He finds it perversely amusing as he listens to the messages on his cell phone. It is the fifth call in the past two days, she is starting to sound desperate. He muses about her request as he walks along the far side of the lake. Should he or shouldn't he? Professional courtesy if he does comply. Nothing more, but can he promise himself that? She has come to the realization of what she buried inside herself so long ago. She has drawn the monster out, looked it in the eye, and didn't flinch. But, he wonders, coming around the lake, his path now angled to the house, what will she do if the monster consumes her? Will she accept it, acknowledge it presence within herself? Or will she be crushed by it, and lose it all? Pity if she is crushed by it. He sees the light in her bedroom flick on, bright in the coming darkness. He watches as her silhouette moves in the light, and he decides. He will comply with her request, she needs to know that she is just like him.

*****

The phone rings. Once, twice, Emily tenses under the sheets waiting for a third ring. It doesn't come. She lets her eyes close, desperately seeking the sleep that will not come. When she does sleep, she is tormented by her dreams, which she cannot escape. She keeps seeing Martin's face, with the blood spreading to the concrete floor and the looks of accusation in her cousins' faces. She keeps feeling the pleasure surge up in her, the taste of the blood on her lips. Her eyes flick open, looking into the dark room that surrounds her. Growling low, she cast the sheets off and sits on the edge of the bed. The night air prickles her skin, goosebumps rose quickly and she shivered. She padded to the bathroom and took a heavy chenille robe from the hook by the door. She makes her way downstairs, listening to the old house creek and settle in the dark. She doesn't turn on any lights, making her way through the main level by memory. The wine she brought upstairs has had time to breathe and she pours the ruby liquid into a crystal glass. She leaves the bottle on the counter, taking the glass with her into the front room.

*****

He sits in the corner, and notices that she doesn't turn on the lights as she makes her way into the kitchen. He listens to the soft clink of the crystal and the heavier one of the wine bottle against the tile. He can feel her as she comes into the front room, and the crystal on the wood of the piano. Dr. Hannibal Lecter is seated to the left of the piano, in one of the Queen Anne chairs by the window. He can smell the wine, mingled with her scent. He can smell the fabric softener in her skin form the sheets that she has laid in, the scent of Crabtree & Evelyn Jojoba Oil lotion too. He hears the lid covering the keyboard lift, creaking softly as the hinges need to be oiled. A first few tentative notes chime softly from the keys, her fingers exploring in the dark. He admires her deftness and ability as a melody softly emerges. She coaxes song from the darkness, pouring herself into the music. He rises, coming to stand behind her. He reaches for the glass of wine and she freezes, the last note hanging in the air. He raises the glass to his nose, taking in its bouquet. He sips the wine, and lowers his hand, preparing to replace the crystal on the lid. Before he can, a hand shoots out, shattering the wine glass and continuing to hit him.

*****

Emily is intent on her playing when she feels movement behind her. She waits and hears the wine glass being lifted from the wood. Her fingers leave the keys and she begins to turn on the bench, chenille sliding easily on the polished wood. The hand and the glass are coming back down as she strikes. She doesn't feel the crystal slice her hand as she hits the mass the arm is connected to. She hears the intruder's breath escape and the feet lose balance. She jumps from the bench, scrambling for the light switch across the room. She blinks as the room is illuminated, trying to adjust her eyes. She looks down to see Dr. Hannibal Lecter pushing himself up off the floor. She rolls her eyes and steps over to help him up.

"That wasn't necessary, Emily. I was only tasting your wine."

She fixes him with a glare, eyes slightly bloodshot. "Serves you right." she looked at the mess of wine and shattered crystal on the rug. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"You aren't sleeping much anymore, are you Emily?"

"No." she is crouching, picking up the larger pieces of the wine glass. She is very aware of his eyes on her. She stands and takes them over to a small wastebasket in the corner, breathing slowly returning to normal. She comes back to the piano bench and sits down on it, hands on her knees.

Dr. Lecter takes her right hand, making her wince slightly as he applies slight pressure on it. Blood wells from a cut on her knuckles. "You're bleeding, dear doctor."

Emily take her hand from him, placing the knuckle to her lips, tasting the blood. Her actions register and she pulls it away, dropping it to her side.

"You did that on purpose." she accuses.

"Ummmm. So I did, Emily. May I ask, how do you feel?"

She is rising and walking from the room, he stands hands at his sides watching. "Go away, Dr. Lecter."

"May I remind you, you called me and asked for my help."

"Not at four thirty five in the morning." comes her reply, she is in the bathroom running water over the cut. She looks in the medicine cabinet. No Band-Aids. She isn't about to go upstairs and leave Lecter down here alone. She doesn't want him wandering around her house unsupervised right now. That, and it would be rude. A wry smile twists her lips as this thought comes to her. She comes out and finds that he has turned on the lights in the hall and the living room. Obviously, he is not going away.

Emily finds him sitting on the couch, waiting patiently. She glares at him and sits down on the opposite end, out of his reach.

"Fine. What do you want?"

He shakes his head. "Tsk tsk, Emily. Right question, wrong person. You were beginning to sound quite desperate in your messages."

She called him, but now she didn’t want to admit anything to him, nt after what she just did. "Maybe. Look, I changed my mind, I can handle this on my own."

"Really? Let me ask you then, one little question, how did it make you feel?" he leans slightly forward, Emily can see the depths of his pupils even from across the couch.

"How did I feel? Feel about what, Dr. Lecter?" she is stalling, fumbling for time to organize her thoughts.

"Formalities again. I thought we had moved past that in private. Ah well, back to your question. How did you feel about what you just did, doctor? Did it bring you pleasure to see that you had hurt me? Don't lie now."

"Yes." she whispered, then repeats a little louder. "Yes."

A smile and a nod. "Good. I thought you did. Now, did you find the taste of blood on your lips to be pleasant? The warmth of it on your tongue?"

Her mind whirls as she considers this. She did find it nice… "Yes, I liked it more than the wine." she hears her voice as if from a distance. She feels to be a spectator, watching herself answer his questions. "The wine was the same color, you know."

"Yes, I know. Now, doctor, tell me, did you every taste Martin's blood?"

Emily can see herself, spindly and eight years old again, her reflection in the mirror. She is washing blood from her face and hands. Not her blood, his. Martin's blood. She looks at her right hand, the one that she cut the knuckle on, looks at his blood on there too. Emily looks in on her past self as the little girl flicks her tongue out and laves the back of the hand, tasting the blood. She hears her voice telling Lecter of the incident, she sees the glow in the eight year old's eyes.

"Very good, Emily. Look at me now." she raises her eyes to his, not noticing that she had been staring at the floor. He presses a knife into her hands. The handle is warm from his pocket and she flips it open, flashing it in the light.

"Nice." there is silvered light reflected on her face, playing across her lips.

"It is, isn't it? Now Emily, if I were to offer you the chance to have my blood would you?"

She looks at him, eyes glowing as she considers. "Your blood?"

"My blood Emily, my flesh as well, I believe you'd like that." His eyes flick to the blade, curved and wicked, then back to hers. Yes, he can see it now, emerging from the room in the palace where it was locked.

She considers silently then brings her legs up under her on the couch, crawls towards him. She lays the blade against his throat, drawing a drop of red. He watches her, not moving, making nary a sound. "Can you do it, Emily? Or will it make you every bit more of a monster to know that you killed me? Come now, your mother would be proud of you."

Her eyes reach into his, and she pauses, pressure constant on the knife. He can see the change in her face, as the realization hits her. He feels the blade leave his throat and sees her head drop, her breath warm against the cut. His breath catches as she pushes on it with cool fingers, easing the blood to her waiting tongue. It is a very provocative feeling to have her tongue on his throat. She pulls back from him, meets his eyes as she flings the knife across the room. There is a tiny drop resting on her lips and Dr. Lecter lays his index finger on it, taking it form her lips.

"Why didn't you do it, doctor?"

"Emily." she corrects, she feels tired and drunk. "I couldn't kill what I saw."

"What you saw Emily? Was it a monster? A monster who kills?"

A shake of the head and she leans back against the couch for support. "No. There are reasons behind your hunger, Hannibal. I couldn't kill you for that, because I have those same reasons. I understand you."

A smile, and he brushes hair that is dampening with sweat back from her cheek. "Do you know who Will Graham is, Emily?" a nod, the name registers in her eyes. "I told him something once, but I feel that it fits you quite aptly."

She is quiet, and something tells her that he is about to tell her something important. She struggles to quiet the roaring in her mind. "And that is?"

"That you and I are just alike. Just alike, Emily." A wink from him and she blinks.

"Just alike. That's what I saw." she mumbles and tries to stifle a yawn. All the missed hours of sleep are catching up to her. Her eyelids are heavy and its becoming a struggle to keep them open. Lecter notices and rises form the couch. She watches as he goes to the blanket chest across the room. He motions for her to lay down as he unfolds the blanket. Emily does, and she feel the blanket being tucked around her.

"Now, before you drift off to sleep, do you remember what I told you, about my not being able to kill you?"

A sleepy nod. "You said that I was so close to the truth, that you couldn't kill the ones you loved. You love Clarice, but you said you felt something deeper for me."

"That's right. Do you know what it is?"

A smile on her lips, eyes closed. "Because we're just alike."

"Very good. To kill you would be tantamount to killing myself. Now get some sleep, we can discuss thing again when you're rested."

"Just alike." she whispers once more as sleep takes hold. Finally, the dreams do not haunt her.

Dr. Lecter watches the slow rise and fall of her chest, then turns away to find his Harpy. He closes the blade and dims the lights. As he looks at her in the dark he speaks to himself.

"Now, Emily. Now that you know the truth, where do we go from here?"

*****