~* Eye of the Tiger *~

By Starlit Skye

Summary: A POV voyeurism tale of Dr Lecter watching his warrior and making the transformation from beholder to partaker of their very own love story. Follows book canon from the run in the woods, to Mason's, to the evening the teacup came together and the circle was made round, and Clarice Starling found her destiny with him.

Rating: PG-13, except for the last chapter, which is something between PG-13 and R, as it features implication to sexuality.

Disclaimer: all characters herein are property of the Master himself, Thomas Harris. I do not owe these characters and their names are used herein with the utmost respect, admiration, and love. Some lines are inspired by Dante's Divine Comedy, again, with the utmost respect and appreciation. No copyright infringement is intended. Also, whatever copyright law is attached to the title of this piece, which I was informed of is also the name of a song, I do not owe these rights and so this title is used merely for the suitability of it. And, finally, one part of a sentence herein is also the title of a book and movie called Snow falling on cedars'.

Part: 1 of 5 (completed). Over the upcoming few days I will be posting the following four parts. This was not an easy story to write, as this truly is unvisited territory for me. Reviews, comments, criticism of any kind would be greatly welcomed and appreciated.

Thank you.

Quote: His stare is liquid,

Silver droplets on my tongue

Wind collided upon us

We are free.

Source: Me, hehe.

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I watched her.

I watched her then, running through the wood, my Clarice, wet with sweat, drenched with stiff determination and bitter anguish. Her glorious hair tied up in a ponytail, so subtly portraying with this the innocence still lingering within her. The immovability I find so enchanting in her. Backlit by the sunlight, I watched her from the shadows, my nostrils flaring at the sight of her, as she became the deer to run throughout my mind and memory palace . . . pleasant, pleasant mind play on my old child trauma.

She runs, unaware of my proximity, perhaps even blissfully unaware of my intrusion. I know what she's running from. I have always known. Perhaps she even knew, when she stood outside my cell at Baltimore for the first time, wishing, looking into me and hoping, somehow, I could help her through.

She runs from her incubi, from her enemies, though they are in places she does not look, yet. I will make her see. It is my job to look after her. I could not look after my sister, true. But I can look after little Starling, instead.

Poor little Starling. Blissfully unaware of her immovability, indeed. Indeed unaware of who are holding her back, truly, in this world that seems to so unrightfully attack her. Oh, she should have advanced so very long ago. But who does she think is holding her back? Is anyone but herself, truly now? I know. But she will never come to me to ask.

She knows there lies truth in what I say, in my words to her, but it is the stubbornness in her that keeps her from coming to me for help. That is the reason I will have to come to her, instead.

My beautiful Clarice. She cries through her perspiration, she does. Not knowing, of course. She never knows. Ominously oblivious of her own heart's desires, this one is. Her tears are the beads of sweat dripping down her forehead, onto her cheeks and neck, into her shirt . . . She forces herself on, run on, always, until she can run no more.

And she will never stop chasing what she thinks belongs to her. Oblivious as she is to what she really wants. Always chasing the wrong dream, the remaining forthcoming promotion, the advancement I sensed long before was so important to her. Foolish Clarice. If she will ever open up her eyes and see the truth for what it is, I don't know. But until then I will watch her.

Watch her as she runs on, forever on to the future, to the ever-extending horizon. She is like a child, reaching with both hands for the stars. Like a young girl wants the moon for herself, Clarice wants what she deserves, what she has been striving for since her father's death. To make dead daddy proud, silence her lambs. Advancement. But she is looking for it in a dead-end street. Ever reaching for what she can never have, will never have, and still she reaches.

My poor, helpless Clarice. Let me open up your eyes for you, my love. I'm sure I could do it. If just given the time and patience, and no interference from intruding police officers, so-called FBI superiors, then, maybe.

Maybe. But I am thoroughly satisfied just watching her. I watched her long after she had departed my reach of vision. She is so beautiful when she runs, away from her demons. Free at last. If only for just a moment in time.

I find myself craving that freedom. Even now, outside of the cage they kept me in for eight long years, I still find myself not completely free. And perhaps this hauntingly beautiful individual, this incredibly stubborn, foolishly hard-headed, ever incorruptible human being has a little something to do with this. But I do not mind. I do not mind this new cage surrounding my heart, inside.

She will free me one day. I know she will, as I will free her. It is in our very blood. We are destined to one another.

She is my curse and my shadow, as I am hers forevermore.

I watched her until she was far from me, and then I rose. And I knew I was not yet free to leave. As I never would be, as long as she would not be with me. But oh, well. In time. All in good time, as they say. And I remember a certain person I think very highly of, saying one day to another that all good things come to those who wait. I will wait. And then, perhaps, I will prevail.

Goodbye for now, my Clarice. Let the morning sunshine awaken your stiffened limbs while you sleep in your chair after your long, long run. I know you will be there, and I know what you'll dream of. I just hope they will not scream too loudly this time. I do hope, the exhaustion from your trip will have granted you some peace of mind to last through the merciless night. Let us hope so. After all, I have my own demons haunting me.

Yes. Mischa.

Yes. Clarice.

~*~*~*~

To be continued very, very shortly.