Chapter Text
Hours had passed, and Clarice had not yet come home.
Her husband cooked dinner, read, watched the news... He tried to distract himself from the gnawing of her absence but was failing miserably. It all seemed so incredibly domestic, and yet it wasn’t. Dr. Lecter was just worried about his precious Starling as any fawning spouse would, but he knew her reason for not returning was far more complex than working late hours at a job or getting caught in traffic. She had been liberated since their days at the German’s house, yet her internal monologue debating good and evil would not be silenced. No matter how much he blew in her chrysalis, Clarice Starling was Clarice Starling.
And now Jack Crawford is dead, just as dead as her daddy. And she left because of it.
Hannibal pressed his lips together softly while sitting in the kitchen and tried his best to have an objective thought. I’ve really gotten too attached to her. He laughed. That’s quite the understatement. Quickly, though, his laugh lines faded and were replaced with a worrying frown. It had been six hours since she’d left, and there was no crossbow that could bring her back if she had indeed left for good. Her unpredictability—though usually fun—was now deeply troubling. The doctor speculated about what Clarice would or could have done since she grabbed her purse and her wallet (IDs and passports always at the ready) and walked out the front door. He was really getting scared now, pushing back thoughts of a life not worth living. He didn’t know how long he was seated here, but nothing interrupted him until the squeak of the door.
Starling entered, leaving her shoes in the entrance closet and moving to walk upstairs without a word to Hannibal. Still sitting in the adjoining room, he listened and walked through his plan for this scenario. He was going to walk up to her quietly and ask her how she was feeling. He was going to touch her only if she welcomed it. He was going to make sure his wife was truly home.
But, as he rose from the chair and rushed into the foyer, the plan was abandoned. Seeing Clarice soaking wet from the rain with slightly puffy eyes over Jack Crawford— of all people, he thought—made him lose it. The objectivity was gone, replaced by worry, anger, and hurt.
“Do you have any idea how long you’ve been gone?”
“I’m not a child, Hannibal.”
“You’re drenched! Christ, Clarice, you could catch your death on a day like today... Out for seven hours in the sleet! And about Jack Crawford? A mentor stands by their student to help them grow. Jack Crawford marked you as deplorable long before Paul Krendler came for your career, Agent Starling...” He drew out the syllables, and he started again, this time his voice much louder. “What are you mourning him for? What more could you want here, from me? What do you want from him?”
Clarice’s eyes bore into his frantic pinwheels. She saw desperation and anger. She did not see sympathy.
“Honestly, what the fuck, Doctor? I may be here with you, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten myself. You know that better than any friggin’ person on this earth. I’m not expecting ya to have empathy for me, but could ya at least take a step back and try to fucking understand? Let me get the fuck upstairs and leave me alone.” She started to walk, but Hannibal reached out and gently stopped her arm.
“Please, Clarice...” his muscles tensed. “Enlighten me with why you must grant Jackie any of your own understanding.” He looked at her, teasing. Mean. “I hardly see how he deserves it. A manipulator with a worse record of it than my own, one who abandoned you-not only ten years ago- but within the past few years, as well.” He paused, trying to think logically but failing. Her face was plain with confusion and frustration. She really had been thinking of leaving. He didn’t understand why but didn’t stop to contemplate it. Now Hannibal was screaming.
“Where are the search committees? Where are the news articles enlisting help in finding the precious kidnapped FBI agent? He knew where you were, Officer Starling. He didn’t know what I would do with you, but he knew you were with me. And he didn’t care at all.”
“Enough of this shit! Don’t you think I know that already? Leave me the fuck alone.” Dr. Lecter moved closer, clearly intending to continue probing, but Starling blocked it. She grabbed the arm with which he was holding her wrist, and-with hands planted on his chest-slammed him against the closet door. Hannibal flinched as he hit the door hard, knocking it out of the sliding track with his weight. The door was off and pinned between the man and the closet wall. The act lasted but three seconds.
When he stood, Hannibal looked at Clarice and blinked. She stared back at him, eyes alight with rage. She looked like she was going to hit him again until she surveyed the damages to the closet and then looked back at him. He no longer looked surprised—just sad and disappointed. His eyes welled.
She almost left me.
And she’s ready to do it again.
“I didn’t think you were going to come back.”
A tear dropped. Clarice did not acknowledge it. Without a word, she turned and went up the staircase, leaving a trail of water that had dripped from her still-sopping clothes.