On the third knock, Clarice opened the front door.

She had paused for a moment, mainly on account of the fact that she had no idea who would be calling on them. They had only been in Vilnius for little under a week, and she certainly wasn't the type to go around making friends so readily. What was more, she was hoping for some peace on this particular evening, given that Hannibal had taken their daughter out to watch a Lithuanian theatre production – certainly not her thing.

She was a little surprised to find Inspector Petrauskas standing there.

The man gave her an uncomfortable smile. "Good evening, Mrs Lecter."

Clarice hesitated.

"Would you have preferred me to introduce you as Ex-Special Agent Clarice Starling of the F.B.I, originally assigned to my capture and subsequent incarceration? Word would travel fast, Clarice."

"Good evenin' Inspector," she chose.

"I hope you don't mind my calling by like this," he began. "Is the Doctor home?"

Clarice glanced at her watch. "No, he's at the theatre. But he shouldn't be long, if you wanna wait."

The older man nodded and she opened the door wider to allow him through, glancing out into the corridor as she did so, half expecting to see his younger companion but finding him to be alone.

She wasn't in the habit of inviting people in or making small talk, but she knew she needed to make an effort with the Inspector and keep on the right side of whatever deal Hannibal had made with him.

"Did you want a coffee or somethin'?" she asked.

"Coffee would be nice, thank you. How are you finding Vilnius?" he asked, following her into the kitchen.

"It's nice," she said, taking out a cup and placing it under the coffee machine. "Different."

"Where are you from, originally?" the Inspector asked. "That accent is… Kentucky?"

"West Virginia," she told him, but offered nothing more. "You been?"

"To the States? Only once, East Coast," he said. "How did you and Doctor Lecter meet?"

"We… met on fourth of July, at a dinner party," Clarice told him carefully, handing him the coffee.

"Thank you," he said, and didn't pursue his line of questioning any further, debilitated by her blunt responses.

"Did somethin' happen?" she asked, turning back to make another cup. "With the case?"

"Oh. No, nothing really. Actually, I just wanted to thank Doctor Lecter and give him this," Petrauskas explained, placing a bottle of liquor down on the counter. "His help has been invaluable this week and it is thanks to him that we now have a profile of the killer."

Clarice turned to look at him, surprised. "You do?"

The Inspector nodded. "He didn't tell you?"

No, he didn't.

She shook her head.

"That is what we spent most of yesterday working on. Your husband has a truly remarkable mind, Mrs Lecter. After his visit to just one of the crime scenes, and through viewing the evidence from those prior, he was able to help us categorise this man by age bracket, ethnicity and possible social circles."

"Um, well we don't talk about the case all that much," Clarice said, a little numbly.

He nodded understandingly. "I suppose it is difficult, with the little one around."

She inclined her head, deciding to go along with the theory, and an awkward silence followed.

Taking a generous sip of coffee, the Inspector placed the cup down beside the bottle.

"I won't keep you any longer," he said, as if sensing the sudden tension in the room. "It won't be necessary for me to wait. If you could tell the Doctor I called? And pass on my regards. I am sure we will speak over the course of the weekend. Good evening."

With that, he moved back across the apartment and back out into the corridor, closing the door behind him, leaving Clarice at the kitchen counter, brooding.

oOoOoOo

Hannibal Lecter knew he was in trouble shortly after closing the door to their apartment. The atmosphere in the room was palpable.

All the same, when he saw Clarice sitting at the dining table, flicking absent-mindedly through a magazine, he gave her a smile.

"Good evening, my dear. I trust it has been a pleasant one?" he asked, as he helped Everleigh out of her jacket.

She glanced over momentarily, before averting her eyes again.

"How was the theatre?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"Good," Everleigh volunteered, going to stand beside her, a book in her hand. "Look at this–"

But Clarice cut her off.

"–Everleigh, could you go to your room, please?"

The child frowned, looking a little disappointed. "But I–"

"–Everleigh."

"Fine," Everleigh snapped, with a temper as quick as her mother's. "You're never interested in anything I say, anyway."

"Not right now I'm not, so can you do what I asked and go to your room?" Clarice snapped.

But the girl was already gone, as the slamming of the bedroom door confirmed several moments later.

A silence passed between them then, during which Hannibal Lecter sat down at the table opposite her.

"I'm of the opinion that that was entirely uncalled for," he said eventually. "Have I done something to upset you?"

Closing the magazine and putting it down on the table harder than necessary, Clarice folded her arms. "I dunno. Have you?"

It wasn't meant as a rhetorical question, but when she received no answer, she decided to elaborate.

"Your buddy from the police force called round earlier."

"I see."

"When were you gonna tell me you'd profiled this guy?" she asked.

Hannibal frowned. "Apologies my dear, I wasn't aware the case had piqued your interest so. Moving forward I shall endeavour to have a greater appreciation for your desire to be kept in the loop."

"What I don't appreciate, is findin' out stuff like that from a virtual stranger," she snapped. "I don't give a rat's ass about the case–"

He clicked his tongue. "–I hardly think there is any requirement for such vulgarity, Clarice."

"I don't like secrets, Hannibal," she said, plainly. "Besides, I think we already have enough of 'em."

"Meaning?"

"He was gonna wait for you, so I invited him in. He asked me where we met. And you know what I said? At a freakin' dinner party on fourth of July," she told him.

A look of amusement spread across his face and she stood up, huffing.

"Clarice," he drawled, trying to catch her hand as she pushed past him.

"Your new friend brought you this, by the way," she called over her shoulder, picking the bottle of liquor up off the counter.

Hannibal joined her in the kitchen, taking the bottle from her.

"Starka."

"What is it?" Clarice asked.

"A rather strong Lithuanian beverage. It was used in the fifteen century to mark the birth of a child, although nowadays I suspect, it is brought out for a variety of special occasions."

"Like you profilin' a serial killer and forgettin' to mention it," she muttered, tossing the previously used coffee cups into the sink.

"The most exquisite Starka is traditionally aged in oak barrels. This," he began, choosing to ignore her remark and placing the bottle down again. "Was not."

"Oh, not good enough for your refined palate, huh? Well if you're not gonna drink it…" Clarice declared, finding a glass and opening the bottle.

"Of course. Go steady however, it can be quite lethal," he told her.

Clarice didn't reply, but shot him a look that told him he was not forgiven just yet.

"Well, it has been an eventful evening. I think I shall retire now," he told her, stopping beside her to nuzzle her neck lightly.

She didn't react, nor did she pull away.

"I truly am sorry, my love. I can assure you it was an honest mistake. There are no secrets between us," he told her, softly. "And when you come to doubt that, remember that I told you what I am yet to tell Inspector Petrauskas."

Clarice averted her eyes. Even when he was in the wrong, Hannibal Lecter always seemed to have a way of making her feel incredibly foolish.

With that, he pressed a kiss to her temple and disappeared in the direction of the bedroom.

Exhaling, Clarice swallowed a measure of the drink.