At least B.A. didn't try to dig information out of him. As they pulled into the airport and he asked what airline, Hannibal told him it didn't matter and the black man didn't question it.

Pulling to the curb to let him off at one of the major carriers, B.A. told him to be careful. Hannibal knocked the offered fist with his own, and didn't watch the vehicle drive away.

He bought his ticket, trying not to dwell on the fact that this was a bad idea. On the plane, in the air, he continued not to think about the fact that he hadn't thought this through and he never did that, and there was no plan, and that made him nervous beyond belief, and he was going to be stiff and more sore after getting out of this uncomfortable seat.

Then the plane was touching down and he was getting into a taxi. It was still a bad idea.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad ideabadideabadidea—

And then he was there, and walking up the sidewalk. Of its own accord, his fist—the one with the scraped knuckles, this is going to hurt—knocked on the door.

It was a few minutes, then she opened the door, and it wasn't a bad idea after all.

Her eyes widened. "John!" she cried, falling into his open arms.

"Stella," he breathed out into her hair. She hugged him, and the press of her body against his negated the aches in his muscles.

They stood on the stoop longer than would have been comfortable if other people watched them. Stella extracted one arm to reposition it over his shoulder, and he opened his mouth as she kissed him. Deep and heady, he allowed himself to be lost in it until she broke the kiss herself, pulling back slightly from him with a smile on her face.

"Nothing like a bloody kiss," she laughed and very gently touched his wound on his lip. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have kissed you like that. It obviously hurts."

"Don't apologize. Don't ever apologize for that," he ordered.

Without stepping out of his arms, Stella looked him over. "You're hurt everywhere. Come in."

She reached for his bag; he didn't relinquish it, so she led him by the hand into the house.

"You added a fireplace," he observed.

She shook her head. "That's neither here nor there. Let's get you upstairs so I can take care of you."

"That sounds dirty, woman. I like it."

She laughed, and he grinned. "You need to rest first—you're exhausted! Then, depending on your schedule . . ."

"I've got some time."

"Wonderful!"

Still holding his hand, she took him upstairs to her bedroom.

When Hannibal woke several hours later, he lay with his eyes closed for a bit. Three showers in less than 24 hours. His cuts and scrapes tended to and bandaged. A bed more comfortable than he'd been afforded in a long time. Stella, downstairs waiting for him.

It made him smile.

When he got out of the bed and to the bathroom, he smiled again. When he'd been escorted here, it was an ordinary bathroom: all feminine and functional. Now he noticed she'd set out his razor and cologne and toothbrush, subtly changing it to a shared bath.

He couldn't stop smiling as he went downstairs to find her.

It was near dinner time, and she was in the kitchen.

"You're up!" she exclaimed and left the stove to hug him. "You could have slept longer—I would have held dinner for you."

Hannibal shook his head. "No need, I slept enough. I'm hungry though."

"Food'll be ready soon. Sit down and tell me what's been happening with you."

He did, and told her about some of jobs the team had taken recently. Nothing in too much detail, he never wanted to worry her, but he knew she was astute enough to see between his white lies.

As she joined him at the table and they ate, he continued. She was duly interested and asked appropriate questions. She knew of the younger men he worked with but had never met them; Hannibal took pains to try and keep her separate from anything illegal. He made a passing comment about that.

"Anything illegal except for you, you mean!" she replied.

He ducked semi-guiltily. "I never mean for you to do anything criminal. I'm so sorry, Stella—I never wanted it to be like this—"

She reached for his hand again. "John, it is whatever it is. I'll have you however I can, whenever I can. You know that."

Hannibal studied her hand. "I just don't want anything to hurt you," he told her. "Every time I come here, I put you at risk."

"You don't come here that often," she joked.

His reply didn't tease in return. "Often enough. Enough that maybe someone might see a pattern, or recognize me and put two and two together. It's dangerous for you. Not only are you abetting a federal fugitive, there are other people who wouldn't work inside the law, and—"

"John."

He stopped looking at her hand and pulled his gaze up to hers instead. When she didn't continue, he said,

"Every time I come here I tell myself it's a bad idea. Just a bad idea—and one of these times it'll backfire—"

"John . . ." Stella interrupted again, then sighed and shook her head. "Would you stop coming here?"

"No!" he answered quickly, then frowned a bit and added in a softer tone, "But if you asked me not to visit, I would. To keep you safe. I'd . . . stop. I'd stay away and not see you."

"But you don't want to."

He shook his head forcefully. "No. I wish things were different. I wish I could figure out a way to make things different. I know I don't visit often, but I wish I could. I wish I could be with you every day—I miss you, Stella, and I want to be with you . . ."

She was up and by his side as he dropped his head. His free hand made a fist on the table, then wrapped itself around her waist as she tugged him upward beside her.

"I'm glad we have some times together, John," she told him sincerely. "I'm always glad when it's you at the door."

Hannibal tried to smile but wasn't quite able. His facial expression made no difference in the end; Stella pulled him—with very little protest—up the stairs to her bedroom again. It took a longer time than earlier, with pauses for kissing and groping and generally acting like teenagers in heat.

The lust continued into the night, and although Hannibal started the day feeling old, he certainly didn't feel that way at the end.