Warning! This turned into a real lack of any serious plot… If you're not ready for some mush quit reading right now.
Add the usual: I have a bus pass, sue me and that's all you'll get.
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Clarice stepped out of the shower and grabbed one of the fluffy cream coloured towels. Dr. Lector's downstairs bathroom was certainly nicer than the one in the hotel room where she'd been staying. She efficiently toweled herself dry and then wrapped the towel around her damp hair and pulled on a pair of sweats. The FBI logo emblazoned across the chest made her pause as she glanced in the mirror.
You've decided that life in the FBI is over. So what now?
She didn't have an answer to that. Life in the agency had never been dull and she wondered if she could find a replacement that would keep her interest. A haunting image of her mother cleaning hotel rooms swept across her mind but she quickly pushed it aside. She had a college degree between her and the world that she had been brought up in. Trailer camp, tornado bait, white trash. The phrase echoed in her mind. That wasn't her anymore. She'd used college and the FBI to rise above all that, or so she kept telling herself. He always spoke the truth. No Dammit!!
She spun away from the glass, and marched into the kitchen. She put her few groceries away, leaving only the minestrone soup on the counter. She found a copper-bottomed pot and turned on a stove element in order to heat the soup. Soon, the monotony of stirring abandoned her to her thoughts again.
What do you want Agent Starling?
EX-Agent Starling thank you very much!
Well? What do you want?
I don't know! But that was a lie. The impression of an idea was beginning to form, but she knew she wasn't going to like it once it was fully formed. The fact that the doctor might offer a solution tickled the back of her mind, but she refused to acknowledge what she hoped that solution consisted of. It would be so easy to let someone else make the decisions for awhile.
She shook her head in disgust. What was she thinking? Dr. Lector was no knight in shining armor. He wasn't about to save her from the boring monotony her future promised to become. He probably didn't even think she was worth his time anymore. She certainly wasn't worth playing with now that she wasn't FBI anymore. The image of the doctor reaching for her throat surged before her eyes. It was enough to shake her into the decision to leave and go back to her hotel. She was going to be on the first flight out of the country tomorrow.
Now you're being sensible! she praised herself, but she didn't feel much conviction behind the self-congratulations. She decided that she would leave the doctor a tray with some soup, in case he woke up, and then she would hightail it out of there. She needed to retrieve her handcuffs in any case. Not like he hasn't gotten out of them before the smart-ass in her commented. She refused to inconvenience him that way; at least that was what she told herself as she navigated the stairs, trying to balance a tray with a steaming bowl of soup in its centre.
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Dr. Lecter lay quiet for a moment; his mind assimilating all the information he possessed about his current situation. Clarice had tracked him to London, and had found him when he was ill. He knew he'd been sick for sometime and he had vague impressions of her playing nurse. So, she hadn't called the cavalry.
Interesting.
She was still in the house, he could tell by the minute sounds he heard coming from the kitchen. By the smell, she was probably making some supper. And last, but not least, she'd handcuffed him to his own bed. He smiled as he contemplated all the various motivations she may have had for such an action.
Delightful.However, Dr. Lecter objected strenuously to being confined in any way. He rolled over to his nightstand and retrieved the small key he kept in the bottom. A quick snick and his wrist was free. The key was put back in its place and the drawer pushed closed. He left the cuff around his wrist and rolled back into the position he'd woken up in. He closed his eyes as he detected a cautious step on the stairs.
Let the games begin!______________
Clarice pushed the door to the doctor's room open with her toe. He was still exactly where she had left him, and he was still sound asleep. She breathed a sigh of relief. She moved forward into the room and walked over to his desk, intent on setting her burden down, before she spilled anything. She had just released the handles of the tray, when a voice said behind her,
"Good evening Clarice."
Clarice jumped and spun around to face the bed. Her eyes met those of icy blue, but she could read nothing of his mood in them. Thank God, I thought to cuff him she thought silently. She finally found her voice,
"Good evening Dr. Lecter. How are you feeling?"
"Much better thanks to you," he replied. She nodded in acceptance of his thanks; she wasn't sure what to say to him now that he was conscious again.
"Now would you mind explaining these, Ex-Special Agent?" he said menacingly, as he gave his wrist a shake.
"I…I…" Clarice stuttered.
"Yes?" he hissed with a quirked eyebrow.
"I wasn't feeling to comfortable with the idea of you being loose in this house while I was here," she explained truthfully.
"But this is my house and you were not invited," he said coldly.
"When I finally tracked you down, I found you comatose on your couch with a fever of 104; I figured that excused the lack of an invitation," she was trying not to let him bully her.
"I suppose I could agree with that," he said after a long pause. He loved to watch her squirm. "So now what are your plans Clarice?" he inquired.
"Well, I came upstairs with some soup for you and I was going to leave the keys to the cuffs on your night stand," she paused and his words filled the silence.
"And did you suppose that I would just lie here like a good boy? Tell me true my dear," the deep rumble of his voice caused her knees to shiver. Some part of her mind noticed that his voice had dropped in pitch since dungeon days. The physical exercise afforded by his freedom was probably the cause of the change. The less nasal, more baritone, quality of his words seemed to scrawl over her skin like the words of a lazy poet.
"I thought you would still be sleeping," she managed to say, while processing the feelings and thoughts the man lying on the bed evoked in her. She should have been in the position of power in the situation; he was handcuffed to the bed for God's sakes! She had a gut feeling that all was not as it seemed. It was time to beat a hasty retreat. She started to back towards the door.
"Ah, but I'm awake," he noted, pointing out the obvious and rubbing her nose in it.
"Um, yah," Clarice was starting to panic. "I think I've overstayed my welcome, so I'll just leave you to your peace and quiet."
"Surely you're not going to leave me chained up. I would find that very rude," the quiet menace was implicit in his tone. Clarice stopped dead in her tracks and fingered the keys in her pocket. She looked at the bed and then at the door, gauging the distances from her position to each. She decided she could run faster than he could unlock the cuffs.
"I have no desire to be rude, doctor, but I would also like to leave this house in the same state I arrived in. I'm going to toss you the keys, and then I'm leaving. I would take it as a courtesy if you would just let me go." She threw the keys in an underhand pitch, so that they landed on the quilt by his knees, then she spun and raced for the door. Her mind was whirling. Down the stairs, through the hall, out the door, down the street. She repeated the steps like a mantra, unconcerned about things like a wallet or shoes.
She was almost to the doorframe when an arm grabbed her around the waist and halted her progress. She was lifted off her feet and held against a broad chest, and she closed her eyes as his warm voice whispered in her ear,
"I'm sorry, Clarice, but I can't extend you that courtesy anymore."
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Time seemed to slow for Clarice, and the world became strangely silent. She could feel her eyelids drop closed as the memory of his graduation present to her flashed in her mind's eye. I have no desire to call on you. I hope you will extend me the same courtesy. She hadn't let him run when he'd asked at the lake house so why should he let her go now? She felt him take a step backwards towards the bed with her and her sense of continuity slipped back into place with a crash. She could hear her laboured breathing and feel the steady puff of his breath against her neck. Her feet moved without her violation and she walked backwards with him to the bed. He reached around her with his other hand and grasped her arm, turning her and forcing her to sit on the bed. He stood over her looking down at her bowed head. Her short staccato breaths alerted him to the adrenaline in her system. In the next minute she was either going to fight or run; either scenario presented fun possibilities for the continuation of their game, but he wanted to talk to her first.
"You sit there, and we'll have a little chat, hmm?" her head moved up at his words but she didn't meet his eyes directly. He clucked his tongue and grasped her chin in his hand, turning her face until he caught her gaze with his own.
"Now then, I need some information from you," he began.
"Why did you come to London?" The questions flew like bullets.
"To find you," she had no time to think about her answers while trapped in his eyes.
"How did you know I was here?"
"Gut instinct."
"And that lovely little article in the Tattler." It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway.
"I wondered if you would pop up on my doorstep," he commented absently. "I'm sorry I wasn't in any condition to welcome you properly." The double meaning in his words caused her to tremble slightly. He noticed but didn't comment.
"Now why would you want to find me?" he asked. Clarice didn't reply right away, but he could read the answer in her eyes. "I'm waiting Clarice." The end of her name was a hiss she was used to hearing over the crackle of a cassette tape.
"So I could arrest you," she said, knowing he would only accept the truth.
"So you could barter your way back into the F.B.I.?" he sneered. The flash in her eyes caught him off guard as she gave her reply,
"No." She wasn't lying, he could tell. Something had changed since he'd last plumbed her depths. He tested the waters a little further.
"But what else is a little Starling to do with herself?"
"I don't know," came the easy reply, "but not that. Not anymore." He felt her relax under his grip as she voiced her decision to another being for the first time. Interesting indeed.
"And did you come to this momentous decision on the plane on the way over here?" he queried, purposely not giving her any praise.
"No. While I was looking after you."
"Ah yes. I didn't think a warrior would be very talented in the healing arts," he mused.
"I've had a lot of experience with healing," she said. He quirked an eyebrow at her enlightened statement. She wasn't sure what she'd said to cause the look of surprise, but maybe if she could keep him surprised he wouldn't get bored and decide to end this.
"And did you like playing the role of healer?" his tone made her feel defensive, as if she hadn't done a good job.
"I liked not having to worry about your reactions," she replied honestly.
"Rather like playing with a sleeping tiger, no?" His question, once again, brought forth the image of him reaching for her throat and she tensed under his grip.
"What?" he questioned seeing the flash of fear in her eyes. There was no need to elaborate; she knew what he was asking.
"You were dreaming during your fever and then you woke up for a minute," she gave the explanation simply. He remembered the dream and had shelved it for later inspection and analysis. He also remembered reaching out to touch her before he drifted off again. Why that should scare her, he wasn't sure. He let the question cross his face and his expression broke her tranquillity. She brought her hands up to grasp his wrists, and stared back into his eyes, no longer the passive respondent.
"Why don't you finish with what you started, doctor? I'm not an F.B.I. agent anymore; nobody will miss me for quite sometime. I'm no use as a go-between with Jack, so why continue to play? It can't be much fun after you've messed with the entire F.B.I.," she hissed out the three letters in an imitation of his speech so long ago.
"You don't see yourself as a worthy playmate Clarice?" he asked mockingly.
"I was never a 'playmate' doctor. A plaything yes, but never a playmate!" she ground out.
"I think you underestimate yourself, my dear. I found you to be a worthy playmate indeed," she cut him of.
"I used to be, but no longer, correct?"
"I never said that," he said.
"No, but actions speak louder than words," she disagreed.
"Are you insinuating that I've ever tried to take your life?" he asked sharply.
"Not Clarice! Mischa!" she mimicked the words from his dream. He frowned as his mind reached for the connections.
"Ya tried to fuckin' strangle me!" Clarice yelled as she wrenched herself from his grasp and stood up. His body still blocked the only escape route from the room. The accent in her voice was thick, and she sucked back a breath trying to control both her words and her emotions. She needed to think clearly if she was going to get out of the room alive.
Dr. Lecter finally understood her interpretation of the little scene in the library. She had thought he had threatened her life while in a very primal state of mind, and she equated that with a breach of trust. She'd had too many promises broken during her life, and he wasn't about to let her put him in the same category as her parents and Jack Crawford. The only question was how to make her understand what had actually happened. He wasn't about to go down on his knees and make a tearful confession of his childhood and the nightmares that haunted him. She had no need to know such things. He decided a more direct approach was in order, particularly because he could tell that this latest emotional upset had finally kicked in her delayed defense reaction. Frankly, he was surprised the conversation had continued for as long as it had.
He was ready for her as she dove across the bed and rolled to her feet on the floor on the other side. She started a headlong run for the door that ended in a resounding crash as he neatly tripped her. They both heard the radius in her right arm snap like a dry branch. Clarice sucked in an abbreviated scream and rolled to her back trying to control the pain.
The doctor shook his head as he looked down on her, part of him savouring her tears. "See what happens when you do what you shouldn't?" he asked as he knelt beside her. "Now it's my turn to play doctor." Clarice would have laughed at the bizarre turn of events if she hadn't been in so much pain. "All right, up we go," the doctor said as he lifted her from the floor. The movement jarred her arm and Clarice promptly fainted.
When she awoke, she looked up at the ceiling and then closed her eyes again at the thought of her dumb luck. Her arm didn't hurt anymore; in fact, she couldn't feel it. She glanced down to see the neat splints and bandage that wrapped her lower arm. She could feel a slight tingling in her fingers and surmised that the doctor must have given her a shot of local anesthetic, before he set her arm. Thinking of the doctor made her glance up and her gaze was again caught in his fiery blue stare. He was seated in an armchair across the bed from her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked after an appropriate moment of silence.
"Pretty stupid. I just get a debt paid off and I put myself right back where I started" she said.
"Hmm. I was speaking about your arm my dear," he said with an indulgent smile. So she felt she owed him did she?
"Oh. I don't feel it at all," she spoke quietly.
"Perfect," he sounded like the tiger he'd referred to earlier. He rose and moved to her side. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned forward, over her, resting his hands on either side of her body. "Now back to business." He could sense her body tense up as he put his hand to her throat. "You spoke earlier of me trying to strangle you," his tone was sharp, and his words direct. "If I had actually wanted you dead, Clarice, I would have succeeded despite my malaise. There are so many occasions on which I could have taken your life," he pressed down on her windpipe ever so slightly and watched as her eyes widened before he released the pressure. "But I didn't because I made the decision long ago to leave you alive." He purposely avoided the word promise. "In case you haven't figured out our current situation, I'll paint you a picture. You have always been and will continue to be a worthy playmate. You are a being not an object. What I didn't expect when we first met is how worthy you would be as a mate." He watched as his words permeated her understanding and smiled at the sharp intake of her breath. Wanting that bit of air for himself, he leaned down and captured her lips with his own. He didn't release her until she had surrendered that breath. Lifting his head far enough to look down into her eyes and she felt the air from his lungs warm her nose and cheeks.
"I'm afraid I'm not going to allow you to run from me or yourself any longer," he whispered. He watched her eyebrows flash up in amazement.
"You can't just keep me here!" she exclaimed rather breathlessly. He noted just how effectively his kiss had claimed her senses. The cuff snapped around the bedpost before she was aware of the existence of its mate around her left wrist. With his girl securely chained to the other side of the bed from his own he allowed a full smile to cross his features.
"Can't I?" he asked as he leaned low to nuzzle her ear and the side of her neck where he bit her sharply, marking his mate as his own.
She tried to squirm away from him but his strong hands held her still as he spoke once more.
"Make no mistake Clarice, you are mine. But we wont pursue our present course until you have reached the same conclusion," he sat up and unlocked the handcuffs, placing them on the bedside table. Standing, he offered her a hand as she sat up. "In the mean time, I feel like a little midnight snack," he winked at her and then moved to the door. "Coming?" he called over his shoulder and then disappeared down the hall.
Clarice glanced at the clock on his desk and discovered that it was indeed twenty five past twelve. She got up, holding her bandaged arm to her chest, and paced the room replaying his words.
Worthy as a mate. He never lied.It was her solution. He had made the decision for her, but was she willing to accept it? Her hands moved to the side of her neck and touched the tender skin there. He had marked her as his, and that didn't set well with her. But hadn't he marked her in a more subtle way all those years ago when ha had chosen to speak to her. Was there really any difference? Starling tried to sort out her troubled thoughts but she was tired and her arm was beginning to throb ever so slightly. She moved back to the bed and lay down. Tomorrow was soon enough to figure out the question.
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Dr. Lecter smiled when he returned from downstairs with a pitcher of ice water and two tumblers. He had been prepared to offer Clarice one of the other bedrooms, but the scene that greeted him, assured him the gesture wasn't necessary. The site of Clarice curled up on her side on his bed, her injured limb clutched protectively to her chest, bemused him to some extent. He placed the pitcher and glasses on his nightstand and then walked around the bed to open the window. The smell of damp washed over him, but the rain had stopped falling. He decided it would be a sunny day as he turned back to bed.
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That's all folks! Still working on our bargain Lady – email me when you're ready to make the trade. Thanks for all the nice reviews! luna.
