3

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Clarice stirred stiffly against the fabric of her chair, the pain from her injuries and the cramped position burning. A soft moan and she rubbed her hands across her eyes, trying to uncoil her legs from beneath her without antagonising the aching bullet wounds.

'What time is it?' she muttered, she must have missed her meds and without them the reality of her damaged body hit home.

'It's time to leave, Clarice.'

His voice came from the darkness. Only one candle remained burning, flickering desperately in a bid to cling onto life. Clarice raised her eyes to find him standing over her, a glass and her pills in his hand. She felt no surprise.

'Take these, they'll help with the pain,' he said even as she reached out for them. 'It's a shame you didn't sleep in the bed Clarice, it would have eased your pain better than an armchair.'

'How did you get in?' she asked.

'Oh Clarice, you always were so 'doctrinaire' in your need for such details, don't spoil the mystery now,' he teased.

'How many did you kill?' she swallowed the first tablet and heard his breath stop momentarily before he replied.

'Numbers mean little Clarice, I don't usually count.'

She swallowed the second and looked up at him. 'How many?'

'Six,' he said shortly.

Clarice handed the glass back to him and he placed it on the nearby table. Smoothly he glided into a crouch by her side and in a gesture which was unusual for Lecter, looked up into her face. It was the first time she had seen him clearly since his vanishing in the summer and although it was dark she recognised the light of his eyes. It seemed to her at that moment the most familiar and acceptable thing in the room; he always brought home to her the extent of her loneliness simply by revealing the strength of their connection in each brief encounter. Carefully his hand closed over hers.

'I daresay Clarice,' he said playfully, 'that even your less than able colleagues might manage to notice that half their department is missing at some point in the next hour. It would be best if we were to get going while we can. I assume you have no reservations about joining me?'

'No.'

She caught the light on his teeth as he smiled, the flicker of his tongue on his lips.

'Good,' he said softly. And rising he gently held her by the arms, 'Allow me to help you,' he said, 'We don't want you doing even more damage to yourself than you already have.' She pulled herself 

slowly upwards until she was level with him, steadied by his hands, and he held her there for a moment with his gaze, searching her. Starling refused to turn away from his scrutiny; impassively she waited until he had had enough.

Let him see.

'Good,' he said again, satisfied. 'Your things are packed, such that you will need. I took the liberty of leaving your gun where it is in the closet. I hope that won't be a problem?'

'I won't be needing it.'

'Indeed,' he agreed. Lecter took a sharp breath and let go of her arms, glancing round the room quickly he turned back to her with a bright and somewhat menacing smile, 'Okie dokie,' he said lightly, 'Let's make a start.'

-- --

The journey was long and Clarice felt as though she had not slept in peace for months. Sedated by her painkiller she allowed her eyes to close and the sound of the road beneath their wheels to lull her into unconsciousness once again.

As she slept he watched her, alternating her peaceful face with the dark road ahead of them. Her perfume filled the car and he felt himself relax into the drive. He prided himself on reading the motives and actions of others, part of the reason he took to Clarice was her initial unpredictability, the vulnerability she had bravely showed to him in Memphis years ago. She interested him, a challenge to his intellect and heart in ways other people failed to be. Now finally his little Starling had grown up, disillusioned with the world she lived in; she woke only when he offered the alternative and she took it easily.

He woke her then and trembling and obedient she ate that burning heart out of his hand...

It was no coincidence that her coma had lifted that night. He had hoped it would be so, made a tentative prediction to its happening and was satisfied with the outcome. It was no true surprise and it pleased him.

Lecter's lips curled into a soft and bittersweet smile; there were other surprises. Allowing his eyes to drift back to her, he felt the accompanying flutter in his guts and hesitating only for a moment, welcomed the emotion. Yes, she could still surprise him, even now.

-- --

Warm breath on her cheek, a light touch in her hair.

'Welcome back, Clarice, we've arrived.'

She struggled to open her eyes in the gloom of the car and found him beside her, waking her gently.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, but I can hardly leave you sleeping in the vehicle,' he said. In a dream she watched as he moved from the driver's seat and circled to open her door, reaching for him she eased herself out with a whimper of pain. Perhaps Crawford and her doctor had been right; it was 

too soon to leave hospital. Gathering herself and looking up Clarice saw something pass over Lecter's face, concern? Surely not, even if he felt it he would not be the type to allow it to be displayed. He took her arm and guided her towards the house while she forced herself to take in her surroundings.

They had obviously travelled for many miles and dawn threatened to break on the horizon revealing a wide expanse of lush countryside for acres around. The road they had followed was no more than a dirt track in woodlands, the path before them twisting from it to the porch of an isolated building.

Alone in the woods with Hannibal Lecter, sure this is a good idea?

The house itself was elegant; she expected no less, its high windows gazing out across the trees and revealing nothing of their dark interior. Slowly they made their way up the path, Lecter placing one hand gently on the small of her back while the other supported her arm. The crunch of the ground beneath their feet was supplemented with the waking calls of birds in branches and in the distance she thought she could hear water. He withdrew a key and opened the door, guiding her inside.

After depositing her on a comfortable couch he disappeared into the depths of the house and silence descended. Up until this moment she had moved trance like at his command, convinced of the inevitability of her coming here; now the surrealism of her situation dawned on her.

Three weeks ago she had been shot in the line of duty and almost died from the blood loss. Twenty four hours ago she lay unconscious in a hospital bed. Now she waiting in darkness in an unfamiliar setting for a man who had tortured and killed dozens to reappear and tell her what lay ahead. A battery of images flitted through her mind. The nurse Lecter had attacked in Baltimore, Pazzi dangling by his neck from a window with his bowels splattered on the stone beneath, the crippled Mason Verger, his face hideously disfigured from Lecter's attack.

Why don't you try peeling off your face, Mason?

And Mason had complied, eager to please his guest. All of this he was capable of and more and yet she waited, the barest hint of adrenaline in her anticipation of him and no more.

I've obviously completely lost it.

A soft light cast over the room as Lecter returned and for the first time she saw her surroundings. Decorated to his usual high standards in rich velvets and drapes, red and gold and dark burgundy. She noted the piano in the corner of the room, its black surface gleaming, musical script propped neatly on the lectern. He had been here long enough to make his mark but there was still some evidence of the previous owner, trophies and fishing tackle displayed in glass cases. This must have been someone's vacation home.

Coming behind her Lecter bent and removed her scarf with delicate movements, untwirling it from around her neck and then moving her gently to slip her jacket from her arms. She shivered involuntarily when he made contact with her skin and she knew he saw it. Hanging the garments on a hook behind the door and then moving to the fireplace, he swiftly ignited the logs there until it was not long before the room filled with the crackle of flame. Clarice observed these curiously domestic actions from her seat as he dipped out of the room and returned with coffee. At last, his tasks 

complete, he joined her by the fire and handed her a steaming cup. Starling took her coffee black, black and strong to keep her going through the waking hours of her job. When she tasted this brew it was sweet and creamy, like the drinks she made herself before bedtime in the privacy of her home.

He knows everything.

Her fingers slipped around the china and she allowed the heat to penetrate them, distracting her from the ache in her side and the vagaries of her thoughts.

'You're paying the price for your determination to leave, Clarice,' he said, 'I hope you will rest now and allow those wounds to heal properly.'

She didn't anticipate leaving any time soon.

Lecter took a sip of his own drink and then leant over the back of the couch to place the cup to one side.

'Where are we?' she asked.

'Once again you demand details Clarice,' he sighed, his fingers supporting one temple as he settled into the seat. She watched as he stretched in languorous movements the muscles stiff from driving.

'I'm curious, this isn't feeling very real at the moment.'

He smiled, 'No I suppose it is a bit of a shock to find yourself here, but then again, you don't appear too surprised.'

No, I kind of wish I was though, this is all a bit too easy.

'No, I suppose I'm not,' she conceded and sipped again at the drink. It occurred to her too late that he might have slipped something into it, and then she brushed away the suspicion, it was not his style to be so underhand with her. If he wanted to drug her he would have done it with a syringe.

'This house used to belong to an old acquaintance of mine, a patient if you must know.'

'Is he dead?' she asked.

Lecter paused just long enough for her to find it disconcerting. 'What do you think Clarice?' She looked away from him and into the fire; there was something disturbing about his expression which went beyond the mere knowledge he had killed another of his clients.

'Who was he?'

'Just some business I didn't get the chance to take care of before my incarceration. A most unpleasant but thankfully rich man,' Lecter said, 'I don't feel you need more detail than that, Agent Starling.'

His use of her official title reminded her that she was not here on business. It was not her job now to investigate whatever he might have done to the deed holder of this property.



'Been here long?' she asked, her tone sounded alarmingly to her like that she used to chat up potential boyfriends.

Why don't you just ask if he comes here often for God's sake?

He caught the tone and she cringed inwardly. 'A while,' he conceded kindly choosing not to refer to her stumble.

'Three weeks?' she asked.

'Very sharp Clarice.' She redeemed herself in his eyes with that and in reward he confirmed that he had been indeed waiting for and planning this moment.

'Saw me on the news?'

'Yes.'

At once this information made Clarice feel both flattered and shamed. Flattered he took such an interest, ashamed he should have witnessed her clumsy fall from grace. She dropped her eyes to the contents of her cup and chewed at her lip.

'The circumstances of your fall do not concern me, Clarice, 'he read her thoughts, 'Merely that you fell.'

She nodded slightly. 2-1 to Lecter in this game of wits and confessions.

He leaned forward and removed the empty cup from her hands placing it by his own. Her fingers tingled as his closed over hers in a gesture of unusual reassurance.

'We have plenty of opportunity to discuss all this later, Clarice,' he said quietly, 'But one thing at a time. You have had quite the day and you should sleep... so should I,' he added softly.

She looked up at him quickly in confusion and he smiled.

'Yes I do sleep Clarice, and eat and drink and perform every other very human action,' he teased.

'An officer once asked me once if you were 'some sort of vampire,'' Clarice said, surprised to find amusement in her voice.

He chuckled, a sound free from his usual sarcasm and rich in tone. 'I can assure you I am not. Did he feel that you alone would have privy to such a revelation if I were?'

In his close proximity she allowed herself to scrutinise his features, the lines around his eyes revealed the potential both for severity and for laughter and when the smile travelled upward from his lips those eyes sparkled. But he did look tired. She's never seen him look tired before. He would feign weariness if bored with a topic, or sleep if aiming to trick a prison psychologist into going away without the information he sought, but she'd never seen him tired. She thought back over the last two days, he'd been in her hospital room, murdered her guard, returned to her house and apparently spring cleaned it and then driven her through the night to this refuge. Clarice had been asleep for a large portion of that time, he she supposed had not.



'Dr Hannibal Lecter is human,' she said thoughtfully, considering the idea.

'Some of him is,' and he winked.

Laughter escaped briefly from her before she winced and clutched at her side. His face changed and he moved to help her up. 'Bed,' he said. 'Your room is opposite to mine, call if you need anything.'

She remembered his uncanny sensory abilities and knew that even through the heavy doors he would hear her. After mustering the stairs he introduced her to her chambers.

'I trust you will find everything you need,' he said turning down the covers for her while she perched on the side of the bed. 'Your bathroom is through that door, I took the liberty of getting you a few things. Three weeks of roughly administered bed bathes will no doubt have left you longing for something more luxurious.'

He stopped, standing before her and allowed one hand to cup her face. Unconsciously she closed her eyes as his thumb grazed over her cheekbone and he bent, placing a single platonic kiss upon her forehead.

'Sleep well,' he said. 'Try not to dream.'

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