Chapter 3

Port Haven Psychiatric Facility

Baltimore, MD

"Aren't you gonna answer your phone?" Abigail asked quietly, staring at the bag as it vibrated on the floor for the third time in the last ten minutes.

Alana's eyes darted to her purse, then back up to the brunette teenager on the bed. "They'll leave a message," she replied, unconcerned. She assumed it was Jack Crawford, itching to tell her off for not bringing Will along to speak with the girl.

"But… what if it's important?"

"Then they'll probably leave a strongly worded message," she said with a shrug, offering a small smile which Abigail returned after a moment.

"'Strongly worded,' huh?" Abigail quirked a brow. "You get a lot of strongly worded messages?"

Laughing, Alana reached down beside her purse to fetch the small duffel bag full of teen appropriate items she'd put together. "Sometimes," she muttered airily, handing her the bag.

The buzzing noise stopped and Abigail cleared her throat, wincing as the motion tugged at the wound on her neck. She took the bag hesitantly and sat it on her lap. "What's this?"

"Just some stuff. Clothes, books, music. Little things to make your stay a little more comfortable."

"Your clothes?" Abigail blurted, unable to stop herself from giving Alana's skirt-suit ensemble an obvious once-over.

Alana chuckled again and shook her head. "No, I bought some things similar to what I've seen my sister wear. She's a bit more… hip, I guess."

At the word 'hip,' Abigail's eyebrows shot to the roof and she pulled the zipper open to begin rifling through her new belongings. A nice pair of skinny jeans, a couple cute sweaters, a pretty green scarf, a brand new iPod, three recent bestsellers, and a small fortune's worth of iTunes gift cards greeted her. Her wide eyes darted to Alana, who smirked.

"Not mymusic, either," she assured with a wink. "I'm sure you'll be able to find enough to get you through-"

She was cut off by her purse vibrating yet again and she huffed in annoyance, reaching down to grab the damn thing and shut it off. As she flipped it over to do just that, she paused and frowned, noticing all the calls she'd ignored were from Will Graham.

"Maybe you should just answer-"

"Shit," Alana breathed, hands shaking as she jumped to her feet and fumbled to answer it. "Will? Will, wha-"

"WHEN YOU DUMP SOMEBODY OFF ON SOMEONE ELSE," his voice exploded from the receiver. Alana winced and held the phone further from her ear as he boomed scathingly, "AND YOU TELL THAT SOMEONE ELSE THAT THAT SOMEBODY IS DELICATE, YOU ANSWER YOUR GODDAMN PHONE."

Will's shouting had been so loud that Alana had no doubt the teenager in the room had heard every word. She was making a good show of being busy unboxing her iPod, though. "What's going on?" She hissed, turning away and walking to a corner of the room, as if that would help anything.

"Your sister flipped out and took off, that's what's going on!" Will snarled at her through labored breaths. She could hear the crunching of boots and snapping of twigs amid his panting.

"She ran into the woods?" She guessed, scrambling back across the room to grab her purse. She barely heard Abigail's quiet 'thank you,' as she then fled from the room and psychiatric facility entirely.

"Yes!"

"How long ago?"

"About as long as I've been trying to call you- DAMN IT, ALANA!"

Switching to Bluetooth when she reached her car, she tossed her phone into the passenger's seat and sped off, trying desperately to stay calm. "I'm sorry!" She snapped back, tears welling in her eyes as she pressed hard on the gas and silently willed the fifty-odd minute drive back to Will's house to somehow halve or quarter itself.

The logical part of her brain told her it wasn't that bad - not yet. If Will had called her the moment Delilah disappeared, then she'd only been gone ten, maybe fifteen minutes. And even though the darkening clouds she'd seen on her way out told her a storm was headed to Wolf Trap, it was still daylight, at least. That helped.

"Delilah?!" Will's panicked voice sounded from her speakers.

"I-It's okay, Will," Alana tried to reassure him, her voice quaking. "It's still daylight a-and you'll find her. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"She was so scared," he mumbled, an audible shudder in his voice. "Jesus, what the hell is going on with her?"

"M-maybe she lied this morning and didn't take her medication-"

"Her medication, Alana?"

She cringed at that and shook her head, pushing on the gas pedal hard enough to send shooting pains up her leg. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears flowing freely now. "I just… I didn't think anything would happen. She was fine! Sh-She hasn't had an episode in three days," she added, recalling Delilah saying the very same thing just hours prior.

"You know what? That is exactly it, Alana," his voice hissed scathingly through her speakers. "You didn't think."

"Will, I-"

"Didn't think to tell me she has 'episodes,'" he barreled on, causing her to wince with shame. "Didn't think to tell me she's taking medication… Medication, Alana? W-w-what if I'd offered her a drink, huh?"

"...At this hour of the-"

"THAT ISN'T THE POINT!"

"PLEASE DON'T YELL AT ME."

Will fought to lower his voice as he repeated firmly, "That is not the point, and you know it."

"I-I know," she stammered, nodding shakily. "I screwed up, okay? I'm sorry… alright?"

"Sorry doesn't automatically make everything better," he grumbled, and she could only nod in agreement. "I'm gonna call the p-"

All sound cut off suddenly and Alana frowned. "…Will?"

Nothing.

"…Will? …WILL?!"

"I'll bet she doubled back," he finally whispered, and the heavy crunching of his footfalls through the woods sounded once again. Alana let out a heavy sigh of relief and slammed her hands on the steering wheel.

"Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. Don't do that!"

"Well excuse the fuck out of me!" he snapped sarcastically. "I heard somethin', alright?"

Thinking better of spitting a retort, Alana bit her tongue and continued speeding down the highway in silence. At least five minutes went by before he spoke again.

"She did- she doubled back. She's by the barn," he suddenly announced.

"I-Is she okay?"

"Well, she appears to be in one piece," he replied, his voice low. "But I think I see blood… She's going in now…"

All Alana could hear was the thrumming of her heartbeat in her ears as she waited with baited breath for any new information. A loud creak broke over the speakers, and it was deathly quiet for a moment more before she heard her sister's voice, but it just sounded like noise. "Wh-what is she saying?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "She's just walking around in- in circles, in the corner, muttering to herself. I can't make out any words." Alana opened her mouth to speak, but the creaking of the barn door sounded again and she could once again hear heavy rainfall in the background. "Okay look, she's safe in there. I'm gonna call an ambulance."

"Y-Yeah, okay," she muttered hesitantly, not wanting to be off the phone.

Nothing but the rain filled the car for several moments before Will finally sighed and spoke quietly. "You know… next time you want to keep me distracted, Alana? Just bring me a puzzle or something."

In spite of all the stress and panic, Alana let out a puff of laughter and sniffed loudly, smearing mascara across her face as she swatted the tears away. "S-sure," she replied. "And, Will? …I'm really sorry."

With little more than a grunt of acknowledgment, Will hung up the phone.

After calling for an ambulance and cramming the phone into the front pocket of his jeans, Will leaned back under the shelter of the awning, and took a moment to indulge himself in quietly letting out a string of cuss words. His feet were killing him and he knew all the running around would have wedged the little slivers of glass annoyingly deep into his soles. He grimaced at the realization that soon enough he'd have an hour, or more, ahead of him with some nurse trying to clumsily pluck the sharp bits out of his skin with tweezers.

"See? This is what happens when you try to be nice," he grumbled to himself.

A sudden slamming noise pulled him from his grousing, and Will quickly ducked back into the barn, wounds forgotten, to check on Delilah.

The slamming he'd heard was revealed to be her slapping the walls and dragging her palms against them, still muttering unintelligibly. He hung back to cautiously observe and noticed just how filthy she was; she had rips in the long sleeves of her blue cotton shirt, and the mud that caked her socks was splattered thigh-high up onto her jeans.

When she finally stopped her frenetic pacing in the corner, he realized blood was also smeared on the wood around her now, and he cautiously began to inch nearer as her soft sniffling and sobbing started up again.

Swallowing thickly, he took a deep breath and whispered her name as gently as he could manage. She didn't seem to hear him, staying perfectly still and facing away. He cleared his throat and spoke louder, "D-Delilah?"

At once she swung around, cheeks stained with tears and smears of her once pretty mascara and lipstick. The blonde's eyes drifted everywhere but never focused on Will's own, her gaze darting all around and through him; he had the strange impression that she couldn't even see him at that moment, though he stood barely four feet in front of her. She gnawed on her lip and began wringing her hands, as her sobs became punctuated with short, seemingly nonsensical phrases.

"Can't wash it out…

"Always there.

"It's okay… Is it okay?

"Bad… That makes it okay."

She suddenly held out her palms to him, which were covered in blood and dirt. Through the grime, Will could make out several scratches and one relatively large cut just beneath the fingers of her right hand. "Not mine," she whispered. "It's not mine. Makes it okay… okay?"

Thoroughly confused, Will looked up from her hands and was startled to find she was actually looking him square in the eye. There was a hopeless pleading in her bloodshot baby blues that tugged at his heart strings, and he actually felt his own eyes well up with tears. "Y-uh… Yeah," he assured softly, compelled to agree just to stop her from staring at him like that anymore. "It's okay, Delilah."

Her scratchy voice was heavy with emotion as she let out a shuddering breath and asked earnestly, needing validation for something he could hardly fathom, "It's okay? Really?"

"It's okay," he repeated, hoping the quiver in his voice wouldn't negate his attempt at sincerity.

She searched his eyes for what seemed like an eternity for Will and in all that time, the tears that threatened to spill onto his own cheeks finally fell. So much pain, doubt, confusion, and guilt washed over him that it was almost too much to bear. He wanted desperately to just flee from her presence, knowing it would take a long time to pull himself out of this pit she'd drug him into, but he also couldn't find it in himself to place blame. Not on her. Alana, though, was another story.

"How can you say that," she finally spoke again, a tinge of disgust creeping into her voice.

He opened his mouth to reply but faltered at that, his eyebrows knitting in utter bewilderment.

"How can you say it's okay? You have no idea…" She trailed off a moment before squinting at him suspiciously. "Do you know?"

"Know…? Know wha-"

Howling sobs suddenly filled the barn and he watched helplessly as she wrapped her arms around herself and sank to her knees. "You don't know," she whispered, curling in on herself and laying down on her side. "Nobody does. It's okay… Not mine. I had to."

Will stared in shock as she lay immobile on the dirty floor. Sirens wailed in the distance and he looked to the door before vigorously rubbing the moisture from his face and pacing over to Delilah. He was surprised to find she was sound asleep. Removing his coat, he carefully draped it over her, then shakily walked out of the barn to greet the paramedics.

After quickly letting his dogs into the house and out of the rain, Will was permitted to ride in the ambulance alongside the medic taking her vitals. As the ambulance shook along toward the hospital, he stared at her now perfectly serene face and mulled over the last hour's worth of events. Something horrific had happened to Delilah Bloom, that much was plain. But what, he hadn't the slightest clue. Honestly, he wasn't sure he even wanted to know.

Reston Hospital Center,

1850 Town Center Parkway, Reston, VA

Approx. 40 minutes later

"Every goddamn light," Alana grumbled, shaking off her umbrella as she stalked up to the hospital's emergency entrance. She gave the waiting room a quick once over and, not spotting Will anywhere, passed it to march straight up to the nurse's station.

"Delilah Eleanor Bloom," she stated briskly, ripping tissues out of the box on the counter to attempt to clean up her face. "She was brought in… probably about half an hour ago."

The nurse stared at her a moment, gnashing her teeth on a wad of bubble gum, and let out a snort. "Well that's a mouthful, isn't it? And who are you, sweetie?" She asked in a saccharin tone, causing Alana to scowl.

"I'm her sister, damn it," she spat, and the woman rolled her eyes. At that, Alana opened her mouth, a vicious string of curse words coating the tip of her tongue, when a large hand landed on her shoulder and she jerked away. "Don't fucking touch –"

Her words died in the air as she came face to face with Dr. Lecter, who was wearing a look of deep disappointment just for her. "I understand you're stressed, Alana, but there's no need to be so vulgar," he chided. She muttered an apology, which he seemed to ignore, and he turned to face the nurse with a pleasant smile.

"Good morning, Miss…" He leaned slightly over the countertop to peer at her name tag. "Miss Marilyn DeMarco," he read slowly, "what a lovely name."

Alana watched in disgust as the woman's face became splotchy with what she assumed was a blush.

"Oh, thank you," the nurse gushed, fiddling with her chewing gum with her index finger as she leaned toward him. "And who might you be?"

"My name is Doctor Hannibal Lecter," he replied, straightening up and brushing a piece of lint off the coat he held folded over his arm. "I am this young woman's," he continued, gesturing to Alana, "sister's psychiatrist, and we are both terribly worried about her. Would you be so kind as to tell us where she's being held, Marilyn?"

"Oh sure, of course," she replied, cramming her gum back into her mouth before clacking her absurdly long acrylic nails on her keyboard. She hummed tunelessly to herself as she scrolled through the database, and Alana had to grind her teeth to keep from shouting at her to hurry the fuck up.

"What's taking so long?" Will asked, suddenly at her side.

"What the-" Alana blinked and turned to face him. "Where've you been?"

"Hurt my foot," was all he offered in explanation, and she looked down to find both of his hospital issue slipper-clad feet were wrapped in bandages. "They finally let me go but they won't let me see her… Let me ride in the damn ambulance but since I'm not a relative they keep dicking me around."

"Patience is a virtue," Dr. Lecter scolded, smiling at the nurse who let out a grotesquely girlish giggle.

"That it is," the nurse murmured, shooting a nasty look to her and Will. "Aha! here we go. Bloom, room three-oh-one. Looks like she's got a few nasty cuts and scrapes..." She suddenly stood up and leaned far over the counter, brazenly thrusting her chest towards Hannibal as she pointed to the waiting room. "You can sit in there and someone will come 'round to get you when she's ready for visitors."

"Thank you, Marilyn DeMarco," Hannibal replied curtly, turning on a dime and striding off to the waiting room.

"Let me know if you need anything, dear," she called after him suggestively, "anything at all!" But he paid her no mind.

Will and Alana shared a heavy eye roll, then followed after the tall doctor.

"Did you call him?" She whispered, grabbing his sleeve and bringing them to a halt a few feet before the entrance to the room.

He scowled and yanked himself out of her grasp. "Does the word 'duh' mean anything to you?"

"Yeah," she snapped, "it means you're a fourteen year old girl. Get a grip, Will!"

"Youget a grip!"

"Why did you call him?!"

"BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T ANSWER THE PHONE, ALANA."

"Children?" Hannibal suddenly interjected, peeking out of the waiting room with both eyebrows raised. "Care to lower your voices? This is a hospital, not an amusement park."

"Sorry," they both grumbled, hanging their heads and shuffling into the waiting room to sit as far away from each other as possible.

Half an incredibly tense hour later, the door opened to reveal a young male doctor with a clipboard. "Is there a Doctor Hannibal Lecter here?" He called questioningly.

Three heads snapped up at once, two sets of eyes looking utterly confused while the last quirked a curious brow. "That would be me," Hannibal replied, rising from his seat.

"A Miss Delilah Bloom is asking for you."

"Now just wait a minute!" Alana snapped, storming past Hannibal to meet the doctor first. "I'm her sister-"

"Ah, you must be Alana. Yes, she's mentioned you," he muttered. "She asks that you be kept away for the time being."

"But I'm her temporary legal guardian, you can't keep me out! She isn't fit to make her own d-"

"Do you have any documentation to prove that?" He cut her off exasperatedly.

"I-… Well, no, not with me."

"Then I'm going to have to respect her wishes. She doesn't want to see you." He turned to Hannibal and gestured him through the door, then glanced back at Alana and sighed, apparently taking pity on her. "Look, she'll be fine. She had one pretty gnarly cut that needed stitches, some scrapes on her arms, and a hell of a lot of splinters in her hands, but she's alright otherwise."

"But- But does she remember anything?" she asked, watching as Hannibal paused calmly at the threshold. "She's not well. Sh-she has episodes and-"

"Ma'am, I honestly don't know; when she came to she said she doesn't know how she got here or what happened. She just keeps asking for this man," he pointed his clipboard at Hannibal. "Saying he's her doctor, and telling us not to let you or someone named Will Graham into her room."

Upon hearing his name, Will shuffled over to Alana and frowned. "I don't understand why…" he started, but Alana suddenly turned and swatted him hard on the arm.

"What did you do?!"

"Ow!"

"Children," Hannibal warned again tiredly, and they both turned their glares on him, "enough."

Clearing his throat, the younger doctor looked pointedly to Alana again. "Listen, just bring back some documentation and we'll let you in, alright? By that time she'll probably be ready to leave anyway. Her injuries were minor."

"...Alright. Thank you."

He nodded once, shot Will a suspicious glance, then turned and shut the door behind himself and Hannibal.

"I didn't do anything," Will hissed the second the door clicked shut, putting a world of emphasis on the 'I.'

Alana's lip curled. "Oh and what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you royally screwed up and no amount of apologizing is going to make a damn difference," he replied viciously. "I can't believe anyone granted you permission to be her legal guardian. There's something seriously wrong with her- something happened to that woman, and you can't just dump her off on people she doesn't know. Jesus, Alana, how stupid can you be? And you have the nerve to blame me for this?"

Her stomach twisted in knots and she had to focus hard not to cry. "Will-"

"No. I-I know we still have to work together, but I don't want to see you outside of Jack's office again, for the conceivable future."

He started to limp away and she reached out to grab his arm. "Please-... Please let me give you a ride home, at least?"

Will shook his head and jerked his sleeve away from her grip. "I'll call a cab," he grumbled, and she watched silently as he hobbled out of the waiting room.

Reston Hospital Center,

Room 301

"So you're her psychiatrist?" The younger doctor asked as they came to a halt just outside Delilah's room.

Hannibal nodded stiffly, his eyes fixed on the closed door. As he took in the gaudy teal paint job, he listened intently and caught the rush of running water coming from what he assumed to be the en suite bathroom within.

"For how long?"

"A grand total of two days," he replied curtly. The water then shut off and he heard Delilah slowly shuffle back to her bed. He glanced over in time to see the doctor's eyebrows jump up to his prematurely receding hairline and Hannibal canted his head. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just, you were the first person she mentioned when she woke up. I expected you to say two years- or months, even. Not two days."

"Miss Bloom understands I have only her best interests in mind."

"...Right," he muttered, clearly confused. Stuffing the clipboard under his arm, he turned the handle and pushed the heavy door open. "Hey there, Delilah!" He called, and Hannibal heard the woman in question groan with annoyance.

"Like I haven't heard that one before, Steve."

Steve, evidently, chuckled warmly and grasped the curtain shielding her bed from view. "You decent?" He asked, giving the curtain a little shake. "Because youuuu have a visitor!"

Hannibal bit the inner corner of his mouth and shut his eyes to avoid noticeably rolling them. The man would clearly be much better suited to a pediatrician's role.

Delilah huffed and threw the curtain aside, effectively ripping it out of the doctor's grasp. "Nope, I'm buck na-" She stopped abruptly, and Hannibal opened his eyes to find her freshly washed face staring straight up at him.

"Good afternoon, Miss Bloom," he said kindly, his lips quirking at the corners as a faint dusting of rose coloured her cheeks. So sweet.

"H-hi, Dr. Lecter," she stammered, absently picking at the dressings covering her palm. "Sorry… I was expecting Alana."

"You asked for her not to be allowed in," Steve replied matter-of-factly, setting his clipboard down and gently shooing her hand away from the bandages. "Knock that off."

Delilah huffed and dropped her hands to her sides. "It itches," she grumbled, clambering back up onto the bed. "Anyway, I didn't actually think you'd heed my request."

"Ask and you shall receive," Hannibal interjected with a smirk. He pulled a chair up to her bedside and folded his coat over the back, then sat down and crossed his legs.

Steve nodded absently and peeked under her bandages, before scribbling notes on the clipboard and tucking it under his arm again. "Alrighty chica, I'll put in a call for some ibuprofen but I think you'll be all set to leave once your sister comes back with documentation."

"But you just said-"

"She claims to be your legal guardian. I can't let you leave by yourself if that's the case."

Leaning forward to brush her good hand with his fingertips, Hannibal caught her gaze and spoke sternly, "If you want people to treat you like an adult, you're going to need to stop pouting like a child."

"Wise words," the doctor clipped, and both she and Hannibal shot him a glare. "Er… I'll leave you to it, then. A nurse will be by with your prescription and discharge papers. You'll have to wait for your sister to fill them out."

"Gee, thanks," she muttered, scowling after the man as he left and didn't bother to close the door behind him.

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Hannibal stood and stalked over to the door with an irritated sigh, and snapped it shut.

"Shouldn't I be under some kind of crazy watch?" He heard the woman ask softly, and he turned to observe her. She refused to make eye contact now, her head tilted in the opposite direction to stare at the curtain.

"You are not crazy," he said firmly, and she scoffed.

Pursing his lips, he hesitated a moment before rounding the bed to crouch directly into her line of sight. "Look at me," he commanded, and was quite pleased to see her gaze immediately snap to his face. She still avoided his eyes, choosing instead to stare at his mouth. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and watched with thinly veiled amusement as her own plump, rouge tongue mirrored his. Reaching up, he touched the pads of his index and middle fingers under her chin and gave her a small nudge. "Delilah, please afford me the courtesy of eye contact when I speak to you."

Again, she complied without argument.

"Much better," he whispered, slipping his fingers away from her skin. "Now, will you tell me what happened with Will Graham?"

"Nothing happened," she replied briskly, taking a deep breath in through her nose and holding it.

"I don't take kindly to lying..."

Delilah frowned and exhaled with a loud huff. "I wouldn't lie," she assured him, sounding more than a little insulted. "I just… It's not his fault."

Hannibal straightened himself up at once and dusted off his slacks. "Whether it is his fault or not is not what I asked," he replied tersely. "I asked what happened."

"I had a freak out and took off," she offered flippantly. "It happens."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he paced back around to the other side of the bed. "And what triggered this 'freak out'?"

When thinking back on his telephone conversation with Will, he realized the man hadn't given much information. He'd only said she had had some kind of episode, and that Alana wasn't answering her phone. He'd actually found himself mildly concerned about the girl, and had taken off without demanding answers.

'She mentioned you, so I assume she knows you… I just- I don't know what to do,' Will had admitted, and he'd sounded absolutely terrified.

Delilah shrugged and glanced down at her hands before pointedly making eye contact again as she spoke. "I honestly have no idea. Last thing I remember, I was washing dishes after breakfast and… And I can't recall anything after that."

Sated in his assessment that she appeared to be telling the truth, and given the fact that he had no basis to really question her, he made himself comfortable in the chair again and said quietly, "Dissociative episodes are quite common after a traumatic event, Delilah."

"But I can't recall any trauma-"

"Yet."

That caused her to snap her mouth shut and Hannibal continued. "If I were required to give you a diagnosis, right this instant - even without having born witness to one of your 'freak outs' - I would only entertain the possibility of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, with some form of dissociation being a byproduct of the larger picture. Whatever that may entail.

"I believe your former Doctor Marlene's attempt at hypnotherapy was, while perhaps not well-executed, a step in the right direction," he went on sensibly. "This does not appear to be bipolar disorder and you are absolutely not schizophrenic- I trust you've stopped taking the quetiapine?"

"Yes, of course," she replied indignantly, and he smirked in return.

"Good. Are you still taking the Zoloft?"

"I took it last night… should I not have?"

Hannibal shook his head. "No, that's perfect. I think I would like to increase your dosage, as well."

"Yes, alright…" She picked at the bandage on her palm again before leaning heavily against the mountain of pillows behind her. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," she mumbled thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling. Delilah suddenly settled down into the bed and rolled over to face him. "What can you do for that?"

"The Zoloft will help you feel calm and allow you to better focus on the day-to-day; regular therapy, to figure out the origin of your… situation," he chose the word carefully, "will be the most useful in lessening the prevalence of your episodes."

"Okay," she muttered, biting back a yawn. "We still haven't discussed frequency."

"Well, how often do you think you should see me?"

"...Once a week?" She offered tentatively.

Resting his head on his hand, he began tracing his bottom lip with his fingertip as he studied her. "How do Friday afternoons sound?"

Another yawn forced its way past her lips this time and he watched her jaw quiver around it as she nodded. "I would like that," she whispered sleepily. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her body suddenly jerked in an effort to keep herself awake.

"As would I…" Hannibal replied, allowing himself a genuine smile as he leaned forward a bit and lowered his voice to a rumble. "Rest now, bellissima."

"Mmh," she hummed in her half-awake daze, her eyes struggling to focus on him. "What'd you call me?"

He merely smiled and reached out to brush his knuckles against her still slightly flushed cheek. "Sleep."

As Delilah's soft snores filled the room, Hannibal let his hand drop from her face and he leaned back in his seat to process. If he was being honest with himself, he shouldn't really be here. He was getting too wrapped up in this woman already, his professional interest rapidly twisting into a personal obsession.

'Curiosity killed the cat, you know.'

The highly overused phrase danced across his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside. While that may very well be the case, Hannibal Lecter was a touch more formidable than a common feline.

Standing abruptly, he snatched his coat from the chair and shook it out before pulling it on and buttoning it up as he made his way to the door. Smoothing his lapels, he paused mid-stride and his feet carried him back to Delilah's bedside. He bent over and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her golden curls; shutting his eyes as he pushed past the sterile bite of the hospital room, past the pine and earth from her romp in the woods, he finally found that delicious aroma of ripe plum and spice once more. Saliva flooded his tongue and he had to swallow it down before pressing his lips to her temple.

A knock sounded at the door, and he straightened himself up at once, turning to watch passively as a familiarly squat woman meandered into the room. "Ah, Miss DeMarco," he greeted courteously.

"Ooh, well if it isn't the handsome doctor again!" She squealed in delight as she looked up from the paperwork in her hands, and his jaw clenched to avoid scowling. "We gotta stop meetin' like this, sugar."

Hannibal forced a laugh and brought a finger to his lips. "Please keep your voice down; my patient is taking a much needed rest."

"Oh, sorry," she half-whispered, her voice still much too loud for Hannibal's liking, as she ducked around him to check on the sleeping woman. "We all look like angels when we're asleep, don't we?" she mused. "Even the Devil himself."

"Who says the Devil is a man?"

The nurse let out a boisterous laugh that caused Delilah to stir and his eyes narrowed as she replied simply, "The Bible, honey."

"Perhaps the Bible shouldn't be taken so literally," he murmured, but he could tell she wasn't listening anymore; he was yet again ready to take his leave when he heard her click her tongue in disdain.

"What a shame," she muttered to herself, "the prettiest girls are always the stupidest."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"Hm?" She glanced up from Delilah's discharge papers and gave the room a conspiratorial once over before shuffling nearer. "Well, I'm not supposed to say anything, but… seein' as you're her, what, therapist?"

"Psychiatrist," he corrected.

"Right, well, I overheard that lumberjack boy telling the doctor about what happened…" The nurse heaved a dramatic sigh and hugged the folder to her chest, as she looked to Delilah with pity. "Sounds to me like the poor dear is on PCP."

Hannibal's lips parted, his jaw slacked as he was caught in a rare moment of being completely at a loss for words. While he could see the connection, and had briefly entertained the idea himself - Dissociative episodes complete with erratic behavior would cause anyone to suggest first ruling out PCP - he found he was deeply irritated with the woman's presumptuousness.

"She is not abusing any illicit drugs, Miss DeMarco," he finally replied, keeping his voice even. "Miss Bloom has been drug tested within the past thirty days," he added before she could argue. "I would advise you not to so flagrantly place judgment on your patients; they need your kindness, not your misplaced and ill-informed slander."

She was quite efficiently stunned into silence and Hannibal offered her a self-indulgently sardonic grin. "Until we meet again, Miss DeMarco."

As he made his way out of the room, he caught sight of Alana bustling down the hall, some paperwork and a change of clothes for her sister bunched in her arms. "Hey," she mumbled, slowing awkwardly as they met near the door.

Hannibal paused, having the overwhelming urge to scold her, but he stamped it down. "Miss Bloom is resting," he informed her calmly. "As it appears she has had a trying day, I would suggest letting her be until she wakes on her own."

"Of course," Alana whispered, finding her wrist to rub at her nose. It was unsurprisingly raw from excessive crying. "Listen, could you... Could you please talk to Will? If Delilah didn't want him around I'm assuming he said something or-"

Hannibal's eyes widened. "Are you suggesting he caused this?"

"Well, I-I..." she floundered, looking around for something to focus on to avoid eye contact.

"Alana, you've made a mistake. It is time to own up to it, and make amends as best you can. There's no need to drag Will under the bus and tarnish his character for your folly. I dare say he has enough to worry about without you putting this on him, too."

Well, so much for avoiding scolding her.

"I don't mean he did anything! I'm not saying that! I just... Maybe he said something that set her off?"

Taking a deep breath, Hannibal shrugged and folded his hands in front of himself. "Perhaps he did. Would that make this situation any more his fault than if he hadn't?"

"No," she grumbled. "I shouldn't have left her there. B-But I couldn't very well take her to see Abigail!"

"And therein lies your problem, Alana. You've taken it upon yourself to be your sister's nursemaid, but you haven't the time nor the inclination to be what you think she needs. Frankly, I think she's stronger than you give her credit for."

"I couldn't leave her alone!"

"What do you do any other time you have to work, or take a sudden leap at Jack Crawford's insistence?"

"Up until a month ago, she was working at a coffee shop and taking classes at Arthur Murray. Our schedules lined up pretty well and things were fine."

"Arthur Murray? The dance studio?"

Alana nodded. "She was doing really well until something happened with her instructor and she slammed his face into the mirror wall... a lot.

"She tells me she has no memory of what happened, but the man was a bloody pulp when she was through. Since then she hasn't looked for a new studio. Still works at the coffee shop, but only some weekday mornings, and full days on the weekend."

"I see," he muttered, filing each detail away for later as he glanced down at his watch. "Well, forgive me Alana but I have an appointment. Delilah and I have settled on Friday afternoons for her sessions. I think three-thirty will do nicely."

"Alright, thank you- a-and, thank you for coming when Will called. Y-you didn't have to do that."

"I know I didn't. I wanted to make sure Miss Bloom was alright."

"You're a good man, Hannibal."

Hannibal smiled and inclined his head. "I do what I can."

Just wanted to say a big thank you to my new followers and reviewers!

Whoever mentioned they were tired of Hannigram (it was a guest review), same here bruh. I know it's technically cannon but... I reject your reality, Fuller, and substitute my own, haha.

Thanks for reading!