Rome

When she looked back upon this, years after the entire embarrassing ordeal was over with, Starling would testify that she made it two blocks before her better senses took control, and she realized the depth of her third mistake. Was it her third or her fourth? Perhaps even fifth – she had long since lost count. All she knew was that if she didn't correct this mistake now, there might not be a chance for reconciliation.

Arriving back at the café precisely ten minutes after her leave, Starling found the table she left him at unoccupied. Tears tempted her yet she bait them away, determined not to cry for something she did to herself. God, how was she so naïve? After his escape from Memphis fourteen years before –

{My God, am I really that old?}

she remembered waiting up nights, thinking perhaps he would call on her, despite his promise not to. However, he wouldn't call on her to end her life, she was certain of that. No, these calls would be to continue whatever was started at the Baltimore Asylum. Whether it be an elaboration on their mental game of tag, or some other form of relationship that no other could duplicate. During those years, building her name that would eventually be taken from her anyway, Starling found herself longing for his guidance and support, and cursing herself for wanting him for purposes of personal gain rather than a stepping-stone in her career. Looking back now, she couldn't remember wanting Dr. Lecter for the benefit of the FBI ever, even during that confusion of the Muskrat Farm. That was more or less the product of her over-worked morality. Perhaps if she had thought about it as aiding her enemies, she would have come to this conclusion sooner.

Nevertheless, not once during the time between his escape and the Evelda Drumgo shooting did she seek contact from Dr. Lecter as some sort of compensation for her lack of a love life. She never let her mind wander that way, it being bad enough that she was seeking his support as a friend and an ally rather than the adversary he was supposed to be. Looking back, Starling could not faithfully say she ever thought him as her foe, rather the unfortunate extreme of an interesting relationship. It was their bad luck that they met on these terms.

It wasn't until after Dr. Lecter insinuated a more personal connection that she considered the impossible suggestion that they could be a couple, a regular couple. The kind she saw and snickered at in grocery stores, the type she envied upon passing high-class restaurants, the sort she cried over at night when demanding God why her life was this way, why she wasn't the corresponding member of such a coupling.

The idea that she and Dr. Lecter could be together like that was comically sad. After Muskrat Farm, she could confess her admission of such a radical thought, dream about it, yes, even fantasize. But never had she thought she would be here with the opportunity to act on it. That was why it took her by such surprise when Dr. Lecter brushed her arm the evening before. She had toyed with the idea, sure, but the way an idealistic teenager dreams of running into his or her crush at a sweepingly romantic location that will make their love interest swoon into a hopeful association. Never had Starling thought he would actually be here, that she would be given this chance. That idea had seemed incredibly ridiculous.

Now that it had happened, that she was over the shock of his presence, that she had gone through everything with Nicholas to verify her freedom of decision, she didn't know how she could have screwed it up for herself anymore than she had done not ten minutes ago.

The morals she was struggling with were losing a dying battle. She had known for sometime that they had to be overpowered. However much she would've liked to keep the image that she was incorruptible, it came down to sacrificing the man she knew now to love or leading a miserable life, alone and inconsolable from any relationship based on a consensus technicality – large if one considered murdering and consuming others a terrible crime – and she had wasted herself over and over again, getting nothing in return other than more heartache. Now, she was ready to indulge in what she wanted, what remained her desires and not what the world told her was needed or who she could love. Starling would be damned before she gave him up again.

But now it might be too late. After a short, futile conversation with the waitress that had served Dr. Lecter cappuccino, she concluded that he had returned to his residence within five minutes of her departure. Apparently, he had become a regular at this café since returning to Florence – another stroke of luck or fate – and tended to follow the same routine every morning. Through the handy-dandy convenience of credit card receipts, Starling learned an address and quickly committed it to memory.

As she ran down the streets of Florence, stopping every other stride to ask for directions, her mind roamed freely; some good things, and some nasty things – all uttered by the same voice, Miss Practical Sensible. Then, all seemed to quiet as she saw her destination. Something grasped at her throat, and she cleared it a couple of times to reassure herself that she hadn't lost her voice. Having been one to be without words several times in Dr. Lecter's presence, she didn't want that to happen now, of all times. It would be most inconvenient.

The voice shouting millions of things returned abruptly raced through Starling's mind as she bounded up the steps to Dr. Lecter's residential dwelling. Would he be pleased? Hell, it had only been a few minutes since she refused his offer, refusing even before he could vocalize it. Now, with this realization of who she was and what she truly wanted, beneath the taught morals of her deceased father and the FBI, would he accept her for who she was with all her indecisiveness, or would it indeed be too late?

 
 The truth was, Starling didn't deserve to be forgiven again. Rejection after rejection, over and over, the indignity of knowing she was wrong, that no matter what she chose and how she decided to turn down this sanctuary from everything that troubled her at his disposal, redemption was not something she should be granted. After all, underneath that cool shield of elegance and protocol was a lethal killer, one whom had been generous enough with her many mistakes and quick to forgive in the hope that she would grant him this one accolade. Indeed, she was lucky he hadn't killed her yet, even luckier that she remained unscathed from her various encounters with him. She was intensely fortunate to know and always know that he would never harm her physically. Oh, he would toy and torture her heart with glee until it displeased him to do so, but that was only compensation for what she had already done to him. It was payment, and she couldn't help but feel more in debt than she was being asked to reimburse.
 
 Now, she was standing outside the residence a helpful patron identified as Dr. Lecter's. Her heart pounded as she anxiously pounded on the doorknocker. God, what would he think when he saw her? The better part of Starling's senses told her it was too late, and furthermore mocked her for her lack of insight. How could she have been so unintuitive? The offer of her lifetime was presented for the third time within the past half hour, and she was stupid enough to decline. Many people never met their life's prime offer, often too foolish or distracted to see and recognize it when it arrives. And even then, rarely was it offered a second time, and NEVER a third. Starling knew her luck was running, that fate was getting restless of trying to shove the obvious under her nose, and she hoped against hope that it wasn't lost, that it wasn't too late.
 
 Of the million things she anticipated when that door opened, being face to face with Esamarla Raizonne was not one of them. A wave of utter dread engulfed her, and she wanted to slap herself for not stopping to consider that it might not be Dr. Lecter to answer. Perhaps, somewhere down in the pits of her gut, she did not want to think he and this woman were so tightly involved as to be living together.
 
 Nasty realization was ugly. Practical Sensible arose within her, screaming hysterically to turn and run, that this was a bad idea, that Fate was finally tired of offering her helping hand and this was Starling's punishment. Her deserved punishment. 'As you sew, so shall you reap.' This was a living hell, and it wasn't over yet.
 
 {Run, and run damned quickly.}
 
 But she couldn't run. She had spent her life running from him, from chances, from Fate. This was one time she was determined to take matters into her own hands. The woman before her was merely an obstacle – if she truly wanted Dr. Lecter, she would have to overpower her.
 
 Esamarla Raizonne's eyes were like shards of glass, and she took one look at Starling, top to bottom, and smiled smugly. The smile lasted only a minute, not long enough for the normal eye to catch. But Starling, being prepared to absorb and notice anything as well as having a thorough past career with the FBI saw it clearly, and her face darkened when she did. It was very insulting. This woman was basing her character upon her wardrobe, much like Dr. Lecter had fourteen years ago. Their motives, however, were somewhat different. Given Starling's dark black ankle-length skirt and her burgundy cashmere sweater – and even cheap shoes she had managed to wiggle on this morning, never anticipating a meeting with Dr. Lecter – she appeared to this 'social companion' as a woman who would never meet her lover's standards. A woman who didn't match up. A woman she had nothing to worry about.
 
 Starling's hatred for her, which before was solely based on her jealousy, became tangible and with justification. It was clear this woman had no idea who she was dealing with, and didn't realize the depth of competition she would have in maintaining her dear Dr. Wilkins' interest. If anything, she had grounds to feel superior, to be in charge.
 
 At least, Starling hoped it was still that way. She hoped with all her might and vigor for the millionth time in the past minute that it indeed wasn't too late.
 
 "Good morning, ma'am," Starling said, her voice in perfect control, cursing herself when Esamarla's last name abandoned her. "I'm not sure if you remember me—"
 
 "Sì, I remember you, Ms. Starling," Esamarla said thickly, taking the lead for a brief moment with the remembrance of her name. Starling cursed herself, and knew Esamarla read it as a competition as well; also knowing she had just taken command. "Charles' friend, no?"
 
 It took Starling a minute to remember who Charles was, the name sounding so odd when she applied it to Dr. Lecter's face. "Yes Dr. L…Wilkins." At least she remembered that part, mostly because it had surprised her not to find his current alias an anagram. "Is he here? I need to speak with him."
 
 Esamarla shook her head. "No, sono spiacente. He left this morning. He hasn't come back yet."
 
 Starling blinked, having not expected this at all. Where would he go? On errands, now, especially after their conversation? No, she didn't see that. Something wasn't right, something was unresolved, something…
 
 Nicholas.
 
 Taking a breath, Starling started to back away. No, he wouldn't go to Nicholas now…would he? The incident of the previous night came back, and she reflected in Dr. Lecter's eyes the murderous gaze. She still didn't think him fool enough to do this, to risk his stay in his hometown, all for the sake of her idle words?
 
 She couldn't risk it. 
 
 "Ms. Starling," Esamarla said pleasantly, though in a tone that indicated her vindictiveness, "one more thing. Stay away from Charles, if you know what's good for you."
 
 Having been halfway down the porch stairs, Starling stopped, suddenly consumed with rage. She turned, eyes glaring with her hatred for this woman, and she made no attempt to conceal it. 
 
 "Ms. Raizonne," her name returned to her now, and she was very glad for the convenience. "With all due respect, stay the fuck out of my business. You have no idea who you're messing with."
 
 Starling had little time to savor the look on the dazzled woman's face. She turned and bolted down the streets, growing more populace by the minute. Never had she wished death upon Nicholas, and though there was a chance Dr. Lecter would spare him, she had to hope it wasn't too late. 
 
* * *