Part Two

The gentleman at the table were numbered and instinctively spaced from what promised to be an extensive gossiping session. Dr. Lecter remained stationary, pleasant but not overbearing. His purpose and interest was held solely by Starling's performance. Dull conversation was not superior to no conversation, and while he was polite to those who addressed him, his attempts to chat were a numbered waste of time.

Discussion wandered and varied. The ladies spoke of a play they saw when last together, the men of various hunting ventures. Neither party paid Starling much attention, excluding Pilcher, of course. A question or two was aimed in her direction, but nothing that required a lengthy explanation. The atmosphere was reasonable, not friendly.

Dr. Lecter suspected these conditions were agreeable to Starling, whom appeared to have little interest in partaking, even if it was her designated role. There were certain things of aristocratic life that could not be taught—rather beaten into one's system from early childhood. Understandably, she lacked such instincts. This was not her arena; though she was successfully claiming it as her own with what she had learned over the months.

Not much was expressed until Mrs. Claypool's husband mentioned the advantages of the Ruger Model 77 over the Browning A-Bolt. At that, Starling's brows perked and she leaned forward, placing her water glass aside as she cleared her throat.

"I don't believe so, sir," she said, voice coated with enough confidence to forebode the others that she was well educated in the matter and had been listening for some time, which they were not accustomed to. Ladies generally had no interest in firearms. "In my experience, it has been the adjustable trigger ensures accuracy. Never missed a shot." Starling trailed off thoughtfully. "Though, the Remington is probably the best model. I haven't had the fortune of using one for quite some time. Have you, sir, ever fired a Remington?"

The movement at the table was deathly still as all eyes yielded to Mr. Claypool. His gaze was wide with surprise but also provided flecks on superiority. Dr. Lecter did not know whether to be disappointed in his protégé's stray from the instructed or amused at her approach. Either way, he made no attempt to intervene. The man's reaction was destined to be classic.

For now, he settled with amused.

"We were discussing the advantage of a three-position safety, Ms. Starling," Mr. Claypool said a minute later, having collected himself. "Your Browning is a remarkable rifle, but it doesn't offer that convenience. And while the Remington is the more popular, that doesn't make it any more efficient."

"I believe it is popular for a reason. People don't fire rifles because they are pretty, Mr. Claypool," Starling retorted with a smile that Dr. Lecter recognized instantly. It was his own, adapted and perfected, and utterly irresistible. "And perhaps, if you're so concerned with the safety features, you shouldn't be playing with guns. It will do what you tell it to, and tends to respond to carelessness."

Dead, shocked silence. The man cleared his throat and shook away torn pride. "Yes, well, the Ruger has a Mauser-type extractor."

"Doesn't make it a Mauser." Starling's brows arched in silent admiration, and even before she spoke, the doctor heard the Virginia hills drawn to her voice. Knowing it was inevitable; all he could do was close his eyes tightly as it escaped, beyond her notice or ability of prevention. "Now that's a hell of a gun."

Barney snickered, Noble Pilcher dissolved in laughter, several women gasped, and Mrs. Rosencranz shot Dr. Lecter a look of pure mortification. Not reacting to any of this, though he could clearly see that she had caught her mistake, Starling merely flashed her stolen smirk and indulged in another drink of water. Excellent. Slip-ups were always better concealed without accentuation.

Luckily, before the imminent nasty reprieve, their food arrived. By the time Mr. Collins had issued the toast and everyone began eating, the topic was dead.

Dr. Lecter exhaled, exchanged glances with Barney, and smiled to himself.

Lunch was pleasant but dull, the heat of the conversation alive in the topic before it. There evidently were post-meal plans to visit Plimco, the horseracing course, which did little to spark the doctor's interest. He suspected Starling would want to be out of such company as soon as possible, and despite his earlier statement, he found himself eager to return. However, she surprised him, her widened eyes betraying her zeal, but she looked to him before speaking a word.

Dr. Lecter mused, quickly visiting a chamber of his memory palace. Of the many things he had wheedled out of her over the past few months, he knew that her father had died when she was ten and she was sent to live with her mother's cousin on a sheep and horse ranch. The more he learned of her childhood, the more enchanted he became. It was primitive but fascinating.

There was the issue of what became of that ranch, and he was determined to hold its delightful secret before her stay was complete.

A glance to Barney clinched the deal. As much as Dr. Lecter detested the races, it would be rude not to partake when visibly everyone was in its favor.

Mr. Claypool grumbled dejectedly as the party vacated the table.

"We'll meet you over there," the doctor told Mrs. Rosencranz, keeping a watchful eye on Starling to be sure she placed her napkin to the right of her plate as they had rehearsed. "My apologies for—"

"Don't worry with it," she dismissed, reaching into her purse for a cigarette. Her composure was admirable but Dr. Lecter could tell her nerves were getting to her. This woman never smoked unless under pressure. "She should do fine at the races. And even so…her remarks were entertaining, to say the least."

"I do hope this won't put you at an out with your esteemed friends," he said courteously.

"Don't worry. I'll just blame it on you."

"I would expect no less."

The atmosphere within the Bentley was quite different. Starling's morale had alleviated given her recent slip, and he was glad. Whatever the circumstances, and despite all sense of logic, Dr. Lecter much preferred her when she was in high spirits. Though her temper flusters were quite delicious, there was such gratification in seeing her happy.

Something told him that she had spent most of her life unhappy. If there was anything to take from her lessons, it was most definitely to get more fun out of life.

However, Dr. Lecter was not beyond enjoying himself. He wanted her to see the foulest disposition as he entered the car, which she registered with arched brows but made no move to acknowledge.

Ah, and she was learning not to wear the emotions of others like her own. Bravo.

Barney, on the other hand, looked most panicked to see the doctor's frown. He had to wink into the rearview mirror subtly to reassure his friend that all was well.

"You were doing well," Dr. Lecter said finally as they pulled out of Boccaccio. "Though I must inquire what that firearm discussion was about. Rachel's friends were quite appalled that any lady would carry such unthinkable—"

"Doctor, all things considered, I think I'm in a pretty good mood given how royally I fucked up back there." Starling smiled satisfactorily to herself. "I just love proving others wrong. Especially people who think they know everything and walk around the earth as though they own it. Opera and music might be your forte, but when it comes to guns…step aside!" She scoffed. "Ruger, indeed."

"Ruger's a pretty good gun," Barney said thoughtfully.

Dr. Lecter grinned.

"Pretty good," she agreed reluctantly. "Yeah, but he didn't know what he was talking about. I've fired more guns than—"

"Clarice, however wonderfully educated you find yourself on gentleman's discussion," the doctor said with intent. "I believe you will be more rewarded to remain in the position placed for you by society."

"Fuck society."

At that, his patience began to teeter and darken. "Clarice," he said warningly.

"Oh fine," she conceded with a growl. "And just when I thought I could get away without reciting Lewis Carroll. I was actually beginning to enjoy myself, you know? What a way to ruin a good time."

Dr. Lecter's frustration paled and he could not help a small grin. "'The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might.'"

"Shut up."

Rich laughter filled the air. He glanced briefly to Barney, who was enthralled with the passing scenery. "My dear, I'm sure you can find some source of amusement at Plimco. Consider it reimbursement for crashing your droll party of one, and know that attending a horserace is positively my last priority."

"'And this was odd because it was the middle of the night.'"

"Mr. Carroll would be honored to act as a source of personal motivation."

"I'm sure he cares."

"We will have to return to Baltimore some evening to sample variety at the Brass Elephant," Dr. Lecter mused considerately, as though they had been discussing it all along. "I find it is superior to Boccaccio."

She snickered and rolled her eyes, leaning her arm against the rest and planting her chin into a waiting palm. "By all means."

"Sarcasm duly noted, Officer Starling."

"Good. Hate to get it passed you."

"I believe that you are deliberately provoking me." Dr. Lecter smiled at the thought, but concealed it before either could see. Mmm…yes, that would be delightful.

However, now was not the time to consider such things.

Time had undeniably eased her comfort, whereas before Starling spoke her mind with caution, she now exhibited no conceit before letting her opinion be known. Complaints, if any, were issued with thought. As verified when they ventured to select her eveningwear, her taste had improved drastically. He liked her like this, though was vigilant to obscure such admiration.

"Why would I deliberately provoke you, Doctor?" she snickered. If she was suffering the same struggles as he, she hid her conflict proficiently. That was another frustrating pleasure about her. Others in her position, if interested, made their infatuation known in the most unflattering of instances. Starling was quite the opposite. He had no way of knowing what she was thinking most of the time, and based his assumptions on those wonderfully subtle hints she dropped at her leisure, perfectly and happily ignorant to his inward torment. "That hardly seems—"

"Don't play that game with me, Clarice. I taught it to you."

"I thought you wanted me to remain in character as long as possible."

"Snobbery will give you an ill-flavor. Do not allow yourself to become overly influenced by the taste of old blood." Dr. Lecter grinned. "I much prefer you the way you are."

"Then—" she seemed confused, at last losing her voice. "What exactly is the—"

"Merely a sample of overrated posh lifestyle. I'm afraid you will have to endure it once more before our time together comes to an end," he replied simply. "Oh no, Clarice, the purpose of this outing was fundamental—I doubt very much that your dear Jack Crawford would approve of such behavior upon your return, or know how to react at all."

Talk of her return seemed perilous compared to the inevitable knowledge that it would one day occur. Speaking it made it real, personal. Now it seemed forever away, but Dr. Lecter was not so careless to not take it into consideration. The date was very real, there, looming, and would arrive sooner than anyone was prepared for.

"Mmm…" she murmured in response, neither disagreeing nor agreeing. The next surprised him. It seemed unprovoked, but still failed to throw him off guard. "Why did things end between you and Mrs. Rosencranz?"

Was that jealousy he detected?

The comment stimulated Barney's interest, inciting him to astute alertness and he fell completely still, as though his movement would interrupt any form of the approaching answer.

"Well," Dr. Lecter began. "A conflict of interest, I suppose. We have a very dissimilar precedence in life. Rachel and I came to the conclusion that we were more appropriately suited as friends rather than social companions. She met someone from her own league, more settled than I."

"She still likes you, Doc," Barney observed. "I could tell."

"If she does, that is of no concern to me."

"Flattering, though? Wouldn't you think? After all this—"

The subject was becoming tedious. "It does not occur to me to care in one way or another, Barney. I hope Rachel is very satisfied and content in her own domesticity. By in large, she made the preferable choice in husband."

"Her nephew was nice."

"Yes," Starling agreed, to rapidly for comfort. "Yes, Mr. Pilcher was very nice."

"Ah," Dr. Lecter said shortly. "We have arrived."

Though he was not a usual attendant, the doctor was always sure to have the best of everything. It was essential to park valet. Plimco was a nice establishment and his participation was based solely on the convenience of outings such as this.

Once parked, his protégée smirked as she wiggled out of her seatbelt. "I do hope this won't be too excruciating for you, Doctor."

"I appreciate your sentiments, Clarice, and please understand when I say that I do not believe you in the slightest." He smiled at her nicely, though he could feel malicious—but good-humored—intent dancing behind his eyes. The smile she reciprocated informed him of his accuracy, and he had to bite back a chuckle. "If luck is on my side, which it is often not, we will not be staying here long."

Barney was the last to manage out of the car, and he heaved a deep breath as the door slammed. "I'm gonna place a bet, I think. I haven't been to the races since I was a kid."

"If you wish to squander your money, be my guest."

Starling rolled her eyes. "Don't spoil everyone's fun, for Christ's sake."

"Language, Clarice. Rachel will not be pleased with another gaffe."

Tickets were waiting for them, thoughtfully placed on hold by the hostess. Once the seats were found, they were again in the company Mrs. Rosencranz's dinner companions, excluding Mr. Claypool whom evidently retired home with a ghastly headache. As expected, Noble Pilcher was especially attentive and very pleased to again see Starling, and waved to her as though they were returning from a cross-Atlantic cruise.

Mrs. Rosencranz wearily eyed the doctor and sighed, though he could tell she was pleased.

"I'm so sorry you missed the first race," Pilcher said eagerly once they were seated. "It was very exciting. Mr. Collins won three hundred dollars! I've placed a bet on Dover, myself. Would you care to—"

Enthusiastic young whelps were highly offensive to the rest of conventional society. Masterfully, Dr. Lecter intervened and claimed Starling's arm in a fashion that clearly stated 'You're Trespassing on Private Property' in any language. "When does the next race begin?" he asked cordially, flashing a deceivingly controlled temperate smile.

"In a few—"

"Splendid! We best get seated, wouldn't you agree?"

As expected, the races were exciting to those actively involved. To Dr. Lecter, who appreciated older fashion, the sport had lost much of its charm to commercialism, and was no longer a desirable way to spend one's afternoon. However, Starling looked more animated than he had seen her in weeks. Lively and as though she were on her home turf. It was the first genuine taste she had had of the old life since the project began.

Barney emerged a richer man, beaming like a child who won a pie contest. Much to the doctor's cloaked enjoyment, Pilcher lost his bets but similarly wasted no time in turning to Starling for false consolation. Granted, the party didn't stay long. After an hour or so, the women began to complain of the heat and the men wanted to return to peruse their televisions for whatever Neanderthal sport was in season.

The day had worn itself effectively.

Pilcher took place beside Starling on the way out, Mrs. Rosencranz and Dr. Lecter behind them. He watched the two like a hawk; observant and only half-attentive to conversation he was allegedly involved in. Such means were foreign but similarly inexorable. There was something about his student that allowed no chances.

A chance to what, he was not sure.

Thus, his compromising position allowed him a very nice view; both of obvious conditions and for the waiting pile of horse compost that was targeted for Starling's shoe. Even if it had been his inclination to alert her of her impending circumstance, any attempt was in vain. By the time he could have spoken up, it was done; her shoe squarely situated in a clump of manure.

Mrs. Rosencranz gasped loudly.

Ahead, Starling stopped dead, hand shooting out to clutch Pilcher's arm tightly. Though he could not see her, the doctor was sure her eyes closed in expected horror and shame. To think, a girl whom had spent so much time around horses could not foresee a perfectly expectable condition given their location. He had to fight back a grin, despite conditions.

"Oh shit," she muttered when she could speak.

"Yes," Dr. Lecter agreed, immediately coming forward, though unsure if his reaction was prompted by her unfortunate situation or the discomfort that surged through his body to see her grasping the young annoyance with such force. Despite appearances, he could not deny the surge of pleasure to have a convenient excuse at separating them, and such could not be disclosed from his voice. "It would appear so. Come here, Clarice. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Leave me alone," she retorted arguably, retracting her arm dynamically when he reached for it. "Thank you, Doctor, I'll take care of myself." Then, all politeness, she turned to Pilcher, to the other frozen members of their party, and nodded. "If you will excuse me." She turned and walked passed Barney hurriedly, who was turning interesting shades of purple.

Dr. Lecter managed to catch his eye and motioned that he should excuse himself to relieve himself of the much needed laugh. Despite his distance, the bellow of a large man could be heard seemingly from miles, and carried nicely today for the opportune weather conditions.

By this time, the others of the gathering were snickering to themselves, having overcome their offense and talked quietly to themselves.

Mrs. Rosencranz met Dr. Lecter's gaze and excused herself to be of some assistance to Starling. She thought that her help might be better accepted, coming from an unprejudiced woman.

Several minutes later, she was proven sickly incorrect.

"All over my dress!" she gasped, storming back with lightning crashing behind her eyes. "Look at this! Cashmere!"

"Calm yourself, Rachel," the doctor said, though unable to conceal his smile. "I will be happy to compensate the cost so that you may buy as many new dresses as you please. How is she?"

"What do you mean, 'how is she'? Go see for yourself; she's beside herself, poor thing. But still—she lacks the conventional skill…the—" In mortified disgust, Mrs. Rosencranz's attention fell dejectedly to the rather noticeable muck stain on her dress. "I do believe, Hannibal, that you have much time ahead of you if you wish to prepare her for an Embassy ball."

Dr. Lecter's brows arched at the challenge, his attention kept considerately but still mindful of Starling. Despite her pretenses, he sensed that she would want him to join her soon enough. "Do you not think she is ready for it?"

"My dear Dr. Lecter, be sensible!" scoffed she. "Clarice is a very nice young woman, simple-minded, perhaps, but well-meaning. Still, that does not excuse the fact that she is maybe ready for a canal barge at best."

At that, he darkened, unsure if his offense was directed at his coaching or the insinuation that anyone who could entice him the way she did could be defined as artless. Never mind he had accused her of the very same to her face. To hear the same claim from someone else's mouth was very displeasing. However, he did not believe this was the genuine disposition of Mrs. Rosencranz's esteemed opinion; the woman was slighted and suffering the aggravation to see the ruin of a most cherished garment. "Well," he said a tempered minute later. "I suppose her language could stand a little refining, however—"

"Oh really, Hannibal! If you cannot see how impossible this whole project is, then you must be absolutely crazy about her." The blatancy of her words surprised him, something not easily accomplished. Before he could rebuke, she began again. "I advise you to give it up now and not put yourself and this poor girl through any more."

"Give it up?" he replied with indignation. "It is the most fascinating venture I have ever undertaken. Barney and I are consumed with it from morning 'til night. It fills our whole lives. Teaching Clarice, talking to Clarice, listening to Clarice, dressing Clarice—"

Mrs. Rosencranz's eyes widened. "What? You're a pretty pair of babies playing with your live doll."

"If it inconveniences you so, be assured we will not call in the future." Dr. Lecter's stare burnt her for a minute, and he noticed a very subtle and averse shiver shimmy down her spine, perhaps with proclivity of real fear for his intensity, and perhaps for the same reasons as suggested by Barney. Either or, he did not care to know. "Now, if you will excuse me, Mrs. Rosencranz, I believe your party is waiting for you. I must tend to my own."

And he left it at that, turning to find Starling and help her in any manner he could.

Regretfully, Pilcher was there, engaged in animated conversation as he helped her wipe away dung remnants until Dr. Lecter shooed him back to his respectable connections. "Your aunt may be inclined to leave without you," he murmured, "if you do not haste to join her."

It was with much hesitation that the whelp left her side, and his eyes left an unwanted imprint that Dr. Lecter felt Starling reciprocated with perhaps too much enthusiasm.

This outing was not as carefully planned as he originally hoped, though he was pleasantly surprised with her agreeable reaction to problematic events. An old sport like this struck him as both uncomfortable and amusing. Though the doctor was far from confronting himself beyond the signs of obvious attraction, competing with younger men for this woman's affection was decidedly unfamiliar.

There was some area of comfort. Pilcher was drawn to the Starling that Dr. Lecter had created without knowing any side of her true character, while in seeing her like this, the doctor's own reaction was quite the opposite. Much to his surprise, today proved that he preferred her as the woman he had grown to know over the past few months. Classic elegance suited her well, of course. Very little did not.

Now he took Pilcher's place beside her, near enough to lavatories to call upon the convenience of fresh water should it be needed. Once alone, Starling's façade fell and she lurched forward, head falling into waiting hands, not reacting to the attentions being bestowed. "Holy hell," she said shortly. All former flippant attitudes abandoned her to his satisfaction, the confidence she aired after their lunch, rendering her in the same state as when they arrived. Whatever the reason, he liked her like this. "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing at all, I assure you," Dr. Lecter replied, not looking at her. His focus was completely enveloped with the task at hand.

"I'm unfit for society."

"I promise that is hardly the case."

"What else can be?—I knew how to behave at lunch but decided to talk about guns instead of whatever the other women were discussing." She sobbed into her hands. "My language is about as refined as an Arkansan at a barn dance, my common-sense as sharp as cu-tip, my manners as perfected as a family of orangutans…anything I'm leaving out? You're free to jump in."

The doctor chuckled loudly, finally coaxed to glance up. When she did not react to his stillness, he reached and drew her arms to her sides again. An inward twinge jolted to see her swollen red eyes, the pain and self-aggravation sparkling behind so evidently. As before, he was overwhelmed with the instinct to comfort, but refused to allow himself such vulnerability. "Desist this unnecessary bellyaching, Clarice," he said in its place, knowing it was always better to speak the opposite when confronted with such matters as these. "I am not upset with your performance."

"Oh!" she snarled sarcastically. "What a relief! That makes everything better. No wonder you're a doctor…you sure have the healer's touch."

He arched his brows. "How did I deserve that?"

"You assume that I'm worried about your reaction. This may surprise you, Dr. Lecter, but I do have thoughts and concerns that do not begin and end with you." Starling's eyes were cold now, pointedly attacking the first plausible victim for her distress. "Did it ever occur to you that I wanted to do well? That I wanted to prove to myself that I haven't been wasting these past few months?" She groaned angrily. "And now…what—"

"Clarice."

"What?"

It was hopeless. Dr. Lecter regarded her for a minute, uncannily without words, before his prolific sense returned and released the most feared of all omens: the reassuring truth. "Your language might need a little fine-tuning, but it is hardly elementary. Your manners were impeccable, and your common sense is as sensible as superior to anyone you had the misfortune of meeting today." He took a minute to enjoy the dissipation of her discouragement, the shudder that ran through her in the fashion that was becoming wonderfully familiar. "I did not mean to imply my approval of such a performance was the only accomplishment you were to strive for. My intention was merely to suggest that while several peculiarities were noticeable, you should not berate yourself for a few minor slip-ups. You have done remarkably well, Clarice, more so than I can hope credit you. These insecurities are charming but unnecessary. Learn to trust my good word, for I will not lie to you. You did very well today, despite appearances or what you may think. There was absolutely nothing left wanting in your performance."

He ended as abruptly as he began, and for long seconds, the air between them was substantial with such fantastically thick anticipation that follicles of breath were nearly visible. The hardness behind Starling's eyes faded without much provocation, and her chest heaved as though finishing a hefty jog. Her image was pure torment, stirring within him both pride and uncertainty. Trapped in a wealth of swirling emotions, her pupils seemed to contrast in pigment, struggling to hide herself and succeeding to his everlasting torment. However, masks were unveiled and tossed aside. And without realizing it, lest he pull away, Dr. Lecter found himself nearing to claim her mouth, and might have had Barney not approached.

"Hey, Doc," he said in a manner that stated he was perfectly oblivious to the conditions he intruded. "Everything okay now? Mrs. Rosencranz and her friends have gone ahead. We better start back."

Any advancement was immediately retracted, considered briefly before discarded. The moment broke asunder and disarrayed its merit. Starling noticed this, too, and cleared her throat, though her eyes were still heavy with confused burden and resentment. Dr. Lecter drew himself away and assumed his normal disposition. Without looking at her, he nodded and stood. "Yes, I believe we are ready." And before anyone could retort, he was gone. To collect the car and his thoughts. It promised to be a long drive home.

Such situations required thinking.

Today would not be forgotten.


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