La Vita Nuova
Finale
Hannibal was deeply embroiled in a discussion with the fresh produce vendor they were shopping at. It almost looked argumentative but the old woman seemed to enjoy the exchange as much as was Hannibal. It was happening in rapid Italian but Clarice was able to follow the body languegae and expression well enough and found it very amusing. And strangly endearing seeing Hannibal arguing with an old woman over what appeared to be the quality of the potatoes. Eventually the two of seemed to have reached an aggrement and the old woman was packaging Hannibal's purchase for him. She turned to Clarice and addressed conspiratorily and addressed her in heavily accented English
"Your young man is extremely particular"
Clarice almost guwaffed at Dr Lecter being referred to as a young man, to say nothing of the look on his face
"Yes I'm afraid he is" she answered in an equal conspiratorial voice "he can be very high maintenance. But he's definitely worth it".
Clarice asidioucly avoided looking at Hannibal as the old woman gave an appreciative grunt and handed him back his change.
Hannibal took old of her arm above her elbow as he guided her out of the little shop, leaving the msug little vendor smirking after them.
"I do belive you'll have to pay for that, my dear" he rasped in her ear in his best dungeon tones and the shiver running through her wasn't lost on him.
"Oh I do hope so" she answered him with a smirk and he lifted an eyebrow, smiling at her.
"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep, my dear"
Clarice opened her mouth to give him a smart answer but was slininced but a searing kiss.
The playfull athrmosphere stayed between them as they made their way back to the flat. Hannibal let them straight to the kitchen and strated the preparations for their meal. Hannibal was thrilled to have Clarice help him. It has become a little ritual between him and he was delighted to be able to teach her. He realised that she would never harbour the same affection and obsession for food and cooking he does, but was more than happy to just have her present in the kitchen with him. After that first hesitant time she helped him, he has made it a mission of his to make the cooking pleasurable for her and to slowly build her confidence. She was much more relaxed in the kitchen now.
"So I've been thinking of writing to Mr Kyle Rupert." Clarice says as she casually adds the small potato she just peeled to the others. She keeps her eyes on the next potato but can feel his eyes burning into her. She knows that she shouldn't look at him just then, or she won't be able to hold-back the laugh threatening to spill out.
"And what possible reason would you have to do that pray?" she can hear the thinly veiled contempt dripping from his voice.
"Well, I think it only good manners to thank him" she says, adding the newly peeled potato to the rest and picking-up the next one. Only then does she look at him.
"If not for his book, I would not be standing here now"
She can see his face softens as the tenderness her regards her with bleed into another emotion she never expected to see in him. She smiles and takes the bowl of peeled potatoes over to the pot waiting for on the stove.
"I mean, it was rather good" she says and completely fails to keep the smile out of her voice or off her face.
"Carefull Clarice" he says in a deep dungeon tone that sends a shiver down her spine, but not of fear. "I can tolerate a lot but I won't brook insults to Dante". He too is failing in keeping the smile out of his voice. She is teasing him, and he is loving it.
"Maybe I should pay him a personal visit? Give my review in person" he says as he stalks towards her. Clarice however has quickly manoeuvred the kitchen work-table between them.
"Oh you will do no such thing" she tells him sternly "but maybe I should suggest that he translate La Vita Nuova. He did afteall…"
She never finished her sentence as he dashed around the table with astounding speed and agility, and found her in his arms pressed to her chest.
"Now you will do no such thing" he growls at her and chuckles and the sharp inhalation she takes.
"No?" she asks rather breathlessly
"No, and in fact, such impudence as you just displayed warrants a stern reprimand eh?"
"Does it now" their lips were mere inches from each other and Clarice could feel every word traveling from his body into hers, so tightly was he holding her.
"Oh yes. I do believe so. Do you not agree?" this last was said as he runs his nose up hers
She breaths deeply. His cologne and the food they were cooking clings to him, but underneath she can detect his own personal scent and it makes her heart race.
"Yes" she answers and closes her lips over his.
She gives a small yelp when she is hoisted into his arms, but his lips steal the sound from her. When he passes her room on the way to his, she knows that the next chapter of their story is now to begin and she thrills to it.
She is ready.
Three years later…
Jack Crawford slowly walked up his driveway to retrieve his mail. His forced retirement has not been conducive to his good health. He receives very few letters these days and certainly nothing of importance. Most days he can convince himself that he acted for the best. That surely Dolarhyde and Gumb would have murdered many more had he not sacrificed two good agents to a monster. Surely the balance was in his favour.
There is a thick yellow envelope in the mail. It is postmarked LA and there is nothing sinister about it, yet a deep sense of foreboding has his chest clenching painfully. He quickly scans both sides of the street before hurrying back into his house. He locks and bolts his door before tearing open the envelope.
Inside, the envelope has two objects. The first is polaroid photo of Clarice. She is standing in front of a body of water looking over her shoulder. She is smiling and laughing like he has never seen her smile or laugh before. She is looking radiantly happy. She is extending her hand behind her as if beckoning the person holding the camera to take it. She is wearing the biggest diamond ring he has ever seen.
The second object is a charcoal drawing on very high-quality paper of a bird sitting in the palm of a hand. The fingers are turned up but relaxed, protective. The bird is standing tall, looking over it's shoulder at the person holding it. It seems strong, and free. It is a starling.
Crawford thinks he might dry heave into his waste paper basket but steadies himself with a few deep breaths. He already knows that it would be futile to check for finger-prints or to try and trace the package. He won't even bother to send it through to the FBI. No, this was for his own personal torment.
Most days he can convince himself that he acted in the right, today is not one of those days.