Disclaimer: Copyright of these characters belongs to Harris and ah, whoever bought the rights to the film! No need to sue me, I'm not intending to make any sort of profit from it!

Ten.

Clarice was tired, bone tired, today they had stepped up the search and she had spent it (with the Interpreter- who walked awfully slow) arranging to have cameras placed in places like art galleries, museums, posh restaurants, the public library (the better one) and ugh so many places they all looked the same now to her. With all these cameras extra added and the PPF watching all those already up, Hannibal Lecter couldn't hide, unless he became a hermit and lived alone in, well, where ever he was staying.

Clarice had mixed feelings about this, she knew Dr Lecter was in Paris because of… the other night.. she shied away from thinking about that night in detail, but what was to happen once they found the Doctor? What if it came to a stand-off, could she give the order to shoot? It troubled Clarice that she was thinking about defending a murderer, a sociopath, someone who had harmed countless peoples lives, but she had told him, promised him almost that she would never take his life from him… just his freedom. What if she had too… could she? Why couldn't she, wait, had she just said she couldn't?

Confused Clarice growled under her breath and then was jerked out of her melancholy thoughts by music. Piano music, that song, from that night, she hurried up the steps of her current hotel (yes, she'd been moved again, just to keep 'one step ahead') and into the foyer where a grand piano stood. It was glorious in its polished shine, positioned in the corner on a white marble floor where the music could drift over to the check-in desks. She walked fast over there. A man was playing, broad across the shoulders, thin hair on top, something built up in her a crescendo of the music of her soul, and she reached out a hand -

"Doctor Le-"

The man had turned around, it wasn't the doctor, it was a narrow face and pleasantly obscure at the moment, she stared for a moment the bile of disappointed filling her mouth with a sour taste.

"Pardonne Mademoiselle? Puis-je aider-?"

"Non, Monsieur excusez moi…" Clarice didn't bother to analyse why she felt so disappointed obviously it was because the FBI agent in her was… The music, but the words were in French, she became aware that the old man was staring at her and that she was still at his shoulder "Monsieur, parlez vous en Anglais?"

"…Un peu" he replied frowning at her in confusion.

"Bon. Je voudrais the…urgh the music, dans English, Anglais, do you have it?" she pointed for emphasis and spoke in a queer mixture of French and English, not sure how to compose sentences, not knowing the verbs. It took a few tries but eventually he showed her the way to a music shop where he said they would have the music in her language, or at least that's what she thought he said.

It seemed he had been correct though for when she got there she managed to acquire the sheet music in English, and the tape (sung in English again) with minor difficulties, her FBI badge helping somewhat (totally just happened to still be hanging around her neck of course). On her way home she tried to remember how the song had gone and sing the words along to it, she was having difficulty with the tune though, and she couldn't read music so that didn't help. Halfway back to her hotel she stopped on the pavement (a/n sidewalk?) and noticed at last the lyrics of the song that she had picked up from the music shop. Quietly she 'sung' them out loud,

"Midnight, Not a sound from the pavement, Has the moon lost her memory, she is smiling alone…" her voice faded as she spoke the words gently to herself in the darkening streets of Paris. "Memory, All alone in the moonlight…" as in the song, fallen leaves rustle around her feet, dancing in tune to the soft harmonic rising of her voice. "I remember, the time I knew what happiness was…" tears glisten in Clarice's eyes understanding the meaning of the song Dr Lecter was playing for her.

A sudden blow to her back knocks her to the ground her music dropped and gasping for breath, she rolls over, grabbing her handbag and reaching in for her gun. Another fierce kick to her stomach winding her again but trained FBI reactions take over and she curls away and stands up, carefully moderating her breathing to gain back her breath and fight. She is still bent, winding pushes the air out of the lungs, if severe it can cause respiratory arrest, Clarice fights to remain calm, even as her assailant grabs her hair throws her using it down to the hard cement. He is strong but she is stronger… just you wait you bastard…she knows she can get him, but she didn't hear him come up, she curses her stupidity for standing alone in a darkening street singing to herself!

She hears his fist thud as it hits …what? Not her, another thump, a muffled

"Oommph" another thump, think sackmeal, and then an ominous crack and silence. Her vision is blacking slightly she never did have any patience for ailments of any kind, especially stupidity which I seem to have in droves she thinks bitterly. The strange whistling in her ears means that the voice is slightly muffled but it's quite obviously not the assailant.

"This is just a paper bag, I want you to breathe into it nice and slowly, try and fill the bag up" the brown bag is brought to her mouth and she follows instructions, a reassuring arm is set about her waist, holding her up.

"I'm… not… hyperventilating… winded" she protests wheezily.

"I know that, but you are in part, it will help. Trust me" the voice soothes and Clarice nods weakly and rests her head upon the man's chest, both of his arms coming up and around, cocooning her in a sphere of warm safety. It doesn't take long for her breathing to ease and the tightness to lessen, the pain ebbing away, her vision comes back and she realises it's dusk she sees her assailants body lying a little way a way lying knocked out on the ground.

"Thank you so much sir" she speaks gratefully, and suddenly realising than she is still enclosed in his arms flushes pink.

"My pleasure" he replies and gently lets her go, his arms swinging to his side but one hand steadying her, holding her elbow. When she moves her body away from his she realises how cold it has become and shivers, the gentleman who 'rescued' her (Clarice curls her lip in disgust- how very 'Maid Marian') is silent and still behind her.

Struck by a sudden rather viscous desire to have some sort of revenge for making her appear weak and foolish (which Clarice M Starling has always never been) she walks over to the immobile form of her attacker and gives him a good solid kick in the balls. Her 'saviour' chuckles at her behaviour but it does make her feel better, a little immature perhaps but heck-who cares, it worked, she grins slightly evilly before it turns sour.

"You speak English! How…" suspiciously she turns to face him and is presented with a sheet of music instead "Oh good, it's still readable".

"You are learning to play?"

Clarice, distractedly wiping a smudge of dirt of the music replies vaguely "No, I wish I could but… I should phone the Paris Police Force where's my bag…?"
"Right here and I should go" he holds out her handbag and she looks up as she reaches for it and answers him.

"Oh wait you'll have to tell…" Clarice trails off, her face pales, she freezes in place, her hand out-stretched towards her handbag in which her gun still resides.

"Your observational powers are disastrously inefficient Clarice, perhaps however the situation clouded your mind?"

Clarice gurgles, a noise deep inside her throat, she is contemplating diving for her handbag or wrestling him to the ground, neither appeals particularly.

"Ah I see. Well Clarice since it appears I just did you an enormous favour and saved you from being ah 'beaten up', perhaps, just perhaps we could avoid the usual bother of handcuffs and throwing each other around?" he raises an eyebrow in question.

"Dr Lecter you are under arrest for.." Clarice starts off on his 'rights'.

"Ah perhaps then, not. Lets do it the hard way shall we then Clarice?" and the Doctor thumps her a gooden around the head, moving so fast that she couldn't see it in the dim light. Clarice goes down like a light. The Doctor sighs, "I'm afraid you'll have a headache in the morning Clarice", he bends and arranges her more comfortably, replacing her gun in her bag.

Around the corner he makes a quick phonecall alerting the PPF to the attack when he hears them arrive he leaves, secure that she will be safe with them, safer anyhow.

A/N: Well? Like it? LOL I do love doing the GD and Clarice scenes they have such scope! For any that were wondering about this fic, I am planning to continue it and the other, as long as you can keep them both separate in your head? :)