When Clarice awoke, she found herself alone.
The dull pain in her head and the burning sensation behind her eyes told her that she had not been asleep long. It was still dark outside.
Hauling herself up from the sofa, she staggered through the hallway and into the kitchen directly behind the room she had just been in.
There was a persistent sting to her palms, but the still-white bandages confirmed a well-executed clean up job on Doctor Lecter's part.
Her throat feeling like sandpaper, Clarice moved to the sink to pour herself a glass of water when something caught her eye through the window, which overlooked the land to the back of the farm.
A light in the barn, which sat twenty or so metres away from the house.
Clarice frowned, suddenly aware of the Doctor's distinct lack of presence.
Her next move was to the upper level of the house, where she checked in on her daughter, still sound asleep.
Then, finding a flashlight under the sink, she stepped out onto the back porch of the house, closing the door carefully behind her.
The barn felt further away than it had looked and the bulb in the flashlight was poor, hence it took Clarice a little longer than anticipated to navigate her way across the uneven land, grass already slick with the first of the morning dew.
When she finally reached the barn door she hesitated, preparing herself for whatever she might find on the other side.
"Good morning, Clarice," – his voice from the other side of the door. His ability to sense her presence unnerved her.
Cautiously, she pushed the door open.
Hannibal Lecter stood with his hands behind his back in the middle of the barn, which was largely empty, save for the odd tool and a few large tractor tyres stacked against the back wall.
He smiled pleasantly.
Behind him, bound to a tired-looking office chair, was the owner of the property.
Frank Miller's eyes widened when he saw her and muffled noise came from his mouth, taped firmly shut with an excess amount of duct tape.
"Doctor Lecter…" she began.
"Do come in, Clarice. I was just telling our host here that I had received some guests," he said.
Clarice glanced at the man.
Since they had moved to the town six months prior, she had never found him to be particularly pleasant.
She turned to look at the Doctor again.
"Don't do this."
"Do what, Clarice?"
"Don't kill him," she said, softly.
More muffled cries from behind them.
Hannibal locked eyes with her for a moment before he spoke again.
"I had wondered when this version of you might return, Agent Starling."
"Come back inside," she urged.
He turned to look at Frank Miller, amused. "Oh dear, it seems I've been a naughty boy."
The old man struggled, knocking the chair forward several paces.
Hannibal patted his shoulder.
"Sit tight now, won't you?" he purred, moving back towards the barn door.
oOoOoOo
"I must say, Clarice," he began, when they were standing in the kitchen of the farmhouse. "I expected you to sleep far longer, after I left your side."
She shifted uncomfortably and felt her cheeks burn, the memories of what had happened several hours earlier bubbling to the surface.
"There is no need to be embarrassed," he told her, coming to stand in front of her and raising a hand to brush a stray piece of hair from her eyes.
Something in the back of Clarice's mind told her that she should be tilting her head back, out of his reach. In reality, she found herself leaning into this touch.
He smiled gently.
"Doctor Lecter, Mr Miller…" she began.
"You're terribly worried with him, aren't you Clarice?" he observed. "Tell me, why is that? My dealings with him should not concern you."
"I just thought…"
"What did you think, Clarice?"
"I thought… I hoped… that you might've…" she began, stumbling over the words.
"Might have what?" he probed, refusing to make it easy for her.
"Changed. That you might've changed, Doctor," Clarice spat out, impatiently.
Turning and opening one of the drawers, Hannibal Lecter brought out a meat fork and a large carving knife, laying them side by side on the counter.
"That's very interesting indeed, Clarice. Especially if we consider your initial reaction, which was to conclude that I had in fact killed Mr Miller and fed him to our daughter," he said. "This is the one of the things I find most appealing about you, you know? One of my favourite past times is my endeavour to predict where your head will go next. Conversely, and contrary to what the kingpins at the Bureau would have you believe, I am rather simplistic in nature. I do only what is necessary for my survival. In this case, it was imperative for me to find accommodation off the beaten track, if you like – where I was sure that I would not be disturbed. Our friend's reputation around town only served to make him more of an ideal candidate, for me."
"Why'd'you come here, Doctor? Really?" she asked, though she wasn't sure whether she was trying to stall him or whether she genuinely wanted to know. "Coming back to the States was a huge risk. Why'd'you take it? Please, tell me the truth."
He turned to face her once more, his tone far more sobered now.
"Very well."
With that, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and gestured for her to sit.
She did, watching as he busied himself with cleaning and shining the items he had taken from the kitchen drawer.
"You recall, I am sure, most of the events that took place at Paul Krendler's house on 4th July?" he asked.
"Yes I do."
"After we made love–"
"–Is that what we're callin' it now?" she snorted.
Pausing what he was doing, the Doctor turned to regard her.
"You may label it as you see fit. I shall do the same," he told her, simply. "As I was saying, post-coitally, I asked you a question, which you answered."
Clarice swallowed hard. "I remember."
"And do you remember your answer?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"That question, Clarice, was an invitation to run with me," he told her.
"I know."
"Do you ever think about that question, Agent Starling? About the answer you gave?" he enquired.
Clarice hesitated. She did – at least once a day, perhaps more.
"Did you… did you come back here to ask me that question again?"
"That depends. After all, do they not say that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again, expecting a different outcome?" he countered, moving to stand closer to her again and leaning down towards her, his lips just inches from hers. "Would your answer be different, this time?"
"I don't know," Clarice admitted.
"Ah. But this is progress, Clarice. Now, I realise that I made a promise to you last night. You kept your end of the bargain, and as I pride myself on being a man of my word, should you so wish, I will keep mine and you will never hear from me again," he told her. "However, should you wish to reconsider your position, I am confident that our lifestyle would leave you feeling content, and can attest to the fact that neither you, nor our daughter, would ever want for anything."
"Why, Doctor?" she asked, simply.
"Why what, Clarice?"
"Why me? All those exotic places you've travelled to… all those women you musta met. And you come back here for me?" she pointed out. "Why?"
He sighed. "I had hoped by now, Clarice, that you might understand – as far as I am concerned, there is only you. There has only ever been, since that first day back in Baltimore. In addition, although it was not something I had planned for, I was not unhappy to discover that we had created another life together. I have never been one to shy away from my responsibilities and I would consider fatherhood one of the greatest."
A pause, and then Clarice's eyes flickered in the direction of the barn.
"What about him?" she asked, unsure of what else to say.
"You need not worry yourself with such affairs."
"You do realise he saw me?" she pointed out. "I'm FBI, Doctor Lecter. I'm FBI and I did nothin'. You see the problem, I assume?"
"Naturally. And therefore, if you choose to remain here, I will need to do what is necessary to ensure your continued safety and the preservation of what is left of your career," he told her, putting emphasis on the final word. "But understand that in this event, I will never be able to return here again, Clarice."
Was that what she wanted? For him to walk out of her life and leave her in peace? Somehow, after she knew it wasn't.
She nodded, surprised as her own breath hitched in her throat and another tear escaped from the corner of her eye.
Closing the gap between them, Hannibal Lecter kissed it away, before moving to her mouth.
This time when she felt his lips against her own, she responded, her eyelids fluttering closed as she allowed the warmth of the kiss to engulf her and admired the unanticipated gentleness of his mouth on hers.
All too soon, he stood up straight again, glancing into the hallway behind her.
"I do believe the result of our last union in the kitchen is awake," he told her, catching her hand in his and kissing it. "I will remain here today, and I would like you to go home and take a view on your next steps, Clarice. I will depart tonight, after the sun has set. Until then, I shall remain hopeful that you will come to a decision and return to me."
"And if I don't?" Clarice asked, softly.
He smiled, almost sadly.
"Then your decision, though not what I would hope for, will still be clear to me."
