Disclamer: All Hannibal characters are property of Thomas Harris. I am borrowing them to bring a new idea to life.

Dedicated to: Tara, because without her remarkable intellect and support, my own writings would not have been possible.

A Note to readers: I am sure if you have read this far that you know that my story is based on the movie, not the novel. Ok, sorry for all the little notes, please read and review!!! ~Fauna

Chapter 4: The Lamb Will Stop for No One...

Clarice Starling awoke the next day much later than anticipated, and with a vicious hangover. As Clarice made herself some breakfast, she glanced at her kitchen clock. The movement of the clock hands were killing her head, which was drowning in pain from the entire bottle of corner store vodka she had consumed the night before. It was 12:30, six hours later than her normal awakening to the world. 'That's fine,' thought the disoriented Starling. 'I still have time to pack for Paris. Lots of time. I might even be able to take a nap... '

After Clarice drank the majority of her breakfast, cup after cup of black coffee, she wandered back into her bedroom. As her head slowly cleared, she began to remember why she drank so much the night before. It was because of Hannibal. Once again, he invaded her mind. As this was a normal occurance, she couldn't help but be surprised at her reaction. Never before had Starling drunk herself into a stupor. Never before had she felt such longing, and such incredible loss. Well, she had felt it once, that one time, but even then her behavior was not so erratic. Last night was a true mystery of the human mind...

Clarice rose from her bed and tried to think of what she needed to pack. She looked at her bedside clock to see that it was now 1:30, and she was going to run out of time to take care of all her packing. She briskly walked into the kitchen again with pen and paper in hand. She needed a list, she needed something solid to look at and help her organize her thoughts.

Just as the fiery redhead sat down, she heard a knock. She went to her door and saw through her peephole that it was a Federal Express courier. 'FedEx? This must be some early information from Paris about Lecter...'

Clarice opened the door to a young man with beady green eyes. His look of shock and appreciation woke Starling to the fact that she was standing in her doorway attired in only a short blue terry cloth robe. "Can I help you?"

"Um, yeah..." said the courier. He held out a box addressed to agent Starling. "Special Agent Clare Starling?"

"That's Clarice Starling. Where do I sign?" How Starling did hate when people mispronounced her name...

"Here and here," stated the FedEx man, pointing at his clipboard. He promptly handed Clarice the package, but hesitated before walking back to his delivery truck.

"I don't suppose there is a Mr. Starling..." A sly smile told Clarice that if she told him the truth, he would be most persistent about asking her out.

"There is indeed. And he's gets positively crazy when I talk to other men." It sounded stupid to her ears, but it did the job. The man quickly walked to his truck with a discouraged look that only the young and horny wear.

Laughing inwardly, Clarice wondered who she described to that young man, who she thought of as her husband. How odd that the first name entering her mind was that of the good doctor... Hannibal. 'Oh, please, move on with your life...'

Clarice pulled apart the protective outer box and wrapping. Inside lay a lilac box. On top of the box lay a letter with copperplate script. Starling's breath caught in her throat as she recognized the writing and the sweet smell of raw ambrigrose and tennessee lavender wafting from her package.

"Hannibal...."

She carefully picked up her letter. Written on it was the familiar 'Clarice', that was written on all the letters she had received from him. Though her curiosity told her to open the box first, she kept her attention on the letter. She grabbed her letter opener and gingerly opened it. Her eyes drank in his writing...

*Dearest Clarice~

Hello newly instated Agent Starling. How time does fly, eh Clarice? Yes, it's been a while since my last letter. Forgive me, but I felt that you needed time to rediscover yourself after our last rendevous... Did you see that, Clarice? I felt... put that in my case file, that cannibals too understand emotions. I know you can feel Clarice. You so clearly stated that in 'our' park. You have simply yet to understand what you feel. I patiently await the day that you do...

Now Agent Starling*

Clarice could almost hear him hiss her titled name, agent...

*Now Agent Starling, I anticipate that you know why I am writing you. Cast aside the obvious, Clarice, this is not about my affections for you. I have recently read the newspaper and was treated to the sight of your lovely face... front page, if my memory serves correct. And it always does... You have a new case, and one of the more interesting. It seems that you have been assigned to me again, to stop me from my Washington killing spree. Did you see the picture they used of me in the paper? What do you think Clarice, can you look at it and hear my voice...? Can you feel my eyes watching you, as hold this letter in your shaking grip and glance about your humble abode? Don't get too excited, sweet Clarice, as I am not near enough to smell your delicate perfume of anticipation.

"Hannibal Strikes Again"? Tell me your thoughts Clarice, I want to know what your every whim and 'feeling' is in your pursuit of this psychotic killer. I believe you know that I am not a killer, especially one would kill without necessity. Does it truly sound plausible that I would kill a teenager? In Washington? I hate to aid the bureau in anyway, but I can't take credit for a crime of this stature, especially a copycat of such a brutal and classless sort. I am not the madman for which you search, and I wonder why you haven't pointed this out to our good friend Jack Crawford. Would you not be commended for you excellence of ingenuity? Perhaps your motives are of another alternative, and you know what you are doing. Do you want to find me Clarice? Do you want to see my face again, do you want to risk your life? I entertain fantasies of all sorts, even when I know that they will never be true to life.

I hope you enjoy your presents, and though you will undoubtly turn them over to the F B I, please take pleasure in knowing that they are yours alone. These are not for Agent Starling, but for my Clarice.

Enjoy.

Yours~ Hannibal

P.S. You'll note that I don't label myself as a killer, and in all probability you will remember our last rendevous in the park. You said you couldn't be with a person who killed innocent people. At my own defense, know that I only take away life from people who don't benefit the evolution of mankind. I have yet to murder the innocent, and hope you know that the lambs are safe from me. I do hope they've stopped in their pursuit of consuming your soul. But we both know that the lambs stop for no one.*

Clarice suddenly realized that she was close to fainting, and forced herself to start breathing again. The letter smelled of him, of her, of them together, and she unknowingly smiled as the tears slowly dripped from her cheeks. In her own private memories, Clarice almost forgot her package, her lilac box.

She laid her letter in her lap and turned her full attention to the box. It was rather large, larger even than the box that held her file on the doctor. She slowly lifted the lid and cried out when she saw the contents. On the very top, resting on the tissue paper used to wrap the larger gift, lay a pressed lily. Clarice knew immediately from where it originated. It was of a small, light purple variety, a kind she had only seen in her neighborhood park. It looked so beautiful lying on the paper, so symbolic of Hannibal's feelings. But she had yet to open her larger gift.

Slowly, deliberately, Clarice lifted the tissue from her gift to see a delicate diamond necklace. It was in the shape of two tiny hearts, joined together by an emerald. It was breathtaking, but it was the final piece of her package that froze her breath, stopped her heart for one agonizing second.

There were pictures. Not clippings, not magazine photos, but pictures. Of her. Hundreds of pictures of her over the past two years. Clarice sleeping, watching TV, eating dinner, at her basement office, leaving the bathroom after a shower. Hundreds of times he had been there, watching her, and she hadn't known. It was both endearing and frightening to know that he had been there, always watching, knowing what she was doing. She shivered slightly and looked about her room. 'He said he wasn't here now, but... now that I know about all this...'

As Clarice stood with her pictures, yet another note tumbled from the box. She picked up and read:

*Do you like them Clarice? Yes, the flower is from our park. I have kept it with me for so long, it seemed only right that you have a memento of our day. I saw the necklace and knew it was destined to lie only at your neck. Oh, and I can imagine your look of shock for my photos. It took quite awhile to obtain such a large collection. You can keep them all, as I have the copies with me.

Please wear the necklace. I want to see it bask in your beauty as you walk down the streets of Paris. ~Hannibal*

Clarice stared dumbly at his words. How did he know?

A glance at the clock showed her that it was now 2:30. She better start packing, as she list of things to do had just gotten a little larger....