She headed downstairs at around ten till and found Dr. Lecter in the kitchen cutting into a nice brie. Here we go, she thought.
"Clarice, lovely to see you. You're looking quite refreshed." He was clean-shaven now and smelled of fresh broadcloth, wearing an open-collar white shirt and slacks—shedding the guise of the workingman for that of the gentleman.
"Yes, it was a pretty relaxing day… oddly enough."
"Good." Dr. Lecter turned to retrieve an assortment of condiments and jams from the fridge. "If you wouldn't mind finishing up the board I'll go ahead and light the fire. There's some wild boar sausage there, and feel free to make any additions as you see fit."
She took the knife from his outstretched hand. It was unnerving to be in such close proximity to him. His smile indicated he was clearly enjoying seeing her on edge.
"No problem."
Dr. Lecter grabbed a bottle of red and two glasses; humming as he walked away, a tune she was unfamiliar with.
Looking at the board there was no need for enhancements. There were several varieties of soft and aged cheeses, dried figs, nuts, chutneys, olives, crackers, French bread, prosciutto and cured meats in addition to the sausage she was cutting up. She suspected the task was more intended to give her something to do to feel useful rather than anything else. He must realize this is a strange situation and wants to make me comfortable.
Once finished, she carried the tray to the library and found Dr. Lecter standing in front of a growing fire pouring two glasses of wine. The fire and the moonlight were the only light sources in the room, casting shadows over the shelves of books and artwork. Looking outside, the faintest hint of sleet had begun to fall. The fire was warm and inviting. She took a sip from the glass offered and settled into her chair opposite her host. The firelight reflected in his maroon eyes enhanced the pinpoints of red that flickered in the embers. The wine was dry and smoky, much more complex than she was accustomed to.
"Mm. This is good. I like this."
"It's a 1994 De Buris Amarone Reserva, from Sant'Ambrogio in Northern Italy.
"Well it sure beats wine out of a box," she said, taking another sip.
Dr. Lecter scowled, ready to unleash what would certainly be a torrent of insults—
"That was a joke. I've never actually had boxed wine… give me some credit, Doc."
"Boxed wine, no. Though I would imagine the majority of your wine purchases come from the bottom shelf of the grocery aisle. Don't lie or I'll know," he said teasingly.
"You've got me there. I confess I don't know much about wine."
"Would you like to?"
Dr. Lecter lifted the glass to his nose and inhaled. "When tasting wine you begin with your nose. Close your eyes and tell me what you smell."
She closed her eyes, gently swirling the wine as he had done. "I smell… dark fruit, cherry and raspberry, and a hint of smoke."
"Good. Now tell me what you taste."
His inflection gave her a shiver, though not from fear.
Taking a sip, she let the wine play across her pallet. "I taste the fruit, but also dark chocolate and coffee. The smoke is there but subdued, and there's a sort of… roughness in the feel of it." She moved her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
"The roughness is caused by tannins in the skin and seeds of the grapes—they contribute to the overall texture of the wine." Dr. Lecter seemed pleased. "Perhaps we shall improve upon your pallet over the course of your stay here."
"Like you improved on my shoes?"
She stretched out her legs in the chair making notice of the no doubt expensive Italian flats she was wearing, not to mention the rest of her ensemble.
He squinted his eyes. "My apologies if they are not to your liking, Clarice." He took a sip of his wine.
"I do like them. Though surely you can imagine my surprise to find an entire wardrobe upstairs, all in my size." She caught his eyes. "Did you plan to bring me here Doctor? You once said you had no plans to call on me." So much for playing it safe.
He grinned as he cocked his head to the side. "Ah. And I assure you Clarice, at the time I said it I did not in fact have any plans to do so."
He was toying with her it seemed. She countered with silence. She would wait for a real answer before offering any more… entertainment.
"So serious Ex-Special Agent Starling." He let out a feigned sigh. "Alright, alright. My business with Mason presented a unique opportunity to see you—in the flesh."
The way he drew out the last word gave her goose flesh.
"So you planned to bring me here."
"I considered the option. Had it not panned out I would've had the clothing delivered to your door as a belated birthday present."
"What did you plan to do with me here?"
"What we are doing now—two old friends catching up over a bottle of wine." Dr. Lecter leaned back in his chair.
Two old friends... Looking at her glass half-full, she knew that was all she was going to get on the subject and pressing him further would not be fruitful. Best to move on…
She raised her glass in a toast. "To old friends."
He raised his glass in kind. "Clarice, as I have said before you are a guest here. You are safe as long as you choose to remain. I did not intend to harm you then, nor do I now."
"At the time you're saying it sure," she shrugged, "but how can I be certain your plans won't change?"
"How can I be certain the paring knife you took from the kitchen earlier won't be used against me unprovoked?"
"I didn't take the paring knife."
"Then which one was it, Clarice?" He winked.
Son of a bitch. "I'll leave it to you to take inventory."
He laughed. "I imagine it's hard to trust given your upbringing—being traded in and out of foster families… Tell me Clarice, how many asked you to call them 'mommy' and 'daddy'?
"Not many," she said. "Foster families want the younger kids. Once I got older I spent most of my time in a group home. You were an orphan too Doctor, you know what it's like. I suspect trust is not something you do well either."
"It depends on the context really." Doctor Lecter swirled his wine before continuing.
"I trust Vigneto la Groletta to make an exquisite Amarone, I trust Bentley to make a fine automobile, but when it comes to matters of self-preservation—the bar, I'm afraid, is set rather high."
She considered for a moment. "I don't think you worry about me threatening your life. I think you worry I might be having second thoughts about running to the feds. That after granting me sanctuary, you'll wake up one morning surrounded by law enforcement and I'm out the door."
She took a breath before continuing. "I think you think I'm too calm—that I haven't fully grasped my new reality. Well let me assure you, Doctor… I have."
She was positively radiant in her conviction… and almost convincing. We shall see… Dr. Lecter finished his glass and placed it on the table. "Do you aspire to earn my trust, Clarice?"
"It seems prudent that we should earn each other's trust, given the circumstances."
"Prudent, yes," he mused. "Then I propose we begin with honesty, hmm?" Clasping his hands in front of him he leaned forward. "You are not fine, Clarice. You have not—in the span of one day—come to terms with the fact that you can never return to the life you once knew."
The condescension in his voice struck a nerve. Frankly, it pissed her off.
"Fine?" She put down her drink. "Of course I'm not fucking fine. My life over the past six months—it's like I've fallen off the top of the 'fucked up' tree and hit every branch down! Nothing about this—" gesturing to her surroundings, "is fine, or normal for that matter."
She was yelling now. "I'm doing the best I can here. And you could've called!"
He regarded her with curiosity.
"If you wanted to catch up—see how I was doing? You could've called—literally any time over the past ten years. It's not that hard to avoid call tracing, matter of fact it's way easier than evading the FBI… in the United States… as America's most-wanted fugitive! You didn't have to come to the US to go after Mason. It was a fluke he even found you in the first place. You could've disappeared without a trace!"
She paused to down the rest of her glass. "And you attracted unnecessary attention to yourself killing that hunter in Virginia… you didn't need to—you just fucking wanted to. Is your hubris so extreme that taking on a billionaire madman on the FBI's home turf isn't enough?" She was on a roll now…
"You don't care about anything or anyone other than yourself… and you sure as shit don't care about the collateral damage you leave in your wake. Well speaking for the collateral, Doctor—let me tell you—I was doing a fine enough job blowing up my own life without your help!"
She threw her glass into the fire, watching it shatter into pieces.
Un-phased, Dr. Lecter calmly rose from his chair and exited the room, returning shortly with another glass. Setting it on the table, he returned to his chair. When he was certain she was done speaking, he continued.
"Feel better?"
"Yes—
No.
I don't—
… Fuck!"
He gazed deeply into her eyes, glistening with unshed tears.
"I am sorry to have 'blown up' your life as you put it. It was not my intention to do you harm. But understand Clarice, I would not have contacted you had your life been going well. If you were happy and successful, then our paths would never have crossed."
She looked up.
"An opportunity to see you presented itself precisely because you are neither of those things. But you can be, Clarice. You can be reborn and create a life that is in alignment with your values. This may not be the opportunity you want, but it is the one you now have. What do you value Clarice, what do you want? There are no walls now, no ceilings for who you can become."
She sat for a moment, contemplating in silence. She thought about the bureau—she thought about Jack, who had tried to help and was marginalized, his career stunted because of it. She thought about John. What was his life worth to a bunch of corrupt DC politicians? His death swept under the rug like it was nothing. She thought about her own life. How much did Paul accept to deliver me to Mason? Bet I didn't even break half a mil. She was angry all right… very, very angry.
"It's hard to let go when you have unfinished business, Doctor.
He of all could relate.
"Perhaps I can help you find closure Clarice, if you'll permit me. Freeing ourselves of the past is not an easy task, but a necessary one if we are to move forward."
"I'm not in the market for a therapist."
"A mentor then. I have run for quite some time. I can help guide you as you devise a plan for a new life, a new identity. You saved me from Mason's grand designs—allow me to return the favor, hmm?"
"How exactly does one go about procuring a new legal identity?"
"I'm afraid I cannot answer at this time."
"Right, you won't tell me because you don't trust me. But I'm safe as long as I don't threaten your freedom. I get it."
"Don't take it personally Clarice, trust is earned with time." He gave her a wink as he ate a dried fig.
"So how does this work then?"
"When it is safe to travel, I will provide you with all the resources you need, documents, passports, safe passage abroad—everything you will need for a new life."
"When?"
"When it is safe."
Clarice sat back in her chair and exhaled.
"In the meantime, I suggest you think about what it is you want. Self-awareness Clarice… the documents are the easy part."
She ate an olive. "It's a lot to think about."
"Indeed it is, but you have time."
She took a deep breath and looked into the fire. Breaking her reverie, the Doctor asked, "Would you care for more wine?"
"God yes."
He let out a small chuckle as he refilled her glass.
The conversation lightened substantially, as the two stayed up late into the night chatting. They spoke of this travels abroad, of music and theater. She filled him in on the lives of Barney, Jack, Ardelia… John… and of her life sans bureau. She wondered when was the last time that Dr. Lecter had a friendly conversation with someone who actually knew who he was… who he really was. Life on the run had to be lonely, even for someone so suited to it as Dr. Lecter. She wondered if maybe he needed a friend just as much as she did.