Author's Note: To those of you who have not seen My Fair Lady, the end of this chapter is faithful to the movie, I promise! I'm not doing it just to be stubborn.

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.

Chapter Eleven

The return home was bittersweet. While a very relieved Barney chatted animatedly in the back, reassuringly patting her shoulder several times in congratulation of the best performance to date, neither Starling nor Dr. Lecter said a word. The few glances she hazarded at him were inconclusive and never reciprocated. From leaving the White House, the high spirits he enjoyed had diminished. Not many victories came without retributions.

Mrs. Pearce was waiting anxiously in the entry hall, eyes wide with expectation. For an instant upon entering, Starling felt a pang of regret that she hadn't asked the housekeeper to accompany them. Everyone here had played a crucial part in leading up to the evening's finale, and everyone deserved to partake.

Of course, it would have been in extremely poor taste for the cleaning woman to tag along.

"Absolutely fantastic!" Barney bellowed, merrily oblivious to the blatancy in which he was ignored. "An immense achievement!"

Neither of the men noticed Mrs. Pearce, but Starling watched as the woman's face brightened in mutinous glee. Dr. Lecter deposited his coat on the stand beside the door and moved wordlessly into the parlor. She watched him until he disappeared into the darkness, unsurprised when the room did not illuminate. The doctor did not enjoy light. When she turned to back to the housekeeper, who was looking at her with expressive interest, she forced a smile and nodded.

"It went very well," Starling relayed without enthusiasm, eyes darting back to the parlor.

Barney laughed loudly and gave her an unknowingly harsh pat on the back that stole the wind from her body. "'Very well,' indeed! It was outstanding! Aww man, you should've seen her, Mrs. Pierce. The 'oohs' and 'ahhs'! People kept asking me who she was. You'd think they'd never seen a lady before. It was…" He trailed off thoughtfully, as though just realizing they were without Dr. Lecter's company. With bated breath, he looked to Starling, understanding without needing to ask that she knew where he was. Sighing, she nodded in direction.

"Doc!" he said a minute later, taking off after him. "Hey, Doc!" She stood motionless, arms behind her back, and flinched a bit as a light sliced through the hall. "Doc, you gotta tell us the truth now. Weren't you a little bit nervous once or twice?"

As always, Dr. Lecter's voice required no assistance in elevation. He could whisper and still be heard. "No, not for a second."

Always eager to keep up with the conversation, Mrs. Pearce toddled after them. And Starling was left alone. Starling sighed once more, slowly removed the coat from her shoulders and resigned it next to the doctor's before joining the others.

"Not during the whole evening?" Barney was saying.

The doctor himself was lounged on the sofa, his eyes locking with hers immediately as she entered the room. While it was impossible for his friend or Mrs. Pearce to see, Starling clearly deciphered the supreme desire to avoid this conversation pulsing behind his gaze. The once-felt pride she might enjoy as a result of such insight was nonexistent; rather, his opinion was shared. Perhaps the more distasteful ending to the evening was a discussion about the unbeatable touch of success.

"No," Dr. Lecter replied finally, eyes breaking from hers as he reclined ever so slightly. His voice carried an air of mastered casualness, a sense of falsified uncaring. "I felt like a bear in a cave, loafing about with nothing to do. You are right, Barney. It was an immense achievement." When he spoke again, his gaze captured hers once more, and she knew that his words were for no one else. "An immense achievement."

"Absolutely fantastic!" Barney praised. With a huff, Starling shook her head and looked away, eyes fixing on the vase sitting on the nearby shelf. While she was at times grateful for the man's loudness, it did become tiresome to think that an entire six months had been spent in his company without anyone in the household tuning in to the searing tension between the instructor and his pupil.

Unless, of course, she was flattering herself. But Starling knew that could not be the case.

"I was surprised to see Mrs. Rosencranz there," Barney said, taking a seat neighboring the doctor's. "But it was nice to have a familiar face in a room full of such political stiffs. Do you think she's going back to Baltimore tonight?"

Dr. Lecter shook his head. "No. She relayed to me her friends' desires to partake in the tours around town. I believe they are staying at the Pennsylvania House throughout the rest of this week." This was announced without so much as a glance in her direction, though Starling didn't care. The appointments of Mrs. Rosencranz no longer worried her, her own esteem convinced of the doctor's steady indifference, regardless of what the woman felt for him now.

Besides, there were larger issues to tackle—more noteworthy things to worry about.

"I must have aged a year tonight," Barney continued, this time to Mrs. Pearce—who was all ears. "I thought I was going to die of anxiety. There was not one single moment of peace." He broke, then added thoughtfully: "Of course, it was the White House." Then, his eyes shining with new admiration, he looked to Dr. Lecter and smiled. "Now I can go to bed without dreading tomorrow. I'm so glad that's all over. Aren't you?"

There was no immediate reply, the doctor's attentions more seriously occupied. Dr. Lecter was one never to hide where his motives lay, but while she returned his gaze forcefully, she reflected the same ambiguity that was wearing her tolerance away, eating at her nerves. When he finally looked away from her, he smiled dimly and nodded in concurrence. "Yes. Quite glad."

Barney went on without hearing him. "You did it, Doc. You said that you would do it, and you did! Six months ago, it seemed impossible. I thought one of you would get bored and stop. But no. You did it."

Dr. Lecter shook his head and sturdily held up a hand to silence him. "That is not necessary, Barney. Besides, you are overlooking the key player. None of this would have been possible without Clarice's cooperation."

"Yeah!" he agreed readily. "Good God, Ms. Starling. I'll never know how you put up with it all, but I commend you! What a success!"

She smiled without feeling. "It was nothing. Really nothing." With a sigh, she turned back to the vase, adamant.

"I suggest we retire," Dr. Lecter said suddenly, bounding to his feet. "It has been a very long day. I am sure that you are exhausted, Barney. All that mindless worrying you did had to have some adverse affect on your nerves."

He nodded and started for the door. "I am tired, but I don't know how I'm going to sleep a wink tonight. Good night, Mrs. Pearce. Good night, Ms. Starling."

No one moved or said a word until his boisterous footsteps no longer thundered across the floorboards above.

"I better be getting along, myself," the housekeeper said. "I do hope you don't mind my staying, Dr. Lecter, but I couldn't go home without knowing how things went tonight. I would've—"

Dismissively, he nodded his acceptance. "Perfectly fine, Mrs. Pearce."

"Yes, I appreciate it," Starling agreed, though her eyes had not yet moved from the vase. "Thank you very much for everything."

"You're welcome, my dear."

She felt Dr. Lecter move rather than saw it, his voice gently offering to show the woman out. It seemed hurried, as though he was anxious to see her alone, but she didn't move. Not until the front door closed and the air around her fell silent. When she turned around, he was in the doorway, watching her like a hawk. For once, she failed to quiver under his hard gaze, instead turning fully to face him.

A long minute ticked by.

"Well," he said finally, looking down. "Would you mind leaving a note for Mrs. Pearce requesting coffee in the morning instead of tea?"

"Certainly," she replied, voice quick and stable, though she felt she would crumple at any time. "I'll leave it in the kitchen."

"Thank you." Dr. Lecter's eyes traveled upward slowly, capturing her gaze once more. Thick silence engulfed them again, and as she thought he might speak, he did not. Instead, he turned and walked mutely out of the room, switched off the hall light, and traveled upstairs.

A part of her left with him—an essential portion of her psyche. She watched until she could see him no longer before turning her eyes to the room that she had spent months perfecting herself in. The lamp that Barney had activated began to glow intrusively so she switched it off, allowing herself to be consumed by the dark stillness of the parlor. It was like her high school graduation all over again, knowing it was the last time to walk the halls as a student, knowing the dreaded real world crowded outside, waiting to take her into its harmful embrace. Only now she had tasted that life, had experienced that hurt, the misconception, the disappointments. Deceit and corruption waited outside these walls, the life she told herself she wanted over and over was still there. There with its Jack Crawfords and Paul Krendlers and Buffalo Bills. There with its meaningless sweat and blood and tears.

But Starling correspondingly understood that it was impossible to remain here. Not with the everlasting silence between herself and Dr. Lecter. Not with the millions of things she wished to say, reserved only by fear of reaction. They fought for power too often to confront the more vulnerable side of life.

Left in the darkness, her façade crumpled. Starling dropped with a pained gasp to the floor and burst into tears. At first minimal whimpers, controlled even now as she felt the last bit of restraint melting away, her cries grew, breaking over the final barriers of her self-discipline. And then there was no desire of control, no need to school herself. Her body craved a good hard cry, having been deprived since her father died. Long ago, Starling scolded herself that tears were useless, making nothing better and everything worse, and resorted never to shed them again. Now she couldn't help it, and while such lack of constraint concerned her, there was similarly nothing she could do to calm herself.

So it was over.

When at last her sobbing subsided, Starling reached for the arm of the sofa and pulled herself to her feet. She wiped her eyes angrily, taking a good bit of foundation and powder with her, staining her black gloves. With a furious yank, they came off her arms and were consigned forcefully to the ground. That was something that had yet to change; despite how much of a lady she had become, Starling would never understand the necessity to make one's face resemble a clown's. She was modest with her accessories, but never overexerted herself to look as others thought she should look.

A throaty sound escaped her throat, halfway between a gasp and a growl. Starling threw her arms up in defeat and decided that lingering here wasteful. There was nothing she could do about it now, and little use came out of reflecting on their situation as though neither had anticipated its arrival. When she reached the doorway, though, she recalled Dr. Lecter's request to leave the note for Mrs. Pearce and retreated reluctantly to his desk. She stopped short in front of the piano upon noticing the half-consumed port that sat atop and eagerly reached for it, poured a glass and downed it in one gulp. Wine had never before gone to her head, and even while the port was nothing compared to a shot of Tequila, it had been many months since she drank so quickly, thus could not help the wave of dizziness that crashed over her. However, she maintained her balance, knowing it was more in credit to fatigue and confusion.

Who wouldn't be tired after six months of such continual disorder?

When the head rush dissipated, she reached for the port again, poured, and paused just before the glass reached her lips in low realization of what she was becoming. If anything, any man to cause such disturbance in her world was simply not worth the effort. Jerking her hand away furiously, she emitted a perceptible growl and threw the glass across the room, eyes following the shards as it crashed in a splash of bloodlike liquid and landed haphazardly on the carpet.

And then the tantrum, minor as it was, ended. Heavy breaths heaved from her chest, weakening her knees and coaxing her slowly to the ground. There she sat for what felt like forever, holding back further tears as her body broke into tremors. So detached was she that she didn't hear anyone descending down the stairs, barely noticed the shadow cascading inward from the newly relit hallway, or the familiar feeling of observation she suffered when in his presence.

"Clarice…" Dr. Lecter said softly. Starling froze but did not gasp, finding her strength after a few seconds' lapse and turning to face him unashamedly. A few weeks ago she might have felt apprehension, but now she did not care. It was fruitless hiding from him, even if she knew he would not like what he would see.

Indeed, she could tell he was most seriously displeased. His eyes were alight with concern, his hands resigned to his pockets, as though needing to restrain himself. She felt her skin prickle with expected scrutiny, her own gaze afire, quaky but unwilling to yield. When he saw that she would not answer him, he took a step forward. "What is the matter?"

At that, her lip began to quiver and she sniffed. "Nothing of consequence, I assure you."

His eyes flashed in disapproval. "Something is obviously wrong if you think such an elusive answer will satisfy me," he berated sternly, taking another step forward. "Tell me. Now."

Such a command was futile and they both knew it. She reveled in the difference she saw escalating behind his eyes as she steadfastly voiced her refusal. "No." It felt bizarre to brusquely reject him, peculiar in a liberating fashion.

"You do not complain of your treatment tonight? Has anyone behaved badly toward you? Barney, Mrs. Pearce?"

"No."

"Myself?"

She heard the challenge in his voice. "No. I'm sorry I woke you, Doctor, but I must have my solitude this evening. It has been a long day, and—"

"I would not keep you," Dr. Lecter replied gently.

"So why do you?" She took several steps forward in attempt to move passed him. Stubbornly, he paced with her, blocking her escape. Such a gesture would seem playful in any other context, but she knew better. With slow persistence, she raised her eyes to his once more, surprised at their sudden proximity, and resolutely demanded, "Let me pass."

"Not until you tell me what provoked such a paroxysm."

Starling sighed emphatically, stepping backward by instinct as her arms crossed. Their eyes battled to little avail, the room growing heavy, either with their breaths or the tension that sparked to life whenever they shared a long look, or were near each other at all. As infuriating as it was, she saw clearly that she was not going anywhere without a truthful explanation. He would know if she lied.

So why not tell him? This was their last night together, and obviously something was occupying mind, or he would not have heard a wine glass shatter from the floor above while concealed behind a closed door.

It felt weird trying to put six months of torment into words. Starling's mind boggled and she didn't feel very articulate. At last, her pretense fell and she stopped trying to think, her head dropping as she caressed her forehead. "Honestly, Dr. Lecter, if you don't know by now…"

"Know what?" he asked unfailingly.

In an upset flash, she looked up to him again; hurt flashing behind her eyes, but only briefly. He had obtained his objective; holding her gaze once more. "I don't think I've been living under a misapprehension," she snapped a minute later, infuriated that he would dare toy with her under such circumstances. "Don't insult me by playing dumb."

"I have no desire to insult you, Clarice."

"But you do anyway!" Starling turned away at last, refusing to gratify him, if her eyes were his purpose. "How you do expect me to talk to you if you insist on pretending that…" And then she could not go on, her voice failing her. Again, her head came forward and she had to bite her tongue to keep tears from following.

Behind, she heard him stir significantly. "I will not ask again," he said determinately. "What is the matter?"

"No, nothing is the matter with you. I won your bet for you, didn't I? That's enough for you. It's what happens to me from here that doesn't matter. At least you and Barney seem to think so." She turned again, uncaring if she cried. What was the use?

The silence that followed seemed to stretch for hours, and for the second time that evening, she found herself trapped under his inflamed glare. However, she refused to falter, refused to waver and implore for forgiveness. It was beyond that. When he saw this, Dr. Lecter's eyes flickered meaningfully. "How could you conceive such a notion? You should know better—"

"Well, I obviously don't know better, Doctor," she retorted angrily. "Stop telling me what I should know. I'm under no obligation to know anything anymore. It doesn't make a bit of difference. Your bet is over and you've won. All is right with the world. There is no reason for you to worry."

"Clarice—"

"Oh God!" Starling flashed around again, her hands shooting to her face. "What's to become of me?"

"I thought we had this established months ago," Dr. Lecter retorted cautiously, taking an audible step forward. "You are free to do as you wish." His voice seemed casual enough but it was covering something. That much was detectable with his passed on teachings of insight. She doubted he had anticipated it to ever be used on himself.

"But what am I fit for? What have you made me fit for?" Starling fought the temptation to turn around again, her hands coming to rest on the back of the sofa. "I'm no lady, that's for sure. Despite what Will Graham or Barney or Mrs. Pearce or you might say, I still am no lady. I couldn't make it out there in a world such as this based on what you've taught me. It takes a lifetime of practice for that. I don't want it, either. But I'm in poor condition for even the FBI now. Not only in what you've taught me, what I've learned and what I see now…but I'm not even in shape. I've neglected running in the mornings for months. I don't have a conclusion on the Buffalo Bill file…I don't even want one anymore!" At last, the lure was too strong and she whirled to face him again, to gauge his expression. "Don't insult my intelligence by pretending this means nothing to you."

To what she referred might have seemed uncertain to anyone else, but for months they had spoken in cryptic messages. Starling was surprised when he let her see the shudder of concede her words provoked, but maintained her ground, forever unmoved.

Another lengthy silence. Dr. Lecter studied her copiously, his eyes sparkling with connotation. When at last he sighed and looked down, she felt a surge of relief, and knew this masquerade of ignorance was over.

"We have spent much time together, Clarice," he said softly. "I know it is ineffective to deny what has become of it, both in your lessons and between us. And my, how I have fought it. With ever essence of my being, I have fought it." And that was as much of any confession that she was to get from him. Dr. Lecter let out a breath and took a seat, hands folded and eyes growing distant, as though submerging into some arena of serious contemplation.

With as much triumph that soared to finally have her answer, to know her own feelings had not been in vain, Starling had little time to revel. She wanted more, needed it, craved it. The profession was merely spoken words; it confirmed nothing of the future.

"So what now?" she asked inconclusively. The incentive was upon her to claim the seat next to him, but she resisted.

"You do not know how you have tortured me," he murmured, more to himself, though it caused a shiver to ripple down her spine. The idea that she could torture anyone, let alone this man, was neatly preposterous, but she did not doubt him.

"What now?"

"I cannot say."

"Because you don't want to or because you don't know?" She sat in the chair across from him, eyes falling to her clasped hands.

"You do realize," he continued, as though he had not heard her, "that the best thing for you would be to leave tomorrow, despite what has passed tonight."

"Why? Why is that the best thing for me? Who are you to decide what is best for me?"

"I am an knowledgeable man, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, finally acknowledging that he knew she was still there, sitting in front of him. "Enough to know that what has passed here cannot end well. You have been under my supervision for six months, seeing very little of the outside world, until these past few weeks. Neither of us has any way of determining whether these…fears you relate are the product of geniality or cabin fever."

Starling blinked incredulously. "Cabin fever? You're suggesting I—"

"I see the diagnoses of my own conclusion." He stood once more. "But I will not affront you by pretending that I want you to leave. Despite all my sense and logic, in knowing it is better for both of us—"

"Why do you insist on making decisions for me?"

"What sort of life do you think you would have here, Clarice?"

"Have I said that I want to stay here?"

Dr. Lecter paused, grinning slightly. "No. You do not need to. We both suffer too much pride to ever confront ourselves. I believe these feelings you have related might have engendered from being here too long. Consider it logically. What you would be giving up. What you would eventually crave. I could not keep you shut up here forever. You have become restless in these past few months alone. That would not be fair to you." He let out a breath. "And I could not share you with the FBI. Such an institution excludes the need for a conventional social life."

"Doctor—"

"You would grow to resent me, Clarice."

"I can't believe you're blaming my feelings on cabin fever and acting like yours are natural and just," she snapped furiously. "Why shouldn't my own be as natural as yours?"

To that he had no reply. He looked to her thoughtfully and stood.

"Or is it you who resents me?" she continued a muffled minute later, her courage growing, even if her body could not subside its tremors.

"Could you forgive me of robbing you of your youth?" he asked shortly. "Not tonight, Clarice, or tomorrow. Perhaps not for many nights to come. But the day will arrive when you awake, look in the mirror and reflect on the life you could have had. The life denied to you."

Fleetingly, Starling tried to picture herself down the road a few years, but the attempt was futile. Standing here without knowing which path—if any—was open to her, blocked her senses. The more rational tugging at her awareness forewarned that nothing ever ends as it should, and that she should learn, especially after everything, not to expect so much of life.

Tiresome cases and leering looks from the men that claimed to be her superiors at Quantico, graduation a year late. Impending rumors, stories, and allegations. Was this the dreamy path she had imagined for herself? When she arrived six months ago, it hadn't occurred to her that no matter how much she improved that her absence alone would speak against her and set the stage for future failings.

"I'm so tired of doing what is expected of me!" Starling cried at last, releasing the brewing storm. "That's all I've done all my life. I'm tired of having my decisions made for me and me just standing there and letting it happen. I'm tired of being bullied into thinking there is only one choice left in the great-goddamn-scheme of things. I'm not a child, Dr. Lecter. If there's anyone to resent, let it be myself for such idle foolishness and little girl dreams. I don't go around looking for people to blame if I know it's my fault."

"In such case, I must caution you," he replied simply. "You owe it to yourself to taste the life you would miss."

"How can I go back empty-handed?"

Dr. Lecter's brows perked. "Buffalo Bill. Yesss…we aren't quite finished with that, are we? Do you have any conclusions?"

"Just that you've confused the hell out of me with that thing."

"Where is the file?"

She had left it on his desk earlier that evening, before the final project commenced. Wordlessly, Starling brushed passed him to retrieve it, flipping open to the last page she had marked on.

COVET-EVERYDAY-BELVEDERE???-COVETAGAIN?-SEW-?????

"This is all the conclusion I have," she said, handing it to him as he flipped the lamp on.

The light was intrusive and hurt her eyes.

"Mmm," Dr. Lecter murmured dubiously. "You have worked yourself into a crossword puzzle. Look here, Clarice." With a quaky breath, she took post next to him, leering uncomfortably over his shoulder. His finger traced her wording, starting at SEW. "You caught that," he said admirably. "I wasn't sure. Tell me, how are his victims found?"

"In random order."

"Why? What has made them random?"

"The first girl," she said, aching to flip to the front of the case to the page that held her information. "Fredricka Bimmel. Was weighted—"

"Weighted down. Yes." He looked to her expectantly, his breath fanning her face.

It was the sort of realization that dawned on someone only in the middle of the night. Starling felt heavy and lethargic from crying and the pains of such conversations, but her gasp of astonished realization banished it all away. "Oh God!" she cried, snatching the file from his grasp. Then she couldn't speak, her eyes shining with intent and understanding, her hand quaking for the need of a pen. And she fled his side, returning to the desk to record her discovery.

"He's in Belvedere, then. He saw her every day," she said hurriedly, a look of exasperated determination tackling her expression as her frenzy increased. "God, this is illegible. I won't be able to make it out in the morning."

"Do you understand, then?"

She paused in her writing and looked up. "No."

"What consistency remains through all the victims?"

Starling bit her lip in thought, fishing her facts and everything she had gathered on the case, prior and up to coming here. Her mind jumbled. "We found a moth in a girl's mouth down in West Virginia. Since then, we've found one in—"

Dr. Lecter shook his head dismissively. "That is part of it. The significance of the moth is change. Caterpillar into chrysalis and thence into beauty. Think, Clarice. Refer to your other clues. You are very close to the way you are going to catch him. What other link do these victims have in common?"

Starling's breath regulated as she tried to concentrate, her eyes glued to the wrinkled page before her. SEW. He told me he wasn't sure that I would catch onto that one. But I did. I—

"They're all big," she said at last, looking upward with a second epiphany.

"Roomy," he agreed, stepping forward.

"And he starves them for a week. All skinning is post-mortem."

"Very good. So you see, Clarice, he is not a sadist after all."

No. She didn't agree with that. What human could skin another and not be called a sadist? By the books…but life is too slippery for books. "Then what is he?"

"He is a caterpillar," Dr. Lecter replied simply. "Or he wants to be. He wants the change as they do. However, for whatever reason, most likely severe childhood disturbances associated with violence, he is out of the means by which others of his kind approach the method of change in this society. He has been rejected, you see, but he has not let that defeat his intention. Billy is most determined to be a woman."

More realization dawned on her, spreading nether her features as her eyes shined into his, then back to the file again, hand busy with additional notes. During this, the doctor was silent, though she felt his gaze unmoving on her. Only when she stopped writing and looked up to him expectantly did he continue.

"He is not a real transsexual, Clarice. But he thinks he is, he tries to be. I'd expect he has tried to be several things." Dr. Lecter turned away. "He is not a born killer. He was made one through years of systematic abuse." Another pause. "But this is irrelevant, now. You have your town; you have motive; you have everything you need to find him."

"This is not a game of Clue, Doctor."

"Of course it is not."

"I need to get this to Jack Crawford right away."

"Of course you do."

At that, she paused, her eyes lingering in his, alight with new understanding.

"You see then," Dr. Lecter continued a dismissive minute later. "Why it is that you must go back?"

"Only partially," Starling replied, setting the case file on the desk again. "I want to end this case, yes. There is no denying that. I want it so bad it hurts. But as for the rest…you've confused me too much. My time here has confused me. I knew things were bad, and for whatever reason, I thought a badge and a diploma would make a difference. I'm not so naïve now."

"You have powerful enemies," the doctor acknowledged. "This Paul Krendler that you have on more than one occasion, for instance."

The very sound of his name made her gnash her teeth. "I wanted it so badly," she said with a defeated sigh, sitting lightly on the edge of the desk, eyes staring fixatedly at her shoes. It was then that she realized she was still in her evening attire, make-up smeared from her drying tears, and that the conclusion of this conversation would very likely decide her future. She trembled and tried not to think about it. "Apart of me still wants it. But I know things now. I know what would happen, what would become of it. I know things now that I wouldn't have known for years, if it weren't for you."

"Why? Why did you want it so badly?"

"I don't know." That was a lie. He would see through it immediately.

Dr. Lecter's look was harsh and diligent. "Because of your father, the night watchman. You have achieved things already in life that he could not. You have a notion in you that is unable to sit still if you know someone is hurt, or going to be hurt." His gaze intensified, and Starling felt herself shrink, as though caught in the middle of a lie. Uncomfortably, she looked to the door, wondering how far she could make it before he asked the inevitable question.

"Why?"

It was the incident that she had never told anyone, the happening that had haunted her throughout the adult existence. Her breath began to constrict and her chest tightened merely at the thought. The ceiling dissolved into a cold Montana sky, her surroundings melted into the grass and gravel under her feet. And she was running away, far away with Hannah at her side, lambs wailing their relentless cry behind her.

But there was no going back.

So enveloped was she in these recollections that Starling didn't realize she had begun speaking until she had to pause for breath. However much she thought it might, talking of this childhood event that had somehow traumatized her more than her father's death wasn't as difficult as she originally anticipated. Rather, it seemed locked up, confined, screaming to be released, to have someone else bear or at least recognize its burden. Her eyes were locked on the ground, her arms protectively wrapping around her torso. When there was no more to tell, Starling licked her lips and looked up, half expecting Dr. Lecter to have disappeared. He said nothing, let her have her moment to collect herself, then turned and paced to the other side of the room.

It seemed years had passed since they arrived home that evening, since she stood in the East Room of the White House, since she heard the words that initiated this conversation. Furthermore, she could not see the sun rising in the morning; see a plausible future beyond these tidings. To Starling, the world began and ended in this room. The released burden of so many confessions, of wants and denials, of things they could not change, of things they would not change otherwise.

"That is one area I never brushed," Dr. Lecter said softly, his back still to her. "Your rage, Clarice. You keep it bottled up protectively, lashing out on the first convenient prey. Anyone who will give you a just motive. I saw it the night we met." That seemed ages ago. "I should have focused on assisting you to manage it a bit, so it wouldn't hurt you so deeply."

For whatever reason, that thought didn't rest well with her. While her rage had handicapped her in many ways, it similarly acted as the fuel to start her day, that which pumped through her system like adrenaline. There were things she could have handled better, for sure, but she wouldn't for the world. Rage kept outsiders closed off, admitting those who truly wanted to know her, wanted to make any connection at all. Starling's eyes darkened at the insinuation.

"I don't want to manage my rage!" she hissed, the venom in her voice provoking Dr. Lecter to face her, victorious surprise caught in his eyes. "Between you and Quantico, rage is all I have!"

And then she crumpled, unable to support herself any longer. Starling took a few staggering steps away from the desk as the tears came, rekindled and hot, burning skids down her cheeks. A few at first before the sobs followed. Any notion of embarrassment to be crying in front of this man was dismissed. There was no reason to feel shame. What was done was done, mostly at his tidings.

Then he was behind her, twirling her to face him as his arms came around her, comforting and protective. A dam had been crossed, broken through, a pivotal final barrier. Dr. Lecter soothingly encouraged her head to his shoulder, caressing her in attempt to calm her down. It felt wonderful to be held, offered what little reassurance he had to give. The outburst, minor as it was, began to subside, detached tears cascading down her face, moistening the white of his dress-shirt.

When all was still again, she was certain he would let her go, but he did not. For what seemed like forever they remained like that, caught in each other's embrace. Starling paced her breathing, wondering what sort of battles he was fighting, what ever might be going through his mind. She didn't care, as long has he refrained from pulling her away. If this was all they were to have, so be it. Just as long as it lasted until morning.

As the thought escaped her and wished itself into the void, she felt him stir. At her ear at first, whispering her name with some resignation. To her, it sounded like surrender, and rang sweetly through her system until he dipped his head. Then she felt his lips on her, stroking her shoulder with light, feathery touches. Starling tensed, her hold instinctively drawing tighter, clutching him to her to prevent his escaping. The doctor's caresses became firmer, embellishing teeth and tongue, as though no longer unable to stop himself. His arms tautened their embrace, his mouth moving up her neck until finally capturing her lips. Another wave crashed, though the kiss was initially soft and exploratory, it gained zeal at escaping such lengthy suppression. The feel of his lips against hers swiftly drained her of all fortitude, all resolve, anything that allowed her to do anything but kiss him back. When his tongue invaded her mouth, she swallowed a whimper, wondering distantly how she came to be here in the first place. It all seemed so long ago.

It was over just as quickly, his hands retracting to her wrists, removing them from behind his neck as his warmth moved away. Starling's eyes shot open, breath escaping her harshly. Dr. Lecter was watching her closely, though his gaze was indeterminable.

Her eyes flickered in recognition.

"I have been a selfish being all my life," the doctor said anticlimactically. "This has been very clumsy of me. I cannot do this to you."

To me, or cannot let it happen to yourself? The miserable thought rose without word of warning, and as much as she tried, she could not banish it away. A pang took command of her body, shuddering visibly through her. She could not meet his eyes then, could not gauge the struggle that shot behind his gaze in nearly uncontained restraint that kept his control from breaking and taking her into his arms again. But despite it all, despite her firm resolve, she understood. Even now, doubts plagued her mind. She had to convince herself…

Such was ineffective.

"You're right," she agreed, voice low and barely audible. "There can be no want of feeling between the likes of you and the likes of me."

Her words seemed to scorn him, his eyes ablaze when she looked up. However, he offered no rebuttal. Instead, emitting a breath, he turned to walk away.

Something sparked within her, an earlier memory. She could not say why she spoke up, perhaps to keep him here another instant, to keep the morning from taking this away from her. When her lips parted to speak, she was startled to find her voice quaking, even as it stood on fortitude. "What does it mean?"

Dr. Lecter paused soundly but did not face her. "Pardon?"

"Vae, puto deus fio. You promised you would tell me."

There was another lengthy pause as he slowly turned to capture her eyes in heartbreaking conclusion. Silence flickered and the walls seemed to pulse, but she ignored it all, focusing severely on him. At last, he exhaled and smiled grimly. "It means, 'Oh dear. I believe I am turning into a god.' The final words of Vespasian. You see, Roman emperors were made into deities upon death. At your arm, Clarice, such can be said faithfully. You have the power to make any man feel like a god." Then, without waiting to catch her expression, he turned once more and silently excused himself.

Something significant within her stirred, eyes flooding with more tears that she would not allow herself to shed. But Starling understood finally, and knew he would not be coming back.


* * *



It was with little resignation that Starling concluded she could not remain under this roof another uncompensated night. Not with what had passed, not with what she had in her possession. The bags she had brought with her were inadequate now, overcrowded with everything that had had been given to her along with the belongings she initially arrived with. While she had no desire to leave the things that Dr. Lecter bought her over her stay, she suspected it would hurt him more to see his gifts left behind.

At the moment, that was certainly more appealing, but regardless, she took with her as much as she could.

There was little time to consider her surroundings as she would like to. Starling was determined to be gone before the first rays of light announced the new day. It was 4:00 AM by the time she was ready to walk out the doors, presumably forever. As much as she wanted to stay and reflect, she knew she had to swallow her pride and bid her life here adieu.

However, as she was nearing the front door, a set of booming footsteps came thundering down the staircase, loud enough to betray the man's identity and ease her nerves. Even still, Starling had no desire for Barney to see her like this. In the midst of her departure preparations, she had yet to remove her tear-stained make-up. If anything, she did not want to drag him into this mess.

Too late. Before she could break for the door, Barney flicked on the hall light and took her unadjusted eyes by surprise. Hand shooting immediately to shield her line of vision, she had little time to gather herself.

"Ms. Starling!" he exclaimed in surprise. Weakly, she forced her eyes open. Barney's gaze was intent on her uncomely appearance and the bags by her feet. "What are you doing?"

There was no use in hiding her intention. Not even dear, sweet, gullible Barney would believe a falsified conjecture with so much evidence suggesting an alternative. With a sigh, her hand dropped uselessly to her side. "Would you switch that light off?" Once gratified, she continued. "I'm leaving, Barney…and I'm not coming back."

She was grateful that she could not see his eyes, the image her mind produced enough for her vivid imagination. "What?! Why?"

"I…I can't say. The bet is over…I need to leave." Unable to tolerate it anymore, she turned, grasping her bags and making a final move for the door. For a second, Barney seemed to accept this, not speaking or making any attempt to stop her procession.

However, as she reached for the knob, he spoke up, his voice steady and surprisingly sympathetic. "It's Dr. Lecter, isn't it?"

Starling froze promptly, her heart catching in her throat. Neither moved nor spoke. There was no need to. When finally she felt she could control her motor functions, she turned slowly to nod her acknowledgement. "It is. We…we…"

"Ms. Starling, don't think me completely ignorant of what's been going on," Barney retorted, a small smile that refused to hide in the darkness spreading across his face. "Anyone who has seen you two together can tell there's something there. Mrs. Rosencranz and I were talking about it just—"

Her eye widened. "But why—"

"It wasn't any of my business." Barney sighed, shaking his massive head, casting his eyes downward. "I suppose it came out tonight? It felt like a volcano about to erupt in here."

With a weak smile, she nodded. "Yes…everything came out. Dr. Lecter…I think he thinks I'm not good enough for him or something. He's told me that—"

"I don't think that's it at all," he replied with quick astonishment, almost defensively, as though the accusation was aimed at him. "Ms. Starling, if anything, I think it's because he's not used to...well, think about it. When before has something like…he's a pretty old guy to be experiencing—"

"There's no need to preserve my opinion of him, Barney, or to explain. I understand completely."

"No, I don't think you do." Aggressively, he took a step forward, grasping her arm. "All more besides…you're as unsure of this as you should be. You have no idea what you've done to him, have you? I've known him for years…but over these past six months I've seen changes in him that I can't…" With a sigh, lacking the poetic touch that his friend possessed, there was no more he could say without being perfectly blunt. "Clarice, tu amat." She blinked, impressed, and he chuckled lightly. "You learn a lot just by listening. He loves you, Clarice, and I think it's scared him shitless. Anyone can see it."

The tears she promised herself she would not shed flooded her eyes again. Starling forcefully bit her lip, shaking her head to deny entrance for the wealth of emotions that demanded acknowledgement. Emitting a breath of resolution, she tugged her arm free of his grasp and stepped back again, the door hard at her shoulders.

"If he loves me, he will find me," she replied, aware of the pit in her stomach that seemed to expand with every second. "If he doesn't, that is his misfortune."

And before Barney could collect his breath for a refutation, she turned and opened the door, dragging her bags along with her. When she looked up again, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Don't blame yourself," she said shortly. "And it's not necessary to tell Dr. Lecter that you spoke with me tonight."

"He'll know anyway," Barney retorted laboriously.

His eyes were what she last she saw, large and sad, fighting something distant. It was that and then the slam of the door, the address number staring her blankly in the face. For a long minute, she stayed there, resisting the temptation to rest her head on the frame and release her tears. But no, it was time to move on.

Early morning danced around her. The sign of a new day.


* * *