***None of this belongs to me, no copyright infringment intended, etc***
Truth or Dare
Part 2
by JadedDana
My first class didn't start until 11, so I called Jack Crawford to see if he could meet me for breakfast. Since retirement last fall, he'd been 'consulting' with the Bureau, but he still had lots of free time, most of which he spent gardening. Since John Brigham died, he's been my unofficial confessor, and is probably the only person who could help me sort out the mess in my head and figure out what to do about the Other.
"What's on your mind, Starling?" he asked, after agreeing. I'm sure he could hear the worry in my voice, but I didn't want to get into it over the phone and said as much. "Okay. Better hurry over, though, before I eat all these pancakes myself."
As I parked my Mustang in Crawford's well-kept drive, I noticed Bella's roses were in bloom. Although I never met the woman, I feel as if I know her--Jack speaks fondly of her often, how she loved those rose bushes and would fuss over them constantly. I smile, then open the front door and walk to the kitchen. Jack's pouring coffee, and I notice he has two mugs. Must have seen me drive up. "Here ya go, Starling. Food's on the table."
I take the cup with a smile and obediently turn to the table. Pancakes, bacon for me, toast, fresh fruit. Jack's quite the cook. I wonder if he made Bella breakfast in bed often. I sit down and immediately dig in. Hannibal Lecter can wait until after I've eaten. I notice that Jack doesn't put any syrup on his pancakes and the butter he uses is low fat. Good--his doctor was quite adamant that if he kept eating horribly, combined with his disturbing and high-stress job, his life expectancy was about 1 month. He's already had surgery twice on his heart.
As I lean back in the chair to savor my second cup of hazelnut coffee, Jack asks, "What's up, Starling?" I know he doesn't just mean the weather. It just all comes tumbling out--the phone call, my fear, my need to catch him. Jack listens quietly until I've finished, but I can tell he has a lot to say about a number of things.
"Starling, you know that after Muskrat Farm they won't let you anywhere near his case file, let alone the investigation. And even if they were to let you pursue, there's no way they'd let you leave the country. And Russia of all places. There's no way the FBI will let you go as an agent." He says all that before I even stated I wanted permission to go. I hate how people read my mind.
"Sir, I just can't let this go. This may be our last real chance to catch him, and you know as well as I that he won't stop killing until he's imprisoned." A momentary memory of Miggs, of Chilton's picture of the nurse flashed through my mind. "Sir, I know it's a danger, but I CAN'T just forget about this."
Jack's voice gets a little bit harsher. "Starling, you can NOT just hop on a plane and wait for a mass murderer to call you and tell you what dark alleyway to meet him in. From the start he's enjoyed fucking with your mind, but someday he'll get tired of it and get rid of you. The Bureau would say 'no way,' and for once I agree."
My voice gets calmer and more certain as I reply. I realize I've made my decision to pursue, and Jack's well meaning hinderances won't stop me. "With all due respect, sir, I am fully aware that Hannibal Lecter is a mass murderer and that pursuing him will lead me into danger. But the fact that he IS a murderer is why I have to do this, and I'm willing to gamble my safety against his sense of justice and courtesy. I saved his life at Muskrat, he doesn't forget that easily and won't try to kill me. At least, not unless his freedom's at stake. And I will wait for backup this time."
"Starling, how do you know this isn't some sort of trap?"
"Sir, this is a mind game, but you know as well as I that he adheres faithfully to his own rules, and I can tell that my death is not the goal of this. He wants amusement, nothing more nothing less." Jack takes a breath and I can tell he's about to ask HOW I know my death isn't the purpose of this little jaunt. "I just know, sir. Trust me."
I can see in his eyes I've started to sway him. "Starling, there's still the problem of the Bureau. Like I said, they won't let you near the case, so you'd have to fly commercial, and no way in hell will a commercial airline let you take a gun into Russia. And you cannot go without some sort of backup. I'll go with you."
I drop my coffee cup and it shatters on the pristine tile of the kitchen floor. "Jack, NO. I already told you he made it quite clear he'd eliminate any backup I brought, and you know he hates you almost as much as you dislike him. He'd waste no time killing you." I can't let that happen. I bend down and start picking up pieces of the cup. I'm so angry I don't even notice when I cut my finger, but I see the bright crimson drop of blood that drops to the tile. I watch it, something about the color just sucks me in. I start when I hear Jack's voice again.
"Well then, I'll take a different flight, we can stay in touch by phone, he won't even know I've left the States. But you're not going alone." I hear the finality in his voice, and for the first time I wish he DIDN'T have the connections to have me stopped at customs for pursuing a felon I was specifically told to stay away from and shipped back home. His plan did sound like it could work, though, and I really didn't like the idea of being in a foriegn country, of which I spoke not one word of the language, alone, playing games with a mass murderer.
"Fine sir....just promise me that if either of us suspects he knows you're there, you'll get out of there faster than you can say 'cannibal', ok?" I hope he agrees: while I fear for his safety, I'm glad I've got unnofficial permission to go play mind games with a murderer. My pulse already beats a little bit faster at the prospective of...of what? Letting a madman pick apart my brain, perhaps literally? Except he's no madman. I think his problem is he's simply more sane than the rest of the world. And what I told Jack was true. Lecter does not plan to try and kill me, this I know. What exactly he has in mind, I'm not sure.
"Fine. I suppose you want to leave as soon as possible? Figures. Well, go to class, then tell Quantico you're taking a few weeks off. This is the end of the semester anyways, right? Ok, well, I'll get us tickets and arrange for you to borrow a gun and get a temporary permit for it when we get there." I smile, somewhat warily. I'm actually doing this. It still feels unreal, like a bad dream. I haven't had time to examine my motives exactly, and I don't think I want to. He's a muderer, I'm trying to stop him. The rush of adrenaline is because you know it will be immensly dangerous. You only have 40 minutes before class starts, so get out of here, girl!!
"Thank you, sir. I've gotta go. I'll call you later." I throw away the shards of the coffee cup, grab a napkin to wipe up the coffee and blood, but Jack just waves me off.
"I'll get it....now go." We smile and I grab my purse on the way out, grateful that he's letting me go, grateful he's coming, and upset that I won't capture Hannibal Lecter alone. Why? Do I really want the glory of catching the world's most renouned serial killer enough to risk my life by wanting no backup? Or is it just that I want the chance to ask him WHY? And why not?
Fin
Part 2
Truth or Dare
Part 2
by JadedDana
My first class didn't start until 11, so I called Jack Crawford to see if he could meet me for breakfast. Since retirement last fall, he'd been 'consulting' with the Bureau, but he still had lots of free time, most of which he spent gardening. Since John Brigham died, he's been my unofficial confessor, and is probably the only person who could help me sort out the mess in my head and figure out what to do about the Other.
"What's on your mind, Starling?" he asked, after agreeing. I'm sure he could hear the worry in my voice, but I didn't want to get into it over the phone and said as much. "Okay. Better hurry over, though, before I eat all these pancakes myself."
As I parked my Mustang in Crawford's well-kept drive, I noticed Bella's roses were in bloom. Although I never met the woman, I feel as if I know her--Jack speaks fondly of her often, how she loved those rose bushes and would fuss over them constantly. I smile, then open the front door and walk to the kitchen. Jack's pouring coffee, and I notice he has two mugs. Must have seen me drive up. "Here ya go, Starling. Food's on the table."
I take the cup with a smile and obediently turn to the table. Pancakes, bacon for me, toast, fresh fruit. Jack's quite the cook. I wonder if he made Bella breakfast in bed often. I sit down and immediately dig in. Hannibal Lecter can wait until after I've eaten. I notice that Jack doesn't put any syrup on his pancakes and the butter he uses is low fat. Good--his doctor was quite adamant that if he kept eating horribly, combined with his disturbing and high-stress job, his life expectancy was about 1 month. He's already had surgery twice on his heart.
As I lean back in the chair to savor my second cup of hazelnut coffee, Jack asks, "What's up, Starling?" I know he doesn't just mean the weather. It just all comes tumbling out--the phone call, my fear, my need to catch him. Jack listens quietly until I've finished, but I can tell he has a lot to say about a number of things.
"Starling, you know that after Muskrat Farm they won't let you anywhere near his case file, let alone the investigation. And even if they were to let you pursue, there's no way they'd let you leave the country. And Russia of all places. There's no way the FBI will let you go as an agent." He says all that before I even stated I wanted permission to go. I hate how people read my mind.
"Sir, I just can't let this go. This may be our last real chance to catch him, and you know as well as I that he won't stop killing until he's imprisoned." A momentary memory of Miggs, of Chilton's picture of the nurse flashed through my mind. "Sir, I know it's a danger, but I CAN'T just forget about this."
Jack's voice gets a little bit harsher. "Starling, you can NOT just hop on a plane and wait for a mass murderer to call you and tell you what dark alleyway to meet him in. From the start he's enjoyed fucking with your mind, but someday he'll get tired of it and get rid of you. The Bureau would say 'no way,' and for once I agree."
My voice gets calmer and more certain as I reply. I realize I've made my decision to pursue, and Jack's well meaning hinderances won't stop me. "With all due respect, sir, I am fully aware that Hannibal Lecter is a mass murderer and that pursuing him will lead me into danger. But the fact that he IS a murderer is why I have to do this, and I'm willing to gamble my safety against his sense of justice and courtesy. I saved his life at Muskrat, he doesn't forget that easily and won't try to kill me. At least, not unless his freedom's at stake. And I will wait for backup this time."
"Starling, how do you know this isn't some sort of trap?"
"Sir, this is a mind game, but you know as well as I that he adheres faithfully to his own rules, and I can tell that my death is not the goal of this. He wants amusement, nothing more nothing less." Jack takes a breath and I can tell he's about to ask HOW I know my death isn't the purpose of this little jaunt. "I just know, sir. Trust me."
I can see in his eyes I've started to sway him. "Starling, there's still the problem of the Bureau. Like I said, they won't let you near the case, so you'd have to fly commercial, and no way in hell will a commercial airline let you take a gun into Russia. And you cannot go without some sort of backup. I'll go with you."
I drop my coffee cup and it shatters on the pristine tile of the kitchen floor. "Jack, NO. I already told you he made it quite clear he'd eliminate any backup I brought, and you know he hates you almost as much as you dislike him. He'd waste no time killing you." I can't let that happen. I bend down and start picking up pieces of the cup. I'm so angry I don't even notice when I cut my finger, but I see the bright crimson drop of blood that drops to the tile. I watch it, something about the color just sucks me in. I start when I hear Jack's voice again.
"Well then, I'll take a different flight, we can stay in touch by phone, he won't even know I've left the States. But you're not going alone." I hear the finality in his voice, and for the first time I wish he DIDN'T have the connections to have me stopped at customs for pursuing a felon I was specifically told to stay away from and shipped back home. His plan did sound like it could work, though, and I really didn't like the idea of being in a foriegn country, of which I spoke not one word of the language, alone, playing games with a mass murderer.
"Fine sir....just promise me that if either of us suspects he knows you're there, you'll get out of there faster than you can say 'cannibal', ok?" I hope he agrees: while I fear for his safety, I'm glad I've got unnofficial permission to go play mind games with a murderer. My pulse already beats a little bit faster at the prospective of...of what? Letting a madman pick apart my brain, perhaps literally? Except he's no madman. I think his problem is he's simply more sane than the rest of the world. And what I told Jack was true. Lecter does not plan to try and kill me, this I know. What exactly he has in mind, I'm not sure.
"Fine. I suppose you want to leave as soon as possible? Figures. Well, go to class, then tell Quantico you're taking a few weeks off. This is the end of the semester anyways, right? Ok, well, I'll get us tickets and arrange for you to borrow a gun and get a temporary permit for it when we get there." I smile, somewhat warily. I'm actually doing this. It still feels unreal, like a bad dream. I haven't had time to examine my motives exactly, and I don't think I want to. He's a muderer, I'm trying to stop him. The rush of adrenaline is because you know it will be immensly dangerous. You only have 40 minutes before class starts, so get out of here, girl!!
"Thank you, sir. I've gotta go. I'll call you later." I throw away the shards of the coffee cup, grab a napkin to wipe up the coffee and blood, but Jack just waves me off.
"I'll get it....now go." We smile and I grab my purse on the way out, grateful that he's letting me go, grateful he's coming, and upset that I won't capture Hannibal Lecter alone. Why? Do I really want the glory of catching the world's most renouned serial killer enough to risk my life by wanting no backup? Or is it just that I want the chance to ask him WHY? And why not?
Fin
Part 2