A few days later Hannibal sat at his harpsichord playing a hymn written by Bach, enjoying the shifting of major and minor chords, the fullness, the elegance in them, when Clarice finally emerged from her room.

She had not come out of her room for days. He respectfully left her to her own devices. He would sometimes leave the apartment and wonder if she would run away. She had the freedom to. Yet she was always home when he returned. He even left her gun on top of the cabinet in the dining room. It stayed here untouched. Often he would leave food by her door, and when he returned, only an empty plate would remain.

Now she stood in front of him wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. Her hair was clean but not brushed. Her eyes were clear, but so very sad.

"Good evening, Clarice." The harpsichord continued to be plucked fervently.

She continued standing in the middle of the room. Hannibal could not pinpoint the expression on her face. Anger passed there, then something else. Indecision perhaps.

"Stop. Please." Her voice was stern and exasperated.

Hannibal's hands left the keys. He immediately stood up and waited for her expectantly. But she said nothing for a bit too long.

"You seem to be well. Is the haziness gone?"

"I've been clear-headed for a few days now."

"Why only now have you come out from your room?"

"Because I wasn't sure if I should kill you, call the FBI or just do nothing."

"And what conclusion did you come up with?"

She sighed deeply. He saw a hint of sadness in the corner of her eyes.

"You kidnapped me. I went there that night to arrest you, to take you back to the prison you belong in. But I got kidnapped instead." Her voice started to waver. "But I can't go back. Everyone will think I ran away with you, that we're lovers. I had already basically lost my job that day, thanks to Krendler. And you took care of that, too, didn't you? Everything was taken away from me."

"Yes, Clarice, but it was not I that took it away. It was the men that you worked for that plotted your demise from the beginning. You know that all I ever did was try to bring success to you. And I'm afraid all I did was bring resentment onto you. For that I apologize. Sincerely, Clarice. You also know that I haven't kept you here against your will for the last few days."

Her mind was busy behind her eyes but the dark circles beneath betrayed her fatigue. It was as if she had not slept at all while shut up in that room.

"If there is something I can do for you, name it." He said, taking a step around the harpsichord to be closer to her. He was aching to please her, to prove to her that she could trust him.

"Why did you save me back at the farm?"

Hannibal, without missing a beat, said, "Because you saved me."

"I was there to arrest you."

"Clarice, I think we both know that isn't true."

"Why do you think I would have risked my job to help you escape?"

"Because I am like no one you've ever known."

"Why did you come back for me? Why risk getting caught just to deliver me a gift for my birthday?"

"Because no one else on this god forsaken planet understands you, Clarice."

"And you do? You think you understand me?"

"Did the lambs ever stop screaming, Clarice?"

She said nothing. And in that moment Hannibal was led to believe that they had stopped. The conflict within her was not the fact of her being here; it was being here and knowing that she felt safe, at home, for the first time since her father died. Therein was the conflict. She believed those feelings to be wrong.

"I think we both need each other. Let me be your family, Clarice. I will be all you'll ever need."

She cackled sarcastically, Hannibal took pleasure in the hint of life still left in her, was glad to draw it out.

"This coming from a homicidal cannibal. "

"People are never one thing, Clarice. You of all people should know that." He paused, took another step towards her.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"Argentina. We will start a new life. No one will know who we were or what we've done."

Her eyes began to tear up, became red around the whites of her eyes.

"It's never going to change is it? We'll go to Argentina, things will be fine for a while and then what happens when people realize their friends are going missing? Am I always going to have to wonder who I'm eating for dinner, Hannibal?"

The fact that his given name had come from her lips made his heart skip a beat.

"No, no you don't understand. I don't need those things anymore." I have you, the words almost escaped his mouth, but kept he managed to keep himself from doing so.

"How can I ever trust you? How do I know you won't murder me tomorrow and have me for dinner?"

He grimaced slightly at the accusation but would not deny it was fair.

"Have I ever hurt you, Clarice? Have I ever lied to you?"

"No, but you drugged me for days and tried to convince me I'm someone else. Who is Mischa?"

Answering this question would open a can of worms but she would never trust him otherwise.

"She was my sister. She was killed when I was very young. She was eaten by a gang of starving soldiers."

Clarice said nothing.

"Is that what you wanted to hear? I figured if they could survive off human meat, so could I. I often wondered how Mischa had tasted to those lowly scum. At least I would have savored her. I would have honored her. The world is a cruel place, Clarice. I saw something in you that reminded me of her. You were so eager, but so innocent. I wanted to help you in a way I could never help her. But you were so much stronger than I had ever imagined."

Clarice studied him. He was suddenly naked in front of her, embarrassed. He had never felt ashamed in such a way. So bare, as if he was turned inside out. Was this what he had made so many others feel like with his pointed gaze?

"Thank you." She said and turned on her heels and walked out of the room.

Hannibal sat back at his harpsichord and started playing where he left off. His mind was racing. He was missing notes, forgetting entire cadences. He was flustered and that was not something he was used to experiencing. Somehow this woman had ended the conversation, had won the argument, if that was what it was. He never lost an argument. What was happening?

He stood up from the bench and walked through the dining room with purpose. He found himself in front of the door to her room, his hand beating on the wood.

She opened the door, she was already wearing a black nightgown, the bedspread was turned down. She was alarmed.

"What is it?" She asked. He must have looked terrifying to her. She stepped away from the door when his hand thrust it open and then slammed it shut behind him as he entered.

Her eyes opened wide, but she held in her fear. She did not plead or beg for her life. Hannibal admired that.

He grabbed her arm with one hand and grabbed the back of her head with the other, pulling her into his arms, bringing his lips to hers. His hands explored her, his lips traveled from her lips to her collarbone, her arms pulled him closer to her. She was inviting him. He could not resist the invitation.

He lifted her up and threw her onto the bed, a bit more forcefully than he meant to. He pulled his shirt open in one movement, breaking every button in the process. He met her body on the bed, her hands rising to meet him. He pulled down the strap of her nightgown, kissed her soft shoulder. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and cut the gown down the middle and pulled the pieces off her. She was naked underneath him. He could barely contain himself. There was a room in his mind where he often imagined what this moment would be like, but it was nowhere near as vivid and beautiful as the actual moment. Her soft pale skin, the way her lips felt when they touched his neck. He was scared how easily she could control him if she wanted to in this moment.

Finally pulling off his pants, his breath heavy. His teeth lightly nipped her nipples and then slowly made their way down. He breathed in her wetness. Her scent was one he would never forget and he could hardly wait to taste it for himself.

He kissed her thighs, she sighed, her breath caught. His lips grew closer and closer. He smiled slyly as his gaze met hers. He licked his lips before his tongue found its way into her. She gasped. He sucked harder. He had to contain himself from biting into her flesh. He wanted her so badly. She arched her back and her hips moved with his lips.

She was nearing her climax and he was hard and having trouble controlling himself. When finally her moan burst through her mouth and her body tensed under him, he quickly pinned her arms above her head and thrust himself into her. She screamed louder, and heard himself grunt trying not to spill himself so soon. He went slowly, pulling himself out and pushing back in. His mouth sucking her breasts. He wanted all of her, he wanted to kiss her everywhere, lick her everywhere. Make her feel ecstasy.

He let go of her arms and Clarice ran her fingers down his back hard enough to make him bleed. When she drew her hand to touch his face she noticed the blood and without thinking she licked the blood off her fingers. This drove Hannibal over the edge. His body convulsed so hard he thought he might die. The warmth rushed inside of her and she kissed him hard. He tasted his own blood in her mouth and he convulsed again.

When the tide subsided, his head rested against her breast and her hand ran through his hair.

"When do we leave for Argentina?" The vibration of her voice in her chest buzzing in his ear.

"Tomorrow."

"Did I ever have a choice?"

"When it comes you and me, Clarice, I don't believe either of us have ever had a choice."