See previous chapters for disclaimer.
Okey Dokey guys, just want to start off by saying a huge thanks for the reviews thus far, it's what keeps me going. You'll need to excuse this chapter, no action-all mush, but I promise the next one will have some ;) ok, that's about it I guess, thanks again for the reviews and support, ta ta.
Clarice couldn't sleep. Lying on her side, facing the bathroom door, she guessed that it must have been about two hours since they had retired for the night, and she hadn't slept a wink. If she held her own breath for a few moments she could hear the steady breathing from the man lying at the other side of the bed and it was something she had done many times over the past few hours. It was comforting and rhythmic, like a baby's lullaby or the vibration of a car, and had been almost successful in pulling her into sleep. Almost, but not quite. Pulling the surprisingly heavy duvet up and over her exposed shoulder she sighed quietly and closed her eyes for the hundredth time that night, her body shifting under the weight to find a comfortable position, her feet in constant motion. When Clarice felt a warm arm slip around her waist and pull her with surprising strength to a warm body she couldn't stop the yelp of surprise from escaping her mouth.
" I thought you were asleep" she whispered to the chilly air in front of her, already feeling better with him holding her, something he had not done since the night they had shared in her now vacated home. When he didn't answer immediately she thought he may in fact still be sleeping, but when he eventually did the rumble from his voice carried through her own body making her shiver.
" I'm a light sleeper," he mumbled close to her ear, feeling her shiver under the weight of his arm. There was silence again as they both lay still and warm, both enjoying the closeness that had been unavailable for so long.
Clarice could feel his chest rise and fall on her back, could feel the slight bristle of hairs as they tickled her skin, and could smell his very distinct warm aroma, clean, masculine and very pleasing. Bringing her own hand out from underneath the blankets she hesitated only briefly before letting her fingers whisper up and down his arm, feeling the warmth and contours beneath her hand as he flexed his muscles automatically. It wasn't long before her mind started spinning questions again, questions on the normality of it all, a simple lovers caress twisted by her mind. What was he thinking lying there in the dark? Did she want to know? Was he regretting his decision in coming to her? Where they in more danger than he was letting on? How the hell would this ever work out? Squeezing her eyes shut to stop the barrage of questions she didn't have any answers too she opened them when another question, or rather a statement came unbidden to her mind. I hardly know anything about this man Her forehead creased in thought as she digested what she had mentally just surmised. He knew everything about her, from her childhood to her present self and everything that enveloped, including all the emotions and thoughts that came and went with every experience she had lived through. But what did she actually know about him except what she had read and studied at her former job. She knew a little more she conceded, than her former colleagues had, she knew of his genuine love of art, literature and his constant pursuit of knowledge, she knew that whatever he deemed as his, her included, he would protect with a deadly passion, and she knew him to be passionate, kind and to a certain degree sensitive. She knew he was brutally honest and insisted that others be too, she knew he demanded honesty in all things and detested those who were rude or discourteous. And she knew he was brilliant, in all things, his intelligence was vast and his temper quick. He was deadly, brutal, and unmerciful when he chose to be, his devastating strength was legendary, and something she was glad to say she hadn't been on the receiving end of. It was easy to list off his many strengths and weaknesses, pick up any book in behavioural sciences and you could find them there, but it was the personnel details she was missing. Unlike him she couldn't see through his, at times, ice cold persona to see what lay beneath, she couldn't look him in the eye and tell what he was thinking, she couldn't watch him move and talk and discern what mood he was in. She didn't process the skill or experience, and she didn't have the years of training and professionalism that had given him the ability to do so. It was unnerving, off putting, even frightening sometimes when she would look him in the eye, his face unreadable, cold. What was going on behind those eyes? He was so unpredictable, keeping her off balance at all times, it was unlike any relationship she had ever had, but, she conceded, he was unlike any other man she had ever known.
Sighing she shifted against him causing the arm that lay heavy across her to tighten slightly, making her all too aware of how vulnerable she was in her currant position, unarmed, defenceless and open to all the grisly images her memory stored. It was hard to mentally match the man who lay quiet and still beside her to the man she had studied obsessively for so many years. It was in these quiet times when there were no distractions that she had a chance to catch her breath, a chance to take a step back and look at the events, which had transpired. It was all happening so fast, perhaps too fast for her emotions and mind to catch up, looking back she realised it was only last week when she had decided to paint her bedroom, it was only the week before when she had met Ardelia for coffee, a few weeks before that she had still been an agent for her lovers arch enemy's. Her lover; even the sound of that sounded abnormal, hell she couldn't even say his first name without it sounding foreign to her tongue, and she was sleeping with him? She suddenly felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her, her body tensed against his, her breath caught in her throat and she found herself unable to release it. Throwing the covers back she dislodged herself none too gently and scrambled to the edge of the bed, her trembling hand knocking over the glass of water he had thoughtfully placed on the bedside table earlier. A light filled the room then as the lamp at his side was switched on and she didn't dare turn to look at him.
" Clarice?" he rasped, his voice void of any emotion, only question.
Clarice closed her eyes tightly and concentrated on bringing her breathing back under control, she could feel her arms shaking and wasn't sure whether it was the cold of the room or the emotion that was causing it. Placing both hands on the bed she pushed herself to her feet, her back still to him, and walked a little unsteadily to the bathroom. Turning to close the door she could see in her peripheral vision the sight of him standing at the foot of the bed, before she slid the door closed and locked it.
Standing with her back to the door she strained to hear anything behind it, but the room was silent. Walking the few steps forward to the edge of the bathtub she sat heavily on the edge, her head automatically falling to her waiting hands.
"What the hell is wrong with me?"
She whispered to the room. Rubbing her hands over her still slightly pale face she stood and turned to the sink, filling her hands with the icy water she quickly splashed it on her face. She was just turning from the sink when a gentle tap at the door stopped her dead.
" Clarice?"
She stood motionless for a moment; her eyes glued to the door, before she quickly made her way back to the bath and again sat on the rim. What the hell was she supposed to say to him? She thought grimly. ' Hey Hannibal, sorry about that, I just remembered you're a sociopath serial killer and it made me kinda antsy' yeah that would go down nicely. Wringing her hands as she tried to formulate an acceptable answer she jumped when again there was a tap at the door.
" Clarice, a simple yes to let me know your alive and well if you please."
He didn't sound angry she thought, at least that was something. Standing and walking almost silently to the door she leaned against the frame and let her head fall to the grainy surface of the door. " Yes" she whispered to the wood, her voice slightly gravely from hours of disuse. " Well now we've established your in good health I suppose my next question should be whether or not you will be coming out of the bathroom" She groaned inwardly as the inevitable question was eventually put to her and knew in a sudden rush of clarity what she would do. With a final defeated sigh she stood tall and slid back the weak bolt, and proceeded to slide the door on it's rusty hinges all the way, revealing the calm features of one Hannibal Lecter.
They looked at each other for a moment before Clarice moved past him and settled at the end of the bed, pulling one of the extra blankets that lay at the bottom up and around her shoulders like a shawl.
" I want to ask you some questions," she said quietly, her voice wavering only slightly as she again questioned her wisdom in doing this.
He walked into her line of vision then and sat on the old armchair that lay forgotten and disused situated beside the front door. He raised an eyebrow at her statement and nodded his head slightly to indicate she may proceed.
Clarice nodded her head too and then frowned. This was probably the dumbest thing she would ever do. Taking a deep breath she looked him square in the eye and released the words.
" Give me your harpy," she whispered, her entire body rigid at the chance of rejection. She watched as he tilted his head slightly, uncrossed his legs and rubbed a finger from the hand that was supporting his chin across his bottom lip. He sat for an endless moment, unmoving, silent and relentless in his stare. He sat for so long that Clarice thought he may not have heard her request. When he did eventually move his movement was slow and precise, the rustling of his navy slacks, which he must have put on when he left the bed, where the only thing to make a noise in the otherwise silent room. He stood silently and walked calmly to stand in front of her, Clarice watched as he dipped his hand into his pocket and slowly lifted it back into view, the shine of steel partly concealed by his fingers caused a shiver to make it's way languidly down her body. He held out his hand then and uncurled his fingers one at a time, leaving his hand suspended between them in silent invitation.
Clarice stared, mesmerised by the play of light on the solid steel. It was with great hesitation and a hand that felt like lead that she eventually raised her hand to take it, hesitating only slightly when her fingertips brushed the cool of the metal. With her breath held she curled her own fingers around the weight and lifted, her eyes still fixed on the object that had done and represented so much. She watched as his own hand fell slowly to his side and he took a step back, then another, until he was once more sitting in the armchair where he had begun. She looked back to her hand, which was now on her lap and uncurled her fingers, revealing once more the weapon, his weapon. Running the fingers of her other hand down the smooth contours she almost immediately felt the mechanism and pushed, the blade suddenly appearing in a loud snap of victory, making her physically jump. The blade was both beautiful and cruel in it's appearance, shining and curved, like the talon or claw from a bird or beast of prey. She ran a thumb along the serrated side, curious of its sharpness, and almost immediately winced as the blade cut cleanly through the flesh of her fingertip, leaving a dark red line on both her thumb and the blade. She watched with something like detached wonder as the blood pooled in the cut and then overflowed, leaving a dark red stream in its wake. When she spoke, her eyes where not on the cut the harpy had caused, but on the harpy itself.
" Did you ever consider doctor, that one day it would be my blood on this knife?"
She looked up then and was sure she had caught the slightest look of understanding before he schooled his features to that which she was accustomed too.
" At the beginning, in Baltimore, if I had had the chance of freedom I would have taken it Clarice.and had you been in my way, in those early days, I may have considered it yes." He spoke as usual with an air of honestly and intelligence which Clarice both admired and feared.
" I'm not accustomed to feelings of vulnerability Dr Lecter." She spoke solidly, confidently now, all nervousness gone.
" Indeed," he said just as strongly, his eyes trained on her every move.
" Nor am I accustomed to feeling out of control or out of my depth. I have hunted you for a third of my life, both unaware and then unsure of my feelings, and now that I know what I want I have to make sure that it will work."
She held up the harpy then, it's blade shining in the light cast by the lamp.
" This wont work" she stated simply, folding the blade back into its shell and slipping it quietly into the pocket of her pyjama trousers.
" You made a promise to me earlier that you would not kill Doctor. If we are to be together I expect you to keep to your word."
Dr Lecter sat still and unmoving, his eyes and ears taking in every word and twitch, every hesitation and show of bravado. She was waiting for something, anything from him to put her at ease.
Next chapter soon...review??? (
Okey Dokey guys, just want to start off by saying a huge thanks for the reviews thus far, it's what keeps me going. You'll need to excuse this chapter, no action-all mush, but I promise the next one will have some ;) ok, that's about it I guess, thanks again for the reviews and support, ta ta.
Clarice couldn't sleep. Lying on her side, facing the bathroom door, she guessed that it must have been about two hours since they had retired for the night, and she hadn't slept a wink. If she held her own breath for a few moments she could hear the steady breathing from the man lying at the other side of the bed and it was something she had done many times over the past few hours. It was comforting and rhythmic, like a baby's lullaby or the vibration of a car, and had been almost successful in pulling her into sleep. Almost, but not quite. Pulling the surprisingly heavy duvet up and over her exposed shoulder she sighed quietly and closed her eyes for the hundredth time that night, her body shifting under the weight to find a comfortable position, her feet in constant motion. When Clarice felt a warm arm slip around her waist and pull her with surprising strength to a warm body she couldn't stop the yelp of surprise from escaping her mouth.
" I thought you were asleep" she whispered to the chilly air in front of her, already feeling better with him holding her, something he had not done since the night they had shared in her now vacated home. When he didn't answer immediately she thought he may in fact still be sleeping, but when he eventually did the rumble from his voice carried through her own body making her shiver.
" I'm a light sleeper," he mumbled close to her ear, feeling her shiver under the weight of his arm. There was silence again as they both lay still and warm, both enjoying the closeness that had been unavailable for so long.
Clarice could feel his chest rise and fall on her back, could feel the slight bristle of hairs as they tickled her skin, and could smell his very distinct warm aroma, clean, masculine and very pleasing. Bringing her own hand out from underneath the blankets she hesitated only briefly before letting her fingers whisper up and down his arm, feeling the warmth and contours beneath her hand as he flexed his muscles automatically. It wasn't long before her mind started spinning questions again, questions on the normality of it all, a simple lovers caress twisted by her mind. What was he thinking lying there in the dark? Did she want to know? Was he regretting his decision in coming to her? Where they in more danger than he was letting on? How the hell would this ever work out? Squeezing her eyes shut to stop the barrage of questions she didn't have any answers too she opened them when another question, or rather a statement came unbidden to her mind. I hardly know anything about this man Her forehead creased in thought as she digested what she had mentally just surmised. He knew everything about her, from her childhood to her present self and everything that enveloped, including all the emotions and thoughts that came and went with every experience she had lived through. But what did she actually know about him except what she had read and studied at her former job. She knew a little more she conceded, than her former colleagues had, she knew of his genuine love of art, literature and his constant pursuit of knowledge, she knew that whatever he deemed as his, her included, he would protect with a deadly passion, and she knew him to be passionate, kind and to a certain degree sensitive. She knew he was brutally honest and insisted that others be too, she knew he demanded honesty in all things and detested those who were rude or discourteous. And she knew he was brilliant, in all things, his intelligence was vast and his temper quick. He was deadly, brutal, and unmerciful when he chose to be, his devastating strength was legendary, and something she was glad to say she hadn't been on the receiving end of. It was easy to list off his many strengths and weaknesses, pick up any book in behavioural sciences and you could find them there, but it was the personnel details she was missing. Unlike him she couldn't see through his, at times, ice cold persona to see what lay beneath, she couldn't look him in the eye and tell what he was thinking, she couldn't watch him move and talk and discern what mood he was in. She didn't process the skill or experience, and she didn't have the years of training and professionalism that had given him the ability to do so. It was unnerving, off putting, even frightening sometimes when she would look him in the eye, his face unreadable, cold. What was going on behind those eyes? He was so unpredictable, keeping her off balance at all times, it was unlike any relationship she had ever had, but, she conceded, he was unlike any other man she had ever known.
Sighing she shifted against him causing the arm that lay heavy across her to tighten slightly, making her all too aware of how vulnerable she was in her currant position, unarmed, defenceless and open to all the grisly images her memory stored. It was hard to mentally match the man who lay quiet and still beside her to the man she had studied obsessively for so many years. It was in these quiet times when there were no distractions that she had a chance to catch her breath, a chance to take a step back and look at the events, which had transpired. It was all happening so fast, perhaps too fast for her emotions and mind to catch up, looking back she realised it was only last week when she had decided to paint her bedroom, it was only the week before when she had met Ardelia for coffee, a few weeks before that she had still been an agent for her lovers arch enemy's. Her lover; even the sound of that sounded abnormal, hell she couldn't even say his first name without it sounding foreign to her tongue, and she was sleeping with him? She suddenly felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her, her body tensed against his, her breath caught in her throat and she found herself unable to release it. Throwing the covers back she dislodged herself none too gently and scrambled to the edge of the bed, her trembling hand knocking over the glass of water he had thoughtfully placed on the bedside table earlier. A light filled the room then as the lamp at his side was switched on and she didn't dare turn to look at him.
" Clarice?" he rasped, his voice void of any emotion, only question.
Clarice closed her eyes tightly and concentrated on bringing her breathing back under control, she could feel her arms shaking and wasn't sure whether it was the cold of the room or the emotion that was causing it. Placing both hands on the bed she pushed herself to her feet, her back still to him, and walked a little unsteadily to the bathroom. Turning to close the door she could see in her peripheral vision the sight of him standing at the foot of the bed, before she slid the door closed and locked it.
Standing with her back to the door she strained to hear anything behind it, but the room was silent. Walking the few steps forward to the edge of the bathtub she sat heavily on the edge, her head automatically falling to her waiting hands.
"What the hell is wrong with me?"
She whispered to the room. Rubbing her hands over her still slightly pale face she stood and turned to the sink, filling her hands with the icy water she quickly splashed it on her face. She was just turning from the sink when a gentle tap at the door stopped her dead.
" Clarice?"
She stood motionless for a moment; her eyes glued to the door, before she quickly made her way back to the bath and again sat on the rim. What the hell was she supposed to say to him? She thought grimly. ' Hey Hannibal, sorry about that, I just remembered you're a sociopath serial killer and it made me kinda antsy' yeah that would go down nicely. Wringing her hands as she tried to formulate an acceptable answer she jumped when again there was a tap at the door.
" Clarice, a simple yes to let me know your alive and well if you please."
He didn't sound angry she thought, at least that was something. Standing and walking almost silently to the door she leaned against the frame and let her head fall to the grainy surface of the door. " Yes" she whispered to the wood, her voice slightly gravely from hours of disuse. " Well now we've established your in good health I suppose my next question should be whether or not you will be coming out of the bathroom" She groaned inwardly as the inevitable question was eventually put to her and knew in a sudden rush of clarity what she would do. With a final defeated sigh she stood tall and slid back the weak bolt, and proceeded to slide the door on it's rusty hinges all the way, revealing the calm features of one Hannibal Lecter.
They looked at each other for a moment before Clarice moved past him and settled at the end of the bed, pulling one of the extra blankets that lay at the bottom up and around her shoulders like a shawl.
" I want to ask you some questions," she said quietly, her voice wavering only slightly as she again questioned her wisdom in doing this.
He walked into her line of vision then and sat on the old armchair that lay forgotten and disused situated beside the front door. He raised an eyebrow at her statement and nodded his head slightly to indicate she may proceed.
Clarice nodded her head too and then frowned. This was probably the dumbest thing she would ever do. Taking a deep breath she looked him square in the eye and released the words.
" Give me your harpy," she whispered, her entire body rigid at the chance of rejection. She watched as he tilted his head slightly, uncrossed his legs and rubbed a finger from the hand that was supporting his chin across his bottom lip. He sat for an endless moment, unmoving, silent and relentless in his stare. He sat for so long that Clarice thought he may not have heard her request. When he did eventually move his movement was slow and precise, the rustling of his navy slacks, which he must have put on when he left the bed, where the only thing to make a noise in the otherwise silent room. He stood silently and walked calmly to stand in front of her, Clarice watched as he dipped his hand into his pocket and slowly lifted it back into view, the shine of steel partly concealed by his fingers caused a shiver to make it's way languidly down her body. He held out his hand then and uncurled his fingers one at a time, leaving his hand suspended between them in silent invitation.
Clarice stared, mesmerised by the play of light on the solid steel. It was with great hesitation and a hand that felt like lead that she eventually raised her hand to take it, hesitating only slightly when her fingertips brushed the cool of the metal. With her breath held she curled her own fingers around the weight and lifted, her eyes still fixed on the object that had done and represented so much. She watched as his own hand fell slowly to his side and he took a step back, then another, until he was once more sitting in the armchair where he had begun. She looked back to her hand, which was now on her lap and uncurled her fingers, revealing once more the weapon, his weapon. Running the fingers of her other hand down the smooth contours she almost immediately felt the mechanism and pushed, the blade suddenly appearing in a loud snap of victory, making her physically jump. The blade was both beautiful and cruel in it's appearance, shining and curved, like the talon or claw from a bird or beast of prey. She ran a thumb along the serrated side, curious of its sharpness, and almost immediately winced as the blade cut cleanly through the flesh of her fingertip, leaving a dark red line on both her thumb and the blade. She watched with something like detached wonder as the blood pooled in the cut and then overflowed, leaving a dark red stream in its wake. When she spoke, her eyes where not on the cut the harpy had caused, but on the harpy itself.
" Did you ever consider doctor, that one day it would be my blood on this knife?"
She looked up then and was sure she had caught the slightest look of understanding before he schooled his features to that which she was accustomed too.
" At the beginning, in Baltimore, if I had had the chance of freedom I would have taken it Clarice.and had you been in my way, in those early days, I may have considered it yes." He spoke as usual with an air of honestly and intelligence which Clarice both admired and feared.
" I'm not accustomed to feelings of vulnerability Dr Lecter." She spoke solidly, confidently now, all nervousness gone.
" Indeed," he said just as strongly, his eyes trained on her every move.
" Nor am I accustomed to feeling out of control or out of my depth. I have hunted you for a third of my life, both unaware and then unsure of my feelings, and now that I know what I want I have to make sure that it will work."
She held up the harpy then, it's blade shining in the light cast by the lamp.
" This wont work" she stated simply, folding the blade back into its shell and slipping it quietly into the pocket of her pyjama trousers.
" You made a promise to me earlier that you would not kill Doctor. If we are to be together I expect you to keep to your word."
Dr Lecter sat still and unmoving, his eyes and ears taking in every word and twitch, every hesitation and show of bravado. She was waiting for something, anything from him to put her at ease.
Next chapter soon...review??? (