Title: Back in Baltimore – Chapter 9
Author: Pseudo-Morals (Axl of LL and the Studiolo)
Genre: Silence of the Lambs/Hannibal
Category: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: stardustsavant@hotmail.com
Archive?: Sure.
Summary: Clarice Starling is sent to Baltimore, to work with the Homicide detectives in finding Dr. Lecter.
Author's Notes: Ten chapters planned, only eight up as of 3/10/04.
BACK IN BALTIMORE – CHAPTER NINE
It is only through Kay Howard that Starling would attempt to procure the address, and only through Kay Howard that she actually succeeds. Assuming that the agent only wanted to be present for the raid, the petite redhead had handed over the scrap of paper willingly.
Clarice Starling is now running through the chilled, heavy Baltimore rain. She has had the taxicab drop her off a few blocks from the townhouse, so that if the driver is questioned later, it is not definite that she ever had the intention to visit Dr. Lecter. Without warning, the weather decreases still further in pleasantness, and Starling drags the back of her hand across her eyes to clear the water that trickles down from her forehead.
She does not knock on the door. Instead, she pounds, throwing more body weight into her fist, hammering on the polished wood, than any sane person would normally do. She detects movement in her peripheral vision and swings her head abruptly to catch the motion: a curtain, falling back into place across the window closest to the entrance. A few moments later, and Starling, not having given up hope, is faced by the good doctor for the second time in a week.
She is entirely unprepared for it. In the backseat of the cab, it all seemed like a better idea, she honestly thought that she would be able to look him in the eyes and feel nothing. In the half-second between his signature smirk and his invitation to Do come in, Clarice, feathery wings of pale gray flutter at the outer edges of her vision. She takes a quick, hissed breath, and the color fades.
Starling crosses over the threshold and is unsurprised by how tidily the doctor has kept this residence. She turns to face him again, and does not have to tell him why she has come. In her wide, terrified eyes and pale countenance, he can read her reasoning.
He nods, without a word, gaze lifting to her face. "When?"
"This afternoon."
"How?"
She shrugs helplessly, one hand lifting as she passes her palm over her forehead, as if trying to erase the lines of tension. She fails. When Starling focuses again on him, she is far more scared than before. Instead of immediately moving to collect what he wishes to take, the doctor has adopted a resigned pose.
"You're not…" she ventures, and he sighs quietly. Starling shakes her head. She is sweating, although the room is on the colder side. "You can't be thinking of letting them find you, Dr. Lecter."
"And why not, Clarice?" His voice is low, but calm and clear, as though he has been giving this serious thought on more than one occasion. "It would be the ultimate gift to you, wouldn't it? Advancement. Just imagine what they would say if they knew it had been you to apprehend me."
"No." She pushes her hair back from her face, and glares at him, sure that this is just another one of his games, to toy with her mind. She hates to think that it's working. "You can't be caught now. This isn't how it should be."
"How should it be, Clarice? Do tell me."
"I don't know, sir, but not like this. Not because of some lapse in judgment, some emotional slip. It doesn't suit you."
"You're willing to sacrifice your career for this?"
She does not realize how close she is to crying until she feels the stinging against her eyelids, the dampness of her lashes. "Without the chase, Dr. Lecter, where would I be?"
He stares at her for a moment, wondering whether or not she is actually serious. "You're certain."
"Yes."
His eyes wander now, sweeping over the interior of the room. He sighs once more and turns, taking a step in the direction of the door.
"Sir?"
He does not whirl to face her. "Yes, Clarice?"
"Aren't you taking anything?"
"Furniture can be replaced. Freedom cannot."
She looks down at her shoes, not because she finds them particularly intriguing, but because she knows that if she watches him leave, sees the direction he chooses, she will have a way of going after him.
Starling hears footsteps, and the front door's opening and closing. She is crying outright, not bothering to wipe the tears from her cheeks, knowing that they will just be replaced over and over again.
Clarice Starling has never considered herself a highly emotional person in that respect. Anger comes easily to her, but grief, not as much. It is almost a relief for her, that her shoulders shake, breath taken in starved, ragged gulps.
She wipes the doorknobs with the sleeve of her coat when she leaves the brownstone and hurries down the street.
Had anyone thought to look closely at her during the afternoon raid, they would have seen odd relief in her eyes.