AN/ Sorry this chapter is so short, but chapter 3 is coming up shortly. Incidentally - and this has nothing to do with the story - I read in the paper recently about two Girl Scouts who tried their luck selling cookies to Anthony Hopkins in LA. They knocked on his door, and when he answered, they both stared at him, starstruck. Then one of the girls summoned up her courage. Offering the box to him, she said brightly "Buy some Girl Scout cookies? They're made with real Girl Scouts." Her friend elbowed her in the ribs, clamped her hand over her mouth and practically dragged her off the front porch, but not until they'd sold him some cookies AND gotten autographs. Well, it made me laugh. *sighs* Some people have all the luck.
PS: Starling's/Lecter's inner thoughts are *starred* along with the odd word or two that shoulda been in italics.
Disclaimer: As in chapter 1, I don't own 'em, I'm just borrowing 'em for a bit. And we're having a lot of fun :)
Chapter Two: Thinkin' About Hannibalism...
Clarice Starling sits alone at home, staring at the telephone. He has been gone almost all day. Her sobriety has returned along with the cold light of day. Last night seems like a dream, a vision brought on by too much cheap alcohol. But she knows he was here. His scent lingers in the air. She stares at the phone. Is she having second thoughts?
*Clarice, girl, you are in the goop. Right up to your eyeballs. The personal goop-making machine's been putting in some overtime, wouldn't you agree? Shoulda turned him in hours ago. Honey, you are in trouble. God only knows what he's planning.*
Starling shook her head in confusion. Her conscience, the voice of reason (who sounded rather like Ardelia) was telling her to exercise her phone-finger and dial 911 pronto. But another voice - a compelling voice - was telling her the opposite.
*He's the only person who's bothered to check on you for months now. Even that shrink backed off. Ardelia hasn't visited for ages. He cares for you, girl. Open your eyes. Wake up and smell the bacon. Who else ever cared? Crawford? Jack Shit, that man. Just wanted to get in your panties. Daddy? Daddy's dead and cold in the ground now, little Starling. So's Brigham, and so many others. Why should you feed him to the dogs? Because he cares?*
Clarice sighed. To hand him in, or not to hand him in? That was the toughest question she'd ever had to face.
*You think they'll have you back? That you'll be reinstated, accepted? Think again, Sugar. They don't want to know you. You're dangerous, unclean. Bride of Frankenstein, for godsakes. They wouldn't have you back if you handed him over gift wrapped with a pretty bow. No chance. So why not wait and see what he's got to offer, hmm?*
Starling rose. "Fuck it" she snapped, turning and walking away from the phone. She would not betray his trust again. She was glad. She had made her choice, for good or ill.
It was late in the afternoon when Clarice heard the rumble of a station wagon in her drive. She went to investigate. It was big, blue and battered. The driver's door opened and Dr Lecter emerged, looking odd in faded jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap. He smiled when he saw her.
"I trust you've had good day, Clarice?" He looked around, up at the sky and grinned cheerfully. "Lovely out here, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, he hauled several bulging shopping-bags out of his car and carried them inside. Clarice stared after him. Comments on the weather were most definitely un-Lecterlike, any day of the week. Vaguely astonished, she noticed that he was whistling merrily, and looking remarkably like the cat that's just got the cream. Obviously *he* was having a good day.
She met him in the hallway. "Dr Lecter, what is all this?"
"I thought I'd do some shopping. No, don't look like that. You see, I can't cook you an anywhere decent meal with the previous contents of your kitchen."
"And here was I, thinking you could make a meal from *anything*"
Dr Lecter chose to ignore that, and gestured to the groceries. "Real food." He smiled. "I'm cooking you dinner, Clarice. I think we'll dine in about an hour and a half. Why don't you go upstairs and have a relaxing bath, change into something more suitable..." It was almost a purr.
"Dr Lecter, if this is going to be anything like -" She stopped.
Lecter's eyes glittered with amusement. He leant closer until his lips brushed her ear and whispered "it's a surprise. Indulge me, Clarice. Please?"
Privately cursing her suddenly shaky legs, Starling realised that she'd effectively been banished upstairs for the next hour or so. She slowly climbed the staircase, her hand gripping the rail a little harder than was necessary, as her legs seemed to have treacherously turned to jelly. *Damn it, one breath on your neck and you just melted right there on the spot, didn't you*. She'd almost forgotten the effect his touch had on her. Almost, but not quite. It was impossible to forget.
She made it to the bathroom without incident, and leant back against the closed door. A deep breath later, Clarice turned towards the bath, catching sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hand flew to her cheek in surprise. She couldn't recall the last time she looked at her reflection in a mirror. But there she was. Pale, and way too thin. And as for the circles under her eyes-
"Whoa girl, you look like a demented panda."
The ridiculousness of this statement caught up with her, and she started to laugh. In truth, last night was the first time she had slept easily in almost two years. *Score one for Dr Lecter. He drives the lambs away*.
Aaah. Sweet. He drives the lambs away. Well, that's it for now, folks. The next instalment coming up soon. Can ya smell what the Doc is cookin' ? I've gotta go and do my History coursework (Miss Organisation 2001 - had 2 weeks to do it, there's now 3 days of holiday left, and I haven't started yet. I'd much rather write fanfic instead. Unfortunately, you can't do an A-level in Lecter studies or fic writing. Yet. :)
Ta,
Screaming Ferret.
PS: Starling's/Lecter's inner thoughts are *starred* along with the odd word or two that shoulda been in italics.
Disclaimer: As in chapter 1, I don't own 'em, I'm just borrowing 'em for a bit. And we're having a lot of fun :)
Chapter Two: Thinkin' About Hannibalism...
Clarice Starling sits alone at home, staring at the telephone. He has been gone almost all day. Her sobriety has returned along with the cold light of day. Last night seems like a dream, a vision brought on by too much cheap alcohol. But she knows he was here. His scent lingers in the air. She stares at the phone. Is she having second thoughts?
*Clarice, girl, you are in the goop. Right up to your eyeballs. The personal goop-making machine's been putting in some overtime, wouldn't you agree? Shoulda turned him in hours ago. Honey, you are in trouble. God only knows what he's planning.*
Starling shook her head in confusion. Her conscience, the voice of reason (who sounded rather like Ardelia) was telling her to exercise her phone-finger and dial 911 pronto. But another voice - a compelling voice - was telling her the opposite.
*He's the only person who's bothered to check on you for months now. Even that shrink backed off. Ardelia hasn't visited for ages. He cares for you, girl. Open your eyes. Wake up and smell the bacon. Who else ever cared? Crawford? Jack Shit, that man. Just wanted to get in your panties. Daddy? Daddy's dead and cold in the ground now, little Starling. So's Brigham, and so many others. Why should you feed him to the dogs? Because he cares?*
Clarice sighed. To hand him in, or not to hand him in? That was the toughest question she'd ever had to face.
*You think they'll have you back? That you'll be reinstated, accepted? Think again, Sugar. They don't want to know you. You're dangerous, unclean. Bride of Frankenstein, for godsakes. They wouldn't have you back if you handed him over gift wrapped with a pretty bow. No chance. So why not wait and see what he's got to offer, hmm?*
Starling rose. "Fuck it" she snapped, turning and walking away from the phone. She would not betray his trust again. She was glad. She had made her choice, for good or ill.
It was late in the afternoon when Clarice heard the rumble of a station wagon in her drive. She went to investigate. It was big, blue and battered. The driver's door opened and Dr Lecter emerged, looking odd in faded jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap. He smiled when he saw her.
"I trust you've had good day, Clarice?" He looked around, up at the sky and grinned cheerfully. "Lovely out here, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, he hauled several bulging shopping-bags out of his car and carried them inside. Clarice stared after him. Comments on the weather were most definitely un-Lecterlike, any day of the week. Vaguely astonished, she noticed that he was whistling merrily, and looking remarkably like the cat that's just got the cream. Obviously *he* was having a good day.
She met him in the hallway. "Dr Lecter, what is all this?"
"I thought I'd do some shopping. No, don't look like that. You see, I can't cook you an anywhere decent meal with the previous contents of your kitchen."
"And here was I, thinking you could make a meal from *anything*"
Dr Lecter chose to ignore that, and gestured to the groceries. "Real food." He smiled. "I'm cooking you dinner, Clarice. I think we'll dine in about an hour and a half. Why don't you go upstairs and have a relaxing bath, change into something more suitable..." It was almost a purr.
"Dr Lecter, if this is going to be anything like -" She stopped.
Lecter's eyes glittered with amusement. He leant closer until his lips brushed her ear and whispered "it's a surprise. Indulge me, Clarice. Please?"
Privately cursing her suddenly shaky legs, Starling realised that she'd effectively been banished upstairs for the next hour or so. She slowly climbed the staircase, her hand gripping the rail a little harder than was necessary, as her legs seemed to have treacherously turned to jelly. *Damn it, one breath on your neck and you just melted right there on the spot, didn't you*. She'd almost forgotten the effect his touch had on her. Almost, but not quite. It was impossible to forget.
She made it to the bathroom without incident, and leant back against the closed door. A deep breath later, Clarice turned towards the bath, catching sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hand flew to her cheek in surprise. She couldn't recall the last time she looked at her reflection in a mirror. But there she was. Pale, and way too thin. And as for the circles under her eyes-
"Whoa girl, you look like a demented panda."
The ridiculousness of this statement caught up with her, and she started to laugh. In truth, last night was the first time she had slept easily in almost two years. *Score one for Dr Lecter. He drives the lambs away*.
Aaah. Sweet. He drives the lambs away. Well, that's it for now, folks. The next instalment coming up soon. Can ya smell what the Doc is cookin' ? I've gotta go and do my History coursework (Miss Organisation 2001 - had 2 weeks to do it, there's now 3 days of holiday left, and I haven't started yet. I'd much rather write fanfic instead. Unfortunately, you can't do an A-level in Lecter studies or fic writing. Yet. :)
Ta,
Screaming Ferret.