Speculation, Part 1 of 2

By Diana Lecter

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Summary:        Clarice Starling is questioned about her night with Dr. Lecter.

Timeline:          Four years after SOTL and three weeks after “It Was A Dark And Stormy Night”, its prequel. Departs from canon.

Rating:             R

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It was mornings like this that made Clarice Starling hate her job.

The first thing she heard upon stepping into her designated workstation was that Denise Mancuso, a rather inept though renown drug dealer was released on bail and that they should be on alert for anything.  Starling had never dealt with Mancuso personally, but Pearsall and Crawford suddenly agreed it was a good idea to put her at the head of the investigation, should troubles arise.

Though she knew she should feel some sort of personal accomplishment in knowing they wanted her and no one else, Starling had the sinking feeling that this was going to be her career from now on.  A variety of drug cases, business scandals, everything she had not trained for.

It grew all too tedious.

To make things worse, Paul Krendler decided to start what promised to be a life-changing conversation at the water cooler, mostly dealing with her late arrivals and early departures from work.

Every day was a hopeless mimic of the last, as she had feared.

For a while now, Starling had felt treacherous walking through the halls of the so-called administrative center.  It had been nearly three weeks since the night Dr. Hannibal Lecter tied her to a chair in her very own kitchen and played host.  She could remember everything from that night, especially the incriminating though oddly convenient weather.  People in her neighborhood were still waiting to hear from insurance companies to get the final all on the damages.

Starling could not stand procrastination and had the tree that promptly fell on her power lines cleaned up the very next day.

It was difficult pretending like nothing had happened.  Apart of her was forced to wonder if the later portion of the evening was not something she conjectured out of the confusion of the moment and a mix of what the tabloids promised would ultimately happen.

Proof lay in her nightstand upstairs, proof in the form of an eerie though promising letter.  Dr. Lecter had stayed the course of the night, and she let him.  Through his mind games and odd play, remembrance of the events struck her upon entering her house at night.  Starling forced herself to check the rooms before settling in.

Whether the results pleased or disappointed, she had yet to discover.

It was as if Dr. Lecter was a bad omen.  Ever since his visit, Starling had felt less like herself, even squeamish.  Two days already she had been sick, and she was never sick.

Ardelia Mapp, who remained perfectly ignorant of the events that occurred in her absence, summarized the flu was in circulation.  In the three weeks since the storm, she and her then current boyfriend, Ike, had split and she was on the hunt for a replacement.

According to Mapp, Krendler made several suggestions that he thought might add himself to the long list of loves, and was quite forcefully declined.

Starling enjoyed talking with Mapp, and was secretly happy about her newfound singleness.  It gave them something to do at night.  While she knew that her friend would gladly forfeit her evening to be with her, Starling never asked her to call off a date.  Were that to happen, the conditions would have to be most hazardous.

Starling had her business, and Mapp had hers.  There wasn’t anything else to it.

Sitting now in the relative silence of her cubicle, Starling sighed and downed her McDonalds-purchased coffee.  It tasted dull and carried the scent of fried potatoes.  The electricity was temperamental still in the clean-up efforts of the storm, and once again her milk spoiled due to the power failure of her refrigerator.

Starling hated McDonalds.  Several out-of-town assignments had forced her in the past to concede to their somewhat debatable food.  This morning, though coffee was tolerable, she still felt sickened.

It didn’t help that Paul Krendler decided to invite himself in for chitchat.

“Morning, Starling,” he said as he entered, holding coffee of his own as well as the morning paper.  “You don’t look so hot.”

“Thank you, Mr. Krendler.  Is there something I can do for you?”

“Wanted to make sure you’re up on the Mancuso situation.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a situation.  She was only released on bail.  That generally means they see she’s developing into a decent person again.”

Krendler didn’t appreciate the degrading tone in her voice and scowled.  “Is that really necessary?”

“I would appreciate you keeping to yourself.  If I need your input, Mr. Krendler, I will ask for it.”

“That mouth is going to get you into trouble some day.”

“When it does, you’re not the one I’ll go crying to,” Starling snapped.  Out of everything, this was not the needed way to start her morning.  “If you would, please return to your territory.”

Krendler snickered as he left.  “One of these days, Starling…”

That was perhaps the most intelligent thing he had said, or would ever say.  Indeed, one of these days, she was going to lose it.  She was going to snap and scream at him, or leave the Bureau entire.  Never had she suspected a life in this line of work would leave her so physically and mentally exhausted.

(“Believe it or not, little Starling, you’ll crave my guidance then.”)

It didn’t help that she had the interests of a cannibalistic madman who tended to come and go as he pleased, treading territory at his leisure, opening doors and closing them before anyone else could step through.

In all honesty, Starling’s feelings about that night were scrambled together and often came out in astute incoherence.  On one hand, she was infuriated with both him and herself.  The very audacity this man had, meandering into her life and stealing any hope of rationality she had personally worked to regain over the near four years since his escape.  Then again, much of what he had said remained true and tended to echo in her ear when there was nothing else to listen to.

And of course, the climactic finale of that night remained with her, and she didn’t know whether to be giddy with the outcome or snarl at her reflection in never-ending disgust.  Either option wasn’t entirely attractive.

As she originally predicted, life goes on.  Life always goes on.  She was managing quite nicely so far.  Fooling Crawford, Krendler, Mapp, anyone who came knocking at her door sensed no difference.  Same ole Starling, doing what she does best.  The Academy should have awarded her for such a performance.  She had successfully deceived everyone.

Everyone but herself.

Life goes on.  And on and on and on.

This day was no different than the days of the past.  Her internal metamorphosis remained a delightful mystery to others.  As predicted, Paul Krendler stopped by to snoop, Mapp took her to lunch, Crawford phoned out of courtesy, and Pearsall reassured her of her talents, though his motive lay in keeping her eye on Mancuso’s release.

Today seemed even slower than usual.  Starling had wonder if that was a sign.

Of course, it was a relatively dry season.  The small cases they were handed weren’t of much concern.  They always had enough agents, perhaps even more than enough agents.  They also always picked the men first.

Ability and talent didn’t seem to register a damn unless one had a penis these days.

It wasn’t until Starling was ready to pack up and head home that things riled up.

The phone on her desk was ringing.  She ignored the first few seconds, hoping the caller would think they missed her.  Silence filled the air when the call when unattended.  When it started to ring again, she knew it was business.

“Starling,” she said as she picked it up.

“Starling, it’s Crawford.  We have a situation.  John Brigham requested you specifically.”

“Mancuso?”

“Yeah.  She thought she’d get smart and go for armed robbery.”

Starling shook her head, the image of a dissatisfied mentor.  “I hate it when that happens.”

“Very funny.  They need you at the Century National Bank.”

Sighing, Starling silently willed her peaceful night at home goodbye.  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

*          *          *

When she pulled up to the bank, she was surprised at the number of police cars surrounding the premises.  She had to reel herself out the car window and hold up her badge to be allowed to pass.

Brigham was waiting for her.  He motioned hurriedly for her to get out of the car.

“What’s the situation?”

“Four hostages and one dead security guard.  Mancuso seems willing to negotiate but her terms are on the brink of unreasonable.  She wants a car and a way out of there.  No charges pressed, promises of no additional time in jail. She doesn’t seem altogether sure of what she’s doing.”

“Any outside help?”

“Couple friends, both with MAC 10s.  Don’t ask me how they got them.”

“Surveillance?”

“Minimal at best.  She’s not near any windows.”

“And…to our knowledge, only the security officer is dead?”

Brigham nodded.  “To our knowledge.”

“All right.”

Starling pulled her .45 into view, fully loaded with the safety off.  Several occasions had arisen in the past when her supervisors commented, but Brigham always came to her rescue.

He was good like that.

They signaled for Starling to go to the right side of the bank, presumably where the designated ‘getaway’ car resided.  Like any good vehicle, it was an older station wagon, paint chipped and withering with age.  It didn’t look like it could get past the city limits.

It was no wonder Mancuso wanted a car.

From what Starling had read on Mancuso, she knew not to expect much.  The girl was rather clumsy, having been captured after every offense.  Starling didn’t expect much of a fight.

It never ceased to amaze her how quickly convicts screwed themselves over after the initial release.

Two or three of the local authorities eyed her as she approached.  They didn’t look too surprised.  Starling guessed on a whim that they had all dealt with Mancuso before.

Starling avoided eye contact, at least extended eye contact.  She had developed the sense that if she was in a situation with guns, chances were there would be casualties.  Humanizing potential casualties only grew her personal involvement.

Then again, no one expected this to end in bloodshed.

As if to answer that, the people inside the bank grew restless.  Before Starling could catch her breath, the windows shot out and two of the cops went down.  She quickly pressed herself to the side of the building, catching her breath and muttering something about extended incompetence.

Suspects with guns were one thing.  Stupid suspects with guns was a whole other issue.  A smart suspect wanted to avoid additional charges.  A stupid suspect just wanted out and would do anything to get there.

It occurred to Starling that the suspects inside regrettably fell into that second category.

Starling pressed her body to a trash banister as three persons exited the building through the broken windows.  The remaining police officer attempted to stop them but was shot down.

Starling figured the same ratio for smart and stupid suspects applied to law officials.  From the other side of the bank, Brigham was sending her reinforcements, but the criminals would be gone by then.

When she heard the car door close to confirm this, Starling leapt to her feet.  The engines roared in reply.  As the others wound around to join her, she jumped into view and aimed her gun.  “FBI!” she shouted.  “GET OUT OF THE—”

The reply she received was no less than what she should have expected, but nonetheless, Starling was taken off guard.  Hit at full speed, her body cracked the windshield as she hit it, rolling over and off the speeding car as it drove away.

The last thing she saw was a man sticking his head out the window, aiming one of the MAC 10s in her direction.  Starling felt two pelts in her right side, and had passed out by the time the paramedics arrived.

*          *          *

Any sentiments Starling had about the afterlife were put to the ultimate test.  Though she did not see or hear anything that might plague her when she again reached consciousness, she experienced things no earthly bound person should ever endure.

The numbed portion of her right side felt opened and bizarre.  She heard muffled voices and heard random crashes, but that could have easily been her imagination.

Through all her years in this line of work, never had she felt closer to death.  It was an understanding she would rather not be reminded of.

When she finally awoke, the painkillers had subsided and she ached all over.  Her right side felt as though a chunk was abruptly torn out.  She considered sitting up to investigate this and concluded she ached too much for movement, and that she didn’t want to see it anyway.

It wasn’t until the nurse came in as a final verification that the ordeal came flooding back.  Distantly, she heard two gunshots and wondered how it was on God’s green earth she remained alive.

The nurse didn’t seem so pessimistic.  “Well good morning!” she chirped happily.  “I see you’re awake.”

Starling was not in the mood for happy behavior.  It seemed she should mourn, but for what, she didn’t know.  Suddenly, the nausea she had experienced almost routinely in the past three weeks returned, only it was much different.

Something was wrong.

“How long have I been here?” she managed to choke, forcing herself to sit up.

“Three days.  You slept like a baby through the operation.”

“Operation?”

Before the nurse could answer, the man she presumed to be her doctor entered with his routine notepad and pen.  He did not look particularly friendly, rather old and tired of this profession.  His eyes were gray as was most of his hair.  The nametag clinging rather loosely to his issued white jacket read: Dr. William Nuhn.

“Good morning, Ms. Starling,” he said.  “How are you feeling today?”

“Hmm…” Starling sat back, unable to stop herself.  “I don’t know…like I was shot?”

“Well, I see your humor hasn’t failed you.”

“I’ll let you know if it does.  Wouldn’t want to lose it.”

Dr. Nuhn eyed her rather wryly.  “In retrospect you are very lucky.  Had the car not been in full motion when the suspect fired, you would be in a nice room down the hallway.”

“The morgue?”

“Yes, though I know that’s not entirely pleasant.”

“Neither’s being shot.  I can handle it.”

“I have no doubt,” he said.  With a nod to the nurse, the bubbly though friendly woman mouthed a goodbye before exiting.  When he was assured of their privacy, he continued.

“The first bullet luckily didn’t get very far, far enough for you to have bled to death should the paramedics had not arrived.  We suspect that after you were thrown off the car, you twisted and – second handedly, of course – saved your own life.  Had you moved an inch or so, the shot would have been fatal.  The second grazed your back, thus missing you completely,” Dr. Nuhn explained.

“No…” Starling shook her head with full disagreement.  “I felt both of them go in.”

“You probably heard the gunshot and associated it with the first sensation.  Trust me, Ms. Starling, there was no second bullet.”

Sighing, Starling thought it was rather useless to argue with a doctor.  After all, they knew everything.

With that, she smiled.

“On a different note,” he continued, his voice dropping a few degrees as if to accumulate his sorrow, “we were unable to save the child.”

Starling at first nodded absently, then sat up, her eyes bulging with confusion.  That couldn’t be right.  She had to have heard wrong.  “Child?!  What child?!  Were there kids at the bank?”  For one dreadful moment, she feared her incompetence had cost the life of a civilian.

A civilian was bad enough.  A child was almost a public death warrant.

Dr. Nuhn’s eyes narrowed.  “No…I’m referring to your child.”

“My child?  I don’t have a…” Starling trailed off, suddenly realizing what he meant.  For a moment, she was at a complete loss of what to say.  Whether she should groan, cry, laugh, or simply scream for the sheer madness of it all, she didn’t know.

Symptoms she had mistaken for the flu in the duration of the past few weeks were suddenly explained in the most horrible of fashions.  There was no way she could have been pregnant and not know it.

Of course, it wasn’t like she had anything to compare it to. Detecting the difference between every day queasiness to morning sickness was not easy for first-time mothers, especially women like her who remained blissfully ignorant of what was the probable cause.   It wouldn’t have registered until the physical attributions set in.

In the next few seconds, Starling felt tears in her eyes.  She didn’t know if they were the cause of her loss or what she had escaped by chance.  Never had she wanted to be a mother, but knowledge that she almost was nearly killed her.

“Was this an unplanned pregnancy?” Dr. Nuhn asked, slightly bewildered.

She took it he didn’t get many patients who never suspected they were pregnant, at least on some level.  “This wasn’t even a planned affair,” she replied with a moan.

“So the father doesn’t know?”

Starling shook her head, irritation beginning to nag at her.  “If I didn’t know, how the fuck do you propose he knew?”  She sat back in defeat, closing her eyes tightly as she willed the world away.

“All very well then,” he replied, scornfully at most.  “I’ll be checking up on you periodically throughout the day.  We might need to keep you here for the next few days to doubly check for infection.”

A few days in the hospital seemed like a death sentence.  “All right.”

“Oh, and you have a visitor.”

Starling’s eyes slowly opened.  Her heart both leapt and sank at the same time.  At that minute, she hoped dearly it was Dr. Lecter.  This recent discovery had her more than confused.  She wanted to share this with him, get his insight, and what he might propose they go from here.

If, by a chance, the knowledge of a child that was his could’ve altered his decision.

Overall, she was relieved she wasn’t about to endure nine months of ridicule from Krendler and questioning from everyone she knew under the sun.  Of course, to believe it would all go away when she left was a tad naïve.

Surely, others knew.

When the door opened, Starling lifted her head expectantly, and tried to mask her disappointment when Mapp crossed the threshold.

She sighed.  Oh well.  Perhaps it was better to talk with her friend right now.  There was a chance Mapp could speak reason.  After all, she was the one who skipped from boyfriend to boyfriend.  Starling’s rather notable – otherwise nonexistent track record would undoubtedly have everyone wondering.

How was she supposed to cover?

“Starling!” Mapp cried, the relief more than evident in her voice.  “Oh God, I thought we were going to lose you there for a while.  Oh baby…”

“What does that mean?” Starling demanded roughly.  She was in the mood, suddenly, to be very defensive.  It had conveniently left her memory at the minute that Mapp addressed Starling as ‘baby’ often.  Started a few years before, it was something of an inside joke, circling around Starling’s apparent lack of being, as Mapp said, deflowered.

“What does what mean?”

With a sigh, Starling realized she was acting paranoid and sat back once more.  In the confusion of it all, she forgot her body ached like there was no tomorrow.  “Nothing…forget it.”

Mapp looked confused for a minute before knowledge struck her, her eyes widening with remembrance.  “Oooohh…”

“Oh?  Oh what?”  Starling sat up again.

“They told us in the waiting room…sorry…my mind was more concerned with your overall health.”  Mapp shook her head.  “Starling…who was it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Goddamn, girl!  Don’t play dumb with me!”

Mapp’s reply was a moan.  So they did know.

“Well…” persisted her roommate.  “Who was it?!”

“I…” Finally forcing herself to sit up completely, Starling avoided making a face to illustrate her pain.  “I…don’t know…”

“That’s bullshit,” Mapp retorted angrily.  “Girl, I know you.  You never get out.  If there was a guy, I’d of known.”

“It’s not important, Ardelia.”

“The fuck it’s not!  We tell each other everything!  I trust you with everything, why can’t you trust me?”

Starling shook her head, feeling as though her brain sloshed with each movement.  “Who knows?  Who all knows, Ardelia?”

“Pretty much everyone.”

“Goddammit!  How?  Did you go blab it around?”

“Of course not!  What kind of insensitive bitch do you take me for?  Girl, half the Bureau had to have been here with worry!”

That comment made Starling snicker.  “Worry?  No…it wasn’t worry.  They were probably waiting to dance on my grave.”  Something awful struck her, something low and forbidden.  “Dear God, Ardelia…tell me Krendler doesn’t know.”

“Umm…”

Starling felt like screaming.  This was the final all.  If Krendler knew, life as she knew it was going to be a living hell.

The temptation came and stayed, demanding to be recognized.  Starling finally answered it, drew in her breath, and yelled: “GODDAMMIT!”

Even Mapp was taken by surprise.

Defeated, Starling sat back.  She hated Dr. Lecter, hated him for getting her into this.  How could she have been more idiotic?  Never thinking, always doing.  It was too late, now.  Time to wake up and smell the roses.  Like any good charade, hers was over.  The Academy would have to revoke the Oscar, and life would assuredly crumple around her.

Needless to say, Starling was not looking forward to the next few days.

*          *          *

Having been raised in a remote town, Starling enjoyed the sight of city lights when the skies darkened.  Her room was conveniently away from any view, thus enhancing her stay in the hospital even further.

There wasn’t much to occupy herself with.  A complimentary television flickered to the right of the entry, the show playing one she remembered watching long ago, but having since lost interest.  She had asked the nurse to keep all visitors away, regardless of who they said they were or of what relation.

At the minute, she craved to speak with Mr. Crawford, but knew it was an impossibility.  He wouldn’t come out and ask, but using a segue he would attempt to draw out the identity of her mysterious benefactor.

Starling sighed, her body aching all over.  Every now and then, her eyes flickered to her stomach, wondering how any living being could have possibly resided within her without her knowledge.  The image that came to mind was a scene from Alien, and though she suspected giving birth was slightly different, the idea that it could have been her was both enlightened and disturbed her.

It enlightened her to know it was possible.  Somewhere in her subconscious she had prematurely labeled so-called ‘tom-boys’ as incapable of children.  Though she knew it was ridiculous, she had always scoffed of the idea herself.

When it came down to the last and final all, Starling was more than relieved that her child was lost.  It pained her only slightly, for she had never truly intended to have children.  Given her own unsettling childhood, she didn’t see herself as being a fit mother.

The most frightening thought circulated around whose child she almost had.  Though covering the story wouldn’t be of too much difficulty, it shook her to know that he had taken her to more than one unexplored level that night.

Still, apart of her wondered how he would react if he knew.

Slightly behind schedule, the nurse entered with her hospital-provided meal.  The idea of food was most unappealing.  In the two days – she was told she was unconscious for the better part of the first day – she had spent here, Starling displayed no strains of appetite.  Even if she had, to force her stomach to endure this rather questionable victuals was self-induced torture.

Her mind played back to a night three weeks before when an uninvited guest spoon-fed her a rather delicious meal.  Never had she tasted food so exquisite, and she feared she never would again.

At that, Starling scowled.  She almost dared Dr. Lecter to visit her.  Anger flooded through her system.  Though much of what he said that evening remained true, it was his overall fault that she was here.  His goddamned freewill that seemed to care only for self-valued needs left him to walk away with exactly what he came for.  All the while, she was made to sit in the dreary world that was her life and reap the consequences of the bud his seed had sprung.

Thinking of it like that made her chuckle slightly.  When she realized she was regarding it in better spirits, she scolded herself.

For the first time since awakening, Starling wished with fervor that she could remain in the hospital for the next few weeks.  Here, she was safe from the jokes, rumors, and assumptions of the outside world.  Though she doubted anyone would directly accuse Dr. Lecter, she had a terrible premonition that a tall story would start and eventually mark its way into the material world.

Every time she thought of Paul Krendler, her nausea increased.  Twice she had regurgitated, both after thinking of him.  Perhaps it was a coincidence, but she thought not.

The blankets over her form itched with discomfort.  If she drew them off the air chilled her, but with them over her, she burned.

Starling laid back, even the pillow supporting her neck becoming a bother.  Remaining immobile for so long was troublesome, and though it was masked with relaxation, she yearned to move.

Whenever she did move, however, her body rebelled in a way she had never before experienced.  Utter stillness became an unfortunate necessity.

When the nurse returned to take the food tray away, she was seemingly in the mood for conversation.  It seemed this woman never endured a variety of seasons.  She was always cheerful and made an honest attempt for others to be so, as well.  It was admirable and appreciated, given Starling’s condition, but also teetered on the edge of her rather short temper.

“How are we doing this evening?” asked the nurse as she threw the virtually untouched dishes into the cart along with the stack of her rather notable collection.

Starling tried to think of something snide to say, but decided sarcasm was wasted on this person.  Despite however irritable she became, there was no reason to vent her frustration on a nurse who meant well.

“I’m doing all right,” she replied, sitting up slightly.  The movement made her cringe, but she did her best to ignore it.  Healing would be very difficult if she flinched at every ache and pain.  “The antibiotics haven’t kicked in.  Or at least it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Poor dear,” the nurse sympathized.  “You’ve been through hell and back.  What were you going to name your baby?”

Starling fought off a snicker.  Had the pregnancy been known and wanted, that comment had the potential to cut, or at least sprinkle salt over the already-inflicted wound.  However, Starling decided again to shrug it off.

“I didn’t know I was pregnant,” she replied.

“How awful!” cried the nurse.  “Had you been trying?”

“Hardly.”

The nurse eyed her skeptically.  “Do you know who the father was…?”

In an instant, Starling saw something significant flash before this person, something she could have used against her, should she be a vindictive person.  It was not altogether difficult to identify.  Starling had lived enough to know and see it.  Being raised in a Lutheran orphanage for the better part of her life, she learned to recognize a depth of religion, despite the origin of the chosen subject.  The nurse – whose name was Rita McLain, according to the nametag – was perhaps Church of Christ, a denomination she wasn’t terribly familiar with, but knew well enough to identify.  From what she saw on the outside, the followers truly had good intentions, but their bigoted views tended to interfere with the rest of society.

This woman clearly didn’t believe in premarital sex.  Starling fought of a grin at what she might say to learn the child she would never have was the product of premarital sex with a wanted cannibalistic killer.

“Yes, I know who the father was.”

Rita McLain glanced down to Starling’s hand and notably documented the lack of a ring on her finger.

“Married?”

“No.”

The nurse shook her head with a snicker.  Starling thought she might have heard her mutter something about fornication, but could have been mistaken.

Before she moved to leave, Rita glanced up to her, the cloudiness clear from her eyes.  “Still want no visitors?”

“Yes please.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Maybe a couple.  Absolutely under any circumstance, don’t let a guy named Paul Krendler in…I don’t care what he tells you.”

She nodded before closing the door to leave.

Starling snickered at the blank door, settling back into the forged comfort of her bed.  Moving to switch the lamp off, she closed her eyes and drifted away.

*          *          *

It was widely believed that all hospitals carried the same smell, regardless of location or specialization.  Having been in several in his day, Dr. Hannibal Lecter could testify the falsity of that statement, though he doubted anyone else was equipped with the needed senses for such detection.

Dr. Lecter never ceased amazement at what the media would sell a willing buyer.  When he first learned of the failed raid, his concern for Starling barely surpassed his everyday frets, those he had grown accustomed to given her occupation.  He knew worrying about her would do little to help.  After all, Starling was a big girl and could do more than take care of herself.

When he heard she had been shot and nearly run over, Dr. Lecter experienced the most uncharacteristic anxiety attack that surprised more than ailed him.  Even in the research of his case so many years ago, he had not suffered a case of bad nerves.  If such a condition had occurred in the past, it was unknown to him.

All, of course, for the many hours he spent praying to the God he now knew to not exist when his sister was drawn away for an alternate source of nutrition, but he preferred not to think about that.

In spending most of his life adapting a fine voidance to emotion of a nurturing nature, the very defined apprehensiveness that he almost had difficult identifying struck him as curiously odd.  He wasn’t concerned.  If there was a person on this earthly world that could arise his nerves, it was most certainly her.

Through the excitement of the past few hours, Dr. Lecter found no hostility in meandering around the hospital, carefully avoiding Starling’s wing though acquiring as much information about her condition as possible.  What he had discovered through a variety of clippings on lounge televisions set on news stations and the whispers of nosy nurses and candy stripers was more than surprising.

Still, he had no knowledge of the lost child.  That remained solely between the doctors and immediate family, people of which he couldn’t get near.

Dr. Lecter was determined to see Starling before he left, if only to visually verify that she was indeed all right.  The late hours seemed the most plausible for this, for all her visitors were home.  Perhaps Jack Crawford was still here, worried out of his mind, but he doubted the regularly scheduled visiting hours were still in affect.

Always one to break regularity, he knew now was the time to move.

It was not an absurd time of night, but a normal person would have expressed strains of fatigue following a presumably long day.  Dr. Lecter had now stayed at the hospital for two days, not straight of course, just long enough for him to gather the operation was a success and that she had awakened.

He hoped she was asleep when he visited.  At this time, the last thing she needed was to rile excitement.  Chances were she would be angry, for the typical reaction after such an experience was anger.  Dr. Lecter smiled.  Though their last encounter left little to disclose, he knew he was an easy target.

Starling was a very understanding woman.  Though he knew the letter he left behind left little to be explained, he also knew she was within her rights to be irritated.

Just three weeks before.  At times it seemed much too long.  Dr. Lecter in all honesty was still in awe of what had taken command of him that night, though he wasn’t disturbed.  He settled to accept Starling aroused the uncanniest senses within him, even those others might deem as playful.

Now moving through the halls, Dr. Lecter detected several familiar scents and concluded only one of their originators was present.  Indeed, Crawford would undoubtedly remain here until her release.  Should he have been in the position to do so, Dr. Lecter would have very much enjoyed stopping for a chat, but knew it was an impossibility right now.

Slowly, he wedged the door of Starling’s room open and smiled at the darkness presented.  Dr. Lecter had no difficulty adjusting to blackness, and tended to prefer it.  His smile grew at remembering the last time he saw Starling in darkness, though the circumstances were somewhat different.

Overall, she looked all right, though it did pain him to see her in a weakened disposition.  Starling needed her strength, both for physical exertion and mental stability.  The abuse she put up with at work was enough to make any feeble person cower, perhaps even quit.  He knew she was a warrior and wouldn’t run from her problems.  That was admirable, but still she required her strength.

The right side of her abdomen looked sufficiently doctored.  From earlier observation, Dr. Lecter had concluded Starling was not a sound sleeper and tended to wake at any creak presented in her rather inopportune hallways.  Here, though, her full weariness was revealed.  As he moved toward her, she didn’t stir, or moan, or change in any way.  Dr. Lecter found that disconcerting and thought to check up on her later.

He took position by her bed, looking over her sleeping form closer than ever permitted before.  Well, he reflected with a small, immodest smile, almost.  Starling never allowed her emotions betray through her face. To see the pain visible on her unconscious form, Dr. Lecter’s concern intensified, though he remained unchanged.

He wanted to help her in a way these doctors could never, but knew it was neither the time nor the place.  In watching her the past few weeks, he adapted several theories but never concrete evidence of her feelings about their night together.  The last thing she needed right now was additional grief.

This was all he needed for now.

Slowly, as though unaware of his own actions, Dr. Lecter leaned forward and brushed a kiss over her temple.  For a minute, he was convinced she would awake, and found it most curious when she still failed to move.

“Excuse me?  Visiting hours are over.”

Dr. Lecter held his lips on her skin for a minute as though he had not heard the voice he acknowledged as belonging to the effervescent nurse that had tended her throughout the past two days.  When he finally withdrew, his eyes reflected something of irritation.  He did not appreciate being interrupted, and this woman was potentially disturbing his Starling’s sleep, and that was not what she needed.

He was relieved when she did not awake.

“My apologies,” he said softly.  “My work schedule does not permit me many breaks, and I was simply reassuring myself that she was all right.”

The nurse’s eyes widened considerably.  In an instant, Dr. Lecter knew her life story.  A terribly religious girl from the looks of it.  The lack of makeup and the part in her hair that divided directly down the middle left him to concede her old school Church of Christ origins.  Her finger was missing a ring, though there was a considerable impression of where one had once resided.  Undoubtedly shunned from her church, or self-acceptance at her divorce, she decided to vent her religious frustration on unsuspecting nonbelievers.

All of this was irrelevant, but Dr. Lecter saw it nonetheless.

“Ohhh…are you the father?” she asked a minute later.

That caused him to pause and blink.  “Pardon?”

“The father.”

Cautiously, Dr. Lecter turned to look at Starling once more before redirecting his attention to the nurse once more.  “Am I to understand she was with child?”

“Yes.  A pity, though.  The accident took it away from her.”

The nurse spoke of the ordeal as though she had survived a car wreck as opposed to the truth of Starling’s occupation.

“Hmm…how curious,” Dr. Lecter mused.  “Thank you very much.  You’ve been more than helpful.”  With that, he turned and brushed passed her.  Upon reaching the door, he stopped once more and said, “Please tell Ms. Starling that I dropped by.”

“Of course.  What’s your name?”

Dr. Lecter provided her with a smile that made her shudder, and enjoyed the effect to its fullest.  Maroon eyes reflecting in her own, he whispered, “Just tell her a friend, and I assure you she will understand.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Dr. Lecter turned and left sight.  When the nurse followed to inquire further, she found the hallways vacant in either direction.

*          *          *

The sound of the persistent breakfast tray awoke her.

Starling stirred before opening her eyes, again going through the process of recalling where she was, and again surpassing an outward grumble.  If she was lucky, today would be the last day.  There wasn’t much more healing she could do here that she couldn’t do in the comfort of her home.

Of course, without the protection of the hospital staff, she was susceptible to unexpected visits from Paul Krendler and the inevitable conversation with Jack Crawford.  Mapp would also question her further, try to implore her for answers she could never give.

When Starling finally opened her eyes, she saw Rita McLain, and had the sudden temptation to hold her breath until she passed out.  She was not in the mood for any liberating religious sermons on the condemning of fornicators in the eyes of the All Knowing Lord.  For He would look down upon all the sinners of the world and forbid them to the Kingdom of Heaven, sending them instead to the eternal lake of fire.  Been there, done that.  Out of all the pious telemarketers that stopped by her house, she could practically recite the speech herself.

“Morning!” Rita quipped happily.

Part 2

“Hello,” Starling replied as she sat up, pleased that it didn’t hurt as much to do so as it had the day before.

“Eggs, bacon, and toast.  Orange juice or milk?”

“How about some coffee?”

The nurse shook her head without sorrow.  “Sorry.  Not on the menu.”

“Damn.  Y’all need to fix that.  Hrm…both, if that’s all right.  I need both my calcium and my Vitamin C.”  Starling took sadistic pleasure in the wrinkling of the nurse’s nose to hear profanity, as minor as it was, at this time in the morning.

Rita nodded and sat a selection of each on her tray.  “What visitors are you seeing today?”

“Ardelia Mapp and Jack Crawford.  That’s all.”  Starling willed herself to put up with their stream of questioning, knowing to avoid was only putting it off.  She was not going to run from this forever.  There was no sense in that.

Rita nodded.  Not another word was shared until she moved for the door, stopped and gasped in remembrance, turning to her once more.

“I almost forgot,” she said.  “You had a visitor last night.  He came in after you were asleep.”

Starling felt herself freeze.  In that instant, the room became deathly quiet, hovering in the sense of expectation.  She knew without need of verification who her caller was.

Even though she knew he would never leave his given name, Starling was eager to know how he might have addressed himself.  It took a minute for her to find her voice, another for her to clear it of all surprise and uncertainty, but she finally found herself and spoke.  “Did he leave a name?”

“No, and that’s the strange thing.  He said, ‘Just tell her a friend and she’ll know what I mean.’ …Or something like that.”

“Did he say if he was gonna be back?”

“He said his work schedule didn’t permit him to visit during the day.”

Starling snickered at that.  Of course not.  The same work schedule that conveniently allowed him to avoid Jack Crawford or any other face that might recognize him.  She wondered how he spent his days, if by chance he meandered around the hospital, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

That thought was silly.  Why would he risk it?

Then she stopped herself.  WOULD he risk it? For her?

That required consideration.  After a minute of silence, Starling nodded to the nurse.  “If he comes back, let him in, too.  If I’m asleep, wake me up.  I really need to talk to him.  Really.”

The nurse nodded as though her theories were confirmed.  “The father of the baby?”

Starling’s eyes widened and she lurched forward, ignoring the pain it caused.  “Oh God.  Tell me you didn’t tell him.”

“I…”

“Jesus Christ, woman!  Did you tell him?!”

“I don’t think so.”  There was uncertainty behind Rita’s eyes.  Starling grumbled, noting the nurse should feel very grateful of her condition.  If she should be free, the old woman would not stand a chance.

“Don’t tell anybody that,” Starling hissed.  “Anybody!  Least of all him!”

“I won’t!  I didn’t!” she cried defensively.

Unsure, Starling sat back gingerly, letting out a reflexive breath.  “You better not have…” She sighed and closed her eyes, the hunger pains she had started to experience for the first time in three days were gone once more.  The thought that Dr. Lecter knew about their unborn child was most disturbing, especially since she wanted to be the one to tell him.

If he was to ever know at all.  On a level, she had hoped to evade explanation at all costs.

Forcibly, Starling choked down the hospital-provided breakfast, concluding it tasted superior only to cardboard.  The test would be holding it down.  Reaching for the remote, she flicked the television on to a morning show and watched as her story made the third news event broadcasted in their long line of topics.  It was the first time she had watched the news, only to learn Denise Mancuso had somehow escaped capture at the bank and a wide manhunt was still in affect for her.

Her name appeared with five others, four that were dead.  The other was a local police officer whom had already been sent home.  They broadcasted she was to be released either that day or the next.

Within the hospital, Starling snickered at the thought.  A day in this place was measurable to twenty years.  She craved for the familiarity of home.

At ten o’clock, the nurse announced she had a visitor.  Starling knew immediately it wasn’t Dr. Lecter.  The timing was too inconspicuous.  If he were to see her again, he would wait until that night, and by chance should she be released by then, all the better.  He wanted her alone.

Anger that she discovered the prior day soared through her once more.  She was suddenly eager to see him, to accuse him of what was equally her fault.  In either scenario, she knew prolonged annoyance was impossible.  His reason never failed, and for the same cause she lost that night three weeks before, she would lose again.  It had taken all night to crack the outer shelter of her ethics, but he had triumphed.

Starling wondered then if she was angrier at the position he had her in or at the notion that he failed to take her with him.  She concluded it was both.

When the door opened and she was greeted with Jack Crawford’s gaze, Starling heard herself omit a deep breath.  The next few minutes were not ones she looked forward to.

“Hello, Starling,” he said, almost timidly.  She figured she looked horrible, but wasn’t in a position to care.

“Good morning, Mr. Crawford.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like doctored shit, if you pardon the vulgarity.”

At that, he smiled.  “You’re looking good.”

Starling offered a weak smile in reply.  “Thanks, Mr. Crawford, but there’s no reason to lie.  I’m in a hospital.  I can’t look all that good.”

“You’re looking better, is what I meant.  Better than when they brought you in.”

“I hope so.”  Her smile expanded at his shyness.  She had never seen him less composed and unsure of what to say.

Silence engulfed the room for a few minutes.  Crawford took a deep breath before he spoke again.  “I promised myself I would not ask this, as it is most certainly none of my business,” he said.

Letting out a sigh, Starling closed her eyes and nodded, symbolizing she had been waiting for the question.  “I think everyone wants to know.”

“Do you mind?”

“It depends on the question.”

“Well…” Crawford trailed off and tried to think of something rational to ask.  She suspected he never thought he would be in the position to ask.  “Did you know?”

“No.”

“Umm…”

Starling smiled kindly and sat up, her face distorting in pain for only a minute.  “You want to know who the father was, don’t you?”

“It’s none of my business,” he excused quickly.

“Of course it’s not.  It’s not anyone’s business, but they’re destined to ask.  Either way, I’m not going to tell you.  Personal should never become apart of your work.”  Starling paused, suddenly aware of her own contradiction.  It made her smile, though without reason.

“That’s understandable,” Crawford agreed.  “On a different note, why didn’t you want any visitors yesterday?”

“I didn’t want to have to answer anyone’s questions.  I needed to rest a day and prepare myself.”  She let out a deep breath.  “I’ve rested now.  Maybe they’ve told you.  Any talk on when I get out of here?”

“You’d know more than I do.  I think Dr. Nuhn said either today or tomorrow.”

“That’s what they said on ‘Today’ as well.”

Crawford turned to see the muted television and smiled.  “They assume to know everything.”

“So true.”

“Is there anything I can get you?”

Starling sensed the end of their conversation and noted Crawford didn’t want to leave.  The thought should have warmed her, but at the time she needed space.  Shaking her head, she offered a solemn smile.  “That’s not necessary, Mr. Crawford.”

“You sure?”

“Most certainly.”

“All right.  You’re in our prayers, Starling.”  He left without waiting for a goodbye.

Somewhere deep inside, Starling suffered the sensation that she had hurt Crawford deeply, but on what level, she had yet to discover.

The day was slow but promising.  Twice Dr. Nuhn came to visit her and both times he expressed a strong belief that she would be released before sundown.  At five o’clock, he asked her if she had anyone to pick her up.  Immediately, Starling reached for the phone and dialed for Mapp.

At five forty five, the much-welcomed sight of Mapp’s car pulled into view.  Starling felt a sense of intense relief, as well as the dread of the unknown.  What visitors might she expect in the duration of the next few days?  Paul Krendler, undoubtedly, a few of her office coworkers…

Dr. Lecter?

In all honesty, Starling didn’t know.  Though she had no doubt her mysterious guest the night before was indeed him, she had to wonder if he would chance dropping by to see her when she was awake.

The desire to speak with him was almost unbearable, wearing the mask of anger as though that made everything all right.  As Mapp wheeled Starling to her car, she found her stomach performing flip-flops in eager anticipation.

*          *          *

For some reason, her duplex failed to give her the sense of familiarity she so desperately needed.  Instead of the shield of warmth and relief she expected, the structure looked down on her as though it was a chapel and she was the devil’s child.  It lacked what she craved, and for that she was horribly upset.

Starling sat in her living room for the better part of the evening.  She read and answered a few get-well cards as well as some appalling hate mail.  Rumors of her miscarriage, undoubtedly started by Paul Krendler, had since circulated on the streets.

At eight o’clock, she took her phone off the hook.  The house fell silent for the first time in hours.

When nine thirty rolled around, the doorbell rang.  Mapp, who wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with Starling given her reluctance to identify the baby’s father, went to answer without as much as looking at her.

Starling, frustrated, sat back on the couch, wishing desperately for a glass of Vodka, but knowing Mapp was under instructions not to allow her drink anything that contained alcohol.  The voice that omitted into the hallway made her head pound.  Even with the poor terms they were on, she had to admire and thank Mapp for taking care of Krendler for her.

As Mapp passed between rooms, she flickered eye contact.  There was kindness behind her eyes, kindness and understanding.  Though Starling could never tell her the truth, she sensed this would pass soon.

Mapp’s busy life was put on hold tonight, and most likely for several nights to follow.  It wasn’t doctor’s orders, rather wholly voluntary.  When it came down to it, she was a good friend, someone she could rely on in such troublesome times.

Starling was not expected at work for the next week, longer if she requested.  The fleeting thought of resigning from the FBI entered and exited at its own will, not seeming to care if it was recognized.  She carefully had that filed amongst the other things she knew would never happen, at least not soon.  Thoughts of returning were most unpleasant, especially since she already had a taste of the harassment the next few weeks, perhaps even months, promised.

The barricade of silence didn’t last long into the evening.  Mapp gave up, a rather amusing sight given she initiated the cold war and likewise broke it before Starling could even prepare.

The glass of Jack Daniel’s swinging loosely in Mapp’s hand made Starling scowl, though she didn’t know if it was deliberate provocation.

“Are you feeling better?” Mapp asked quietly, offering no semblance that there was a conflict to begin with.

“I’m glad to be home.”

“But not feeling better?”

“Try getting shot, run over, and losing a child in one day and see how you feel.”

Mapp’s gaze darkened.  “I’ll mark that down in my date book.  Speaking of which…”

“I told you I can’t tell you, Ardelia.  That remains true.”

Rolling her eyes, the same aggravated look she displayed at the hospital two days before came over her.  “I don’t understand you, Starling,” she grumbled, shaking her head.  “You know I would tell you if it were me!”

“I know…but you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me!”

Starling threw her head back in defeat, closing her eyes.  She suddenly experienced a horrible case of déjà vu.  Three weeks before, tied to a chair in the kitchen, unable to talk reason into Dr. Lecter as her pleas for release were repeatedly rejected.  The same frustration she had felt then came soaring back.

The window of memories was lucratively opened, something she had tried to block but with no success.  Dr. Lecter’s games were terribly fun, even if she was the pun at the end of the joke.

Starling wondered how Mapp would react if she knew what had happened in the room just on the other side of the entryway.  Such a secret should never be revealed.

Again, Starling was forced to wonder if her anger at Dr. Lecter was more directed at the position she found herself in, or the way he left her the morning after.  The regret he had addressed in the letter still failed to seep in.  After everything that had occurred as a result of that night, Starling didn’t bewail a minute of it.

“Ardelia…” Starling said, her tone steady and cooperative.  “You must understand…I have some things in my life that you can never know.  I know that’s hard for you to accept…”  Her friend’s cold gaze wasn’t helping, but she had to say this, had to be heard and recognized.  “You and me are not the same person.  I appreciate that you can talk to me, and though I know it’s ridiculous to suggest, I never want you to feel like you can’t tell me something.  But I’ll understand if there is something that you have to keep to yourself, just like I’d like you to understand that I can’t tell you this.”

There was a long, heavy silence.

“Clarice…can I ask you one question…and I promise that’s all.”

“What…?”

“Was it someone I know?  An old boyfriend?  Is that why you can’t tell me?  Cause if it is, girl, I understand!”

Starling shook her head, chuckling slightly at the suggestion.  “No, Ardelia.  I almost wish it was.  You don’t know him…”

That was the only lie Starling ever told Mapp.  Out of everyone in the world, she was glad Dr. Lecter was her first.  It was a learning experience for both of them, and she would never wish it otherwise.

Letting out a solemn breath, Mapp nodded and stood, downing the last of her drink.  “Okay then.  I trust you.  I think I’m going to go turn in.”

Starling glanced at the clock that rested on her shelf and frowned.  “It’s ten-thirty!”

“Yeah, and I have an excuse to sleep.  I’m not dumb enough to pass it up.”  Mapp winked at her.

“Are we okay?” Starling asked meekly.

As Mapp opened the door to her side of the duplex, she nodded.  “We will be.  Goodnight.”  The door closed.

Starling let out a breath and listened as the silence settled in.  She was alone.

*          *          *

Knowing that she was subject to an unexpected guest at any given minute, sleep was not something she came by easily.  The prospect of venturing upstairs to crawl into her bed was most uncomfortable.  Starling had spent the passed three days confined to a bed.  And though she knew the familiarity of her room might soothe, the similar shield her home should have provided had already fooled her.

Starling did go upstairs once.  After acquiring a few pillows and a rather large quilt, she changed into leggings and a sweatshirt.  The temperature of the rooms below was not uncomfortable, but the hospital had chilled her sufficiently.  On a whim, she threw some socks on as well.  Never before had she slept in so much clothing, but it seemed necessary tonight.

Absently, Starling wondered if she was really in need of this, or if she was in subconscious preparation mode for any more unanticipated visitors.

Craving for anything that resembled food, she threw her pillows and blankets on the couch in the living room before venturing to the kitchen.  This room had never quite seemed the same after spending so much time in it.  She came to realize that thanks to that night, she knew every corner and crack it held.

The Coca-Cola Dr. Lecter had been so offended at serving rested untouched in her refrigerator.  On a whim, she grasped two cans.  Theoretically it was too late to be pumping herself with caffeine, but sleep was not an intention tonight.

Starling made herself a turkey sandwich.  Chips didn’t sound too appetizing so she conceded to prepare a baked potato.  She wished the lettuce hadn’t spoiled for she suddenly craved a salad as well.

Three days of practical starvation were in the past now, and she was hungry.

When Starling turned around, holding her soda and food on a paper plate, her eyes fell on the chair that had gone virtually unused for three weeks.  She felt something significant rise within her.  Something that resembled anger, but she was cautious to label it so quickly.

Slowly, she set everything on the table.  Hands free, she neared the chair as though it was a cornered animal that was likely to attack at any given moment.  Starling felt frustration fluster within her and finally succumbed to a growl.  She seized it at either arm and heaved it toward her laundry room.  The back door attached to the spare room flew open as she hurled the chair out of her house.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, forceful enough to make her throat hurt.  “For Christ’s sake, leave me alone!”

A persistent pounding came from the room next door.  Mapp’s muffled voice stirred her from her rage.  “Starling?  Starling, are you all right?  What was that?”

Slowly, Starling sighed and closed the back door and tapped twice on the wall.  “I’m all right, Ardelia.  Just chasing away old ghosts.”

Starling reheated her dinner, eager to get out of the kitchen.  As she left, she shut off the light and pulled the door closed.  She didn’t want to visit the room again until morning.

She turned the television on just in time to visit Sam and Norm at the familiar bar and was discouraged when the show went off five minutes later.  M.A.S.H was scheduled next, not one of her favorite shows.  Starling visited her video library, something that was collecting dust in the years of being ignored.  Though she felt a horror movie was appropriate to sum up her life, she knew seeing people sliced and diced was not what she needed.  She settled for a favorite cult classic, one she hadn’t viewed since her college days.

It was odd how some things could bring such relief.  Starling ate her sandwich slowly, wanting to prolong the inevitable sleep.  She downed the first can of soda and most of the second, but despite the caffeine, she curled up on the couch and was asleep by the time the creature was born.

*          *          *

Dr. Lecter was sure Starling was awaiting his visit, for after watching her in the house, he concluded she was desperate to stay awake.  For once, he was grateful for the presence of her rather nosy roommate.  Because of her most appropriate dealing with Paul Krendler, the buffoon was still alive.  He knew he would not have been so gracious.

The last thing his little Starling needed right now was a visit from fortune-seekers and people set to initiate her destruction.

He had watched as she disappeared into the upper rooms of the duplex, knowing she would ultimately return to the lower floors.  When she did, he took a modest laugh at her attire.  From the several nights he had supervised her sleep before confining her to the chair, he knew she never wore so much to bed.  Though thinking it was anticipating a visit from him was a tad self-centered, he couldn’t help but conclude it had something to do with it.

Dr. Lecter also knew how uncomfortably cold hospitals were to patients, and given Starling’s unfortunate repellence to cold, seeing as she was a woman and most women complained of being chilled, the idea of being warm was most likely of much importance.

When she retreated to the kitchen, he could only imagine what she was thinking.  Rooms that were supposed to offer some semblance of familiarity were often tainted when something totally unexpected occurred.  Though it hadn’t seemed to affect her in the past, he knew that was subject to change given her condition.  Thus when she threw the chair out the backdoor, it was no surprise.

Dr. Lecter did not like to think he haunted Starling, and though he knew she was angry, he also knew it was masking something else.

Things quieted after that.  He suspected she retreated to her living room to eat whatever she had prepared.  The lack of lights in the kitchen told him she had no intention of returning.  Through tedious observation, he noted Starling liked to keep lights on in the house to remind herself of things.  A light in the laundry room might mean she had clothes to fold, and so forth.  Given this, he was most assured she projected to stay camped for the remainder of the evening.

Dr. Lecter waited.

Forty-five minutes passed when he moved again.  Despite her attempts, he knew she would surrender to sleep whenever she stopped moving.  Though she had been immobile for several days, she was most exhausted.

Dr. Lecter entered from the back door, stepping over the discarded chair with a frown.  When no sound answered his presence, he moved through the quiet dark, the house he had memorized long ago, and stepped through the entry hall into the living room.  Noise flickered from inside, but it was only the television.

The scene presented was most endearing.  On the screen, a distantly familiar though curious film was playing.  Dr. Lecter conceded a grin at her choice in movies before flickering his gaze to her slumbering form.  A plate scattered with a half-eaten baked potato and the remains of a few breadcrumbs was lying on the coffee table, two cans of Coca-Cola beside it.

Amused, though whimsically irritated, Dr. Lecter smiled at her beverage choice.  “Honestly, Clarice…” he whispered, surprised when she didn’t awake.

Slowly, he approached the couch and took a careful seat on the edge.  She looked most comfortable, wrapped in the warmth of her quilt.  Dr. Lecter omitted a small breath, moved by the peace she seemed to radiate.  It was distantly familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Not tonight.  She needed her sleep tonight.

Cautiously, Dr. Lecter brushed the hair from her tired face, leaning in to kiss her forehead.  No nurse to interrupt now.  When he pulled away, she looked perhaps more serene, even happy.

He was glad he hadn’t awakened her.

Standing, Dr. Lecter blinked once, filing the image away forever in his memory palace.  He intended to sketch when he returned to his hotel.

“Goodnight, Clarice,” he said.

Then he was gone.

*          *          *

Starling awoke to the sound of the front door closing.  At first she ignored it, deeply immersed in her sleep and half-convinced the sound was the product of her own subconscious.

It wasn’t until she remembered she was waiting for Dr. Lecter to arrive that she awoke completely.   Sleep drove from her system as she jumped up, throwing the quilt almost off the couch, running for the window.

The sight of a car pulling away disenchanted her.

“Come back…” she whispered, barely aware that she spoke.

But it was too late.  He was gone.  And once more, she was alone.

*          *          *

Mapp left for work at seven thirty the next morning but assured Starling she would drop by to take her to lunch.  Lunch turned into a shopping extravaganza, something neither of them had done in a while, at least not together.  After some coaxing, Mapp convinced Starling to get her hair done, but couldn’t talk her into a manicure.

For the briefest hours, Starling felt she was reconnecting with her friend.  It had been too long since they shared such quality time together.

The unspoken burden of answering the question that would never go away hung over them like a black cloud, but neither of them spoke of it.

There were only two complications during the outing.  One occurred in a shoe store where Mapp was purchasing some red suede clunkers.  The cashier asked Starling where he had seen her before, and after her careful avoidance of answering, he finally remembered.  Of course, the news.  She was the FBI agent who was hospitalized for several days.  He then proceeded to connect her name with Hannibal Lecter’s; causing Starling to go red-faced before Mapp spat something only a sailor should know and dragged her away.

Starling was bewildered that the slightest mention of his name could have that affect on her.

Visibly shaken, Mapp consoled her with some ice cream.

“I remembered why I hate the mall,” Starling muttered.

“Because you’re constantly recognized?”  Mapp liked to tease her about her alleged fame.  Though Starling often saw it as reason to laugh, today it wasn’t funny.

She paused between licks to snicker, wiping the residue of the frosty treat off her mouth.  “Hilarious.  No…it’s overcrowded and dull.”

Mapp blinked.  “Aren’t we talkin’ big?”

Starling smiled to herself.  Her friend would never recognize it for what it was worth – the direct imitation of Dr. Lecter, and most likely his opinion of malls as well.  Over the past few weeks, she had caught herself seeing the world through his eyes on interest-worthy topics.  Whether that was a sign or not, she didn’t know.

It merited considering.

“I’ve just been doing some thinking,” Starling excused a minute later.  “If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve had some free time.”

“Got me there,” Mapp replied with a wink.  “Listen…I’ll be right back.  Call of nature.”  Starling nodded as Mapp stood, watching as she weaved in and out of the masses of people.

For a few minutes, she sat undisturbed; devouring what was left of her ice-cream cone.  She hoped it would agree with her stomach, as little had in the past few days.  The turkey sandwich she prepared for herself the evening before was the first thing she was able to keep down without feeling the stirs of indigestion.

She was in the mood for a soda.  Given her indulgence the night before, she had practically forgotten the sweet taste.  Apart of her was trying to give stuff like that up, but she realized she didn’t have to conform to what Dr. Lecter expected of her.  After all, she was unsure of herself in that category, and even if it came down to it one day, she didn’t want to turn into something just because he wanted her to.  She was herself, all herself, take it or leave it, and nothing would change that.

Nevertheless, she was remembering the symptoms of a healthy caffeine addiction, and the last thing she needed was a headache before every cup of coffee and the dependence on sunglasses to bait light away.  She decided on bottled water.

Keeping her eye on the hall that led to the facilities in case Mapp should return and not find her waiting, Starling headed for the nearest food court restaurant and coughed up a dollar fifty for her drink.  When she turned around, Mapp still hadn’t emerged.  Taking this as some additional free time, Starling went to throw her receipt away.

There was a man standing beside the wastebasket.  It took her a few blinks to identify him.  Never before had she seen Dr. Lecter in such casual clothing.  Of course, a man in an Armani suit would stand out sufficiently in the mall.

He wore snug jeans, not overly tight, but snug.  The shirt he adorned was tucked in, long-sleeved and black.  His shoes were nice, too.  Starling was barely aware that she was breathing.  A million things flustered through her.  Amongst her confusion and anger, the first thought that arose betrayed everything she had preached to herself over the past few days.

Damn, he looks good.

Though she knew he was aware of her presence far before he looked to her, Starling felt something leap in her chest when their eyes met.  He was smiling curiously, not so much to attract attention.  The commands she issued to her feet to move forward were promptly ignored.  There was no will to move.

Subtly, Dr. Lecter winked at her.

Just as she found it within herself to move, a timely school group on a field trip crossed her path to turn into the food court.  Distantly, she heard Mapp calling her name.  In the minutes to come, Starling would curse herself for turning her gaze from Dr. Lecter, for when she looked back he was gone.

Starling felt the same sensation that had arisen within her sink with frightening speed.  “Oh no you don’t,” she muttered in defiance, glancing back and forth to either side.  No sign.

Then, down a long stream of stores and tourists, she saw him.  Without waiting, thinking, even breathing, lest he get away, Starling took off.  From behind, Mapp’s cries persisted, then dwindled.

Starling barely felt the floor under her, she was moving so fast.  Even in the few days she had spent away from the running course, she felt the affects of her lack of exercise.  It was not a pleasant sensation.

It was as if the world had planned to be busy today.  Starling couldn’t believe the number of people who stepped in front of her, who pushed her off trail, who stopped to her to ask for directions.  The feeling was similar to running into every red light during rush hour on her way to a very important meeting.

Starling refused to peel her eyes from Dr. Lecter’s hurrying form.  She didn’t understand why he was attempting to get away from her, and at the minute, she didn’t care.

It was entirely possible that he had a sudden case of the sillies, just like he had at their last face-to-face meeting.  Dr. Lecter loved his games.  Being chased by her was probably a delightful bonus.

How much find this would’ve been under different conditions.  Were he not what he was, he could have been the one to revolutionize her opinion of men.  Though to say he hadn’t already was unfair, but the terms were different.  He was everything she wanted in a man; all accept his rather notable record.  Intelligent, funny, protective, even asinine sometimes, though she knew he would shun at the accusation.  To her, the playful side he only allowed her to see was most attractive.  The very knowledge that it was intended only for her eyes escalated the feeling.  She trusted him, and oddly was trusted in return.  Her failure to phone for the police three weeks before, even after she was granted the opportunity, proved it.

No matter what the Bureau did it to her, it held her support.  To turn her back on it was signing her deed of confidentiality in blood.  Dr. Lecter asked no more, but likewise expected no less.

Starling hoped vigorously that his intentions from this revolved around a comically inspired mood.  The idea that he was unreachable was not a pleasant one.

Her thoughts flickered back to the nurse.  Anger boiled within her.  The chance stood strong that Dr. Lecter knew of the miscarriage thanks to Rita’s hypocritical loud mouth.  Was he angry with her?  Did he think she intentionally held out on him?

That arose another question.  Should the attempted raid not have failed so miserably, had she discovered her pregnancy by natural causes, had she decided to keep the baby as opposed to the more plausible abortion, would she have told him?  Apart of her thought so, but there was a very real rational that told her she would have kept it to herself.

Starling forced the thought aside.  Whatever could have happened hadn’t, and she was here, chasing Dr. Lecter through a mall.  She wondered how long he had followed her, and concluded the next minute that he had most likely made a day of Starling-watching.

Ahead of her, Dr. Lecter took a spontaneous left turn into a clothing store.  Starling felt herself grin.  There was no escape now.

However, to her surprise, he was nowhere in sight.  Starling stood still for a minute, confused and partially defeated.  The store lacked additional space, not many places to hide.  There were racks of clothes, the cashier’s counter, the dressing rooms…

The dressing rooms!   Starling bit her lower lip in excitement and approached.

When she threw the door open, her face fell.  There was nothing inside, nothing except a sack of seemingly discarded purchases.  Frowning, Starling reached for it and peered in, half-expecting the angry owner to seize it from her grasp.  Instead, she found several nice blouses in her size, sided with the receipt.  Across the top was her name, sprawled in his familiar hand.  A thorough search concluded no additional note.  Starling sighed in aggravation and leaned against the dressing room wall.

How could she have missed him?  By the time she collected her very thoughtful gifts, she was sure he was far away.

A salesperson asked to check her receipt before she left to double check for stolen goods.  Starling had a good mind to simply hand the blouses over and leave.

Sighing, she stepped into the main hall.  It was logical that the steady traffic of people had dwindled accordingly.  Nothing ever went as planned.  She considered returning for Mapp, but her energy was drained in the combined physical exertion of the chase and the mental strain it put her through.

Starling opted to wait in her car.

The image of Dr. Lecter remained with her as she passed through the herds of people, not quite as obnoxiously bunched as before, and wound herself through one of the larger department stores.  A commonly used entrance was located at the back that led to the parking lot at which her car was stationed.

By the time she reached her Mustang, she felt like collapsing.  The past few days had been absolute hell.  She was tempted to drive off, but refused to leave Mapp stranded.

Starling wasn’t one to hide in the shadows of her duplex, much less sleep her problems away.  However, the past few days left her mentally strained.  She wanted to shut the world off and never emerge.

When Starling opened the car door, she grumbled.

Sitting in the drivers seat was a bouquet of flowers and a two-liter of Coca-Cola.  In spite of herself, Starling offered a wry smile.  With all the frustration and confusion Dr. Lecter caused her life, he certainly had his moments.

*          *          *

After waiting for Mapp to join her for nearly a half hour, Starling succumbed to her thirst and popped the cap off her gift of soda.  Never had she submitted to drinking from a two-liter, but people change.  Either way, she was in need of liquid refreshment, and she no longer possessed a water bottle.  That had her curious, but only slightly.  She suspected she lost it in the thrill of the chase.

Starling took a minute to smile at the reaction Dr. Lecter might grant at the knowledge that his generosity only added another bad habit to her belt.

For a long while, she stared at the flowers he left her in wonder.  Starling had breeched the line of minimally confused and now resided at full-blown bewilderment.  She knew she should feel honored that Dr. Lecter was compelled to woo her after everything that had passed between them.  After all, Starling knew very few if any men who would go to the trouble he went through for her even after the relationship was consummated.  It seemed everything in this world from the man’s perspective was an angle to get his female companion into bed.  Once that was accomplished, the need for further romance was lost.

Of course, she supposed she shouldn’t expect less from a man of Dr. Lecter’s stature, but it was a good feeling nonetheless.

The flowers.  How was she supposed to explain them to Mapp?  Flowers didn’t exactly fall out of the sky.

Starling conceded a smile.  Well, perhaps they did when Dr. Lecter was around.

There was a defined look of frustration on Mapp’s face when she finally came into sight.  Starling glanced away before eye contact could be made and hastily tossed the flowers into the back seat.  She wasn’t in the mood for this, but knew it was inevitable.  The last thing she wanted was to mask her behavior with another lie.  She hadn’t lied as much in her life as she had in the past week.  Though it was necessary, it was not a pleasant change.

Mapp opened the door and wiggled inside.  Though it wasn’t required, she slammed the door shut to illustrate her anger.  “Girl,” she said, her tone low, strained, and testy.  “I don’t know what the hell that was, but you better have some damned fine excuse.”

Exerting a breath, Starling took a few seconds to consider.  The truth rested on her tongue, begging to be used.  Out of everything she could say, that seemed the easiest, perhaps even the most plausible.  If Starling disclosed that Dr. Lecter was lingering around, if she presented the reality of what had happened, perhaps it would be even simpler to hide.

Starling drew in a breath.  “I thought I saw Hannibal Lecter.”

It was the closest thing to genuineness that Starling ever attempted.

For a long minute, there was silence.  She turned to meet Mapp’s eyes and saw the disbelief.  It wasn’t that her friend doubted her words; she just didn’t trust the actions to have been true.  “Excuse me?” she questioned, the shock evident in her voice.

“Don’t tease me, Ardelia.  I thought I saw him.”

“So you took off?  For what?  How exactly did you plan on apprehending him?  You’re not exactly on duty this week.”

“Was I supposed to let him walk away?  I am an officer, despite everything.  I had to do something.”

“So you chased him without waiting for me?”

“What the fuck do you propose I do, Ardelia?” Starling snapped.  “I almost had him, too.  I was so damned close I could taste it.”

Mapp sighed and shook her head.  “You’ve lost it, girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why on earth would he be here?  You were just shaken by that guy who identified you in the store.  Besides…why on earth would Lecter be hanging around you?”

Starling paused as she waited for Mapp to find the missing pieces and put the mysterious puzzle together.  For the briefest of seconds, she feared she had revealed too much.  But it felt good not lying, as though all of the truth and not just that sliver was released.

Nevertheless, Mapp never pieced it together.  From that minute on, Starling would seriously question her friend’s abilities as an agent.  It amazed her that the most blatant of clues failed to seep in.

“I don’t know why, that’s why I followed,” Starling grumbled.  “Either way, it probably wasn’t him, so forget it.”

With a sigh, Mapp sat back.  Starling took that as a sign to start the engine, and regarded her friend a minute as she picked up the notably consumed two-liter.  “Drinking out of the bottle, eh?  When did you get this?”

“I found it.”  Oddly, that was the truth.

“Uh huh.”

“Where to?” Starling asked as they pulled out.

“Quantico.  I think my lunch break has exceeded what is standard.”

Starling turned to her and blinked.  “You’re going back to work?  It’s damn near three.”

“So?  I think I should work a little later tonight.  Besides, not reporting in on time is bound to get me extra hours.”

Despite the excuse, Starling heard the warning in Mapp’s voice.  They were growing tired of each other.  Too much had occurred in the past week to fill the void.  She had to wonder if things would ever be the same.

That question was most redundant.  Things had changed considerably, past the brink of redemption.  The life she knew was over, and had been over for nearly a month.  It took something as drastic as the raid for her to realize it.

The clouds were darkened, a sure warning of approaching severe weather.   Starling felt herself shudder in anticipation, but of what she didn’t know.

When they arrived at Quantico, she barely noticed.  Her mechanics in driving to this place was more out of habit than ability.  By that time, her thoughts had traveled to that evening.  Mapp’s car was at their duplex, but she would most likely grab a ride home with her latest office-love, whoever that was.  Chances were she wouldn’t see her friend till the next day.

Alone at night with a storm approaching.  Why did this seem familiar?

Perhaps it was all coming to an end.

The thought drifted through her subconscious that the chair she had thrown out the back door remained outside.  Starling snickered to herself and ignored the confused look it procured from Mapp at the seemed randomness.  Whatever occurred tonight, she would be cautious for it not to include confinement in a kitchen chair.

Of course, there was that chance that Dr. Lecter wouldn’t bother in dropping by.  They had already had their fun for the day.  He was not one to sacrifice patience for pleasure.  No, he most certainly wanted this to last.

Starling couldn’t deny the rush it gave her.  Feeling excited didn’t exactly support her conviction to be angry.

“Coming in?” Mapp teased without humor  as she grabbed her purse.

The thought made her skin crawl, but nonetheless, Starling managed to surprise them both.  “Yeah…I need to check my messages and pick up the mail.”

Mapp looked at her blankly, not masking her astonishment.  “I was kidding.”

“I’m not.  I can’t avoid it forever.  Besides, maybe if I can get through this now it won’t be so difficult next week.”  Starling let out a deep breath.  If she had learned anything from the past few weeks, it was not to run from the inevitable.

Besides, her eagerness to get home could be misplaced.  She wanted to avoid returning to her dreary world only to face disappointment.

It was then Starling realized how much she hoped she wouldn’t be alone that night.  How much she wanted him to be there when she arrived.  She cursed herself inwardly, holding onto her anger.  Though she knew her attempts to protect her bitterness were futile, she wanted to appear stronger than she felt when they finally sat down to talk.

She wanted to appear like she didn’t need him, something she now questioned.  It was ridiculous.  The thought of her needing any man was most insufferable.  Whether her mind taunted her with this inscrutable evidence for its own amusement or for its truth, she didn’t know.  And at the time, she didn’t care to.

People peered from their cubicles in disbelief as she walked alongside Mapp to her office.  It was an unspoken request that her friend answered understandably.  Though she was brave enough to face the life she would have to face in the following days, the thought of doing so alone was not attractive.

The look on Paul Krendler’s face as they passed him at the copy machine was most pleasing.  Starling waited until she was in the safety of her workplace before she expressed her amusement.

Jack Crawford came in a few minutes into her stay.  The messages had piled to a rather impressive number over the past few days.  Starling couldn’t remember being so popular, even after the Buffalo Bill case.  Her memo pad was cluttered with talk show offers, requests for interviews from the Tattler, even a few marriage proposals from people she had never heard of.

It was clear that none of this concerned her failed arrest of Denise Mancuso.  The world was now aware that she had had a child on the way, and everyone wanted to know by whom.

The knowledge the world followed her life so closely was almost flattering.  Almost.

“Starling,” Crawford said in her doorway.  He made no attempt to mask his shock.  “You’re not expected until next week.”

“I’m not staying,” she answered, uninterested.  “I dropped Ardelia off from our prolonged luncheon and decided to come in and check my messages.  I’m out in five minutes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired but better.  I haven’t slept much.”  That seemed ludicrous, but it was true.  Sleeping conditions in the hospital left much to be desired, and her solo night at home had her restless after waiting for Dr. Lecter and missing him in the brief seconds after she dozed off.

She was still kicking herself about that.

“Need anything?”

Starling felt the corners of her mouth lift in a snicker but she managed to avoid the temptation to display her amusement.  It was luck her eyes were on her desk, away from his line of vision.

“No thank you, Mr. Crawford.  I’m being pretty well taken care of at home.”

Nodding, he offered a friendly smile.  “All you need to do is ask.”

“I know.”

“Get well soon.”  He left without waiting for a goodbye.

The next visitor was not a welcome one, but likewise not one Starling’s wasn’t prepared for.

“Hello Starling.”

Paul Krendler’s voice gave her the urge to vomit, something she had avoided since returning from the hospital.  Doing an admirable job of forcing the distaste from her face, she looked up, eyes distant.  “Hello, Mr. Krendler.”

“I must say I’m surprised to see you today.”

“No kidding.”

“I’ll skip the pleasantries,” he retorted.

“How very like you.”

“Who’s the goddamned father?”

Starling snickered.  Though he was the most detestable person of everyone whom had asked that question, he also failed to give her the shaken affect others had.  “There is no child to father, Mr. Krendler. Please try to keep up with the headlines.  Even so, I’d amputate my right arm before I’d tell you.”

“I could arrange that,” he scoffed.

“Could you repeat that?  I’d like to get it on tape.”

“Tell me who it was.”

Starling chuckled in dry amusement.  “What have you done for me lately, besides increase my nausea and add splitting headache to the list of ailments?”

Krendler grumbled and turned to leave.  “I’ll find out somehow.”

“Have fun.”

A small wave of victory came over her as he left.  It was the most successful conversation she had held with that dick-head in a long while.

Starling didn’t chance her luck.  She left before anyone else could pay a friendly visit.  What might await her at home sent shivers up her spine.  It was all she could do to keep from sprinting to the parking lot.