"At the End of the Game"
Part Thirteen: Rough n' Tumble
Clarice shut her eyes tightly; her cheeks began to ache at the unannounced strain. As wrong as Crawford had been about her, she would never wish him dead. He had been more of a friend to her that Dr. Lecter had, hadn't he?
She felt his chest crush further into her own, her heart pumping wildly against his ribs.
" Jack, you know it's rude not to answer." She still couldn't see him, he was slightly shorter than Jack, more her own height.
Jack stiffened once again, squinting his eyes as the harpy drew a tear of blood from just above his jugular. Clarice felt her stomach lurch, if she moved, Crawford was dead.
" I don't know what your talking about" a sheepish reply. He didn't know, but Dr Lecter and Clarice did, and she didn't want to witness and explanation.
" Dr. Lecter..." her voice was stronger than Crawford's, which pleased her.
There was a brief silence before she heard his sharp intake of breath. Her eyes flew open.
" This little mediation would have been far more comfortable in the cabin, Clarice. But you had to go and be a naughty girl." Another moment of silence before he continued " Just the way I like it" She shivered at the banter in his voice. Tiny hairs all over her body stood to attention as her cheeks flushed hot. She prayed, to whatever God might be listening, that Jack would be oblivious to Lecter's affect on her.
Sometimes, the bond between them so resilient, that no one else existed for them in their time together...like Baltimore, no one but *them*. They were both startled when Jack reminded them of his presence.
" What do you want Lecter"
" Now there's a question. What do you suppose I want, Jack?" She watched, as his dark eyes grew wider.
" Us. Dead" The harpy inched downwards. A Hand became visible.
" The both of you? Hmmm, Clarice knows all to well, from last night, that I have no desire to see her dead..." His voice dripped away before elaborating. Clarice met Crawford's horrified gaze, trying to reassure him of her integrity.
" But you Jack, well...perhaps" Dr. Lecter spoke in all earnest. The blade ran down the side of Crawford's neck, a trail of blood following intently. As the sharp metal sunk into the hollow of his collarbone, Jack lunched forward into Clarice, attempting to escape immediate pain. A shriek came from Clarice as his boot leg crashed into her injured foot. Blistering pain travelled up her legs to her brain. Both men stoped short in hearing her discomfort.
Dr. Lecter wanted to see her, he knew she needed attending to and Jack was proving to be quite the nuisance.
" Please move out of the way, Jack, I would like to check on Clarice" His provocation was hidden in a sheet of delivered civility.
Crawford regained his stance, backing away from Clarice, but still blocking her from Lecter... or was that Lecter from her? The harpy had moved from his bleeding neck, and he quickly decided to make an attack of his own.
Expecting Lecter to be right behind him, be forcefully drew back the butt of his rifle and turned. When the gun struck nothing but air, panic set it. Lecter came from the side and was on him before he registered the upcoming assault.
Masculine growls sounded from the both of them as Crawford stumbled to the left, the hand, which tried to grasp his rifle, met the same cold blade from before, it sliced cleanly up his palm. His head through backwards in a cry, he sobbed into the heavens for mercy, and begged for the strength to fight on. With some luck, he managed to raise a balled fist and direct it towards Lecter's face. It was deflected, yet crashed hard into his chest. The power of the blow set Dr. Lecter back a few feet, but failed to disturb his facade of calmness.
Clarice tried to intervene, but found movement to be restricting and considerably painful.
" Dr. Lecter...Mr Crawford" She made do with a verbal protest, hoping that it wasn't to late.
But it was. As soon as his hands we're free, Crawford raised his rifle, wincing as his palm bleed out over the barrel. His bloody finger curved around the trigger, and before the bullet sounded, Lecter threw this body atop of Crawford's. The shot was somewhat muffled by both bodies, a low groan of torture bellowed from one of the men, both of which lay atop the other on the ground.
Stillness.
Clarice dragged her ankle behind her as she attempted to approach the two-man pile. Any pain that she may have experienced at that moment was consumed by her sudden desire to protect, to salvage life.
Movement.
Dr. Lecter shifted awkwardly and rolled off to the right of Crawford. She swallowed hard as she watched him place a hand on the ground for support as he rose.
Her eyes took in his form as he stood up. He was totally covered in blood and his vacant expression gave no hint of injury or emotion.
She then looked down to Jack. His body faced to the midday sun, his sweatshirt covered in a similar pattern to Dr. Lecter's. For a moment, she was unsure of who had been shot until she saw the entry wound just above Jack's trousers.
Her eyes swelled and then returned to *him*. He was waiting for the return of her sad gaze, and when it was delivered, he felt the sudden urge to go to her, to lick the salty tears of anguish from her cheeks. Of course he didn't.
" Rather ironic really, shooting himself" His voice shook her, it pushed over some unrecognisable edge.
She couldn't look at him. Everything was so terrible wrong. She felt like running, running like she before.
A tidal wave of emotion surged over her. If she was promised a placing in hell, she wished the ground would open up now, and taker her a life time too early.
He still stood watching her, like he always did. She wanted to scream, to run over to him and bash him until he turned and left for good.
When she considered what he must be seeing, she felt like a helpless fool. She needed to check on Jack, but something had stoped her instincts form kicking in so early.
As she moved toward his motionless body, her ankle rolled and a metal shank snapped off into the soft flesh under her ankle. She fell forward and grimaced expecting her jaw to meet the ground. The impact never came. Dr. Lecter was before her swiftly, grasping her underarms and blocking her fall with his bloody chest.
She groaned as he caught her. Her heart raged unfaithfully into his hard body, relishing the contact. And then more tears came; she fought hard to keep her head from resting up against him.
He watching her as she drew into him, her fists balled at his back and began to pound into him. So much emotion was evident in her eyes that he was unable to do anything but support her weight and blows. He was certain that she had failed to see the shaky rise and fall of Crawford's chest, and thought he was dead for sure.
" He's not dead, Clarice" His voice echoed through her body and the pounding ceased. She stiffened and then relaxed, and eventually rested her complete weight against him.
Moments extended for centuries as she slowly looked to her side.
Silence.
The dove, which had fled its nest earlier, returned to rest in the tree above them.
Singing.
When her hand came to rest on his shoulder, he expelled the sigh, which had been waiting ten years for release.
Finally, it was time for the end.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
AHH! This chapter has caused me more trouble than its worth. Everything was deleted so this was a rush job (please excuse grammar/spelling Its VERY late). My apologies to readers, I feel it's a little underdone...but, necessary for the final chapter.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Part Thirteen: Rough n' Tumble
Clarice shut her eyes tightly; her cheeks began to ache at the unannounced strain. As wrong as Crawford had been about her, she would never wish him dead. He had been more of a friend to her that Dr. Lecter had, hadn't he?
She felt his chest crush further into her own, her heart pumping wildly against his ribs.
" Jack, you know it's rude not to answer." She still couldn't see him, he was slightly shorter than Jack, more her own height.
Jack stiffened once again, squinting his eyes as the harpy drew a tear of blood from just above his jugular. Clarice felt her stomach lurch, if she moved, Crawford was dead.
" I don't know what your talking about" a sheepish reply. He didn't know, but Dr Lecter and Clarice did, and she didn't want to witness and explanation.
" Dr. Lecter..." her voice was stronger than Crawford's, which pleased her.
There was a brief silence before she heard his sharp intake of breath. Her eyes flew open.
" This little mediation would have been far more comfortable in the cabin, Clarice. But you had to go and be a naughty girl." Another moment of silence before he continued " Just the way I like it" She shivered at the banter in his voice. Tiny hairs all over her body stood to attention as her cheeks flushed hot. She prayed, to whatever God might be listening, that Jack would be oblivious to Lecter's affect on her.
Sometimes, the bond between them so resilient, that no one else existed for them in their time together...like Baltimore, no one but *them*. They were both startled when Jack reminded them of his presence.
" What do you want Lecter"
" Now there's a question. What do you suppose I want, Jack?" She watched, as his dark eyes grew wider.
" Us. Dead" The harpy inched downwards. A Hand became visible.
" The both of you? Hmmm, Clarice knows all to well, from last night, that I have no desire to see her dead..." His voice dripped away before elaborating. Clarice met Crawford's horrified gaze, trying to reassure him of her integrity.
" But you Jack, well...perhaps" Dr. Lecter spoke in all earnest. The blade ran down the side of Crawford's neck, a trail of blood following intently. As the sharp metal sunk into the hollow of his collarbone, Jack lunched forward into Clarice, attempting to escape immediate pain. A shriek came from Clarice as his boot leg crashed into her injured foot. Blistering pain travelled up her legs to her brain. Both men stoped short in hearing her discomfort.
Dr. Lecter wanted to see her, he knew she needed attending to and Jack was proving to be quite the nuisance.
" Please move out of the way, Jack, I would like to check on Clarice" His provocation was hidden in a sheet of delivered civility.
Crawford regained his stance, backing away from Clarice, but still blocking her from Lecter... or was that Lecter from her? The harpy had moved from his bleeding neck, and he quickly decided to make an attack of his own.
Expecting Lecter to be right behind him, be forcefully drew back the butt of his rifle and turned. When the gun struck nothing but air, panic set it. Lecter came from the side and was on him before he registered the upcoming assault.
Masculine growls sounded from the both of them as Crawford stumbled to the left, the hand, which tried to grasp his rifle, met the same cold blade from before, it sliced cleanly up his palm. His head through backwards in a cry, he sobbed into the heavens for mercy, and begged for the strength to fight on. With some luck, he managed to raise a balled fist and direct it towards Lecter's face. It was deflected, yet crashed hard into his chest. The power of the blow set Dr. Lecter back a few feet, but failed to disturb his facade of calmness.
Clarice tried to intervene, but found movement to be restricting and considerably painful.
" Dr. Lecter...Mr Crawford" She made do with a verbal protest, hoping that it wasn't to late.
But it was. As soon as his hands we're free, Crawford raised his rifle, wincing as his palm bleed out over the barrel. His bloody finger curved around the trigger, and before the bullet sounded, Lecter threw this body atop of Crawford's. The shot was somewhat muffled by both bodies, a low groan of torture bellowed from one of the men, both of which lay atop the other on the ground.
Stillness.
Clarice dragged her ankle behind her as she attempted to approach the two-man pile. Any pain that she may have experienced at that moment was consumed by her sudden desire to protect, to salvage life.
Movement.
Dr. Lecter shifted awkwardly and rolled off to the right of Crawford. She swallowed hard as she watched him place a hand on the ground for support as he rose.
Her eyes took in his form as he stood up. He was totally covered in blood and his vacant expression gave no hint of injury or emotion.
She then looked down to Jack. His body faced to the midday sun, his sweatshirt covered in a similar pattern to Dr. Lecter's. For a moment, she was unsure of who had been shot until she saw the entry wound just above Jack's trousers.
Her eyes swelled and then returned to *him*. He was waiting for the return of her sad gaze, and when it was delivered, he felt the sudden urge to go to her, to lick the salty tears of anguish from her cheeks. Of course he didn't.
" Rather ironic really, shooting himself" His voice shook her, it pushed over some unrecognisable edge.
She couldn't look at him. Everything was so terrible wrong. She felt like running, running like she before.
A tidal wave of emotion surged over her. If she was promised a placing in hell, she wished the ground would open up now, and taker her a life time too early.
He still stood watching her, like he always did. She wanted to scream, to run over to him and bash him until he turned and left for good.
When she considered what he must be seeing, she felt like a helpless fool. She needed to check on Jack, but something had stoped her instincts form kicking in so early.
As she moved toward his motionless body, her ankle rolled and a metal shank snapped off into the soft flesh under her ankle. She fell forward and grimaced expecting her jaw to meet the ground. The impact never came. Dr. Lecter was before her swiftly, grasping her underarms and blocking her fall with his bloody chest.
She groaned as he caught her. Her heart raged unfaithfully into his hard body, relishing the contact. And then more tears came; she fought hard to keep her head from resting up against him.
He watching her as she drew into him, her fists balled at his back and began to pound into him. So much emotion was evident in her eyes that he was unable to do anything but support her weight and blows. He was certain that she had failed to see the shaky rise and fall of Crawford's chest, and thought he was dead for sure.
" He's not dead, Clarice" His voice echoed through her body and the pounding ceased. She stiffened and then relaxed, and eventually rested her complete weight against him.
Moments extended for centuries as she slowly looked to her side.
Silence.
The dove, which had fled its nest earlier, returned to rest in the tree above them.
Singing.
When her hand came to rest on his shoulder, he expelled the sigh, which had been waiting ten years for release.
Finally, it was time for the end.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
AHH! This chapter has caused me more trouble than its worth. Everything was deleted so this was a rush job (please excuse grammar/spelling Its VERY late). My apologies to readers, I feel it's a little underdone...but, necessary for the final chapter.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~