PART 1

"Why are you here, Jack?"

"Will, just listen to me for 5 minutes..."

"Why should I?"

"Because you know what he is."

"Are you making the case for or against?" But he stepped back and let Crawford through the door of the shabby apartment.

"He has one of my agents, Will. And the goddamn Bureau isn't going to do a thing about it."

"And just what do you think I'm planning to do about it, Jack? What's your plan, while we're at it... to get me killed too?"

"You know I wouldn't ask if I had any other options."

"Do I? You wanna know what I think, Jack? I think you'd sell your mother to get Lecter." As always, Crawford flinched slightly at the mention of the name – or perhaps it was the accusation. Either way, it gave Graham a grim satisfaction. He pressed on before the great man could object. "I damn well know that you already sold me once, so I'm not feeling too good about going up for bid a second time. Or is it a third? I lost count."

Will walked over to the coffee table and refilled his near empty glass of Cuervo. He downed it in one shot and set it down to pour another without asking if Jack would care to join him. Jack wouldn't be here that long.

"You're the only one I know of who might have a chance to catch him in time to do her any good." His voice was quiet, but there was a steely determination in his eyes.

That was just like Jack, to avoid anything that Graham might have to say and plow ahead with this ill-conceived pitch to convince him to throw up his hands and casually step straight back into hell.

"I've already done that once. Why not let someone else have a turn?"

"I did... and now the sonofabitch has her," Crawford growled.

"What makes you think she's alive at all? Lecter isn't the type to take in 'guests.' It's been over a month, Jack. Face it, your agent is lunch."

"Not this one." His voice held an odd mixture of hope and regret. "This one he'll hold onto."

"Alright, what makes you so certain?"

"He's fascinated by her... I can only imagine why. He won't kill her... at least not for awhile. She won't be so lucky."

"There's no history of any sexual component to Lecter's... hobbies, Jack."

"I know what I know," Crawford said stubbornly.

"So you want me to drop everything and rush out to save my successor from a fate worse than death? That is presuming I have even one fucking clue about where to look."

"Will..."

"Go home, Jack."

"You don't have to get anywhere near it, Will. Just take a look at these...."

"Go home, Jack."

He'd heard that one before. Before Molly left. Before his life had gone to shit.

"Just take a look and tell me what you think, Will."

"I think you should go home, Jack."

Crawford gave a ponderous sigh and dropped the thick files and a cassette tape onto the coffee table next to the bottle. He turned and walked to the door.

"And don't leave that shit here. Take your damn files with you!"

"You know where to find me if you change your mind." He opened the door and stepped through it without even looking around.

"Fuck you, Jack!" Graham yelled it at the closing door, throwing his half-empty glass after his former boss for good measure.

Just short of six weeks later, Crawford was dead and Graham was staring at the goddamn files wishing he'd burned the whole fucking mess when he had the chance.