AN/ The obligatory dinner scene. Four chapters down, two to go. Have fun :)
Disclaimer: The characters herein are the products of one man's genius. Step forward, Thomas Harris. We salute you!
Chapter Four: The Mad Hatter's Tea Party.
Clarice Starling paused in the doorway to allow her eyes to adjust to the candlelight. After a moment, she made out a figure standing at the head of the table.
"Clarice, you are beautiful tonight."
Dr Lecter came around the table to her. Taking her hand in his, he bowed over it in the Italian fashion, kissing it softly.
Clarice smiled a little shyly. "Thank you, Dr Lecter" she replied, trying to ignore her pounding heart - *he must be deaf if he can't hear it*. "Am I allowed to ask what we're having?"
The doctor smiled. "You never ask -"
"It spoils the surprise" she finished for him, much to his own surprise. "I remember."
Pleased, Dr Lecter led her to her seat. Starling looked around. Her small dining room was completely transformed. There were candles on almost every available surface, giving off a soft, rosy glow. Some of them also gave off a pleasing scent. Clarice watched as Dr Lecter poured wine - Chianti, she noticed with some amusement.
He served Clarice her starter, a light salad with a glass of wine. Then he seated himself opposite her, admiring her in the candlelight. She was quite the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Dr Lecter congratulated himself on his choice of gown and jewellery for her. She was stunning in the dark green, the emeralds were shot with green fire whenever she moved.
The salad was excellent, of course, but Clarice couldn't help but wonder what exactly he had planned for the main course. What if it was - or had been - human? That compelling voice in her thoughts - a voice she always thought of as being typically Hannibal Lecter - spoke up.
*What's wrong with wanting to taste the enemy? It's perfectly natural...Good God, girl. You're as bad as he is. You're even starting to sound like him.*
Across the table, Dr Lecter saw Clarice smile at something. He wondered what she was thinking about.
*Perhaps that's because he's right. Maybe I am like him*. Starling banished her voice of reason with that thought. Human reason has no place at Lecter's table. And she did not want to think about duty, right or wrong. She was going to enjoy her evening. *Even if it means - eating something I shouldn't. Why not? Being the good guy last time didn't do me any favours*. She smiled at Dr Lecter.
"The salad was excellent, Doctor. Thank you."
"You're very welcome, Clarice" he said with a modest smile. "I hope you enjoy the main course as well, my dear. I cooked it especially for you." He had not missed the calm that had descended on her, replacing her previous nervousness.
*Well, hell. Here we go*. "I'm sure I will, Dr Lecter."
The starters finished, Dr Lecter rose and cleared the plates. Starling heard him humming to himself out in the kitchen. She sipped her wine, wondering at the change in herself.
*Don't think about it, girl. Go with it. Don't repeat old mistakes, remember? It was a mistake that landed you in two years of drink-and-therapy hell. You've wanted this since you thought you'd lost him, that night on the Chesapeake. Besides, d'ya think he'd take kindly to the cops gatecrashing his little party? Honey, you wanted this. Are you prepared to accept the consequences? You'd better be, 'cos he'll be in here in a minute with that main course. And he won't be very happy if his effort's been wasted*.
Clarice considered this as Dr Lecter busied himself in the kitchen. Was she prepared? Whatever happened tonight, there was no turning back.
Footsteps announced Dr Lecter's return, bearing two plates. He set in front of Starling a plate with several slices of a rich, dark meat and carefully arranged helpings of vegetables.
Dr Lecter returned to his seat and considered Clarice Starling. His lips twitched with a small smile as he watched her take a small bite.
"This is delicious" she said, looking up at him. "It really is excellent." Clarice took another bite.
Dr Lecter suppressed a triumphant smile, picking up his glass of wine. He held it thoughtfully for a moment, turning the glass to admire the wine in the candlelight. Then he looked across the table at her. Their eyes met. He raised his glass.
"A toast" he said solemnly. "To the deceased. Jack Crawford."
Whatever reaction he had been expecting from Clarice, he did not get it. She merely smiled and murmured "To Crawford" as their glasses clinked together.
*Well, girl, you're not in Kansas anymore. The sonofabitch got Crawford. You have *really* done it this time. And you're trying so hard not to laugh, aren't you? Did you catch the surprise on his face? Congratulations, little Starling. You've managed to surprise Hannibal Lecter. A girl should always keep her man on his toes*.
Clarice concealed a smirk. It was good to know that she could surprise him.
They talked as they ate, about pleasant things. Music, the arts. The subjects of the FBI, the late Jack Crawford and their activities over the last two years were not brought up. But eventually the conversation came around to that fateful night on the Chesapeake.
"The police arrested me" Clarice said as she finished her meal. "Took me to the local FBI field office. Crawford came down. They held me for three days. They had to let me go eventually - I had nothing to do with Krendler's death." She stopped, as if she expected him to disagree. She knew full well why Paul Krendler met such a grisly fate. The same reason that Miggs had swallowed his disgusting tongue.
"Mm. The unfortunate Mr Krendler." Dr Lecter chuckled softly as he remembered. "Tell me, my dear, if you regret his death at all."
This time Clarice did smirk. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world." She remembered having to stop herself saying this to Noonan and her bosses at the Bureau when they'd sacked her. She'd shocked herself then.
Dr Lecter laughed, delighted. "Is that so?" he murmured, still chuckling. "Tell me something else, Clarice. Do you know why I killed Mr Krendler?"
Starling met his gaze squarely. "Yes. I think so."
"Tell me why, Clarice."
"You killed him because he was rude to me, like Miggs was. You don't like people who are rude."
"I don't like people who are rude to those I like, either. Did Crawford realise that?"
Clarice thought about this. "He said you killed Miggs to amuse yourself. But he guessed about Krendler. That's why they kicked me out so fast. They didn't want to wake up one morning to find you standing over them with a Harpy knife."
He grinned. "Do you think I would, Clarice? Visit Director Noonan, I mean?"
She snorted. "You'd have a hard time getting to him, Doctor. Those guys do get the occasional terrorist after their blood."
"You could help me, Clarice. You were a top agent, were you not?"
Starling couldn't decide if he was joking or not. *Change the subject*. "Um. Just one thing, Doctor. What exactly have you done with Crawford's body? I hope you haven't left it in my kitchen..."
Dr Lecter managed to look slightly guilty. "If having him in the kitchen bothers you, then I'll wheel him out to the garage. I'll get rid of him next time I go out."
"Thank you." Clarice finished her wine. "Dr Lecter?"
"Yes, Clarice?"
"What happens next?"
"Next?" Dr Lecter drawled. "Next. Ah, yes. I think coffee and perhaps a little music." So saying, he got up and began to clear the plates.
Later, they sat - or rather Clarice sat. Dr Lecter stood by the open French doors, enjoying the cool night air - in Starling's living room. There was music on the stereo, a Scarlatti CD from Dr Lecter's car. The music wove about them, its notes painting the night with colours. Dr Lecter often thought of music in this way, as if it was something that could be touched and woven like a tapestry. The colours of the music delighted him, and tonight Clarice could see them too.
Finally, Dr Lecter could stand it no longer. He set his coffee down and approached Clarice, who was watching him from an armchair.
"Will you honour me with a dance, Clarice?" he asked her softly.
Starling considered him a moment. Then a smile touched her lips and she took his hand. "I'd love to, Doctor."
He slipped his arm around her waist. "Hannibal, please."
"Pardon?"
"My name is not 'Doctor'. It is merely my title. Use my name, Clarice." He smiled at her. "I think you're old enough now."
Clarice moved her lips silently around the name, as if she were tasting it. "Hannibal."
It was Dr Lecter's turn to shiver as he heard Clarice Starling say his name for the first time.
He led her out onto the patio. The air was cool and refreshing after the warmth of the dining room. There was plenty of room to dance.
"I should warn you that I'm not much of a dancer" Clarice warned him.
"You'll do fine."
Dr Lecter was, of course, an excellent dancer, and Clarice was better at dancing than she'd thought.
"Stop watching your feet, Clarice. You dance very well."
Starling looked up from watching her feet. She grinned. "Don't say I didn't warn you, when I tread on your toes."
Dr Lecter laughed, rich and warm. His laugh had startled Clarice when she had first heard it, and now it made her smile.
The music of Scarlatti spiralled around them as they danced on the patio. Spiralled around them and up towards the stars, up towards Orion the Hunter, bright in the sky. Dr Lecter, holding Clarice Starling in his arms, was conscious only of her. Her unique scent, her glorious hair and her body light and warm against his. He kept his eyes on her face, fascinated by the rapture shown there.
"What are you thinking about, Hannibal?"
The sudden question caught him (for once) off guard.
"You" he said. "How beautiful you are. I never want this to end, Clarice." He sighed. "It will though, it'll be dawn soon."
"What's that got to do with it?" she demanded. "You're not the bat out of hell that's gotta go when the morning comes, of that I'm fairly certain."
Dr Lecter frowned, not understanding her reference. Clarice tried hard not to smile. "Don't you ever listen to the radio?"
He shook his head. "Not if I can help it."
"Try it. You might like Meatloaf."
Dr Lecter grinned suddenly. "Clarice, I *love* meatloaf. But if it's the singer you're referring to, then *no way*." He felt her shaking with laughter and smiled to himself.
When Clarice had stopped laughing, she looked up at him. He was miles away, lost in his own thoughts.
"It doesn't have to end."
Dr Lecter came out of his reverie. "Sorry?"
"I said it doesn't have to end."
"Clarice" he said gently, "I'm the centrepiece of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list. I'm a dangerous fugitive. If we were to be together, we would always have to hide. You'd share my life, Clarice. You'd share my fate too, if we were caught. I don't want that to happen to you. I am always on the run. You are *entitled* to more, my love."
"What did you just say?"
He smiled. "Love. Haven't you guessed yet? I love you, Clarice. I have since we met in Baltimore."
Clarice blinked back sudden tears. "I think I'm entitled to make my own decisions, Hannibal. You don't have to protect me all the time. Let me run with you. There's nothing here for me. And -" her voice took on a steely tone "if you don't let me come with you, I guess I'll just have to follow you myself, won't I?"
Hannibal Lecter looked at her in wonderment. "You would do that - for me?"
"Yes" she said simply. "Rest assured, Hannibal, I'm *not* letting you get away this time."
His arms tightened around her. "There is one condition, Clarice, if you come with me." His voice was steel.
"And that is?"
"Never leave me. Stay with me always." He brought his face closer to hers. "That is the only condition. If you come with me, you can never go back. I'll give you time to think about it. It's a big decision."
Starling shook her head. "Already thought about it. I want to be with you, Hannibal. I'm decided, so don't go trying to change my mind."
He cocked his head on one side, just looking at her. Then he chuckled. "You amaze me, Clarice."
She grinned, slipping her arms around his neck. "I should *hope* so. I've been trying hard enough."
Dr Lecter was startled yet again when Clarice pulled his head down to hers, and pressed her lips firmly against his.
AN/ You're disappointed that I've chickened out of writing a sex scene, aren't you? Well, I can do gore. I can do angst. I can even (if pressed) do funny, but I write really lousy sex scenes. So I thought I'd do a Thomas Harris, and tastefully fade to black at the appropriate moment. Unfortunately, I was writing this around 2am and I wanted to go to bed, so the appropriate moment came sooner than I'd intended. Never mind.
Ta,
Screaming Ferret.