Clarice Starling glanced up at the outside of the jail, looming over the landscape like a squat behemoth.  Night was falling, and the jail seemed to brood over her, waiting to swallow her up as it had so many people.  She entered through the front doors.  The guard seated at the front desk looked at her quizzically. 

                "I'm Special Agent Clarice Starling," she said, displaying her ID.  "I'm here to talk to Erin Lander."

                The guard consulted his sheet.  "New inmate?"  His voice held a Southern twang, and she smiled at hearing it, two Southerners as diligent cogs in the system.  

                "Yep," she said.  "Brought in today.  She's on a federal material witness warrant.  FBI should've spoken to you, or maybe your sergeant."

                He shifted in his seat.  "Oh, wait," he said.  "Is that the one with a custody transfer?"

                "Yeah," Clarice said.  "But it's pending."

                He grabbed a pen and filled out something on a cardboard tag which he handed to her.  "Here you go, Agent Starling, have a price tag." 

                Clarice grinned and took the tag and clipped it to her lapel.  It did look like a price tag.  The guard spoke to someone on the phone and smiled at her. 

                "Have a seat," the guard urged.  "They'll just be a minute."

                Clarice sat down on the offered seat.  A few moments later, another guard showed up through the doorway and looked over at her. 

                "Agent Starling?" he asked. Clarice nodded and stood.  The guard gestured for her to follow him.

                "Come on with me, now," he said.  "Now there are a couple of things we need to do.  Security, y'know."

                Clarice shrugged.  "Whatever you gotta do," she said indifferently.  "You need to look through the briefcase?"

                The guard nodded and had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed.  "That and…um…we gotta frisk you.  I can call down a lady guard if you want, but we only got a few on this shift and it'd be a bit."

                Clarice thought about it for a moment.  "Nah," she said, "you go ahead, you're a professional."  Privately she was quite glad she had worn pants today. She turned around, put her briefcase down, and raised her arms.  The guard was quite professional as he patted her down; Clarice knew very well the difference between a professional frisk and a disguised grope.   The guard halted at her keys and gun.  He let her keep the keys but told her to leave the gun at the desk.   She handed over her briefcase to him and he rooted through it with a pen.  The guard scowled down at the contents. 

                "You're not supposed to take those with you," he said, pointing down at the orange bottles in the bottom of the briefcase.  "Regulations."

                Clarice sighed.  "This prisoner's got some medical need," she said.  "Kidney transplant patient."

                "She's got to go to the infirmary," the guard said, and shrugged.

                "Look," Clarice said, and smiled. "I'm not trying to hassle you, here.  I know you've got your rules.  But you and I both know the infirmary isn't going to have this in stock and they'll fumble it.  Now this prisoner needs this medication now.  Not tomorrow, not next week, now."

                "Ma'am, I don't make the rules," he said calmly.

                "Call your sergeant, then.   Or a lieutenant.  But I'll tell you this now, Officer – the FBI is very interested in this inmate.  We want her to cooperate with us on a pretty high-profile investigation.   Now if she ends up in the hospital with an immune response….well, some people high up in the FBI would be pretty mad at you guys.  Mad enough to reconsider whether or not you ought to have a contract with us."

                "I can't do anything about that, ma'am," the guard said apologetically.

                "We might also decide to launch a civil rights investigation into the civil rights of federal prisoners housed in this jail," Clarice continued.  "I'll bet you ten bucks that some guards here are some bad apples.  Beat up on the male inmate and harass the females.   Betcha another ten bucks that I can find some inmates who'll talk to us about it.  You think your records won't hold up to serious examination by a judge?  Use of force reports and all?  Filled out each and every time, the way the rules say?    If we got inmates willing to talk to us about that…" Clarice smiled and shook her head.  "Might be a few of your friends and co-workers end up on the other side of the bars.  Now I know you've got your rules, but I am an FBI agent, these are not addictive drugs, they're bona fide medication.  All you have to do is let me bring it in and give it to her."

                The guard sighed.  "All right, all right," he said.  "But I didn't hear anything.  If she gets caught with it, it's contraband." 

                "If everything goes as I hope," Clarice said, "she won't be a problem for you but for maybe another twenty minutes." 

                "Visiting area's over here," the guard said, pointing.

                "I'd like to talk to her in a contact situation," she added.  "This isn't a friendly visit, Officer.  It's part of an ongoing federal investigation.  Very high profile."

                "Lecter, huh?" the guard said. 

                Clarice was not too surprised.  The Tattler had gotten ahold of the story.  She'd been able to stick Erin in jail without them getting to her, but they'd run a picture of Erin from somewhere anyway.  The story of the FBI's capture of Dr. Lecter's wife was of great interest to the Tattler. 

                "I'm not at liberty to say," she explained.

                "Yeah, I guess," the guard said, and led her through the halls to a room with a scarred wooden table.  One fluorescent light guttered on and off overhead.  The guard waved at the table and grinned. 

                "We got to go get her," he said.  "Just be a minute."

                It was more like fifteen minutes, and Clarice passed her time tapping her foot and examining the paperwork she had brought with her.  The offer she had was more than fair.  Her higher-ups had approved it, but they clearly thought that Clarice was giving away the farm.  They wanted Hannibal Lecter behind bars, though, and that was enough to get the sign-off.  They didn't know everything, including the main reasons why she was doing this. 

                Erin Lander appeared in the doorway, flanked by two guards, one male, one female. She wore an orange jail jumpsuit and her hands were cuffed behind her. She sighed when she saw Clarice and closed her eyes.  She seemed different somehow.  There would be no smart-mouth coming from her anymore.  Her lips were pale and she was trembling.  Clarice recognized the signs of fear – almost terror – and wondered briefly.  The guards brought her into the room and told her to sit in the chair. 

                "You can take the handcuffs off," Clarice said.  "We're gonna be here a while."

                The female guard shook her head.  "No.  Regulations."

                Clarice sighed in exasperation.  On the one hand, this helped; it made her look good to Erin, which would help.  On the other hand, regulations in this jail seemed tailor-made to ensure that inmates would be angry and antagonistic.  No wonder informants were so hard to come by.  She was already tense and nervous; this wasn't making it any easier.  God only knew what Erin must be thinking.

                "She's not violent and she weighs ninety-five pounds," Clarice said cuttingly.  "I'm a graduate of the FBI Academy.  I don't know about you folks, but I'll take my chances." 

                The woman flushed.  "It's regulations, Agent Starling, all inmates stay cuffed in contact visits."

                "Take 'em off her," Clarice said evenly, "or get me your lieutenant."

                "He's busy."

                "Ah, OK," Clarice said.  "Tell you what."   She dug in her pocket for her cell phone.  "I'll just get on my phone here and call the US District Attorney, along with the section chief I report to, and tell them--,"  She squinted at the officer's plastic nameplate.  "Officer…Walker is making my interview with Dr. Lander harder than it needs to be, and her lieutenant is too busy to discuss this with me."  She smiled coolly at the uniformed woman, who scowled back.

                "Fine," she said, and crossed the room.  "Long as you know I'm not gonna feel sorry for you if she jumps you.  Little don't mean shit, Agent Starling, you ought to know that." 

                "I took down men twice her size on the street," Clarice said drily.  "I'll take my chances."

                The woman removed Erin Lander's handcuffs, glaring at Clarice from behind her prisoner.   Erin did not move as the cuffs were unlocked.  She seemed nervous.  Probably thinks the jailer's gonna take it out on her after, Clarice thought.   Then the guard left.  She seemed quite miffed, jingling the restraints in one hand.  The door slammed shut and Clarice rolled her eyes before smiling at the woman across the table.  

                "Hi," Clarice said pleasantly.  "Is that better, Dr. Lander?"

                Erin Lander let out a humorless chuckle, tinged with horror.  Yes, something had spooked her. "Were you…were you expecting gratitude?" she asked.  "After what you've done to me?"

                Clarice tilted her head.  "You were arrested on a standard material witness warrant, Dr. Lander," she said.  "You have the right to an attorney and all.  But I want to talk to you, and trust me, you want to listen."

                "Listen?" Erin riposted incredulously.  "You know, when I left the country, there were laws about having to go in front of a judge before you're punished, and something about cruel and unusual punishment, too."  She shook her head slowly, her eyes blank.  "But things change, I guess."  Her eyes floated back to Starling's and met hers before floating off.  "God," she said.  Her voice was blank and gravelly, the voice of someone gradually realizing the reality of something so horrible it cannot be imagined.

                "Is there something wrong?" Clarice said, although she suspected she knew what it was.

                "Don't you know?  Weren't you in on it?" Erin stared blankly at the concrete wall behind Starling.

                "Try me," Clarice said.  "Maybe I can help."

                Erin's eyes met Clarice's, and Clarice was struck by the misery and horror in her eyes.  For just a moment she swallowed.  Then Erin seemed to weigh something in her mind, and decided she had nothing to  lose.  

                "They're not going to give me my medication," Erin said softly.  "My immune suppressants."  Her eyes shifted off Starling's.  "They said it would take a week…if I got them at all.  By then I'll be in full blown immune response.  Or dead."   After a few moments, she added, "I'm going to lose my transplant."

                Clarice nodded.  "That's terrible, Dr. Lander," she said.  "You must be terrified."

                Erin shrugged.  She seemed more in emotional shock than terrified, Clarice saw.  She had seen this before.  Erin was still adjusting to her status as a prisoner, grasping the idea that she was just a number now, and no one seemed to care too much what happened to her.  Which was where Clarice came in.

                "Dr. Lander, I'd like to talk to you, as I said," Clarice said calmly.  "I know we've had some run-ins in the past, and you don't like me too much.  So I'll tell you what.  How about a show of good faith?"

                Erin Lander stared blankly at her.

                "Here," Clarice said, and removed the vials from her purse.  "These are the same medications that we found in your house in Germany." She laid them out.  "If any are missing, let me know.  I have a doctor on standby, and I can have anything you need in about twenty minutes run time."  Next to it she laid a bottle of mineral water she had bought at a convenience store not far from Quantico.   "Want some water?  There you go."

                Erin looked at the pill bottles warily, as if they might contain rat poison.  She opened one bottle, and spilled a capsule out onto her shaking palm.  She observed it, flipped it over to read the maker's mark, and then her eyes went back up to meet Clarice's. 

                "What are these for?" she asked distrustfully.

                Clarice shrugged.  "Two reasons, really.  First off, a show of good faith."  She waved a hand.  "Go ahead, take them. That should be enough medication for two days."

                "Thank you," Erin said, still looking warily at Clarice.  "What filled you with the milk of human kindness?"

                "As I said before, Dr. Lander, I want to have a discussion with you," Clarice said.  "Now I know that not having your medication must've been frightening.  Hell, terrifying.  I can understand that.   Nobody could think straight with something like that on their mind."  She leaned forward then.  "I came here for a reason, you know that.  I need to have a little dialogue with you about your situation here, Dr. Lander, and I can't do that with you being preoccupied about your health.  Those medications are yours.  Take 'em.  Show of good faith.  To show you I'm not your enemy here, and I'm not interested in tormenting you.  But I do want to talk to you, Dr. Lander, and so the show of good faith I'm gonna ask you for in return is to listen." 

                Erin's gaze was just as wary as before, but she was indeed listening.  Good.  Clarice plunged forward. 

                "You're currently being held on a material witness warrant," Clarice explained.  "No charges.  We can charge you with plenty, though – the fake passport in the Angela Brinkley name, the DEA certificate you applied for in her name so you could handle controlled substances.  Now, Dr. Lander, you ought to know that you do have the right to an attorney, and you do have the right to go before a judge to determine whether or not we need to detain you.  Realistically, though, that won't get you out.  You've fled the country before, and all we need to do is charge you anyway, and poof, back behind bars you go.  You got a fake US passport in your dead roommate's name, for one, and that's all we need."

                Clarice smiled coolly.  "Look," she said. "Your time is now.  We came this close to getting Dr. Lecter.  We got you instead.  Now this can go easy as you want or this can go hard as you want.  It's all up to you."

                "What do you want?" Erin Lander asked bluntly.

                "Tell me where Dr. Lecter is," Clarice responded just as bluntly.  "What you know about him.  Where he would go."

                Erin closed her mouth and hitched. She pushed the pill vials back across the table at Clarice. 

                "Here.  Take 'em," she said directly.

                Clarice looked down at the bottles and then back up at the other woman. 

                "I don't want those, Dr. Lander," she said.  "I don't need 'em, either.  Those are for you.  Now listen, Dr. Lander.  Will you at least hear me out?"

                Erin fell silent and watched her adversary.

                "You're going to be detained for the time being.  That you might as well get used to.  I've got that fake passport charge on your head, and if that falls through, I can go through whatever federal DEA permits and such you applied for in your Angela Brinkley identity.  The Germans are holding back on prosecuting you for lying to obtain German citizenship, but that's because of us.   The question, Doctor, is how comfortable you want to be."

                "Agree to cooperate with the investigation, and you won't be detained here.  You'd be detained at the FBI facility at Quantico.  We've held cooperating witnesses there before.  It's not too bad. A lot better than here, in fact.  We can be pretty nice to cooperating witnesses, you know."

                "I'm not selling out my husband," Erin said flatly.  "That's insane.  And if you think a judge will let you get away with holding my health hostage –"

                Clarice shrugged.  "Then take your chances, doctor.  But you'll need a good attorney and you'll have to file papers, and by the time the judge orders the prison to give you the medication it'll be too late, won't it?"

                "Then take them, if they mean that much to you," Erin snapped.  "Take me to the hospital and remove the damn kidneys.  I'll go back on dialysis. Did it for years."

                "That isn't what I want," Clarice pointed out.  "What I want is your cooperation."

                "No."  Her face turned almost beseeching.  "Starling…he's my husband."

                "I know," Clarice said.  "Is he here?  No, he's out there living it up. It's you who's in a cell."  Her voice turned a bit kinder.

                "What I can offer you is a lot more comfort and shorter time.  We'd hold you until Lecter was caught…and we will catch him, Dr. Lander.  If we catch him without your help, you get nothing."  She strode on ahead, not waiting for a response.  "At Quantico, we've got a little room we keep witnesses in. More like a hotel room.  No bars.  You'd be allowed to have your own clothes, not jail uniforms.  TV and radio…reasonable access to books…plus, I can let you have some time outside.  Real outside, with grass and trees and such, not just a fenced in dog run in the middle of a concrete yard.   Subject to security, of course, but a lot better than here.  We would hold you until Dr. Lecter was caught.  If you stay here, you'll stay here until he's caught and tried.  That could take years, instead of a few months.  I can also arrange for a government stipend, and a new identity and resettlement.  Medical license in any state you want, any name you want.  The stipend is good for two years, more than enough time to get yourself settled." 

                Erin Lander shook her head and smiled, as if Clarice was insane.  "You forgot the yearly trip to the hoof and mouth disease center," she said sarcastically.  "I'm disappointed."

                "This is a legit offer," Clarice replied.  She took some papers from her briefcase.  "Check it out yourself – that's the United States District Attorney's signature.  You can call him yourself if you like – he knows what's going on."  She held out her FBI cell phone, which Erin simply looked at.

                "Dr. Lander, I can't make you cooperate.  What I can do is give you your life back.  You're a young woman, you've still got your life ahead of you."  She sighed.  "That passport charge?  That's ten years.  Ten years of your life in a federal pen.  Any federal document you signed with her name, that's another five, maybe ten years.  I can go to the states, too – State of Ohio doesn't know yet that Erin Lander and Angela Brinkley were the same person, but we can tell 'em.  You're staring down twenty, maybe thirty years."

                That appeared to rock the younger woman.  But still she was resolute.  Clarice decided to try again.

                "Dr. Lander, if I take you to Quantico, you won't need to worry about medical treatment.  I can get you whatever you need.  You've seen the doctors here – they suck, don't they?   Two kinds of doctors work in prisons: incompetents or convicted criminals themselves.  For example, you might end up working here, after you got done serving your sentence.  You're right; you'd lose your transplant.  And you probably would have problems with dialysis – they'd have to take you somewhere, to do it, and they don't want to bother.  The doctor you saw – the one who told you it'd be a week…I ran a check on him.  He's got a prior for rape.  You'd end up having to trade things for medical care no woman should have to trade."

                Erin Lander sighed.  "Starling…you don't understand.  He's my husband.  I love him.  I can't sell him out."  Her voice hitched and was a bit thicker.  "No matter what you do to me, I just…I can't.  Haven't you ever loved anyone?  Or is all you love your job?"

                Clarice sighed back and stood, walking around the room.   The comment had hit her in a unexpectedly vulnerable place.  "I know you do," she said.  "And I know that given your choice, you'd do twenty years for him and you'd be excited if he wrote you a letter once a month.  But sometimes it's about who needs you more."

                Erin Lander tensed in her chair.  Good, Clarice thought.  She was still resisting, but she was scared.  Now it was time to play the trump card.  Clarice felt guilty for having to play it, but she had no choice. 

                "I promised you much better medical care than what you'll get here.  And I suggest you think about that for a good long while, Dr. Lander, before you tell me no.  Instead of some ex-con who can only get a job in a prison, I can promise you the medical staff over at Georgetown.  World class.  And while you were in FBI custody, the FBI would see to the expenses.  Every dime." 

                Erin seemed to relax a bit.  She thought Clarice didn't know.  Clarice felt an awful wrench of guilt and took a deep breath to fortify herself.  Time to do it now, throw the smaller woman into the emotional meat grinder.  But it was all for the best intentions.  That had to mean something.

                From her jacket pocket Clarice Starling took a small piece of flexible plastic. 

                "The FBI would also arrange for any other type of special care you might need during your time with us," she began.  "Not just the transplant.  Your standard physical…gyno…,or….," her voice tightened up for a moment.  This was not going to be pretty.  This was playing dirty.  Paul Krendler would have gloried in it.  But Clarice didn't care for such things, so she found herself hitching.

                "Or," she began again, "or pre-natal."

                Erin Lander clapped a hand to her face and began to cry softly.   Her other hand covered her lower abdomen protectively.  Protecting the one thing on earth that might have more sway over her than Hannibal Lecter.

                Clarice hated herself for what she was about to say, but she had to do it. It would all be OK, she thought.  Once Erin had realized what she had to do, what she was looking at, Clarice could help her.

                "We knew," Clarice said.  She dropped the small picture on the table in front of Erin, where she could see it.  Her pseudonym of Angela Lind was printed on one side, along with a date of two weeks ago, and a bunch of numbers that Clarice did not know the meaning of.  In the center, however, was a tiny, shadowy figure, curled up in a ball, tiny legs kicking.  "We found out when we searched the mansion.  How far along are you?  Ten weeks? Twelve?" 

                Time to play hardass.  Oh God, she wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight after she did this.  I have to, she thought.  I'm doing this for the right reasons.  It's for her own good, it's better if she throws in with us. For both of them. 

                "You know trials take a lot longer than babies, especially because Lecter would try every trick in the book," she said.  "If you have this baby in prison, you won't get squats for pre-natal care, you won't get decent nutrition.  This is jail, it's not supposed to be nice.  It's for bad people.  I know you're not a bad person.  Trust me, I see them every day.  And I know you want the very best start you can get.  For your baby.  Think about your baby, Dr. Lander."

                Erin placed a hand over her eyes and  her shoulders shook silently.

                "If we have to play rough with you, we will, but don't force us," Clarice added.  "You know if you have the baby in jail, they'll take it away from you.  Put it in foster care.  Your baby's innocent, Dr. Lander, your baby needs you.  Dr. Lecter doesn't need you.  He may want you, but he's an adult.  He can take care of himself. Your baby needs you now, needs you more than anything." 

"And there are…there are some very serious charges we can bring down on you.   You'd lose all that time with your baby, you'd be serving your sentence.  Think about that…by the time you saw your baby again, he'd be an adult.  And what could you possibly say when your baby asked you why?  Knowing you didn't have to give him up?  Knowing you could've kept him yourself?  Are you going to tell him that it was so Hannibal Lecter could stay free?" 

                The room was broken by Erin Lander's deep, wracking sobs, the unlovely sounds of a woman whose last emotional bulwark has been breached.  One hand remained over her eyes; the other clutched the ultrasound picture of her baby desperately.   She bent almost in half, low over the table, as she quaked with tears and hysteria.  Clarice stayed silent for a few moments.  The discovery that Erin Lander was pregnant had been a shock to her, but also a boon. For only that might convince Erin to betray Dr. Lecter.   Any other emotions Clarice had felt she had firmly squelched off.  What mattered was getting Erin's cooperation. 

                "God, I hate you," Erin managed through her tears.  "I was so happy. I had everything I wanted.  And you had to ruin it all.  How do you live with your se-heh-helf…?"

                "You can hate me, Erin," Clarice said, and her throat had closed down to a tiny passage.  Unlike Paul Krendler, she had the morals and self-knowledge to feel guilt over what she was doing.  "That's okay. I've got a thick skin, I can take it.  But you have to ask yourself—and I think you know the answer—whether or not you love your baby more than you hate me." 

                "Say the word, Erin. Say the word and I'll take you out of here. I'll give you your life back.  The USDA won't charge you, he doesn't care that much.  We'll get you back in your own clothes, I'll take you to Quantico, and I'll take you to a doctor in the morning.  Let me help you, Erin.  Let me help your baby."

                Clarice Starling crossed back and put her hand on the weeping woman's shoulder.  The next words she spoke went unnoticed by either of them.  Erin Lander was beyond listening, her worst nightmares thrown into reality and dancing malevolently in front of her.  Clarice's conscious mind had no idea what she said next; the words were spoken by a quiet child's voice in the back of her mind.

                "Let me save your lamb."