A/N: this idea has been spinning inside my head for a while now. I was going to just let it go but it won't let me be, so here is my attempt to bring it to life. I hope you enjoy.

If one was able to look in on the two of them all would have appeared to be normal. An older man lovingly holds a young woman close to him while the soft melody of a piano pulls their bodies to its gentle song. The girl rests her head against him as they move. All appearances on the outside show a state of ease and calm.

What the outside observer cannot see is the turmoil that has abruptly entered Clarice Starlings mind. She has just resurfaced from what feels like a lengthy dream. Her mind is still foggy with the remnants of its siren song. Suddenly she has been pulled from her state of tranquility in to the waking world. She feels the dress against her skin. She is immediately aware of how small she feels in the circle of Hannibal's arms.

He notices the change in her immediately. From the outside he remains unshaken. He has mastered the skill of keeping himself stone like on the surface when his insides are in chaos. Will the woman in his arms cry out? Will she fight him now that she has returned to her mind? The time they had shared in this state of illusion was not nearly long enough. Would he be able to let her go now if she asked it of him?

The music ends leaving the room flickering in the glow of candles and a silence that consumes them both. She steps back. The slightest of movements that to Hannibal feels like a gap that stretches miles wide. Her eyes find his face.

"How long?" Her words are almost as soft as the piano that had pulled her from him. They hold no accusation. They hardly have any tone at all. Their monotone quality pangs Hannibal with a brief flash of panic. Surely he had not broken her mind?

"Two weeks." he hands her a response almost as void of feeling. Almost. Concern sneaks itself in to his reply like the guilt he feels gnawing at him. It is forren. The distance he feels between them is even more so. Despite his outer calm he feels his heart begin to pick up speed. No amount of preparation would have made this easier. A butterfly cannot stay in its cocoon forever however, and he couldn't keep Clarice's wings clipped, despite how he ached for her to fly alongside of him.

"Other than my mind, what else have you violated?"

These words came from her lips softly, but they cut him deeply with how visibly upset she was. Her hand had gone to her hair, twisting it around her finger. Still better then a cuff around his wrist, he thought. Her shoulders had tensed and she appeared to rest on the edge of fight or flight. Starling was not the type to run but would she be the type to fly?

"Come now Clarice what kind of a man do you take me for? Nothing has been violated, especially not your mind. Some things were easier accepted when you were more, shall we say calm?"

"Some things? Accepted?" She was angry now. Her face tightened with it. "What exactly do you mean by things? Do you see me as so fragile, so soft, that I couldn't handle whatever these things are? Tell me Dr; was the short lived calm worth the breach of my trust for you? Was the ability to put your hands on me worth the sacrifice of my want for you to do so?"

"Was the acceptance and the ability to move past the death of your father worth the sacrifice of your moral code? Was a night of interrupted sleep, alone I might add, worth the risk that you may come to despise me? As humans, we are so stubborn to let go of these things. I helped you move past it as best I can. Your response is justified, but don't frame me as something I am not Clarice. Nothing I did was with the intent to violate. Give yourself time to think and remember. You came to me for the dance."

"And if I had come to your bed, would you have accepted me?" Her face was red with anger. Tears fell freely down her cheeks. It took a great deal of control for him to not touch her to wipe them away.

"Perhaps my dear, you should ask yourself what you would be more upset about. The idea of being in my bed, or the idea of me refusing you entry. Neither happened. Look past your anger Clarice. "

"You turned me to clay! You molded me in to what you wanted, and you expect me not to be angry with you?" Despite the fact she was shooting him a look that if it could would absolutely kill; she hadn't spoken of the FBI. Maybe this was progress?

Hannibal took a breath before he spoke. He found it surprisingly difficult to maintain calm around this woman. Nothing had ever been able to shake him like Clarice, with all her raw emotion and passion. "Clay wouldn't be so furious." His words were quiet. Suddenly he found himself very tired. Guilt was depleting his energy. His intent had only been to help, never hurt. Not her. He couldn't look at her in this state any more. He didn't want to think that he had caused it. As he stepped past her he had expected her to grab him, put the monster in its cage, but she let him pass. Something inside of him stung from the notion that perhaps she couldn't stand the thought of contact.

As her world fell to fragments around her, Clarice held her head in her hands. The tears that trailed down her cheeks stung with rage and betrayal. Internally she was seething, but at herself for letting Hannibal walk past her. Was her moral code worth sacrificing? In the back of her mind, past the blur of anger, she knew it had been cast aside long before he clouded her thoughts with hypnosis.