The last time Bedelia du Maurier had gotten so involved in Hannibal's personal life, the human on the other end had been landed in a mental institution. And yet she couldn't seem to stay away from the idea of helping him, and in turn helping Ophelia. Before the accident, she had been wary of any relationship between Hannibal and the girl, but had not been able to refuse him. She never could.

As the plot continued to thicken, so did Bedelia's reluctant interest in the relationship between Ophelia and her dark comrade. The news of Ophelia's memory-loss affliction had given her hope, and in turn had given Hannibal renewed vigor with which to go about his daily pursuits. She had seen fire kindled in him before, but never like this. Nearly every day since, she had found herself sitting with him discussing what his next actions should be.

"It's a clean slate, Hannibal, no matter how you look at it," Bedelia tossed a stray blonde wave over her shoulder and crossed her legs, "or no matter how you choose to proceed. But nevertheless, you must remain cautious."

"And I know that," Hannibal resisted the urge to rise from his seat across from her and pace to and from the window. As much as he valued Bedelia's advice, a part of him felt that time was wasted sitting in her dim home theorizing.

"Of course, but you must think before you act. Perhaps visiting her was too risky."

"I'm afraid I have to disagree. Though Will and Alana were displeased, Ophelia seemed responsive to my presence."

"Surely," Bedelia nodded, rolling her shoulders, "Her memory is not erased entirely. It is very possible for her to gain it back. But, as you know, it must be done gently."

"Simply sitting her down and recounting to her the events of the past months would be detrimental to her mental health, yes?"

"It is likely. The possibility of overloading her mental capacity is always looming over our heads. She must remember on her own, and she must ease into it."

"A clean slate."

"Two possible clean slates. One possibility would be starting over entirely. Wooing, so to speak. She felt romantic intention for you before, and she can do it again if you play your hand correctly. The other would be a bit more difficult."

"And that would entail...?"

"If she's going to remember the good times, she's going to remember the bad times. She's going to remember your confessions. The killings."

"Before the accident, she was coming back to me. She was returning my affection, despite her knowledge of me."

"You don't know that for sure. When we chatted she seemed to be coming around, but Ophelia is a complex human being. She has had a lot happen to her, and to her mind. It's quite possible that she could have been playing on your emotion."

"So what are you suggesting?" Hannibal refused to believe that Ophelia had been pretending, but he did not protest. He would let Bedelia's doubt exist, but it would not affect him.

"An alternative clean slate would be the absolute truth. Much of her fear came from the unknown. It was fight or flight magnified beyond the point of control. If she is presented with the truth, both sides of your truth, then it is very possible that she will see reason."

"And what is my truth?"

Bedelia paused. There were many facets in the truth of Hannibal Lecter, "The obvious, darker truth, first of all. I believe we have discussed it enough to understand. Your other truth, however, is your empathy. More than empathy, truly."

"Love," the word stung Hannibal's tongue. He was still not quite comfortable with tossing around this new thing so lightly. But the bite of the word felt strangely liberating.

"That," Bedelia nodded. She was still not entirely convinced that love was what Hannibal was wholeheartedly feeling. Surely it was more of a morbid fascination that appeared to be love and felt like love, but from what she knew of Hannibal, love did not seem like something that could even be part of the equation.

"Absolute truth, then," Hannibal sighed, anchoring his hands in his lap as if that would keep him from rising, "Once she has regained her memory, or the vast majority of it, absolute truth is what I must give her."

"That's how I see it, yes. It would be smart of you to begin distancing her from Will Graham as soon as possible. He and Alana will do everything in their power to see to it that she doesn't meet the same fate as Will. Or Abigail Hobbs for that matter."

Hannibal frowned, "Now, you know good and well that Ophelia and Will are two completely dissimilar situations." He chose to ignore Bedelia's reference to Abigail. She was in no position to chide him for his actions in that regard. Bedelia had, after all, eaten the veal. Without dissent.

"Not entirely," Bedelia cocked her head to the side, aware that she had entered dangerous waters, "Both, when under your influence, were entirely vulnerable. Putty in your masterful hands, if you will. If you play your hand wisely, this time will turn out differently."

"Will was an entirely different set of cards," Hannibal pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing, "I did what had to be done. Ophelia on the other hand-"

"Is a much more dangerous relationship for you to have," Bedelia interjected. She knew that Hannibal was locked onto Ophelia like a hunter onto its prey, but she also knew that in order to save Ophelia from a grisly fate, she would have to keep Hannibal firmly reigned in. As much as she could, anyway.

"What, exactly, are you proposing?" Hannibal longed to escape from the room. It was growing dark and heavy, as if the air was thickening with every syllable that Bedelia uttered. He wished to return to Ophelia, if only to watch her pour over her notepad.

"Rebuild the relationship," Bedelia stood, making for the bottle of wine that sat unopened on the kitchen counter, "for now. Make it as strong and as real as possible. That way, even if she fails to regain her memory, you will still be close to her. And if she does recall everything, you will be that much better for it."

Hannibal stood, "A date, then. That shouldn't be challenging."

Bedelia slammed her glass down on the counter, a bit harder than she had intended, and sloshed a small wave of crimson wine over the edge, "Hannibal."

He turned back to her, for he had started toward the door, forgetting formality.

"Just," Bedelia inhaled deeply, "wait a while to cook for her. And wait even longer to share your... recipes with her as well. At least not until she's remembered everything."

A grin spread across Hannibal's lips, and his eyes narrowed into slits. He had been ready to share his ultimate secret with Ophelia before, and he was fully prepared to do it again. But for now, he would be patient. For now, he would be human.