A/N: Here is chapter eight! Really do hope all of you wonderful readers are
enjoying the story! Don't worry there will be PLENTY of contact with
Clarice and the ever so suave Doctor! Thanks again for all the reviews,
they make us happy!
Disclaimers: Don't own em, it's a sad world. ::falls to the ground:: Pain.
Clarice Starling took a deep, calming breath, smoothed out her black skirt and walked into Director Robert Andersen's office. Her face was set pretty much expressionless, maybe a hint of annoyance or anger because she had already prepared herself for the worst.
"Agent Starling," he had said in that obnoxious superior tone, "Please take a seat. This is director William Miles." He motioned to a tall, thin man who looked to be in his mid 40's and added, "You already know Dave Kessler with the Department of Justice," he again gestured to a young, thin man, grinning at her suggestively from across the room.
Clarice imagined herself walking over to him briskly and smacking him hard on that sleazy face of his.
She forced a small smile onto her face instead.
"Starling, you know why you're here. The whole rave deal."
"Director Anderson, but-" she began.
"But nothing, Starling. You created this whole mess. We specifically ordered you to wait for backup, and you denied it. You cannot do these things, Starling. Not in the FBI."
Clarice gritted her teeth. They had no idea what had happened...
"You did not tell us to wait for backup, sir. Things got out of hand; Adrian wasn't cooperating so we took him down. We weren't about to let him go and loose our only witness we found, after weeks of looking, to this case."
"I don't want to hear it, Starling. You're wasting our time with this. I would have expected you to follow FBI protocol and wait for backup. At least if he got away he would still be alive, for Christ's sake.....and you'd still have your witness." Andersen turned his chair around to face Dave Kessler.
Kessler looked over to Clarice and paused for a moment before he began to speak.
"You're lucky we're taking care of the media for this mess. The kids that attended that rave are leaking information to all the tabloids and newspapers. We can't afford to let you stay on this case anymore, Starling. It's too much of a risk to take if something goes wrong again. We can't afford you messing up anymore."
Did they think Clarice had not memorized the FBI protocol booklet inside and out like she had for the past twelve years? They were making all of this up; it was only supported by vague arguments. Of course she had no one to complain to, these men were the tops of the totem pole at the FBI. It was up to those bastards if they wanted to pin this whole thing on her because they had it in for her...
"This is bullshit...." Clarice muttered as she flicked her eyes to every man in the room.
"I'm sorry, Agent Starling," Director Anderson lied. "There's nothing we can do. We're dismissing you from this case. You're also suspended until further notice."
Clarice grinded down on her teeth hard. This was the second case she'd been kicked from in a year. And suspended? For what? She couldn't believe it...it wasn't her fault. All the anger she felt she kept bottled up inside her head, hoping and praying that it wouldn't seep through while she was still inside this office. To make things worse was the last thing she wanted to do.
As Clarice began to stand, wanting to leave the office before her emotions exploded and ricocheted off the walls, she heard Director Anderson's cold voice sound behind her.
"You know, Starling, you used to be an agent with true potential. I remember a time we would have jumped at a chance to put you on a case."
Clarice stopped at the doorway, her eyes narrowed and he began to speak again.
"What happened to you, Starling? Ever since the Hannibal Lecter case, you've been different...."
A pang of fire flashed in Clarice's chest at the mention of this.
"It's that thing Lecter does with people. Can you imagine? Especially you, Starling. You grew so close to him...dangerously close, I'd say.." A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth and there was a light general snickering that filled the room.
Closing her eyes, trying to contain her temper, Clarice took a deep breath. They were trying to provoke her, they were trying to get her to go completely berserk and that way they could have even more of an excuse to suspend her from duty. She wasn't going to give in.
"Not denying it, are we, Clarice?"
Clarice? No one in the FBI had ever called her Clarice before. It was always 'Starling' or 'Agent Starling.' The reason they never called anyone by their first names was because it was a matter of respect and keeping everything to a strictly professional standard. It struck a personal chord. How dare he think he could call her by her given name?
"Everyone knows you must have a hidden attraction for Hannibal Lecter. It's primal, isn't it? All those hours you spent with him....and God only knows what happened that night at the lake house. You allowed yourself to be twisted by his ways...probably because it was the only excitement in your life since your father died? "
Clarice gritted her teeth...she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break down.
"You would let a cannibalistic killer into your life, let him speak deeply with you, let him inside your head...let him touch you, Clarice? All out of angst? Or do you really think you made a connection with him? If that's what you thought, I don't know why we even let you into the FBI in the first place."
Her mind was screaming now, it was bursting with pain and suffering. How they were acting was sick, and it was breaking every rule the FBI had ever laid down. Did they have no shame? No feeling whatsoever? Yet he still wouldn't give up until she fought back. It was like a school bully on some playground...the child was curled up, whimpering, in a ball..kicking her over and over again until she stood up, dusted off and threw a punch. Well, if that's what they wanted....she was going to make damn sure they didn't get it.
Director Anderson was getting smugger after every cruel word that dripped from his mouth. He actually enjoyed seeing Clarice in pain.
"You would let him fuck you, wouldn't you, Clarice? If he wanted it? I never thought I'd see the day when an agent would sleep with a most- wanted killer. What kind of whor-" But he was cut off short as Clarice muttered something under her breath.
"What?" he demanded.
Clarice turned fully around to face him. Her eyes burned with the scars and pain the FBI had inflicted on her over the years. A sadness that wasn't imaginable traced her eyes as well as her face. It should have made him realize what he had done, but it didn't. He glared back.
"Motherfucker...." Clarice muttered through clenched teeth.
Director Anderson's eyes grew wide and suddenly the room seemed much more silent.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Her voice was deathly quiet.
"You know very well who I- -"
But he was cut off as Clarice's voice cut through his like a steel knife.
"Why the hell do you do this to me? All of you," she eyed them all one by one, hatred glowing red beneath her beautiful hazel eyes, "For years, I've done the best I can. I've tried to figure out why you treat me this way when I've poured, literally, my blood, my sweat and many, many tears for you," she stopped and gritted down on her teeth, feeling tears in her eyes again. It just made her more determined to show them what they had done.
She held up her arm, and rolled back her sleeve. Sickening scars blazed deep into the skin on her wrist from the mirror and they still hadn't fully healed. There was no doubt the motive and reason behind these cuts, it was painfully obvious. She looked back to them again. "That's not half the damaged you've caused. Do you know what I gave up for this? And all you could do was steal my pride...steal my life. Do you see what I've been hiding? Do you see what you've done? I'm only this way because of what you have made me. It's like.....I'm on the outside, looking in, and I can see right through you. I can see your true colors.....and you're ugly, just like me. You just love to feed off rumors, don't you? You'd do anything to hurt me, just because I was treated....differently....by Hannibal Lecter? ....You make me sick......And you know what?" She paused and shook her head and smiled a small, painful smile. It wasn't so much that she really wanted to smile, as she wanted something to keep the tears from falling and pain from bursting. "I don't give a fuck anymore. You don't need to bother. I never really had a voice to protest... and I really do know whom--or better, what, you are. You're all fucking conceded assholes.....and I've had enough. I tried hard to make you proud, I'll never be good enough for you. I'm sorry I can't be fucking perfect. It's for all this...I give up trying." Clarice reached for her badge and gun that was fastened to her hip, and flung them with a silent anger to the table where they slid to a stop before Director Andersen. "I fucking quit. I can't take this anymore. I'm never, ever, coming back. So don't waste your precious breath. You won't ever have to look at my face again." She looked them all over once more before stepping to the threshold of the door and looking back briefly. "So what am I to you, if I can't be broken? You'll all get yours eventually. And I hope I'm there." With that she stepped out and down the hallway, letting the tears fall freely and not even bothering to wipe them away. Walking briskly back down the hallway, she thought, they'd get theirs eventually...they'd know how she felt. She'd get them back, she'd make them feel the torture...someday.
Disclaimers: Don't own em, it's a sad world. ::falls to the ground:: Pain.
Clarice Starling took a deep, calming breath, smoothed out her black skirt and walked into Director Robert Andersen's office. Her face was set pretty much expressionless, maybe a hint of annoyance or anger because she had already prepared herself for the worst.
"Agent Starling," he had said in that obnoxious superior tone, "Please take a seat. This is director William Miles." He motioned to a tall, thin man who looked to be in his mid 40's and added, "You already know Dave Kessler with the Department of Justice," he again gestured to a young, thin man, grinning at her suggestively from across the room.
Clarice imagined herself walking over to him briskly and smacking him hard on that sleazy face of his.
She forced a small smile onto her face instead.
"Starling, you know why you're here. The whole rave deal."
"Director Anderson, but-" she began.
"But nothing, Starling. You created this whole mess. We specifically ordered you to wait for backup, and you denied it. You cannot do these things, Starling. Not in the FBI."
Clarice gritted her teeth. They had no idea what had happened...
"You did not tell us to wait for backup, sir. Things got out of hand; Adrian wasn't cooperating so we took him down. We weren't about to let him go and loose our only witness we found, after weeks of looking, to this case."
"I don't want to hear it, Starling. You're wasting our time with this. I would have expected you to follow FBI protocol and wait for backup. At least if he got away he would still be alive, for Christ's sake.....and you'd still have your witness." Andersen turned his chair around to face Dave Kessler.
Kessler looked over to Clarice and paused for a moment before he began to speak.
"You're lucky we're taking care of the media for this mess. The kids that attended that rave are leaking information to all the tabloids and newspapers. We can't afford to let you stay on this case anymore, Starling. It's too much of a risk to take if something goes wrong again. We can't afford you messing up anymore."
Did they think Clarice had not memorized the FBI protocol booklet inside and out like she had for the past twelve years? They were making all of this up; it was only supported by vague arguments. Of course she had no one to complain to, these men were the tops of the totem pole at the FBI. It was up to those bastards if they wanted to pin this whole thing on her because they had it in for her...
"This is bullshit...." Clarice muttered as she flicked her eyes to every man in the room.
"I'm sorry, Agent Starling," Director Anderson lied. "There's nothing we can do. We're dismissing you from this case. You're also suspended until further notice."
Clarice grinded down on her teeth hard. This was the second case she'd been kicked from in a year. And suspended? For what? She couldn't believe it...it wasn't her fault. All the anger she felt she kept bottled up inside her head, hoping and praying that it wouldn't seep through while she was still inside this office. To make things worse was the last thing she wanted to do.
As Clarice began to stand, wanting to leave the office before her emotions exploded and ricocheted off the walls, she heard Director Anderson's cold voice sound behind her.
"You know, Starling, you used to be an agent with true potential. I remember a time we would have jumped at a chance to put you on a case."
Clarice stopped at the doorway, her eyes narrowed and he began to speak again.
"What happened to you, Starling? Ever since the Hannibal Lecter case, you've been different...."
A pang of fire flashed in Clarice's chest at the mention of this.
"It's that thing Lecter does with people. Can you imagine? Especially you, Starling. You grew so close to him...dangerously close, I'd say.." A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth and there was a light general snickering that filled the room.
Closing her eyes, trying to contain her temper, Clarice took a deep breath. They were trying to provoke her, they were trying to get her to go completely berserk and that way they could have even more of an excuse to suspend her from duty. She wasn't going to give in.
"Not denying it, are we, Clarice?"
Clarice? No one in the FBI had ever called her Clarice before. It was always 'Starling' or 'Agent Starling.' The reason they never called anyone by their first names was because it was a matter of respect and keeping everything to a strictly professional standard. It struck a personal chord. How dare he think he could call her by her given name?
"Everyone knows you must have a hidden attraction for Hannibal Lecter. It's primal, isn't it? All those hours you spent with him....and God only knows what happened that night at the lake house. You allowed yourself to be twisted by his ways...probably because it was the only excitement in your life since your father died? "
Clarice gritted her teeth...she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break down.
"You would let a cannibalistic killer into your life, let him speak deeply with you, let him inside your head...let him touch you, Clarice? All out of angst? Or do you really think you made a connection with him? If that's what you thought, I don't know why we even let you into the FBI in the first place."
Her mind was screaming now, it was bursting with pain and suffering. How they were acting was sick, and it was breaking every rule the FBI had ever laid down. Did they have no shame? No feeling whatsoever? Yet he still wouldn't give up until she fought back. It was like a school bully on some playground...the child was curled up, whimpering, in a ball..kicking her over and over again until she stood up, dusted off and threw a punch. Well, if that's what they wanted....she was going to make damn sure they didn't get it.
Director Anderson was getting smugger after every cruel word that dripped from his mouth. He actually enjoyed seeing Clarice in pain.
"You would let him fuck you, wouldn't you, Clarice? If he wanted it? I never thought I'd see the day when an agent would sleep with a most- wanted killer. What kind of whor-" But he was cut off short as Clarice muttered something under her breath.
"What?" he demanded.
Clarice turned fully around to face him. Her eyes burned with the scars and pain the FBI had inflicted on her over the years. A sadness that wasn't imaginable traced her eyes as well as her face. It should have made him realize what he had done, but it didn't. He glared back.
"Motherfucker...." Clarice muttered through clenched teeth.
Director Anderson's eyes grew wide and suddenly the room seemed much more silent.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Her voice was deathly quiet.
"You know very well who I- -"
But he was cut off as Clarice's voice cut through his like a steel knife.
"Why the hell do you do this to me? All of you," she eyed them all one by one, hatred glowing red beneath her beautiful hazel eyes, "For years, I've done the best I can. I've tried to figure out why you treat me this way when I've poured, literally, my blood, my sweat and many, many tears for you," she stopped and gritted down on her teeth, feeling tears in her eyes again. It just made her more determined to show them what they had done.
She held up her arm, and rolled back her sleeve. Sickening scars blazed deep into the skin on her wrist from the mirror and they still hadn't fully healed. There was no doubt the motive and reason behind these cuts, it was painfully obvious. She looked back to them again. "That's not half the damaged you've caused. Do you know what I gave up for this? And all you could do was steal my pride...steal my life. Do you see what I've been hiding? Do you see what you've done? I'm only this way because of what you have made me. It's like.....I'm on the outside, looking in, and I can see right through you. I can see your true colors.....and you're ugly, just like me. You just love to feed off rumors, don't you? You'd do anything to hurt me, just because I was treated....differently....by Hannibal Lecter? ....You make me sick......And you know what?" She paused and shook her head and smiled a small, painful smile. It wasn't so much that she really wanted to smile, as she wanted something to keep the tears from falling and pain from bursting. "I don't give a fuck anymore. You don't need to bother. I never really had a voice to protest... and I really do know whom--or better, what, you are. You're all fucking conceded assholes.....and I've had enough. I tried hard to make you proud, I'll never be good enough for you. I'm sorry I can't be fucking perfect. It's for all this...I give up trying." Clarice reached for her badge and gun that was fastened to her hip, and flung them with a silent anger to the table where they slid to a stop before Director Andersen. "I fucking quit. I can't take this anymore. I'm never, ever, coming back. So don't waste your precious breath. You won't ever have to look at my face again." She looked them all over once more before stepping to the threshold of the door and looking back briefly. "So what am I to you, if I can't be broken? You'll all get yours eventually. And I hope I'm there." With that she stepped out and down the hallway, letting the tears fall freely and not even bothering to wipe them away. Walking briskly back down the hallway, she thought, they'd get theirs eventually...they'd know how she felt. She'd get them back, she'd make them feel the torture...someday.