For a long time, Starling stood in front of the mirror, studying herself though unsure what she was looking at. Three months before, she was told the only needed reassurance of her courage and incorruptibility was what she saw in her reflection. Looking at herself now, the hard, confused emotions flickering in her eyes, she was startled at what she saw. Confirmation that she was crumpling.
Goddamn him!
Indeed, she saw the person built on ethics, the person she strived to be, the person she was no longer. Starling supposed that no matter what happened now, she would always see the FBI agent, the image of perfection she conjured, perhaps in ignorance. A reflect of coldness overtook her. He did this to her as the bad omen of her career. Every time she encountered him, she suffered, despite her success. Bits of her chipping away with no regard for what *she* wanted, how *she* felt about it. And he knew it, but he did it anyway. He insisted on hurting her over and over again to make her doubt herself and her durability.
It only frustrated her further to acknowledge the most painful transformations were those provoked from the truth.
Where was her promised reminder, her blessed reassurance? Standing before the mirror, Starling saw it, reached for it, and watched helplessly as it drifted further from her grasp.
If she didn't capture it soon, it would be too late.
Emitting a shuddering breath, Starling tore her eyes from her image. She refused to watch it anymore, watch the deconstruction of her values as she stood here, unable to do anything to stop it, unsure if she would, should the authority rest in her hands.
All this after only two days? Just how strong *were* those values, anyway? Not strong enough to put up much of a fight before crashing. Starling snapped her eyes shut as she forced herself away from the mirror and slipped into bed, overwhelmed with emotion but unable to cry.
How does one mourn something that will not be missed?
When she awoke the next morning, Starling feared what she saw in the mirror would be more than out of reach. It would have vanished completely, left unguarded in the night hours and given ample time to make its escape.
If only she could be so lucky.
What then? She asked herself as she drifted to sleep, grasping the silence as her only peace.
She preferred not to think about it.
* * *
He waited in the
doorway until he was sure she was asleep, observant and still as though
studying a play. The wonderful show of
her agonized emotions both excited and nearly broke him to watch, and he found
himself curiously hopeful. She was close,
very close, but he did not wish to unearth her to the brink of mental
instability. This was hard for her, he
knew. It was difficult for him, as
well.
That thought
should have been disconcerting, but it was not. Dr. Lecter had known for a while the affect she had on him, which
was why he tolerated her minor disobediences, why he continuously granted his
forgiveness, whether or not she asked for it.
She knew how to
test him, though. Pushing him to that
next level, regardless if she was aware of it. There were other things, too. Other things he knew.
The museum.
When Starling
had emerged from the ladies room, he smelled the lipstick on her instantly and
likewise noted she had applied none. It
wasn't difficult to put together, nor unexpected. He was genuinely shocked when she refrained from kicking and
screaming in the eyes of the public, and knew she was, too. Her moods varied now, torn successfully
amongst duty, obligation, and desire.
Those at the
Bureau had scarred her deeply, but not enough to account for her complete loss
of faith. By studying her rapid mood
changes, he understood that she was compelled to follow whatever emotion
grasped her. Therefore, the museum
incident was forgiven. It wasn't as
discouraging as her outburst in the dining room.
That made him
flinch, even after the events that transpired over the past hour. His reaction unnerved him, that breech in
control, the marks he inflicted to her body. Though her displacement was aggravating, he made himself understand, given
the situation.
He was sure his
actions hurt himself much more than it occurred to her to mind. Knowing he was that close to utter loss of
control, what he *could* have done, even with one hand recovering a
self-inflicted wound…he was not used to being scared of himself, of his own
merciless capabilities.
Nor was he
accustomed to being so easily provoked.
The element of
self-resent made him feel too human.
The urge to heal
was great within him, too momentous to ignore. As though he were unaware of his actions, Dr. Lecter pushed the door
fully open. When she didn't stir, he
stepped in, eyes wandering over her sleeping form in a moment of
appreciation. Starling held nothing
back, unless she was trying to get something for herself or one of those puppet
masters. Even in her sleep, he saw her
troubles, her anxiety and fears. Dr.
Lecter's eyes absorbed her, blinking like a camera taking a picture.
Slowly, he
approached the slumbering Starling, stilled moments tugging at the boundaries
of his patience. He watched her
obsessively, eyes prodding her every curve, feature, fiber of her being. The temptation was on him to engulf her now,
to finish what started in the parlor, to condemn all prior convictions and
restraints. But no, he left her to her
sleep, to the withering bloom of her prior loyalty. There would be another time, despite how much that was
constricted by the message left for those presumably to save her.
That didn't
concern him. If they came, they
came. Escaping was simple; he'd done it
often enough. Escaping with her was a
whole separate issue. When the time
came – if the time came – he would give her a choice, and they would go from
there.
Should she still
want her freedom, he would grant it, and never again target her as a tangible
objective he could easily obtain. He
would leave her to herself, though hope from afar that she come to regret her
decision.
Slowly, Dr.
Lecter extended his right hand and brushed a lock of hair from her face. As she did that night at her house, she twitched
slightly but did not awake. Smiling, he
knelt forward and held his lips to her forehead.
"Sleep well,
Clarice," he whispered.
When he was
gone, Starling's eyes opened alertly but she didn't move. Sighing after a minute, she flexed beneath
the blankets as sleep overcame her again.
"Good night,
Doctor," she whispered, almost unaware that she spoke.
Her words
tumbled into silence as she drifted back to dreamland.
* * *
When the
janitorial staff entered the rest rooms of the Xu Beihong Museum early the next morning, they had trouble reading the
message and opted first to wash it out. However, the urgency, even in a foreign language, was easily depicted,
and it was decided to report it to the museum director.
By 10:00 AM, the FBI officials stationed in Beijing
were alerted to the message. It was
decided to search the coastline of China for as far as three hundred miles in
either direction. Luckily, they had
Starling's notes with them, and had a pretty good idea what to look for.
* * *
In the early morning, the sound of the waves crashing
along the shoreline was commonly the only thing heard throughout the
manor. The house itself wasn't used to
holding more than one occupant, and despite the hour, usually stood in
silence. Occasionally Dr. Lecter played
orchestral selections or one of the Florentine operas that he missed so very
much, but even then, it was as if no one lived there at all.
Thus, over the past few days, having an occupant such
as Starling who was neither quiet nor strived to be, gave the atmosphere a
sense of realism and humanity. She
awoke rather early to a headache, as well as a general fear of facing the
master of the house. The events that accumulated
the night before made her head spin, and she feared the loss of something more
significant than word when the inevitable encounter occurred.
Dispirited, Starling raced to the mirror to grasp what
she had seen the night before, what was out of her reach. When she expected it to be gone, she
emanated a relieved sigh. No, it was
still there, but growing more and more distant with each passing second. She didn't know how much longer she could
hold onto it, reach for it, and furthermore, if she even wanted to.
The temperature became uncomfortably warm, so she
stripped the pajama bottoms; reaching instead for the large and comfortable
robe she had enjoyed the morning before. Just the previous morning, and so much had changed.
Starling wondered, offhandedly, if anyone reported
that message she left in the museum bathroom. At the thought, something flustered within her, causing a sharp pain to
attack her head. Shaking it off, she
moved hesitantly for the door and paused to listen. No movement from the other side, though she knew if he were
awake, he wouldn't make a sound. Avoiding this would do her little good, only build her anxiety
until they ultimately did meet face-to-face today, and most likely give her an
early heart attack. Releasing a quivering
breath, she boldly pulled the door back, allowing a wave of fresh air to strike
her.
The pleasant smells she enjoyed the morning before
were nonexistent today. Starling looked
cautiously from right to left before allowing her eyes to fall on his chamber
door. Something within her sank. It was closed.
What had he said the night of her abduction? That seemed so long ago, but hardly a week
had passed.
("For reasons of your convenience, I'll leave the door
open.")
The message was
clear. Dr. Lecter did not intend to
make anything convenient for her. After what she did and said last night, it was just. Not only in his standards of ethics, but in
hers as well.
("You can't hold me here prisoner and *force* me to
love you!")
Ouch. That
hurt *her* to remember.
And the afterward? What of that?
("Dr. Lecter…what have you done to me? What *would*
you do to me if I let you?")
Did she really want to know?
Discouraged more
than she wanted to admit at the lack of hospitality – however much deserved –
displayed by his closed door, Starling loosened the sash on her robe to let the
air hit her again. The affect was more
or less disappointing. With a sigh, she
turned and walked down the hallway at a slow, unhurried speed.
Starling stopped
in the kitchen to rummage, but remembered she wasn't hungry. Knowing it was unwise to eat out of habit
rather than need, she decided to get some fresh air. It had been years beyond her recollection since she sat on a
beach simply to intake its beauty. Always was there some job to do, something that stood in the way of
pleasure. Perhaps it would help her
clear her head.
Quietly, she
slipped outside. Once gone, the house
slipped back from normality, and stood as though vacant.
* * *
In the quiet of
his chamber, Dr. Lecter listened intently as Starling's door opened. He had lied awake for several hours; sleep
never coming easy for him. The events
of the night before didn't really affect this, though he had dwelled.
Hearing Starling
move about in the house made him smile. It was good to liven up the place.
When he heard the
back door open and shut, he slowly rose from the berth, traveled to the window
and delicately pulled back the curtain. His eyes flickered over her as she went toward the water. By the subtle though quick movements she
made, he could tell her nerves were commanding her. Facing him this morning was not something she looked forward to,
but he knew avoiding it would do neither of them any good.
He dressed in a
white button-down shirt and casual slacks, not wanting to make her
uncomfortable, should he be indisposed.
Downstairs, he
poured her a cup of coffee. He hoped it
was a suitable icebreaker.
* * *
Starling sat a
comfortable distance from the waves, not wanting to ruin an addition of Dr.
Lecter's nice wardrobe. Besides, she
really liked the negligee. It was large
enough to require no clothing underneath, though she hardly felt it appropriate
to go around so bare. Her upbringing
had been rather modest, or primitive, as he said the day before.
It really was
nice out here.
"Good morning,
Clarice," she heard from behind. Starling's heart abruptly stopped. Of course, she wouldn't have heard him approach. That element of surprise was something he
reveled in, despite the conditions. "Mind if I join you? I brought
you coffee."
Slowly, she exerted
a breath and made her way to her feet. When she summoned enough courage to turn around, their eyes met and
held. For a minute, she doubted she
could do this, but knew somewhere she had to.
"Thank you,"
Starling replied, making no effort to reach for his offering.
Dr. Lecter
extended the cup to her before stepping forward. Then they were side by side, a comfortable foot or so apart,
looking together at the ocean. "It's
beautiful out here, isn't it?" he commented after a minute. "I told you the mornings were quite
lovely."
The casual air
in his voice was irritating. "You've
said a lot of things," she replied, taking a sip of her coffee.
Warmth filled
her.
"Yes…I suppose I
have."
Another beat of
silence. Starling considered throwing
the cup down and racing inside, yet thought the better of it. What should happen if he chased her? If she was captured?
An inconclusive
sigh escaped the man next to her. "We've certainly made a mess of things, haven't we?"
Ah, they *were*
going to discuss last night, after all.
The reply she
came up with startled her, but it rolled off her tongue with ease before she
stopped to consider. "As people, we
can't do any better." That sounded near
philosophical. "We make our own beds
hard to lie on."
"Well said,
Clarice. And too well true." He offered the ocean a small smile, though
she suspected it was directed at her.
Starling drank
in more of her coffee, registering how furiously her heart pounded. The temptation was upon her again to run
inside, but she knew she couldn't, for reasons other than the fear of
capture. She spent her life running
from problems, or working around them. Now embracing the consequences of her actions, she knew the best thing
to do was to stand here and take it, no matter how dizzy it made her.
There was always
something else.
When she spoke
again, she didn't realize it. The words
that tumbled from her mouth were reflective and redundant to her ears; she had
toyed with them so often over the past few days. But Dr. Lecter listened intently, as Starling knew he always
would. "When Pearsall gave me this
assignment, I fought him. I didn't want
to come out here and see you again. Not
after the lake house. But he did it
anyway, despite my reasoning and requests. Even though they had to know on some level what they were doing to me,
asking of me." Tears glinted in her
eyes. What followed would be difficult
to say, but she needed to speak it, feel it. To hear it in the open rather than in her head, to make it tangible, something
she could hold. For release, for
freedom, for final verification. "They
wanted me to kill you…they didn't come out and *say* it, but you're no good to
anyone alive back there. What would be
the point of that? We had you for eight
years but you never cracked. But I made
sure…" She drew in a breath, hating the sound of her emotion on her voice. Stop? No…she had to get it out, if only for herself. "I made sure that wouldn't happen. I wasn't going to let them kill you, even though I knew what awaited
you back home. Even when I was doing my
job…when I was supposed to do *something* other than what I did." Her knees buckled and she fought for
balance. "Even when I was supposed
to…but I can't! I can't!" At last, she fell, her legs hitting the sand
harshly. The last remark released
coincided with her tears, coming out rather as 'ca-ha-hant.' Starling collapsed, burying her face in her
hands, wishing herself away, far away, anywhere but here.
The sound of her
cries muffled Dr. Lecter's sigh. He
knelt to her and took her in his embrace, comforting, wanting to reassure her
but knowing words were unneeded. When
he felt her hug him back tightly in response, crying into his shoulder, it
changed. Everything changed. There was no going back.
Slowly, Dr.
Lecter pulled away to study her face, still stained with tears. In her eyes, he reflected her sadness and
grief, things he partially caused, things provoked by all she had endured. The urge to heal that birthed the night
before was with him again, alien almost as he was so accustomed to destruction,
not preservation. But seeing her like
this and let her demolish herself, the person he admired so much…going about
helping her was beyond him. He did only
what he knew to do.
Starling sensed
the change of mood and retracted, grasping his wrists but not to push him
away. Smiling softly, his hands coming
to her face, thumb flickering over a tear. Slowly, he neared, lips brushing her temple, then the other, then her
cheek, before finally he was presented with her mouth.
The grip on his
wrists tightened as he was pushed away, much like the night before. Starling fought to her feet.
"No…no! Damn you! No more!"
Then she was
running, hard, fast, and away from him. It wasn't planned to run after her, more or less impulse of the moment,
what was natural.
Whether calling
her name out was intended or not, neither of them knew.
It didn't take
much to catch her. Should she have
wanted to, outrunning him would have not been too difficult. He took this as a good sign. Masterfully grasping her arm, Dr. Lecter
whirled her to face him. Both breathing
hard, they simultaneously went to their knees again; not out of exhaust, but
something else.
The hold on his
arms was welcoming, inviting. Starling
knew she couldn't escape now, and was doubtful that she would, should she be so
inclined.
The approach to
her mouth was hesitant, almost willing her to run again. Starling expelled a moan of release, of
gratitude, of everything she couldn't express. Again, the FBI image flashed before her, yet it had little affect. She was trapped, trapped but freed.
Unconstrained finally from all those things she talked about, everything that
brought her here.
With the feel of
his lips over hers, she knew it was hopeless. Starling's hands skated up his arms to grasp his collar, to pull him
into her. When he encircled her waist,
she lost balance and fell backward, glad when he did the same.
His lips left
hers to explore the rest of her, uninhibited, as though he expected her to
thrash beneath him, to break and again push him away. They were both surprised when she didn't.
It was easy to
surprise each other, for no one else could.
* * *
Starling felt
she was falling, tumbling between the boundaries of time, space, and
reasoning. How she came to be here from
the beach, she didn't know, or think to know. There was movement against her, movement she responded to, best she knew. Her strength felt drained, drained and
strangely rekindled.
Then she knew. The feel of him was exquisite, coursing
through her like nothing she had ever known before. Slowly, delicately, cautious for fear she would still break.
The light coming
from the windows…those were his windows. Those moans escaping her, shuddering through her…they were real,
too. She was really here, responding to
him with everything he gave, not thinking twice.
Dr. Lecter
studied her with the most infatuated gaze, taking his time, slowing to the
point of tormenting himself. But he
felt no need to rush. Watching her
writhe from the pleasure he gave, to call out for him and no other, willed him
to take in every bit of her. Every
sight, scent, sound she released, he claimed for his own.
His qualities
were hers, too.
Their kisses
were long but frantic, offsetting everything else. Time was against them. They made due as if these were only moments they would have, now or
ever.
But when Dr.
Lecter did pull away, his hands went again to her face, to look at her, to
study her reaction. Starling opened her
eyes after a minute, thrill evident behind them. When she smiled at him, a whole smile, unlike any he had ever
delivered or received in his being, he knew it was over. It was over, yet neither of them won.
To see her smile
at him like that nearly made him shiver.
Dr. Lecter
smiled back at her, nothing victorious or triumphant, more in gratitude and
relief.
When he kissed
her again, Starling expelled a moan, the room beginning to spin. To her, it didn't matter how long they
stayed like, preferably forever. Outside loomed reality, what she would eventually have to face, and
everything in between.
Not now,
though. Now they were together, and
this time was theirs.
* * *