A Beautiful Crime

by MrsHenry

"You were such an interesting man, Will. Has your life as Doctor Gilbert Grissom put to bed the demons of your mind and the darkness in your heart?" Upon reading those words in the note left for him on the back of an old photograph, Grissom instantly realized that the life he'd been living for fifteen years was about to come to an end. AU/Crossover with Manhunter/Hannibal. *GSR*

10. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks again everyone for the reviews! The end part of last chapter was out of place chronologically, there is a four-hour times difference between east and west coast. So, the next chapter will deal with the events post end of chapter 8.

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Chapter 9:

As the sun was setting through the trees, the Ford pickup truck turned off a paved street onto gravel. The dust kicked up and through the white hickory's he saw the raised ranch house with a covered front porch; an American Flag extending off the porch blew in the wind. The gravel road split off into two different directions. Left went around to the back of the house. Right went to the two car attached garage.

In the front yard was a cherry blossom tree. The tree had reached its peak bloom in March, with it being July, its pink leaves have turned to green.

Seeing the tree reminded him of a memory. One that he would cherish forever.

It was a fifteen minute walk from the J. Edgar Hoover building to the National Mall. Further north was the White House. The air was crisp and cool as he rounded the Washington Monument. The sun was coming up behind him, reflecting off the tall monument dedicated to the first president of the United States. He saw the Lincoln Memorial in the distance as he walked along the bridge that went over the Tidal Basin, nearing the Japanese Lantern. Off to the left, across the basin, was the Thomas Jefferson Memorial.

It was a beautiful spring morning in the nation's capital. The cherry blossom trees that lined the basin were first planted in 1912, and during the annual National Cherry Tree Blossom Festival, the lantern was lit. The festival ended yesterday. He'd missed it as he was working at the FBI crime lab, but today he'd made a promise. One he intended to keep. They were going to spend the day together. He told Molly where to meet him. As he neared the stone lantern, he saw her blond hair first, and then her eyes as she spotted him walking along the pathway under the trees. Her eyes lit up as she smiled.

Kevin was running his way, laughing and smiling. The boy was three years old now and there hadn't been a day during the last year that he didn't look happy to see him.

"Will! Will! Will!" Kevin kept shouting out his name as he ran towards him until he had him up in his arms. Then he hugged him around the neck.

"Hey, buddy," he said as he hugged him back. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes!" he said while laughing as he raised him up to put him on his shoulders. Kevin reached for the cherry blossoms as he neared his mother.

Molly looked as radiant as ever. She had the collar of her jacket flipped up to keep the cool air off her neck, trying to keep warm. She hated being cold and missed the Florida heat. Virginia was a little warmer in the spring. He had a house there, but Molly was still living with her mother in Baltimore.

He wanted to change that. It was their one year anniversary and there wasn't too much he was certain, except for the fact that he loved her with all his heart. He also loved her son. He never thought of himself as a father, or a husband, and had always prioritized his work over relationships. That was until they met. Now, he wanted both.

He found himself missing them more and more. He wanted Kevin to be able to fish and swim in the lake. He wanted quiet mornings with Molly out on the porch drinking coffee and intimate nights out on the back patio drinking cold beer and whiskey. Playing catch with Kevin during slow summer days, and teaching him about all the birds and the bees. Then, when he was older, about the "birds and the bees''. He wanted to come home to them after seeing the worst in humanity. Making love to Molly during the sticky humid nights with the windows open and with them shut tight as snow fell outside.

A family life.

Molly pulled him into a kiss once he got close enough. He heard Kevin hum in warmth as he grabbed his head and hugged him. He laughed into Molly's mouth. Pulling Kevin off his shoulders, he gave them a proper group hug. Then he sat Kevin down on the pathway, took Molly in his arms and kissed her properly.

"I've missed you," he told her.

It'd been several days since they saw one another. Work kept getting in the way. There was a weight in his pants pocket. He took it out and decided to do it right then and there. It wasn't what he had planned, but he couldn't wait any longer.

There was no box, and he forgot until after he showed her the ring that he was supposed to get on one knee, but it didn't matter. She cried tears of joy as she said yes.

"Why crying, mommy?" Kevin asked.

She told him, "These are tears of happiness, baby. It's okay. We're getting married."

He smiled as he kissed her again. Once he pulled away, he grabbed Kevin up into his arms and took Molly's hand that wore his ring into his hand as they started walking along the pathway. Kevin rested his head on his shoulder.

"I think it's about time you called me 'dad'. What'd you think?"

Molly's hand tightened in his as Kevin said, "Okay, daddy."

Kevin turned the truck around to face towards the road before putting it into park and turning it off. Gil got out and felt the breeze on his face as he looked around the property. There were trees for miles. All he could hear were the bugs, birds, and the wind. Instead of going up the walkway to the porch, they entered through the garage. One side of the garage was being used as a home gym with bench press and weights, and a boxing bag. The other side was for a motorcycle and the workbenches.

Kevin turned off the alarm before opening the door that led inside. They immediately walked into an entertainment room with big recliner chairs, couch, entertainment center and pool table, dart board, wet bar, and a wood burning fireplace. On the shelves were his trophies and awards he'd gotten for playing baseball along with photographs of his teammates. Some had gone pro. On the walls were posters or signed jersey's of different athletes; basketball players, baseball, football, even golfers. Kevin valued players over one specific team; much like himself.

There were three doors off the room. One went to a bathroom, another the laundry room. "That door there goes outside," Kevin said as he pointed to the door.

Climbing the steps, they entered the kitchen. To his right was a long hallway that led to the bathroom and bedrooms. Around the corner on his left was the living room. The big picture window looked out onto the front porch and the yard beyond. He saw the flag swaying back and forth, the cherry tree, and felt some sort of way. A swirling combination of emotions. Some were good, others weren't.

He missed Sara. He really hoped she was no longer mad at him. Other than the short text at Quantico, they hadn't had time to talk yet.

The living room was being used as a sitting room of sorts. There was only a couch, dog bed and blanket, dog toys, and a small round table by the door. There was a water bowl and food dish but he didn't see a dog. Maybe the living room was the dog's room?

"Room at the far end of the hall's mine. My office, bathroom and, first door on the right's the guest room. It's all yours."

He had his overnight bag in his hand and took it to the room and opened the door. It had a nice full bed and dresser, and an empty closet. Kevin didn't mind having guests stay over. Maybe he had someone house sit when he was gone? Windows looked out to the front of the property. He tossed the bag on the bed then went back out into the kitchen.

Kevin was taking some steaks out of the refrigerator. "Had these marinating for three days. Beer?"

He grabbed the offered bottle then ventured down the hallway as Kevin put the plate of steaks on the counter. Getting to the home office, he slipped inside and looked around at all the diplomas, awards, and mementos that Kevin had collected over the years. He had shadowboxes of his service medals and ribbons, dog tags, and formal dress uniform. Framed pictures of his years in the Army, the people he served with, along with pictures of sky-diving trips, deep sea fishing, and skiing. There were also several of him and his dog. A black lab.

What was missing were photos of him with any family or a girlfriend. There were no pictures of him, his grandfather, or of Molly.

"What'd you see?"

Without turning around to face his son, he told him, "You know what I see. You were always driven. Independent and smart. But that's not what you want to hear from me." He turned around and saw Kevin leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He'd gotten comfortable. Suit jacket and tie off. "My mistake wasn't being your dad, Kevin, it was not being your dad when you needed me the most. For that I am sorry."

Kevin worked his jaw as his eyes darted around the room. He didn't like it so much that he knew that. "I don't need your approval."

"I never said you did."

Kevin didn't say anything as he went back down the hallway. He followed after him, finishing the beer before grabbing a bottle of water. They walked out of the backdoor onto the wood deck. Walking up to the railing, he took in the rest of the property, the trees and looked up towards the sky as it grew darker.

"How far does your property go?"

"All the way to the river. Little over five acres."

"The Rappahannock River?"

"Yeah."

He nearly laughed. "On the other side of the river's Holly Corner. That's where I lived when I met your mother."

Kevin had been putting potatoes wrapped in foil on the grill and stopped as he lifted his head to look over at him. "Oh yeah?"

"You were too young to remember, but we lived out here for nearly three years before moving to Florida. I taught you how to fish and swim in the Rappahannock."

Kevin shut the lid on the grill to bake the potatoes. It'd take about forty minutes before they were done. Steaks went on last. For medium rare, about three to four minutes on each side. "River's safe to swim in?"

"It was in '78."

"I remember eatin' frogs."

He smiled. "That was in Louisiana. We took a trip out there to visit my family. My Uncle Herb used to love to cook them."

"You made me eat a cricket." He smiled at the memory as Kevin turned a shade of green at the thought. "All I remember is putting it in my mouth and regrettin' my life."

He laughed. "It wasn't that bad."

"I was sick for a day. You still eat 'em?"

"I put ants on my eggs. Sara says it's a turn off."

Kevin laughed. "Well, there ya go. That should tell ya somethin'. Stop eating insects. It's gross."

He chuckled as he took another drink of water. Looking around the openness of the backyard, he asked, "Where's your dog?"

"A buddy of mine's watching him until I get off this case. I thought about getting him for the night, but…then I'd have to go through leaving him behind again."

"What's his name?"

Kevin was smiling as he brought the bottle up to take a drink as he told him, "Jack Crawfish the Third."

He stared at Kevin before laughing.

"We had a senior and a junior. There had to be a third."

Walking over to the table, he sat down across from Kevin as he said, "I still can't believe you talked me into naming two dogs that."

"We had like twenty of them at one point," Kevin said as he leaned back in the chair. "I was running out of names, like 101 Dalmatians."

"The only one I kept was Winston. He passed away about thirteen years ago."

"Aw, Winston. You named him after the cigarettes you used to smoke 'cause he ate a whole pack of them. When did you stop?"

"Smoking? Gave it up along with the excessive drinking when I moved to Vegas."

Kevin grew serious as he told him, "I used to worry about you."

He let out a breath as he eyed the table. "A child's not supposed to have to worry about their parents. You had to worry about both yours. It wasn't fair to you."

"Yeah, well, can't do anything 'bout it now." Kevin got up and disappeared into the kitchen for several long minutes before returning. Sitting back down, he asked "You've had plenty of time to think. Any thoughts on why Starling went with him? Did Lecter manipulate her?"

He shook his head. They hadn't talked too much about the case all night. He'd told Kevin that he needed time to think. "No manipulation. He saw her trying to be someone she wasn't, from her good bag to her cheap shoes. His words. An accent she tried to get rid of. She was running away from herself; her past. He needled her with it to try to show her the difference. He gave her what she so desperately needed: value in herself. Knowing her worth. Once she learned that, and understood him, she was able to accept his love for her and…went with him."

"So, in other words, he saw her. He didn't look through her, or see only what he wanted to see. That left him vulnerable to her. She saw him right back. You're telling me that what she saw was a man she could love?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

Kevin didn't like that. "What'd she see?"

"I don't know. But she figured him out." He shook his head. "She got into his head and figured him out, when all I did was go crazy."

Kevin took a sip of beer and looked over at him. "He didn't allow you to see him. That's why. You said yourself that he's a master manipulator. With her, he was vulnerable. It's not your fault."

"Aren't I supposed to be the parent here?"

Kevin smirked as he stood to get the steaks to throw on the grill. "How'd you like your steak?"

"Rare," he said without thinking. "Cook it until the internal temp is 115 degrees then let it sit for five minutes until it reaches 120."

"Ain't that like extra rare?" Kevin asked. Once the steaks were on the grill, he said, "I'm gonna grab another beer, want anything?"

"Do you have any red wine?"

"Wine? Never developed a taste for it."

He felt disappointed. "Beer would be fine."

Less than ten minutes later, Kevin made them both a plate of the steaks, baked potatoes, fresh salad, and from the kitchen, he brought out a cast iron skillet full of cornbread.

"Southern delicacy," Kevin said as he slid over a plate.

He picked up the knife and fork and sliced through the rare steak. After smearing the piece through the butter of the baked potato, he put it into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. He smelt the aroma and thought that Hannibal was doing the same. They were both eating steak at this very moment. It was around ten o'clock at night eastern time, seven pacific time.

"Do you miss it out here?" Kevin asked, interrupting his thoughts. "All the trees, gnats, mosquitoes and humidity?"

He took a sip of the cold beer. In the night all he heard were crickets and the hum of the bug zapper. "Sometimes I'll miss being able to fish anytime I want without making an extended trip just to get to a body of water. Mostly, I miss the rain. The smell of rain in autumn. Vegas doesn't have any seasons."

Kevin chuckled. "You like the desert?"

"I do. Lived there the longest of any place I've ever been. I fell in love with it." He also missed Sara. Once he was alone, he'd call her.

"I guess if my experience with the desert wasn't Afghanistan, I'd like it too. Never knew how cold a desert could be. If it was quiet, that's when you were scared the most. Can't stand the quiet."

If Kevin wasn't good mentally, he would never have been able to be an FBI agent. But that didn't mean that he would always be good. He'd never been to war, but he knew how traumatic experiences could change someone. How it could alter their perception of their environment. Some things that used to be tolerated now weren't. Some things that had been comforting now were dangerous.

He knew how a touch from a loving hand that used to be trusted and welcomed could turn deceivingly unwanted and foreign. A stranger's touch. And the eyes you looked at in the mirror could become even stranger.

"From my experience, it's not about the place but the people there that make it home. Scenery is secondary."

Kevin met his eyes. His blue eyes held a lot of sadness. Then he smiled slightly and seemed to be fine. Though, the sadness was still there. "Home is where the heart is?"

He felt a faint smile as he again realized how much he'd missed Kevin. The familiarity of home within his heart. "In my case it was about a thousand miles away; separated by farmland and mountains."

Kevin kept his eyes on his beer bottle. Since Kevin cooked, he offered to clean up. He got everything rinsed off and into the dishwasher. He took his time as it was nearly twenty minutes later before he grabbed another bottle of beer and went back out onto the deck. Kevin was stretched out in a chair, watching the night but not really seeing it.

He sat back down and tried not to think about Sara. When his mind drifted to Molly, he felt sad. Then appreciative that he had the time with her that he did have. He was also glad for Kevin.

"Sometimes I think she would have wanted me to do exactly what I did, other times, I think I should have taken you with me. I spent years going back and forth. I have no idea if I made the right decision. All I know is that the man you are now…Someone must have done something right."

Kevin was staring off into the woods. "You were both good parents. I remember wanting to talk to you man-to-man when I was twelve." He smiled. "I learned to face up to my fears, to be who I was. To own it. You taught me that. That, and uh, why I shouldn't drink too much. Drunkenness made you a coward."

He flinched at those stern words as he dropped his head.

"I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with the whole damn thing."

"I know. So was I. I eventually had to let it go. That anger was killing me." He took a sip of the beer as he looked over at him. "I was scared, Kevin. I've never been that scared before in my entire life. I handled it wrong. I'm glad you learned from my mistake."

Kevin didn't say anything for a long moment. He really wasn't expecting a response. All he wanted was for him to understand. "You know what I saw when I looked around your house?" He seemed to withdraw a little as he said, "You hide behind your intellect. Display it to keep people away. There's nothing personal. I also saw the inconsistencies. The opera CDs next to your Pink Floyd and Grateful Dead. Gourmet cookbooks among your science texts, self-help books, and non-fiction. China tea set next to chipped plates and…bumblebee coffee mug?"

He smirked as he said, "That was a gift." One that he loved.

"It's not tasteful. Nothing in your place is about taste. Hell, you love living in Las Vegas. Didn't you say Lecter would find the city unappealing to his sense of taste?" Kevin continued to look at him as his mind worked it out. "You don't care about fine dining. You do not care about how cluttered anything looks, from your bookshelves and tables to the wrinkled, too big clothes you wear. Nothin's tailored. You only care about comfort. You don't even have paint or wallpaper on your walls. Aesthetics mean nothing to you. Yet, fine china set? You know who does care about all that stuff? Is all that his influence?"

He shrugged. "Could be."

"You said he never left. Once Lecter gets in your head, he's there for good. You buried him, his thoughts, but, uh, some of his influences seeped out?"

He couldn't deny it. He also never really thought about it. Kevin was right, though. All of those things weren't there in his life before he met Hannibal Lecter. He gave a nod and took a drink of the beer. "Still don't like caviar."

"If it doesn't go with beer, it's not worth eatin'."

"Insects go good with beer."

Kevin laughed. "You will never convince me to eat another bug, ol' man. Let it go."

"Not even if it's covered in chocolate?"

"It could be wrapped in bacon; I still wouldn't eat it."

He chuckled as he leaned back as he thought about Sara back in Vegas. He ached for her all the way into his heart and down into his bones. He'd told her that until he got back that Lecter wouldn't do anything. He was certain of that. Lecter wanted him to be there; he also needed a cool down period to plan his next moves.

"Hey?" When he looked over at Kevin, he told him, "We'll get him. Before he ever thinks about touching Sara, we'll get him."

He couldn't help but smile at his son's determination. "Why are you an interrogator and not a profiler?"

Kevin didn't meet his eyes as he looked out at the trees. "Didn't that Nietzsche guy say something about looking into the abyss and the abyss looking back? I don't want the abyss. I've seen what it can do." Finally meeting his eyes, he asked him, "Do you still see them? Their dreams?"

He gave a nod as he felt a tightness in his chest. Agent Morgan's words to him from earlier filled his head. Something was holding Kevin back. Him.

"What does his dreams tell you?"

He took a big gulp of the beer before answering, "Every serial killer has a fantasy, a dream, that they want to relive over and over. They're driven by compulsions and needs, wants and desires…all towards the same goal. Hannibal isn't unorganized or impulsive. He can go years without killing. His desire to kill is spurred by a desire to fulfill a need that becomes too strong to ignore. Like a painter, he needs inspiration. A muse."

"A Mona Lisa? He's not an artist. He's a killer."

"He doesn't see it that way. He puts his victims on display. They become like Da Vinci's statue of David, or the Sistine Chapel. They are to be admired and marveled over." As he spoke those words, his mind started to drift.

He was in a hotel room…phone in hand…It was night outside and cool in the room. Lecter was on the phone. His voice in his ear. He was telling him about how God dropped the roof of a church on a congregation worshiping him. The words "If one does what God does enough times" echoed in his head.

"Are we not all made in God's image, Will?" Lecter asked him while in his psychiatrist's office. "God kills all the time."

The image of a knife in his gut, as Lecter's voice filled his ear, "There's only one God here, dear Will, and it's not yours. For this is MY will."

"Why does he think anyone should marvel at what he's done?" Kevin asked.

The drawing on the letter from Lecter to Clarice flashed through his head as he said, "Because a god created them."

Kevin finished the beer then asked, "Do you know his fantasy? His goal that he's trying to achieve?"

Gil shook his head. "Lecter's fantasy is the one thing that I could never figure out. He wouldn't let me see it. I only know his inhumanity."

"In the file, it's said that he prefers to eat the rude. Why? I know you said it's to show his contempt, but…"

"He has a strong sense of…regulating derogatory behavior," he told him. "He tries to make himself important, feel superior and above everyone else. One of the ways he does that is through assessing courtesies, politeness. He is always polite, but it's superficial. It's a mask; a facade. It's not real. Like I said, he believes himself to be God-like. He can judge others, and he does, but he's not a god; he's a devil. Have you ever heard "Sympathy for the Devil", Rolling Stones? The Devil wants you to be nice to him, courteous, polite, treat him with the utmost respect, or else he will 'lay your soul to waste'," he said, quoting the song. "Labeling someone as rude just gives him a reason, when the truth is, he doesn't need a reason. Killing amuses him." He shook his head at the thought. "Can you imagine getting so bored with life that you have to commit murder to be entertained?"

"I still don't understand it. Eating another human being—"

He shifted in the chair as he started to get highly uncomfortable. "He doesn't view us as human beings. People aren't people to Lecter, but things to toy with. Puppets. A lot of times he does something just to see what will happen."

"Like setting two wild dogs on each other, just to watch?"

"Exactly."

Kevin grew quiet, lost in his thoughts, then asked, "And you haven't figured out why he's that way?"

"I know why—He was born."

Kevin had that look most got when talking to him. He never figured out if it was admiration or fear. Maybe a little of both. But the look always held the same question: how did he know?

"He has no redeeming qualities?" Kevin asked.

A rage filled his chest as he felt the blade of a linoleum knife dig into his gut. A feeling of weightlessness as he laid on the floor with his blood pouring out of his body. The words Crawford spoke to him in a hospital hallway after Dolarhyde set Freddie Lounds on fire: "Graham's home, Marathon, Florida. Kill them all, save yourself."

The images that filled his head while he dreamt of mirror shreds being inserted into Molly's and Kevin's eyes so they could see his becoming…

"No," he said, before he blinked and looked away into the darkness of the trees.

Kevin tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin he had next to the deck. Then stood and said, "We better get some sleep. There's a whole other day comin'." He smirked, "Grandad used to tell me that." He stopped with his hand on the door. He took a minute to turn around, and when he did, he said, "I never bought the lie that you were dead. You told me you weren't staying in Florida, and with Lecter's escape…I just kept hoping like hell that you'd show up and take me with you. I was angry, for a long time, but…I understand why you didn't."

He hadn't known a weight was on his shoulders until he heard those words, and it was gone.

"If I know you, you don't want to stay anywhere else but your house. You know it. You know the sounds, the layout. I can uh, stay with you, if ya want. Bring my dog. He's trained."

Kevin wanted to protect him. That sense of protection had been inside Kevin for a long time. Good kid. "I would appreciate that, Kevin. Thank you."

Kevin nodded, but still hesitated to go inside. A soft smile appeared on his face as he told him, "I always knew you were at those games. Why the hell do you think I strived so hard?" He opened the door and walked inside, saying, "Goodnight, dad," as the screen door shut.

He felt the tears well in his eyes at his words. "Goodnight, Kevin."

He sat outside alone for a while, thinking, before he finished his drink and headed inside. After locking up, he went into the guest room and pulled out his cell phone as he laid down in bed.

"Gilbert," Sara's teasing voice answered the phone.

He felt relaxed as all the tension left his body. She was no longer upset. He smiled into the phone, "Hey, darlin'."

"How are you?"

"Tired. It's late out here, and uh, I can't sleep at night."

"Where are you staying?"

"Kevin's—Agent Collins house. We've been trying to figure out Lecter's motive. Starling's reasoning to go with him. Lecter was in love with her."

She was quiet for a moment, and he felt like telling her that Kevin was his son. He wanted to tell her but in person. He didn't want to do it over the phone. "Nothing goes together quite like love and madness."

He smirked into the phone. Kevin quoting Nietzsche got him thinking. "Nietzsche said that 'There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.'"

King Lear was driven to madness. Madness driven by the loss of love. Reason in the madness. Screaming at the gods…Being a god.

Again, he was reminded of what Lecter had told him many times. Blinking up at the ceiling, he told Sara, "Lecter told me once that if one does what God does enough times, he will become as God is. Power over life and death. That's all a lie. No one has power over life and death."

Remembering the crime scene, Daniel Hayashi at the head of the table and Joy's body. Her heart removed. Half the heart and mind gone; eaten.

What did I think about the words "I love you"? They could mend hearts and break minds, or vice versa. Mend minds and break hearts.

Clarice Starling had been holding Lecter together over these last five years. Her love, given willingly, had resolved whatever issue Lecter had that made him kill.

"What if she's gone—"

"Who?"

"Starling. Maybe something happened to her. She left him or died." When she left, Lecter's mind went with her. His heart shattered. He's imagined losing the people he's loved several times over and each time it was the worst feeling in the world.

"Is this why you called? You want to talk about the case?"

"No, I uh...I called because I miss you. I wanted to hear your voice."

She smiled. He heard it in her voice. "I miss you too."

"Are you home?"

"Yeah, for now. I'm due into work shortly. We're rotating hours, overlapping with Days, Swings and Nights." She was quiet for a moment, then said, "I've been thinking about what you said—"

"Forget about what I said. We're together because we love each other." A line from a poem entered his head as he said, "'Till love, at last, out of its dreaming starts.'...Dante. Anyway, that's all I need to know."

There was silence. Silence that seemed to stretch on for hours, but it was only seconds. "I've been looking online for places to buy."

"You're looking to buy a house?" he asked, confused.

"If we're serious about moving in together."

Oh. She meant for them to share. As Sara kept talking to him, telling him about the house, townhomes, and condos she's been finding, the more centered he became. His thoughts were able to focus on her and nothing else. In just the few months they'd been together she had become his world. He knew that would happen; it was one of the reasons he feared the relationship. First his heart and then his mind; gone.

A desire of his own started to ache his body. He closed his eyes as her voice filled his head. He wanted to be closer to her. He wanted to feel her breath on his neck, touch her warm skin, taste her tongue in his mouth. He wanted to devour it. Devour her in every way.

His mind drifted into darkness…

Then he saw her appear in the dark as her bedroom appeared in his mind's eye like lights coming up on a set stage.

She was lounging in her bed. Phone to her left ear. Quilt pulled up to her waist, a disregarded book on "his side" of the bed. Her room was a colorful palette of neutral colors and pastels. Potted plants, the smell of mint whiffing up from the teacup on the nightstand. Her hair smelt of tea tree oil; steam from a hot shower. Salt of her skin; San Francisco bay. Lavender; the smell of her between the legs while he tasted her.

He wanted her so badly; he could smell her through the phone.

"All that detail just from memory?" Agent Starling's voice filled his head.

Thinking back to the conversation he heard between Lecter and Clarice on the tapes, he replayed that segment over in his head.

"Did you do these drawings yourself, Doctor?" Starling asked.

"Ah. That is the Duomo seen from the Belvedere. You know Florence?"

"All that detail just from memory, sir?"

Lecter told her, "Memory, Agent Starling, is what I have instead of a view."

Memory…His memories?

The metronome, back-and-forth, set into motion just like the second time he had entered into Dr. Hannibal Lecter's psychiatrist's office.

Tap…tap…

The bedroom disappeared in darkness before the walls of books, antiques, big windows, and the tapping encased the room.

…tap…tap…tap…

He shifted in the seat as tapping filled the silence. This was highly unorthodox, or at least he thought so. At first, the tapping was an annoyance, that was before he got used to it. Then it became white noise, in the background but still there, keeping time.

"There's no reason to be nervous, Will."

"I don't like being psychoanalyzed."

"Well then, I promise not to."

He felt that as a condensation. His eyes left the psychiatrist as they roamed over the office, taking everything in.

"I understand that you have an eidetic memory." When he gave a nod, Lecter told him, "How very alike we are. So do I." That surprised him but he didn't let it show. "How do you do it?"

He was confused by the question. "I, uh…" He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Close your eyes." He stared at Lecter until he was told again, "Humor me. Close your eyes."

He let out a breath and closed his eyes.

"Describe my office."

As he was left in darkness. He imagined himself standing in the dark. He wasn't inside his own body, but outside of it as he watched his eyes searching around in the dark. Searching for something. Taking a step, he started walking, steps echoing in the void until a light. It started very dim before growing brighter the closer he got to it. The light source was from an antique brass desk lamp, circa 1940's. He entered into Dr. Lecter's office. Following himself inside, he sat in the chair as he watched himself venture around, studying the books, sculptures, and furniture.

Then he spoke out loud, "Mid-century modern mixed with spartan furniture, except for the chair behind your desk." In his mind, he watched himself run his hand over the desk chair. "Louis XV Gilded Armchair with velvet upholstery. Odd choice for an office, given the price tag of a few thousand dollars, but it is comfortable. Brass antique statues, marble bowls from Greece, gold finishes," He said as his eyes roamed over the room. "You like luxury. Fine things. Walls of books that illustrate your intellect. You choose to display your intellect and hide your passions. Between the clinical journals are books on birds, food, art…" He smelt the air. "I smell the bitterness of tea in the air. There's a sterling silver teacup on the small table behind the desk. No teapot, so…you must have the rest of the set in another room, out of sight." His eyes scanned the top of the desk. "On the desk, among the paperwork, a sketch book and worn pencils, and art chalk." He saw the desk in his mind as he ran his finger over it, lifting up traces of wood, lead, and chalk. "You don't use a pencil sharpener. Tiny specks and shreds are still on the desk. The inside of your right thumb, on the side of the knuckle, there's lead and black chalk from where the tips rest while sharpening them with a knife." He opened his eyes as he told Lecter, "Which is in your right pocket."

Lecter was a hard man to read. He didn't know if he was impressed, amused, or highly concerned. "Have you ever heard of a memory palace, Will? I've committed to memorizing a castle I once knew. The hallways are lined with tapestries and paintings, like photographs, images that I've committed to memory. People. Places I've been. Each room in the castle has wardrobes, drawers, closets, desks, chests, books and manuscripts and when I open these things, or enter into a room, I find the memory I'm looking for. A memory I've specifically placed there, in that specific spot. And when I take it out to view it, I see it as clearly as if I were there. Vividly, every detail, even the smell…taste…" He seemed to have ventured away as he closed his eyes, then they opened. "How do you recall your memories? Enlighten me with your perspicacity."

He thought about how his mind seemed like a labyrinth. It wasn't a palace. It was dark. Dark passages that he couldn't even see. Empty. A void. A deep, dark, void of nothingness. Then it would appear out of thin air. Out of the darkness, he saw…"It's not a house, or even a structure. It's darkness. A void. My memories just…appear, in the dark. It's also where I can recreate memories." It's where I dream, he thought but didn't say.

"You recreate memories as well?" That seemed to fascinate the doctor.

He gave a nod.

"Just your own or others?"

"Others. It's how I can empathize," he explained. "Like with Hobbs, his image didn't start off as even being that of a person. It was a shadow. A dark figure with no defining features. The more I learned about him, the more I empathized, the figure started to transform, take shape, but not as a human form. More like how he saw himself in his fantasy. I saw what he hid underneath. The killer."

"Through recreating memory alone?"

"I can't explain it. I can take anyone's point of view. It's like I'm inside them, while also looking at them as if I was a fly on the wall. In their body, but also in my own body. I can…feel their feelings. Their thoughts become mine. I see their fantasies, their dreams. I even feel that way when I'm thinking of myself sometimes. I'm in my own body, my own head, but also outside of it at the same time. Watching." Waiting, he thought.

"What do you think is the reason for watching yourself, Will?"

All he could think to say was the truth that had entered his mind the moment he spoke those words aloud. "I'm waiting."

"For what?"

He shook his head slightly as uncertainty filled his head.

Then, he was pacing. Inside his body, his mind, he was pacing back-and-forth in the middle of the darkness. His steps echoing in the void. Starved. Alone. In the dark. In the quiet. Reaching out, he wanted it to reach back. To touch him. Something. Instead, it was nothing. His hand only clasped at the empty dark air.

"I don't know." It hasn't reached back, he thought but didn't say.

Lecter smiled. "Thank you, Will. You have no idea the progress we have made." His blue eyes, with that speck of maroon, sparkled in the light coming in from the big window. "This," he said as he gestured to the metronome, "isn't just to remind us of the time, but to ground us in the now while we venture into darkness." It seemed as if he was staring right into his soul as he told him, "Your darkness."

Lecter said that he was repressing his darker purpose, while he was expressing his. He had always thought they were the same. Did that mean that Lecter was there for him to express his darkness? Thinking of the note, he ran it over again in his mind. All this time he thought Lecter was referring to himself, but what if it was referring to him?

He was the one burying, hiding, who he was. He was repressing how he saw the world. He had stopped dreaming. He was the one who stopped…becoming…

His becoming.

Sara's voice cut through the fog in his head as she spoke his name, "Gil?"

"If I do what's in my nature enough times, then I will fulfill my darker purpose."

King Lear lost his family, daughters, everything, and it drove him to madness. Left in his anger and hate…He raged.

And in his rage, he would kill.

The King Lear passage wasn't about Hannibal at all. It was about him. Lecter wanted to drive him to madness. Drive him to being devoured by his rage. He wanted him to kill.

"If I kill enough times, I will become as I should be. Lecter thinks, since we're the same, with both of us being great gods, then…"

"Do you know how you caught me, Will?" Lecter's voice taunted as he continued to bang on the cell door. He wanted out. Now. Or else they never would get out. Locked away for good. Just as he feared. "The reason you caught me is because we're just alike."

"I will become like him."

"Smell yourself."

The only way Lecter could ever make him want to kill him was by going after the two people he ever loved. Lecter planned on taking his family, love, his heart, away from him. With both Kevin and Sara gone…they would take his heart, his mind, and he'd be left in the same pain and heartbreak.

This would end in one of three ways: Lecter would kill him, he'd kill Lecter, or…they'd kill each other. He couldn't voice that, not yet. So, he kept it to himself for now.

But he didn't want to kill. It wasn't his nature. He knew that.

Sara had grown quiet.

"He's wrong."

TBC…