A variety of
catch phrases plagued Starling as she stepped off the plane. The glance of Washington she was allowed in
the sky left her feeling empty, as though she had unfinished business. Now standing in the terminal, she hoped to
discard that, knowing deep inside, however, it was impossible.
'Home sweet
home.'
There wasn't
anything sweet about this place.
'There's no
place like home.'
She could think
of at least three.
'Home is where
the heart is.'
Hah! Oh wait, that was serious.
Starling shook
her head. The days ahead loomed heavily
on her shoulders, leaving her to want only to sulk in bed. But no, she couldn't. They wouldn't allow that. And deep down, neither would she.
The time change
granted her several hours of daylight, and though work was the last thing on
her mind, Starling knew she had to see Pearsall. If she put it off until tomorrow, or whenever he decided to call
her in, she would undoubtedly lose what little sanity she had left, as well as
half the things she intended to say.
Likewise,
Starling felt a reprieve approaching. She wondered how many failed assignments it would take before they
finally realized putting her and Dr. Lecter together was not a good idea.
For something
that wasn't a good idea, it made her feel warm inside.
Washington. Shaking her head, Starling seized her
luggage and started for the door. Perhaps the sight of her Mustang would bring her back to
reality. She was in Washington, now,
she was home. Whatever investigating
continued in Beijing, she was no longer apart of.
Exhaustedly
throwing her suitcases into the back, Starling sighed as she fought the urge to
collapse on her car. The trunk-latch
brushed over her stomach as she shut it, causing her to flinch with initial
pain, then again with recollection. Rubbing
her right hand over the still-swollen patch of skin, she closed the back finally
and moved toward the driver's side.
The familiar air
of the Mustang did little to coax her back to who she was. Cursing, Starling slammed her fists on the
side of the steering wheel before succumbing at last to the urge to fall
forward. Her arms came around the wheel
as though to embrace it, and she buried her face in the uncomfortably warm
leather, ignoring the rays of sunlight that threaten to burn through her
flesh. Muffled sobs for what they were,
her cries sounded loud and ridiculous to her, as though she were forcing
herself to grieve. But when she
couldn't stop, even to pull away and start the ignition all for the tears that
blurred her vision, she knew this was not only grief, it was more than that.
Damn
morality! Why did he have to be right
about everything? Starling finally drew
her hand under her eyes to see, glad when the parking lot stood as empty as it
had a few minutes before. As she turned
the key, her mind unwillingly replayed their last minutes together. What he said, how she had wanted to yell at
him and command she go along, but knew beneath the surface that this was the
outcome.
If that house
was her escape from reality, her only gateway into who she really was, then
logic be damned if she didn't fly back to China and buy the place.
In the midst of
her diluted thought process, that nearly seemed logical.
As she pulled
into a steady line of traffic, Starling fought the temptation to pull off at
the exit that would lead her home. The
car nearly swerved with her indecision. Instead, she forced herself to maintain a steady pace forward. Before she lost all nerve, before her mind
failed to reflect every occurrence of the past few days with painfully sharp
accuracy, she had to speak with Pearsall.
The feeling of
ordinance she received upon pulling into Quantico made her nauseous. Stepping outside, lest she regurgitate in
the car, Starling realized she hadn't eaten in two days. She had declined the food – so called food –
offered by the flight attendants, and simply forgot to her last afternoon in
China.
Though McDonalds
was rather questionable, and rumored to be the local drug purveyors for
neighborhood children, Starling made a note to herself to stop there on the way
home.
Despite how much
she dreaded the meeting to come, she had to admit the look of genuine,
unbridled shock in Pearsall's eyes was most enjoyable. She almost cursed herself for not snapping a
Polaroid.
Surprise! You're on candid camera.
"Starling…" he
said slowly, disbelief evident on his voice.
"Hello, Mr.
Pearsall. May I speak with you?"
Starling, perhaps in habit of the past few days, felt the coldness in her eyes,
and heard it clearly in her tone. For
the first time, it didn't seem misplaced, or without reason.
"I didn't expect
you in today…" he replied, motioning her to close his office door. "I heard what happened…I can't tell you how
relieved—"
Rolling her
eyes, she felt bravado pulsing through her. Again, Dr. Lecter's words were with her, and she fought back the sad
smile they provoked.
("If ever in
doubt, rely on your courage and refer to your incorruptibility. Remember how it feels, the flavor that runs
in your mouth. Should you face yourself
as an agent and walk away, then you'll know to come for me.")
"Relieved?"
Starling scoffed, planting her hands firmly on her hips, reveling in the feel
of the tank top she still wore. There
was no extraordinary quality added to the cloth to give her this sensation of
warmth. It was the mere knowledge that
it was from him. Unlike the dress
before it, which she associated with the sight of Paul Krendler's removed
crown, she was reluctant to peel this from her shoulders.
In light of her
upcoming company, she had managed to fit a bra on before leaving China.
"What else would
I be?" Pearsall asked, the mock of innocence that fell over him making her
scowl in fury.
"I don't know,
Mr. Pearsall. I'm not going to take up
much of your time, but I just wanted to drop by and tell you this. I resent the position you put me in, and I
will never forget it. Regardless of my
request, you gift-wrapped me for Dr. Lecter's disposal," she growled. The words felt good on her tongue, though
she was having difficulty concealing her deeper motives. Was she angrier that he did this in the
first place, or that she was lost for it? Could she forgive Pearsall for making her come to the realization of her
deeper feelings for Dr. Lecter? Certainly. That was the best day
of her life, and Starling knew it. To rebut her gratitude, in spite of her
anger, for Pearsall's rather unwise career move was as fruitless as Peter's
denying of Christ. "I want to let you
know I'm seriously reconsidering my place in the Bureau. It's obvious my input isn't worth the dirt
under my shoe. How much do I have to
lose before you people listen to me?"
A few startled
minutes of silence passed before her employer could find it within himself to
offer a reply. "Starling…we did what we
had to…"
"You did what
was good for *you* without even considering what it would do to me. Had it been Will Graham, you wouldn't have
rethought it. Even considered. No one would ever ask him to go after Lecter
again. And even if you did have the
balls to ask, you wouldn't pressure him to once he denied." Starling's pulse raced in decree with the
excited fury of her words. "I don't
shame in telling you…I am not capable of killing Hannibal Lecter. I could cuff him and bring him in, but what
you wanted me to do was kill the enemy. When you're facing people like Evelda Drumgo, you do what you have to
do, or you get killed. Lecter won't
kill me, therefore I can't kill him. It's as simple as that. I refuse
to willingly end anyone's life out of cold blood. And frankly, Mr. Pearsall, I
don't give a rat's ass if you understand that or not."
"Starling, we
weren't asking you to kill him."
She shook her
head, the knowing gaze in his eyes betraying his argument. "Oh of course not…but that's what you
wanted. To avoid the mess a retrial
would bring. Understandable, really…but
you knew he wouldn't come out of hiding for anyone else. You sent me—"
"You were
supposed to call for backup."
"I *did* call
for backup! They were just—"
"There's no
point in arguing this, Starling," Pearsall said with a conclusive sigh. "Lecter's missing again and no one knows
where he is. I'm sorry you had to go
through that. No one anticipated him
*taking* you to his lair, and certainly not letting you go. We're just lucky he didn't…"
A flash of anger
soared behind Starling's eyes. "What? Rape me?"
"That or worse. What's that mark on your neck?"
It was as if the
phrase deactivated her anger. Almost
instinctively, Starling stepped back, face falling as her hand reached to brush
the skin at her throat. Instantly
triggering a memory. She was two days
younger, and in the company of Dr. Lecter once more. Seated at a large dinner table with delicious food at her
disposal.
Now she was
against the wall, his hand at her throat. His eyes blazed in anger.
("Do you realize how easy it would be for me, Clarice? The slightest pinch, held accurately, and you would never again have reason to worry of your duties, what I might steal from you. What you might *allow* me to steal.")
Allow him to steal. Being robbed never felt so good.
Hand remaining
self-consciously at her throat, she shook her head as she forced herself to the
present. "It's nothing," she whispered;
fight audibly gone from her voice. "Just a little memento."
"He didn't hurt
you?"
Starling's eyes
glistened with something more than irritation, though she doubted he caught
it. "He wouldn't."
Something else
was in Pearsall's gaze. A hint of
evasion. He wanted to end this
conversation. It was beginning to wear
on his conscience. "Starling…if I give you my word that we won't send you after
him again…will you consider staying?"
"Staying? With the FBI?"
"Yeah."
She sighed, her
head reclining back to gaze at the ceiling, hands finding their way into her
pockets. "I've found despite all my
schooling, despite every rational nerve in my body that I am unable to do
anything but what I do right here. I
told myself I'd quit…" She brought her eyes back to level with his. "And against everything that tells me
otherwise, I did not waste training for no reason. I'll stay here until it kills me, which it ultimately will."
An understanding
nod, surprisingly authentic, was her reply. "We won't forget that, Starling. None of us will. And if it means
anything…we won't ask you to go after him again."
Shaking her head
in immediate disagreement, Starling gave him a knowing look, one that could
have offended if not without wisdom. "Lies do not become us. You'll
say that now out of guilt, but the next time a man is trimmed for meat, you'll
have forgotten to feel bad about this…and you'll think of me. I swear to you, Pearsall…when that time
comes, I'll make you remember this day. Right now. If you ask
differently of me, I'll quit."
"Understood."
Nodding, she
turned to leave. This place made her
skin crawl, amongst other things. "I'm
leaving now…I don't know when I'll be back. I plan on taking some time off. If you have a problem with that—"
"I was going to
suggest it anyway. You need your time
off. Call in whenever…preferably a few
days."
"Gotcha."
It wasn't until
she was closing his office door that he called after her again. "Oh, and Starling…just in case you're
wondering…this did make up for that raid on the Verger Estate. That and then some. You have sympathy here. That other mess will be drowned in
disinterest once the media gets a hold of this."
Starling made a
face. "Thanks." It was hard to know how she meant it.
Then she was
gone.
* * *