"Shall I begin, or would you prefer?" he asked.

"Please," she invited him with an upturned palm.

She had to wait three minutes before he spoke.

"You will not leave here until I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you will not assist in my capture or demise."

Starling blinked. She had a momentary reflex to laugh, but overcame it. Pauses were good in negotiation. Important, in certain scenarios. She'd waited for him to speak for three minutes. He waited for five.

"The only way I would even consider such a thing is if I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you would end your hobby of murder and cannibalism."

She felt it mirrored the absurdity of what he had asked of her. To her bewilderment, he seemed to consider it.

"I asked you to end one of your favorite pastimes; I suppose it's only fair you ask me to end one of mine."

"Chasing you or being involved in your demise is not one of my favorite pastimes, it's my duty. But I thought it was fair, so if you do too, then it's irrelevant, I guess."

"Why do you think I do it, Clarice?"

"Boredom."

"And is that all that I do when I'm bored?"

"No, you—you play music, you go to the symphony. You cook, you-"

"That's right. Hearkening back to our earlier conversation, I am capable of rotating my pastimes. But you're not asking me to rotate them, you're asking me to neuter them."

"And you're asking me to mutilate my sense of duty. If we consider one another's priorities, and we must, one is no more cruel than the other."

"Agreed. Now. If you're going to take away one of my toys, with what shall I replace it?"

"To know that, we'd need to discuss what it is you get out of murdering and eating people. Care to share?"

Dr. Lecter's teeth seemed whiter in the low light of the conservatory and the occasional eruptions of white light from the lightening. She noted the space between the lightening and the clap of thunder was getting smaller; the storm was getting closer. How fitting, she thought, wearily. She was looking out of the vine covered glass, but looked back at Dr. Lecter. The candles from behind him made a halo around his seated form.

"You tell me. What do you suppose I get out of it?"

"Power," she guessed, "control."

"I have that, regardless."

Starling thought back, and remembered the church collapses. "You like to see the destruction of faith, it's your favorite thing."

"Faith? Are you sure that's not incidental?"

"What, innocence, then? Virtue?"

"Innocence and virtue, ummm. More epithets. What could faith, innocence and virtue mean to me? What about you? What about Daddy?"

"These are negotiations, not wheedling. I won't waste your time with it, if you do me the same courtesy. Tell me what you like."

"What I like is the destruction of delusions, Clarice. They often come in the form of faith, or in the relentless pursuit of virtue. And sometimes, a wholly delusional person is simply taking up space. I repurpose them. Delusion itself bores me. Seeing it destroyed can be beautiful, droll and even useful. The real question, Clarice, is how do you replace that?"

He paused, taking some reading in her eyes. He went on, guessing correctly from where her line of thinking had stemmed. "I don't suppose you're going to collapse churches for me, Clarice."

Something flashed through her eyes, and Dr. Lecter inclined his head. He had never seen this, and was instantly interested.

"My. My. What are you thinking of, little Starling?"

"Nothing. Nothing that matters," she said, curtly.

"You thought of something. What was it?"

"A fleeting thought that doesn't do anybody any good. Give me a moment, I-I need to think about this."

"I will not give you a moment. Tell me what it was, Clarice. Tell me now, or negotiations have failed."

She looked at him sharply. Her heart was suddenly pounding. She looked away.

"It was an inside joke with myself, more than anything."

"Then why did you have such sudden, passionate anxiety, Clarice?"

"It was an unsettling thought."

"Tell me."

"You like the destruction of delusion."

"Yes…"

"Which you said often comes in the form of innocence."

"Yesss…"

"And I have a, uh, condition which occurred to me at an inappropriate time."

"A condition? Clarice?"

Starling didn't know how to say what she had to say. She decided to just jump in. Just a bit of private information she'd never discussed. She'd lived through that with him once before. The worst that could happen was feeling a little embarrassed. Right?

"When I was a teenager, I had a hymenectomy due to an imperforated hymen. I was thirteen. Despite the surgery, it grew back and I had a second hymenectomy when I was fifteen. After that, I quit trying."

A pause.

"You have a regenerating hymen, Clarice?"

"Yes. It reminded me of what you said. On two different levels," she went on. Dr. Lecter noted that despite the intense spread of red on her face and throat, she still spoke very well. "The destruction of innocence and the destruction of delusion."

"The destruction of innocence is obvious, but what is the delusion?" Dr. Lecter asked, non-committal. His thoughts were surging forward. Unnerved by his obvious contemplation, Starling answered his question in spite of the fact that she wasn't sure he cared what she said next.

"That a hymen has anything to do with virginity. It is an age-old, ideological paradigm. Sexual desire and orgasm do not seem to even enter the picture. Nor the idea of being opened by something other than a penis. It is the idea that a woman is not sexually real in her own right, and that it takes a man to make her so."

Dr. Lecter looked back at her at that, and smiled. "Quite true. Clarice?"

"Yes?"

"Had some part of you considered offering me your perpetual virginity?"

"No," she said, too quickly.

"Lying in a negotiation is a big no-no. You are well-aware of that."

"If a part of me did, it was an echo of an echo from a dream of a dream and was not given voice."

Dr. Lecter sat back in his chair. "Why, I think it's very interesting, Clarice. Why do you suppose any part of you would think that tearing a hymen, which would only grow back, would interest me?"

"Are you saying you're not interested?"

"Are you offering it to me?"

"I…can't."

"No, of course not. Nor would it be sufficient replacement to something I enjoy doing, which may strike at any time for the remainder of my life. To make a meaningless incision, a single time, would be a poor stand-in."

"A single…are you saying you would agree to something so repulsive if it were a reoccurring episode? I can't believe that you would stoop so low."

"Why is that? You always did have trouble calling me evil, Clarice. I find it enduring, but at a certain point, one must come to terms with one's cohort."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Well, this is still a negotiation, is it not?"

"…Yes," she said, slowly.

"Then," he offered his palms. "Proceeding on the plank of this new revelation…negotiate."

"Negotiate the perpetual breaking of my hymen for the termination of your career as a murderer and cannibal?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Lecter—"

"Perhaps we will come to an impasse, and begin again. If so, it is only natural. But new information has been introduced, and it is logical to explore it. So," he said, with finality, "Negotiate. Clarice."

"You—you would consider…"

"That depends. If you were to offer it, in a dream of a dream, what would be the terms?"

Starling recoiled into the safety of her mind for many long minutes, and Dr. Lecter sat very still, so as to not interrupt. He had no impatience for her answer. He felt a bit of energy in his fingertips and wondered...

It was true, he had not considered her as a lover, but only because it was, by his observation, not possible; at least not the last time he had considered it. There was always room for change, but the kind of change necessary for her to make a leap like that had seemed miles and miles away. Before, there were bars and a stout nylon net between them, but that stretched along the borders of every country and every house. Unlike any women he'd known before her, and a few he'd known since her, she knew what he was. That created a vast gulf between them, a gulf he thought he might never be able to cross. With that in mind, he did not allow himself to indulge in mindless fantasies. He turned those signals off in her presence. What had just rattled loose in Clarice Starling? What had it rattled loose in him?

Yes, he'd known she was attracted to him on a base, animal level. He had suspected there was more to it than that, even. There was an undeniable rapport, yes. She was not stupid. He had not known exactly what feelings or desires were so deep-seated. He did not chastise himself for this; as insightful as he was, he was not a mind-reader. Whatever this was, this was deeply buried. He had had to threaten her to draw it out. But the fervidity of what she felt for him had to have been a long-winded howl from within for her conscious mind to have heard it. My…

While the energy in Hannibal Lecter's fingertips began to spread, Starling flitted about in her own mind. Starling's memory palace is not as structured as Dr. Lecter's, and she finds herself in her childhood kitchen, then flitting into the front yard, watching her father's car pull in, and then the piranha infested waters. She flew to the ranch in Montana, to Hannah's sturdy back and to the Lutheran home in Bozeman. To her bedroom in her duplex, back to Hannah's back. Pleading eyes and bitter tears. She found herself in the kitchen for only a moment, and suddenly found herself returning. Sitting in the kitchen, drinking 'smart people's tea'. Warm ceramic on her hands, impassive walls and no eyes watching, no eyes at all. Alone. Alone…

What could the illusion of virginity mean? It is only symbolic of the loss of innocence. It is a piece of tissue, her own, not unlike a fortified rose pedal. Only a little piece of tissue. And what would the return be? Lives.

Had anyone, in the history of humanity, had the opportunity to save lives with their virginity? What was virginity? Starling had had fingers inside of her. Her own, and two different doctors. Her hymen had been broken three times, in total. The first two times by a doctor, and the second time by accident. It had not broken completely the third time, but she counted it because it had hurt like hell and there had been a little blood.

Focus.

In Starling's experience, she had always found home within the walls of organized systems; institutions which provided her with coherent models for what behavior led to success. It had worked fine. That framework had been the glittering palladium of her life; it was her statue of Athena on the citadel of Troy, guarding and guiding her. Was she capable of creating a framework of her own, if only in this one way-this negotiation with a murderer? Institutions had failed him. That meant frameworks created by organizations were not infallible. There was no rehabilitation of the monster; he would be what he is. Should they catch him again, he would simply wait in the comfort of his mind, the world on mute, until he had his next chance. More likely, they would kill him. She found she'd like to avoid that, if possible.

Instead of attempting to change him or cage him, could she mediate between him and the world? If even for a little while? Was it wrong to take that kind of initiative? A part of her screamed, YES! But that voice came from the imagined judgment of a towering jury made up of a smattering of people, both respectable and intolerable, and some who were faceless and did not even exist. Only one among them truly mattered to her. She could not apply her father's sage to this. Her father, she suddenly realized on a deep and fundamental level, was a different person. He had led a different life, had made different choices based upon his personal experiences. Could she not make her own annotations in the margins of life?

But…like this? She racked her mind, trying to think of what else she had to offer him, and every time, she returned to the scenario which caused the least damage to people as well as her, personally. The rooms of her mind, in their shifting and shuffling to make room for these notions came to a gradual destination.

A hymen meant nothing. It was a vile concept, giving Hannibal Lecter her 'perpetual virginity'; yet she could not help but be in wonder at such an opportunity. What had been his question? Terms. What terms? How could I possibly consider this? I've already thought through that.

Terms. It wouldn't matter. He would not agree to her terms. It wouldn't matter, so it would be alright at least to list them. Terms from a dream within a dream…

"How many times would you want to do it?" she asked, in a strange voice.

"Preferably, I'd like to do it again and again until one of us is dead."

"No."

"I thought you'd say that," he said, smiling. "Let's start with things on which we both are unwilling to compromise."

"I don't want you to-" Starling shifted in her seat,"- I don't want sex. No sex."

"So you prefer I use… alternative means?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he started, noting her look of alarm. He went on." We'll do our best to distance you from the word 'prostitute'," he said. She flinched, as he'd expected her to. It was important to get that concept out of the way, immediately. "Which you are not and never will be," he added. Before she could think much about it or respond, he went on, "In regard to the number of times we repeat the episode, here is something which may get the ball rolling: I will not terminate my pastime. I will suspend it, for as long as our agreement is in progress."

"That's something you refuse to compromise on?"

"Yes."

Starling licked her lips and swallowed. Her body language could not have been more protective of her center. Her legs were crossed tightly, her arms folded across her middle, her wrists crossed where her thighs met.

"It takes a year or so for it to grow back," she pointed out."At least it has, in the past."

"So then, once a year," Dr. Lecter mused. He was quiet for a moment, before continuing."For how many years, Clarice?"

"Let's put a pin in that. I have another thing I won't compromise. At the end of the agreement, should an agreement be made, you will swear not to injure or kill me."

"Done. And you will swear to not use anything you've learned during the agreement to aid the FBI in my whereabouts. At the end of the agreement, we will part ways. I will do what I do, and you will do what you do. We will resume our respective paths, undisturbed. But-consider. In the interim, you will likely have saved lives. Anywhere from a few to a dozen. That appeals to you, doesn't it? And you will have done so, no less, by sacrificing your symbolic purity. Doesn't that, on some level, taste good to you, Clarice?"

"I don't know," she began, her features hardening," does the thought of destroying my symbolic purity taste good to you?"

"Oh, yes. Especially if we get down to brass tax, and I get what I want."

"…What is it, exactly, that you want?"

"We'll get to that. Put a pin it, as you said. I believe it's my turn. During the agreement, no one else will enter you. You will remain abstinent."

"That's ludicrous."

"Are we at a stalemate already, then?"

"Are you serious?"

"Of course."

"Dr. Lecter—you're condemning me to celibacy."

"So are you."

Starling sighed aggressively, looking away. She bared her teeth for just a flash. A clap of lightening made her jump. She ran a hand through her hair, shakily.

"This is insane."

"Are we at a stalemate, Clarice?"

Two minutes passed.

"No."

"Excellent. Your turn."

"During these…episodes, you will not injure me. Beyond the obvious."

"Done. And you will not simply lie on your back, with your eyes closed. You will participate."

Starling ignored the flood of feelings that statement brought on, and responded in the only way she could; negotiating in her flat, agent voice. "That might conflict with one of my limits. I don't want your-I will not perform fellacio."

"I will not enter you with anything but my hands. That does not conflict."

His hands…A minute passed.

"I need more specifics," she said, finally. "What kind of…participation?"

"I don't know yet, Clarice. I don't have specific scenarios planned out. But I want the freedom to explore."

Starling gave an explicit look of displeasure. "You won't injure me?"

"No."

"I will leave no differently, other than a broken hymen?"

"Correct."

Starling felt like it was dangerous to agree to it. He was the master of lying by omission.

"I need more. I can't go further without more information. You could be hiding something from me, and I'm not asking the right questions."

"I will not make you do anything unsanitary, dangerous or derogatory. Nor will I do anything to you that is unsanitary, dangerous or derogatory."

"We'll come back to it."

"Fine. Before we continue, let us review the things we still must review. The length of our agreement, what I want, which is being revealed as we unravel this, and now whether or not you will agree to the term in which you are expected to participate in the episodes."

"Yes."

'Alright. Moving forward. Your turn."

"No one else will ever be involved," Starling said. "We will not speak of this to anyone, not for the rest of our respective lives."

"Naturally."

"Good," she said, nodding. She was getting into the flow of negotiations, despite the niggling at her heart and loins. She wondered if she was a fraud and had always been one. She could not face those thoughts, now. "Go."

"During the episodes, you will surrender control to me. You will obey me without question, and there will be no arguments, hesitations or complaints."

"Jesus," Clarice leaned over with her elbows on her knees for a moment, her hands covering her mouth and nose.

"Well, I suppose we can't help his involvement, but we're on to the next item."

"That had to have been at least three different terms in one," she argued.

"Only one term. I only elaborated, as my last one seemed to confuse you. I do not wish for either of us to be confused on any aspect of this."

"I guess I am confused. I thought we were talking about meeting once a year, you break my hymen, presumably with your-your fingers, and then we go our separate ways." Fuck, that sentence was a struggle, Starling admitted in the privacy of her thoughts.

"I'm saying that's not what I want. I am explaining to you what I do want. Two days," he held up his fingers. "Beginning at sunup, we will be in one another's presence. Then, I want a whole night with you. Beginning at sundown and ending at sun up. The following day, you will be released from your submission, and the day will be dedicated to aftercare. I want freedom to explore your body, which will include the breaking of your hymen. How many times has it been broken?"

"Three."

"Twice by doctors, yes? And you were under anesthesia, or at least local anesthesia. Who broke it the third time?"

"Me. On accident."

"Get a little belligerent, did you?"

"It was during sports."

"Ummm, I see. But it's never been broken by a lover?"

"No."

"I expected. It's not very encouraging, is it? All of that ambition, add to that a very stubborn hymen, and to top it all off, a building patchwork of unpleasant memories. I'll bet they surface at the most inconvenient of times, don't they, Clarice?"

"Yes."

"Yes," he said, in mock pity. "So," he began sharply, "for one night per year, you will take me as a lover. Not a doctor, Clarice. Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," she heard herself say. She must be falling, falling asleep or falling awake. Do you wish to rise? Begin by descending. You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds? Lay first the foundation of humility. She didn't know where that had come from. So many scraps and shreds of information stranded in her mind. Dr. Lecter was talking.

"And on that night, and on that night only, you will submit to my ministrations, none of which will harm or injure you. That is what I want."

Another clap of lightening made Starling squeeze her eyes shut. She held her elbows and took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"Clarice?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's conclude elsewhere. In fact, let's take a short break. Would you like some tea? Or perhaps a martini?"

"A martini, please."

"Excellent, I'll join you," he said, standing. He offered her a hand. She looked at it for a moment as though he'd presented her with a dead animal. She blinked, and the expression was gone. She took it and stood. As she followed him back down the corridor, the sounds of the house creaking seemed an appropriate noise for how she felt. The wind had picked up.

He left her in the drawing room, and joined her a few minutes later holding two glasses. She stood in front of the fireplace, and he handed her one.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

After she'd taken two sips, he migrated to the sofa and sat down. She stood at the side of the fireplace, as though using the heavy stones of the hearth to anchor herself. She didn't entirely trust her legs.

She tried to imagine these 'episodes', perhaps in order to prepare or test herself, and her knees buckled. She steadied herself on the mantle, and Dr. Lecter started to stand and she halted him with a raised hand.

"I'm fine."

He settled down. "Why don't you have a seat," he suggested. He patted the seat next to him.

Starling looked at the seat next to him, but seemed far, far away. She was coming to grips with the fact that beneath the shock and disgust of what they had been discussing, what she was considering, that she felt very hot and very…tingly. She knew she was red, she could feel the blood in her face. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips. She came forward and stopped, glanced at the chair she'd sat in, before.

"Clarice, I won't insist you sit here, there or anywhere. I only suggest you consider taking this seat, because if we are to even consider the agreement, it might be prudent for you to test your ability to be near me, let alone grant me permission to touch you. Let alone penetrate you."

She looked at him. He smiled and patted the seat, again. "This is a break," he reminded her. "I will not push you. That includes touching you. If you choose to sit here, I will not touch you."

She nodded absently and sat down tentatively, next to him. She folded her hands in her lap and glanced at his, before quickly looking away. She could feel his warmth and smell his clean clothes and cologne. Dr. Lecter watched her bring the drink to her lips, and his pupils dilated.

Dr. Lecter could never have dreamed up such an opportunity. No, it had come from her. Ummmm. Clarice Starling, then. She was amusing, to be certain. She had proven to be more than amusing, in fact. She'd been engaging, even challenging at times. He wouldn't dare to imagine what she was becoming.

Of course, he found her attractive. That did not take any special bond or even keen eyesight. Clarice Starling was, by nearly any man's measure, quite beautiful. He'd appreciated it from an aesthetic point, like art. But she wasn't a sculpture. She was warm, he could feel the warmth of her arm near him, now. Not an arm frozen in marble or stone; an arm of flesh that can prickle at a well-placed touch, an arm that could push away or pull in. She had arms that could be thrown around a neck, arms that could hold.

Clarice Starling, then. Would this compromise what she was becoming in any disagreeable way? No, he decided. She was strong. Resilient. Regenerating. She would recover. She would recover again and again and again…But even someone so resilient would break, eventually. Break and stay broken. But then, she could be put back together in his preference. Then, the predator would be acclimated. Then, the predator posed no threat. Still, he considered, it was prudent to never assume, never fall victim to hypotheticals.

When she looked at him, her eyes were full of wonder, anxiety, animal lust and spirited fascination. There was also a level of disgust, but he wasn't sure if it was toward him or herself; it was likely both. He smiled at her. She didn't exactly smile back. An uncomfortable twitch at the corner of her mouth, before she looked away again, and brought her drink to her mouth.

Was it possible for him to long for her? Was it possible that he had longed for her? In spite of not indulging in pointless fantasies, could he still, on some unconscious level, have ached for her? He thought of the odd little prompts he'd experienced during his time away. In the passing of a smooth surface, touch it. In handling edibles rich in texture and color, taste it. In feeding her pink, waiting mouth…ahhhh. Now that was interesting. He considered the alacrity with which he'd latched onto the idea of playing with both her body and mind. The wrong questions indeed…

Dr. Lecter wondered if she understood, on any level, that some deep part of her wanted this. It would never have occurred to her in such a subliminal way if some secret room inside had not cried out for it. He'd heard that little cry, and came running. On some level, they were both abandoning reason for appetite.

Then it is a night of revelation for us, both.

There was nothing wrong with that. He looked at the shape of her shoulder. Light, but freckled from sun exposure. What of those places that had not been exposed? Were those places like velvet, was the skin there like milk? He leaned back a fraction in his seat and looked at the slope of her chin into her chest, where light rarely touches. The skin there, so delicate, touch it.

Dr. Lecter could neglect those prompts as easily as satiate them. He had endless patience. Should their agreement come to fruition, she would discover that, herself. She would discover much, about both of them.

Medical anomalies had always intrigued Dr. Lecter. Some were more fascinating than others, but a regenerating hymen interested him beyond the symmetry of it, where her psychology was concerned. It intrigued him, medically. Many people believe the myth that hymens grow back after some period of neglect, seven years, or the like. Not true. In fact, the idea that they would or could is absurd. A hymen is nothing more than a delicate piece of tissue; what is left after a hole is made. Humans do not re-grow parts of themselves, like lizards' tails. But it was not completely unheard of, a regenerating hymen. He had only ever heard of it happening once, to a Taiwanese woman. Like Clarice, she had had an imperforated hymen, and had had to have it surgically removed. In her case, it persisted beyond her marriage bed and even her pregnancy. In any case…very rare, indeed.

Dr. Lecter decided at once, that should this night be the first in their transaction, he would make it purely about pleasure. It could be misleading to her perhaps, but he felt it was critical to establish between them a sense of pure sensuality. It would aid in the grander design. Her voice brought him back.

"Dr. Lecter?"

"Yes, Clarice?"

"I think I'm ready to continue, now."

"Alright, then. I'll take that," he said, taking her empty glass. When he had stood:

"Clarice, I think it would be economical for us to conclude the negotiation upstairs. Not your bedroom. Just down the hall, on the left. I'll meet you there in a moment." And then, before she could respond, "go ahead and make yourself comfortable. It's getting late."

With that, he was gone. Starling's heart quivered and it seemed to drop down to her middle, vibrate her in lower half, and then shoot back up again. She walked to the stairs on shaky legs, in a daze.

Dr. Lecter took his time cleaning up after dinner, blowing out the candles in the conservatory and turning out the other lights. Once everything was done, he headed upstairs, not entirely sure what he would find. He glanced into the open door of the guest room, found it empty and continued down the hall. The door was open and he stood at the threshold, for a moment. She was sitting in the club chair in the far right corner of the room, by the window. She wore cotton pajamas, consisting of relatively conservative shorts and a button up shirt with blue trim. She had her bare feet tucked beneath her and she watched him with animal tensity. He could not help but notice how rather nubile she appeared, in her pajamas and disorganized, titian hair. Her eyes were big and anticipative. Deceptively innocent.

He walked into the bedroom and shrugged off his jacket. When he had draped it over his arm, he looked at her, again. "Give me a moment."

She nodded.

She watched him head into the closet while loosening his tie. When he came out of the closet, he still wore socks, pants, and the dress shirt. It was still tucked in, but he came further into the room to regard her as he rolled up his sleeves.

"Let's begin with a summary of what we've covered. How does that sound?"

"Fine."

"The agreement, under the current terms, is as follows: One night a year, you will spend one night with me as your lover. You will submit to however I choose to fill that time, which includes the breaking of your hymen, and will not include any injury, unsanitary, dangerous or derogatory elements. During the length of the agreement, you will remain celibate, and I will not take a life. During the agreement, you will not pursue me, or aid in my capture or demise. We will not engage in sex, including fellacio. We will take this agreement to our graves. At the end of the agreement, we will not attempt injury. I will not kill you, and you will use nothing of what you've learned to aid in my capture or demise. We will resume our lives."

Starling waited a few moments, to make sure he was finished. "Yes, that…that sums it up."

"Have you any questions or concerns about any of that?"

"Well, I think I'd like to know what you consider derogatory."

"I won't make you eat out of a dog bowl, I will not call you a worthless slut. I will not blaspheme you, Clarice."

She nodded, with her eyebrows raised. She was surprised by her satisfaction with his answer. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Any other questions about anything within the summary?"

She thought carefully for awhile. "No."

"Now, at the end of each tryst, I suggest we give ourselves the opportunity to decide if we wish to amend it."

"Fine. I want to make a new term."

"Go ahead."

"During the time in between our episodes, in everyday life, I do not want to see you. I don't want you following me around, and I don't want to know where you are."

"Done. However, I'd like to add a modification. I would like the freedom to write to you. You do not have to write back, although it would please me if you did. I will leave that to your own discretion."

Starling sighed, and thought for a moment. "Alright. But understand that I live with someone. If she's around when I receive a letter from you, I'll have to turn it in. And if I turn it in, then it's also a possibility that I'll be put on your case, mostly if any other evidence of your misbehavior showed up. And seeing as how it would become awfully difficult for me to not aid in your capture or demise while on your case, I highly suggest you stick to your end of the bargain, too. Right now, you're a media boogie man, but not much more. Nobody's actively searching for you. But anything, and I mean anything that could give the Bureau a lead will be seized upon, so not even a scuffle. So I also suggest that you make an attempt to lay low. Your extravagant preferences could be your dorsal fin cutting the water's surface. And once the catch-me, fuck-me party starts, I don't know how I can stay out of it without becoming suspicious, myself. And if they know you write to me, if they think you're following me around or that the monster's in love, they'll use me."

"I understand, and will keep that in mind in the content. There will be nothing incriminating. As far as my dorsal fin, that's my concern. I will hold up my end of the bargain so long as you do. I don't foresee you being put in a position in which your job contradicts our agreement beyond burning the letters instead of turning them in."

"And lying about all of this. And continuing to lie about it."

"Oh, Clarice. If you ran home to tell on me, it would do no good at all and you know it. You would be criticized for some imagined flaw in technique or allegiance, and I would be gone before they'd finished questioning you. And not even you would ever, ever find me. You know it's true."

"Hell, I don't know about never."

Dr. Lecter smiled. "Do it and see what happens."

"I didn't say I would."

"Good. So are we done with that?"

"Fine. Done."

"That brings us to that last pin. It's time to take it out. How long?"

Starling tried to imagine how she could possibly have any real relationship without her celibacy eventually coming up and unraveling any fledgling opportunity. What if she met someone she really liked? What if she fell in love?

What if I don't…

Another question not related to this time and place. She refocused. How many years of her youth was she willing to give to this man for the sake of saving lives? How many should she be willing to give?

"How about this, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said suddenly, and she broke from her thoughts to look at him. He was leaning easily against the foot of the bed.

Dr. Lecter by the bed…He told me to get comfortable and meet him in his bedroom. He called it economical.

"Why don't I make an offer, and we'll go from there?"

He removed his jacket, tie, belt and shoes. He rolled up his sleeves while he looked right at me. Why did he roll up his sleeves?

She swallowed. "Alright."

"Alright," he said, bowing his head. When he looked at her again, his lips were pursed for a moment. Then he said:

"Fifteen years."

"Fifteen!"

"Yes."

"No."

"What is your counter offer?"

"Uh, two," she ran her hand through her hair. Important to low-ball a bit.

"Two years, Clarice? Two years of a world without me in it? You can do better than that. Twelve."

Two minutes passed. Starling's body was beginning to prepare for something it had apparently decided was imminent. Something that she hadn't known she could possibly want. Clarice Starling could feel her pulse in her clitoris, anus and vagina.

"Four," she said.

"Eleven."

She gave him a look of exhaustion and exhilaration. It was the strangest contradiction, and Dr. Lecter ate it up, slick as a reptile slurps up a flailing insect, spastic little wings and all.

"Five," she said, and wondered if he could smell her, if he could smell that her body was betraying her again, smell that her body was preparing itself for him.

"Ten."

Their gazes were locked as though neither could look away. There was a tension beneath Dr. Lecter's posture she hadn't seen before. As though he might lurch forward at any moment. They stayed that way for nearly ten minutes, the only sound their breathing and the howling wind and rain.

"Seven years," said Starling, "that's my limit."

"Done."

They didn't move. Starling was unsure of whether she had just sealed her fate. It seemed as though it had happened as fast as a whip-crack.

At length, Dr. Lecter came forward, and Starling held her breath. He stopped just in front of her and extended his arm, offering his hand.

"Shall we shake on it? I can draw up a contract and we can sign it, if you like. It might be a good idea, just to make sure neither of us forgets what we owe the other. Doubt it'll hold up in court, though," he said, his voice suddenly taking on a bemused and flirtatious tone. Starling thought she could hear her blood humming, as on their first meeting.

"A handshake," she said, looking at his hand.

"We'll have to trust one another. Can you do that?"

She looked up at him. "Can you?"

"I asked first," he said, smiling.

Starling remembered to breath. "Is this happening? Is it real…"

Dr. Lecter didn't think the question was directed at him, but he answered, anyway. "As real as anything else can claim to be."

When she looked up at him, he gave her another smile, warm and gentle. "Whatever you choose to be real to you is what is real, Clarice. No one chooses for you. If you choose to see these trysts as existing in a place outside of time, a dream within in a dream, then your verdict makes it so. Your life and the choices you make are subject to your judgment and yours alone."

He watched her, and it seemed to give her mind a place to go. Her shoulders lowered the slightest bit.

She said nothing, but looked at his hand. Steady as the stony hearth. She reached out to it tentatively, like a child might reach out to a horse, for the first time. Their fingers touched, and her muscle memory seemed to take over. Her fingers slid into his palm and draped along his wrist. He waited a moment, before folding his own fingers over her hand, the slope of their thumbs locking. Her eyes rose and sucked back into his consuming gaze.

"Deal," he said.

"Deal," she whispered.