The deli department at the Giant in Arlington always had an impossibly large line. Dr. Hannibal Lecter quickly paced up to the Take-a-Number and audibly sighed when his ticket read 76. The bright neon sign above the meat counter flashed 52. Choosing to pace around the store and pick up the other necessary items for his dinner rather than stand in line and wait, he moved to produce. Within a minute, he was in full view of his Starling. Her cart was empty, save for the bottle of Jack Daniels in the child's seat of the cart and the oranges she was piling in as he watched her. Clarice evidently had not noticed the doctor, for after weighing her oranges and placing them in the cart next to the whiskey, she walked away in the opposite direction. Doctor Lecter had known she would be here; he had been watching her for several weeks before finally daring to set up his evening's plans and join her in the supermarket. It would be awhile until Clarice was finished shopping; her list and book of coupons was enormous. Lecter returned to the deli after picking up bell peppers and a few other ingredients. His shopping was completed, or it almost was, as the blinking sign currently read 60. He watched as a young man stepped up to the counter, holding the #60 ticket, and required a lengthy explanation of what the difference between salami and pepperoni was. Dr. Lecter considered bashing his head against the glass containing the meats, but reconsidered after realizing how much attention that would draw.

As he waited, he caught glimpses of Clarice. While her perception was admirable, the doctor was confident she wasn't looking for him nor was she thinking about him. There was no need to reveal himself yet. He continued waiting. 66. After another half an hour of standing uselessly around, Dr. Lecter was finally called. Without hesitation, he made his selections and headed for the checkout. In his peripheral vision, Starling seemed to be considering whether to buy Lean Cuisine Swedish Meatballs or Chicken Marsala when she looked up and saw him.

Starling was used to this by now. It had been over three years since she had shot Jame Gumb, three years since to her rise to fame, and two since her downfall. A position in Behavioral Science was never close within her reach, and it was in times like this, when she was exhausted and alone, that she saw him. He'd never talk to her, or stop to say hello. The cannibal was there for a second, she'd feel an intake of her breathe, and within the second he was gone, replaced with some random. It was bad enough that she was hallucinating, but he was also in her mind. Every decision Clarice would make, even the smallest, he was there with his terrifyingly true guidance. Agent Starling figured since Chicken Marsala was Italian, he'd prefer her to eat that. Actually, she thought, he would rather me eat something with some nutritional value. It was then that she looked up and saw the doctor pushing his cart hurriedly to the checkout. Wow, he actually looks like he has something to do. Maybe not so graceful after that deli line, huh, Doctor? Starling almost laughed at that thought.

He watched her as he passed, but she made no movement. She simply stood there and watched him. Even after reaching the checkout, he watched as she made no move to get her phone. Clarice picked up four Marsalas and one pack of Meatballs and threw them haphazardly into the cart. Was it possible that she didn't recognize him? No, my disguise is good, but she would be able to see through it easily. Had she really been this unalarmed by his presence? Dr. Lecter moved to the self checkout and paid for his groceries, before moving out of the store and to Starling's Pinto. He jimmied the door and placed his items in the trunk. Finally, the doctor moved to the passenger seat and waited.

The Doctor was still there. Clarice continued eyeing him until he paid for his food and left. She glanced down at her own cart. If he really is here, hurry the fuck up, Starling. You can't miss him. It took her all of thirty seconds to race through the same checkout Dr. Lecter had used and run out of the store. Looking around, he was nowhere in sight. She made for her car.

He's in there.

Starling reached for her phone as he caught her eye and winked. Her hand dropped to her side as she walked to the door of the car. She sat down in the driver's seat. Starling looked at him; his maroon gaze focused ahead. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it when he turned to her.

"Good evening, Clarice."

Starling's sense of courtesy nearly leaving her, seconds passed before she could manage, "Hello Dr. Lecter." She liked her voice. It sounded good, not as shaky as she felt. Starling ventured a few more words. "Why are you here, Doctor?"

"Was it not a pleasant surprise? I'll assume the FBI are on their way. That gives us only a few minutes."

Clarice stared ahead, confused for a moment. She had had quite a long day pushing papers and was looking forward to collapsing at home with the empty bottle of whiskey in her hand. "Oh, no. Doctor, I didn't call them." Clarice shifted in her seat to face him better.

The doctor made no movement but slightly raised his eyebrows. "I am truly surprised. Why?"

"I thought… we could talk. I could speak with you longer if I didn't bring them into this."

"Clarice…" he warned. "What have we said about lying, hmm?"

She waited before speaking. Her sentence came out small. Feeble. "I didn't really think it was you."

The man beside her was still, but his mind was racing. He had anticipating often occupying her thought, but the thought of her hallucinating never crossed his mind. Dr. Lecter was somewhere between concerned and amused when he smiled. "You've been seeing me a lot lately, then, have you? It's quite alright, Agent Starling, I've been seeing you often as well." He let the words sink in as his message became apparent to the girl. She started to speak, but the doctor continued. "You never responded to my letter, Clarice. I wonder, is it hidden away in a shoebox in your closet or in an evidence bag in the basements of Quantico? After three years without correspondence, surely I am justified in seeking out a friend. I've been enjoying my freedom, Agent Starling, but I missed our talks. Have you?"

The agent made no attempt at an answer. She put the keys into the ignition and backed out of the parking space. Dr. Lecter did not speak until they left the parking lot. "Where are we going, Clarice?"

"My house. We can talk about this there. I don't want anyone to see you." Yet, she added silently.

"So concerned for my well-being? Very well. We had dinner plans already. The groceries are in the back." The car slowed to a stop; red light. Clarice turned to stare at the doctor, and then the back of the car. How could I forget about the stuff he bought? Before the light could change, she brought herself to look at Dr. Lecter again. She tried to pierce him with her stare, but it proved ineffectual, as he offered only a grin back to her. God fucking damn it, Doctor. Dinner, really?

The rest of the ride to the duplex was spent in silence, with the exception of Starling inquiring about a ride home for the doctor other than in the back of a police car. He dismissed her questioning; his car had been parked about a half block from her house for over a week and she had given it no notice. Starling was contemplating how she would attempt to apprehend him while he was at liberty to all the knifes in her kitchen when they reached her house.

Ardelia's car was gone, and evidently she had not been back to the duplex all afternoon. The bills in the mailbox had not been touched. The pair had made it to the door, grocery bags in hand, when Lecter turned to her and spoke. "There's a dress waiting for you upstairs on your bed. I hope you find it suitable. I left shoes and jewelry there also. Help yourself to anything, and feel free to draw yourself a bath while I prepare dinner." At "dinner", Starling flinched. "While I'm not one to spoil the surprise, Clarice, I will assure you that whatever I cook for you has been bought at the deli counter today." Starling's shoulders relaxed a small amount as she opened the door. Leaving the bags on the island for the doctor, she turned to the stairs. Ascending, a call was heard from the kitchen, "Oh, and Clarice, your cellular has been temporarily disconnected from service, as with your house phones. I'm sorry for any inconvenience." She could hear his smirk as he spoke.

How the fuck could he disable my cell phone when he just assumed I called the police at the store? Clarice pulled her phone out of her purse and noticed the magnet stuck on the back. It wouldn't cause any permanent damage, but she'd have to buy her phone a new battery. He must of attached it while she was driving. With all hope of calling the police gone, Starling was left with two choices. She could run down the stairs with her gun and attempt to arrest him. As she thought it, she pushed the idea out of her head. Dr. Lecter liked her, sure, but an attempt to apprehend him on her own was suicide. The only other option was to have dinner. As much as Starling tried to resent the doctor, she kept reminding herself of the good things he had done. He had not killed her, for one. And, well, if he said the meat was from the store, it can't be that bad. He didn't go back on his word, she knew, and he had given her his word.

Clarice went to her room and saw the dress on the bed. Emerald green silk, short enough to be not very formal, but clearly expensive. A pair of Gucci heels, perfectly matching the dress, sat just below it on the floor. She sighed when she noticed the gold jewelry; the necklace rivaling her add-a-beads but much more intricate. Situated next to a pair of earrings was to some foreign make-up that was not hers, but beautifully corresponded with her skin tone. Ashamed as she did so, Starling silently aknowledged the Doctor's fine tastes.

Clarice went to turn on the water for the bath like the Doctor suggested when she thought of him, his now healthy skin becoming sallow and white in the dungeons of the insane asylum. His friendly countenance - still scary, though, Starling - being replaced by the sad smile she saw in Memphis.

Clarice blamed the cold air meeting her bare skin for the shudder that shook her body when she lowered herself into the tub.