All rights to Hannibal (TV) belong to NBC.


Benny's Stop and Dine, Virginia

She dropped the omelet. Nobody noticed.

Nobody was there to notice.

Benny's Stop and Dine wasn't a place to actually stop, especially this late at night.

The gas prices weren't high, but they weren't low either.

The food inside the diner that was in the gas station wasn't all that good either.

But that was the charm of Benny's.

Somewhere off of Interstate 95, far from the urban populations, but not far enough to be convenient or comfortable, there was Benny's Stop and Dine. It was a quaint little station that would have been charmingly themed to the fifties if it wasn't so run down. The checkerboard tiles that were supposed to be black and white were stained. The once white walls were well beyond beige, and the blue leather on the booths, chairs, and stools were peeling, torn, and, as the rest of the diner, off color. The metal parts of the furniture were rusting. The pictures on the walls were faded. The lights that once read "Open" and "Come On In" were broken. The only thing that was in mildly good condition was the jukebox, and the music on it hadn't been updated since before she was born.

Not many people stopped for gas, and even less stopped for the food.

That was the problem, she supposed. She wasn't well prepared to actually cook some poor man an omelet. She wasn't prepared to cook at all. She was the waitress.

With a heavy sigh, she hung her head, shaking it after a few moments of wallowing in disappointment. Having punished herself enough, she raised her head, and tried to clean up fast before moving to try to make a new one.

The second was better than the first. There was that, at least.

Still, it was a sad omelet, if one could even call it that.

But she had to serve him something.

And so, she straightened out some wrinkles on her decades old uniform and made her way over, omelet in hand as well as a free bottle of that good ol' cheap, off-brand, soda. It was the best that she could give as an apology for the wait. And for the poor omelet. And for the diner as a whole.

Even the apology soda was sad.

"I didn't order a soda."

She looked at the man, half surprised he even spoke, half surprised that he was real. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't during the graveyard shift. Stuck in a diner that was stuck in another era, yet dead all the same, in the middle of nowhere was enough to rub anyone the wrong way. She'd seen a lot during night shifts. That's why she hated it so much. The only people that came in during the night time were never good people. Well, they were never people in a good place, literally and figuratively.

The man before her didn't look all that good either.

He was tall. She saw that when he walked inside. He was taller than her, even with what she now knew to be habitually hunched shoulders. He looked as if he were just waiting, even inside the safety of the diner, bracing himself against some cosmic blow from the sky that would, hypothetically, take out the taller people first. So there was some logic to it, she assumed. She couldn't be too sure on his form. He was defined by a wrinkled suit jacket, a plaid shirt underneath that was twice as wrinkled from what she could see.

He looked like the kind to layer.

Not for the weather, but for the comfort of having something between one's bare body and the harsh world.

His hair was a mess of curls, matching a scruffy beard. She'd seen him scratch at it while she was cooking the first omelet. He was too focused on the papers in front of him to actually notice she dropped the first - She hoped he was too focused. When she emerged from behind the counter, he shoved the papers into a manila file folder, watching carefully as the mess of a waitress approached him.

His eyes were blue.

Not light as the sky, not rich in color, but still blue. Clear. Clear blue. Clear blue eyes behind clear glasses - as clear as any could be - that sat on a well shaped nose, the kind that wouldn't let glasses slide down easily. Despite the glass barrier between his eyes and hers, she still felt uncomfortable.

She felt naked.

He didn't look like he belonged in this place any more than she did, yet she still felt like the one out of place.

"You also didn't order as bad an omelet as that."

She meant it as a joke, but the poor quality of the omelet was too true to carry any humor.

"It's still edible," he said, looking at the burnt eggs.

She smiled, if only a little.

"Then the soda's for the long wait," she shrugged.

The man put a hand behind his head, scratching at the back of his head, thinking carefully over what he was going to say or do. She couldn't really tell what thoughts were there, and felt even more out of place as the seconds ticked by. At first, he didn't say anything. Maybe he thought if he was quiet enough, she'd go away. She was almost going to turn on her feet, to retreat behind the safety of the counter, putting a barrier between them, when he spoke.

"You don't usually have customers this late, do you?"

Why he was asking, she didn't know.

"We don't usually have customers," she answered honestly, looking to the entrance. The door let out a whistle from the heavy winds outside. It was too dark to see much. Only the four gas pumps were visible. Beyond that was just the void. More nothing to isolate the diner. Stuck outside of time in more ways than one, it was.

"That can't be true," the man argued. "You must have enough to keep this place open all night long."

He had a point there. She often wondered how Benny's was able to stay open. The only difference was that she didn't ask.

She never asked.

It wasn't her place to ask questions.

"We get enough, I guess."

The answer didn't satisfy. She could see that much in the way he tried to direct his attention to his food. His brow was furrowed, a frown resting on his chapped lips. She tried to remember if he was frowning before. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. Her memory wasn't as good as it once was, but she liked it that way. It was easier to keep moving if one didn't remember what they were leaving behind.

"We have you," she said after some time just standing there. She didn't have to stay. She could have gone behind the counter, cleaned the dishes, maybe even try to scrub some of the years of stains off of, well, everywhere. She liked it behind the counter, separated from everything and everyone. Still, she was still human, and humans, even the ones fond of solitude, didn't like isolation.

She told herself that she was starved of socialization.

How long had it been since she actually talked to someone in person?

Looking up from his omelet, the man looked at her curiously. He must have eaten some in the time that she was lost in thought because he swallowed. Loudly. She couldn't imagine that the food tasted good, but he didn't cringe. He just watched her. She wondered if he liked seeing her squirm. Her fingers were busied, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. She felt more self conscious than she had in the past few months. Maybe even years. She wanted to look everywhere, at anything other than him. The part of her that wanted to look at him, the part of her that was intrigued by this strange man, won instead.

"I don't think you can count on one person to uphold a business."

She blushed.

"No," she agreed with. "But a few can be enough."

"So you get customers on other nights?" It wasn't a question, and she knew it.

"No. Can't say we do."

"We?"

"Me and the diner," she answered, turning red with embarrassment. She felt like she was pathetic. A pathetic little nobody in the pathetic diner in the middle of nowhere.

He didn't look at her with judging eyes.

There was understanding in it. She had a hard time imagining anyone could empathize with her. She had a unique kind of loneliness, but she knew that she shouldn't be as crass as to think that she was that unique.

Unique was the wrong word.

Alone. That was the right word. She didn't think that anyone knew the desolating loneliness that she chose to exist in. It wasn't the kind that came by force. Nothing forced her to choose this life. It was all circumstances and presented choices. She made hers and it led her here to working in this diner in the dead of night with only a stranger as company. Yet, she wasn't alone. She knew that by the look in his eyes. That look was the reason behind her shutting her mouth tight, fearing what he might do if she opened it, letting the wrong words fall free. She didn't know him. She didn't know if she wanted to know him. She did want him though. She wanted his company. She wanted the temporary relief, the brief reminder that she was still alive, that she wasn't fully alone.

People aren't meant to be alone.

"I'll leave you to it."

She wanted to ask more. She wanted to ask why he was up so late, what brought him to the diner, what were those papers that he tucked away before she could see. She wanted to know why he looked like he understood her. She wanted to know if he was truly as alone as she. But she didn't. She just made her way back behind the counter, ducking down to clean up the floor. Then, she washed the dishes. And then, she tried cleaning the counter for the eleventh time that night. Between all of that, she would look up occasionally, taking a glance at the stranger. On a few instances, he was looking back at her, causing her to look away. She took her time with the cleaning as if it would stretch out time itself, as if it would allow her time to savor the time when she wasn't as alone as she usually was. Yet, like all good things, it came to an end. The man gave her a nod on his way out.

Was that a smile that she saw on his face?

Whether he smiled or not, she gave one of her own. It only grew when she went to the table he once sat at, finding a small tip waiting. The tender smile she grew lasted for the remainder of her shift. It wasn't for the amount. It wasn't a big tip, but it held something big. Something massive. After all, it wasn't for the food. It wasn't for the service. She was left to assume that it was left behind as a silent thank you, mutual appreciation for company. Though they hadn't spoken much, the silence in which they existed together was the most cherished moment she could claim in the past months, years even. It said something about her life, that a stranger could make this big of an impact, but she cared little for whatever judgement the average person would pass.

When it came time to leave, she gathered her things - a small purse filled with only her keys, her phone, and a wallet which held only cash, a card, and id. She didn't put his tip in her wallet. She didn't even put it into her purse. She folded the money neatly and tucked it into her breast pocket, something a co-worker, the one that replaced her in the early hours of the day, noticed. Neither spoke a word, but both were taken back by the happiness that overcame her. Neither could remember a time when she displayed such an emotion. For the first time in a long time, she felt alive.

Even driving to her small apartment building, she found her mind drifting back to the strange man. Tucked into bed by the time that the sun fully rose, she found her last moments of consciousness filled with hopes that it wouldn't be the last time she saw him.

For the next few weeks, she volunteered for the same late night shift. She saw him every other night. Each time, he would order an omelet, which gradually better. Each time he would leave a tip. It became a ritual, one that both needed more than they wanted to admit, and they did not admit much. They barely even spoke, but they were fine like that. At least, she thought they were until one night, before he left, before he gave the usual farewell nod, he stopped at the counter, and with a troubled expression, he told her he wouldn't be back for a while. And he wasn't. She stayed on the night shift, every night as hopeful as the last, every night twice as painful when he didn't show. And so, she fell back into old habits. She cleaned the windows, counters, the floors. She sat at a table, never his, and reread old books. She didn't know if days, weeks, or even a month passed.

Her boss offered to switch her to the day shift, as if she didn't know that there was any other option for her.

She didn't take it at first.

But he insisted. She only took a slightly earlier shift.

She avoided the day shift.

There was more people during the day, and she felt safer alone in the dark than surrounded in the day. There was little sense in it, but still.

It was Saturday. The wind was loud. Dirt scratched the outside windows. She occasionally looked up when the door opened, only for it to be from strong winds. She would then drop her gaze, disappointed. She didn't know how long it had been into the night until she heard the door ring followed by the sound of shoes scraping against the welcome rug. Her eyes snapped to attention, head lifting from her hand that so sluggishly was used to prop herself up, having been lounging on the counter.

Her tired face lifted, lips twitching into a wistful smile, unsure if he was really there.

And he was.

He looked different. His hair was messier, looking as though he had been on a run through the wind, tired and sweaty. Entirely unkempt. He wore a green jacket, under which was a plain white shirt that showed signs of him having sweat earlier. He looked stressed. More than ever. His shoes were muddy. In vain, he tried to wipe them off to save her the trouble of mopping. He should have known that mopping was never a hassle. It was a comfort to her. A habitual safety net.

Then he looked at her.

She said nothing. A part of her envied him, but she couldn't muster up any anger. It wasn't his fault that he had a life to keep him busy. Aside from his disheveled charm, he had his wits about him. He was clearly educated. She could tell he was kind and good at heart. More than anybody else she had ever met. Had they met before she left everything behind, she imagined he might have been the subject of her affections. She might have told a friend about them. Perhaps she would have found some sort of companionship. Girls were supposed to do that. Right? Find fellowship in common ground.

He was breathing hard.

She wondered if he ran inside to avoid the wind. Maybe he rushed inside. Maybe he wasn't going to stop at all and made a decision to on impulse.

She didn't know if that made her feel better or worse.

They stared at each other for a while, both silently watching carefully for any sign of change. Both were, to some degree, afraid of change. Both wanted to pick up right where they left off, as if he hadn't left. As if she hadn't hurt in his absence. There was an apology resting on his tongue, and forgiveness in her eyes. Neither spoke, but both understood as well as they would have if they did.

"When do you get off?" he blurted out.

No greeting. No smile. No preparation for the question. She should have known that small talk wasn't his forte. Neither gave the courtesy a fair try before, so why should he now? Of course, it still should have startled her, she thought. A man she barely knew was asking for her time off. She couldn't remember the last time she ever answered a personal question, and this felt personal. Personal felt foreign. It made her stomach not, and her mind tell her not to say. She spent the last few years making sure not to say anything personal. She couldn't even remember the last time she heard her name. She had to when she was interviewed, but beyond that...

"What time is it?" she asked.

It wasn't an answer, but it might as well have been.

"Nine."

"I have an hour left."

The man took her words in, giving a nod. She hadn't the slightest idea as to what he was going to do with that information. It seemed like a gamble, to tell this to a stranger.

But he's not a stranger.

Not really.

The man nodded again, and set off in a steadfast pace towards her. She felt her legs twitch, tempted to back away, somewhat spooked by the conviction in his eyes. He didn't do much. He only sat in one of the stools at the counter and nodded at the stove. The way his lips moved looked as if he was going to smile, as if he was trying to smile.

"I'll have the usual then."

She smiled.

Gingerly, she closed the book she had been reading, setting it safely aside and moving to gather ingredients. Soon the sounds of sizzling and popping of cooking eggs filled the air, and for the first time since he stopped coming, she felt at ease. The tension left her shoulders with the sound of a few pops. She almost felt happy enough to hum, but to what, she didn't know. The only songs she could think of were from the jukebox, and those were hardly any that she'd find herself or him enjoying. So, she stayed silent, letting the symphony of familiarity run its course. And when it ended with the sound of the plate hitting the counter top, she felt satisfied, proudly smiling at what was an adequate omelet.

The man looked satisfied, maybe even comforted by the food.

The warmth that found its way into her chest was familiar, but in the way that one felt whenever they see someone they knew decades ago.

"Your shift ends earlier," the man pointed out.

"It does." She didn't know what to say to him, only deciding to ascertain his assumption.

He scratched at his cheek.

"Do you like working at night?"

The question sounded like the kind one asked during small talk, but it didn't feel that way. It didn't feel careless. It didn't feel unimportant. It felt like a test. Maybe not a test, but there was no word close to it. She felt like he was digging without digging deep, like he was kicking at the surface of the dirt in hopes of uncovering just enough to understand without the hassle of putting in a lot of effort. It felt like he was safely prompting her to give just enough to know her. A trial run, just a possibility for more. What "more" was, she couldn't tell.

"I'd rather work during the night than the day," she answered.

"But do you like it?"

She pursed her lips, looking down at the stained tile and then looking up, eyes sweeping over the diner, taking all of it in before contemplating her answer. She had spent so much of the past few years in this diner. It wasn't welcoming. That enough, she knew. There was no coziness to it. There was no warmth in it. It was just a little less unwelcoming than it was outside.

"No."

The answer she gave made her feel sick. She felt as if she had betrayed someone. Her boss? Herself? Something? The diner, probably. This place shielded her. It gave her somewhere to be, something to do. It gave her an excuse to stay up, a veil to hide the paranoia that never seemed to die down. It gave her a place to run and hide from what had been devouring her. It was her shelter against it. The diner was outside of everything. Within the world, but still untouched by it. It didn't look like the world passed through the Stop and Dine for a long time. It was a pain, to be so cut off from the world at times, but that was why she chose it, she supposed. It was cut off from everything. The good and the bad were severed. There had to be some freedom in that. There has to be...

Nothing could touch her in the diner.

That's all she cared about.

"What keeps you here?" the man asked, looking around, knowing full well that it couldn't be the pay. He was still wondering how the place was able to stay open.

She just stared straight ahead, wondering the same thing itself, refusing to look at the truth that laid in front of her. A part of her wanted to snap at him, to scold him for breaking one of their unspoken rules: no questions. Maybe that was just her rule. She never asked questions, always expecting the same in return. She didn't ask her boss why he was gone all the time, and he didn't ask why she wanted to be in the diner all the time. She didn't ask him why he only paid her in cash, and he didn't ask why she accepted it.

"It feels more safe."

"Safer than in the daytime?"

"Yes."

"Safer than with other people?"

"Yes."

The words between them were slowly spoken, both careful as if they were speaking a new language, not wanting to be translated wrong. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look confused. He looked more like someone who was almost certain of something, but that .01% of uncertainty was too much to carry on with. She was okay with it. She lived in a state of constant discomfort. It was one of the many reasons she was able to work late.

"Most people like that. Working during the day and with other people. People usually feel safer under those circumstances," he said, taking another bite of his omelet, chewing slowly, carefully, giving her time to answer.

This time she didn't wait long to answer. What was the point when she was going to give it to him anyways?

"People like the daytime because they feel like they can see what they're afraid of. They make the mistake of not realizing that in the light, they too can be seen," she explained, staring more at his plate than at him.

"And for the people? You explained the day time, but not the people," he added.

She drew in a shaky breath. This was getting personal. People don't ask if other people like to be around people or not in the way he did. He was wondering why. "Why?" was a personal question. "Why" asks for cause, and with cause there is explanation, thorough enough to understand. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to understand her.

"There's freedom when you're alone."

"Freedom doesn't mean good or bad."

"Freedom can be good or bad, though," she pointed out. "Depends on what you're trying to be freed of, I guess."

"What are you trying to be freed of?"

She hesitated. For a moment, she wondered if she misunderstood what he was asking, but he kept staring, straight at her, straight through her. She felt so bare, so open that he might already know the answer to his question. He was already acting with more certitude than he originally had. It threw her off enough for her to begin to grasp at her skirt as she had when they first met. She wasn't comfortable with this amount of discomfort.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly. She was going to say something along the lines of "my past." Then again, who wasn't afraid of that? The difference between her and other people was that she quite literally ran from it. She packed her bags and left everything behind. She cut all her ties, burnt all her bridges, and took off. She went from place to place. Sometimes just for the night, sometimes longer. Somehow, someway, she found the diner. It wasn't meant to be a stop. She had came in to fill up her car, grab a bite. She served a plate to a man who looked like he could barely stand up, and the cook, now her boss, looked at her and said if she wanted a job as a waitress, she could have it.

It wasn't a job she expected, or really wanted, but it was something. She was running low on money. Low enough to know that it was time to hunker down for a bit. A bit turned into a month, then a year, then years.

And here she was.

The diner fell into her lap like fate.

Only, it didn't feel like fate.

She tried to think of why all these circumstances were just right for her. She tried to find meaning in it.

She tried...

Whatever meaning there may be, it wasn't for her. She wasn't the end result, she felt.

She was just another circumstance.

"Guess I just want to be free of fear," she decided on.

The man narrowed his eyes at her.

"I don't think you're free of it."

"No. I'm not free of it," she agreed. "The shackles are just a little looser, and that's enough."

She was never the kind to ask for much.

She was the kind to as for just a little less.

His eyes wouldn't leave her face. She would have felt like the night had gone still around them if it weren't for the crack of thunder and the heavy fall of rain.

Time was almost up, and she didn't know what that would bring.

Looking out the window - it seemed like a good place to look if it wasn't at him. It felt less rude. It felt like a natural place to look at, rather than just a place to avoid looking at him with - she noticed how light it was. Usually, she couldn't see past the few pumps at the gas station, but now, she could make out the trees thanks to the lightning. Their tops bending with the rain and the gusts of wind. They looked like waves on the ocean, and the passing cars, every now and then, driving slowly, trying to see in front of them, were ships sailing by.

"It's almost ten," the man said in a solemn tone. He sounded like he was mourning, like he was some relative waiting by her death bed. She wondered if he knew something she didn't. She wondered, for the first time, if he was dangerous. She liked feeling in control. It's why she cleaned so much. She liked washing away all the dirtiness that came in. She liked the idea of cleansing the place. She almost felt clean herself afterwards.

With him, things were different. She didn't feel like she was in control.

That didn't necessarily mean he was either.

Looking at the messy man before her, she struggled to picture him in charge. He wasn't commanding. He was just a guy watching the world turn, just like her.

But, he wasn't watching now. This wasn't the silent way that they admired each other from across the diner. This was different. He was different.

He was participating.

He was participating and he wanted her to participate to.

She had to wonder what sparked this change, but she didn't know enough about him to come to any conclusion. For all she knew, he was just like her. Someone trying to go through the motions with brief moments of change to remind oneself of how life was supposed to be. Maybe this was a brief moment of change. Maybe they would go back to normal after tonight.

"What happens at ten?" she heard herself ask.

There was a spark in his eyes, as if there was a thrill to the quiet question. She almost mistook her own excitement for fear. The rushing heartbeat, the sweaty palms, the way her body was so ready to spring to life. This was the confusion of being human, she supposed. Many emotions have overlapping symptoms. Self diagnosis was the only way to begin to treat those emotions, and even then, it was shooting in the dark. Yet, she enjoyed it. She couldn't remember the last time she drew a breath into her lungs and felt even remotely alive. And all from a look in his eyes. Not the upturn of lips - though, she would argue that they were just a little bit curled - or his standing - his posture did straighten some, but barely enough for her, up close, to notice. Just his eyes. They were back to the clear blue color she pictured often. There was comfort in that, enough comfort to where she felt more at ease with whatever he decided to answer with.

How often had she imagined him looking at her like this? The most plausible answer was that she would cook something good one day, and he would smile, more than he was now.

She blamed her still lackluster cooking for that. Adequacy, though able to stomach, was not something to smile about. One could eat cardboard and be just as happy as he was with the omelet he just ate.

"I ask if you want a drink," he answered, lips curling a little more.

She felt warmth gather in her cheeks, a smile bigger and more unapologetic than his forming on her face.

She had never been asked out before. Well, she had. She just never was asked out by someone she wanted to be asked out by.

She never liked anyone enough.

It caused her stress in her high school years. She tried liking people. She tried talking herself into more than one date out of social obligation, but in the end, she was always broken up with, but never broken up over the break up. She was never persuasive enough to come to care for someone more than she cared for other people. She never cared for someone like they deserved to be cared for in a relationship, or even in the prospect of one. There was relief in the realization that she was capable of, well, liking someone. She felt, in this moment, as if she were outside, letting heavy rains wash her free of all that troubled her.

She opened her mouth, and only choked air came out as she struggled for a response. Her only consolation was the amused look on his face at her stammering.

Finally, she stepped back, closing her eyes and, still smiling, taking a moment to breathe. Once she collected herself, she opened her eyes, and she saw him, standing there. Smiling.

"Where?" she asked, raising a brow.

He adjusted his glasses, a breathy laugh leaving him as if he were in disbelief.

She struggled to imagine why. Despite his rough appearance, he looked well off. She'd seen the vehicle he drove. Gas alone, it cost more. It was shiny, free of any dents. Then there was his appearance. On weekdays, he wore nice clothes, a coat, vest, tie, even nice shoes, the kind that weren't meant to be dirtied by the slush of mud outside. He'd let it slip that he had a house one day. He mentioned that he had a window replaced when tried moving a shelf that tilted over too much. She lived in a small apartment where the only thing that separated her bed from a combined eating area and lounging space - it couldn't be called a living room - was a room divider. Her closet was as small as one belonging in a college dorm. She was paid little, and lived mostly off of whatever could be spared from the diner.

If anyone was supposed to be surprised, it would be her.

Not to say she wasn't surprised.

By the smile on her face and way she was completely flustered by him was enough to tell that she was.

"My house."

"Your house?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes skeptically. As happy as she was, she still had a hold on her mind, and it reminded her of a few simple rules to follow when it came to the likes of strangers.

"I was under the impression that you aren't fond of being around many people. Saturday night is a very busy one at bars," he reasoned. She accepted that. She was a bartender once. The surplus of people on weekends were the very reason she left that job behind.

But he didn't know that. He didn't know she wasn't fond of populated places until this night. Then again, knowing his watchful eyes, she knew he could have came to that conclusion on his own. She was working in a diner, late at night, with only the company of him and the occasional trucker that stopped for gas. There were many jobs in the city, and here she was. It sounded more likelier that he came to that conclusion on his own the more she thought on it.

"You're scared."

"I'm not," she said quickly.

He looked relieved by that.

"I'm not scared of you," she clarified. "Not really."

"You'd be right to. You don't know much about me. The expected way to go about this would be to meet in a public place, where we test out the waters until we feel safe."

"That is the expected way," she agreed, nodding as she moved to clean off his plate. She turned on the facet, waiting for him to continue.

"Do you feel safe?" he asked. She didn't need to look at him to know that he was raising an eyebrow. She supposed that it was a question worthy of an eyebrow raise.

Did she feel safe?

Did she feel safe with him?

She knew her answer already.

As the hour hand moved over ten, as the lights of a co-worker's vehicle nearly blinded her from the side, she walked towards the pantry. She found her bag, turned out the lights to the pantry and made her way back into the diner, back to where he waited.

The bell on the door rung as a man in the old yellow uniform of Benny's Stop and Dine came in. He didn't ask questions. He didn't greet her. She doubted he even knew her name.

By the time her replacement was behind the counter, she was in front of him.

"I'll follow you," she insisted, rummaging through her purse for her keys. When she finally procured them, she looked to him with a wavering smile. "You know, in my head it sounds like a bad idea... Going to a stranger's house for drinks."

"Sounds worse when you say stranger," he pointed out, holding the door open for her. She moved forward. Just when one foot was beyond the threshold, she heard him say something incoherent. She turned her head, looking at him curiously.

"Will," he said, more clearly. "My name is Will Graham."

"Will Graham's house," she said, testing out the name while she could.

A ghost of a smile fell on her lips.

"You're right. It does sound worse when you say stranger."


So, there it is! The first chapter of my first fanfiction!

I know it goes by slowly, but I really felt like it was necessary to establish my oc's footing before diving into the full plot of the show.

Anyways, um, if you made it this far, thank you!

I hope it was decent because I do plan on continuing this...

So, uh, I guess that's it for now!