Rome

For a long time, the most Starling could do was look around in awe of her surroundings. Indeed she was here, in Florence, which was as lovely and more so than she ever imagined. It was easy to see why Dr. Lecter loved it so much, easy to picture herself loving it with the same fire and passion. Easy to imagine a life here, abandoning whatever she knew in New York, Washington, the United States, for that matter.

The only thing that dampened her good mood was the realization that Nicholas Randall was still at her side. She could tell, without looking at him, that he was not nearly as affected by the beauty of their surroundings as she was. Oh, she was sure he appreciated it; she couldn't respect him. Anyone untaken with this place was of low-influence, and not worth her time.

Closing her eyes, Starling inhaled deeply, the scent of a city so romantically mysterious filling her, and she had never felt more complete in her life.

There was something she didn't understand, though. Why, if she had stood before Dr. Lecter's cell fourteen years ago, tried to stab him while drugged with morphine, saved him from torture from Mason Verger, and even endured a kiss that occurred before he brought the cleaver down (only to derail it at last minute, more or less to scare the living daylights out of her and cut through the cuff chains instead of either of their hands), that she now shivered with eager anticipation and sensed him closer. Perhaps he was here after all. If he wasn't here his essence was, and though the effect was minimal, it was enough to soothe her for the moment.

Undoubtedly, this was the most breathtaking place she had ever visited. Starling knew then that leaving in the planned two weeks would not be an easy task.

A voice, the same voice that continuously haunted her now approached with a lighter view, one that suggested sweetly and did not scream.

{You do realize, Clarice, that you don't have to leave. You never have to leave. You can stay here. You can stay right here. And somehow, someday, he'll find you…}

For the first time, Starling didn't condemn herself for this thought, and actually welcomed it. It was nice for the change of pace, to feel in control, to be someplace where she truly could start over. Someplace her name didn't sound too familiar, perhaps distantly like that cousin they thought died in a car crash last year, but not FBI news.

{Whoa! Slow down!} A new voice said. This voice, she knew, would present her thought-to-be-dead sensibility, something she desperately wished to be rid of once and for all. {You've been here for ten minutes and you're already considering leaving your home to live here?! Funny, Starling, very funny!}

But Starling wasn't laughing, at the voice or the idea. It seemed real to her, very real. Indeed, this was a place she could see herself living happily for the rest of her life.

* * *

It was the second week of his arrival in Florence, and Dr. Lecter found he was at an incredibly peace upon being home. Everything looked different under prospective when put under the Florentine light. Even Esamarla seemed more interesting, perhaps not enough to continue the relationship much longer, but enough to have a brighter outlook on the situation.

Now, it was the morning of a new day, a new day in Florence. Dr. Lecter stood at the balcony of his new residence, his gaze catching the city in time to see the sun rise. As the light bounced off the pupils of his eyes, he smiled, inhaling deeply. After a moment, however long or short was left to him to determine. Today, he didn't stay long, retreating back indoors only to stop short upon entering, his gaze lowering to the still-sleeping form on the bed.

Esamarla was partially covered with the blue satin blankets, her bare stomach pressed to the mattress. Both arms encircled one pillow, and her midnight hair spread like a fan. Indeed, she was exhausted. Dr. Lecter had almost lost control the night before, almost crossed the boundary and pressed to that divine level of certain ownership. How much he thought of Starling last night was almost beyond his comprehension. It was as though…

Dr. Lecter methodically blocked these thoughts and that was the end of it for today. Allowing his mind to travel in that direction would only again bring about the institution of leaving Esamarla, and doing so would be quite rude now. Considering what this woman had sacrificed for him, all because he let her.

However, Dr. Lecter did not submit to regret. He never would. Toying with her emotions, as tactfully rude as it was, proved also to be fun. It was somewhat droll in the very worst of senses to see what exactly this woman would do for him. She thought she knew all there was to know about him when indeed she had barely scathed first base. Eventually, he would drop her, sometime when he was through using her, and though he might feel a streak of guilt, it was more likely he'd forget her in good time.

In the meantime, however, Dr. Lecter was determined to enjoy himself. Pretending this was the woman he idealized and not some poor substitute could be terrible fun, as well as a handy method in keeping his mind off Starling.

Hmm, Starling. Dr. Lecter couldn't quite put his finger on it, but as his senses hardly failed him, he was anticipating the next few days greatly. The last time such a premonition struck him was the eve before Evelda Drumgo was shot and killed, the day this all second-handedly started. Four long years ago. It hardly seemed like it.

Why was he experiencing this again? Dr. Lecter mused thoughtfully for a few minutes, not one to believe in fate or superstition, or even trust this uncanny sixth sense of his, but when it came to Clarice Starling, he was almost willing to forfeit all rationale and take that blind leap of faith. As it was, such stirrings were frequent and common when matters concerning her were about to surface, he felt compelled to be prepared with whatever might present itself.

Even then, Dr. Lecter smiled. Whatever it was, it was welcome. There was no questioning that.

Esamarla slept far into the day, undisturbed and virtually ignored by Dr. Lecter. In the time that she remained isolated from the outside world, he occupied himself with planning an extravagant evening. Florence was not a town that permitted him to be conservative with his respectful funding, especially with such a lovely young woman at his side. Naturally, there had been nights spent in the comfort and pleasure of his own divine company, but not tonight. The knowledge that the curator job he once aspired to was no longer an option struck him, but only minimally. He would have greatly enjoyed that occupation, but there was no time for mourning. In a city of this charisma, there were plenty of places he could seek work, or given his financial state, not at all if he cared to.

It was two in the afternoon before the being upstairs stirred. She was both surprised and offended to find that she had not only slept far later than usual, but that she was alone. Slipping into a robe, she headed downstairs in search of her Dr. Wilkins. If she knew him, he would be cooking, playing some instrument, or reading.

He wasn't doing any of those things. Instead, she found him in the parlor. She felt his eyes on her before she saw him.

"Good afternoon, Esamarla," he said quietly, causing her to jump and gasp. Through the darkness of the room, she could see his smile, though he wasn't flashing those eerily white teeth.

"Charles," she said, turning to face the direction of the voice, her eyes exploring the area the initial greeting had originated from. "It's late, why didn't you wake me?" Her accent was heavily Italian, and though they spoke in her native language often, she tended to go with the flow of his lead. This afternoon, he spoke in English, therefore she answered in English.

"You seemed quite fatigued, my dear. I wanted you to rest for this evening." Dr. Lecter stood in the corner of the room, watching her cautiously. "I hope you don't object to what I have planned. Knowing your exquisite taste, I hardly see how you could."

"Where are we going?"

"A charming place called Paoli. As someone who has never before been to Florence, a sin as you are Italian," he took a minute for the effect of his sarcasm to sink in, realizing his voice hinted more toward genuine rage at this abomination than humor. "It is the quintessential necessity residing in this town."

Esamarla arched an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like you."

"Trust me. For lunch, we simply must visit Il Sasso di Dante. It has a wonderful view of the Duomo. If not this afternoon, then we'll go tomorrow. After that, I promise no more dining expeditions. I'm perfectly content to cook." Dr. Lecter smiled. He loved this wholly. It certainly was good to be home.

* * *