A/N Four things. One, thank you to all commentors. Your words are so very encouraging. Second, please be aware that a second chapter containing the "smut version" has been posted to AO3. Three, I don't usually do my editing late at night, so if the editing is lacking, I apologize. Four, Happy Holidays!
Starling woke either early or late, depending on the perspective. When she checked her watch, it read 8:47p.m. She did the quick math, surmising that it was 4:47a.m. where she was. Having made up for missing a night of sleep with a smattering of naps the day before, she was not surprised to have woken up at a strange time.
She'd never woken in a residence she shared with Dr. Lecter when he was not already awake. She wondered if he was awake, even now. She knew he slept when he wanted to, though he did not seem to be bound by common sleep practices.
Cerberus' tail thumped the bed next to her knee and she let out an amused puff of air and sat up. He looked at her, barely visible in the dark. She reached out and they found each other. He licked her fingers and she pulled the blanket off of her legs.
The floor was cold on her bare feet and she hopped quickly to her suitcase on the floor and pulled out a good, thick pair of ankle socks. Why had he picked Norway, of all places?
"Did he need this year's meet to be as cold as possible? Huh?" she asked Cerberus who had hopped down and was prodding her things with his nose. He looked up at her and whined.
"You're going to be noisy and wake up the whole house," she mused, before giving a shrug. "But that's not our fault, is it?"
Starling started the bathtub running, and sat on the edge in her robe and socks, petting Cerberus between checking the water temperature with a hand. When it was halfway full, she heard a knock on her bedroom door. Cerberus barked excitedly and Starling took a heavy breath as she watched him dart into the bedroom to the door.
Dr. Lecter was in his own robe at the door with his hands clasped behind his back.
"Good morning," he said.
Starling crossed her arms and leaned against the door jamb. "Why does it feel like you say that all the time?"
"I've repeated a number of things to you. I'd say the question should be: why does 'good morning' make a distinction in your mind? I won't take up much of your time," he went on, glancing at Cerberus who sniffed his feet. "I only wanted to let you know that I'll be starting the fire and to ask you if you'd like breakfast when you're finished or if you'd rather wait."
"I'd rather wait, if it suits you."
"Certainly. Should coffee wait, too?"
"No."
Dr. Lecter smiled and gave a short bow of his head. "Alright. Enjoy your bath. It should be warmer out here when you're finished."
"Thank you."
Dr. Lecter sat on the sofa, crossing his legs once the fire was lit and the coffee was made. Cerberus wagged his tail at his feet, and Dr. Lecter watched the fire. So far away, even now. She was so far away.
He knew that Clarice, on some level, had come to terms with the fact that she wanted him, both on a physical level and an emotional one. It was easier to surrender to the physical part; they had each made certain of that, respectfully. She, by creating a purpose driving their acts, and he, in encouraging it.
Emotionally, she had hardly cracked. He could tell that what he thought mattered to her, that she wanted to know what he thought about things and valued his insight. However, she was not ready to admit the depths they were capable of descending, together. He had not even been entirely aware, himself. He had not been acutely aware of it until the previous afternoon.
Dr. Lecter does not deign to define the word love, as it is entirely misused and misinterpreted. He may as well use the word 'sofa' or 'telephone' to describe his feelings, so related were they to what he felt, as the word 'love'. To describe the shape of such a thing was impossible, as it had no discernible shape. To describe the physical sensations was impossible, as it encompassed many; a myriad cocktail of sensations. Some of them he knew, and some of them he did not, and it was sometimes difficult even for him to recognize the feelings he knew when they were infused with those he didn't.
He had not slept. In fact, he had even crossed her closed door twice, once pressing a cheek to the cool and solid maple wood. Maple is good for soundproofing, and he could hear nothing but his own, steady pulse and the rain.
Being far outside the bounds of his own experience, Dr. Lecter is unsure of how he will react at any given moment, upon the discovery of this new proviso. He felt it unnecessary to discuss it with her for the time being. It would only serve to push her farther away, even frighten her. As much as it discomfited him, he thought it prudent to analyze these new thoughts and sensations, and so he had. He had explored them at length while Starling slept, yet come to few solid conclusions.
Of one thing he was certain: All things considered, Starling had done well to remain stoic and keep her anger in check, and that would not serve her well for the coming night. It would be too harsh a transition, too brutal to be beneficial. He would have to tenderize her, and to do it, he would need to use methods she would not expect from him. Time for that, later.
He soon found himself in the bedroom next to hers, standing in the middle of the dark room and looking at the wall. The wall separated him from her, where she lay in the bathtub. His hand moved at his side and, as though it had a mind of its own, grazed along his stomach as he moved forward.
He reached out and touched the wall. He bent, turned his head so his ear faced it. He could hear the remote, hollow sounds of the water, as she moved in it. His hand became flat against the wall and he moved it up, down, back and forth, as though caressing her body where she lay suspended in the water. He imagined her stretched out, her feet beneath the dripping faucet, her toes caressing one another. Her hair in ropes around her shoulders and breasts. He moved his hand along the length of where the tub would be, ran it across the length of Starling's inaccessible body.
In the bathroom, Starling sighed, and rubbed her elbow without opening her eyes. Her arm made a quiet splash when she let it fall back into the water.
It was strange. She had thought that coming here would feel like a dream, and she had declared it to be one, as though saying it really was like an incantation. Yet, it was the opposite. Her world back in D.C. was what felt like a dream. A dream she had been dreaming for years, and had finally woken up. She wondered how long the feeling would last, and how long she wanted it to last.
She rolled over on her side, the water making a tiny, upside down well in her right ear. She traced a finger along the edge of the tub, before it wandered to her own leg. With her eyes closed, Starling trailed her own hand up her waist, before dipping it in between her thighs. She hummed quietly, before opening her eyes. No, she wouldn't do that here, not now. Not like this. She sat up, the water sloshing and she wiped her face ineffectually with her wet hands.
"Oh, just get dressed," she said to herself, quietly.
Her body would not always be so inaccessible to him, Dr. Lecter mused when he greeted her and handed her a cup of coffee. Soon, she would be at his mercy. He thought of her body, the memories he had of it, his favorite snapshots. Laying supine. Still, but trembling, just a little. She was miles from wanting him as he wanted her, perhaps. But…at least he would have her to himself, for the night.
She slumped down next to him, her level prairie gaze inflicted upon the fireplace. Starling's eyes in the fire was becoming one of his favorite images. The sound of the fire, dull cracking and occasional pops, seemed almost to rise in volume as he watched her watching it; the blue of her eyes seemed to darken. He could not read her thoughts, but what sound they would make, if they could make a sound, would have been loud. Loud, like the cracking of the fire, abrupt snaps, with no discernible pattern, wood splitting, deafening in his mind, but he didn't know the language, if fire had a language.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he said, slowly. She didn't look at him, only turned her head a fraction in his direction, as a noncommittal cat does at the sound of it's name.
"I never really know how to answer that question," she started, and wore a soft smile. "There's a million thoughts rushing in and out. I suppose I could just pick one, at my leisure. Preferably, of course, one which would expend the least amount of effort, but buys a good deal of your interest, so as to not prompt further questioning."
She looked at him, then. His finger along his nose, he watched her until she blinked slowly and went on.
"These are the petty trials of knowing you."
Dr. Lecter pursed his lips. "The petty trials of knowing me. Was that meant to cut me or flatter me?"
"That's more up to you than me."
"Your intention matters."
"To you?"
"Yes."
"Hmm. That's good to know," she said, and smiled a charming smile. He could almost hear the grave, vibrating contralto of a lioness; not the garish roar, but the low, quiet warning made deep in the throat. The females, he reflected, were far more dangerous than the strutting males. Whatever animals he and Starling were, should they be deemed beyond human, could share that trait with lions, he reflected. But she was not grown yet, not yet. Perhaps it was necessary to first assess just how big she was really getting.
"How did you sleep?" he asked, and she tilted her head, seeming somewhat surprised at the change in tone and topic, though not alarmed by it.
"Well, and you?"
"My night was well-spent, but I am curious…" he trailed off, looking at the fire. She did not take the bait, but waited for him to continue on his own. "…as to why you would lie about such a trivial thing," he finished, looking at her again.
"You think I'm lying," she said, over a puff of sardonic laughter.
"I know you're lying. Do you really think you can lie to me?"
Dr. Lecter sighed, draping an arm over the back of the sofa. His fingers found their way to a few strands of her damp hair, but neither looked away from the other as he began to twine them in his fingers. "Strutting around the house the way you have, I can only assume you think you've become very clever. Don't be offended, I find it charming," he said, his eyes narrowing with his smile, his fingers twisting, caressing. "And economical. I think, Clarice Starling, that you need to feel clever, need to feel in control here, even if it's backstage." He watched her swallow, his fingers twirling, twirling, "Because you're very lubricated, Clarice. This room, this house, is suffused with the smell of it," His fingers found the slope of her shoulder. Two fingers and a thumb, caressed the skin, there. Starling inhaled sharply and she stood calmly, if not abruptly.
"That's not the only thing I can smell," he went on." I can smell your fear, Clarice. Paired with your arousal, it's very intoxicating."
"You always do this," she said, narrowing her eyes at him.
"What's that?"
"Remind me that I'm a woman when you're feeling threatened."
She came to stand in front of him, before continuing. At this angle, her bone structure was lovely in the light, as she looked down at him. "Of all the things to find interesting, I think it's that. But there is one thing I've learned about you, if nothing else. When you cut me, when you pierce me, it's never with something you think about me, never a personal insult you share with the world. It's what you think I think of myself."
Dr. Lecter leaned back, looking up at her. The fire made a corona around her head and she smiled down at him. "It's why I can stand it. I'm not special, and I don't think I'm more clever than you. No, what I am is someone who knows you. Or at least I am beginning to. The first time," she said, pausing and holding a finger up, "You mocked me for being white trash. You never thought of me that way. No, you said it because you knew it's what I feared I was. You cut me with my own knife, never your own. So when you try to cut me by reminding me that yes, I am a woman, yes, I can be horny, yes, my body is attracted to your body, you tell me more about you than about me. You give me insight into your own insight every time you insult me or mock me. So do it. Do it at every opportunity. Because every time you do," she paused once more, leaning over him, her hands on either side of his head gripping the back of the couch. Her hair hung between them and her eyes were calm, dark. "You give me a little more power."
She watched him without blinking, smiling or frowning. Dr. Lecter was pleased she'd finally come to this point as he gazed up at her. He decided that if a statue should be made in her honor, it should look just like this. He reached out at length, without moving another inch of his body or breaking their eye contact, and touched the damp ropes of hair between them.
"You are a striking creature," he said, quietly. Starling's composed expression didn't falter, but she rose up straight. The trace of alarm that appeared on her face only came when she had turned away from him.
Breakfast was quiet. The silence hung heavy, but both seemed absorbed in their own thoughts. It was a strange kind of comfortable. A new comfortable, perhaps, both finding their footing in their own respects.
Starling thought of their last interaction, and learned what had happened while she savored a bite of gruyère-laden croque madame. What had transpired only an hour or so before reminded her of the phrase, 'bringing a knife to a gun-fight'. The comparison was only somewhat applicable, but still, the words stuck in her mind as she contemplated it.
He'd done what he'd done many times before, he'd provoked her. Then he'd watched to see what she'd do. It had never been about a verbal duel. What he had done was assess her. He was checking to see what kinds of weapons she had, and she'd shown him. Furthermore, they'd both learned that two wounds had healed. The literal one, and now the allegorical one. The latter had manifested in a sense of self-betrayal, specifically in the arena of lust. She had experienced lust as she never had, she had made decisions in that mind-set. Was there anything more dangerous?
But she had come out of that self-flagellation. She had abandoned the word whore, abandoned its connotations. Whatever she was at any given moment, she must be her own ally. That much, so far, she had learned.
Later, while Starling was curled up on the sofa with Cerberus, Dr. Lecter came down the hall with her boots in one hand. He placed them in front of her, and Starling put a finger in the crook of her book. She looked down at her boots and raised an eyebrow at Dr. Lecter.
"Are we going somewhere?" she asked.
Dr. Lecter smiled."If you're agreeable."
"Oh," Starling said with a wry grin and rubbed the dog's head. "When am I not?"
"Excellent," he said, ignoring her sardonic spirit." I'll get your coat."
"Where are we going?" Starling said in a more curious tone. She set her book aside and watched Dr. Lecter returning with her coat over his arm. She was lacing up her boots and he waited.
"Trøndelag. It's about an hour and forty minutes by train."
"I seem to remember you having a perfectly fine rental. Is there some reason we need to take the train?" Her boots were on and she stood. She took her coat from Dr. Lecter, and he turned on his heels, before heading back down the hall.
"Your sense of adventure needs pruning," he answered over his shoulder, before disappearing into his own room. Starling rolled her eyes and shrugged on her coat. She glanced at Cerberus for support, but he only gazed up at her in the hopeful, longing way only an innocent creature does. She sighed.
"By the time we get back, it will be getting dark." Starling jumped at the sound of his voice and turned around, irritably.
"How and more importantly, why do you do that?" she wondered, and scooped up her hair until it lay evenly on top of her coat. He handed her a hat, but she only gripped it in a clenched fist at her side.
"I suppose the answer to both questions would be...because I can," he said, leaning toward her slightly. His eyes cast down for a moment, before rising slowly until they made eye contact. He pursed his lips with a shrug and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. Starling moved her face away from his touch.
"Ummm," Dr. Lecter hummed, and Starling felt that hot, perverse flick from within at the sound and timbre of what she could only describe as his purr. "Do you know," he began, seeming to look her over for a moment, "I've taken note of something I find interesting. There is something about the way you recoil from my touch that truly stirs me. I think the reason is that you evade me only when you want me to touch you the most; I know that much from my limited experience with you. Don't think I can't see it," he paused, taking a step closer. She let him, perhaps because his eyes remained downcast as he advanced. Starling kept her chin raised, when he continued but said nothing.
"Don't think I cannot smell it or feel it," he said, placing a hand flat against his sternum. He took in a long, noisy breath through his nose, and Starling turned her face away from him. When he had finished sniffing the air between them, he opened his eyes. Two of his fingers on her chin brought them face to face. He watched her for a moment, savored the anticipation on her face, the noisy crackle in their eyes and touch. He particularly enjoyed it when she unconsciously glanced at his mouth and licked her lips. Oh, he would not forget that.
"Ready?" he asked, and Starling's eyebrows drew together. He tilted his head when she realized his hand was on her hip. He gripped it for a moment, before dipping it lower and squeezing the back of her upper thigh, just beneath her buttocks. She grabbed his shoulder and pushed him, before putting on her hat.
"Since when are you an oaf?" she said, under her breath. He reached the garage door before her and opened it. When she passed him this time, he gave her backside a noisy smack. Starling didn't move or make a sound but turned very slowly to regard him.
"No," she said, shaking her head. Dr. Lecter was putting on a scarf and closing the door behind him.
"No, what?" he asked, and she watched him go to the passenger's side of the car and open it for her. He waited, and she stared at him.
"No. Do not ever, ever do that again."
"Do what?"
When she only looked at him, he went on.
"Do what? What did I do? If you tell me what I did to you, I'll know what you wish me never, ever to do again." He smiled, politely.
"You struck me."
"Umm, I don't recall striking you. Where do you recall being struck, Clarice? Perhaps you should show me."
"If you do it again, I'll-"
"You'll what? Hmm? Will you shoot me? With what weapon? Will you leave? Or perhaps you'll strike me back with a well-placed round-house kick. Wouldn't that be something? Wouldn't it be something if you showed me just how strong a woman can be? Wouldn't it be something if you just showed me?"
"I am beginning to feel very curious as to why you're going to such great lengths to act like such a prick."
"You can think about what you would do to me on the way to Trøndelag."
"I don't know what kind of idiotic S&M horseshit you think we're getting into tonight, but whatever it is, I will endure it tonight. No sooner. I'm not yours until sundown, so cut this shit out. At sundown, there's nothing I can do."
"Oh, there's plenty for you to do, Clarice. It won't be my turn all night."
When she only stared at him with her lips parted, Dr. Lecter beckoned her with a finger. "You can think about it. On the way to Trøndelag."
In the car, Starling squeezed her thighs together and looked out the window. Dr. Lecter put on some music, and she relaxed, a little. At length:
"Why did you do it?" she asked the passing landscape.
"Why did I do what?"
"Please stop doing that."
"Why did I do what, Clarice? If you can't even say it, how are you to endure tonight?"
"You slapped my ass, like an adolescent. The kind you'd mock. It was entirely out of character and I felt no emotion from you behind it, which I suppose is why I'm not as mad as I ordinarily would be. It was a chess move. But I need to confirm why you did it. So, why?"
"Don't make this complicated too fast, it's boring."
Starling sniffed. "Fine. Give me the bullshit answer, that's better than none."
"Because you earned it. What did you say? What was it you called me?"
"Oh. I called you an oaf, so you slap my ass. Because that's fair and normal."
"I don't care what's fair or normal. But today, if I find you to be insolent or unbecoming, I will choose to communicate that to you however I see fit. I encourage you to do the same. Outside the bounds of what anyone else deems fair or normal."
"I'm not yours until sundown," Starling murmured.
"Your mine every minute of every day."
Starling suddenly found her heart hammering and her palms sweaty. His tone had seemed to cut through the atmosphere and air itself like a laser. Dr. Lecter noticed the sudden change in her breathing and was pleased. When he hazarded a quick glance, her face and chest were flushed. He placed a hand carefully, slowly, on her knee. She looked down at his hand, her eyes wide and glazed.
"I won't tear you until sundown. I won't disrobe you until sundown. I do so out of courtesy, and to keep our agreement rigid, because that makes you feel safe. But make no mistake. You're always mine. Everywhere. Everywhen."
Starling looked at him. He kept his eyes on the road, so she gazed at his profile, the slopes and dips of his eyebrows, nose, lips and chin. "If I'm always yours, no matter when or where I am, I wonder who you belong to."
"Who should I belong to, Clarice?"
"No one should belong to anyone."
"Ah, have you finally been catching up on Truman?"
Starling scoffed, looking back out the window. "Too complicated too fast," she said, shaking her head. "Since when am I moving too fast for you?"
Dr. Lecter glanced at his watch. "Maybe your memory of our talks in the dungeon are a little murky, Clarice. You rush things, because you're always in work-mode. You are not in work-mode, here. I only want to make that apparent."
"It seems like you're the one in work mode."
Dr. Lecter glanced at her, then back at the road. Starling held her hands up to the heater, and went on.
"Do you ever stop planning and live in the present? Do you ever stop making moves and just exist?"
"I'll have to watch and see, Clarice." There was a trace of humor to his voice, but it was an overt avoidance.
Starling was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her eyes remained forward. "I think that's the closest thing to a lie you've told me in a long time."
Dr. Lecter pursed his lips and said nothing all the way to the train station. Starling would have been pleased about stumping him, but couldn't find it in herself under the circumstances. She had a sour feeling in her gut.
The Oppdal train station was a quaint sort of yellow, striking against the snowy, crepuscular mountains behind it. There was a slumping mound of snow still clinging to its roof in the valley of the gable and eave. Below, was a frigid puddle where it dripped. Starling watched it's slow drip with her hands buried in her pockets while Dr. Lecter purchased tickets. She could feel it when he was coming up behind her. When he stood next to her, he handed her a ticket. She took it and put it in her pocket, quickly.
"You need gloves. They sell some across the street. I'll be back, shortly."
Before she could respond, he was gone. There was a bench against the station, facing the railroad and she took a seat. There was room inside, and it wasn't terribly crowded. She didn't exactly know why she remained outside. Perhaps because she had only ever been cooped up with him. They'd never made an outing, and she realized it all of a sudden.
How was he never worried? How did he live like this, live like a fugitive? What kind of a life was that worth living? She could not understand how he was never afraid, and with this question, came the other. If nothing frightened him but her, what did that make her?
By the time he returned, they could see the train coming in the distance and they stood, as though politely welcoming a guest. Some of the other people came outside, some with luggage or backpacks, some with nothing. Some murmured or coughed, others were quiet and checked their watches. None of them were looking at them, and Starling glanced at Dr. Lecter. He turned his head and smiled at her, and she noted the lines around his eyes in the light of day. Then she felt his hand at the small of her back, and suddenly he was guiding her forward, and then they were on a train and she followed him down the aisle until they were seated. She never took her eyes off of him. Somehow, his calm infected her; somehow, so long as she looked at him, no one would look at them.
They sat very close to one another, and when Dr. Lecter put an arm around her, she moved in closer until her shoulder was pressed into his underarm. Some part of her watched from far away and buried her head in her hands as she closed her eyes and felt heat in her face when he kissed her cheek, slow and soft.
As it turned out, the train ride was rather pleasant. Starling felt an absurd sense of safety, comfortably fitted into the nook of Dr. Lecter's arm. Comfortably fitted into their disguised coupledome and his fraudulent tenure. She shuddered at the thought, but was unsure after the fact, if it had been a shudder or a quiver. She placed different connotations on the words. Either way, playing the part of Dr. Lecter's companion seemed to allow her to adapt a certain kind of calm confidence, an air of a new persona. At a certain point, they struck up a conversation with another couple, even inviting them to sit with them. Later, she would admit she found the experience a bit thrilling.
"I moved here for him," the young woman said to Starling in a low voice. She rolled her eyes with a smile and shrugged. "I don't like admitting it, but maybe there's more dignity in facing it for what it is. I moved for a man, and damn if I'm not happy." She smiled, glancing at her husband. He had leaned over and was showing Dr. Lecter an old pocket watch.
The bride was Holly Cier and the groom was Oliver Berg. Holly was twenty three years old and looked it. To Starling, Holly had the look of a young, sprightly woman on the outside. Her cornflower hair shined, her skin had the pinky elasticity of youth and her expressive hands and animated face suggested all the more her vibrancy. Yet, her voice gave her away on occasion, as did her eyes. It was these whispers that Starling heard; it was these whispers that made Holly momentarily interesting.
Starling leaned forward and when Holly mimicked her, they had the pretense of female privacy created by the curtains of their hair and of course, their aura.
"Do you know what I find?" Starling began." No one judges me as harshly as I do. It's easy to nonchalantly cast judgment this way and that, but what we're really all thinking about is being judged, ourselves. Everyone's a damn hypocrite, so screw it."
Holly gave her a crooked grin. "Amen, sister."
Dr. Lecter liked Oliver's pocket watch. It was 19th century, yellow gold. Oliver knew the maker but not its origin.
"If it was made by Patek Philippe there's a decent chance it was made in Geneva," mused Dr. Lecter. When Oliver handed it to him, Dr. Lecter stopped him with a finger. He reached into a pocket and took out a handkerchief. He placed it flat on his left palm, before indicating to Oliver he was ready to take it. Dr. Lecter put it close to his face, and he could smell its age, but not its major components.
Gold has no smell. Many other metals do, but pure metals do not. It is, in fact, the chemical compounds within the metal which give it a scent. Iron compounds, for instance, have a scent, accounting for the similarity between the smell of blood and that of damp rust. With practice, one may be able to distinguish the smells of well-used copper and brass from iron; anyone knows the smell of an old penny.
Yet, gold is quite chemically non-reactive. Of course gold's inert nature is one reason it is sought after. Dr. Lecter can smell the residue of age and preservatives and even a trace of gunpowder. He cannot detect the gold itself. He glanced at Starling out of the corner of his eye while Oliver droned on about steel pallet fork bridges and jewels. He could not see her face for her hair, and for a moment, he stopped himself from sweeping it back so that he could look at her. Then it occurred to him he did not have to stop himself. As far as these people were concerned, as far as she was concerned, she was his and he could move her hair if he pleased. When he touched her, she moved to look at him as he tucked it behind her ear. He opened an arm, gestured she should re-nestle. To his infinite pleasure, she moved in until his arm came around her.
"Look at this, my dear," he moved it so she could see. She bent her head and looked up at Oliver.
"It's lovely. How long have you had it?" she asked.
"It's been in my family for four generations. It was a wedding present, so I've only had it a few months."
Dr. Lecter smiled. "And an excellent wedding present, it is."
"What about you two, I don't see any rings," said Holly. She winked at Starling, who had to look away so that her distaste went unnoticed. Dr. Lecter caressed her shoulder with a thumb and she looked at him.
"Yes, Dear. Where is my ring?" she asked, the challenge implicit in her expression and tone.
Dr. Lecter responded by leaning into her neck and kissing her there. When his head came up, Starling braced herself for the difficult task of remaining stoic. "In good time. My dear."
Starling laughed, and the couple across from them laughed, and Dr. Lecter smiled, his eyes always on Starling.
Near the end of their trip, Holly leaned across Oliver with a camera. "Up ahead, we'll stop at the Hell station."
"What?" asked Starling.
"Yes, Dear. Next stop, hell," said Dr. Lecter.
Oliver scoffed. "There is a small town we're about to enter called Hell. People like to take pictures with the sign, sometimes. Will you be taking a photo?"
"No, I don't believe that's a particular thing I need to immortalize," Starling answered.
They stayed put while the train was stopped, and watched Holly and Oliver scamper outside. It seemed even colder here, if it were possible. The window had little thorny fingers reaching from the sides where condensation had frozen, and it reminded Starling of the gold, floral surround of Oliver's pocket watch. Snow covered everything here, and the sky was slate gray. The train station was yellow with red trim, a rather jaunty building to welcome weary travelers to Hell. Above its façade was a little blue clock, and above the blue clock was a plain white sign which read, simply:
HELL
"When was it you said? The day you would be my true companion?"
"When hell froze over," Starling said. She was leaning over him to look out the window, so when she glanced at him, their faces were close. He smiled.
"Very cute," she conceded. "Surely this trip was not purely to live a pun."
"You could do worse than live a pun, but no. I told you, we're headed to Trøndelag. There are some places worth visiting," he answered, pausing when she sat back in her seat, looking at him. "If I had more time with you, we would take a helicopter tour of the North. With only a weekend and a train ride, it's the best I can do."
Starling narrowed her eyes, slightly. "I don't understand," she said, looking around to confirm their privacy, before leaning in close. Dr. Lecter leaned in close too, and Starling couldn't be sure if he was mocking her, but didn't care. "What do you think this is?" she whispered into his ear. Dr. Lecter turned his head to whisper into Starling's ear:
"Contingency, Clarice. It is an opportunity."
"An opportunity for what?" she wondered, her voice low as her eyes darted toward their car door.
"Indulgence, of course," he answered, taking a moment to incline his head and smell her neck. Starling moved her head away, but looked at him. When she glanced at his mouth he noticed and she swallowed.
"This isn't an opportunity, it's collateral. We're on borrowed time."
"If that's true, all the more reason to find pleasure in our circumstances. Would you prefer we brood all weekend? Complete the task with a television blaring in the background and takeout on the table? Some part of you would, perhaps," he paused, and they were both silent, as a family walked past their car, glancing at them. Their fraudulent smiles vanished the moment they were alone. Then, they were looking at one another once again, tense and warm in their proximity. He went on:
"But that's not really you. Dishonoring our pact would serve to remove you from it. You find yourself longing for that mote around your castle, but there's no place for that, not anymore. Not between you and I. Our agreement cannot work that way. The part of you that longs for the mote is only a version of you created to survive a specific period of your life. It served you well in Institutions, didn't it? But this isn't the Lutheran Home or Quantico. You're out in the wilderness. With me. You can't always count on the security of Spartan buildings and their axioms. One day you may find yourself in the wilderness again, and you'll have no knowledge of how to navigate. The squabbling ship's crew laugh at the stargazer, Clarice."
"Ah, so this is all for my benefit, then. Not Hannibal the Cannibal, but Lecter the Protector."
Dr. Lecter seized her arm with furious strength, and she gasped; not in pain, but in surprise. "Do you think it perturbs me when you're insolent? If so, you're mistaken. No, I welcome it. It serves as opportunity, Clarice. I highly recommend you begin to look for those yourself, in the coming hours," he said, his voice still low but picking up pace. Holly and Christopher were heading back toward the train, the bored porter giving a wave. Starling glanced at Dr. Lecter with a raised eyebrow and he was not quite smiling.
"The sun will be setting in about six hours. Maybe one of these days I'll take you beyond Trøndelag to Tromsø, and keep you for the Polar Night. Then you'd be my little doxy for far longer than one night."
"Opportunity, huh? You've given me plenty of reason to enjoy tormenting you, if that's what you had in mind. Is that what you want? Do you want to encourage me to be sadistic, then? You're so intent on bringing out the wickedness in me that you're ready to be my personal pincushion?"
"One day, Clarice, I hope that you can see the significance in the thought."
Starling leaned away, looking at him, intently. His grip loosened slightly, but her eyes were wide and alarm was seething in her face. She took three breaths before she spoke. "Alright. You wish to irritate me into insolence, so that you can play Master to the damsel. In so doing, you wish to elevate my irritation to new levels of outrage so that I, in turn, am ready to play Mistress to your buck. And I should find it all romantic. Have I got all this straight?"
"You should find it however you find it, Clarice."
"Have I got it?"
"Yes."
She glanced at the door, knowing they had only a few more moments left alone.
"Fine," she said, eyeing him. A few tense, silent moments, before Dr. Lecter spoke.
"You've been exceedingly rude, Clarice."
"Sure. You've been exceedingly trying," she responded, her tone sharp. A small twitch in her coral lips.
"Nonetheless."
"Jesus, I can't play this game. What do you want, anyway? Do you want me squealing and kicking over your knee?"
"I would venture to say," Dr. Lecter said, grinning," that you would be the most fortunate of my victims, if that were the case."
Starling found herself laughing hard, and by the time Holly and Christopher had returned, her face was red from the strain, and a few passersby looked on when the door was opened to get a look at the hysterical woman.
By the time they had reached their stop, Christopher was giving Dr. Lecter advice on how to get to Nidaros Castle. Starling looked on, amused at the sight of Dr. Lecter calmly taking the advice of a man so young and shiny and pink. She gave Holly a one-armed hug and smiled tightly when Holly gave her a wink.
"If you drop little reminders here and there, he'll probably propose. He seems absolutely obsessed with you. "
"Oh," Starling said, briefly rattled. "Well. Thank you, Holly," she glanced at Dr. Lecter. He'd replaced his overcoat and was tugging on his gloves. When he replaced his hat, he glanced at her and winked.
Starling cleared her throat and looked back at Holly. "Perhaps I'll give being a tyrant a try, after all."
Holly screwed her eyebrows together at Starling's choice of words, but then her husband approached, giving her cheek a noisy kiss and the moment was lost.
Dr. Lecter came behind him and, without warning, clapped Starling on the back of the thigh. Starling made a sound she would replay in her mind later, again and again, and then jumped back with a hand over her mouth. Holly put a hand over her grinning mouth too, and Christopher looked at Dr. Lecter, then Starling, then Lecter again with his eyebrows raised.
"Lovely meeting you both. Good day," said Dr. Lecter, before guiding Starling out of the train.
It was a fifteen minute walk before they reached a restaurant on the waterfront. Starling eyed Dr. Lecter from the window as he spoke to someone at the telephone booth outside. When he returned, she smiled sweetly at him, and then at the waitress who returned with a coffee.
"Thank you so much," said Starling, and the waitress gave her a smile and nod, before turning to Dr. Lecter. "And for you?" she asked.
"Oh, he's mute," Starling said, and briefly looked down at her clasped hands on the tabletop. When she looked back up, she mirrored the sympathetic look on the waitress' face.
"Oh," she said, shifting her feet, anxiously.
"He'll take a coffee too, just black."
The waitress nodded, giving Starling a look of respect and tenderness. When she was gone, Starling looked at Dr. Lecter. He looked at her with both amusement and contempt, a corner of his mouth twitching. Starling took a sip of her coffee.
Lunch was pleasantly quiet for Starling, and when they left, Dr. Lecter sighed. "Charming," he said, as they were walking.
"Who were you speaking to on the phone?" she asked.
"I was calling to confirm the opening hours at Nidaros Cathedral."
"How far is it?"
"Not far. We can walk there."
Starling was quiet for a moment, apparently in thought. By the time they were halfway there, she had been quiet for ten minutes. She was looking at the hairs on Dr. Lecter's wrist where they peaked out between his cuff and wristwatch. There was a bridge coming up on their left, and Dr. Lecter glanced at it, at the pedestrians and the bikes lining the sidewalks, then at the sprawling sky and finally the water, a bit dull on this gray afternoon.
"Clarice?"
"Umm-hmm?"
"Tell me what you're thinking," he said, and guided them toward the bridge, though it was not in the right direction.
Starling kept her eyes on the hair on Dr. Lecter's wrist as the sun came out briefly as they turned. "I was wondering how long you've been planning this trip with me."
"It didn't take long."
"How long…at what point…did you begin planning it?"
"Oh, I think the idea first occurred to me a few months ago."
"Oh."
"Oh?" Dr. Lecter echoed her with a note of amusement. They came to stand against the red railing and he leaned his elbows against it, looking out at the water."Did you imagine me drooling like Sammie all year long? At the prospect of seeing you, again?"
"Maybe not drooling."
"Hmm. What about you, Clarice?"
"Have I been drooling over seeing you? I think we've discussed at length my feelings about seeing you, again."
"Yes. And we've gone around and around the truth."
"I'd like to talk about you," Starling said. She leaned against the railing in the opposite direction, facing the pedestrians and the opposite side of the bridge. "What exactly have you been doing all year? The agreement is in place. Nothing I learn during this time will be used against you. We have to trust each other. This can't continue to be one-sided."
Dr. Lecter conceded her point with a curt nod. "I've been in Vienna."
"And?"
"What do you wish to know, Clarice?"
"Who did Cerberus belong to?"
Dr. Lecter kept his eyes on the water, but eyed her with his peripheral. "A friend, you could say. His name was Wagner."
"How did he pass?"
"Suicide, unfortunately."
Starling pursed her lips and watched a young man in a stylish scarf walking with a little dog. "What did you do?" she asked, smiling at an older woman as she passed them.
"Nothing that would have driven you to suicide."
"That's irrelevant. You know how much I can take, you know how much anybody can take."
"Honestly, Clarice, I didn't do anything with his suicide particularly in mind."
"What did you do?"
"He asked for my assistance with his love life, and I obliged."
"Dr. Lecter-"
He glanced at her and placed a hand on her forearm. She paused looking at his hand, and realized she'd balled her fists awkwardly in front of her, as thought she was gripping a steering wheel. She relaxed her arms and let them fall to her sides.
"Clarice?"
She sighed. "What?"
"I can only be what I am. There will be a level of social Darwinism in effect no matter what treaties you make with me or the world. There will be casualties."
Starling let her head rotate around and noted the cracking of her neck. She turned to face the same direction as Dr. Lecter, mirroring his position. He moved his hand until it lay on top of hers on the railing. She didn't move or acknowledge it. She was recalling the many children she wouldn't save, the ocean she drained with a spoon, and her head hung. She could see herself below, a dark apparition on the water's surface. She could see Dr. Lecter's too.
"Oh, come now. Don't be sullen," he said, giving her hand a squeeze. "There is purpose in life beyond trying to mold it to your ideals. In time, regardless of our deal or even associating with me, you'll find that your effort has less value than a child's finger painting. At least the latter is enjoying the task."
"Not everything is about enjoyment."
"With you, nothing is," he said, releasing her, as the tone of his voice became more chipper.
"And with you, that's all there is."
"Is that so? I'm sure you'll think of unique ways to torture me, Clarice. I am not a masochist, but I'm willing to sacrifice my own pleasure for yours."
"That's beautiful," Starling said. The sarcasm she'd meant to insert had lost some of its luster. It came out sounding either wistful or impartial.
By the time they reached the cathedral, the sun was getting low in the sky. The bare trees surrounding the grounds were craggy silhouettes, casting long, blue shadows over the snow-covered ground. The cathedral itself was bewitching, naturally, having been built in the classical Romanesque and Gothic style of its time.
They approached the façade side by side, but did not touch. It was beginning to get very cold; they were in the shade of the sactuary. Starling had a distant compulsion to draw closer to Lecter. She acknowledged it, but otherwise ignored it. Instead, she decided she wanted to speak before he did, and she knew he would.
"When does the tour begin?"
"We're not with a tour."
"Everywhere I go with you is a tour."
Dr. Lecter smiled and rolled a spare button in his overcoat pocket around and around. "I think what you're trying to say, or perhaps, trying not to say, is that everywhere you go with me, I am your guide."
"You're not the guide," Starling said. Her voice was low and contemplative. "No, it isn't you," she seemed to agree with herself. She seemed to return to herself, or the moment, or both. "No, you're something else. And anyway, what I meant was that you have a love of showing off what you know. So my question is, when do the little factoids begin? I know you have them. About this place."
Dr. Lecter watched a couple leaving the castle. They walked with their elbows locked and were talking and laughing loudly. He inadvertently made eye contact with the man, who quit laughing and smiling for a moment as they passed. "I can tell you about this place if you liked, but you've made your disinterest clear. What I would like to know is, if I am not the guide, who is?"
"What do you mean?" Starling asked. She didn't look at him, but frowned as she looked up at the looming cathedral façade. There were a few pigeons perched high up, and they peered out across their domain, little black cooing specks above.
"You began a very interesting conversation with yourself, a moment ago. I'd like to hear more. You made a point of deciding I was not the guide. Guide in what? And who is the guide?"
"Guide in what?" Starling repeated his first question as they were entering the cathedral.
As nearly everyone does upon entering a Gothic cathedral, Starling immediately looked up. Churches were often built with this effect in mind; one's thoughts should be drawn upward, to the heavens. One's place of worship ought to reflect the higher thoughts of the saved. Dr. Lecter looked up, too.
There were a few people seated at the pews near the front. Their colorful sweaters and low chatter were discordant in the solemn dignity of this place.
"In life, Dr. Lecter," she finally answered. She kept her voice very low and confidential. It felt inappropriate to speak, even when others were.
Dr. Lecter seemed to agree, as he only nodded. They were quiet as they walked, exploring the nave and then the ambulatory. Then they walked back to the crossing and stood quiet with their hands in their pockets looking at the crucifix statue. When a group approached from behind they immediately turned in unison, and left the church in silence. Neither spoke until they found themselves in the cemetery.
"This was built over the burial site of King Olav II," said Dr. Lecter. They were looking at a particular gravestone for no particular reason. It had the gorgon loop carved into it. Starling knew it to be the symbol for Saint John's arms, and that people once carved it on houses, barns and even household utensils to protect from evil spirits. She also knew it to be the command key on apple computers, and she smiled sourly at the way humans had created so much meaning only to devour it all in favor of distraction and rubbish.
"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" she mused, finally glancing at him. Dr. Lecter looked at Starling and found she was smiling at him. It was a new sort of smile, thought he'd seen a flavor of it once before. It had come on the night they'd last been together, after he'd first entered her. Not immediately after, no. It had come hours later when she'd sought comfort, sought an ally in the aftermath of her plunge into self-imposed desolation. She was seeking again now, seeking an ally…in him. She looked at him with the saddest smile, but it wasn't entirely sad. She smiled at him the smile which ventures to share one's loneliness, and he smiled back and took her hand.
"If someone were to build to honor your death, it would sweep a continent," he said.
"When I die, it will likely be an unmarked grave. Like this one. But thanks."
"If you die before me, I'll visit your unmarked grave in my best suit, and in my mind the mirage of its spires will reach the troposphere."
Starling stared at Dr. Lecter. Her lack of words felt abrupt and her mouth opened and closed. She couldn't bring herself to wise-crack or even thank him. The grandeur of his compliment, as morbid as it was, left her feeling lost and more than a little concerned. His words were those of someone deeply in love and she finally had to look away. She was glad when a crow cawed abrasively, breaking the silence which came after Dr. Lecter's glutted avowel.
They were quiet on the way to the train station. They remained quiet on the train. Starling could only hear Dr. Lecter's words again and again; they were accompanied by a mosaic of images, some related to the moment and others not.
If someone were to build to honor your death…
White snow, long, blue shadows
…it would sweep a continent…
The roar of the plane as it begins its descent. The sky out of the little window, a dense, churning haze.
If you die before me…
Christ the teacher, standing in the center arch. Dark, broken images on the water.
…I'll visit your unmarked grave in my best suit…
Ardelia in her favorite dress, laughing as they throw their shoes, clattering on the floor. Ardelia, Ardelia… The guide, in black slingbacks.
…and in my mind the mirage of its spires will reach the troposphere…
The crow's caw, her father's grave.
Starling couldn't bare the thought that he was in love with her. She could not bare that he would want her to know it. She could not bare to acknowledge knowing it.
The sun was nearly set while they were finally back in his rental on their way to the cabin. Still, neither had spoken. Starling realized her heart had begun to beat a little faster, her hands had grown a little damper, and her foot began to periodically spasm. She gazed out the window as they approached the driveway and realized why. The sun was nearly gone, and it meant the second night of their covenant approached. As she walked just behind him to the door, her legs felt weak.
He turned and looked at her when the door was closed behind them, and she stood with her arms at her sides in the middle of the living room. They walked toward one another until they stood in front of the tall, narrow windows on either side of the front door. They looked at one another as the last of the daylight left, and then it was dark outside and in the house.
Dr. Lecter offered his hand. "Little doxy," he whispered.
She took his hand, and felt only a whisper of chagrin that her hand was shaking. He felt the trembling of her hand, looked down to observe it, and covered the back of her hand with his other before looking back up at her.
"Hannibal…" she whispered back, feeling suddenly as thrilled as she was uneasy.
"The first half of the night is mine," he reminded her, and kissed her hand. He smiled. "The second half will be your revenge."