A/N: Again, thank you for reading and all of the reviews and support. Last chapter update until next week. If you have not read chapters 6 or 7, please do so! Thanks again!

In case it wasn't clear a few chapters ago, because it probably wasn't, I'm using both actors who played Hannibal in the movies in this story. Brian Cox as the original physical representation before facial reconstruction surgery, and Anthony Hopkins after surgery. Grissom hears Lecter's voice and tone, in his memories/past, as that of Brian Cox in Manhunter. Anything spoken by Lecter in the present is Hopkins's voice.

Chapter 8:

The FBI Laboratory was located at the Marine Corps Base Quantico in three huge glass buildings. It used to be housed in the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington D.C. He would commute an hour up from Virginia to work at the lab, and then drive back down to his home in the backwoods of a dead-end road in Holly Corner, a little town outside of Fredericksburg. When he wasn't working in the lab as a forensic entomologist, he was teaching at Quantico. When he wasn't teaching, he was with Jack Crawford chasing after serial killers.

He was chasing after the worst of the worst this time. Most other serial killers he viewed as human. Deeply flawed humans, but human beings, nonetheless. He remembered thinking about Dolarhyde that his heart bled for the kid that Dolarhyde had been. The kid had been manufactured into a killer. At the same time, the man, the killer, he'd become was irredeemable. Dolarhyde had killed entire families to pursue a trivial fantasy. He thought someone should blast the sick son-of-a-bitch to death. He thought that because he feared Dolarhyde. The things he feared had made him angry. And when he'd gotten angry, he'd blasted that sick son-of-a-bitch to death.

Hannibal Lecter wasn't a flawed human being. There was nothing human about Hannibal Lecter. There was no love, no empathy, no heart…except for the ones he ate. From what he saw in Lecter, there was no humanity left.

How Clarice Starling was able to abandon her life, her humanity, to be with him was what he was trying to figure out. Their connection was key to understanding Lecter's motives now. The more he knew, the better off he'd be at understanding what he wanted and how he was going to stop him.

Kevin got him a visitor's badge and clearance into the evidence vault. They found the old cassette tapes that Dr. Fredrick Chilton had recorded. They were of Lecter's conversations with Agent Starling during the FBI's pursuit of the serial killer known as Buffalo Bill. Oddly enough, they weren't with the evidence gathered from the mental hospital, but from Starling's personal effects. She had gotten the tapes from the former orderly, Barney Matthews, and had been listening to them before she'd disappeared with Lecter.

Taking the box of all of Starling's effects from her office, including the tapes, he followed Kevin to an elevator where they rode it up to the fifth floor. On top of the box was the bag with the metronome. Once off the elevator, he noticed how all eyes were on him. He hadn't been back to Quantico since the Dolarhyde case, but every agent in the building knew who he was. Even in the lobby of the building he'd noticed the looks.

All the people he worked with before in the crime lab were gone. Jimmy Price, Lloyd Bowman, Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz, and Sidney Bloom. None had ever worked in the new FBI laboratory since its relocation from the Hoover Building in 2003. Most had moved on or retired. Unfortunately, Sidney Bloom had become one of Lecter's victims during his purge of former colleagues along with Jack Crawford.

Kevin showed him to an empty conference room and said, "All yours. I have it booked for the rest of the day. No one should bother you."

Gil sat the box down and looked around at the blank walls, empty cork board with pushpins, and the cleaned off white board with dry erase markers. This would work. He was most likely going to use the entire space.

"Need anything?" Kevin asked.

He had the casefile, his notebook, and a pen. "I might, later."

"Supply closet is right across the hall."

"Where's the break room?"

"Down that way," Kevin pointed to the left down the hallway. "You'll smell the coffee. There's a water cooler, vending machine, and I'll grab take-out if you get really hungry."

"What'll you be doing?"

Kevin leaned against the doorframe as he told him, "My job. Do you know how much paperwork is waiting for me? I also have a meeting with my supervisor."

"Pearsall?"

"Pearsall isn't my supervisor. New guy—Culpepper."

That got his attention. "Rick Culpepper?"

Kevin stilled as he said, "You know him."

He grabbed the cassette tapes and took them out of the box along with a tape player. "A real dick."

The way Kevin laughed made him smile. "Oh, you two have history."

"Not surprised they made him a BAU supervisor. Career oriented, politically driven, and has no clue how to actually do the job."

"Reminds me of the service. All us enlisted having to listen to command officers try to tell us how to do our job, when not one of them ever stood a post. All they did was push papers, look at graphs, never even held a gun other than during OTC training. At least Special Agent Culpepper ran operations before pushing papers."

"He may have been a good field agent, but he knew nothing about profiling, signature killers, or how to run a successful operation. Hubris was his worst trait. He also has no intuition, no projection, and absolutely no patience. Impatience nearly cost us a CSI and the real killer could have gotten away. I hope you're not picking up any bad habits from him."

Kevin was suppressing a smile as he regarded him. There were times when he looked ready to hit him. Right then, he looked ready to shake his hand. "If you need anything, give me a shout," he said before disappearing around the corner.

He went back to pulling things out of the evidence box. A letter in an evidence bag caught his attention. The handwriting was Hannibal's. It was addressed to Clarice. Sitting down, he took out the letter. He leaned back in the chair as he read it over twice. Lecter had a way of goading her, but also encouraging her by striking a fire inside. He flipped to the next page and stilled as he saw the drawing.

It looked to be a manifestation of a Greek god, naked, intertwined below the waist with a naked woman. The woman had a likeness to Clarice. Lecter believed himself to be a god. It was a drawing of the two of them together.

He pinned the two pages of the letter to the cork board. Then he pinned up the pictures as well, wrote everything he had down on the white board, and then left to grab a cup of coffee and several bottles of water.

There were two agents in the break room as he walked in. A tall black guy and a short blond woman. He didn't give them much mind as he grabbed a paper cup and went to fill it with coffee.

"You can use a Bureau coffee mug," the woman said, causing him to face her. She pointed over his head to a cabinet.

He put the paper cup down, opened the cabinet, and saw porcelain coffee cups with the FBI insignia imprinted on them. He pulled one down as he told her, "Thanks."

"I'm Agent Jareau, the Communications Liaison. Everyone calls me JJ," she introduced her as she shook his hand.

He suddenly didn't know how to introduce himself. It didn't seem to matter as they both knew who he was.

"Derek Morgan," the man said, shaking his hand as well. "Profiler and field agent with the BAU. It's a pleasure. It must be weird being back here, huh?"

Thinking about it, he shook his head as he told him, "Not really. Times may have changed, but the work stays the same. So does government coffee," he said as he grimaced at the taste.

They both smiled and chuckled as he saw that the vending machine took credit card. He swiped his card and bought two bottles of water.

"I was referring more to the, uh…Your status." He glanced at Agent Morgan as he tried not to think too much about his "status". "You're a legend around here. You changed the way the FBI profiles. Projection, intuition, and reflection are the three main tools we use now. And it's all because of you."

He didn't know what to think about that. All he knew was that the BAU were damn good at their jobs. They were more efficient now with chasing down killers, bombers, arsonists and all sorts of other criminals than ever before.

"It doesn't take a profiler to see that you embarrassed him, Derek," JJ said.

Morgan smiled over at her. "Kind of reminds me of Gideon; doesn't do too well with praise and compliments."

At the name Gideon, he asked, "Jason Gideon?"

"Yeah, our senior supervisor. You know him?"

He shook his head slightly as he told Agent Morgan, "Not really. I know of him. We crossed paths a few times, when I taught here, and at the crime lab, but…He was an actual agent and profiler—"

"So were you."

"I was never an agent," he said as he shook his head. "Didn't qualify, and I never went through the academy."

"Doesn't matter," Morgan said as he regarded him. "You're the reason that three serial killers, three of the worst, were brought down. It's not your fault that Lecter escaped. We're glad you're back now, working on it. You'll get him."

He wondered why they weren't working on it. Why did the FBI send Kevin to Las Vegas and not this team? He wanted to leave the room, but wanted information first. He picked up his cup of coffee and took another drink as he leaned back against the counter then asked, "Have either of you worked with Agent Kevin Collins?"

Morgan answered, telling him, "We're in different units, but I've known him since my academy days. He's a good guy, works hard, very protective, and he's driven."

He heard a hesitation. "But?"

Morgan took a moment to answer, then said, "Something's holding him back. He's great, and should be in my unit, if not for a fear of digging in deep. There are times we have to dive in and dive deep, he's not willing to do that. That's why he's mainly a field agent and doesn't do much profiling. However, what he is exceptional at is "the box"."

That surprised him. "He's an interrogator?"

"In my opinion, the best. He knows the right questions to ask to get the answers we need every time. When we get stuck, we call him."

He thought about Kevin as an interrogator and wondered if that was what he learned to do in the Army. "Thanks."

He returned back to the conference room and sat down at the table. Thoughts about his son swirled through his head but he had to shove them aside as he refocused on his main tasks. He faced both boards, studied the pictures, the letter, and then inserted the first tape of the very first conversation Lecter and Starling had back in September 1990. Then with a flick of his finger, he started the metronome.

Tap…tap…tap…

As the tapping filled the silence, he heard noises first before voices. Footsteps against concrete. Feminine steps, faint voices from the other inmates in the cell block. He could smell the air as the room seemed to transform in his mind. The lights dimmed until he was left in darkness. The tapping of a real metronome helped him to keep from falling too far.

The darkness lifted as he returned once again to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The hallway was darker since the last time he'd been there. Hannibal had been moved to a cell in the lower level, or the basement of the building, since he'd last spoken to him. Dr. Chilton's form of punishment.

The same aquarium glass housed the monster, but it was only glass and no bars.

Tap…

He stood at the opposite end of the hallway, next to Lecter's cell. A sense of fear shot through him as the woman approached. She was so young and eager. A trainee at the FBI academy.

Clarice Starling stopped next to the chair. She was nervous. He heard it in her voice and so did Hannibal Lecter who was waiting for her, having smelt her coming down the corridor. He wanted to greet her standing up. A woman. It'd been so long.

His hand twitched as he wanted to reach out but couldn't. All he could do was look at her, smell her, and dream.

…Tap…

Glancing through the glass, he saw Lecter standing right in the middle of the cell. A rogue smile on his face. Tint of maroon in his blue eyes. "Good morning."

He was amused, but there was something else in his nearly metallic voice. Anticipation. He was waiting for this. For her. He was thrilled.

…Tap…

As the conversation went back and forth, he tried to work it out in his head what Lecter was thinking during the conversation. Watching Lecter sniff the air, he listened as he told Starling what he'd smelled.

He closed his eyes and took a whiff himself. Evian skin cream.

…Tap…

Lecter was showing off. Trying to impress her. As the conversation went on, he walked around to the back of the chair to be eye to eye with Lecter. He could feel him growing more and more amused as he needled Starling. Digging in, inflicting the humiliation he thought he was giving to her as he sized her up in a matter of a few minutes. He had her pegged.

It unnerved her, but she didn't back down. Hearing her response, he couldn't help but smile. She was a tough one. He liked her already as she held her own against the cannibal monster. Lecter was pissed but also equally impressed. He slammed the food tray door pretty hard, making Starling jump.

…Tap…

He had a feeling that Hannibal wanted to pull Clarice's hair, kick her in the shin, and then run away laughing. Instead, he told her how he ate a census taker's liver. He sent her away with nothing to show for it.

Then Lecter surprised him by calling her back. He gave her information that'd help her, before sending her away.

…Tap…

What changed his mind? Staring in at the monster in the cell, he mentally rewound the scene. Starling walked backwards to the chair, stopped, and then stood again as the events replayed in his mind.

Lecter told her to fly back to school, mocking her youth and innocence and naiveness. Starling, as in the bird species. Fly, fly, fly…

Starling walking down the hallway…

…Tap…

The other inmate in the next cell. Miggs. His hideous actions towards her. His anger spurred as he felt his hand fist as rage set his chest on fire. It was sickening. He hated Miggs for treating her so grotesquely. Lecter had said discourteously was unspeakably ugly to him. He would help her by giving her what she wanted most. Exactly what he'd thought she wanted: advancement.

As he watched as Starling left the corridor, he realized what he'd been hearing in Lecter's voice. He was feeling fondness. Appreciation. Quite frankly, he was smitten. He'd never felt that way before.

In a single encounter, his entire world changed. Love at first sight.

…Ta—

He stopped the metronome along with the tape, took a breath, and eyed the picture of FBI agent Clarice Starling that was pinned to the board. Hannibal Lecter had seen her appear before him and instantly fell hard for her. He wanted to impress her, and then kick her in the shin and run away laughing. It was something a little boy would do to his schoolgirl crush. Adolescent behavior for such a grown man. Lecter had never been in love before.

What was it about her? Was it her look? Did she remind him of someone? Her attitude? Youth? All of the above? Cupid's arrow struck the monster in the heart and made him feel human emotions for the first time. Why her?

That was his only thought as he downed the cold coffee in his hand and stood. He needed a refill and to get some lunch. He was starving. Checking the clock on the wall, he saw it was after one in the afternoon. Texting Kevin, he asked him to get them some take-out. He was in the mood for Chinese. He would have the pork.

As he walked down to the break room, empty cup in hand, he thought about the starling bird. They were naturally aggressive and would injure or kill other birds as they sought out food and nestling. They ate moths, caterpillars, flies and other insects. They were also known for their gracefully synchronized aerial dances. They were beautiful as their feathers shimmered and sparkled with star-like dots that some said resembled the night sky.

He poured himself another cup of coffee then went back into the conference room. There was more on the tapes than just the conversations between Lecter and Starling, but between Lecter and the orderly Barney. As he restarted the metronome, he dove back into the conversations. The "why her" question became more evident as he heard a conversation between Lecter and Barney.

Lecter was also comparing Agent Starling to a bird, but not to the starling. He said that there were two types of roller pigeons, shallow rollers and deep rollers. If two deep rollers were bred together, then their young would roll all the way down to the earth, hit the ground, and die. Starling was a deep roller. He hoped that one of her parents wasn't. That last sentence was very telling. Lecter was concerned for Starling's mental well-being. He hoped for her future; her life.

It also said something about Starling. She was a high achiever, flew high, but when she fell it was hard and fast towards the ground. Tapping his pen on the notebook, he went over Starling's history again. As he read it over, this time with Lecter's voicing his observations in his head, he started to see Clarice more clearly.

She was a lot like Sara. Angry. Angry at the world. With a strong sense of right and wrong she would give everything to the FBI even if it didn't give her anything in return. She valued it but it didn't seem to value her. She dedicated her life to it and gave up everything for the job. She was striving for something it could never give her. Was it just appreciation? Or was it self-worth? Love?

Inside, Clarice felt like she wasn't good enough. What was a poor West Virginian girl doing there anyway? She held a lot of doubt that came out in overachievement. She had to be better, do better, than anyone else. Fight and claw her way up while shooting down the competition. Stubborn as hell. Work hard enough and she'd be appreciated. Someone would be proud of her.

Lecter was proud of her.

The second tape was really interesting. He had to hit pause and rewind several times. Always back to the same segment, over and over. Right before Lecter and Starling were interrupted—

"Do you think Jack Crawford wants you, sexually? True he's much older, but do you think he visualizes scenarios, exchanges…fucking you?"

He stopped the tape again. Lecter had said Jack, but he wasn't actually talking about Jack. He was speaking about himself. He was much older than Starling, and was gauging reaction to the implication. Clarice wasn't interested in Jack. Jack hadn't been interested in Clarice.

He pressed play again.

"That doesn't interest me, Doctor, and quite frankly it's the sort of thing that Miggs would say."

She also wasn't offended by the thought of a much older man wanting her.

"Not anymore."

Miggs. The inmate in the next cell had not only been horribly rube, and unspeakably ugly to Clarice, but Lecter had felt vindictive when he talked the man into killing himself. Miggs had defiled and violated the woman he wanted. He couldn't let him get away with that. So, he made Miggs choke on his own tongue.

Pushing out a breath, he felt just as annoyed as Lecter with the interruption when the lights clicked on. They were no longer alone, in an intimate environment. Lights were on. He could no longer hide in the darkness of the cell. He was exposed now. The conversation changed and so did their voices.

At least he thought so. After Lecter told her that Buffalo Bill was searching out his next victim, their conversation changed once again.

"Jack Crawford dangles you in front of me. Then I give you a bit of help. Do you think it's because I like to look at you and imagine how good you would taste, Clarice?"

His eyes rose up at that.

"I don't know, is it?" The way she said that was nearly breathless. A tease.

Was he, were they…flirting?

Third tape. He took the tape out of the cassette player and inserted the last tape into the player then hit play. As he listened, he remembered the Senator's daughter being taken. It'd been all over the news and he wondered who Crawford had working on the case. Now he knew.

The more he listened, the more he was right back in that hospital again. The metronome tapped in his head, the room dimmed, and he was standing there watching like a fly on the wall.

…Tap…

Clarice Starling was telling Lecter about the Senator's plea offer. Getting away from Dr. Chilton was itself a driving force, but Lecter was already five steps ahead. He wasn't thinking about the VA hospital in New York. He was already planning his escape during the transfer. He'd wait, bid his time, and then strike at the opportune moment. He could care less about Plum Island.

"Quid pro quo. Yes or no? Yes or no, Clarice, poor little Catherine is waiting."

…Tap…

He leaned against the glass that trapped the monster as he heard those words spoken. Looking in on Lecter, he saw him seated close to the glass. As close as he could get to Starling as he could. It was like the more she visited him, the closer he got to her.

But for some reason, he looked away. He looked away from Clarice while asking her intimate questions about her family. Why? Was it for her benefit? Not looking at her as she answered would allow her to open up to him more. Almost like a confessional booth.

…Tap…

Smart move.

As Starling recounted the story of the death of her father, he heard the pain in her voice. There was also strength and determination. He was reminded again of how strong she was. She reminded him a lot of Sara. His eyes closed at the mention of her mother's death. Both parents passed away by the age of ten. She must have felt so alone. Scared.

"You're very frank, Clarice. I think it would be quite something to know you in private life."

…Tap…

There was a pause.

There was something different in the air. He could feel it but had no idea what it was. He stopped everything. Went back. His mind rewinding just like the tape. Go back. As the scene replayed before him, Lecter looking away, Clarice looked down at her feet as Lecter said those words.

He felt something. She felt it.

…Tap…

Lecter still needed to hide from her. He didn't want her to see his eyes. He blinked. He felt something hearing her pain and sadness from the loss of her parents. And for once it wasn't pleasure. Lecter felt sorry for her.

…Tap…

He had compassion. His heart bled for her. He would offer it up on a silver platter for her if that was what she wanted.

She could eat his heart.

…Tap—

The door opened and Kevin walked in with the take-out boxes. He hit the stop button on the cassette player and reached over to stop the metronome as Kevin said, "I got both regular rice and fried rice. I couldn't remember which you liked better."

He felt a sense of violation, like his privacy was being stripped away. It took him a few seconds to recover. "That's because I like both, never had a preference."

"Ah," Kevin sat the food down as he took a glance around. "Any progress?"

"Lecter was in love."

"You heard that on the tapes?"

He regarded the notebook, tapped the pen on it, as he said, "It was in his tone, the things he said and what he did for her. From the first moment they met, it was instant respect and mutual trust. Even from her. How she trusted him, I don't know, but she did. He saw that in her and helped her advance, not just in this case, but for her future. He guided her on how to—reason through the evidence, how to look at it and interrupt it to see what she was missing. He thought she was clever. He even sent the other officers on a wild goose chase in order to give Starling more time to figure out who the killer was. He also killed Miggs for her. It wasn't just because he was discourteous. Miggs defiled her. Someone he saw as pure, in every sense of the word."

Kevin was staring at him with concern. "What about Starling?

"I have to think some more about that one. All I know is that she was…captivated. Intrigued."

"But not in love?"

"She was trying to understand his affection for her. I think she felt it from the start. By the second meeting, with his response to Miggs…how he killed him for her, she knew. Or at least suspected. It startled her but it didn't disgust her or offend her in any way. She was as confused as I am right now, but she had moments of receptive flirting. I don't think she even noticed it when it happened. What was it about her that caused such a change? She wasn't anyone special, except to him."

Kevin removed his suit jacket and draped it over the chair that was next to the one he sat down in. He loosened his tie and then unbuttoned his shirt sleeve cuffs. "He called her," he was saying as he rolled up his sleeves. "When she graduated from the academy, Lecter called her to congratulate her."

"Where did he call—"

"Here. He took the risk to call the lion's den to talk to her."

That reaffirmed it for him. "It was most definitely love that he was feeling."

"There isn't a copy of their conversation in Tennessee and most of the drawings that had been in his cell he burned; the rest are gone. We're lucky to have what we have."

He gave a nod. He'd love to know what was said between the two of them right before Lecter's escape. "I saw the pictures of Lecter's escape. The guard that he put on display was a distraction. Kept the attention off him posing as Officer Pembry. He created chaos which enabled him to be taken out of the building. Controlled his breathing, heart rate, to fool the EMTs. He's methodical, cunning, and absolutely fearless. And he is always five steps ahead. We're just playing catch-up."

Kevin suddenly didn't look too happy. "You know, um, what I learned from reading the old casefiles, is that they, Jack especially, were supposed to protect you. Keep you safe. They didn't do that." The unhappiness wasn't with him, but the Bureau he worked for. "I'm not Crawford. I don't want you to end up sick again. Not on my watch—"

"I'm fine—"

"Now, but later? You're already so deep into this—You've been in his head this whole time?"

"Kevin, this is what I do." He stared at his son as he told him, "This is how I do it—"

"You want to end up back in the hospital? Is that it? You told me what it was like in Lecter's head—"

"I did, but I didn't tell you that I never got out of it. All I did was learn how to live with it. How to push his thoughts aside. Bury them. But, as Lecter wrote in his note, everything has a way of being brought to the light, or in this case, unearthed and brought to the surface." He grabbed a carton of fried rice and looked at the other boxes. "Which ones the pork?"

Kevin picked up a carton and handed it to him. They were both quiet for a while as they started eating. Glancing over at him, he said, "Culpepper says 'hi'."

"I bet it was highly condescending."

"He also made a piss-poor attempt to offer to buy you a beer later." He nearly laughed. Kevin smirked as he asked, "Grab a beer with me later?"

"Of course."

"I'll even cook."

He realized that he wouldn't be going out to another bar, but that Kevin was inviting him home for dinner. It wouldn't be a social outing.

"That okay?"

"Yeah."

Kevin didn't say anything else as he went back to eating.

He went back to thinking. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Sara. As he read it, he asked Kevin, "You've got people following my team?"

Kevin gave a nod before eying the boards and what he'd written down. "Precaution."

"I told you—"

"I know what you told me—"

"Then why—"

"He could go off script," Kevin nearly yelled.

They regarded each other for a moment, neither wanting to get into a shouting match. He shook his head as he calmed down and said, "I thought I told you to trust me when it comes to Lecter?"

"I am, but here's the thing, Gil," Kevin said as he leaned on the table, dropping his voice to talk to him. "Thinking like him is your disadvantage. He knows what you're thinking. You say he won't do anything until you get back to Vegas, well, he just might because you're not expecting it. You can zig right along with him all you want. I'm gonna zag. That's how we're going to play this. You make your moves, I'm gonna make mine. Don't worry, I won't make any major plays unless I talk to you first."

He couldn't really argue with that. Kevin had pretty good reasoning for doing what he was doing. Since he was thinking like Lecter, and Lecter knew it, he could do something he didn't expect. Besides, Kevin was just watching out for the people he knew he cared about.

"Anyone I should add to the list?" Kevin asked. "Family?"

"Besides you? No."

Kevin gave a nod. "Friends? Ex-girlfriends?"

He didn't have too many friends. Joy Hayashi wasn't even a friend, but his personal doctor. The list of acquaintances was a long one. They couldn't watch everyone. Lecter was being choosy with who he attacked. They all served a purpose.

As for ex-girlfriends, only one name came to mind. "Heather Kessler."

The Las Vegas Strip was bustling all around him. Lights blinking and twinkling like stars in the night sky that couldn't be seen from where he stood. Grotesque buildings protruding up from the ground, painted in gold and brass, but had the weight of plastic. Fake luxury. Illusions of grandeur. In his mouth he tasted static from an old television set. It was the taste of Las Vegas.

As Hannibal Lecter started walking, his movements were as smooth as a cat and just as delicate, right down the middle of the sidewalk. People parted for him as he didn't take a single step to veer away. He felt the tiny weight of the knife he kept in his pocket and nothing else. No phone, no wallet, though he had some cash, his foreign ID, and a platinum black credit card in his jacket pocket, they were weightless unlike his shoulders. He felt a weight there, one he wanted to rid himself off.

He felt the same desire he'd felt years ago learning that Clarice had been reassigned to tracking him down. Anticipation and exhilaration to get back out there in the pursuit and the hunt. Retirement was boring. He wanted to get his hands bloody, to digest the sweet taste of contempt and relish in knowing that he was—

A man bumped into him on the sidewalk and didn't even apologize. Tall, ruggish, and wearing a knockoff Remy Leather leather jacket. His steps stopped as he turned and then started his pursuit. All while Bach's Goldberg Variations played through his head. As he followed the man, he smelt the air as his mind started to word associate with the odors that were real to create corresponding odors that were not.

Paul Sebastian cologne, cheap, smelt like bug spray; spermicide. Beer, Michelob Light; ocean salt worn down boat shoes. Sweet scent of cotton candy from a vendor he passed; oral sex with a prostitute…vile. The man had an awaiting date at Mizumi, a Japanese restaurant located inside of the Wynn Hotel and Casino. The man greeted the woman with a kiss to the cheek before they were shown to a table. He took a seat at the open bar. He ordered sake and the Japanese purebred wagyu beef, rare, in shio koji marinade, karubi sauce, with yukon golden potatoes, mushrooms, and charred napa cabbage. The woman ordered the same. After his own heart.

His eyes never left the couple. The man was cheap and ornery, but the woman was not. A four-thousand-dollar Louis Vuitton clutch, Christian Louboutin leather pumps, black KHAITE ribbed-knit midi dress, crimson lipstick and sharp green eyes. They were ex-husband and wife but shared a daughter. Their dinner was formal, sterile, and tedious. Passionless.

She was ivory and nails, molten lava and fanged teeth while he was smog. Polluting her air. The man had two glasses of beer before he finished his salmon. He was getting antsy in his seat as his eyes darted around the restaurant in search of a sign. He found it.

Before the man got up, Lecter stood and headed to the men's restroom where he checked the stalls to ensure it was empty. It wouldn't be long.

There were two urinals. He clogged one and stood at the other. Leaving only the stalls remaining. Sure enough, a few moments later the door opened and in walked the knockoff Remy Leather leather jacket whose breath smelled of stale beer. The smog. He wouldn't mind getting blood on it. It was pretty cheap.

While its hands were preoccupied, one on the wall and one holding its useless limp dick, he stepped into the open stall, grabbed it by the back of the head, yanked it back, and then expertly brought the knife around to slice the neck first like it was a rooting pig. As the blood flowed down its chest, he sat it on the toilet and walked out of the stall, shutting the door. Using the tip of the knife, he put it into the slit of the knob and turned it until the lock was set.

Then, he cleaned his hands and went back out into the restaurant to accompany his new date. Stopping first at the bar, he ordered a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild, 1988. The bartender's eyes widened in shock for a moment before asking him to pay first. He understood. The wine was ten-thousand dollars a bottle. "Deliver it to that table, please," he said after paying and gesturing to where the lady sat alone.

Approaching the table where the plates and beer bottles had been removed and a new freshly opened bottle of red wine and two glasses were placed, he put his hand on the back of the empty chair. "Good evening," he said to the woman.

Her green eyes widened in surprise before glancing around the restaurant, wondering whatever happened to the obtrusion that filled her otherwise portentous and luscious life. "Do I know you?"

"Only if you want to. May I sit?"

She studied him for a moment before saying, "You may."

Pulling out the chair, he sat down, grabbed the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass. Picking up the glass, he swirled it around and took a whiff. "Bordeaux Red Blends from Pauillac, Bordeaux, France. The 1988 is a classic expression of Lafite. It exhibits the tell-tale Lafite bouquet of cedar, subtle herbs, dried pit fruits, minerals, and cassis. Medium body..." he trailed off as his eyes traveled down from her neck to the black dress on to the leather pumps. "Ultra-fine tannins and a refined and polished finish. The subtle currant, tobacco and Spanish cedar shows through. Perfect. Sultry, much like yourself." He raised the glass to her and waited.

She played with the necklace around her neck before taking the glass that he'd poured for her in hand and toasted along with him. "Salute."

"To your health," he said before taking a sip, closed his eyes, and relished the taste. "Your date seems to have left."

"You noticed."

"I noticed that we ordered the same meal. Wagyu beef is highly sought after due to its unique flavor. It's buttery, firm texture yet lustrous." Her hand was back to playing with her necklace. "Very sweet. It melts right into your mouth." He wondered if she'd taste the same.

She smiled. "It's my only reason to come here. Otherwise..."

"You don't like the Strip any more than I do. It's grotesque."

"I was going to say amateurish."

He smiled. "Yeah. Touristy too. You're not a tourist."

She took a sip of the wine and shook her head. Peering at him over the glass, she asked, "You?"

"Not in the least, but I am here on business."

"Doesn't that make you a tourist?"

"That would mean that I'm here for pleasure. Until right now, looking at you, there was nothing pleasurable about being in this city. This is a circle of Hell. Have you ever read Dante?"

"I've read the Inferno," she said as she leaned in closer to him as he took her hand into his own.

Running his finger over her pulse, feeling her heart beating, he told her, "The poet's first sonnet in La Vita Nuova...'Joyfully amor seemed to me to hold my heart in his hand, and held in his arms, my lady wrapped in a cloth sleeping. Then he woke her, and that burning heart, he fed to her, reverently; she fearing, afterwards he went not to be seen weeping.'" He peered into her eyes. "It's a metaphor about eating the heart of the one you love. A love so strong, so powerful, that you want to digest it to be able to absorb that love into your body completely. Nourish yourself with it...More wine? Or, do you no longer want to get to know me?"

She finished the glass and held it out for him to pour.

Grabbing the bottle, he refilled her glass. And then his own.

TBC…

PS: Yes, I did a quick crossover with Criminal Minds because, why not? They were on the same network, and, for me, that means they're in the same universe.