A/N: Thank you for those who reviewed! I'm glad everyone is enjoying this story!
This story is now rated "M" considering the language and suggestive themes.
Got rid of the song lyrics because I found out that having them in this was copyright infringement. (Whoops.) I also changed a few of the chapter titles. The new ones fit better in my opinion. Sorry for any confusion these changes have brought.
Disclaimer: Look to the Prologue for it.
Chapter 6: Could Be Worse
Clarice walked back to her new office armed with three mugs. She hadn't shifted from her deadpan expression since the completion of Black Widow's profile. Which was two weeks ago now? Ten days? Maybe? Did she care? Hell no.
The search for Black Widow's identity had quickly become one of the most infuriating tasks Clarice had ever experienced. Trying to get straight answers out of Lecter all those years ago was child's play compared to this. Since Lecter's capture, avid researchers, ambitious grad students, and fame-hungry psychologists had been working tirelessly to create an all inclusive biography on Lecter. Not one of them was successful. Obviously.
Clarice, Charles, and Ardelia had spent most of their time on digging into maybes. A lot of their information came from seeing Lecter's name with somebody else's and then tumbling down the rabbit hole only to smack into a dead end. As broad as a "thirty to forty year old white woman" might be in the realm of descriptions, no one was fitting it. Too old, male, dead. And that was the small collection of people they had managed to get information on.
The whole damn thing was giving her a headache.
Once again, a serial killer had decided to drag her into their fantasy. A fantasy that was ludicrous. And damn stupid.
She was not jealous. Not in the slightest. The Lecter voice in her head from her lingering PTSD insisted on a different story. Much like the real Lecter, that voice seemed to be under the impression that if he was persistent enough, Clarice would fall into his arms.
Right. Okay.
Yeah, for one second, she had considered doing it. Just one.
But could anyone really blame her? A gorgeous man had her pinned against a refrigerator and was gazing at her like he wanted to ravage her body for the foreseeable future.
Maybe it was kinda hot.
Maybe it made her a little horny.
Fucking sue her.
Yeah, yeah, she could rationalize it 'til she was dead but it didn't stop the infinite amount of self-hatred following it. Nothing beneficial came from that lapse of judgement. Knowing her luck, Lecter was feeding off that single moment. Probably using it to keep up the illusion that she wanted to run off with him.
I came halfway around the world… to watch you run, Clarice.
Obviously, Lecter had discovered the secret to a woman's heart.
Being a creepy, stalking fucko.
How romantic.
Clarice rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time, no doubt breaking some kind of record in the process. Her constantly foul mood had left her rolling her eyes at pretty much everything. Normally, someone in her position might be afraid or worried for their safety. In fact, that's what she should be experiencing. But, quite frankly, she really couldn't be bothered. With anything.
Which is probably why she decided kicking her own door was a better route to take than dealing with the retina, fingerprint, and voice recognition security system.
A loud crash came from inside. She could just barely hear Charles grumbling loudly in Spanish. From what Clarice could understand through the door, he was going through the entire alphabet of swear words. The door jerked open and a barely mentally available Charles poked his head out. A large red mark combined with wrinkles imprints matching the ones on his sleeve adorned his cheek and forehead. Glazed over brown eyes and parted lips gave him the look of a recently turned zombie. His dark curls seemed as if they couldn't figure out whether to be a chaotic mess or matted down.
"Cariño," Charles muttered as he leaned on the door frame. "If you woke me up because you're too damn lazy to go through the security measures, I will—" His gaze dropped down to the coffee and his whole mood shifted. "Shower you in my love until the day I die."
She snorted at his change of heart and handed him him mug before entering her office. "Uh huh."
He shut the door and walked around her to a couple of overturned chairs. Guilt seeped into her chest. Charles hadn't been being dramatic after all. Her laziness had actually woke him up. She could imagine Charles toppling over to the floor as he scrambled to get into a fighting stance. His less than welcoming greeting was easily forgivable considering, well, he didn't even have to be there. Hell, he didn't even work there.
Progress in finding the identity of Black Widow had been infuriatingly lacking. Every time a possible breakthrough seemed to be within their reach, it was cruelly snatched away from them. The amount of dead ends they had dealt with was enough to make any investigator go mad.
Clarice had gone on a caffeine run for the sake of their collective sanity but found herself meandering mindless through the building. Before she knew it, fifteen minutes had gone by. Clarice had tried to be upset with herself but she honestly couldn't. After a while with limited sleep, time had a tendency to blur together.
Ardelia had yet to move. The only thing that had changed was the file folder she had been looking at was now on the ground a few feet from her. Most likely thrown out of frustration. Her best friend was sprawled out on top of Clarice's desk with the same half-dead expression Charles had. Her legs were somewhat awkwardly bent as if she had tried to fit on the desk but gave up and let them dangle off the edge. One of her arms was tucked underneath her head while the other fidgeted with Clarice's Newton's cradle.
Ardelia had bought the thing years ago for Clarice's desk. Her reasoning had been along the lines of 'You're a big shot FBI agent now. You gotta have one of these. For the sake of professionalism.' It was obviously not a serious gift but looking at it gave her a reason to smile. Unfortunately, all that sacredness was lost within the first week as a bunch of her fellow agents took it upon themselves to constantly make Newton's balls jokes.
Clarice noticed that her cell phone was still face up beside Ardelia's face as the voice of Jack Crawford came through the speaker. It was the same droning lecture he was on when Clarice did a walk out to get the three of them a much needed caffeine boost.
"With all due respect, sir," Ardelia mumbled out, slurring her words just a bit. "If you try to put her under constant surveillance, you'll be inviting a tiger to an open buffet."
Crawford didn't say anything and for a blissful second, Clarice thought he just hung up. Then he spoke again. Dammit. "Agent Mapp, can you hand the phone to Agent Starling?"
Another eye roll.
Clarice picked up her phone and replaced it with Ardelia's mug. She had just enough left of her final damn to mute the phone call. "You're relieved, Agent Mapp" Clarice told her best friend, mocking Crawford's voice. Ardelia was far too tired for her bullshit and gave her an unamused look. She shifted her position to a more upright one and sipped grumpily on her tea. Clarice shook her head at Ardelia's antics and sat down in her chair.
"Starling, you are aware that I'm your boss, right?"
Yet another eye roll. Someone should really call up Guinness World Records. Clarice unmuted her end of the call before responding. "Yes, sir," she said offhandedly.
"And that I can fire you?"
Clarice tapped on the ice cube in her coffee, only half paying attention. It was a completely empty threat. The FBI had been trying to get rid of her for years yet here she was. "Yes, sir."
"And that I am fully aware you had Agent Mapp respond to me with barely intelligible english while you were off doing god-knows-what?"
That one she did not know. Not that she was going to let him know that.
"Sir, considering I've gotten a grand total of fourteen hours of sleep over the last ten days, I don't think you should be expecting a helluva lot of professionalism. Especially when you're going on about something I've made my opinion perfectly clear on." Pause. "Sir."
An exasperated sigh came from the phone. His irritation was radiating out of the speaker. "Look, I understand that being under police protection isn't your favorite thing but it's for your safety. If you're right about the profile—"
"No, no, sir, I fucked it up on purpose."
He ignored her smartass remark. "—then Black Widow wants you gone. You might find it hard to believe but I do care about you."
Ardelia, who had still been taking a drink, made a demonic noise, jerked backwards, and then proceeded to crash onto the floor as she overestimated how much desk space there was. The, thankfully, almost empty mug of tea went with her as did the calendar, various papers and at least half of Clarice's case folders. She groaned in pain and massaged her nose pitifully.
"What the hell was that?"
Clarice raised an eyebrow but made no move to help Ardelia. "An idiot."
"Fuck off," came the nasally response from the ground.
"Might wanna try not snorting your tea next time."
"Yeah, sorry. Left my coke in my million dollar mansion. Had to make do."
The corners of her lips might have curled upward at Ardelia's sarcasm. Clarice put her feet up on the desk where Ardelia had been and leaned back in her chair. She balanced her phone on her thigh so she could hold her mug with both hands. "Sir, Black Widow won't kill me. In fact, she won't lay a finger on me. The second she does anything bad to me, Lecter is done with her. She won't risk that. And Lecter, of course, won't do anything to me except be a taunting asshole. He's too smart to try and pull Chesapeake Bay the sequel. I'm fine."
As surprising as that might be, she really was fine.
As ironic as it was, she was rooting for Black Widow and Lecter to be a thing. They had Clarice's blessing for whatever that was worth. Lecter's letter was most likely a bluff to try and make Clarice jealous.
Ha.
But, if that relationship truly did happen, Lecter would stop giving her attention and Black Widow wouldn't want to see her dead. Clarice could go back to giving fuck all about Lecter and live out a normal-ish life. A win-win in her book.
Killing two birds with one stone.
Unfortunately, her honest take on the matter only made the situation even more absurd.
Crawford disagreed because of course he did. "I don't like it. You're putting an awful lot of faith in two psychopat—" Before she could correct him, he did it himself. "—in two serial killers."
Might as well be talking to a damn wall.
And the biggest eye roll of the night made its appearance. "Sir, it's my job to know how these two think. I wouldn't be putting my life in unnecessary danger. I think we can both agree I've had quite enough of that, sir."
"Starling, you don't have a choice in this." His voice had an air of tired finality. It was around eleven. Probably past the old man's bedtime—
Wait.
Did he just say…
Are you fucking serious?
Crawford had her full attention now. She gritted her teeth behind pursed lips while somehow managing to not lose her cool. Nothing short of a miracle considering her sleep deprivation. "May I ask why you didn't mention that an hour ago, sir?"
"Perhaps you should to talk to Agent Mapp. I'm sure she can give you a vivid recount of our conversation."
Clarice frowned at his words and looked down at her phone. "Sir—" Her lock screen greeted her. He'd hung up. Apparently, Crawford had become as annoyed with the circling conversation as she had. "Goddammit. Passive aggressive bastard."
"Looks like he's taking lessons from you."
She slowly scooted up her chair enough so she could see Ardelia. "Maybe if someone had been paying attention to his words—"
"Get off that high horse, girl." The no nonsense tone made her eyebrows raise. Damn. "Don't you go forgetting that you fucking bounced cause you got so bored talking to him. Charles and I have been working our butts off —in our spare time, by the way— trying to figure out who this spider bitch is. We're just as exhausted as you. If you're gonna complain about something, do it on Lecter."
"Yeah, can we bitch about that asshole for a minute?" Both of their gazes cut over to Charles who had returned to his makeshift couch. The two chairs were back to facing each other. His back was flat against the two chairs and his legs stuck out through the space under the arms. Fingers were locked behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. An empty mug lay overturned on the ground near him. "Why do I get the feeling that this guy was prepared to get caught at a moment's notice? Because I can't find anything involving him with others."
Ardelia sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Same. I'm convinced all those rich people he used to run around with just paid a million dollar fee to have it erased from record or something."
Charles whistled the X-Files theme but Clarice stopped the situation from spiraling out of control. "You. Shut up." She turned to Ardelia who's mouth was open. "You. Close your damn mouth."
A few seconds went by before Ardelia's words made it from her ears to her brain. The gears of her mind were apparently jammed. "No. Wait. What did you say?"
"What? My conspiracy theory? Are you serious?"
"No, no." She waved her hand dismissively. "Why did you say 'rich people'?"
It was Ardelia's turn to roll her eyes. "Well, who the fuck else would Lecter entertain for his pretentious-ass dinner parties? Not normal ass people. Rich people. Probably rich white people but we'll never fucking know cause there's nothing fucking there!" Out of frustration, she threw some papers she had been laying on. The papers, in turn, did their equivalent to a middle finger and came right back to her.
"Can you really blame them though?" Charles, this is not the time to be rational. "I'd imagine anyone's reputation takes a huge hit when the world finds out you've been socializing with a serial killer. And eating his victims."
"No, I can't. I just…" Ardelia sighed out of annoyance. Her mood shifts were starting to worry Clarice. She was used to no sleep but Ardelia wasn't. Neither was Charles. She appreciated their help but they'd really been stretched thin lately.
"I am just so damn tired of these stupid smart serial killers, man," she continued. "Lecter was a bitch to deal with all on his own but now, with this Black Widow…" Ardelia shook her head. "She's this whole other level, okay? That woman somehow managed to charm her way into this building. Probably with actual black magic since none of the security guards she dealt with could give a matching, or even remotely similar, description. Not even the metal detector guy —who had a full blown conversation with her and everything— was helpful. She's white with blonde hair and brown eyes. Okay. Yeah, I'm sure that wasn't a wig and contacts. So, in reality, all we got on her is that she's white. And, let's see, you remember nothing else about her? Just that she was hot? Very helpful, thank you." Another eye roll. "And then she also manages to know the most vulnerable place in the entire fucking building? How? That's not information some asshole can just Google. Hell, I work here and I didn't know that until this ordeal."
Charles raised his hand, still on his back. "Yeah, I got another question. Why the hell does the FBI have a fucking waiting room?"
"It's unofficially called 'The Appointment Room'," Clarice answered before drinking some of her now cold coffee. All that was needed to make it more dramatic was a rumble of thunder and a loud organ.
Laughter erupted into the air from Charles. "'The Appointment Room'?" The words were barely intelligible as he continued to laugh. "Sounds like a shitty horror movie."
A smack came from the floor. "Goddammit!"
The sudden noise startled Charles and Clarice. Clarice almost flipped herself backwards out of her fancy swivel chair and Charles almost ended up in the floor for the second time that night. They both ended up speaking angrily at the same time.
"What?!"
"Could ya maybe fuckin' not?!"
Whoa, girl. Twanging a bit hard there.
Ardelia held up a hand with her eyes closed. She looked like a fake psychic trying to 'feel' if demons or ghosts were around. "You two calm down."
"You started it—"
"Doesn't matter." She put down her hand. "What does matter is if this is a horror movie, I'm gonna be the first to go."
Clarice gave her a long, judgmental look. She was sure Charles was doing the same.
"Okay, what the fuck was in that tea?" Pause. "And where can I get some?"
Clarice had had about enough. The derailment had been amusing at first but the conversational train was so far from the tracks that it was on a different planet. "Shut up." Ardelia opened her mouth again. "Both of you. No one's dying. This isn't a horror movie."
Charles looked at Ardelia from around one of his chairs then they both cut up. Clarice dropped her head in her hands. There was no hope for the conversation now.
"Oh, yeah. 'No one's dying'. Says the white girl," he teased her through chuckles.
"Right?" Ardelia chortled. "Super reassuring."
He managed to sober up quicker than she did. "Seriously though. If anyone's gonna get offed first, it's me."
"Listen." Psychic Ardelia was back. Hands and everything. Clarice really did need to look at that tea bag. "Black people always die first in horror movies. You're only half black therefore you will have the privilege of going second. That is the nature of horror movies."
Charles scoffed. "Right. Let me just call and thank my mamá for that gracious honor."
Clarice's head shot up from her hands. "God, no. We'll be here for the rest of the night listening to her scream into the phone. I am not in the mood to deal with her trying to convince us to change the wedding location again."
Just her luck that she came off too harsh. Dammit.
"She doesn't scream," he muttered defensively, obviously pouting a bit. "She just speaks loudly."
A few moments went by before Ardelia strangely enough decided to put the conversation back on the tracks.
"What the hell were we talking about?"
"'The Appointment Room'."
"Oh, right." She glanced away from Charles and back to Clarice. "Did you want to say something about it?"
"Yes." For the last several minutes, in fact. You know, while you assholes were being... assholes. "I heard some of the higher ups talking about how stupid it was earlier today. Apparently, it was made as an extra security measure or something. It's for citizens and students to wait in if they want to talk to an agent or teacher. But no one uses it because no one publicly knows about it. It's a complete waste of money."
A loud snort came from Ardelia. "That is impressively stupid. Even for the FBI."
Charles groaned and sat up, placing his chin on the back of the chair. "Well, that explains why no one realized the security cameras had stopped working. And why the receptionist was able to take a three hour lunch break and no one gave a damn."
"Yep." Clarice put down her mug. "I also heard that the receptionist didn't even close the door all the way when she left on that long-ass lunch break so Black Widow literally just strolled in."
No, of course it didn't bother her at all that someone who wanted her dead could apparently access the first floor with ease. Not like the BAU was on the first floor too or anything. Not like the Appointment Room was also on the first floor and created a direct line to her former desk.
Nothing to worry about at all.
"For the love of—" Charles's forehead not so gently hit the top of the chair. "Please tell me they fired her."
"Oh, yeah." Clarice vehemently nodded. And good fucking riddance.
"Did you manage to get a look at her?" Ardelia craned her head upward to look at her. "She looked like she fell off a low budget porn movie set."
Clarice couldn't help but laugh. God, did it feel good to laugh.
"There she is," Charles teased with a small, tired smirk on his lips. "Our girl has returned to us."
"Finally. She's been putting up resting bitch face for almost two weeks now. Or was it less than that? Fuck if I remember when we finished that profile on Mrs. Lecter."
Her roommate's words sent the three of them into giggles. They'd been giving Black Widow different nicknames out of the sheer boredom of saying her 'serial killer' name over and over again. Ardelia was hands down the best at it.
"Well, if it wasn't for our new serial killer, I wouldn't have gotten this fancy as hell office. So," Clarice raised her mug at nothing in particular. "Cheers for that, bitch."
"About damn time. Though Crawford kinda went overboard with the security." Ardelia raised her brows at Clarice mockingly. "Maybe he does care."
"No, he doesn't. At most, he feels guilty about wheeling me out to Lecter like a—"
"Lamb for the slaughter!" Clarice slowly turned her head to Charles and gave him a withering stare. "Oh, come on. Don't be mad, cariño. That was easily the best joke I've ever told. Probably the best one I'll ever come up with."
Ardelia snickered and tried to muffle it behind her hand. "That was fucking brilliant. Pitch black on the humor spectrum but brilliant nonetheless."
Well, this has devolved into a mess.
"Okay, I can see the night is clearly going to continue on downhill." Clarice stood up and drained the rest of her coffee. "Time for us to go home, you two."
"Sleep? What is that?"
"Is it food? Sounds german."
Clarice sighed, helping Ardelia off the ground as Charles put back the chairs. "Would you two just shut up?"
They shrugged in unison. "Maybe. Maybe not." Ardelia gave her a half smile and picked up all the shit she had knocked off. She haphazardly placed them on the desk.
"You know I hate having my things disorganized, right?"
"Yep," was Ardelia's only reply as she walked over to the door where Charles was. "But we both know you're too tired to be your usual OCD self."
Clarice didn't say anything but she did walk over to them. Ardelia was right. She was far too exhausted to deal with that mess.
After closing up, the three of them walked through the relatively empty halls. Seconds of silence ticked on by until Ardelia broke it before they reached the metal detector.
"You know," she began. "There was a name that stuck out a bit. Maybe its cause I spent like five minutes trying to pronounce it. I don't know. I mean, it's a dead end but I still wanna check it out again tomorrow."
"Is that the murder house one?"
"Yeah."
They both fell silent as the three of them went through the metal detector and Charles turned in his visitor's pass. They continued to walk to the elevator in silence. It slowly dawned on Clarice that she had absolutely no idea what the hell they were talking about as she scanned her ID badge to get the elevator to move. It dinged and the three of them walked inside it. As Clarice hit the button for the second sub basement floor, she spoke. "I'm ready anytime you two want to give out an explanation."
"Oh, right. You weren't there." Ardelia took a deep breath before answering. "The whole family was murdered. Brutal shit. It's unsolved but the autopsy report says the all three members of the family were killed prior to the fire. The weirdest part of the whole thing was they found metal shackles in the remains of the house. No clue why. Any other evidence went up with the house."
The elevator dinged open, halting the conversation as they entered the parking garage underneath the Quantico building. Soon, they were outside its walls and Clarice felt like she could properly breathe again.
"Hold on a second." Charles looked over at Ardelia with confusion written across his features. "They're all dead. Why do you want to look into it? Do you think she did it?"
"No, no. The Widowed Wonder didn't do it. Doesn't fit her MO at all." Ardelia shook her head. "It bothers me because the daughter would fit perfectly within the age range for her to be Black Widow. Trust me, discovering she was dead was easily the most annoying thing I found out today." She sighed. "Thought I had hit a real breakthrough."
Charles tossed Clarice the keys. She wasn't about to let him get behind the wheel.
The drive back was a relatively short and quiet one. When they were about five minutes away, Clarice adjusted the rearview mirror and looked at Ardelia in the backseat. "Out of curiosity, what was the name of the family in the 'murder house'?"
"Chi—fuck. Um, wait. Chi-cot-tea-low. Chikatilo? I think that's how it's pronounced." Ardelia met her eyes. "Why?"
Something didn't sit well with Clarice about that name. Each syllable made her skin crawl. She simply chalked it up to her sleep deprivation draining away the final pieces of her sanity. Her eyes returned to the road. "No reason."
A/N: For those who don't know, the word 'sleep' is of a germanic origin. Apparently. I think. If not, I blame Google.
Ever try holding a linear conversation when all three people are sleep deprived? It doesn't happen.
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Any feedback is appreciated.
Ta ta,
Dreamiest Nightmare