Clarice watched in shock as Dr. Lecter reached for her throat. She grabbed his hand, ready to break his wrist if she had to, but she instantly felt him relax as he went back to sleep. She released the breath she had been holding and acknowledged that nothing was certain around this man, even her continued safety. His dream must have affected him profoundly if he was willing to break his word and harm her. Perhaps it was a combination of his dream and the effects of the fever.

Clarice knew that Mischa had been his sister and that she had died with the rest of his family during the war, but what could he have been dreaming about? She knew his sister was dead, but what if he didn't remember that fact? If he woke up delirious, she questioned her ability to subdue him. He was weak from being sick, but that only put them on a level playing field physically.

She contemplated her decision not to turn him in. If he hurt her, she wouldn't be able to help either one of them. She still felt she owed him for his care after she'd been shot, and a Starling never missed the opportunity to repay a debt. She felt the shadow of a thought flicker in the back of her mind; something cast in the shadow of her career going up in flames. She finally came to accept that her life in the FBI was over. It was time to move on.

She smiled as she realized that the doctor had a profound effect on all the momentous experiences of her life even. Whether he baited her thought processes with cutting remarks, or was the focus of her unseeing gaze as she reached decisions about herself, his presence in her psyche seemed to fill a lifetime. Don't let him in your head. How inadequate that warning seemed after all that had transpired between them. The man lying on the sofa knew her in ways no other human did. She had shared things with him, sometimes unwillingly, that she wouldn't dream of telling anyone else. She wanted to share her latest decision with him, to see what he would say to her. 'I told you so' was probably first on the list.

She reached out and touched his forehead. He was still very warm to the touch, but he was sweating the fever out. She went back to the kitchen for a pitcher of water and sat for the better part of the afternoon squeezing it past his chapped lips.

It was well into evening before she decided that the fever had broken and his temperature was coming down. She knew he would probably sleep for quite sometime, while his body recuperated, and that she could probably leave him long enough to collect some clothes from the hotel and find something to eat. She wandered back to the kitchen, but found nothing in the cupboards that she knew how to cook. After pulling her jacket back on, she found his house keys on a small table by the front door. She checked him once more before she left the house, locking the door behind her.

_________________

He woke up feeling groggy and sore. He knew he'd been sick, but this didn't bother him so much as the fact that he'd been dreaming of Clarice; she had been there to take care of him. First of all, he didn't need anyone to take care of him, and second Clarice was too much the warrior to have any healer in her. He acknowledged that he was a bit obsessed with her, but a little obsession in life was a healthy thing. He began to wonder if his fascination with her was starting to become unhealthy. He sat up on the couch and congratulated himself on his foresight of preparing the den as a sick room. At least that was what he must have done given what he was now seeing. The large fire had kept the room tropically warm, and he'd put a pitcher of water and a glass on the table for when he awoke. He opened the bottle of Tylenol and took two to finish off the fever and subdue the aches he felt all over. He was extremely tired and contemplated going right back to sleep on the couch, but decided his bed would probably be more comfortable. Besides which, he wasn't even wearing any pajamas.

He pulled the heavy comforter that came off his bed around him like a mantle and proceeded to make his way to the stairs. He was panting by the time he reached the first step. He stumbled on the landing, but he was determined to reach his room. His body, however, had other ideas and he sunk to his knees not ten feet from his door. He couldn't force himself to get up again, and was finally overcome by sleep in the middle of the upstairs hallway.

______________

Clarice came back to the house juggling keys, a small suitcase, and two full grocery bags. The clerk at her hotel had pointed her in the direction of a late night delicatessen. She had soup and sandwiches, and muffins for breakfast in the morning. Her decision to spend the night at the doctor's house had not been easy. She didn't know what he would say when he found that she'd just invited herself in, but she would deal with that when the time came. She wasn't deliberately trying to be rude; what if he needed something in the night?

On getting the door open she headed straight for the kitchen and dumped the groceries on the counter. She left her suitcase at the foot of the stairs and walked into the library to check on him. Her gaze swept the empty room and panic set in as she realized that he was gone!