A/N: Apologies that this took so long but real life intruded ::sigh:: Thanks to Susan for the suggestions. And thank you to the rest of you for being so patient!

* * *

Emma studied Barney, her eyes narrowed, her head tilted slightly to one side. Her lips were pursed in a way that was very familiar to Barney and Clarice. Then, evidently seeing something she liked, Emma smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Barney."

His dark eyes shone. "We've met before."

"What? When?"

"You were just a few days old the last time I saw you. You've grown into a lovely young woman."

To Clarice's surprise, Emma blushed. "Umm . . . thanks, I think."

"Em, could I talk to Barney alone for a second?"

"Aw, Mom—"

"There is something I need to discuss privately with your mother," Barney said.

"What's there to know that I don't already know? We said there'd be no more secrets." Emma held Clarice's gaze.

"If it's something you need to know, I'll tell you later."

Emma realized she wouldn't win with her mother and turned her attention to Barney instead. "I know who you are. You're here about my father, aren't you?"

Barney hid his smile. To him, it was clear that Emma had inherited her father's forthrightness. "I was contacted by a mutual friend who is concerned about you."

"Is it my father? Do you know where he is?" Emma could hardly contain her excitement.

"Our friend has made some travel arrangements on your behalf, if you're interested." Barney addressed Clarice.

"Of course we're interested," Emma said.

Clarice walked over to the window. "I don't know, Barney. I . . . This is unexpected."

"Mom!"

Clarice shook her head. She knew the smart thing to do would be to accept the offer, but she didn't know what would happen after that. To see Lecter again after all these years . . .

"I don't need an answer tonight," Barney said, "but you need to decide soon."

Clarice ignored the sullen look on Emma's face and nodded. "Thank you, Barney."

Not long after Barney left, the phone rang. Clarice didn't really want to speak to anyone and let the machine get it.

"Clarice, I need to talk to you." It was Ardelia. "If you're there, pick up. It's important."

Clarice sighed, and reached for the phone. "Hi."

"Is everything alright?" She sounded concerned.

"Yes."

"My meeting just ended."

Clarice felt a shiver run up her spine. "And?"

"I'm not sure how much I can say over the phone. Kersh is very interested in Emma."

She clutched the phone tighter. Kersh was the same breed as Krendler, perhaps worse. And now he was asking questions about Emma.

"I spoke to John and May this afternoon. They said they'd love to see you again."

John and May were Ardelia's cousins. Clarice had spent the last two months of her pregnancy on their farm in Virginia, and every time the world got to be too much, she and Emma would return to visit. But Clarice had no wish to involve the FBI in their lives, not after everything they had done for her family.

"Clarice? You still there?"

She nodded, realized Ardelia couldn't see her, and said, "I'm still here."

"You coming to work tomorrow?"

Clarice looked across the room at Emma, curled up in front of the TV. "Yes," she lied.

Later that night, when Emma had gone to bed, Clarice called Barney.

* * *

Kersh and Anderson sat in the otherwise empty boardroom discussing what Kersh liked to call "the Starling problem".

"I believe Ardelia," Anderson said. "Clarice Starling isn't stupid. She wouldn't risk contacting Lecter."

"Maybe. But what about the girl? What are we going to do about her?"

"Why do we have to do anything about her? She can't help who her father is. Maybe Lecter raped Starling." Anderson felt a momentary twinge of sympathy for Clarice. If she had been raped, it would explain why she had no interest in contacting Lecter.

"So you're saying you want no part in this?"

Anderson loosened his tie and thought of his own daughter, a year younger than Emma. He knew what Lecter did to people he didn't like and decided he couldn't leave his child without a father. "We've been monitoring Starling's mail for years. There's been nothing from Lecter. Maybe he got tired of her. Maybe he died."

"Umm." Kersh studied his colleague. "But what if he's not?"

"He'd know better than to respond to the ad."

"Maybe." Kersh smiled. Like Krendler and Verger, he knew what would make Lecter come running. The difference between them and him, he thought, was that he was going to do things properly.

He said goodnight to Anderson and went back to his office. Unlike Anderson he didn't have a wife and a child to go home to. He'd decided a long time ago that his career was first in his life.

A manila envelope was on his desk. Smiling, he sat down and emptied it. In A4 color, he saw Clarice and Ardelia sitting on porch steps. Emma with two cups in her hands. In some of the pictures, the three of them were smiling. In others, Clarice and Ardelia looked unhappy.

Kersh picked up a phone and dialed a number he'd long ago committed to memory. "Do it," he said, then hung up.

* * *

Clarice dreamed she was riding Hannah away from the farm. This time, she wasn't a scared little girl. This time, she had someone to run to. In the darkness of her dreams, Hannibal Lecter waited for her at the end of the road, holding Emma's hand. Hannah stopped running and began to fight Clarice's control. Clarice urged her forward, but the horse wouldn't obey. Clarice saw Lecter and Emma turn and walk away. She yelled for them to wait, but no sound came from her mouth. Someone pulled her from the horse and closed handcuffs around her wrists. She looked up at Kersh's smiling face, then heard a gunshot. Someone else said, "We've got them."

. . . Clarice's eyes flew open. She reached out automatically, then realized she was on her couch, not on the road from the farm. "You shouldn't have fallen asleep", she thought as she slowly sat up.

Clarice glanced at her watch as she headed upstairs to wake Emma. It was time.

* * *

This kind of nervousness was unfamiliar to Clarice. It was different to the feeling of serving on a jump out squad or being in the line of fire. At her OPR hearing she hadn't been afraid – she'd just felt sick. Now, the anticipation of seeing Lecter again left her with butterflies in her stomach and a strange taste at the back of her throat. So many times she had dreamed of this moment and now that it was finally, impossibly, here, Clarice was at a loss as to what to do.

She looked around Union Station, memories of long ago returning with surprising clarity. She heard the carousel music, Lecter's taunting voice in her ear, felt his presence, saw the flash of light from the photo booth, and found the gift.

Emma hooked her arm through Clarice's and she came back to herself. No carousel this early in the morning. No Sardinians following her. Just the crowd of rush hour commuters.

Clarice led Emma to a bench. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary. Emma wasn't as successful at hiding her feelings. Despite her daughter's earlier bravado, Clarice could see the stress Emma was doing her best to hide. For all of Emma's worldliness, she was still an innocent.

Clarice was struck by sudden doubt: was going with Lecter the best thing for Emma? She shook her head to dispel the thought; it was too late to pull out and besides, Emma deserved to know her father. And Clarice knew now, without a doubt, that she really did want to see Lecter again. He'd come back to her, after all this time. She had been wrong and Emma had been right. Clarice just hoped the plan worked.

It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best she could come up with on such short notice. The crowd offered some safety and a degree of anonymity – amidst the rush, she and Emma would simply disappear.

But the gods weren't smiling on them. Clarice spotted the undercover agents almost as soon as they were in position. There, at the payphone. Here, pushing a bay carriage. There, reading a newspaper. The security guard at the entrance looked in her direction.

Something tight and dark and bitter threatened to overwhelm Clarice. Her .45, hidden beneath her jacket, was a reassuring weight at her side.

Emma felt her stiffen and pressed closer. "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

Clarice held back a smile; Emma was far too perceptive for her own good. Just like Lecter. Clarice didn't realize how often she'd compared her daughter to Lecter over the past few days.

"Nothing, yet," she said.

Clarice's heart beat double time; a man wearing a fedora had just walked into Union Station. She realized almost immediately that it wasn't Lecter but it took a while for her pulse to stop racing.

"It's nine o'clock," Emma said.

Clarice nodded. With so many people watching her, would she and Emma still be able to disappear? And how far would she go to make sure they escaped? She thought of Emma, thought of the gun at her side, and knew she would do whatever it took.

"Okay," she said, and stood.

Emma slung a bag over her shoulder and picked up her jacket. Together, they headed towards the terminal.

Clarice saw movement out of the corner of her eye; the agent at the newsstand spoke into his wrist. Clarice followed his gaze to the security guard who she now recognized as an agent. His gun was drawn. Clarice reached for her own weapon. She would never be sure in what order things happened next.

Someone fired a shot. People screamed. Emma let go of Clarice and fell to the ground. Agents came running towards them. Another shot, and a sharp pain in her side. Before Clarice could fire, someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her away. She fought; it wasn't supposed to happen like this. Emma was lying on the ground, an agent covering her with his body. Clarice struggled; she had to get to Emma – to hell with everything else. A voice in her ear whispered her name. Clarice stopped resisting, put her hand to her side, and let Hannibal Lecter lead her away.