Decided it was time Clarice and the good Doctor were reunited for a little conversation! Yeah! (This is for Luna!)

Five.

At 9am the next morning Clarice found herself standing at the front of a debriefing room full of French police officers who were trying to understand what she was saying, it wasn't disastrous, just mildly terrible. It seemed that their English was far better than her high school French but that her accent, no matter how slight she'd thought it was, made it hard for them to understand her.

She resorted to using visual aids, writing key words and drawing obscure little pictures, until finally she asked the section chief (who knew a little more English) for a translator. He was more than happy to oblige, meanwhile, whilst they waited she managed to get some of them making lists of expensive 5 star hotels, places where even more expensive wines could be purchased, large famous French theatres, the works basically. The rest she had phoning up and inquiring if someone with the title 'Doctor' had signed in/bought/ordered/reserved a place there.

Suffice to say there were already so many leads it was mayhem, but the next step would be going to these places and showing the staff pictures of the Doctor as well as checking out the histories of each and every suspect.

The section chief (he told her to call him Pierre) came back mid-afternoon to tell her that the nearest free available translator wasn't available until the next day. Clarice felt like banging her head against the wall, but instead she thanked him and told him that the lists and enquiries were likely to take all day anyhow. Though he didn't understand 'anyhow'…

It was 7ish when Clarice finally made it back to the 5star hotel she was staying at (yep the bureau was definitely going all out). She was tired and starving and wanted nothing more than to have a nice long bath, but figured she would have dinner first before they stopped serving.

A quick shower and a change from her suit into a more feminine but modest deep blue dress that fell to her ankles she made her way down to the restaurant. Clarice didn't know it but she looked stunning her long hair released from his severe ponytail and allowed to hang loose about her shoulders, looking soft and shiny. The dress complemented her figure and it's colour made her eyes sparkle bluer, she had a natural unconscious beauty about her.

The waiter who held out her seat for her obviously thought so too, as he solicitously asked her if she would like some wine -on the house, and gave her the menus insisting that she call should she need anything.

Clarice took her time on her meal, savouring the rich foods and delicious ingredients, from the window of the restaurant she could see the Eiffel tower, only visible by it's lights now that night had fallen. She swirled the remaining wine around in her glass holding the stem delicately between her fingers, her desert plate was scraped modestly clean and her napkin had been folded neatly by it's side.

Clarice was quite content to just sit there gazing thoughtfully out into the flickering city lights, without actually concentrating on anything but how she felt so free to be away from the FBI. Free to be her, it was an amazing feeling probably the result of several glasses of wine she concluded idly. Though she still felt in full possession of all her abilities, accept it was…as if…well she felt as though she could smile and not strain to do so. I need this, Clarice thought, it's like a holiday, it's -

"Well, hello Clarice" the rasping tones, the slow drawing out of her name,

Clarice froze, and then very ladylike she placed her glass back down upon the table and said,

"Hello Doctor, would you like to join me?" quite calmly even as her heart beat faster and she thought over and over my gun is in my room, my gun is in my room…

"Thank you. I think I will" and before her eyes was Doctor Lecter, sitting down in front of her, he signalled over the waiter who came immediately, obviously, thought Clarice the Dr. had been here previously -was he staying here?! "Two glasses of Chianti please" he spoke courteously and the waiter bowed before turning away to do so.

"Here on FBI business no doubt Clarice" it was slightly phrased as a question.

"Yes Doctor, yours also I believe" she tried to keep her voice steady.

"Hmm, I'm sorry for shocking you my dear" he sound genuinely concerned and Clarice begins to think she's going to laugh -hysterically. A small smile curves her lips, she is sat in her hotel restaurant in Paris, with Doctor Lecter, whom is the reason she is here, making conversation. He's a cannibal dear, she tries to reason, why aren't you arresting him then? She tenses.

"Ah yes Clarice, I wouldn't try anything silly? Hmm? After all we wouldn't want anyone to get hurt" a slight inclination of his head and she sees his harpy, held low, and tapping against his thigh ominously, another tilt and she notices that a young girl sits at the nearby table with her mother. The intimation is quite clear, she nods her head in acquiescence, without her weapons, without even her handcuffs it would be foolish to try and arrest him, she will have to play his game.

The waiter arrives back at their table, the Doctor's harpy disappears, smoothly slid back up his dinner jacket sleeve, he tips the waiter and then waits for him to leave before starting the conversation again.

"Well Clarice, how are you, it's been a while since our last chat"

"I am well, thank you Doctor Lecter" she resists the urge to enquire after him, she can't help her eyes stray to his right hand, of course the doctor notices.

"Ah yes, just the smallest scar" he holds his right hand above the table and indicates with the other hand the pale white mark that is the only reminder of it's past detachment. It runs from just below his forefinger to the bottom of the thumb and wrist, involuntarily she reaches out her hand to touch it, her own thumb gently drawing the path, before she jerks back in horror. The hairs on the back of her neck have risen, and she shivers.

"Cold?" asks Doctor Lecter, his maroon eyes boring into hers, his hand once again withdrawn, sparks of electricity running up his arm as he savours her brief touch. Clarice swallows, the pleasant blur that is caused by three glasses of strong wine have placed her mind into some sort of shut down, she decides reassuring her FBI self that of course she isn't fraternising with the enemy.

"A little Doctor" of course she's cold, why else would she shiver? Why else...?

"Have some wine" his tone does not brook argument, she complies, taking a sip of the dark red wine, it's strong, but she doesn't make a face.

A flash and she is back at Chesapeake drinking the same wine in a desperate effort to blur out Krendler munching happily on his own frontal cortex, a lurch of sickness overcomes her at the sudden memory. She resorts to the same tactic and drinks some more wine, the glass is finished and yes everything is a pleasant blur now, the Eiffel Tower lights doubled and seemingly moving closer. A strong arm supports her as she almost falls and she hears

"No that's okay, I'm a friend, I'll take her up to her room"

Clarice leans heavily on the body that half carries her out the restaurant, it smells nice, a hard muscular body beneath expensive clothes. Outside the restaurant the air is slightly clearer and some of her senses are regained. Holy shit- Doctor Lecter, have to…phone FBI…Who …this? Why am I so dizzy? Where …? The wine…you drank the wine…the wine was drugged! Fool! Stupid stupid girl! Must… fight… so tired though…I then blackness overwhelms her and she falls, falls falls until she knows no more.

A/N : hell, I dunno, does it read ok? Tell me -I'm a little bit unsure about the whole 'how-Clarice-reacts-to-Doctor-Lecter-thing' lol.