Hello all, another installment has arrived, basically because I couldn't keep this slow burn slow. So strap yourselves in, grab your popcorn and brace yourselves because this is the most action I've ever written.
Clarice was clever, no doubt about it. The woman was an FBI agent-in-training for Heaven's sakes, they didn't take idiots. She had graduated from UVA with Honors, and was sharp enough to match wits with him, something rare - not to send himself flowers - but very welcome.
But she still forgot that the case file had a paperclip in it.
Patiently, he had worked through every eventuality and possibility, planning his escape meticulously. He deliberately did not think of Clarice for weeks, afraid that he would become rash where she was concerned, and let emotion taint his cold logic. Hannibal knew this facility inside and out, and knew his own plan as well as he knew the creases and dents in his own hands.
The time had come for him to fly to his little Starling.
It was a howling night, Clarice reflected, watching the branches black against the navy-blue of the sky. Twigs were scratching at windows and walls, as if asking, or rather demanding, to be let in. She shuddered and tugged the worn blanket tighter around herself. Ardelia was staying with her boyfriend, a cute, sweet but a little dull guy who was utterly entranced by her. It was kind of endearing, Clarice admitted, if a little puppy-ish.
Thoughts of Dr Lecter had not bothered her for quite some time now, only as intrusive passing notions. Whenever she passed a copy of Dante's Inferno in the library, whenever she saw a waiter pouring expensive wine for a couple through the fogged window of a fancy restaurant. At the thought of herself and Dr Lecter as a couple, Clarice blushed, slightly irritated that her mind had inevitably fallen into that rabbit hole. But her heart quickened nonetheless.
Determinedly, Clarice shook her head, imagining her thoughts falling out of her ears and slithering away into the gutters under their building.
It was too Gothic a night not to enjoy the comforting warmth of the room, alone, and watch the wild night howl outside.
What a night for it.
Darker than evil and black as pitch. Beware the fearsome killer, the dreaded cannibal, the sadistic Doctor, Hannibal Lecter.
Chuckling a little to himself, Hannibal shook his head. He always did have a flair for the dramatic, but he enjoyed himself nonetheless. He wondered if Clarice would tolerate such behaviour, and smiled a little when he realised that she had continued to visit him and pay him courtesy even after his dramatic and ruthless character assassination. She was more than strong enough to handle him, he was sure.
With that thought fortifying him, Hannibal stepped calmly over the mangled hand of Doctor Frederick Chilton, let himself out, and shut the door quietly and politely behind him.
I'm too old for it, but I'd love some hot chocolate, thought Clarice, wryly tugging the blanket around her like a cape. Like those superheroes in the comics her Daddy brought home for her from the drugstore. Super strength, morals made of steel, goodness incarnate, that was what Clarice was raised on, the same way other kids were raised on good food and manners. She had those things too, but they paled in comparison with those dog-eared and yellowed pages of fights and righteousness, good triumphing over evil, and justice.
Making her way to the little kitchen at the end of the hall, the ends of the patchwork blanket dragging over the cheap carpet, Clarice hummed tunelessly, knowing she had the floor essentially to herself. It was a relief sometimes, solitude.
She pushed into the kitchen and quickly located the mugs and hot chocolate powder, knowing exactly how to turn the cheap dust into heaven. As she prepared her drink, a shadow flickered across the linoleum floor, dissapearing into the lines between each panel.
Clarice didn't notice. She was too busy singing quietly and mixing the milk, sugar and powder into a paste while the kettle whistled in harmony with her. The spoon clinked against the china of the Wonder Woman mug, sounding much louder in the tranquility.
Another shadow danced across the floor, this time right behind Clarice's sock-clad feet. It almost touched her, but moved swiftly away, afraid of being caught.
As she poured the hot water over the paste, Clarice began to sing a little louder, enjoying the fact that she could. The wonderful-smelling steam curled over the cup, and Clarice mixed her drink, adding a little extre milk to cool it. Leisurely, she began to clean up her path, wiping downt the worksurface.
Grabbing the handle of the mug, Clarice left the little kitchen, as the shadow dissapeared under her bedroom door. She shut the door behind her with a click.
Setting the still-steaming mug on the bedside table, Clarice grabbed a well-worn copy of William Blake's Complete Works, and settled down on her bed, feeling warm and safe.
Her hand reached for the mug, and she brought it to her lips in anticipation.
"Be careful, Clarice. It's still hot."
With a terrified scream, Clarice dropped the full mug of hot chocolate on the floor, narrowly missing her exposed thigh. The liquid splashed and immediately was soaked up into the ugly carpet as Clarice desperately fumbled for her gun.
"Calm yourself, Agent Starling, I mean you no harm!" Came the voice from behind the shadows, and Dr Lecter stepped into the moonlight. Clarice shook in horror as she trained her gun on his still form. His hands were up and he took a step closer to her.
"Don't move, or I'll shoot!" She cried, trying to sound brave. Truthfully, all of her bravery had evaporated the second she had realised that nothing separated them any longer. Not glass, not Barney or Crawford, not even a metre of space.
"Clarice, I promise, I do not intend to hurt you. I am terribly sorry that I frightened you. You have nothing to fear." Easy for him to say, Clarice thought wildly. What would be left of her in the morning? A lock of hair? An unsavoury organ, perhaps? Or maybe she would vanish into the night, never to be seen again.
"H-how in the Hell did you escape, Dr Lecter?" Her voice and hands shook in tandem, but the muzzle of the gun remained pointed determinedly at the Good Doctor.
"Well, my dear, it is actually thanks to you that I am standing here right now." Her look of incredubility was almost funny, Hannibal noted, and he resisted the urge to chuckle.
"I would never-" she began hotly, blush covering her cheeks.
"No, I know, you would never facilitate the escape of a high-risk prisoner, a man capable of atrocities unkown. You are the good little FBI agent, the paragon of rectitude." His words stung, even now, Clarice realised.
"But I'm afraid you forgot yourself for a brief moment, my dear. A paperclip was all it took." This man could escape from a high-security prison with nothing but a paperclip? Clarice was even surer now of her doom.
"Where is Barney?" Her voice was a little steadier now, but her gun didn't falter.
"He is at home, enjoying his dinner with The Simpsons. The same, unfortunately, cannot be said for our mutual acquaintance, Dr Chilton." A shiver ran down Clarice's spine as she noted the grim satisfaction in the Doctor's tone. What had he done to Chilton?
"I killed him, if you're wondering, and I don't have any of his organs with me. He disagreed with me in life; I do not wish to give him the chance to disagree with me in death." The fear was slowly creeping away, out of Clarice, and she tried to hold onto it tighter. Despite his awful words, the more Dr Lecter talked, the more Clarice began to feel like they were back in the cells.
"Clarice."
Her name, plain and simple, brought her out of her internal conflicts, and she turned her eyes on his, dark red in the moonlight. He was dressed in the blue prison garb, but made it look normal, somehow. Clarice was too shocked to compute how he had not been seen. As far as you know, her conscience whispered.
"Dr Lecter."
"Please, call me Hannibal. I am so desperate to have someone call me by my name." Clarice's mouth shook at the plea in his voice.
"H-Hannibal." His smile was as genuine as she had ever seen, pure happiness. Clarice lowered her gun an inch.
"I am truly sorry about your evening drink. May I prepare another for you, to make up for it?" Clarice almost laughed. Hannibal the Cannibal was offering to make her hot chocolate. This was Beckett-level absurd. As it was, she let out a snort. Dr Lecter raised an eyebrow.
"Something funny, Clarice?"
"A known criminal is offering to make me hot chocolate. Doctor, no one's done that for me since I was a child." Hannibal smiled indulgently, and stepped closer once more, leaving half a metre of space between their bodies. Her gun brushed his chest, and he looked down, almost as if he were noticing it for the first time.
"Before I answer, Clarice, would you mind terribly pointing the gun away from me, please? I went to a lot of effort to see you tonight."
"Why?" Clarice demanded. Her gun didn't move.
"Because I care for you, my dear. I have for some time now, and I wish to show you, if you'll permit me." Clarice's breath hitched at his blank honesty, and the gun dipped to the floor.
"Hot chocolate is a far cry from wining and dining a woman, Dr Lecter." she found herself replying, slipping into their badinage easily. Hold that thought, was she flirting?
"Hannibal, my dear, and in the abscence of a decent restaurant at which to wine and dine you, hot chocolate will have to do." He looked pointedly at the gun, and Clarice reluctantly let her arm relax. Hannibal let out a silent breath, and stepped forward one last time, to offer her his arm gallantly.
"Shall we?"
I think that should do, don't you? Review with your thoughts!