Chapter Text
"They want you to be one of the judges for the show," Alana says slowly, sipping delicately at her coffee.
"I don't want to be any reality TV show. I fix up old houses, okay? I'm not a network star." Will slams the ceramic lid to the sugar container back down harder than necessary, Winston barking at the clatter.
Alana shrugs. "The ratings disagree. This Is My Design is the top-rated show on PBS. This is a huge opportunity, Will. This could be your launching point for the big leagues. I can't let you miss this chance, for the sake of my professional conscious."
"What about your personal conscious?" he retorts, sinking in to one of the overstuffed navy chairs in the living room.
"I'm your agent, Will. And your friend. I wouldn't even mention a job to you if I thought it wouldn't be a good fit for you—professionally and personally. They're offering good money, too."
"It's not about the money."
"Then donate it to an animal shelter, okay? This is the big break we've been waiting for, something to get you off of PBS and on to a major cable channel. You can't miss this."
"Fine. Fine. What's the concept behind the show?"
"Welcome to HGTV, Mr. Graham. I'm Beverly Katz, I'll be the producer for Next Top Designer." The petite woman smiled politely as she held the glass door to the starkly modern conference room open for Will. "If you need anything at all, or if you have any questions, I'm the one you can talk to."
Will nods stiffly as he found his seat at the table, in front of a bright green folder labelled Will Graham, This Is My Design.
"Oh, hello, Dr. Lecter," Katz chirped, as a man in a clearly-expensive black pinstriped suit and red silk shirt took the seat across from Will. Suddenly, Will felt underdressed in his khakis and plaid button-up.
"You're a doctor?" he asked quickly
"Former doctor, actually. Currently the host of Killer Kitchens on HGTV. I'll be your co-host and fellow judge for Next Top Designer. Will Graham, I presume?"
"Yeah—yes, I mean." Dr. Lecter clearly had some sort of accent—Dutch, maybe? Will couldn't quite place it—but he still managed to sound far more eloquent than Will.
"I watched your program last week. You have a very.... rustic aesthetic. Very Americana.”
The way Dr. Lecter's lip curled when he said 'rustic' didn't make Will think it was a compliment. "Oh, uh. Thank you. Can't say I've ever watched Killer Kitchens. I don't have cable at home," he blurts out.
"Ah." Dr. Lecter relaxed back into his chair. "I prefer a more classic, sophisticated bold aesthetic. I imagine this is why they have paired us together for the show."
"Nice to see our two hosts getting along already." Jack Crawford—a man that Will knows only in his interior design circles as the man to impress if you wanted to get a show off the ground, and the head of programming at HGTV—slammed the door to the conference room closed, gesturing for Katz to take her seat next to Will as Jack sat down beside Dr. Lecter. "Welcome to HGTV and Next Top Designer."
"The premise is simple: we take fourteen wannabe interior designers, divide them into two teams, and give them a design challenge every week. You two will pick and coach your teams, and then you and a special guest-of-the-week will judge each designer's work and pick someone to go home, and someone to win each week. The winner gets an advantage for the next challenge," Jack explains.
"What does the final winner get?" asks Will.
"Six episodes of their own show here on HGTV, with the possibility of renewal if it does well. Of course, you two won't decide the final winners. We'll let the viewers vote online or via text message during the live-broadcast finals."
"Who is competing?" Dr. Lecter tilts his head thoughtfully, fingers temples under his chin.
Katz pushes a stack of headshots and biographies towards both Will and Dr. Lecter. "Fourteen different designers, from professional interior decorators to a tabloid blogger to the daughter of the designer behind the Minnesota Shrike brand."
"Does she share her father's passion for taxidermy and harsh edges on furniture?" Will isn't certain that Dr. Lecter is making a joke when he says it, his expression still stone-serious. Katz shakes her head. "It's more of a mild preference."
“Hm." Dr. Lecter tilts his head again. “I look forward to seeing what they can produce.”
***
“Two of the nation’s top designers—” Cue Dr. Lecter and Will standing in front of a neon green sculpture of the HGTV logo on a white background; Dr. Lecter wearing an impeccably tailored brown plaid suit and paisley tie, Will wearing plain grey corduroy pants and another plaid shirt from his seemingly-endless collection. Subtitles identify them both: Hannibal Lecter (Killer Kitchens), Will Graham (This Is My Design).
“—come together to help two teams of designers—” Flash to a quick panoramic shot of all fourteen contestants.
“—win a chance to have their own show on HGTV. Watch Next Top Designer Sunday night at eight PM Eastern time!”
Will rolls his eyes and turns the TV off. “They’ll put anything on cable these days,” he mutters, scratching Churchill behind his ears. “Right, buddy?”
Churchill just wags his tail and barks twice.
Will’s just finished yelling at Freddie Lounds for her atrocity of a cheetah-printed couch (“The challenge was to design a piece that fit the safari theme, not something I’d find in a cheap strip club!”) and is headed for Wardrobe so he can get his own clothes back and go the hell home to his dogs and blissful silence, when Dr. Lecter appears beside him.
“Hello, Will.”
Will jumps a little, still on edge from filming. “Hello, Dr. Lecter.”
“Please, call me Hannibal. I’m not much of a doctor anymore, no need for such formality.” Hannibal keeps pace with Will as he walks, smiling smoothly, even as Will intentionally speeds up, hoping to ditch him.
“Do you want something? I’d like to get home before sunset tonight,” Will sighs.
“Which is what I came to discuss with you. Would you enjoy joining me for dinner tomorrow? I have a lovely cut of choice venison fresh from my butcher that I would hate to waste on only myself.”
Will stops walking abruptly. “Dinner?”
Hannibal’s courteous smile turns into a grin. “It is not a date, Will, if that is what you believe. Cooking is one of my true passions, second only to design. I merely would like to share my hobby with you. We have been filming together for a month now, yet I know so very little about you.”
“Can I bring a guest?”
“Of course. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Does seven o’clock sound acceptable?”
“Sure.”
Hannibal slips a business card into Will’s hand, and as quickly as he appeared, retreats into the soundstage, but not before actually leaning in and smelling Will.
“Did—did he just smell me?” Will whispered, searching for any sign of Hannibal’s retreating shadow, but there was none.
In swirling red script on thick black cardstock, it read Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Architect – Interior Designer, listing a phone number, an email address, and a home address.
Will stuffs the card into his pocket as he pulls out his cell phone and dials Alana’s cell phone number.
“Hey, how do you feel about venison?”
“This is delicious, Dr. Lecter,” Alana says as she takes another forkful of roast venison. “Why aren’t you a chef?”
“I often considered it, after leaving medicine, before I discovered my love for design. But I believe that cooking should be an intimate, shared experience. Design is something all can appreciate and enjoy. Cooking is a private thing.”
Will toys with the lone potato on his plate, staring at the navy blue striped wallpaper (strangely dark and bold for a dining room, but ‘strangely dark and bold’ seemed to the theme for Hannibal’s house as a whole). “What made you leave medicine?”
Hannibal smiles as he watches Alana take a second helping of the roast. “One of my patients attacked me before committing suicide. I didn’t feel as though as I could keep my practice open with such a tragedy in its history, even if I was only to blame for my inability to help the patient. So I determined that it was better if I retired and took up work elsewhere. How did you find interior design, Will?”
“My mother loved it.” Will shrugs. Something about Hannibal’s expression set him on edge.
“Certainly it wasn’t so simple.” Hannibal sets down his own fork and fold his hands together under his chin.
“My mother died when I was a kid. All she left was a few books about design and a bottle of her perfume. I wanted to be a teacher for a while, but something about this just keeps me going, I guess.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hannibal offers soothingly, expression softening strangely. “I lost my own parents and sister when I was young as well. I...understand how it feels.”
Alana glances between the two designers, sees the pain etched in Will’s face, and forces a smile. “So, Dr. Lecter, Will, what’s been happening on the show? I haven’t had a chance to watch the last two episodes.”
Hannibal breaks eye contact with Will first. “Abigail Hobbs just designed a marvellous blue couch that will be available at all upscale furniture retailers. I plan to buy one for myself, actually.”
“Oh, come on, Abigail only won that challenge because her father was our guest judge, and you know it,” Will says, darkness draining from his eyes.
“I don’t see why you’re so fixated on your shabby-chic ‘innovative’ Americana, Will. Her design was modern, elegant, and daring...”