Honey Balsamic Chicken Breast with Vegetables
October 31st | 2:30 PM
Try as he might, Will hadn't been able to get the words out of his head. For what purpose were we gifted our tongues if not to lap at each of God's luxuries?
Will had never really learned how to cook. His father had only ever done the bare minimum, bringing home food kits, frying the day's catch, taking advantage of the occasional pitying neighbour's kindness. As a result, Will hadn't cooked something from scratch until he'd met Alana. She'd mocked him so mercilessly that he had eventually forced himself to sit through a YouTube tutorial and then forced Alana, in turn, to sit and watch him while he pretended to know what he was doing. It had been one of their first dates. Will had lit candles and she had laughed at how earnest and utterly out of his depth he was. The food had been passable.
He was feeling a similar sense of annoyed determination now as he stared at the produce display in front of him. Looking at it all brought up a sense of genuine dread in him, but for now it was outmatched by his completely irrational desire to disprove Dr. Lecter and his belittling sentiments, even if he never saw the man again. Will was more than willing to lap at God's luxuries. He was more than his gas station shaving cream and anxious dogs.
Will started with the tomatoes first, mentally repeating the conversion in his head: two cups was approximately 400 grams… The parsley, next, and then the asparagus, resting in bound bunches, stacked on top of each other. He stared at them, trying to guess at their weight before grabbing one at random and turning toward the scale behind him—and bumping directly into the person standing there.
"Ah, excuse me," Will apologized, pushing himself back against the refrigerated unit behind him, tucking his basket up against his body as if he might be able to shrink out of existence if he tried hard enough.
"Not to worry, Will. These things happen."
Will's eyes swelled. He could've identified that voice anywhere. But why the hell was he hearing it here? Why was he a mere step away from the psychiatrist he was actively trying to spite? Lecter was holding his own basket and wearing a pleased expression, eyes warm even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the grocery store.
"No," Will said, clenching his jaw. "No, we're not doing this."
He turned away, skipping the scale entirely and storming off toward the meat section, mind racing as anger bubbled up inside of him. Lecter followed.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Will. It seems you may want to do this after all, having come all the way out here."
"Don't flatter yourself," Will snapped, pausing in front of the fresh meat and working frantically to find the least grey chicken breasts in sight. "Everybody knows that Aneto is the best organic market in the city."
"Everybody does?" Lecter asked from behind Will. The younger man refused to look over his shoulder, but he knew Lecter was lingering only a few steps behind, watching him as intensely as ever.
"I thought I made it very apparent that I don't want to speak to you, Dr. Lecter," Will snapped, grabbing one of the packages and turning to head down the aisle without looking back at his pursuer. Still, he could feel his newly gained shadow following him as he headed toward the dried spices.
"You certainly have made your feelings clear, Will," the doctor replied, but he sounded almost smug, rather than embarrassed or ashamed.
"Then you won't mind kindly and promptly leaving me the fuck alone?" Will asked, over-enunciating his words.
"Your anger seems disproportionate, Will. I wonder if perhaps you should try to find a therapist after all," Lecter pressed on, sounding as if he were making a casual observation to an old friend.
"Ah, so you'd like to be my clinician in addition to my stalker, then?" Will asked, cocking an eyebrow as he slowed to peruse the spices.
"I'm certainly confident that I could provide you with better care than anyone else in the city, Will, but I don't generally take on clients that insult me as much as you do, no matter how fond I've become of them. You've already gotten away with far more than most people in your position."
"Are you threatening me, Dr. Lecter?" Will breathed, incredulous, as he turned his head to Hannibal and made direct eye contact with him for the first time since the doctor's arrival.
"I don't make threats, Will," Lecter answered with a congenial smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I'm glad to hear it, doctor. I don't feel like taking the time to file a restraining order this week."
Will turned back to the spices.
"Do you file restraining orders often?"
"No," Will replied with a mirthless smile, reaching out to grab what he needed from the display and beginning to walk again. Lecter followed, somehow even closer than before. "Just sounds exhausting."
"Well I am pleased to be inspiring you to try new things then Will, whether or not they're harmful to me."
Will let out a bark of dry laughter. "Even after I threatened to punch you in the face? That one wouldn't be new to me, I'm afraid."
"My response would not be new to me either, Will," Lecter said in a calm, assuring tone.
"You certainly threaten a lot for a man who doesn't make threats," Will retorted. An elderly woman watched them with a baffled expression as they passed. "Although I don't think we'll need to worry about the novelty of how we deal with one another if you keep following me like this. I suspect you might inspire someone else to call the cops before I can."
"I think it far more likely that they would dismiss it as a lover's quarrel, don't you?" the doctor asked in a chipper tone.
"A lover's—goddammit," Will clenched his jaw again, shoulders rising up involuntarily. No matter how fond I've become of them. "Alana was right, wasn't she?"
"Your actual lover?" Hannibal asked, and Will cut sideways to head towards the condiments. He didn't have any balsamic vinegar or honey at home.
"Hardly," Will snapped, clutching his basket tight to him as they passed a father whose toddler was babbling in the shopping cart. "Not anymore."
Why had he said that out loud?
"You prefer to remain enmeshed with your jilted lovers, then; I imagine you must have difficulty letting go once you let someone in. I wonder, Will, how early in your life you were first abandoned by those who should have protected you? To be left alone at such a tender age leaves us vulnerable to the world, an open wound without covering. So much of the earth—grit and sand and bone—finds its way inside of us."
This nearly stopped Will in his tracks, a wave of offense and discomfort crashing over him. "I was raised on the bayou, doctor. Between the two of us, you would be the one far more worried about contamination."
"An interesting inference," Hannibal remarked as Will stopped to grab a new jar of honey. "I didn't suggest that such exposure is polluting. Simply… influential."
"I was influenced by many things, Dr. Lecter," Will muttered, changing his mind and swapping out the honey for a less expensive option. He thought he could feel a wave of judgment seep out from his unwanted companion, but Will once again refused to seek out confirmation. "None of which are your business."
"You're right, Will," the doctor finally conceded, falling in step as Will headed toward the vinegars. "It wasn't my intention to cause strife when I approached you."
"Then you admit you could've easily chosen not to approach me?"
"I could have," Lecter replied, "but it would've been dishonest of me. I am a man of principle and manners, Will. I made you uncomfortable when we saw each other last, so to see you here—it feels as though perhaps we were meant to encounter one another, so that I might have the chance to make right what I have done wrong. Or to try to, at least."
Did the man ever answer with a simple yes or no?
Will reached out to one of the vinegar bottles, reading the label, trying to determine what made this one worth $18.00 when another was only $12.95. "You only made me uncomfortable the one time?" he asked, glancing at the doctor again. He realized that the older man's basket was empty. He had done none of his own shopping, yet. "News to me."
"You've only clearly expressed your discomfort to me the once," Hannibal explained.
"Something tells me you might've guessed at the other times as well, Dr. Lecter," Will muttered, grabbing the least expensive balsamic vinegar and then heading down the aisle toward the checkout counters.
"I can only make right what you tell me is wrong, Will."
"And how do you propose to make it right?" Will pressed, staring down at the shiny waxen floor. "I've already spent your money, doctor, I can't give it back."
"I was thinking that perhaps you could continue to deliver to me, but I would refrain from tipping you until you feel that you have done the appropriate amount of work for the amount I last gave you."
"You've been thinking about it, have you?" Will sneered, moving into line behind several granola-looking adults.
"I have been impressed with your work, Will. I would prefer not to go back to receiving subpar service."
"You could just do your shopping yourself, you know," Will replied under his breath, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that everyone in line could hear their conversation. "You're doing it today, aren't you?"
"I am a very busy man, Will. I have, as I told you, many ways that I occupy myself."
"Well by all means, doctor, please get back to occupying. I'm paying and I'm leaving."
Hannibal got closer. Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"As you wish," the man murmured, close enough that his breath tickled Will's ear. "But my offer stands should you change your mind, Will."
"I won't," Will bristled. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye," Lecter answered, straightening up, voice sounding almost… wounded.
He took a step away. Will felt a flicker of relief in his chest that grew to a full flame as he heard Lecter walk off.
It wasn't until Will was finally inside his car, buckling his seatbelt and taking a deep breath, that he realized he'd forgotten to get any of the snack foods on his list. He grunted in exasperation, pressing his head back against the headrest and staring at the ceiling.
This would be the last time he shopped at Aneto.
