It had been an extended amount of time since Clarice had originally come to stay with the Doctor, although she was unsure of the exact number of weeks, or maybe even months, that she had been there. As for fighting her somewhat unlawful imprisonment, she had inherently given up and surrendered to becoming Dr. Lecter's guest, until the time that he deemed it suitable for her to leave; at which time she told herself that she wouldn't hesitate to bolt out the door, returning to her abandoned life.
She'd spent most of her days lounging in the library, reading a number of the Doctor's books. A large sum of his library was in a foreign language, most notably Italian, French, and Latin, along with many other European languages.
After informing Lecter that she was disappointed in his choice of vernacular and was running out of literature in English to consume, Dr. Lecter informed her that her lessons in speaking Italian would begin with him, later that week. At first she had protested the idea, not wishing for another chance for Dr. Lecter to have the upper-hand and make her feel degraded, once again. However, she found him to be a patient and fair teacher, and realized soon enough that she had an ear for understanding languages. After a short period of time, the two were able to converse, albeit limitedly, in somewhat fluent Italian. He would often throw in phrases of Italian every now and then, to test her. The Doctor was tremendously pleased, however, to find that she was able to speak it back to him, despite a few grammatical errors from time to time. Ah, but nothing is ever quite perfect.
The Doctor and his guest spent their time together listening to music, cooking, and simply talking. With every step she took, Clarice felt thousands of new doors opening themselves to her, as she listened to and learned from Dr. Lecter. She felt herself becoming more worldly and cultured; the FBI and its tired, endless cups of coffee and paperwork seemed as if in another lifetime. Now, it was glasses of Chateaû d'Yquem and Italian magazines that occupied her, and she felt liberated. Her conversations with the Doctor were provoking and tasteful, and she felt challenged and more alive than she had felt since she had graduated from Quantico so long ago, still a young, bright-eyed woman with an eagerness to find success and advancement. Now she was being given a second chance, as a tired, worn version of her older self. Being in Dr. Lecter's home and by his side lit her up and made her feel more like herself than she had in years.
Dr. Lecter had remained distant, allowing Clarice her own space. Playing the ever observant yet detached onlooker, he watched her attentively during the time that she was with him. Knowing that, eventually, the subject of her "spent" career and her future would resurface and need to be addressed, Dr. Lecter made the decision to remain silent. For now, Clarice was free from burden and untroubled by decisions; the sting of her reality would come, in time. For the time being, however, she was safe in the solitude of his hidden home.
The season had entered late Autumn. Fall in New York was beautiful; the trees in the surrounding forests were on fire with gold, red, and orange foliage. One day in mid-afternoon, Clarice and the Doctor were sitting out on the patio as the Doctor read aloud sonnets, in Italian, from Dante's La Vita Nuova. Clarice sat and listened intently, but soon began to drift off as her own thoughts consumed her.
Lecter finished the passage he had been reading and looked up to find Clarice staring off into the woods.
"Is there something you find disagreeable in Dante's work, Clarice?"
Clarice turned back to face him. "No. I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter. I was just thinking how long it's been since I've gone running."
He studied her for a moment. "Mm, it has, hasn't it."
Although Lecter was able to produce a different side of Ex-Special Agent Starling, he knew that to smother her personality completely would take away the passion and drive within her. He was drawn to that passion. He acknowledged the fact that he would never be able to mold and shape her completely, and that much like himself, she bore her own scars, and came to him with her own framework and history. Not every piece of her was malleable and controllable; he both resented and embraced this, at the same time.
"Would it be suitable if later today I went running back in the woods for awhile?" She asked him with refinement, but her eyes were unquestioning.
He looked at her, amused. "Tell me Clarice, are you so sure of yourself that you really believe you are resourceful enough to find your way on the trails without a map, or some form of guidance? It seems rather reckless, don't you think?"
"Maybe, but if you were to point me in the correct direction, then I'm sure I could find my way by myself," she replied evenly.
"That is rather daring of you, Clarice." She watched him as he leaned back and rested his forearms on the arms of his chair. "I believe your overly assured nature could possibly be the death of you one day. No, what you'll need is a guide, I think. Therefore, I will accompany you on your run later this afternoon. I wouldn't want you to lose your way, or perhaps run away, hmm?" The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as he watched her. Although Clarice would never become completely predictable to him, he knew her all too well to really believe that she wouldn't seize the opportunity to try to "explore" a little, while she was out.
She looked at him, skeptically. "I didn't plan on running away, Doctor. And if you plan to escort me, then I hope you're prepared to run and keep up with me, because I'm not known to slow down for those who are lagging." She took a sip from her glass of wine.
"Once again, Clarice, I think you may have underestimated me."
"Fine, Dr. Lecter. I'm going to go change into something to run in." She looked critically at his attire, and added "And you might want to do the same."
He chuckled. "Thank you, Clarice, but I was planning to do so." The two of them walked back into the house and up the stairs, where she left him to go change in her bedroom, and he in his own. She found a pair of running shorts and a few suitable t-shirts in one of the drawers, and saw that Lecter had grabbed her running shoes before he left her house. She was overjoyed as she put them on, thinking how liberating it would feel to get outside of the house for awhile.
But not away from him, she thought as she put on the sneakers and headed back downstairs. He'll be with me; no matter where I go, he will always follow.
She found him waiting for her downstairs in the kitchen. "Shall we go, then?" He asked and she nodded, and he followed her out the door and through the paths of the garden. They walked past the fountain of Venus and the Juniper trees, until they reached the edge of the forest.
"I think we'll take the North path today. It's rained for the past few nights, and I think the lower trails will be far too muddy for us to use." She nodded in submission and followed him up a short hill onto the higher ground. He turned to face her and held his hand out to the open trail, gesturing for her to take the lead. "I'll be right there with you, Clarice."
She nodded, and started out at a slower pace, warming up. They jogged up the trail and through the woods, as orange and red leaves fell silently around them. The intoxicating smell of rotting, damp foliage surrounded them in a wall of bittersweet aroma, and Clarice breathed it in deeply. She wanted to leap for joy down the path but restrained herself, with Lecter running at her side.
He led the two of them deeper into the woods, as she followed him down the trails. The grey sky above them seemed as if it would poor rain at any given moment. Clarice deepened her stride, stretching her legs. She looked over at Dr. Lecter's feet, which seemed to run farther or shorten in stride, in accordance with her own. The sound of their footfalls made one unified beating rhythm on the hardened dirt path, as they began to sprint. Both knew that neither was racing the other; when Clarice ran faster, the Doctor lengthened to keep with her, and when he slowed, she shortened her stride to stay with him. The only sound in the woods that day was the constant and unified sound of their breathing, and the steady pounding of their feet on the forest floor.
They reached the edge of a ravine, where a river ran swirling below them. Dr. Lecter slowed their run to a walk, and the two of them, panting, steadied themselves to catch their breath. Clarice walked over to the edge of the bluff and looked out onto the lower forest floor. The carpet of rich orange and yellow leaves stood out as an emanation against the grey backdrop of opaque clouds and sky. She heard Lecter come closer, and felt him standing next to her. "To stare at something so striking for too long might hurt one's eyes, I think."
"Mm," she murmured in agreement, glancing over at him. He was standing facing the ravine, with his hands clasped behind his back.
"This smaller stream most likely feeds into a larger one, and then continues into the Hudson River, if I'm not mistaken."
She looked back at him with surprise. "So we're in New York?"
He smiled amusedly at her, and nodded. "Yes, we are. An hour's drive North of the city, as a matter of fact."
"I had no idea." She looked back down towards the rushing water, and imagined it flowing out into the powerful waters of the Hudson River. "I've only been to New York City once, actually," she said, sedately.
"Really. And when was that, Clarice?"
She felt him watching her, and took a breath. "It was a little while after graduation from the Academy. Ardelia wanted to celebrate, so she took me up to the city with her for a few days, to shop and have a girl's weekend away. I loved it, there was so much to see and do. I told her I wanted to see a show, or maybe even a ballet, but she wouldn't hear of it. I've always wanted to go back and see the better part of the city though, without having to spend two days' worth of time in either Saks Fifth Avenue or Macy's. I guess indulging and pampering myself aren't really my stronger suits."
"No, they're not, Clarice, but that is what sets you apart from the rest of mankind." He looked at her, with purpose.
Breaking his stare, she looked back down at the water. "It wasn't so bad, it was a nice thing to do with her after Graduation."
"Ah yes, those glorious older days when you still had your entire future set out before you. Whatever happened to those, do you think?"
They were heading into treacherous territory. She squirmed, scrambling for an idea of how to change the subject before it was too late to escape his inevitable questioning, but could think of nothing, so she answered with a short sigh. "I don't know, Dr. Lecter. And I really don't feel the need to dwell on the past and the old days of yester-year, really. I don't see the point."
"Clarice, I think you are missing the point. I wonder why it seems that now, despite your still youthful and lively young age, you seem to feel that you have no future before you."
There was no turning back, and she felt a wall within her cave. There was no use in fighting his probing and blunt questions any longer; she did not have the strength to defend herself from him anymore. "I don't know, Doctor. You're right. I've always been defined by the FBI, even if that has become one of my weaknesses. It has taken everything from me; it's replaced my feelings with determination and my thoughts with dedication. I don't have anything but the Bureau, and my inevitable extrication from being a federal agent makes it seem as if I have nothing at all." She looked up at him. All honesty, she thought, and nothing less. He has to reward you for that, somehow.
But her remarks almost seemed to provoke him, even more so. "Really, Clarice, how pathetic of you to place your entire worth on that God-forsaken system of bureaucracy. It has nothing to give to you, it never did. Like an abusive marriage, your union to the FBI takes everything you have, and gives you nothing in return. What is worse, however, is that you realize this, but feel as if somehow you deserve such a punishment. You have done nothing wrong. It is the unfairness of this world that has abused you, Clarice, not your own inadequacy."
She glared at him; his answer was not only bluntly true and comforting, but at the same time left her at a loss for an answer to her confusion. "So what do I do now, then? I have absolutely nothing else, and I have no idea how to find myself." She looked down at her shoes, in exasperation. A memory echoed in her head. "I don't believe the answer is on those second-grade shoes, Clarice." She looked back up at him, feeling as though every thought running through her mind was as visible to him as the bright scene of foliage before them. He infuriated her; he questioned her relentlessly, but never had any answers to give, and she despised him for it. But she knew exactly what to say to push him over the edge.
"You know, you're just like them. The FBI, all of them. All you ever do is take what you want from me; you get your sought-after answers, but then you have nothing to say in return. So what about you, Doctor? What is it that you want? Because I really don't believe you brought me all the way here to your quaint little country estate just to question me about my future. What about your own, what is it that you want?" But Lecter remained silent. He stood there, his eyes beginning to darken in anger, and Clarice felt a current of fear run through her, but it only seemed to push her more. "Oh, but of course, you have nothing to say. You never do; it's all give-and-take with you, just like the bureau. You're a hypocrite, you criticize their methods, but then you use me for your own benefit, just like them. It's sickening." She stood there, glaring at him.
In seconds, he was upon her, tackling her to the ground in an eruption of fury and rage. He pushed her shoulders down, hard into the dirt, and leaned in to hiss in her ear words of toxic poison.
"Clarice, this is the first and only warning I will ever give you; never mistake me for a hypocrite, ever again. And I'm sorry to break this rather troubling news to you, my dear, but it is you that is the hypocrite. Toiling as a federal agent for ten years of your life has taken its toll on you, and you realize this. You are weak and fragile, yet you stay with those corrupt bureaucrats because you are afraid of what other options you might have. You're afraid to be on your own, because you don't know who 'you' are, any longer. And it terrifies you to think, just for one moment, that I, the cannibalistic serial killer, might be the only one who can make any sense of your life, anymore." At this remark she looked up at him in shock, then growled in anger, pushing back against him with all her strength, but was quickly shoved back into the dirt.
"I am not a man who often makes confessions to others, Clarice, and I don't plan to do so, even for you. But you are keen and quick-witted enough to know by now what it is that I want from you." She felt his lips caress her cheek as he whispered his words of true, stinging honesty.
"I have been watching you, Clarice, ever since our earliest meeting, and after the escape from Memphis. You may have not known of my close proximity to you at certain times in your life, but I was there. It is true, I have not been there for everything, but I have come and gone throughout our time apart. However, nothing you have ever done in the past ten years has gone completely unnoticed. But near is the time when you will be presented with a decision to make; I can no longer play the keen observer, Clarice. It is too late for that, and your situation is far too dire for me to simply watch from a distance as you stumble and fall, time and again. And when such a time comes that you will be forced to make that decision, you will have the choice of embracing a part of yourself that you have otherwise suppressed, or you may go on as you were, living recklessly and utterly alone." He drew back from her, allowing her space to absorb his words, but still watching her with such intensity that she found it hard to breathe, yet even harder to look away. He pulled back slowly and gracefully stood. He offered a hand to help her up, as she sat there in the wake of their encounter. "But for now, Clarice, you remain 'off the hook,' so to speak," he said, looking down at her with a chagrined glance. He winked at her as he helped her up, turned her, and brushed the dirt and leaves off of her back.
"You're infuriating, Doctor. I've never met someone who I've wanted to punch so much in my entire life," she said with a scowl, as he turned her to face him.
"Hmm." He smiled at her. "You're ideas of foreplay are maddening, Clarice," he said, giving her that familiar devilish grin, and then turned to walk back in the direction of the house.
"The clouds look a bit unforgiving at this moment, my dear; I think it best if we turn around and head home," he called over his shoulder, beckoning her to follow him. She shook her head in agitation, and then ran up to join him.
Once she reached his side, they walked quietly, leaving the trauma of their struggle behind them to stay on the bluff. Clarice looked up and saw the bleakness of the sky. "I think we should sprint home, Doctor, or we'll get caught in a downpour."
"Right you are, Clarice; lead the way." She took off at a run down the trail, with him following close behind.
They ran for close to half an hour, when finally the house came into view. Just as they reached the edge of the woods, the rain came down in a drenching pour. By the time they made it through the garden and into the kitchen, they were both dripping and soaked to the bone. Clarice felt bare when she realized, looking down, that her soaked white t-shirt left her almost topless before Hannibal Lecter, aside from the sports bra she wore underneath. Lecter went into the linen closet to find them each a towel, and put a pot of tea on to boil. He handed Clarice a mug and sat watching as she dried herself off.
"Tell me, Clarice, what would you think if we went out on somewhat of an excursion this evening?"
She looked up at him as she toweled off her hair. "What do you mean, an 'excursion'?"
"Never ask; it spoils the surprise," he said, wickedly, and winked at her. "Simply join me here at seven o'clock this evening. And please dress in formal wear, I think that would be quite appropriate."
She narrowed her eyes, and then relented. "Fine, but I'm not in the mood for trickery tonight, Doctor."
"No trickery on my part, you have my word," he said, in an honest response.
She left the kitchen and headed towards the hall to go upstairs to her bedroom. With all that they had divulged that day in the woods, she wasn't quite sure that she had it left in her to withstand an evening with Hannibal Lecter. Nevertheless, however, she ran up the stairs to take a bath and to find something to wear to dinner.