Dexter

Debra wouldn't stop nattering into the next morning. As soon as Dexter appeared in the elevator doorway, she yanked him out and continued blathering, continuing their – rather her – conversation earlier on the phone.

Sleep still weighed heavily on Dexter's eyelids. Disposing of last night's kill was tougher than usual. He had to return after the hasty meeting at Miami Metro in order to cut up the body. Being a hefty fellow, Mr. Connors needed two extra Glad bags, which were just as heavy as the other four. Dexter hadn't been sure if he should even bother with all the normal routine, if he should have just burnt down the warehouse. The easy way isn't always the right way, however. More attention directed even vaguely in his direction was attention he didn't need. So Dexter pulled an overnighter, and was paying for it with a dull headache and an overly-excited Debra gnawing at his ear.

"They're gonna get here in, like, four hours, Dex. Aren't you excited? Even a little?"

To quell Debra's unyielding thirst for conversation, Dexter managed a weary, "Of course I am, Deb."

Seemingly dissatisfied with his response, Debra looked sorely at him. "What's wrong, Dex?"

"Just tired, really. Super tired is all. I'm fine, Deb."

Debra only nodded, sensing Dexter's need to be alone, concealed in his office. With a nod of his head, he half-trudged, half-scrambled to his corner of darkness. Closing the blinds and door, he flung his bag aside, logging onto the World Wide Web. He opened a side window, and used it to quickly view LaGuerta's agenda for the day. Within minutes, he had begun his own personal profiling of the "new guys" coming in.

Apparently, both were highly qualified in their respective fields of teaching and psychiatry. The teacher had once been on the force, but was removed some years ago for reasons unstated. This Will Graham was nothing stellar, as far as Dexter could read. Perhaps he would be surprised by this detective Graham. Dexter flicked idly across pages of Graham's lectures students had attended, all fawning over how brilliant he was or how cute his hair looked that day. Dexter couldn't help but smile at the simple-mindedness surrounding Will. It would take a fun few days if he turned out to be interesting.

Moving onto the psychiatrist, whom Dexter had hoped would be a little more interesting, simply was not. He owned his own practice in Baltimore, and offered your run-of-the-mill psychiatric help. He was an odd looking man, with some kind of Northern European slash mannequin looking face. He looked like the kind of person you would ask the time for and he'd pull out a pocket-watch; just that kind of unseeming, plain guy you see on the street and wonder how dull his life must be.

Dexter shut his laptop, idly drumming his fingers. A teacher and a psychiatrist, what a strange duo…

A strange duo indeed.

Hannibal

The plane smelt of acrid bleach. It or a space beside Hannibal had been recently, and poorly, scrubbed down prior to his and Will's arrival. Luckily, Jack had at least been a gentleman and sprung for first class, though it may as well have been economy, with the smells and sounds of a single spoilt child and a fretting mother.

Trying to distract himself, Hannibal turned to Will in the seat across the aisle from him. "Why is it that Jack has required you and I to go to Miami of all places?"

Will chuckled sleepily. "Maybe it's a bonding exercise. Maybe I have to get to know you better, Dr. Lecter." Will looked at Hannibal, who had just managed to suppress a small, unimpressed sneer. "I still don't know why we're here, Hannibal. I'm just as anxious as I imagine you are. But we're big boys; we don't need Jack's guidance when we're thousands of miles away from him. I was just told the same thing you were." He looked thoughtful. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"He only said that you were going down, not I."

"Okay… that's definitely less than what he told me…" Will scoffed understandingly. "I guess I'll try to explain as best I can." He shifted around until he was facing Hannibal sidelong. He produced a folded piece of paper from his billfold. "That," he began, handing the letter to Hannibal, "is a psychological profile of Miami Metro's number one public enemy, currently."

Hannibal inspected the profile, taking in the details of the page.

"Anything else on this killer? From the looks of this, he doesn't exactly make for front page news. Especially not in a place like Miami."

"No, that's all there is. From what Jack passed onto me, he's pretty slippery. Just… dances away from their cuffs as soon as they catch wind of him."

Hannibal sensed a pain in Will's voice. "Reminiscent of a case closer to home?" he asked, referring to the recent case involving Garrett Jacob-Hobbs. Hannibal knew this got Will's blood boiling. Perhaps now Will would remember what a mistake he was making in being here, even if it wasn't up to him.

Will nodded briskly, shaking off the Jacob-Hobbs jitters. "Well, that's what we've been sent to inform on. Let's just hope Miami has a little more to offer than churros and gun-violence."

Hannibal nodded in agreement. He settled back in his seat, fingering the chain of the old watch he kept in his vest pocket. In a few hours, they would be in the midst of an on-going investigation in someone else's territory. Hunting someone else's prey. The thought was titillating at the very least. It was now, as the plane began to descend, that Hannibal found a sense of morbid anticipation. That deep, animalistic part of him he had since suppressed since he was a young man began to stir teasingly, inviting him into a state of delicious predatory instincts. The thought of a hunt excited Hannibal, truthfully, and he could not wait to begin.

Will and Hannibal arrived in Miami, a light sweat already lining their brows. Will was the first to admit how much he missed the cooler spring of Virginia. The two arrived at their respective hotel rooms and bade their farewells in the stead of an afternoon nap. Soon, they would be at Miami Metro, meeting strange and new officers and specialists. Hannibal reprised his polite façade, as he often did before a dinner party or gathering to make certain nothing of his temper slipped up. Normally a docile man anyway, Hannibal did not want to take any chances. As much as he wanted to hunt purely for testing his surroundings, he would behave himself, for he had Will to look after here, too.

Once again, Hannibal found himself fretting over what he would wear to greet Miami's homicide department. Surely, it was too hot for his regular three-pieces, which were sewn in such a tight nit that Hannibal often got overheated in his own home. Causal dress came so easily to others. Hannibal wondered briefly what it was like to be so agonizingly plain inside; to not be excruciatingly brilliant and dapper at the same time.

Finally, he settled on a collared shirt, blazer and slacks, simply taking one of three out of the equation. Admiring his choice in the long mirror adjacent to the bed briefly, Hannibal got his things ready for the meeting about to take place at Miami Metro Homicide Department.

Dexter

As soon as Dexter heard the excited babbling at the ding of the elevator, he knew that the new guys had arrived.

Dexter stood just outside his office like an eagle watching prey. He was never one to throw himself into festivities and preferred to watch, and so too did the psychiatrist, whom he located immediately. He was striking. Dexter would give him that. The way he carried himself seemed humble enough, but Dexter could tell there was much more beneath the surface. He could tell from the eyes; the black eyes of a shark, watching intently when nothing really needed to be watched. This shark was in a new tank, and he was agitated.

This might be fun after all.

Dexter's thoughts were interrupted by LaGuerta. "Detective Graham and Doctor Lecter, welcome! I'm Maria LaGuerta. Come in, I'll show you—"

"I'll show you around, guys! Follow me." Debra pushed her way past LaGuerta and stood in front of the duo. Dexter saw her cheeks flush as she addressed the pair. "Uh… Let's go check out everyone's office. I know I don't see everyone present…" With this, she shot a glare back at Dexter, who raised his hands in a gesture of mock innocence. "Right this way, boys," she said gleefully, leading the way towards the coffee corner.

And now, we wait, Dexter thought excitedly. Truth be told, he actually couldn't wait to get a read on the new guys. Any outsiders who entered his domain were guilty-until-proven-innocent kind of thing with Dexter. If something was off, he would know. And already, Dexter felt ill at ease around that Detective; the way he looked nervously around, twitched his fingers, watched every movement like a neurotic cat. There was something off about him, same with the psychiatrist. Dexter just didn't know yet.

Eventually, the tour group made its way to Dexter's office. Debra did her hasty, four knock routine and entered regardless of invitation. "Dexter!" she shouted, shattering the moment of serenity he had sunk into.

"Debra!" the spatter analyst responded with equal enthusiasm. She walked in, leaving the guests trailing behind. Debra rested her hand on Dexter's shoulder and proudly announced, "And this is my nerdy big brother, Dexter Morgan. Dex, this is Will Graham." She introduced Dexter to the teacher-detective first. He rose to kindly shake the man's hand. Will took it with strength and smiled politely, though Dexter could tell he was nervous.

"Hello, Dexter," he began shakily. "Your sister has already told me a lot about you," he added uncertainly.

I hope not too much. "Ah, well, Deb's kind of like that. Lots to say about everyone's business but her own," Dexter teased.

Debra shot him a scornful sneer and continued introductions. "And this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

This man was more forth-coming than Will, more confident in his actions. "Hello, Mr. Morgan. It's a pleasure to meet you. What is it you do in here?"

"Oh please, just call me Dexter," Dexter replied, deliberately not answering the doctor's question.

"Dexter…" Hannibal considered for a moment. Dexter felt his name was too informal for this man's tongue. "What is it that you do?"

He took out the 'in here', why? "I'm a blood spatter analyst," Dexter replied curtly. "I 'read' the blood, you could say—"

"I know I could say you're a freak," Debra interjected playfully.

Will seemed like he was about to be sick. "Very… Pretty," he said, glancing at the prints around Dexter's office of particularly beautiful spatters. "So you can tell how a person was murdered from the look of the blood?" he asked skeptically. Dr. Lecter even raised his eyebrow in intrigue.

"Yep," Dexter replied awkwardly, trying to say things a normal person would say. He tried to think of something else to say. "Blood is like a book and I'm a regular Shakespeare!"

Debra's eyes rolled back into her skull and Will looked away uncomfortably. Hannibal was the only one to keep Dexter's audience. Dexter took a moment to study his eyes closer. Even this close, his brown eyes looked black as coals. And right now, they glittered. "Blood is like a book, you say?" the psychiatrist asked. He seemed to add telepathically, "What story does your blood tell of you, Dexter Morgan?"

Dexter's blood ran cold. Man, this guy is strange... best keep a close eye on him. "Yup…"

Of all people, it was Will who broke the silence. "Well, I think we should move along on our tour, Miss Morgan, if that's alright with you?"

Debra glared at Will, who seemed to shrink slightly. "Don't you dare call me Miss Morgan again. We're co-workers now, Mr. Graham. You call me Debra." Debra said this with mock anger, though she was smiling wickedly.

Well, Deb's certainly taken a shine to Will Graham. She'll have him wrapped around her finger soon enough. Dexter looked at Hannibal. And I'll have to keep you on a short leash, Shark Eyes. As if reading his mind, Hannibal's expression seemed to reply with a cocky, "Let's see you try"…

Hannibal

"What an interesting group of people…"

The psychiatrist sat with Will Graham at a beachside food truck as he sipped a peculiar drink of lemon, raspberry and ginger flavour. Simply being a man of experience in the field of flavour, Hannibal had no trouble deciphering what he was drinking. Although, he could not say the same for what he was offered to eat. The so called "taco" looked quite literally like a pile of rubbish. He turned up his nose at the food.

"Since when does a homicide department even need a blood man?" Will mused, a sliver of lettuce falling from the detective's mouth. "We don't have a spatter analyst. Why would you even need one? I mean… It's blood."

Hannibal smiled, amused at Will's disinterest. "Perhaps their others are not as well equipped to deal with the specifics of a kill," Hannibal offered.

"I don't think so. They all seem very apt to handle the huge influx of kills here. Come to think of it… I'm not sure if I am." Will trailed off. Hannibal cocked an eyebrow at the flighty detective. "I heard that there had been four killings within the same city block since we got here. That's nearly what we get in a week, if that."

"And you're concerned about this influx?"

Will looked at Hannibal with what he deciphered was apprehension. "To be honest, I don't exactly feel comfortable here, like there's… some kind of danger lurking." Hannibal raised another eyebrow. "I mean something other than the merciless thugs who already roam these smelly streets. There's stronger villains, I think. There always is."
Hannibal couldn't help acknowledge a tiny paranoid feeling that Will's words were directed at him. He dismissed this thought immediately as he considered his words. "Stronger villains?" Lecter asked, professionalism having never left the office.
Will took a few moments before answering. All he did was nod briskly, taking another hasty bite of his taco. It seemed as though this part of the conversation was over, at least for the time being. Hannibal tried another bite of his food, and swallowed with a shudder.

Next time, he was picking the food.

It was day one of the Miami Metro exchange program. Hannibal was already up, having already gone through his morning workout and cleaned up and was figuring out what to wear. He supposed Will would just roll out his bed tousle his hair and be done with it. However, Hannibal liked to impress. He settled on a maroon coloured button-down shirt and loose fitting slacks. He wore his pale blue-grey tie and finished it with a blazer slung over his arm. Gathering his temporary badge and other belongings, he dialled Will's room number.
"Good morning, Will," he started politely as the receiver was picked up, "this is your morning wake up call."

There was a couple moments of deep breaths and the rustling of sheets. Finally, Will answered. "Ah…" was all he said.
Hannibal offered some more conversation. "We are to be at Miami Metro in an hour, Will. I supposed you would like an early warning."
Suddenly, the phone was slammed back down on the cradle. Hannibal knew that Will would be flustered now, floundering because he had not heeded his first alarm. The psychiatrist now had a few minutes to himself before Will came pounding at his door. He thought about what he had seen yesterday at Miami Metro. It wasn't that nothing stood out to him - there were several things he knew nothing about, having never actually been out in the field before - it was that he didn't exactly know what to look for amongst all the new elements. Hannibal had scanned the office space thoroughly, taking in all there was. Nothing was familiar.

Save for one thing.

The blood man. Now that Hannibal thought about it, he had pinned something on the spatter analyst, Dexter Morgan, he believed. There was something about him that seemed recognizable. It was the way he introduced himself, the way he levelled Hannibal's gaze. The way he seemed detached from his other colleagues, so like Lecter himself. Perhaps it was just the difference of job, the natural detachment it took to work in an office analyzing for hours on end. Or perhaps it was the joyless expression in his eyes as he feigned a smile.