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The fluorescent lights of the small-town grocery store buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow on the neatly arranged aisles. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham moved in tandem, a seamless partnership even in the most mundane of tasks. Will pushed the cart, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp as they scanned the shelves. Hannibal trailed slightly behind, his gaze lingering on the more exotic and unfamiliar offerings.
“This is a grocery run, Hannibal,” Will said, his voice carrying a thread of irritation. “Not a culinary expedition.”
Hannibal raised an elegant brow, plucking a small package of saffron threads from the shelf and examining it with quiet reverence. “Every opportunity to explore is an opportunity to grow, my dear. Even in a place as uninspiring as this.”
Will sighed, steering the cart toward the produce section. “We’re supposed to be laying low, remember? Regular people buy regular food. Eggs. Milk. Bread. Not whatever imported nonsense you’re eyeing over there.”
“Ah, but regularity is a death knell for the spirit,” Hannibal countered, slipping the saffron into the cart with a practiced flourish. “Surely even fugitives are entitled to a bit of indulgence?”
Will stopped the cart abruptly, turning to face Hannibal. “Fugitives don’t draw attention to themselves by buying saffron and twenty different kinds of artisanal cheese.”
“Artisanal cheese is hardly a crime,” Hannibal said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Unlike some of the other... activities we engage in.”
Will’s eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening around the handle of the cart. “This isn’t about cheese, and you know it. We’re supposed to blend in. And you—” He gestured vaguely at Hannibal’s immaculate attire, his tailored coat and silk scarf a stark contrast to the unassuming flannel and denim of the other shoppers. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”
Hannibal tilted his head, unperturbed. “You wound me, Will. Do you truly think so little of my ability to adapt?”
Before Will could respond, a sharp intake of breath echoed from the far end of the aisle. Both men turned their heads in unison, their movements eerily synchronized. A young store employee stood frozen, his eyes wide as they darted between Hannibal and Will. Recognition flickered across his face—a flash of realization that sent a cold ripple through the air.
Will felt his stomach tighten. The employee—a lanky teenager with acne and a name tag that read Jason—took a hesitant step backward. His hand reached up to tug at the nametag, fumbling as he unclipped it and let it drop to the floor. Without a word, he turned and bolted, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as he disappeared around the corner.
Will and Hannibal exchanged a look.
“That’s not good,” Will muttered.
“On the contrary,” Hannibal said, his tone almost amused. “It’s an elegant solution. He’s chosen to remove himself from the situation rather than involve the authorities.”
Will rolled his eyes, gripping the cart handle tighter as he started walking again. “Or he’s calling them right now.”
Hannibal shrugged, following at a leisurely pace. “Then we’ll simply have to expedite our shopping.”
The tension between them simmered as they moved through the store, Hannibal continuing to slip exotic items into the cart whenever Will wasn’t looking. Will caught him sneaking a jar of preserved lemon confit into their haul and plucked it out with a glare.
“No,” Will said through gritted teeth.
“I’m curious,” Hannibal corrected. “Curiosity is the hallmark of a truly refined mind.”
“It’s also how we end up getting noticed,” Will snapped. “Every time you insist on adding some overpriced truffle oil or rare spice, we stick out. People remember that.”
“People remember us regardless,” Hannibal said, his voice calm and measured. “We are, after all, memorable.”
Will stopped walking, spinning to face him. “Do you ever take this seriously? Do you even care that we’re constantly one step away from being caught?”
Hannibal met Will’s glare with a serene expression. “Of course, I care. But I refuse to let our circumstances dictate the quality of our lives. Even the smallest pleasures are worth savoring.”
“Pleasures like being arrested for murder because you just had to buy some fancy caviar?” Will shot back.
Hannibal’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. “It’s Beluga, Will. One must have standards.”
Before Will could retort, the faint crackle of a store intercom broke the tension.
“Attention shoppers,” a nervous voice announced, “uh… the store is… closing early today. Please make your final selections and head to the checkout. Thank you.”
The announcement was met with puzzled murmurs from the other customers, but Will knew better. His eyes darted to Hannibal, whose expression remained infuriatingly composed.
“We need to leave,” Will said, his voice low and urgent. “Now.”
Hannibal inclined his head, gesturing toward the cart. “Shall we?”
The checkout process was mercifully uneventful, though Will couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on them as they loaded their groceries into reusable bags. The cashier—a young woman with dark circles under her eyes—barely looked at them as she scanned each item, her movements robotic and detached.
Will glanced around the store, scanning for any sign of police or other authorities. His paranoia was a constant companion these days, but it had kept them alive so far. Beside him, Hannibal hummed softly under his breath, seemingly unfazed by the potential threat.
“Stop that,” Will hissed.
“Stop what?” Hannibal asked, his tone light.
“Humming,” Will said. “You sound too... happy.”
“Is happiness a crime now?” Hannibal asked, his lips curving into a smile.
Will glared at him but didn’t respond.
Once they were outside, the cold evening air hit them like a slap. They loaded the groceries into their car in silence, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. As Will slammed the trunk shut, he turned to Hannibal, his frustration bubbling over.
“This is why I don’t want to go out with you,” he said. “You make everything ten times harder than it needs to be.”
Hannibal leaned against the car, his hands tucked into his pockets. “I make life interesting.”
“You make life dangerous,” Will shot back.
Hannibal’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the mischief faded from his eyes. “And yet, you stay.”
Will’s shoulders sagged, the weight of his anger giving way to exhaustion. “I stay because I don’t have a choice. You’re the only one who understands me. But sometimes I wish you’d try to understand me a little more.”
Hannibal stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I do understand you, Will. Better than you understand yourself.”
Will looked away, his jaw tight. “That doesn’t mean you get to ignore everything I say.”
Hannibal reached out, his hand resting lightly on Will’s shoulder. “You’re right. I was careless tonight. It won’t happen again.”
Will snorted, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. “You say that every time.”
“And yet, here we are,” Hannibal said, his smile returning.
Will shook his head, opening the driver’s side door. “Let’s just go.”
Hannibal slid into the passenger seat without another word, his expression unreadable. As they pulled out of the parking lot, the grocery store’s neon sign flickered in the rearview mirror, a reminder of the life they’d left behind yet again.
Back at their temporary hideout, Will unpacked the groceries while Hannibal prepared dinner. The tension between them had settled into a familiar rhythm, a dance they both knew by heart.
As Hannibal plated the meal—seared duck breast with a saffron and preserved lemon glaze—he glanced at Will, who was sipping a beer at the kitchen table.
“Do you regret it?” Hannibal asked suddenly.
Will looked up, his brow furrowed. “Regret what?”
“This life,” Hannibal said, gesturing vaguely. “The running. The hiding. The... peculiarities of our relationship.”
Will considered the question, his gaze distant. “Sometimes. But then I think about the alternative, and... no. I don’t regret it.”
Hannibal nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Good. Neither do I.”
Will smirked, raising his beer in a mock toast. “Here’s to being fugitives.”
Hannibal raised his wine glass in response, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “To the art of survival.”
And as they ate, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them—partners in crime, in love, and in life.