Work Text:
“We have to get out of bed soon.”
Bedelia grumpily swats at Hannibal and turns away from him, hiding in the pillows heaped against the headboard. She’s not a morning person; she’s structured her days around having a leisurely wake-up with the paper and coffee. A perk of her reluctant retirement, if you will.
Married life with Hannibal hasn’t changed that much. On weekends, they laze about like two cats, sunning themselves in shafts of Parisian sunlight, Bedelia with her iPad in hand and Hannibal with his sketchbook. He draws her sometimes, when she’s dozed off and can’t stop him. Even though she looks too vulnerable in those sketches, Bedelia likes looking at them. It’s helpful to see what she looks like reflected in Hannibal’s gaze.
On weekdays, he makes breakfast, knowing the scent of espresso will eventually lure her out. Hannibal hasn’t picked a new identity yet, so he spends much of every day walking the streets and adding to his memory palace. Sometimes Bedelia joins him for lunch, at the only cafe within walking distance to satisfy his standards, and then they tour a museum or two.
“Bedelia.” Hannibal’s palm curves over her shoulder, gently shaking her.
Catching his wrist, she pulls him back down onto the bed, so she can make a pillow from his chest. “Not yet.” Bedelia doesn’t usually like cuddling, but she likes to think she confuses him when she initiates closeness.
His fingers tap along the lines of her neck and shoulders. “We’re leaving for Italy tomorrow. I’ve finalized the arrangements.”
Bedelia knows what that means, but she doesn’t ask for details. The less she hears, the less she may have to hide knowing.
“How much better is the espresso there?”