Chapter 12
Jack Crawford's little outburst evidently came as quite a shock to all involved. While Delilah simply stared, feeling very much like a doe caught in the headlights, Bella gaped at him in utter bewilderment and Hannibal himself appeared scandalized in a way Delilah hadn't yet seen; with his mouth parted slightly, eyebrows halfway up his forehead, and his head canted to the side, he seemed entirely at a loss for words.
If she could allow herself to feel a modicum of relief in the moment, his dumbfounded reaction would have been the catalyst for it – after his earlier attempt to trigger an episode with the veal heart, she hoped this meant he hadn't orchestrated the whole debacle to test her in some other unforeseen way. As it was, all Delilah could feel was the bizarre vibrating sensation that accompanied the panic-induced adrenaline coursing through her nervous system, and it was a damned struggle not to simply bolt out the open front door.
"Well, Doctor Lecter?" Jack pressed. "Care to tell me why I'm looking at one of your patients standing in your home right now?"
Delilah watched curiously as Hannibal's features smoothed and his mouth twisted into an outwardly serene, yet somehow predatory, smile that didn't quite touch his eyes.
"This is part and parcel of Miss Bloom's therapy, Jack," he replied calmly. "Placing her in an unfamiliar location and surrounding her with unfamiliar people, while she has an anchor in myself and eventually her sister; she's been stable enough that I see a need to challenge her now. One may find it potentially unethical, but I think we can agree that ethics sometimes happen to fall by the wayside…"
While Delilah's heart sank to her toes, along with any hope that this evening could possibly be more than just an avant-garde therapy session, a silent exchange was shared between the two men and was followed by a noticeable grimace from Jack, before Hannibal added, "All the same, tonight Delilah is not to be treated as my patient – tonight, she is simply my guest."
The man glared at Hannibal for what felt like an age, before he shifted his narrowed eyes back to Delilah; he seemed to be daring her to say something stupid.
Forcing a smile, Delilah gathered every ounce of courage she could muster and stepped forward to offer her minutely shaking hand. Her eyes darted instinctively toward Hannibal and he blinked twice at Jack before catching her gaze, his lips quirking toward a ghost of a smile – though it faltered at once when her hand made contact with Jack's; she was puzzled by his sudden scowl, until she felt the force of Jack's fingers evidently attempting to crush her own. "It- It's good to see you again, Mr. Crawford," she said, struggling not to wince.
"Agent," he snapped, giving her arm a short jerk before releasing her to gesture to the beautiful woman at his side. "This is my wife, Bella. Bella, this is Alana Bloom's little sister, Delilah."
Bella offered her a warm, albeit confused, smile and shook her hand – thankfully much more gently. "It's very nice to meet you, Delilah. I wasn't aware Alana had any siblings."
Jack snorted humorlessly. "Apparently, she's been hiding the girl... So, Hannibal, are any of your gala friends attending dinner this evening? If they are, I suppose you'd like us to keep her mental instability and your little experiment to ourselves. Don't want anyone thinking they're having dinner with a psychopathic-"
"Jack!" Bella interjected with a gasp, clearly taken aback by her husband's behaviour.
The barest hint of something vicious and deadly flashed across Hannibal's face just then, only for a moment, but it was swiftly replaced with knitted brows and a deeply disappointed frown. "If we are going to have a problem tonight, I may have to ask you to leave," he replied quietly.
"Is that so, Doctor?"
"Should you continue to behave like this, you will leave me no other choice. Discourtesy has no place at my table."
Jack chuckled darkly and shook his head, clearly biting back a snide remark. "Alright, alright." He grinned at Delilah as if she were meant to be in on some kind of joke, then offered a slight, sardonic bow in her direction. "Forgive me, Ms. Bloom, it's been a long week."
"Not to worry, Agent Crawford," she replied with a sickly-sweet smile. "I imagine your job is quite stressful."
"You have no idea…"
Stifling silence descended upon them as Hannibal put the married couple's things in the coat closet and, as she absently massaged her hand, Delilah continued to debate internally over whether she should just leave. She certainly hadn't agreed to being a psychiatry guinea pig tonight and, on top of that, it was quite evident that Jack had some sort of issue with her; his demeanor had been understandably awkward when they had first met, but now he radiated what felt very much like disgust. The last thing she needed was ambiguous stress piled on top of the stress she was already feeling over her potential psychopathy, as he had so kindly put it. Try as she might, she couldn't fathom what had his panties in such a bunch — the man couldn't possibly be this upset over Hannibal inviting a patient to dinner, could he?
Before anyone could attempt to remedy the awkwardness, a small group of people Delilah didn't recognize made their way up the steps to the open front door.
"Ah." Hannibal breezed forward to welcome two women and a man into the foyer. "Mr. and Mrs. Komeda, Lenora – good evening."
The shorter of the females, a scrawny woman with a jet black, a-line bob, thrust herself and her vulgarly overflowing chest toward Hannibal. "Oh, Doctor Lecter," she cooed, sighing dramatically and placing a bony hand on his upper arm. "I must say, I was ever-so-concerned when you called to push dinner back. It was only half an hour, sure, but you've never done such a thing before – and what with it being so long since you've invited us over, I nearly feared you may cancel on us!"
"Nonsense, Mrs. Komeda," he replied, offering her a polite smile and sidestepping away from her touch. He took her shawl and purse, along with her seemingly oblivious husband's coat, and hung them in the closet. "Two of our number will be a bit late and we would be remiss to start without them." He then turned to Lenora, a lithe and rather disinterested-looking woman, to take her coat and clutch. "I trust the minor change in plans tonight didn't cause you any grief?"
Lenora scoffed lightly and shook her head. "Oh please, Doctor Lecter. It's kind enough of you to welcome us into your home — it isn't as if we are paying you for a service." She added the last bit with a pointed glance in Mrs. Komeda's direction, but the woman seemed to be ignoring her presence entirely.
Between the woman openly flirting with Hannibal and the husband that was more interested in the ceiling than his own wife — not to mention the strained relationship the two women themselves seemed to have, even though Delilah was fairly certain they had all arrived together — the entire display was just absurd enough to make her forget about Jack Crawford, if only temporarily.
She happened to glance in his direction and found he was still glowering at her, however, and she was very nearly ready to ask him just what the hell his problem was, when Hannibal began introducing the little group to each other.
"This is Special Agent Jack Crawford-"
"Special Agent?"
"That's correct. I'm the head of Behavioral Sciences-"
"Oh, how fascinating! I don't know if Dr. Lecter told you, but I'm a novelist, you see, and I'm actually working on a fictional crime-drama…"
Lingering on the outskirts as they nattered on, Delilah quietly made her way around to lean halfway out the still wide-open front door, enjoying the crisp autumn breeze as it rustled her hair. It would be so easy to just take off and call a taxi or a Lyft — at this point, god-awful karaoke would be a welcome annoyance.
Just as she noticed the bright headlights of what must be Alana's hybrid pulling up the driveway, Hannibal gently called her name and she turned to find him looking at her with mild concern, a hand outstretched toward her. Resisting the urge to actually take his hand, she stepped nearer – then further away again – making sure to keep a proper distance between them. "Yes, Doctor Lecter?"
"Mrs. Komeda has asked about you." Hannibal moved to her side and rested a hand on her shoulder. "This is a good friend of mine, Delilah Bloom."
"Good friend, hm?"
Hannibal merely chuckled and shook his head.
"Mhm… So, how do you two know each other?" she asked. Though she was barely an inch taller than Delilah herself, Mrs. Komeda somehow managed to peer down her nose at her as she added, "Surely you've never been to any of the events we and Doctor Lecter tend to frequent; I think I would remember such a lovely young face."
Her words felt bizarrely like an insult, though Delilah couldn't quite pinpoint why; rather than dwell on it, she simply smiled and shook her head. "No, probably not. Doctor Lecter used to be my sister's mentor; they've been friends for quite some time and she introduced us not too long ago."
Not bothering to wait for a response, she casually turned her attention back to Hannibal. "Speaking of Alana, she and Will are headed up now. I just saw her car-"
As if on cue, the pair came bustling over the threshold and Alana's eyes darted about before zeroing in on Delilah, who merely blinked at her curiously as her sister rushed to greet her. "Hey," she said, slightly out of breath. "You alright?"
"I'm doing just fine," Delilah replied, quirking a bemused brow at her. "Are you alright?"
Alana studied her intently, as if trying to spot a lie hiding in amongst her eyelashes, then let out a small sigh of relief and smiled — evidently mollified by whatever she found on Delilah's face. "Good. Yeah, I'm good too."
"Good," Hannibal repeated, drawing everyone's attention back to himself as he took Alana's shawl and purse, along with Will's coat. "Now that we're all present and accounted for – Will, would you kindly shut the door?"
Quite obviously uncomfortable, Will abruptly yanked the door shut behind himself with a dull slam and blindly locked it before cramming his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. Delilah did note that he looked much more put-together than she could ever remember seeing him, but he was clearly still exhausted beyond reason — and nothing of his or Alana's appearance suggested that he was tired after some particularly strenuous activity, either.
"Thank you. Shall we, then?" Hannibal said, simultaneously placing their things in the closet and regathering his own suit jacket, before gesturing everyone out of the foyer and herding them into the dining room.
When they came upon the room and guests were scanning the place cards to find their seats, Delilah stopped short in the entryway — all worries momentarily forgotten, as she was thoroughly stunned by her surroundings.
Apart from one papered wall depicting some sort of landscape etching, which served as the backdrop for several shelves filled to capacity with herbs – all real and fresh, judging by the lush, earthy scents wafting around the room – the other two walls framing the dining table were adorned with inky, sapphire moldings that bent and waved. Each wall gave the distinct impression that the room was moving, breathing... alive. Against the dark blue wall to the left, a solid stone fireplace was happily crackling away with an antique oak credenza resting beside it, and either surface was adorned with a charming mix of both modern and traditional décor.
In the center of the room sat a massive, maplewood dining table – as exquisite a piece of furniture as any he owned, but she found the centerpieces set atop the dark gray table runner to be most captivating: Fresh flowers, dark fruits, and other assorted embellishments filled and overflowed from three bowls, their contents seeming to crawl purposefully from one display to the next. The display appeared to tell a story — one Delilah found she would certainly like to know.
A warm hand was suddenly felt upon her upper back and she blinked away from her stupor to find Hannibal staring down at her, a profundity to his gaze that she couldn't begin to comprehend.
"You've really outdone yourself, Hannibal," Jack announced appreciatively, and Delilah instinctively jerked away from Hannibal's touch.
A nearly inaudible sigh escaped the man at her side and she glanced up only to find him smiling benignly at the rest of his guests. "Thank you, Jack. Please, everyone, make yourselves comfortable; if you'll excuse us, Delilah is going to assist in collecting our appetizer. After you," he said, motioning in the general direction of the kitchen.
Delilah hesitated for a fraction before turning back the way she'd come and taking an abrupt left. Leaning against the wall, she pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart flutter erratically as she took a few deep breaths. Hannibal paused before her for a moment, then sighed again and gently took hold of her arm to lead her down the hall.
When he released her, she ventured forth to lean heavily against the kitchen island, resisting the urge to mash her face onto the icy, stainless steel top, and she watched Hannibal pause to carefully lay his jacket upon the beige armchair in the corner; he then breezed past her to retrieve a stack of small, wide-rimmed dishes from a cupboard, which he silently placed in a neat little row before her. As she counted out nine of the strange little porcelain bowls, Hannibal silently moved about to gather ingredients and supplies.
"I thought you said everything was taken care of?" she asked quietly.
"It has been, for the most part. The tartare must be prepared and served as soon after as possible," he explained, setting down the glass storage dish of veal hearts they had prepared earlier, along with two jars, an onion, a small carton of eggs, and a fire engine red chili pepper no wider than her ring finger. "I can certainly manage alone, but I figured you could use a breather."
"You figured correctly," she mumbled, snagging the jars to inspect their contents — capers and tiny pickles labeled cornichons. "Jack seems to have it out for me..."
"Of course he does," came Hannibal's no-nonsense reply, as he took the jar of capers from her, and her stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably. "You knew two of the victims of last week's killings. Jack would be a fool not to suspect you."
Delilah let out an indignant huff and opened her mouth to defend herself, but her words died in her throat as his statement fully sank in. "Wait, what?"
Hannibal paused in the middle of pouring some capers into a sieve over the sink. "Hm?"
"I… I knew two of the victims?"
"Ah, yes." He rinsed the capers and shook the sieve a bit, then dumped them into a small glass dish, which he set down beside the meat. "One was a woman called Marilyn DeMarco-"
"I'm sorry, who?"
"One of your nurses, the day you were injured on Will Graham's property." He quickly began dicing half of the onion as he continued pensively, "It's rather curious, given she didn't live nor work anywhere near where her body was found."
"Huh." Delilah squinted up at the ceiling for a moment, but she couldn't place a face to the name. "And the other…?"
"Matthew Nelson," he said simply, his tone suggesting this information was nothing while her stomach took a nosedive.
"What?"
"You heard me." He rinsed the chili and lopped off the stem, then set to work deseeding it and slicing it so thin, so fast, she wasn't sure she'd even seen his knife move at all. "Are you bothered by this information?"
"Bothered…?" She crossed her arms over her chest and stared contemplatively at his hands, watching him deftly scoop the slivers of chili onto the blade of his knife and swipe them into another little dish.
Bothered was a strange word, with far too many possible meanings; she couldn't say she was torn up about Matthew's death, nor would she have ever been particularly fussed by it, but perhaps she was a little concerned with the fact that the man had ended up violently murdered so soon after she'd had her own altercation with him — if only because it meant that Hannibal was absolutely right and Jack did have a solid basis for suspecting her.
"It… scares me," she finally said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I would love to take credit for that bastard's death, but I didn't do it."
"I know you didn't. Jack will come to that understanding, as well, in time."
Delilah gnawed on her lip as she brought her eyes up to study his face. He seemed entirely unconcerned, even a bit pleased, and after a moment she found his calm was oddly catching; slowly, her stomach crawled its way back up to its proper place inside her abdomen. "Okay. Alright, but… If he really thinks I've done this, why hasn't he brought me in for proper questioning? He's just acting like an asshole."
Hannibal's lips quirked upward briefly before he replied softly, "Because sometimes, Delilah, ethics fall by the wayside. Anyone who has worked with him for more than a day will tell you the same."
"...Fantastic." She sighed heavily and rubbed at her arms as she started to pace.
"Please take a seat and relax," Hannibal urged, gesturing toward the armchair behind her.
"Tall order," she mumbled, picking up his jacket and reluctantly flopping onto the chair; she gently laid the beige and blue checked material across her lap and leaned back, letting out a small huff as she turned to rest her cheek against the cool leather.
Hannibal chuckled softly. "I need you to try your best. Never mind Jack's little witch hunt, if you keep dancing away from me and turning pink out there, people are going to ask questions – and Mrs. Komeda has quite the affinity for gossip."
"Honestly, Hannibal, I'm not entirely sure I should even be here," she mumbled, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket before peeking at the collar for a tag, just out of curiosity. Where she expected the word 'Armani,' or something similarly ostentatious, she found absolutely nothing.
"Nonsense," he said. "You absolutely should be here."
She blinked away from the confusing jacket and stared up at him. "Why?"
"Because I want you here," he replied matter-of-factly.
Delilah smiled and fidgeted in her seat — she certainly wouldn't argue with that. "May I do anything to help," she asked as she stood again, "or am I only allowed to watch?"
He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. "If you cannot simply relax as I've asked, you may help by collecting the serving cart," he said, producing a small key from his pocket and holding it out to her; he then nodded toward the door behind her. "It's in the pantry."
"Alright." Gently laying his jacket back down on the chair, she plucked the key from his fingertips and moved to unlock the door. As she twisted the key and gripped the doorknob, she hesitated, finding it bizarre that he bothered to keep his pantry locked at all, and quirked a brow at him over her shoulder. "What are you hiding in here?"
Hannibal's lips twisted into a grin and he shook his head. "If I were intending to hide something from you, it would be rather silly of me to just hand you the key, would it not?"
"I didn't ask whether you were hiding anything from me, specifically," she replied, tossing him a wink before stepping into the slightly chillier little side room.
Inside were several bulky and professional-looking culinary tools, such as a meat grinder and a deli slicer; a second fridge, filled with a wide variety of fresh produce and vacuum-sealed meats; and built straight into the walls lining either side of the door were dozens of spaces for bottles of wine – nearly all of which were occupied.
"Wow. You have your own personal little liquor store in here," she muttered, snagging a random bottle of red off the wall and reading its label. 'Antinori Guado al Tasso Bolgheri Superiore, 2013,' it proclaimed — none of which meant much of anything to her.
"Each meal demands its own tailored accompaniment," he replied.
Delilah hummed thoughtfully, replacing the bottle before finding the serving cart and pulling it around toward the door. "Speaking of tailored —" she began, but the skinny heel of her right pump suddenly caught on something and her thought ended in a squeak, as she lurched forward to free her foot.
"Everything alright?" Hannibal called, genuine concern in his voice.
Glancing back and finding nothing but hardwood flooring, she rolled her eyes and shoved the cart out into the kitchen to find Hannibal halfway to the door to check on her. "I'm fine," she assured him with a smile. "Just being clumsy, I guess."
"Rather unlike you," he said, frowning some before doubling back to the kitchen island to grab a large, metal mixing bowl.
Delilah pushed the cart over to a halt beside the porcelain bowls, then leaned against the counter again to watch Hannibal crack and separate three egg yolks into the bowl before quickly mixing its contents. "Nerves," she offered with a small shrug.
He replied with a knowing hum and moved to the oven to retrieve a tray of toasted baguette rounds; transferring them to a wire rack to cool, he then returned to the bowl and added a dash of sea salt, along with several turns from a black pepper grinder, before giving it another mix. "Were you going to ask me about my suits?" he inquired, jumping back to her attempted conversation — before she'd evidently tripped over a ghost — as he moved to her side to begin portioning out the tartare.
"Mhm. I noticed there's no tag in your jacket."
"Each is custom made to my exact specifications," he said, wordlessly motioning for her to help him transfer the dishes onto the serving cart. "A good tailor should be known by his stitching, thereby leaving no need for labels."
Delilah studied him as they worked in tandem; each time she sat a bowl down, he would take a healthy pinch of extra sea salt and bend over to place a perfect, curving trail of it upon one side of the wide, flat rim; he was so careful about it, so meticulous, one would think they were preparing these dishes for the Queen of England. "…Anyone ever tell you you have control issues, Hannibal?"
He froze briefly, then smirked and peered up at her with an amused twinkle in his eye. "It's only an issue if it causes me detriment," he replied, "and I can say with utmost certainty that my predilection for mastery over myself and my environment has done nothing but serve me well over the years."
"And how do you deal with things out of your control?"
"Accordingly," he said simply, a finality to his tone that told her the conversation was over. She watched as he stepped back to the little toasted pieces of bread and quickly began laying down three per bowl, resting them neatly on the rim, opposite the salt.
When he came to the last dish, Delilah's nerves took over again and she had to take several deep breaths to calm herself. She fiddled with the key still in her possession, absently twiddling it and flicking at it with her fingernails until it suddenly flew out of her hands and skittered across the floor. "Ah, shit," she mumbled, dropping to her knees to search for it.
Hannibal sighed exasperatedly and stalked across the room, quickly retrieving the key from under the armchair and locking the pantry before placing it back in the safety of his pocket. "This is meant to be a pleasant night for us," he said, stalking back to help her to her feet. "Please don't let Jack ruin it."
"Just a pleasant night, huh," she muttered, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "That's all?"
Slowly dragging his teeth over his upper lip, he studied her for a moment before clearing his throat and offering a contrite little half-smile. "Yes. I do apologize that I caused you to have any sort of doubt, but I told Jack what he needed to hear and that's where you need to leave it." He reached out to tuck a particularly unruly curl behind her ear and dipped his head slightly, just enough to look her levelly in the eyes. "Nothing good can come of it if you do not trust me, Delilah. Can't you trust me?"
Delilah stared back into his uniquely russet eyes, currently so warm and pleading, and searched carefully for some speck of insincerity. Finding none, she sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair, tousling it back and away from her face. "I can— I do. I do trust you. Of course I do. I'm sorry, I… I'll try not to let him get to me. It's just-"
"It's just nothing. He has nothing."
"I know, but-"
Tugging her to his chest, he slipped an arm around her waist and tipped her backward to silence her with a swift kiss. "Enough," he demanded softly. "Rest assured, your secret is safe with me," he continued, voicing a concern she hadn't wanted to admit was plaguing her — that Jack would discover she had murdered Travis Bloom. "For as determined as I am to keep it so, it may as well be my own. Are we clear?"
Taking in a shaky breath and exhaling sharply, she nodded once before wrapping her arms around his shoulders and giving him a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered, pressing her lips to his jugular before disentangling herself and taking a step back.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind suggested she ask why exactly he was so adamant about keeping her dirty little secret. She imagined doctor-patient confidentiality would be null and void in a situation such as this; no one would fault him for alerting the authorities to a murderer who had taken the effort to dismember and display her victim… But the voice was wafer-thin and easy to ignore. Delilah chose instead to simply be grateful and to bear in mind that, one day, she may well need to keep something to herself, for him, in return.
…
For all the shit people gave him for being awkward and antisocial, Will Graham found his propensity for being mostly laconic to be very beneficial in scenarios such as this — he was seldom, if ever, hassled for not contributing to the conversation.
Trying in vain to ignore the unwelcome guest seated across from himself, unwaveringly staring at him, Will took the time to study the others as they all awaited the beginning of their meal. Jack's wife, being as easy to talk to as most extroverts tend to be, kept the other two women he didn't know entertained; Jack spent the entirety of the ten or so minutes they'd been kept waiting thus far taking turns shooting looks at Alana and gazing expectantly at the entrance — quite obviously awaiting Hannibal and Delilah's return; and for Alana's part, she seemed unable to pry her glaring eyes off of Jack, at all.
After the fourth time their boss had brought his suspicious glare back to their side of the table, he cleared his throat and asked with feigned politeness, "Is something bothering you, Alana?"
"No," she clipped. "Should there be?"
Jack scoffed lightly and shook his head. "That's to be determined."
'Wow, what a prick. Is he always like this?'
Will's eyes shot to the source of the gravely voice — Garrett Jacob Hobbs, still seated directly opposite himself, was staring at Jack with an annoyed grimace on his sickly face.
"Stop," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his mouth to shield the fact that he was talking to what he knew was an empty chair… It was empty, right?
'How can this seat be empty, dingbat? I'm sitting in it. You're looking right at me; I'm looking right at you. You hear me talking to you…'
"Stop- stop that," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Go away."
"What?"
Will jerked his attention back to the rest of the table to find both Alana and Jack squinting at him, each wearing their own brand of concern. "I… Uh, what?"
"Did you say something to me?" Jack asked.
He shook his head and forced a smile. "Just talking to myself. Like I do… I-I do that sometimes."
Alana quirked a brow, evidently unconvinced. "About what?"
"Oh, I… uh…" He scrubbed a hand over his eyes as he scrambled for a believable response. "Just, um, wh-what's taking them so long? It's getting pretty late, don't you think?"
'Wow, stellar acting.' Hobbs muttered, beginning a slow clap that grew progressively faster and louder as he spoke. 'They have no idea… you're losing… your goddamn mind…'
Will suddenly slammed his hands on the edge of the table and shoved his chair back, jumping to his feet. "I-I'm gonna go see if they need any help," he announced, much louder than intended. He only managed one step past Alana's chair, however, before Hannibal and Delilah reentered the room and he had to stop himself from shouting profanities as he begrudgingly forced himself back into his seat.
Annoyed though he was at his sudden lack of an escape route, he was grateful for the distraction — but his gratuity disappeared at once when he saw Hannibal step away from the serving tray he had pushed into the room and begin tugging at the chair across from his own. He watched in horror as Hannibal pulled Hobbs' chair out and proceeded to guide Delilah Bloom directly onto the man's lap. "Shit- NO, WAIT!"
The entire room froze and turned their attention to Will. He glanced quickly around at them all, each looking varying degrees of confused and startled, then looked frantically back to the chair Hannibal still had his hands on… only to find it was empty. Garrett Jacob Hobbs was nowhere to be found.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" Jack demanded, rising from his seat and leaning forward — the better to scowl across the table at him.
Will took a few deep breaths and swiftly scanned the room again before, thinking quickly, he rushed around the head of the table. "I-I-I thought I saw a spider," he stammered, pretending to investigate Delilah's chair.
"You shouted at us over a spider?" Hannibal inquired, brow quirked in mild amusement.
Delilah opened her mouth to add something but a high-pitched shriek was suddenly heard from the opposite end of the table, giving everyone a start. "Did he say spider?!" Mrs. Komeda screamed in abject horror. "Where- Where is it now? Oh god, what did it look like; where did it go?"
"Jesus Christ, woman," Jack grumbled, "would you just calm down?"
"I am severely allergic to brown recluses, I'll have you know!"
Will sighed and dug his fingers into his eyes, rubbing them hard enough to see spots of colour behind his lids. "Brown recluse aren't even native to Maryland, Mrs. Komeda."
"W-Well, I-I," she began to splutter, but Will turned away from her to smile apologetically at Hannibal and Delilah.
"Sorry," he mumbled, "Must have been a shadow."
"A flicker from the fireplace, maybe?" Delilah offered, smiling at him in the way people do when they're marginally worried you may suddenly pounce and maul them.
He laughed in spite of himself, then nodded and backed away, offering another muttered apology before slumping back over to his own seat.
…
Delilah watched closely as Will moved back around the table, her concern growing as she noticed the beads of sweat gathered around his hairline. She observed Alana staring pointedly at him, though he pretended not to notice, before clearing her throat and gingerly taking her seat. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Jack Crawford slowly sit back down directly beside her and her nerves came back with a vengeance. She had very nearly forgotten her initial shock — what with Will's bizarre little arachnid panic — that she was seated next to the very last person she would like to sit with, and she shot Hannibal an incredulous glare; he seemed entirely unruffled, however, as he gently eased her chair closer to the table.
"Thank you," she said, keeping hold of necessary politeness while filing away a slew of questions she had for him, for later. He simply smiled and sat her dish down in front of her, before making his way around the table to serve everyone else.
"Delilah, is everything okay?" her sister called across the table, sounding worried – too worried.
At the tone of Alana's voice, six other sets of eyes were doing a terrible job of pretending not to watch her nosily. Hannibal was too busy uncorking a bottle of wine and filling everyone's glasses to join in the stare down, but she noticed his lips were just slightly pursed in what she imagined to be annoyance.
Prying her eyes away from Hannibal, she tried on what she hoped to be a reassuring smile and looked back to her sister. "I'm fine, Alana… Elder siblings always think of themselves as second parents, don't they?" she added, to no one in particular. Light chuckling was sprinkled around the table before conversations started up and Delilah quickly dropped her gaze to the food before her; she knew full well that Alana was still staring at her, but she decided to take a page from Will's book and simply refused to acknowledge it.
Rounding the table to stand at the helm, Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine and gently tapped one of his forks against the stem. The chatter quickly died down and the table turned its full attention toward him.
"Good evening," he began, smiling as he waited patiently for everyone to take up their glasses. "We begin tonight with shameless decadence — veal heart tartare, with grilled crostini…" He paused a moment to make brief eye contact with each of his guests before continuing. "I know that many of you may be little more than strangers to each other now, but I hope that by the end of the night you will all see each other as, at the very least, pleasant acquaintances." He shot a very quick, but pointed glance in Jack's direction and it wasn't lost on Delilah; she clamped her mouth shut to disguise an amused huff as a delicate clearing of her throat and shot a sideways look to the FBI agent, herself — judging by the irritated look on his face, he hadn't missed it either.
Once everyone had shared a brief air-toast and Hannibal had taken his seat, Delilah took a long swig of her cabernet and absently listened to the clinking sounds and delighted murmurs fluttering around the room, while she eyed her dish with slight apprehension. Setting her glass down, she gingerly scooped a small spoonful of the tartare onto a baguette round, casually glancing to Hannibal as she brought it to her lips. Though his attention appeared to be fixed on the group as a whole, she could see him stealing glances at her as she took her first bite.
Raw meat, of any kind, had never really been high on Delilah's list of foods to try; it sounded mildly disgusting, in fact, and quite possibly dangerous — she assumed that was just the ingrained American ignorance talking, though, and as she savored that first bite, she found herself pleasantly surprised. The tartare was quite cold and smooth; slightly sweet, with a vinegary bite from the capers and pickles mixed within; the tiny chili she had watched Hannibal deftly slice to shreds, which were now all but invisible in the mixture, packed quite an unexpected punch of heat, as well. The crunchy bread, delicious in its own right, helped to offset the extreme tenderness of the meat and after that first little nibble, she found she immediately craved more. There was a strangely powerful, almost sensual feeling that came along with eating raw flesh… Shameless decadence, indeed.
"And how do you find the tartare, Miss Bloom?" Hannibal inquired, and it took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.
Resisting the immediate urge to reply with a sarcastic remark about using her eyeballs, she took a second to dab at her lips with her napkin and smiled. "It's delicious, Dr. Lecter," she replied before taking another sip of her wine. He stared at her a moment before smirking down at his plate.
"You seem surprised."
"I'll certainly admit I had some reservations about eating raw organ meat…"
"How this man can transform offal into such delectable fine dining, I swear I'll never understand," Mrs. Komeda butted in, her obnoxious voice carrying down the table with what appeared to be very little effort on her part.
"You flatter me too much, Mrs. Komeda," Hannibal replied with a warm smile, though Delilah distinctly heard a hint of irritation in his tone. He then rose to his feet and quickly began retrieving everyone's empty dishes, pausing to thank people as they praised the first course. He disappeared to fetch the main course and, as the others dissolved into idle chatter, Delilah took the time to study Will and her sister as she nursed her wine. They were talking animatedly, laughing every so often, and she smiled happily as she finally turned her attention to the centerpieces she'd been so eager to investigate earlier.
At the farthest end of the table, sat a wide vase filled with fresh cut flowers, some of which she knew by eye – pale lilies, deep red roses, and vibrant irises, along with plucked violet blossoms that were spotted sprinkled amongst a circling of plums – but there were two others she couldn't place. She overheard the pale brunette, Lenora, discussing the centerpieces with Mrs. Komeda and she cleared her throat gently. "Pardon me, but do you know what those taller blossoms are?"
"The ones that somewhat resemble tulips are crocus," Lenora replied, her tone politely educational. "The stalks with many smaller blossoms are larkspur."
Mrs. Komeda nearly choked on a swig of her beverage. "A Prima Donna and a botanist? How on earth are you still single?"
"What a funny bouquet," Bella mused, studying the flowers as she absently swirled the wine in her glass. "If I'm remembering my Greek mythology correctly, I believe these are all the very flowers Persephone was said to be picking when she was abducted by Hades."
Jack cut in with a sharp laugh. "Doctor Lecter always paints quite the picture with his table settings."
The rest of the more knowledgeable party laughed and nodded in agreement, while Delilah felt a funny tingle creep up her spine. She may have thought it a coincidence and nothing more, had the middle centerpiece not been full of pomegranates — the bowl was nearly overflowing with nothing but the mottled red fruits, with one haphazardly split open, perched at the top, and bleeding its scarlet juices over the rest.
From the first, to the second, and on still to the third display, cypress branches crept along like feathery hands clawing their way from one destination to the next; joining them halfway between the second and third centerpieces, were gorgeous peacock eyes. The feathers, splayed elegantly upon the table runner, were then accompanied by small animal bones to encircle the final display which rested in the space directly in front of her place setting.
This final bowl, shallow and wide, was filled nearly to the brim with glass-like water. Atop the surface, sat a massive lotus blossom – the single largest lotus blossom she had ever seen. It was a stunning, deep bluish-purple and she felt another shiver as she internally warred with herself not to reach out and touch it – curious as to whether it was actually real.
Before she could lose the battle, Will ducked his head to catch her eye and offered a lopsided grin. "Hey weirdo," he called across the table and she blinked away from the lotus to stare blankly at him before snorting softly.
"You're calling me weird, babyface?"
Will slapped a hand to his cheek and rubbed at the smoothly shaven skin. "Yeah, yeah. Trust me, after tonight, no-shave November is coming early this year."
"Oh, joy. Then you won't be babyface Will, you'll be lumberjack Will."
"You two seem awfully chummy," Jack suddenly interrupted; she could feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of her head but she steadfastly refused to look at him. "Eh?" he pressed on. "Something going on with you two?"
"Ew, what? No!" Delilah blurted out at once, entirely without thinking.
"'Ew?'" Will affected a thoroughly wounded look as he mimed stabbing himself in the heart. "Oh, ouch!" he added with an exaggerated wince, making her laugh again.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Graham? You're not my type."
"Neither are you, Bloom," he fired back, nostrils flaring as he grinned at her.
Mrs. Komeda clicked her tongue pensively. "Ohhh, I don't kno-ow," she said in a singsong that made Delilah's hands itch with a strong desire to smash the woman's face into the table. "Methinks the pair doth protest too mu-uch!"
"Which pair is protesting – and what?" Hannibal's voice suddenly inquired. He eyed them all with amused curiosity as he pushed the cart now laden with one massive, covered tray and another smaller one, along with a stack of fine china plates. He removed the larger cloche with a flourish to reveal two beautifully displayed racks of lamb; the scent of roasted meat and herbs danced across the room as he began meticulously plating, to serve each guest individually.
"The sweet pair sitting across from each other at the head of your table," Mrs. Komeda simpered, her grating voice slowly chipping away at Delilah's resolve not to snap at the woman. "They seem awfully... what was the word you used, Agent Crawford?"
"Chummy," he replied flatly and Delilah shot him a brief sideways glance to find that he was, unsurprisingly, glaring straight at her.
"Yeah, chummy. We think there may be something going on between them," she continued, her tone rife with manufactured scandal. "What do you say, Doctor? You're the expert on human behaviour here."
Hannibal froze in the midst of setting Delilah's plate in front of her and she was acutely aware of his incredibly close proximity. He scoffed quietly and she peeked at him out the corner of her eye to watch as he slowly licked his bottom lip, evidently mulling over what he'd like to say – when Mr. Komeda suddenly let out an exasperated groan.
"Oh please, woman, enough," he groused. "You think everyone and their bookkeeper is having some torrid love affair – these are real people with real lives, not one of your angst-riddled novels."
The entire room was silent for a long moment, before Hannibal chuckled softly. "Far be it from me to start a feminist war at my dining table, but I must advise you to listen to your husband; let's keep the gossip out of dinner tonight, shall we?" He straightened up and rested a hand on the back of Delilah's chair, his thumb brushing against her bare skin.
Delilah cleared her throat delicately and tossed back the last of her wine before muttering, "Great minds discuss ideas..."
A delighted snort of a laugh escaped the woman to Jack's left at once and Delilah leaned back to grin over at her. "Gosh, I can't seem to recall the rest of it," she mused, tapping a finger to her bottom lip.
"Average minds discuss events and small minds discuss people," she supplied quickly, grinning back at her before looking up to Hannibal. "She quotes Roosevelt?"
"She quotes everything," Alana interjected with a laugh.
"I like this one," Bella continued, reaching around behind Jack to pat her on the arm. "You should invite her to dinner more often."
Delilah tilted her head up to smile cheerily at Hannibal and he smirked in return. "I had a strong suspicion you two would become friendly," he said.
"At my expense," grumbled Mrs. Komeda, but no one seemed to be paying her any mind, and Hannibal simply chuckled as he returned to serving his guests.
"So, Delilah," Bella said, nudging Jack out of the way just as he was in the middle of taking a swig of wine, "tell me about yourself – what do you do for a living?"
Jack shot his wife an annoyed look, then scooted his chair a foot away from the table to drink in peace.
Delilah laughed and he turned his glower to her, but she pointedly ignored it. "I'm a barista at a little coffee shop."
"Oh, fun! Do you-"
Sardonic laughter erupted from Mrs. Komeda and the pair looked to her questioningly. "Sorry to intrude," she began, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, "but did you say you're a barista?"
Delilah nodded, mildly confused, and the woman let out another snort of derision. "Oh please, sweetheart, this isn't Italy. Don't be so pretentious."
"That was remarkably rude, Mrs. Komeda," Hannibal chastised, setting the last plate down before moving to prepare his own. "I see you are striving to become an expert at testing my patience tonight."
"Sorry, I didn't mean-… Sorry."
"…Well, guess we'll just be acquaintances," Delilah mumbled, garnering a snicker from Bella and her sister, along with a superbly sarcastic 'aw, shucks' from Will.
Once the awkwardness dissipated once more, conversation with Bella continued as they ate and Jack slowly seemed to warm up to her — slightly. He never participated in their conversation, but he did keep himself out of their way to allow them to talk and soon he seemed to be glaring at her much less. It was progress, at least.
As for the lamb, it was exactly as a main course should be — the unequivocal star of the evening. Superbly roasted, it was succulent and rich, and unquestioningly the most tender cuts of lamb Delilah had ever had the pleasure to sink her teeth into. The side dish he had chosen paired perfectly with it, as well — gently minted asparagus spears, with shaved radishes no thicker than a sheet of vellum.
"Where do you find such exquisite cuts of meat, Hannibal?" Jack asked as he gestured toward his empty plate.
"I think it has less to do with the butcher and more to do with the chef," Mrs. Komeda cut in. "The man's a veritable magician in the kitchen."
Hannibal paused a moment and Delilah watched a wry smile play across his lips. "And a good magician never reveals his secrets," he replied, eliciting a laugh from Mrs. Komeda that was a grating mix between a cackle and a giggle.
"That's just what he wants you to think," Delilah said, pointedly raising her voice loud enough to carry over and stifle Mrs. Komeda's squawking; she grinned at Hannibal before glancing down the table at the others. "He just doesn't want you all bogarting his butcher."
Jack laughed and nodded. "You know what, I think you might be right."
Shocked that he had finally decided to speak to her directly — sans glaring, no less — Delilah blinked over at him for a moment before joining him in laughter and looking to Hannibal with a pleased, albeit puzzled, expression. Hannibal simply inclined his head and gave her the briefest of winks, as if to say, 'See? I told you everything would be fine.'
"You've caught me," Hannibal announced, playfully tossing his hands up before rising from his seat. "Now, I think it's time for dessert and strong coffee," he said, casually setting about retrieving the empty plates while allowing more time to those still finishing up. "Would anyone care to assist? …Will?"
Delilah looked to the man in question and was immediately filled with concern. He seemed incredibly twitchy again and was fixated on something in the corner, near the living wall of herbs. She turned just enough in her seat to see if he had relocated that elusive spider, but she herself found nothing of interest.
"Will?" Hannibal called again, waving a hand in his face before taking his plate.
Will suddenly jerked his attention away from whatever had him so transfixed and looked up to Hannibal with wide, harried eyes. "What?"
"Would you mind helping me with dessert?"
"Oh, uh, s-sure. Yeah." He jumped to his feet, inhaling sharply and glancing around at everyone as if he were about to justify his bizarre behaviour — then evidently changed his mind and marched wordlessly out of the room.
Hannibal stared after him, then quickly gathered the last of the dishes and followed Will to the kitchen.
"… My, my, my," Mrs. Komeda muttered, clicking her tongue sadly. "Does anyone else get the impression that that young man is on drugs?"
Both Delilah and Alana pried their worried eyes from the doorway to glare at her at once, each poised and ready to lay into the woman, but it was Jack who spoke first. "Considering that that young man works for me — to even suggest such a thing is not only an insult to his character, but it brings my judgement into question. So, tell me, Mrs. Komeda, are you questioning my judgement?"
"Well, I mean-"
"I'm gonna ask you to think carefully before you finish that sentence."
…
Hannibal arrived in the kitchen to find Will, unsurprisingly, frenetically pacing within. He paused beside the pantry and stood still against the wall, watching the man with casual interest. He could hear voices growing louder and angrier back in the dining room, but forced himself to ignore it as he waited for Will to notice his presence.
"I wish you would leave me alone, damn it," he whispered, suddenly rushing to the sink to douse his face with handfuls of cold water from the tap.
Canting his head, Hannibal frowned slightly and slipped his hands into his pockets. "This is my kitchen."
Will jumped as though he'd been shot at and whipped around, staring at him with fear in his eyes before laughing nervously and grabbing a hand towel to dry off his face. "Sorry, not you," he mumbled.
"Then who? There is no one else in this room," he replied quietly, gesturing about to prove his point as he moved to retrieve two trays of ramekins from the fridge.
Inhaling deeply and exhaling with an explosive sigh, Will shrugged and shook his head. "N-No one. Never mind. What are those?"
"… Plum and cardamom crème brûlée — you're deflecting, Will."
"Yeah, well… Now's not the time," he muttered.
"Now is as good a time as any," Hannibal countered, grabbing a bag of turbinado sugar and a spoon. "You may clear the serving cart while you tell me precisely to whom you were speaking."
Letting out a small huff, Will shook his head again, refusing to comment as he set about gathering the plates from the serving cart and transferring them to the sink.
"Perhaps I could venture a guess…"
"No, it's nothing," Will insisted. "I'm just tired."
"Does this nothing of yours present itself in the form of one Garrett Jacob Hobbs?"
After a beat of silence, Hannibal glanced up from sprinkling sugar atop the custards to find Will staring at him with such pure shock that it was very nearly comical. "Oh please," he said, "who else could possibly be haunting you other than the man you've murdered?"
"I didn't-… I-I had to protect-"
"Of course. You took a life to save another — there's no sense mincing words, William. You aimed the gun, that held the bullet; and pulled the trigger, that fired the shot-"
"That killed the rat, that ate the cheese, that lay in the house that Jack built?"
Hannibal blinked at him for a moment before snorting lightly and returning his attention to his task. "I know you're trying to be funny, but I believe you've inadvertently hit the nail right on the head."
"…Are you suggesting it's Jack's fault I'm hallucinating?"
"I am rather insisting that you know it is Jack's fault. He built a funhouse of blood and death around you and you're losing touch with reality."
"It's just the insomnia-"
"That Jack built."
Silence followed and it was a thoroughly welcome one, as he felt he had made his point quite clear. Locating his culinary torch, Hannibal took his time adjusting the flame to the precise intensity needed for caramelizing the sugar, then carefully began to brûlée each ramekin to golden perfection.
"Smells great," Will muttered, fidgeting in his peripheral.
"Mhm." Leaving the crème brûlées to cool, he moved to the French press and began preparing the coffee. "Would you mind transferring the ramekins to the cart?"
"Sure."
"Thank you."
Once the coffee beans had been sufficiently ground, steeped, and pressed, he gathered the large carafe of fresh coffee, along with all the necessary accoutrements, and placed them neatly beside the ramekins. Hannibal took one last look over the spread, then finally turned to observe Will once more. "Do you think you can keep yourself together for another half hour, or so?"
Will took a deep breath and nodded jerkily, then paced quickly back to the sink to water his face again and Hannibal sighed. "Perhaps Alana should just take you home."
"No. No, I'm f-fine." He scrubbed his face with the hand towel one last time, then laid it over the edge of the sink and forced a smile. "My name is Will Graham, I'm in Baltimore, Maryland, and it's…" He paused to peer down at his watch. "Eight forty-two. See? I'm fine. Do you want me to draw a clock again?"
Hannibal didn't need to see another melted clock scribble to know that the encephalitis was worsening — the proliferation of his hallucinations told him as much. He decided then that he would be sure Will visited a neurologist within the next week… maybe two, depending on his progress.
"No," he replied with a small smile, "you don't need to draw a clock right now. I believe you. I would advise abstaining from any intimacy with Alana, however; you seem to be coming down with some sort of flu."
"Wh-… I-I-I… I mean, why d'you- I-"
"Why? I have eyes, of course."
"Wh- ha, well, I mean, of course I have f- uh… I mean, she's gorgeous. Did you see that dress?" When Hannibal simply stared back at him, he became ever more flustered and attempted to backpedal. "I-I-I mean, that's not the only reason- she's really intelligent, too. And, and-"
Taking a couple quick steps forward, Hannibal quieted the man's blathering with a brief touch of his palm to his forehead; he then brandished the light sheen that coated his skin before crossing to wash his hands. "You have a fever. I'll be sure to suggest to Jack that he allow you to rest for a few days."
Clearly pleased they were off the subject of Alana, Will nodded vigorously and cleared his throat. "Y-Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Thanks."
"Of course. Let's try to leave your ghost in the kitchen, so we may enjoy dessert without further interruption, alright?"
Will offered a sheepish frown of a smile and nodded, then took it upon himself to push the serving cart back into the dining room while Hannibal followed close behind.
…
If Lenora had learned anything from the incredibly eventful evening, it was that she would never again agree to carpool with the Komedas. If she'd taken a cab, she would have surely feigned illness and excused herself well before the lamb. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the meal, but rather that she couldn't stand most of the company. Mr. Komeda was a wet blanket, as always, and his wife was as odious as ever; everyone else seemed twisted up in something, or things, she did not care to even begin to understand; and Dr. Lecter himself was too far away to hold any sustainable conversation. Honestly, the night was boring as all get-out and she was just grateful that there was decent food and wine. The centerpieces were very pretty to look at, as well.
While their host and his more peculiar guest were occupied gathering dessert, she kept quiet and observed the chaos Mr. Komeda's wife had stirred up in the span of mere moments.
"I am not questioning your judgement at all, Agent Crawford," Mrs. Komeda replied carefully. "I am merely speaking out of concern for that nice young man."
"Oh bullshit," Delilah chimed in with a scoff. "You've been making snide little remarks all night. Why Dr. Lecter has even allowed you to stay, I have no idea."
"I was only-"
"You were only being a first class, grade A bitch," Alana snapped loudly, and Lenora had to cover her mouth with her napkin to stifle a surprised laugh. "Hannibal is just too damn polite to say as much."
Mrs. Komeda floundered for a comeback and Lenora watched the patchy flush of one who'd been properly chastised begin to creep up from beneath the powdery layer of makeup she had caked onto her face; it spread down her neck in ugly splotches and she began hilariously fighting with her chair in an attempt to move away from the table.
"I don't have to take this abuse, you know!" She shouted, standing too soon and sending her chair thundering backward. Her husband finally came to life and quickly moved to sit the chair back upright, while Mrs. Komeda sniffed indignantly and threw her cloth napkin down on the table. He sat back down, staring up at her questioningly, and she cleared her throat before gingerly retaking her seat. "I-It's impolite to just leave without thanking the host," she muttered, "but trust me, when Dr. Lecter comes back we are leaving."
"Hallelujah," Lenora whispered under her breath, just as Jack Crawford barked a laugh and exclaimed, "Good riddance!"
"Jack," his wife hissed, clearly going for a warning tone though she was doing a piss-poor job of hiding her own snort of laughter.
Delilah clicked her tongue in mock sadness and pouted down the table at Mrs. Komeda. "Aw, what a shame. Know that your presence will be ever-so-missed," she simpered, doing a remarkably decent impression of the older woman — much to everyone else's amusement.
…
When Hannibal and Will reentered the dining room, the former didn't seem at all surprised, nor particularly disappointed, to learn of Mrs. Komeda's sudden desire to leave. After a terse farewell, Hannibal disappeared to see the lot out and Delilah watched Will dish out their desserts in silence. Everyone left at the table seemed to be waiting to hear that front door close and when it finally did, there was an audible, collective sigh of relief.
"Finally. Jeez, what a bitch," she muttered, rising from her seat just as Will sat a delicious-looking crème brûlée down in front of her.
Will frowned. "I mean, I know I brought you your dessert last, princess, but that's no reason to name-call."
"Not you, doofus. Go sit down."
"Yes ma'am."
She snorted lightly and stepped over to the serving cart, pouring herself and Will each a cup of black coffee before preparing Alana's with two sugars and a splash of cream, as she knew she liked it. "Jack, Bella, how do you take your coffee?"
"Are you sure you're qualified to do that?" Jack asked, his tone serious enough to her ears to give her pause; she turned to scowl at him just as he added, "After all, this isn't Italy."
Hannibal's low chuckle joined the rest as he reentered the room. "I apologize on behalf of Mrs. Komeda's behaviour; such a shame she chose tonight to be so blatantly tactless."
"I thought people like her were fluent in doublespeak," Alana said, "but I guess she missed that lesson in finishing school."
"Do finishing schools even exist anymore?" Delilah wondered aloud before returning her attention to Jack and Bella. "Your coffees?"
"He prefers a dash of coffee with his cream and sugar," Bella replied, tossing her husband a wry smirk. "But I'll just stick with my wine, thank you. If I have caffeine at this hour I'll never get to sleep tonight."
"Fair enough. I drink so much coffee and I've built up such a caffeine tolerance that it hardly effects me anymore," she mused, inwardly cringing as she fixed Jack's incredibly pale cup of 'coffee.'
"Really? I would think you'd be sick of the stuff after making it for other people all day."
Alana snorted and shook her head. "This one drinks coffee while she gets ready to go out for coffee; hell, she even drinks it to unwind before going to bed."
"Isn't that a bit, um, counterproductive?" Will inquired, taking his cup from Delilah with a small half-smile and a nod of thanks.
"What can I say? I'm an enigma," she replied, passing Alana and Jack their coffees before turning to find Hannibal quietly observing them all from beside the cart. "Would you like to prepare your own, or shall I?"
"Oh, please do," he said, stepping aside and taking his seat.
"How would you like it?"
"I trust you," he said simply.
She smiled warmly and poured him a cup of black coffee, then stirred in half a teaspoon of sugar and set it down beside his crème brûlée as she took her seat. "I figured you'd appreciate a little sweetness."
Hannibal paused in the midst of lifting the cup to his lips and smirked, but chose not to comment and took a long, slow sip. As his tongue slid out to catch a drip of coffee on his lower lip and he hummed contentedly, Delilah averted her gaze and hoped her cheeks didn't appear as warm as they felt. "Perfect, thank you," he said, his voice an octave much closer to a seductive rumble than she felt it should be in mixed company. Luckily, Jack was there to divert any potential attention back toward himself.
"Yeah, it's not bad," he said. "Could use a little more sugar, but this is a damn fine cup of Joe."
At Delilah's disgusted nose-crinkle, Bella laughed and nodded in agreement. "I know, it's ridiculous."
"Oh hush, woman," Jack griped, his deep voice clearly attempting to sound severe though he had a lighthearted grin on his face.
After the altercation with Mrs. Komeda and her subsequent blessed departure, the atmosphere in the dining room felt at least ten times lighter and Jack seemed to have warmed up to Delilah nearly completely. He still seemed a touch leery of her, though, and proceeded to ask her seemingly innocuous questions that she knew he damn well knew the answers to — things like, 'So, where do you work again?' and 'What are your hobbies?'
It was obvious he was simply testing to see if he could catch her being disingenuous, but quite honestly she couldn't care less. The questions were easy enough to answer and each time he studied her for some hint of floundering or nerves, he seemed ever more pleased, which in turn made her feel much more confident in the entire situation. It occurred to her then that perhaps this had been Hannibal's plan all along; perhaps he had even gone so far as to invite Mrs. Komeda, knowing that she would be a problem. It seemed ludicrous, but she had a feeling it was just ludicrous enough to be entirely true. He had told her, after all, that he was thoroughly determined to keep her murderous little secret.
"Ballet, huh? Bella loves that crap; drags me to every Nutcracker and Swan thing she can find. Would we have seen you in any performances?"
"Oh no, it's just a hobby," she replied with an amused snort. "Generally speaking, you have to have been practicing straight out of the womb to ever hope to have a career in ballet."
"That… is a terrifying visual. Thanks for the nightmare fuel," Will muttered, making her laugh again.
"If you have nightmares about ballet-dancing newborns tonight, please let me know," she insisted, entirely serious. "And draw me a picture because it sounds hilarious."
Will choked on a swig of coffee and covered his mouth with his napkin, half-laughing, half-coughing into it as Alana patted his back. He let out one last cough to clear his lungs, then sighed and mock-scowled over at her. "Listen, if I manage to get any sleep tonight and your dumb ass ballet babies wake me up, I won't just draw you a picture, I'll show up at your apartment and sing Henry the Eighth at the top of my lungs so you can't get any sleep, either — and I can't sing to save my life, so- so, have fun with that."
"Ooh, Ghost reference. Nice."
"On that note," Jack interjected with a chuckle, "I think we'd better head out. Dinner was delicious as always, Hannibal."
"Absolutely — and this crème brûlée? Perfection." Bella added.
Hannibal smiled warmly as he rose from the table along with them. "Thank you for gracing my dining room with your presence," he said, somehow managing not to sound sarcastic in the slightest. "I'll see you out."
"I'll come too," Alana announced hastily. "I actually have some things to talk with Jack about."
"Let's just have a going away party in the foyer, shall we?" Bella said, suddenly hooking her arm around Delilah's and dragging her along. As they followed the others back to the entrance, she leaned near and spoke in a hush, "Listen, I don't have a lot of girlfriends and you don't seem like a bitch… Would you maybe want to go to lunch, or something, sometime?"
Delilah blinked at her and let out a bemused giggle. "Why are you whispering like you're asking me out on a date?"
"Well, I… I guess I kind of am," she replied, frowning slightly. "Is that wrong?"
At Delilah's astonished, utter loss for words, she let out a peal of laughter and gave her arm a shake. "I'm just kidding!"
"Oh, thank god," she breathed, pressing a palm to her forehead and letting out a relieved titter. "You scared the shit out of me. Jesus. I thought things were about to get real awkward here."
Wiping away a tear, Bella shook her head and laughed again. "No. You're cute and all, but I'm definitely not gay."
"Neither am I," she replied, her gaze unconsciously drifting toward Hannibal. She watched his teeth graze his bottom lip as he laughed amidst conversing with the others, and suddenly heard Bella mutter, 'oh no.'
"What?"
"I saw that look," she said, lowering her voice again, speaking seriously now. "I know it well. That's the same look I used to give Jack."
"Used to?"
"We've probably been married since you were in grade school, Delilah. That was the look you give someone you've just begun falling for."
Before she could stamp down her panic sufficiently enough to craft some sort of excuse, Bella offered a sympathetic smile and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, it's common for people to develop feelings for their therapists — you see them on a regular basis and tell them your deepest, darkest secrets… Just don't act on it, alright? All you'll gain is the loss of a great psychiatrist."
"What are you two whispering about over there?" Jack called across the foyer, squinting warily at them.
"I'm was just informing Delilah that we're friends now and she has to go shopping with me sometime," she lied smoothly, keeping a firm grip on Delilah's shoulders as she guided her over to the others.
"Ha, sucker," he exclaimed, his suspicion abruptly shifting to amusement. "Hope you're ready for hours upon hours of following her around, carrying piles of clothes, and telling her for the thousandth time she looks great and 'no, that dress doesn't make your butt look like a-'"
"Watch it, mister," she warned, grinning as she turned back to Delilah. "Alright, come on. I left my phone in the car."
"Do you need to call someone? I'm sure Dr. Lecter has a house ph-"
"So you can put your number in it, silly." She took a moment to thank Hannibal for dinner and allow him to slip her coat back on her shoulders, then linked arms with Delilah again and urged her out the door. "Come on."
"Er, alright…" She laughed softly and shook her head, choosing to tolerate being muscled out to a monstrous black escalade rather than argue.
As Bella rifled around inside the cabin for her cell phone, Delilah could hear Jack and Alana speaking in grouchy whispers several paces behind them. The FBI agent seemed to be getting progressively more frustrated as she heard him snap, "You don't get to tell me how to do my job, Alana!"
"Aha!" Bella suddenly exclaimed, shoving her phone into Delilah's hands. "Thought I left it on the console, but I put it in the glove compartment. My mind is so scattered these days…"
Gnawing on her bottom lip, Delilah quickly entered her number into Bella's phone, then handed it back with a forced smile and turned away just as a very irritated Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom stepped up to the vehicle. "Well, uh, it was nice meeting you Agent Crawford, Bella-"
"Alright, listen up," he growled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat and looking much like a child being forced to apologize for hitting. "I'm going to level with you, partly because my wife likes you, but mostly because your sister won't shut up if I don't."
"Okay…"
"I'm not sure if you're aware, but you personally had contact with two of the bodies that were found last week. One, in particular, being a man you had some sort of squabble with not too long ago — does Matthew Nelson ring any bells?"
Delilah cleared her throat and offered a twitchy nod, as she wrapped her arms around herself and dug her fingernails into her sides. "Yeah- Yes, I know who that is."
"Was," he corrected sternly. "Just weeks after you were both found bloody and he was found beaten, the man ends up gutted and spread all over his own kitchen floor. Now, I know you're not a detective, but if you were given those pieces of information, what conclusion do you suppose you would come up with?"
"I… I would suspect me, of course," she replied quietly. "I don't blame you for keeping me on your radar, Agent Crawford. For what it's worth, I admit I reacted impulsively that day, but I assure you I did not kill him."
Jack stared her down long enough to make her fidget uncomfortably, then sighed and massaged his forehead. "I'm sorry Ms. Bloom. Frankly, we don't have any other leads and the media is going batshit over this — saying it's either the Chesapeake Ripper again, or a shiny new serial killer they've coined as Baltimore's own Michael Myers."
"Michael… Wha-?"
"Because it's so close to Halloween," he grumbled, rolling his eyes toward the heavens.
Delilah scoffed humourlessly and shook her head. "Wow."
"Yeah…" He sighed and moved to his wife's side, slipping an arm around her waist and staring at her for a moment before looking back to Delilah. "Look, I'm not saying I trust you yet — at all — but will say I don't blame you for what you did at that studio," he said, catching her off-guard. "Hannibal told me what happened and if my wife had been touched like that I wouldn't fault her for slamming the bastard's face into a wall, either. You stood up for yourself and I can respect that."
Thoroughly, pleasantly confused, Delilah blinked up at him for a moment, then nodded and smiled sadly. "I appreciate you saying that, Agent Crawford."
"See you around, Ms. Bloom. Alana." He nodded farewell to her sister and Delilah glanced over to find Alana staring at her, eyes wide and mouth agape, with a mixture of hurt and absolute shock on her face.
"Why didn't you tell me?!"
"Really, Alana? We're gonna do this now?"
Jack let out an uncomfortable chuckle and fished his keys out of his pocket as he rounded the front of his vehicle. "Uh, good night you two."
Clearing her throat, Bella leaned into Delilah's line of sight and smiled. "I'll call you sometime this week and we'll meet up for lunch or something, okay?"
"Sounds good. It was great meeting you, Bella."
"Same. And it was good seeing you again, Alana. Good night."
"Yeah, 'night," Alana grumbled, still scowling at her like a pissed off cat.
Delilah waved as she watched the escalade back out of the driveway, then glanced awkwardly at Alana as she passed by to return to the house.
"Now, wait just a second," Alana snapped, grabbing her arm and whipping her back around to face her. "God damn it, why didn't you tell me what he did to you? It- It makes everything seem so…"
"So? So what, Alana? Does it suddenly just make everything clearer for you, to learn that some douchebag tried to put his hands on me? Does it just make so much sense now that your sister is a fucking lunatic?"
"I- I didn't say-"
"You didn't have to say it," she clipped through gritted teeth. "I didn't tell you about Matt because that didn't fucking matter, Alana. He wasn't the first piece of shit to try copping a feel and — not to sound conceited, but — he probably won't be the last. Most men are pigs- scratch that, most people are pigs. Worthless, tactless pigs.
"You need to understand that and stop looking at the world through a rose-coloured blindfold. It honestly baffles me how you can be so naive sometimes… but I guess that's why they say 'those who can't do, teach,' right?"
Amidst her little tirade, Delilah vaguely noticed her sister's eyes darting over periodically, to squint at something past her shoulder as if she were trying to make out the words on a blurry billboard off in the distance. "What? What the fuck are you looking at? Are you even listening to me?"
"Shut up," she whispered, her eyes solely focused on whatever it was she saw behind her.
"Excuse me?"
"Damn it, Delilah, shut up!" Alana suddenly shoved past her and hollered at the foliage to the left of Hannibal's house, "Hey! Hey, I see you in there!"
"What the-?" Delilah whirled around, too confused to be upset anymore, to find a female with flaming red hair staggering out of the bushes and dusting herself off.
"Alright, alright. You caught me," she said, tossing a rather feline smirk toward Alana as she plucked a stray twig from her wild curls. "Good eye, I'll give you that."
With a mix of realization and utter loathing on her face, Alana suddenly groaned, "Oh, son of a bitch…"