Chapter Text
The drive from Baltimore to Richmond was a simple affair. The roads well maintained, the scenery pleasant, rural becoming Washington back to rural again. Forests becoming homes becoming forests. Traffic become an issue around Fredericksburg, four lanes down to three, three down to two, impatient drivers cutting in the queue, horns sounding every few miles by disgruntled drivers. Hannibal was a very patient man. Traffic didn’t phase him, he had music, his mind palace, and after an hour of stand still he received a lovely call from his colleague Alana Bloom enquiring to his ETA. After informing her that he’ll be at least another two hours, according to the satnav, she sighed deeply and asked him to call her once he arrived. He would of course acquiesce to her request, ending the call with polite goodbyes.
It was when he neared a town called Golansville, having come off the i95 a few miles back to pass the traffic, that Hannibal’s car cut out, causing him to swerve off the road into a ditch. Air bag deployed, seat belt locking and the ditch luckily only being roughly four feet deep, Hannibal was uninjured. He’d feel the bruise from the seatbelt on his shoulder for a few days but is otherwise unscathed.
He realizes his dilemma when trying to exit his car when he tries the door and finds it pinned to the side of the embankment. The car is dead so the automated window won’t roll down either. His only option is to push his fingers through the small gap in the sunroof and force the glass back allowing him to climb out of his car. Sliding over the roof and further into the ditch, his feet sinking a foot into the mud, Hannibal finally feels his frustration rising and he lets out a small growl. When he's finally back on the road having scrambled up the grassy ledge, he’s sweating and very much losing his temper. His suit is ruined, tiny tears run up his trouser legs and he shucked off his jacket as he was climbing out of the sunroof to allow for better movement. His shirt has grass stains up the sleeves and front. His custom Italian leather loafers are beyond saving. He’s a mess and he doesn’t like being a mess. He had tired the trunk on his way up the bank but found the lock jammed, the keys useless.
Retrieving his mobile from his trouser pocket he fires off a quick text to Alana telling her of his predicament, then googles local tow trucks and mechanics. He selects the first number on the list and is left hanging for seven rings, Hannibal counts, before a gruff voice answers the call.
Tempted to hang up for wasting his time, Hannibal decides against it as the effort to find another mechanic in a town he has no knowledge of seems like more hard work.
“Hello, I seem to have found myself needing a tow. My car cut out and has slipped down an embankment on Jefferson Davis Highway” Hannibal explains. The person on the other end is silent and Hannibal checks the screen making sure the call is still connected.
“Hello? Can you hear me?” He asks putting the phone back to his ear.
“Yeah I hear ya” comes the growling reply “Just writing down the details”
“Are you able to help me? Or do I need to contact some one else?” Hannibal asks tersely. His patience running very thin by this point. The last thirty minutes not being the best moment of his life.
“Yeah yeah I can come get ya, there a sign or marker near ya?” The voice on the other end wheezes, the click of a lighter sounding.
Hannibal scans the area and reads off the road marker to his left. The man on the phone tells him that he’ll be approximately thirty minutes and hangs up. The deep breath in doesn’t quite feel deep enough to calm him down as Hannibal texts Alana again letting her know he has a tow coming and will unfortunately not able to join her for a while. She replies with a sympathetic message and hopeful see you soon.
Roughly forty five minutes later a battered tow truck appears to Hannibal’s left and slows to a stop. There are empty beer bottles between the windscreen and dash board. And smoke rising from the crack in the drivers window. The man who exits the cab is wearing a pair of dirty oil stained coveralls with a tear on the left knee. He shuffles nonchalantly towards Hannibal with an air of distain, flicking his cigarette butt towards Hannibal car. He gives a low whistle.
“Yer not from round here” he coughs.
“I am not” counters Hannibal.
The man nods and takes another step forward. The scent of unwashed, sweating Alpha hits Hannibal full force as a gust of wind forces the scent onto Hannibal's tongue. He suppresses the urge to gag and instead turns towards his car in its pathetic temporary home.
“Yeah yeah. I see that. Nice car.” The mechanic spits on the ground between them and Hannibal suddenly imagines the mans tongue on his chopping board, knowing what he does about smokers lungs and an alcoholics liver, he envisions the tongue of this overweight, sweating Alpha is the only part salvageable.
Hannibal feigns disinterest and takes his wallet and phone from his pocket and starts googling local cab numbers. “I presume you won’t need my help?”
The man laughs under his breath and shakes his head. He moves forward once more and hands a slightly discolored business card out to Hannibal, taking an obvious sniff as he does. The blatant scenting makes Hannibal’s hackles raise and he swallows down the urge to growl threateningly. Hannibal takes the card and passes the man his keys making sure not to make skin contact.
The man returns to his tow truck as lazily as he left it and starts the process of removing chains from the bed.
Hannibal scrolls his phone for a moment and selects a cab company and relays the same information he gave the tow. He turns his back to the mechanic and waits in silence for the cab to come. Twenty five minutes later and a clean, mid range car appears and the driver gives Hannibal a small wave from his seat.
Hannibal approaches the mechanic before getting in the cab and asks how long he should wait until he calls. The mechanic grunts and shrugs unhelpfully. Hannibal expects nothing less.
The cab ride to the hotel name he gives the driver is spent in silence. The beta man, scentless and timid asks no questions. Choosing wisely it seems to let Hannibal stew in the back seat in his muddy grass stained clothing.
The hotel is as Hannibal expects it to be. Clean, formal, friendly. The receptionist sympathetically looks Hannibal up and down while handing him his key card and lets him know the hotel offers a laundry service and to call the front desk once he's ready to use the services.
Hannibal tries his best to offer his politest smile but clearly doesn’t pull it off as well as he thought when the receptionist quickly looks away and thanks him for his stay.
The room is large, with clear, deep, windows looking over the hotel gardens. Heavy blue curtains frame the windows complimenting the deep blue bed spread and black table and chair by the door. Hannibal surveys the room knowing if he weren’t in such a bad mood he would be pleased by what he sees. Stripping his clothing off with a snarl on his lips, he places his wallet and keys onto to the table and goes in search of the ensuite. It's tucked down a short corridor past the closet and sports an ample clean bath, walk in shower and white tiles. Complimentary towels and a robe hang on hooks on the wall. Hannibal drops his dirty clothing on the tile floor and turns on the shower. Gels and soaps are offered in a little dish on a shelf and Hannibal sniffs them briefly before settling on the soap as the least offensive of the bunch. He gives himself a perfunctory wash before leaving the shower and putting on the robe.
As he's checking his phone there is a small knock on the door to his room. He opens the door and greeted by a very small, very round beta woman who beams at him kindly holding out a laundry bag.
“The front desk said you might be needing the laundry service sir” she says confidently, opening the top of the laundry bag expectantly.
“Ah yes” he says and walks to the bathroom to retrieve his ruined clothes. He returns and places them in the bag. “I am not sure they can be saved I'm afraid” he confesses
“Everything is worth a go Sir” comes the reply “was there anything else?”
Hannibal is blank for a moment then remembers his shoes “I don't suppose the service includes shoes perhaps?”
The beta woman smiles again and wiggles the bag in front of her, gesturing for him to put them in. He gathers them from beside the door and places those too into the little bag.
“Give me an hour or so Sir and I’ll return these too you”
“Thank you, take your time, you hold my only clothing and I doubt I can walk the streets like this.” he wafts his hand in front of his robe and the woman gives a throating chuckle, bows slightly and walks away.
Hannibal, calmer now for being clean and with the knowledge the hotel he has chosen is the right one, picks up the hotel phone intent on ordering some room service, as seems his plans for the day have now changed. He never deliberately stumbles upon a worthy pig, but they just seem to cross his path once in a while.