A/N: Hey everybody, much thanks for all the kind reviews I've received. Those of you that provided e-mail addresses were personally thanked. For everyone else, I thank you here!
Part II
Redemption
Clarice's eyes opened wide in terror as Lecter gently set the gun on the dresser next to the wall. He turned his head around to look at her. In the dark room, his maroon eyes looked almost black, but the familiar fire still burned there. Slowly, the hand came down from her mouth.
"Can I let you go, Clarice? Will you promise not to run, or kill me?" Lecter had purposely put the gun just inches from her reach. He wanted to see what she would do. Her reaction was the last thing he would have expected.
She did nothing.
Then she blinked and slowly sagged, as if she were a balloon and a hand was letting the air out little by little. She slumped against the wall until nothing seemed to be left except a shell. It was as if that one burst of terror had taken all her soul had left to offer. After much stuttering and many false starts, her voice shook slightly as her mouth tried to remember how to speak, "Why didn't you come here to kill me? It would have been the nicest...nicest thing you could have done."
Tears froze in dry rivulets on her face. Grief spent, exhaustion had overtaken her spirit. Lecter gazed at her solemnly. This was not the same Clarice he had looked upon four years ago. But from that time up until now, he had watched her deterioration, always from a respectable distance, until he couldn't take it anymore. Tonight's action had probably not been the most prudent thing to do, but now he was here.
And once again, she needed him. Hannibal pondered this as he took her gently in his arms and carried her out of the living room. She mumbled softly as he carried her up the stairs and then laid her in her bed. "I don't wanna go to sleep." He shushed her as he pulled off her shoes and tucked the covers around her shivering form. Hannibal headed to the bathroom for a glass of water. His hands found the cabinets and sink as easily as if they had eyes.
When he returned to Clarice, she was sitting up in her bed, eyes staring intently at the wall. "Get back in bed, Clarice. You need your rest."
"Not tired." She snatched the glass from him and drank thirstily. "After all, it's not like I have to get up for work tomorrow." Clarice stared at the empty glass for awhile, turning it round and round in her hands. "Have you really been breaking into my house ever since graduation?"
"I had some business to care of first. And then not every day. I don't take foolish chances." At least not most of the time, he thought.
Business? Clarice decided that she didn't want know. "This is so weird. I'm sitting in my house, making small talk with a serial killer. If only the FBI could see me now...what am I saying, they wouldn't care." She squeezed the glass harder in her hands until it almost broke. "I thought everything would be all right after graduation. You know, protect the sheep." Her hands clenched in rage. "And they hated me for it. They hated what YOU had done for me, Dr. Lecter."
"I do have a first name, Clarice."
"I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you, DR. LECTER." She fell silent after that and Hannibal took that moment to speak.
"Do you know why they detest you, Clarice? You have something they don't, you CARE. They have tried to dumb you down into one of them over the years, but it didn't work. So they rid themselves of what they could not be."
"Dammit, don't analyze me. The last thing I need is someone else picking my life apart."
Hannibal looked as if he were about to speak and then changed his mind.
Clarice silently thanked him for the brief respite. Those thoughts immediately changed as her mind took advantage of the slight lull and hit her with everything she had ever done, feared, or regretted. If only she had never descended down into that dungeon. If only she had never gone to Memphis. If only she had never stuck her neck out for her own personal delusions of justice. If only, if only...she had become just like them. They would have left her alone then. Society did not stand for anyone different from the expected, and certainly not the FBI. Hannibal and she were both victims of that, she thought. Hannibal, no, Dr. Lecter, he must always be Dr. Lecter to her, or else it would be worse for her. But it was hard to imagine how she could be any worse off.
Something rose in her throat again, but only a single tear rolled down her face. Something ugly and uncomfortable was building up inside her. Frustration on top of frustration was threatening to break through. Her hate for what had tortured her soul and robbed her of sleep so many nights. The fact she was helpless to change it, to make it go away. And Lecter's words had only served to drive the thorn in her side deeper into her flesh. The words hurt her, perhaps because they were true.
Hannibal looked at her face, muscles under her skin contracted with frustration. Usually the pain would have been sweet, but now, now, he couldn't quite explain it. Almost absently, Hannibal raised his hand and wiped the tear off her cheek; his hand moved like a gentle whisper over her skin. Clarice recoiled like a spring and broke.
"DON'T TOUCH ME! IT'S ALL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT!!" It was as if a dam had broken. All her anger, despair, fear, frustration, it all exploded out at that moment. It all came out and there was no one else in the room except for Hannibal, so she focused it all on him. The glass flew out of her hand, Hannibal moved his head out of the way just in time as the glass smashed into the opposite wall.
And then she screamed and pounded her fists into him again and again. For a fleeting instant, she thought she would be struck dead in the next second. Hannibal Lecter didn't let someone attack him like that without retribution. But then Clarice didn't care. She didn't care anymore if she lived or died.
She didn't know if he would kill her, taunt her, break her down and knew that he was quite capable of all three. But perhaps ugliest of all, she knew for a fact that he would never, never leave her. She hated, hated, hated, she did not hate him, but she let him have all her hate because she knew he would not abandon her. The ones you hurt are the ones closest to you, because to them, you are not expendable. She poured out her soul because he would not turn away and leave it spilling out onto the ground.
Hannibal was shocked at the onslaught, but he did nothing to stop her. He simply held her. He drew her closer in his arms, at first so she couldn't draw her fists back so far to hit. And then he held her until her body was smothered in his embrace. Until her hate and anger were spent. Until he had taken it all and given none in return. He held her sobbing in his arms.
Clarice's mind was racing and crashing and dancing in confusion like a badly tuned TV station. She had deceived him, and he had stayed. She had tried to kill him and he did nothing. She had screamed in his face and he was gentle. Society had said he was dangerous, a murderer, a killer. She should be afraid of him. Well, screw them. And screw the FBI as well. She had fallen in love with them and they had stuck a knife in her back.
Something was happening in her mind. Emotions that she had learned to hide, that she had feared to let show, that she had poured into a corrupted cause were surging forward like a tidal wave. It drowned the hate and rushed through her aching, broken soul and brought it out into the light. A soul bright-eyed and full of the life that she had forgotten.
"Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Hannibal, I'm so sorry." Before she knew what she was doing, she kissed him hard on the lips. Her old self tried pitifully to resist for a second before walls came crashing down and the tidal wave rolled over and trampled what she had been. She kissed him again and again. Hannibal sat stiffly, his face frozen with shock. And slowly he began to respond. Softly at first before he held her tighter, crushing her mouth against his, taking, taking her, alternately taking and giving of her.
This was genuine passion with no strings attached, deception, or second thoughts. It was true and it was right in front of her. She wondered how she could have missed it before. Clarice burned for it, a dancing, laughing flame with a rapidly fading memory of the icy hell she had just been through.
Her hands moved over Hannibal's face, his neck, his chest. She felt his heart beating strongly through his shirt. This was LIFE. She wanted it, oh, how she wanted it. Her hand tore the cloth and the buttons ripped off his shirt. Hannibal kissed her hard, taking her into his mouth, before laying her on the bed once again, and Clarice surrendered to his welcome weight.
Part II
Redemption
Clarice's eyes opened wide in terror as Lecter gently set the gun on the dresser next to the wall. He turned his head around to look at her. In the dark room, his maroon eyes looked almost black, but the familiar fire still burned there. Slowly, the hand came down from her mouth.
"Can I let you go, Clarice? Will you promise not to run, or kill me?" Lecter had purposely put the gun just inches from her reach. He wanted to see what she would do. Her reaction was the last thing he would have expected.
She did nothing.
Then she blinked and slowly sagged, as if she were a balloon and a hand was letting the air out little by little. She slumped against the wall until nothing seemed to be left except a shell. It was as if that one burst of terror had taken all her soul had left to offer. After much stuttering and many false starts, her voice shook slightly as her mouth tried to remember how to speak, "Why didn't you come here to kill me? It would have been the nicest...nicest thing you could have done."
Tears froze in dry rivulets on her face. Grief spent, exhaustion had overtaken her spirit. Lecter gazed at her solemnly. This was not the same Clarice he had looked upon four years ago. But from that time up until now, he had watched her deterioration, always from a respectable distance, until he couldn't take it anymore. Tonight's action had probably not been the most prudent thing to do, but now he was here.
And once again, she needed him. Hannibal pondered this as he took her gently in his arms and carried her out of the living room. She mumbled softly as he carried her up the stairs and then laid her in her bed. "I don't wanna go to sleep." He shushed her as he pulled off her shoes and tucked the covers around her shivering form. Hannibal headed to the bathroom for a glass of water. His hands found the cabinets and sink as easily as if they had eyes.
When he returned to Clarice, she was sitting up in her bed, eyes staring intently at the wall. "Get back in bed, Clarice. You need your rest."
"Not tired." She snatched the glass from him and drank thirstily. "After all, it's not like I have to get up for work tomorrow." Clarice stared at the empty glass for awhile, turning it round and round in her hands. "Have you really been breaking into my house ever since graduation?"
"I had some business to care of first. And then not every day. I don't take foolish chances." At least not most of the time, he thought.
Business? Clarice decided that she didn't want know. "This is so weird. I'm sitting in my house, making small talk with a serial killer. If only the FBI could see me now...what am I saying, they wouldn't care." She squeezed the glass harder in her hands until it almost broke. "I thought everything would be all right after graduation. You know, protect the sheep." Her hands clenched in rage. "And they hated me for it. They hated what YOU had done for me, Dr. Lecter."
"I do have a first name, Clarice."
"I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you, DR. LECTER." She fell silent after that and Hannibal took that moment to speak.
"Do you know why they detest you, Clarice? You have something they don't, you CARE. They have tried to dumb you down into one of them over the years, but it didn't work. So they rid themselves of what they could not be."
"Dammit, don't analyze me. The last thing I need is someone else picking my life apart."
Hannibal looked as if he were about to speak and then changed his mind.
Clarice silently thanked him for the brief respite. Those thoughts immediately changed as her mind took advantage of the slight lull and hit her with everything she had ever done, feared, or regretted. If only she had never descended down into that dungeon. If only she had never gone to Memphis. If only she had never stuck her neck out for her own personal delusions of justice. If only, if only...she had become just like them. They would have left her alone then. Society did not stand for anyone different from the expected, and certainly not the FBI. Hannibal and she were both victims of that, she thought. Hannibal, no, Dr. Lecter, he must always be Dr. Lecter to her, or else it would be worse for her. But it was hard to imagine how she could be any worse off.
Something rose in her throat again, but only a single tear rolled down her face. Something ugly and uncomfortable was building up inside her. Frustration on top of frustration was threatening to break through. Her hate for what had tortured her soul and robbed her of sleep so many nights. The fact she was helpless to change it, to make it go away. And Lecter's words had only served to drive the thorn in her side deeper into her flesh. The words hurt her, perhaps because they were true.
Hannibal looked at her face, muscles under her skin contracted with frustration. Usually the pain would have been sweet, but now, now, he couldn't quite explain it. Almost absently, Hannibal raised his hand and wiped the tear off her cheek; his hand moved like a gentle whisper over her skin. Clarice recoiled like a spring and broke.
"DON'T TOUCH ME! IT'S ALL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT!!" It was as if a dam had broken. All her anger, despair, fear, frustration, it all exploded out at that moment. It all came out and there was no one else in the room except for Hannibal, so she focused it all on him. The glass flew out of her hand, Hannibal moved his head out of the way just in time as the glass smashed into the opposite wall.
And then she screamed and pounded her fists into him again and again. For a fleeting instant, she thought she would be struck dead in the next second. Hannibal Lecter didn't let someone attack him like that without retribution. But then Clarice didn't care. She didn't care anymore if she lived or died.
She didn't know if he would kill her, taunt her, break her down and knew that he was quite capable of all three. But perhaps ugliest of all, she knew for a fact that he would never, never leave her. She hated, hated, hated, she did not hate him, but she let him have all her hate because she knew he would not abandon her. The ones you hurt are the ones closest to you, because to them, you are not expendable. She poured out her soul because he would not turn away and leave it spilling out onto the ground.
Hannibal was shocked at the onslaught, but he did nothing to stop her. He simply held her. He drew her closer in his arms, at first so she couldn't draw her fists back so far to hit. And then he held her until her body was smothered in his embrace. Until her hate and anger were spent. Until he had taken it all and given none in return. He held her sobbing in his arms.
Clarice's mind was racing and crashing and dancing in confusion like a badly tuned TV station. She had deceived him, and he had stayed. She had tried to kill him and he did nothing. She had screamed in his face and he was gentle. Society had said he was dangerous, a murderer, a killer. She should be afraid of him. Well, screw them. And screw the FBI as well. She had fallen in love with them and they had stuck a knife in her back.
Something was happening in her mind. Emotions that she had learned to hide, that she had feared to let show, that she had poured into a corrupted cause were surging forward like a tidal wave. It drowned the hate and rushed through her aching, broken soul and brought it out into the light. A soul bright-eyed and full of the life that she had forgotten.
"Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Hannibal, I'm so sorry." Before she knew what she was doing, she kissed him hard on the lips. Her old self tried pitifully to resist for a second before walls came crashing down and the tidal wave rolled over and trampled what she had been. She kissed him again and again. Hannibal sat stiffly, his face frozen with shock. And slowly he began to respond. Softly at first before he held her tighter, crushing her mouth against his, taking, taking her, alternately taking and giving of her.
This was genuine passion with no strings attached, deception, or second thoughts. It was true and it was right in front of her. She wondered how she could have missed it before. Clarice burned for it, a dancing, laughing flame with a rapidly fading memory of the icy hell she had just been through.
Her hands moved over Hannibal's face, his neck, his chest. She felt his heart beating strongly through his shirt. This was LIFE. She wanted it, oh, how she wanted it. Her hand tore the cloth and the buttons ripped off his shirt. Hannibal kissed her hard, taking her into his mouth, before laying her on the bed once again, and Clarice surrendered to his welcome weight.