Crisp winds that swim through humid air over Buenos Aires don't slow as they pace through a set of open glass doors; instead, they speed up and entangle themselves in between the linen curtains that begin to sway in effect. The city below is teeming with life, but only faint echoes can be heard from such a high terrace – and that is a treat in current circumstances.

As if air has a mind of its own, silence encompasses the room just before the slim-framed woman starts to speak, her thin lips pursing in thought. Her body is clothed in a simple cloth nightgown with thin straps and that ends just above her crossed knees. It's a prime choice for such thick weather.

Opposite the woman lies her infamous counterpart, assumed father-figure, alleged lover. He is clad in a linen pair of bottoms with an equally matching button up top; a modest man no matter the choices of Mother Nature.

"I've left everything," she begins in a hollow voice, one that teeters on the fine line that lies between hesitation and closure.

"In my own right mind, I did," – an addition with the slightest tinge of clarification. "Quit…my job; my duties as a friend, as a figure of justice."

Maroon eyes graze over the woman's porcelain flesh as they drink in each of her features – a gesture that is not new by any means, but is perhaps permitted more so now as opposed to previous trials. The smooth curve of her neck is revealed once she raises her arms to run her lithe fingers through auburn locks in an attempt to lift them off of her flesh and the hues of maroon continue to feast, trailing their way to the sharp line of her jaw.

Not before long, the southern drawl escapes her lips once more, just as she brings her arms to retire on her chest; but this time her hazel eyes flicker to his in a wordless command to meet in the middle.

"You know how much those thing meant to me."

The man utters no words in response as he knows that his Starling is not yet finished.

"–– How much you mean to me now overshadows that and I know you understand. But I also want you to know how much of a sacrifice that was for me. I want you to know that if this – our quid pro quo, the sharing of my past with you – was all for nothing, then I hope that you will live for the rest of your life knowing that you broke me."

Seeing the unease within her angular features, Hannibal shifts his weight so that his back is against the headboard and his hand is holding one of her bare shoulders in an effort to pull her close.

At first the woman tenses, her body unsure of the man's actions – considering the fact that he never answered her statements – but she melts into his touch and turns to rest her cheek against his clothed chest. A steady heartbeat can be faintly felt, and somehow the contraction of his arteries sends a stream of comfort through her body.

He's human, too.

One of Lecter's strong hands comes to gently sweep a tress of hair from off of her cheek and in response, the ex-FBI agent pulls just far enough from his hold that she can look up into his eyes. His eyes search hers and she gives the slightest nod just as his lips fall to caress the delicate contours of her face, his nose nuzzling into the crevice where her shoulder meets her neck.

"Dammi la tua mano e corriamo uniti per tutta la vita," he breathes against her heated flesh as the hand that is not holding her shoulder comes to softly cup her cheek.

"Give me your hand," a tender kiss is placed to the corners of her lips, "and we will run together our whole lives, Clarice."

The woman brings her eyes to his and allows her cheeks to flush from his touch. She presses a warm kiss to his inviting lips and simultaneously places her hand into his.

"Ti amo infinitamente, mia cara," he murmurs. "I love you infinitely, my dear Clarice."

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