Clarice Starling hit the send button, sighed, and sat back to examine the screen and make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. No new emails, nothing under drafts. Her biggest concern was emailing Ardelia back, but she had taken care of that first.

Duke whined and placed his head on her leg. She patted the German Shephard.

"What's a matter?" she asked. She turned off the computer and stood. Duke pressed up against her, still whining.

"Come on, boy. Let's go to bed."

Going up the stairs, Duke followed in the same manner as before. He calmed down when they reached her room.

Duke's barking caused Clarice to jolt and wake up. Duke was standing by the opened door, but his barking had stopped. He was dead silent and his tail was between his legs. He backed up against the bed, and laid down, whining again.

Clarice grabbed her gun from the table beside her bed, and stood quietly. Duke followed closely, but remained behind her as if torn between a sense of duty to protect his master, and a fear of whatever was downstairs.

Back pressed against the wall, she peered down into the room below. It seemed fine. Completely undisturbed. She made her way down the stairs just as carefully as before, then checked every room. There was nothing wrong anywhere. She checked the doors. All were locked and didn't look like they had been messed with, but Duke was still terrified.

"What is it?" she asked, kneeling in front of him and taking his head in her hands. "There's nothing in the house. I checked."

As she laid back down, a strange thought occured to her. Duke was a well trained dog. She'd never seen him afraid of anything. Only once had her house ever been broken into, but the burglar left rather quickly after Duke had attacked. Shrugging off the feeling, she went back to sleep.

When she woke up the next morning, Duke was sleeping beside her. Getting out carefully so as not to disturb him, she made her way downstairs. After breakfast, she sat down at the computer with a cup of coffee to check her email again. A message from Ardelia, and a message from Crawford. Apparently Ardelia's date went well and she was planning on another one. Crawford was just "saying hello". After replying to both, she checked over everything. No new messages, one under drafts. She could have sworn she had checked that the night before.

The message under drafts had nothing written in it, except in the "send to" box, there was the name "Annabell Birchet". Clarice froze, heart racing. There's no way. It's just a coincidence, she told herself.

Grabbing a sticky-note and a pen, she began to play with the name. After about five minutes, she found the answer. Her heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of her chest. She set the piece of paper down and stared for a long time.

Annabell Birchet = Hannibal Lecter

She realized that Duke was staring at her, and her hands were shaking wildly.

"Get a hold of yourself, Starling," she breathed.

She opened the "contacts" on her account and looked for an Annabell Birchet. It was there, with an email address. She went back to drafts and thought for a very long time. No one else would've made an anagram, or been able to hack her email. It had to be him.

Opening the draft again, she typed, "Hester Mofet?" and hit send. Leaving the computer on, and the volume up, she brought her cup into the kitchen.

Trying to get her mind off of the email, she went for a jog with Duke. It was rather short. After almost stepping out in front of a car, she realized that she was too distracted, and went home. Changing into nicer clothes, she went back to the computer. She had two new emails. One from Ardelia. One from Annabell Birchet. Though it was hard, she read and replied to Ardelia's first. She took a deep breath before opening the other. Two words.

"Clever girl."

"Oh God," Clarice breathed, "it's him." She stood and started to pace. Duke watched silently. She grabbed the phone and dialed Ardelia's number, but hit the end call button before it rang. Sitting back down, she clicked reply.

"Where are you?" Send.

She got up and paced some more, deciding what do do. She wouldn't call for back up, she had made that mistake at Chesapeake. He would run away, and she would be left feeling empty. Call Ardelia? There was a chance Ardelia would tell, and then, not only would he run again, but Clarice would most likely get fired. There was a beeping sound to alert her of a new email. Annabell Birchet.

"Quid pro quo, yes or no, Clarice?"

Her heart raced all the more so. There was now no doubt in her mind that Doctor Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter had contacted her. "Go, Doctor." Send.

She decided not to leave the computer and instead waited. This reply came much faster.

"How have you been?"

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "Well. And yourself?"

"I've been fine. How's the dog?"

She paused. "I didn't have a dog last time you saw me, sir."

"But you do now."

"How do you know about him?"

"How are our friends at the F.B.I.? Still holding on to the them?"

"The same as always. They're holding on to me."

"I see. No improvement after Paul Krendler's... disappearance?"

Clarice felt her stomach reel as she thought of Paul in his lake house kitchen. He looked pale, and sweaty. He sounded drunk when he spoke. "Helloooo, Agent Starling." Doctor Lecter was standing beside him, cooking. Paul tried to make conversation, but something was wrong. A drop of blood trickled down his face. Suddenly, Doctor Lecter removed his hat to reveal a red line around his head. He picked up a knife, and carefully pried off his skull. She watched in her mind as Hannibal cut off a small part of Paul's brain, cooked it, and then fed it to him. She resisted the urge to gag again.

"No, Doctor. No improvement. It wasn't just Paul who disliked me. It was all of my superiors."

"Because you care about the lambs, Clarice, which is not something to be ashamed of. As I recall, Jack Crawford did not dislike you, and he is one of your superiors. You never did answer my question, by the way. Do you think he wants you sexually?"

"Quid pro quo, Doctor. Where are you?"

"Now, Clarice, you know I can't answer that."

"Then answer this, how did you know about Duke?"

"Is that the dog's name, then? Giving into that West Virginian girl, are we?... Staying away for ten years was hard enough, Clarice. I decided against it this time."

"Are saying that you've been in my house?" She knew the answer, but asked anyway. Duke's strange behavior the night before now made sense.

"Again, Clarice, you failed to answer my question."

"What question, sir?"

"Do you think Jack Crawford wants you sexually?"

She felt her cheeks redden and was glad that he couldn't see her. "Yes, I do. But you're a little late in asking. We dated a few times shortly after the Buffalo Bill case."

"I see... Why only a few, Clarice? Did he end it, or did you?"

"Both of us did. He didn't like how much you had gotten into my head. I had trouble with all of my relationships after that case."

"Oh really, and why is that?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Doctor, and I'd rather not have to say it."

"But I would very much like you to say it."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to live with the disappointment then. How close are you?"

"How about we make a deal, Clarice? If you will answer my question, I will answer yours. And I can assure you, I am not scamming you like you did to me."

"I never really did get a chance to apologize for that."

"Did you ever really feel guilty?"

"Yes, sir, I did. What question do you want me to answer?"

"Why did you have trouble with all of your relationships after the Buffalo Bill case?"

"Because you got inside my head, Doctor. No matter what I did, or who I was with, I was constantly thinking about you."

"Why, Clarice?"

"I answered your question, sir. Now it's your turn. Where are you? I'm not going to try to arrest you."

"That surprises me, Clarice. I'm very close."

"Please, sir. Answer my question. I'm assuming you're in America. And I'm assuming you're in Virginia, since you were already inside my house."

"You're very smart, Clarice."

"That's not helpful, sir."

For some reason this message took longer. "Close enough to see your expressions as you read this, Clarice. By the way, I think Duke noticed already."

Clarice froze, unsure how to react. She swallowed and turned to the windows on her right. No one. Left, still empty. She stood slowly and peered into the kitchen.

"Duke?" she called. When she turned around, she saw Duke lying by the wall, looking up at her with fearful eyes.

"Hey, boy." She knelt beside him. "Where is he?"

Duke only whined and laid his head down.

"Thanks for the help."

Clarice went out the back door and peered around the house. She ended up walking around the entire house twice before going back in. Sitting down at the computer, she realized that it was somehow already 4:13.

"Doctor Lecter, please stop playing games. For all I know you're inside again, but Duke seems rather calm. Where are you?"

"You were very warm, Clarice."

"Please, Doctor Lecter, I don't want to play games anymore... Stop, if you loved me you'd stop." She cursed herself as soon as she sent it.

Suddenly, a metallic voice whispered into her ear, "Are a thousand years gone, then?"

Her heart pounded and though she wanted with all her soul to turn around and speak, she found herself frozen.

"Well, Clarice?"

"Is that really you, Doctor?" she breathed, still unable to move.

"Who else would it be, Clarice?"

Swallowing, she again struggled to turn around.

"Are you going to turn around, or do you find it better to remain the way you are?" His voice sounded slightly farther away.

Grinning inwardly at his way of pointing out the blatant and embarassing , she turned slowly. Doctor Hannibal Lecter was standing in his usual posture behind her. Her heart was in her throat and she tried to swallow it, but to no avail. He waited patiently.

After what seemed like hours, she found the nerve to speak. "Evening, Doctor," she smiled slightly, but her nervousness held it back.

The Good Doctor, however, smiled and seemed rather at ease. "Good evening, Clarice."

She followed his usual manner and attempted at being casual. "It's been a long time."

"Far too long." He stepped closer.

Clarice swallowed, distantly afraid.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked, knowing well the situation he was creating.

"Not at all," she lied, knowing he would catch it.

He blinked slowly and looked away. "Really..."

Without time to think, she felt a painful grip on her arm, and she was thrown from her seat and pressed roughly against the wall.

"What was that, Clarice?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," she breathed.

"Wouldn't I?" He put pressure on her arm where it was twisted behind her back.

"I know you wouldn't."

He snarled.

"You wouldn't," she said. It sounded much more like pleading than bravery.

She fell back as he released and caught her. "No. Not in a thousand years," he whispered as he held her steady.

Her knees were weak, and she found it difficult to stand. When she turned to face him, she found that they were standing awkwardly close to each other. They both stood, staring into each other's eyes, not wanting to disturb the tense air between them. Clarice fought inwardly with herself, knowing she was about to fully lose control of the situation. Though she knew that he always had control, giving him entire control could be dangerous or, for some, deadly.

No, she wasn't afraid he would hurt her. She knew he wouldn't. He had proven that at Chesapeake. But that did not lessen the danger in his gaining full control. At Chesapeake she had forced herself to remain loyal to the F.B.I., but since that day, his words had been floating in her head, and she questioned more powerfully her loyalty there. "You care about the lambs. They don't. You believe in the oath you took. They don't." Was he right? "They despise you almost as much as you despise them." Knowing deep down that he was indeed correct, she forced her mind to the current situation.

There was a look on his face that suddenly brought her back to Chesapeake. "... would you have it professionally framed and hang it on your wall, to remind you of your courage and incorruptability?... All you would need for that, Clarice, is a mirror." He had a look that she had never seen before. The only time she had ever seen the slightest bit of emotion in his features, other than the pleasure when he toyed with someone, was the day before he escaped in Memphis. She felt a pang in her heart at the look in his eyes now. Bodies pressed together, his hands restricted her arms. "I came half way around the world to watch you run. Let me run, huh?" She had tried hard to avoid the last memory, but it came painfully rushing into her mind. Now her hair was trapped in the fridge, arms still held back by his."Would you ever say to me, stop, if you loved me you'd stop?" Her loyalty to the F.B.I. was stronger than her will. "Not in a thousand years." He moved to bite her, but stopped inches from her mouth, and gave her a bittersweet kind of smile at her lack of fear. "That's my girl." His lips met hers, and though she had wanted with all of her soul to kiss back, she didn't.

She could feel her throat tighten as she stared into his patient expression. He was waiting for her this time. Clarice didn't know what to say, and found that her lips felt melted together. The F.B.I. was still there, watching, waiting at the back of her mind for her to make her next move. For her to make a mistake. For ten years he was with her, in her mind, just from the brief time they had spoken during the Buffalo Bill case. He re-entered her life ten years after that and forced her to see the blatant truth of her life with the F.B.I.. Forced her to see that she was unhappy, and that, perhaps, it wasn't what she had wanted. Clarice remainded silent while her mind went crazy.

It was too much. Looking into his eyes, Clarice lost control and tears welled up in her eyes. She looked down, half out of embarassment, half in an attempt to rid herself of the tears, but it was no use. They were now flooding her face.

"Now, now, Clarice." He used the tone that sounded like he was speaking to a child, only less scolding this time. Taking her by the wrist, he brought her to the living room and had her sit on the couch. He sat beside her, turned so that he could watch her speak. "What's wrong, Clarice?"

She shook her head, unable to put her thoughts straight. "It's just so hard."

He waited for her to continue.

"I used to know what I wanted, what I was going to do. Now everything I know is falling apart... I used to know, without a doubt, that I wanted to work for the F.B.I. and now I realize that the F.B.I. wasn't what I thought... I mean, I knew that I was having problems with them, but when you pointed it out to me, you forced me to see that I wasn't happy anymore... And now I don't even know right from wrong..." Her tears multiplied as she began to sob. "It doesn't make sense!" Her volume rose with the intensified emotion. "How can everything just fall apart so fast? The worst part is, I don't even know if I'm angry that it's falling apart! I'm not even sure it's a bad thing! But it's like, at the same time, I know that what I want is wrong, or it should be... I can't- I just can't! It would screw up everything- my life, my career! It's all so screwed up anyway, it shouldn't even matter, should it? Should I even care about all of that above my own happiness? It makes no sense, Doctor! I work for the F.B.I.! I'm supposed to be a good agent! I'm supposed to be loyal! I'm supposed to care about the lambs! I can't just fall in love with a cannibal!" Her face went white and her breath caught as she realized what she had said.

Doctor Lecter was quiet for a moment before speaking. It was very unusual for him to be at a loss for words. "I won't say anything until you've made up your mind, Clarice," he said softly. He stood and walked over to the window.

A few minutes passed as she stared, wide eyed, at the ground, shaking with fear. She hadn't meant to explode like that, especially not to tell him anything. She was afraid of her own feelings, and even more so of how he would react to them. And what about her career? What if she lost it? All her life she had wanted it so badly, but now that it stood on the edge of a knife, she wasn't sure if she cared. But above all else, he was a criminal, and beyond her years at the F.B.I., it seemed wrong. Very wrong. He wasn't just a criminal, he was a murderer, a cannibal.

"I made up my mind, Doctor," she breathed, struggling to meet his eyes.

He turned back. "Yes?"

"I think you probably already know the answer, sir," she said, smiling nervously.

"I would like to hear you say it, Clarice."

She swallowed and looked at her hands, then back at him. "I love you."

Again, he was frighteningly silent for a long time. "I think you already know, Clarice, that I love you."

She gave him another sad smile. "Yes, sir."

After another moment of awkward silence, he spoke. "What about the F.B.I.? Are you afraid that any and all chances of redemption have now slipped through your fingers?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm kind of realizing that I don't care about that anymore."

"What would happen, do you think, if you were to get caught?"

She thought for a moment. "I guess that would depend. If I could get away, I'd have to leave the country. Otherwise, I guess I'd be in a lot of trouble."

"And do you think this is worth it?"

Clarice looked at her hands, and thought for a long time before finally answering. "Yes, sir. I do."

Before she really had a moment to think, Clarice was pulled by her wrist and spun around so that her back was pressed against Doctor Lecter's chest. His face was inches from her ear. "You should be careful what you wish for, Clarice."

Grinning, she replied, "I'm well aware what I'm asking for, sir."

"That really must change."

"What?"

"Your referring to me by titles. Hannibal is perfectly fine, Special Agent Starling." His lips made contact with her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

Clarice turned her head and kissed him back. It sent a shock through her entire body, and she recalled Chesapeake, but the memory didn't last long with the fire between them. Their kiss became passionate and Hannibal began to step backwards. Suddenly, he lifted her and carried her up the stairs. She smiled, expectations for the night increasing. He set her down gently once they reached her bedroom.

She didn't hesitate, but turned and brought their lips together again, still consumed in an explosion of intense passion. Hannibal pulled his lips back abruptly, and whispered, "Clarice, I don't want to have you do anything you'll regret."

"Shut up." She brought their faces together again.

Hannibal grinned, letting his hands skillfully undo each button on her shirt without ever letting their lips be separated. It fell back easily. His mouth began to make its way down to her neck, then to her chest. She felt his teeth gently scrap her skin as they bit into her bra. He yanked back suddenly, tearing the clothing from her body. For a moment, Clarice was afraid of the animal he could be, but it didn't last.

Her jeans fell to the floor, and her panties followed shortly thereafter. She fell back against the bed, and Hannibal placed himself above her. She let her hands undo the buttons on his shirt and pulled it back. His lower garments didn't remain on his body much longer than the rest. Clarice gasped as their bodies made contact with each other.

Hannibal's mouth made its way down to her throat. His tongue graced her throat, and she could feel his teeth biting into the soft flesh. He was reminded of how fragile her life was as he felt her heartbeat. The passion between them was electric. He had been thinking about this for nearly eleven years. Clarice knew that she wanted it when he kissed her at Chesapeake, but the F.B.I. held her back. Finally giving in to her love, she felt happier than she had in many years.

Clarice relaxed into Hannibal's arms, finding comfort in his presence. Like a strange peace that she'd never felt. She was safe. Hannibal held her closely, enjoying the feel of her chest rising and falling with each breath, a sign of her life.

As she began to drift off, Hannibal whispered into her ear, "Tell me, Clarice... have the lambs stopped screaming?"

"They will now," she answered, smiling at the familiar question.