Title – 50 Shades of Lecter

Rating - M

Disclaimer – The plot is the property of E L James and the characters are the property of Thomas Harris. They are being used out of respect as a tribute and no profit is intended. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended.

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. My hair looks a complete mess - it just won't style the way I like it and damn Ardelia Mapp for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams to pass out of Behavioural Science training at Quantico. Im due to take them next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in frustration and gaze at the pale, red-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable. I think I will need to book in for a trim soon.

Ardelia is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she'd arranged to do, with some big shot psychiatrist I've never heard of, for the Quantico newspaper. Apparently he is currently assisting Jack Crawford the section chief with suspect profiling. So I have been volunteered. I have my final exams to cram for and I'm supposed to be working on them this afternoon, but no - today I have to drive fifty miles to downtown Baltimore in order to meet the enigmatic Dr. Hannibal Lecter MD. As an exceptional Psychiatrist, and valuable aide to my colleagues at Quantico, his time is extraordinarily precious - much more precious than mine - but he has granted Ardelia an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her extra-curricular activities.

Ardelia is huddled on the couch in the living room.

"Clarice, I'm sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule. I can't blow this off. Please,"

Ardelia begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, long dark hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

"Of course I'll go Ardelia. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?"

"Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all."

"I know nothing about him, I'm not sure I'm the best person for the job" I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic.

"You will be fine, just try and stick to the transcript. The questions will see you through. Go. I don't want you to be late."

"Okay, I'm going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later." I stare at her fondly. "Only for you, Delia, would I do this".

"I will. Good luck. And thanks Clair - as usual, you're my lifesaver."

Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Ardelia talk me into this. But then Ardelia can talk anyone into anything.

The roads are clear as I set off from Washington DC toward Baltimore. Fortunately, Ardelia's lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. I'm not sure my old trusty rusty Mustang, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal. I think I will need to upgrade my wheels soon.

My destination is Dr. Lecter's private psychiatry practice. It's a small two-story office building, with dark wooden windows, with Dr Lecter M.D written discreetly in a steel plaque over the glass fronted oak doors. It's a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I'm not late as I walk into the frankly intimidating lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

"I'm here to see Dr Lecter. Clarice Starling here for Ardelia Mapp."

"Excuse me one moment, Miss Starling." She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I'd borrowed one of Ardelia's formal blazers rather than wear my navy blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length boots and a blue sweater. For me, this is smart, im used to cargo pants and a tshirt. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn't intimidate me.

"Miss Mapp is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Starling. You'll want the elevator on the right, press for the second floor." She smiles kindly at me, amused at my appearance no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help my smirk. Surely it's obvious that I'm just visiting. I don't fit in here at all.

Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the elevators past the two men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits, business clients no doubt, here for a dose of therapy to ease their stressful lives.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the second floor. The doors slide open, and I'm in another large lobby – the size of this place is deceiving from the outside. I'm confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impeccably in black and white who rises to greet me.

"Miss Starling, could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of dark brown leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious Monet painting-lined walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twelve matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Baltimore skyline that looks out through the city. It's a stunning vista, and I'm momentarily paralyzed by the view.

I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them, inwardly curs-ing Ardelia for not providing me with a brief biography of the good Dr. I know nothing about this man I'm about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair at the duplex with a bottle of Jack. Not sitting twitching nervously in a stranger's office, waiting to ask him a host of personal questions.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Starling. Judging from the building, I guess Lecter is in his forties: fit, tanned, and dark-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes, It's like Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up. "Miss Starling?" the latest blonde asks.

"Yes," I croak, and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounded more confident.

"Dr Lecter will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"

"Oh please." I struggle out of the jacket.

"Have you been offered any refreshment?"

"Um - no." Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" she asks, turning her attention back to me.

"A glass of water. Thank you," I murmur.

"Olivia, please fetch Miss Starling a glass of water." Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the room.

"My apologies, Miss Starling, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Dr Lecter will be another five minutes."

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

"Here you go, Miss Starling."

"Thank you."

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the dark wooden floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Dr Lecter insists on all his employees being blonde. I'm wondering idly if that's legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive man with shortly cropped blond hair exits Dr Lecter's office. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door. "Golf, this week, Hannibal?."

I don't hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She's more nervous than me!

"Good afternoon ladies," he says as he departs through the sliding door. It makes me think fondly that I love to see a man with manners. Not that I have anyone like that in my life.

"Dr Lecter will see you now, Miss Starling"…