Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the rights to Hannibal & Co.
Title: A Little Friendly Banter
Summary: Clarice intercepts Hannibal at her car. Banter ensues.
Setting: Takes place during the movie, but don't you dare imagine Julianne Moore as Starling. The one in your imagination fits in better.
A/N: I may have changed them a little, but I tried to make them as IC as possible.
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Clarice swore she saw someone by her car. No, no, now he was in her car. It was a crappy old Pinto, what could one possibly want—
She froze.
It was him.
As quietly as she could, she crashed through the undergrowth and hacked her way over to the parking lot. Look, there was his car, parked innocently in the spot next to hers.
And - what? Why was he licking her steering wheel??
He balanced his sunglasses on the wheel and left the car. Almost at the truck's door, his nostrils flared.
Oh goody, he'd smelled her.
"Clarice."
She emerged from the brush and leaned up against the back bumper of her car. "Doctor Lecter."
He turned, and his smile was the friendliest she'd ever seen on him. "You should know by now, Clarice, that you can't easily hide from me. You have a very distinctive smell, you know."
"I hadn't realized… Well, Doctor, this is certainly a different look for you. I'm not sure that the wifebeater works, though."
He tsked her. "Clarice, wifebeater is such a rough, common word, rather vulgar in retrospect. Call it something else."
She sighed. "Shallow. In any case, I can't imagine how you're pulling it off."
He smiled. "You'd be surprised what I can do when the need arises."
"And – no way – you've cut your hair!" she said, almost horrified. "You did! It's all gone!"
"And what is so bad about that? I have to blend in."
She crossed her arms and looked smug. "Well, what with your new look and the obsession you seem to have with messing with me – it seems to me that you have very little dignity left, mm?"
He wagged a finger at her. "Ah, but you see, Clarice, those are survival techniques."
She looked skeptical. "Licking my steering wheel is a survival technique?"
His grin grew more pronounced. "No, that was an indulgence." He sniffed the air. "By-the-by, you're bleeding."
She blinked. "I am?"
"Your right hand."
She looked at it. He was right; a thin cut, presumably left from a bush, crossed over the back of her hand. "Thank you."
Suddenly he was directly in front of her. "If you'll permit me…"
She knew what he was talking about, and she eyed him warily. "You're not like a shark, are you? One taste of blood and you go wild?"
He spread his arms. "Clarice, when was the last time you saw me 'wild'?"
Her eyes narrowed. "I've never seen you wild, but I imagine the last time you were was when you ripped off that poor man's face to escape."
He shook his head and tutted again. "Clarice, you must learn to discern survival techniques from inconveniences."
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." She held her hand against her chest. "What would you call this, Doctor? Another indulgence?"
His eyes sparkled. "Something along those lines, yes."
He took her slim, rough hand and raised it to his mouth. He delicately licked the droplets of blood off it, but would not let go until he had gently kissed it.
"Dignity, Doctor," Clarice reminded him through gritted teeth.
He straightened himself. "Of course." The hand was returned to her, and he walked to the drivers' side of his truck. "You know, Clarice," he called as she leaned against her Pinto, tired, "there is no need for doctors to be dignified all the time. I imagine some must go back to their wives and mistresses and behave quite naughtily." He slammed the door shut, and before leaving he rolled down his window. "Ta." He drove off.
Clarice stood there, feeling like an idiot. Why had she let that sonofabitch kiss her? She hated him with a passion, but he controlled part of her, and she despised it.
She supposed she wouldn't hate him so much, but for that.
But that part that he controlled – she thought, for a moment, as his dry lips brushed her hand, that a tremor ran through her body and kept her from moving. Had she not still had some iota of self-control, she might have kissed him back.
"Thank God I didn't," she thought, jumping in the car. "Now it's still a game of cat-and-mouse."
"Damn," Hannibal murmured, tasting the leftover blood on his lips.
He hadn't intended to do anything like that, but, unfortunately, he'd began coveting what he'd seen every day.
Namely, Clarice.
"Clarice," he hissed, savoring the name. It was pretty. It reminded him of an excellent wine, or something else exotic and rare and hard to find.
Clarice.
"Clarice," he said, startled. He could see her Pinto in his rearview mirror, and she was glaring at him. He pulled over. She did the same, and walked over to his door. He rolled down his window. "Yes, Clarice?"
She leaned in. "You forgot something."
"Did I now? What?"
"Me," she said, kissing him.
-FIN-