(A/N: *gasp* I'm actually writing a romance fic! Yep, this is my first attempt at a full out mooshy story. I'm defiantly out of my element here, but my muse decided that it would be a good idea. This started out as a poetry fic but it ended up morphing into this little short story. So anyways, hope you enjoy!)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to the brilliant Thomas Harris. Please don't sue, I've got nothing!
Candlelight
Late at night, in the small duplex, Clarice Starling was restless. No matter how hard she tried, sleep just would not come to her. Giving up the fight, she got up and went to the kitchen to get a Coke and Jack Daniels. Settling down onto the couch, Clarice stayed silent as she sipped her drink. The duplex seemed so lifeless ever since Ardelia Mapp had gotten engaged and moved out. Even though Clarice enjoyed the sudden freedom of being alone, she still missed her friend's companionship very much.
The thought of turning on the light wasn't too appealing to her tonight. Instead, she found a half-burned white candle on the coffee table and lit it. The soft light it provided soothed her somewhat.
Getting tired of the empty silence, Clarice walked over to the stereo and flipped through her few CDs. 'Beatles, Guns&Roses, ABBA, Pink Floyd...' she looked through the mess, trying to find something calming to listen to.
Finally deciding on one particular CD, she slipped it into the CD player and settled back onto the couch. The Goldberg Variations flooded into her room. Clarice settled back and closed her eyes, just enjoying the music.
Her peace didn't last long though, as memories came rushing back to her. 'Dr. Lecter had listened to this music in Memphis.' She still remembered that night like it was yesterday.
She shook her head. 'No, don't think about him now,' she told herself.
As the music went on and the candle burned, words started to form in Clarice's mind. She tried hard to ignore them, but they kept coming back to her.
"Ah hell," she growled as she grabbed a pen and a small notepad and scribbled the words down. They were painful for her to write, probably because they were true. By the time she was done writing them down, a tear was coursing down her face.
With one long swing of her drink, Clarice decided to attempt going to sleep again. She clicked off the music and snuffed out the candle, which was now no more than a white, melted knob. At the last minute, she picked up the notepad and took it with her to her small bedroom upstairs.
*****************
In the dark silence of the duplex, a second figure slipped through the shadows without a sound. His footsteps didn't even make the stairs creak as he retraced the path Clarice took about an hour ago. The door to her bedroom was only half open. Dr. Lecter carefully slipped through it, making sure to not wake up the sleeping Clarice.
This was the same ritual that he had followed just about every night for almost two months now. He knew that she needed time to cope with their last meeting at the late Paul Krendler's house, but at the same time he couldn't resist being away from her for more than a single month. For two months he has watched her go through a variety of emotions, everything from anger to acceptance. Sometimes it was painful for him to watch, other times he enjoyed it immensely.
Tonight was one of those nights that pained him to watch. Her rather depressing demeanor had gotten worse over the last week or so, causing him to start worrying a little bit. He had watched her as she scribbled something down in her notepad, something very emotional he had gathered, judging by the single tear she had shed. He wondered what it was she had written with great interest.
Locating the notepad on a small table at the side of her bed, Dr. Lecter picked it up and, in the dim light provided by the moonlight through the window, briefly scanned over it to find out it was a poem she had written.
Looking down at Clarice's silent form, a corner of his mouth turned up in a slight grin. "I was never aware that you have a hand for poetry Clarice," he softly said to her. As if in response to the sound of his voice, she shifted slightly in her sleep.
Turning his attention back to the notepad, Dr. Lecter carefully read over Clarice's work of literary art with immense interest.
In somewhat messy, yet readable writing, it read:
In the dark of night, a candlelight glows,
In the heart of darkness, my yearning grows.
The flames remind me of your eyes, red and vivid,
Even during the times that you were calm, happy, and livid.
Every tease, insult, and jest had made me want to kill you,
But every smile, wink, and touch made me fall in love further than I knew.
I should hate you for being a monster, but I don't,
I should capture you and lock you away forever, but I won't.
I know that I shouldn't feel this way, and I try hard to fight it,
But deep down inside, I know that I'll eventually forfeit.
I hope that you know that your kiss still burns hot,
Just like when we first touched in Memphis, forget I could not.
Even though you're probably far away, maybe even across the sea,
Still I hope, even now, that somehow you will hear me.
Until then, deeper in love I shall fall,
Here in the candlelight, waiting for you to answer my call.
Dr. Lecter looked back at Clarice. Although he didn't show it outwardly, inside the poem made him feel rather uplifted. "Finally admitting something after all this time Clarice?" he softly spoke to her. He had known of her true feelings for a long time, even when she didn't, but to actually see her admittance was another thing altogether.
Finding a blue ballpoint pen nearby, he wrote something down on the blank page after the poem. When he was done he carefully placed the notepad underneath one of Clarice's hands and gently ran a finger along her cheek where the tear from earlier had spilled. Again her body shifted underneath his touch. As he watched her in this serene state for a few more minutes, he carefully stored away her poem into his memory palace for his own delight.
Finally taking his leave for the night, Dr. Lecter stole one last glance towards Clarice. "Sweet dreams, little starling," he said before leaving her home as quietly as he entered.
******************
Early the next morning, Clarice woke up feeling unusually refreshed. It took her a few minutes to register the feel of the notepad underneath her hand. "What the...?" she muttered as she picked it up. Her heart stopped when she saw the telltale copperplate handwriting. Her blood started pumping again at a rapid pace as she read his response to her poem.
To her surprise, what he had written to her was another poem:
In the dark of night, my little starling sleeps,
In the heart of darkness, I watch as she weeps.
While flames remind you of my eyes, it reminds me of your spirit,
A fiery warrior, fierce and deadly when lit.
Behind every tease, insult, and jest was a lesson for you to learn,
Behind every smile, wink, and touch was admiration you have earned.
I should detest you to no end, but that I can't,
Even when on opposite sides, still you enchant.
Others say that your feelings are wrong, but you know what's right,
The choice lies within you, forfeit or fight.
Before you decide, know that the kiss burns on my lips as well,
How our first touch effected me is, oddly, hard to tell.
So sleep well, little starling, and brush away that tear,
With me around, rest assured, you have nothing to fear.
As you sit in the candlelight, I stand underneath the stars high up above,
Forever know that if you call, I will always answer, my love.
~H~
Clarice felt a tear run down her face again. She knew that she should turn this in, but she couldn't bring herself to. The mere thought of the questions that would arise from his words was more than enough to deter her from showing it to her superiors.
Taking his advice from the poem, she brushed away the tear. For a split second she was angry at him for spying on her, but the feeling was quickly replaced with almost overwhelming relief. She now knows how he truly feels, and likewise, he now knows how she feels for sure. The feeling was liberating for her.
Reading the last line over again, she wondered if he could see her now. With a smile, she simply whispered, "Thank you, Hannibal."
From the other side of her room came a response, "You're quite welcome, Clarice."
Her head shot up. She was instantly locking eyes with Dr. Lecter, who had returned earlier that morning. She knew that she should be afraid for her life and reach out for her gun, but she didn't. Clarice just couldn't bring herself to do it. She swallowed uncomfortably. "Dr. Lecter," she almost whispered.
The doctor tilted his head and said, "Back to formalities now are we Agent Starling?"
Clarice felt herself flush with slight embarrassment. Looking back down at the notepad, a smile started to hint at her features once again. "Umm," she said quietly, raising her eyes to meet his once again. "Thank you for the... response to my little pathetic excuse of a poem."
"Clarice," he approached her, causing her heart to skip a couple beats. Sitting down beside her, Dr. Lecter had a serious look in his usually menacing maroon eyes. "You're being too hard on yourself. Even if that poem didn't meet your personal standards, it is still an immensely moving piece if I do say so myself."
Clarice felt herself flush for the second time that morning. Breaking from his gaze for a split second, her eyes traveled to the small digital clock beside the bed. It read 9:30am. Clarice's eyes went unintentionally wide as she registered what the time meant for her.
"Oh shit," she whispered more to herself than to the man sitting next to her. "I'm going to be late for work." Just realizing what she had just said, she looked back at Dr. Lecter. "Umm, I'd better get ready now." She inwardly kicked herself for saying that.
As she rather reluctantly got out of her bed, Dr. Lecter grabbed her hand and pulled her back down onto the soft mattress. Clarice was a little taken back by the action, but in an odd way felt a little relieved. She really didn't like the idea of going to work today.
With a small yelp of surprise, Clarice fell onto her back beside the man the she should be holding at gunpoint and be terrified of. Dr. Lecter tightly held her wrists above her head to make sure that she wouldn't try to leave again. "Leaving so soon Clarice?" he purred into her ear, causing an involuntary shiver to climb up her spine.
Clarice found herself struggling surprisingly very little. Her eyes locked with his and were instantly trapped. She could feel his hot breath on her face. Clarice didn't know what to do, a concept that wasn't too appealing around this man. On top of that, she was finding herself increasingly irritated with the space between them, even though she tried hard not to be.
"Now then," Dr. Lecter went on. "Are you really so desperate to go back to your beloved FBI? Would you go and turn me in to them?"
Clarice never broke her gaze with him. "You already know the answer to that Hannibal," she told him, almost unaware of the fact that she had called him by his given name. "Not in a thousand years," she said, borrowing her own words from that night at the late Paul Krendler's house.
Amusement played in Dr. Lecter's eyes. "That's my girl," he simply responded.
Before she knew it, Clarice felt Dr. Lecter's lips pressing against hers for the first time since their last encounter. At first she was shocked like she was at Krendler's house, but quickly found herself caving into his embrace. In that moment she knew that she wouldn't be able to leave him ever again. The thought should have scared her to death, but she wasn't. Actually, she had never felt happier in her life at that point.
Breaking the kiss, although reluctantly, Clarice was the first to speak, "So what now?" she asked.
Dr. Lecter released his hold on Clarice's wrists and helped her back to her feet. Keeping her close to him, the doctor told her, "That, little Starling, is entirely up to you."
It didn't take her long to make her decision. Clarice didn't arrive at work that morning, nor any other morning after that.
FIN
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(A/N: Yeah I know, it wasn't much but I had to get it out of my system. Actually, by the end my muse must've got burned out, or at least I think so. Anyways, hope it wasn't too painful to read! And thanks for reading in any case!)
-SP