A/N: Special thanks to my sister for looking over this for me.
~~~
The shrill persistence in the air took a minute to identify, so lost was she in the unexpected softness yet similarly controlling force of his lips on hers. Their kiss was nothing as she remembered, though she supposed things had changed a bit since the last they shared. As she began to process this interruption, a flash of annoyance overlapped the more plausible rush of fear. Starling heard the phone as though it were far away, and had nearly forgotten that it was still in her possession. Pulling away from his delicious mouth with aching reluctance, she began to reach for her purse and was suspended briefly by a cautious hand. Her skin tingled in affect. She wondered if contact would always ensue an adverse power over her senses.
The look in his eyes stressed similar irritation at this untimely disruption, and while she had not yet calmed, a shared gaze with this man reminded her of the very real danger they were still in. It was easy to dismiss their surroundings and the circumstances in the heat of good dialogue—amongst other things—making it distant but no less perilous.
"It might be Ardelia," Starling muttered, more to herself. The small atmosphere of the car had yet to cease spinning. A sharp ache up her spine shot her from Cloud Nine to reality, and she noted duly that she was still twisted awkwardly across the front seat, and that his other harm crushed her against him, securing her in his lap.
"Would she call?" his voice hummed lowly in her ear, reflecting as both cautious and seductive with minimal effort. Starling tried ineffectually not to shiver hard in response. "Especially now?"
"Maybe—to warn us."
The phone rang to persistence, chilling her still-flushed skin. Finally fishing it out of her purse, she eyed the howling mess of electronic buzzing thoughtfully before glancing again to Dr. Lecter. "Whoever it is has terrible timing."
Smiling softly, he nodded his agreement. There was yielding kindness buried within twinkling eyes. "We can compensate lost time later, Clarice." It sounded like a promise.
In the darkness of the vehicle, performing menial tasks such as answering the phone suddenly became complicated. She was still recovering her breath from their achingly sweet—however brief—kiss. Somehow she managed to tear her eyes away from his long enough to adjust the settings, illuminating the atmosphere with a light green glow to see who was calling.
A devastatingly familiar number flashed against her vision. The color drained from her face, and her eyes flickered twice: once in panic and again in irritation. Dryly, she glanced up, leveling her gaze with Dr. Lecter's in grim annoyance. "It's Pearsall," she reported. "And I doubt it's to wish me the best."
"Would he call out of courtesy?" the doctor asked, his tone deliberately low and soothing, should she lose her wits and succumb to fear at last of the danger they were in. "To warn you that I have been sighted?"
"I don't know." Fleetingly, Starling berated herself for their lapse in neglecting radio broadcasts. Dialogue and confessions had eclipsed the more tangible menace. "I didn't think he had this number…I bought the phone because—"
"Yes, Ms. Mapp told me. To avoid numerous eavesdroppers on private conversations."
"What should we do?"
Dr. Lecter arched his brows and nodded at the wailing device in her grasp. "It's entirely up to you, Clarice. I suspect you might enjoy venting some wan frustration. Do you recognize the number, where he is calling from?"
"It's his cell," she said immediately. "He's in his car. He only uses his cell in his car, it seems. Must be headed to the hotel. I hope the hotel."
"Do what you will." His smile was controlled and deceiving. "If you answer, I would advise that you start the car and continue. We wouldn't want to give your friends too much of a lead."
Returning his smile in counterpoint to the melting gravity of their recent verbal toss, Starling raised the phone to her ear, silencing its shrill. She purposely stalled a minute, listening to Pearsall's agitated breath on the other line, her smile turning wry. It was as though he was sitting beside her, the image her mind conjured was so vivid. Time after time, she had stood in his presence as he ranted, his breath emitting in the same impatient, ragged style as someone fed him more bad news. With illusory calmness, she prepared herself for whatever was in store, and finally answered. "Pronto."
Dr. Lecter smirked wickedly, and he winked at her.
"Agent Starling, I presume?"
It was the world's greatest turn-off, next to the deceased Paul Krendler. For a minute, she didn't know if it was more appropriate to roll her eyes in persisting agitation or laugh at her former employer's lasting antics. The only thing that didn't seem fitting – ironically – was fear. There would be plenty of time for that later.
Just hearing his insufferable tone made her flush with cold anger, tainted by a decade of resentment. Transiently, she was caught between hanging up and screaming into the receiver. Control ebbed, just with that, begging to be forgotten. The reimbursement of a thousand times before, a thousand wrongs, a thousand misconducts, things she had no power of, couldn't speak against, respectfully. However, she bit her tongue and calmed herself, grasping her control, for she knew it was all she had. Though she wasn't quite ready to compromise her rather telling position, Starling forced herself to wiggle deferentially to her side of the car. She felt cold all over for the sudden loss of Dr. Lecter's shielding warmth.
"Mr. Pearsall," she replied at last, once comfortable. As per the doctor's instruction, she started the ignition and pulled off the road. Even if the hounds were far behind them, it was unwise to sit around and allow them time to cover lost tracks. She tossed a glance to her companion once they were on the road and smiled, eyes not lingering long enough to wait for a return. "What can I do for you?"
"I hope I'm catching you at home," Pearsall answered nastily—his tone indicating foreknowledge that he knew perfectly well where she was and in whose company. Likewise, she could tell that he was struggling for control, fighting the urge to reach through the phone and strangle her. The feeling was beyond mutual.
"What if I say I'm going out for pizza?"
"It'd be the wiser. You're smart enough to know not to leave the city. Not now." His voice battled staticy distance and reception between the phones and the typical howls of traffic.
"Damn straight," Starling agreed, coaxing a hum from Dr. Lecter, which she ignored. His alleviated senses undoubtedly allowed him to construe everything that was being said, and she couldn't risk reacting to all of his reactions.
"Hmmm…yes. So Ms. Mapp has indicated."
A cold streak flashed through her, and her mocking bravado vanished. Without glancing to Dr. Lecter, she knew he discerned her friend's position. At this latest break, she felt a rush of fear followed immediately by irritation. In an instant, millions of angry words had housed in her throat, each beckoning for release. However, she clinched her instinctive reaction, leveling her tone and finally glancing to the doctor, eyes confirming what she already knew.
"Funny story," Pearsall continued. "I'm sure you'll get a kick out of it. I just received a call at home. Evidently, a pizza delivery boy reported a Hannibal Lecter sighting when he was on call to the Pennsylvania House. Even more interesting, it appears that it was in Ardelia Mapp's room. Know anything about that?"
"Kids say the darndest things," Starling replied with a shrug. "No, why would I know something about—"
Patience abandoned her former employer's tone, replaced with cold intolerance. "Can it, Starling. We've located Mapp and she's being questioned. I'm on my way there now. If you have any wits about you, you'll haul ass down here, too."
"Why should I?"
"You brought him here." For a minute, it sounded like he wanted to continue, but his voice trailed off inconclusively.
"How can that be, Mr. Pearsall? I haven't left the city, remember?" Her casual air surprised her, almost frightened her, but she knew if she stopped to focus that she would lose it. "So you're holding Ardelia on the word of a pimply teenager. Brilliant. Fucking-A brilliant. What I would like to know is how you got this phone number."
"We have some rather incriminating evidence, Starling. It just happens that that woman is your closest friend, that we know of, and that her car is missing. Funny enough, she was found in your car, heading out of town."
Pearsall spoke arrogantly, as though he was sitting in the back seat. There wasn't too much he could be certain of right now, even if his assumptions were accurate. It was a blatantly open and shut case, but the longer she distracted him, the better. "That still doesn't answer how you got this number," she observed.
"I am a government official, Starling. You do the math. Why do you suddenly need a cell? Was ours not up to standard?"
Her eyes narrowed at his poorly portrayed ignorance. In response, Dr. Lecter hummed in amusement, his gaze intent on her. She did not look back, blazing eyes intent on the country road before them, the Toyota continuing at its racy speed. Truthfully, she had never classified herself as an aggressive driver, but the conversation seemed to fuel her adrenaline. Though they were still undecided on a destination, it was imperative to put as much space as possible between themselves and Washington. Absently, her mind forewarned that they would need to switch vehicles soon. This one had done its purpose, but would become a threat to them in time.
"I suppose the thought of someone wanting to hold a conversation with someone else without the entire fucking Bureau listening is inconceivable," she sneered bitterly.
"Enough of that," Pearsall replied dismissively, making her nerves fluster at his evasiveness. "What I want to know is where you are—especially now that Lecter has been sighed—and why we located Mapp in your car, not hers."
"Because mine has better mileage?"
"Starling!" impatience rasped at his tone. "This is your career, your life in the balance. If any part of you…" With a sharply brusque in take of air, he trailed off, losing his words, or his train of thought. "Your job is one thing…if—"
"Is that concern I hear, Mr. Pearsall?" she gasped in mock astonishment. "Well, I suppose there is a first for everything."
Another breath, each sinking further in defeat. A smile tickled her mouth, but she swallowed it. When he began speaking again, it was scalded and hurt. The steel tone he had exhibited that clearly established his nonnegotiable position during their last meeting had vanished. "I don't know what happened to you—"
"That's rich!" Starling scoffed in disbelief. "Of course, of course. How profound! It wasn't one thing, Mr. Pearsall…it was several thousand things. You happened, Paul Krendler happened. You and everyone else in god-fucking-damned Bureau happened. And hell, that's just recent news. Go back ten years, when Hannibal Lecter happened." Though she was tempted to gaze over and determine her companion's response to the bitter statement, she was too engorged in argument to pause, or consider the merit her words. "I don't have to explain myself to you."
Never before had she envisioned herself in this position. Stories of good- agents-gone-bad had haunted the tainted halls of Quantico for as long as she could remember. It was the meter-stick, the measurement and guideline for new recruits to refer to in advice of what not to do. With some perverse pride, Starling speculated her rapidly developing mark would soon be unsurpassable. Falling in love with the monster of all monsters, and consensually—well, mostly—running off with him while ensuring her formal discharge from her hazardous occupation.
She hoped vainly that Pearsall would stoop to actually fire her with some normality.
The helplessness had not vacated her former boss's tone. "You know and understand then," he said slowly, as though speaking to a detrimental child, "what will happen of we find you?"
"Aren't you talking big?" she retorted dryly, unresponsive to his aloofness. "For all you know, Mr. Pearsall, I might be at the fucking grocery store."
"I don't think so," he disagreed. "Not with a recent Lecter sighting and Mapp's car missing. Not with her in your car and you not at home, nor work, or the gym, or any of the places they've checked. Your location doesn't have as much ambiguity that you might think. After all, Starling, you did, just a few hours ago, tell me how very not sorry you were for your previous actions, for communicating and conspiring to elope with—"
"Conspiring to elope," she barked back in a humorless chuckle. "So it's elope now, is it? Is that what you're going to tell the Tattler? One of many things I'm not going to miss, Mr. Pearsall, is your tendency to exaggerate facts and act on assumptions."
Another breathy sigh. "Starling…I'm saying this as a friend," he stressed. The end of the conversation was in sight, as was the last of his surprisingly endurable patience. By this time, she figured he knew better than to scream threats at the top of his lungs. Pearsall was educated and experienced enough to recognize that such attempts intimidation were fruitless and a waste of time. And—perhaps—in his own perverse way, he did care about her. Cared in that same, superior though almost fatherly way in which she associated Jack Crawford. "There's still time for you to come back. I will see—"
A flash of familiarity rushed through her, and her stomach wrenched into a knot. "Save it," she snapped. "I'm tired of listening to you, I've been goddamned tired for ten years. It's over, Clint. I'm out and I'm never going back."
Free…as a bird…
The breech in etiquette she surpassed in addressing him by his given title perhaps severed him more than the words did. Starling knew this from past experience. Once, long ago, she did the same in the presence of Jack Crawford, and while he was collected enough not to react visibly, she could tell the gravity of her argument had affectively leaked through.
Krendler was an exception. Though she rarely used his first name, she had on more than one occasion, especially in incidents where he continuously proved himself not a gentleman.
When Pearsall had regained himself, she heard him clear his throat, again adapting the frontage of a professional. "We will find you," he said firmly. "Make no mistake."
A reply recoiled on her tongue, aching for release. Starling didn't know whether to cackle or groan at the predictability. However, before any reaction could seep through, she was calmed by a soft touch at her wrist, instantaneously deactivating her soaring tension. In the heat of the moment, reveling in the last words she ever intended to speak to her former boss, she had nearly forgotten the dangerous presence reclining in ever- seductive silence to her right.
"Please, Clarice," he murmured, smoothly snatching the phone from her grasp before she could voice her approval or opposition. "Allow me." Sending her a subtle wink before she forced her eyes back to the road, he raised it to his ear, and said conversationally, "Yes, hello, Mr. Pearsall. I've heard much about you." Humming echoed through the extension, though she couldn't make out what was said. It was high-pitched and angry—more like the man she knew. Breaking into the stream of usual threats that undoubtedly spurted from left to right, Dr. Lecter's leisure response was nothing more than a mere purr of amusement. "Quite enough of that. I do afraid I'm rather pressed for time. No, no…I just wanted to wish you happy hunting. Yes. I'm going to hang up now, Clint. May I call you Clint? Now, now…no need for that. I'll keep that in mind. Ciao."
The call was swiftly cut and he handed the phone back to Starling, who curled it absently in her fingers at the wheel. For long minutes, neither spoke, resting in companionable silence. Feelings of renewed liberation stirred within her. So that was it. It was really behind her now. No going back.
A long sigh escaped her lips. It trembled a bit against the silent air.
"Are you all right, Clarice?"
Starling didn't answer immediately, her eyes locked on the road before them. A pair of headlights flashed in the distance, duly with their brights on, passing as she processed her answer. Was she all right? Perhaps for the first time, she saw the future without trepidation or fear. The loom of impending danger did not threaten her. Even if they were captured…
Soon, they would pass through a small town. The car needed a fill up and she could use some caffeine refreshment.
"Clarice?"
"I'm fine," she said simply. There was no need for elaboration or reasoning. It tainted her tone. "I'm fine and then some." With a smile, a good, genuine smile, she glanced over to him, her eyes shining.
Then the phone started ringing again. Emitting an aggravated sigh, she irately flipped her wrist to examine the return number, coaxing the sigh to a low rumbling growl. Surging irritation disturbed her newfound peace, and in minor retaliation, she furiously rolled down the window and chucked the device into the night; eyes objectively studying the rearview mirror as sparks skidded and danced across the pavement.
Collecting herself, calming flaring nerves, Starling didn't bother to hazard a glance to Dr. Lecter until she had control over her reactions. When their eyes met, she felt herself flush with impatience. A line severed, a connection gone. Now they were alone. Truly alone. Just them. While it seemed the moment should be significant, she was surprised to discover the lack of a telling bolt from the blue. In a sense, it seemed only like a prolonged homecoming.
Then she was rushed with a wave of foolishness, followed immediately by remorse. To consider the long path it took to reach this pivotal point in their relationship. How many wasted years, how many repeated heartaches. He was the one foundation in her life, the aspect that never changed. While her world collapsed around her, he remained the same, offering his familiar support, offering forgiveness he was not supposed to have, showing more compassion than anyone she had known.
She had said awful things to him, things intended to scathe and burn. And while she still nursed wounds from the deep cuts of the Baltimore days, her verbal onslaught was more hurtful, for it attacked the advantage of exposed feelings, using them to make things right with her.
Over and over again…
As she processed these thoughts, questioning her line of sensibility, racked with self-doubt, Dr. Lecter reached for her right hand that rested ineffectually on the steering wheel, caressing it with his lips as she drew in a sharp breath. "Forget it, Clarice," he dismissed, nuzzling her palm before delicately returning it to the wheel.
Silence again. Starling was become achingly aware of a sharp pain attacking her lower abdomen, honing with each deep breath. Her body was tense; both in the after-affects of her toss with Pearsall, quivering with wonderful release that still managed to intimidate her on a level, and the subtle though shattering way Dr. Lecter managed to increase her pulse-rate and make her shiver with anticipation. Perhaps she had been sitting up too long. Soon she would relinquish driving duties, perchance when they stopped for gas and changed vehicles.
She wanted rest—having neglected a good night's sleep for the past several weeks.
That was a given; she wanted something else, too.
Mhmm…
That she put aside, blinking tired eyes as she collected her thoughts. With a weary nod, she glanced to him briefly, as though just registering he spoke, before whispering through half-parted lips, "I can't."
To that he had no reply. Starling would heal in her own time for such lengthy negligence. There was nothing anyone could say now to withdraw her dry remorse. Thus, they drove, lacking the need for words, and settling instead into a comfortable silence.
* * *
~~~
The shrill persistence in the air took a minute to identify, so lost was she in the unexpected softness yet similarly controlling force of his lips on hers. Their kiss was nothing as she remembered, though she supposed things had changed a bit since the last they shared. As she began to process this interruption, a flash of annoyance overlapped the more plausible rush of fear. Starling heard the phone as though it were far away, and had nearly forgotten that it was still in her possession. Pulling away from his delicious mouth with aching reluctance, she began to reach for her purse and was suspended briefly by a cautious hand. Her skin tingled in affect. She wondered if contact would always ensue an adverse power over her senses.
The look in his eyes stressed similar irritation at this untimely disruption, and while she had not yet calmed, a shared gaze with this man reminded her of the very real danger they were still in. It was easy to dismiss their surroundings and the circumstances in the heat of good dialogue—amongst other things—making it distant but no less perilous.
"It might be Ardelia," Starling muttered, more to herself. The small atmosphere of the car had yet to cease spinning. A sharp ache up her spine shot her from Cloud Nine to reality, and she noted duly that she was still twisted awkwardly across the front seat, and that his other harm crushed her against him, securing her in his lap.
"Would she call?" his voice hummed lowly in her ear, reflecting as both cautious and seductive with minimal effort. Starling tried ineffectually not to shiver hard in response. "Especially now?"
"Maybe—to warn us."
The phone rang to persistence, chilling her still-flushed skin. Finally fishing it out of her purse, she eyed the howling mess of electronic buzzing thoughtfully before glancing again to Dr. Lecter. "Whoever it is has terrible timing."
Smiling softly, he nodded his agreement. There was yielding kindness buried within twinkling eyes. "We can compensate lost time later, Clarice." It sounded like a promise.
In the darkness of the vehicle, performing menial tasks such as answering the phone suddenly became complicated. She was still recovering her breath from their achingly sweet—however brief—kiss. Somehow she managed to tear her eyes away from his long enough to adjust the settings, illuminating the atmosphere with a light green glow to see who was calling.
A devastatingly familiar number flashed against her vision. The color drained from her face, and her eyes flickered twice: once in panic and again in irritation. Dryly, she glanced up, leveling her gaze with Dr. Lecter's in grim annoyance. "It's Pearsall," she reported. "And I doubt it's to wish me the best."
"Would he call out of courtesy?" the doctor asked, his tone deliberately low and soothing, should she lose her wits and succumb to fear at last of the danger they were in. "To warn you that I have been sighted?"
"I don't know." Fleetingly, Starling berated herself for their lapse in neglecting radio broadcasts. Dialogue and confessions had eclipsed the more tangible menace. "I didn't think he had this number…I bought the phone because—"
"Yes, Ms. Mapp told me. To avoid numerous eavesdroppers on private conversations."
"What should we do?"
Dr. Lecter arched his brows and nodded at the wailing device in her grasp. "It's entirely up to you, Clarice. I suspect you might enjoy venting some wan frustration. Do you recognize the number, where he is calling from?"
"It's his cell," she said immediately. "He's in his car. He only uses his cell in his car, it seems. Must be headed to the hotel. I hope the hotel."
"Do what you will." His smile was controlled and deceiving. "If you answer, I would advise that you start the car and continue. We wouldn't want to give your friends too much of a lead."
Returning his smile in counterpoint to the melting gravity of their recent verbal toss, Starling raised the phone to her ear, silencing its shrill. She purposely stalled a minute, listening to Pearsall's agitated breath on the other line, her smile turning wry. It was as though he was sitting beside her, the image her mind conjured was so vivid. Time after time, she had stood in his presence as he ranted, his breath emitting in the same impatient, ragged style as someone fed him more bad news. With illusory calmness, she prepared herself for whatever was in store, and finally answered. "Pronto."
Dr. Lecter smirked wickedly, and he winked at her.
"Agent Starling, I presume?"
It was the world's greatest turn-off, next to the deceased Paul Krendler. For a minute, she didn't know if it was more appropriate to roll her eyes in persisting agitation or laugh at her former employer's lasting antics. The only thing that didn't seem fitting – ironically – was fear. There would be plenty of time for that later.
Just hearing his insufferable tone made her flush with cold anger, tainted by a decade of resentment. Transiently, she was caught between hanging up and screaming into the receiver. Control ebbed, just with that, begging to be forgotten. The reimbursement of a thousand times before, a thousand wrongs, a thousand misconducts, things she had no power of, couldn't speak against, respectfully. However, she bit her tongue and calmed herself, grasping her control, for she knew it was all she had. Though she wasn't quite ready to compromise her rather telling position, Starling forced herself to wiggle deferentially to her side of the car. She felt cold all over for the sudden loss of Dr. Lecter's shielding warmth.
"Mr. Pearsall," she replied at last, once comfortable. As per the doctor's instruction, she started the ignition and pulled off the road. Even if the hounds were far behind them, it was unwise to sit around and allow them time to cover lost tracks. She tossed a glance to her companion once they were on the road and smiled, eyes not lingering long enough to wait for a return. "What can I do for you?"
"I hope I'm catching you at home," Pearsall answered nastily—his tone indicating foreknowledge that he knew perfectly well where she was and in whose company. Likewise, she could tell that he was struggling for control, fighting the urge to reach through the phone and strangle her. The feeling was beyond mutual.
"What if I say I'm going out for pizza?"
"It'd be the wiser. You're smart enough to know not to leave the city. Not now." His voice battled staticy distance and reception between the phones and the typical howls of traffic.
"Damn straight," Starling agreed, coaxing a hum from Dr. Lecter, which she ignored. His alleviated senses undoubtedly allowed him to construe everything that was being said, and she couldn't risk reacting to all of his reactions.
"Hmmm…yes. So Ms. Mapp has indicated."
A cold streak flashed through her, and her mocking bravado vanished. Without glancing to Dr. Lecter, she knew he discerned her friend's position. At this latest break, she felt a rush of fear followed immediately by irritation. In an instant, millions of angry words had housed in her throat, each beckoning for release. However, she clinched her instinctive reaction, leveling her tone and finally glancing to the doctor, eyes confirming what she already knew.
"Funny story," Pearsall continued. "I'm sure you'll get a kick out of it. I just received a call at home. Evidently, a pizza delivery boy reported a Hannibal Lecter sighting when he was on call to the Pennsylvania House. Even more interesting, it appears that it was in Ardelia Mapp's room. Know anything about that?"
"Kids say the darndest things," Starling replied with a shrug. "No, why would I know something about—"
Patience abandoned her former employer's tone, replaced with cold intolerance. "Can it, Starling. We've located Mapp and she's being questioned. I'm on my way there now. If you have any wits about you, you'll haul ass down here, too."
"Why should I?"
"You brought him here." For a minute, it sounded like he wanted to continue, but his voice trailed off inconclusively.
"How can that be, Mr. Pearsall? I haven't left the city, remember?" Her casual air surprised her, almost frightened her, but she knew if she stopped to focus that she would lose it. "So you're holding Ardelia on the word of a pimply teenager. Brilliant. Fucking-A brilliant. What I would like to know is how you got this phone number."
"We have some rather incriminating evidence, Starling. It just happens that that woman is your closest friend, that we know of, and that her car is missing. Funny enough, she was found in your car, heading out of town."
Pearsall spoke arrogantly, as though he was sitting in the back seat. There wasn't too much he could be certain of right now, even if his assumptions were accurate. It was a blatantly open and shut case, but the longer she distracted him, the better. "That still doesn't answer how you got this number," she observed.
"I am a government official, Starling. You do the math. Why do you suddenly need a cell? Was ours not up to standard?"
Her eyes narrowed at his poorly portrayed ignorance. In response, Dr. Lecter hummed in amusement, his gaze intent on her. She did not look back, blazing eyes intent on the country road before them, the Toyota continuing at its racy speed. Truthfully, she had never classified herself as an aggressive driver, but the conversation seemed to fuel her adrenaline. Though they were still undecided on a destination, it was imperative to put as much space as possible between themselves and Washington. Absently, her mind forewarned that they would need to switch vehicles soon. This one had done its purpose, but would become a threat to them in time.
"I suppose the thought of someone wanting to hold a conversation with someone else without the entire fucking Bureau listening is inconceivable," she sneered bitterly.
"Enough of that," Pearsall replied dismissively, making her nerves fluster at his evasiveness. "What I want to know is where you are—especially now that Lecter has been sighed—and why we located Mapp in your car, not hers."
"Because mine has better mileage?"
"Starling!" impatience rasped at his tone. "This is your career, your life in the balance. If any part of you…" With a sharply brusque in take of air, he trailed off, losing his words, or his train of thought. "Your job is one thing…if—"
"Is that concern I hear, Mr. Pearsall?" she gasped in mock astonishment. "Well, I suppose there is a first for everything."
Another breath, each sinking further in defeat. A smile tickled her mouth, but she swallowed it. When he began speaking again, it was scalded and hurt. The steel tone he had exhibited that clearly established his nonnegotiable position during their last meeting had vanished. "I don't know what happened to you—"
"That's rich!" Starling scoffed in disbelief. "Of course, of course. How profound! It wasn't one thing, Mr. Pearsall…it was several thousand things. You happened, Paul Krendler happened. You and everyone else in god-fucking-damned Bureau happened. And hell, that's just recent news. Go back ten years, when Hannibal Lecter happened." Though she was tempted to gaze over and determine her companion's response to the bitter statement, she was too engorged in argument to pause, or consider the merit her words. "I don't have to explain myself to you."
Never before had she envisioned herself in this position. Stories of good- agents-gone-bad had haunted the tainted halls of Quantico for as long as she could remember. It was the meter-stick, the measurement and guideline for new recruits to refer to in advice of what not to do. With some perverse pride, Starling speculated her rapidly developing mark would soon be unsurpassable. Falling in love with the monster of all monsters, and consensually—well, mostly—running off with him while ensuring her formal discharge from her hazardous occupation.
She hoped vainly that Pearsall would stoop to actually fire her with some normality.
The helplessness had not vacated her former boss's tone. "You know and understand then," he said slowly, as though speaking to a detrimental child, "what will happen of we find you?"
"Aren't you talking big?" she retorted dryly, unresponsive to his aloofness. "For all you know, Mr. Pearsall, I might be at the fucking grocery store."
"I don't think so," he disagreed. "Not with a recent Lecter sighting and Mapp's car missing. Not with her in your car and you not at home, nor work, or the gym, or any of the places they've checked. Your location doesn't have as much ambiguity that you might think. After all, Starling, you did, just a few hours ago, tell me how very not sorry you were for your previous actions, for communicating and conspiring to elope with—"
"Conspiring to elope," she barked back in a humorless chuckle. "So it's elope now, is it? Is that what you're going to tell the Tattler? One of many things I'm not going to miss, Mr. Pearsall, is your tendency to exaggerate facts and act on assumptions."
Another breathy sigh. "Starling…I'm saying this as a friend," he stressed. The end of the conversation was in sight, as was the last of his surprisingly endurable patience. By this time, she figured he knew better than to scream threats at the top of his lungs. Pearsall was educated and experienced enough to recognize that such attempts intimidation were fruitless and a waste of time. And—perhaps—in his own perverse way, he did care about her. Cared in that same, superior though almost fatherly way in which she associated Jack Crawford. "There's still time for you to come back. I will see—"
A flash of familiarity rushed through her, and her stomach wrenched into a knot. "Save it," she snapped. "I'm tired of listening to you, I've been goddamned tired for ten years. It's over, Clint. I'm out and I'm never going back."
Free…as a bird…
The breech in etiquette she surpassed in addressing him by his given title perhaps severed him more than the words did. Starling knew this from past experience. Once, long ago, she did the same in the presence of Jack Crawford, and while he was collected enough not to react visibly, she could tell the gravity of her argument had affectively leaked through.
Krendler was an exception. Though she rarely used his first name, she had on more than one occasion, especially in incidents where he continuously proved himself not a gentleman.
When Pearsall had regained himself, she heard him clear his throat, again adapting the frontage of a professional. "We will find you," he said firmly. "Make no mistake."
A reply recoiled on her tongue, aching for release. Starling didn't know whether to cackle or groan at the predictability. However, before any reaction could seep through, she was calmed by a soft touch at her wrist, instantaneously deactivating her soaring tension. In the heat of the moment, reveling in the last words she ever intended to speak to her former boss, she had nearly forgotten the dangerous presence reclining in ever- seductive silence to her right.
"Please, Clarice," he murmured, smoothly snatching the phone from her grasp before she could voice her approval or opposition. "Allow me." Sending her a subtle wink before she forced her eyes back to the road, he raised it to his ear, and said conversationally, "Yes, hello, Mr. Pearsall. I've heard much about you." Humming echoed through the extension, though she couldn't make out what was said. It was high-pitched and angry—more like the man she knew. Breaking into the stream of usual threats that undoubtedly spurted from left to right, Dr. Lecter's leisure response was nothing more than a mere purr of amusement. "Quite enough of that. I do afraid I'm rather pressed for time. No, no…I just wanted to wish you happy hunting. Yes. I'm going to hang up now, Clint. May I call you Clint? Now, now…no need for that. I'll keep that in mind. Ciao."
The call was swiftly cut and he handed the phone back to Starling, who curled it absently in her fingers at the wheel. For long minutes, neither spoke, resting in companionable silence. Feelings of renewed liberation stirred within her. So that was it. It was really behind her now. No going back.
A long sigh escaped her lips. It trembled a bit against the silent air.
"Are you all right, Clarice?"
Starling didn't answer immediately, her eyes locked on the road before them. A pair of headlights flashed in the distance, duly with their brights on, passing as she processed her answer. Was she all right? Perhaps for the first time, she saw the future without trepidation or fear. The loom of impending danger did not threaten her. Even if they were captured…
Soon, they would pass through a small town. The car needed a fill up and she could use some caffeine refreshment.
"Clarice?"
"I'm fine," she said simply. There was no need for elaboration or reasoning. It tainted her tone. "I'm fine and then some." With a smile, a good, genuine smile, she glanced over to him, her eyes shining.
Then the phone started ringing again. Emitting an aggravated sigh, she irately flipped her wrist to examine the return number, coaxing the sigh to a low rumbling growl. Surging irritation disturbed her newfound peace, and in minor retaliation, she furiously rolled down the window and chucked the device into the night; eyes objectively studying the rearview mirror as sparks skidded and danced across the pavement.
Collecting herself, calming flaring nerves, Starling didn't bother to hazard a glance to Dr. Lecter until she had control over her reactions. When their eyes met, she felt herself flush with impatience. A line severed, a connection gone. Now they were alone. Truly alone. Just them. While it seemed the moment should be significant, she was surprised to discover the lack of a telling bolt from the blue. In a sense, it seemed only like a prolonged homecoming.
Then she was rushed with a wave of foolishness, followed immediately by remorse. To consider the long path it took to reach this pivotal point in their relationship. How many wasted years, how many repeated heartaches. He was the one foundation in her life, the aspect that never changed. While her world collapsed around her, he remained the same, offering his familiar support, offering forgiveness he was not supposed to have, showing more compassion than anyone she had known.
She had said awful things to him, things intended to scathe and burn. And while she still nursed wounds from the deep cuts of the Baltimore days, her verbal onslaught was more hurtful, for it attacked the advantage of exposed feelings, using them to make things right with her.
Over and over again…
As she processed these thoughts, questioning her line of sensibility, racked with self-doubt, Dr. Lecter reached for her right hand that rested ineffectually on the steering wheel, caressing it with his lips as she drew in a sharp breath. "Forget it, Clarice," he dismissed, nuzzling her palm before delicately returning it to the wheel.
Silence again. Starling was become achingly aware of a sharp pain attacking her lower abdomen, honing with each deep breath. Her body was tense; both in the after-affects of her toss with Pearsall, quivering with wonderful release that still managed to intimidate her on a level, and the subtle though shattering way Dr. Lecter managed to increase her pulse-rate and make her shiver with anticipation. Perhaps she had been sitting up too long. Soon she would relinquish driving duties, perchance when they stopped for gas and changed vehicles.
She wanted rest—having neglected a good night's sleep for the past several weeks.
That was a given; she wanted something else, too.
Mhmm…
That she put aside, blinking tired eyes as she collected her thoughts. With a weary nod, she glanced to him briefly, as though just registering he spoke, before whispering through half-parted lips, "I can't."
To that he had no reply. Starling would heal in her own time for such lengthy negligence. There was nothing anyone could say now to withdraw her dry remorse. Thus, they drove, lacking the need for words, and settling instead into a comfortable silence.
* * *