A/N: Be sure to read chapter 6 first if you haven't already.
Chapter 7:
The hotel bar looked very tempting, and he wouldn't be surprised if hours later he found himself seated in there with a drink in his hand. He wasn't going to be able to sleep without something to help him relax. He followed Sara to the elevator as they headed up to their rooms.
"You want me to help you look over the case files," she asked once they stopped at his door.
Gil shook his head. "I prefer to do this alone."
"If you need me, I'm here."
There was disappointment in her tone. He found himself without a response as her hotel room door closed shut behind her. Other than processing the scene with Nick, there wasn't much else for her to do to help. There was a lot he preferred to do alone; this was one of those things. He needed to think and to get as far inside the mind of Lecter as he could, and he couldn't do that with another person in the room, especially not Sara. She was a distraction.
The hotel room was cramped and red. Why did it have to be red? Red reminded him of blood. He opened all the windows and slid the door leading out to the balcony open. The breeze was hot and humid, but he didn't care; it was suffocating in the room. He released a heavy sigh as he pulled out the case files. One was Lecter's while the other was of the woman that he'd gone on the run with nearly six years ago: Clarice Starling.
He knew a lot about Agent Starling already from what he'd read on the way to South Carolina. She had only been a rookie, hadn't even graduated from the academy before Crawford weaseled himself into her life. The serial killer, Jame Gumb, aka Buffalo Bill, had been kidnapping and killing women before he skinned them and then dumped their bodies into rivers across the Midwest.
Starling had figured out that Gumb had been watching the first victim, Fredericka Bimmel, and that he lived in the same state. Then, through follow-up interviews with all the people Fredericka knew, she was led to Miss. Whitman's house where Gumb had been living. There was a well in the basement of the house where he would keep his victims, starving them so their flesh would be easier to remove.
Hannibal's basement was just as horrifying. Officer Stewart, the first man to see Lecter's basement, quit soon after with emotional problems. Gil never flinched at the sight of the basement because he had been expecting it, and in a way, had already seen it in his mind before venturing down to take a look. What he was more interested in wasn't how Starling caught Buffalo Bill, but her past and her relationship with Hannibal Lecter.
He sat down on the bed, kicked his shoes off, and then leaned back against the headboard and stretched his legs out as he opened the file. Starling was from a small town in West Virginia. Her father had been the town's Marshal, the chief of police. He flipped the page over and saw that her father had been shot while trying to stop a robbery. He died a few months later.
Picking up a pen and his notepad, he started jotting down all his random thoughts: Starling had feelings of guilt, the need to bring justice to the world that took her father (parents) away. Both parents died when they were young, a sense of fulfilling their own justice, and strong-willed. Differences? Cannibalism was a main point to make as well as being a murderer. Starling wasn't a killer by nature. She'd killed those she had no choice but to kill in self-defense. She would not have willingly gone with Lecter. It didn't make sense that she had, but she did. For five years, from 2000 until 2005, Clarice Starling had gone on the run with Hannibal Lecter.
Both she and Lecter had lost their family at a young age. He lost his father young. Sara had lost her parents young as well.
What the hell was he doing? He stared at the page of notes and felt like balling it up and throwing it across the room. Did any of that even matter? Sara thought it mattered. She feared a murder gene. It mattered to her so much that it caused anger issues and she nearly lost her job.
Did it matter to Starling? How so? Did she have issues as well?
Looking over her FBI record, he tried to understand Starling. She hardly drew her weapon. When she did it was out of absolute necessity, much like him. She was quiet, pensive, and intelligent. She did her job with dignity. Ambitious, especially in the early part of her career.
There was a reason she agreed to questioning Lecter. Advancement. She wanted to prove herself. Then afterwards she stagnated. No advancement at all. It wasn't from lack of trying. She had recommendations. She had accommodations. Awards. Her work was above and beyond most other agents.
Yet, she turned down every chance at advancement. She wanted to stay where she was, as a Behavioral Science Unit profiler. It was as if nothing else mattered. There were only two reasons: she felt it was her calling, that the job chose her (much like his job chose him), or…
"You couldn't let him go. Could you?"
Lecter had gotten into her head. She couldn't let him go.
He frowned in deep thought and looked at the clock. He'd been at it for hours and he was making little progress. Two un-finished lists of similarities and differences were all he had, and some points he couldn't even confirm. The only way to do that was to listen to the tapes of the conversations Starling and Lecter had together. And those tapes were in Quantico, Virginia in the evidence vault.
He tore off a sheet of paper in the back of the notepad and wrote down every place, victim, and who they were in relation to Lecter on it.
Argentina: Barney Matthews; orderly guard at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
Italy: Bedelia Du Maurier; Lecter's former psychiatrist and colleague.
Havana: Dr. Raymond Kubrick; Lecter's Plastic Surgeon.
Maryland: Sidney Bloom; known colleague of Lecter's and former consultant with the FBI.
South Carolina: Jack Crawford; Ex-Director of FBI's Behavioral Science Unit.
The Hayashi's had no relation to Lecter. Lecter had killed them due to their relation to him. He didn't put them on the list.
The only thing that was clear was that Lecter was cleaning house. He had no idea if the places where the killings happened were of any importance or not. He didn't think so but he didn't rule anything out. It was all a puzzle to a much bigger picture that Lecter had already drawn for him to piece together.
He muffled a yawn behind his hand, stood, and stretched. It wasn't too late but this was his usual awake hours. He didn't want to sleep yet. Plus, his dreams would be haunted with blood and maroon tinted blue eyes. The thought made his muscles stiff and stomach turn. Knowing that he wasn't going to get any rest until he was able to numb his racing thoughts, he left the room and made his way down to the hotel bar.
It was mostly empty except for a few people in a back booth talking too loud for the quiet bar-room atmosphere. He sat on a bar stool and ordered a double Jameson Irish whiskey, no ice, and watched as the deep amber liquid filled the glass. He downed the first drink quickly before asking for another. A jukebox was in one corner, so after his second drink was filled, he shuffled over to it with his drink in hand just to get his mind off thoughts of Starling and Lecter.
Gil shook his head and waited for his eyes to focus on the CD sleeves inside the glass jukebox. After not finding anything pleasing in the CD selection, he abandoned the jukebox and sat back down at the bar. The whiskey was smooth as it ran down his throat.
His mouth focused on the sweet taste as he let his mind drift to Sara. He should go knock on her hotel room door so he could taste her skin. She was better for his health than the whiskey.
A presence was felt at his side and he glanced over to see Kevin sitting next to him. "Beer," Kevin told the bartender. Then he asked him, "Can't sleep?"
"Working on it," he said as he took another sip of the whiskey. "I work the graveyard shift. Hard to change the habit for a night or two. You and Nick just get back from the field office?"
"Crime lab. Stokes processed the evidence and we coordinated with them what we wanted to be shipped to Vegas. Everything else is CPD's. You have a good team."
"They're the best." Having his stepson back had been unnerving at first. He didn't know what to expect from Kevin and so far, he'd been surprised. "I saw you pitch in the national championship game in Omaha. You only gave up two runs." He felt himself smile at the memory. "I flew out to Florida to watch your first Triple-A game with the Dunedin Blue Jays. I think I bragged to anyone who'd listen that you were going to go pro. You were getting close, and then September 11th happened. I'm not upset that you quit and joined the military. I'm just wondering why when you got back that you didn't keep playing ball. Your father—"
"My father may have been a ball player," Kevin said as he glanced at him, "but my dad caught serial killers."
Gil felt a tightness in his heart at those words. He really thought Kevin had hated him. Yet, there he was, a grown man turned FBI agent so he could do what his dad had done, while also being what he couldn't. Maybe they could be friends once this was all over. He would like that; no, he would love that.
"So," he said after he took another long drink from the glass, "Kids? Ever been married?"
Kevin leaned further onto the bar and shook his head. "Nope. I was close once. We met in college. She was with me through playing ball, but when I came back from war, she said that I had changed. I wasn't the person she fell in love with. She wanted to marry a baseball player, not an FBI agent."
He felt like complete shit. Kevin did what he did because of him, and for that he couldn't help but think he somehow ruined the kid's relationship. "I'm sorry."
Kevin shrugged. "It's okay," he uttered before taking a drink. "She wasn't the one." They were quiet a moment before he asked, "What's the deal with Sara?"
He stilled as he faced Kevin. "What?"
"She's cute. Is she seeing anyone?"
He was unprepared for the sudden surge of jealousy that shot up from his chest to his mind.
Kevin smiled slightly as he said, "I'm just messing with you. I've known since Vegas."
That confused him. "How?"
"Let's see. There were no pictures of you with anyone around your house, but you had two take-out boxes in your trash, a tea kettle on the stove, fresh tea leaves on the counter, two cups along with two sets of utensils in the sink. The relationship is new, and private. Leading me to think it's a co-worker. At the meeting, I had a few options, two blonds and a brunette. Only one you looked to for comfort while at the podium. The brunette. Sara. She's one of the two you brought. She's good at her job, but the reason she's here is because you didn't want her to be back there. Alone—"
"Kevin—"
"It's oblivious. I don't know how anyone else doesn't see it, except for only…they ain't lookin'. That look you gave me at the restaurant after I flirted with her said everything."
"Which was?"
"Stay away, kid, she's mine," Kevin said as he took a sip of his beer.
He wanted to be upset, but instead he shook his head and downed his drink. Kevin always tried to bust his chops when he was kid.
"Is that why you sent Stokes with me earlier?" He had no idea what Kevin was talking about. "It was his rental car. You had a choice. Him or her. You sent him with me."
It wasn't often that he had his motives questioned. It also wasn't often that he had to examine himself. He hadn't thought about it; he simply made a choice. "You're not a bad profiler."
Kevin regarded him a moment before smiling slightly.
"But don't do that to me again."
The smile dropped as Kevin looked away, grabbed up his beer and took a drink.
A hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to see Nick behind him. The young CSI dropped onto the stool next to him and ordered a beer. "Guess I'm not the only one who couldn't sleep. Where's Sara?" Nick asked as he looked around the bar.
"Probably in bed," Gil said as he pulled out his wallet. "Where we all should be."
"What's this I hear about you wanting to get a dog?" He stared at Nick until he explained. "Me and Sara talk. If you want, I can talk to a buddy of mine. He's a dog breeder who specializes in training the dogs to the owner's specifications before selling. He worked with the MWD, Military Working Dogs, over in Bahrain. He now does the training for the LVPD's police dogs."
"What breed of dog?"
"The only breed the military program raised and trained were Belgian Malinois, but he has various other breeds. Want me to give him a call tomorrow?"
He gave it very little thought as he said, "Yeah. Thanks."
"No problem," Nick said as he patted his shoulder then grabbed his beer and took a drink.
He tossed enough money down to cover the tab as he stood. "Drinks are on me."
"No, Gris, c'mon," Nick said as he went to pick up the money.
"I'm paying," he said. "It's the least I can do."
Nick put the money back down on the counter. On his arms he could see the faint brown scars from where the fire ants had bitten into his flesh when he was buried alive. It took time for those wounds to heal, the ones on his arms and in his mind, but they would. Nick was resilient, strong, and brave. He wanted to tell Nick how proud he was of him, but held back.
Instead, he turned to Kevin and said, "I need to go to Quantico. I want to listen to the tapes of the conversations Lecter and Starling had while he was locked up at the state mental hospital. Can you get me clearance?"
Kevin was giving him a look over his shoulder. For a brief moment, as the alcohol hit him, it looked to be appreciation. Then he thought better of it and it went away. "I can do that."
"Okay. Goodnight," he said as he walked out of the bar towards the elevator.
Once on the third floor, he headed down the long hallway. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder. He had an unexpected fear of getting strangled or stabbed from behind. Rounding the corner, he saw Sara was leaning against the door to his hotel room. Arms crossed over her chest. She couldn't sleep either.
He pulled out his key card as she watched him coming towards her. Not giving her anytime to move, he blocked her with his arm as he stopped in front of her. Her hands landed on his chest as he stared into her eyes as he slid the key card into the lock. Her need for him was rolling off her body as she pressed into him and kissed his neck.
His eyes closed briefly before he pushed the door open for her to walk inside. He followed. Without words, she slipped out of her clothes as he yanked off his shirt. As she went for his belt, he grabbed her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, as he squeezed her inner thigh and kissed her.
Pushing her down onto the bed, her hands went to his belt as his lips and tongue attacked her neck and shoulder. His lips locked with hers as he lifted her leg and moved inside her, making her breath hiss in pain and then moan in pleasure. They rocked as one, building up the tension, until she shoved him over onto his back. Sitting up, she shut his mind off completely as her body devoured him.
He closed his eyes as she gave him exactly what he needed. There was no urgency. Slow and steady.
So much better than whiskey.
Sometime later, he rested his head on her stomach as her fingers slid through his hair. He was so tired, but his mind wouldn't shut off.
Neither did Sara's as she said, "I've missed you. Ever since this case started, you seemed to have disappeared further inside your head."
He kissed her skin before resting his chin on her stomach. He peered up at her as guilt settled in his heart. "Sorry."
Even though she smiled, there was sadness in her eyes. She took a breath, her chest raised under his head, before she said, "I've seen the way you get into serial cases. Goggle. Millander. Kevin Greer. Now, I can't help but wonder if talking with civility to murderers was just part of it, or if it's who you are. In a way, I think it's a part of you." He smiled as he wondered how she became so insightful. "And I came to know all that just by looking at a picture of you and Lecter." Her eyes were mournful as she said quietly, "He fooled you."
"He fooled everyone. I'm just the one who figured it out first." He saw him for what he truly was. He saw the devil behind the mask.
"Think you can sleep now?"
He smiled as he moved up her body, leaving a trail of kisses up to her lips. After he got a goodnight kiss, one that went deep inside like a pill that sedated his mind, he laid his head down on her chest and closed his eyes. With Sara's warm body under him, the feel of her fingers on his neck as she massaged his muscles, his body started to relax.
As he listened to her heart beating, he drifted off to sleep.
All around him were walls of books, a china set, the flickering light of lit candles, and a piano was playing Bach's 'Goldberg Variations'. He stood in the middle of the room and listened to the crackling fire of the fireplace. In the air he smelled oil as his eyes watered from the aroma of chopped onions. Someone was cooking in the kitchen.
Wine glasses were on the kitchen island as he entered. A hand grabbed the wine bottle and started pouring it into the glass. It overflowed onto the counter where it thickened into blood before spilling to the floor.
The metronome on the dining table was moving back-and-forth. It sounded like the steady rhythm of a heart beating.
Thump…thump…thump…
His eyes roamed around the kitchen. In his mind pages flipped open, going to the back and then back to the beginning. The page he was looking for appeared in his hand, however, it was no longer a book page but of a sketch in Hans von Gersdorff's style. A man's head was being drilled into by a wooden and metal medieval medical device. The operation was called "trepanation". As he looked down at the sketch of "De vulneribus capitis" (On the injuries of the head), he saw the blood that overflowed from the wine glass pooling around his shoes on the floor.
…Thump…
Behind him he felt a breath on his neck.
"We're making Polmoni di vitello con fagioli." Standing at the kitchen island chopping onions was Hannibal Lecter. "We're going to need lungs for this dish."
"I don't think I've ever eaten lungs before. What's the dish?" he asked as he sat down at the kitchen island, watching.
…Thump…
"Italian cuisine. You brown a sliced onion, some diced salt pork, some crushed garlic, chopped parsley, and chopped celery in a mixture of olive oil and lard. Add cubed calf's lungs and brown them thoroughly then add a glass or so of white wine, some peeled tomatoes, salt, and pepper, and cook for about a half hour. Add a generous quantity of previously cooked kidney beans and a little water, cover, and simmer for about an hour. Then top off with some chopped sweet basil for the last few minutes of cooking."
"Sounds delicious."
…Thump…
Lecter smiled as he started chopping the celery. "When you cook lungs, you don't want to overcook them. Do you know how to tell when they're done?" He shook his head. "You hear "sibilo caratatteristico," the characteristic whistle."
"They whistle?"
"A high-pitched whistle as the air valves are closing means that the lungs are done. We have no calf to butcher, Will. She'll have to do." He pointed with the knife over his shoulder.
…Thump…
Following where the knife was pointing, he saw a woman appear on the dining table in front of him. It was Sara. She was on her back. Blood splatter was on her face from the neck wound. That's how animals, specifically deers and pigs, were slaughtered. Cut the neck first. Her brown eyes still. Lifeless.
…Thum—
The thump of the heartbeat stopped.
A linoleum knife appeared over her chest as it sliced it open. Precision cutting in a Y shape as if he were performing an autopsy. A hand reached in, along with the knife, and cut out her lungs. He placed them on either side of her body before reaching back in to cut out her heart.
Bringing the heart up to his mouth, he took a bite.
He awoke shivering as he gasped for air into the dark room. Sweat drenched his body. His legs worked to free him from the sheet and blanket. Stumbling nearly blindly to the only source of light he saw, he entered the bathroom and hit his knees in front of the toilet as his gut twisted. Nothing came up and he dry heaved as he felt a hand on his sweaty back.
The tap water was turned on and then he felt a cold wet cloth on his face. A hand against his forehead. He didn't have a fever.
"Babe? Babe, can you hear me?"
His lungs still hurt as he fought to breathe. Giving a nod, he let out a shaky breath as he leaned back to rest against the coldness of the porcelain bathtub. Sara was next to him, her hand on his sweaty chest.
A kiss to his shoulder, neck, and face. "What happened? Are you okay?"
His head was dizzy and it was hard to shake the images of the nightmare away. She turned his face towards hers and kissed him. It helped to center him in the now. Resting his head on hers, he finally opened his eyes to look at her. There was no blood on her face. Her eyes were bright with life. She was wearing his shirt.
He reached up and placed his hand over her heart, feeling it beating under his palm, as he kissed her again. Her question finally registered in his head. Was he okay?
No; he wasn't.
Once the kiss ended, and he was able to stand on steady legs, they left the bathroom hand-in-hand. They were wide awake now and he saw the questions in her eyes once the overhead lamp above the bed was turned on. He slipped on a pair of sweats and then grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge while she got hot water for tea. His balcony door was still open.
Going outside, he leaned on the railing, sipped on the water, and waited for his head to stop hurting. Sara brought a chair out and sat down, feet propped up next to him. He finished the water, tossed the empty bottle through the open door into the room, then grabbed her feet in his hands.
She tensed at first as he moved in front of her. Then relaxed as he started massaging. His shirt slid down to her navel and his eyes traveled under it. She wasn't wearing any underwear. She smiled up at him, sipped the tea, and then she waited.
Once he got his mind off the fact that she was completely naked under his shirt, he said, "Usually, it takes a while for this to happen."
"For what to happen?"
"The dreaming."
"Why'd you think it's starting so soon?"
"I don't have to figure out who Hannibal Lecter is. I already know his mind." He saw her confusion and he realized he wasn't explaining very well. "Profilers try to understand and think the way the killer thinks in order to catch them. I do more than that. Call it intuition, pure empathy, second sight…whatever it is, that's what I do. Or, that's what I did. I didn't just think how they thought. I became them. My perspective would change and I would see the world the way they saw it. Most of all, I would dream their dreams. In doing so, I would at times forget who I was."
Sara sat her tea down, dropped her legs as she stood. Wrapping her arms around him, she asked, "You were dreaming about Lecter's murders?"
He nodded.
"They're just dreams."
"Not for me. There will be a time when I won't be able to tell the dreams from reality. When I won't know where Gil Grissom starts and Hannibal Lecter ends."
"Gil—"
"Sara, the last time I became him, I ended up in a psych ward. Believe me, this is real. For me this is…" He couldn't even voice it. Really had no word to describe it. "I'll feel like I'm going crazy. It's already starting—"
"With the dreaming?"
"That and…Earlier, I thought someone was in the hallway with me, about ready to kill me from behind. While at Crawford's house, I smelt the vegetables and knew that Lecter did the same as he picked them to use—" He stopped himself as he pictured Jack Crawford dead. "That's how I always knew how close I was. I would do something and instantly know that they also did it as well. Or, I would feel like we were doing things at the exact same time. I'd be cooking and think: he's cooking too. I would sleep when he slept. Our dreams would be the same. It's like we're connected, but we aren't. Once I'm there, in that head space, I don't know how to turn that off. Last time, after Dolarhyde, I couldn't. I started drinking heavily, my wife left me…"
She finally seemed to realize how serious he was. Her hand grasped his neck as she kissed him before saying, "I am right here with you to remind you of who you are. When you start to question what's real and what isn't, all you have to do is come to me." He wanted to believe that so badly. She grasped his hand in hers tight and pulled him back into the room. As he slid the balcony door closed, she asked, "Can't you let Agent Collins handle the profiling of Lecter—"
"No."
"Why not?"
"He's not equipped," he said and hoped she dropped it.
She didn't. "That's his job, isn't it?"
He shook his head. "He's a field agent."
"What's the difference?"
He sat down on the bed and pulled her into his lap. "The difference is, he's not equipped. He's like Brass. He can run around, chase the killer by chasing the leads. He does all the legwork. He gets me the clearance, access to the scene, makes the command decisions, and runs the operation. But, he does not profile. That's my job. Besides, I've already been in Lecter's head."
She wasn't satisfied with his answer, but she dropped it. Her mind was still running though everything, much like his. So many questions and not enough answers. "What if Lecter kills someone else while we're here—"
"He won't—"
"You don't know that."
He kissed her mouth shut. Once he ended the kiss, he told her, "He won't do anything until I get back to Vegas. Two murders in as many days was to get my attention. Jack Crawford and then my doctor. This is what he wants. He wants me to investigate and figure it out. He wants me to know why."
"All because you're the one who caught him?"
"No, not just because of that. He thinks we're the same. That I'll empathize and understand him. All anybody wants is to be understood and accepted…even psychopathic killers."
She regarded him a moment, taking it all in, before saying, "That's—"
"Insane?"
She let out a deep breath. "Yeah."
It was, but he wasn't wrong. He would empathize. He would understand. Maybe his heart would bleed for the boy Hannibal Lecter had been, but in understanding him, knowing why he killed and ate his victims, he would want to kill him for it. It was the only way to stop him. He kissed Sara again as he tried to rid that thought out of his own mind.
He was ready to end this conversation. Sara had other plans.
Rubbing a hand over his chest, he thought she was doing to deepen the kiss, instead she pulled away. "Why did you send Nick with Agent Collins?" Now she was questioning? He let out a breath but before he could say anything, she said, "I could've learned something—"
"Whatever you could have learned, Nick could've as well."
"He might not have asked the right questions—"
"He knows how to do his job."
"What if he missed something?"
He stared at her as he tried to figure out if it was just due to her relentlessness once she got hooked on a case, or fear that was making her question him and her coworker. "Are you saying that you don't think Nick is capable?" Because he had no idea what else it could be.
She didn't give him an answer, instead she asked, "Why did you give him the promotion over me? What was the real reason?"
Shaking his head in confusion, he said, "I told you why. He didn't want it—"
"That's not—"
"Sara," he said as he cut her off. He was trying not to get angry, but her stubbornness could get under his skin, especially when she didn't listen. He still remembered that she'd told him it was a stupid reason. "I told Nick, as I'm telling you now, no one who is great at what they do, does it for anyone else's approval but their own. He learned that lesson. He grew—"
"He was better—"
"Not better; different. That was one of the hardest decisions I had to make as supervisor. I thought both of you deserved it. When someone wants something so badly, it can blind them and jeopardize their ability to do their job correctly. Like Ecklie. Career advancement is all he cares about, regardless—"
"You think I'm going to be like Ecklie?"
"No. All I'm saying is that Nick no longer cares to gain my approval. He's not thinking promotions or—"
"And that's why?"
"It wasn't the only reason. But it was one of them, yes. You still question me because you take things personally. That if I don't make a decision for your benefit then that means that I'm against you, when it has nothing to do with you. You thought I passed you over because I didn't reciprocate your advances—"
"I—"
"And you're questioning me now because you think I chose Nick over you—"
"Did you?"
"I didn't tell Nick to go with Agent Collins because I thought you were less than capable. Stop trying to knock Nick down to build yourself up."
She glared at him in a way that nearly made him flinch. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it? You think that I thought Nick was better. Then you questioned his abilities—"
"You think I'm doing this because all I want to do is get your approval—"
"I don't know why," he said. "It's not up to me to answer that question, Sara. Only you know why you do the things you do."
She pushed off him and went over to stand by the balcony door. There was a sudden distance between them and he felt it immediately. Whatever she had to work out, was for her to work out.
"We really need to try to get some sleep," he told her.
"Then go to sleep," she said before picking up the remainder of her clothes and leaving the hotel room.
Letting out a breath, he laid back on the bed as he stared at the ceiling. He didn't think she was really mad at him; she still had his shirt on.
There was no way he could sleep now, so he got up, showered, and then poured himself a drink. The mini-fridge was stocked with complimentary miniature liquor bottles. Lying back in bed, he stared at the walls, the ceiling, as he tried to push his emotions aside. Nothing he did worked.
Checking the time on his watch, he saw it was two in the morning. Sara was probably asleep by now, lost in blissful dreams. He wanted to join her but knew his dreams would no longer be so peaceful. Soon, neither would his reality.
As the sun came up over the buildings, he watched the light move through the room. It was time to head off to Quantico. Back to the FBI, and to Lecter. He really did not want to wake Sara up to his reality. He wanted to protect her from all of that. All the darkness in his mind that somehow saved lives.
He had a criminal mind, Molly had even joked about it once, but it was the truth. He could become anyone, think like anyone, even criminals. Murders. That didn't mean he wanted to be one. It made him want to catch them. It was why he did this job. He needed to stop them; no matter the cost to himself.
He dressed and packed up his overnight bag. After checking the room to ensure he wasn't leaving anything behind, he left. On the way down to the lobby, he felt the gnawing in his stomach. He had to eat. There was time for breakfast.
Nick was waiting for him in the lobby. Sara and Kevin were absent. He looked around as he asked, "Where's Sara and Agent Collins?"
"They went to grab us a table at a diner down the street. Waiting on you, boss," Nick said.
He wasn't the only one hungry. It was hot and humid outside and the short walk to the diner had him sweating. Nick's eyes were in constant movement, checking the street and everyone on it. "He's not here."
"Yeah, doesn't mean we let our guard down."
"You have to learn when you can relax."
"How can you?"
He shrugged as he glanced around. "I'm not. I just know how to hide it better than most."
Nick chuckled as they stopped in front of a door and held it open. "I'll relax once we catch this guy. Not a second before."
He didn't think Sara was avoiding him all morning, but he was trying to be optimistic. This was their first argument since becoming a couple. And he didn't even see it as an argument. She questioned his motives, so he questioned hers right back. If there was a problem, it wasn't a problem that he could fix for her. All he could do was be there and be as honest as he could be.
Given the fact that she was questioning him, he almost reconsidered his next decision. Then he realized if he did change his mind, it would be because of Sara. He never wanted to base his supervisory decisions on what would or wouldn't make her happy. That wasn't his job.
Right now, he was the supervisor and not the boyfriend. Keeping that in mind, once they left the diner and got to the FBI's SUV where he'd put his overnight bag, he didn't hesitate to say, "Nick, Sara, I want the two of you to go back to Las Vegas—"
"We're here with you," Nick said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"And your work here as CSI's is done. The evidence you got is going back to Vegas, so that's where you both need to be. What I have to do, doesn't involve either of you," he said as he looked between the two of them.
Nick understood as he pulled out the car keys. Sara's eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but the sternness of her face and her lack of words spoke volumes. She was still upset as she grabbed her overnight bag out of the back of the SUV to put it in the rental car.
He wanted to pull her close, give her a hug and kiss goodbye, but all he could do was watch as she and Nick got into the rental car before it drove away.
"Flowers."
"What?" he asked as he looked over at Kevin.
"Flowers always work."
He shook his head. "Not always," he said as he opened the door to the SUV and got inside. Once Kevin was in the driver's seat, he told him, "I need you to stop at a music store on the way. Need to pick up something."
"What?"
"A metronome."
"Why?"
With anyone else, he wouldn't have answered. Kevin wasn't anyone else. His son had seen him at his worst, knew the darkness that could consume and destroy him. He thought about his answer before telling him, "So I don't get lost."
He saw the realization on Kevin's face and knew he understood what he meant by that. A shadow came over his face before it was gone. Bitterness maybe? "You got it," Kevin said as he started the SUV and then pulled out into traffic.
TBC…