Twisted Love Stories
The Definition of Not Leaving
One Shot
'Tis the season to write a Christmas fic. I hope you enjoy.
Stay, don't go. I'll eat you up. I love you so.
The sleepy town of Buderim is silent in anticipation for the day to come. Christmas lights illuminate the streets and children feign sleep with hope that they will catch a glimpse of the jolly fat man as he slides down the chimney.
Not every house is content in these early hours, however. In an old Queensland home, behind the whitewash walls and stain glass door, a woman sits on the hardwood floors by a pile of boxes staring at nothing in the distance.
Her partner leans against a wall on the other side of the empty room staring straight at her. She feels his eyes moving over her but does nothing to suggest she cares.
The man has watched her for hours and his patience is wearing thin. He had such grand plans for their first Christmas together.
Such grand plans, he muses as he feels the weight of the small velvet box in his pants pocket.
He is the first to move, finding her silence increasingly tedious. He crosses the empty space between them and falls to his knee before her, reaching for her face. She turns away and he lets his hand fall to his side. "My love…"
"You don't get to call me that." she snaps.
He tilts his head, "Are you suggesting that I no longer love you, or are you no longer willing to accept my love?"
She wants to say something, but her body radiates anger, and she does not wish for it to spill forth in words that she will later regret.
He hums, "I see."
"No you don't. You don't see every damn thing, Hannibal. You think you do. You have to analyse every fucking situation that presents itself to you so you can ensure control over everyone around you. Do you have control now?"
He pauses. "No Clarice, I do not."
"Are you struggling?"
"Immeasurably."
"Good. Suffer helplessly like the rest of us."
He ignores her attempts at deflection and cups her face with his palm. She glares. "Is that what you want Clarice? For me to suffer?" he hisses his last words, his dungeon voice creeping in like mist.
"I want you to stop controlling and manipulating me like I'm your puppet."
So this is what you are upset about, my love? It can't be. It makes no sense. You know how you frighten me so. You are unpredictable and entirely unique. You are a constant surprise, sweet Clarice, and that is why I love you, and only you.
"I couldn't if I tried." Seeing her sceptical expression, he continues, "Do you have any idea why I first fell in love with you?"
"You can't charm your way out of this." she mutters as she lifts her hand to his own as it rests on her cheek, and pushes it away.
Disappointed with the loss of contact, he replies sombrely, "I wouldn't dream of it, my angel."
Her face drops and he knows he has hit a soft spot – a crack in her almost flawless demeanour. If he works at it with his blade like tongue she may open up to him and tell him what's really bothering her.
"Clarice." No response. "My love, please."
Something brakes inside her and she stands, throwing her arms in the air. She turns to him, speaking loudly, her words strained. "Stop calling me that! Stop making me feel so guilty!"
He doesn't move, his back to her as he crouches on the ground. He feels cold on this humid night; empty. "Guilty. Why? Because you don't return my love?"
"I… Well, I don't know…"
"It isn't a complicated question, Agent Starling. Either you feel love or you do not."
Tears burn her cheeks, slicing her skin as they slide down her face at the use of her title. That hurt more than I thought it would. "Agent Starling, am I?"
He stands and spins so quickly and effortlessly that he almost knocks her off-balance. His eyes are piercing her. Their hearts ache. "Answer the question."
"I… it's just… everything is just so…" Her sobs break the silence into pieces. Hannibal's hands tremble at the sight of her. She reaches for him. Struggling with her words, she seeks to express her anguish another way.
Her hand lands softly on his chest over his heart. His skin is so tight around his chest, his heart is leaping out. He feels his imagination playing like a movie behind his eyes, guiding him firmly by the sleeve. The muscle behind his rib cage beats fast and strong, accelerated by fear that this house would be empty and miss her. He doesn't move except for the silent closing of his eyes and the subtle creasing of his brows.
She feels his internal struggle and wipes away her tears before gently grabbing his hand. Her palm is slick with sweat. His is cold and dangerous. She slowly guides it to hover over her chest, above her own heart. Sensing his trepidation, she pauses, dropping her hand, leaving his suspended by strings made of her hope and wishing.
She takes the smallest of steps forward, and can now feel the heat of his skin close to hers. He can hear her laboured breathing as she holds back the merciless wall of tears.
"Hannibal…" she pleads.
He wrestles his eyes open, taken aback by her vulnerability. He understands the words she cannot string together. "You believe I have trapped you, little Starling? You have no Bureau, no family, no friends, no backup plan. Only me. I thought that would be enough."
She chokes on her words. "You are, oh my god, you're so much more than I've ever had. You're all I'll ever need."
"So what is it that is causing you distress, Clarice? You alienated yourself from everyone and everything but me. You smashed every vial of the cure, didn't you my love? You made sure there was no way out. And my, aren't you vicious when you're cornered?"
Startlingly quick, his hands dart forward, grasping the tops of her arms and holding them closely in front of her. She struggles against his strength but he doesn't budge. He holds her until she stills. She glowers at him, her insides bubbling in fury.
He brings his face closely to hers, much like he did while she was trapped by the refrigerator in the lake house. His lips peel back over his small white teeth as he sneers and his breath tickles her face.
"Let me go." she orders, ready to kick and scream if he denies her freedom.
He pulls his face back an inch, looking her over curiously. "Not in a thousand years."
The tired layers of her sanity begin to flake as she pleads, desperate for him to understand. "Please listen… I didn't know that I could do it… leave everything for you, but… but I so wanted to… God, did I wanted to… I just… what if you ever leave me? What will I have left? You are everything I have."
"And still you struggle to accept me completely. You struggle to accept my love."
Tired, hysterical, her legs collapse beneath her and he gently lowers her to the ground where she folds at his feet. "What… what if you leave…"
He remains standing despite her attempts to bring him to her level. "I don't know what else I can do to make you understand my feelings, Clarice."
Panic strikes her in the stomach like a knife and twists as she chokes out his name, "Han…"
"I was going to ask you to marry me, Clarice."
"Please, no…" She grasps weakly at his pant leg.
He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small blue velvet box. "The ring was my mother's."
Don't leave! I love you! Don't go!
"What if clouds and lakes switched places, and every time you looked up you'd see waves being pulled by the moon and we'd wade through the clouds on a hot day? What if birds grew grass and the ground grew feathers? What if flowers were as tall as trees and trees as small as flowers? What if you loved me like I love you?"
With that he turned from her, seemingly oblivious to her broken sobs, and walked out of the front door.
"Wait… pl… please…"
Someone has torn a hole from her throat to her abdomen, but she crawls for the door, desperate to fill the gaping wound before all is lost. Of course she loves him. She abandoned everything; her friends, her career. For him.
On her knees she holds her stomach with one arm and drags herself with the other. He can't have left. He probably just needs to step outside… Damn Clarice, why did you push him? The first good thing that promises to stay with you, and you push it away. You're a fucking idiot!
She raises her voice to scream but tears have flooded her throat and it comes out as a whimper, "Come back! Please, come back!"
She uses the door handle to pull herself up, swinging it open. She stops when she does not see him standing on the porch. Unshed tears blur the surrounding Christmas lights together to create a neon nightmare. Overwhelmed, she slumps against a wall that isn't there, slips, and falls for the ground. She expects pain. There is none.
Strong, familiar arms wrap around her torso and a firm hand cradles her head. He is kneeling over her while she is draped across his lap, clinging to his shirt collar, her head buried in his neck.
"I'm so sorry." she cries.
"Shh, Clarice… I've got you... I've got you."
"I love you so much. I'm sorry."
As he rocks her in his arms, a single tear slips unabashed down the side of his face. "I know, Clarice. I know. I'm not going anywhere."
"Don't you ever do that to me ever again or I swear to God, Hannibal."
He chuckles lightly into her hair. "Or what, my love?"
Slowly, she straightens so she is sitting in his lap facing him. With a deadpan expression she threatens, "Or I'll hide all of your underwear."
"Well in that case…" Before Starling knows what is happening, his lips are on hers, covering her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, with tender kisses.
When she pulls back he is staring at her, his hand on hers.
"Clarice."
"Yeah H?"
"Did you feel what I felt when I walked out of that door?"
Suddenly serious, she replies, "It felt like I was dying. Like someone had sliced me open."
He nods. "What you felt; that was me. I am constriction. I am the tightness in your chest. I can be your destruction, and I can be your salvation."
"I know, H."
"If you'll permit me, I will spend the rest of my life ensuring you never feel that hurt again. You are my Love, my Life, my All. Without you, I am nothing."
Feeling the emotion rise inside of her, she blinks away the moisture in her eyes. "I feel the same way."
"I want to spend the rest of my life by your side, protecting you, loving you, worshiping you. Clarice Starling," Reaching into his pocket, he once again retrieves the small velvet box and opens it, revealing a flawless diamond ring. "Will you do me the honour of being my wife?"
She places a hand on the side of his face, her passion flowing through her fingertips. Every ounce of suspense is erased with one word; "Yes."
She is in his arms again as he slips the ring onto her finger. The moment is surreal. She reminds herself to breathe. So does he.
Teary eyed, she looks at him, adoration floods through her. "Hey H?"
He smiles and his eyes spark, "Yes my love?"
She leans in and kisses him softly on the mouth, her hand resting on his throat feeling his pulse beat strongly beneath her palm. "Merry Christmas."
Merry Christmas, Lecterphiles!