Chapter Text
Agent Clarice Starling knew why Jack Crawford picked her to question Will Graham, and, by proxy, Hannibal Lecter. She read the report of both of them, after she was assigned this 'mission'.
Clarice Starling was from Virginia, but both her parents were of Korean descent. Her black hair was straight, and stopped a little past her shoulder. Her face was rounded, and she had a slightly pointed chin. Her eyes, a dark brown, seemed to glimmer with understanding constantly. She was told that she was beautiful many times in her life by men, and each time she liked that statement less and less.
Starling knew she looked like Beverly Katz.
Apparently, Crawford thought that would soften Graham up. They were friends, Katz and Graham, and had no bad blood between them before Katz died.
"Do not touch the glass. Do not approach the glass. You pass them nothing but soft paper - no pencils or pens. No staples or paperclips in their paper. Use the sliding food carrier, no exceptions. If one of them attempts to pass you anything, do not accept it. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Lecter will make you feel uneasy, and on edge, but Graham- he will know how to play you, just by the way you tap your foot or blink your eyes. He's, arguably, more dangerous than Lecter. "
Dr. Chilton rubbed his left cheek absently, as if unaware what he was doing. Starling noticed that what he said about Graham- "he will know how to play you."- sounded personal.
Starling knew all about Dr. Chilton. The man was attacked by three different serial killers; he was framed for multiple murders, was shot in the face, had his organs taken out of his own body while alive and awake, his lips bitten off, and then set on fire.
And yet, here he was.
Dr. Chilton's face was covered in scars from skin grafts. Patches of different shades of skin, some his, some donors were stitched into his body like a macabre quilt. His lips, one his own, the other not, were cosmetically almost perfect, but he still had a slight lisp, the kind that most don't notice until someone pointed it out.
Dr. Chilton didn't go out much these days.
Starling followed Chilton through the hallway of the BSHCI, the sounds of her flats and his cane tapping against the limonium floor.
"I keep them in the basement." Chilton told Starling. They were both walking slow; Starling following at a snail's pace because of Chilton's aggressive limp. Starling wondered briefly if he should be in a wheelchair, but was too proud to use it. Or if it brought up memories of his attack. "It's safer for everyone that way." A flicker of distaste clouded Chilton's face briefly. "I would like to keep them on different floors, but, legally..."
Crawford told Starling about that. On their 10 year run from the law, they somehow got married legally. Which meant that had rights to see each other, for conjugal visits, the such.
Starling nodded her head to show she understood.
Chilton and Starling walked through 3 sets of doors, each one with its own security, before walking though the final doorway.
In cells facing each other, where Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter.
Both were in the standard grey jumpsuits that prisoners got, and both were crossed legged on their respective beds, looking at each other unblinkingly.
Graham was in glasses, and was in need of a haircut and a shave, his dark curly locks almost covering his ears. He had a crude scar running down one of his cheeks, and another, neater, one on his forehead. He was expressionless, and did not look up at the sound of doors opening; neither did Lecter.
Lecter's light brown hair had flecks of gray in it, but he still looked fit for his age. He was not expressionless, instead looking at Graham-his husband- with clear adoration.
"Lecter, Graham." Chilton's voice broke through the quiet of the room. "You have a visitor."
Both men finally looked Starling with differing levels of interest.
"Hello, I'm Agent Clarice Starling." Starling kept her head up, refusing to look intimidated.
Graham only kept his eyes on her for a second before looking at Chilton.
"How are you, Frederick?"
Graham's voice was soft, and had the underlying of a southern accent. He was from Louisiana, Starling remembered.
Chilton's face crumpled, as if he meant to wince, or grimace, but his patchwork of skin didn't know how to do it.
"I'm fine, Mr. Graham." Chilton replied bitingly. Graham smiled sweetly at Chilton, who made a point of avoiding eye contact.
"Good luck." Chilton told Starling quietly before quickly-for him- leaving the room.
"I think you upset the good doctor, Will." Hannibal's accented voice said from behind Clarice. Starling turned to face him.
Lector's smile was a terrible thing.
"Hm." Graham hummed in agreement, eyes locked on the door where Chilton left. "Poor thing." His eyes trailed over to Starling now. "He tries to spend as little time with us as possible," Graham explained.
Lecter, arms behind his back, stood up from his cot. "So, Agent Starling-"
"Ms. Starling, isn't it?" Graham cut Lecter off, eyes locked on Starling now. Lecter just raised a brow curiously. "Not agent. You're a trainee; aren't you?"
"I'm an agent for these case." Starling told him coolly.
"And what case is that, Trainee Starling?" Lector questioned.
Starling felt like she was getting whiplash, looking back and forth between them.
"I would like you to look at this, Mr. Graham." Starling pulled a packet of paper from her bag. The papers included descriptions of the murders, photos, and a profile. She took out the paper clips before handing it to Graham through the food slot.
Graham didn't take it.
"Jack sent you, didn't he?"
A pause. Starling thought about her options.
"Yes."
Graham's face converted to disgust.
Hannibal looked at him.
He looked at Hannibal, a slight frown on his face, his eyes seemingly pouring with sadness.
Starling felt as if they were talking to each other with their eyes.
"Mr. Graham," Starling tried again. "Would you please look at these? We need your help."
"Yes, Jack always seems to want my help. And who am I to deny him that?" Graham's shoulders slouched, causing him to look absolutely pitiful.
"Jack has caused my husband much pain." Hannibal said cooly.
"Well, so have you, haven't you, Dr. Lecter?" Starling questioned.
"I broke him in. Jack just broke him."
"I'm not broken." Graham called out.
"No, of course not, dear." Lecter looked amused.
Probably because, in that moment, Graham did look broken.
Starling mentally looked back at the file she was given on Lecter and Graham. When they were found and arrested, Graham's lawyer attempted to try for a defense of Stockholm; that Lecter kidnapped and brainwashed Graham to feel like he had to be with Lector, or else.
Graham denied that defense.
Now looking at both men, Starling wondered why; was it because that didn't happen, or was it because it was true?
Starling remembered the warning both Crawford and Chilton gave her.
Beware of Graham.
"Mr. Graham, please. Just look at these."
Graham looked at her for a moment, blue eyes seemingly staring through her, before he face a slight nod, sitting up and heading towards the slot.
"Call me Will," he muttered as he took the pictures and profile.
Graham looked at the papers Starling gave him in silence, Lecter and Starling both looking at him curiously, both eager to see what his mind will produce.
It was almost 5 minutes when Graham finally lifted his head, gasping for air as if the minutes he spent looking at the papers were spent underwater.
"Mr. Graham?" Starling questioned.
"This is Buffalo Bill, isn't it?" Graham questioned. "I've seen the reports about him in the papers they give us."
Starling nodded slowly.
"How did they get that dreadful name?" Lecter queried.
"Officers at Kansas City Homicide made a... tasteless joke that 'this one likes to skin his humps'." Starling told him, swallowing.
Lecter hummed.
"Mr. Grah-"
"He hates himself." Will cut him off. "Hates what he is. He wants to be something else, needs to be... The women he's skinning, he's using the skin for something."
"For what?"
"It's important to him." Graham added vaguely.
"Mr. Graham do you know what he's doing? Can you tell me anything else?"
"Yes, I can." Graham answered easily as he put the papers back in the slot. "But I won't."
Graham went back to his cot, lying down on his back.
Anger curdled Starling insides.
"Mr. Graham-"
"Hannibal could help you. He knows this person."
Starling's head whipped almost comically to Lecter, who smiled pleasingly at her.
"Who is he?" Starling questioned.
"He was a patient, briefly. I could not help him, though, so I handed him off to another." Hannibal told her. "And that's all I will say for now. Goodbye, Trainee Starling."
Lecter moved to sit at his desk, picking up a felt pen.
Starling felt dismissed.
"Mr. Graham, Dr. Lecter-"
"Come back again, and we'll tell you more. Patience." Lecter remarked, humor clear in his voice.
Starling huffed. She thought over the information she got, before deciding it was enough, for now, to show Crawford.
"Thank you," she said stiffly, not waiting for either men to respond before heading out.
Once the doors closed, Will turned so he was on his stomach, and Hannibal turned so he was straddling the chair.
Each looked at each other for a moment.
"You have a plan," Will observed.
"So do you."
"Yes."
Both men smiled. It was a terrible thing.