Chapter Text
Hannibal pursed his lips. To say he disliked change was incorrect; he was as adaptable as they came. He did, however, dislike change that he had not been directly at the centre of, changes that were not his choice. And whilst the change in ownership of the florist from which he bought his arrangements from was perhaps not the most horrific, world-ending event, he still would rather have known about it.
The Bloom Room was no more. The swirling letters cut from metal that glinted in their place above the door of the store were gone, the paint currently in the midst of being stripped back by a team of two workmen carrying out a re-decoration of the shop.
Fingers shifting over the knot of his tie, just to make sure the impeccably placed knot was still intact, Hannibal approached the two men, peering up at them on their ladders from below.
“Excuse me gentlemen,” Hannibal began, fixing on his best polite smile, “I was wondering if you could tell me when the floristry business here shut down?”
One of them withdrew from his work, twisting to look down at Hannibal. “Hey there! I think the guy who used to own this place sold up pretty suddenly, I’m not all that sure about why or when.”
“I see,” Hannibal responded, still smiling. “And what are the plans for the building now then?”
The decorator smiled back. “Well if you were hoping it’s still going to be a florist, you’re in luck. Should be up and running for business in two weeks or so.”
“So long?” Hannibal asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Surely not that many changes needed to be made in the already high-scale store if it was going to remain a floristry?
The man shrugged. “Yeah, the guy who bought the business isn’t from around here. He’s making a pretty big move up from New Orleans.”
Hannibal nodded, registering the information. “I see. Thank you for your time, anyhow.”
They exchanged goodbyes and Hannibal walked irritated – although not visibly irritated – back to his car. He’d have to arrange for a rather last minute and rather large order of arrangements from somewhere else now in time for his dinner party. Once again, not the end of the world, but still enough of an inconvenience that it made him grit his teeth later on that night as he sat in his study, scrolling through websites of florists that would be able to cater to his order on time.
The dinner party in question that occurred four nights later was a less floral affair than usual, enough so that even Komeda felt the need to point it out to him.
“I must say Dr Lecter,” Komeda began, eyes sweeping around the room over the top of her champagne flute, “the flower arrangements are breath-taking as usual, although I must ask; do I spy a different artistic flair?”
Hannibal sighed. “Unfortunately so. My usual florist has sold his business and left town.”
“Oh, what a nuisance,” Komeda chimed in. “He was rather excellent, it’s a pity to know he’s no longer in business. I don’t suppose you know the circumstances?”
Hannibal shook his head, sipping his champagne. “Not at all, I’m afraid. All I know is that the shop has been purchased by another florist and will be re-opening before the end of the month.”
“Well,” Komeda smiled, “let’s hope whoever takes over will become a new favourite amongst all of us.”
Will’s back ached and his shoulder ached. His damn eyeballs ached. He felt ancient, which made him shudder. Thirty-four years of age was far too young to be feeling this old.
The last two months had been hellish to say the least, and on a good day he would only question his sanity a handful of times. Moving up from New Orleans to Virginia on a whim because he was going through, but refused to acknowledge, a mid-life crisis was perhaps not where he’d envisaged himself to be ten years ago.
The little house in Wolf Trap was perfect, at least. It was secluded away from the rest of the world, had a stream where he could go fishing, and the dogs had all the space to play and roam they could want. It even had a large shed on the property where he could work on the odd project, tinkering with boat motors or whatever else his heart desired. That, along with space for all the terrariums and vegetable planters he planned on putting in there once he got around to it. The house was bigger than the tiny apartment he’d been living in back in New Orleans, which was also nice, however not necessary. They’d managed fine in that place.
Getting shot hadn’t been on Will’s list of Things To Do Before I Die, but having his chance at owning and running his own floristry business had been. The pay-out from New Orleans PD had been more than Will had ever expected, enough to take his shot and place a bid on the floristry shop advertised for sale in Baltimore on an online auction at 3 a.m. when the ache in his shoulder wouldn’t let him sleep and the thought of taking anymore nausea inducing, itch-causing painkillers made him want to bang his head against the wall. The rest had been scraped together from his meagre savings and pension to pay for the costs of hauling his life up to Virginia and the somehow delightfully manageable mortgage he’d secured on the house in Wolf Trap. All that being said, he was left with about three thousand in the bank.
And now here he was. Stood on his porch, wrinkling his nose at the cold air and watching the furry bodies of his adopted non-human children chase each other through the grass that seemed to stretch on forever before him. Maybe this was the American Dream everyone seemed to talk about. He wasn’t sure what his dream was, other than the fact he now had the chance to spend all his days amongst the quiet and calm of plants and flowers and dogs. He wondered if his NOPD assigned counsellor would have been proud of him for choosing such a quiet and blissful life after the years of chaos in New Orleans.
Tomorrow brought on a new day, completely unlike anything Will had ever experienced before. As he turned in for bed that night, he told himself to ease the knotted ball of nerves in his stomach that if he could get shot and live, he could get through his mid-life crisis induced decision to serve the good people of Baltimore in all their floral needs. What could go wrong after all? It was just selling people plants and flowers, not criminals with knives and guns who wanted to kill him.