Early the next morning, Starling's phone rang.  Though it was usually considered an unreasonable hour by neighboring households, she was more than ready, prepared, eager for the call. 

"Hello?" she asked breathlessly.

There was an amused chuckle on the end.  "Good morning, Clarice."

"Doc…Hannibal?  Where are you?"

"Still in Knoxville."

"Did you find a hotel?"

Some hesitation, followed by another chuckle, this one without humor.  "Hmmm…so to speak."

"Huh?  Elaborate."

"Please, Clarice.  Refer to words actually defined in the English vocabulary.  Due to the holiday rush, I was at an out for suitable lodging.  A fellow traveler offered me his room."

A frightened silence followed.  "You didn't kill him did you?  That's all we need!"

"No, Clarice.  I am on my best behavior, I assure you.  The most damage I did was remark on his notably flawed character.  His ego suffered a sufficient blow, but nothing else.  I promise."

"Then…you roomed with him?"

"Indeed I did."

"You roomed with a strange man over the holiday rush?  Are you out of your mind?"

That statement lent them both pause, and before they knew it, they were laughing together.  As Dr. Lecter reclaimed himself, he commented, "My, my, my, aren't we sounding domestic?"

"Offended?"

"That you're concerned?  Hardly.  Pray, continue this anxiety, Former Agent Starling.  I might add I went to sleep last night, consuming no cold medicine though my feet were reasonably soaked with rainwater."

He smiled as she mimicked a gasp of horror.  "Hannibal Lecter!  You'll catch your death!"

"Do you intend to punish me, Clarice?"

"We'll see."

"I'm looking forward to it," he replied.  "Please, do think of a perverse penalty.  Something with chains and whips is more than acceptable."  Lecter looked up and noted with dark eyes that Del was emerging from the motel bathroom, and that his call should be cut short.  As Starling pieced together an admirable retort, that which he could hardly enjoy given his location, he excused himself, all play escaping his tone, "I'm sorry, Clarice, but it's best that I go.  I'll be there soon."

"Do you promise?"

At that, he smiled again, ignoring Del's obviously unsuccessful attempts to not eavesdrop.  "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"I'll have those whips, you know."

"I'm counting on it."

Del offered to treat him to breakfast that morning.  They vacated the room by eight am.

The diner was cheap and rustic.  Dr. Lecter eyed the so-called food resting greasily on the plates of other customers, and his stomach rumbled with disgust.  However, he decided it was best to tolerate the meal out of courtesy, and perhaps he would be rid of this man for the remainder of the trip. 

"Did you call the airlines?" his companion asked as they sipped hot though questionable coffee. 

"Everything is booked, but they expressed faith that I could get a place on standby."

Del's gaze curbed his irritation.  "If I told you wolverines made good pets, would you believe me?"

In response, the doctor's head lifted and the maroon pupils of his eyes danced.  "Oh they do, my friend, they do.  However, I am not spending Thanksgiving in Knoxville.  There's somewhere of much higher importance."

"Okay.  Not by airplane.  Eighteen hours of air-traffic backed up.  Anyway you slice it, it looks like we're gonna be having our turkey right here."

"Do you have a proposal?  If so, please get to it.  Prefaces, in this instance, are not necessary."

Though visibly hurt, Del nodded and continued.  "Burt Dingon.  Buddy of mine.  Works for the railroad."

"A train?"

"Yeah.  I sold him shower curtain rings.  He owes me a favor."

Ten minutes later, they were waiting outside for their ride to the train station.  It arrived in the form of a coverless pick-up truck, driven by the owner's son.  Gus's daughter-in-law and grandchildren occupied all the interior seats.

These were great links.  Dr. Lecter felt his irritation rising once more, but his thoughts averted to his recent dialogue with Starling, and he reminded himself once more that this was well more than worth it. 

The temperature was below freezing, and Lecter found himself sharing the back of the vehicle with both Del, barrels of hay, and a noisy dog that didn't want to forfeit the doctor's glove as a chew toy.  However, after staring the mutt down, he reclaimed it in a battle of wills.

By the time they all stepped out of the truck, everyone, including the dog, was nearly frozen solid.

At the ticket counter at the train station, Dr. Lecter made all the necessary transactions, so eager by this time to get to Starling that he didn't pause to consider before purchasing Del's ticket for him.  Much to his relief, their seats were more than separated.  They were several cars from each other.

Peace at last.

"They didn't have two together," he reported, emotionless, sparing them both.  "I'm afraid this is goodbye.  It has been a pleasure, Mr. Griffith.  Thank you for your assistance this far."

"Hey, don't mention it, Obbie.  Thanks for the ticket.  Maybe I'll meet you in the bar car?"

"I'm going to get some rest."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

The man's shoulders slumped and he conceded with some disappointment, "All right."

"Well…it's been interesting."

Del chuckled.  "That's the understatement of the year."  Without a formal farewell, he heaved his trunk up and started for his designated car.  As Dr. Lecter moved to check in, he was followed with, "Hey!  I need your address so's I can pay you back for this ticket!"

Turning to his former traveling companion, the doctor waved his hand and shook his head.  "Del, it was a gift."

"But—"

"A gift."

With a shrug, Del disappeared into the train, and Lecter hurriedly claimed his seat.

He sighed his relief when the train started moving…

…and likewise moaned his aggravation when it broke down ten minutes into the countryside.

People were ordered to evacuate as quickly as possible.  A foray of vacationers trailing across an open field, one of them lugging an abnormally large trunk.  Dr. Lecter felt something relative to sympathy stir within him, and he detested the feeling.  Still, it remained, nagging, until he caught up with Del Griffith and seized the other end of the case in offer of his assistance.

Two miles later, they sat inside an over occupied train station, filled with disgruntled tourists.

"What do you think?" Del questioned.

"I think this is most certainly not my week."

"Well…have you ever traveled by bus before?"

Dr. Lecter rolled his unbelieving eyes in his direction and saw he was serious.

The bus was perhaps more insufferable than the coach seats on the plane, and while he didn't like to live in paranoia, the doctor was waiting for the next disastrous occurrence. 

It didn't come in the form of calamity, however.  At Del's suggestion, a collective sing-along began.  All on the bus participated.  A man toward the front performed a breathtaking rendition of 'Sweet Transvestite,' which succeeded in feeding Lecter entertaining thoughts for later.  When he was in Washington and with Starling…

That was nearly amusing.  The mood, however, was ruined after three courses of the 'Flintstones' theme. 

"I suppose this is the best time to tell you this," Del said once the singing dwindled.  "This bus won't take us all the way to Washington.  We'll get to Denton, Ohio and that's about it."

"That I anticipated," Lecter observed. 

"Any suggestions?"

The doctor arched a brow and eyed him dryly.  "You mean to say you have no contacts or former business associates you have already considered calling on for assistance?"

For a minute, the light behind Del's overly-illuminative eyes dimmed as he tried to decide if it was a valid question or of he was being mocked.  Finally, after a lengthy pause, he replied with some pride, "'Course I do.  I have clients all over the country."

"How impressive," Dr. Lecter retorted boredly.

"Yeah.  Let's see…" He appeared to consider.  "There's Willy-Jack at the hardware store.  And Robbie Peterson at the local inn…and…"

"All right.  Point perceived."

"I suppose whatever it takes to get home."

"Hmm…yes."  At that, the doctor's face brightened, though his smile was grim.  "I haven't spent enough time with my wife…" He said, looking down.  "We have sort of…avoided each other for the past ten years or so."

Del shook his head in expression of his sympathy.  "That's too bad.  I haven't been home in years, myself."

Lecter locked eyes with this man and they shared a long, compassionate look.  For the briefest minute, they saw into each other's souls. 

"You know…" the doctor continued.  "I have come to believe that when we put our heads together…" He looked up to see Del edging forward eagerly, and fought off a chuckle.  "…we've really achieved nothing.  Therefore, I have decided to continue my journey alone."

Something in the other man's eyes fell, a look of unabashed hurt waving over him.  "Oh.  I see.  Well…in that case…I believe I'll be going."

Lecter immediately registered his crestfallen features and knew the man's pride had suffered a damaging blow.  Still, he could feel no pity.  While it was true that he was genuinely grateful for all Del had done in the name of good will toward man, his habits, sayings, stories, sloppily-covered self pity, nauseatingly fake optimistic face, and sheer act of marinating body odor was becoming insulting, tedious.  Gratitude and debts didn't weigh heavily with Lecter, and he felt through the various reimbursements of tickets, taxis, and motel rooms, he owed no obligation.

"Goodbye, Dr. O'Brien," Del said shortly, furiously seizing his trunk (with some difficulty) and moving toward the door.

In retrospect, the next hour or so of Lecter's traveling adventures passed without calamity.  He enjoyed lunch at the nicest bistro he could find, though he didn't spend too much time in scrutiny of the city.  There were reasons he avoided such vacation locations, and this trip, in the very slightest, was further convincing him that his judgment was not failing him in old age. 

He attempted to phone Starling and no one answered.  Though he was not a worrier by nature, their annoying 'so close yet so far' proximity lent him to reason that anything was prone to go wrong at this time.  Bearing that in mind, around two o'clock, he had a taxi drop him off at the airport to rent a car.  He was assigned to space V-5

However, when the bus, noisy, crowded automobile that it was, dropped him off, he found his slot vacant. 

By this time in his escapade, Dr. Lecter had accepted that no aspect of this journey would be made easy.  After all, the fates of the universe, should they exist, had obviously decided he was not worthy of the impending bliss awaiting him in Washington.  Though it was nothing he couldn't have predicted, it still made his nerves tingle with irritation, angst, outrage.

However, such could not be distinguished from his exterior.  The flawless façade of his appearance might have, from a distance, mistaken him for a priest out of the collar.  Instead of cursing his luck, he merely folded his rental agreement and placed it in his overcoat pocket.  Noting with a sigh the van growing smaller by the second, he picked up his belongings and started the long walk back to the airport.

To the skies, he muttered, "You really are tampering with the wrong individual…"

On foot, traveling across slippery concrete, the trip was not a fulfilling one.  He nearly fell three times, and a bus, speeding notably, splashed him with an onslaught of cold rainwater.

He exchanged the coldness of the November air for the airport, walking directly to the station that read, 'Marathon Car Rental' in the background.  A rosy, plucky middle-aged woman was chatting idly on the phone, ignoring the long line of impatient customers, giggling at her conversationalist.

"…oh gee, Murry, you're a stitch.  I'll do the croissant rolls and you'll do the cranberries.  You know I can't cook."

Dr. Lecter, streaking on his intolerance, cleared his throat politely.

She held up a hand in a quest for silence.  "All right then.  I'll see you tomorrow.  Gobble gobble!"  Breaking into childish giggles, she nodded at the other end before hanging up and finally averting her attention to her customers.  Her eyes immediately registered the disgruntled, dangerous look in the doctor's, and while some of her sunshine faded to twilight, she managed to maintain the irritably cheerful smile.  "Marathon Car Rental, how may I help you?"

The airport seemed to decrease in heat as Lecter took a few more steps forward, and finally, her smile melted from her face.

"You may start," he replied coldly, "by tending to your duties.  Socializing at work is very bad for business – especially during such an obviously hectic season.    Perhaps I should report you to your manager, hmm?  Secondly, you may desist the badly portrayed radiance of sunshine.  I know as well as you do that this is indeed the last place you're interested in.  Any other day, and I might have tolerated it.  Finally, you may issue me keys to a car that actually waits for its use in the lot, so that I might avoid making another trip down the highway and across the landing strip to deliver the same speech on your impotence." Eyes gleaming with something dangerous, he leaned forward and said with some emphasis. "I. Would. Like. A. Car. Now."

"I don't appreciate the way you're speaking to me," was the notably hurt, meager retort.

"Ah.  But I am a customer, and the customer is always right."

"Can I see your rental agreement?"

It seemed most appropriate, given everything he had endured so far, to reach into his coat and not find the designated paper waiting for him.  Refusing to lose his calm, he concluded he lost it on the way up there, looked at her hard to establish his anger, and finally withdrew.  "I appear to have misplaced it," he said.

The receptionist badly faked distress. "Oh dear."

Dr. Lecter felt his eyes darken.  "Is this a problem?" he spat, venom tingling on his voice.

"No…it's just…" Her pupils became fiery.  "You're fucked."

Fucked…and they had no more cars.

And so it was outside again, advised to refer to yet another taxi service.  Lecter waited in patience, explaining several times he needed a ride to Washington, that across town wouldn't do.  As the rather rude service conductor began bickering the point, a loud, pea green station wagon pulled up to collect its luggage.

Of course, the driver would be the one and only Del Griffith.  Being the overly nice guy that he was, offering a ride was naturally the first thing that rolled off his tongue.

Similarly, being in the position of desperately needing a ride, Lecter could not resist. 

In the car, they drove endlessly, trading off every three hours or so.  No matter where he sat, Del found a way to nag on the doctor's nerves.  From side to side, the man maneuvered the seat, each time producing a creaking noise from the gears that only forewarned of impending doom in its short rental car life.  Closing his eyes momentarily, Lecter growled, "Would you please stop fidgeting?"

"I need to find a good position."

"Find it and still."

"Do you have a bad back?"  He persisted further until finding one to his liking, relaxing for a minute before leaning forward, only to coil back with a sigh.  "Perfect.  I finally find the right position and I can't reach my shoes."

"Leave your footwear on, please."

"I can't relax with them on."

"I really don't care to breathe your foot odor.  Leave the shoes on."

Del's eyes darkened.  "Gee.  It must be swell to be so perfect and odor free.  You have certain things that bother me, but I'm decent enough not to bring it up."

"Oh really?  How uninteresting."

A breath of exasperation coursed through the passenger beside him.  "Well, Obbie, what would make you happy, huh?  Mr. 'I'm Too Good For Anyone Else,' what would make you truly happy?"

"Truly?"

"Truly."

"Silence."

"Done."

And it was silent, until they next traded positions at a gas station.  When the doctor moved to recline and rest, the seat abruptly jerked back, and he felt a groan of exasperation race up his spine.  Without moving, raising his head to study his annoying traveling companion, he lowly accused, "You broke the seat."

"How can you break a car seat?" Del cried defensively.  "It's impossible!"

"You have obviously proven otherwise."  Irritated, he shook his head.  "Why did you do this?" And, as if on cue, the seat shot forward until Lecter's face and the windshield were close enough for a former introduction.

"I'm not going to be put at blame for faulty engineering," Del retorted, tossing him a brief, uninterested glance.  "I don't want to fight."

And then the doctor was sent back again, landing against the back with a crash.  "It's a bit late for that," he observed.  "But I would appreciate a little shut eye."  Without waiting for a reply, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to his memory palace, watching Starling through the shields of rose-colored glasses.  The image helped put him to ease, and for the first time in hours, Dr. Lecter smiled.

Whether or not he truly slept was debatable.  Distantly, he heard the 'Mess Around' playing on the car radio, and movement from the driver's seat alerted him to bad car dancing.  The scent of cigarette smoke permeating from Del's mouth was nothing he wasn't accustomed to, and a swerve in the road here in there, given the distracted state of their driver was expected.  However irritated he was, Lecter didn't worry.  On Thanksgiving eve, at this hour, the highway was relatively vacant of travelers.  Everyone had long since arrived where they needed to be.

The scent of the cigarette seemed to pass overhead, and Del started fidgeting with his jacket.  In the layered depths of his memory palace, the doctor was enjoying a proper evening with Starling, and would not be disturbed.

It wasn't until two loud, distinguishable squeals sparked from either side of the car that Dr. Lecter shot awake.  He was in time to watch two semi-trucks fire passed them, and realized instantly what had occurred. 

They were on the wrong side of the highway. 

From the top of the roof, Del's trunk shot and scraped against the highway at the impact of screeching brakes. 

Once the car was at a complete stop, Dr. Lecter shared a long, cold look with the driver before calmly moving to step into the night and study the damage. 

Del's optimistic, "This isn't so bad.  I expected a lot worse," didn't dismiss the notably scarred, burnt streak that stood out against the bad paint job. 

Then, nervously, the man began chuckling.  "Wow!  That was close.  Heh heh heh.  Yeah.  We can laugh about that.  Whoo!"  He saw his humor was not uplifting the situation, and his smile faded.  "Yeah, we should get my stuff off the road."

Irritation didn't begin to describe the wealth of swelling negativity that swarmed within the doctor.  It didn't help that a few minutes later, as they wordlessly moved to scoot the trunk out of the road and stopped to sit, that he became aware of a crackling heat from behind.  Lecter closed his eyes, registering the worn scent of cigarette and knew what happened.  They took turns glancing back to the car before the madman gave way, and finally started laughing. 

His chuckles were infectious.  Soon, they were both laughing, hard, in the middle of the November night while their only method of transportation was sacrificed to an inferno.

"As you sew, so shall you reap," Lecter observed.  "You finally did it to yourself, didn't you?"  He began laughing a little harder.  "One of your mistakes finally cost you.  Imagine returning that to Marathon Car Rental."  A few more chuckles.  "How could you rent it to begin with, without a credit card?"

"I sold the guy behind the counter shower curtain rings!" Del cracked, keeling over.

That put a cease to everything.  Slowly, Lecter turned to him, eyes cold.  And the façade dropped again.  The laughs diminished as though they never were, and he remarked, "You cannot rent a car with shower curtain rings."

An embarrassing silence followed, leaving him to conclude everything on his own terms.  Not for the first time, Lecter was tempted to allow his Harpy slide from his sleeve and end the whelp's life for the misery caused.  Over and over again…this was simply the last straw. 

"Ummm…" Del explained slowly.  "Somehow your VISA card…got put in my wallet…and…"

"You signed my name?" he demanded, eyes ablaze.

"I…"

"You stole money from my account and used it to rent that piece of garbage, only to leave me with the damages that you inflicted on it?"  The Harpy quivered in his garments, begging to be released.  It seemed long and overdo.  After all, he had suffered blow after blow.  Everything else was mild and mostly forgivable.  But this…

"Not exactly."

"You did."

"No.  I thought you put it there."

A pause of disbelief as Dr. Lecter registered the authenticity behind the excuse.  This was the genuine reason.  "And exactly *why* would I place it in your wallet?"

Dumbly, Del shrugged.  "Kindness?"

"Kindness.  Kindness!"  Dr. Lecter turned away before the temptation became too great.  "You used my purloined credit card to rent a car that you have destroyed."  Slowly, he glanced back to the burning vehicle.  "You positively had no right.  No grounds.  No validation.  I have a very strong sense of patience, and you have severed it.  Completely.  Several times, actually.  Congratulate yourself, Del Griffith, that's quite an accomplishment."  He looked up, eyes blazing, and marched promptly to him, grasping him by his collar and surprised him by actually lifting him an inch or two off the ground.  "Give it back."

"I can't!" Panic soared behind Del's eyes, and his whiny voice was full of pleading.

"Why?"

"Because…when we stopped to refuel, I put it back in your wallet!"

Lecter's grip constricted briefly before finally loosening.  With a sigh, he regathered his control, tossing a forlorn gaze at the burning car.  "You have drained me of all fundings.  My wallet was in the glove compartment. And yet…" His clinched fists finally relaxed as he neglected to shake the Harpy into grasp.  "I will…restrain myself."  A brief pause, as he considered that despite everything, a killing right now was not the best idea. Not when he was close. "I *must* restrain myself.."

"Wha?"

But Dr. Lecter didn't answer.

When the fire finally quenched, the car was amazingly in more or less one piece.  The doctor slid into the burning, melted driver's seat and steered directly to the nearest inn.  He didn't waste scrutiny with elegance or price.  It simply didn't seem important.

At the front desk, he informed the clerk, "I need *one* room."

From behind, a worried Del muttered, "Are you mad at me?"

Neither he nor the clerk responded.  "I'm going to need a major credit card," the man replied.

"Very well."  Lecter reached for the remains of his wallet and withdrew four small, burnt squares of fabric.  "I have a Masters, VISA, and Diners."

The man traded glances between him and the alleged cards at his disposal.  "Umm.  Those aren't credit cards."

"How astute.  Will cash due?"

"Forty-two fifty."

Without hesitation, Lecter withdrew what cash he had thankfully stored in his pocket with a money clip rather than being resigned to the tarnished, scorched leather.  "I can offer…" he counted.  "Seventeen dollars."

The clerk looked down and shook his head.  "I'm sorry…I can't…"

Lecter's patience flared, and he reminded himself that threatening the man would do little good.  The only vehicle he had to run in was neatly distinguishable.  Instead, he sighed.  "Please.  Have mercy."  It was the closest thing to a plea he had issued since losing his sister as a child.

The clerk looked genuinely sorry as he considered and shook his head.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "I don't own the place."

Disenchanted, Lecter sighed once more.  "All right…" Looking down, he unlatched his watch from his wrist and held it into view.  "Seventeen dollars…and a very nice watch."

Transaction made, he took the key and headed to the room.

From behind, he heard the clerk ask Del, "Do you have seventeen dollars and a very nice watch?"

"No I don't. I have…I have two dollars…" replied his obnoxious traveling companion, "and a Casio!"

"Hmmm…" mused the clerk.  "I'm going to have to say…goodnight."

Thus, Del turned in defeat and resigned to the burnt remains of the rental car. 

Inside the silence of his motel room, Dr. Lecter didn't bother to observe the pillows had no chocolate, that there was no minibar, or even a fireplace at the ease of the customers.  All he saw were two beds, both vacant.  The only sounds echoing into the room were the persistent drops of the bathroom sink, and the neighbor's television. 

Peace.

Sadly, his cell receiver was lost to the fire, but Lecter put use to the complimentary phone located on the stand between the beds.  With a sigh, he moved toward it wantonly, picked up, and dialed.

Three rings later; Starling's voice eased his nerves and soothed his agitated soul.  "Hello?"

"Clarice."

"Hannibal!"  Relief was evident on her voice.  She had been worrying.  "Where are you?"

"I'm not quite sure, to be perfectly honest.  I've encountered a bit of bad luck."

"Bad luck?"

"A bad *omen*, of sorts.  Del Griffith, my traveling companion."

"You never got rid of him?"

"We continuously bump into one another." Lecter sighed.  "It is a long and trying story, Clarice.  Remind me to tell it to you when I am up to par."

"When will you be here?"

Ordinarily, he would have poked fun at her audible persistence and impatience, but tonight, it matched his own.  "Who can say?  I dare not jinx myself, as you can understand.  I hope to make it by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving!"

"And I will do my best to attend," he promised, caressing his brow.  "My very best.  Goodnight, Clarice."

"…goodnight, Hannibal."

After hanging up, his eyes wandered reluctantly to the door.  Through the blinds, he could see the outline of Del, waiting in the cold of the car.  Snow fell from the open skies, and his superb hearing detected a monologue of sorts.  Curiosity nagged him, and finally, he stood, moving silently to open the door, where he leaned on the frame and listened.

"Well Marie," the man was saying.  Marie, as Lecter had come to understand, was Del's wife.  "Once again, you're as right as rain.  I am, without a doubt, the biggest pain in the butt to ever come down the pike.  I meet someone whose company I really enjoy…and what do I do?  I go overboard.  I smother his poor soul.  I cause him more trouble than I have a right to.  God, it's been nuts!"  He sighed, and Lecter knew his intentions were noble, that he was perfectly ignorant to the man behind him.  "I wish you were here with me right now," he continued a minute later.  "But I guess that's not gonna happen…"

Peace on earth and all that whatnot.  The doctor inhaled deeply and cast his gaze to the heavens.  "Yes," he muttered, "I do have a death wish."  And slowly, he glanced back to his sole companion and announced, "You know, you're going to freeze to death out there."

Ten minutes later, they were discussing things civilly, both tucked warmly in their separate beds.

"You know," Del was saying.  "When I'm dead and buried, the only thing I'm going to have to prove I was here is some shower curtain rings that didn't fall down.  Great legacy, huh?"

Dr. Lecter considered, eyes tracing the patterns of the ceiling in thought.  He smiled as he drew out Starling's face, the image alone warming him.  "At least," he replied a minute later.  "At the very minimal…you have a woman you love to grow old with."  He paused.  "You love her, don't you?"

There was a meaningful silence from Del, and when he spoke again, his words were delicate and carefully planned.  "Love…love isn't a big enough word to describe what I feel for my wife.  Not a big enough word."

"Hmm.  I share your sentiments, my friend.  At last, we have found something to agree on."

A moment of silence passed.  Both felt oddly released.

"Well…" Lecter said, leaning back as he prepared to rest.  "Allow me to end this conversation simply by observing that you are one unique individual."

Del chuckled at that.  "What is 'unique,' anyway?  Latin for asshole?"

It was perhaps the first time in two days that the doctor found reason to smile without needing to refer to Starling's face.  He even allowed himself a chortle of amusement.  "I'll concede something," he decided a minute later.  "With as much difficulty that this journey has brought me, I'm sure I will one day be able to glance over it fondly and laugh."

That provoked Del into giggles.  "You think so?"

On that thought, Lecter tittered again.  "I'm laughing already."  The room was swallowed by quiet chuckles.  "Ah…my car is destroyed."

"Wah-was that seat hot or what?"  More laughter.  "I'm afraid to look at my ass.  I think I'll have those griddle marks."

And that's how they ended it.  Without any finale or need to conclude, diminished to the repressed laughter of their comical adventures.  Feelings confessed and released to their separate households.  And amazingly, wonderfully, Dr. Lecter finally dozed to sleep, long fatigued from the most insufferable day he could remember in recent years. 

*          *          *