Disclaimer: You all know it... I don't own them and I am too poor to be
sued.
A/N This one is for Marcus for helping me with Red Dragon. Can't promise a time for the next chapter, but please do review it; after all, critique is what we writers live on.
No more tears
It was raining. It had been raining like this for the past two days. Washington was cloaked in a grayish light; it never seemed to be day. It was as if the day was caught between the night and dawn. The sky had started shedding its tears when Clarice had stopped shedding hers.
It seemed pointless; it was two years since she had last seen Dr. Lecter. Two years since he chose to injure himself rather than hurting her. Two years since she learned that he loved her. It was only a few days since she learned that she loved Dr. Lecter.
Though she knew she would never see him again, she was glad. Glad that she finally had seen the love shining through everything. Why he helped her, why he risked his own life to come and see her and why Miggs and Krendler ended the way they did. They were not acts done by a monster, how could that be?
Clarice poured the fresh brewed coffee into a mug and watched the steam rising; how it danced all the way up into the air. A death dance that would eventually disappear, as if it had never been there. She walked over to the window and looked out on the sleeping city. It was still early, and it looked to be yet another day with rain. Clarice sipped the warm coffee; its warmth spreading all through her body, repressing the cold that had lingered there for too long.
How things had changed. The FBI wanted nothing to do with her, but they didn't fire her. How could they? She was the victim, or so the press had made it out to be. The endless stacks of paper on her desk kept coming. She would never again be a field agent, not borrowed out to anyone. The FBI would bury her alive in the endless stacks of paper and eventually forget she existed. She had become a ghost. It wasn't unsatisfying, Clarice preferred it that way.
Ardelia had gotten a permanent job in Boston. Ardi had been thrilled; she was to lead the task force there. Clarice smiled as she remembered Ardi saying, "a new field to hunt in" and Clarice had answered that the men didn't stand a chance. Clarice tried not to think about Boston being where Dr. Lecter had been. Ardi had extended invitations to come and visit her but Clarice had gently refused, not really giving any excuse.
Clarice had moved out of the complex, she didn't want a new roommate. Instead she had found a small apartment in a neighborhood that was filled with life: children roaming the streets, cops busting the building every Friday and showing up unannounced on Sundays doing drug raids. The hall was filled with drug dealers and prostitutes. Her next-door neighbors were a couple who did nothing but scream at each other over the rent being used for drugs. The street at night was filled with echoes of gunshots and people crying for help.
Clarice felt strangely at home in this mix of society's scum and losers. Ardi had been opposed to Clarice moving here but had eventually come around. It might be the scum and losers that lived here, but there were also nice people. People who didn't have a choice and those who wanted to hide away from the world. Clarice was not alone here. No one bugged her for being an agent, they all knew her story. And the only one who had ever dared to try anything couldn't walk for three weeks. Clarice took another sip of the coffee. The aroma that filled her nostrils was soothing.
Two years, it was hard to believe it had been that long. Two years to come to terms with the fact that she was in love with a person who was everything she had vowed to rid the world of. Clarice ran a finger over her lips that still burned with his kiss; it would continue to burn forever.
Clarice remembered his words to her, "Would you ever say to me stop, if you loved me, you'd stop?" She remembered her answer, "Not in a thousand years." Clarice knew that she had answered out of defiance and had asked herself, "How many possibilities are there in that answer?" But it wasn't the answer she would have given today. Silently, the words escaped her lips, "Stop, if you love me, you'd stop."
Her words were carried away on the first beams of sunlight, it wouldn't rain today. The sun was breaking through. The first warm beams had reached the streets. She hoped that her words would reach him; nothing was impossible, not on a day like this. Clarice lowered the mug to the table and left the living room. It was about time to go to work.
A/N This one is for Marcus for helping me with Red Dragon. Can't promise a time for the next chapter, but please do review it; after all, critique is what we writers live on.
No more tears
It was raining. It had been raining like this for the past two days. Washington was cloaked in a grayish light; it never seemed to be day. It was as if the day was caught between the night and dawn. The sky had started shedding its tears when Clarice had stopped shedding hers.
It seemed pointless; it was two years since she had last seen Dr. Lecter. Two years since he chose to injure himself rather than hurting her. Two years since she learned that he loved her. It was only a few days since she learned that she loved Dr. Lecter.
Though she knew she would never see him again, she was glad. Glad that she finally had seen the love shining through everything. Why he helped her, why he risked his own life to come and see her and why Miggs and Krendler ended the way they did. They were not acts done by a monster, how could that be?
Clarice poured the fresh brewed coffee into a mug and watched the steam rising; how it danced all the way up into the air. A death dance that would eventually disappear, as if it had never been there. She walked over to the window and looked out on the sleeping city. It was still early, and it looked to be yet another day with rain. Clarice sipped the warm coffee; its warmth spreading all through her body, repressing the cold that had lingered there for too long.
How things had changed. The FBI wanted nothing to do with her, but they didn't fire her. How could they? She was the victim, or so the press had made it out to be. The endless stacks of paper on her desk kept coming. She would never again be a field agent, not borrowed out to anyone. The FBI would bury her alive in the endless stacks of paper and eventually forget she existed. She had become a ghost. It wasn't unsatisfying, Clarice preferred it that way.
Ardelia had gotten a permanent job in Boston. Ardi had been thrilled; she was to lead the task force there. Clarice smiled as she remembered Ardi saying, "a new field to hunt in" and Clarice had answered that the men didn't stand a chance. Clarice tried not to think about Boston being where Dr. Lecter had been. Ardi had extended invitations to come and visit her but Clarice had gently refused, not really giving any excuse.
Clarice had moved out of the complex, she didn't want a new roommate. Instead she had found a small apartment in a neighborhood that was filled with life: children roaming the streets, cops busting the building every Friday and showing up unannounced on Sundays doing drug raids. The hall was filled with drug dealers and prostitutes. Her next-door neighbors were a couple who did nothing but scream at each other over the rent being used for drugs. The street at night was filled with echoes of gunshots and people crying for help.
Clarice felt strangely at home in this mix of society's scum and losers. Ardi had been opposed to Clarice moving here but had eventually come around. It might be the scum and losers that lived here, but there were also nice people. People who didn't have a choice and those who wanted to hide away from the world. Clarice was not alone here. No one bugged her for being an agent, they all knew her story. And the only one who had ever dared to try anything couldn't walk for three weeks. Clarice took another sip of the coffee. The aroma that filled her nostrils was soothing.
Two years, it was hard to believe it had been that long. Two years to come to terms with the fact that she was in love with a person who was everything she had vowed to rid the world of. Clarice ran a finger over her lips that still burned with his kiss; it would continue to burn forever.
Clarice remembered his words to her, "Would you ever say to me stop, if you loved me, you'd stop?" She remembered her answer, "Not in a thousand years." Clarice knew that she had answered out of defiance and had asked herself, "How many possibilities are there in that answer?" But it wasn't the answer she would have given today. Silently, the words escaped her lips, "Stop, if you love me, you'd stop."
Her words were carried away on the first beams of sunlight, it wouldn't rain today. The sun was breaking through. The first warm beams had reached the streets. She hoped that her words would reach him; nothing was impossible, not on a day like this. Clarice lowered the mug to the table and left the living room. It was about time to go to work.