3

Starling's day was blurred after that moment. If asked, she would likely not be able to tell you exactly what happened in the hours following her phone call to the F.B.I., right up to that evening, when she was sent home to contemplate the world in the dark of her own home.

It was with an inexplicable degree of sadness that she walked up the front steps to her door, and pushed her way inside. The door was unlocked, but she thought very little of that, since she was in such a hurry when she flew out that morning.

She walked into the living room, and cast an eye at the table that had borne the roses. It looked empty now, without that elegant bouquet giving it color. It seemed wrong, that she should miss anything that Dr. Lecter had given her, but knowing that her roses were in a lab somewhere now... dusted over with powder, dissected, crushed by the clumsy fingers of the police. Well, it was hard, after they'd given her so much pleasure.

A noise behind her broke that disturbing train of thoughts, causing her to spin around and slap her hand hard against her hip where her gun would usually be. It wasn't there. Fortunately she didn't need it, once she saw who it was that had sneaked their way in.

"Greg," Clarice said, and hurried forward to throw her arms around him in an unusual display of affection. Or desperation, perhaps, to come in contact with another human being, someone she knew she could trust to not be working against her. "How did you get in?"

"Hey Clare... I came as soon as I heard," Dr. Smythe replied, with a kiss to Clarice's red hair. "The door was unlocked."

"I'm glad you came. I think I was about to go insane. How did you hear?"

"Ardelia called me. Did you have any idea that you were going to hear from him again, Clare? Did he tell you that he'd keep in touch?" Greg asked gently, taking her hands to lead her to sit on the couch.

Clarice gave a rather unconvincing laugh, and shook her head. "If he'd said that, I think I'd have moved to another country. I thought... or I at least hoped... that he was gone for good. I did."

"A nasty surprise, then, I guess. I'd always heard that you and he had a sort of rapport though... he probably wouldn't hurt you, would he?" he asked, looking quite concerned for her health as he held her hand tight in his own cool fingers.

"A rapport? No. We were honest. We had an understanding of sorts. I don't know whether or not he'd hurt me, but he probably would... if it were more convenient, if he couldn't manage it another way," Starling replied, trying to sound confident in her response, and trying to block out the images from the past.

This is going to hurt a lot... the cleaver coming down, the blood spurting from the severed wrist, and Dr. Lecter... silent through it all

As though reading her mind, the current doctor pressed on. "He did save your hand, though, Clarice. Wouldn't you think that a sign of affection? After all, it would have been far more convenient to take yours off than his."

Clarice. He hadn't called her that since their first date, and now she gave him a narrow-eyed look. He was acting very strange, for him, and she didn't like it. "I'd... rather not talk about it right now, Greg. I've been through it a thousand times today, and that's not how one wants to spend their Fourth of July, and I'd rather let it go for the evening. I'll have reporters of all kinds on my door-step tomorrow. Hannibal Lecter is going to be discussed plenty, I don't need you to start in on it too."

"I'm sorry, Clare. You must be tired. I'll just tuck you in, and let you alone then, all right?

"All right."

**********

But she couldn't sleep. He'd left hours before, but still Clarice could not sleep. She continued playing that last exchange over and over in her mind. He was so probing, so determined... but he let it go so easily. Why?

"You're being ridiculous, girl," she grumbled at herself, throwing back her covers to go get herself a cold glass of water.

She walked down the hall only to find the kitchen light already on. Ardelia was busy at work, all set up with two beers, and a supply of cold pizza on two plates, set on opposite sides of the table. She knew this late night powwow was coming, and wasn't the least bit surprised by Clarice's appearance in the doorway.

"I know you prefer wine for the most part, Starling, but beer is all we've got at the moment, and I think you could use it."

Her own voice crying... 'I'd really like some wine'

"Beer's fine," Clarice replied shakily, and perched on the edge of the table with the beverage in hand. The cold amber liquid felt absolutely heavenly sliding down her throat, much more satisfying than the water would have been had she gotten her hands on it.

Ardelia sat down, and took a big bite out of her pizza. Silence reigned while she chewed, and fixed Clarice with a solemn stare. When she'd swallowed, she said one word to start the flood of explanation.

"Spill."

**********

Tabloids were of no interest to Dr. Lecter, even when they were mentioning his name - as they did do so often, to accuse him of various crimes throughout the ages, each more ridiculous than the last. Yet on this day when he stopped by the local store for a few ingredients for the evening's dinner, one headline caught his eye.

It was the Enquirer, forgoing its usual titles of women impregnated by Elvis, or werewolf children, for something that some would fine infinitely more believable, unfortunately enough. It read as follows:

*Cannibal Romance?*

*A shocking undercover feature from Gregory Smythe.*

The picture under this title was a grainy photo of Agent Starling's face.

Dr. Lecter bought it, and gave a pleasant wink at the young lady who was his cashier.

**********



It took several minutes for it to sink in, what she was reading.

Ardelia had woken her up before her alarm clock went off, with the Enquirer clenched in her fist, looking like she'd be happiest if she had the opportunity to shove it down 'Dr' Smythe's throat.

Clarice just couldn't believe it. Even when looking at the photo of the author she recognized every detail of his handsome face, it seemed unreal to her. She shook her head, and took a deep breath. "Can't be real, Ardy. Why would he bother going out with me for so long if it was just to... I mean, he had absolutely no way of knowing that Dr. Lecter would get in contact with me."

"I imagine that he was planning on doing a piece about your previous interactions with the good doctor," Mapp replied, looking thoughtfully at the gun on Starling's nightstand. "And then this golden opportunity fell in his lap, and he couldn't resist."

"He said... and I quote, here, 'Agent Starling recently received a love letter and a package filled with romantic gifts from her admirer, along with a bouquet of red roses to signify their passion.'" She flung the magazine at the wall with satisfying anger. "How the hell could he know about the presents? That hadn't been released. Or the roses, or the letter even... I didn't tell him any of that. 'Love letter', 'romantic', 'passion.' Hardly. But how did he know?"

Ardelia shifted uncomfortably, drawing Clarice's eye to her. The expression on her friend's face was enough to give it away.

"You told him?"

"Well... how the hell was I to know that he was a shit-eating swamp snake coated in putrid green slime?" Mapp said, somehow furious and remorseful at the same time.

"Shit. This is bad, Mapp. You know the F.B.I will pick up on this."

"Yeah."

"They'll start investigating again."

"Yeah."

"The bastard."

"Yeah."

Ardelia held out her arms to give Clarice a hug as the first tear went coursing down her cheek.

**********

Lecter had made good time. It took him less than a day after finding the article in the Enquirer to get on a plane, and get where he needed to go. To get a hotel reservation under his false identity, and get himself set up with a rental car for his convenience. He had to forgo the finer of the automobiles, as he knew that they'd be watching rental places again with the investigation again becoming 'hot', after his recent correspondence with Agent Starling.

All that in less than a day, and he was pleased. He'd been concerned that he wouldn't be able to get himself set up quickly enough, and he would half to further delay making plans for a fancy... dinner.

There was only one Smythe, G. in the phone book.

A week should be long enough to make preparations, and so Dr. Lecter made himself comfortable with a fine wine and a stack of paper, with his own pen. A letter would seem in order. The reporters and journalists were already swarming over Clarice again, like moths drawn to a flame, and all had come full-circle again.

**********

Author's Note: I want to thank Abbadon the Bad One, Victoria, arachniphiliac, and Nanci again! for reviewing my beloved story. Grrrr on Mr. Smythe. He makes me mad ^.^ I'm having a lovely time. I hope everyone continues enjoying it!