A/N: Thank you my darlings who reviewed. It is much appreciated to get feedback. I also want to apologize for the not so immediate update. I have to make sure that everything is perfect in my writing before I post it for you all.

This chapter is from Audrey's point of view. And as much as I despised the ending to the movie, Hannibal, I am using it for this particular story (except for the plane ride part). I do believe that I mentioned that this story is a combination of the books and the movies, but if I have not, you all now know.

Oh, and one last thing. Some of you may be having a hard grasping what Audrey looks like. For all of you who have seen the Underworld movies, you are quite in luck. Just imagine Selene with longer hair and blue-violet eyes and you'll have Audrey. Yes, including the fangs and the voice (not so much the accent as the way she says things). Because if Audrey is going to be a badass she might as well look like one, agreed? *pause* Thought so.

Disclaimer: Look at the Prologue for the disclaimer. In this chapter, I do not own the lyrics to the song 'Ice Queen' by Within Temptation.

Your heart turns to stone
She comes at night when you are all alone
And when she whispers
Your blood shall run cold
You better hide before she finds you
Whenever she is raging
She takes all life away

Chapter 1: Ice Queen

"Is Clarice Starling here?"

The stereotypical busty blonde receptionist glanced up over her black rectangular frames from the computer screen that she had been working on. Her recently manicured fingers stilled as her jade-green eyes glazed over in disinterest and disapproval after she scanned my wardrobe distastefully, which today consisted of: skin-tight dark-washed jeans with a little bit of flare at the bottom over knee-high, leathery black boots with a three heel and a black leather jacket fitting snuggly over a rather deep V-neck shirt. Dear god, I hated these types of women. It wasn't as though I needed a replay of my entire four years at high school. (Oh believe me, going through it once is quite enough.) They think that they can dissect my entire life, being, soul and personality being using their blunt little eyes to examine my attire? I felt a sudden but not unfamiliar surge of dislike towards the woman. I knew, if I so desired, I could easily remove those criticizing eyes with my beloved—not to mention completely wicked—Spyderco Civilian that was currently taped to the inside of my left boot. Maybe then she would think twice before judging someone before actually getting to know them properly.

However, I was quite sure that if she had any idea that I knew everything about her (Sometimes having the ability to hack into any place online comes in handy. But shhh, don't tell anyone.), she would be far more willing to oblige to my request. Or maybe she would just freak out and run from the room. Perhaps if I had time later after I met up with H for lunch, I could make a visit to her house. In fact, hell, why don't I just bring him along? On second thought, he wouldn't go for another 'murder appointment'. Not after what happened with my sister at Muskrat Farm as well as the whole incident at the Chesapeake lake house. I had personally watched him swear that he wouldn't kill again. At first I thought he was joking, but his eyes told me otherwise—twin maroon oceans that held emotions I had never seen in his eyes; regret, sadness, longing, love. I had known that in that very moment, Doctor Hannibal Lecter had changed. My beloved Hannibal—the most vicious, fearsome, and wanted man in the United States—was becoming a big ol' softie over my twin sister. Joy.

I watched as the blonde receptionist blew a bubble obnoxiously and then popped it right in my face. As I wiped the small amounts of pink gum that had landed on my face, I could feel the violent monster within me snarl for her pain. For her agony. For her torturing. To have those mocking green eyes shining up with fear and intimidation as I tore my teeth into her throat's flesh, ripping it, devouring it, savoring it—

Shaking myself mentally, I subtly reminded my craving that I needed to keep a low profile. I hated how I had to relinquish this feeling because clearly this world would not be missing this bitch. I know I wouldn't. Remaining calm, I flashed my most charming, patient smile. "Ma'am?"

"She's not here right now. She's out." The receptionist went back to work typing, clearly dismissing me.

"In the field?"

"That information is classified and not available to non-agents."

Oh, well, that's the biggest load of bullshit I've heard in a while. Internally frowning in annoyance, I could feel myself debating whether or not I should just kill this irritation. I managed to quash that desire yet again. What good would all of this careful hiding had been for if I called attention to myself by slashing her throat in broad daylight in the middle of the FBI? Now, if there wasn't near as many cameras or security guards or the fact that this was the fucking FBI's main building, the situation would be a lot more different. Bending slightly over the Colonial Cream granite countertop, I gave her a sheepish grin. "Well, she and I were supposed to go out to lunch together at one o'clock and it's now—" I glanced down at my watch "—1:21. Do you have any idea when she might be back?"

"Nope."

"Okay—" I paused half a nanosecond as I recalled her name "—Barbara. Could you at least point me in the general direction of her desk?"

"Unauthorized personnel are not allowed in the main building unless they have permission from an administrator or other supervised official," she quoted rudely, still not bothering to look up at me.

By this time my patience was gone and my self-control had practically snapped. Whoever said that patience was a virtue was in desperate need of a swift kick in the balls. Leaning over so that my next statement could not be heard, I growled icily under my breath. "Listen to me right now. I need to go see Clarice Starling's desk. Whether or not you think you will allow me to do so is your business. But I would highly advise you to think carefully before answering. Your son, Benjamin, right? Age 3, sandy blonde hair and dark brown eyes? He's currently in Riverside Pre-school on the corner of West Chestnut and Royale Road, isn't he? It would be a pity to have to, ah, deal with him." Barbara looked up from her computer finally, and I smiled down at her, showing my razor-sharp incisors. Casually, as not to draw attention, I opened up my black, leather jacket to show her the awesome Smith & Wesson Model 500 Magnum Revolver that I had tucked away into the inner coat pocket. Thank god that the security guards at the front of the building were easily distracted by attractive women or I sure as hell wouldn't have gotten inside the J. Edgar Hoover Building at all. All I had to do was smile and they were like putty in the palm of my hand. I might be thirty-seven but I could sure as hell still turn heads. And without any plastic surgery. Take that Hollywood!

I watched as her eyes had widened in shock and terror as they landed on the weapon, giving me a burst of immense satisfaction. (Hahaha! What now, bitch?) It never ceased to amaze me how much fear could change one's behavior. All of her cockiness and disrespect was gone. Now we were getting somewhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hand stray over to the phone.

"Oh, honey, you don't want to be doing that," I said smoothly with a deadly casualness that came easy with being a serial killer. I could feel my body relax as I was now in the familiar 'predator' territory; threatening someone's life. Or in this case, someone else's. But that was beside the point. The fact was it was an empty threat because I would not leave a small child motherless like that. Not after what happened to me. (Come on. I do have limits, you know.) It was still fun though, even if I wasn't going to follow through with my intentions. "Let's recall Lil Benjamin, mmm?"

"Who are you? What do you want?" her voice was shaky with terror and panic. I very nearly grinned at her obvious frightened state.

"It's not important who I am." I held out my hand in a blatant show of impatience. "Visitors pass, please."

After I had delivered the letter to Clarice's desk, I strolled out of the building casually and down to the parking garage that held my car. It was only when I got into my Dagger GT that I removed my waist-length platinum blonde wig and took out chocolate-brown contacts. Thank god that my wig had long enough bangs or I would have had to have had dyed my eyebrows blonde. Looking at myself in the rearview mirror, I let out a small giggle at the thought of me going around with jet-black hair and blonde eyebrows. Now that's a very sexy mental image. Shaking my dark curls loose from my pony tail that had held my hair in place, I placed my aviator sunglasses over my indigo-colored eyes before putting the key into the ignition. I took a moment to appreciate the fearsome roar belonging to the twin turbocharged V8 engine from the supercar beneath me. Pulling out, I made my way over to the gate.

A low whistle came from the security guards above me. "Nice ride," the first one said in admiration.

"Thanks."

"What's it go?"

I revved it for a few seconds, giving the dropped-jawed guards a smirk as I glanced over my sunglasses. "Now…may I have my receipt, please?"

Still in an awestruck state, it took them a few minutes of rather hilarious clumsy scrambling before they finally handed it to me. Driving off, I finally let out the laugh that had threatened to overcome my cool and calm exterior. Most modern men were oh so easy to sway. I mean, let's take the guards for example. All it took was a badass car and a sultry smile, and they were practically eating out of the palm of my hand. I snorted at this conclusion. Pigs. Sadly, there were very few men who were tasteful—heck, least of all descent—nowadays. In all retrospect, Hannibal was actually one of those few males. As my luck would turn out, he was infatuated with my sister, obsessed perhaps, or maybe even as far as—dare I say it—being in love with her. I mean, it wasn't like I hadn't noticed him as a man. Hell to the freaking no. Kinda hard not to, quite honestly. He was extremely handsome, irresistibly charming, and not to mention, remarkably intelligent…that was not a doubt. I was quite aware of that. I mean, any woman that was alive could see it. But how could I possibly compete with someone of my own flesh and blood? Especially since she was the only family I had left, genetically speaking. And besides that, Hannibal was my best friend, my trusted mentor, as well as my advocate. I wouldn't have risked ruining my friendship with him for anything, even that little crush. Over the years, he and I became closer, and thankfully the crush ceased to exist and was replaced by a strong, unbreakable bond.

Or at least I had thought my crush was gone, when in fact it had actually grown beyond anything I had ever have predicted. Typical, right?

I remember when he was arrested. I had been walking down the hospital's hallway on my way to my daily visit to his room when it had happened. I watched the police officers take him away. Nothing had ever gone through had hurt that bad. Not even when my father died. I had felt like my heart had been stabbed with a knife followed by it shattering into a billion pieces. Shock, grief, and despair, along with many other depressing emotions, assaulted my being violently. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, hell, I couldn't function at all. It was as though I had been zombie-fied into a rapid down-spiral into an abyss of depression. My life seemed as though it was falling apart at the seams Hannibal had so passionately sewn together all those many years ago. I remember his trial like it was an HD video in my mind; every character witness, every juror's expression, every allegation, every argument…the verdict.

Placing a hand at the base of my throat, I stroked the dark, brass-encased Harpy eagle talon that hung around my neck in the thick, matching chain. The almost supernatural-like comfort that came from the necklace was ironically not that hard to understand. A few weeks after he had escaped from Memphis, I received a red, velvety box in the mail containing the piece of jewelry now adorning my neck. Underneath the package, there was a note in heavy, expensive paper, written in a familiar, elegant script.

My dearest Audrey,

As you probably are aware of by now, I have escaped imprisonment. My current whereabouts I cannot disclose in this letter, due to the risk that this might be seized. Although it is rather unlikely, I do have to be careful. It is not that I do not trust you—there should never be a doubt about my trust to you, my dear. It is just simply that the sense of freedom is an indescribable pleasure after being locked away like an animal for eight years.

Which brings me back to my original purpose of writing this letter to you. I do believe that I missed your eighteenth through twenty-fifth birthdays. And for that, I do apologize. In my defense, I did not have the ability to send things to people from my cell. As we both know, Doctor Chilton does enjoy his petty torments. I trust that you will enjoy my gift. For the next few weeks, you will receive gifts for every birthday I missed. I know that you most likely will be hesitant in accepting them as they are quite expensive. Do not worry. I have plenty of money.

This necklace is for your eighteenth birthday. I do hope that you will remember me when you wear it.

I now wish you well until we meet again, which will hopefully be soon. Until then, my dear…

Ta,

Your Hannibal

P.S. I do plan on keeping my promise.

Over the next couple of weeks, I received seven more gifts, as promised by him. First was the key to a new house. It was a stunning, yet modern-designed mansion; three stories high with a basement as well as multiple bedrooms, a vast living room, an enormous library, a media room, an elevator (Yeah, that's right. I have a freaking elevator in my house.), and a rather large swimming pool in the back. Three days later, a piano was delivered to my new house, one that I recognized as the piano I had been playing when we had first met. Two days after that, a Dagger GT—painted up in jet black with blue-violet flames on the sides and black chrome rims on the tires—was parked in my driveway with the keys in the ignition. (I almost felt bad for H. The supercar—as well as its design—was not at all in his tastes. It must've killed him to get it.) A few days afterward, there was my revolver that was currently in my inside jacket coat pocket sitting on the granite countertop of my kitchen along with a gun cleaning kit. Next was a massive weapon set, which I found already set up on beautiful, dark brown shelves in the basement. (Almost like my own personal bat cave…without the cave and bats part.) After that was his signed cookbook, The Joy of Cooking, (although how the hell he got it out of the evidence box that was in FBI custody is beyond me) which I found in my kitchen and I assumed it was meant as more of an inside joke than anything. My final gift was my personal favorite: a Spyderco Civilian. It was almost the equivalent to his Harpy, but the Civilian had a far more wicked curve to it. It was without a doubt a most worthy blade of Hannibal Lecter's protégé. Underneath it was a small portion of the expensive paper with elegant cursive written on it that I had grown oh so familiar with over the years.

See you soon.

It was seven years after that note was sent when I heard from him again. (Seven freaking years? What the hell did you mean by 'soon' exactly? Soon as in, sometime before the freaking next millennium? Seriously, H?)

And I will never forget that night. Not as long as I live. It haunts my dreams on a regular basis. I remember it being a gloomy evening. And it was in the course of that evening's events that I realized that I had fallen in love with Hannibal Lecter.

I was quite lucky in fact that he had personally trained me to be an expert at hiding my emotions. Had I been anyone else, he would have easily been able to tell my feelings. I was also able to control my body language and my body responses from being obvious. Although, I have come to realize that restraining my temper is not nearly as easy as hiding my love for my best friend. I honestly don't know what that says about me.

Turning into the parking lot of the restaurant, I scanned the cars until I found a suitable spot right next to a gorgeous, yet familiar, black Jaguar. He definitely must've reserved it though how was another question entirely. Oh, well. Who am I to complain about having an awesome parking spot at a dreadfully hectic restaurant?

I put the car in park, and stepped out onto the concrete, shutting the door and locking the car behind me. Casually, I strolled through the parking lot, my hair flared out behind me like one of those stupid hair coloring commercials. I kept up that speed until I reached the front entrance way. I nodded my thanks to the employee that held open the door as I walked by, a burst of cold, air conditioning chilling my body as it hit me, allowing my body to relax slightly. I only slowed my pace when I approached the hostess at the greeting podium.

She looked up as I advanced her. "Do you have a reservation?" She asked in a somewhat irritated way of a greeting. Dear god, was everyone in a bad mood today? Did I miss it being National 'Be an Asswipe to Your Customers' Day on Facebook or something?

Ignoring the impatience, I smiled charmingly. "Yes."

"The name the reservation is under?"

"Doctor Hopkins."

She scanned the thickly bound, black booklet for a moment. "Ah, yes." Grabbing a menu, the hostess gestured for me to follow her. "Right this way, ma'am."

I trailed behind her as the young hostess lead me to a small table for two, located towards the back of the restaurant. An older gentleman, dressed finely and sophisticatedly in a nice suit with his dark—although slightly graying—hair combed back in a slick, elegant manner, sat there with his back toward me, appearing to be scanning the menu. However, I knew he had sensed me when his shoulders rolled backwards causing his vertebrae to straighten in the most minuscule of movements, only to be detected by the upmost trained eye. As we walked around the table, I got a better look at my companion, although I never had a doubt who it was anyway. Our eyes met for a brief second, red-violet connecting to blue-violet, as we acknowledged each other's presence and our happiness at seeing one another again…even if it had just been this morning when we had last seen each other.

Is it pathetic to be in love with someone who obviously feels nothing but a deep friendship with you and that particular someone is in love with your twin sister and that sister is engaged to someone else?

You know what, on second thought, don't answer that.

If only Clarice could truly understood what she was missing out on. Stupid, ethical, FBI loving—

The hostess pulled my seat out for me. I smiled my thanks before she parted and sat down. I didn't have to see his expression to know that he was grinning faintly at me. Glancing up into the face of my maroon-eyed companion, I saw that indeed he was smiling. It was quite a rare sight to behold, but I was honored to be one of the few that were treated to it. Contrary to popular opinion, Hannibal was more emotional than most people. You just had to know how to find it and bring it out of him.

"Good evening, Doctor Hopkins." I greeted him, my lips turning upward in a full, true simile.

Hannibal's grin widened, causing his maroon eyes to sparkle. "Good evening, Miss Chikatilo. I took the pleasure of ordering our dinner for us. I do hope you don't mind."

I pushed my menu to the side with my slender fingers, smirking slightly. "Not at all."

A comfortable silence fell over us until I broke it. "Isn't it rather risky to have lunch out in the open—in Washington DC none the less—without a disguise?"

"Ah, but that is all part of the fun, my dear," he replied with an evil smile that I loved. I watched as his eyes scanned my attire in one quick sweep, a single eyebrow cocked questionably. "You went into the Bureau looking like that?"

"Mmm-hmmm," I answered as I took a long sip of the wine in my glass. As I put it back on the table, I smirked a little bit. "The front entrance guards didn't even pat me down. They were too busy staring."

Hannibal smirked at my answer. "I do hope you didn't give them a heart attack."

I couldn't stop the faint blush from creeping up my cheeks. He had never given me a compliment like that before. It took me half second longer than it should've to answer. "No. That wouldn't have been very inconspicuous, would it now?"

"Most certainly not, Audrey," he replied before taking a sip of his wine. "I trust that the delivery went well?"

"I had to improvise."

He raised both eyebrows this time. "Improvise…?"

I flashed a wicked grin of my own. "I threatened her son's life."

"And she bought it?"

"Well, after I flashed her my S & W 500 Magnum Revolver it went rather smoothly."

The good doctor laughed, eyes practically glowing with delight. "That's my girl."

That statement, along with his laughter, caused me to chuckle as well. For these past five years, this laughter as well of the old banter between us has increased in the amounts. As have many things…

I have had to clean up my sister's mess that she left behind at Chesapeake all of those long years ago. Well, the chaotic mess of Hannibal. Single handedly, she had almost destroyed him; something I, along with many other people, had thought impossible. His past horrors of his childhood had created what he was, and he had offered to give it up before Clarice that night. She had not only rejected him, she had betrayed him as well; using his emotions and feelings towards her to try and capture him. Stupid child. When I had heard of this, I had not felt anything but rage towards my twin. That rage increased to outright fury after I found out a few weeks ago about her marriage engagement to a local county officer named Charles Porter. Un-freaking-believable. I mean, seriously? Like Hannibal needed any more pain from her stupid choices.

Idiot.

And despite everything, every so often I still catch him gazing into the night's sky, watching the stars. Sometimes when I walk by his room at night, I can still hear him whispering her name in his sleep. Occasionally I still find him sketching her with charcoal by the fireplace in the corner of the vast space of the living room. I can still see the love reflected in those maroon eyes…its intensity infinite…its depth immeasurable. Even after what she did to him...he was still in love with her.

Moron.

Hmmm…so I'm related to an idiot and in love with a moron. What does that make me?

…don't answer that.

A/N: Kinda a cheesy way to end the chapter, I know. Please, my dears review. I do love reviews. Due to schedule conflicts, posting will be irregular and I may not post for long periods of time. Sorry darlings, but that's how my life is right now.

What else is there to say? Oh, yes, that's right. The last name 'Chikatilo' that Hannibal addresses Audrey by is the last name of a Russian serial killer and cannibal, Andrei Chikatilo, who was dubbed the name the "Russian Hannibal Lecter". Since Audrey's foster family was indeed Russian, I figured that it was appropriate to use it as the last name of the family as well as Audrey's 'official' surname. As we all know, she is technically a Starling, but her last name was changed legally when she was adopted by the Chikatilo family. Hannibal is the only one who calls her 'Starling', but refrains to do so in public since Clarice has made her name well-known.

Did you all notice the reservation name? And the name Hannibal is going under? Take a moment to smile at it. It is thanks to Sir Anthony Hopkins that we too have Hannibal Lecter's voice in our heads. His voice ever haunting our everyday lives that before now seems silent in comparison. Agreed? Yes or no, my friends? *winks*

One last thing. The letter that Audrey puts on Clarice's desk will be explained sometime in the future. It is rather important so please refrain from blowing it off as an insignificant detail. No, I am not going to tell you what it is. I do have to keep some mystery to the story, hmm?

Hopefully that cleared up some questions you all might be having. I do believe that's all for now.

Ta ta,

Dreamiest Nightmare