A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. Your comments are always appreciated. Thanks also to Kurt and Jerome for your help. Sorry this took so long to get out, my life has been insane lately. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long.

eight

Graham sat on the porch of Clarice Starling's duplex, hardly feeling the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine. He wondered if the chill in the air was mostly in his imagination, and decided it didn't matter. At times like this, he was glad he'd stopped profiling. If he'd continued, he would probably have lost his mind well before now.

Catch me if you can, Willy. We're the same, after all.

He'd heard the words so clearly he could have sworn Lecter was right there. But, of course, his only companions were ghosts. He shivered, and buried his face in his hands. He wanted to go home. Returning to profiling was harder than he'd thought. As he sat there, fighting with the monsters in his head, he wondered if it was even worth it.

He didn't want to go back in the house. He knew he couldn't save Clarice and the knowledge burned.

*

"Well, it looks like the Bureau wants you back after all." Lecter dropped a folded newspaper onto the bed and sat down, looking expectantly at Clarice. She opened it. A sidebar on page two informed her that Will Graham had come out of retirement to assist in the search for her. She read the article in silence then folded the paper and calmly handed it back.

"Well?" Lecter asked.

Clarice smiled, but it lacked warmth. She really didn't want to get into this conversation now. "Graham was kind of a legend at the Academy. There was talk of him coming to lecture once, but he never did. I'd always wanted to meet him. And after you escaped in Memphis, I called him. His wife answered—she was nice. Even though she wouldn't let me speak to him."

"Ah, yes. Molly." He paused, and Clarice held her breath. Every time Lecter opened his mouth to speak, she was afraid he would bring up the other night—when she'd been weak, when she'd let him comfort her—and she wasn't ready to talk about it yet. Knowing Lecter, he'd probably mention it when she least expected it. "So, tell me, Clarice. They obviously want you back. Why do you think that is?"

"They don't want me. They want you." She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "But then, you already knew that, didn't you?"

Lecter just smiled. Clarice looked down at her lap and picked at the edge of the cast on her wrist. One more week, and then it could come off. One more week, and she wouldn't be confined to this bed. One more week . . . and then anything could happen.

"Why didn't you kill Graham when you escaped?"

Lecter shrugged. "I didn't want to. Contrary to what people think, I like Will. I like the way his mind works. His problem is that he's afraid he'll lose himself. That if he travels the dark path long enough, he won't find his way back. Like Dante's Pilgrim, only Will doesn't have a Beatrice to lead him out of hell."

"What about me?" Clarice wondered what had prompted her to ask. She knew he would be honest, and she knew his words would probably hurt.

Lecter's expression softened, and there was a new look in his eyes. "You? Clarice, you are Beatrice."

She exhaled softly. Whatever she had expected, that was not it. "Then what's my problem?"

"You're far too idealistic. Do you really believe that everything is so black and white? Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity? Truth, Justice, and the American way?" He was mocking now, and she raised her chin defiantly.

"Sometimes things are black and white."

"Like what?" He leaned back in his chair and looked at her expectantly.

She sighed. "Do we have to do this?"

"You brought it up."

"Fine. Alright. I agree that not everything is black and white. I know our relationship certainly isn't."

Lecter tilted his head to one side. "Do we have a relationship?"

Clarice bit her lip. She could feel her cheeks burning and knew she'd walked right into that one. Lecter was in an odd mood this morning; one she didn't know how to handle. She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"Well, Clarice?"

"I don't know." Her headache hit full force. She picked up the bottle of Tylenol and fumbled with the lid. Lecter took the bottle from her and popped the lid off. He handed her two tablets and poured a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just a headache."

"You'd best get some rest then." He closed the curtains, leaving the window slightly open to allow for fresh air. He paused at the door and looked back with a smile. "I'll tell Will you say hello."

He was gone before she could reply.

*

It had been two long days since Graham had run out of Clarice Starling's house. He still hadn't called Molly. He didn't want to involve her in this. And if he didn't speak to her, she couldn't tell him she was worried about him.

He was surprised to see Dwayne outside the duplex. He raised his hand in greeting as he approached. Dwayne nodded.

"Good afternoon, Agent Graham."

"Pastor Ritter." Graham glanced at the three men in overalls and frowned. "What's going on?"

"I'm packing up Ardelia's things. Life goes on. I need to go on, too."

Graham nodded. Life did, indeed, go on. For some reason, the thought wasn't particularly cheering.

"How is the investigation coming?"

There was no point in lying. "Slowly. There are very few leads to go on."

"Well. Good luck." Dwayne turned and walked towards his car. Graham watched him drive away before he went inside.

Everything was exactly as he'd left it. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and entered the bedroom, opening the cupboard. For the most part, Clarice had a very casual wardrobe. There were three suits that she probably wore for work and one or two smartish outfits. Otherwise there were just jeans, cargo pants, and sweat suits. He thought if he ever got the chance to meet Clarice, he'd probably like her. She'd probably hit it off with Molly too.

Her shoes were equally casual, except for a Gucci box stacked right at the back. He pulled it out and opened it to find a very elegant pair of high heels. They seemed out of place. Graham didn't know how he knew, but he was certain she hadn't bought them for herself.

He rifled through the clothes again, this time spotting something hanging in the far corner. He pulled it out and frowned. It was a black evening dress . . . there was something very familiar about it. Wasn't she wearing a black evening dress the night of Lecter's second escape? Surely this couldn't be that same dress. She wouldn't have kept it, would she? Clarice Starling was a straight arrow, he'd been told.

But Lecter was inside her head, as surely as he'd gotten into Graham's.

Graham felt the sudden urge to call Dwayne. If anyone needed prayer, it was Clarice M. Starling.

He put the dress back where he'd found it and closed the cupboard. He found what he was looking for in the hallway cupboard: a cardboard box filled with press cuttings and a couple of tapes he was certain had never seen the inside of Quantico. He put one in the stereo and couldn't help shivering when he heard Lecter's familiar voice.

He hadn't wanted a drink this badly in a long time.

He called Pearsall instead, and told him what he'd found. When Pearsall mentioned that the lead in Amsterdam hadn't panned out, he couldn't help smiling. He'd been right; Lecter was still in the country.

And if he was still here, Graham would find him. He couldn't hide forever.

His only concern was that when he eventually caught up to them, Clarice might not want to be rescued.

*

"What are you planning to do?"

Lecter had taken Clarice out onto the balcony again. She'd suggested that it might be nice to eat lunch outside for a change and he'd readily agreed. He was pleased to see her in better spirits these days, and she was definitely more at ease in his company. He filled their glasses with fruit juice and sat down before answering.

"About?"

"Will Graham."

"Nothing." It was the truth. That was not to say that Lecter had no other plans—but these he did not intend on sharing with Clarice just yet.

"But, you said—" She took a sip of her drink, then stared at him, her eyes searching his. He stared back, his expression inscrutable. "Never mind."

"You know, you're going to need some physical therapy when those casts come off. You've been immobile for five weeks now."

She nodded, and he saw something unreadable in her eyes. She'd always been so active; it occurred to him that this inaction must be killing her.

"I suppose you're going to supervise my therapy?" Her tone was light, flirtatious almost. Perhaps he didn't have as much work to do as he'd thought.

"Of course."

She smiled, one of her first real smiles in a long time. "Of course."

He smiled too, already making slight changes and adjustments to the plans in his mind. There had never been any question that this would end the way he wanted it to. Lecter was a man who usually got what he wanted, no matter how long he had to wait. He was no stranger to patience, and it looked like his patience was finally about to be rewarded.