Finally tying up this fanfiction loose end XD Been waiting for inspiration for this forever!

"I know. I heard, I have the news on right now." Clarice, knees tucked up to her chest, sat under her blankets with a phone tucked to her ear.

"Well yeah, Dee. I can understand why you're worried. But he's too much of a gentleman," Clarice used the term lightly ", he would never come after me. I'll call you in an hour okay? Night girl." She hung up, an expression of malice upon her face. She rubbed her eyes, looking at the clock… midnight and this was still getting press coverage.

The news had broken a few hours ago, Doctor Hannibal Lecter had escaped Baltimore early in the morning. One nurse was dead and two injured. Her phone had been ringing non-stop since the news was broken, everyone who knew of her latest contact with the man wishing her well tonight.

Clarice laughed at the thought. Jack Crawford had called to tell her to be careful, keep her gun close. Everyone around her was burning and itching with worry. Clarice, however, didn't bat an eyelash at the news. She wasn't scared because there was simply a low chance in him coming for her. He'd call, leave a sweet message of a goodbye to her. Even if he did come to her, his intentions would be nothing less than professional.

After all, she had been nothing but polite to him.

"… pictures, sketchbooks, and a photograph of a man with a poem carved on his back were all strewn along Hannibal the Cannibal's bed all with one reoccurring thing. The FBI Agent in Training, Clarice Starling. We went to her commanding officer, Jack Crawford, for a statement but were left with little about the Cannibal and her relationship itself.

Clarice is a professional young woman and I trusted no one else with this job due to her professionalism. His obsession with her? That is not being fed by Miss Starling whatsoever."

Jack disappeared from the screen as they showed imagines of his sketchbook. Clarice took in a silent string of breathe, the pictures more breathtaking than she could ever imagine.

Surely not all the pictures were of her, but the news station was adamant on only showing the ones that were. All pictures of their past months of communication. A picture of her angry scolding session after the carved the poem meant for her on the guard's back, one that looked like her giving CPR, her new classy clothing she shamefully bought for his entertainment, one of her holding his mask in her hands… and one of her holding a young little lamb.

"They're rather good." Clarice mumbled to herself, eyes wide at the screen. While it was the strong attention of Doctor Lecter, she had to admit it was damn flattering. Yet she found her concept… her idea that the Doctor wouldn't come for her became less likely. Her gun was on her bedside table, cocked and locked, ready for use. Her heart slowed, eyes turning back to the news. More and more bullshit of how many people he killed, his arrest, and the arresting officer Will Graham, whom she had heard nothing but divine stories of.

Clarice felt her throat, dry form talking all night. Her newly grown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, FBI thick strapped work out tank-top, and grey shorts all left for a very cold awakening as Clarice peeled away from her covers. She bare feet padded against the wooden ground into the kitchen, pulling a cup from the cupboard and filling it with tap water. It was gone within a minute, sink now full of a single dish.

Clarice turned to see a figure… looming in her doorway. Her face dropped and fingers twitched, yet her gun was in her room beyond the figure.

"You could wash that glass, Miss Starling." His unmistakable voice was just like silk tonight, maroon eyes gazing at her through the shadows.

"I could. I could also do it tomorrow, Doctor." She offered an option to him and she heard his lips curve into a smile.

"Let me?" He asked softly, protruding from the dark corner of her home and into the soft light of the kitchen. She walked past her without a second glance. He worked silently, taking her lip gloss stain away from the glass and putting it back on the shelf. He turned to her, leaned against the counter, and smiled.

"I figured more gun waving and accent throwing."

"Gun's in my room."

"Well then," he smirked softly ", I'm glad I didn't visit you there. That was where I originally intended to greet you." God be damned if she didn't blush a little. He was manipulative, yes, but he knew how to sound sincere.

Clarice smiled and nodded, still frozen in the same spot she was standing when she saw his figure. He extending a hand to her, Clarice taking it gently, and let him pull her to her bedroom. He sat her on her bed, hands on her shoulders, and a very intent look in his deep eyes.

"No gun." His voice was sharp and he didn't bat an eyelash. He was expecting her to speak.

"No gun, Doctor. I promise." She whispered, feeling his breathe against her face making her uncomfortable in more than one way.

"Good," Doctor Lecter's gentle smile returned ", because I'm not here to hurt you or threaten you. But I'm definitely not going back to Baltimore. I simply came to say thank you."

Clarice tucked her lips under her teeth, watching him watch her with a strong gaze. The Doctor seemed pleasured but her passive response, continuing on.

"I want to thank you for your… kindness. I'm not sure if you're aware, but the past agents I've come into contact with have been… less than pleasant. I gave you the information you needed to save Katherine without a second thought because you deserved it. You had earned my kindness, trust, and my information."

"I'm glad I had Doctor. A minute too late, one bargaining deal, shipping you somewhere else… it was all on the table. She might have died. So I thank you for trusting me." Clarice wasn't lying, not like she could in front of this man. Doctor Lecter watched her for a moment before smiling a tad brighter.

"Clarice," he stepped forward to her and looked down upon her ", you are a new agent in this world. While I think your purpose in life has to do with much different things, you have to go through with the FBI." His features soften, hands raising. Clarice didn't flinch even as he took the clip holding her bangs up away from her brown hair, her bangs being too short to be in her ponytail. He redid them, bringing her bangs into a slight poof before pinning them back up.

No she wasn't scared of him touching her. But now she was sure as hell interested.

"What do you mean, I have to go through with the-" A poised finger rested upon her partially open lips. He sat beside her, hands folded neatly in his lap.

"You simply must," he took a deep breath in ", there are things to find out. You'll soon discover that your world, full of what you think is justice, is corrupt. More corrupt than myself, or how corrupted society thinks I am. It's full of dirty cops. Good agents quickly change, stop following rules, stop being polite, and doing their job. It gets worse with time Clarice. The honeymoon fades away, my young girl. You have much to learn. Which is why you must go with the FBI." Doctor Lecter seemed saddened by his own words.

"What are my mother options in this world?"

"Come with me. Alas," his eyes dulled ", that isn't an option right now. You wouldn't come willingly. Not yet, anyway, my dear Clarice."

They looked at each other, dull light from the streetlights and television filling her room. His features seemed so much softer now that they weren't coated by nine inch thick bulletproof glass. His skin looked smoother, so much younger, eyes much brighter and more intense than any of the stars in the sky. He spoke nothing of lies or false accusations. Not tonight. No acronyms, no games. This was Hannibal Lecter not as a prisoner, but a person. Clarice saw it in his face that something human was in his heart, something many people overlooked.

So tonight… well, no one could judge her for it.

She placed a shaky hand over his, giving it a squeeze.

"Do you have to go now, Doctor?" Clarice asked, voice gentle with a care she had never felt before.

"I do, Clarice."

"Just for now?" She knew she would later shame herself for sounded so needy of him, desperate to know if this was true.

"Just," his soft smile returned ", for now."

They sat for another moment, looking dead ahead. Clarice turned to see he was looking at her too. It was unnerving, the entire conversation. Unnerving, yet comforting, to know that someone other than Crawford believed in her… even if it is for an entirely different reason.

Leaning over, Clarice placed a kiss against his cheek. It was as gentle as a butterfly, but enough to make him raise his hand and touch where her warm lips had been. His eyes were dark for a reason nowhere close to murder.

"Clarice, I fear if I stay any longer… my gentlemanly quality may not live up to its name." She chuckled, touching his arm with a single finger.

"I won't tell… just stay a little longer." She slid back on her bed, rearranging her pillows to let both herself and the Good Doctor have room. He seemed hesitant, suddenly a child offered with candy after being scorned. Clarice pated the bed and the man gave in. He lay with her, still wide awake. Clarice didn't rest her head on his chest or shoulder. She simply took his hand within her own and closed her eyes.

Doctor Lecter watched her for hours before getting the inner strength to leave. She had pulled him against her back, arm draped over her waist and fingers intertwined. It physically pained him to leave. But she had years to go and he would let her live in this world of 'justice' a little while longer before seeing her again.

When she awoke, the bed was still warm from where he laid. Her sheets and pillows smelt like his musk scent, which she felt herself more reluctant to wash with each passing second… a single note on her bedside stand, in his usual handwriting.

Clarice,

You are fearless, strong, and incredible. No matter what the FBI throws at you, I know you'll survive. Then, someday, we can share our stories of woe. How we missed each other's company for we are the only ones that truly understand one another.

I still hold onto the dream of sharing our kiss, Clarice… it hurt me more than it hurt you not to steal one last night when you were more than willing to. But our first kiss must be special. You'll be glad my lips didn't ravish your own in time.

With my fondest wishes of safety and care,

Doctor Hannibal Lecter, MD.

Clarice laughed and cried at the same time. She wondered why she was crying. Out of shame for herself, disrespect for her badge? The fact he was gone and had not going with him? Whatever driving force, she cried for hours, the note clutched against her heart. She folded it gently, putting it in a shoebox and hiding it within the confines of her closet.

Clarice would push on. She knew she needed to. The FBI would be good to her and she could rub it in his face. She would learn and live, see the world, be respected for her life and her choices. So she hoped. But, honestly within herself, she knew the best times she would ever have in her life were spent during the conjugal visits of Doctor Lecter.

Finally can cross this bad boy off the list! This has been fun, I love writing these two. I'm sure you'll see more in the future because I'm feeling a Hannibal marathon in the near future…

xoxoPN