Boulangère

Baltimore, Dr Lecter's office, 4:35pm

He should be listening. Listening to whatever complaint can be understood through intermittent sobs and compulsive tears. Listening to his clients' worries and fears and trying to help rectify them. But, in truth, Franklins' neurosis and self-pitying outbursts are becoming tedious and repetitive to Hannibal. Honestly, it'd be hard for him to keep his mind in the room even if it wasn't the dull whinings of Franklin.

It's her. She hasn't left his mind since leaving Abigail's' room today; her look when she bested William; how naturally caring and motherly she was to Abigail; the slightly extended linger on his cheek as she kissed him goodbye.

An involuntary sigh escapes his lips. Which didn't go unnoticed by Franklin. "Sorry…" He snivels out, taking another tissue and wiping his nose. "I know I'm always crying. I must seem so weak and pathetic."

Yes.

"No, of course not Franklin," Hannibal lies, crossing his legs to the other side "This is your hour. I am here to help in any way I can." He hands Franklin the bin for his, once again, discarded tissues. "If you need me to talk with you I will. If it is to just sit here while you process in any way you need to, that is what I shall do." He slyly looks to his watch. 5 minutes he notes. 5 minutes to the end of this session and end of his work day. 5 minutes to… the hunt.

Hannibal's thoughts wonder to dinner; something with turnips and bacon. Maybe red wine. And that awful Starbucks Barista from the other day. Yes, he nods to his thoughts as if nodding to Franklins benign complaints. "I'm sorry Franklin but it appears your hour is up." Hannibal stands and gestures to the door as Franklin follows. "Until next week Franklin, and remember, learning to branch out and allow yourself to seek friendship and hobbies will help you overcome your fears. In the end, forgetting them all together." Franklin nods goodbye and offers a stammering "thank you" as Hannibal accompanies him to the door.

With his last patient of the day gone, Hannibal thinks once again of dinner; "Yes, Liver goes well with bacon and red wine."

BSU, FBI's Training Division, Quantico, Virginia. 8:42am

"High amounts of HCN, cyanide, were found in various organs in all the victims and , except the skin, nothing was taken." Jimmy Price starts explaining the findings of the bodies and pathology report to Jack and Will as Katz and Brian Zeller look on. "We know that the victims are a mix of both Male and Female, all between the ages of 18 and 30." Price and Zeller walk over to another section of the lab, Will and Jack in tow. "And the wax for the candles was made from a mixture of fat of the victims and animal fat."

Zeller's gloved hand picks up an evidence bag holding some wires. "The metal wiring used to tie the victims to the steel frameworks and…" he grimaces, "each other, is a 304 Stainless Steel rope wrapped in a PVC Plastic, which were clasped using Aluminium Cable Crimps. Very easy to get, Ebay sells these." Jack, Katz and Price raise a questioning eyebrow to Zeller. "What? I helped my Brother-in-Law build a summer house last year."

"Any prints on the cable?" Will asks.

"No," Katz answers "the PVC coating would have made it easy to gather prints, but when we dusted there were none…"

"Please tell me you have SOME good news for me!" Jack interjects violently, raising his hands to the sky.

"I was just going to say," Katz raises her voice to Jack and the others, "that we didn't find any prints on the steel rings either." She walks to and opens a large cabinet, the clack of her boots ringing through the lab, and drags out the two large rings from the crime scene. "But I did find a signature mark on the steel frames used."

"All the victims' teeth are also intact," Price speaks up, "which means I should be able to get an ID on all of them by the end of the day."

"Good," Jack rubs his temples, "Katz, I want you to research that hallmark and get the manufacturer. Price, Zeller you find out who these poor people were." Jack turns and marches out of the door, instructing a listless Will to follow him down the corridor. "What did you see in there?"

With a heavy sigh, Will takes off his glasses and rubs his aching eyes. "Dead bodies Jack. I saw dead bodies." He reapplies his glasses.

"Yes Will, I saw dead bodies too; Seven dead bodies who I have no idea who they are, how they died or why they died. I DON'T NEED YOU TO TELL ME YOU SAW BODIES WILL!" Jack gesticulates exasperatedly at Wills' unimaginative and infuriating answer. "Why Will? WHY and HOW is what I need from you!"

"A dare and a d-distraction." Will runs his hands through his messy curls angrily, turning from Jack and raising his voice. "Laying the bodies out like they did, a chandelier of death, is a show, a-a ruse to get to us!" Will runs his hands down his face, wiping cold sweat from his skin. "This is a taunt, saying that they can do better, but also misdirection of intent. I don't know Jack, I don't feel good." With that Will whips round and bumps past Jack in the direction of the Toilets.

Cold tingles lap around Wills' cheeks and nose. Eyes closed he stays there; face in the water, allowing the bubbles of air escape as he exhales slowly. The bathroom is bright, but his little corner of the world is dark. Dark and calm as he relishes in just thinking about controlling his breathing and the sensation of the icy water slowly flowing round his face, just below his earlobes. Suddenly a loud crash of colour tears through his little dark world as Jack bursts into the gents' toilets.

"You said before, back in Richmond, that it was a taunt. You think they will do this again?" Crawford stands in the doorway of the toilets, arms crossed. "Also it's a distraction? Distraction for what?"

A large bubble pops on the waters' surface as Will sighs out his irritation. Lifting his face from his oasis he removes the plug and reached for a paper towel. He turns to Jack as he wipes his face; front locks of hair still dripping with water. "They are doing something with the skin. I don't know what, but everything else is obviously a show; something to show us that they're better, and worth our time more than the others." He shakes the rest of the water from his hair before turning round and placing his glasses back on. "They obviously read Lounds' online rag and thought they could, I guess, Present a murder, or in this case several murders, with more style." He looks at Jack through the mirror. "But whoever did this also wanted to cover their tracks. They wanted to make it look like a more refined version of Hobbs."

"Think our copy-cat is no longer copying? Maybe found their own style?" Jack asks, crossing over to Will.

"No, no…" Will turns to Jack, "It's not him, unless he's decided he likes group projects." Will chuckles darkly as he moves away from Crawford to the middle of the bathroom. "And we know it's a group don't we, from the help Dr (Surname) gave us." He turns back to Jack with impact, "Instead of yelling at me, why don't you go ask for her help? You seemed very impressed with her input."

"Will, we have seven dead bodies, this is no time to start acting like a JEALOUS CHILD!" Jack lunges forward, stopping mere inches from Wills' face. "You caught the Shrike. You caught Stammets. I want you to help me catch the people doing this, but if you won't because of some personal or professional grievance then, yes, I will seek Dr (Surname)'s help." Crawford storms to the exit of the bathroom, "We are dealing with life or death here Graham. So, you can either come with me and do your job, or you will have to squash whatever beef you have with (Name), because I will use any and every resource I have to catch these psychopaths." With that Crawford storms out of the toilets, leaving Graham alone in the red and white room.

Will stares at the shaggy, unkept man in the mirror. He knows he's right; he got into this job, and the police force before it, to serve and protect. He can't protect in this job, but he can serve and prevent. Prevent these things happening to other people. But he's tired. Ever since Hobbs... Christ, he doesn't want to think what he's been like since Hobbs. He wanted to teach. Help in that way. Not be stepping into the shoes of killers again, staring down the proverbial barrel of his own dark and disturbed psyche with every new case. But, if this is how he helps; If this is how he serves and protects, he must do it. He just hopes that 'at any cost' doesn't really mean any cost.

BSU, FBI's Training Division, Quantico, Virginia. 11:12am

"Thank you for coming Dr Lecter." Crawford shakes Hannibal's hand and gestures to a seat.

"What can I do for you Agent Crawford?" Hannibal loosens the button on his jacket, sits and crosses his legs, looking at the man.

"Yes, I was hoping you could help Will today." Jack stands from his chair and comes to sit at the edge of his desk. "I have rung Dr (Surname), but she is taking her brother to the airport and can't come in, so I was wondering if you could help." He folds his hands on his lap as he looks at Lecter.

"Help? To catch the chandelier murderers?" He feigns interest but thinks it's a shame really; all that artistry and skill, showmanship that could almost rival his own. Almost. "I do not know what help I can give, other than psychological." Hannibal stares up at his colleague, straightening out the creases of his suit trousers.

"I'll be honest with you Dr Lecter." Jack sighs and sits back down in his chair, "if these killers aren't caught soon, we are potentially looking at another seven dead bodies, if this is how they work." His eyes are pleading with the doctor, arms outstretched on the desk and back slumped into his chair. "We can't allow that to happen. We mustn't allow that to happen. And with Will's…" he hesitates, "willingness, or lack there of, to work with other people makes my job more difficult." Jack then moves forward in his chair, looking Hannibal directly in the eye, "Which is why I need you to help him on this."

Without warning Zeller then barges into Crawford's' office. "We've matched all the victims and Katz has found a match for the steel rigging." At this both Crawford and Lecter leave their chairs and follow Zeller down to the labs.

Zeller slinks into a desk chair at a computer as Lecter and Crawford enter the room. Will is talking to Katz as the men enter. Crawford sends him an acknowledging nod, which Will returns sheepishly. Lecter walks a few paces into the room, watching as the lab-rats get to work.

"Ok, so, we found matches for all of the victims, and then we cross matched them with missing persons." Zeller clicks away at the computer and sends what he's working on to print, Price then takes the pages and lays them out on the table. "All the victims are Caucasian, lactose-intolerant non-smokers. But, weirdest of all…" Zeller starts

"They all work in, or have something to do with, libraries." Price finishes. Zeller protests at the outburst, to which Price raises his shoulders apologetically and shrugs, grimacing at his colleague.

"Libraries?" Jack circles round to look at his team, waiting for answers.

"Yes," Katz begins, "the youngest, a Robert Evans, was studying classical literature at Virginia U when he went missing four weeks ago. So was this one," she holds up a printed profile, "Rebecca Holst, studying archaeology, she was taken over 3 months ago." She puts the paper down and walks over to where the corpses are laying. "but the rest worked in libraries across the state."

"They needed perfect, flawless skin." Will speaks up. The room, including Hannibal, look to him. "Libraries are usually dark and out of sunlight, I also wouldn't say they were stressful places to be." He walks over to the victims' bodies, looking over them carefully, "They were all lactose-intolerant, lean and looked after their bodies." Will looks back to his colleagues.

Jack walks over to the profile documents and reads them. "What has lactose-intolerance got to do with it though?"

"Dairy is notoriously bad for the skin." Price explains, "raises hormones that make skin oily and can create acne." Zeller and Katz look at each other, then back to Price, who then reasons with "yes, I read Vogue when at the Dentist. Sue me."

"They're making things with the skin." Will declares hauntedly.

"What, like leather?" Zeller asks.

"Exactly." Hannibal answers, "Skin has been used in upholstery, furniture and clothing for millennia. That may be our killers use for it."

"There must be hundreds of people and companies that make leather. How do we narrow it down?" Katz asks the group. "That's where these lovely circles come in." She says, answering herself. "They are made from stainless steel, approximately two inches thick, with the largest measuring five feet in diameter and the other three feet. Obviously purposely and expertly built." She rolls one of the rings out for all to see. "Discovering that, I looked to see if there was a welders mark or trade mark. Which there is, so I researched the mark and found it was fabricated by," she looks on a scribbled piece of paper on the table, "Parham's Welding and Fabrications."

Jack then springs back to life and addresses the team. "OK, excellent work everyone. Katz send me the address of the welders and be ready to be called for back-up if we need it. Will, Lecter, you come with me." With that Crawford heads out of the door, not bothering to wait for his two companions.

Heading out of the FBI building Jack is stopped by someone's presence. "Oh, agent Crawford. I'm awfully sorry I'm late, I was stuck in traffic from the airport." Dr (Surname) explains as she stops the gentleman on the stairs of the building. Hair in neat curls, black pearl earrings and matching necklace, perfectly matched with her black heels and high-waisted flare trousers; Orange silk blouse accenting a pop of colour. A '40s dream of elegance. Hannibal extends her a smile, and goes to greet her, but Crawford speaks first.

"Sorry (Name), but we're in a hurry, we're on the hunt for the Chandelier killers." He brushes past her, with Will soon after.

"Oh God, of course. Here, let me drive you." She comes rushing down the stairs after them. "My car is just there, and I already have keys in hand." She points to her phantom that is not 10 feet away. Crawford agrees to this and the group enter her car and she drives them under the direction of Jack.

Parham's Welding & Fabrications, 402 N County Dr, Virginia. 13:22pm

The car pulls into a dusty yard scattered with cars, trucks and trailers. (Name) drives up to the large metal building to the right of the yard and parks. Lecter, Crawford and Graham exit the car as (Name) turns off the engine. As the other two men head inside the structure, Lecter opens Dr (Surnames) door offering a hand, which she takes with a smile, gracefully stepping out of the car. "Thank you, Hannibal." She closes the car door and looks up at the building. Both doctors stand in the sun for a moment, not entering the building. "So, this is where the iron hoops were made." (Name) says, staring up at the façade, "I hope Jack doesn't think the killers are here."

Hannibal looks to her, "you don't believe them to be here?"

"Do you?" She asks back.

"No." He answers, "this place is too harsh and industrial. The killers pride themselves on 'doing better' and work with elegant, perishable materials." Hannibal turns and looks at the rest of the site. "The dust, the machinery, copious amounts of debris and metal refuse." He directs his gaze back to his colleague, "no, this is no place to acquire or utilize such high-quality and delicate goods."

She gazes into his face, body facing him and eyes smiling. "Yes," her voice is like silk to him, "my thoughts exactly." They stay a moment, respecting each other; Hannibal content in the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he has found a real kindred spirit to his own. She is the first to break the moment. "Shall we go in Dr Lecter? Make sure our friend Agent Crawford isn't making too much of a commotion?"

Hannibal offers a blithe chuckle and extends his hand, inviting her to enter ahead of himself. "Yes, that may be wise Dr (Surname)." She giggles in response to their playful banter and they both enter the workspace. As they head up the stairs to the main offices, Crawford can be heard in conversation with another man. The offices look as if they have been ransacked; filing cabinets open, paper and files everywhere, Graham and a handful of Parham employees scanning through receipts and invoices.

Jack is standing behind a middle-aged lady at a computer, another older gentleman standing to her right. "Yes, they paid cash." The woman points to the computer screen and Crawford leans in. "Two stainless steel rings; one measuring five-foot diameter and a second measuring three-foot in diameter. Sum of $955. Bought by a Mr J. Smith."

"Well, that's obviously a false name." Will snorts mirthlessly as he helps put the boxes of paperwork back.

"Is there a delivery address?" (Name) asks, busying herself with cleaning up and helping the staff re-alphabetise their invoices.

"No," the woman says, "it says here that they refused drop off and chose to collect the items themselves. It was collected on February 21st."

"Do you have CCTV Mr Parham?" Jack asks the elderly gentleman to the ladies right. The man nods and says that they do. "May we look through it please?" Jack is agitated and doesn't bother waiting for the mans' response before pacing the offices, looking for the security system.

"The footage will have been erased." The other employee says to Crawford. "We only keep the tapes for three months." Crawford walks up to the other man, visibly unhappy by this sudden revelation. "The order was four months ago, they'd have been recorded over by now."

Jack throws his hands up in rage, exclaiming expletives and inaudible rambles. It is then that (Name) turns on her heel and out of the office door. Suddenly her voice can be heard shouting to the workshop employees below. This elicits confused looks between the occupants of the office before being led by Jack out to the stairs. Here her companions find (Name) engaging with a man in overalls, visor and safety gloves. Crawford and the team head over. "Are you sure that's the name you saw on the van?"

"Sorry," Crawford asks standing between the two, "what is happening here?"

"Oh, agent Crawford. Well seeing how distressed you were I wished to do something about it, so I came out here and asked if anyone remembers who ordered the steel rings. Mr Randall Elder," she gestures to the man in front of her, "said that he helped the man that came put them in the van."

Agent Crawford shakes Mr Elders' hand as he introduces himself, both Will and Hannibal following suit. "The man, do you remember his name? What he looked like?" Crawford asks.

"He said it was Smith, a Jedediah Smith." Elder, takes off his helmet and visor to scratch his head. "I remember because that sounds like someone I learnt about in school or something. I figured it was made up." Both Crawford and Graham look at each other in knowing. "I remember the name of the shop on the van though." To this Crawford's eyes lit up like stars at night and Will stepped forward. "It was Hell for Leather."

Jack then wasted no time and got on the phone to Katz, asking for an address for a shop called Hell for Leather.He let her know that back up should be sent there too as that is likely were the killers were. Will squeaks out a thank you to Elder and follows Jack, leaving (Name) and Hannibal in the workroom. (Name) turns back to Elder and thanks him wholeheartedly for his help. "Thank you so much for your help, that has done wonders for us." She smiles warmly at the man, who accepts her gratitude with a bashful dismissal of his usefulness. As Elder returns to work, (Name) makes her way back to Mr Parham who is stood dumbstruck at the bottom of the stairs along with the other managers. "Thank you for your help today, we are sorry that we have made a mess of your day and hope we have not caused you and your employees too much stress." Dr (Surname) apologises as she holds out her hand to Mr Parham.

"W-well," he says shakily, taking her hand, "as long as we could help with your investigation. We hope you catch those who did that awful thing."

"(Surname)! Lecter! Let's go!" Jack shouts out. (Name) apologises again before turning and heading back to the car with Hannibal.

In the car Jack had Katz on loud speaker as she apprised the team on the location and business dealing of Hell for Leather; a small Father and Sons leather company that was set up 50 years ago making high-quality leather goods. The father, Geoffrey Spinks died two years ago, 5 years after his wife, Louisa. The three sons, John, David and Theodore, have been running it ever since. Business was steadily declining because people want sustainable clothing and leather has largely fallen out of favour.

Crawford directs (Name) to the store on Market Street in Roanoke, where Katz says they have local police setting a parameter half a block around the store and SWAT ready when they get there.

Hell for Leather, Market St SE, Roanoke, Virginia. 16:43pm

(Name) pulls the car up on Kirk Avenue, the back alley of the shop. Crawford and Graham immediately leave, connecting with Katz and the SWAT team leader. "Any movement?"

"No," the SWAT leader says, "we are waiting on your word."

Hannibal and (Name) exit the car as Jack unholsters his firearm. "On me!" He exclaims, and the SWAT, along with Katz and Graham, follow Jack into position.

(Name) goes to follow but is stopped by Hannibal. "Ms (Surname), may I suggest you stay back," he holds her arm cautiously, "I know how these go with Crawford, and we don't want you getting hurt." He's merely suggesting. Not at all pleading.

But she turns to him, "Thank you Hannibal, but I will be quite safe." Wild fire in her eyes, "This would be wonderful research for my books." Then, without warning, she slides her arms until she is entwining her fingers with his. Her giddy merriment pulling him along as she follows the FBI.

Standing back near the blockade Hannibal and (Name) watch as Crawford and the others make their assault. Lining each side of the shop door, Jack gives the signal and they burst through the door.

"Don't move!"

"Get on the ground!"

Gun fire. Banging. Crashing. The shop is lit up with noise as Crawford and his team ambush the shop occupants. Ineloquently making as much of a ruckus as they possibly can. Hannibal amuses himself with the unrefinement of the Americans' actions, until he feels his hand grow cold.

He looks and finds it empty as (Name) makes her way to the hole where a door hung but a moment ago. He watches as she sneaks closer to the commotion. Her curiosity besting her. He follows. His besting him as well. However, as she reaches the door frame a bloodied man wielding a large hunting knife charges toward her.

Acting purely on instinct, Hannibal grabs her sharply by the forearm. A shot rings out and Hannibal looks behind him; the bloodied man is on the road, writhing in pain from the bullet wound in his thigh. Hannibal can see Crawford lowering his weapon as he and a handful of officers swarm the man.

It was at this precise moment Hannibal remembered (Name).

Looking down he finds her caged against the wall; his hands pressed either side of her head, palms against the cold brick. Her body squashed by the wall behind, and his chest in front of her. He, her willing shield, can feel her breasts heaving under the silk of her blouse with every rapid breath. Her eyes find his, turning her head from the floor.

"There! Stop that van!"

The abrupt shout breaks them both from their moment. They watch as Will runs up to the alley containing (Name)'s car and unholsters his gun, unloading a few rounds into the passageway. A large crash can be heard before the Hell for Leather van comes skidding round the corner, causing Will to jump out of the way. The largely battered van proceeds to barge through barricades, police cars and people as it makes a get-away from the scene; disappearing into Roanoke.

(Name), ducking under Hannibal's arm, rushes over to Will and helps him up by his arm. "Oh my God, are you ok? You're not hurt, are you?" She asks tenderly, just for Will to snatch his arm from her grasp.

"No." He barks at her, "That," he pauses, gesturing in the vans direction, "was the last of the brothers." Will stretches out his back. Hannibal walks up to (Name) and places a reassuring hand on the small of her back, all the while silently seething at Will's blatant disrespect and inexcusable rudeness. Yet she just smiles up at him, patting his chest soothingly before letting her arm hang by her side.

"Does anyone have eyes on the Van?" Jack is on the phone he walks over, huffing from the struggle with the other brother. "Hell for Leather, Yes!... Did anyone get the registration?" Jack bellows at the group, who are all silent. "ANYONE?!" Jacks spins on the spot, looking to anyone who could answer. "Fuck…" he roars putting the phone back to his ear. "No, we didn't get a registration." He listens a while then puts the phone down again, "Anyone know where that road leads?" A number of police officers put their hands up.

As Jack and Will try to assist the helicopter search, Hannibal and (Name) walk back down to her car. "Are you ok?"

"Yes, thank you." She says quietly

"Good," He begins, "that really was a…"

"No, I really mean Thank You," she whips round and stares into his face intensely. "I have absolutely no idea what I was doing, just walking into a situation like that." She shakes her head vigorously, shocked by her own actions. "That was stupid and completely ill-perceived of me. I acted purely on impulse and, I guess, curiosity." She looks at him again, this time taking his hand in hers in earnest, lifting it to just below her chin. "I am sorry I put you in danger too."

He smiles softly, "You didn't…"

"No, but I did." She continues, eye-contact not wavering. "If I hadn't decided to wander into a bloodbath, that man wouldn't have almost attacked me with that knife. And you wouldn't have had to put yourself into the situation to save me." She lowers their hands along with her gaze. Not releasing his hand, he realises. "So, I want to both apologise to you for my stupid, unprofessional and reckless actions," She returns her gaze to his, "and thank you for protecting me despite my asininity."

He can't help himself. He laughs. Actually laughs. Oh, how little she knows of his capability for danger. His revelry in blood and death. How he devours it. Yet here she is, apologising to him for her momentary fire of excitement. Appalled at herself for putting him in harms way. How little she knows that the most shocking and peculiar thing he has endured in a long time is in fact her, and how she actually makes him feel; some semblance of human.

He beams at her with a sigh before lifting their hands to him and placing a delicate kiss on the back of her hand. "There is absolutely no need to apologise to me Ms (Surname)." He releases her hand from his, buts steps closer into her proximity. "However, if you wish to make amends, please allow me to cook for you in my home tonight."

A hint of a blush dances across her cheeks, but she won't let his charms distract her. "Pray tell Dr Lecter, how is my letting you invite me to your home, and cook for me no less, my making amends to you?" She questions him with a raised eyebrow, hands resting on her hips playfully.

"Think of it as a grossly overdue recompense for your hospitality and delectable bourguignon."

Now it is her turn to laugh. A melodic sound full of cheer. She concedes with a happy "Ok, Hannibal, you win. I'll come to yours for dinner." She finishes with a chuckle and shake of her head. "Now, I think I should find my car, so we can perhaps make a get-away of our own."

Hannibal gives a chuckle of his own at her remark, "that joke is in poor taste Dr (Surname), in light of the situation." Not that he actually cares.

"I know," she shrugs innocently, "but jokes made in poor taste are often the funniest," She says making her way down the back street. "We have a comedian back home, called Jimmy Carr, his Jokes are nothing but bad taste." She turns her head to him and whispers, "but he's still one of my favourites."

"You like to laugh." He observes, walking by her side down the alley, "Back in Abigail's room, you gave an, I must say, extraordinary lecture on how good laughing is for ones health."

"I did rather let Mr Graham 'have it' didn't I?" She says, sounding guilty. "Perhaps I was a little too…" she stops for a moment to look at Lecter, "demonstrative. Perhaps I should apologise."

"Would apologising make you feel better."

"Question really is, would it make him feel better?" `confusion obvious on his face, she answers his silent question. "I know he doesn't like me." She continues walking, "He hasn't been happy with my presence since Richmond."

"Does it bother you?" Lecter asks, "his animosity?"

She stops, a sly smile crossing her lips. "Am I on the clock here Dr Lecter? Or is this a free trial session?" Her quip draws a knowing snicker from him. "Yes, in a way," she answers, "I, of course, don't want him to feel any malice toward me as I do, in fact, harbour great admiration for Will and a professional respect for his abilities." She picks up her pace again, "also, Will is a very emotive creature with deep insight. I fear that his distrust or dislike of me could impede his work with the FBI." He makes a mental note of her insights into Will's psyche, believing her 'professional respect' for Graham may run parallel to his own. "Also, yes," she continues, "to answer your much earlier question, I love to laugh, and I love comedy. Our profession sees us wading through murky and, sometimes, dark waters of peoples' minds. It is easy to get lost in the maze of others' minds, even when we are helping them to navigate it." He listens intently to her speech. "My anchor, for when I'm in the maze, is comedy. It helps me stay sane and see the funny side of life." She suddenly stops in her tracks, 'though this, perhaps, isn't so funny." It's her car.

The front end of the Phantom is completely recked; grill smashed in, tyres perforated, chassis clearly snapped and missing both headlights. They look to the side of the car, where the driver door has caved in and deep scratches line the length of the car. "I am so sorry (Name)," Hannibal puts a hand onto her slumped shoulder, "your insurance will surely cover it."

"Yes," she sighs heavily, then looks at a concerned Hannibal. "Oh don't worry, yes, my insurance will cover it." She tilts her head in reflection, resting it on his hand, "It's just a real shame. I liked that car." She inclines her head, her big eyes looking into his, "and my iPod was in the glove box."

Maybe it was a delayed response to shock, or perhaps the absurdity of the situation. But whatever it was, those words accompanied by her raised eyebrows and nonchalant tone, had both Hannibal and (Name) laughing once again.

"What are you two laughing about?" Katz appears behind the pair. "God, that cars a complete reck, looks totalled." She says, referring to (Names) former vehicle.

"Yes," says Hannibal looking back to the heap, "music system would be crushed." (Name) slaps his arm playfully before they both share another chuckle. Beverly looks at them questioningly. "Inside joke." Both the doctors' eyes meet, merriment settling between them.

"Oh ok…" Katz nods, "honestly didn't see you as the joking type Dr Lecter." She looks to him, "too prim and proper." Katz tries her best at a British accent, but, seeing the awkwardness it just caused, changes the subject. "Anyway, Jack says he wants to talk to you." They both nod in response, and she scurries back to her employer and out of the situation.

After she is far enough away (Name) begins to snicker again and Hannibal smiles, shaking his head softly. "It appears we are summoned Dr (Surname)," Hannibal begins, watching as she recomposes herself, "shall we see what our orders are to be?"

"Yes, Dr Lecter, let's." With that they walk back to the commotion together.