Her heart nearly stops in her chest. Inhaling uncertainly, she stares at the soft, leather bound book being held in the man's long fingers. If she was paying attention, she was likely to have noticed the smile on the man's face and the way his eyes drank in her cautious hope. It has been months since Chilton has last allowed her to have a new book, and now here is Hannibal Lecter offering her one.
Eyes narrowing slightly, Clarice has to force herself not to get down on her knees and beg for the book. She wonders what he might have brought her. A novel, perchance? No, that doesn't seem like something the man would do. It's likely a classic. From the way he spoke about Dante last time they conversed it's likely Inferno. She finds herself oddly intrigued at the idea of reading the man's favourite piece of literature. If she's lucky it might provide some clues about the man's character.
Dragging her gaze away from the book, she finally looks the doctor in the eyes. His dark eyes stare at her from underneath neatly trimmed eyebrows. Staring back at the man, Clarice raises her shoulders and forces herself not to shrink away. There is something in Doctor Lecter's gaze that continues to strike her as predatory, and it unnerves her. No human she's ever met has had that look to them, not even Buffalo Bill.
Despite her precautions, there is no instinct to run and hide. For a moment she wonders how the two of them must look, standing on either side of the glass watching at each other. If Barney were to come walking down the hallway would he see two predators staring at each other? Or would he see something else entirely? Her teeth grind slightly in frustration as her mind refuses to imagine it. It's far too focused on the leather book held tauntingly close to her cell wall.
Swallowing, Clarice allows herself to be the one to move first. Perhaps if she is the first to break into movement he will give her the book sooner and with less fuss. Head tilting to the side, Clarice lets her gaze wander away from the man to the book and then back again. His smile has grown, revealing his two rows of tiny, perfect teeth. It's unnatural how white and perfect they are, but she doesn't allow herself to be distracted by the thought.
Clarice raises an eyebrow, deciding to play off her early reaction to the book as nothing. "What do you have there, Doctor Lecter?" She asks as she moves to sit in front of the chair Barney has once again set up for the psychiatrist. Her lips curl in the slightest hint of a smirk. "Your journal? Have you come to share your deepest, darkest secrets? No one better to share it with. Not like anyone would believe someone like myself, even if they felt inclined to make the long journey down to my little corner of hell."
A low chuckle rumbles in the man's chest, and he shakes his head at the woman slightly. She watches as he sinks into the chair, the familiar sound of metal grating against metal disturbs neither one of them, both having expected it. A quiet noise of disappointment leaves the woman's lips as she watches the man tuck the book back into his bag.
"Unfortunately, Agent Starling," he says her name and once title with the smallest of smiles. "It is not further insight into my life; however, I am interested in learning more about yours. If you would be so kind."
Clarice feels herself bristling ever so slightly at the idea of sharing parts of herself with the man before her. True, he is not like the previous doctors who have come to speak with her, but that doesn't mean anything to her currently.
The man must see the sudden tenseness in the lines of her shoulders and the way her gaze must sharpen upon him, for his smile softens. "Only a question or two, this time."
Her chin rises and she slowly blinks at him, surprised by the slight compassion he's showing her. It has her hesitating, unsure of how to proceed. Kindness is not something she is used to anymore, and she's out of practice with handling it. She continues to stand there, hesitating far longer than she wants to.
His maroon eyes search hers for a moment, before he gestures rather impatiently to the pocket of the bag where he had only moments before hidden the leather bound book. "I won't bother to tell you what it is, no doubt you have already figured it out. It's yours, Agent Starling, but only if you answer my questions."
"And if I don't wish to answer your questions, Doctor?"
Lecter lifts one shoulder in a slight shrug, completely unfazed by her hints at possible rebellion. And why should he be? It's not the man sitting behind a wall of glass. He has a freedom that she will never again have. The thought makes her want to grind her teeth in frustration, but she knows better to take it out on the man.
"Then we can skip it and I can ask another of my many questions." It's not the answer she expected, and again she finds herself stumbling. Biting the inside of her bottom lip, she slowly sinks to the ground and crosses her legs. Clarice rests her elbows on the tops of her legs, getting herself comfortable. Staring at the man through half-narrowed eyes, she considers him. Her fingers run along the seam of her pants, as she slowly exhales through her nose.
"Fine, Doctor. Ask your questions."
If he can hear the slight note of fear to her voice he doesn't show it. For which she is relatively grateful for. Not that the man needs to know that. It's starting to frustrate her how easily the man before her takes everything she throws at him. There must still be some way to trip him up and get to him the same way he gets to her.
"The thing you miss most about being outside?"
Clarice had been expecting a question along those lines, and as such barely blinks when she hears it. Taking a deep breath, she lets her fingers trace gentle patterns into the tops of her thighs as she thinks. There's quite a bit about the outside world that she misses. The people she had considered friends, the places she had loved to visit, the food and drinks she had once enjoyed with a freedom she hadn't known would soon be ending.
Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath before quietly responding, "I miss the woods that bordered my parent's backyard."
"What about them do you miss?"
"I-" Clarice breaks off before she has even truly begun, and slowly opens her eyes. She had not expected herself to really give the man her honest answer, and now that she has she finds herself wilting slightly beneath his gaze. It's not like it was a very original answer, and her reasoning for it even less so.
"If I'm being honest, Doctor Lecter, the reason I miss my woods is because I miss the feeling of safety they provided me. I knew those woods better than I knew myself. They were always there when the world got hard, and provided a shield from the problems people seemed to create."
Her forthrightness has taken the man by surprise. Clarice can see it in the way his eyes widen and his fingers dig into the tops of his thighs. She has even surprised herself with her honesty, but as her eyes fall to the bag sitting next to him containing the much wanted book, she comes to the conclusion that naked honesty in this one moment will not hurt her. Not when she has so much to gain from it.
Bringing her gaze back to the man's face, she raises an eyebrow at him. So far he has remained in silence, turning her answer over in his mind. Clarice is curious to know how he'll handle her response. Will he push her for more, or will he simply let the answer be what it is, honest and straight to the point. Believing him to need a moment to figure out what his next question will be, she begins to stretch her legs out in front of her, the feeling of restlessness beginning to grow. Unfortunately the doctor had arrived only a few minutes before she began her daily exercises. Not that it changes much in the grand scheme of things, there will always be time for what little activities she is permitted.
Her eyes begin to slide shut as she stretches her stiffening muscles, but she is taken by surprise when Hannibal speaks almost instantly. "In your woods, Agent Starling, did you ever find a pile of rocks or a fallen tree?"
Clarice opens her eyes and tilts her head slightly to the side, considering the man's question for a moment. She had found plenty of both in her forest, though she was hesitant to admit to it. The way the man had fired off the question made her wonder if he was digging for something more than what she had given him. Taking a deep breath, Clarice nods once and gives the man nothing more.
She watches as he smiles slowly. The smile sending a small shiver down her back. There is no real reason for her to be afraid of the man, at least that's what she tries to tell herself. And yet there are moments when she's almost certain the man is going to come through the glass and pry open her head to peer inside her skull to watch and study her thoughts.
"Did you find several, Agent Starling?" Another nod, and the man's smile grows even more. His tiny white teeth flash in the light of the hallway, and for a moment Clarice wonders how much effort he puts into keeping them perfect.
"But you say nothing, which leads me to believe that you had a favourite one to go to. A fallen tree, with several sticks laying against the side to protect you from the worst the elements have to offer on nights when you choose to sleep outside? But, no, that's not quite your style is it, Agent Starling?"
The man's head tilts to the side, taking in her shaking breaths and the way her fingertips now dig into the tops of her thighs. He is enjoying her uneasiness; she can see it in the slight shine in his eyes; can hear it in the slightest hint of glee hidden in his voice as he speaks. For that reason she is tempted to push herself to her feet and rage at him. But another glance to the bag at his feet has the words dying in her throat. As much as she might wish to regain control from him she finds herself unable to let go of the promise of a new book.
As Hannibal begins speaking again, she allows her eyes to close. Hoping that if she doesn't have to watch him speak it'll be easier to swallow his words. But the more he has to say to her the more she finds herself struggling to keep her teeth and claws to herself. She has made men far stronger than this man tremble and gasp, their tears streaming down their cheeks in messy rivers as they beg her for mercy.
"But no, dear Agent Starling, I do not believe that is your style. No. You found a large pile of rocks, a mountain in your young mind, that you could climb to the top of. Perhaps in a large clearing? And it took many tries to reach the top, but you wanted to and so you continued to try. What did you see when you got to the top of your little mountain, Agent Starling?
"Did you see the world laid out before you as simple as you thought it was? Or did you see that there were many more things for you to learn? Did you tremble in fear? Knowing how small and insignificant you were? Did you run home to your Mommy and Daddy and cry over the sheer vastness of it all?"
"I had no father to run to." Clarice is pleasantly surprised by how strong her voice is. Lifting her chin, she opens her eyes and fixes the man with a hard stare. She has always hated thinking about her father, let alone speaking about him to others. But she finds the need to prove to the doctor that she is more than he thinks stronger than her hesitancy to speak about her father.
"By the time I had found my mountain," she hisses the word at him, "as you call it doctor, my father had been dead for three weeks. And my mother didn't have time to spare coddling me." Her eyes are beginning to sting slightly as her thoughts linger on her mother, the first time she has done so in close to a decade. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she has to struggle with the urge to look away from the doctor. But looking away from him feels too much like defeat. She must be stronger than him, or at the very least stronger than he believes her to be.
"You see a lot, Doctor. But your guessing game fails you in several ways. I loved my mountain, and it took me only a single try to make it to the top. And from there I could see my forest, and I believed myself to be more free than in that one moment than I had in a lifetime helping my mother and father. I did not cry, Doctor Lecter, it was terrifying, but also exhilarating. I stood on my mountain and I enjoyed the feeling of being free."
Pulling her legs back, she clenches her jaw and has to fight back the seemingly never ending stream of words. She's said too much. Shown the man more than she has shown anyone in what she thinks must be her entire life. Her hard stare deepens into a scowl, one that she knows has sent better men than Hannibal Lecter running for cover. But the man gives no sign that he has seen the change in her expression, does not even shift in his chair to betray any uneasiness.
She does not expect him to say anything in response to her, and she once again finds herself surprised by the man. "I am sorry, Agent Starling, too often I forget that not all mortals are made the same. Many of my patients require that little push that you just witnessed to break down, to finally face the truth about the things they have experienced, but you it seems do not."
"I've had plenty of time to think, Doctor. I've accepted all the truths I possibly can in this cell."
Hannibal nods once, and in that movement Clarice understands that they have moved beyond the topic of her woods. She allows herself a quiet breath of relief, grateful that the psychiatrist had not tried to probe deeper and ruin what few good memories she has left.
"What was your father like, Agent Starling?"
"He was a hardworking man, Doctor Lecter." An honest answer, though she doubts it was the one he was looking for. If he pushes, she knows he'll get the answer he wants, all because of the book he's hidden away. For a moment Clarice hates herself for being so open over nothing more than a few pieces of paper held together by glue. But she can't help herself. After years of holding the same worn books in her hands she wants something more.
Granted she wants more than what she has in many different ways.
"What did he do, Agent Starling?"
"He was a town marshal."
Hannibal waits in silence for her to say more, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. Clarice has already given him far too much today. Anything else the man gets from her will have to be fought for and now that she has seen how harsh he can be she is ready for him. Not quite allowing herself a smirk, the woman shifts slightly against the ground and waits for him to break the silence. There's a curiosity in the man now that he has heard her speak, and though he does not show it, Clarice knows it's there. After all if their roles had been reversed she would likely be in the same position.
"And your mother, Agent Starling, what did she do for a living?"
Satisfied that she was right, Clarice runs her hands along the tops of her thighs and lets her gaze finally wander away from the man. "She cleaned hotel rooms for a living. She was always at work when my siblings and I got home from school. They both were."
She allows herself to reveal a little more with this answer, a silent nod to the victory he has given her. Whether or not he realizes it Clarice doesn't care. If Hannibal Lecter is not smart enough to see this exchange the way she does then their sessions will likely come to a very quick end.
And then once again Clarice will have her loneliness.
Grinding her teeth, the woman quickly shoves the thought from her mind. Yes, she had been lonely before Hannibal Lecter had arrived to pick her mind, but that changes nothing. She refuses to give in to him, refuses to let him see pieces of her that she has tried to bury and leave behind.
The comment about siblings has the man considering her carefully, and she sucks in a breath to prepare herself for the question she believes is coming. When it never comes she almost cuts the man off to ask him why he doesn't inquire about her siblings. Almost, but not quite. Her years of dealing with Chilton have taught her how to hold her tongue better than she used to.
"Did you ever accompany your mother to her cleaning job?"
"Many times. Until my siblings were born it was easier for her to keep an eye on me." Resting her elbows on her legs and leaning forward a little, she plays with a loose string in her prison jumper, an ugly white thing that scratches at her skin. "She had me do all the easy things, mostly laying things out like soap bars and fresh towels."
Hannibal nods slowly, as if this is all information he already knows and Clarice telling him is just confirming things for him. It sets the woman's teeth on edge. Not even Mapp, the one person she had called friend throughout her stay at the Academy and her roommate in the months after knew this much about her family. It had been agreed from an early point that the Starling family was never to be mentioned, never to be asked after. Life was just easier that way for both of them, though Clarice knew her friend often wondered about what had happened to push her so far from what little family she had.
"And what does your mother do now, Agent Starling?" Hannibal's gaze is serious and steady as he asks the question, and for a moment Clarice thinks he already knows what she's going to say to him. It's likely he does.
Raising one shoulder in a shrug, the woman lets her gaze slide away from the psychiatrist to focus on a spot on the wall behind him. "I'm not sure, Doctor Lecter. It's been a long time since I've spoken to her."
"Since the death of your father."
Anger and frustration rush through the woman staining the world a dark, temporary red. Thinking about the way her mother had leaped onto another man after her father died always made her want to scream, always made her wonder just what it was her father had seen in his wife. Clarice manages to bite back the scathing reply, but only just. Swallowing hard, she digs her nails into the heels of her palms and forces herself to take a deep breath.
In for seven.
Out for eleven.
Doing her best to push her rage aside, she focuses for several long minutes on just breathing slowly. She forces her eyes to close as she counts, not wanting to see the doctor's face and the look of victory that's undoubtedly there. It will only send her over the edge that she hadn't even realized was there. Something the man has obviously been trying to push her towards, she hates herself for letting him.
When she finally has control over herself, she opens her eyes again. Hannibal's watching her closely, head tilted to the side as he files away everything for later use. Taking a deep breath, she makes her fingers relax and uncurls her fists to flex her fingers. There are slight traces of blood beneath her nails, and she makes a small note to clean them once the doctor leaves her in peace once more.
"May we please talk about something else, doctor," the question comes out as barely more than a whisper, making Clarice drop her gaze to the floor between them. She hates being so weak, but remembering the way her mother had failed her hurts more than she wants to admit.
The ex-agent doesn't expect the man to comply with her wish, she knows better than to expect too much from someone studying her. It's not like she's in a position to do much if they ever refused to listen to her. The worst she can do is ignore them, and even then more often than not they refuse to leave her in peace.
"I often find Tolkien a very slow read, even for one such as myself, who's accustomed to long windedness. However, I very much find myself enjoying the details of his stories. His world is certainly a beautiful one."
Clarice can feel the sob of relief building in her chest as she listens to the man speak about her book. Scrambling to come up with a response for the man, she nods hard a few times, her hair bobbing slightly with the movement. Quick to brush away some loose hair that has fallen into her face because of it, she offers the man a tight smile of thanks before responding, "There is certainly no shortage of beauty in his writing. But I find myself enjoying how he portrays his characters more than anything else."
She watches the doctor's eyes narrow in thought, as if trying to remember how the author had written his characters for a frame of reference. Eventually, Hannibal begins nodding accepting what she's said. "He did write each character fairly well. But I'm intrigued, Agent Starling. What exactly did you find so enjoyable about his characters?"
Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, Clarice runs her palms along the sides of her legs. She knows that it's likely going to leave small trails of blood along her clothing, but she doesn't care. She simply needs to make the slight buildup of anxious sweat go away. "I like that they're all believable. Even the elves. They all have some good and some bad in them. They're real and less perfect than they likely believe themselves to be."
"You enjoy their humanity," Hannibal said simply, his lips curling in the beginnings of a smile. "Quite an interesting thing to hear from someone who's murdered several men."
Clarice finds herself meeting the doctor's gaze without flinching. After all, he speaks the truth and she has no reason to deny it. "Several men and a woman," she quietly corrects him. The ex-Agent has not forgotten her one female victim, nor will she. Of all the people she has killed, that one remains the most memorable of the lot.
"Ah yes, the woman with the baby if I remember correctly."
Nodding once, Clarice watches the man's face without blinking, wondering where this is all going. They have not yet spoken about why she had acted as she had, and she's curious as to why. Most who attempted to converse with her often started with her acts of destruction, hoping to entice her into speaking about them. But she remained tight lipped about it all. Everything remained in the past for a reason.
"What were you thinking as you shot her, Agent Starling? Were you thinking about how the bullet might go through her body, or were you thinking about how it might feel to take another life?"
The woman huffs slightly in amusement. So all doctors are the same in the end. Thinking her a mindless killing machine who only cared about the feeling of what it was like to kill someone. For a moment she is tempted to present him with the real reason for her path of destruction, but that would be far too easy for the man. She's curious to know just how much he wants the answers, and just how far he'd be willing to go to get the answers.
"Neither, Doctor Lecter. I was thinking about something else entirely. However, I doubt that you like most would believe me if I told you. The truth is a fine thing, but it's sadly something that all too often falls apart when it's not what people want or expect to see."
"And what exactly is the truth, Agent Starling?"
Smiling, the woman glances down at the bag where her new books hides for a moment before looking back up at the man. "I will tell you where to find the truth if you give me the book now."
"We haven't talked about everything I wished to discuss."
"Well then, Doctor, it seems like you have to choose what you're more interested in. My past or my motives for murdering. I promise you one is far more interesting than the other, and likely to give you insight to the other."
"That's quite the choice you've presented me with."
Her smile grows as her hands fall into her lap. Leaning forward slightly, the woman knows she is close to winning her prize. All the good doctor needs is one more little push. "What do you want most, Doctor Lecter, a truth you can turn over and over in your mind until you have turned it into something entirely new and different, or the same answers given to others?"
Clarice watches the man for any sign of emotion, knowing it will likely be futile, but needing to know. Her breath catches in her chest as the man reaches for his bag and pulls out the book. Her gaze immediately locks on the leather of the front cover, where she can just make out the title Inferno. So she had been right. A small victory to her, one she hadn't realized she wanted or needed.
The man pushes himself to his feet, and stands in front of the chair, watching her closely. She knows what's coming next, and manages to keep herself from laughing when she hears, "First, you tell me where to find this truth of yours, Agent Starling."
"All men and women have secrets, Doctor Lecter. Sometimes you have to dig deep to find them. Sometimes under mountains depending on the severity of the secret."
"Mountains?"
Clarice's smile turns feral and her gaze turns back to the book. "Yes, Doctor Lecter. Mountains. Now if you would be so kind, I would appreciate the book you're holding."
She watches as Hannibal takes the few steps towards the feeding tray and gently sets the book inside. For a moment she expects him to struggle with the weight of the heavy metal tray, and is surprised when it slams through almost immediately. Pushing herself to her feet, she hurriedly crosses the cell to lift the book out.
Immediately she's hit by the smell of leather and old paper. Something she has forgotten existed, as her small collection of books has long since lost it. Holding it gently in her fingers, she brings up the spine of the book and inhales hard. Eyes closing, she smiles against the leather and allows herself to get lost in it for the briefest of moments.
At least she had thought it was brief. But when she opens her eyes to say thank you to the doctor, the first sincere thank you she had given anyone in years, she finds the man gone. Blinking slowly, she glances down the corridor just in time to see the man's back step out of her line of sight. A soft smile stretches across her face.
"Thank you, Doctor Lecter."