Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this story and I do not make any money. It's written for entertainment purposes only. Thank you.

Read and review, have fun and forgive any potential mistakes; English is my second language, though I had help of a great beta. Sephaya, thank you.

And... Consider this little oneshot an apology for the delay in my other stories ;)

Phone calls

The dark basement where all things connected to Lecter were stored, smelled of dust and mustiness. Clarice wrinkled her nose and stepped inside. Her right hand searched for the switch fruitlessly for several seconds and then – click – the lights slowly came to life.

One of the tubes blinked and died, then the second followed.

"Great."

She looked around, examining each item with care and almost fond remembrance. It had been years since she had seen this stuff, not since the old days when Jack had been in charge and all of them had been in mad pursuit of the infamous Hannibal Cannibal. Was it really that long ago?

Clarice sometimes wondered at how quickly the years had passed, but then again, her practical nature did not allow her to dwell on it for too long. There wasn't much use for sentiments now, when all was said – and more importantly – done. She didn't wish to turn back time, even though she did regret some of the things she had done.

There had been occasions when she should have been smarter, braver, quicker, more adamant. Oh, John, I'm so sorry.

John's bloodied body sprung to her mind and she resolutely closed her eyes, willing the vision to disappear. No such a luck – his face stayed with her in the remotest and for most of the time inaccessible corner of her mind and the spark in his eyes and the radiant smile he had given her when she had said yes, were forever locked in her heart.

There was no doubt that she had loved Brigham, and there had been a time when Clarice was Brigham– but that was in another life, billions of light years ago.

John had been her teacher. When she had shot down Jame Gumb and graduated, finally a full FBI agent, he had become her colleague and after few long night shifts and drunken adventures, her friend and the closest thing she ever had to an anchor in those troubled months when the Lecter Hunt had been in full swing. Not even Ardelia could be there for her the way John had been, so it was no surprise that only two years after she had finished her training, he had proposed.

She had a thing for older men – or should she say that older guys had a thing for her? That thought made former Special Agent Brigham smile – how very true it was. She had often wondered if Doctor Lecter had been right – in the beginning, when he had implied that dear Jack had been interested in her sexually. She had always known how much male attention she received and while it was highly uncomfortable, it did have its perks.

Her marriage to John – or more precisely, in some cases, John's fists – had stopped most of the nasty rumors about her worming her way into BSU through Jack's bed. She had received her spot in Crawford's unit one month after graduating and it truly had been an unorthodox move and ruffled lots of feathers. But then again, poor Jack hadn't had any other option available.

Doctor Lecter had explicitly 'requested' her presence on the team and challenged her, and only her, to their little cat and mouse game. The phone call they had shared on her graduation day was the first of many, and only a little more than one-fifth of their communication over the three years of the Lecter Hunt had been recorded and stored here.

Her eyes found the box containing those records and she had to laugh when the memory of the second, very much not reported phone call sprung to her mind.

The café was busy during the lunch hour and most of the cops and the slightly less suspiciously dressed agents (meaning still easily to spot from a mile away) were wrapped up in their own conversations. The two young agents were no exception.

Starling was surprised when the waitress called: "Starling? Is there someone named Starling here? You've got a phone call!"

Ardelia wiggled her eyebrows at her: "That's you, you know."

Clarice made her way to the bar and was more than a little shocked when the voice on the other end of the line said: "Well, hello again, Clarice."

"Doctor?" She whispered and looked towards the tables. None of her colleagues seemed to care with whom the rookie was speaking – but the gall of that man! Everyone knew that this place was frequently visited by law enforcement officers and FBI agents in the mornings– it was close, cheap, and the cook was a genius. The coffee sucked but the pancakes were worth killing for.

"Enjoying your lunch?" His voice was sounding smoother and less metallic – but there was an acerbic edge to it.

"Not anymore. Where are you?" Her eyes traced the café once again to make sure no one was still paying attention to her and then she looked out the windows. The street was crowded. It was not probable that he would be anywhere in the proximity of the diner, but with Lecter, one never knew.

"I thought we've already covered that, Agent Starling. That is, unless you are interested in finding me."

Clarice gaped and fell silent.

"Clarice? Are you still there or has the cat got your tongue?"

"You asked me only a month ago not to."

"Hmm. Tell me, how is Jack treating you? Oh, wait. You were not assigned to his unit, am I right?"

"Are you following me?"

"I am looking out for you, Clarice. I promised you that I would help your career, after all. Alas, it looks like our little scheme did not work."

"Our little scheme?"

"Hmm. So, are you interested in another game, Clarice? Less revealing than our quid pro quo but let me assure you, much more interesting. We could always find other ways in which to come to know each other in personal life."

She faltered again and blinked several times. She had spoken to Barney on more than one occasion – about the good doctor and his treatment – and she had no illusion about what would happen to him when he got caught again. A death sentence was the better option and strangely, she did not wish to see him dead.

Ardelia was watching her curiously now, so she smiled and nodded enthusiastically and turned away from her friend, pretending to be speaking animatedly. She would have to say it was Pilcher. Bugs would surely stop Delia's flow of questions.

"Now, this is really becoming tiresome. Do I make you speechless, Clarice? If so, I'm afraid that phone calls would not be a suitable way of communication for us – and right now I am in a situation which simply does not allow me to make a personal call. Hmm, but let me think. Maybe I could come up with something…"

"That won't be necessary, Doctor. I was only surprised, I'm sorry. You shouldn't be even speaking to me."

"You are concerned for me? I'm touched. Well?"

"I don't wish to see you behind bars. I won't play with you."

He was the speechless one now. Two seconds ticked by and then he spoke in a slightly warmer voice, less biting and mocking.

"Thank you, my dear. What changed your mind?"

"Look, Do-" She caught herself in time. "Just do not put me in this position, if you would be so kind. I don't wish to see you in hands of someone like Chilton, but I'm sworn to take you in custody if we ever cross paths again."

"Do you have handcuffs? My, my, that sounds like fun."

Did he just-?

"Ah, your lunch break is nearing to its end. I'd recommend you to run along now, and be prepared for a little surprise tomorrow. See you around, Clarice."

Click. The line went silent.

Starling had been summoned into Jack's office the following afternoon and offered a spot on his team as bait. It turned out that the good doctor had sent a letter to Crawford, mocked him a little and compared his team to several unpleasant and dumb animals. He had somehow managed to plant in Jack's mind the idea that the only way to get to him was through Starling.

Since that moment her phone had been monitored, as well as her post, and Lecter had not disappointed them – he had written several long letters full of innuendos and let them record two rather creepy phone calls. He had wanted them to believe that Starling had been his obsession.

She had been from the very beginning, but to what degree was still a secret that not even Clarice could fully comprehend. When he had wanted to speak to her without the Bureau knowing, he had always found a way. It had become rather annoying for Clarice to be randomly called to the phone in shops and restaurants and slowly, the surroundings had faded, only the exchanges remained branded in her brain.

"You are following me. Are you out of your mind?" She asked after hearing his voice. It had been the second private call they had ever shared but unfortunately for the doctor, it was also the morning after his first letter had arrived and Clarice was pissed off.

"Haven't you heard? I'm insane."

"Funny, Doctor. Do I need to remind you how reckless this is?"

"Ah, there is nothing I wouldn't do, Clarice, just to hear your pleasant voice. I wished to simply say hello. Did you like the drawing?"

"The one of me – nude with only a lamb over my lap covering the private parts?"

"That would be the one, yes."

"I wonder exactly how you got all the details. Every male in the room appreciated it. I know about your perfect memory, but I'm sure I would remember being naked in front of you."

"Not necessarily."

"I'm not going to comment on that, Doctor. They debated if you want to kill me, fuck me or eat me."

"Interesting, what's your guess?"

"None of the three or all of them."

"Clever girl."

"Anyway, what are you still doing here? I now have several nice shadows, thanks to you."

"I've noticed them – not really the brightest of your colleagues, are they? Does Jack truly believe that these young amateurs have the slightest chance to spot me, let alone arrest me?"

"Just leave the country, please."

"For a time, I will – but only because you asked so nicely, Clarice. By the way, those sunglasses don't suit you."

She had been under unwanted pressure – each of her steps had been followed and for months and months there hadn't been any respite. Clarice had known that Lecter wouldn't harm her, yet that knowledge was one of the things that made her so exhausted. There hadn't been any chance to tell someone about it, about the reason why she felt safe and why the hell the doctor played with them. Ardelia certainly wouldn't have understood and John… well, John hadn't asked many questions – just offered a shoulder to lean on when Clarice had felt down and a shot of whiskey when she had been pissed off.

The brief battle with her conscience had been fierce, though in the end Clarice had chosen to keep quiet and make the best of it. Once she had got her foot inside BSU, it hadn't taken her really that long to start working on her career. Even as nothing more than stupid bait, she had access to other case files and she hadn't stopped annoying Jack until he had given her a chance. She had not wasted it and after proving that Buffalo Bill hadn't been beginner's luck, she had become one of the sharpest of Jack's agents.

After that, Lecter and his baiting had stopped being necessary.

"Starling."

"My, my, such a professional tone. Are you busy these days, Clarice? Would you spare few minutes for an old friend?"

"Of course, Doctor Lecter. It's been some time. Back in D.C.?"

"Only briefly, I do not wish to bore you with my travel plans. Tell me all about you. I've noticed you keep some interesting company."

"Doctor…"

"Now, there is no need to sound so alarmed, Clarice. Are you keeping interesting company these days? Come, tell me."

"You obviously know. Old habits die hard, I see."

"As I've already told you, my dear – I am only looking out for you. Is that Brigham fellow treating you right, Clarice?"

"He's a good man. But, forgive me, Doctor, I just don't understand – why do you care at all?"

"I thought that would be obvious, little Starling, alas it seems I underestimated the influence of your dimwitted colleagues in the FBI. Let me speak frankly, then – if you would allow it, of course. I would hate to shatter your little happy bubble."

"Speak as frankly as you wish, but I would appreciate if you could keep the levels of acidity down. I haven't done anything to earn this, Doctor."

"Doctor?"

"Doctor Lecter?"

"I am still here. Accept my apologies, Clarice, that was uncalled for and I am truly sorry. Anyhow, what I would despise the most is to see you meeting an ugly and undeserved end. You are a rare specimen, a remarkable person, my dear, and too good for the likes of FBI. The more I know you, the more I am certain of it. I feel obliged to protect what I myself cannot ever be and others are too blind to see and too idiotic to appreciate."

"Now you've made me speechless. Again. Do you plan to make a habit of it?"

"Of course not, I enjoy the sound of your voice very much. I just love to compliment you and imagine how you must blush. Of course, you do not do that, do you, Agent Starling?"

"I'm just not the kind of girl you could impress with pretty words."

"Yes, I can see that… However, I'm afraid that this is going to be the last time we will exchange any words, my dear Clarice. Will you forgive me?"

"What will you do?"

"I plan to disappear, let the fuss die down, and maybe enjoy my freedom a bit – without my favorite hobby, for now at least. You need to focus on your work and life, do not concern yourself with me anymore."

"So, is this a farewell, Doctor?"

"I'm afraid so. Oh, and congratulations, Clarice, you look marvelous in white. Love the dress."

His face was staring at her from the opposite wall, the feeling intimately familiar, and Clarice was drawn to it. It had been taken long ago, the black and white picture scuffed yet his eyes still managed to pierce her through.

Lecter had not sounded convincing at all, let alone sincere in his congratulations when he had called the night before her wedding. For a year she had not heard from him and there had been speculations, assumptions about what the cannibal could be doing – and then a burnt body had been found. The dental records had matched, so the Lecter Hunt had been called off and the good doctor proclaimed dead.

The day it had happened was one of the strangest in her life. She hadn't cried but she had been damn close to it and felt robbed and cheated of something she hadn't been able to name. It had made her determined not to waste her life any more than necessary.

The FBI could work well without her and she would be just fine without the Bureau, more than just fine to be honest. That was a fact she had learnt thanks to Doctor Lecter.

John had been shot down in a drug bust two years later – it had been a raid he had not been supposed to be on. They had had plans; a week in the mountains, plenty of time and space to start working on a baby. They had wanted children, presumably before she would turn thirty-five and John gray.

She had cried that day – and in the weeks that had followed also, but only during the lonely cold nights in Brigham's empty house. There hadn't been any of the light snoring for which she had teased John mercilessly, or the cries of the baby they had so wished to have. During the days, the face she had presented to the sharks in the Bureau had been blank and smooth, her eyes only slightly reddened.

Slowly, day after day and month after month, she had become accustomed to her life without John – and without Lecter. Crawford had needed her because his own health had been slowly failing and the hopefuls were circling him like a pack of hungry wolves, just waiting for his fall. Clarice had his back unwaveringly and fought off their petty attacks but it had been exhausting and bitter work.

The situation had started to be rather unpleasant, new rumors had been circulating in the corridors aiming to discredit Agent Brigham and drive Crawford from the BSU. The source had been obvious: Krendel the Slimball who had despised Jack's direct no-nonsense approach and hadn't managed to get Clarice into his bed.

Of course, one rainy day, he had been found drowned in his swimming pool, the poor man. The very same evening, Clarice had found a new cell phone resting on her bed.

"Hello, again."

"Doctor Lecter!"

"Ah, I take it you missed me, then?"

"You were proclaimed dead."

"Let's stick to it, at least in front of our less friendly acquaintances, shall we? How are you doing, Clarice? I am sorry I didn't call sooner, but there were some loose ends I needed to attend to."

"Doctor, I have this suspicion I should probably ask if you know anything about the events on the Verger estate, but I feel I know the answer. So, to just answer your question, I'm fine, Doctor."

"Hmm, I hope you are not attempting to lie to me…"

"I have been better, but I'm slowly getting there."

"I have no doubt about it, you are a warrior first and foremost. It should be much easier now, though."

"Doctor… Is it at all possible that you have something to do with Krendel's death, too? By any chance?"

"Krendel, Krendel… Do you mean the unpleasant fellow with the habit of grabbing your bottom with his dirty paws? The man on Mason's payroll?"

"Yup, that would be him. So you have been following me again."

"By 'following you' you certainly mean 'looking out for you', Clarice."

"Certainly."

"That depends, my dear."

"On what, Doctor?"

"Does it please you?"

"Clarice? Answer me, now."

"Clarice."

"It does."

"Hmm, okey-dokey, then. I have to confess I've been looking out for you for some time now. Poor Jack doesn't look well, he has… how long? A year or two left, then he will be discarded."

"Hopefully more than that."

"Who will be put in charge when he retires?"

"Donald. Or me… now that Krendel… drowned."

"Ah, of course it will be you, Senior Special Agent Brigham. You are hailed as the best of the best and your score is quite impressive. In seven years, nine very prominent cases, ten if we include mine, all of them successfully solved, if we exclude mine; three kills, four victims saved. You are quite the hero."

"The Tattler loves me these days."

"Your colleagues not so much."

"They don't have to."

"I'm glad to find you very much the same as before; stronger, though, and shining brighter. The sorrow and pain you've lived through have given you a more solemn look, that adds to your grace. What about your lambs? Do you enjoy their silence, or are they still screaming?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Clarice, unfortunately we do not have all the time in the world. I need to go soon, and you need to sleep. No more crying into the pillows, if you please."

"Clarice, the answer, please."

"It depends on whether I sleep alone in the house – or whether I talk to you or not."

"Doctor?"

"You flatter me, my dear. Thank you, thank you. On another note – I actually hadn't planned on offering, but how could I not after your words? What would you say to a trip to Europe? You need a rest and I am able to provide it, along with silence and peace…Only under the condition that you promise not to arrest me, of course."

"I don't plan to arrest you anytime soon."

"How heartening, Clarice. Think about my offer, then. I'll keep in touch regularly from now on, so be a good girl, you never know who's watching. Ta-ta."

Clarice shook her head and in one swift movement she took the picture down, folded it carefully and slipped it inside of her briefcase. It found its way into the box of Lecter's drawings – both from the letters for Clarice and the ones he had had in his cell.

Brigham was the epitome of the ambitious successful agent – she had been thirty four last year when Jack had stepped down and pushed her into his place. With Krendel gone, the office politics had been much more bearable and luck had been on her side; only a week before her promotion she had saved Director Noonan's sorry hide during an ambush, getting shot herself instead. This, on the other hand, had earned her angry phone call from a panicked cannibal.

"Uh, hi."

"Well, congratulations, Clarice, you've managed to get shot."

"Hannibal…"

"Did they give you a medal?"

"No, only a promotion. From the first of next month, I am the agent in charge of the Behavioral unit."

"Hannibal?"

"Hannibal, please."

"So congratulations on this, too. You are doing so well, your daddy and dead husband would be so proud, wouldn't they?"

"It's only a minor wound, the bullet just scratched me. When I see you next, you will not even notice it."

"Be most assured I will notice it. This lame phrase – it's only a minor wound – is supposed to do what, Clarice? I have to point out it is not working, whatever your aim was."

"I was trying to calm you down."

"What gave you the impression I need to be calmed down?"

"I hear you are driving – I hope you are using handsfree, Hannibal – and I bet you are on your way to the airport. Am I right?"

"You… might be right."

"Slow down the car, turn around and head back home, please. I'm fine, really. Only two stitches."

"Two stitches, of course."

"Slow the hell down, now!"

"I'm sorry, you were saying? It seems I can't hear you."

"I'll see you in four months, as we've planned. Don't risk it, I'm begging you. You can make sure I'm fine then, and you can yell at me as long and as loudly as you wish."

"Listen to me, Hannibal."

"Hannibal, please…"

"I will not yell at you, Clarice. You will be subjected to a very thorough medical examination… after I fully express my opinion on your mindless behavior. The life of Mr. Noonan is unimportant to me, yours on the other hand…"

"Look, I'm sorry."

"Alright, you should be. For your information, I'm heading home, now. Satisfied?"

"As much as I can be."

"Something lacking, Clarice? You have your promotion, now, you should be happy."

"You are on the other side of the world, of course there is something lacking, and do not make me get too mushy on you. I don't like being mushy."

"I wouldn't dream of accusing you of being mushy, Clarice."

"Good. By the way, that panic attack was sweet. Now, this is the end of today's mushiness."

"Hmm, I expect you to mail me the name of your attending physician, the medical record and a picture of the wound. And I expect you to spend two more weeks here than you did the last time. Clear?"

"I'll see what I can do. I have to go."

"Take care. I'll call you in the morning. And Clarice?"

"Yes?"

"Never scare me like that again."

Clarice had accepted Lecter's invitation and spent two weeks touring Europe with him. Unexpectedly, the unorthodox friendship they had shared had grown and the mental closeness easily transferred onto the physical level as well. Her last vacation had been four weeks long, just as Hannibal had requested. They had spent two weeks in a cozy cottage in the Alps where the good doctor had been her only company, and two mushy and romantic weeks in Rome.

Saying goodbye had been never been so hard.

"How was your flight, my dear?"

"Long and tiresome. I'll fall asleep if you don't distract me now. What are you doing, H?"

"Debating whether it was a good idea to let you slip out of my grasp again, or not."

"Isn't this debate a bit fruitless now? I'm back in D.C."

"I could always come and get you."

"You know how opposed I am to your trips here."

"But you do love to see me when I come."

"I love to see you. Period."

"Is there no way I can convince you to leave now, Clarice? It's not necessary to be separated much longer. I will take care of everything that needs to be done. You know, I have some experience in defying the law and avoiding capture."

"We talked about it."

"And I did not agree."

"Hannibal…"

"Yes, Mrs. Lecter?"

"You just can't stop saying it."

"Guilty as charged. My name suits you."

"I'll see you in three months, Hannibal. Just let me finish this, please. I have no wish to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, worrying – is this the day we will be caught?"

"I understand. Okey-dokey, then. I'll call later. Sleep."

When she was sure there wasn't anything left that his hand had created, she stepped out for a moment. When she reappeared inside, she carried a much larger briefcase in one hand and a gas can. She doused the briefcase containing documents and CDs with sensitive information and most of the things in the storage.

Her phone buzzed. She sighed and answered: "Yes?"

"No need to sound so annoyed, Clarice. How are you feeling? Everything is alright, I hope?"

Her husband's voice was mild as if he knew he was not supposed to call and didn't dare to provoke her fury, which was very wise; Clarice's mood swings were rather scary these days.

"For the last time, Hannibal, I am perfectly fine. Could you stop calling every ten minutes?"

"Hmm, no."

She smiled at this and searched for an igniter. It was a handy little thing that would be entirely consumed by the fire. The lights were old and some sparks just might fly – unfortunately starting a fire and destroying everything about Lecter's case and her old life.

"Is the boat ready?"

"Of course. In several short hours poor Special Agent Brigham, the beating heart of the BSU, will drown in the lake. Have you noticed the pattern? Your colleagues should avoid water, just to be safe, don't you think? Now, if you would kindly leave the unholy ground so we can proceed with the plan…"

"Ah, I'm almost done."

"Good. I'm waiting in the parking lot."

Click.

Clarice chuckled. Of course you are.

She had spent her two years as head of the BSU gathering information about herself and Hannibal, slowly destroying written records and replacing them with false ones – and the last few months she had been replacing all electronic data. If the Bureau ever had any suspicions about them being alive, there wouldn't be any way to identify them – no fingerprints that were theirs, no matching medical records, DNA, nothing.

She closed the doors behind her, the igniter set to 30 minutes, and slowly made her way to the ground floor.

"Goodbye, Charlie."

"Have a nice day, Agent Brigham!" Charlie the receptionist answered cheerfully.

She smiled, took one last look at the building she had spent nine years laboring in, and then resolutely walked towards the inconspicuous black SUV parked in the shade.

The door swung open and a voice said: "In you go."

"Hello, Doctor Lecter." She told him with a small smile and Hannibal grinned. He waited until she closed the door and then he leaned in slightly and kissed her.

"Hello, Mrs. Lecter." He then bent down and placed a kiss on her belly. "Hello, little one. Has your mommy been good?"

"Hannibal, we have twenty four minutes to get out of here. You two can talk later."

"Hush, love, we're having a serious discussion here." Lecter smiled and turned his head slightly as if he was listening to someone speaking. Then he nodded and winked at his wife.

"Is that true? Well, if you say so, I think I will have to come up with some reward for mommy this evening. What do you say, Clarice? Do you think you've been a good girl?"

"Could you just drive, please?"

"As you wish." He touched her cheek for a moment and then he sped out from the parking lot. Clarice buckled in and heaved a sigh. Hannibal found her hand and interweaved their fingers, humming softly. They drove in silence for a few minutes.

"Hannibal?" She closed her eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Would you perhaps consider having pancakes for dinner?"

"Would blueberry pancakes suit you?"

"Perfectly."

He squeezed her hand fondly and drove on.