ten.
"galantine"

11.29 AM
Huntington, West Virginia

There were police cars parked all around the quaint little suburban house on the other side of the road from where they had landed. Not very many; but it was abundantly clear that something had gone wrong within.

The Doctor checked his pocketwatch, and then tucked it back into one of his endless pockets, nodding. "Approximately one week since the last incident."

"Another murder?" Ace asked.

"It certainly appears so." He glanced at her. "I have the nastiest of suspicions that Doctor Lecter will have taken steps to ensure his continued perceived innocence."

"And to explain why we went AWOL for a week," she agreed. "All right. Stealthy and subtle it is – I'm guessing we can't let them see us."

"That may be the wisest course of events." He glanced left, then right, and then motioned for Ace to follow him out from behind the trees they had been using to conceal themselves. They hurried across the road, keeping their heads low, and ducked into another side alley, out of sight again.

"Right," said Ace, trying to catch her breath. Even that small act of exertion had taken quite a lot out of her, apparently. The Professor laid a steadying hand on her arm, looking worried, but she shook him off. There wasn't time for that. Not now. "You checked some future files on this case, didn't you?"

He nodded, not even bothering to deny it. "Normally I wouldn't – preserving causality, potential paradoxes, and so on – but..." A brief moment of hesitation. "I felt some cheating was in order."

'Normally I wouldn't' was definitely a lie, but she didn't feel like digging into him for that at the moment. She leaned against the wall of the alleyway, keeping one eye on the street outside. Nobody was paying any attention to them. "Great. So, spill."

After a second, he leaned on his umbrella, mirroring her. "For starters, our Doctor Lecter is indeed the serial killer known as the Chesapeake Ripper. He was – will be arrested, in 2011, after no small amount of trouble on the behalf of the FBI." His gaze turned distant, drifted off to stare at the wall above her. "...and for the sake of transparency, I should also tell you this. He escapes, only a few years after his capture, with the help of none other but Mister Will Graham."

"I... oh." Ace swallowed, trying to process this. "Right. And... the people he killed..."

"Dinner," the Professor pronounced grimly. "Or breakfast, or lunch, or any other number of meals. Artfully presented, tastefully served – despicably sourced."

Even though she had already known it, she still felt sick and cold all over. It took her a moment or two to speak, and when she did it was with a carefully controlled air of jauntiness. "I bet you're glad you went for the vegetarian option, huh."

"Exceedingly." There was no humor in his voice.

She considered making a comment about how her being poisoned was almost the better option, then remembered the horrible, awful (delicious) taste of human meat in her mouth in Hannibal's kitchen, and shuddered. "They – Crawford, and Doctor Bloom, and... even Will Graham. God, they must eat his food all the time. And they enjoy it."

"As do many others besides them," he said. His tone was soft; face set and dark. "Doctor Hannibal Lecter is a well-respected member of the psychiatric community, and is clever enough to evade any sort of suspicion." He caught her eye. "We can't tell them, Ace." The tone of his voice indicated that he very much wanted to. Wanted to change things, make them better for everyone here.

"I know," she said, and she really did – knew all too well.

"I wish," he whispered. "I wish..."

"I know," she said, and closed her eyes to stop the angry tears from starting. They didn't have time for this. After a second, she looked up at him again, and said, "all right, so Lecter's a cannibalistic psychopathic serial killer. I pretty much guessed that bit already, with the blood-drenched knife and the camp villain monologues and all. What about this murder?"

The Doctor breathed in, and then he was all business again. "Yes. The series of flower-themed murders that occured around the Maryland region at this time were never attributed to the Chesapeake Ripper, even after Doctor Lecter's capture. The killer was never caught, not by the FBI, anyway. The records of this particular incident," he indicated the house two doors down, "are somewhat lacking. I don't know the details."

Ace nodded. "So," she said.

"So," he said, "the question that remains to be asked is – distraction or reconnaissance?"

She weighed up the options. "I'll go inside," she said after a moment. "You can do the distraction."

He eyed her, and then nodded, tossing her a small portable camera, which she caught easily. "I do hate to take back a gift, but I really can think of no better distraction than high-powered explosives. If you wouldn't mind...?"

Ace actually smiled. "You made them," she said, already unzipping her bag. "Only fair you should be the first to test them out. Which timer?"

"Thirty seconds, I think," he said, and accepted the corresponding silver can that Ace passed to him. "Give me five minutes, and then slip in through the back. I can't guarantee how much time you'll have – be as quick as possible. You're looking for the master bedroom, at the very back of the house. And, Ace..."

"Yeah?" She was already tightening the straps on her rucksack and checking the camera's settings.

"...do be careful."

She nodded. "You too," she said, and then, "see you in a bit, then."

"Yes."

She watched as he hurried out of the alleyway, putting up his umbrella as he did – presumably to conceal his face – and waited in tense silence for a few minutes.

Just when she least expected it, there was a tremendous, glorious explosion from the house surrounded by police cars that more-or-less rocked the entire street at its foundations. Ace's eyebrows rose, and she peered around the edge of the alleyway. Half of the front of the house was utterly ruined – smoke rising from the site of the impact in a massive grey plume. It looked like the Professor had chucked the Nitro into one of the front flower beds, to stunning effect. Gordon Bennett, she thought, thinking of the two remaining cans in her bag still. She vowed to be extra careful with them, and to maybe interrogate him about what exactly he had done with her recipe, because she had never managed to get an explosion that big in all her years of misguided chemistry experimentations.

"Wicked," she said, smiling. Realizing that the five minutes were probably up by now, she began to move – through the alleyway, looping around to the back of the cordoned-off house. She could already hear shouting and cursing from the inside of the crime scene, and then she heard a window smash, and a car alarm go off – then another, and another. It sounded like the Doctor wasn't holding back in the least, as far as his distraction went.

She stopped in the backyard, which was open to the field leading up to the rather large forest behind the property – using a particularly large and flourishing rose bush as cover – and waited until the shouting and footsteps had faded off towards the front of the house before hurrying up to the back screen door and jiggling the handle. It turned smoothly – unlocked – and she pulled it halfway open.

From the front of the house, she heard another, more subdued explosion. It was really quite impressive when you considered that he only had taken one can of Nitro Nine with him, and had already used that up. She waited again, this time for the newest round of running footsteps to abate – and then stepped into the house, shutting the door silently behind her.

It was pretty much exactly the sort of house you'd expect it to be, judging by the outside. A sweet little twenty-first century family home; clean as anything. A combination of generic landscape art and homemade, crayon-scrawled doodles framed on the walls, and – of course – crime scene number cards, marking out a grim trail down the hallway.

Ace straightened her shoulders, drew in a breath, and walked down the hallway like she was meant to be there. Nobody stopped her – nobody was there to stop her. She checked quickly into each room that she passed – all the doors were wide open – but there was nothing much to see, not at first.

"Master bedroom, master bedroom," she muttered to herself, and stopped just before the door to what looked like the largest bedroom in the house, and also what was undoubtedly the main center of the crime scene, judging by the sharp, horrible tang of blood emanating from inside. She quickly peered around the door, saw that nobody was moving around inside, and then ducked into the room, already pulling out the camera.

She had intended to start taking photos right away, but the sight before her made her freeze up. For several moments, she was unable to move – the sheer, cruel horror of the murder that had taken place absolutely floored her.

Footsteps in the hallway outside jerked her out of her stupor. She looked from side to side, trying to find a decent place to conceal herself, but there was pretty much nowhere, and by the time she had considered ducking into the ensuite bathroom, it was already too late.

"It's only me," the Professor said by means of greeting. His hat was slightly singed at the brim, and there was a smudge of dirt on his nose. "We have maybe five minutes – any more would be risking ourselves."

She relaxed, but only slightly. "Nice distraction."

"Thank you." He shut the bedroom door behind him and came to stand next to her to survey the scene before him. "Now... oh. Oh dear."

The unfortunate victim was a woman in her late thirties – evidently the mother of the household. Light brown, almost blonde hair, and a squarish jaw. She had been laid out upon the king-sized bed, looking more or less peaceful, apart from the ripe red apple that had been stuffed, rather forcibly, into her open mouth.

There was a knife buried clearly in her chest, and one in her left hand. It looked like the chest wound had been the killing blow. Woven around her were two types of plants: a bright pink flowering branch that looked almost like cherry blossoms, and a series of flame-patterned tiny flowers, clumped together in groups.

And, the kicker: her right hand was missing – cleanly chopped off and cauterized.

"Not exactly going for subtlety, is he," Ace muttered, clenching the fist of her own right – mechanical – hand.

"The quarry that got away," the Doctor said, eyeing the apple with some distaste. His hands were tightening on the handle of his umbrella, almost painfully so. "Delightful."

"God," said Ace, reluctantly raising the camera to take a few snapshots from various angles. Not that she needed them much; she was already resigned to the fact that this would stay with her for the rest of her life. "I bet the only reason he went for her was because she sort of looks like me."

He stepped forward to examine the floral decorations. "Decorated with the flowers of a Judas tree, and... mm, lantanas. I very much suspect he has given up on being overtly symbolic at this point."

Ace was about to ask the obvious question, but before she could, she heard a noise from the en-suite bathroom, and froze. She nudged the Doctor's arm, and nodded in the direction of the noise, mouthing, 'someone's there'.

"Come out," he called, raising his voice, which kind of was what she had been trying to avoid happening, but it was too late to do anything about that, so. "We mean you no harm."

The door opened. Beverly Katz's eyes were wide, but her gaze was hard and furious. She took a step towards them. "You."

Ace nearly dropped the camera. "Oh – god, Bev –"

The Professor stepped up, moving so he was standing slightly in front of her. "Miss Katz, I assure you – this isn't what it looks like."

"I have no idea what this looks like," Beverly retorted. She was already reaching for her pocket, where Ace could see her phone was stored. "The two of you – what the hell are you doing here? Jack said that you faked your credentials; that Ace did... did something to Doctor Lecter! There's a warrant out for your arrest!"

"Did something to Doctor Lecter?" Ace asked, slightly incredulous and more than a bit outraged. "What about what he did to me?"

The Professor placed a hand on her shoulder, silencing her with a look. "Are you going to have us arrested, Miss Katz?" he asked softly, turning back to their unexpected interloper.

"I –" She looked greatly unsure.

"Please, Bev," Ace begged.

For a second, Beverly looked like she was seriously considering letting them go, but then her expression hardened. "Look, if you guys really are innocent, then you'll go quietly. And we can sort out whatever it is you're doing here when you prove your stories." She raised it to her ear. "Don't move. I'm calling Jack."

"No," the Doctor said sharply, eyes flashing. "Drop your phone, Beverly Katz."

It was terrifying how quickly she complied, fingers going limp without her apparent consent. The phone hit the floor with a clatter, just as he moved towards her in one quick, fluid movement.

"What the hell are you?" she whispered, horrified. She looked like she wanted to scramble across the room; get away from him as quickly and effectively as possible, but her body wouldn't let her.

The Doctor's face was kind, but firm. "Nobody you need to be afraid of," he told her, "and I'm very sorry I had to do this to you." A cacophony of emotions flitted across her face – confusion, more horror, and after everything else, some sort of grim acceptance. "Shh. Sleep," he suggested, and she was out like a light.

Ace looked away as he lowered her carefully to the ground, and propped her against the wall. He stood up, came up next to her, and as their eyes met she knew that he hated this situation just as much as she did.

"We need to leave," he said. "Did you get everything?"

She took one more picture of the scene, and tucked the camera into her jacket pocket. "Yeah. Let's go."

Footsteps from down the hall outside the room, and the low grumble of distant conversation. Ace and the Doctor exchanged a quick, loaded glance, and then he went for the door. It was already shut, but it had a lock that he twisted shut, and then he dragged a chair over and jammed it against the handle. At the same time, Ace sprang for the large, floor-to-ceiling window on the west side of the room, unlatching it quickly. There was a flyscreen blocking the way out, but she kicked it out of the way, and jumped out. There had been more of a drop than she had predicted, and she ended up landing somewhat roughly in the flowerbed, letting out an indistinct sound of pain.

The Professor landed next to her, just as she heard someone from inside the house try to open the door and say, "hang on, what's going –"

The Professor hauled her to her feet, and they started to run – at first, towards the TARDIS, but it became quickly evident that there were far too many people on the road for them to make it across without being caught.

"Forest," gasped Ace, gesturing wildly to the back of the property. He nodded, and they executed a neat 180-degree turn, sprinting in the direction of the back yard. It looked as if nobody within the house had worked out what had happened yet, since nobody was coming after them yet.

They crossed the brief strip of field bridging suburbia and trees, and Ace could already feel her energy draining. She probably would have stopped running if it wasn't for the Professor's iron-tight grip on her wrist. Her lungs were burning.

And then they were in the forest, and after a fair distance in, they slowed to a walk.

He looked over at her, and saw her pale face and how much she was struggling to keep walking, and he murmured, "this was a mistake."

"You need help with this; don't even try to argue. I need to be here," Ace said, forcing herself to breathe normally. "Watching your back, right?"

"Yes," he said. His grip on her wrist had loosened, but he still wasn't letting go. "But – please remember this. It goes both ways." He caught her eye, quite deliberately. "I'm watching out for you too. Tell me if it gets any worse."

She couldn't do anything but nod.

"I mean it, Ace."

"I know," she said. "I'm fine. We need to keep going – they'll probably think to follow us this way, if Bev tells them we were there..."

"She won't," he said, with so much certainty in his voice that she knew he had done something to ensure it.

"All right, but – still, we should head a bit deeper. So we aren't too visible."

He nodded. They kept going at a brisk walk, skirting around trees and undergrowth. They weren't heading anywhere in particular, and it didn't sound like anybody was following them, but it was a tense, hurried journey all the same.

"Okay, those flowers," Ace said after a couple of minutes. "You said that our guy's given up on being subtle, what did you mean by that?"

"The lantana means, quite simply, 'I am unyielding'," he told her. "And, the Judas tree –"

"Something to do with that Bible guy, right?"

"More or less. It's a rather literal blossom. Betrayal. Lack of belief."

"Oh." She sighed. "Right. So we're in the endgame now."

"We are indeed." He did not sound happy about it, which was more or less what she felt about the entire situation too. After a few more seconds of walking, he held out his umbrella abruptly in front of her, forcing her to stop. "Shh. Do you hear that?"

She tilted her head, listening, and then frowned. Goosebumps prickled up and down her neck. Something felt very wrong about this situation, and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "Someone's here."

"Where?" he asked, lowering his voice.

She spun and pointed – back a couple of paces, into the thick bank of trees on their left – barely pausing to think about it. The two of them barely had time to react to this new information, before there was a rustle of movement, and someone emerged from the exact spot Ace had indicated.

"Oh," said the Professor, sounding entirely too mild and collected. "It's you."

She wasn't paying attention to how strange he sounded, because, Hannibal fucking Lecter. Of course it was. She couldn't help but tense up at the sight of him, her heart beating frantically. Her missing hand ached fiercely. The Professor's presence, right at her side, was some comfort, but not much.

"Doctor," he said, nodding graciously at them both as if this were a social call, and not an exclusive meeting of the 'Ace, Her Best Friend, And The Cannibalistic Psychopath Who'd Tried To Off Her A Few Weeks Ago' club. "And Miss McShane. So good to see the two of you again."

There was a split second where she had absolutely no idea of how to react, and then the Professor moved quicker than she ever thought he could have. One second he was there, standing right beside her, and the next he was kneeling over Hannibal, who he had somehow managed to overpower and knock to the ground within the time that it had taken her to blink. His expression was cold and frankly terrifying, and he had his fingers tightly wrapped around Hannibal's wrist in such a way that the other man appeared to be completely paralyzed by the gesture. Hannibal was staring back up at him with something unreadable on his face.

The Professor didn't move, didn't speak.

Ace swallowed. "Professor. What are you doing?"

"I am debating internally whether or not I should snap this vile creature's neck right here and now." His voice was tight and he seemed to be actively forcing himself to keep it under control – keep from yelling.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was serious. She had never heard him talk about killing somebody before, not like this.

"It would be so very easy," he said, almost to himself – like she wasn't even there. "One short, sharp movement. So much future suffering, utterly negated. So many people that don't need to die..."

"Doctor," she said sharply. The use of his name seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, because he immediately looked up at her, although he didn't let go of Hannibal's wrist. "You can't. You know you can't."

"I know I shouldn't," he said, voice startlingly calm. "Which is not at all the same thing as can't."

"The timelines – you told me, we can't change things here." She realized, belatedly, that she was shaking all over. "You said you wanted to change things, but couldn't."

"I did say that, yes," he agreed. "But I have come to a very simple conclusion within the last couple of seconds regarding the Web of Time, and it is this: I do. Not. Care."

Nearly a week ago, back in the TARDIS, she had asked herself if she had been too quick to assume that the Professor would kill for her – would go to those lengths, just for her. And now, looking at the scene before her, it seemed that she had her answer.

"You can't," she repeated, out of things to say. "You – don't. Don't go down to his level."

"He treats people like animals, he kills with violent abandon," he spat, incandescent with rage. "He has hurt and violated hundreds upon hundreds of people." And then, like it was the final piece of the argument that completed it all, brought it all together: "He hurt you, Ace."

"Well, a lot of people have hurt me!" Ace yelled. "He can bloody well get in line, if you're planning on dishing out vengeance to every single one of them!"

"You were seconds away from death for days on end!" He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "You could have died! He was fully prepared to carve into you like so much raw meat; torture you and gut you in his cellar – stick your remains into a meat grinder and serve you up for supper! Ace, he was going to eat you. Does the thought of that not even disturb you in the slightest?""

The words stuck in her throat for a moment, which felt more like an eternity. She forced herself to get past it – to speak. "Of – of course it does. But that's not the point!"

"Then what is?" His eyes were wild. "What's the point of any of it?"

"The point," she bit out at him, surprised she was even standing upright, still, "is that I'd rather not have to look at you every day of my life and think of you covered in blood and standing over some creep's fractured body, Professor! You're better than that, you know you are!"

"There wouldn't be blood –" As if that would be any comfort – or, maybe it would? – no, she doesn't want to think about that –

"Professor, he's not worth it."

"But you are."

"Do you really want to murder someone for me?" she said, throat so dry that she was surprised she could speak. "Do you really want to cross that line?"

"Do you really want to stop me?" he challenged.

They stared at each other for a long, long moment.

Then Ace said, very quietly, "no. I don't." She swallowed. "But I think I need to. And I think – I think, somewhere inside you, you want me to."

There was another very long silence where he just stared at her, and she was genuinely afraid he was going to yell at her or kill Hannibal on the spot, or do something else equally horrifying and unexpected.

Instead, his eyes softened very slightly, and he said, "thank you," like she had just offered something very rare and precious to him that he hadn't been expecting. Abruptly, he stood up, dropping Hannibal's wrist like it was something filthy, and turned away from him. "Hannibal Lecter," the Doctor said, voice sharp and furious, yet still oddly flat. "You are an utterly despicable excuse for a human being. You no doubt have justified every bit of your disgusting, immoral lifestyle to yourself, but I could not care less what you have to say about justifying them to anybody else, including me." Visceral, raw animus dripped off every word. His eyes were cold and hard. "Please understand that I am completely serious when I say this: I would not feel the slightest bit of regret if you were to, at this very moment, simply drop dead where you stand. And yet, my friend has told me not to kill you. And so, I will not."

"My thanks," said Hannibal with a horrible little smile that made Ace's blood boil.

"Don't thank me," the Doctor snapped, looking every bit as furious as she felt. "Not now, not ever. I am not doing this for you."

"My thanks anyway."

The Doctor actually snarled at this, a proper animal growl of fury that made the hairs on the back of Ace's neck stand up. "State your reason for being here."

Carefully, slowly, Hannibal sat up. He did not move to stand, or even so much as frown in a mildly threatening manner. Ace's hand dipped into her rucksack to wrap around one of the cans tucked into the bottom, nonetheless. "The same as you, I'd wager."

"Oh, I very much doubt that."

"I wished to see the work that had been created in the house only a few miles over," Hannibal continued, unfazed. "And as for my reason for being in this forest – "

"The work," said Ace. "That – you make it sound like it's a piece of art."

"Isn't it?"

"No," said Ace, "no, it isn't. A girl got carved up like a rotisserie pig just because she looked slightly similar to me. That's the furthest thing from art it's possible to be, you dead-eyed pretentious cannibalistic bastard."

"Agree to disagree," he said with a faint shrug – not even slightly bothered by this. "Now, I suspect that you believe I am the perpetrator of this particular murder, and based on context clues, I can't blame you for that assumption. But I do so hate taking credit for other people's work. Allow me to elucidate. This, as well as the numerous other crimes in a similarly floral manner, are not of my doing. Whoever –"

"Oh," said Ace, feeling a horrible little smile of her own begin to creep up her lips, "we know that."

There was a short, very telling silence, and then Hannibal said, very slowly and without inflection, "You did."

"Knew it from the beginning, mate," she said. Her hands were shaking, so she shoved them both into her jacket pockets.

"You are detestable, yes," the Professor said, "but you were never the danger here. Never meant to be, at least. You have proven yourself to be a destructive force, but not nearly as destructive as our true foe will be, if we do not defeat him."

"Shouldn't he be here by now, anyway?" Ace asked, now ignoring Hannibal's presence as best she could. "I mean, we've stopped pretending that we don't know who it is. I'd've thought he'd show his ugly mug already."

"You refer, of course, to the true perpetrator of the three flower-themed murders that were committed in this region," Hannibal said, sounding unsurprised and unruffled. "You have known his identity from the start."

"We suspected," the Professor said. "Suspicions that quickly became justified due to the presence of far too many little clues. Aconite, used to poison Ace at dinner – which of course, can also be referred to by its other name: wolfsbane. The silver weapons present in the most recent murder." He indicated over his shoulder at the distant house that they had just left. "The flower language. You always did have a touch for the dramatic, didn't you?"

"The chess board, too," Ace added, although it was more to the forest around her than anybody in particular. "Super not subtle."

"You thought we didn't know?" the Professor asked, now addressing the forest as well. "No matter how you choose to view it, you've never been especially subtle. Especially considering your manner of entering this reality – "

"All right, all right," said another voice, a new voice, from deeper within the forest – and upon hearing it, Hannibal's eyes went almost comically wide. "You've made your point, I think. You may cease your dramatic grandstanding."

"Oh," said Ace, fingernails digging into her palm rather painfully, "oh, really, can we? Look who's talking."

The Doctor turned with a grim smile to face the newcomer, and Ace did the same, folding her arms as she did so – and so (after a moment) did Hannibal.

"Hello, Doctor," said Will Graham.

"Hello, Fenric," said the Doctor.