Hannibal had been invited to a local art exhibition by an old colleague that evening, and arrived home from the function shortly after midnight. He noticed her scent first, the familiar choice of perfume deeply embedded in his mind. After scanning the lower floor, he walked upstairs, noticing the light on in his bedroom and a duffle bag sitting on his bed. His gaze narrowed as he entered the room, watching the door to his ensuite bathroom open. She appeared with a white towel wrapped around her then, freshly showered with her left arm already patted dry, presumably in order to wrap the bandage that was around her forearm. His eyes roamed over her, noting the graze on her right cheek and the cut on her lower lip until finally landing on the red and slowly bruising finger marks around her throat.
She moved to sit on the edge of his bed. "Evenin', Dr Lecter. I was surprised when you weren't home; I had to let myself in."
His gaze filled with concern as he approached, crouching down in front of her to inspect her neck. "What happened?"
Grace was taken aback by this, her eyebrows raising at him. "I'm fine."
The psychiatrist appeared doubtful, his attention now on the bandage on her forearm. He began unwrapping it, the woman keeping her arm by her side stiffly at first before holding it out for him. His dark eyes narrowed on the gaping wound before flickering to hers. "This needs stitches."
She let out a sardonic laugh. "I know… That's why I'm here. I can't exactly do it with one hand."
His expression was warm as he wrapped the bandage back around her arm. "Get dressed; I'll do it downstairs."
After changing into the t-shirt and jeans she had brought with her, she joined him in the kitchen, finding his equipment set up in the same spot as the time she had injured her hand. When she took her seat at the table after setting her duffle bag on the floor, he moved her forearm to rest on sheets of kitchen towel.
"Who did this?" He slowly poured some saline over the cut to clean it.
"It doesn't matter." She watched as he approximated the edges and prepared the needle.
After a moment, when he had loaded the needle driver, he spoke earnestly. "You need to choose your battles wisely."
"I did. I won." Her brown orbs were incandescent as the hint of a smirk pulled at her mouth.
His dark gaze flashed to hers before dropping to her throat. He lightly grazed the bruises with his fingertips as his eyes returned to hers. "Barely."
She moved her attention back to her arm, avoiding his gaze.
Hannibal nodded to the liquor cabinet. "Would you like a drink?"
She shook her head. "No, I already took some Oxynorm."
He worked on her arm in silence until the wound was half-way closed. "Will described you as virtuous."
Her brow furrowed as a sliver of alarm slipped through her mask. "When?"
"In our first appointment after I returned to Baltimore… He's helping the FBI hunt you down."
Mistrust filled her brown eyes. "Will isn't working on cases any more."
He glanced up at her before continuing the stitches. "Did you really never consider that your design could entice him back?"
Grace fell into quietness as her mind dissected the information, the most perturbing of which was Will returning to therapy with Dr Lecter. The minutes passed by tensely and she only spoke after he cut the excess thread off the last knot. "Did you get my gift?"
A small smile crept onto his face as wrapped a fresh bandage around her arm before gathering his tools back into the leather bag. "I did. Thank you."
Her eyes narrowed on him, intrigue within them. "What did you think?"
"It was very considerate of you, even down to the lavender- a symbol of femininity and grace."
"Good. Very good… And?" She quirked an eyebrow at him.
He met her gaze without speaking.
"Why the kidney, Dr Lecter? I mean, why specifically?" When he didn't speak for several seconds, Grace smirked. "I guess you're not as clever as I gave you credit for."
The psychiatrist stiffened, regarding the woman sceptically. "He was responsible for the kidney failure of-."
"That explains why it was his kidney, but not why I sent you a kidney..." Tutting, she shook her head, her eyes filled with amusement. "Maybe someday you'll figure it out."
She rose from her seat then, her demeanour bright. "Thanks for the stitches, Doc."
"Any time," he replied solemnly, glancing over to show his sincerity. "Although I hope you won't need them again."
With a grin, she shrugged. "We'll see."
After a moment, he feigned innocent curiosity. "How was your visit with Will?"
Grace hid her discomfort well. "What visit?"
He smiled knowingly. "How else would you have found out that he took a step back from the FBI?"
Rolling her eyes, she grabbed her black jacket from her bag and put it on, carefully sliding her left arm into its sleeve. "See you around, Dr Lecter."
Grace was in the kitchen of the apartment she was renting in Baltimore the following evening, nursing a bottle of overpriced white wine. She was angry at herself for letting him get to her, knowing this was exactly the effect the psychiatrist was hoping for- her stewing over Will. Knowing that truth did little to quell her worry, however. How could he go back to having appointments with him? He knew how dangerous he was; he had warned her to stay away from him. And he had managed to get away from it all. Frustration had her aching muscles tensed as she drained the last of the alcohol. Her mind was decided then, as she reached for the car keys on the countertop before opting to grab her phone and call a taxi instead.
A little more than an hour later she was standing in front of his house, the leather jacket she was wearing over her navy dress protecting her from the cool breeze as her determination withered. She turned after a moment, calling after the taxi as it began driving away. She ran after it for a few seconds, shouting louder while not noticing the outdoor light flicker on.
As he descended the steps of the porch, Will knew whose name to call from the silhouette alone. "Grace?"
She froze, her hands curling into fists at her side as she berated herself for showing up there in the first place. Eventually spinning around, her brown eyes turned accusing as they moved to him. "Why are you seeing him again?"
His boots bore further down into the mud as he raised his eyebrows. "Come inside."
"Not until you answer me." Her gaze was defiant as it held his.
Questions of his own entered his thoughts as he studied her appearance in spite of the dim lighting. He noticed the cuts on her face first, before his eyes fell to the deep purple bruising on her neck that was partially hidden by her jacket. His voice was strained when he spoke again. "Please, come inside."
Grace finally relented, following him in while keeping a greater distance than usual.
Once they were in the house with the door shut behind them, his attention returned to the marks as his expression darkened. "What happened to you?" He took a step closer, causing her to retreat one in return.
"I'm here about you. You're back in therapy with Dr Lecter? And working with Agent Crawford again? Seriously?!"
His gaze intensified as his mind wove her injuries into the crime scene he had seen that morning, filling in some blank spots that he had while mentally enacting the killing earlier. He swallowed against the growing lump in his throat, his features hardening as he scrutinised her. "How could you let him get to you like this? Can't you see this is exactly what he wanted all along."
"He should be more careful about what he wishes for." Her tone was sinister.
"You're killing people, Grace!" His jaw was clenched, a vein at his temple distending with blood.
She met his steely stare with her own. "Trust me, they deserve a lot worse."
Will closed the distance between them then, grabbing her wrists as he pushed her back into the wall beside the door before pinning them up by her head.
"Go ahead," she goaded, ice in her eyes as his face hovered an inch from hers. "Turn me in… Or kill me."
Agony surfaced in his blue eyes as he examined her, watching as the resolve gradually melted from her expression. His hands released her wrists before his fingers drifted into her hair, his forehead creased. "You should have come to me… Before it got this far."
The depth of her regret emanated from her features as they struggled under the weight of it. One of her hands then moved to his waist, clutching at the fabric there.
Will's gaze softened in response, his head soon dipping until his lips found hers.
Every drop of longing Grace felt poured into that kiss, exacerbating the heaviness burdening her chest. She soon let her hand slip under his t-shirt, leisurely exploring the warm skin beneath.
His inner conflict fell by the wayside at her touch, and when her hand moved to grasp his and lead him to his bedroom, he allowed her to.
When Will awoke the following morning, he was painfully aware of the empty space next to him. It took him a moment before he stood out of the bed, grabbing nearby clothes and putting them on as he crossed the room. When he reached the kitchen, he spotted a scrap of paper on the table, his brow furrowing as he picked it up.
I'll have someone drop your car back x
An hour later he heard it pull up outside. Directing the dogs back in, he stepped out onto the porch as Zach approached.
"Here you go!" He tossed him the keys from a few feet away.
After catching them, he raised an eyebrow. "How are you getting back?"
"My girl's a couple of minutes behind me." He glanced in that direction then, willing her sooner. "Yo, does uh…" His attention slowly returned to the other man, although his gaze was distant. "Does Grace seem ok to you?"
His jaw tensed as he wondered how much he knew. "Why?"
"I don't know… She seems good, it's just… She also seems off since being back." He scratched his cheek as his focus shifted to the sedan pulling up. "Have a good one, man."
Will gave him an appreciative nod, his eyes briefly flickering to the woman in the car before he walked back into his house.
Dr Lecter opened his office door to Will four days later, bearing a polite smile.
The other man entered, glancing around the room as he did. "It's as if you never left."
He led him to their usual seats, his dark eyes studying his patient. "How have you been?"
Raising his eyebrows, he exhaled a heavy sigh. "Busy. There's been another."
"I saw that; in Philadelphia…" Concern flitted across his expression. "Was it any different to the others?"
The profiler's hand clenched into a fist where it lay on the armrest. "Slightly. There was evidence of a struggle in the room…"
"And the victim?"
"Same as the others, although he was practically eviscerated first."
A flame flickered in the psychiatrist's gaze as he crossed his legs. "Driven by anger?"
His eyes darkened as a distance grew in them. "Righteous anger."
"You are quick to attribute values to this killer… More so than any other before."
"That's because this killer has a clear set of values; they're written all over each crime scene."
Hannibal contemplated his words for a moment before speaking. "There is a pattern to her victims, in the same way Garret Jacob Hobbs favoured women who looked like his daughter… Set that aside, and what do you see?"
His gaze hardened as it moved to him. "Not in the same way."
He continued undeterred. "What do you see?"
Wll's expression shifted as hesitation entered his eyes.
The psychiatrist leaned forward in his seat. "Four victims in six weeks. That tells us something."
His attention travelled to the desk across the room, his jaw tensing. "She doesn't waste any time in between them."
"Enjoying the thrill of the hunt too much, perhaps?"
He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting back to him. "There seems to be an element of that."
"How can we know which part bears the most weight in each killing: her values or hedonism?"
Suspicion entered the profiler's gaze when it returned to the other man. "What do you see, Dr Lecter?"
His fingertips formed a temple over his lap as he deliberated. "She is ritualistic in her approach, which is evident from how each victim was found. She could also be indulging in other rituals on the lead up to it… Stalking her prey, disguising herself as someone they couldn't resist… The choice of victim is still purposeful, but that does not mean that she isn't basking in the thrill, like many others before her."
Will exhaled loudly, rubbing a hand down the side of his weary face. "I'm not ignoring that… The intention behind it all is just novel."
Hannibal's mouth twisted into a smile. "A real life Robin Hood."
His patient chuckled begrudgingly.
"Have forensics found anything that might help identify her?" The psychiatrist's head inclined to one side, intrigue embedded in his dark eyes.
"No… They found a strand of hair at the other scene, but it was from a wig… They were hoping to find some glass from the broken mirror with the killer's blood on it at the last one but the place was wiped clean."
His lips pursed. "That tells us something too; she's meticulous."
He nodded, his expression crafted into a neutral veil. "All it takes is one mistake."
Lecter's gaze narrowed on him. "Is that optimism or fear in your words?"
His forehead creased as his steely eyes met the other's. "Neither… Just stating a fact."
Although blatantly unconvinced, he relented. "It is true... And if she continues at the pace she is going, her recklessness could be her ruin."
