HEY. This is a horrifically, terribly-written story from a girl of what feels like a century ago. It's beyond cringey, and the Mary Sue of my olden days is as overpowered as the Nine Tails. I'm totally aware at how much this story blows. That being said, I can't seem to delete it (nostalgia, I suppose), so please just deal with it. Or, hey, don't read it! It's incomplete and always will be. Sorry 'bout it.

She could see them, in the corner of her eye.
Nervous, shifting.
Not knowing what to do with her.

"She is the most intelligent woman I have ever met. Her IQ is off the charts-"
"She's dangerous, Erik! How does a thirty-something woman escape a serial killer, single-handeded?"

"Miss Astor, do you believe you are of sound mind and body?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you fully commit to the killing of Roger Andrews, one of your two captives?"
"Yes, sir."
"The man was found with two intricate cuts through his chest, opening the thoracic cavity. Miss Astor, Roger Andrews' heart was missing. Can you tell us where it is?"

A slow, frightening smile curled Anna Astor's lips. Blue eyes glanced down as she crossed her legs, cradling slender hands in her lap. "Yes, I can."

"Where is his heart, then?" The detective asked, breath catching as those sharp eyes rose to his face, deadly smirk still in place.

"I ate it."

"I still don't understand why they want to enlarge our group of freaks anyway. No one, especially a woman, is cut out for this sort of work." Will Graham complained in a mutter, hands delved into deep pockets. The two found themselves walking down a boardwalk, heading to an overpriced café.

This is where they would find their new coworker.

"That is very sexist of you, Will." A coy voice returned. Graham scowled at the tall doctor. "The mental capacity of women is just as strong as a man's, if not more so. Crawford said this woman has over three master's in-"

"That's not what I meant," Graham snapped. Impervious eyes watched as the man attempted to calm himself, sucking down a deep breath. They had reached the café, with three tables outside and two more within.

"What I mean is that no one should have to work the jobs we do. It isn't healthy for people in general to be exposed to such brutal violence."

"On the contrary, Mr. Graham, violence is the only constant in this world,"

The two men tensed, looking for the new voice.

"Throughout history, peace and love were always hoped for, but violence was the constant; the crouching tiger, waiting to strike."

Hannibal had located her quicker than Graham, nudging his partner upon sight.

Long, shining brown curls trailed from a wide-rimmed ebony hat, one that obscured the woman's eyes.

What Hannibal and Graham did notice, however, were those thin, blood-red lips.

"In the end, it comes down to this," She concluded, placing a delicate teacup on a matching saucer. Two crystalline eyes found them, bright and amused, "Can my violence overtake yours?"

"Anna Astor," Graham stated. Miss Astor smiled. "Please, just Anna,"

"Well, 'Just Anna,' that is an interesting theory," Hannibal almost teased, relaxing in the seat directly across from her. The brunette watched as he brought a long leg up, resting it against the opposite knee at the ankle. The man was broad-chested and firm, with jutting cheek bones and sharp features. Already he seemed at ease with her; unlike the other, more nervous detective. Graham was pulling a chair over, sitting as far as possible from either doctor. Anna shrugged.

"I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter, and this is Special Agent Will Graham,"
"A pleasure to meet you both."
"I heard you escaped a psychopathic killer," Graham finally spoke up. Anna 'hmm'ed,' seeming uninterested. Where did that waiter drift off to?

"How did you do it?"

"I bid my time until he left to urinate, then beat my hands against the bed frame til they bled. Upon his return I whimpered pitifully and he untied me, cleaning my slashed wrists. When he went to pick up a bandage, I reached for and proceeded to twist his scrotum until he screamed, dropping his guard of the gun in his front left pocket. I shot him once through the cranium."

"Did you call the police?" Hannibal interrupted.

To say he was intrigued was an understatement. The woman was maybe one-hundred and twenty pounds, no taller than five six. The thought of such a small being overtaking a killer was admirable.

"No."
"Why not?"
"I was not finished." Anna answered, simply. Red lips paused to sip coffee, noting Graham's incredulous stare.

"Well then, what did you do?"

Blue eyes bore into the distance, unblinking.

"I used his knife to make two incisions through his chest, cut his heart out, and cooked it for dinner."

She was not surprised by the silence that followed.

What did surprise her, however, was the look of sheer pleasure on Dr. Lecter's face.

"What…Why the hell would you do that?" Graham hissed. Long lashes were slow to blink in response.

Finally Anna Astor shrugged, throwing a fifty on the table and standing.

"Like I asked, detective. Can my violence overtake yours?"

It didn't take long to answer that question.

Graham was hesitant and tortured, blinded by his dreams, locked in his own mind. Astor could smell his fear like an overdone quiche.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, however, was the complete opposite of the trio.

Always cordial, polite. Lecter constantly spoiled Anna, from holding every door open to bringing her delicious meals.

Meals which always brought back the taste of one previous feast, in particular.

Curved legs were standing at the sink, hands nimbly washing a container. Artichoke 'heart' salad, with diced meat and tomatoes. It was a tasteless joke that made her chuckle as she washed away dressing from the rim of the bowl.

"Something is funny, An-na?" He enunciated, a mere shadow upon the wall. Anna turned with a sudden smirk.

"Just a pity laugh at your 'heartless' joke."

"An-na, I'm hurt. Here I make you skanus delicacies from my own kitchen, and you injure me so?" His accented sarcasm made her laugh. Hannibal allowed the slightest of smiles.

"Where do you live, anyway?" Blue eyes glanced up, trying to be nonchalant.

A slow, knowing smirk curled thin lips, and Anna shivered.

"Would you like to find out?"

For the first time in eight months, Anna Astor was nervous.

Hannibal Lecter's house was classic and as intimidating as he was. Black heels resounded off the sidewalk, swallowed in the impeding silence.
One simple, deep note rang out from the doorbell. A hand flitted to her waved, curling hair, smoothing any flyaways.

Why was she so nervous?

Because you know what he does. Deep down, you've known all along.

"Hello, An-na," Hannibal's deep voice startled her. His smile grew with her little jump, head spinning to him. Surprisingly, he wasn't in one of his "unique" suits. The doctor almost looked out of place in black slacks and a white button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms. "Have I frightened you?"

"That isn't quite the word I would use," Anna answered, stepping through the doorway. Warm fingers slid the coat from her shoulders, revealing a form-fitting black lace dress. A darkened beige material protected her body from sight under the lace, cut in a sweetheart top and barely reaching halfway down her thigh.

"Sorry if it is too much," Anna noted, tucking hair behind her ear. That stomach-lurching smile-smirk returned to his lips.

"No, you look beautiful."

Her shy smile gave him a sudden euphoric high. Hannibal Lecter inhaled a silent breath. He offered a hand and Anna easily took it, allowing him to lead her around his home.

Everything about his house was a mixture of modern and classic, from the high tech shower to the Victorian "parlor" furniture.

His kitchen was top-notch and spotless, leading through a swinging door to an elegant table set for two.

"Oh dear, candles? Is this a date? Good thing I dressed appropriately," The brunette teased, looking up at the chuckling psychoanalyst.

"I thought they would be a nice touch, in case I crossed a line and you needed to burn my house down." Color filled her cheeks as Hannibal smiled pleasantly. Carefully he pulled her chair out, just grazing the skin of her neck with his fingertips upon his exit.

Cerulean eyes were swiveling around the walls, a soft smile on her lips, when he returned. Lecter almost stopped simply to admire her, unused to an unguarded Anna Astor.

"An-na," His voice resounded, deep, raspier than expected. A remarkable beam met his call.

"Mmm," Anna breathed in the scent wafting from the soup, trying to determine its contents. Golden broth, onions, potatoes-

"What is this meat?" Her voice achingly nonchalant. Lecter had seated himself across from her, leaning back in a cherry wood chair.

All the reply she received was a coy, turned smile.

Eyes never leaving the mysterious doctor's,

Anna Astor brought the spoon to her lips and sucked the meat into her mouth.

Hannibal Lector had never met a woman quite like Anna.

He was no novice of seduction, or of the bedroom, but never longer than a night, two at the most.

With Anna, the thought of a one-night stand seemed utterly appalling.

She was intelligent and charming, like a snake in the grass. A deadly sort of beautiful that reeled you in, only to suck the very blood from your veins.

And then there were those subliminal moments where the charm wore away, when no one was looking.

She despised women and rudeness. He had only once caught her in slacks, often residing instead in summer dresses and wispy tops. Her eyebrows naturally arched, the identical color of her chestnut hair. Anna's jaw was strong and square, revealing perfect planes of skin as cheeks. She took great pleasure in aggravating Graham and teasing himself, running cool fingers across his face or pulling on his tie.

And that hunger, fed by the very heart of her kidnapper.

Hannibal Lecter wasn't just lustful for Anna Astor; he was infatuated with her.

"Have you ever tasted a sautéed strawberry?" He asked, entering the dining room once more.

This time, sitting beside the woman rather than across.

In one hand he carried two crystal wine flutes, the other a gold-rimmed plate. Curls bounced gently as Anna shook her head no, fingers cool on his as she took the flutes. Hannibal remained with the plate, selecting a ripened fruit with clever fingers.

"Open your mouth," The accented demand was low and gentle. Anna complied, never breaking eye contact. It was as if she were testing him, the way those unwavering blue orbs followed his every move.

She had eaten the soup of liver without another question after the first, nearly smirking by the lung-steak tartare.

And now, as he placed the strawberry between her lips, pearls pulling it from the fork,

Hannibal Lecter was positive she understood.

A streak of red dribbled from her lips and his thumb caught it, holding her cheek as he did so.

Those piercing eyes stopped him from kissing her right then.

"Hannibal," Anna's voice was strong but soft, almost sympathetic. "Hannibal, are you going to kill me?"

"Why would I ever want to do that?" He murmured, letting fingers glide from her cheek to a swan's neck. Easily they fit around the downy beginnings of her hair, arching her forward just the slightest.

"I know what you do, Hannibal. I know what you want," She began, unalarmed.

If need be, she could and would kill him. She had done it before; she could do it again. Even if it was the charming doctor she felt so strongly for.

"I want you, mylimoji Anna," Hannibal breathed against her mouth. Anna fought the urge to close her eyes as fingers caressed her hair, tickling her back. "I want you with me, to talk and dine and be with me. Noriu su tavimi mylėtis, Anna," His words pressed to the skin of her ear, her cheek. Little hands grasped at his chest, his shirt, caught between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"Not as what you think, Anna. Not as an easy pursuit or -"
"A meal?" She managed, forcing her eyes open again. Hannibal pulled away just the slightest, letting her catch the lopsided smirk-grin twitching his lips.

"Oh, An-na. Anna, Anna, never. Never you, I swear to you."

The slender, beautiful brunette, with the thicket of hair and curved body, narrowed her eyes.

"Do you promise?"
"I just swore to it, didn't I?"
"It means nothing. How can I know for sure?"

A coy, deadly smirk came to Hannibal Lector's face.

"You can't."

Tell me how I did! Should I continue it as a story?