Author's note:  This chapter got hung up for a bit.  Writer's block, combined with the fact that the Alice fic was going a lot easier.  But here we are…

Dr. Lecter eyed his wife calmly.  It was important that this go well.  He had the feeling that it would, in the end.  It was getting there that was the problem.  Erin was at heart a good woman and would not turn away from someone needing help.  What she needed help with herself was accepting that Clarice was not a threat to her. 

                "How would Clarice need our help?" she asked disbelievingly. 

                Dr. Lecter sighed.  "If I discuss this with you, there need to be terms," he said calmly.  "You must be willing to hear me out."

                "Fine," Erin said crossly. 

                "Not the way you are now.  You're determined to believe Clarice is the enemy.  Simply hear me out, Erin.  That's all I ask." 

                Erin crossed her arms and eyed him as suspiciously as the prosecutor of his case once had. 

                "Look," Dr. Lecter said.  "In the copy of the Tattler that I had before, there was an article about Clarice's involvement in a prison scandal.  It stated that undercover agents were put into the nation's prisons.  There were two women in the picture in the Tattler.   One woman was identified as Rebecca DeGould.  The one who plotted against Clarice before.  You remember her, don't you?" 

                Erin nodded unwillingly. 

                  "The other woman was identified as Clarice, and resembled her to some degree, I'll allow that.  But it was not Clarice.  It was a woman of her height and weight, and her hair was cut in Clarice's style.  I know Clarice, Erin.  That was not her." 

                Erin let out a sigh.  "Maybe it was a mistake," she said.  "We're talking about the Tattler.  It's not the New York Times.

                Dr. Lecter shook his head.  "Then why would Clarice send us a message asking for our help?  Rebecca DeGould was a schemer.  Perhaps she is back to her old tricks." 

                Erin shifted uncomfortably.  "And maybe it's a trap," she said. 

                Dr. Lecter exhaled.  "Why would Clarice do that?  She's been willing to leave us be for years.  Why go to all this extent?" 

                His wife was unconvinced.  "That detective is on the prowl," she pointed out.  "She mentioned studying under Clarice." 

                "It's not her style," Dr. Lecter said.  "Clarice rarely sneaks around.  She finds such things to be dirty pool." 

                "No," Erin pointed out, "she sends twenty people to grab you and stuff you in a cell and make you fly across the Atlantic in handcuffs, and then she threatens you with taking away everything you hold dear."  She trembled a bit. 

                Dr. Lecter put his hand on his wife's shoulder and smiled tolerantly.  "Do you still hold it against her that she captured you?" he asked.  "Is that what all this is about?" 

                "Part of it," Erin said stubbornly.  "You trust her to the ends of the earth.  I don't.  You and I have a life.  And a son.  I'm not ready to risk everything because of an ad in the paper.  What if it is a trap?  What if you go gallivanting off to the US and there are a bunch of FBI agents on the plane with you who arrest you the minute the plane touches down?  What am I supposed to tell Michael?  That he's never going to see his father again because some woman his father once knew put an ad in the paper and off he went to his capture?"  Tears began to glitter in her eyes.  "You told me about how much losing Mischa hurt you.  What about your own son, Hannibal?  If I don't matter enough to you to keep you from wanting to fly halfway around the world to be the big white knight, does Michael?"

                Dr. Lecter had to be careful.  He did love Erin.  And his own son – his own flesh and blood – meant more to him than anything else on earth.  To be forced to choose between them and helping Clarice would be a most painful choice in any case.

                "The risk is lower than you think, I believe," Dr. Lecter said judiciously.  "We've noticed no more surveillance than normal.  If the FBI and the local police had pierced our identity, do you not think that they would have brought us in by now?" 

                "Maybe this is what they're waiting for," Erin riposted.  "Knowing that Dr. Lecter would go to help Clarice.  All you have is a fake ad in the paper.  Maybe this is just a scheme on the part of the FBI to see if you'll bite when they put the right bait on the hook." 

                Dr. Lecter put his hand on her shoulder.  "And what if it is not?  What if Clarice is in trouble?" 

                "Why does she need you for that?" Erin asked, not without logic.  "Why would Clarice be in prison anyway?  She isn't the fugitive.  We are." 

                "The woman in the picture was attempting to pass for Clarice," Dr. Lecter explained.  "The same hairstyle, the same clothing.  Perhaps someone pulled a switch.  Like perhaps Agent Rebecca DeGould, who has already once attempted to engineer Clarice's downfall."

                "And perhaps she's trying to engineer yours," Erin said.  Her face worked.  "What if that detective comes after Michael and me while you're off with your old flame?  What happens if you come back and find me in prison and Michael in…in an orphanage somewhere?" 

                That gave him some food for thought.  Like Clarice, Erin was an orphan.  It was fairly obvious that her issues with Clarice stemmed from multiple factors.  Clarice's prior capture of her.  The fact that she'd considered Clarice a potential rival for Dr. Lecter's affections.  And here was something else, something deeper.  An orphan's deep-seated fear of abandonment. 

                Just how do I attract these women? Dr. Hannibal Lecter thought. 

                "Is that what you fear?' Dr. Lecter asked.  His tone was kind and gentle.  He was known far and wide for his cruelty, but compassion was not completely alien to him.  He never could have been the world-class psychiatrist he had been without being able to understand others.  In the doctor's case, he possessed a remarkable ability to understand while turning off his empathy at will.  "That I would leave you for Clarice?  That while I wish to help Clarice, that I would turn my back on you, were you in the same plight?" 

                Erin said nothing but seemed defensive. 

                "I assure you that is not the case.  You are my wife.   When you were captured, I sought you out.  It was simple luck that you escaped before I was able to get to you, not lack of dedication on my part.  Now, allow me to ask you something." 

                "All right," she said, sounding a bit choked. 

                "What if Clarice were in desperate straits and needed help?  Would you turn your back on her?" 

                Her face worked.  She was a surgeon; her life's work revolved around helping people who, in Dr. Lecter's opinion, often didn't deserve it.  Occasionally she had to be reminded of her better nature, but that was all right. 

                "No," she said unwillingly.  Then she immediately followed that by adding, "But you don't know that she needs help." 

                Dr. Lecter nodded.  "Then I shall do some background checking to see if this is true or not," he said.  "Would that suffice?" 

                She seemed distrustful and stiff.  But finally she exhaled.  "Yes, all right." 

                "Very well, then." 

                "There's just one thing," Erin said softly, and her face filled with pain.

                Dr. Lecter opened his hands.  "And what would that be?" 

                "I know what you want," Erin said, and tears rose to her eyes.  "You want to get on a plane and go to her.  That's what you want, and that's what you're going to end up doing.  I can tell.  I've been married to you long enough to know." 

                "Erin," Dr. Lecter said calmly, "I only mean to help Clarice." 

                "I know," Erin said.  "But if she's the one you want…if everything I've given up and done for you hasn't been enough…then tell me now.  I'll take Michael and I'll go somewhere else.  It's been good here and I hate leaving, but I'll leave this life before I have it taken away from me." 

                "I assure you," Dr. Lecter said, "Everything will be fine." 

                She shook her head slowly.  "I'm not sure it will be," she said in a powerless whisper.  "I can't stop you from leaving.  If you want to go you're going to go.  But don't just abandon me to a prison cell, Hannibal.  I'll take Michael and leave the country and find someplace to go." 

                "You talk as if I'm never coming back," Dr. Lecter observed. 

                "I don't know that you will," Erin replied. 

                Dr. Lecter realized what she meant; that he would either be captured…or that he would leave her to be with Clarice.  The vein of insecurity ran far deeper in her than he had thought.  What she meant she did not have to say:  if she thought he was not coming back, she would flee herself.  And if that happened, he would never see his wife or his son again. 

                For want of a nail, the kingdom was lost – when you break the old rhyme down, that is the essential meaning.  Small things create small consequences that escalate.   For Rebecca DeGould, there was no horseshoe nail.  Instead, there was a soda can lying in the middle of the road to Clarice Starling's duplex. 

                She was driving her faux Starling and Mapp back to their duplex.  They could drive around all they wanted themselves.  When she wanted them to go somewhere or do something, she would drive.  It was better to make sure that the little twits didn't have the opportunity to screw up.  Fortunately, she'd chosen well.  Both women resembled their targets enough so that if you didn't know them personally they would pass.  Both women were also quiet, docile little things who would do what they were told. 

                She had given them some files on Clarice and Ardelia and ordered them to memorize them.  Mostly, it was the basics.  Where Clarice and Ardelia had gone to school.  What well-known cases they had worked on.  Enough to give them a basis to pass by the casual observer.  Both of them were still on leave from the FBI. 

                Brittany Tollman sat in the back seat, carefully studying the papers she had been given.  Her lips moved carefully, shaping the words as she read them.  She wanted to commit them to memory. Miss DeGould had told her to. 

 Pleasing Rebecca DeGould was important to Brittany.  Only Miss DeGould had seen fit to give her a second chance.  That was all she had ever wanted.  She wasn't as bad as they'd said she was.   She'd desperately wanted to be good.  She wanted a family, a job, a quiet little anonymous life.  She hadn't killed anyone; her boyfriend had.  Her boyfriend had kidnapped her and beaten her until she did what he wanted.   But no one cared about her or her side of the story.  But after five years in prison, she had accepted that she wasn't ever going to get a break.  The system had thrown her in prison and there she would remain.  No one gave a crap about her.   

And then Lieutenant Beck had called her into his office.  Miss DeGould had been there, in her power suit and her careful Northeastern pronunciation.  She'd been quite intimidating, even though then she had been nice.  Brittany had been able to sense the mailed fist in the velvet glove.  They'd closed the door and quietly explained their offer to her.  Do what we tell you, when we tell you to do it…don't ask too many questions…you'll be out and you'll be free.  You won't be able to see your family ever again.  But you'll have a second chance.  That's what you want, isn't it? 

And that was what she'd wanted.   Sometimes she felt bad for Starling.  According to DeGould Starling was dangerous anyway.  She would've gone to prison already if she hadn't been an FBI agent, DeGould had said.  That rang true to Brittany.  Cops always protected their own.  If you had a badge you could do whatever you damned well pleased and no one would stop you. 

Brittany was not an amoral creature, and occasionally, in going through Clarice's things at the duplex she would feel guilty.  She and Kiera had done some poking around on the Internet, once they had figured out how to make Clarice's computer work.  They'd found out about Chowchilla, and they both knew exactly where the women they had replaced would be going. 

Kiera didn't talk much about it, but Brittany suspected that she had some doubt.  Brittany knew she did.  The first night after she'd read about what the Chowchilla SHU was like, she hadn't been able to sleep.  Wearing Clarice Starling's pajamas, lying in Clarice Starling's bed, she'd pondered what she was doing and found it impossible to sleep.  Then she thought about what had happened to her, and what would happen to her if she was caught, and she swallowed her doubts and resolved to keep up with it. 

The next day, though, she'd gone and bought a money order for a hundred dollars and sent it to the New York Department of Corrections with her name and inmate number on it.  It was a stupid gesture.  She knew that.  So inadequate as to be laughable.  But it was the only kind of gesture she could make at all, and so she did it.  Maybe, one day, Agent Starling wouldn't hate her.  Miss DeGould would have been furious if she found out.  Brittany hoped she didn't.  Scary though her benefactor might be, she was the only benefactor Brittany had.

The free world was better than Brittany could have ever hoped.  She and Kiera were becoming fast friends.  She had her freedom.  She wasn't dumb, and she knew that she would have to get a job eventually.  That was fine with her.  Miss DeGould said she could arrange for something.  Maybe she and Kiera could get a place in New York City, or something. 

So she dedicated herself to studying and memorizing the information DeGould wanted her to.  And when DeGould swerved to avoid the soda can that lay in the road where a careless driver had flung it out his window, Brittany's papers scattered on the rear floor well of the car. 

Miss DeGould would yell at her and Brittany sometimes, when she was mad.  Brittany didn't want to make Miss DeGould mad.   Her second chance, her only chance, lay in the balance.  Her private nightmare was that somehow, she would end up discovered and back in prison.  If she was ever sent back, they'd try her for escape and she'd never, ever, get out. 

When Brittany's papers scattered on the floor, then, she simply bent down to gather them up as quickly as she could.  She didn't want DeGould to yell at her.  Miss DeGould was driving and didn't pay attention.  She also picked up something that had not been in her papers. 

Clarice Starling had been fingerprinted before joining the FBI.  This was mandatory for all FBI employees.  One copy of her fingerprint record was down in Central Filing.  Rebecca DeGould had already gotten that one and destroyed it.  But another hard copy had been taken at the branch office that had recruited her.  That had taken a bit more work for Rebecca DeGould to obtain control of, as it had required a trip to Wheeling with a phony court order. 

She'd put it in the car and not thought terribly much about it.  Clarice was going back to population.  If Beck were smart, he'd have her back in lockdown for a few fights.  DeGould thought that he ought to arrange a murder or something, something so horrible that they could just ship Clarice out to Chowchilla and be done with it once and for all. 

Brittany was nervous as she grabbed up her papers, and when she saw Clarice Starling's name on it, she simply stuffed it in her file with the rest of the papers.  When DeGould pulled into the driveway of the duplex, she simply let them out and admonished them not to use the phone.  The fingerprint card contained Clarice's true fingerprints was brought into the house with the rest of Brittany's paperwork. 

A simple castoff soda can and Brittany Tollman's twinge of conscience had begun to derail Rebecca DeGould's plans.