5/5
The Heart Has Its Reasons
**BEGIN CHAPTER 5**
She knew Ardelia worried, but also she knew that Ardelia would support whatever decisions she came to, and that she couldn't be made to answer the questions she didn't wish to. Ardelia would find her sometimes, sitting in silence, hand on her now-rounded stomach with a look on her face she couldn't fathom. She almost looked smug in her faraway reverie. The truth was that Clarice was growing more aware of her surroundings as time passed, not less. Her apparent absent-mindedness was nothing of the sort, it was a stilly alertness of everything about her. She observed everything, no matter how acute, in the interests of self-preservation. She was beginning to understand how the Doctor felt most of the time, and she wasn't even a fugitive. So many things to pay attention to, so many actions to double-think lest they draw attention. Clarice found that keeping an orderly schedule worked well for her, that it was easier to spot things that were amiss in a well-worn path. She tried not to over-think things, and kept as much to herself as she could. Even Ardelia had given up asking for the name of the father of the child, tired of the silence that now answered any queries of that nature.
It was a clear afternoon when Clarice, four months along and showing it, climbed into her car for her fortnightly trip to the grocery store. She was tired today. Her dreams had been littered with visions of her lover, and she had woken, perspiring and aroused numerous times in the night. The dreams of him were growing no less frequent with the passage of time, the passage of time containing no word or whisper of his whereabouts. Though she should be grateful, she often felt a little sad, a little resentful towards nobody in particular. She was plagued by thoughts of rejection. The not knowing how he felt was toxic. His freedom was a burden she was willing to bear, but that did not mean she had to like it 100% of the time. Last night she dreamed they visited the opera together, on a sultry night in a distant city. She wore the black dress he had bought for her, and he wore black tie. He was handsome as she had ever seen a man look, and she longed for him with an animal ferocity that he could not ignore. In her dream they made love in their car before they could even get home.
At the turning of the ignition key, the Mustang boomed into life and shook the cobwebs from her mind a little. She wound the window all the way down and enjoyed the refreshing air on her face as she drove. The same market, the same time, every two Saturdays, she made this trip. She always avoided the familiar hellos of the staff who recognized her by sight now, and set about her routine, up and down the aisles, not hurried, not leisurely. Had she not been walking with eyes downcast to avoid the howdy of the doorman, she may have seen something that made her yearning heart skip a beat.
Out in the parking lot, the tinted window of a new Mercedes Benz E-500 sedan wound silently down, and the man inside narrowed his eyes, watching the head of Clarice Starling move away from him and into the store. From his position, many rows of cars away from the entrance, he hadn't got a good look at her, but his breath caught in his throat as the sun glinted on her glorious red hair. Hannibal Lecter wound the window back up and faced forwards, looked thoughtful. There was a standard government issue P.O.S. parked two rows closer to the store, directly between himself and the market. He wondered if she knew they were still tailing her. Out of a force of habit, when the two agents had left the car a short while earlier, he had introduced his stiletto to their rear passenger side tire.
It was not lack of desire to see her that had kept him away all this time. He had honestly meant to come back for her sooner, but it had taken him some time to review his physical appearance and decide on which changes to make. He couldn't ignore the fact that for the first time in his life a little vanity had crept into the decision-making process, and it was entirely to do with Clarice. He laughed softly to himself and glanced into the rearview mirror. He had settled for some work on his nose, and a closely cropped hairstyle. The difference, though subtle, was exactly adequate. His eyes strayed back to the revolving door at the entrance to the establishment, and he felt a familiar ache in his stomach. He was not foolish in love, he was neither foolish nor flippant in anything, but he couldn't deny their unique relationship. The last time he saw her he had doped her up on morphine and ran out of the back door, and he couldn't help but feel he had yet to make that up to her. He had tried to resist the pull, but longed to see her again, in her natural environment, as it were. He was the big game hunter and she was the lioness. The base animal attraction was what drew him out, in the end. It was ironic to him that he, the seasoned fugitive, was the one who broke the deal in the end while she.. she seemed to be managing. Caution was still the word of the hour, but he kept his eye on the G-Men two rows forward and cracked his window once more.
It was about 25 minutes until she appeared again. She was facing directly towards him this time as she negotiated the revolving door, pushing her cart before her. A slight opening of his lips was the only physical sign that he was moved by the sight of her. Internally, it was a different story. His stomach did a flip-flop in a way that seemed juvenile to him, but there was no denying it - he wanted her badly, and he wanted her all to himself. Separating from her had been difficult, he felt he had truly found understanding and tolerance in the attractive package that was Clarice Starling. Their one brief sharing of their passion for one another had kept him satiated in his memory palace all this time, so rich had been the experience. She looked pale, he could see, as he opened the window a little more. A car pulled out of the space next to hers as she approached the trunk of the Mustang, and then he saw.
She was with child. His heart thumped irregularly in his chest as he took in this information. His trained physician's eye accurately gauged how far into her term she was, and there was no need to count back the months for the obvious to ring, clarion clear, in this razor sharp mind. A feeling like a bucket of ice-water over his head settled over him. All at once he felt angry and sad and elated and worried Angry that she hadn't told him, sad that she had borne this secret alone, elated that he had done this, and worried worried worried In a very rare moment, Dr. Lecter was at a loss. His heart went out to her, at that moment, and he wished impulsively with all his might for something to save them both from this hellish separation.
Loading groceries into the trunk of her car,
Clarice felt a strange sensation. She put her hand instinctively on her swollen
belly, but that was not the source of the feeling, a feeling as if something
was prickling the back of her mind, demanding attention. She looked up and around,
her eyes zeroed in on the silver Mercedes and she froze.
"Oh my god." She muttered under her breath, unable to tear her eyes
away from him. His heart lifted, and immediately sank again, as the two agents
in the black sedan followed her gaze to his car. He made a decision. Within
a nanosecond he was backing out of the space and barreling towards her position,
the sleek car moving like mercury through the crowded lot. He leapt from the
car and spoke determinedly to her,
"Come with me now Clarice, or we'll never have this chance again."
Her face registered no emotion but inside she was swelling with gladness beyond
measure as she nodded. He had come for her! Her eyes caught movement over his
shoulder and she saw the agent take Lecter in his sights. Without thinking she
put herself between the gun and the doctor, meaning to discourage the shot but
it was too late. The sharp report rang our across the parking lot and people
everywhere fell to the floor in fear. Clarice felt the bullet enter her body
high in the abdomen, the pain flashing through every nerve in her body simultaneously,
bright light piercing her eyes and neurons firing in her panic-stricken brain,
registering what had happened. She staggered backwards and was caught by strong
arms. The light began to fade.
Lecter saw her fretful expression as she advanced
upon him and turned to look behind, too late did he realize the agent had already
fired, and that she was there, in the direct line. A second later she was staggering
backwards into him, and he was pulling her into the car, numbly, on autopilot,
trying to will himself not to go into shock along with her. The tires screeched,
smoking, as he left the lot as fast as the Mercedes would pull. In his rearview
mirror he saw the black government car lumber to a halt just at the lot exit.
Next to him, Clarice was bleeding on the white leather interior, the sight of
free-flowing blood making him sick to his stomach for the first time in his
life.
"No Clarice!" he shouted, the sound of his distress deadened in the
small car. "Come on, hold on for me!" He applied pressure to her wound
with his one hand and drove with the other.
He pointed the car North and drove as fast as he could without drawing attention,
until he left the suburbs and was out in the countryside. He was in agony, but
she was conscious - barely.
Gravel sprayed as, 40 minutes and a fast, furtive drive later, he pulled to a halt outside an apparently derelict cottage in a small, wooded area. Lifting Clarice from the car he made haste inside and laid her on the kitchen table. He felt all fingers and thumbs as he fumbled for his instruments, cursing himself for ever imagining it was safe to come and see her. His hands were cold and his breath shaky as he swabbed the gunshot wound, and administered some pain relief, but his hands held steady. He removed the bullet, repaired and dressed the wound, and then stood, suddenly at a loss. All he could do was wait and see what the blood loss would do to her, and her unborn child. He thought she had a fighting chance, his Clarice was strong. As he waited, and the hours ticked by, he was assailed by how very important it was that she live. He wanted her with him, he knew now. With him, beside him, for as long as they could manage it. He sat down and leaned his head on the table, waiting to see what time would bring him. He hoped she would regain consciousness before morning, they had to move, and they had to move soon.
It was dark outside when she slowly came back to consciousness, apparently in a great deal of pain. It was with a leaden stomach that he recognized the telltale signs of labor. Like an automaton, he tended to her, tried not to hear her crying, tried to shut himself off from the raw emotion that now filled the space around them. When he was sure there was no hope, he sedated her heavily, and let nature take its course as he presided over events with a hollow heart. Of all the things he had treasured in Clarice, it was her ability to make him feel emotions that had been long, long dormant within him. This was a sharp reminder as to why he had put down those feelings his whole life. Tonight, he felt like crying for the first time since he was 5 years old. He cleaned her up, covered her with a blanket, kissed her on the forehead, and left the room.
**
Clarice was cold, so cold. She tried to open
her eyes but they were heavy as lead. She tried to call out and ask where she
was, and immediately felt a presence at her side. A soothing voice crooned to
her, seemed so glad to see her that she immediately relaxed, content for the
moment to lay still and recover her wits. A warm washcloth bathed her face and
brought her a little closer to consciousness. Her hazy mind could hardly believe
what she saw when she finally opened her eyes. He leaned in and placed a kiss
on her lips.
"Hi." She whispered.
He just heaved a huge sigh and did not respond.
"What happened?" He did not need to answer as her memory of events
immediately bore down on her. She stifled a sob and tried to sit up, to look
down at herself.
"Clarice," he spoke, putting a hand on her shoulder and easing her
back down. "Clarice, I'm so sorry. There was nothing I could do."
Clarice lay back and started to cry. Through her tears, she did not see the
solitary tear escape, and run down his cheek. He leaned over the table and held
her, his only wish that he could take her pain away.
When she had spent her grief for the immediate
time, they spoke softly to one another.
"Please don't blame yourself."
"I had to see you Clarice, I had to come and get you. You belong to me,
I told you. This," he gestured vaguely between them, "changes nothing,
and yet it changes everything. I'm just claiming what's rightfully mine."
"I wanted to see you too."
"Please, just try to relax now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Nothing
you can say will make me feel any better about this whole thing."
"I'm glad you came." She said quietly. She was. It was not the same
as being glad that things had turned out this way, but just having him there
helped more than he could ever know. "Please don't ever leave me again."
She just put it out there, just like that. She had to know now, one way or the
other, whether they were going to be together or not. She couldn't live forever
in the past with him.
"Not in a thousand years," he said, smiling down at her. "Not
in a thousand years."
**FIN CHAPTER FIVE**
**EPILOGUE**
Buenos Aires was hot and humid, it was a summer
night in August. Clarice Starling examined herself in the mirror. She had put
on an old black dress, and Lecter, from his expression as he advanced from behind,
clearly recognized it.
"Hardly appropriate for the opera, my sweet, but very becoming."
She smiled and leaned back for a kiss. His arms came around her from behind
and he stroked her stomach protectively. Clarice understood the gesture for
what it was. She did not blame him, but he had his own demons.
"Are you ready?" she said, distracting him. She still fought down
the feelings of loss to this day, but eager and willing to embrace her future
with him, they were coming through with shining colors. Every day they counted
as a blessing, every minute they shared in freedom a boon.
He offered his arm and they left the house and met their car outside.
They did not manage to get beyond the interval, that night. Their driver hastily dropped his cigarette and sprang into action as he spied their premature emergence from the building. In the car Hannibal pulled Clarice into his lap and made love to her as they drove through the streets of the city, unwilling or unable to wait. He allowed himself some spontaneity these days. Their lovemaking was, like their feelings for one another, always passionate. When they arrived home he dismissed the servants. They repaired upstairs for cocktails, and to dance all night on the terrace.
**FIN**