Hello lovely Hannibal fans!

I just wanted to add a little disclaimer -

This tale will follow some bits and bobs of the show's original timeline/events, but I will be taking quite a few liberties. Probably most obviously with Will and Alana. For my purposes, they will sometimes be used as a bit of comedic relief amidst all the angst and dramas, in lieu of utilizing those silly FBI tech dudes. So, while definitely important players, they won't exactly be main characters, and as such may deviate from their regular programming. I hope that doesn't detract from your enjoyment of the story.

I'd also like to shout out a major thank you to tiburce57 for their helpful review, which prompted me to add this message. :)

Thank you for reading!

"All men should strive, to learn before they die,

What they are running from, and to, and why."

– James Thurber

Prologue

Blood is always uncomfortably warm when first spilled, but it cools quickly.

It cools, yes, but as it does, it becomes sticky- equally uncomfortable.

And yet more unpleasant still, as it dries, it crusts and stains everything.

Stains were the bane of Hannibal Lecter's existence. Stains both literal and figurative in nature.

Take the one bleeding out before him, for example: Joseph Marks.

Joseph was once an auto mechanic, and a terrible one. Always overcharging while under-performing, and all with a terrible attitude and absolutely no manners to speak of. Not to mention, there was talk that he enjoyed using his wife and young son as punching bags during his downtime. Tasteless.

But none of that mattered now. The stain would be washed away soon, and the pieces worth anything would hopefully make a fairly decent Braciole.

Soft gurgles infested the crisp night air as Hannibal watched Joseph crawl around on the dirty ground, stubbornly clinging to life. Under usual circumstances, he would have put the man down as quickly as possible; too much adrenaline at the end adds a distinct tang to the meat- not altogether unpleasant, just not something he generally preferred. This night, however, Hannibal felt the need to watch a bit of suffering. He was never one for dramatic declarations in these moments, so he stayed silent, observing passively as the man's movements gradually slowed; eyeing the snot and tears running down his face with mild disgust as he followed alongside the dying man.

As his plastic-covered loafers scratched along the concrete behind the mechanic's shop, Hannibal's mind wandered to the events mere hours prior; the reason for his presently heightened annoyance, and the reason he felt the need to watch someone suffer, was none other than one Miss Alana Bloom. Part of him wanted it to be her dying slowly at his feet, but she had a fair bit of luck on her side. Being as close to the FBI as she was, it would be stupid to touch her… for the time being.

"Hannibal, please," she'd implored, her blue eyes working quite hard not to cry. "I've tried everything. I've sent her to countless therapists, psychiatrists, professors… nothing is working! I'm afraid I'll lose her completely to this. Please, as my esteemed colleague and friend, Hannibal, would you do this for me?" She'd taken a deep, shuddering breath then and, at least having enough sense to look marginally ashamed of herself, added softly, "If you don't, I… I'll have to put her away."

Hannibal scoffed out loud and nudged Joseph with his foot. The man let out another obnoxious gurgle before the gash in his neck finally did its job, and his corpse sank into the pavement. "Finally," Hannibal grumbled, fetching his large black bag and crouching down to assess its contents. "Now that you've taken your leave, I find you suitable to talk to," he informed the corpse, smirking as he flipped the lump of flesh onto its back.

"She has a sister, if you can believe it. I had no idea. Seldom, if ever, is there something I don't know about those I choose to keep near, mind you. It appears I know more about you than my own 'friend,'" he mused bitterly, using a pair of hefty shears to slice open the man's pant leg. He had surprisingly thin legs under all that denim, and Hannibal tutted softly. "So much for the Braciole, hm?" he asked, looking to the man's glassy eyes as if he could reply. He then shrugged and ripped the man's dingy shirt open, taking up a scalpel and slicing a precise Y-incision down his sternum. Rifling in his bag, he located a pair of what outwardly appeared to be simple pruning shears and, after peeling the folds of skin back to either side, began snipping at the cartilage connecting the ribs to the breast bone.

"Three weeks," he went on, being a little more forceful than necessary as he went about painstakingly removing each rib. "I told her no three weeks ago, and yet she shows up, in the night, unannounced, and tries to guilt me into doing her a favor-" He paused and grunted slightly as he wriggled loose a particularly stubborn bit of bone.

"Well, she succeeded, rather," he corrected himself. "I'll be meeting with the mystery woman on Wednesday- I told her we will have a conversation, but I make no promises… I must admit I do enjoy a little mystery, now and then. Don't we all?" He smirked down at the silent corpse, then scowled and grabbed a tuft of Joseph's hair, forcing the dead man to nod; the movement urged a bit more blood from the gash across his throat, punctuating the steamy air around Hannibal and the corpse with a nasty squelching sound that rather amused him.

With the ribs all in a nice pile by the man's head, he began rooting around in the freshly opened cavity. Ignoring the lungs, as he knew the man was a heavy smoker, he dug his plastic and glove-clad arm deeper, finding the liver. "I must admit, Miss Delilah Bloom is an enigma that deeply intrigues me," he continued quietly, holding up the hunk of meat and shining a small flashlight to inspect it. To his surprise, it was a deep mahogany; smooth and plump. It was perfect.

"Huh. I truly would have expected you to be an alcoholic, Joseph," he mused, carefully wrapping the liver in plastic and temporarily storing it in a small ice box. "I don't know whether this makes your abhorrent behavior better or worse, to be honest." He thought to stop there, but the catharsis of talking out his grievances with someone who couldn't argue or ask questions was too tempting; diving back in, he fished about for the kidneys.

"I find myself terribly curious as to why she can't keep a psychiatrist. Her file appears to be useless." He sighed then, finding only one kidney, and decided to quit while he was ahead; he'd already been here far too long. "Granted, I only skimmed it before coming to pay you a visit," he admitted, wrapping up his tools and storing them in the section of the bag reserved for things that needed cleaning. "But understand, it was just pages of mindless textbook regurgitation. Nothing of substance…

"She's evidently lashed out at a couple of them, but never actually harmed any of her therapists — which is a shame, really; judging by their notes, I'd say they would have deserved it." Hannibal smirked down at the mutilated body before removing his gloves, snapping the bag shut, and rising to his feet.

"Well, seeing as it's…" He paused to peer down at his Rolex and frowned. "Nearly three in the morning, I'm afraid I'll have to leave you like this, Joseph. I do hope your wife doesn't find you, though I'm sure she'll be pleased when she hears the news."

Carefully removing his plastic overcoat and pants, he neatly folded them up and slipped them into the outside compartment of the bag, along with his gloves. Abandoning the mutilated corpse without another word, he made the trek from the shop back to his car, about a mile down the road.

When he arrived at his vehicle, he peeled the plastic bits off his shoes and placed them in the bag, then carefully set the bag and ice box in the trunk.

The hour long drive home gave him yet more time to ponder. Hannibal found he was much less frustrated now, when he thought about Alana and her secret-keeping; his focus was now mostly on the mystery of her dear sister. What made Miss Delilah Bloom so difficult that no one wanted to keep her on as a patient? Surely a couple physical altercations wouldn't deter so many professionals, given such things were fairly commonplace when dealing with people suffering from various mental ailments. So many different diagnoses were scattered throughout her file: Oppositional Defiant Disorder, which was doubtful unless she was twelve; Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Schizophrenia, which were all doubtful as well; a handful of Dissociative Disorders, which seemed to be leaning the most in the right direction; and the list went on. It was as if these idiots were simply closing their eyes and pointing at pages of the DSM-5.

He honestly wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

Arriving at his home just before four in the morning, Hannibal gathered up his things and made his way down to the basement. Even with the late hour, he took care to thoroughly wash and disinfect every tool he'd used, replacing them one by one into the bag and setting it aside for next time. He then brought the little ice box up to the kitchen and flipped through his recipe cards.

/ Iscas de Fígado

Portuguese marinated liver, with sliced potatoes. /

"This should do nicely, Joseph," he murmured aloud, gathering up ingredients for the marinade and setting to work. He took his time trimming and deveining the liver, then cut it into paper-thin slices with expert precision. Setting the meat in a glass dish, he seasoned it liberally with salt and freshly ground pepper, before adding four whole cloves of crushed garlic, two bay leaves, two-thirds a cup of chardonnay, and a tablespoon of white wine vinegar. Giving the meat a light toss to coat it in the marinade, he then sealed the dish and placed it in the fridge. It needed at least twelve hours, which would have it ready just in time for dinner that very night.

With the kitchen clean, he then took a long hot shower, and by the time all was said and done it was a quarter past 5AM. Donning only a towel around his waist, he wandered to the study to check his schedule. He was pleased to find he only had one appointment that day, and it was much later in the day- meaning he would be able to get some much needed rest.

Fully intending to finally turn in, he crossed the room to shut off the light and spotted Delilah Bloom's file still resting on the mantle. He'd only glossed over it after Alana had left, as he'd told the pile of carrion earlier, and he sighed heavily. "May as well give you a more thorough read before tomorrow," he muttered to the yellow folder, plucking it from the mantle and flipping the light off before heading off to bed.

Chapter 1

Doctor Hannibal Lecter's Office,

687 Bayshore Ave - Suite 200, Baltimore, MD

Wednesday - 1:47PM

Learning about Delilah Bloom, as it turned out, proved to be a rather difficult task for Hannibal Lecter, as there frankly wasn't much information to be found. Within the yellow folder had lain only six sheets of paper and, as he'd gleaned from his initial pass over the material, the majority were filled with half-assed diagnoses and assumptions- nothing he deemed worthy enough to colour his opinion prematurely. Only her standard patient information had given him pause. It held the typical information: full name, date of birth, social, height, weight, etc. And he gathered most notably from this page that Delilah was twenty-seven years old, precisely six years younger than her sister. The outwardly innocuous information struck a chord with him somewhere deep down, in a place he hadn't visited in quite some time; he had lost sleep from stress for the first time in decades, thinking of his late baby sister, Mischa.

Though it still annoyed him, Hannibal could understand why Alana was so protective of her little sister.

Absently tapping his thumb on his desk as he watched the clock tick nearer to two-thirty, he reflected upon the way he'd treated Alana last they'd spoken. Overcome with excitement by his eventual capitulation, she had been brazen enough to kiss him, and his reaction had been less than pleasant. He hadn't been outwardly rude, of course, but he did politely acknowledge the contact with an incline of his head. Hannibal didn't reciprocate, however; instead bidding her goodnight and promptly shutting the door behind her. The poor thing had looked more than a little put out.

It was no big secret that his former student was a bit enamoured, and he'd merely seized an opportunity to dissuade her interest. He would endeavor to be a bit friendlier to her today, but he truly hoped it had worked. Her feelings for Will Graham were just as painfully obvious, such is the way with people who wear their hearts on their sleeves, and he intended to urge them nearer - the pair were emotional little time bombs and Hannibal was intrigued to discover what would happen when they inevitably imploded.

At precisely 2:28PM, Hannibal heard a commotion filtering up the stairs outside his office's main door. Slipping Delilah Bloom's altogether useless file back into his desk drawer, he crossed the large room to stand and eavesdrop a moment.

"We are going to be late, come on!" Alana hissed, sounding deeply flustered. "Let's not piss off Dr. Lecter, okay? I'm already on thin ice with him as it is." Some shuffling ensued followed by a light thump as one of the pair dropped themselves into a seat in the waiting room - the other, Alana he assumed, opted instead to pace incessantly.

"What exactly is he going to do, Alana," a quieter, calmer voice began, and Hannibal closed his eyes to listen intently to her voice, "murder us in cold blood for being half a minute late?"

Alana scoffed as Hannibal tilted his head. What a peculiar response.

There was a second's pause before Delilah added, "We're a full minute early, anyway, so you can stop skittering around."

The frenetic pacing halted just as Hannibal glanced at the clock. "Did you remember to take your med-" Alana had started, but the moment the clock struck 2:30, he pulled the white door open without warning and took in the scene before him.

Two sets of deep blue eyes found him standing tall in the doorway and, as expected, Alana was frozen in the center of the room, while the younger Miss Bloom was seated delicately on the edge of a chair. Hannibal offered them a courteous smile, stepping aside and gesturing them into the office.

"Alana," he acknowledged warmly as she moved past him first, not missing some of the tension leaving her shoulders at his friendly use of her first name; he then turned to the other female and sized her up for a moment. Though the shade of her and Alana's eyes were nearly identical, there was a world of difference in the rest of their features. Where Alana's hair was waves dark as chocolate, Delilah had a head full of curls fair as wheat; where his colleague had strong and angular, yet still feminine features, his potential patient had delicate, soft lines to her face. He approximated Delilah was no taller than five-foot-two, at least four inches shorter than her sister and nearly a foot shorter than himself.

Curious.

He watched her much fuller lips briefly turn up at the corners, into a clearly forced smile, as she rose from her seat.

"Miss Bloom, please come in."

Unbeknownst to the petite blonde, Hannibal Lecter took a deep, purposeful, inhale just as she passed him to enter his office. Violets, ripe plum, and vetiver invaded his senses first, with the underlying heady notes of tonka bean and spice following close behind. Sweet and crisp on the surface, with an intriguing darkness lurking just beneath. Such an intoxicating blend… one that was suddenly overshadowed by the cheap, alcohol-forward nonsense Alana most likely found on discount at the mall, as she rushed forward to breathe yet another thank you toward him. Resisting the urge to sneer, he instead smiled politely and quietly shut the door behind him.

"Would either of you care for some water?" he inquired, his eyes trailing Delilah as she ignored everything around her to stand beside one of the massive windows and gaze out into the street. Her slender fingertips toyed with the red and gray curtain at her side but she made no move to suggest she'd heard him at all.

Alana stared at her unresponsive sister, looking equal parts annoyed and concerned, before turning to answer for the pair of them. "We'd love some water, Hannibal, thank you."

Striding off to fetch three glasses of mineral water, he exited through the door behind his desk and purposefully left it cracked, listening as they immediately began to bicker amongst themselves.

"Stop that, you'll ruin it!" Alana whispered fervently.

A heavy sigh escaped the blonde. "I'm not ruining anything, Alana. It's just a curtain, for Christ's sake."

"...Did you take your medication?"

"My sugar pills, you mean? Yes." Delilah replied with a light snort as Hannibal began slicing off three identical circles of a lime.

"Knock it off. They're not placebos; how many times do I have to tell you?"

Cutting a paper thin wedge out of each slice, he fixed one snug on the rim of each glass before quietly placing them on a silver serving tray. Even water deserved at least a modicum of presentation.

Hannibal lingered a moment still in the doorway, looking up just in time to catch a glint of malice in Delilah's eyes as she rounded on her sister.

"I took the damned pills, mother," Delilah hissed, finally cracking her laissez-faire façade. "I was a good little girl at lunch, I haven't snapped at your precious damned doctor, and I'm not ruining this fucking curtain just by touching it- you act like I'm diseased, Alana!"

At that, Hannibal cleared his throat gently and both women turned to watch him reenter the office. The pair had cheeks of rose, Alana's from embarrassment and Delilah's from anger. He could taste the faintly ozone-tinged scent of rage as it cut through the delicious perfume she wore; to his surprise though, and to her credit, she managed to keep herself in check and was polite enough to thank him for the glass of water that she took. Absently smoothing out the skirt of the cashmere sweater dress, which he couldn't help noticing hugged her curves perfectly, the flaxen-haired female glared daggers at her sister as she took a deep swig of mineral water. Hannibal sucked in a breath before looking to Alana as well.

"I must apologize, Alana, but I think you should leave us for the remainder of Miss Bloom's hour."

"Her hour? But-"

"Please, Alana," he cut her off, forcing himself to stay kind but firm. "I truly think it would be best. Sibling squabbles are not my forte."

The red flush of embarrassment deepening and creeping down her chest, Alana nodded jerkily and turned on her heel to march straight out the double doors, her own glass of water forgotten on the serving tray. Neither Hannibal nor Delilah flinched when she unsurprisingly slammed the door shut behind her.

A heartbeat's length of silence followed before Delilah's eyes shifted to Hannibal's and she asked softly, "Do you have anything stronger than water?"

Hannibal's lips parted and he blinked at her a moment before turning to set the platter on the couch. "I do…" he finally replied, straightening himself up and absently smoothing out his jacket as he peered down at her. "However, I wouldn't advise it with any medication you may be taking. Would you mind telling me what you've been prescribed?"

He already knew, of course. Delilah Bloom was on a cocktail of Zoloft and quetiapine, an anti-depressant and an anti-psychotic, respectively. The combination was generally effective in allowing a person with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder to maintain a sense of normalcy, though for such severe conditions they were relatively useless without the addition of intensive cognitive behavioral therapy. But Hannibal doubted very much that Delilah was suffering from either of these conditions.

"Shouldn't you already know, Doctor?" She grumbled. "I'm sure you've read my file. Or are you trying to catch me in a lie?"

Allowing himself a small smirk, he nodded and motioned toward the leather chair in which his patients usually sat. "Yes, Miss Bloom, you've caught me," he confirmed, watching her slowly make her way to the chair. Once she gingerly placed herself upon the edge of the seat, he undid the lower button of his suit jacket and sat down across from her. As he observed her, Delilah worried her lower lip between her teeth and stared intently at the condensation slipping down the sides of her glass.

Resting his left ankle upon his right knee, he leaned back and watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she took several deep breaths, each coming quicker than the last; he assumed she was either debating making a run for it, or about to have some sort of violent episode…

To his utter surprise, however, neither occurred, and her rapid breathing that had begun to flirt with hyperventilation suddenly steadied.

"Fifty milligrams of Zoloft every night," she finally spoke, her now slightly shaky voice barely above a whisper, "and one hundred milligrams of quetiapine, twice daily."

"Why do you think you're taking placebos?"

Her eyes narrowed at once and he offered an apologetic smile. "Forgive me for eavesdropping… but you two were rather loud."

Delilah ducked her head in shame and tucked a curl behind her ear. "S'alright," she mumbled, clearing her throat. She seemed lost in thought for a moment or two, before she finally took a deep breath and shrugged. "They don't do anything besides make me feel funny," she said simply.

Hannibal stayed quiet a moment before rising and holding a hand to her. "May I check your pulse?" He phrased it as a question, but his tone left no room for refusal. With an indignant little sniff, she set her glass down on the side table and offered her wrist to him; she yelped as he snatched it and pulled her up to her feet, holding her nearer to him. Two fingers found the pulse point in her delicate wrist with ease, and he politely instructed her to keep silent.

Thirty seconds passed with Hannibal's fingertips digging into her wrist, his eyes focused solely on the clock. He then sighed and let her go, shaking his head in disappointment. "You seem to be experiencing a mild arrhythmia," he explained, pacing back to his seat. "A common side effect of quetiapine... not a 'sugar pill.' If you choose to take me on as your psychiatrist, I am going to urge you to stop taking it at once- frankly, I would insist either way."

"If I choose…" She muttered, taking his cue to sit back down as she squinted at him questioningly. "You're saying I actually have a choice in the matter?"

"You always have a choice, Miss Bloom, in anything. Never forget that. I know Alana is quite adamant about you seeing me for therapy, but I have no desire to keep any patients as hostages."

Delilah nodded thoughtfully and he watched her toy with the cheap bit of lacquered metal that adorned her left thumb. She caught his eye as he silently appraised the bit of jewelry, and scowled a little. "Well, if I get to choose then I think I choose not to," she said flatly, covering her left hand with her right, effectively shielding the trinket from his view.

"I think it's rather charming," he said simply, his serene facade belying the amusement he felt bubbling just beneath the surface at her shocked expression. "Minimalist jewelry suits you…" He pointed at her still hidden hand and added, "A trinket of youth, I assume?"

"It's a mood ring. Alana bought it for me at the fair one year," she explained softly. "When I was sixteen she came home from college for a visit and took me. It was nice." Her eyes sparkled a bit at the pleasant memory before she returned to the present and let out a puff of laughter. "She always teases I have no soul because it always stays black. Which makes absolutely no sense…"

Hannibal allowed himself a small grin. "Who's to say any of us has a soul, anyway?"

A bizarrely comfortable silence descended as Delilah lost herself in thought, and he allowed it for several long minutes, using the time to take mental note of how well she took care of herself; if her long, perfectly manicured nails and impeccably applied makeup were any indication, appearances were clearly very important to her. It was quite evident even in the way she dressed, as well; the hem of the sage-coloured cashmere dress resting at just the right place on her thighs- not so high as to be deemed scandalous, and just low enough to still show off her shapely legs. Aside from the little slip of metal on her thumb, she wore no other jewelry that he could see, and on her feet were a pair of tasteful, taupe high heels. He wondered if she dressed like this all the time, or if this was just her formal attire.

He suddenly found himself imagining what she looked like in jeans, and decided he'd better cut his own train of thought off right there.

"Tell me, Miss Bloom, why do you think you are here?"

"Because no one else wants to put up with me," she blurted out, crossing her arms and scowling at a spot over his shoulder.

"What makes you so difficult to 'put up with,' as you say?"

Delilah sighed heavily. "I'm stubborn, mouthy, unforthcoming at inopportune times, and… Sometimes I get lost."

"Lost?" He canted his head curiously.

"Mm," she hummed, studying everything else in her field of view to avoid making eye contact. "Inside my head," she explained. "Sometimes I just… go somewhere else. When I come back I have no memory of where I was, or what I was doing, but people tell me I've done things."

"What sorts of things?"

"Oh, let's see," she began thoughtfully, taking a deep breath through her nose and exhaling loudly out her mouth. "Doctor Marlene attempted hypnotherapy, and she said that when she approached me I tried to bite her; Doctor Snyder claimed I suddenly started crying and throwing things around his office, for no conceivable reason.

Then, there was Mrs. Baker… Awful, twitchy woman. She wasn't an actual therapist, but a professor at the university. She said I just shut down and wouldn't speak to her. I would sort of mutter to myself and try to leave, but I wouldn't even acknowledge her existence. Alana brought me back to her twice more but evidently the same thing would happen within the first five to ten minutes, every time, without fail.

"So, I've been living with Alana for the better part of the last year and she's even attempted her own brand of therapy from time to time. It seems you are her last resort before she gives up completely, Doctor Lecter, and… oh I don't know, commits me to an asylum or something clichéd like that."

Frowning, he re-adjusted himself in his seat and smoothed the lapels of his coat, taking mental note of each name mentioned. He would write them down later, in a notebook set aside specifically for her. "What makes you say that, Miss Bloom?"

"Because, until about noon yesterday, I didn't even know you existed," she replied flatly.

"Is that so?"

"Alana likes to compartmentalize... I suppose that's to be expected in your line of work," Delilah added pensively, "but the fact that she's merging her personal and professional life like this leads me to believe she is at the end of her rope with me."

Hannibal studied her thoughtfully, his cup of interest in this woman practically overflowing as he watched her eyes finally lock onto his. There was a not so subtle challenge swimming in those azure pools - she expected him to cast her aside, like everyone else, like she anticipated her own sister would - and he allowed himself a genuine smile. "Well, Miss Bloom," he began kindly, "I must say I'm quite grateful Alana has reached the end of said rope."

"Oh?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "I think I may be of great service to you."

Confusion coloured her sweet face and he relished it as she muttered, "But… I've already said I don't want to be your patient…?"

There it was, a hint of doubt. A crack in the foundation of her resolve. It came sooner than he would have thought, but he nevertheless latched onto it like a starved lion to a gazelle.

"Be that as it may," he said, his voice still ever so soft and kind, "I don't think you truly mean it. I think you feel far more comfortable with me than you care to let on..." He trailed off a moment and tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Hannibal watched her face closely as he continued honestly, an edge to his tone now, "I find myself very intrigued by you. More importantly, I find I want you as my patient. And I think you know it would be in your best interest to accommodate me."

Her cheeks reddened and she ducked her head, overcome with a sudden shyness that he found himself choosing to call endearing rather than annoying. "And w-uh-why don't I mean it, Doctor Lecter?" she stammered.

"Because, Miss Bloom, we've been speaking for nearly half an hour, and not once have you dissociated," he said simply, knowingly. "Not once have you shut me out, or tried to throw things… and not once have you tried to bite me." He added the last bit with a small wink, enjoying the way it darkened the colour in her cheeks even further.

Clearly not believing him, she turned and squinted up at the clock on the wall, her eyes blinking twice before she slowly turned back to face him. "So we have," she conceded, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip as she stared at him.

Hannibal had the distinct impression she was studying him now, sizing him up properly for the first time, and the notion pleased him. She was clearly opening up to the idea of becoming his patient, but she was being cautious, which was smart.

"How long have you been a psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter?" she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Nearly a decade."

"And what did you do before then?"

"Prior to psychiatry, I was a surgeon, Miss Bloom."

One slender, honey-toned brow crept up her pale forehead. "That's quite a jump."

"How do you figure?"

Delilah shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back into her seat. "Well, I mean, surgery takes a specific kind of person, I think. It's so… hands-on. And psychiatry is very much not. I would think someone who chose first to be a surgeon would be bored to tears simply listening to people's whining every day."

Smirking, Hannibal canted his head in assent. "It can be tedious, at times, yes."

Without asking him to elaborate, she switched topics abruptly.

"Where are you from?"

His eyebrows shot to the ceiling and she smiled sheepishly. "Your accent, I mean… I'm sorry, was that rude?"

"No, Miss Bloom… I was born in Lithuania, and spent the majority of my formative years in France."

"Ah," was all she replied. After a moment of silence, she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear again - her embarrassed tell, he noted - and muttered, "It's nice."

Having heard her perfectly clearly, he grinned internally while offering her a politely puzzled look.

"Pardon, Miss Bloom?"

"Y-your accent," she clarified, only slightly louder, "I think it's quite nice."

"Why, thank you, Miss Bloom," Hannibal replied. Listening to her whispered 'you're welcome,' he glanced briefly at the clock to find another ten minutes had passed.

"I'm sorry to say our time is very nearly up," he announced, and she quickly whipped around to check the clock for herself yet again. Trust issues, clearly; no surprise there. She slowly twisted back around, looking altogether crestfallen, and he had to rub at his face to actively hide a grin behind his hand.

Once the moment had passed and his politely passive expression had settled back into place, he stood and refastened the buttons of his suit jacket, then held a hand out to help her up as he asked pointedly, "So, Miss Delilah Bloom, have you come to a decision?"

She eyed his hand a moment before gingerly slipping her fingertips onto his palm and allowing him to pull her to her feet. The pair stared at each other in silence as the clock struck precisely 3:30, neither moving a muscle until Alana's knock sounded at the door. They both took a sudden half step backward at the sound, and the blonde wrenched her hand away as if his were on fire. Her eyes drifted to the door, then back to his own.

"…Alright, Doctor Lecter, you win," Delilah finally declared, her tone steadfast and nearly tranquil in its certainty. "I'm all yours."

ALRIGHT. There's the beginning. I've already got a few chapters squirreled away and I'll be staggering them out either weekly or every other week. Please feel free to follow this story, so you can be alerted of new chapters! I also wouldn't turn down some tasty reviews. Thanks for reading!