Fortune's Fool (Hannibal Fanfiction)

V: Dining Differences

Will regretted letting Hannibal choose the restaurant as soon as he drove them to one of the fanciest restaurants Will had ever seen in New Orleans, much less ever eaten at. No wonder Hannibal had sent him back to his room to put on nicer clothes — he was still woefully underdressed, despite having added a gray blazer and a tie to his outfit. Hannibal had swapped out his fancy zipper-sweater for a three-piece suit, and he was looking in his element once again. Will resented him slightly for it, the more so as his headache threatened to intensify again.

After a few minutes, a server showed them to their table, which looked like a much fancier version of booth seats at a diner. Another server brought them glasses of water and a small basket of French rolls and introduced himself before bowing out.

Will took a sip of water, opened the menu, and nearly had a heart attack — the appetizers were all over ten dollars, and most of the entrées were more than thirty dollars each. Of fucking course Hannibal would choose one of the priciest restaurants in New Orleans, he thought angrily. I could get quality gumbo for far less than this. He gave the menu a quick once-over before giving up and restricting himself to the appetizer section. Hell, the pan-seared scallop appetizer was twenty dollars by itself. Even the soups were over ten bucks. There was no way he was spending fifty dollars on one dinner.

As Will closed his menu, Hannibal looked up from his and smiled. "Do you know what you're getting?"

"Uh, yeah, I might get the sweet potato and poached oyster soup."

"That's all?"

"Yeah."

"That's not enough for dinner. It's hardly an appetizer."

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed," Will snarked. "It's almost as if I was ordering off the appetizer section of the menu."

Hannibal folded his menu. "Forgive me, Will. I am merely concerned because you haven't eaten since I've seen you."

Will scowled. "I told you I wanted to go to sleep, didn't I? I'm not terribly hungry."

Actually, he was very hungry, not having eaten since the burger and fries at lunchtime, but the prices on the menu had clamped down on his appetite. As if he could read his mind, Hannibal said, "And yet your stomach was growling on the way over here."

"Are we eating dinner, Doctor Lecter, or are we back in therapy?" Will asked scathingly.

The corners of Hannibal's lips ticked up in amusement. "We are having a conversation, though dinner and therapy do not have to be mutually exclusive."

Will clenched his jaw and leaned back in his seat, looking away from Hannibal and across the restaurant. He didn't want to let out his anger and resentment in such a highbrow place, although a childish part of him was sorely tempted. He breathed in and out deeply to control himself.

"I don't need you to police my choice of nourishment," Will said slowly, turning back to Hannibal. "You're not my guardian...or even my official psychiatrist."

Will knew the jab had landed when silence followed his assertion. Hannibal scrutinized him, eyes dark in the dim of the restaurant, and Will met his gaze with defiance. Then Hannibal said,

"You are not the poor boy at the mercy of your father's whims anymore, Will. You don't have to starve yourself for lack of funds."

Anger crashed over Will like a wave of dirty seawater.

"Haven't you ever heard that it's extremely rude to comment on other people's wealth?" Will snapped. "Or are you too rich for that to have crossed your mind?"

"Will —"

"I live off of a professor's salary with seven dogs, Hannibal, has that ever occurred to you? It's a matter of economy that I choose not to spend a fortune at restaurants that think it's okay to charge fifteen dollars for one appetizer!"