'At the End of the Game'
Part Fourteen: Before Choice
Getting her back to the house proved to be more tedious than he had first calculated. Being the protector that she was, she had taken twenty minutes to convince herself that Crawford was indeed in a stable condition. Dr. Lecter had overheard her whispering something to him, but could not make out precisely what was said.
She had propped Crawford up against a tree and sworn that she would call the paramedics as soon as she got back to the cabin. And of course, she would.
Dr. Lecter supposed all the fuss to be a subtle hesitancy or evasiveness. But after ten minutes, Clarice eventually ran out off distractions to keep her eyes off of his.
He watched and waited. Like he always did.
When finally she lifted her head to reach his gaze, neither could predict where the path they were about to tread would lead. He tilted his head as be began his observations. She looked tired. Very tired.
" You've reached a decision?" He noticed her shoulders twitch as he invaded her silence with his natural flow and composure.
Eyelids met as she concealed her crystal heart from his shattering gaze. Her head was swimming with useless thoughts. It was hard to feel real. That scared her. Standing in front of Hannibal Lecter was the one place in the world where she should feel more real than ever.
With another intake of breath she opened her eyes. The space where he had been standing was now vacated. Her heart lurched forward in her chest at the sudden freedom. Perhaps he had had enough of the game?
All thoughts of escape where squashed when she felt his feathery touch at her ankle. She looked down upon his dark head. Long gone were the days of sleeking hair gel, it now looked soft and uninhibited, streaks of grey added extra character to the dark mass.
" Dr. Lecter?" Not even a whisper. She wondered if he had heard her.
His warm breath stang the open wound, her spine jerked upwards as her hands grasped for the sides of his head. The gesture was far more intimate than she intended. Her palms sizzled at the contact.
She never felt him flinch.
" Clarice, we need to get you back to the house." His head was still focused at her feet.
"Its fine" She managed between winces. The metal clamp has griding against bone.
At that he turned his head up sharply, his cheek brushed the silk of her bloody pyjama bottoms. Neither saw the other momentarily shut their eyes.
" Don't waste our time your stoic bravery, Clarice." She hated the tone she found in his voice. "Are you able to walk back to the cabin?" His eyes never left hers. He made it terribly difficult for her to lie.
"Yes." She sounded convincing.
" Right then" He got up and stepped to her side. "Jack's must have a key for that lock somewhere." He wrapped his arm around her elbow and waited for her move, if the action was made involuntary he knew she was less likely to struggle.
She placed her good ankle forward first, silently thanking him for his sharp perception of her stubbornness. The first stride was successful, but as soon as her injured joint rolled to touched the ground, her knee buckled and she fell into his side. She tried desperately to suppress a groan, but her efforts were unrewarding. Dr, Lecter's brow creased as she verbalised her discomfort. She was oblivious to the extent of his concern.
"It's not a good idea to put weight on your injury. Perhaps I should carry you." He wasn't asking her.
She tried again to move her foot forward, and again her joint rolled further into the metal. She sobbed unwillingly into his shirt.
He said nothing as he bent down and grasped her under the knees, careful to avoid any further discomfort. He gracefully lifted her light form, ignoring her groans of protest, and carried her back towards the cabin.
At first she held onto her clumsy hostility toward him, but soon after all fight from within her was lost. For the second time in 48 hours, Dr. Lecter carried his Starling from a scene of bloody carnage towards an obscure comfort. For the second time in her life, Clarice Starling lay at the complete mercy of Hannibal Lecter's fervent hands.
Amongst fate, allies meet in the strangest of circumstances.
He walked briskly, sharing his focus dually with the now-worn path and her beautifully pained face. She kept her eyes shut tightly, forming creases at the side of each. The weight of the clamp was weighting her ankle down. She had to keep her mind off the pain by biting the inside of her cheek, blood trickled down her oesophagus as her teeth munched on the raw flesh.
She listened to the thumps of his steady footfalls combined with the rhythm of his heartbeat which, strangely enough, soothed her. Her head rested beside his shoulder, and with each stride, the wind carrier her scent to his nostrils. He inhaled sharply as he felt her stir in his arms. For this suspended moment in time he was able the embrace his trembling warrior without battle. It pleased him.
They arrived at the cabin in silence and entered through the open door. Its state untouched since he had left in an alarmed departure. Light crept in through the drawn curtains and highlighted the features which she had previous missed. He sat her down on a large comfortable recliner, swivelling it to face the kitchen and fetching a footstool to rest her trapped ankle.
"Wait here a moment, Clarice." They both knew that she would be unable to stand, but he positioned the chair how she would be in his view while he left the room.
Her hands ran along the material, the velvet-like cilia irritated the cuts in her palms. She crossed her arms in defeat. There she sat, on a massive recliner, in the middle of an almost-bare room, the picture of a sulking child on a throne. She looked down at herself; the pyjamas were soiled with dirt and blood and ripped beyond repair, her skin was raw and her hair a dishevelled mess. She though he would be sniggering off in come corner, amused at her present state.
She shook her head and leaned further back into the neck rest.
She closed her eyes briefly in reflex to discomfort, but snapped them open as soon as she felt his presence. Warmth flooded her. She watched as he knelt before the footstool, first-aid kit in one hand and a small gold key in the other. He looked up at her with a passionate gaze. A position he rarely finds himself in.
"This might hurt. Please try to keep your feet still" and with that, his steely resolve was back in place; clinically detached.
She clamped her hands over the sides of the recliner, bracing for what was to come.
He placed the key into the lock and gently rotated its angle. His eyes never left hers. With a snap, the metal jaws loosened their grip on her ankle. Clarice expelled a shaky whimper, suppressing the real pain, which welled inside of her like a storm in a glasshouse. His hands then moved to open each of the bloody steel jaws, he saw her eyes darken and watched the lines of strain form on her forehead. He lifted her knee and completely removed the trap, leaving her butchered ankle completely exposed. The air hovered and clung to her fresh wounds, stinging the ripped flesh.
"Clarice? Are you alright?" She heard, as well as felt, his loyal concern.
She couldn't speak; she was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would be unable to contain the million screams that were waiting impatiently at the back of her throat. Instead, she nodded, her eyes watery with truth.
He knew she was lying, but found it to be futile to mention or correct such discourtesy. Her eyes followed his hands as he fished through the first-aid kit. Band-aids, tweezers, rolls of bandage tape, safety pins, antiseptics and ointments, pills, syringes...
He must of seen her head shake in disproval.
"Its not morphine, it would be dangerous to administer another dose so close to the last." He placed the bandages on the recliner and moved to show her the bottle in which he drew the syringe from. "Merely slows down the neurons a little" He winked and smiled his reassurance.
"I'm going to need to remove your pants..." His voice seemed to trail off, perhaps in search for permission. He opted to forsake innuendo, now wasn't the time.
Her muscles strained in warning, the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood as straight as soldiers. She felt her face flush hot as a product of the warm wave which crashed over her and somersaulted in her stomach.
Her lack of protest signed the contract of their silent agreement.
He rose to his knees and brought his hands up to the waistband of the silky pyjama bottoms. He looked up to her once more before he peeled them over her thighs and down her legs. She adverted her eyes and held onto a deep breath. Her body ached for air and...
As the silk made its way over her ankles, they both sighed and released their long held breaths. One trembled inwardly, the other outwardly, at the prospect of exposing their deep-seated desires.
"Dr. Lecter" She unconsciously whispered.
"I think we would both agree that 10 years is ample time to highlight your station change, my dear" He spoke quietly as he lifted her legs and swept the pants off the recliner.
Their hearts and minds we're racing against each other in a war of reason. Pain tickled pleasure and sensation overrode fear.
Time stopped.
Conflict began.
Where there was a choice to be made, a battle was sure to follow.
*~*~*~*~*~
I just *had* to leave it there.
Time is a marvellous thing to have on your side. I'm glad I've finally got this chapter up. Reviews are greatly appreciated; it's always a pleasure to hear what's going on inside your head. Oh! And feel the end, for the end is near ;)
*~*~*~*~*~
Part Fourteen: Before Choice
Getting her back to the house proved to be more tedious than he had first calculated. Being the protector that she was, she had taken twenty minutes to convince herself that Crawford was indeed in a stable condition. Dr. Lecter had overheard her whispering something to him, but could not make out precisely what was said.
She had propped Crawford up against a tree and sworn that she would call the paramedics as soon as she got back to the cabin. And of course, she would.
Dr. Lecter supposed all the fuss to be a subtle hesitancy or evasiveness. But after ten minutes, Clarice eventually ran out off distractions to keep her eyes off of his.
He watched and waited. Like he always did.
When finally she lifted her head to reach his gaze, neither could predict where the path they were about to tread would lead. He tilted his head as be began his observations. She looked tired. Very tired.
" You've reached a decision?" He noticed her shoulders twitch as he invaded her silence with his natural flow and composure.
Eyelids met as she concealed her crystal heart from his shattering gaze. Her head was swimming with useless thoughts. It was hard to feel real. That scared her. Standing in front of Hannibal Lecter was the one place in the world where she should feel more real than ever.
With another intake of breath she opened her eyes. The space where he had been standing was now vacated. Her heart lurched forward in her chest at the sudden freedom. Perhaps he had had enough of the game?
All thoughts of escape where squashed when she felt his feathery touch at her ankle. She looked down upon his dark head. Long gone were the days of sleeking hair gel, it now looked soft and uninhibited, streaks of grey added extra character to the dark mass.
" Dr. Lecter?" Not even a whisper. She wondered if he had heard her.
His warm breath stang the open wound, her spine jerked upwards as her hands grasped for the sides of his head. The gesture was far more intimate than she intended. Her palms sizzled at the contact.
She never felt him flinch.
" Clarice, we need to get you back to the house." His head was still focused at her feet.
"Its fine" She managed between winces. The metal clamp has griding against bone.
At that he turned his head up sharply, his cheek brushed the silk of her bloody pyjama bottoms. Neither saw the other momentarily shut their eyes.
" Don't waste our time your stoic bravery, Clarice." She hated the tone she found in his voice. "Are you able to walk back to the cabin?" His eyes never left hers. He made it terribly difficult for her to lie.
"Yes." She sounded convincing.
" Right then" He got up and stepped to her side. "Jack's must have a key for that lock somewhere." He wrapped his arm around her elbow and waited for her move, if the action was made involuntary he knew she was less likely to struggle.
She placed her good ankle forward first, silently thanking him for his sharp perception of her stubbornness. The first stride was successful, but as soon as her injured joint rolled to touched the ground, her knee buckled and she fell into his side. She tried desperately to suppress a groan, but her efforts were unrewarding. Dr, Lecter's brow creased as she verbalised her discomfort. She was oblivious to the extent of his concern.
"It's not a good idea to put weight on your injury. Perhaps I should carry you." He wasn't asking her.
She tried again to move her foot forward, and again her joint rolled further into the metal. She sobbed unwillingly into his shirt.
He said nothing as he bent down and grasped her under the knees, careful to avoid any further discomfort. He gracefully lifted her light form, ignoring her groans of protest, and carried her back towards the cabin.
At first she held onto her clumsy hostility toward him, but soon after all fight from within her was lost. For the second time in 48 hours, Dr. Lecter carried his Starling from a scene of bloody carnage towards an obscure comfort. For the second time in her life, Clarice Starling lay at the complete mercy of Hannibal Lecter's fervent hands.
Amongst fate, allies meet in the strangest of circumstances.
He walked briskly, sharing his focus dually with the now-worn path and her beautifully pained face. She kept her eyes shut tightly, forming creases at the side of each. The weight of the clamp was weighting her ankle down. She had to keep her mind off the pain by biting the inside of her cheek, blood trickled down her oesophagus as her teeth munched on the raw flesh.
She listened to the thumps of his steady footfalls combined with the rhythm of his heartbeat which, strangely enough, soothed her. Her head rested beside his shoulder, and with each stride, the wind carrier her scent to his nostrils. He inhaled sharply as he felt her stir in his arms. For this suspended moment in time he was able the embrace his trembling warrior without battle. It pleased him.
They arrived at the cabin in silence and entered through the open door. Its state untouched since he had left in an alarmed departure. Light crept in through the drawn curtains and highlighted the features which she had previous missed. He sat her down on a large comfortable recliner, swivelling it to face the kitchen and fetching a footstool to rest her trapped ankle.
"Wait here a moment, Clarice." They both knew that she would be unable to stand, but he positioned the chair how she would be in his view while he left the room.
Her hands ran along the material, the velvet-like cilia irritated the cuts in her palms. She crossed her arms in defeat. There she sat, on a massive recliner, in the middle of an almost-bare room, the picture of a sulking child on a throne. She looked down at herself; the pyjamas were soiled with dirt and blood and ripped beyond repair, her skin was raw and her hair a dishevelled mess. She though he would be sniggering off in come corner, amused at her present state.
She shook her head and leaned further back into the neck rest.
She closed her eyes briefly in reflex to discomfort, but snapped them open as soon as she felt his presence. Warmth flooded her. She watched as he knelt before the footstool, first-aid kit in one hand and a small gold key in the other. He looked up at her with a passionate gaze. A position he rarely finds himself in.
"This might hurt. Please try to keep your feet still" and with that, his steely resolve was back in place; clinically detached.
She clamped her hands over the sides of the recliner, bracing for what was to come.
He placed the key into the lock and gently rotated its angle. His eyes never left hers. With a snap, the metal jaws loosened their grip on her ankle. Clarice expelled a shaky whimper, suppressing the real pain, which welled inside of her like a storm in a glasshouse. His hands then moved to open each of the bloody steel jaws, he saw her eyes darken and watched the lines of strain form on her forehead. He lifted her knee and completely removed the trap, leaving her butchered ankle completely exposed. The air hovered and clung to her fresh wounds, stinging the ripped flesh.
"Clarice? Are you alright?" She heard, as well as felt, his loyal concern.
She couldn't speak; she was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would be unable to contain the million screams that were waiting impatiently at the back of her throat. Instead, she nodded, her eyes watery with truth.
He knew she was lying, but found it to be futile to mention or correct such discourtesy. Her eyes followed his hands as he fished through the first-aid kit. Band-aids, tweezers, rolls of bandage tape, safety pins, antiseptics and ointments, pills, syringes...
He must of seen her head shake in disproval.
"Its not morphine, it would be dangerous to administer another dose so close to the last." He placed the bandages on the recliner and moved to show her the bottle in which he drew the syringe from. "Merely slows down the neurons a little" He winked and smiled his reassurance.
"I'm going to need to remove your pants..." His voice seemed to trail off, perhaps in search for permission. He opted to forsake innuendo, now wasn't the time.
Her muscles strained in warning, the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood as straight as soldiers. She felt her face flush hot as a product of the warm wave which crashed over her and somersaulted in her stomach.
Her lack of protest signed the contract of their silent agreement.
He rose to his knees and brought his hands up to the waistband of the silky pyjama bottoms. He looked up to her once more before he peeled them over her thighs and down her legs. She adverted her eyes and held onto a deep breath. Her body ached for air and...
As the silk made its way over her ankles, they both sighed and released their long held breaths. One trembled inwardly, the other outwardly, at the prospect of exposing their deep-seated desires.
"Dr. Lecter" She unconsciously whispered.
"I think we would both agree that 10 years is ample time to highlight your station change, my dear" He spoke quietly as he lifted her legs and swept the pants off the recliner.
Their hearts and minds we're racing against each other in a war of reason. Pain tickled pleasure and sensation overrode fear.
Time stopped.
Conflict began.
Where there was a choice to be made, a battle was sure to follow.
*~*~*~*~*~
I just *had* to leave it there.
Time is a marvellous thing to have on your side. I'm glad I've finally got this chapter up. Reviews are greatly appreciated; it's always a pleasure to hear what's going on inside your head. Oh! And feel the end, for the end is near ;)
*~*~*~*~*~