast with a swig of coffee. "I left work early yesterday and we talked for… eh, about twenty minutes, I think?"
"How'd it go?"
"Fine." She shrugged. "He apologized. I told him to stuff it — brain melt is a perfectly valid excuse for being an absolute tool, et cetera. Then, Doctor Lecter showed up and I left so they could talk."
Alana smiled in a weirdly motherly way that made Delilah uncomfortable. "Thank you, for doing that for him," she said earnestly. "I know it wasn't easy."
"Eh, it wasn't too difficult to forgive him once he stopped throwing around absurd accusations." She rose from the table to grab the coffee carafe and refilled her own mug before wordlessly offering it to Alana.
"Oh, no thanks. I'd better get going. U-Haul opens at eight."
'Well, shit. It's now or never.'
"Uh, yeah," Delilah started, setting the carafe on the table. "About that…"
Alana froze and glanced up with an annoyingly hopeful sparkle in her eye. "What? Did you change your mind?"
"Well, no. You see, the thing is… At therapy, on Tuesday, I—"
Sudden knocking caused them both to jump and Delilah immediately rushed to answer the door. Finding two muscular men in matching blue coveralls slipping plastic booties over their shoes, she turned to Alana's puzzled face and offered her a tight-lipped smile. "Doctor Lecter insisted…" Was all she could think to say.
"Good morning, ladies," one of the men exclaimed. His name tag read 'Victor' and his tone was much too buoyant for eight o'clock in the morning. "Which of you would be a Ms. Delilah Bloom?"
"That would be me," she replied swiftly, grateful for an excuse to turn away from Alana's stunned bewilderment. "Wow, you're punctual."
"That's actually our slogan," the other, Timothy, proclaimed with a toothy grin. "'Prestige Moving Company - wow, are we punctual!'"
Delilah tittered politely, then cleared her throat. "Well, uh, come on in." She stepped aside for them and watched curiously as Victor began unrolling a sheet of plastic onto the carpet. "My things are down the hall… I'll just show you the way."
Dutifully avoiding Alana's bug-eyed expression, she quickly made her way to her room and propped the door open for them. As Victor continued laying out the plastic red carpet, Timothy followed along balancing a massive stack of moving supplies — boxes, bubble wrap, packing tape, and the like — on one hand, while clutching a toolbox in the other.
"Wait, it's just one room?" One of them asked in surprise.
"Uh…" She glanced around, double-checking that she had brought in the already packed box of toiletries from 'her' bathroom. "Yeah, this is everything… Is that alright?"
Victor laughed heartily as he tore off the plastic from the roll and set it aside. "'Is that alright,' she says," he muttered, continuing to snicker to himself. "Forgive me, ma'am, we're used to breaking down and hauling entire houses."
"Not to mention, guest houses," Timothy chimed in, setting the supplies down.
"Yeah. Complete with four-car garages and whatnot," the other agreed, looking around at her things. "You even stripped the bed for us — this'll be a piece of cake."
"I also emptied all the drawers in the dresser, nightstand, and vanity," Delilah said, resting her hands on her hips and looking around at the neat piles of clothes and belongings she'd compiled beneath the window. "Hannibal said you'd do everything but…" She shrugged. "I just wanted to help make it all go as smoothly as possible."
"Well, that wasn't necessary but we certainly do appreciate it, ma'am," Victor replied kindly. "So… everything in this room is going, right?"
"Yeah, just let me grab a couple things and I'll get out of your hair." She stuffed her phone and charger into her purse, hooked it over her shoulder, then grabbed an already sealed box off the vanity which held a few belongings she didn't want to risk being damaged or tampered with. "Well, uh…" She loitered awkwardly in the doorway. "If you guys want any water or coffee, just let me know."
"Will do, ma'am," Timothy said with a smile, but she had a feeling she wouldn't hear from them again until their work was through.
When she entered the living room to set her things down on the couch, she found Alana waiting with her arms crossed and a suspicious glare on her face. "Care to explain?"
'Shit.'
Delilah couldn't decide on a proper response in this instance. Should she go for the offensive? Defensive? Aloof? All she knew was that she had to stomp this potential wildfire out as quickly as possible.
"I thought I already did," was the answer that escaped her mouth.
Evidently, she was going with aloof.
"Hannibal insisted on spending… however much this cost, for personal movers? For you?"
The bewilderment-bordering-on-disdain colouring her tone sent a shockwave of anger through Delilah. "Ew, what's that supposed to mean?"
"I didn't—" She stopped short and scrubbed a hand over her mouth. "I just don't understand what would possess him to do this. It's highly unethical."
"Unethical… To be kind? To be helpful?"
"To spend this amount of money on a patient?" Alana fired back. "Yes, Delilah, it is unethical. Not to mention just… weird."
Delilah dragged her teeth hard enough over her bottom lip to make herself wince. "Would you say the same if he'd done this for you?"
Alana scoffed. "Of course not. A decade ago, when he was my mentor? Absolutely. But we're peers now. Colleagues. We've been friends for years - you've known him less than one."
Tamping down her sudden, violent urge to divulge every dirty little detail of just how close she and Hannibal had become, Delilah cleared her throat and tried a different tactic.
"Has it not occurred to you that you also factor into this particular situation? It isn't just about me, Alana. I told Doctor Lecter we'd planned on renting a truck and he flipped out at the prospect of me dropping a dresser on your stupid head, you brat."
The accusations drained from Alana's face at once and were replaced with a sickly, erythema-chic sort of pallor. "Oh…"
"Yeah, 'oh.' So, how about you stop taking pages out of Will's book of asinine speculations and maybe just shoot him a fucking thank you next time you see him?"
"Sorry, I—"
"Whatever." Delilah huffed and snatched the carafe off the table, then stalked to the kitchen to pour out the leftovers that had been sitting and busied herself with making a fresh pot.
All of this sneaking around with Hannibal was reaching a level of exhausting that Delilah was not at all prepared to maintain long-term — especially if he planned on continuing to do sweet, stupid shit like paying for all-inclusive movers just to transport the piddly contents of one bedroom twenty minutes across town.
A sigh reached her ears and she glanced sideways to find Alana loitering near the fridge. "I'm sorry, okay? I hate to admit it but Will may have gotten to me, just a little bit. He seemed so… certain."
"Yeah, well…" Delilah trailed off with a small huff and crossed her arms as she leaned back against the counter. "You know, Doctor Lecter doesn't deserve this. I just hate to imagine how offended he would be, to know that you could be so easily swayed to think so little of him."
Alana flinched as though she'd just been slapped. "Ease up, will you? You have to admit it's unconventional."
"Has Doctor contrasting-patterned-suits-that-somehow-always-work ever really struck you as particularly conventional?"
A smile tugged at the corner of Alana's mouth as she moved further into the kitchen to get out of the movers' way. "Touché."
…
It took Victor and Timothy just over an hour to disassemble, carefully wrap, and load all of Delilah's belongings into the truck. Shoving the box and her purse into the backseat, Delilah hopped into the passenger's side of Alana's little hybrid and she started the ignition. "…And away we go," Alana muttered as she pulled out of the parking spot and followed after the truck.
After a few minutes of pleasant quiet, Alana cleared her throat. "Are you sure you don't still want to take that coffee pot? I was thinking of getting a Keurig, anyway."
"Ugh." Delilah crinkled her nose and twisted in her seat to stare disapprovingly at her sister. "A Keurig? Stop."
"What? It's quicker and I won't have to make an entire pot every time I want one cup. We don't all require an intravenous supply of coffee like you, weirdo."
"Yeah, but it's so much plastic waste."
"Okay, Miss Environmentalist," Alana muttered with a snort. "Don't they have those reusable cup things nowadays?"
"Still, Keurig sucks. The whole damn thing is plastic — and I know for a fact you won't reach for the reusable k-cup over the ease of a pop and toss. Get a Nespresso, if you must. Their machines are better quality and you can easily recycle the aluminium pods."
"Plastic can be recycled, too."
Delilah huffed and leaned her head back against the seat. "Alana. You literally have to take the entire fucking thing apart to recycle it. Do you really think you're going to take the time to bother?" Her silence told Delilah that, no, she would not. "That's what I thought. Nespresso offers free recycling bags, by the way. You can just fill 'em up and drop 'em off over at the mall in Bethesda. They even compost the grounds."
"They should pay you for all of this free advertising," Alana eventually replied with a laugh. "Okay, alright, you've convinced me. I'll spring for the…" She trailed off and muttered something unintelligible under her breath. Delilah looked questioningly over to find Alana craning over the steering wheel, apparently trying to see something just beyond the moving truck still in front of them.
"What? What is it?" She asked, mildly concerned, as she tried to get a glimpse of whatever was beyond the truck.
The truck made a careful left hand u-turn, preparing to back up to the the café and Delilah finally spotted Hannibal standing beside the open front door — looking much too comfortable, casually chatting and laughing with Maggie. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to visibly react.
Tamping down her annoyance at Hannibal's sheer audacity, she licked her lips and shot a vaguely puzzled glance toward Alana. "You alright?"
Alana let out a sharp laugh and shook her head. "Yeah. Sure, it makes sense. He wants to make sure they do their job right." It was clear from her tone that she was just trying to convince herself, and Delilah cringed inwardly.
This would do nothing to dissuade any of Alana's suspicions.
A car honked behind them, causing the pair to startle, and Delilah made direct eye contact with Hannibal as Alana hurried across the street to pull into an empty spot beside the moving truck. She briefly narrowed her eyes at him with purpose, pouring all of her annoyance into that one millisecond's glance, and was pleased to catch the infinitesimal jump of his brow.
The driver's side door was suddenly slammed shut and her stomach did a little flip as she watched Alana march right up to Hannibal and Maggie. She decided to take her time undoing her seatbelt, then squeezing between the seats to grab her things from the back. Slapping her hair out of her face, she settled back in her seat to watch hesitantly for any sign of an altercation — not knowing what the hell she would do, should one present itself — but trust Maggie to pay way too much attention. She began flapping a hand at her and started forward but Delilah quickly extricated herself from the car and forced a smile.
"What the hell're you hidin' in there for? Come hang with us, sweet pea!" She demanded, stepping off the sidewalk to firmly link an arm with Delilah's. No escape. "Oh, by the by, I've got fresh coffee for you gentlemen all set out on the counter," she added to the movers, giving them pause as they set about prepping to cart everything upstairs.
"Oh, no tha—"
Maggie tutted loudly at them. "There's bottled water and pastries, too. Help yourselves!"
They responded with a tiny chorus of, "Uh, yes ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
Maggie waved dismissively and flashed a beaming smile at them, then proceeded to corral Delilah up onto the sidewalk and released her once she was standing beside Hannibal.
"Good morning, Delilah," he said, his tone positively neighbourly. Hilarious.
"Good morning, Doctor Lecter." She absently drummed her fingers against the box in her hands and looked to Maggie. "Well, I'm just… gonna put this upstairs."
Before anyone could object, Delilah darted ahead of the movers and skipped along the plastic in an effort to stay out of their way; she took the stairs up to her new apartment three at a time and ducked into the kitchen to set down her things just in time; Victor and Timothy followed her in almost immediately and she watched them disappear into the bedroom with her headboard.
"You know, you guys don't have to hustle so hard," she said as they came back out. "I won't bitch if you take a break, or two."
Victor chortled and glanced sideways at his coworker, then took a step off of the plastic lining and tentatively moved to join her in the kitchen. "Listen, I know this is totally unprofessional, but you seem pretty chill…"
Alarm bells went off in Delilah's head and she immediately began scrutinizing his burly physique, trying to gauge just how high she'd have to swing a knee to nail him in the crotch; Timothy was a bit shorter than he was, and she was fairly certain she'd be able to claw his eyes out if need be. He kept his distance, however, so she cocked a brow at him. "And?"
"And, uh, well, I was just wondering… would you complain to my supervisor if I took a ten minute smoke break?"
The relief was immediate. Delilah let out a sigh and scrubbed a hand over her face, laughing at her own stupidity. "Oh my god, of course not. Go."
"Me, too?" Timothy piped up and Delilah laughed again.
"Go on, both of you. Be sure to take advantage of the coffee and snacks, too. Maggie will be very insulted if you don't."
She didn't need to tell them twice. She smiled as she watched them haul ass out of the apartment, then turned to observe her new space while she had at least a moment to herself.
With the dust mostly gone, the floors mopped and vacuumed, and the place aired out, it was… decent. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing; better than feeling trapped in Alana's apartment, at any rate. It wouldn't be forever, she promised herself, but it would certainly do for now.
Scrubbing her hands on her jeans, she grabbed the box off the counter and set it in the closet between the bathroom and bedroom, then snagged a box cutter from the movers' tool box and doubled back. She crouched beside the single, medium-sized box labeled 'Kitchen' in messy scrawl, which had sat there ever since she'd been forced to move out of her first little apartment. It'd barely been a year, but it felt as though an entire lifetime had come and gone in the interim.
Swiping a rogue tear from her cheek, she took a deep breath, sliced through the tape, and set to work finding new places for her old things.
A couple minutes later, she heard Maggie holler up the steps, "How's it goin', sugar?"
"It's goin'," Delilah called back. She stopped in the midst of trying to climb onto the counter and went to meet Maggie in the doorway. "Hey, do we still have that old step-stool? I can't reach the top shelves."
She opened her mouth to reply, when Hannibal stepped up behind her and gave a withering look over Maggie's head. "You do realize that's what the gentlemen downstairs are for…?"
As Maggie laughed, Delilah crossed her arms and fixed him with a pointed glare. "Does that mean they'll be moving in to help me reach things on the daily, then?"
It was Hannibal's turn to scowl and, brief though it was, it brought her a great deal of satisfaction.
"It's buried in back of the storage closet, I think," Maggie said through a chortle, patting Hannibal's arm as she moved past to make her way back down the stairs. "I'll have one of those nice young men send it up when they're done eatin'. Oh shoot, here—" She stuffed a hand in her pocket and produced a set of keys, handing them over. "That's the key to the apartment, and then I made spares of the front and back, alright? I'm gonna get going in a minute here; got a hair appointment at eleven. You'll be alright, yeah?"
"Yeah, of course," Delilah replied, taking the keys and smiling fondly at her. "Thank you so much, Maggie."
She clicked her tongue and flapped a dismissive hand at her. "Hush, child." She started and stopped yet again, leaning against the banister. "Oh, and I spoke with Nathaniel; since you've got the fancy movers and all, I figure tomorrow can be business as usual, eh?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Alright, he'll open with me and you can work a noon-to-four."
Delilah blinked quizzically. "What? Why?" She watched Maggie shoot a particularly loaded sideways glance at Hannibal, who did nothing other than smile passively.
She simply offered her an infuriatingly smug grin, then turned around and continued down the steps. "See you tomorrow, baby. It was good seeing you again, Doctor Lecter!"
"Likewise of course, Maggie."
Stepping back into the apartment and moving to set the keys in her purse, she was hyperaware of the feather-quiet clicks of Hannibal's shoes as he followed.
"So, is Alana…"
"Gone? Yes," he answered softly, stopping close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck. "Jack called."
"Oh." Her heart skipped and she tilted her head to the side. "So we're—"
"Alone? Not just yet."
She heard the kerfuffle of the movers clomping back up the stairs and cleared her throat. "Pity."
"Indeed," he murmured, chuckling softly. He pressed a firm kiss to her jugular, sending delicious little shocks throughout her body, before moving aside.
"Someone order a step-stool?" One of the men asked, and Delilah turned; she forced a smile and took it from Victor.
"Thank you." She stared absently for a moment as the movers went back to work, then shot Hannibal a sideways glance and set the step-stool down in front of the cupboards.
If he thought to offer her any assistance, he made no mention of it. Instead, he stood by with his hands folded in front of him and kept a watchful eye on Victor and Timothy while she put the glasses away. She was supremely grateful for the lack of coddling; she'd had enough over the last year — which he knew quite well, of course. Her thoughts wandered to Alana and the look on her face when she'd spotted Hannibal so chummy with Maggie outside the café.
"You know," she burst out suddenly, "while I do, of course, appreciate everything you've done for me, I really think you should tone down the grand gestures."
"Grand gestures?"
"All of… this?" She waved a hand wildly behind her, in the direction of the very expensive movers currently piecing her dresser back together. "Alana was very… confused."
"What do I care if Alana is confused?"
She shot him a startled look and was met with nothing but pure amusement on his face. "I-… Fair enough, I suppose."
"Speaking of Alana," he said, as if continuing a completely different conversation. "She fancies the idea of you spending one last night at her place and, before you protest—" He raised his voice slightly, sensing an argument before it could escape Delilah's lips. "I did tell her I thought it unwise to drag this out, but she claims she just wishes to have a 'fun girls' night.'"
She mulled it over as she shoved the last glass onto the shelf, then stepped down. "Do you really think that's all she's after, or is she gonna try to convince me to change my mind?"
"I'm fairly certain she's come to the conclusion that that ship has sailed." His lips quirked upward, then he added, "At any rate, she asks that you message her whether or not you're opposed. If not, she'll pick you up later this afternoon."
"Alright." She pulled the silverware organizer out of the box and started unwrapping the protective layers of paper and tape. "That must be why Maggie wants me to work so little tomorrow," she muttered in understanding, mostly to herself.
"For the late start, yes," he said, his tone indicating there was more. She paused in reorganizing the jumbled silverware and looked curiously up at him. "I generally prefer not to give such short notice but, in honour of your… emancipation, I suppose, would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow?"
Delilah huffed out a laugh and slid the silverware organizer into a drawer, then shut it. "Fond as I am of how considerate you are of my time, I just have to ask… do you really not realize how hard I've fallen for you?"
"I-…" He promptly swallowed whatever he was going to say and simply gazed at her.
"If you called me at three am on a Tuesday and said we had to board a plane, my one question would be whether I need to pack warm or cold weather clothing. So, the only amount of notice I need for a dinner invitation is the amount of time it takes me to get ready — just for the record, that's anywhere from one to two hours, give or take," she added, staring unblinkingly up at him. She watched as his tongue slowly slid out to wet his bottom lip, evidently processing what she'd just told him.
"Understood," he finally replied, his voice heady in its quiet. "I will be here to collect you at six, then?"
"Mm, sooner the better, don't you think? How about five-thirty?"
"The sooner the better," he repeated with a grin.
"Perfect. It's a date." She replied, giving him a tender kiss before returning to her unpacking duties.
Alana Bloom's Residence
9:30AM — Sunday
The first thing Delilah noticed when she woke up was that the ceiling was much further away than usual, and the room was way too damn bright; then came the pain. She rolled over on the makeshift cot Alana had crafted out of comforters and blankets and groaned as her back protested. Her knees ached like hell from the draft that'd crept in under the front door.
"Morning!" Alana's voice felt like a physical blow to the head and she inwardly chastised herself for having that third glass of wine.
"Sleeping on the floor for no reason is an absolute crime and you should be arrested," she grumbled.
"Yeah, it's hell getting up. Trust me, it only gets worse in your thirties."
She finally sat herself up and carefully stretched out her spine, wincing at the symphony of crackles before squinting moodily up at her sister. "How're you so chipper, then?"
"Oh, I've been up for hours," she replied with a laugh. "There's coffee, by the way."
"Bless you, child," Delilah mumbled, pulling herself up with the arm of the couch and slinking off into the kitchen at once. She found a full cup already waiting for her and shivered as she took her first sip.
Alana followed her in, snickering. "Something tells me you would have felt the pea under at least double the amount of mattresses, princess."
"Guess that means a prince would deign to marry me. Joy and rapture."
They shared a laugh, then fell silent for several minutes before Alana fidgeted and spoke again. "So, I don't really feel like cooking. Wanna grab breakfast somewhere before I have to drop you off? There's this place that has killer crepes — not iHop," she added quickly.
"Sure," she replied with a snort, "lemme just get cleaned up."
Grabbing her overnight bag, she popped into the guest bathroom for a quick shower, curl scrunch, and a few swipes of mascara — she decided to preemptively dress in her work clothes, leaving her apron folded up in her purse. Depending on how long Alana decided to drag out this breakfast, she figured she may only have time to toss her bag upstairs before starting her shift.
Less than half an hour later, they were on the road; twenty minutes after that, they were being seated at a table and their waitress was already pouring them coffee.
"Coffee before menus," Delilah said with a sigh, smiling wistfully at the waitress. "I already love this place."
The waitress chuckled warmly, pouring a little extra into her cup before setting down the carafe. "Good morning ladies. My name's Anne," she announced as she pulled two menus from her apron and handed them over, "and I'll be your server today. Do we know what we want, or should I give you two some time to look over our menu?"
"Some time would be great, thank you," Alana replied.
"Sure thing. Before I leave you to it, you should know our Sunday brunch is fabulous and you are right on-time for it. There's a little leaflet in there with our specials."
"Ooh, sounds great. Thank you," Delilah replied, flipping open her menu as the waitress stepped away. "Hmm. Do I want sweet or savoury," she muttered, mostly to herself, as she perused her options.
"I can't stomach sweets before noon," Alana replied unnecessarily, and Delilah glanced up just in time to watch her pour a second sachet of sugar into her coffee.
Ignoring this, she took notice of the brunch insert and perked up a bit. "They have ten dollar bottomless mimosas or bloody marys today." Delilah leaned forward conspiratorially and tapped the word 'mimosas' with her index fingernail. "What do you say?"
"I say… I would, but I am the designated driver here," Alana replied sternly.
"Oh come on, let's work on getting that stick out of your butt," she groused. "I'm not suggesting we get wasted, for chrissake. Just have one with me."
Alana groaned and rolled her eyes, though her mouth was twisted in a grin. "Alright, alright. One mimosa." She lifted a finger to emphasize her point. "One."
"Fabulous. Fair warning, I will have more than one."
Anne arrived shortly after to take their orders, refreshing their coffees without needing to be asked. As they sat waiting for their food and mimosas, Delilah decided to head off Alana's ever-incessant need to fill every silence with idle chatter with idle chatter on her own terms. "So, what do you have planned for today?" She asked, having a feeling she knew the answer. "Visiting Will?"
"Yeah, later. But once I drop you off I have work-related things to take care of first."
"Work? On this, our lord's day of rest?" Delilah replied in haughty tones. "The sheer audacity of that Jack Crawford."
Alana snorted and rolled her eyes. "Because you're so pious."
"Hey, I'm a devout holy… thing."
"Yeah, a holy terror."
"And don't you forget it."
Their mimosas arrived just a few minutes before their food and Delilah sipped hers as she peered nosily over at her sister's plate. Her turkey and brie crepe with cranberry chutney looked almost delicious enough for her to regret choosing sweet over savoury — almost. Her own, with the perfect amount of pumpkin filling topped with lush, warm apples drenched in cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar was absolutely divine; she made a mental note to ask Hannibal if he could teach her how to recreate it.
"Okay, you win, gimme a bite," Alana huffed, evidently annoyed by her yummy noises, and reached across the table with her fork.
"Ah-ah-ah," she snapped with mock-seriousness, twanging her fork against Alana's as she batted it away. "You made your choice; suffer with your turkey."
As Alana pouted, Delilah was already cutting a small portion of her crepe and transferring it to her sister's plate. "There. Don't say I never gave you anything."
Grinning, Alana thanked her and did the same, shifting an equal portion of her own crepe to Delilah's plate.
They laughed and settled in to enjoy their meals in silence for a while, and Delilah let her mind wander for a time; she found herself increasingly curious whether Hannibal would be willing to come here. Of course, his cooking was immaculate enough to be in magazines — what use would he have for a restaurant? Hell, he could open up his own.
That was a thought…
She tossed back the last sip of her alcohol and smiled to herself as she casually people-watched. If for some reason he lost his job, Delilah could easily imagine Hannibal running a massive state-of-the-art kitchen in his very own, prestigious restaurant somewhere… else. Somewhere with ages-old architecture, where people had to travel miles and put themselves on a waiting list months in advance, just for a taste. Delilah herself would make a suitable hostess; she could manage the wait-staff, smile and warmly welcome people in bespoke suits and gowns…
"What's on your mind?" Alana's voice suddenly broke through her reverie, and she came back to earth as their waitress replenished their coffees and brought Delilah a fresh mimosa.
"Thank you," she told Anne, taking a quick sip and clearing her throat before forcing herself to make eye contact with Alana. "Sorry?"
"You looked a million miles away for a bit there. Everything okay?"
"Oh," she laughed softly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Good food, good coffee, good booze — just zoning out, y'know."
Before Alana could interrogate her further, she shifted in her seat and made direct eye contact to show she had her fullest attention. "So, you said you have to work today — what exactly do you have to do?"
Alana took a small bite of food and stared contemplatively for a moment. "Well," she finally said, evidently deciding something. "Jack wants me to work on the recent 'whodunnit,' of course. The string of murders that are maybe connected, maybe not. But. I don't know… I feel like my expertise has been exhausted." She sighed despondently and muttered, clearly to herself, "He needs Will for this."
It was not lost on Delilah, just how huge a milestone this was. Maybe it was due to the half a mimosa, or the delicious food, but Alana was never one to talk shop with her. Ever. She had to find a way to keep this going.
"How can you be so sure?" She asked before popping a tiny piece of apple into her mouth; she chewed and swallowed it quickly to add, "I mean, if he's seeking your help, surely he believes you can manage?"
"Jack puts people on pedestals. Use words he doesn't understand, show him something novel, or explain a high-level concept with any semblance of confidence, and you'll have him eating out of the palm of your hand."
The sadness in her voice made Delilah uncomfortable. This was supposed to be a pleasant outing — though she did file away this information about Jack, as she took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "What is it that you do, exactly? I mean, I know you have a psych degree and you teach, but what is it you do, for Jack, specifically?"
"I have a PhD in Psychology," Alana clarified. "And yes, I do lectures on human behaviour at Quantico — that's my job. But Jack will occasionally pull me in to consult on whatever murder mystery has him stumped."
"So, why do you let him do that? You don't sound happy about it."
"It's not a matter of letting him do anything. I'm employed by the FBI, so he has the authority to pull whoever he chooses into whatever catastrophe he wants. But my skillset is better suited to helping the victims, like Abigail."
"Abigail…" she parroted contemplatively. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"
Alana looked like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment, then cursed under her breath and took refuge in what was left of her mimosa. "I shouldn't— don't worry about it."
"Wait, is it that girl who was on the news? Her dad—"
"Yep," Alana interjected, loud enough to garner sideways glances from the nearest table. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "That's- that's the one. I can't go into details, so please don't ask. I really shouldn't have said anything."
Delilah knew she should drop it, but the curiosity was nearly visceral and she opened her mouth to pry, when a feminine voice suddenly called her name. They both glanced in the direction of the voice to find Bella Crawford waving at them from the register; she quickly finished paying and grabbed her takeout bag, then made her way over to their table.
"Oh my god, what are the odds? Hey, Alana!" She added warmly, taking the open seat beside Delilah.
"What are the odds," Delilah repeated with a smile. "How have you been?"
"Fine, just fine. I keep meaning to give you a call, but I've just been so busy with… things." She'd trailed off in a way that piqued Delilah's interest, but she didn't draw attention to it. "You know how it is," she added, waving dismissively.
"Of course," Delilah replied, surreptitiously giving her a quick but thorough once-over. There was a faint pucker between her eyebrows that wasn't there when they'd first met and it didn't dissipate, even when she smiled. Something was clearly bothering her.
"Anyway, I just noticed you girls, so I had to say hello. I should— Oh, I'm so stupid," she hissed abruptly, tapping herself on the forehead and placing a hand delicately upon Delilah's arm. "How are you?" She asked solemnly. "Jack told me a bit about what happened to you and Doctor Lecter. Well, what he could, of course."
It took Delilah a few seconds to register what exactly she meant by that. "What hap— Oh! Oh, that." She smothered her immediate urge to laugh with a light cough. "No, yeah, I'm doing alright."
"Something about this city just makes people crazy," she mused, shaking her head and looking to Alana for support. "Don't you think so?"
"Well—"
"Maybe we're on a hellmouth," Delilah muttered, unable to stop herself.
They both stared at her for a moment, then Bella giggled. "You know what, maybe! Damn, where's Buffy when you need her?"
Laughter erupted throughout the table and Bella sighed, pulling Delilah into a sideways hug. "It was so good to run into you girls." She rose from the chair and snagged her to-go order. "We'll have to finally have that lunch sometime, okay? All three of us!" She added kindly to Alana, clearly not wanting her to feel left out.
"Absolutely," Delilah replied. "Maybe next week sometime? My work schedule is very casual, but I just moved, so—"
"Oh, jeez. All that unpacking and rearranging," she interjected with a knowing grimace. "I'll just call you sometime next week and we'll figure it out, okay?"
"Sounds good!"
"Alright, I'd better get this to Jack before he takes his hangry out on his poor overworked staff. Bye girls!"
They dissolved into a chorus of 'bye's and 'good seeing you's as she scampered out of the restaurant. Delilah turned back around in her seat and finished the last of her coffee, smiling as their waitress appeared out of thin air to refill her cup. "Thanks."
"I had no idea you two were so close," Alana remarked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
"We haven't so much as spoken to each other since that dinner at Doctor Lecter's, Alana."
"Oh."
"Yeah, she's sweet though," Delilah added, taking one last bite before pulling out her phone to check the time. "Oh shit, it's twenty 'til. We'd better get going." She reached for her wallet and Alana immediately tutted at her.
"I'll get it. Meet you at the car."
Delilah stared after her, shrugged, and gathered her things. When they were both situated in the car and Alana was backing out, she smiled over at her. "Thanks for breakfast — and sorry, by the way, for nearly making you breech your… code of ethics, or… conduct, or whatever."
"Confidentiality is the word you're looking for," she corrected with a laugh. "It's fine. We can blame the mimosa. And you're welcome."
…
After hugging their goodbyes, Delilah scampered out of Alana's car and hustled into the café with barely five minutes to spare knowing full-well that Maggie would not care in the slightest. Still, she much preferred not to flirt with lateness.´
"Hey honey—"
"Hey Mags, be right back!" She politely scooted past a few customers waiting on orders and rushed upstairs to throw her things on the loveseat and yanked her apron out of her purse. Tugging it over her head, she tied it around her waist while making her way back down the steps, then paused to pull her hair up into a messy bun before slipping behind the counter.
"Afternoon, speed racer," Maggie teased, handing her the to-go cup so she could take over. "Double shot hazelnut latte for that gentleman over there." She nodded toward one of the waiting customers. "And that woman is waiting on an iced americano."
Thirty minutes into her shift, Delilah noticed a mid-twenties man sitting in the far right corner of the café, reading a book at a table beside the window. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about him, nothing inherently strange or off-putting, but something told Delilah to keep an eye on him. And so she did. Every few minutes her eyes would find him still sitting there, in the same spot, seemingly just minding his own business. Occasionally he'd pull out his phone, stare at it, then stuff it back into his pocket and go back to reading; he had an iced latte in front of him leaking a veritable pool of condensation onto the table and, to her knowledge, he had scarcely touched it.
Finally, she pulled Maggie aside while waiting on a croissant to warm. "How long has that man by the window been sitting there?"
Maggie squinted over her shoulder, evidently confused, then said, "Oh, him. I'm not sure… Hell, he might as well have been there since we opened. I lost track, honey."
This information sent a prickle of dread along her scalp. "What? Does he keep ordering iced—"
"Nope, just the one."
"Why don't you kick him out?"
"…Why?"
Delilah huffed exasperatedly just as the toaster oven beeped. Shoving past, tongs in hand, she gave Maggie a pointed scowl then yanked the croissant onto a plate and stalked off to give it to the customer. She purposefully wended her way back through the tables to get a better look at the man, who shot her a look as she passed. She smiled sweetly at him, but he merely averted his eyes back to his book. When she returned behind the counter she grabbed Maggie's arm and whispered angrily into her ear, "His ice has almost fully melted and I can see a layer of water sitting on top of the coffee."
"So?"
"Maggie, he hasn't even touched that glass!"
Maggie scoffed and, infuriatingly, rolled her eyes. "He can make a damn oil painting of it for all I care — I already have his money."
Delilah could only stare at her, thoroughly baffled. "Maggie—"
"Let the poor man read his book," she continued, patting her on the cheek. "Besides, he ain't hurtin' anybody and we aren't pressed for table space."
"Your unwavering kindness is going to get you in trouble one of these days."
"Oh, piffle."
"He's reading Catcher in the Rye!" She hissed as a last ditch effort to get Maggie to share her discomfit.
Maggie simply scoffed and bustled off to help another customer.
As time went on, Delilah took notice of Nathaniel periodically shooting glances at the mystery customer as well. During one such glance, she sidled up beside him while he was making a cup of tea. "Hey."
Nathaniel jumped out of his skin and splashed milk across the counter. "Uh, h-hey?"
He grabbed a towel to clean with but she yanked it out of his hand. "Do you know that man?"
It didn't escape her notice that his eyes seemed to dart in the stranger's direction, but he carefully refocused his eyes on the milk she was sopping up. "What- um, wh-who?"
"The dude reading by the window — gray shirt, jeans? You keep looking at him."
"I'm not… I d-don't, um, what?"
"Yes, you do. You keep looking at him," she pressed, a queasy feeling in her stomach.
"So do you," he mumbled, gingerly grabbing the carton and stirring a splash of milk into the tea.
"No shit. I'm wondering if I need to call the cops."
"Cops?" His voice cracked slightly and when she looked at him she could swear his eyebrows were sweating. "Wh-Why though? He's just hanging out…"
"He creeps me out. Call it women's intuition. You're sure you don't know him?"
"Yeah, I-I'm sure," he replied quietly, picking up the cup and saucer. "I have to, uh…" He trailed off, then turned and walked away to deliver the tea.
Delilah stared after him for a moment, then grabbed a napkin and marched over to the man by the window. "Good afternoon," she said cheerily, flashing him her warmest smile as she casually placed the napkin beside his drink. They both watched as the corner of it begin to soak up the condensation, then he closed his book and looked up at her.
"Good afternoon… Delilah," he replied, glancing briefly at her name tag, and she was immediately struck by the rich, bass-baritone of his voice; she half expected him to introduce himself as Johnny Cash.
"Is there anything else I can get for you? A fresh coffee, perhaps? I see this one's been sitting for quite a while."
"No, thank you," he said, "I'm just enjoying the atmosphere. This place is very cozy." His tone was perfectly polite, not at all dismissive, but it did nothing to calm her nerves.
Knowing she couldn't very well kick him out just because she felt creep vibes, when he'd objectively done nothing wrong, she took a deep breath and forced another pleasant smile. "Okay then. Just… let me know if you change your mind."
"Will do," he murmured, the rumble of his voice behind her making her skin crawl.
With ice churning in her stomach, she looked to the clock to find she had less than forty minutes left of her shift; she spent it frustratedly cleaning out a clog in the espresso machine before Maggie wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Alrighty. Off you go, sugar. I'll finish this."
"Maggie, listen—"
"If this is about that customer again, I want you to let it go."
"But I really just think—"
Maggie raised her voice a bit to stifle her, her eyes stern. "And I really just think you should go upstairs. When's the good doctor coming to collect you?"
"Five-thirty."
"Well, shit, time's a-wastin'!" She swung Delilah around and gave her a gentle pat on the bum. "Scoot!"
Tossing her an exasperated look, Delilah marched toward the stairs and shot Nathaniel a warning glare as she passed him. Stomping up to her apartment, she slammed the door shut and locked it; she hesitated in the entryway for a solid minute, wondering whether she was just being paranoid.
"So what if he hasn't touched his coffee," she told herself, peeling off her apron and clothes as she moved through to the bedroom. "Maybe he just wanted a nice place to read!" She threw the pile of cloth into the hamper. "Hell, maybe he doesn't even like coffee." She immediately crinkled her nose at that notion and muttered, "yet another red flag," as she switched on the shower and stepped inside.
After taking a quick but deliciously scalding shower and allocating some extra time to properly condition, gel, diffuse, and scrunch her curls, her mind was finally - mostly - on her upcoming dinner with Hannibal. As she meticulously applied her makeup, it occurred to her that this would be their first night together where they could just be a pair of regular, consenting adults enjoying each others company. There would be no harried sister wondering where she was, or what she'd been up to. No sneaking around whatsoever. They were almost totally free.
Fully dressed at 5:15, Delilah grabbed her purse and slipped on her favourite black heels as she was heading out the door; pulling up the zippers at her heels while simultaneously locking up, she stuffed her keys in her purse and made her way downstairs to notice exactly three things:
One, Catcher in the Rye was still sitting in the same fucking spot.
Two, the only other patrons left were an elderly couple of regulars who liked to take a decade to slurp their tea.
And three, Hannibal had already arrived.
His eyes positively lit up when he saw her, and she momentarily lost her breath. All thoughts and worries flitted from her mind as she walked past the pastry display to meet him. "Look at you," he murmured, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. "A vision, as always."
"Ooh, such a gentleman!" Maggie gushed, leaning over the counter with her chin resting on her palms. Her cheeks were squished up by her knuckles and she had stars in her eyes as she gazed back and forth between them. Delilah couldn't help but laugh.
Pressing a cool hand to her warm cheek to calm the pink flush she was sure had blossomed, she glanced over her shoulder and realized that the man by the window had suddenly gone. The relief that washed over her was immediate and apparently quite visible; Hannibal canted his head questioningly, but she merely smiled.
"Since you close at six, are you sure you don't need any help locking up?"
"Sure as god made little green apples," she replied, rapping smartly on the counter as she stood up straight.
"Well, don't hesitate to call if—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Maggie flapped both hands at her and added in a singsong, "Bye now!" She then shot Hannibal a good-naturedly stern glare. "You take good care of our girl, you hear me?"
"I always do," he replied through a chuckle.
"Love ya, Mags!"
"I love you too, sweetness. See you tomorrow."
They waved and Delilah gave the café one last sweep, noting the elderly couple were getting ready to depart. After waving at Nathaniel — who was sweeping and staring in their direction with wide, nervous eyes — she allowed Hannibal to escort her out to the car.
"I wonder why he was staring at us like that," Delilah mused, buckling herself in and sighing as the warmth of the heated seat cut deliciously through the early evening chill. Once upon a time, she could hardly care less about walking in this weather — even enjoyed it — but now, she was sufficiently spoilt. Heated, supple leather seats were the only way to travel.
Hannibal shrugged as he pulled smoothly out of the parking spot and started down the road. "He's a peculiar young man, that's for sure."
"Yeah." She took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly and shook it off, making the final decision to commit all of her attention to him tonight. "Hey… Do you know how to make crepes?"
Monday
/BREAKING NEWS:/
"A body has been discovered in a restaurant on the 1200 block of Olive Street. Possible foul play. No word on suspects at this time. Victim's information is not being released until next of kin has been notified.
Stay tuned to WBALTV-11 News for further updates."