Irony was blissful.

The car's interiors were fried to a crisp, breaking off and chipping in every which direction.  Without a heater, or the protection of a roof, windows, and part of a windshield, traveling was very uncomfortable.  However, they were agitating close to Washington, thus weather bore no affect on Dr. Lecter.

They greeted the day with newfound optimism and certain understanding for one another.  While he would never fully admit that Del Griffith wasn't *that* bad outside the general limitations of clumsiness, sloppiness, and judgment calls, he conceded that there were certainly worse traveling companions available.  In the grand scheme of things, Lecter considered himself fairly lucky.

As for the various adventures themselves, that was another story.  He felt himself stir in aggravation merely considering the sheer stupidity it took to drive on the opposite side of the road, not notice two approaching semi-trucks, and blindly toss a cigarette butt to the backseat.

The seats themselves were sticky, melted, but no longer hot.  In the cold of the night, they had sufficiently chilled. 

Of all the ruined gadgets in the vehicle, the windshield wipers, rearview mirrors, seat controls, air conditioners, turn signals…the one thing that remained unscathed, but stuck relentlessly on 'My County 105.1' was the radio.  Despite the various attempts to shut it off, the Dixie Chicks, Alabama, Trace Adkins, Billy Ray Cyrus, Garth Brooks, Collin Ray, Tammy Wynette, Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson, and various others filled the atmosphere with their trite lyrics and annoying country twang.

Inwardly, Dr. Lecter began a:  'She is worth this, she is worth this, she is worth this,' chant. 

There was a ten-minute span where he was both encouraged to 'Stand By Your Man' and informed that some poor girl apparently thought a farmer's tractor was sexy.  If there were ever a time he wanted a gun for self-infliction more, Dr. Lecter was not aware.

So distracting was the music – along with Del's loud, unbridled singing – that the doctor did not consider their speed.  It wasn't until he heard the siren from behind that he growled his frustration.

The last thing he needed right now was attention from the authorities.  Consciously, Lecter seized one of his most prim hats and tucked it over his head, turning to his companion irritably.  "Fantastic, Del.  Just how fast are you going?"

"I can't tell.  The speedometer's melted."

A moment's hesitation, and he knew it was better to pull over than directly defy the law.  Such would only provoke the attention of more authorities.  One cop wasn't too much of a threat.  With a sigh, Lecter instructed firmly, "Pull over."

The patrol officer was stereotypical for old western flicks.  Long, over-pronounced strides to the vehicle, allegedly to encourage fear to shiver up the assailants' spines.  While Del was not overly concerned, the doctor coached him to remain casual about things.  As if it was perfectly normal to escort a charred vehicle down a major highway. 

Upon closing the distance between cars, the cop leered forward and removed his sunglasses.  Flashing a winning smile, Dr. Lecter greeted, "Good morning."  There was, of course, the implication of brutality in his tone without any effort.  It was natural and unavoidable. 

The desired affect was granted.  In reaction, the officer hesitated a bit, disarmed, however, when Del countered with a jolly, "Heya!  Is there something I can help you with?"

But the cop's attention was successfully distracted by the appearance of the vehicle.  His eyes narrowing in scrutiny and his gaze reflection an astonished reference.  "What the hell you drivin', here?" he sneered.

"Oh, we had a small fire last night," Del replied nonchalantly. "But we caught it in the knick of time."  To further his good nature on the matter, he offered a few chuckles.

"You have any idea how fast you was going?"

Del leaned back.  "Well, funny enough, I was just talking to my friend about this—" He offhandedly motioned to Lecter, "—and it appears our speedometer melted in the fire.  And, as a result, it's hard to say in any degree of accuracy how fast we were going."  During this stunningly civil explanation, he used a variety of gestures to support his statement.  The doctor refused to yield for commentary.

"Seventy eight miles an hour," announced the cop.

Del whistled his reply.  "Seventy eight, huh?  Uh, yeah, sure.  I'll buy that.  You'd know better than us, seeing as we have a melted speedometer here."

Rolling his eyes, a hand came up to caress Lecter's brow. 

"Do you feel this vehicle is safe for highway travel?" was the cop's next question.

"Yes, I do.  I really do," Del replied without much hesitation.  Though he wasn't watching, Lecter felt him nod a few times.  "I believe that.  It's not pretty to look at, I know.  But it'll get you where yah wanna go."

"Now…you have no outside mirror."

"No, we lost that," Del agreed.

"And you have no functioning gauges."

"No, notta one."  A wave indicated the speakers, where country music persisted, despite the awkwardness.  "However, the radio still works.  Funny as that may seem.  It's stuck on one station, though.  And the volume controls aren't cooperating.  But it's really working good.  It's clear as a bell."  He chuckled.  "Don't ask me how."

Regretfully, the cop shook his head and provoked Lecter to look up.  "I can't let you go ahead in this vehicle," he decided.

No.  This couldn't be happening.

"Can't what?" the doctor repeated.  Though it wasn't anything he didn't fully expect, there was a sliver of him that hoped his ears were playing tricks, that he was losing hearing in his old age. 

"No.  Not fit for the road.  The vehicle will be impounded until it's in such a state where it's made capable for safe highway travel."

Panicky, Del raised his arms like a captured criminal.  "Okay officer, I admit it.  I-I broke the law.  I'm really sorry, and it won't happen again.  Not one iota.  But…if you impound my car…I won't be able to get my friend, here, home in time for his Thanksgiving dinner…"

Though it was a cheap shot, Lecter leaned forward to smile kindly at the officer, hoping to tug on his compassionate strings.

The next thing he knew, they were riding on the back of a tow truck to the nearest town.

Through it all, Del maintained faith that they could still make it home that day.  It was doubtful, especially with no money, no vehicle, nothing to get them anywhere.  However, just an hour after losing their car, his companion came through.  A large, red Coca-Cola truck pulled up to the sidewalk. 

"This is momentous," Lecter decided.  "I have most certainly seen *everything* now."

Cheerfully, Del stuck his head out the passenger side window.  "Well, our ship has come in!"  He moved to slide outside.

Unbelievingly, the doctor shook his head but offered no words.

With a large smile, Del shrugged.  "It's free and it's nonstop.  Didn't I tell you I was going to get you home?"

Lecter offered a smile in reply.  It was crazy, but what on his journey hadn't been?  Strange as it was, this man had lived up to his word, stopping at nothing to help him get to his goal of ten years.  Something relative to gratitude, genuine gratitude, slithered up his spine, and despite everything, he couldn't ignore it.

"I don't care," he replied.  "As long as the heater is functional."

"Oh.  The driver's a little freaky about letting people ride up front with him."

As if to accentuate this, the driver viciously slammed Del's door closed.

Though he knew the answer to his query well in advance, he asked glumly with the risk of being redundant.  "Well…if we can't sit up there, where are we supposed to ride?"

And so, the back of the truck it was.  The very back, accompanied with cases of coke, diet coke, and assorted other spin-off products.  It was positively freezing, and while bundled up, their speed encouraged him. 

"Beats walkin', huh?" Del chirped, trying to liven their chilling surroundings.  "You know, you're going to be in Washington in less than…an hour.  If we don't have any traffic, and I don't think we should.  It's Thanksgiving."

"Don't say that.  The fates might decide to play with us more."

There was a chuckle, then a long blank pause.  "Oh Geeze Louise…I forgot!  You're going to Richmond!   Ahh, Obes, you shoulda said something!"

"That's perfectly all right, Del.  My party awaits me in Washington."  The last thing he needed was a spur-of-the-moment detour.

"Oh good," was the relieved reply.  "Whewie!  Real good.  I thought I majorly screwed up there."

Offering a wan smile, Lecter turned to establish eye contact.  "No, Del.  You've done just fine."

When the truck stopped, he was half-convinced it was due to a flat tire they couldn't repair, or some other calamity.  However, the driver came around to open the back, announcing, "We're here!" loudly, moving his arm to encourage their evacuation.

No one needed to tell him twice.

Ten minutes later, they were on a familiar Washington sidewalk.  Lecter obtained a taxi – for which he would regrettably pay by asking Starling for money as he was currently flat broke – and he stood next to his traveling companion to say their long overdo goodbyes.

"Can you believe it?" Del asked enthusiastically.

"Well," the doctor offered, "it has been one…interesting trip. But, after all is said and done, you did get me home, and I really appreciate it."

"Hey – next time, let's go first class, huh?"

At that, Lecter chuckled loudly.  "By the Heavens, I hope there is no next time."

"I know what you mean."

There was a moment of silence and they paused to shake hands. 

"It's been great meetin' yah," Del said earnestly.  "It really has.  And…I'm really sorry if I caused you trouble."

"Oh no…you didn't cause me trouble."  In a flash, just their proximity, Lecter was able to forget, forgive, banish all prior grudges.  All urges to kill that, along their trip, seemed unsurpassable.  This man, through thick and thin, did exactly what was promised.  In that, there was no trouble.  "You brought me here. And…a little late."

"Couple days."

"I'm a little wiser, too."

"Me too."

He smiled.  "Happy holidays."

"Same to you.  Happy Thanksgiving!"  Del grinned, almost sadly.  "And give my love to the missus.  Maybe I'll get to meet her someday."

"Hmm…" Lecter mused.  "Be sure to extend my salutations to Marie.  I feel like I know her."

The nod he received to that was almost distracted, but equally friendly.  Then, moving to his cab, the doctor offered one final smile before slipping in to go home.

Perhaps this was the most insufferable part of the trip.  The longest, so to speak.  Home stretch.  He could smell her from here.  Those rewards, the end of a trying journey.  It didn't matter that he lost all his belongings and material fundings.  There were international bank accounts with plenty of compensation.  All he saw was her face.

Then he began reflecting on his recent adventures.  In the cab, he saw a bathroom tarnished and stripped of all but a single washcloth.  At that, he offered a smile, allowing himself that promised laugh.  Again, and the dark sky was ablaze with the rental car, burning in the otherwise silent night.  And once more, viciously cutting Del Griffith down for his annoying nocturnal rituals before succumbing to sleep.

("…I like me.  My wife likes me.")

That sentence replayed for some reason, sticking out in his constantly over-analyzing head.  Bothered, Lecter tried to shake it off. 

In direct retaliation, he heard himself. 

("At least, at the very minimal…you have a woman you love to grow old with.")

No response to that.  Only a nod before he questioned Del's love for his wife.

Pieces started flying together.  Again, he heard himself, and didn't shy from it this time.  Lecter, instead, began scolding himself for not realizing this to begin with.  So enamored was he in returning home and avoiding the urge to cease irritation that he missed something so colossal.  Well, that would be his little secret.

("I haven't spent enough time with my wife…We have sort of…avoided each other for the past ten years or so.")

And Del's reply?

("I haven't been home in years, myself.")

And he knew.

("I haven't been home in years.")

And he tried to avoid it.

("I haven't been home in years.")

Tried to put it out of his mind.

("I haven't been home in years.")

But he couldn't.

When he knew he was almost to Starling's, Lecter tapped the driver on the shoulder and instructed him to turn the car around and return. 

As he suspected, Del was sitting on the side of the street where he left him, resting on that obnoxiously loud trunk of his, chin captured in balled fists and eyes glued to the sidewalk. 

With a sigh, Lecter muttered that he was going to regret this, but approached, nonetheless.

When Del looked up, there was surprise in his eyes, but also understanding.

"Del, what are you doing here?" Lecter asked softly.  "You said you were going home."

With a sigh, the man looked down once, collected himself, then looked back up.  "I…uhhh…I don't have a home," he said.  There was a lengthy pause.  "Marie's been dead for eight years."

And Dr. Lecter, baffled but knowing, nodded his sympathy before glancing downward in silent deliberation.

But he knew, as he knew in returning, what his true objective was.

And so, he helped Del Griffith heave his trunk into the back of the waiting cab that took them both, without interruption, to Starling's duplex.  Outside, they seized each end, as done so many times before, and took the walkway to the front door. 

Outside, Del smiled.  "You are one lucky guy, Dr. O'Brien."

Lecter smiled.  "Yes…I know I am."

"Look…I won't stay long.  I'll just come in and say hi or something."

A disapproving look from the doctor promptly shut him up.  At the front door, they heaved the trunk to the ground, and eagerly, he offered three knocks.

As the front door opened, and he saw the objective of this trip, the reason for suffering through it all, Lecter knew immediately how very worth it everything had been.  Worth it, and then some.  The way her eyes lit up was nearly magical.  He smiled wickedly at her, and seized her in a tight embrace before any words could be exchanged.

With his mouth beside her ear, he whispered hurriedly, "You are certainly a sight for very sore eyes.  Oh, and address me as Haller for a bit."  With more than some reluctance, he pulled away and stepped aside.  "My dear, I would like you to meet a friend of mine."

Starling, more than taken aback, was flushed in a dozen shades.  For long seconds, her eyes didn't leave his, but when they did, she gazed at the man that had caused him so much trouble, yet likewise brought him here in one piece – more or less.  And with a smile, she greeted warmly,  "Hello, Mr. Griffith."

"Hello, Mrs. O'Brien," he replied with the same charisma. 

"Mmm…Clarice," Lecter said a minute later.  "I hate to be a bother but…we seem to be in something of a financial downfall.  Do you have fundings for Mr. Griffith to compensate our cab driver with?"

"Certainly."  Not a beat of hesitation.

As he left to make the payment, Lecter and Starling embraced again, holding each other in the delayed minutes of a very overdo reunion.  A long, satisfying kiss was shared, far beyond that which he delivered and received in the months of long ago.

"Mmm…why did you bring him?" she asked.  "I suppose I'll have to put the whips away for now."

"Oh bother," the doctor replied disappointedly.  "Well, it appears his wife, Marie, has been deceased for nearly a decade.  I decided that his assistance, however aggravating, in getting me here was worth at least supper with friends.  But no worry, my love."  He kissed her nose.  "I will give him directions and funding for a very nice resort tonight."

"You will, eh?"

"I hardly lost *all* money on that trip, Clarice.  Perhaps everything I had on me, but not all."  He chuckled.  "It was the most difficult time I had ever encountered with travel."

"Well…" Starling appeared to consider.  "I'm glad you brought him."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really.  It just proves a point."  When she moved to embrace him again, she patted lightly above his heart and smiled.  "The Grinch's heart *can* grow three sizes in one day."

Dr. Lecter laughed again, earnestly.  "Wrong holiday."

"Close enough."

And so it was.  Three friends joined by extraordinary circumstances, sitting down to a Thanksgiving meal, sharing woeful and comical tales of various travel adventures.  Laughs were exchanged as they went through several versions of the same tale to find the correct version.  Wine poured and turkey consumed.  In the end, it didn't seem important how any of them came to be there.  Ten years past, two days of unbelievable travel that rivaled anything the doctor had endured, including his years of incarceration.  It was over now.  The finishing end of a long and winding road.  Eyes on the prize. 

Glasses raised, he locked eyes with Starling and winked promisingly, offering a toast to divine intervention.

Penance.  There's no place like home.