Title: Back in Baltimore
Author: Pseudo-Morals (Axl of LL and the Studiolo)
Genre: Silence of the Lambs/Hannibal
Category: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: stardustsavant@hotmail.com
Archive?: Sure.
Summary: Clarice Starling is sent to Baltimore, to work with the Homicide detectives in finding Dr. Lecter.
Author's Notes: Ten chapters planned, only eight up as of 3/10/04.
BACK IN BALTIMORE – CHAPTER ONE
Clarice Starling stands on the side of Paul Krendler's desk that is closest to the door, and eyes the man in the swiveling chair warily. It is not uncommon for her to find herself in situations with which she is uncomfortable; after all, this is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. However, this could perhaps be the only place in Quantico that truly makes her uneasy. She pictures, for an amused, fleeting moment, a strip of yellow police tape crisscrossing the entrance, marked with the words 'Warning: Definitely Hazardous to Your Mental Health.'
"I've been what?" Her voice is incredulous, her expression even more so.
"Called to Baltimore on assignment," he replies smoothly, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk. Starling's eyes cut to the soles, and she recognizes them as the kind that will easily scuff. Serves him right, the damn bastard.
"And who ordered this, Mr. Krendler?" Starling has a sneaking suspicion that it was he himself who wants her out of the area, so that he can take all the credit for all she has accomplished occupationally thus far.
"With all due respect, Ms. Starling—"
With all due respect, Mr. Krendler, you've got your head so far up your ass you'll be spittin' hairballs any minute now.
"—I don't think it's your place to be questioning the instructions I've been
told to pass along to you."
"You don't, do you?" She mutters it, under her breath, between clenched teeth, and he has to lean forward slightly and reposition his legs to even catch a bit of what she'd said.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Okay then." He stands up and sidles his way around the desk until he stands in front of her chair, offering a hand to her in an exaggerated display of what he believes to be chivalry.
She accepts the extended limb, but when she is on her own two feet, Starling makes a show of wiping her palm on the side of her skirt. She notes Krender's glare with satisfaction, and leaves his office without a single word of goodbye.
When the door slams behind her, she doesn't even flinch.
-x-
On the morning of her scheduled departure to Baltimore, she spends half an hour with Jack Crawford, at his home. Although the man has retired from his position at the Bureau, he has friends within the system who keep a close eye on the woman he has watched grow from a trainee to a full-fledged special agent with a spectacular balance of attitude, quick wit, and common sense. He is, therefore, in the loop as to this particular assignment, and what it entails for his eager former student.
"Several reliable sources have it, that Dr. Hannibal Lecter has emerged from hiding and is back to his old tricks, Starling," Crawford explains, sliding a mug of lukewarm coffee across the kitchen counter.
She takes a sip, and tries not to grimace, feeling, suddenly, sorry for the man. With his wife dead, he has been reduced to an old veteran of the federal government, who wears flannel pants and a poorly-fitting turtleneck at eleven o' clock, and drinks stale coffee with women he cannot bear to fully let go of.
"But why me, sir? Why Baltimore?"
"We sent a number of agents to visit Dr. Lecter during his incarceration. You were the first, the only one he has ever been responsive to."
Starling scoots up so that she is sitting on the counter, cradling the coffee mug in her lap. Her hands are pale, but appear remarkably peach-colored against the whiteness of the porcelain. She is silent, knowing that he will continue in his own due time.
"The Baltimore Homicide Department has come across several…people…that appear to have encountered the doctor."
Crawford addresses the matter vaguely, and Starling does not press him into further detail. She knows very well that the people are more like remains, and knowing it is enough. She does not need to hear it spoken aloud.
"Oh." It is an inadequate answer on her part, but he seems not to notice. "Paul Krendler mentioned Lecter, but he never specified—"
"Paul Krendler is a lying, manipulative son of a bitch, Starling, and you know that as well as I."
She is somewhat taken aback by Crawford's profane honesty, but does not show it.
He continues. "Have you arranged for a hotel?"
"Yes, sir. It's not far from the Department's office. Sergeant Howard recommended it."
"You spoke with him?"
"Her," she corrects gently. "Sergeant Kay Howard."
"Right," Crawford agrees, without alluding to his mistake. He is a rather proud man, and Starling wonders if she should have let the gender confusion slide.
"Good luck, Starling. God knows you'll need it."
"Thank you, sir." It is only on the expression of gratitude, that her West Virginia accent makes itself known in full force, and then disappears quickly as she adds on his 'title'.
When she lets herself out of Crawford's house, her coffee mug is left, mostly untouched, on top of the microwave. She is driving, and she turns the radio up to nearly maximum volume, to drown out the thoughts clamoring for her attention, about the last time she was in Baltimore.