The move went rather well, all things considering. Clarice ended up sleeping through most of the transfer, only coming to when she was being wheeled into Doctor Lecter's house. She hadn't managed to get a good look at the place in her half-asleep state, but she recalled being struck by just how large the place was. It reminded her of one of those old money estates back in West Virginia.

It was the doctor himself who escorted her inside. Barney, who had driven the ambulance, stayed behind. It was decided that morning that Hannibal would take the first shift in watching Clarice. She wasn't complaining.

The gurney bumped over the threshold, jostling Clarice into wakefulness.

"My apologies, Miss Starling," came a smooth baritone voice from directly behind her. Clarice didn't register the pain until a moment after he had finished speaking.

"It's alright, Doctor. I've been through a lot worse than that," she attempted to chuckle. Considering how raspy her voice was from unconsciousness, it likely came across as if she was a traumatized smoker with lung cancer. The soldier craned her neck, attempting to get a better look at the man. A ghost of a smile was drawn across his lips as he met her strained gaze. He seemed amused, more than anything else.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Clarice shifted her gaze to the house around her. It was eloquent, the walls plastered in a tan-ish color, only to be broken up by wooden support beams varnished so that they were a deep brown. Small lights hung from the ceiling, reminding her of a cross between French chateau chandeliers and industrialized instruments from back in America. But really, the decoration was just Hannibal.

The Doctor cut through her musings. "I have a guest room in the back of the house on the first floor. I doubt I have to say this, but please stay away from the stairs. Wouldn't want you hurting yourself again."

Her skin flushed, recalling the first night she had fallen out of bed after her nightmare. Clarice hoped he didn't think of her as a basket case.

Doctor Lecter continued pushing her in the gurney down more hallways, past a number of doors. Most of them were open, containing what looked to be sitting rooms, small closets, a bathroom, as well as a parlor. One of the doors however, was closed. Curiosity got the better of her. "What's in that room?" she asked, pointing a finger at the passing entryway.

There was a pause. "My personal library and study." Another pause. His voice was more… controlled now. "There are a number of first edition books that I keep there. They are quite fragile, and I would like that room to remain off-limits."

Clarice nodded, although feeling slightly confused. It's not as if she was going to go in and wreck the place. Nor would she be getting up onto her feet any time soon. Still, the Doctor certainly had the right to put limits on her, considering how generous he was being; allowing the soldier to stay in his home. Ignoring the obvious, she felt it was strange. He hadn't seemed like he enjoyed holding back around her. It was something she appreciated. That just seemed out of character.

Ignoring her thoughts, Clarice spoke up. "Of course, Doctor."

"Thank you."

They moved on in silence until Doctor Lecter turned down another hallway. This one was well-lit, the entire right side was comprised of tall windows overlooking the moors behind his house. It was still early morning, so the mist was not yet burned away by the sun. The dew-soaked tall grasses swayed and shone in the weak morning sunlight, giving off the impression that thousands upon thousands of gemstones grew like weeds from the earth. Clarice gasped before she could stop herself.

"Is something wrong?" The doctor asked quickly, sounding concerned.

"No," the soldier said, composing herself in embarrassment. "It's just that your house is so beautiful."

A little huff sounded from behind her. The Doctor was chuckling. "I see. Once you live here for so long, I suppose one gets used to the sights."

"How did you afford this place? It must have costed a fortune!"

There was another moment of silence, and Clarice suddenly wondering if she had insulted him in some way. But then he spoke. "What makes you think I haven't simply inherited this house?"

The soldier supposed that could have been the case. Yet, for some reason, she felt as if she was being tested. Again, Clarice craned her neck to turn around and look at the Doctor. He was staring at her, blue eyes sharp and calculating, yet curious. His nostrils flared slightly, as if he was testing the air for her hesitation. Her eyebrows furrowed as she met his gaze.

"You're not French, are you?" the soldier asked suddenly. "Hannibal isn't a French name, nor is the surname Lecter." Clarice had spent enough time in Europe to know certain things about the people. While she didn't know where his names came from, she knew they certainly weren't of this country.

"Very good," the Doctor said sincerely, his hard expression softening into one of contentment. "You're very right. I've only come by this property in the past couple years."

"My original question still stands then," Clarice said, feeling bold.

"Hmm," Hannibal hummed, his eyes gliding from her features to look out the windows as he contemplated his answer. "My medical skills are highly sought after. My salary is quite… considerable. Ah. Here is the guest room."

Her gaze shot forward. They found themselves in front of a pair of white double-doors at the end of the hallway of windows.

"This room has its own bathroom, and it is near enough to one of the flights of stairs that lead to the master bedroom. I will never be far," Hannibal said evenly. The thought made Clarice slightly jittery, yet relieved at the same time.

He moved in front of the gurney and pushed open the doorway, then pulled her inside.

The interior was light. One wall again was comprised of windows that seemed to be perched directly atop a hill, overlooking the rolling landscape beyond without being directly accessible from outside. The walls were white and octagonal-shaped. The bed was to the left of the windows, each of the four posts rising to nearly the ceiling and draped with a sheer, pale fabric. To the left of that, there was another door that Clarice assumed led to the bathroom. A small desk and a tall bookcase took up the rest of the space.

"Do you like it?" Doctor Lecter asked.

"Hannibal it's… this is so much. I'm not sure what I did to deserve all of this."

"There's nothing you need to do, Miss Starling. I'm happy enough to help. Shall I help you into bed?"

Clarice nodded, feeling marginally overwhelmed. Just a few weeks ago she was sleeping on a hard mat in a flooded trench fighting off the rats that tried to eat her drying feet. It was a constant struggle between the cold, the wet, the chemical bombs, the rodents, and the threat of invasion or shells at any given moment. It was a miracle she had managed to get any sleep at all during that time. Not that the sleep she had managed to get was even remotely refreshing. Now she was staying in a veritable chateau with a man who seemed to insist that her every whim was worth entertaining.

"Miss Starling?" Doctor Lecter's voice cut through her memories once again. "I'd prefer not to carry your weight by myself, if possible."

"Sorry," the soldier apologized quickly. "I was just thinking."

The Doctor now stood to her left, holding out one hand for her to take. She reached out, and clasped his fingers with her own. His skin was warm and dry, and his grip was firm. Clarice allowed him to pull her upwards, careful not to strain the laceration on her right side. Suddenly, he reached around her back with his other arm and folded it under her left armpit, then clasped his grip around her chest. She could feel his even heartbeat against her spine as he lifted her upwards.

Without thinking, the soldier wrapped her elbow around his neck. Hannibal released her hand and grabbed her other, securing it to his bicep. Together, they managed to get Clarice off of the gurney and on to her feet for the first time in almost three weeks. Miraculously, she could feel only the tiniest bit of strain to her left side.

"Are you ready to walk?" Doctor Lecter asked, his voice quiet and smooth.

"Yes," she breathed.

Taking one step at a time, they approached the bed. It was then that Clarice realized just how hard her heart was beating. She wasn't sure if it was from being inert for so long, or if it could be because she was so close to the Doctor. The soldier wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer. Either way, she was quite certain that he could feel it as easily as she could feel his steady heart rate.

They arrived at the bedside. Carefully, Doctor Lecter lowered her into a sitting position, not releasing her weight until she was laying down against the downey pillows. As her head hit the soft cushions, she let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you again, Doctor," the soldier said, turning to face him.

The man drew away, straightening his back and looking down at her. "Of course," he said evenly. She met his gaze. His eyes were dark.

Clarice swallowed thickly, suddenly very aware of her still-racing heart beat. Yet she couldn't tear her eyes away. It seemed that neither could Hannibal. His face remained as impassive and unreadable as it had ever been, but his eyes… It didn't do her pulse any favors. They stayed like that for an unthinkable amount of time. The soldier couldn't tell quite how long.

Suddenly, someone cleared their throat from behind them. Clarice jumped, head shooting towards the open doorway where the sound had come from. The Doctor, on the other hand, blandly turned around as if he was about to talk to a tax collector. She briefly wondered how he managed to keep his composure all of the time.

Barney stood in the doorway, dressed in his usual hospital scrubs and holding a brown bag in one giant hand. He was tall enough that his head nearly reached the top of the molding to which the door was attached. The nurse held up the bag. "I brought in your things, Clarice." He paused, glancing from her to the Doctor. "I hope you don't mind, Doctor Lecter, but I need to get back to the hospital."

There was a pregnant silence as Hannibal didn't speak. The tall man seemed nervous, having invited himself inside. Had he never been here before? Clarice had assumed that Barney was the Doctor's closest friend, or so it seemed.

"Thank you," Doctor Lecter responded. Barney visibly relaxed.

"I'll just set this here then…" the man placed the package onto the desk beside him. "... And I'll get going. See you tomorrow?"

Hannibal nodded. "Yes. Have a good day. Don't hesitate to call if there's a problem."

The nurse made a noise of agreement. "Of course." He turned to the soldier. "Bye, Clarice," he said pleasantly.

"Bye Barney," she called back as he turned and left the room.

The Doctor turned to Clarice once again. "Are you hungry? Would you like something for breakfast? I can guarantee you that it will be much better than the slop we feed the patients at the hospital."

The soldier smiled and laughed quietly. "It was pretty bad. Sure, Doctor. Thank you. I would appreciate that."

Hannibal gave her a faint, good-natured smile as he left her in the room. Before he disappeared however, it seemed that he remembered the bag Barney had left. Quietly, he moved it next to her at the foot of the bed. "In case you get bored without me."

Clarice huffed, raising one eyebrow at his back as he closed the door behind him. She listened to his footsteps as they padded against the tile flooring, as well as the clicking of the gurney wheels as it was dragged away to be stored somewhere in case of future need.

She reached down and grabbed the bag once she could no longer hear him. Digging through the contents, Clarice pulled out the previous book she had been reading - the biography on Joan of Arc. Turning to the page she left off, Clarice allowed herself to get lost in the sea of printed words.

It was only when the faint smell of pastries reached her nostrils that she was roused from her state of obliviousness. She wasn't sure when the last time she had smelled something so heavenly. Suddenly, she thought back to her childhood. Her father was no cook, so they would eat out at the local diner whenever they could afford it. The place made amazing pancakes, though she wasn't sure they stood up to the whatever wafted through the air now.

The soldier found it difficult to concentrate on her reading. What was the Doctor making? She had assumed that he would just make her cereal or toast or something. But was he… cooking? Clarice felt guilty. He really didn't have to go out of his way for her, but he was. She really didn't want to be any kind of expense.

A few minutes later, she heard the sound of feet on the tile floor once again as the Doctor approached the guest room. He then entered after a moment, the door swinging open without so much as a sound. There he was, Doctor Lecter, holding in one hand a platter of what looked to be… croissants? In the other hand, he held a glass of water; the perspiration dripping down into his sleeve languidly.

"Did you make those?" Clarice said obtusely, the last word clipped as she realized how ungrateful she must sound. Thankfully, the man did not seem to take it that way.

"Of course. It was no trouble, I assure you." He seemed to notice her dubious expression. "I enjoy baking and cooking. It's not very often I entertain guests, so I wanted to take the opportunity to show off."

"Or maybe, you're just willing to experiment on your captive audience," the soldier shot back.

A slow smile spread across Hannibal's lips, and he approached her; eyes focused on hers. "My, what a mouth on you. I think we'll have a lot of fun with each other. Don't you agree?"

The air was tense, but not uncomfortable, as Lecter set the platter of pastries down on Clarice's lap, just beyond the flipped-over book. She felt as if the Doctor had issued some sort of challenge. She wasn't going to back down.

"Is your goal for me to establish some kind of Stockholm syndrome?" She asked, a little smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth.

"My dear Clarice, that would only be true if it was working. However, I doubt mere croissants would be enough to get your spine to bend."

The soldier snorted softly. "Depends on how good they are."

Hannibal lifted an eyebrow as Clarice reached for one of the pastries in front of her. They were moist and flakey, the top shining in the light, indicating that the man had slathered butter on top. It was still warm against her fingertips. She brought it to her mouth and took a bite.

Unsurprisingly, it was amazing. It practically melted in her mouth, and the dough was smooth yet slightly chewy. She could taste the butter and… a hint of vanilla? She couldn't help let out a small noise as she chewed. If someone shot her now, she would die in a state of utter bliss.

"Well Clarice? Are they good enough?" The soldier looked up, confused. His expression was expectant and curious. Though, it looked as if he already knew the answer to his question.

She had forgotten what he meant for a moment. Swallowing, her brain worked to recall their previous conversation. "Ah," she started, "They're… okay," she said in an exaggerated tone.

This time, Hannibal smiled noticeably. "I see you're a hard one to please. I'll take pride in beating your expectations in the future."

Clarice looked up at him from the plate. "You seem rather sure of yourself."

Wordlessly, he handed her the glass of water before she even knew she was thirsty. She accepted it. "What good is a man who isn't?" Abruptly, he took a step back. "Now, let's go over my expectations for you."

"Expectations?" the soldier asked, surprised and slightly insulted.

Hannibal moved one hand swiftly to the side, as if he was disregarding her words. "Ground rules then. You will not get up from bed without me or Barney. Same as the hospital. This includes bathroom breaks, or showers as you heal, until I say otherwise. If you need one of us, just shout. That means anything - if your hungry, if your thirsty, even if you're restless. Got it?"

Clarice nodded solemnly.

"Either Barney or I will bring you your medication in the morning. You'll take it with water - no exceptions. You'll also need to sit up."

She was slightly confused at his specific demands, but didn't ask why. There were probably some medical reasons for what he was asking.

"Lastly, I don't want you get bored. Call for me if you do. I don't mind spending time with you. It would be better than exacerbating your wound by accident," he finished, sounding serious. "Is that okay with you, Miss Starling?"

"Yeah," she answered softly.

"Is something the matter?" The Doctor asked, his gaze shifting down to her. It felt as if he was looking inside of her head and holding it captive.

Her lips thinned out in a small frown. "No…" she trailed off. "Nothing."

One of his eyebrows lifted dubiously. "That was a lie, Clarice. Even an idiot could see that." He moved backwards a little, straightening up. "If you want to lie to me, you're going to have to kick up a bit more dust." Hannibal leaned towards her now, like a snake charming its prey. "What's wrong?"

Clarice's frown grew, and she fidgeted under his attention. "I guess… I know I keep saying it, but thank you. I don't know how I could ever repay your hospitality."

Doctor Lecter's features softened slightly. "Perhaps you could simply… indulge me. I've said before, I would like to know more about you. That remains true - more so even now. You are quite interesting."

The soldier was perplexed. It was true, he had said so before. She just wasn't sure what exactly about her enchanted him so singularly. Sure, initially the fact that she was secretly a woman in the army; but beyond that? It's not as if she was unhappy with herself. Clarice recognized that she was a strong character, but was that enough to justify such lavish treatment? Of that, she wasn't so sure.

As if reading her mind, the Doctor moved down so that he was eye-level with her, and quite close. He took one of her hands in his own firmly. They looked at each other as if their eyes were opposing magnets. "Miss Starling, I want to help you - to know you. There is nothing you owe me save for your presence."

Mutely, the soldier nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from his. After a moment, Hannibal stepped away and got to his feet, still looking at her. He seemed so confident in that moment.

"You'll be better in no time, Clarice," he said affirmatively.