'At the End of the Game'
Part Fifteen: Purgatory
A ciascin' alma presa e gentil lore
"To every captive soul and noble heart"
(- The faithful followers of love)
When battles are described, one generally pictures enemies at combat, a bloody massacre of souls lost to the irony of idealistic power. There are battles of right, land, freedom and often love. But the most frightening battle any human has to face is waging war against self. Tearing apart character in the ultimate hunt for truth, in the lifelong search for peace of mind. There aren't many who have won that battle.
Now, they were both fighting on the battlefield.
When their eyes met, pools of conflict met in a haze. It was the declaration of a war neither could fight for the other.
Clarice sat before him, all silk and panties, and waited for him to move, to breathe. He wore an armour of absolute stealth, like no man she had met. He was no more a monster than her, the only difference being she held a warrant to take lives. That warrant swept murder under the long-kept rug of justice, the rug she had spent her life protecting and upholding.
Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. The motto maintained by the cowards who had betrayed and cheated her. How ironic.
"Hannibal..." She tested its flow from her lips. It came easier than she would ever like to confess.
His eyes shut as he heard her address *him* for the first time. He too was unlikely to admit just how much he was affected by that one word. He inhaled again deeply, moving up her leg with the syringe. His hand traced the span of her calf, over her knee and stoped mid-thigh where he found a visible vein.
Her mind was elsewhere when the needle entered her; he'd done a first-rate job of distracting her.
After injecting the fluid, he removed the syringe and moved back down toward her ankle. He coated a cloth with a clear antiseptic and began his treatment on her injury. His hand retracted as he heard her groan, but soon returned to cleaning the wound; the sooner it was over the better. The skin at her ankle was flapping off the bone, he shuddered as he considered her pain, and then stiffened in shock. The last time he had empathised with pain was when Mischa had...He shook his head, the doors of his memory palace were spontaneously opening. She had that affect on him.
Several minutes saw Clarice fall into a relaxed state. She could feel him working on her ankle, but there was an absence of pain, she felt numb. She knew that sensation well. Over the past months she had grown a strong bond with her bottles of Vodka, giving the bourbon a rest. She swore she wasn't an alcoholic, there's too much weakness associated with that term, but others might argue otherwise. Nothing else soothed her like the drink, well nothing other than when he was near...
When she looked down again he was sewing together her flesh above and around her ankle. Trepidation crawled through her mind and sent a jolt of electricity along her spine as the image of Jame Gumb threatened to appear. Of all the deranged criminals she had tackled, he was her first, and in saying that, would be the last to leave her mind.
Dr. Lecter felt her stiffen.
" How do you feel Clarice?" She wasn't listening as he spoke.
"Hmm?" Her thoughts were jumping in disconnected waves.
"Watching me, how does that make you feel?" His eyes bore into hers and held them in a direct line, he forbid her from being dishonest with him.
She stumbled at first, trying to think of an appropriate answer, but soon found the words floating out of her mouth abandoning their pre-structured sentences.
" I...uh...I feel vulnerable. But...safe too." He smiled. He was happy with her answer.
Beats of silence penetrated into oblivion before he spoke. He loved it when he held her thoughts, her anxiety and amusement. One might say he was inclined to abuse his power over her, but she didn't seem to mind.
"Don't you think you should fear your current predicament?" His icy tone had returned. So quickly he could change the pace of their conversations. The sudden show of authority made her tremble, but not from the fear he suggested. No. It was never from fear.
"Fear? You've never given me a reason to be frightened." Another truth. They we both surprised at how quickly she was able to reply.
He gave no response as he shifted her ankle off the recliner to give him more freedom of movement as he wrapped a clear sticky tape around, and over her stitches. She wished she could read him like he could her but his face was blank, completely deadpan. That's it! She had to get a rise out of him. Something was better than nothing.
"Why are you doing this? And don't lie to me, or be evasive, or answer my God damned question with another question." She sat up straighter in the chair as she felt the flames of her fury ignite. At that moment, when as she disturbed the monster lurking within him, her life was the last thing on her mind.
His jaw clenched in controlled rage. She had tried to predict his reaction. Nothing aggravated him more.
"I've torn off faces for less, Agent Starling." He moved swiftly from the floor, finishing his administrations on her ankle, and lingered hauntingly above her. "Like the nurse, back in Baltimore, and she wasn't even being rude." She hadn't seen him like this before. It intimidated her, but did not frighten her.
"Well, what are you waiting for?"
Her audacity shocked the both of them, knocking Dr. Lecter completely off his grounding. They were both stomping on foreign territory, neither wanting nor willing to step back behind the line.
In an instant he was before her, dangerously close, the silver harpy grazing the side of her neck. Pushing Hannibal Lecter out of his control limits was unwise. He could be as unpredictable as her. She felt the sharp blade pierce her skin as she inhaled deeply. She saw no displeasure on his face as she winced.
His hand reached down and grasped the front of her night top, yanking her closely toward him. She groaned as he forced her weight onto the recently dressed injury. He pulled tighter and soon he had her standing before him, they were of similar height.
"I think you've forgotten who's in charge of this little game, Clarice." His voice was challenging, but hardly threatening. She turned her head away from his demanding attention, thankful that the silk shirt was long enough to cover the tops of her thighs.
"So Brave, my little Clarice. Something Daddy taught you no doubt"
That hit home. His words pierced her with target precision. Her head snapped back, her icy glare almost taming the fire in his.
"My. My. What do you think he'd say if he could see you now? Do you think he'd be happy? Would he be proud? Seeing his little girl continue her self-destructive affair with the decaying bureau? Living the life that he couldn't and ignoring her own screams for help..."
That hurt bad. Her mind clicked over in desperate attempt to get him back.
When she spoke she never moved away from him. She didn't have to, her words burned him more than her revulsion could.
"No less proud than Mischa would be of you"
Dr. Lecter was utterly stunned. Her words pricked at his heart, his usual expressionless demeanour was unconsciously set aside. Usually his highly tuned perception offered moments of pre-mediation and calculation, but when he was dealing with matters of Clarice Starling, he often found himself at a loss for thought and plan. Now was no exception.
She watched as his eyes revolved into different shades of maroon. His forehead tightened and several lines formed. She had shot him back, exchanged his verbal bullets with her own.
She felt his grasp weaken at her top and watched as his eyes dropped to the floor. The sight before her reminded her of Memphis, his watery eyes locked onto hers after she had told him about the lambs...
These critical moments gave birth to realisation. Both stood straight, inches apart, weakened by the other's presence.
" And so it comes to this" He butchered a silence neither knew existed.
In her eyes he saw an apology, a silent request for forgiveness, but he was not hunting for an admission of guilt. In fact, he hadn't realised that she'd known about Mischa, she'd never mentioned it before. His sister's name sounding from her lips was not wounding, rather he found peace in it. Apparently she knew more of him than she was willing to let on. She must of read it on a profile somewhere...
" Dr. Lecter, I shouldn't have..."
His head jerked back upward, seemingly transforming back to his preferred self. He cut her off and raised a finger to her lips to silence her.
" No, Clarice. After all, it *is* quid pro quo." His voice was full, but not as strong as she had grown accustomed to. He wasn't angry. He couldn't hate her for the truth, it only furthered his awe. No one else in the world would say that to him, not even, not in a thousand years.
Strangely enough, she felt guilty. Even after all of the terrible truths he had revealed to her about herself and her father, she still regretted her statement, it felt cheap.
" I think we've drawn out this game far too long, my dear"
"I've never considered this to be a game, Dr.Lecter"
"Back to formalities are we? Well *Agent Starling*, I suppose this game is far more metaphorical...if only you would see."
She said nothing; she could hardly keep his gaze. Something burning inside her stomach told her that the conversation to come would be something she couldn't manage, something that would draw out the part of her that was kept locked deep inside her heart.
"What will you do now, Clarice? Slay the monster and return to your keeper?" They were still mere inches apart, his hand curled around to rest around her hips "Or perhaps something else hmm? Surely you are aware of your choices" He watched as she shivered under this touch.
Ten years ago she had stood before his cell, exchanging and confronting truths, which ultimately led to his freedom. Now he was present to return the favour, only he didn't hold the key to her prison, as much as he would love to release her, she was the only one capable of testing her wings. He would not, could not do that for her. The young, vulnerably ambitious agent he'd met a decade ago had grown into a cynical and refined stoic. Time and the Bureau had taken the bloom out of her rose and the lambs were now louder than ever. Like his sister, he wanted to save her, protect her, he only hoped that his second love would not share the same fate as the first.
He stepped closer, noting her lack of defence, and dropped his forehead to hers. Their skin collided and crackled with heat. Heavy notes hung off their hearts, this was purgatory, if she moved her hands she could touch heaven, but at the same time, the flames of hell were licking at her feet.
"This will be my last visit" They both regretted the truth of the statement.
Silent tears crept down her cheeks as her head spun in anguish. Her life was hanging off the proverbial edge, there was nothing more to live for in this life other than her fathers plight, but was she willing to die for the love of a monster? Would she sentence herself to heaven, with the angels that ultimately destroyed her and her father, or to hell to live with the only man who truly knew her, the only man she wanted to know her?
"Clarice" He moved his left hand to rest behind her neck as he angled her face toward his own. In her eyes he found complete confusion, the battle was taking place.
"Whatever you do, don't lie to yourself. Treachery is the closest sin to hell"
His words pushed her over the edge and she watched herself fall into an unknown abyss. Without further thought she brought both of her arms up and over his shoulders and leant into his chest. There was peace. They both shut their eyes as a sense of harmony danced within them, neither was familiar with the emotion.
And then, without his encouragement, Clarice finally took the step she had practised in her head for years. She lifted her chin and brushed her lips against Hannibal Lecter's. At first he was shocked, and remained still, barely capable of watching his little bird further the kiss. But soon, as he adjusted to her warmth, and let go of his rationality, he was responding in full passion, opening her mouth as he caressed her tongue with his own. His heart leaped with joy when he felt the rumble of a moan pass from her body through to his. He moved his hands up her hips and over her sides, pulling her closer to him. They remained like that for quite awhile, time was insignificant, at last their hopes were aligned, considering how long it would last though was a thought neither wished to provoke.
Eventually, with much regret, he pulled away from her to take a deep breath and find her eyes. What he saw was Clarice Starling, the woman, with betraying tears assaulting her cheeks. He didn't know whether to howl his joy or scream in agony.
Finally his butterfly had grown her wings, but where she was about to fly was out of his control. In their silence, she had made her decision; she would take the only path that her mind and heart would agree on. Treachery? Perhaps she was destined to hell, but it was hard to tell whom she had betrayed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
At first I was going to finish here, and leave you all hanging for the rest of your fiction-reading lives...but I've decided to post an epilogue... See? I can be nice...or maybe you wont find it an act of kindness at all. LOL! Have I teased enough? We'll soon see.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Part Fifteen: Purgatory
A ciascin' alma presa e gentil lore
"To every captive soul and noble heart"
(- The faithful followers of love)
When battles are described, one generally pictures enemies at combat, a bloody massacre of souls lost to the irony of idealistic power. There are battles of right, land, freedom and often love. But the most frightening battle any human has to face is waging war against self. Tearing apart character in the ultimate hunt for truth, in the lifelong search for peace of mind. There aren't many who have won that battle.
Now, they were both fighting on the battlefield.
When their eyes met, pools of conflict met in a haze. It was the declaration of a war neither could fight for the other.
Clarice sat before him, all silk and panties, and waited for him to move, to breathe. He wore an armour of absolute stealth, like no man she had met. He was no more a monster than her, the only difference being she held a warrant to take lives. That warrant swept murder under the long-kept rug of justice, the rug she had spent her life protecting and upholding.
Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. The motto maintained by the cowards who had betrayed and cheated her. How ironic.
"Hannibal..." She tested its flow from her lips. It came easier than she would ever like to confess.
His eyes shut as he heard her address *him* for the first time. He too was unlikely to admit just how much he was affected by that one word. He inhaled again deeply, moving up her leg with the syringe. His hand traced the span of her calf, over her knee and stoped mid-thigh where he found a visible vein.
Her mind was elsewhere when the needle entered her; he'd done a first-rate job of distracting her.
After injecting the fluid, he removed the syringe and moved back down toward her ankle. He coated a cloth with a clear antiseptic and began his treatment on her injury. His hand retracted as he heard her groan, but soon returned to cleaning the wound; the sooner it was over the better. The skin at her ankle was flapping off the bone, he shuddered as he considered her pain, and then stiffened in shock. The last time he had empathised with pain was when Mischa had...He shook his head, the doors of his memory palace were spontaneously opening. She had that affect on him.
Several minutes saw Clarice fall into a relaxed state. She could feel him working on her ankle, but there was an absence of pain, she felt numb. She knew that sensation well. Over the past months she had grown a strong bond with her bottles of Vodka, giving the bourbon a rest. She swore she wasn't an alcoholic, there's too much weakness associated with that term, but others might argue otherwise. Nothing else soothed her like the drink, well nothing other than when he was near...
When she looked down again he was sewing together her flesh above and around her ankle. Trepidation crawled through her mind and sent a jolt of electricity along her spine as the image of Jame Gumb threatened to appear. Of all the deranged criminals she had tackled, he was her first, and in saying that, would be the last to leave her mind.
Dr. Lecter felt her stiffen.
" How do you feel Clarice?" She wasn't listening as he spoke.
"Hmm?" Her thoughts were jumping in disconnected waves.
"Watching me, how does that make you feel?" His eyes bore into hers and held them in a direct line, he forbid her from being dishonest with him.
She stumbled at first, trying to think of an appropriate answer, but soon found the words floating out of her mouth abandoning their pre-structured sentences.
" I...uh...I feel vulnerable. But...safe too." He smiled. He was happy with her answer.
Beats of silence penetrated into oblivion before he spoke. He loved it when he held her thoughts, her anxiety and amusement. One might say he was inclined to abuse his power over her, but she didn't seem to mind.
"Don't you think you should fear your current predicament?" His icy tone had returned. So quickly he could change the pace of their conversations. The sudden show of authority made her tremble, but not from the fear he suggested. No. It was never from fear.
"Fear? You've never given me a reason to be frightened." Another truth. They we both surprised at how quickly she was able to reply.
He gave no response as he shifted her ankle off the recliner to give him more freedom of movement as he wrapped a clear sticky tape around, and over her stitches. She wished she could read him like he could her but his face was blank, completely deadpan. That's it! She had to get a rise out of him. Something was better than nothing.
"Why are you doing this? And don't lie to me, or be evasive, or answer my God damned question with another question." She sat up straighter in the chair as she felt the flames of her fury ignite. At that moment, when as she disturbed the monster lurking within him, her life was the last thing on her mind.
His jaw clenched in controlled rage. She had tried to predict his reaction. Nothing aggravated him more.
"I've torn off faces for less, Agent Starling." He moved swiftly from the floor, finishing his administrations on her ankle, and lingered hauntingly above her. "Like the nurse, back in Baltimore, and she wasn't even being rude." She hadn't seen him like this before. It intimidated her, but did not frighten her.
"Well, what are you waiting for?"
Her audacity shocked the both of them, knocking Dr. Lecter completely off his grounding. They were both stomping on foreign territory, neither wanting nor willing to step back behind the line.
In an instant he was before her, dangerously close, the silver harpy grazing the side of her neck. Pushing Hannibal Lecter out of his control limits was unwise. He could be as unpredictable as her. She felt the sharp blade pierce her skin as she inhaled deeply. She saw no displeasure on his face as she winced.
His hand reached down and grasped the front of her night top, yanking her closely toward him. She groaned as he forced her weight onto the recently dressed injury. He pulled tighter and soon he had her standing before him, they were of similar height.
"I think you've forgotten who's in charge of this little game, Clarice." His voice was challenging, but hardly threatening. She turned her head away from his demanding attention, thankful that the silk shirt was long enough to cover the tops of her thighs.
"So Brave, my little Clarice. Something Daddy taught you no doubt"
That hit home. His words pierced her with target precision. Her head snapped back, her icy glare almost taming the fire in his.
"My. My. What do you think he'd say if he could see you now? Do you think he'd be happy? Would he be proud? Seeing his little girl continue her self-destructive affair with the decaying bureau? Living the life that he couldn't and ignoring her own screams for help..."
That hurt bad. Her mind clicked over in desperate attempt to get him back.
When she spoke she never moved away from him. She didn't have to, her words burned him more than her revulsion could.
"No less proud than Mischa would be of you"
Dr. Lecter was utterly stunned. Her words pricked at his heart, his usual expressionless demeanour was unconsciously set aside. Usually his highly tuned perception offered moments of pre-mediation and calculation, but when he was dealing with matters of Clarice Starling, he often found himself at a loss for thought and plan. Now was no exception.
She watched as his eyes revolved into different shades of maroon. His forehead tightened and several lines formed. She had shot him back, exchanged his verbal bullets with her own.
She felt his grasp weaken at her top and watched as his eyes dropped to the floor. The sight before her reminded her of Memphis, his watery eyes locked onto hers after she had told him about the lambs...
These critical moments gave birth to realisation. Both stood straight, inches apart, weakened by the other's presence.
" And so it comes to this" He butchered a silence neither knew existed.
In her eyes he saw an apology, a silent request for forgiveness, but he was not hunting for an admission of guilt. In fact, he hadn't realised that she'd known about Mischa, she'd never mentioned it before. His sister's name sounding from her lips was not wounding, rather he found peace in it. Apparently she knew more of him than she was willing to let on. She must of read it on a profile somewhere...
" Dr. Lecter, I shouldn't have..."
His head jerked back upward, seemingly transforming back to his preferred self. He cut her off and raised a finger to her lips to silence her.
" No, Clarice. After all, it *is* quid pro quo." His voice was full, but not as strong as she had grown accustomed to. He wasn't angry. He couldn't hate her for the truth, it only furthered his awe. No one else in the world would say that to him, not even, not in a thousand years.
Strangely enough, she felt guilty. Even after all of the terrible truths he had revealed to her about herself and her father, she still regretted her statement, it felt cheap.
" I think we've drawn out this game far too long, my dear"
"I've never considered this to be a game, Dr.Lecter"
"Back to formalities are we? Well *Agent Starling*, I suppose this game is far more metaphorical...if only you would see."
She said nothing; she could hardly keep his gaze. Something burning inside her stomach told her that the conversation to come would be something she couldn't manage, something that would draw out the part of her that was kept locked deep inside her heart.
"What will you do now, Clarice? Slay the monster and return to your keeper?" They were still mere inches apart, his hand curled around to rest around her hips "Or perhaps something else hmm? Surely you are aware of your choices" He watched as she shivered under this touch.
Ten years ago she had stood before his cell, exchanging and confronting truths, which ultimately led to his freedom. Now he was present to return the favour, only he didn't hold the key to her prison, as much as he would love to release her, she was the only one capable of testing her wings. He would not, could not do that for her. The young, vulnerably ambitious agent he'd met a decade ago had grown into a cynical and refined stoic. Time and the Bureau had taken the bloom out of her rose and the lambs were now louder than ever. Like his sister, he wanted to save her, protect her, he only hoped that his second love would not share the same fate as the first.
He stepped closer, noting her lack of defence, and dropped his forehead to hers. Their skin collided and crackled with heat. Heavy notes hung off their hearts, this was purgatory, if she moved her hands she could touch heaven, but at the same time, the flames of hell were licking at her feet.
"This will be my last visit" They both regretted the truth of the statement.
Silent tears crept down her cheeks as her head spun in anguish. Her life was hanging off the proverbial edge, there was nothing more to live for in this life other than her fathers plight, but was she willing to die for the love of a monster? Would she sentence herself to heaven, with the angels that ultimately destroyed her and her father, or to hell to live with the only man who truly knew her, the only man she wanted to know her?
"Clarice" He moved his left hand to rest behind her neck as he angled her face toward his own. In her eyes he found complete confusion, the battle was taking place.
"Whatever you do, don't lie to yourself. Treachery is the closest sin to hell"
His words pushed her over the edge and she watched herself fall into an unknown abyss. Without further thought she brought both of her arms up and over his shoulders and leant into his chest. There was peace. They both shut their eyes as a sense of harmony danced within them, neither was familiar with the emotion.
And then, without his encouragement, Clarice finally took the step she had practised in her head for years. She lifted her chin and brushed her lips against Hannibal Lecter's. At first he was shocked, and remained still, barely capable of watching his little bird further the kiss. But soon, as he adjusted to her warmth, and let go of his rationality, he was responding in full passion, opening her mouth as he caressed her tongue with his own. His heart leaped with joy when he felt the rumble of a moan pass from her body through to his. He moved his hands up her hips and over her sides, pulling her closer to him. They remained like that for quite awhile, time was insignificant, at last their hopes were aligned, considering how long it would last though was a thought neither wished to provoke.
Eventually, with much regret, he pulled away from her to take a deep breath and find her eyes. What he saw was Clarice Starling, the woman, with betraying tears assaulting her cheeks. He didn't know whether to howl his joy or scream in agony.
Finally his butterfly had grown her wings, but where she was about to fly was out of his control. In their silence, she had made her decision; she would take the only path that her mind and heart would agree on. Treachery? Perhaps she was destined to hell, but it was hard to tell whom she had betrayed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
At first I was going to finish here, and leave you all hanging for the rest of your fiction-reading lives...but I've decided to post an epilogue... See? I can be nice...or maybe you wont find it an act of kindness at all. LOL! Have I teased enough? We'll soon see.
*~*~*~*~*~*~