A/N: Just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far. Apologies for the huge gaps between posting, but real life keeps rearing its ugly head. Anyway, I hope it's worth the wait.
six
Pearsall was a man with a problem. Namely, Special Agent Clarice Starling. The file on her disappearance lay open on his desk; he knew the contents by heart. On the floor next to his desk sat a box containing information about Hannibal Lecter. Pearsall sighed, and stood. He loosened his tie as he walked to his window. As he looked out across Washington, the view was the last thing on his mind. Senator Martin had heard about Clarice's accident and her subsequent disappearance and now, for reasons Pearsall didn't quite understand, had decided to get involved. The last thing Pearsall needed was that kind of pressure. As far as he was concerned, it would have been better had Crawford never gotten Clarice involved with Lecter in the first place.
The phone rang. He turned to glare at it. When it persisted, he crossed the room to answer. "Pearsall."
It was his secretary, Pammy. She had a lovely Southern drawl and long legs that he liked looking at, but he'd hired her for the steel backbone she hid beneath her charm. "Sir, it's your eleven o'clock."
"Thanks. Send him in."
Pearsall smiled and extended his hand. "Agent Graham. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"It's not 'Agent' anymore." Will Graham shook Pearsall's hand and sat down. Pearsall sat behind his desk, no longer smiling. The meeting had not gotten off to a very good start. He cleared his throat, and leaned forward, clasping his fingers together.
"Of course. I'm sorry. You heard about Jack?" Perhaps it would help to remind Graham of his old friendships and loyalties, Pearsall thought. He should have remembered what Crawford had always said about assuming things.
Graham bowed his head slightly. "Yes."
Pearsall slid the file across the desk. He studied Graham carefully. From what he'd heard, after the Dolarhyde case, Graham had become an alcoholic down in Florida somewhere. The man sitting before him wore a dark tan, but seemed clearheaded and in full control of himself. He gave a barely perceptible nod, pleased with what he saw. "You've heard of Clarice Starling?"
"I follow the news." Graham's gaze was on Pearsall, not the file, and it was oddly disconcerting. Pearsall made a show of shuffling some papers in front of him.
"Why do you think I can help you?" Graham asked.
Pearsall looked up and waited a beat before speaking. "Because you're the best we have."
Graham shook his head. "You're wrong. And as I've already said, I don't work here anymore."
"You haven't even looked at the file."
Graham stood to leave. "I'm sorry."
Pearsall waited until he reached the door before he stood. "Lecter took Starling for no reason. What makes you think he won't come after you and your family?" He paused, and Graham slowly turned to face him. "How is Molly? And Josh, is it?"
"You know, Crawford tried that on me before. I almost got killed. Lecter's been out for how many years now? Ten? He hasn't come after me in all that time. Why should it be different now?"
"Starling thought she was safe too." Pearsall knew he was sinking fast, and he needed Graham's help. He couldn't let him leave yet. "Just look at the file."
Graham sighed and looked at the door. When he looked back at Pearsall, the agent knew he'd won. Graham returned to his seat and picked up the file.
*
Clarice's eyes followed Lecter around the room. When he looked at her, she glanced back down at the book she was pretending to read. The words blurred on the page and she blinked to clear her vision. It didn't help. And she couldn't remember the name of the damn book either. She slammed it shut and dropped it on the bed next to her.
"Something wrong, Clarice?" Lecter sounded amused. Of course, Clarice thought. Why wouldn't he be?
She shook her head. Then nodded. Then shook her head again. Lecter sat next to her, his fingers spread on the bedspread. Clarice couldn't help noticing how elegant his hands were. She caught herself, and blushed.
"Clarice?"
She raised her gaze but couldn't meet his eyes. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."
"Alright."
She couldn't. She wasn't sure she was ready for the answer. Instead, she said, "Where did you go? Not back to Italy."
He frowned; could he tell how flustered she was? "Vienna. It's beautiful there. You'd like it, I'm sure."
She smiled, and risked looking in his eyes. They held her like magnets, and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her.
"I really am sorry about your thumb."
"Don't be. It's not something I'd care to repeat in future, though." He took her hand and rubbed the thumb in question across her upturned palm. She shivered.
"Dr. Lecter—"
"Shh."
She looked down at their hands, then closed her eyes. "Dr. Lecter, please. I shouldn't be here."
It was a long time before he spoke again. All Clarice was conscious of was the warmth of his hand against hers; all that mattered in the world was this moment and the two of them. Could she let herself believe that he was just a man and she was just a woman? Could she admit to herself how right it felt to be here? A traitorous tear made its way down her cheek and she hated the weakness it implied.
"I could give you the world, you know."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. What had possessed her to start this conversation? She felt the bed shift as he stood, and heard footsteps as he crossed the room. When she heard the door close, she opened her eyes. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back at her.
*
Someone was laughing, a high-pitched cackle reminiscent of the Wicked Witch of the West. Clarice walked slowly into the barn, her weapon drawn and ready. She could smell the blood; hot and coppery, it made it her gag. She saw Krendler, a dead lamb lying at his feet. Its throat was slit and its white coat was stained red. Clarice raised her eyes to Krendler; he held Ardelia in his arms, a knife against her neck. In one swift movement, he drew the blade across her throat and she slid to the floor.
Clarice screamed. "NOOOOOOO!"
She aimed her gun at Krendler and found, to her horror, that she couldn't shoot. She tried to lunge at him but remained frozen in place. He laughed. Someone grabbed her wrist. She looked into the cold eyes of Lecter and paled as he held up a chopping knife.
"An eye for an eye, Clarice," he said, and brought the blade down against her wrist.
"NO!" She tried to pull away and fell onto her back. Blood spurted from the stump that used to be her hand. She scrambled away from him, and found herself looking into the eyes of the dead lamb. She screamed again and turned the other way, only to see her dead friend.
"Why, Clarice, where are you going? We've only just begun," Lecter said. In the background, Krendler was still laughing.
Clarice wept.
*
"Shh, shh. It's okay."
She was warm. It was the first thing that registered through the fog of her mind. Fragments of her dream still haunted her, and she clung to the soft fabric and buried her face in the musky warmth as if her life depended on it. And she cried.
Something was stroking her back and her hair. She felt safe. Loved. She let herself be held.
A long time later, she tentatively loosened her hold on her comforter and looked up into his concerned eyes. He did not release his grip on her.
"Dr. Lecter, I—" An eye for an eye. She bit her lip and looked away. Knowing he wouldn't hurt her did nothing to dispel the memory of her dream. He must have sensed something, for he lifted her chin and forced her to look at him.
"Tell me."
She shook her head. In this state she knew she'd cry, and crying was weak.
"Clarice."
"What's to tell? The lambs haven't stopped screaming. There. That's what you wanted to know, isn't it?" She knew she was over-reacting and she didn't care.
His eyes narrowed. Don't lie to me. I'll know. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes; hating it. Hating him. From the beginning, he'd wanted to get into her head. He had no right. You could have said no, a little voice whispered. You could have thanked him for his time and just walked on out of that hospital and that would be that.
Except she knew there was no way things could have ever played out like that. One way or another, they were fated to cross paths.
She felt ill.
"You were begging me not to hurt you, Clarice. Now tell me, what did you dream?"
She blinked slowly, and licked her lips. Her mouth was dry. "Krendler was slaughtering lambs. In Mason Verger's barn. And Ardelia was there. And . . . And . . . he killed her too. I tried to shoot him but I couldn't. And then you were there, and I thought you were going to help me. But . . . But . . ."
Her eyes moved to the scar on his hand. The rest of her sentence died in her throat.
"But what, Clarice?"
"You cut my hand off." She was surprised she hadn't cried yet. "And then you came after me with the knife."
Lecter pulled her against him, holding her so that she couldn't pull away. She was too tired to fight him. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, strong beneath his chest. He rubbed her back again and she sighed softly, relaxing against him.
"I think that this dream was a manifestation of your guilt."
"I don't want you to psychoanalyze me." Her voice was muffled against his shirt.
"Nevertheless, I think you need to hear this. You think it was your fault your friend died. It wasn't. Accidents happen all the time. You think I hold you responsible for my injury. I don't. And I'm not looking for revenge."
"I know." She felt like a little girl again. Only, in the orphanage, no one had been there to chase her monsters away. She wasn't surprised that she felt better now; Lecter could probably frighten most things away.
"Good. Now, do you think you can get back to sleep?"
"Yeah." She pulled away reluctantly and lay back against the pillows. She felt the loss of his warmth almost immediately. Before he could stand, she grabbed his hand. "Stay, please. Until I fall asleep."
He nodded and she smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Lecter."
She closed her eyes. Just as she was drifting off, she felt his lips brush her forehead. His breath was warm against her skin as he whispered, "I think you're past calling me doctor, my dear Clarice."
With that, he slipped his hand from hers. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, and she did not dream.
TBC