They sat in silence for long minutes before the doctor politely excused himself to return the now-cold tea to the kitchen and bring her a fresh cup. Clarice hardly noticed, so lost in thought was she.

The china rattled slightly as he carried the refreshed tray back in and deposited it on the table. She saw the black line of his trousers pass in front of her, but her eyes refused to track properly. It was decision time, and her mind knew it. Everything else was secondary. All available resources were dedicated to a single question: Could she accept the risks, leave her life behind, and grab hold of an unknown future with Hannibal Lecter?

When he took hold of her hand, she nearly leapt from the couch. He merely wrapped her fingers around a new cup of tea, cradled her hand in his, and raised the cup to her lips.

"Drink, Clarice."

She obediently took a sip. Warmth flowed through her body. She shuddered as it broke the panic-borne paralysis the question had induced in her.

"Thank you, Doctor."

He released her hands and took the seat to her left.

No empty cushion between us this time, eh, Doctor, she thought.

"It is not my desire to unsettle you so, Clarice."

What? Did he … no, no, he meant her panic. The questions. She shook her head.

"So you mean you didn't come here to shake up my whole world and force me to face my fears? Why, Doctor, I'm disappointed in you."

"You're deflecting again, Clarice."

"I know. I can't … I can't seem to stop, Doctor." She refused to face him, looking for answers in her teacup instead. Her words were barely even audible to her own ears. "Will you help me?"

"The decision must be yours, Clarice," he chided. "What can I tell you, show you, that you do not already know? Shall I shower you with opera tickets and exotic vacations? Shall I cut down another of the fools who have wronged you?

"There is no one who knows me as you do, Clarice. You know the monster and the man. Only you know if there is enough left for you to love. What more is there to say?"

Her hand shook as she fiddled with the teacup until he lightly plucked it from her grasp and set it aside.

She needed more time. But she had wasted so much time already. What if this was her last chance to take what she wanted? Even if it wasn't, wouldn't she face the same dilemma next time, and the time after that, until not making a decision had become her decision? Wasn't that merely another kind of leash? A different way to cage him. To take away his freedom. And wasn't that the opposite of what she wanted?

It was only when she was with him that she found contentment. There was a rightness in this, no matter how strongly her mind protested when they were apart. All she had to do was say the words.

"I want … I want…."

"What, Clarice? Tell me, and don't lie." His voice held the promise of tenderness, not threat.

The words stuck in her throat before she choked down the terror, the sense of wrongness, holding them back.

"You. I want you." Blessed relief. Exhilaration. She felt euphoric.

His voice snapped out, harsh and cutting, "Behind bars?"

"No, dammit!" A new certainty filled her. What she wanted was right. It was right for him and it was right for her. That was all that mattered. She met his challenge with strength, awash in the sureness of her conviction.

"With me. I want you with me. You're the most infuriating man … but my life isn't empty and meaningless when you're with me. I feel … I feel like the most important thing in the world. I feel … cherished."

He smiled, then, and his hand reached out to brush her hair back from her face. The spark took her back to Memphis. Her breath caught.

"You are, Clarice. More than you know."

She couldn't look away from his lips. They had featured prominently in her recent dreams – and not too infrequently in her dreams before that, if she were to be honest. His voice alone … she warned her thoughts not to stray too far down that path, but her mind had other ideas. What reason did she have to hide now?

She no longer needed to shy away from what she wanted. It was here, in front of her, and she could take it. What difference did it make if he could see her desire in her eyes? Her skin heated. Her lips parted. Her eyes darted to his for just a moment – in a bid for permission or a warning of trespass, she wasn't sure.

"Ah, Clarice, Clarice … you'll make me blush with such ideas."

The low rumble of his voice so near was her undoing. She speedily closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his. She nipped and soothed in turn and gloried in the moment when her questing tongue tip persuaded his lips to part for her. It wasn't enough, though, not nearly enough.

Before she could overthink it, she turned and rose onto one knee, thanking the doctor's foresight in choosing a dress with such helpful slits cut up both sides, and swung her other leg across to straddle his lap. When his hands grasped her ribs, she worried she might have moved too fast, that he would push her away – but he only stroked her sides down to her hips and pulled her closer, settling her weight on him.

She hummed approval and tightened her legs around his, bringing her hands to his chest and leaning in for another searing kiss. Christ, why had she waited years to do this? Could she make up for the lost time now by never leaving his arms again? That definitely seemed doable. Her kisses grew shorter and more frantic; her hands crept up to cradle his jaw.

And still it wasn't enough.

She pulled insistently at him, urging him to lower her back to the cushions. He was either ignoring her signals or oblivious, and she had never known him to be oblivious to anything.

Her lips brushed against his ear as he lavished kisses on her neck. "Work with me here, Doctor."

He paused. His breath puffed against her skin as he spoke. "I think you'll find I am, Clarice."

She tugged on his lapel. "I want to feel your weight on me."

"You're certain this is what you want, Clarice? It's not simply an … experiment?"

She drew back to study his face. His lips were swollen from her attention, but otherwise he appeared impassive. She stared until finally something flashed in his eyes. Her newfound confidence allowed her to deliver her answer with the seriousness it deserved rather than shrouding the truth in flippancy.

"If it's an experiment, Doctor, it's one I plan to repeat every day for the rest of my life."

The sparks in his eyes turned molten as she watched. His hands at her waist, he lifted her to her feet and stood up swiftly.

"Upstairs. A couch may be suitable for future experiments, Clarice, but on this night nothing less than a bed will suffice."

She gaped at him.

"You're serious?"

"As I said. You may say 'no' if you wish, Clarice, as is always your right" – he raised an eyebrow and she nodded her comprehension – "but this will happen upstairs or not at all."

She twisted around him, stepping backward toward the staircase.

"Those stairs there?"

He matched her steps with slow precision.

"Mm-hmm."

She crossed the threshold from the living room to the hallway, bare feet landing lightly on the wood. Arm outstretched, she grasped the banister.

"Right up these stairs," she confirmed.

And still he kept to his maddeningly slow pace.

"Mm-hmm."

She smirked at him.

"Race ya." She sprinted for the bedroom.