[ @empathicdesign​ ] 

Clarice’s tone indicated quite the opposite, but Will didn’t wish to tread on her process. Though he would deny it, they were rather similar when it came to adhering to their own personal beliefs.

Idly tracing his finger along the table, Will only looked up again when he sensed Starling’s gaze. His brow puckered and he huffed.

“In case it wasn’t obvious, Starling, I’m not exactly the friendly type. I’m scornful of almost everyone from the get-go.” Lowering his eyes back to the photographs, Will shrugged. “I initially believed that Lecter was yet another yutz trying to paw at my brain, and I was determined not to give in to that type of scholarly interest. But as it turns out, I didn’t have much of a choice, and it was a sound decision on the Bureau’s part. None of us should remain in the field untreated.”

Straightening the line of photographs, the crease in Will’s brow deepened. “I get the impression that Dr. Lecter unsettles you – not to the point you’ll need to be reassigned, I hope? The downside of this field, as I’m sure you’ve already learned, is that we often have to deal with unsavory people. Dr. Chilton is presently at the top of my list.”

        With as many tales that Starling has heard about agents and trainees who came before her, she agrees with Will’s sentiment with a brief nod. No Bureau personnel should remain untreated, indeed. ( That thought raises a flag in her mind, however, as the environment in which she grew up was averse to any sort of counseling. Her inner child still instinctively revolts at certain customs that seem banal even to FBI folk. )

       Just as she opens her mouth to vehemently add that she will not request re-assignment, Will mentions Dr. Chilton and the thought of that slimeball impulsively takes precedence over her previous thought.

       “ That sunuvabitch.”

       Just as the words come out of her mouth, Starling shifts her gaze immediately to any other point but Will’s face, and her eyes widen. 

        Shit, shit, fuck. Shitfuck.

       She doesn’t apologize, though—- she bases this reaction off of Crawford, who would correct her and move on, or who would act as if he weren’t listening in the first place. ( She could call him a sunuvabitch, too, but that’s for another time. Another time, with some Jack Daniels. )

       “ I figured that much,” she continues, referring to the idea of having to deal with the unsavories of the world. And by this point in her time as a trainee, Crawford will never hear of Starling’s struggles, big or small. She can’t risk paper-pushing within the Bureau. She knows too well the tales of the women who came before her—- the women who drowned in paperwork while their male counterparts served tangible justice. 

       “ But I assure you I will handle this. I mean, he’s never talked to anybody. Not anybody who wanted information from him.” She purses her lips in thought. “Crawford said go in, expect the worst…but somehow get Lecter that file.”