Work Text:
They were eating in the kitchen that evening, at Will’s request.
He looked at the truly grotesque grey blob on his plate and then at Hannibal as Hannibal swirled the oil in his wok. “Preserved duck eggs,” Hannibal said without turning around.
“Are you sure they’re ‘preserved’?” Will said, before carefully tasting it and then sighing, “Fine, they’re good.”
“You asked for homestyle food.” Hannibal said, adjusting the fire on the stove. “You didn’t say from where.”
Will rolled his eyes, and took another bite.
“For the second course,” Hannibal said, hoisting the wok off the stove with a flourish, “blanched bok choy with sizzling oil--”
Flames suddenly appeared in the wok, which Will was used to, but suddenly the pot was back on the stove and Hannibal was moving quickly with salt and a lid.
When Will realized what had happened, he couldn’t help it, he laughed.
Hannibal worked stiffly without turning around.
“Nothing wrong with a little kitchen disaster, Dr. Lecter,” Will said, getting up to look over Hannibal’s shoulder at the failure on the stove.
Hannibal’s shoulders relaxed a little bit as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. “Transports me back to my youth.”
“It’s hard to imagine you making shitty food.”
“Sometimes it fell short of a triumph.”
“What did you do when that happened? Curse God?”
“I ordered a pizza.” He said, turning around to face Will while wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.
“Oh shut up, you did not.”
“No,” Hannibal conceded, putting the dish towel down and pulling his phone out of his pocket, “But it’s your birthday.”
He didn’t even speak Italian on the phone.