The Grand Hotel Majestic. December 26th

Clarice hadn't slept more than thirty minutes the entire night. She had tossed and rolled herself up in a web of blanket, her mind would not allow her to shut down. She kept seeing him and her. Together. It stung to be jealous of a serial killer's wife. In fact, it was ridiculous. She'd never wanted anything from Lecter before, or nothing that she was likely to admit or return anyhow.

She'd given up at 6am and started to pack. The coach left this afternoon to Rome, and then she would be on her way home. She hadn't wanted to leave until yesterday, now she felt like there was nothing to stay for. She sat in the bath crying for an hour- something which she rarely does. Starling's weren't known to hold their head in the hands and ball, but she did. She needed to release the demons that were haunting her heart, or rather let go of the memory of one certain cannibal. She had been chasing a figment of Hannibal Lecter for thirteen years. And now he was happy, and she was…alone. Clarice felt wasted and naïve.

When she finally made it out of the bathroom she noticed a scarlet envelope at the foot of her door. Familiar copperplate stood out and called her name. She knew who it was from and wanted to burn it. Throw it out the window and never hear from the man again- but she wasn't strong enough.

She tightened the towel around her body and bent to pick it up. The paper smelt of sandalwood and almond. She shivered, taking it over to the bed where she sat, legs crossed and deeply inhaling. Inside she pulled out a piece of fine paper, marked in black ink, it held a small note:

My Dearest Clarice,

Firstly, I owe you an apology. Your presence yesterday came as quite a surprise and I was unprepared to greet you in a more appropriate manner. It was not my intention to discourage or upset you in any way.  I feel it is necessary to mention that although I was caught unawares, seeing you made for an exquisite present. Thank you. Curiosity, once again, got the better of you, are you relived or regretful?

Alas, your hasty departure left me wanting and I do hope you will consider my request: Ristortane 'Dante e Beatrice' 2pm. I feel we have a little more to discuss.  I'll wait for you, Clarice. Alone

-H

The burning sensation was back again. Clarice sat in place, letter in hand and considered his request. Was there really any logical point to go? Quite obviously it would only display further disloyalty to her morals- she held no desire to see him behind bars and would not attempt an arrest.

She rubbed her throbbing head and got up to the mirror opposing her bed. She looked at herself, her untidy hair, pale near lifeless skin and hollow eyes.

Just do it! Go get it over with.

She had nothing to offer now, or to lose. The stakes had shifted and little remained for her or him in delaying their game.

She spent the majority of the day in the hotel, a few hours at the gym, on the Internet e-mailing Ardelia, and having a light lunch in her room. At 1.30pm she changed into grey silk slacks and a blue cashmere roll-neck, curtesy of her shopping trip in Milan.  Once satisfied with the mirrors reflection she donned a pair of Italian leather healed-boots and made her way down to the lobby fifteen minutes later. 

At the front desk she asked the clerk directions to the ristortane 'Dante e Beatrice' and was pleased to hear that it was a short walk past the Duomo, situated on the corner before the Palazzo Vecchio. She knew the way.

Clarice was in no mood for Albanian hassling. She walked behind the street of stalls, ignoring the comments thrown at her from various groups of dark men. She just wanted to be there. Be gone. And be home. Holidays can wear thin within moments.

The restaurant was easy to locate. Small street verandas surrounded by greenery and polished timber made for the entrance, inside was small and cosy. She spotted him within minutes; his eyes had found her as soon as she stepped in. No doubt he could smell her, though she had avoided perfume purposely. She did not smile as she approached his table, situated in the far corner of the room, and held her bag close to her chest as she neared. Behind their table she noticed two double doors, probably the fire exit.

"Were you planning on going somewhere?" He nodded behind him and stood beside the table.

His eyes lit with something she could not describe. " Only if I have to." He smiled and motioned for her to sit. She did.

"I wasn't all together certain that you would come, Clarice." His voice was soft, probably the most soothing she'd ever heard from him.

"Well. I'm here. I don't know why, but I am." She paused noting his disappointment. "This the kind of thing you were thinking of, Dr. Lecter? A warm little get-together to settle the score before we both sink back into some kind of retirement?" She sat up straight in her seat, her voice sharp and her eyes demanding. There was too little to lose to be anything less thank frank.

Sure Starling. You've only got your life to lose!

Dr. Lecter was peeved. His eyes narrowed and grew dark; he hated to be predicted with such clumsiness. "You should know better than to grow so comfortable in my presence agent Starling. There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity."

She slumped back in her chair, uncaring for this charged banter that would continue until one caved and the curse of impatience meant that it was usually her.

"I'm tired of this." Her hands grew animated and waved about above the table. "Would it be easier for me to leave?"

His features lightened. "Easier, probably. Rewarding, I don't think so."

They sat facing each other for minutes, neither aware of the time.  She noticed a full cup of tea before her.

"I took upon the liberty to order for you, hoping it would not get cold." She wondered if that was his way of saying Hey Clarice! I'm hell glad to see you.

"Thank you."

" Shawn Steeler caused quite a commotion in our home last night. I was accused of adultery amongst other things." He smiled. She couldn't stop her heart from fluttering.

"I had no right to impose." She didn't care much for this discussion at all.

"I don't mind. Felice just grows a little insecure at times." He took a sip from the cup. She thought about the shattered one from yesterday. If time could reverse, the cup could replace itself and she would have never pressed that buzzer.

"With due respect Doctor, I did not come here to discuss your wife, or your marriage." She attempted a neutral tone.

"No. You didn't." He stopped to watch her. She looked exquisite today. The blue cashmere brought out her beautiful eyes. Eyes that he has found nowhere else. "Why did you come? Surely not solely on behalf of my request."

 She paused a moment before replying. She should be truthful here, for their last time.

"I didn't want to. I don't want to be sipping tea with a criminal; moreover I don't want to enjoy it. There's just something within us that I can't seem to stop chasing. Years pass and nothing changes. I just want it to stop and be able to get on with life." She shrugged exhaustedly.

 "Something within us." She had hoped he would dwell on those words. "I assume you mean something which does not relate to the agent within you."

She nodded, unable to deny him. "I'm fascinated with you and I hate admitting it." There was no point holding back now. Again she had surprised him, though it pleased him too. He placed the cup down on the table and moved inward.

"Me and all my menace? I've done many horrible things my dear. Your daddy would not approve of the company." Suddenly he grew cold again.

She winced. Apparently he was going to make this as hard as possible. "It's not easy to forget who you are Doctor Lecter…"

"Hannibal" He interrupted and motioned for her to continue. She stumbled a little, trying to remember what she had been saying.

Hannibal.

"At…at Krendler's I was reminded. I didn't get much of a chance to explain anything and I've had a lot of questions floating around since then." It was almost a whisper.

"You made choices that night, Clarice. Choices that have lead to where you and I are now."

"I know. I know." Did he hear regret? Although it pleased him to know she suffered, her pain was not something he wished to exploit.

"Ask now Clarice." He reached across the table and lifted her chin with his thumb. "You may ask me now."

With water in her eyes she pushed herself to go on. " Why did you come to me? Why did you nurse me back to heath? Why did you make me watch Krendler? Why didn't you take my hand instead?" They all came in a rush, desperate to be freed.

He smiled and nodded, he had been expecting as much, just never sure if he'd ever hear her voice them.  "The answers to all your questions are much the same. I'm drawn to you. The fascination is mutual. Quid pro quo Clarice, you came to my aid and I returned the favour. I have my own selfish reasons for keeping you alive, Clarice. The same reasons that set you in front of Mr. Krendler, and the same reasons which took my hand." He waved it in front of her to reassure.

She nodded and looked down to her cup. Some things she needed to hear, other things she prayed weren't true.

"I trust my residency is safe in your knowledge?" He questioned in earnest. She was a little disappointed, but realised he had to ask. 

"Yes. I have nothing left to give the Bureau."

Again, he reached across the table, taking her small hand in his larger one. He felt her trembling warmth and denied himself the pleasure of a growl. He enjoyed physical closeness with this woman, something he often deprived Felice of.

"They will never recognise their loss." Warmth again.

She felt like crying. She'd never received such an act or gesture of kindness from anyone.

"Thank you...Hannibal" The words were foreign to her. He was enjoying this.

"Your most welcome." He withdrew his hand and bent down to the side of the table. She saw him pull a box out of his leather case. It was wrapped in maroon Christmas wrapping.  "Merry Christmas Clarice." He pushed it to her side of the table and sat back watching her.

Her eyes lit up, he noticed, as she pulled the small present to her side. She looked up to him grinning, and held the box to her ears. His laugh rumbled through the restaurant, she'd never heard anything quite like it and had the feeling, not many after her ever would. She unceremoniously tore the paper from the box, looking up to him again in sudden guilt. He was smiling at her impatience. She eased the lid off the box and ruffled through layers of bubble wrap. Her actions came to an abrupt halt when she found its contents.

"I had it made especially for you when I visited Venice a few moths ago." He smiled. "Take it out."

She moved her hands gently into the wrapping and took out the small crystal-glass lamb. Light from the lamp hit the glass and reflected a thousand different colours and patterns on her face. Its eyes gleamed with maroon stones. On the underside there was a tiny inscription:  Your silent nights - H

She felt the hot tears running down her cheeks, and did little to stop or hide them. She could not move or speak. He made no attempt to either. Time passed them by, Clarice did not know how long they sat like that. Looking at each other and then back to the little lamb. Out of habit she took a quick glance at her watch and realised that she should be in a hurry if she wanted to make today's coach.

If you want to make it

She thanked him and finished her tea, mentioning that it's best she leave soon. She saw the same emotions in his eyes as she had that evening on the Chesapeake, grief and disapproval.

 She stood, brushing off her pants desperately trying to think of the right thing to say. She reached for her bag and hit something hard inside, it reminded her of something. She pulled out the cardboard tube and sat it on the table.

"You'll have to excuse the presentation. I wanted to keep it myself, but now I think it should be yours."

He popped off the lid of the tube and shook it.

"I visited the Duomo several times. That's my work." Her cheeks flushed slightly, like a teenage revealing her crush.

The crisp paper rolled open and she heard his breath catch. It amused her to think she could rouse the same effect.

"Happy Christmas, Hannibal" Clarice put her hand on his shoulder, out of the sudden need to touch him. At the very least, she would take that memory with her.

Before him was a drawing of them both. It was a close up of their faces morphed together, a haze of deep blue and maroon. In their eyes was the view of Florence from the Duomo. The signature in his left pupil stood out in white ink: CStarling

" I guess you won't be able to hang it, with the insecurities of a wife, but I'm sure you'll find a place for it," Her hand was still on his shoulder.

"Clarice, I did you a great disservice by calling on you. You deserve more than what you have." He stood, gathering his things and walked her out of the restaurant, into a small lane.

"I'd still be blind with ignorance if it wasn't for you. That's no disservice, in my opinion."

He cocked his head and watched her. His brave little Starling.

"Your revelation came with ill timing."

She nodded, knowing exactly what he was saying.

"Speaking of ill timing. I really ought to be going." Her attempts of stepping back were halted with his arm around her waist, pulling her close, chest to chest.

"Would you indulge me one last time, Clarice?"

Nerves and butterflies were back by the millions. She barely managed to nod before his mouth descended on hers, claiming her lips, tongue and flesh as his own, as it always had been.  She moaned into his mouth without resistance. Her mouth was open to him, responding and reciprocating. Minutes passed before either was inclined to pull away. Clarice was pushed for time, as he had been three years ago. How terribly ironic, she thought. She stepped back, his hand falling back to his side. She turned her back and started to walk away, holding back more tears. She hated goodbyes. Before she reached the main road, she turned back to him, he stood where she had left him watching her leave.

"Tell me Hannibal, would you ever say to me stop? If you loved me you'd stop?" Her eyes were sad, she wasn't mocking him.

He gave her a cheerless smile, picking up his briefcase and clutching her drawing. "A thousand time over, if only you had listened."

She nodded knowingly; she couldn't ask him to sacrifice his marriage, not even for this. She turned her back once more, waving over her shoulder, bashfully hiding her tears. In her right hand she grasped the little lamb, hoping there would be silent nights to come.

She disappeared then, into the clear Florentine afternoon. He tried to look for her in the crowd, but the numbers were too high. Something tugged inside his body, the sensation which only Mischa had been able to induce. A fool might say love. Hannibal Lecter said nothing. He clutched the painting closer to him, its contents now fully stored in his memory palace.

"Merry Christmas, Clarice" He mumbled to himself hoping one day, she would be back to hear him herself.