Clarice stood in the cool breeze, looking out towards the scenery that surrounded her. It was still dark, and the sky was full of stars. The air was sharp with frost, and it made her nose run. There was no moon, so she took care not to trip over anything underfoot. She couldn't be found.

Momentarily she stopped. Why was she here? Where was she? A small rise of anxiety swelled up between her toes like she had stepped into a stream. This place looked familiar. Dark pine trees rose like giants at her periphery. The stars were blocked by the black backdrop of mountains; steep and distant. It was cold, and she gripped the fabric of her cotton shirt. The wind rushed by, making its way up the loose hem of her slacks and making her shiver. What was she doing out here?

She took a step forward, and then another; as if drawn by some force outside of her senses. There was a light through the trees; orange and dim but inviting nevertheless.

Clarice stopped, frozen. The soldier knew this place, somehow. Before she could turn and run, a sound rose over the earth; a long and high-pitched moan that rattled and cut through the air like a knife. It sounded like a child. It was soon joined by another, this one equally as forlorn and desperate as the last had been. It made her weak in the knees and her hands shook and sweat even despite the chill. She knew that sound.

Soon they were cut off abruptly. Clarice felt it in her stomach. She was going to be sick. Another voice filled the void. It sounded like it was afraid of the silence, or perhaps what came with it.

The soldier forced herself forward. She had to see what was making these noises. It was a dread curiosity, morbid but entirely unavoidable.

A barn came into view, the door just barely cracked open; the orange light spilling out in a long, geometric spire that reached across the ground until it lost itself in the forest boughs. Even from here she could see the thick chain that wrapped itself around the interior handles, though she could tell it wasn't locked. Both ends hung loosely, suspended in the frosty air.

The moan became louder as she approached, as if it sensed her arrival and was clawing the air for help. Clarice could make out movement within the four red walls. One large shadow stepped through a sea of dark clouds, reaching down and handling something just out of view.

God, she could barely take it! Her teeth hurt listening to whatever it was that was coming from this building. Her muscles ached as if she had been running for hours, and there was a piercing sensation at the base of her skull; the sign of a migraine just beginning its rounds. Her eyes were wide as she treaded lightly towards the crack in the door. She just had to know… but something inside of her begged her not to look inside; just to walk away and go back to bed.

Her father would have been brave enough to look, so damn the world if she wasn't.

The shrieks stopped as she closed the distance to the barn. It looked so tall now that she was close. She barely reached the handles of the door. The air was thick with anticipation. She reached a small, trembling hand and pressed it against the rough wood, leaning forward and finally peering around the corner.

It was as if that was the trigger. The screams erupted, so loud and ear splitting that Clarice fell to the ground, clutching at the sides of her head and screaming along with them. It was Hell on Earth. The noise was intolerable. The screaming was intolerable.

Someone was calling her name. She looked desperately around the dark landscape. Nothing was there, save for the beam of harsh industrial light spilling from the mouth of the barn. She heard her name again, over the shrieking in her ears. It was impossible.

Suddenly Clarice threw open the barn door, the chain unwinding and falling onto the ground. "Run!" she shouted, her eyes burning from the pain.

They all just looked at her with those dumb eyes. Their mouths were still open in a siren of wails that threatened to tear Clarice down to the bone. Maybe if she could just save one… Just one lamb and she could be free from their screams. The sheep stood still as she bolted inside, the noise growing louder now that she was within the four walls. She couldn't stand it. Her short arms wrapped around one of the lambs and it moaned into her ear. Tears were openly streaming down her face now as her heart threatened to give up on her out of sheer consternation.

Clarice heard someone call her again. This time it was closer, more clear. She had to go. Now. Clutching the young animal to her chest, she began to run. Run as fast as her legs would take her. She broke through the open door and heaved herself to the dark woods. They wouldn't be able to track her in the forest.

The lamb cried into her neck and it set her teeth on edge. She could feel its cloven hooves flail against her shoulder and hit the bones under her skin. Her own panicked breath combined with the shrill wails of the animal in an uncanny symphony of dread and loss. Branches broke as she ran through the underbrush, thorns scratching at her exposed skin and twigs whipping her face as she barrelled blindly by.

"...Clarice!" a voice danced through the pine trees, making its way to her ear.

They were catching up! The soldier doubled her pace, adrenaline the only thing keeping her from collapsing then and there. She still held the lamb tight to her chest, but she could feel the strain in her muscles as she realized just how heavy it was. Clarice felt it begin to slip vainly from her arms. She could barely hear its blood curdling cries over her own racing heart.

No! I can do this! She would save one. Just one. Then it would all be okay.

"Clarice…!"

No! Just one!

"Miss Starling!"

She bolted upright, sending a shriek of pain up her spine, but she hardly noticed. Her eyes couldn't focus on anything, it was all just a blurry mass of white. Panic threaded through her limbs as she struggled to throw the covers off of herself and run. Something grabbed her first, and forced her against the surface she was lying on. Clarice bit back a noise in her throat and instead grunted with effort in an attempt to escape the arms that pinned her down, to fight this foe with every ounce of strength she had left.

"Clarice, calm down," the man said, somehow managing to keep his grip on her flailing limbs. "You're safe. It's me, Doctor Lecter. I need you to stop struggling."

Something snapped into place in her mind, and she finally managed to focus on the face above her. "Hannibal?" Clarice asked in confusion. Her eyes darted around. She was in bed. In a bedroom. She was in the Doctor's house.

The soldier slumped abruptly backwards and into the askew pile of pillows. It was just a dream. She'd had that dream before. She was awake now. It was over.

"Let me see," the Doctor said authoritatively. He reached over her and made for the hem of her shirt. Confusion swamped her expression until a moment later she remembered the pain. It was still there, now less of a categorically stinging wound and more of a dull roar. Clarice swallowed the moan of pain that had been climbing up her throat.

She blearily watched as he lifted up the end of her shirt, exposing the long swaths of her soft skin, marred by the black and crusty stitchwork that rode up her body like a river. The Doctor pulled the fabric up and stopped just below the swell of her breasts. He was silent for a long moment, his fingers dancing along the wound, inspecting for trauma. The area around the laceration was beginning to bleed, and was slightly discolored.

Suddenly, Doctor Lecter let out a long sigh. Her head shot up, fully alert now. "What is it?" she asked, concern slipping into her tone.

Hannibal pulled away from her, sliding the material of her shirt back down to preserve her modesty. He straightened his back and met her gaze. "There's no significant damage. It will all heal with time. We were lucky, hmm?"

We. We were lucky.

There was a pregnant silence as neither of them acknowledged the elephant in the room. Her dream. Clarice had no doubt he was wondering what exactly had gotten her so worked up. This was different than her dreams of the German trenches. She had never fought him upon waking, and the soldier knew that he recognized the distinction.

He broke the silence. "My, Clarice; and here I thought we had moved passed this. You were doing so well. Two weeks without a problem," he clicked his tongue as if disappointed. The soldier looked up at him, bewildered. His arms were crossed loosely as he stared down at her. She had expected to see annoyance, perhaps; but that was not the case. Hannibal stared intently at her, into her eyes and presumably even beyond. His jaw was set in determination, but unnervingly the rest of his posture was relaxed. He was an enigma on the best of days.

"I…" she began, but trailed off; still rattled by what she had seen in her sleep. It was almost as if she could still hear them, even now. The lambs never truly left her.

Doctor Lecter took a step closer to her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, and realized just how cold she was. Without really meaning to, the soldier felt herself lean towards him. Hannibal's eyes grew sharper and glittered as he noticed. "Miss Starling," the Doctor said lowly, "It would be quite something to know you." He paused, watching her as she swallowed. "Tell me about what you dreamt of," he said, though his intonation turned his statement into a question. Something that Clarice knew she could refuse, if she wanted to.

"...We all have our demons, Doctor," she said quietly; finally.

She watched him as he thought over her words. They both knew that wasn't the answer he was looking for. Clarice didn't know if she could talk about it. She wouldn't know what to say. This was a difficult subject, the most difficult subject.

It seemed that Hannibal noticed the distress written across her features. His voice was quiet and warm, carrying across the space between them like silk in the wind. "You are brave, Clarice. Far from common. I'd prefer not to treat you as such. When we talk, let us be frank with one another. Do we have an agreement?"

The soldier knew what he was asking. To question her candidly, without concern for insulting one another. They weren't some off-brand physician and patient. They were Doctor Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling. She found herself nodding slowly. Considering all he had done for her, she felt as if she could trust the man in front of her implicitly.

"You don't strike me as a woman without motivation," he began evenly. "And the strongest instigator is trauma. Personal demons, as you put it." Clarice watched him as he easily put together the clues she had unknowingly given him. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to be on his bad side. That was something she would never want to find out. His eyes were sharp and calculating as his mind worked a thousand times the speed of any normal man. "If I had to guess, this is deep-rooted, probably from your childhood," his voice cut off abruptly and he looked to her for confirmation.

"Yes…" she breathed, her brain catapulting itself back to Montana. She involuntarily shivered.

Doctor Lecter got closer. The soldier could see the individual pores that littered his skin. "My Clarice, what wakes you in the dark of night? What do you find yourself running from...?" His eyes were dark, and she couldn't look away.

There was a rock in the back of her throat. The soldier could hardly breathe. It was what caused her to go to war. To seek a release from their constant presence. To finally save what she had failed so many years ago. "The lambs…" Clarice choked, her eyes burning as desperation crawled painfully into her voice.

Hannibal reached out with one hand and let his fingers lightly brush across the soft skin at the underside of her wrist. It was so soft, so gentle. She found that her breath hitched as she first felt the calloused tip of his index finger make contact. "Clarice," he said lightly, "I am no strangers to ruin. I understand."

She didn't say anything. Maybe she couldn't.

There was a struggle in his expression. The soldier watched him battle himself until eventually, he sighed quietly. "Miss Starling," he voiced finally, "Mr. Crawford will be arriving for dinner in about two hours."

"Oh…"

Clarice looked down at herself. It was obvious that she would not be mistaken for a man in this state. Although, she might be mistaken for one by smell alone.

"Not to worry," the Doctor spoke up, sounding lighter. "If you'd like to bathe, I would only ask that you let me help you."

The soldier recalled his initial rules. She was not to go anywhere unsupervised, including the bathroom. She felt her cheeks flush at the thought. The toilet was one matter, but showering? How was that going to work? Feeling flustered, the tension brought on by her dreams seemed to melt away.

"I'll be the perfect gentleman, hmm?"

It was either to go with him, or smell like a washed up sea creature in front of Jack; the man who she had respected since she joined the American Military. On top of that, she really wanted to feel clean. The odd soapy cloth she had washed herself with simply wasn't sufficient. She glanced at him through her periphery. He seemed genuine enough.

"Alright Doctor," she agreed neutrally.

"I'll get you a wheelchair."

He swiftly turned and strode out of the room. She watched him go.

Soon he returned pushing the aforementioned wheelchair. Silently, the Doctor approached her side and slowly drew the covers back; fully exposing Clarice's wounded form, merely covered by the thin cotton clothes that left little to the imagination. The soldier felt a blush warm her neck and cheeks. One of Hannibal's eyebrows raised, a barely-visible coy smile pulling at the edge of his lips. He held out an arm to her, and she wrapped her own around it, allowing him to support most of her weight.

"Careful now," he murmured, "You're hardly in a position to handle a fall."

She gave him a half-hearted glare as he reached further around her. The soldier felt his strong arms begin to lift her upwards, the muscles straining in exertion against her skin. Clarice stood along with him, the long cut protesting dully. She grunted in pain.

Carefully, he led her out of the bed and lowered her into the wheelchair. She sighed in relief as she sat, and Doctor Lecter removed his wound-up arms from around her upper torso. The soldier missed the warmth as soon as she lost contact. "Are you alright, Miss Starling?" he asked.

"Yeah," she breathed, feeling the vague pain drift away. "Thank you."

He made a noise in reply and began to push. The hallway was lit with the light of the late afternoon sun, and Clarice could hear the whistling of the wind against the tall, glass windows to her left. The swaying grasses looked golden in the dying sun, like a field of gold straw at her fingertips. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The soldier and the Doctor were quiet for a while as the wheelchair clattered over the tiles towards the bathroom. She understood that the restroom off of her room - the guest room - wasn't outfitted with a shower or bath of any kind, which was part of the reason she had allowed herself to slip into this state of disarray.

On the other hand, she hadn't really wanted to make Doctor Lecter go out of his way to help her, although seeing him now; the man didn't look like he minded. He looked almost eager. Clarice wasn't worried about him trying anything inappropriate. From her understanding, he truly was a gentleman. She didn't think he would take any enjoyment out of the action.

"Here we are, Miss Starling."

Hannibal stepped around her and opened the large wooden door in front of them. He then returned and pushed her inside.

Doctor Lecter shut the door behind them. The bathroom was white and seemed to gleam in the electrical lighting. Marble tiles comprised the floor as well as about half of the walls around her. It was a large room, and it easily fit two people with room enough for perhaps even a few more. A large, ornate claw-foot bathtub stood on her right, sheer curtains surrounding the top to provide privacy. She saw it already was filled with steaming water. The soldier looked at Doctor Lecter dubiously.

The Doctor smiled coyly. "I rightly assumed you would want to bathe before dinner." His tone was… playful.

Clarice's eyebrows furrowed. How could he be so thoughtful? How did he know so much about her without having been told?

"I'm going to have to help you undress," the Doctor said, cutting through her thoughts. "As your physician, you are not allowed to bend over." The soldier opened her mouth as if to retort, but he lifted one hand and stopped her. "That's an order."

Clarice knew better than to argue. Best to just get this over with, right? While she was serving in the military, she had become extremely adept at keeping her body private. After all, it would only get her into trouble. Consequently, the concept of anyone seeing her in a state of undress made her very uncomfortable indeed. She allowed herself a sigh, and then went to begin unbuttoning her shirt. Glancing upwards, she noticed that Hannibal was not looking at her.

"Let me know when you finish," he said. "I'll help with the rest."

She gave him an appreciatory look that he likely did not see, and continued her work. Her thin fingers threaded each button through the hole opposite it, and gradually revealed more and more of the expanses of her naked skin. It was pale like ivory, and had not seen the sun in a long time. She involuntarily shivered despite the warmth of the bathroom.

"Done," Clarice said; her voice lower than she had been expecting. The shirt pooled down on the floor to her left as she dropped it. The soldier wrapped her thin arms around herself modestly. The Doctor turned towards her.

To her surprise, nothing in his expression changed. The man hardly spared her top half more than a momentary glance. A small wave of relief flooded through her, yet there was something else too. It was quiet, almost unnoticeable; but there nevertheless. Disappointment.

Hannibal bent down between her legs, which were propped up on the wheelchair still. Her toes curled around the metal bottoms as she felt his warm and dry hands brush up against the remaining loose fabric that covered her. Her arms unravelled and she gripped the armrests at her sides. When he gently lifted one leg and began to pull downwards, she felt her breath deepen, both out of nervousness and something far more natural. Clarice felt her pants slip downward, and her blush deepen.

Her eyes drifted downward. The Doctor's expression was still neutral, as if he was simply paying taxes or washing dishes instead of undressing her. This man was unreal.

Soon he had fully removed her bottoms, and they joined her shirt in the puddle of clothes on the floor. Now she was only clad in her underwear. As the Doctor stood up, her arms again retreated to her chest in embarrassment. He looked at her, meeting her gaze and travelling no lower.

"You're going to have to stand up. I'll support you." His words were clipped.

The soldier nodded absently, and watched as the Doctor made his way around her to her back. She was confused for a moment until she felt his arms snake under his armpits and latch onto her shoulders. He lifted her easily, and she slid from the chair before she even realized it.

"Can you stand on your own for a moment?" Hannibal said, his voice tickling her ear. He was directly behind her, his body pressed up against hers. She could feel the hard lines of his form against her soft flesh, and the warmth that radiated from him was almost overwhelming. Clarice was convinced he would be able to feel how hard her heart was beating.

"Y-yes," the soldier stammered, cursing herself for losing control. This was nothing. She'd seen worse on the front. So why did she feel like this? Why was she acting like this?

Suddenly Doctor Lecter stepped away, slowly releasing her from his grip. Immediately the cold rushed in and she missed that contact. Carefully, she gained her balance. She hadn't stood on her own in weeks, and her muscles were vocal about reminding her. Clarice felt the breeze as Doctor Lecter slid downwards, his hands going for her hips where the hem of her underwear rested. She gasped again as his rough fingertips brushed the sensitive skin that bridged her hips to her stomach.

The soldier looked down at the man crouched behind her. It was a rousing sight; his hands curled around her hips, digging inward. She noticed his eyes were partially averted towards the bath, but Clarice didn't mistake his heavy breaths that mingled with her own. That's when she felt the fabric being dragged slowly down, gliding across her skin like silk. Soon it too was curled on the floor. The soldier stepped out of it.

"Let's get you into the bath." His voice was raw, just barely contained. Hannibal got to his feet and stepped to her side, automatically wrapping his arm around her naked torso. She let him, and leaned into his body without much thought. They slowly made their way to the tub, still steaming and looking altogether inviting.

Now was the difficult part. The walls of the bath were tall, and she wasn't sure she would be able to step over them without ripping something. Concerned, Clarice looked at the Doctor.

It seemed he had recovered from the incident moments before. Doctor Lecter lifted an eyebrow at her, and his lip curled upwards at one end. "Do you trust me?" he asked. Surely that was a rhetorical question.

"Of course," Clarice breathed, her voice sounding more even than she felt. The soldier could still feel the ghosts of his fingertips travelling across soft skin, dipping down into her hips and curves of her thighs… His breath against the shell of her ear.

Concentrate, Clarice.

"Good," he said simply before diving down and easily lifting her legs up; arm crooked under the bend of her knee. She made a noise of surprise, expecting to feel a protest of pain; but none came. Hannibal had made sure that her torso remained motionless, a feat that impressed her. Still, it was something else to be pressed up so securely against his chest, bridal-style.

He smelled good, she noticed. Like spices and wine and aftershave. The soldier couldn't help but study his face. The stress lines around his eyes were prominent, but they seemed to make his eyes all the more immediate. Hannibal was clean-shaven and clearly took care of himself. After a moment, it seemed that the Doctor noticed her staring and caught her eyes. Instead of saying anything, he simply smiled. It made the butterflies in her stomach stir.

She let her head rest against his shoulder as he carried her to the bathtub.

"Clarice…" he drawled after what seemed like a century. Her head shot up, looking at him. "I'm going to lower you into the water."

The soldier nodded, seeing the tub under her. She felt as he allowed gravity to take her. Eventually the silky hot water crept over her skin, and Clarice let out a content sigh as finally the water overtook her. Hannibal let her gently hit the bottom, the water coming nearly up to her neck.

Doctor Lecter backed up abruptly, his arms dripping. "I need to start preparations for dinner. I'll leave you to it, Miss Starling. Call if you need anything."

He left the room immediately after that, stride brisk. Clarice felt stunned. Had she done something to upset him? It was hard to tell.

Biting her lip, she allowed herself to slip backwards against the wall of the tub and relax.