I finally managed to finish editing this. Sorry for the delay in posting, with finals, relatives and the holidays finding time to write has been a nightmare. I hope you all enjoy the chapter, chapter two is currently under construction and I will post it ASAP. Thanks for sticking with me! ~Pferdlover

Oh? You think I created these guys? Ha, funny. Seriously though all characters belong to Thomas Harris and are used without permission, no copyright infringment. Sue me and you'll get a cat who steals clothing.

Chapter One (Revised)

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, cannibal and serial killer, reposed eloquently in a faded arm chair, his hands steepled beneath his chin, waiting patiently for the return of Clarice Starling. Nearly five years had passed since their last meeting, during which time he had immersed himself in the elegance of Europe. However even the beauty of his favorite cities did little to stifle his fascination with the young agent. As the months passed the urge to contact her became more pronounced and he began to grow restless, memories of their encounters plagued him relentlessly; serving to frustrate him further. With her eventual removal from the limelight, keeping tabs through the media became impossible and he was soon left without options. By this time five years had passed and his renowned patience was at an end. His decision made he had immediately booked a flight to Arlington; eagerly anticipating the renewal of their relationship. After checking into one of the nicer hotels in the area he had quickly ascertained her address, thanks to a cursory glance of the white pages. The days following were spent observing her daily habits and work schedule. After a week of diligent surveillance he made his move.

Having disregarded the small obstacle of a locked door, Dr. Lecter had wasted no time in entering and making himself at home. A quick tour of the house had allowed him to map out several potential escape routes; her capriciousness necessitated caution. Grimacing in distaste, Dr. Lecter glanced about the room, disdainfully noting the worn furniture and lackluster décor. It seemed that the salary of a FBI agent didn't allow for the basic upkeep of a home, at least, not to his standards. He rose gracefully from his seat and ran his fingers over the couch, easily imagining Clarice sprawling atop it, book in hand. As he made his way over to the dilapidated fireplace to examine several faded photographs on the mantle, his ears registered the rather harsh slamming of a car door. Judging by the sound, she was agitated about something. Grinning wolfishly he resumed his position in the armchair and once again waited.

Clarice Starling was furious; she stood, glaring at her car's door, as if it was somehow to be blamed for the sorry state of the day. Unfortunately the scrap of metal that was now enduring her scowling gaze was not the cause. No, the blame fell squarely upon the shoulders of Paul Krendler, the constant thorn in her side. Krendler had decided to ruin what she had hoped to be a quiet, relaxing evening, and all with a simple touch. As she had passed Krendler in the hallway, on the way to her beloved mustang, he had reached out and slapped her ass. Clarice, who had been dealing with a rather unruly witness, snapped, whipping around and smashing the smug bastard in the face. Krendler cradling his wounded jaw had stared disbelieving at the infuriated woman that glared over him before suddenly breaking into a smile.

"You'll pay for that…" he had crowed "Hitting me is gonna get your pretty little ass fired." Clarice, not wavering in her righteous fury, had turned, ignoring him as he shouted insults and threats after her and continued to the parking lot. Not ten minutes after her departure, a very angry Director Noonan had called, informing her of a three week suspension. She hadn't even bothered to defend herself, knowing that any explanation would be immediately discredited. Jolting herself out of her reverie she, still seething, made her way to the front door, grumbling curses under her breath. In her anger she failed to notice that the door was unlocked.

"One of these days," she whispered heatedly "I'm going to do more than punch that conceited little shit."

"Tough day Clarice?" Dr. Lecter drawled from the shadows. She whirled to face him, gun at the ready.

Dr. Lecter sighed at the sight of the weapon, "Now is that any way to treat a guest? I had hoped to have a conversation without the presence of firearms, but it seems you are bent on making this difficult. "At this he took a menacing step forward. Determined not to be intimidated Clarice stayed where she was

"Well seeing as my 'guest' is a wanted criminal who broke into my house for reasons unknown, I think an exception can be made."

"Still as quick as always I see; have you been practicing?" She shrugged, her gaze never wavering from his

"Being able to think on your feet tends to keep you alive in my line of work."

"Indeed, an FBI agent can never be too careful. One never knows what sort of nasty characters are out there." He grinned, his small white teeth a stark contrast to the dark. She broke eye contact to cast a glance at the nearby phone

"I wouldn't bother my dear; I took the liberty of disconnecting your various methods of communication. Surely you don't mind?" Jaw clenched in anger, her mind spun, frantically looking for a solution. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction rushed forward, knocking the gun from her grasp and slamming her into the wall. She fought, kicking out and arching her body against his in a futile attempt at freedom. Her FBI training had toned her body but she was no match for his natural strength, allowing him to easily overpower her.

"Now then," he breathed "Seeing as you are without your gun I think you will find it best to cooperate hmm?" She huffed petulantly but ceased struggling, "Good girl, can I let you go now or will I have to tie you up?"

"Bondage Doctor? Something you picked up in your travels?"He quirked a brow, eyes dancing

"Was that an invitation Clarice?" She swallowed and looked away "No? Pity, we could have had some fun." Releasing her he stepped away, all the while making sure to stay between her and the discarded gun.

Sighing she rubbed the tense muscles in her neck, "Why are you here ? You said in your letter that you had no plans to call on me."

"I do recall saying something of the sort; forgive me if I was unclear. I simply meant that I had no plans to do you harm, which remains true." Some of her tension receded at his statement although he could see she remained wary. "Why don't you join me in the kitchen? You can tell me about your day…"