Author's note: Here is the angsty scene, with no other scenes to get in the way. Although at the rate I'm going this is going to be thirty chapters. But here you are, Dear Reader.
Dinner had been long since eaten. Two coffee mugs were on the table. Her silk dressing gown was wonderfully comfortable. The slippers he had provided were also soft and pleasant on her feet. Not like her bunny slippers, she noticed. They were suede and lined with shearling. They were dignified. Clarice Starling sat on the couch, still wanting to look at the majesty of the bustling city. But now they had to talk.
She fortified herself with a sip of her cappuccino. Damn, that was tasty stuff. Dr. Lecter's tastes had always been the best.
Quit putting it off, Starling, she told herself.
On the other side of the couch, Dr. Lecter smiled. There was a sense of tension in the air. They could not and did not want to talk about Rebecca DeGould anymore. Clarice would have to face her foe, but for now, it was time to talk of the past.
Clarice broke the silence.
"So," she said, "tell me about your little boy."
Dr. Lecter shrugged and smiled a bit nervously. "Michael's three now," he said. "He's quite active and playful. He has these horrible videotapes that Erin bought for him. These monstrous children's singers." He shuddered a bit. "Of course, he loves them."
Clarice smiled softly. "Do you have a picture?"
Dr. Lecter nodded and removed his wallet. Black ostrich skin, Clarice thought. How like him. From it, he paged through some photographs and finally handed one over. Clarice extended her hand and took it.
The boy had dark hair and pale skin. His eyes were maroon. He was carefully groomed for the camera: hair carefully in place, clothes carefully pressed. He appeared to have none of the cruelty his father was reputed for. He looked like he was delighted with life, beaming into the camera with a million-watt smile.
A lump tickled Clarice's throat and she tried to picture him with brown hair and skin perhaps a shade or two darker. No, she was being silly. She handed the picture back and cleared her throat to try and force it open.
"He's a good-looking boy," she said huskily.
"Thank you," Dr. Lecter said.
"What about those other pictures you put away?" she asked.
"Oh," Dr. Lecter said, and appeared to hold his breath for a fraction of a second. "Those are…just family pictures."
He's trying to be sensitive to your feelings, Clarice. First goddam time for him, too. You spent God knows how long denying you were jealous of Erin. Why make yourself do this? How about you just go and slam your fingers in the door or something? You've got nothing to prove.
"Can I see those?" she asked. Why not? There was something that drove her to it. Idly she wondered. In the orphanage she had grown up in, there had been a few girls who enjoyed cutting themselves. She'd never understood it for a minute. When they got upset, zoom, out came the razor blade. She'd considered it somewhere between weakness and lunacy. But here she was, asking to see pictures that she knew would pierce her heart through.
Dr. Lecter shrugged and handed them over.
The first was a portrait of Erin with the little boy sitting on her lap. She wore a dress and seemed the perfect picture of contented motherhood. Clarice could see the resemblance between mother and son in the photograph. They had the same fair skin, dark hair, and delicate facial bones. The image blurred into a prism of tears and for just a moment Clarice saw herself in the picture, holding her own little boy with maroon eyes. But the plains of possibility had narrowed down to the trail she was currently on, and there was no going back.
She set her back teeth against each other and continued on. The next was a picture of all three – Dr. Lecter, Erin, and Michael. His hands were on her shoulders. Michael was on her lap. A portrait of a happy family. No one in that family would sleep in a bunk bed in a large room at an orphanage. Clarice felt her stomach waver and her throat close.
That could have been me.
But she felt no anger. Neither at Erin nor at Dr. Lecter. She had been given the opportunity to go with Dr. Lecter; she had turned it down. Erin had been offered the same opportunity and she had taken it. After that, she had promised to let them live their lives. She had her principles, and she had stuck to them religiously. Dr. Lecter killed people because he wanted to. He'd killed Paul D'angelo, cutting his throat in cold blood and leaving him to die on the floor of an Ohio farmhouse. He'd killed plenty of other people because they offended him or because they were in his way. She would not, could not be a party to that.
But yet it still dug at her, like monstrous fingers sinking into her heart. No anger, but plenty of regret. How had Erin squared Dr. Lecter's past with his present? He surely wasn't killing anyone any more. Clarice would've heard of it if he had. She gritted her teeth and forced the tears away.
The next was a snapshot, carefully trimmed to fit the wallet size. The composition was exceptionally good for a snapshot. Somehow that did not surprise her. It was Erin in a bathing suit and a wide-brimmed hat, Michael in her arms. Both wore sunglasses. The baby wore a small Akubra hat and looked adorable. Michael looked younger in the picture, maybe one. He was pudgier than he was in the other picture. They appeared to be going to the beach; sand and shore were behind them. There was also a black Jaguar convertible in the background. The top was down. She closed her eyes and shuddered.
This was a picture he'd taken himself. He'd taken it and cut it out and carried it around with him in his wallet. It meant something to him. Of course it does, she scolded herself, it's his wife and son. His family. Another woman, in a place she could have occupied.
Clarice forced herself to look at the picture again. The Jaguar's steering wheel was on the right, she noticed faintly. The license plate was not visible. Perhaps…perhaps that was better.
"Are you…are you happy?" she asked, her voice carrying just a slight tremolo of emotion. If she finished the question – Are you happy with her? – she knew she would cry. Her throat worked once and she handed the pictures back to him.
Dr. Lecter sighed once. The question was a veritable minefield. Mason Verger's deathtrap for him had been nothing by comparison. Either answer would be painful. If he said yes, that would doubtlessly hurt her to hear. No matter how both of them might insist that it didn't, that they had gotten over it, she would be hurt to hear it. But if he said no – if he suggested that his life with his wife and son was a mere hollow shell – that would hurt her worse.
If he had to do this, perhaps best to be honest.
"I am…happy, Clarice, but I am torn." His eyes touched hers and then floated off. "I do love her," he continued. "I have since…well, since just after Chesapeake. Or Columbus, as she thinks of it. I cannot lie about that."
The lump in her throat tensed again. "I wouldn't expect you to," she whispered.
He continued as if he had not heard. "But…I have--," he trailed off. A pang shot through her stomach. "I have never stopped caring for you, Clarice," he said, and stopped again. A sip of his cappuccino served to fortify him. "No. That's cowardice and I shan't permit it of myself. I have never stopped loving you, either. After a fashion, in my own way." He sighed. "I knew we could never be together. Your determination for justice, your rage to see the innocent protected. Your need to see order prevail. And, yes, to see the guilty punished. She differs strongly from you there; her ethics are essentially medical in nature. It's not her place to judge. She couldn't function if she did. For you…you could function if you didn't."
Clarice's eyes began to tear up.
"It's pathetically amusing, in a way," Dr. Lecter admitted. "The classic puerile male fantasy is to have two women. But to love two women…that can be unimaginably painful. No matter what, you're torn between the two of them, and the situation can never really be resolved. She doesn't quite understand. She's never so much as looked at another man since we came to be together. The only other man in her life is Michael. That's why she's threatened by you. I cannot offer her what she offers me."
Clarice sighed. Her throat wavered.
"Look," she said regretfully. "If it means anything to you…if I had it to do over again, I'd have decided differently. But I can't, not now. I won't. You have a wife and son. Even if you offered, right here and right now…and I know you can't…I'd have to say no, though. Knowing you already promised yourself to her…and your son…I wouldn't be a part of ruining that. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror in the morning if I interfered with that."
Dr. Lecter closed his eyes and nodded. "Of course," he said hoarsely. "I could not expect you to behave differently."
For a moment, there was silence. A requiem for what could have been and now could never be. Clarice decided to try something else before she either burst into tears or got sick.
"So," she said. "You told me you were having some problems."
Dr. Lecter shrugged. "Apparently a copycat has moved into my current home," he said. He seemed equally grateful to change the subject. "There's a detective nosing around. She suspects our identity but hasn't proved it."
Clarice nodded slowly. "Have they…have the local police asked the Bureau for help?"
Dr. Lecter shook his head slowly. "I don't believe so," he said. "Although the detective in question knows you. Erin operated on her."
Clarice was puzzled. "She knows me?"
"She attended a class you taught, or something along those lines."
Recognition hit Clarice. "Oh! Must be one of the times I taught at the National Academy. She's foreign, isn't she?"
Dr. Lecter nodded.
"You can tell me where, Dr. Lecter," Clarice said. "My promise to you hasn't changed. I'll let you two be. Maybe I can help."
Dr. Lecter took a deep breath. "Erin would have a fit if she knew I told you," he said, and smiled conspiratorially. "Very well, Clarice. Sydney, Australia."
Clarice smiled. "So it's Isabelle Pierce on your tail," she said. She enjoyed the look of surprise on the doctor's face.
"Well, yes, that's her," Dr. Lecter said. "Was she a memorable student?"
Clarice chuckled and nodded. "I'll say," she said. "'Agent Stahling, how did you know Buffalo Bill was a tailor? Agent Stahling, tell me about this case and that case and the other one.' She was into this stuff. Read every damn case file I had for class and wanted more. I felt sorry for any serial killers in her town."
"I see. Unfortunately, she doesn't appear to distinguish between the retired killers and the active ones. It is a copycat killer. Not me. He's rather close to my method, but it is not my work."
Clarice nodded. She found herself believing him. Dr. Hannibal Lecter did a great many things that she might not have approved of, but he did not lie.
"Well," she said, "I'll help if I can. Maybe give her a phone call or something, get the file, get her off your trail. Do you…do you know anything about the killer?"
Dr. Lecter shrugged. It was far easier to talk about this than to wander the emotional minefields they had braved before. This was simply neutral emotionally.
"Based on what I know, I would suspect that the killer has some sort of medical training," he said. "Although that could be mistaken. He could simply be a skilled hunter, or even a butcher. I suspect the killer is an older man. A younger contemporary of mine. Based on his knowledge of the city, he's native. There have been previous murders; of that I have little doubt."
Clarice nodded. "Does he know you're there?"
Dr. Lecter shook his head. "If he did, he would have tried to contact me…or worse."
Clarice closed her eyes. "I'll help you if I can," she said. "I owe you. I know that. But…I've got so far to go I don't know what to do."
Dr. Lecter shrugged. "Kill Rebecca DeGould," he said. "Simple enough."
Clarice considered it. Finally, she shook her head. "Killing her is…too easy," she said. "I want to shame her. Put her in jail. Make an example of her." Her lips twisted. "I tried to be nice to her," she added vehemently. "I thought she'd suffered enough, and I could ease off and maybe we could peacefully coexist. Besides, killing her won't put me back where I want to be. Right now, the system thinks I'm an escaped felon. I need to set that right."
Dr. Lecter nodded. "As you see fit, Clarice," he said. "But perhaps we should not discuss such things. We've both made decisions, and now we must live with them. We can fight our battles in the morning. As far as you and I go…all we have is tonight."
