Author's Note: Several things. Firstly, I regretfully have never been to Baltimore and know nothing of the racetracks. Similarly, I have no knowledge of firearms. Thus, the information in here is the product of very tedious and hopefully (but arguably) accurate research that prevented this chapter from being posted earlier. Please ignore any inconsistencies. Secondly, I owe the mother of all thanks to Helene for her 'approval' of the portrayed Mrs. Rosencranz, a lady I had not before had the pleasure of working with and for helping me doctor this up, providing ways I could humiliate Starling other than the scene given in the film.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Thomas Harris. They are being used without permission, for entertainment purposes, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended. The poem recited herein by Clarice Starling and Dr. Hannibal Lecter is the property of Lewis Carroll. No copyright infringement is intended.


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Chapter Eight

Part One

Two days passed.

After Dr. Lecter bid her farewell following their supper, Starling spent a rocky, sleepless night tossing back and forth, tired but similarly vigilant. Her body was fickle, ached of fatigue but refused rest when offered. She forced herself to remain in bed long after witnessing sunrise, despite the jog she craved, battling with thoughts beyond comprehension, and did not emerge until the clocks chimed noon.

In the end, these self-aimed battles were fruitless. He had done it. There was no use in refuting it any longer. Though Starling always bore an open mind, it was a unique occurrence for one whom had earned a black mark to afterward eradicate it from existence. As much as she desired to cling to her former distaste, there was appallingly none to speak of. Daresay, her mind had confessed to liking the doctor, perhaps too much to with what she was familiar, or comfortable.

He was unlike any before him. Those rude to her in the past, or those who had caused her any amount of grief, never left the scratch of permanent classification. Paul Krendler was the best example. If he was nice—or better yet—less vulgar than usual, she accused him, justly, of being up to something. Not once was she proven wrong.

However, Dr. Lecter's pristine kindness was sincere, and her merit for disliking him in the first place had directed more toward his intelligent teasing rather than crude jokes. Thus, it was initially a different flavor of aversion to begin with. Never before had she known anyone to hate for quick wit and intellect, and her verbal tosses with the doctor were always amusing, if not refreshing.

She was seeing this now.

Even though his teasing hadn't surrendered, the former offense she took to side comments was now and possibly forever absent. It was an acquired taste, and she liked it.

Consequently, though she wished desperately to, Starling could live under these false pretensions no longer. That wasn't to say she was going to publicly declare that she no longer hated him, or even admit it aloud, but there wasn't much use in continuing to beat herself up over it.

Unsurprisingly, when she did emerge that day, Dr. Lecter regarded her with detached interest. The mystical spark that had before tantalized her was gone now, replaced with familiar cooperative austerity. He greeted her kindly, asked if she wanted any tea or coffee and invited her to lunch in town with himself and Barney, where they would immediately thereafter initiate the hunt for the perfect dress to accommodate her upcoming premier.

What they picked was simple but elegant. A deep burgundy dress, sleeveless but not offensively low-cut, the hemline just above her knee. With it came a jacket that comfortably hugged her sides when buttoned, matching shoes, and a few pieces of modest jewelry that Dr. Lecter insisted she needed.

No chances were being taken. A specialist was hired to style her hair and do her make-up. Cries of protest abandoned her when Starling realized the insinuation of her inability to do it herself coincided with her supreme desire to not to.

The morning of the outing, the first full-blown wave of anxiety struck. It was not provoked nor foreseen; she opened her eyes to the room in which she had spent the last few months of her life with a cold pit of dread spooling her insides. Starling gasped loudly as though pained and shot up, hair falling loosely in her face.

Three preparatory days were behind them. It was today.

Though her trepidation never gave her complete leave, it didn't take long for her to calm herself. Starling never let herself wear an emotion. There was nothing she could do now, anyway. The offer was accepted and regardless, it wouldn't—it couldn't —go over that badly.

Dr. Lecter encouraged her to eat as much as she liked for breakfast, for it looked more favorably at such social gatherings with the less she ordered. Though Starling had a modest and appetite didn't think there was much to worry about, she scarfed as much as she could, not to the point of an achy stomach, but enough to survive the day with nothing further.

Absently, she wondered how her dining habits would suffer a reprieve when she left Dr. Lecter's supervision. As a student with absolutely not an hour to spare to experiment in the kitchen, she and Mapp had practically lived on fast food. Starling shuddered at the thought, not caring now even for its intrusive smell.

How this all would affect her life when she returned! She had not the money for take-out, nor the time and talent to fend for herself. Turkey sandwiches became tedious after so many consecutive nights. The impending reunion with her friend was something she anticipated greatly but similarly wanted to put off as long as possible.

Starling envisioned Mapp's expression upon their next meeting. Her friend would behold a person she didn't know with such perfected posture, a nonexistent accent, and now impeccable table manners.

The much-debated case file was again in her possession. After their trip to town, Dr. Lecter had returned it to her with the advice that she look over it and come to her own enlightened conclusions. It was around that time that she noticed a particularly catching drawing of Florence hanging in his study. She swore it hadn't been there before, which, of course, he denied heartily. After a pointless—though always entertaining—argument, she conceded that her eyes were likely deceiving her and asked what exactly the rendering captured.

"The Duomo," he had said absently, "as seen from the Belvedere."

Starling looked to the case file now, scribbled with her handwriting, worn and tattered. It had spent the night under her pillow, a ritual she had practiced in high school on the eve of a test that she hadn't studied for. Such was never successful, but she reckoned she had tried a variety of methods, and one more couldn't hurt.

She had to separate herself from school today. Today, she was not Officer Clarice Starling; she was Miss Starling, escorted to a luncheon by Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

There was only one thing she was certain of: if she could get through today unscathed, there wasn't anything she couldn't do.


* * *




Baltimore.

Though she had visited on more than one occasion, Starling observed the city with reborn eyes, beholding the sights and scents through refined senses and tastes. Things she would have initially ignored sprung at her now, a change by which she was both fascinated and distressed.

Change, in itself, had a tendency to be disconcerting.

Starling wondered absently how Jack Crawford would react at seeing her dressed as she was, looking as she did, at the side of a debonair gentleman that had, in the time she knew him, never looked better.

Dr. Lecter seemed oblivious and unaffected to her inward musings, but she suspected he was occupied in a similar self-engaging debates. Of course, he was also distracted by the drive, but Starling was unaccustomed to the doctor being anything but finely tuned to her every whim and notion, despite given conditions.

Those she had grown the closest to in the past few months, excluding Mrs. Pearce who had gratefully taken the day off, occupied the Bentley as it rolled to a stop. Though Barney had first protested his involvement with the day's festivities, he was eventually convinced that, in order to evaluate her performance as the other partaker of the bet, it was essential that he be present.

The restaurant was the first stop she was aware of, though Starling was on alert that Mrs. Rosencranz might inquire for an extended visit, which Dr. Lecter, naturally, could hardly decline. He insisted that they stay as long as possible to ensure she obtained all the practice she could on remaining in her recently developed character.

With the car parked outside of Boccaccio, an Italian dining establishment, she drew in a deep breath, held and released, her heart racing. The doctor seemed perfectly agreeable to allow her a few minutes to collect herself. He spoke soothingly to her, and while his voice was not urgent or on the whole reassuring, it was all she needed.

"Are you ready, Clarice?"

Pause. "I will be."

"I'll be watching," Barney said encouragingly from behind, giving her an astute pat on the shoulder. "We both will. You'll do fine."

"Thanks." Starling smiled at his kindness though it did little to set her nerves at ease. The promise that this would, in the long run, benefit her studies and lessons charged her minimally, but failed to douse the desire to beg Dr. Lecter to turn the car around.

The thing is not to think about it…

Never mind that every lesson, every annoyance, every intrigue, every whim relied on how she behaved through the course of these next few hours. Never mind that the doctor and his patience rode on the imminent performance, that they might have to revert all the way to square one if she did something to lose herself.

Time to take her mind away. Definitely.

"'The time has come,'" she recited to herself, heaving out a deep breath. "'the Walrus said, 'To talk of many things.'"

"'Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—of cabbages—and kings," Dr. Lecter returned with a grin. "Well, Clarice, whatever does it for you."

"Oh shut up." Starling had to resist the temptation to playfully strike his shoulder. There was something about this searing familiarity that frightened her still. Though she knew perfectly well that denying her confusing reaction to the doctor was a fruitless activity, to convey harmless flirtation into tangibility unnerved her beyond merit. She exhaled deeply and attempted to wan troubling thoughts away by focusing elsewhere. "Did you, per chance, choose this restaurant?"

"No, but I suspect Rachel selected it with me in mind. I don't recall many of her socialites being too overly keen on Italian."

Starling frowned and nearly flustered, but clamped her response before he glanced in her direction. "She would go to this trouble for you, even now?"

"Mutual respect." Dr. Lecter nodded.

Mind and mouth engaged in civil war. "I should have known it'd be Italian," she snickered too quickly, protecting herself from whatever implications were to be answered from her tacit inquiry. Dead stirrings of jealousy begun weaving within her once more. "What is so special about Italy?"

There was no immediate answer. Instead, the doctor smiled slowly, as though considering. "Perhaps someday, Clarice," he decided a beat later. "I will show you."

The suggestion was harmless, but it caught her breath still. Her warring thoughts conceded, crashing in massive jubilation, searing into a thousand pieces. Then he smiled one of his infuriatingly wonderful smiles and moved to open the door, eyes dancing as though they knew her secret. "'And why the sea is boiling hot—And whether pigs have wings.' Wait here, Clarice. I'll be right back."

Then he was gone, undoubtedly to inform his former social companion of the unique situation, as he promised he would prior to arriving. Barney said something but she didn't catch it. Instead, Starling sat back, waiting as her racing pulse began to subside, leveling her breathing and once more seizing control of herself.

How she hated that he could do that to her—with a mere nursery rhyme, of all things!

Why?

What a redundant question that was. She would be long out of his company before any form of reasoning could begin to present itself.

"'But answer came there none—And this was scarcely odd, because," she muttered, knowing Barney could not hear. "'They'd eaten every one.'"

She had never liked the Walrus and the Carpenter despite its truth in societal depiction, and finally began to interpret personal reasoning.


* * *



As always, Mrs. Rachel Rosencranz of the textile Rosencranzes was splendidly dressed. She would not have stood, nor appeared in public, in any garments that ranked below extraordinary. Every color, blush, piece of jewelry, and so forth was selected to accentuate her already flawless features and conceal blemishes of age that no one should ever see. Her clothing was lovely but not too pretentious—expected for the outing and location. She had always been a little older than he, but never looked it. Still, despite it all, she managed to avoid the frontage of haughtiness owned and exhibited by many women of her coveted station, as well as others in her close circle.

Despite their differences and parting, Dr. Lecter had always found her agreeable in every way, even if they were no more now than good friends. Today, naturally, was no exception.

Over the years, they had met at several social get-togethers as such and were always happy to see one another. He suspected on a level that Mrs. Rosencranz was dissatisfied with her marriage, even if she had the decency never to discuss the issue, and he had the similar decorum not to mention it. Though they lived some ways apart now, his friends and ties in Baltimore occasionally took it upon themselves to give him an update of the old girl, which he was always glad to receive.

Mrs. Rosencranz never let such domestic discontent perturb her communal outings. She was of the old society where what happened at home remained behind closed doors. There was something to be said for such demands on privacy, and not allowing personal affairs to interfere or ruin the disposition of others.

She was directing her party to the designated table when her eyes wandered up and met his. They shared a smile before she waved him over.

"My dear Dr. Lecter!" she exclaimed pleasantly. "I wasn't sure if you were going to make it. Did you not bring anyone?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rosencranz. A delight to see you again."

"Rachel, please."

He nodded courteously. "Rachel. Yes, I did bring someone. Two guests, actually, if you have no objection. One is an old friend of mine that I might have mentioned on a prior acquaintance. Barney Jackson, who is studying to obtain an LPN license." Being one of impeccable memory, he knew he had not so much as uttered the man's name in her presence, but thought to test her resolve anyway. He was pleased when she frowned and nodded that she indeed did not recall him. "The other is a young woman—"

At once, Mrs. Rosencranz's features brightened, as though no news could have pleased her further, which he knew perfectly well not to be the case. "Hannibal!" she cried happily, eyes dancing with never-ending joy to be updated on any friend's romantic engagements.

"No, no. Not a love affair," he chuckled richly, unimpeded by the inward denial the sprung immediately to life and pushed it aside as though it were nothing more than a reminder to check the dates on the wine that evening. "She is an FBI trainee who has been staying with me for the past several months for a wonderfully complex experiment which you, I have no doubt, would enjoy immensely given another time and place. However, the project is drawing closer to an end, I'm afraid, and the real test of her teachings will present itself at some horridly crowded and aristocratic social event in upcoming weeks. I hope you don't mind that I intend to try her out on you first."

The face of his old friend dulled a bit, and she blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was thinking something gaudily, one of those dire social functions that I usually cannot tolerate." Dr. Lecter paused. "I have even considered taking her overseas to attend an Embassy ball, as was originally promised. It's a bet, you see. A bet that I cannot make her a lady with the most remarkable insight within the duration of six months."

"And how has your progress been?"

"Very well, thank you. I believe you will be most surprised with Clarice." He smiled fondly. "If you would, I ask you to help her along. She is really quite nervous. I don't believe I have ever seen her so unwound."

Mrs. Rosencranz's eyes darkened dangerously, but with concern instead of threat. Hurriedly, she indicated to her sitting party. "Hannibal, I cannot have a spectacle here. You know how these people react to—"

"My dear, have faith in me." There was a pause for emphasis. "Clarice is not a barbarian, I assure you. Her manners were commendable prior to coming to me." Not that he ever let her know that, of course. Oh no, that was a part of the fun. Dr. Lecter fought off another grin. "We have worked strenuously this week especially on preparing for this afternoon's festivities. I believe you will like her very much."

Another pause, this time for consideration, but he knew she would agree and was not concerned. It was inevitable; eyes flickering enough with interest to reel anyone in. "I swear, Hannibal Lecter," she said with a breath of reluctant acceptance a beat later. "Anyone else, and I would have insisted you turn around this very minute and leave."

He chuckled. "Yes, I know. I suppose it is to my advantage that I have neglected to wrong you in the past."

"Most assuredly," Mrs. Rosencranz agreed with a kind, almost forlorn smile. "Bring her in, Doctor."

She turned to join her waiting friends, laughing nervously to herself. Yet she was unable to make it more than a few steps before Dr. Lecter grasped her arm and spooled her back to him. Her gasp was of shock and some odd suspense, which did little to surprise him. After such a prolonged acquaintance, it was essential to expect the unexpected.

The quickening of her pulse was easy to register; he had known her for many years and was especially acquainted with her mannerisms in reaction to certain displays of force. These responses from her did not surprise or flatter him—it was beyond that. Rather, they satisfied in an inner region of his subconscious. The bird was beginning to react in the same nature.

Mmm…

"Thank you, Rachel," he said courteously, releasing her as he took a step for the door. "This means a great deal to me."

There was a brief break as she fought to collect her breath, subtle but not unseen. "My pleasure, Dr. Lecter. After all…what are friends for?"

Such a phrase was rarely uttered any more these days with a wholly devout sense of trust. The doctor would not place such faith idly, and he knew Mrs. Rosencranz recognized this. It was beneficial to keep friends with old acquaintances; you never knew when it would come in handy.

When Starling entered at Barney's side, Dr. Lecter was almost disappointed when all the room failed to still in awe, but knew not to expect much appreciation from others. No one but his visiting friend and himself could fully understand the trouble the young protégé had gone through over the past few months. She was a vision, radiating warmth, and portraying an admirable job of masking apprehensions. To say she looked lovelier than ever was true though misleading. While, granted, she was fixed to appear more beautiful than anyone had seen her; he had never had an objection to her appearance. There was little she could do to either enhance or degrade her splendor. Earlier, he had forced himself to avoid looking at her for the purpose of maintaining his otherwise infallible stamina.

Notwithstanding, Starling looked neither superior nor inferior when compared to the other ladies present. Her dress was lovely but unremarkable, flattering her figure in a fashion that could not help but attract an approving eye. He attempted to regard her without elevated favor, his modest opinion keeping well concealed. However, his sanction shuddered as he observed her masterfully covered uncertainty, coated with hesitant confidence in an old romantics approach.

Such was one of the reasons she was so delightful. Despite the preparation, however much he knew that she was ready for this, she was still wracked with vulnerability and nervousness. Her improvement was highly admirable, but Starling never let progress go to her head. If work was accomplished, that simply meant there was another task to tackle.

Over the past few months, Dr. Lecter found himself becoming increasingly fond of her company. Though affection had always existed, this was different than before. A dangerous attachment was forming. His reaction to her various whims had been unsettling from the beginning—new in some oddly amusing approach. No longer amusing, though there wasn't a minute that passed that he wasn't humored by her antics, her arguments and justifications, the way she flustered when he struck a particularly sensitive nerve. Her own response to him, he knew, had begun to frighten her. Rightfully so. It was painfully clear that she didn't want to like him. Gradually, Starling was conquering her prejudice.

She was his Elizabeth Bennet.

Dr. Lecter offered his arm, which she took gratefully, her fingers indolently caressing his shirt against his skin. The approach to the table was executed flawlessly, her poise and posture suffering no blunder. She took her seat as rehearsed—only when he pulled it out for her and gracefully placed her napkin in her lap.

Immediate interest blossomed to see the doctor, confirmed bachelor as of the current, with a young woman whom appeared educated and well mannered. Nothing was said, of course. Such rude returns had no place in these elite circle, but notice and curiosity were positively sprawled on eager eyes that scrutinized the newcomer. Dr. Lecter was very familiar with this ritual. A foreign face to hunt for flaws. A reason to extradite viciousness and start ghastly rumors that would assuredly ruin her rise in society. Fresh blood.

The hunt proved ineffective. There was nothing to attack on the surface. The girl was unapproachable.

Excellent.

"Ms. Starling," Mrs. Rosencranz said a minute later. "So pleased to meet you at last."

The bird smiled thankfully and nodded, all politeness. "How kind of you to let me come."

Dr. Lecter grinned wickedly. That particular phrase was etched tightly in his mind. The chimes of the xylophone they had come so accustomed to echoed within his cavity. No hint of accent.

Introductions were traded, every face shining behind a brilliantly false light of radiance. Only one set of unfamiliar eyes regarded her with more attentive interest than threat. Typically male. The doctor felt himself darken, but his expression did not change. Instead, he engaged in conversation with one of the other guests, observant but casual.

It would not do himself good to appear completely enchanted by her perfected charm.

"This is my nephew," Mrs. Rosencranz introduced, indicating the disagreeable young man. "Mr. Noble Pilcher."

Immediately, the boy jumped up to catch her hand. He was wide-eyed and eager, plainly naïve though well mannered. Amidst his scrutiny, Dr. Lecter kept a close eye on Pilcher and was not satisfied with the conclusions; the man simply couldn't stop ogling. It was a flattering annoyance. While he reveled in the knowledge that another was as taken with her as he was, it was a double edged sword in which he could not help reacting to with a menacing inner twinge.

Starling kept a wonderfully oblivious façade, though Dr. Lecter knew she must sense it as well. Over the past few weeks, he had heard several relenting tales of the men in her life, those with both active and repulsively forward roles. No matter where she went or whom she addressed, there were eyes that freely roamed her body with undisguised lust and vigorously attempted to get into her slacks. Her, after all this time, radar was naturally impeccable, though out of practice. She hadn't dealt with such objectionable circumstances for several months.

That she knew of.

"How do you do?" she repeated kindly, flashing an awarding smile to gratify Mrs. Rosencranz, whom obviously felt the introduction was necessary. Dr. Lecter found this curious but not too altogether unsurprising. It was her nature on a level, and the expected reaction to a bad marriage. She likely regarded Starling as a danger, even now, years after their parting, whether or not she was aware of it.