Hannibal was in the midst of rearranging a piece by Bach when he noticed Will had left his lunch behind! He packed it into a beautifully crafted reed basket and headed out the door, happy to have something to do beyond missing Abigail and plucking at the harpsichord.

****

Hannibal padded down the halls of the FBI with the perfectly adorable basket containing Will’s lunch clutched in the tips of his even more adorable flippers.

“What brings you by?” Jack the Bear asked, following at his side.

Hannibal continued padding in the direction of Will’s office. “My darling mongoose left his lunch at home so I’m bringing it to him.”

Jack looked suspicious as he eyed the basket. “It’s not made of people again, is it?”

“There’s a little bit of people in it,” Hannibal said. Jack frowned at him, so he hurried to explain. “But it’s from leftovers that were in the freezer! You know as well as I do that food waste at the Sanctuary is at criminally high levels.”

Jack sighed. “That is true,” he said. “But that’s at least in part because you keep throwing away all the M&Ms and Doritos from the FBI break room.”

Hannibal shuddered. “My husband was coming home with cheesy orange paws every other night and little rainbow poops on the nights in between! What’s a fastidious penguin to do?”

“You could just mind your own business,” Jack suggested.

Hannibal gasped with indignation. “How could you think my mongoose’s dietary habits aren’t my business?”

They reached Will’s office. Hannibal’s attention was immediately drawn to the trash bin full of woven reed baskets. By the smell of them, they were still filled with the lunches Hannibal had made for him for at least the past week! Why hadn’t his mongoose been eating them??

Jack clapped his paws together. “Ooh, trash!” He began rifling through the lunches like a delirious Yogi Bear. A tarte Tatin made with heirloom apples disappeared into his ursine maw.

Will was nowhere to be seen, but there were empty coffee cups all over his desk. And they smelled like the remnants of cheap, store-brand coffee. Horrible! Was nobody at the FBI bothering to make siphon coffee for Will? Or at least some pour-over coffee. Dear God, what were their taxes at the Sanctuary even going for?!

Hannibal burst into tears. “Who made this terrible coffee?”

“I believe Brian makes it,” Jack said. A dish of people-sausage cassoulet joined the apple tarte. “I remember Will saying he likes how strong Brian makes the coffee.”

“I knew it,” Hannibal said. “That little mouse has been after my mongoose for years!”

Hannibal stomped down the hall toward the breakroom. Well, he stomped as well as he could with his penguin physique, which meant it was more of a speedy waddle with the occasional hop and stumble with annoyed honks. Frankly, it was extremely cute and didn’t convey quite the sense of jealous rage that Hannibal was aiming for. Jack followed him with a basket clutched in each paw.

Upon finally arriving at the breakroom, Hannibal saw two-thirds of Team Sassy Science slowly filling the coffee pot by carrying thimbles of water from the sink to the machine’s reservoir. But where was that utter fiend, Brian?

Ah! There he was! His whole body was inside a giant can of coffee, using his back feet to kick the grounds into the filter.

“I know what you’re up to!” Hannibal shouted. “You conniving rodent!”

Brian peered over the edge of the can. He shook grounds off his whiskers. “I’m making coffee,” he said. “What’s so conniving about that?”

“We’re making coffee,” Beverly corrected him.

“Yeah, all of us,” Jimmy chimed in. “We’re kind of a team.”

Beverly and Jimmy high-fived each other with their minuscule paws.

“You’re trying to woo my mongoose,” Hannibal said. He tried to hop up onto the counter, but flopped onto the floor. He really needed to get back into his exercise routine. He’d really been ignoring his fitness amid all his despondency since Abigail flew the nest. He pulled out the drawers and used them to climb up onto the counter. He pointed at Brian. “You’ve been seducing him with your special coffee.”

Brian blushed. “Everyone usually hates my coffee. I mean, it’s full of mouse poop.”

Jack, who had been in the middle of taking a sip to wash down his apple tarte, spit coffee everywhere like a decorative fountain.

Hannibal pulled Brian out of the can of coffee. “What?!”

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose!” Brian protested. “It’s just that mice poop a lot! It just ends up everywhere. In fact, I’m pooping in your flipper right now.” 

Hannibal dropped him. “Ewwwwwwwww! Ewwwwww hew hew hew!”

Brian dusted himself off and rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t act all superior, you little cannibal!”

“You know,” Beverly said. “I do recall hearing Will say that going to see the new warthogs who just moved into the sanctuary.”

“What’s he doing there?” Jack wondered. “The warthogs are in quarantine because they’re infested with ticks.”

Beverly shrugged. “He said they reminded him of home. Warthogs practically raised him, you know.”

“They have warthogs in New Orleans?” Hannibal asked. He shakes himself out. “Never mind that! I must get to the warthog quarantine!”

Much to Hannibal’s dismay, everyone followed him across the Cannimal Sanctuary to the quarantine zone. Much to Hannibal’s even greater dismay, the red fox Freddie Lounds was already there. She was skulking around outside the gate with a camera that had a long-range lens as long as her tail. She was photographing a small group of warthogs who were all snoozing on a patch of scrubby grass, basking in the sun. A sign on the entrance read: WARNING! TICK INFESTATION! PROCEED WITH CAUTION. There was no sign of Will.

Hannibal marched-waddled up to Freddie. “And just what interest does a sleazy reporter have in warthogs?”

“What are warthogs even doing at the Cannimal Sanctuary?” Jimmy wondered.

“We’re holding onto them for the zoo,” Jack said. “We had the room after we turned Hannibal’s old prison into a quarantine facility.”

Hannibal gasped. “What if you need to arrest me again before the warthogs leave?”

“We’ll just toss you in there with them,” Jack said.

Hannibal gasped five more times, each gasp more indignant than the last.

“Anyway,” Freddie said. “I’m here to get the scoop on Will Graham’s latest crimes.” She took some pictures of the sleeping warthogs. “Oh, I've got him red-handed this time!”

Hannibal was shocked. “Infidelity is a crime?”

Freddie frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Will has been ignoring my lunches,” Hannibal said, showing her the full basket still clutched in his flippers. “What other excuse could there be?”

Now the red fox rolled her eyes. “He’s not cheating on you, you little water bird! Look!”

She handed him her camera, gesturing at him to look through the lens to get a telescopic view of the warthogs.

Hannibal squinted and focused. At first he saw only the dusty brown hogs with their twisted tusks. But as he watched, he began to make out the lithe form of his beloved mongoose as he scampered over their snoozing bodies. His fur was remarkably well-disguised. He was barely visible even as Hannibal focused on him.

“See?” Freddie whispered. “He’s a remorseless killer!”

“Everybody already knows he’s a killer,” Hannibal said, pushing the camera back into Freddie’s dainty paws. “He’s a mongoose! It’s not news anymore!”

“Keep watching,” Freddie said, shoving the camera back at him.

Hannibal peered through the lens once more.

Will was perched on a sleeping warthog’s back. He used his paws to scoop up shiny, round little blobs from the creature’s back. He popped them into his mouth and closed his eyes in bliss as he crunched up whatever they were.

“Are those M&Ms?” Hannibal asked. He raised his voice and squawked. “Are you eating M&Ms again? You know they’re full of artificial dyes and subpar chocolate!”

Will opened his eyes at the sound of Hannibal’s squawks. He hurried to swallow his mouthful like a dog trying to conceal evidence of its garbage diving.

“They’re not M&Ms,” Will shouted back. “I… I’m just volunteering to clean the warthogs.”

“Cleaning the warthogs?” Hannibal wondered. “How on earth is he cleaning the warthogs? There isn’t even a tub there, like the one he uses for the dogs.”

“That’s my news,” Freddie said. “He’s been murdering dozens, if not hundreds, of ticks every day!”

Hannibal blinked a few times. He looked through the lens and realized that Will was indeed not eating M&Ms. He was gorging himself on…

“Ticks,” Hannibal mumbled. His tummy roiled. Team Sassy Science climbed up onto his wings to look through the lens. “Eww!” 

“He’s remorseless,” Freddie said, eyes gleaming with triumph. “And now the whole Sanctuary is gonna know about it!”

“Eating ticks isn’t a crime,” Jack said. “Ticks are generally considered nuisances, Lounds. In fact, everyone’s gonna be glad Will ate all those ticks.”

“Not everyone,” Hannibal corrected him.

He brushed off the mice and squeezed himself through the bars of the gate. He hop-flopped over to Will on his throne of infested warthogs.

Will scampered off the warthogs. “Babe, I know you try to get me to eat healthier, or at least more deliciously, but—Wait, why am I apologizing? I did nothing wrong! I mean, I guess it was gross, but not wrong.”

“But is something wrong with my cooking?” Hannibal asked with a sniffle. “I saw all the lunch baskets in your office. Discarded! Without a thought!”

“I was craving something crunchy,” Will said. “And the break room has been out of snacks for days!”

Hannibal held up the basket in his little wing and gave it an indignant shake. “I made finger sandwiches for your lunch! They’re full of crunchy, crunchy finger bones!”  

Will took a sandwich from the basket and bit into it. “It's delicious, babe. Very crunchy.”

Hannibal sighed. “Would it help if I made you some food from your home? I know quite a few New Orleans recipes, actually!”

“I was born in Mauritania,” Will said. “Just like my warthog parents. When they got shipped to a zoo in New Orleans, I ended up getting shipped with them. I don’t suppose you know any Mauritanian dishes?”

“I don’t,” Hannibal said. “But I’m happy to learn! Oh, this went much better than I feared. I mean, it was considerably grosser because of the ticks, but I was afraid you were having an affair.”

“Never,” Will said. They rubbed their cheeks together to reaffirm their bond.

“Ugh.” Hannibal was overcome by a powerful shudder. “I feel like I’m covered with ticks.”

“Don’t worry,” Will said. He took the lunch basket in one paw and held onto Hannibal’s flipper in the other. They headed for the gate together. “If you do get infested, I promise I’ll eat them off of you.”

Hannibal tittered with excitement—not only at the prospect of Will personally grooming him in the tradition of his homeland, but at the thought of learning lots and lots of new recipes! He’d never cooked Mauritanian food before. It certainly sounded more fun than sighing despondently over his harpsichord all day.

He wondered if any of the people meat left in the freezer would be good in the new recipes…

The end.

(thank you to @byk23 for creating such adorable characters and letting me borrow them on occasion)

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