Hannibal had spent some time recuperating in Paris before settling in Florence and setting up his practice again. It had been two years since he left the US to carve out a new life, yet he had decorated his new office similar to his previous one. Although this one in the centre of the city lacked a loft, it made up for this with more square footage, giving him space for a grand piano in the far corner. He also had a growing patient list, accepting referrals from new and old colleagues alike, when he had received an email from a polite, english-speaking woman by the name of Violet Dubois, requesting an appointment.
Two weeks later, his brown leather shoes crossed the cobblestones to reach the door to his office thirty minutes before their session. Once he was inside, he busied him with sketching at his desk until the buzzer was pressed.

He rose to his feet, smoothing his navy waistcoat before unlocking and opening the door. "Miss Dubois, I assume?"
"Mrs; it's my husband's name." She was clad in a knee-length black dress that had a shimmering sheer overlay, her feet encased in Louboutins.
His shrew gaze saw past the long, soft brunette waves framing her face to his new patient's familiar, striking brown eyes. "Violet?"
"My chosen name," she answered easily before stepping inside. "Creature of habit, I see." She glanced around at the rouge walls and recognisable artworks.
He closed the door, hesitating before speaking. "I am surprised to see you."
"I know." She grinned, her stilettos clicking across the hardwood floor until she reached the piano. "Will you play me something?"

Hannibal closed the distance, hovering in front of her for a few seconds before taking a seat on the stool. His fingers soon found the keys, dexterously playing Johann Sebastian Bach's 'Goldberg Variations, BWV 988: Aria'.
"That's a little more upbeat than I was expecting…" She leaned her forearm on the top of the piano, beneath the lid.
"It is a reunion," he argued, his gaze finding her. "You're standing quite close for someone who has betrayed me."
A smirk tugged at her ruby-painted lips. "You betrayed me first… Besides, if either of us wanted the other one dead, we would have done so already."
"Excellent reasoning… I'm glad to see you are thinking more clearly these days." His hands stopped, the notes in the air ringing out before ceasing into silence.
"It's a lot easier when you're not in my head." She turned, her steps leading to two opposing leather chairs.

The psychiatrist joined her, taking the other seat.
"You've been busy… I noticed three Chesapeake Ripper-esque crime scenes popped up, all within a four hour drive of here."
"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow, his neutral mask intact.
She crossed her legs at her ankles, her stare unrelenting. "Uh-huh. The first one was only six months ago, but you've been here- how long? A year and a half?" Inclining her head to one side, she continued. "Tell me, Dr Lecter, were you killing people all along, only getting the itch to show off a few months ago? Or did you manage to subdue the urge completely until then?"
He appeared unperturbed by her line of questioning. "What about you, Grace? Have you murdered anyone since that day?"
She rolled her eyes, her fingers tapping on the metal arm rest. "Violet.. I'm happy to give you a full recap of what I've been up to, if you're interested in hearing it."
A flame grew in Hannibal's eyes.
"I thought so."

She pointed to the side table next to him, where a crystal decanter and two glasses lay perched on a metal tray. "I'll take one of those."
He followed her eye-line before moving to pour some whiskey for them both. He then handed her one before returning to his seat expectantly.
After taking a sip of her drink, she slipped her feet out of her heels to sit cross-legged on the chair. "Well, the first part was simple- new IDs had already been made for me… After leaving the States, I went to Kandahar. I volunteered with 'Médecins Sans Frontières' as an assistant and worked under an incredibly talented surgeon who taught me a plethora of skills."
"Were they a suitable replacement mentor?" His dark eyes danced.
A smile beseeched her lips. "Yes, she was. And she never lied to me."
"Yet you were still left with scars from your time together."

Grace ignored his comment and continued. "So I stayed there for a while. About a year later, they asked me to attend a fundraising gala in Bordeaux. They wanted me to pull on the attendees' heart strings and get them to donate more millions on top of their already substantial monthly contributions… That's when I met my soon-to-be husband, Matthieu." Her expression became wistful. "We had a good time, most of it on the French Riviera… He was the figurehead of a company with a lot of free time on his hands. We had gotten married within weeks of meeting each other but, coming up to our seven month anniversary, I found out something about him." She brought her glass to her lips, pausing there. "Ooh, the suspense! Can you feel it? It's exhilarating, isn't it?" Her eyes were incandescent as she drank a mouthful of whiskey.
"You can still captivate an audience, new identity or otherwise." A crooked smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.
"For context," her expression became solemn as she placed her drink on the table beside her, "I need to tell you something. While I was working in those conflict-hit areas, I saw the absolute worst of humanity… I lost count of the number of small children I held in my arms as they bled out from wounds inflicted by terrorists' bullets…" A haunted look flitted across her gaze before it hardened. "Bullets that were sold to them by my husband's company." Her jaw tensed as thinly veiled fury echoed through her. "Shortly after I found this out, he mysteriously disappeared."

Intrigue peeked from behind Hannibal's neutral mask as he leaned forward in his seat. "Did you love him?"
She pursed her lips as she considered his question. "He was a nice distraction, at a time when I needed one."
"Like Will Graham?" A thread of anarchy weaved into his dark eyes.
Choosing not to answer, Grace reached for her glass once more.
He continued without missing a beat. "Have you spoken to him since?"
"No." Her mouth found the glass then. After swallowing, she asked, "Have you?".
"Not since I left Baltimore." He rested back in the chair, crossing his legs. "During your time with 'Médecins Sans Frontières', I gather you went there to protect and defend? The latter perhaps moreso."
A wickedness entered her soft features. "Both equally. All's fair in love and war, Dr Lecter."

Hannibal studied her closely over the brim of his tumbler for a moment, noticing each new scar and wrinkle, remnants of experiences that shaped her. While she still had a petite frame, her limbs had more muscular definition now, her knuckles still calloused from manual labour. Her emanating inner self-confidence, however, was the most fascinating addition. "As you seem to be feeling particularly loquacious today, I might ask a question… Why did you come to visit me now, Gr- Violet?"
Her responding grin was tainted by menacing undertones as she spoke very deliberately. "I need you to understand where I'm coming from when I say I owe you a reckoning, Dr Lecter."
He quirked an eyebrow. "And how are you planning on doing that?"
"You'll see." Her voice was playful, traces of a smile still on lips as she finished her whiskey. "Thanks for the catch-up." She stood then, sliding her feet back into her heels before smoothing her dress as she stalked towards the door.
"When will I see you again?" Hannibal rose to see her out, his eyes eager.
"Soon, I'm sure." Her mirth-filled gaze held his in the doorway, as one of her hands moved to briefly rest on his right side, where the scar she had left lay. "Until then, Dr Lecter."


A week later Grace was standing outside a familiar home in Baltimore, her heels shaking slightly as her fist hovered over the door for a few seconds before knocking.
The door opened with a creak seconds later, his frame appearing shortly before words were introduced. "Grace?!" Zach instantly pulled her in for a hug, his large arms encasing her.
A short laugh escaped her as she wrapped her arms around his waist before exhaling a sigh of relief against his chest.
"Get inside." He moved her into the hallway before shutting and locking the door behind them. "Where've you been?" His gaze drifted over her for a moment, seeing her in a usual sundress before finally spotting the biggest difference. "Your hair."
She smiled, shaking her head. "Had to change it, for obvious reasons… I was out of the country until recently."
He led her into his sitting room before they took their usual places on his couch.

"The whole thing with Abel Gideon… I saw it on the news. That must have been tough." Zach's expression softened as his brow knitted together. "I know you were going through a lot, so I really appreciated all those letters you wrote me in the first few weeks. All mine bounced back after the last one you sent me."
"I kind of suddenly started moving around a lot at that point." Her expression was apologetic.
"It's all good. I'm just glad you're ok." He gave her a grin. "You know, some people are calling you a hero."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"Yeah. Some news stations covered the story about him stalking you after killing your best friend… Most are thinkin' clearly and see that you did what you had to do."
Astonishment remained on her features as she shook her head incredulously.

She allowed the comfortable silence to float between them for a moment before speaking. "So… I may have gotten myself a fair amount of money." Her warm gaze met his then.
"I always knew your smarts would make you rich." His grin filled with pride.
A sardonic chuckle rose from her chest. "Not exactly… Either way, I have it… And I want to pay off both yours and your aunt's mortgages. You've been through enough without having to worry about bills."
His features oozed disbelief. "For real?"
"Yup. Trust me, it won't make much of a dent."
He slowly shook his head, his forehead creasing. "That's wild, Grace… I don't know what to say."
She shrugged, a grin lighting up her face. "You could roll me a joint?"
Laughter shook his shoulders as his eyes bounced to her. "Some things never change, huh?"

Moving to sit cross-legged on the couch, she watched as he busied himself with a tray on the table. "Do you still deal?"
A wicked look flashed across his expression. "Yeah. I got out after a few months on good behaviour… I don't keep nothin' here any more though."
She chewed the inside of her cheek in deliberation. "Do you think, without the pressure of the mortgages over your head, you might be able to give it up?"
Zach's frame stiffened, each muscle group considerably broadened since his time in jail. His hands stopped mid-roll of the paper, his gaze darkening as he paused before replying. "Honestly… I'm not sure. It's all I know."
She gave him a reassuring smile. "I get that."

After a moment he handed her the joint. "Need a light?"
Grace nodded as she placed it between her peach-painted lips.
He held out his lighter, flicking on the flame inches from her mouth as he watched her inhale deeply with amusement in his eyes.
She puffed out a plume of smoke before returning her attention to him. "Wanna know my new name?"
He took the blunt from her hand with a grin. "Fuck yeah."
"Violet Dubois," she elongated the surname with an emphasised French flair.
Zach erupted into chuckles, choking on the pull he had taken. "Yeah, you sound rich."
"Right?! " Her laughter mixed with his, creating a symphony in the air.


A few days later, Will was sitting at his kitchen table, printed off assignments scattered in front of him waiting to be graded. He considered pouring a glass of bourbon earlier in the night, but had decided against it, knowing he should cut back on the amount he drinks. The urge won out, however, when forcing his eyes to read the words before him felt like personalised torture. He patted a couple of the dogs as he meandered around them across the floor before preparing his drink. As he took the first sip, an unexpected knock fell on his front door. His eyes narrowed as he walked up the hallway after whistling his pets back to their beds.

At first it was hard to make out the figure on his porch, the dim lighting from the cloud-covered moon did little to chase away the dark. He swiftly flicked the switch for the porch light with the hand holding his glass as his gaze fell onto the woman. His blue eyes widened as they roamed over her, a familiar ache in his chest returning after months-long dormancy.
"Hi, Will…" Her voice was hesitant and quiet as she pulled at the sleeve of the brown leather jacket that covered most of her midnight blue dress.
"Grace." The word was filled with so many emotions that it almost sounded foreign.
She rubbed the back of her neck, disturbing the brunette waves that lay there. "May I..?"
He stood aside, gesturing for her to come in as he glanced at the car out front. After closing the door behind her, he asked, "Is that yours?"
"Yeah. I finally got my own means of transportation." Her eyes filled with nostalgia as she remembered all the times he had driven her around, good circumstances and bad.

Will swallowed against the growing lump in his throat as his gaze became distant, his expression uneasy as he sloshed bourbon into his mouth for good measure.
"Can I have one of those?"
He nodded once before leading her into the kitchen.
A now slightly taller, more round brown and white terrier leaped towards her as soon as her brown ankle boots stepped into the room. "Scrappy! You remember me!" She scooped him up and cradled him close to her face, placing quick kisses along the top of his head.
The dog's owner froze on witnessing the scene, holding an empty glass in one hand and the bottle in the other as a smile tugged at his lips. "Of course he does."
Her ecstatic eyes met his, holding his attention wordlessly for several seconds.
He eventually poured her a drink and held it out.
Grace placed Scrappy back on the ground before reaching for it, her fingertips grazing his knuckles.
His expression shifted as he turned to replace the bottle for his glass on the countertop behind him.

She held her drink to her ruby lips, pausing to speak before taking a sip. "It's really good to see you, Will."
The former FBI profiler's brow furrowed at her words, his gaze hardening. "I did what you asked. I didn't try to find you… But there was never a day that I didn't consider it."
A small, pained smile appeared on her countenance as both her hands clutched her drink in front of her. "Thank you."
His jaw was clenched when his eyes met hers. "Have you seen him since?"
Knowing exactly who he was referring to, she considered lying. The hurt she had already caused him seemed too great, and she knew the truth would feel like a dagger in his back. But as she swam in his deep blue gaze, she felt the overwhelming realisation that he already knew her answer.
In one stiff movement, he drained the rest of his glass.

"Only once. Only recently." She offered this all the while knowing it would do little to soften the blow.
He avoided her gaze, choosing to refill his drink instead.
"It was somehow… Easier… To see him… Visiting you took a lot more courage." Her attention moved to her bourbon as she spun it around the glass, forming rippling waves across the surface of the copper-coloured liquid.
His voice was harsh as he faced her again. "You should stay away from him."
Her mouth thinned. "Have you seen or spoken to him?"
"No." He followed the word with a mouthful of his drink.
"Have you been tracking him at all? Do you know what he's been up to?" She arched a curious eyebrow.
Will shook his head. "Not since I resigned from active FBI duty a couple of months after… I chose to distance myself from it all."
Tenderness entered her dark eyes. "That's good… I think that was a good decision."

After a moment of tense silence, he spoke. "Have you? Been tracking him?"
"Initially I did, just enough to avoid him... But in the last few months, I looked into him more…" Her forehead creased as her attention returned to her drink.
He instinctively took a step closer to her, but stopped his hand when it wanted to reach for hers. "What did you find?"
She shook her head swiftly, her gaze clouding. "It doesn't matter… You've finally gotten away from the whole thing, I don't want to-."
Will's free hand moved to rest on her shoulder, his thumb gently stroking the bare skin beside the strap of her dress. "Tell me."
Her racing heart soon calmed in response to his warm touch. Her eyes were filled with equivocation when they met his, as her shoulder slightly leaned into his grasp. "He went to Italy… In the last six months, three Ripper-type murders happened within a few hours of him."
His gaze darkened as his hand slipped from her.

Seeing the change in him, she promptly finished her drink before placing the empty glass on the kitchen table. "I should get going."
A pained look was in his eyes when they darted to hers. "Grace…"
Her brow knitted together as she swallowed, the walls in her brown orbs crumbling under his imploring gaze, revealing the agony within her.
He closed the distance, abandoning his drink on the table behind her before his hand moved to lightly cradle her cheek.
After a few seconds, her frame stiffened, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry, Will."

She fled his home in seconds, leaving him haunted in his kitchen.