6
The car ride was nearly silent, without a word from either of them as the miles rolled by. He had permitted her to sit in the front seat, unbound, secure in the knowledge that she could not attack him or run away... not without endangering the vile man towards whom they were driving.
Initially Clarice was trying to keep track of where they were going, so she could give directions to someone should she get the chance to call... but she soon realized that Dr. Lecter was taking a roundabout path, twisting this way and that so that directions would be near impossible to give. She gave up, and let her eyes wander to the face of the Most Wanted killer.
"What do you see, Clarice?" Dr. Lecter asked, breaking the silence with that eerie accent... like fingers running up your spine.
"What do you mean, Dr. Lecter?" Clarice replied, not missing the humor in the formality of their speech... despite the fact he was who he was, and she was who she was, and he was escorting her to a murder.
"When you look at me," he continued, never taking his eyes from the road. "Do you feel revulsion? Does your flesh crawl... Clarice... knowing the things I've done, and the things I'm going to do? Do you see a madman?"
"What I see and what I feel are two different things, Dr. Lecter. Which are you asking for?"
A faint smile flickered across the man's mouth, and he turned his eyes to her as he slowed for a stoplight. "Touché, Clarice. But you are incorrect on that point... for example, you may see a see a pigeon dead on the sidewalk. If asked what you saw, you might say it was very sad, or it was disgusting, but those are feelings. No one ever says I saw a dead pigeon, with grey feathers and a broken neck. To most, seeing and feeling come together."
"I'm not most, Dr. Lecter," Starling responded, trying to stay distant and cool despite the chills that were running along her flesh. The reference to a pigeon was unsettling, knowing the way he had likened her to one all those years ago, in his conversations with Barney.
Agent Starling is a deep roller... let us hope one of her parents was not.
The good doctor considered that for a moment, and gave an amiable nod. "No, Clarice, you a certainly not most. That is not a mistake that anyone, much less myself, could make once they got to know you. Very well, precision. What do you feel?"
She knew better, by this point, than to lie to him, and she didn't even consider it. He always knew, somehow, some way. He could always tell when an untruth was spoken. The pause between his query and her response was used instead to figure out what she felt when she looked at him... so that she could be as precise as he would have. "Fear. Confusion. Longing."
"Thank you for being so frank, Clarice. I appreciate your honesty. Now, tell me why. Why do you feel those things?"
"I should think the first would be obvious. You're a murderer, obviously I'd be afraid."
"Dig deeper, Agent Starling," he answered, putting a harsh emphasis on the title before her name. "Because I don't think that's the whole truth."
"Well then, why don't you tell me, if you know all the answers Dr. Lecter."
"Now don't start getting rude, Clarice. You know how I feel about that."
"I'm sorry."
"It's quite all right. Your fear, though some of it would be very understandably from my questionable pastimes, I think is rooted deeper in your mind. I am, likely, your last chance. In the great F. B. I.. If I get away this time... that badge that you still cling to will be taken from you, and your life's work tossed away without a second thought. You fear failing, once and for all."
Clarice didn't respond to that. She didn't know how to respond to that. She couldn't exactly agree, as she didn't know it to be true... but nor could she refute it, not knowing it to be false. Whichever one it was, it hurt. His innocent 'observations' always cut deep, whether they were directed at her shoes, or her fears.
"Now the next, Clarice, let us continue. Confusion."
The torment was to continue. "That one I think I can answer with perfect confidence of it being the truth, Dr. Lecter. I'm confused as to what you're doing here. What I'm doing here. Why you're doing this, why you saved my life, why you are the way you are, and what I'm supposed to do, and how I'll manage to save Mr. Smythe and arrest you without you killing me or him."
"That I will accept at face value. You seem to have covered all the high points, but most of those I won't answer. Even if I could, if I answered them it would put me in a rather tight spot, now wouldn't it? But as for why you're with me... I just wanted the pleasure of your company, Clarice. Next!"
Longing, the last answer she tacked on, almost as an afterthought. She was hoping that they'd reach their destination, or that he would be sidetracked before she had to analyze that feeling. But miles of highway were ahead, and she was stuck groping for the right words to explain it. "I long... to turn back the clock," she finally settled on. "For so many things."
"Do elaborate."
"The fish market. To undo what..." She swallowed hard, and decided to move on from that subject. "To the mall. To Verger's estate."
"So you could apprehend me?"
"Yes."
"And is that all, Clarice?"
"Probably not. But it's enough."
"I suppose it is. Ah. Perfect timing. We've arrived. Please, take my coat. It's gotten rather cold out tonight, and I wouldn't want you to get a chill in that nightgown, as we've got a bit of a walk ahead," Dr. Lecter said, reaching to the back seat to hand the coat to her.
Clarice shrugged into the warmth of his jacket with only a moment's hesitation. He would insist on it anyhow, and it was cold outside. She could tell as much from the chill of the windows to the touch.
The instant Hannibal stepped from the car, Starling began a hurried search for something to use as her weapon. Under the seat, even a quick check in the glove compartment... and it turned up nothing. She didn't have time for a thorough check anywhere, as it took only a few seconds for him to make his way around the car to open her door. She could have screamed with the knowledge that they were here, at last, and she had no way to defend herself.
"Thank you, Dr. Lecter," she said with utter calm as he reached in to help her up.
"Of course, Clarice. Watch your step, the path is a little overgrown."
**********
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, and the bastard hadn't stumbled once. Clarice found herself more irritated about that than anything else. Not once did he lose his footing! While walking along a path that was more than overgrown, almost nonexistent, he remained as perfectly dignified, upright, and respectable as he always did. She was the one constantly catching her foot on this root or that, or tripping over her own feet. Of course, the fact that she was wearing a pair of fancy high heels wasn't helping any. Even worse, every time she tripped, he would reach out and catch her before she could go all the way down.
Every touch reminded her of her situation. It was starting to get painful. She didn't know where they were, where they were going, and the only person who did know where she was... well, was Dr. Lecter. Not the best place to be, in a tight spot.
"Ah, here we are," Hannibal announced with a smile in his voice... and indeed, there they were. Like a dream, in the midst of trees and darkness, and in the middle of nowhere, a shack appeared through the trees. More than a shack, almost a cottage... thought it could not quite be called a house.
Somewhere in the back of Clarice's sleep-deprived mind she found herself wondering if it might be made out of gingerbread, and perhaps Greg would turn out to be just a gingerbread man... and Hannibal would be the Wicked Witch of the West, who chased the rabbit down the rabbit hole and up the beanstalk.
"You don't look at all well, Clarice. Are you feeling all right?" Lecter asked softly, reaching out to grab hold of her arm as she stumbled again.
The next course is to die for...
"I'm fine, Dr. Lecter," Starling replied, with a faint gasp at the end of her words. She didn't want to go through it again, not again, not again. She didn't want to endure Paul Krendler all over again, this time with someone she actually once had feelings for. She didn't want to see...
The knife slid into the red line around Paul's forehead, and gently pried off his head... his brain was red and shiny, exposed to the light... and he didn't even care, Krendler didn't even care
"I can't do this, Dr. Lecter," she said, after getting only two steps closer to the door. She planted her feet as firmly as she could in those heels. "You're not giving me any sort of chance, and I can't do this. I can't watch you do this. I don't care what I have to do, I can't do this again."
The look in Lecter's eyes was something that could be classified as fondness as they looked over face... fondness and amusement, mingled in his eyes as he tightened his fingers around her bicep. "Can do what, Clarice? Hmm? Can't watch me kill him, your beloved Greg? You don't have to."
She was about to protest that it wasn't just the watching that she had a problem with... despite the fact that it was ridiculous to be arguing this matter. But something in his tone of voice stopped her cold, and her voice was lacking her usual confidence when she inquired. "What do you mean, Dr. Lecter?"
"I mean, Clarice, that it would be poor manners for me to plan such an elaborate dinner, and not have it already prepared when my special guest arrived."
She closed her eyes, knowing now what she would find inside... and wishing beyond all hope that it wasn't so. Wishing that she hadn't been so brave as to go with Lecter to 'save' Greg, without no one knowing where she was. Longing to turn back the clock, once more.
"Now come, Clarice. The soup should be just about done simmering."
**********
Author's Note: Well. What does one really say to that, hm? Thanks go to lady sparticus, SJ, Steel, and Nanci (whoo!) for reviewing! Thank you all. You keep me going.
The car ride was nearly silent, without a word from either of them as the miles rolled by. He had permitted her to sit in the front seat, unbound, secure in the knowledge that she could not attack him or run away... not without endangering the vile man towards whom they were driving.
Initially Clarice was trying to keep track of where they were going, so she could give directions to someone should she get the chance to call... but she soon realized that Dr. Lecter was taking a roundabout path, twisting this way and that so that directions would be near impossible to give. She gave up, and let her eyes wander to the face of the Most Wanted killer.
"What do you see, Clarice?" Dr. Lecter asked, breaking the silence with that eerie accent... like fingers running up your spine.
"What do you mean, Dr. Lecter?" Clarice replied, not missing the humor in the formality of their speech... despite the fact he was who he was, and she was who she was, and he was escorting her to a murder.
"When you look at me," he continued, never taking his eyes from the road. "Do you feel revulsion? Does your flesh crawl... Clarice... knowing the things I've done, and the things I'm going to do? Do you see a madman?"
"What I see and what I feel are two different things, Dr. Lecter. Which are you asking for?"
A faint smile flickered across the man's mouth, and he turned his eyes to her as he slowed for a stoplight. "Touché, Clarice. But you are incorrect on that point... for example, you may see a see a pigeon dead on the sidewalk. If asked what you saw, you might say it was very sad, or it was disgusting, but those are feelings. No one ever says I saw a dead pigeon, with grey feathers and a broken neck. To most, seeing and feeling come together."
"I'm not most, Dr. Lecter," Starling responded, trying to stay distant and cool despite the chills that were running along her flesh. The reference to a pigeon was unsettling, knowing the way he had likened her to one all those years ago, in his conversations with Barney.
Agent Starling is a deep roller... let us hope one of her parents was not.
The good doctor considered that for a moment, and gave an amiable nod. "No, Clarice, you a certainly not most. That is not a mistake that anyone, much less myself, could make once they got to know you. Very well, precision. What do you feel?"
She knew better, by this point, than to lie to him, and she didn't even consider it. He always knew, somehow, some way. He could always tell when an untruth was spoken. The pause between his query and her response was used instead to figure out what she felt when she looked at him... so that she could be as precise as he would have. "Fear. Confusion. Longing."
"Thank you for being so frank, Clarice. I appreciate your honesty. Now, tell me why. Why do you feel those things?"
"I should think the first would be obvious. You're a murderer, obviously I'd be afraid."
"Dig deeper, Agent Starling," he answered, putting a harsh emphasis on the title before her name. "Because I don't think that's the whole truth."
"Well then, why don't you tell me, if you know all the answers Dr. Lecter."
"Now don't start getting rude, Clarice. You know how I feel about that."
"I'm sorry."
"It's quite all right. Your fear, though some of it would be very understandably from my questionable pastimes, I think is rooted deeper in your mind. I am, likely, your last chance. In the great F. B. I.. If I get away this time... that badge that you still cling to will be taken from you, and your life's work tossed away without a second thought. You fear failing, once and for all."
Clarice didn't respond to that. She didn't know how to respond to that. She couldn't exactly agree, as she didn't know it to be true... but nor could she refute it, not knowing it to be false. Whichever one it was, it hurt. His innocent 'observations' always cut deep, whether they were directed at her shoes, or her fears.
"Now the next, Clarice, let us continue. Confusion."
The torment was to continue. "That one I think I can answer with perfect confidence of it being the truth, Dr. Lecter. I'm confused as to what you're doing here. What I'm doing here. Why you're doing this, why you saved my life, why you are the way you are, and what I'm supposed to do, and how I'll manage to save Mr. Smythe and arrest you without you killing me or him."
"That I will accept at face value. You seem to have covered all the high points, but most of those I won't answer. Even if I could, if I answered them it would put me in a rather tight spot, now wouldn't it? But as for why you're with me... I just wanted the pleasure of your company, Clarice. Next!"
Longing, the last answer she tacked on, almost as an afterthought. She was hoping that they'd reach their destination, or that he would be sidetracked before she had to analyze that feeling. But miles of highway were ahead, and she was stuck groping for the right words to explain it. "I long... to turn back the clock," she finally settled on. "For so many things."
"Do elaborate."
"The fish market. To undo what..." She swallowed hard, and decided to move on from that subject. "To the mall. To Verger's estate."
"So you could apprehend me?"
"Yes."
"And is that all, Clarice?"
"Probably not. But it's enough."
"I suppose it is. Ah. Perfect timing. We've arrived. Please, take my coat. It's gotten rather cold out tonight, and I wouldn't want you to get a chill in that nightgown, as we've got a bit of a walk ahead," Dr. Lecter said, reaching to the back seat to hand the coat to her.
Clarice shrugged into the warmth of his jacket with only a moment's hesitation. He would insist on it anyhow, and it was cold outside. She could tell as much from the chill of the windows to the touch.
The instant Hannibal stepped from the car, Starling began a hurried search for something to use as her weapon. Under the seat, even a quick check in the glove compartment... and it turned up nothing. She didn't have time for a thorough check anywhere, as it took only a few seconds for him to make his way around the car to open her door. She could have screamed with the knowledge that they were here, at last, and she had no way to defend herself.
"Thank you, Dr. Lecter," she said with utter calm as he reached in to help her up.
"Of course, Clarice. Watch your step, the path is a little overgrown."
**********
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, and the bastard hadn't stumbled once. Clarice found herself more irritated about that than anything else. Not once did he lose his footing! While walking along a path that was more than overgrown, almost nonexistent, he remained as perfectly dignified, upright, and respectable as he always did. She was the one constantly catching her foot on this root or that, or tripping over her own feet. Of course, the fact that she was wearing a pair of fancy high heels wasn't helping any. Even worse, every time she tripped, he would reach out and catch her before she could go all the way down.
Every touch reminded her of her situation. It was starting to get painful. She didn't know where they were, where they were going, and the only person who did know where she was... well, was Dr. Lecter. Not the best place to be, in a tight spot.
"Ah, here we are," Hannibal announced with a smile in his voice... and indeed, there they were. Like a dream, in the midst of trees and darkness, and in the middle of nowhere, a shack appeared through the trees. More than a shack, almost a cottage... thought it could not quite be called a house.
Somewhere in the back of Clarice's sleep-deprived mind she found herself wondering if it might be made out of gingerbread, and perhaps Greg would turn out to be just a gingerbread man... and Hannibal would be the Wicked Witch of the West, who chased the rabbit down the rabbit hole and up the beanstalk.
"You don't look at all well, Clarice. Are you feeling all right?" Lecter asked softly, reaching out to grab hold of her arm as she stumbled again.
The next course is to die for...
"I'm fine, Dr. Lecter," Starling replied, with a faint gasp at the end of her words. She didn't want to go through it again, not again, not again. She didn't want to endure Paul Krendler all over again, this time with someone she actually once had feelings for. She didn't want to see...
The knife slid into the red line around Paul's forehead, and gently pried off his head... his brain was red and shiny, exposed to the light... and he didn't even care, Krendler didn't even care
"I can't do this, Dr. Lecter," she said, after getting only two steps closer to the door. She planted her feet as firmly as she could in those heels. "You're not giving me any sort of chance, and I can't do this. I can't watch you do this. I don't care what I have to do, I can't do this again."
The look in Lecter's eyes was something that could be classified as fondness as they looked over face... fondness and amusement, mingled in his eyes as he tightened his fingers around her bicep. "Can do what, Clarice? Hmm? Can't watch me kill him, your beloved Greg? You don't have to."
She was about to protest that it wasn't just the watching that she had a problem with... despite the fact that it was ridiculous to be arguing this matter. But something in his tone of voice stopped her cold, and her voice was lacking her usual confidence when she inquired. "What do you mean, Dr. Lecter?"
"I mean, Clarice, that it would be poor manners for me to plan such an elaborate dinner, and not have it already prepared when my special guest arrived."
She closed her eyes, knowing now what she would find inside... and wishing beyond all hope that it wasn't so. Wishing that she hadn't been so brave as to go with Lecter to 'save' Greg, without no one knowing where she was. Longing to turn back the clock, once more.
"Now come, Clarice. The soup should be just about done simmering."
**********
Author's Note: Well. What does one really say to that, hm? Thanks go to lady sparticus, SJ, Steel, and Nanci (whoo!) for reviewing! Thank you all. You keep me going.
