Tyger, tyger burning bright, in the forests of the night. What immortal hand or eye, could frame thy fearful symmetry?

-William Blake "The Tyger" from Songs of Experience

*****

Special Agent Clarice Starling sits, alone, in her basement office in Behavioral Services. The phone number is skritched on a Post-It note that is attached to her computer monitor. She has been debating for over an hour now on how to approach Will Graham for his help. True, the man was a legend in the Academy, but he was now reputed to be a drunk living down in the keys. His wife had left him after the incident involving Francis Dolarhyde, the original Red Dragon. She taps a pencil against her teeth, thinking and staring at the phone number. Rocking forward in her chair, she grabs it, pulling it from the monitor. With her left hand she pulls the phone near her, dials for an outside line, and determinedly punches in the number. She waits through three rings, and at the start of the fourth she begins to reconsider her decision. She hears the phone click as it is picked up, answered by a male voice.

"Hello?"

"Hello. This is Clarice Starling from the FBI, I was wondering if I could speak with Will Graham?" she hopes she has enough sweetness in her voice to downplay the anxiousness that is underlying it. A grunt on the other end as the man considers.

"This is Graham. I remember you, Starling. Your Jack's new little rising star, aren't you?" his voice sounds slightly dulled, and she isn't sure whether it's from the connection or the reputed alcohol abuse. He sounds sober enough…

"Yes sir, that's me. I was…" she is cut off before she can broach her subject.

"Don't let him drag you through everything he dragged me through. Although, you've already met Lecter, and he didn't end your career." there is anger and a touch of fear in the tone. "What do you want, Agent Starling?"

Okay, now or never. "Mr. Graham, we've had a series of serial murders here,"

"Yeah, seen them on the news."

"Okay. He just struck again last night, but he didn't kill the woman. But he did tell her something, and I was hoping that you'd be able to…"

He cuts her off again. "Be able to come and catch the killer. Starling, you're a smart girl, you don't need me to come and solve your cases for you. You were the one who caught Buffalo Bill, if I remember correctly."

"Yes sir. I don't want you to solve the case for me, Mr. Graham. I want your help. The killer told last night's victim that he was the Red Dragon." the line buzzes loud in her ear as she hears an obscenity come from Will Graham's mouth.

"Did Crawford put you up to this, Agent Starling?"

"No sir, in fact, he told me there was no way you'd come back to help the FBI if he asked. So I told him I would ask." she pauses a moment, waiting to see if he is going to yell at her or hang up. He does neither, only remains silent. "Sir, you were the one that caught the original Red Dragon. If this guys a copy cat of sorts, I think that your assistance on the case would be extremely useful."

Graham sighs on his end of the line, and she cannot see him tipping the beer bottle back and forth on the table as he weighs the request. A new Red Dragon. Did he really want to go back into all of that? The last case almost got him killed. He sighs, making her wait.

"All you want is help?"

"All I want is help, Mr. Graham. I want you to look over the case file, and tell me what you think. I can send it down there if you want me to, you wouldn't even have to come up here."

He smiles, she's almost as good as him. Crawford does seem to pick the bright ones to groom for his section. Hell, Crawford picked him. He hears a pen tap against the desk as she waits for his reply. "Okay, Starling. I'll come up and take a look. Share my opinions with you."

She beams and punches her right hand into the air. She got him. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Starling. Two days."

"Two days." she agrees, nodding. He says his farewells and hangs up his end of the line. Clarice cradles the handset and smiles at the green text on the computer screen. Clarice Starling, miracle worker.

*****

In those two days before Will Graham's arrival all hell breaks loose. Jane Morricone has run her story in the National Tattler. Earning herself the headline in seventy-two point Railroad Gothic. Copies of the tabloid fly from area shelves as people waiting in grocery lines snatch it up. Some are old enough to remember the original Red Dragon murders, some are not. Far from the city where all of this is taking place, one man who does remember presses the paper flat on his table as he sips his morning coffee. He finds it rather amusing.

Dr. Fell smiles over the rim of his cup, reading the story under the byline of Jane Morricone. Petra's mother. He'll have to ask her later on how she likes having a mother who writes for the greatest of American tabloids. There is a quick mention of him in the story, accompanied by the picture Freddy Lounds took when Will Graham visited him in the hospital. He wonders how Will is doing. He really should drop him a line soon, maybe send him a colostomy bag for old times sake. Wouldn't want Will to forget him, now would we?

Reading further, he finds a pleasant surprise. Mrs. Morricone has informed the public that Special Agent Starling of Buffalo Bill fame is the FBI agent working the case. Oh that was interesting. His lips curve into a wide smile as the tip of his red tongue snakes out to touch precisely in the middle of his red upper lip. Clarice. His little Starling. She has sent no word to him that the lambs have stopped screaming. Not that he ever though she would. Maybe he should write her again too, since he had promised not to call on her. The world is much more interesting with her in it, as Mrs. Morricone is proving. A knock at the door draws his attention form the paper. He rises gracefully to answer it, finding Petra standing outside.

"Good morning, Miss Morricone. Have you seen this morning's paper?"

*****