A/N- Short chapter, but a chapter nonetheless.


Violez mon couer

It was in the darkest part of the night that Noble Pilcher rolled over in the bed, reaching across for the comfort of his wife. He awoke slowly as he felt nothing but cold sheets where Clarice's warm body should have been. He sat up in bed, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he found her vague silhouette by the soft glow of the night light. She'd refused to sleep without one for some time now, since the dreams had begun.

Since the nightmares.

It wasn't uncommon for Clarice to alight from her bed in the middle of the night, sometimes she found her way back, sometimes Pilch never noticed and found her lying on the couch downstairs, half under a dog, with the rest gathered around the couch. Some nights, he awoke and found her by the window, staring at the stars. Tonight was one of those nights. The room was abnormally cold as he swung his feet off the bed. He could see Clarice's head turn towards him as the bedsprings squeaked. A breeze puffed the curtains around Starling, and he could hear the bone-dry rattle of leaves blowing down the street.

'I'm sorry I woke you.' Clarice whispered, seeing Noble cross the room to her. He was tall in the night, features in shadow, concern telegraphed off him waves, though. He slid the window closed before stepping behind Starling. He wrapped his arms around her, bearing her weight as she sank into him. He could smell her shampoo, the almond one she had grown fond of.

'You didn't.' he assured her, then, gently 'What was it this time?'

Clarice shook her head. What was it every time? She'd been through the Bureau mandated counseling afterwards, had talked with the headpshrinker about hunting Buffalo Bill while he hunted her in the basement. Talked about the encounters with Dr. Lecter in the Dungeon. But she never talked with anyone about how he had penetrated her mind, and now haunted her psyche. She adored and thanked Noble silently for never pushing the issue, just accepting it. Even in a relationship built on trust, one had to keep their secrets.

Pilch loosened his arms as he felt her begin to turn in front of him. He looked down on her, and could make out the tracks of stiff-dried tears on her face. He felt powerless at times like these, as if he had failed her somehow. He didn't know why she was so disturbed, but he had theories. They would talk sometimes, and she'd reveal little things, giving him glimpses, but nothing more than that. It wasn't a lack of trust, he knew they both trusted each other implicitly, but, everyone had secrets.

'Let's go back to bed.' she told him, trying to watch his eyes in the dark. He nodded and bent to kiss her forehead, then released her and followed her across the room. The couple shuffled around still sleeping dogs, then settled back into bed to await the dawn.
.-.-.-.

It was still morning when the British Airways Concorde's wheels first touched American soil. There were the normal rustlings in the cabin as the stewardess went through her much practiced welcome to speech. A man towards the front of the cabin smiled to himself as he peered out his small porthole to see the maze of runways passing bay. While the seats were smaller than what he might have been accustomed to on a typical trans-Atlantic flight, that small comfort could easily be traded for the quicker passage. The streamlined supersonic liner came to stop at the Jetway, the unspoken signal for passengers to rise from their seats. He bent and retrieved his small carry-on from beneath the seat in front of him, and disembarked with the rest of the passengers.

Customs didn't pose a problem. His credentials were all in perfect order, and he was soon waved through. The gentleman, slim and unremarkable behind dark glasses, wheeled his single checked suitcase down to the rental car desks. He stood patiently in the queue, and again created no fuss at the counter. Within fifteen minutes he was whisked away on a shuttle bus to the off site lot where his car was waiting. Luggage in the trunk, he accelerated smoothly away from the airport in his rented Lincoln, enjoying the top of the hour news on a local NPR station and enjoying the brisk air that came through the open sunroof. He decidedly savoured his freedom.

His first arrival to this country had been just as remarkable as this most recent one. It was always his departures that drew attention.
.-.-.-.