Clarice is happy.

She lay in her bed, sprawled out on her back. She was entirely naked, and the sweat covering her skin was slowly cooling. Hannibal rested between her legs. His cheek rested on her belly as his hands ghosted over her hips. One of her thighs rested over his shoulder and the other leg curled around him, keeping their bodies tangled and entwined.

That was precisely what they were, now. Their bodies and minds and hearts and souls were tangled and entwined. Parts of them had always been that way, since the moment they met. They had grown even more indelibly linked in these last months. They learned about each other and about themselves. Clarice had taken some time to truly accept what she'd learned, about herself and about him. But she had come to peace with it now.

It had been an entire week now since she had confessed to him what she wanted and, as he cleaned and dressed the bite on her neck, he had confessed his love for her. Since then, they had discussed many things. Argentina. Entropy. The FBI. Mischa. Everything that still created confusion and uncertainty between them. For Clarice, there was no uncertainty anymore.

Hannibal's hands traced over the sensitive parts of her hips, where he had gripped her so tightly that bruises were already starting to darken on her skin. The inside of her thighs were surely littered with marks as well. She had been too distracted to fully know what he'd been doing down there. If he'd drawn blood, he would not let them linger like this; he would want to make sure infection didn't set in if there was any kind of open wound. Perhaps she would just have some blotches or bruises there, too.

She smiled at the thought. Another thing she had come to accept about herself. She had wanted him to lose control and unleash his passion on her, and he had. It was perhaps a little violent, but it was never anything mean or cruel or frightening. Not between the two of them. Hannibal had told her that he loved her, but she felt that love in his actions as much as she'd heard it in his voice and known it from his words. He cared for her more deeply than perhaps any other person she'd ever known. And that was part of it, too, the way he cared for her. It had been surprising, the first time, when he had held in in the bath and tended to the bite on her neck and told her he loved her. But the more Clarice thought about it, the more natural and wonderful she found it all. He had hurt her, but he cared for her so tenderly and sweetly. To have that interplay between bruises and bites and blood and the gentle care after the passion had cooled? That was where his love truly showed.

Just thinking about his love made Clarice feel it all the more. She reached down and gently ran her fingers through his hair. He hummed happily as her fingernails lightly scratched his scalp. From where she was laying, she could almost see the scratches she'd left on his back from their passion just minutes earlier. She would need to see if she'd broken the skin. If so, she'd want to clean and dress the injury for him just as he would have done for her. That could wait just a little while, though.

Hannibal turned his head and pressed kisses to her bare skin. She indulged for a moment before she gave his hair a slight tug so he would look up at her. He did so, but he did not speak. He just gazed at her face, a small hint of a smile on his lips and a sparkle of love in his maroon eyes.

It would be up to Clarice to speak, she knew. But as much as she wanted to say, she wasn't sure where to start. So she just said the first thing that came into her head. "Credo di aver imparato abbastanza italiano. È ora di imparare lo spagnolo."

The flash of understanding in Hannibal's eyes at her words was subtle. But he knew why she had told him that she thought she'd learned enough Italian and thought it was now time to learn Spanish. She needed to learn Spanish to go to Argentina.

She continued, switching back to English. "I think dying my hair brown would be easier to maintain, but would black be less conspicuous there?"

"Upkeep will not be a problem," he assured her. "There is a very upscale salon just down the street from our house."

"Is it still there after six years?"

"It was there for twenty years before I bought the property. Six years will not have made a difference."

Clarice hummed, thinking. "I guess I can't go bleach blonde like Eva Peron."

Hannibal chuckled at that. "We could try it out here before we leave, if you want, and if it's terrible, we can fix it."

"I trust you for almost everything, but I think my hair should be left to a professional," she teased.

His expression softened. "I hope you do, Clarice. I hope you do trust me."

She trailed her fingers over his face, wondering how many lines had been eliminated by surgeries to change his appearance and how many more lines she would grow to see in the future. They would have a future. Of that she was quite certain. "I do trust you," she assured him. "I trust you and I love you."

Hannibal's brow raised infinitesimally in his surprise, but he said nothing. She did not need him to respond. Not really. She knew he loved her. And she knew she loved him. Now she had told him. Hannibal knew her well enough to know that she would not have said those words if she did not feel them and believe in them. He would not question her sincerity.

"Tell me about our house," she requested, changing the topic back to Argentina.

He smiled at that and settled back down, this time lying on his side next to her with his hands tracing over her body. "I don't think it will surprise you that the house is quite large. It is in fact a mansion built by a high official in Peron's regime, and it has been kept in wonderful condition. I think you will like it. And we can make changes to the décor, if you would like. I should be interested in your ideas for it."

"We can decide together. But you know I don't really care about rugs and wallpaper."

"You haven't in the past, but you will be able to care about the aesthetic of your surroundings from now on, if you so choose."

"Alright," she conceded. "I'll see what it's like and if I want to change anything."

Hannibal was satisfied with that. He went on, "There are three floors. We will have a staff so we are not bothered with the need to clean and cook when we do not wish."

"Wow."

"You'll get used to it," he promised.

"I'm sure I will. You're gonna spoil me, aren't you?"

Hannibal pressed kisses to her temple. "I look forward to the opportunity, yes."

Clarice smiled at that. It would be nice to fully live in luxury. All those months she spent researching everything she could about Hannibal Lecter and his tastes, she learned a whole lot. It never seemed available to her before, that kind of expensive food and wine, those incredible cars, all that art and finery. But even here, Hannibal had ensured that her closet was filled with expensive clothes. She was adorned with the jewels he had selected for her. They ate the most incredible food that he prepared with the finest ingredients. Life in Argentina would be like that and more. And she couldn't wait.

"It will be time for dinner soon," Hannibal said softly.

"Alright. But just stay here with me a little longer," she requested, rolling over and nestling herself into his embrace.

"I will stay with you for the rest of our lives, Clarice," he told her.

She knew that he meant it. And her heart warmed at the thought. They would be building a life together for as long as they both lived. And despite who they were and where they'd come from and how they'd found each other, Clarice could finally believe that they would live happily ever after.

THE END