Author's Note : Well, Steel…it appears I have "end-of-fic-itis." For you, here's Chapter 14.. by the weekend as you requested. Only one more and an epilogue left. Hurrah!

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 Fourteen

Arrival at the Pennsylvania House was redundant in a way. After paying the cab driver, Starling stood beside Pilcher outside, who was-to her surprise-deferentially silent. Temperament had not changed much in the past hour, though her high upon leaving Crawford was on a steady climb downward. Again, all the unanswered inquiries pertaining to her future attacked her conscious state, and she found herself wrought with uncertainty. There was still little dispute that moving away from Washington, given the circumstances, was the best course of action. The position that was suggested, that which lay waiting on the table.

However, since leaving Quantico, her insides had wrenched into a knot of doubt. There was no feasible reason why this woman should help her, even if the favor in question was nothing more complicated than the request of a phone number. In the weeks of their prolonged acquaintance, very few pleasantries had passed. Starling wasn't overly fond of her, and Mrs. Rosencranz had gone to every extent to make it clear that the feeling was beyond mutual. Regardless, Pilcher seemed optimistic, and perhaps his aunt's spirit would improve when she was updated on all that had passed.

Still, the thought of moving to New York alone was enough to shake her to very core. This wasn't so much a feeling of trepidation or qualm-Washington was far from earning the honorary title of home, but it was still the founder of her better memories. Moving away was, in the end, inevitable, as she had known this since that morning, probably longer.

Upon leaving Quantico, Pilcher had asked her, "Are you all finished here?"

What a peculiar inquiry, liberating and meaningful on a variety of levels. It felt odd to answer the affirmative without experiencing a rush of fear at acknowledging what such an admittance concurred.

A big city that promised a new start. It was more than she could ever ask. Furthermore, she would be doing something she liked, something she could enjoy without floundering her years of dedicated education. Then again, she could always marry Pilcher and live off the good graces of his fortunate connections for the rest of her days.

That thought prompted a snicker.

Drawing in a breath, Starling straightened her posture and gave herself an inward nudge. "Let's go," she whispered to her companion, who all but shot up the walkway at the sound of her voice.

It wasn't until they were inside that she realized it would be luck if the woman was there at all. The hour was near one in the afternoon, and she recalled Dr. Lecter's saying that Mrs. Rosencranz planned to tour the city with friends all day. When the door was answered, though, Starling wasn't sure if it was relief that shrouded her system or disappointment.

It seemed their unsuspecting host was wrought with the same confusion. The look in her eyes was indistinguishable, mixed with delight to see her nephew and perplexity at the woman by his side. Amazingly, she avoided a sheath of general distaste, rather gathered herself quickly and flashed a fast smile. "Noble! Ms. Starling…this certainly is unexpected."

She smiled her discomfiture. "We don't mean to-"

"Hello, Auntie Rachel!" Pilcher chirped merrily, making a presumptuous move inward. "Is this a good time?"

"I was actually on my way out."

"Oh." His face fell, but only for a minute. "This won't take long-I promise. Is Uncle Franz at home? We need to get a hold of him."

Mrs. Rosencranz gave him a long, wary look, though Starling suspected it was directed more toward her. "Why?"

"He still knows that fellow, right? The one that owns the apartment complex in Manhattan? Oh, what's-it-called…"

That nabbed the woman's attention and for whatever reason, perhaps evoked instincts. She knew immediately that Pilcher was not inquiring for his own benefit. "Oh?" Mrs. Rosencranz asked, gazing at Starling narrowly. "Whatever could you need him for?"

"Clarice might be moving," Pilcher explained. "Her old boss-"

"May I speak with you, Ms. Starling?" she asked suddenly, breaking her nephew's rambling in mid-sentence, her eyes wide with intrigue and interest. The directness of the question made her start briefly. "Alone?"

And so it was that Pilcher, for the third time that day, was left outside, stuck behind a closed door-unable and uninvited to do anything but wait.

To say Starling was unsurprised by such forwardness would be quite untrue, and to make things worse, she didn't know how to react. Once inside, she was invited to sit wherever she liked, though a hotel room offered few options. She pulled a chair near the window and awkwardly took her seat.

The woman was acting suspiciously hospitable, even if she was still cagey. Courteous, yes, but not altogether kind. However, when she spoke came the greatest surprise of all. Nothing but consideration, as if drawing a tacit truce. Womanly intuitions outweighed the most animalesque of instincts. Several times, she asked if Starling was comfortable and if there was anything she could get for her. Every offer was declined with thanks. Still, Mrs. Rosencranz's eyes progressively sparkled with curiosity, and the line of questions would soon begin.

Pleasantries dwindled, but not without merit. Sometimes people who were practically strangers understood a person better than her closest friends.

Such appeared to be the case today. The small talk dissolved after a few minutes into a self-conscious silence. Starling turned and gazed out the window absently, itching in discomfort. She had never imagined herself into the position where she would be alone in Mrs. Rosencranz's company without Dr. Lecter near, or closely surveying her actions.

Things don't always work out as we plan.

"I know you're not terribly fond of me, Ms. Starling," the woman said finally as she processed these perplexing thoughts. The statement seemed random, drawing her attention away from the window quickly, her eyes wide. Mrs. Rosencranz smiled knowingly and discarded her purse onto the bed. "And I suppose I've given you every reason for that opinion. Understand that it has never been personal. You are very, very young, and probably aren't overly familiar with the mannerisms of a shunned former girlfriend." She sat next to her purse with a sigh. "My relationship with Hannibal was never a fairytale, to be sure. In fact, with the older I get, the more I see how it could never have worked, even if I did things differently. He was the sort of man that you loved for the wrong reasons. My partiality for him was not mutual, you see, and I believe that is what hurt the most. I tried for months, Ms. Starling. At times it felt like years. But I finally awoke one morning and realized what he had known since the beginning. There really wasn't a relationship to save. Without even realizing it, we had become just…old friends who occasionally saw each other, who called each other up for seats at the symphony or special dinners with friends." She looked off thoughtfully, a strangely pained expression tickling her features.

Starling sat in silence and watched her, knowing not what to say or how to react. It was the first time anyone had ever mentioned Mrs. Rosencranz's relationship with Dr. Lecter without stirring feelings of jealousy, though she was unsure that that was the intended motive.

"How old are you, Ms. Starling?" she asked finally, remembering herself.

"I will be twenty-seven in December."

Mrs. Rosencranz wasn't looking at her. Rather, her eyes were fixed ahead, a small, unsurprised smile on her lips. "Have you had many boyfriends?"

The question would have offended her once upon a time ago. There was always something laced in the drift of one's voice that insinuated something else when presented with a negative response. Not now. Much had passed since then. It felt like a perverse dream in many ways. Even Mapp strayed wisely from this topic, though she was not without tease at Starling's formerly inactive social life.

"No," she replied at last. "If you don't mind, Mrs. Rosencranz, where exactly is this leading?"

"I am simply trying to explain myself," she retorted ambiguously. "The social interactions of people at my age can grow bitter if they suspect they have been traded in for a younger, more attractive model. Don't get me wrong, Ms. Starling. I love my husband very much, though it is more a marriage of convenience. Being the right person in the right place at the right time, with the right connections, right family and breeding. Franz is everything a husband should be, but he is not Hannibal. I suppose a part of me shall never be over him." Her face fell then sadly, whether at the knowledge or some rooted deeper meaning. A reflection of still fresh regret from the times of long ago.

Starling watched her for a few seconds, then gathered it was rude to stare and again turned her gaze out the window. When nothing more was said, she decided it was safe to, in turn, speak. "Is that why you disliked me? You thought I was a threat? If that is so, Mrs. Rosencranz, I assure you, nothing is-"

Suddenly, the woman's eyes shot up and captured her with abrupt intensity. "You have left Hannibal, haven't you?"

Starling flinched. "Our six months were over, you see. The project concluded last night."

"Don't think me so naïve."

"Pardon?"

Mrs. Rosencranz offered a small smile and seemed to relax. "Barney was right, you know. I talked with him a bit last night. He was very concerned for you two."

"Yes, yes." She frowned. "What did Barney tell you?"

"Nothing of importance," the older woman replied nonchalantly in a tone that clearly outlined it was something of high importance, like the cat that ate the canary. "Something to the affect that he had never seen Hannibal more infatuated, and that he had known him long enough to vouch for what he was speaking of. I must admit; I was skeptical at first. Though I didn't think that he was the type, I suspected he might be sowing some wild oats. Franz has a brother who went through the same." Her eyes leveled bluntly. I will be perfectly honest with you, Ms. Starling…my bitterness was the product of the assumption that you were only the twenty-something year old twinkie antidote to a belated midlife crisis." She looked down as Starling's gaze melted into a glare. "I know I was wrong. I knew last night, talking to Barney. And I watched Hannibal…I watched him watching you." Their eyes locked again. "I saw last night the reason why things could never have worked out between us. I've never seen him look at a woman like that." Mrs. Rosencranz sighed heavily. "And you looked at him in the same way. Don't be offended; Barney mentioned things were tense. However, I don't see Hannibal just letting you go without saying something. Tell me, if you can, what exactly prompted your leave. I know the decision could not have been an easy one."

There was absolutely no obligation to listen to this woman beyond the pledge of good faith. Starling's eyes narrowed indecisively, hesitant but also attacked by the most dreaded sense of gratefulness she had ever experienced. It hit her so bluntly that it scared her. She never thought she would be grateful to Mrs. Rosencranz, and yet here she was; ready to tell the least likely person everything. As a child she had rarely been allowed in depth conversations with her mother, or even her mother's cousin when she moved to the ranch. And despite the prior resentment between them, Starling could sense her earnestness. So, with no want of keeping her musings bottled up, she found herself relaying the entire ordeal once more. Unlike earlier when she conveyed the events to Mapp, there was no trace of a bias standing, no angry flash of temper, nothing to suggest a foul disposition. Instead, Mrs. Rosencranz merely nodded her understanding, as though the result came at no surprise.

"And you left?" she asked when Starling could not continue. "You left without telling a word of your intentions?"

"What was I to tell?" she demanded, though not unreceptively. "He made it perfectly clear of his standing, and even advised that the best thing I could do was to leave. He thought I was void of every proper feeling, and my conflicting emotions were no more noteworthy than an insolent case of cabin fever."

"That is not totally unfounded," Mrs. Rosencranz observed. "Certainly, you have heard of young ladies who fall madly in love with their professors."

"I have, but that is not the case." Starling sighed, too tired and worn from this argument-both with herself and those she explained herself to-to be offended at the suggestion that anything that mundane could earn her good favor. "He knows it, too."

"Of course he knows it," the other woman agreed. "Consider this, Ms. Starling. A man at his age in love for the first time. More than an attraction or a brief infatuation, which is all I believe women in his past have earned from him. Then you come along and throw his entire system off track. What honestly do you expect? He does not know how to react to you. He is a private man in his own little world. He admits who he sees fit, but is accustomed to expelling them whenever he chooses. Though I know he would disagree, I believe Hannibal is very old fashioned. His better senses have betrayed him. After all, you are quite young. What would become of him if you lost interest in a few years and traded him in for a younger model?"

"That's ridiculous!" Starling spat, resentful but knowing not for whom it was directed. "Dr. Lecter knows me too well for that. Did you ever think it possible that perhaps you and everyone else have gone a bit too far in overanalyzing? Did you ever consider that maybe he simply wants to be alone? Despite popular belief, it is not a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife! I believe the foundation for all this is the fact that in his eyes, I shall always be an FBI trainee for he cannot see me as anything else. Even if he wants to. It's easy to treat a person one way and regard them in another."

Mrs. Rosencranz smiled grimly. "You are quite well read, dear, though mistaken. The Doctor always says what he thinks. He has no need to hide his opinion."

The fire doused in her eyes slowly as her flare began to calm. "I know," she muttered. "I know."

Despite everything, there was truth in Mrs. Rosencranz's logic. Had Barney not said the very same? That Dr. Lecter was in fact 'scared shitless' of what such change could merit?

"There is one thing, Ms. Starling." Her voice seemed very far away.

"Yes?"

"Perhaps, with all that has passed, don't you think it's time you called Dr. Lecter by his given name?"

Starling's frown deepened. "I have never been invited to," she replied softly. "I was told a long time ago that because of my age and station that-"

"Perhaps you're not as in sync with the passage of time as you perceive to be," Mrs. Rosencranz suggested. "Much can change in six months."

It occurred to Starling that she could learn to like this woman very much. However, before much more could pass, there was a sharp knock at the door. Both women jumped slightly and gasped.

"Noble," Mrs. Rosencranz decided instantly. "Oh dear, he must think we snuck out a window. Pardon me, Ms. Starling. I'll answer."

She nodded, dissatisfied. Pilcher might be a whelp, but he had uncanny patience. Only that morning, he had waited nearly two hours for her to emerge from Mapp's duplex without making a peep. Something wasn't right.

Then there was hushed talking, and she knew. It hit her like a tidal wave, a cold though undeniably excitable feeling rushing through her. Her hands began to clam. The doorway was blocked by Mrs. Rosencranz's figure, but she could have identified his voice anywhere.

"Good day, Rachel," she heard-her body stiffening as her heart began a wild palpitation. "So sorry to bother you. Were you on your way out?"

"Oh." The woman was audibly just as surprised as she, and trying very hard to buy what little time she could. "Yes, as a matter of fact…Majorie is waiting for me…I must be twenty minutes late. But I've been distracted."

"Excellent. I need a favor. The most confound thing has happened." Dr. Lecter entered as Mrs. Rosencranz stepped aside. He made it perhaps two feet into the room, his eyes catching Starling's immediately and he paused shortly in stride. For a long minute, there was nothing, though she felt her skin aflame with wild sparks of electricity. His gaze burned with the most remarkable trait of all-surprise. She had surprised him before, but it made the experience no less unique.

Then her name was on his lips, hissing to some life of its own-tongue rolling every syllable. "Clarice." For once, his tone made no attempt to mask such astonishment.

Mrs. Rosencranz, by this time, had collected herself masterfully. "Yes," she agreed. "Clarice came to see me and I was delighted to have her."

No one made a move to reply. Starling gazed back at him with all the ferocity that he issued her. The room fell to dead silence.

"Well," Mrs. Rosencranz said at last, quickly grasping her purse off the bed. "Marjorie must think I took the wrong exit off the highway or something. We're meeting the Claypools for lunch. You remember Mr. Claypool, right, Ms. Starling. He-" She broke off in mid-sentence when she realized no one was listening and moved hurriedly for the door. "Stay as long as you like. But if he gives you any trouble, Clarice, I give you full permission to have him evicted."

And she was gone like a bat out of hell. A swift slam followed her leave, but nothing more.

Silence surrounded them. Briefly, Starling felt a surge of acidic abandonment, though she knew it was in vain. Had Mrs. Rosencranz stayed, she would have felt cheated and indignant. It wasn't until now that she realized this last conversation with the doctor was something she craved. A last attempt at closure.

"You look well," Dr. Lecter finally said, making her jump inwardly.

Was it to be this awkwardly casual?

"Thank you," she replied softly. "It certainly surprised Ardelia."

"You visited your roommate this morning?"

"Yes." She frowned at the tenor of the question, as though such a move was not thoroughly predictable.

"When, if you don't mind?"

"About a half hour, maybe forty five minutes after I left." Starling paused, not wanting to last words to linger on the course of action taken that morning. "Why?"

Dr. Lecter smiled slightly, though there was no humor behind it. "You have a very loyal friend." He would not elaborate, rather moved to stand resolutely by the window, beside her chair but no longer looking at her. Primly, his arms crossed under his spine.

So be it. He was going to be difficult. Any other time, this would have been thoroughly aggravating, but she was too frustrated, too tired with it all to care. "What does that mean?" she asked finally.

"Barney attempted to call you, or at least find someone who had seen you to be assured that you arrived wherever you were going safely." The heat radiating from his body swayed in her direction, but he would not turn.

"Barney called Ardelia?"

"Yes. I'd say, around ten this morning. She made it very clear that she had not seen you."

A piece fell smoothly into place and Starling's temper flared. "I was there," she confessed absently. "I was in the shower. She never told me that he called."

The doctor stirred lightly but didn't comment at first. When he did, the subject was nonexistent and the forwardness in his tone had decreased. "Have you visited Jack Crawford?"

She breathed a long sigh. "Yes."

This was ridiculous. If he was going to be elusive, so was she.

In the end, it became a standoff to silence. A long period in which they waited for the other to break. Starling's nerves were moving to be progressively very uncomfortable, but she dared not move. There was not much to expect from this conversation. Inevitably, in the end, she would go her way and he his. Still, it was something they needed, especially given the terms on which she left.

Sitting here in silence was going to get little accomplished. Though she knew her senses and patience had elevated drastically over the past half year, his own was infallible. "Mr. Crawford is probably in Ohio somewhere as we speak. I handed in my conclusions and he left shortly after."

"Barney attempted to call him too, to little avail. I suppose he failed to tell you of that conversation, as well."

What was it with everyone suddenly conspiring against her? "I had no idea."

"What did Jack have to say, Clarice? I take it he was pleased with your results."

"Doubtful at first, then pleased. Ultimately pleased." She held herself silent for a few more beats, then was finally unable to stand it any longer. Starling sprang to her feet, drawing his attention away from the window. They stared a second longer before she began. "Why was Barney trying to reach me again?"

"He was concerned for your safety."

"Were you?"

"Do not ask questions to which you already possess an answer." Dr. Lecter's gaze darkened slightly, though not in anger.

"Sometimes, Doctor, people like to hear that they are cared about. Relying on senses becomes confusing after a while. I would not want to derive something to be there that isn't in actuality."

At that, he grinned slightly. "I suppose I have been living under pretenses." Then his tone dissipated and lost its rough intensity. "I must say, Clarice, you are thoroughly unpredictable. When I told you last night that it would be best if you left, I had no idea you would take the suggestion so literally."

She blinked incredulously. "Was I supposed to obtain some hidden meaning from an otherwise blunt statement?"

"I did not believe you would leave so quickly."

"What was I to do, Doctor? How would things have been had I waited until this morning? How very awkward indeed." She scoffed and turned away. "No, no…I could not do that to myself. You made everything perfectly clear. Why should I have stayed? To humor you? To further humiliate myself? I would like to walk away with a shred of pride. I won't be passed over. I've been passed over all my life until now."

"Stand aside, then, for I will not stop for you." His words were almost hurtful, but there was a spark of familiar playfulness hidden in his gaze. "You talk about me as though I was a motor bus."

Never one to shrink to a challenge, her eyes widened and she stepped forward. "So you are a motorbus. All bounce and go and no stopping to hear anyone else's logic." She bit her lip hesitantly. "But I can get along without you. Don't you think I can't."

Her words bit them both. However, Dr. Lecter merely nodded his understanding. "I know you can; I told you that you could." They caressed each other wordlessly for a few seconds before he finally turned away again. "I have considered, however. I have been considering. You'd never wondered, I suppose, whether I could get along without you."

Starling's eyes darkened, unsure whether it was more appropriate to feel hope or irritation. "Don't you try to get around me; you'll have to."

"And so I will." Dr. Lecter continued as though he had not heard her. "Life shall return to as it was. But you know how I will miss you, Clarice."

This was turning very maddening very quickly. Collecting rational replies steadily became gradually more difficult. Somehow, though, she managed to hold her ground. "Well, you have my voice on your gramophone. When you feel lonely without me, you can turn it on; it has no feelings to hurt."

There was a long pause as he turned back to her. "I cannot turn your soul on," he said with heartbreaking simplicity.

A wreath of emotion flustered within her, and while the better part of her senses screamed redemption, to swoon, she refused herself to be had that easily. Instead, she surged with a rush of impatience. "Ooh, you are a devil," she spat hurtfully. "You can twist the heart in a girl just as easily as some can twist her arms to hurt her. What am I to think from this, from what you told me last night?"

"What I have told you before, Clarice. You do not need me to repeat myself for such confirmation."

A half groan, half growl erupted from her throat in raw irritation, and she turned, hands balling into fists as if to bang the sides of her head in. "Who are you to tell me what I don't need. This is what I don't need! I don't need this from you! Not now. You made your position perfectly clear, but you can't honestly expect me to sit around and feel sorry for myself because I stood in the face of such rejection, can you? I have prospects enough lined up for me. Noble Pilcher has called on me twice and three times a day, not that you would tell me. He has never felt the need to hide his feelings."

"Oh, I see. In short, you want me to be as openly infatuated about you as he is. A drooling young whelp that does more harm than aid to society, is that it?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." She flashed around to him again. There was still that infuriating amusement dancing in his eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, despite her raging anger, a very hidden part of her was enjoying this. It felt too much like old times. "I do not know why I bother anymore. That is over and done with."

"Is it?"

"Yes. I'm ready to make a new start, if you will not stop for me." Starling took a sip of satisfaction as his eyes flickered in barely noticeable distaste. "I'm moving to New York, you know. Jack Crawford says he can get me a job there."

For the second time that hour, she had the thrill of catching Dr. Lecter completely unsuspecting and thoroughly surprised. She could get used to that. "New York?" he repeated. "Have you decided against the FBI, then?"

"I decided against the FBI a long time ago. It only took that last trip to Quantico to verify it." She sighed heavily. "Mr. Crawford was anything but pleased. Neither was Ardelia, to be completely truthful. They both blame you."

"What job?"

"A professor at The John Jay College of Criminal Justice. He wants an assistant and I am qualified enough for it. That way I don't squander my original schooling." Her eyes were afire, adrenaline beginning to rush. "I suppose that's only one of my prospects. There's always Pilcher. I could use your teachings, Dr. Lecter, and marry someone with good, reliable connections."

The doctor's eyes flashed dangerously; almost violent in nature, incredulous that she would dare even consider such a preposterous option. "Do not attempt to pretend that was ever my motive," he scolded lightly. "That would be entirely foolish, Clarice."

"Yes, yes." Despite the resolute warning in his voice, she held herself unwaveringly. "And you can't love a fool, can you?"

Silence. For a minute, she thought he might actually break something. The blaze behind his gaze was both rewarding and painful. Her feet ached to break across the floor and seal the space between them, but she steadfastly maintained herself. There was little he could do to her for speaking the truth.

"You know better than that, Clarice," he said at last, eyes stanch and refusing to let her look away. "Do not feign such ignorance just for a reassurance of those pledges that were last night so corporeal to you."

"Why not? I know you would like to think that you made me a consort for a king, but Pilcher loves me. He's not afraid to say it, and that makes him king enough for me." Words, words, words. They were both familiar with her unmoved feelings about the whelp. Though she knew he could see through her, she still felt good in her release. "I'll go off to New York and be a teacher. Perhaps even one day I'll offer myself as an assistant to that brilliant Agent Graham. Who can say?"

Dr. Lecter's brows perched. "That toadying ignoramus?"

"Certainly. Why not? If not you, why not? These past few hours have served as affirmation to me that I have taken all I needed from my lessons with you, and without Quantico behind me, I still feel I can stand alone on my own two feet." Starling's eyes flickered challengingly. "I am hurt, Doctor. I was wounded last night, and I'm still wounded. But I will not let that defeat me. The rest of my life will not be spent in the shadows of what could have been. I am strong, I always have been. It hurts, yes, but I've come to the realization that I've been a fool to think you were the earth and sky…that there will be spring every year, even if you are not there to initiate it. I understand now that art and music will still thrive without you. That somehow Keats will survive without you. And there still will be rain on that plain down in Spain, even that will remain without you." Starling sighed heavily and moved to the door. "Without your pulling it, the tide comes. Without your twirling it, the earth rotates on its axis. Without your pushing them, the clouds roll by. Somehow, they all do without you, and so can I." She turned to him then, one last time, and held his eyes for reaction.

What a sight it was. The deep whirlpool of the maroon sea in his eyes seemed to drain, the pinwheel having stopped churning. He looked at her as though he had never seen her before, as though she had simply originated where she stood, this rambling thing that he had somehow broken in such a manner that could never be fixed. "Clarice…" he whispered softly. "Meus amor, what have I done to you?"

That alone above everything that he had said brought her closer to a contravention. The raw astonishment coating his tone, the breathing essence of his eyes that regarded for the first tune her as this thing he had created, a spirit he had broken, a kindred soul he had taught beyond the knowledge of his own comprehension. She fought herself manageably, though her knees weakened and her eyes threatened to flood with tears. "I am leaving now," she whispered, sounding only half-alive even to her ears. "Do not try to follow me. Please give my thanks and regards to Mrs. Pearce and Barney." She released a long breath. "Goodbye, Dr. Lecter. You will not be seeing me again."

Walking away was one of the harder things she had had to do, even more so than leaving the manor that morning. As expected, Pilcher was waiting for her outside. A smile broke out across his face when he saw her and he quickly scrambled to his feet. Unlike before, she took no delay in leaving as quickly as possible. She feared if she stayed, she might rush back.

In the meantime, Dr. Lecter remained alone in Mrs. Rosencranz's hotel room for a full fifteen minutes before its occupant returned from her luncheon. She found him gazing resolutely out the window. The man's leer, despite what he was thinking, what was said to him and what he said in return, always remained unchanged. For all their time together in the past, she could not determine his thoughts, though an intuition forewarned they were not positive. Though she knew it was best to hold her tongue, she found the temptation beyond provocative and could not help herself.

"Ad astra, per aspera," he muttered to himself.

Mrs. Rosencranz had taken a course or two of Latin in school, but could not summon the translation from memory and decided to ignore it. "What happened?" she asked instead, moving slowly toward him.

Without turning, Dr. Lecter nodded directorially to the course at which he was gazing. "She is gone."

"Well, of course," she agreed nodding unsympathetically. "What did you expect?"

There was a long silence, and for a minute, she believed that was all she was to get from him. Then he spoke again, his voice worn and conceding. "What is that popular phrase? 'There is a first for everything?'" He paused to allow her time to answer, and continued when she didn't immediately. "Clarice has introduced me to many firsts, among them being now. I believe this is the first time in my general recollection that I am at a complete loss on what to do."

"Do without, I suppose?" That prompted him to turn to her, but his expression was neutral. Mrs. Rosencranz smiled. "She has introduced you to many firsts, naturally, as your first real love. You truly love her, don't you, Hannibal?"

The inquiry was very blunt. Though Dr. Lecter often issued his own straightforward opinion, he was rarely avidly eager to receive it. Such a disposition was read clearly. However, he exhaled deeply and forfeited the match. "I do," he admitted softly. "I do. And yet, I never told her that."

"What's stopping you now?"

"The hope not to trouble her any more than I have. Not to interfere. She asked specifically that I do not follow. This is my folly, Rachel. I appreciate your effort, but do not attempt to correct it."

Mrs. Rosencranz could not suppress her snicker of bewildered amazement. "Is that all, then? I still do not see what is stopping you. Surely you know that despite what she says, Clarice wants you to go after her. All women want the men they love to go after them. I can guarantee you, she might be angry if you don't listen to her, but she will never forgive you if you do."

The words hung dead to the air. Dr. Lecter shook his head in disagreement. "The socialites with which you keep company enjoy such tomfoolery. Clarice would not toy with me like that."

"Think reasonably," Mrs. Rosencranz retorted skeptically, arching a brow. "I think I know a little more about this than you do, if you will permit yourself to admit it. She may be one in a million, Hannibal, but she is still a woman."

That earned a particularly sharp gaze and he did not reply. Instead, he held her willfully, then moved without a sound to the door, taking his leave as abruptly as she had earlier. It came in such cold countenance that she could not help the shiver that raced up her spine.

And yet, seconds later she was smiling. It was intensely satisfactory to know someone had finally reached him, had finally touched his otherwise impervious soul and was now making him squirm, placing him in the heart of this confusion where his education and protocol could not save him. For that, he did not deserve her. With a lasting grin, Mrs. Rosencranz nodded resolutely to herself. "Bravo, Clarice."


* * *