Chapter Text
Clarice sat on the deck and finished her report, sending it to Jack with a smile not unlike the Cheshire Cat. She could almost hear him in his office, slurping a midmorning cup of coffee as her email appeared. And if she closed her eyes, she could see the murderous expression on his face when he looked up at the computer screen.
It was Friday, which meant the cafeteria would have coconut cake, big slices cut thick and square with creamy icing on the top. They set them out early, and Jack was always the first one downstairs at nine-thirty sharp, picking up two and slyly slipping Clarice a piece on his way back to that dark office in the corner.
The time on her phone changed to nine-forty, and Clarice was about to eat her cake exactly the way she liked it.
She licked her lips and started counting.
Five, four, three, two…
Her phone vibrated, and she picked it up on one.
"What did I tell you about working?" Jack asked.
"I had a report to finish," she said innocently, crossing her fingers and placing them behind her back. "We got back from Miami too late to do anything other than go fishing."
"Will took you fishing?" Jack had the nerve to sound satisfied.
"He did."
"What did you catch?"
"Trout."
"And how much did you eat, Clarice?"
Half of the smallest filet and enough rice pudding to make her belly ache, and she'd slid her plate to Will when she couldn't eat the rest.
"Everything on my plate, Dad."
"Are you at the hotel?"
"I-uh… Will offered to let me sleep on the couch. Oceanfront property, private beach…" she drawled, offering the bait.
"Sounds like paradise."
"It is. Especially for two babysitters who can watch each other better without the drive."
Caught you red-handed, didn't we?
"What was that? I'm sorry, Clarice. Director Noonan just walked into my office. Hi, Gloria, how are you…?"
"I'll bet she did," Clarice said. "Bye, Jack." She ended the call and set her phone down, pursing her lips before she picked it up again.
"Zeller."
"Hello, Brian."
A pause on his end and a quick shuffling of papers. "What do you want, Clarice?"
"Do we have the data dumps on the laptops yet?"
"No, but tech says it'll be ready by the end of the day."
"Can you send them to me when they come across the wire?"
"Aren't you supposed to be on vacation?"
Goddamn it, Brian.
"Yes."
"Jack would kill me. You know that, don't you?"
"What Jack doesn't know won't hurt him. And he hired me a real nice babysitter to make sure I get plenty of rest."
"No."
"Brian Maynard Zeller –"
"Nope. Huh-uh. Don't pull that Mom bullshit on me. I'm not in the mood."
"Alright," she said, leaning in as she went for the jugular. "Then I guess I'll finally have to tell Jimmy about the time that Johnny and I found you in his office, jacking off to a picture of the First Lady. We let you live it down, but he never will. Especially when he finds out that you couldn't figure out exactly where the money shot got flung to."
She could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed before Brian Zeller whispered, "I hate you, Clarice."
"So you'll give me what I want?"
A long, drawn-out sigh. "Yes."
"Thank you," she said sweetly. "You're a peach. A Georgia peach. I'll stop and get you a bushel on the drive home."
"Fuck you, too. You know I'm allergic."
"See you soon, Peaches."
"Hey, Clarice?"
"What's up?"
A pause. "Tell Will that Jimmy and I said hi. He never answers the phone when we call him."
"I will," she said.
"You okay?"
"I went fishing last night, Brian. Caught a big one and ate him up fresh."
"Sounds great."
"It really was."
"Take care of yourself. It's not the same without you keeping everyone in line."
She bit her lip. "I know. I'll be back before you know it, with a tan and a bloated belly from all the fish we're gonna catch."
"See you soon."
"Bye," she said, hitting the red button. She closed her laptop and took it back to the house, placing it back in her bag before walking to the non-living room.
Will was still asleep, where she should have been if the dreams hadn't been bad enough to wake her up before her alarm would have gone off if she wasn't on vacation. They'd walked on the beach until the moon rose, then walked in the other direction until they'd almost been too tired to walk back. She and Will had sat up and talked most of the night about nothing and everything, avoiding talk about her hero, his demon, and the boxes of files around them.
But it hadn't been enough to wear out her mind.
She'd lain in bed, Will's bed that he'd graciously given up in favor of the sofa. The sheets were fresh, but they smelled like him. Even though she'd felt so safe, burrowed underneath a blanket that was teeming with the scent of a warm man… it hadn't carried over into her unconscious mind. That morning, she'd woken abruptly, sitting straight up as she tried her damndest not to scream.
Don't think.
She needed to run, run and not think about anything for a while.
Clarice pulled on her shoes and stuffed her earbuds in, drowning out the world as the world flew by around her.
Out here in the fields
I fight for my meals
I get my back into my living
I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven
The sky was blue, the sun hot and bright in the humid heat. Rivers of sweat ran down her forehead and into her eyes. It stung, and she wiped her face with the bottom of her shirt, not slowing a step as she continued running down the beach. She went further than she did last time, but she didn't want to stop, not when the dreams were bad, and the rubber band inside her was about to snap in half.
She wondered if any of the women had been able to run from Buffalo Bill. If they'd been aware enough of who he really was that they'd tried to break away, running down the road without a shirt to protect them from the eyes that traveled over them. It made her angry, and she pulled her shirt from her head, tossing it to the side as she continued to run. Fuck it, if even one of them had been able to run away with nothing but a bra on to protect them from the world, then so could she, even if hers was a thick sports bra that hid everything and revealed nothing. She had nothing to protect her, nothing to wipe her face with, and she was so angry that she didn't see the piece of driftwood before she tripped on it.
Clarice fell, hard. Not enough to break her skin, but enough to hurt her pride so badly that she started to cry on the hot sand, pissed at herself, and pissed at the man who had cut the shirt from Fredrica Bimmel's back.
Fredrica hadn't wanted that. She'd wanted something more, someone who would unbutton her shirt from the front after having been invited to remove the cotton blouse.
Tenderness. Respect. Affection. Connection.
Tears and sweat stung in her eyes, and she wiped them with her sandy hands, crawling to the surf to wash her gritty face. The water was cool and clean, salty enough to sting, though gentle enough to ease the sting away.
Like a partner or a lover, or a friend who loves you enough to let you be.
A good man is hard to find, ain't it?
Especially when they've been at your side the whole time.
Clarice closed her eyes and continued to splash the cold seawater on her face as she wept.
Don't think.
She ran back to Will's house, thinking of nothing but the ground beneath her. The sun was directly overhead when she wobbled up the stairs, almost unable to bear her own weight.
Shoes off at the back door, too sandy to bring inside.
Shirt missing, blown away by the sea breeze.
Skin red and golden, kissed by the morning sun.
And the files of ten women inside who would never feel the way she did now, not ever again.
It was never going to be a vacation, was it?
She needed a drink, and she walked inside, grabbing a glass and filling it with the cold tea in the fridge. It was sweet, dammit, after Will had snuck some sugar in the pitcher before they went to bed. But she drank it all, filling another glass before walking into the non-living room.
The sight in front of her made her heart rise to the roof of the house, but it sure as shit felt a lot like falling when she took another step closer.
Will Graham stood in the center of the photos of the dump sites, wearing a pair of glasses she'd never seen. He was in khaki pants –
Does he own pants?
- and a blue, button-down shirt from the back of his closet. His eyes were closed, hand under his chin as he took a deep breath and softly hummed to himself. She knew the song from her parent's old records, and she could see the album in her mind, the writing partners in focus with flowers in front of the lens, hazy and bright and out of focus.
He didn't know she was there, as lost as he was in the terrifying world his mind could create. And as quietly as she knew how to be, Clarice sat on the floor between the kitchen and non-living room, silently watching Will as he dove deeper into his thoughts, the song growing more sinister with every note.
He opened his eyes and stared directly at Clarice, and her whole body stiffened. He was and wasn't Will Graham. In his eyes, there was a predator who hadn't been there when he kissed her cheek before tucking her into his bed. She took account of everything around her and remembered that she could take him down without flinching. When she stood, meeting his gaze, Clarice was not afraid.
Not even when he started to speak.
"I am a lover. I offer the promise of desire, and I ask for one thing in return. In exchange, I give back what was given to me, dressed in a gown of the finest muslin and crowned with wildflowers and herbs. Befitting for a medieval bride, though what I have made is their funeral bed."
He stopped speaking and closed his eyes again, retreating back into the insane world the pictures had made. She didn't want to speak and break the spell, but she was too compelled not to answer him with what the victims had wanted.
"I want to be loved. I desire the creature comforts that have escaped me and want to be desired for who I am. I am drawn to you, but my desire ends the moment I see what you have planned for me."
"Why are you drawn to me? What about me calls your name?"
"You're… you're lonely, just like I am. And I think we can ease the ache we feel in each other."
"But how did you find me? Because you found me. I need to be needed, to be sought, to be loved… and the mask I wear is designed to draw you in," he asked quietly, his eyes still closed.
"I found a profile from a website called HeavenlyConnection in Fredrica's room. There were advertisements for that website in the rooms of Judy Coleman and Laura Walster. Zeller is sending me the data from their computers this afternoon. I'd bet a dollar for every speck of sand there is outside that we'll find hits to that website on all ten of them."
"Good," he said. He opened his eyes, and it was over, though this might have been worse. His eyes moved around the room, calm and so very cold. Clarice walked through the maze of photographs and touched his shoulder. Tense muscle relaxed, enough to make her relax for now.
"What do you need?" she asked.
"A drink."
She poured him three fingers of Jack, adding another since her fingers were small. He nodded when she brought it to him, and with shaking hands, he tossed it back.
"You've been running," he said smoothly.
"Yes."
"The second time this morning."
She shrugged. "I needed to clear my head."
"What you need is a shower," he said, his voice as cold as his eyes. "I could smell you the moment you walked into the house."
"Fuck you," she said, wanting to hit him.
He shook his head, setting the glass on the coffee table. In the center of the pictures of the dead women, he kneeled in front of her, buried his nose between her thighs, and breathed her in.
Oh god.
"Pheromones are the most pronounced when we sweat. Adrenaline, fear, lust… it enhances us. Makes us more attractive to our mate. Do you know that I like you?"
"Yes."
"Tell me then, do you want to know why I like you?"
"No," she whispered.
He tutted, and it didn't sound like his voice. It was too sophisticated, too cultured, and it turned her stomach. "That's a pity. I didn't take you for a coward."
Bastard.
"You know I'm not."
"Then why don't you want to know why I like you? A curious woman like yourself wants all the answers when generously offered. And you want to know, don't you?"
No. Maybe.
"Yes."
"Because I can smell how much you like me," he whispered. He stood up, towering above her, as menacing as a viper about to strike. "Across a room, across state lines… the stench of your desperation wafts to me like a sweet, delicious prize. As sweet as the cunt I can't bring myself to plunder. I want it to the point of my own desperation, and yet I can't bring myself to defile you in that way. Not after that first time. Not after I tasted that sweet meat with my own lips and found it wanting."
She knew it wasn't about her, but she was fucking done. Clarice punched him in the jaw, hard enough that the fine bones in her hand throbbed. His eyes shifted, and his hand moved to his jaw. Will was so dazed that she knew he hadn't been himself, but it didn't matter now that she'd bruised his already scarred skin.
"I'm going to take a shower," she mumbled, turning from him and carefully stepping around the photographs.
When she closed the bathroom door, she sank to the cool tiles and put her head in her hands.
"You're his babysitter," she whispered. "You know he processes evidence in ways no one else does. That's why Jack wants him – to feel out the edges of the unsub that we can't find. But this is why Jack asked you to stay put – to make sure he doesn't crack up. And you just punched him in the fucking face."
Goddamn it, Clarice. You had one job.
She tried to stand, but her legs were too unsteady to hold her.
Fuck it up, buttercup.
For the second time that day, frustrated as hell and too hungry, tired, angry, and lonely to care, Clarice Starling burst into tears.
"Shit," she whispered angrily. "You fucking loser. No count, white trash, weak, pathetic –"
There was a soft knock on the door. "Can I come in?"
It was his voice, his real voice, and she nodded dumbly before saying, "Yes."
Will walked in and quietly sat on the floor next to her. His glasses were off, and he held an ice pack to his jaw.
"You own an ice pack?" she asked.
"For emergencies," he said. "I thought this would count."
"I'm sorry. I know it's part of your –"
"It's fine," he said. "I don't know if I was even in control at that point."
"I wasn't either," she admitted. "Obviously."
"Truce?"
She nodded and leaned against his shoulder, needing to breathe in who he really was. "Jack called after I sent in my report."
"Is it Friday?"
"Yep."
"Coconut cake."
"Uh-huh."
"You ruined Jack's favorite snack."
She grinned. "Wouldn't be the first time."
But it might be the last.
"Zeller and Price send their love."
"Whatever," he mumbled.
"They miss you. Everyone does."
"No one misses me. I was nothing more than a smear on the name of the Bureau by the time… by the time it was all over."
"You weren't," she said. "Maybe they use you as a cautionary tale to scare the cadets, but you aren't an embarrassment. Even with what it cost you, you did incredible work, and God only knows how many lives you saved."
"It didn't just cost me," he said hollowly, his eyes moving to his left hand.
She wasn't the only one who'd made a vow without knowing the price their partner would have to pay.
Don't think.
She looked at the boxes in his living room and wondered if they would fit in the hall closet, out of sight and out of mind. And maybe this really could be a vacation.
"You don't have to do this."
"Would you stay with me if I didn't?"
"Yes," she said. She meant it, and she found his hand. Hers fit in it almost perfectly, and she laced her fingers in his, listening to his breath speed up.
"Because you're my babysitter."
"You're mine too, in case you haven't forgotten."
"I haven't. Jack is worried about you. I could hear it in his voice. Same voice he used to use when he was so worried about me."
She closed her eyes when she whispered, "I'd stay even if we weren't assigned to watch each other."
"Being here with me won't do you any favors. You know that, don't you?"
"Maybe," she said. "Do you want to take me fishing, Will?"
"Yeah," he said. "Can I take a walk with you when we're done?"
"Yep, but I need to order more groceries before we go. You're almost out of milk."
"Do I own oysters?"
She quirked her brows. "No."
"I used to like oysters."
"I'll order some."
"I could take you to dinner, instead. There's a place in town that has oysters, red wine, and drippy candles on every table."
She lifted her head to look at him better. "Are you asking me on a date, Will Graham?"
"Yes." His eyes were his own, and they were as pleading and uncertain as a little boy who wasn't sure if he'd just gotten in trouble.
"I'd like that."
Do I own a dress?
"Yeah?"
Clarice nodded and asked, "Do you like me, Will?"
"Yes," he sighed.
"Why?"
Because you aren't like her… or him.
Clarice closed her eyes.
Don't think.