Despite the circumstances of their relationship, Hannibal prepared a meal for dinner as usual. Clarice couldn't help but be drawn to the kitchen when she smelled it, regardless of how angry she was. After all, she had to eat. Walking into the dining room, she saw two tall candlesticks burning on the table and found two place settings already laid out. The small flames of the two candles cast brilliant shadows on the dining room wall. She looked down at herself, bathed in a warm, golden glow and immediately felt safe.
For some strange reason, she thought of Jack Crawford. Why, she didn't know; she hadn't thought of him in nearly two years. She wondered if he was healthy and living well. She hoped he was. Clarice decided that she would just have to call Jack someday, if only to check up on him. She wondered, too, if he ever thought of her or worried about her.
Jack, Hannibal, Ardelia, babies, love, and life seemed to worry her immensely. Everything was on her mind lately and everything bothered her. Moodswings were commonplace now. She was not the Clarice Starling that Jack Crawford and Ardelia Mapp knew. She was someone else now.
Hannibal Lecter stepped into the dining room, interrupting her thoughts. "Dinner will be served now," he said in a very flat tone. Clarice turned to face him, stared him straight in the eye, and began to walk out of the room. He blocked the doorway, and she tried to push past him. He realized that he had taken enough. He was quite tired of her little 'moodswings', and he was going to fix that right away.
Before Clarice took another step, she felt herself thrown against the wall with such force that a vase on a nearby table fell to the floor, splashing her bare legs with water and glass. She gasped. "I think it wise for you not to toy with me, Clarice. You're a smart girl. You know that with one turn of my wrist I could kill you right now." He stared into her eyes, provoking tears. Still, she would not concede. Hannibal placed his hand around her neck. Clarice squeezed her eyes shut, anxious of what was to come next. She did not breathe for fear that a breath might only cause him to tighten his hand.
"Let go of me," she managed to say.
"No," came his quick reply. "You're being rather naughty tonight, Clarice, and not in the way that I'd prefer." She let out a deep sigh of disgust and opened her mouth to say something. "No, no, no. I do the talking, you do the listening, dear. Unless, of course, you have something to say."
"You are being absolutely repulsive right now. Now let go of me!" She called up all of her strength and fought him away from her. He wrestled her to the floor and she found herself lying on top of the newly-broken vase. Feeling glass against her cheek, she winced in pain. Clarice refused to give up and kept fighting. She cried out in pain when one of the larger pieces of glass hit her abdomen. Tears of physical and emotional hurt filled her eyes as she tried desperately to get off of the glass.
Most times, it would have taken a gunshot to the head or heart to stop Clarice from fighting, but she was hurt in many ways and found that she could not go on. Clarice allowed her body to go limp on the blood-stained carpet. Lecter realized that she was an opponent no longer, but a patient that needed immediate and gentle tending to. He stood up and pulled Clarice to a standing position, but realized that she was unable (or perhaps unwilling) to walk, so he picked her up.
Lecter could see that Clarice was very obviously in pain and was bleeding severely. He did not have time to escort her to a couch or bed, so he pushed everything off the dining room table and placed her on it. She looked up at him curiously as she laid on the table, wondering if she was really bleeding that badly. She must have been to have him do something so improper as playing doctor on the table.
Hannibal lifted her shirt and placed his hands on her stomach, making her flinch. Clarice noticed that his hands were soft and warm; very comforting. She decided not to object to his doings, seeing as she could have possibly bled to death without him there to rescue her. But, hadn't he been the one to put her in that position? Yes. He had. And now he was taking care of her. This man was more moody than she was. Hannibal pulled the glass out of Clarice's stomach as gently as he could, but even that could not keep her from screaming in pain. "Stop! Please," she begged, "just leave it there. Please! It hurts when you pull on it!" But he did not stop, he continued to pull on the small pieces of glass.
Soon, they were all out and Clarice was crying uncontrollably. Hannibal wiped the blood from Clarice's soft, white skin and cleaned the cut with alcohol. "OW!" Clarice yelled. "That hurts! Stop it!" she screamed, louder than before. Finally, Clarice tired of yelling and fighting Hannibal and she let him nurse her stomach. He gently applied a bandage to her stomach and kissed it, then kissed each tear on her cheek. Clarice, however, was not moved. She was still violently angry, and probably would have fought him again if she had any strength at all.
Dinner was very quiet that night. Clarice was still angry about the events that had taken place only several hours before. The only words exchanged between the two were "Please pass the wine," and, "May I have a napkin?" The silence was unbearable and made Clarice feel strange. Never had the two of them spent dinner in that manner. The evening meal was always a nice, enjoyable time for the couple to tell each other about their day.
Clarice refused to look at Lecter, not wanting to see his eyes teasing her for crying so easily. Hannibal seemed to have no problem eating in silence, Clarice noticed. Finally, he spoke. "Clarice, I am sorry for dinner being served so late this evening. I offer my humblest apologies to you." Clarice rolled her eyes.
"If it's late it's your fault," she said in a low whisper. He did not offer a reply.
He looked as though he wouldn't even miss her if she excused herself, so she did. She cleared her throat and angrily threw her napkin on the plate that she'd hardly touched. Hannibal did not even look as she exited the dining room.
Inhaling deeply, Clarice tried to keep her hands on the reins of the intense anger that leaked into her blood. She wanted nothing more than to scream loudly, letting all of her frustrations take wing to the sky, never to bother her again. But no, she would not give him the pleasure of knowing how angry she was. Clarice walked outside to the cool evening air of Florence. All at once, she felt a rush of every emotion known to man, some of which she had never felt before.
Clarice had never once been confronted with motherhood; she'd never been married before. When the discussion on having children had come about earlier that week, Hannibal made it known that he wouldn't mind having a child; that perhaps he would rather like to have one. Clarice had said nothing that day to displease him. Seeing him cheerfully thinking about having a baby made her happy. At least he wasn't in a foul mood.
Now, it was different. She wondered if he would be as violent with a baby around as he had been tonight. Clarice wasn't sure that she wanted to know. She was sure, however, that she did not want to carry his (or any other man's) child. Not now and not ever.
She wandered the streets of Florence looking for something to take her mind off of the current situation. It never really occured to her that she'd gone out without any money or identification. Even if she had noticed, she certainly would not have turned back and gone to get either of the two.
For the rest of the evening and well into the night Clarice wandered the city, enjoying and observing the nightlife. She checked her watch. 11:47 PM. It was getting late, and Clarice truly did need to find a place to stay, even if it was just for the night. "I am not going back to that house. I will not. I'd rather die on the street tonight than go back and deal-"
"Clarice?" Clarice Starling recognized the voice that called her name. The voice was not that of Hannibal Lecter's.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I think that was a nice place to stop, don't you?
For some strange reason, she thought of Jack Crawford. Why, she didn't know; she hadn't thought of him in nearly two years. She wondered if he was healthy and living well. She hoped he was. Clarice decided that she would just have to call Jack someday, if only to check up on him. She wondered, too, if he ever thought of her or worried about her.
Jack, Hannibal, Ardelia, babies, love, and life seemed to worry her immensely. Everything was on her mind lately and everything bothered her. Moodswings were commonplace now. She was not the Clarice Starling that Jack Crawford and Ardelia Mapp knew. She was someone else now.
Hannibal Lecter stepped into the dining room, interrupting her thoughts. "Dinner will be served now," he said in a very flat tone. Clarice turned to face him, stared him straight in the eye, and began to walk out of the room. He blocked the doorway, and she tried to push past him. He realized that he had taken enough. He was quite tired of her little 'moodswings', and he was going to fix that right away.
Before Clarice took another step, she felt herself thrown against the wall with such force that a vase on a nearby table fell to the floor, splashing her bare legs with water and glass. She gasped. "I think it wise for you not to toy with me, Clarice. You're a smart girl. You know that with one turn of my wrist I could kill you right now." He stared into her eyes, provoking tears. Still, she would not concede. Hannibal placed his hand around her neck. Clarice squeezed her eyes shut, anxious of what was to come next. She did not breathe for fear that a breath might only cause him to tighten his hand.
"Let go of me," she managed to say.
"No," came his quick reply. "You're being rather naughty tonight, Clarice, and not in the way that I'd prefer." She let out a deep sigh of disgust and opened her mouth to say something. "No, no, no. I do the talking, you do the listening, dear. Unless, of course, you have something to say."
"You are being absolutely repulsive right now. Now let go of me!" She called up all of her strength and fought him away from her. He wrestled her to the floor and she found herself lying on top of the newly-broken vase. Feeling glass against her cheek, she winced in pain. Clarice refused to give up and kept fighting. She cried out in pain when one of the larger pieces of glass hit her abdomen. Tears of physical and emotional hurt filled her eyes as she tried desperately to get off of the glass.
Most times, it would have taken a gunshot to the head or heart to stop Clarice from fighting, but she was hurt in many ways and found that she could not go on. Clarice allowed her body to go limp on the blood-stained carpet. Lecter realized that she was an opponent no longer, but a patient that needed immediate and gentle tending to. He stood up and pulled Clarice to a standing position, but realized that she was unable (or perhaps unwilling) to walk, so he picked her up.
Lecter could see that Clarice was very obviously in pain and was bleeding severely. He did not have time to escort her to a couch or bed, so he pushed everything off the dining room table and placed her on it. She looked up at him curiously as she laid on the table, wondering if she was really bleeding that badly. She must have been to have him do something so improper as playing doctor on the table.
Hannibal lifted her shirt and placed his hands on her stomach, making her flinch. Clarice noticed that his hands were soft and warm; very comforting. She decided not to object to his doings, seeing as she could have possibly bled to death without him there to rescue her. But, hadn't he been the one to put her in that position? Yes. He had. And now he was taking care of her. This man was more moody than she was. Hannibal pulled the glass out of Clarice's stomach as gently as he could, but even that could not keep her from screaming in pain. "Stop! Please," she begged, "just leave it there. Please! It hurts when you pull on it!" But he did not stop, he continued to pull on the small pieces of glass.
Soon, they were all out and Clarice was crying uncontrollably. Hannibal wiped the blood from Clarice's soft, white skin and cleaned the cut with alcohol. "OW!" Clarice yelled. "That hurts! Stop it!" she screamed, louder than before. Finally, Clarice tired of yelling and fighting Hannibal and she let him nurse her stomach. He gently applied a bandage to her stomach and kissed it, then kissed each tear on her cheek. Clarice, however, was not moved. She was still violently angry, and probably would have fought him again if she had any strength at all.
Dinner was very quiet that night. Clarice was still angry about the events that had taken place only several hours before. The only words exchanged between the two were "Please pass the wine," and, "May I have a napkin?" The silence was unbearable and made Clarice feel strange. Never had the two of them spent dinner in that manner. The evening meal was always a nice, enjoyable time for the couple to tell each other about their day.
Clarice refused to look at Lecter, not wanting to see his eyes teasing her for crying so easily. Hannibal seemed to have no problem eating in silence, Clarice noticed. Finally, he spoke. "Clarice, I am sorry for dinner being served so late this evening. I offer my humblest apologies to you." Clarice rolled her eyes.
"If it's late it's your fault," she said in a low whisper. He did not offer a reply.
He looked as though he wouldn't even miss her if she excused herself, so she did. She cleared her throat and angrily threw her napkin on the plate that she'd hardly touched. Hannibal did not even look as she exited the dining room.
Inhaling deeply, Clarice tried to keep her hands on the reins of the intense anger that leaked into her blood. She wanted nothing more than to scream loudly, letting all of her frustrations take wing to the sky, never to bother her again. But no, she would not give him the pleasure of knowing how angry she was. Clarice walked outside to the cool evening air of Florence. All at once, she felt a rush of every emotion known to man, some of which she had never felt before.
Clarice had never once been confronted with motherhood; she'd never been married before. When the discussion on having children had come about earlier that week, Hannibal made it known that he wouldn't mind having a child; that perhaps he would rather like to have one. Clarice had said nothing that day to displease him. Seeing him cheerfully thinking about having a baby made her happy. At least he wasn't in a foul mood.
Now, it was different. She wondered if he would be as violent with a baby around as he had been tonight. Clarice wasn't sure that she wanted to know. She was sure, however, that she did not want to carry his (or any other man's) child. Not now and not ever.
She wandered the streets of Florence looking for something to take her mind off of the current situation. It never really occured to her that she'd gone out without any money or identification. Even if she had noticed, she certainly would not have turned back and gone to get either of the two.
For the rest of the evening and well into the night Clarice wandered the city, enjoying and observing the nightlife. She checked her watch. 11:47 PM. It was getting late, and Clarice truly did need to find a place to stay, even if it was just for the night. "I am not going back to that house. I will not. I'd rather die on the street tonight than go back and deal-"
"Clarice?" Clarice Starling recognized the voice that called her name. The voice was not that of Hannibal Lecter's.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I think that was a nice place to stop, don't you?