Chapter: The Good Doctor

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It had been a normal day like any other day in the practice of psychiatry.

There were the usual patients that would come in for an hour or an hour and a half, explaining about their problems since their last appointment or there were some patients who explained what they felt as of late.

The psychiatrist would listen and sometimes jot down notes in a leather bound book, where many logs were written about various patients. Within the past few years, the doctor had built up a reputation as being one of the top psychiatrist in the area.

The session were held in a lavishing office, and any new patients were put in awe upon first sight of the office. It was usually the library balcony that drew instant attention. Around the rest of the room there were various artifacts and pieces of furniture that drew immediate attention, but also, gave a comfortable atmosphere to sit back and relax.

Around late in the evening, three times a week at the same time, the good doctor had a certain patient. This particular patient showed signs of overwhelming anxiety and paranoid about everything that came into their path.

Patience was one of the many virtues the good doctor had. When he worked with this particular patient, he would congratulate himself after the session because he had not gotten rid of this patient yet. Many times he had thought about what type of spices would go along well with this patient's heart or the lungs, and what type of delicious plate could be made.

His tongue moved against the back of his teeth. His dark amber hazel stared at his patient across from him. Today, the patient broke down into a heavy sob as he tried to explain about a very stressful day.

When the patient reached out with a visibly shaking hand, the good doctor snapped out of his dark thoughts, and blinked few times to refocus his mind.

"Please."

Slowly, he reached for the tissue box that sat on a round glass side table beside his seat. He lifted it up and held it outward toward the sobbing patient with a blank expression.

"Thank you." The patient croaked out.

The tissue box was set soundlessly back onto the side table, and turned his attention back on the patient. He adjusted himself in his seat and looked directly at the patient, who was roughly wiping the tears away from their face.

"I hate being this neurotic."

"If you weren't neurotic, Franklyn, you would be something much worse."

The patient who came late in the evening, three times a week at the same time was none other than Franklyn Froideveaux. Franklyn nodded his head and crinkle up the used tissue in one of his sweaty palm hands, dropping the used tissue on the round glass top side table beside his chair.

Dark amber hazel eyes flicker toward the used tissue on the glass top of the side table, and thoughts of how germs would spread and there was most likely tiny smudge marks on the glass top now too.

It was obvious by the neat and organized office that he was a perfectionist and a bit of a neat freak. His eyes moved away from the crinkle tissue and back on Franklyn, but he could not help but take another quick glance at the tissue. He made a note in his head about cleaning the table after this session.

Turning his attention off the tissue, he glanced at his leather bound book on his side table, which was open to a page with notes on Franklyn. His right hand moved fluently across the manila page, jotting a few more notes down before he set the quill tip pen beside the book. He shut the book, and turned his attention back onto his patient.

"Our brain is designed to experience anxiety in short bursts, not the prolonged duress your neuroses seem to enjoy. That's why you feel as though a lion were on the verge of devouring you."

The explanation earned him another sob fest and a second tissue was used to catch the tears.

"Franklyn."

"Yep."

"You have to convince yourself the lion is not in the room. When it is, I assure you, you will know." He leaned forward with a serious expression.

When the session came to an end, he led Franklyn toward the door that only patients use when leaving the office. Instead of having patients go through the waiting room, where others waited, he had a separate exit to give the patient privacy upon leaving.

As the door opened up, he allowed Frankly to go ahead of him but he stopped in his tracks and immediately straighten up when his eyes settle on an African-American man dressed in suit. The unknown man stood up from one of the two seats in the private exit area and he walked forward, shaking Franklyn's hand.

"Dr. Lecter. I'm special agent—" The man was saying, ignoring the nervous sputtering of Franklyn, who was trying to tell the newcomer that he was not Dr. Lecter.

The good doctor, the psychiatrist known as Dr. Hannibal Lecter eyed the two men shake hands before his eyes moved over the special agent with a disapproval gaze.

"I hate to be discourteous, but this is a private exit for my patients." Hannibal said while his right hand tighten around the doorknob, turning his knuckles white.

"Oh, Dr. Lecter. Sorry. I'm special agent Jack Crawford. FBI. May I come in?" Jack asked and pulled out his wallet, flashing his FBI badge.

Hannibal stared at the badge, taking it in and seeing it was official.

Franklyn stood there with wide eyes and mouth agape, clearly showing he was not believing an FBI special agent was standing in front of him and on top of that, requesting for Dr. Lecter's presence.

"You may wait in the waiting room." Hannibal shot down Jack Crawford, not hiding his annoyance.

After his comment, Jack awkwardly stood there.

Hannibal knew he would go back into the office and collect himself. He had to rethink if he done anything wrong or did he mess up. There were many things he does wrong, morally wrong. Murder and cannibalism was definitely breaking human morals. Thus, Hannibal needed to dig into his mind and figure out if he left any sort of evidence behind on any of the bodies he dispose of.

"Franklyn, I'll see you next week." Hannibal said as he turned toward Franklyn.

"Yes-s." Franklyn sputtered out, shakily walking in-between Jack and Hannibal while he made his way to the door.

"Unless, of course, this is about him." Hannibal nodded toward Franklyn.

"No. This is all about you."

Hannibal nodded before he span on the heels of his shoes, reentering his office. He shut the door behind him and walked across the woods floors, his shoe heels made soft clicking sounds. He grabbed the leather bound book off the glass table and walked over toward his desk. His eyes flicker toward the glass table where the tissue was, and he walked toward a small closet in the back of the room to grab glass cleaner and a few pieces of paper towel.

He took his time on cleaning the glass table, making Jack Crawford wait. Hannibal found it a small form of punishment for the agent for such an invasion of a patient's privacy exit from a session.

When the table was clean and supplies were put away, Hannibal stood near his desk and scanned everything in the room to make sure nothing was out of place. He looked down at his desk, reaching out and fixing a few picture frames beneath the silver desk lamp.

Hannibal lifted his hand away from the picture frames and held his right wrist in front of him. With his left hand, he pushed his suit coat sleeve back to look at the time.

The arms in his watch said it was close to six-thirty. He dropped his arm, shaking his right arm until he felt the sleeve go over his watch.

Clearing his mind from thinking anything negative, Hannibal rested his left hand on the dark gold door knob and gave it a simple turn. He opened the door and put on a fake grin upon his lips as he stared at Jack.

"Please. Come in." Hannibal said and stepped aside to allow Jack into the office.

"So, may I ask how this is all about me?" Hannibal asked as he shut the door behind Jack.

"You can ask. But I may have to ask you a few questions first." Jack pointed at Hannibal before he gone about taking in Hannibal's work area with an impress expression.

Hannibal nodded and stood back to watch as Jack moved around the room with curiosity in his eyes.

"You expecting another patient?"

"We're all alone." Hannibal answered.

"Oh, good. No secretary?"

"She was predisposed to romantic whims. Followed her heart to the United Kingdom. Sad to see her go." Hannibal answered as he walked toward Jack.

The two stood beside one another at Hannibal's sketch table.

"Wow. Are these yours, doctor?" Jack asked and he gone ahead to push away a piece of wax paper to show one of Hannibal's charcoal sketches.

"Among the first. My boarding school in Paris when I was a boy." Hannibal nodded his head toward the sketch Jack eyed.

"The amount of details is incredible." Jack said with an impressed look.

The tiniest of smug smirks appeared on Hannibal's lips. He reached out and picked up the scalpel in his right hand and he picked up his charcoal pencil in the other hand.

"I learned very early a scalpel cuts better points than a pencil sharper." Hannibal said, demonstrated at how he sharpen the charcoal pencil with the scalpel.

But Hannibal adjusted the grip on the scalpel. One wrong move by Jack or an accusation about the other side of Hannibal that no one knew about, Hannibal will strike.

"Well, now I understand why your drawings earned you an internship at Johns Hopkins. That was where you met Noelle, right?" Jack pointed out while he walked away from Hannibal and the sketch table to stand in the middle of the room.

Hannibal stared at the back of Jack with raised eyebrows.

Noelle.

Many believed she was a humble woman, but that was a mask. She could actually be malevolent on anyone who brought a threat to her, her family or if someone made her very upset and angry.

Hannibal realized this special agent Jack Crawford had done his homework about the basic facts on Hannibal's personal life, especially the mentioning of Noelle.

Noelle Althea Cross, or rather, she was Noelle Althea Lecter now.

Noelle was his wife, and Jack showed Hannibal he knew more than he expected.

"I'm beginning to suspect you're investigating me, Agent Crawford." Hannibal said, and slowly turned around to face Jack.

The scalpel in his right hand twitched in his right hand.

"No, no. No, you were referred to me by Alana Bloom. In the psychology department, Georgetown." Jack assured with a chuckle while he gazed up at the library balcony.

The comment brought an actual relief feel within his body. Hannibal grin to himself as he was not being investigated for anything. He walked toward his desk toward the middle of the room with the scalpel and charcoal pencil still in his hands.

"Most psychology departments are filled with personality deficient. Dr. Bloom would be the exception." Hannibal replied.

Hannibal set the scalpel and pencil down. He tapped the sides of the pencil until it was perfectly straight and parallel with the scalpel.

"Yes, she would. Yes, she would." Jack chuckled with a small bounce on his heels.

"Well, she told me that you mentored her during her residency at John Hopkins." Jack made a wave gesture toward Hannibal.

"I learned as much from her as she did from me."

"She also showed me your paper. Evolutionary…Evolutionary Origins of Social Exclusion?" Jack said with an unsure look on if he pronounced it correctly.

"Yes." Hannibal nodded his head.

"Very interesting. Very interesting. Even for a layman."

"A layman?" Hannibal stared at Jack with disbelief.

Bewilderment circle around Hannibal's head as he stared at Jack, needing Jack to clarify since this agent worked in a psychological and medical department of the agency.

"Yeah." Jack said, tucked his hands in his front pant pockets.

"So many learned fellows going about in the halls of the Behavioral Science at the FBI, and you consider yourself a layman." Hannibal eyebrows rose.

"I do when I'm in your company, doctor. Um, I need you to help me with a psychological profile."

The bewilderment disappeared and curiosity held his attention now.

Within twenty minutes, Jack explained about a criminal profiler of his, who was very good at his job to the point he actually sets himself deeply into the mind of a killer and the killer's shoes to figure out motives and what happened at crime scenes. Jack pointed out he never saw anyone as good as this criminal profiler. But Jack asked Hannibal for help with this criminal profiler. He needed Hannibal to help the criminal profiler stay 'sane.'

The conversation was soon ending, and a few more concerns were exchanged between Hannibal and Jack about Jack's important criminal profiler named Will Graham. Hannibal would come to the FBI Academy to meet Will and after that Jack hoped everything would go smoothly.

Before Jack was about to leave, Jack took a moment to take in the office again.

"Is this Noelle? You two are still married, are you not?"

Hannibal saw Jack near his desk. Jack was taking in the picture frames underneath the silver desk lamp. His hands were in his pockets, much to Hannibal's pleasure, as Hannibal did not want any fingerprints on the perfectly polish sterling silver picture frames.

"Yes, we are still married." Hannibal answered and walked on over.

Noelle Althea Cross-Lecter was what Hannibal called his Persephone and he was her Hades.

When Hannibal and Noelle first met, she was shy yet polite. She wouldn't eye him like eye candy as other people did or judge him for his foreign accent or his chivalry manners. As they got to know each other, Hannibal saw how the once shy young woman was actually cunningly smart and she could persuade people to do things for her with simple eye contact and words. It was as if the longer Persephone stayed with Hades, she had picked up his nature. That was Noelle. She was not all innocent and Hannibal had fallen in love with that.

"Now, I saw some of her sketches of her exploration of Rome. She has a knack for drawing too, doesn't she?"

"Indeed, and that is how we met and bonded over." Hannibal smirked.

Hannibal stared at the photo of his wife.

Her long chocolate color wavy hair reached past her full breasts. Her pale bluish green eyes surrounded by dark lashes and she had a killer smile which lure in her prey. A body he loved when wrapped around his own body during their intimate escapades. In the photo, she was dressed in a white dress on the beach during a sunset.

Hannibal would not mention what happened during this photo of how that night Noelle smashed an empty wine bottle over a man's head, who tried to take advantage of her on the beach when Hannibal gone back to the car to get another blanket. Hannibal had a feeling that it was Jack's team who did the investigation of the man who was found a few days later, staked into the ground a few miles away from the beach. Hannibal remembered clear as day how pissed Noelle was, and she showed how pissed she was.

Hannibal put a grin on his lips, thinking about the memory while Jack probably thought Hannibal was simply smiling to smile.

"And are these your boys? They look like a mix of your wife and you."

"Yes, the one with the longer hair is Tristan and the one with the shorter hair is Leonardo. They are seniors this year in college." Hannibal looked at the picture frame Jack pointed to.

The photo was of two young men dressed in soccer gear, all muddy up from a game in a storm.

The two young men, the twins, were eye-catchers and showed their chivalry charm that they learned from their father. Their mannerism had many women swoon over them, but the twins made sure they would be hard to get, much to Noelle and Hannibal amusement. Tristan was more like Hannibal while Leonardo was more of Noelle. The twins were twenty-one years old, and to their parents they were known as the dangerous duo. If someone messed with one of the twins, the other one will step in and show that someone what hell looks like.

"You have a very nice normal looking family, doctor."

The smile changed to a sly one on his lips now, and he glanced away from Jack to stare down at the picture frames of his family.

When it came to the Lecter family, Crawford had no idea how the Lecter family was like behind closed doors.

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Hi Everyone,

So, for a while I had one of those "What if" thoughts. And I thought, "what if Hannibal had a family and if they were all 'unique' in some way like him?"

Therefore, I have decided to have a go at it and make a story about if Hannibal had a "normal" family.

If you are wondering what the family looks like, look at the image thingy at the top.

Anyway, let us get this on the road!

Disclaimer for this chapter and the future chapters: I do not own anything about the Hannibal Series. I do, however, own my original characters, Noelle, Tristan and Leonardo.

Thank You!

Enjoy!

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(Updated as of 7/3/18)