Chapter Text
“Clarice, it is your turn. What do you have to ask me?” Hannibal inquired casually, his eyes betraying his enthrallment. He relished in these conversations that he had with her; no one else had interested him half as much as Clarice had.
Clarice thought for a moment. She could attempt to interrogate him about the Buffalo Bill case, however he always managed to find a way around the subject. Her eyes darted over to her watch and she read the time.
‘It’s five-thirty. I guess that leaves plenty of time to ask him other questions. It might open him up a little bit so that I can question him properly. He won’t be completely open, of course, but even if he doesn’t open up, at least it will be interesting,’ she thought as her gaze returned to Lecter, who was awaiting her question. He smirked, his eyes displaying his intrigue. He must have been able to sense her differing approach before she even spoke.
“Doctor Lecter, were you well-liked in school?” she asked, staring into his eyes and searching them deeply. It was as if his habit of refusing to blink had begun to become reflected upon her. He glanced up at the ceiling in thought. He had anticipated a question of the personal nature, but he had not even began to expect a question that asked about his school life.
He inspected the ceiling tiles that he had dwelled underneath for such a long time. He inhaled the musty asylum’s scent as he attempted to bring forth more vivid memories of his childhood; he recalled the murder of his sister in his early adulthood, but he had otherwise dispelled the other memory fragments that remained from such a faraway time. His eyes displayed little emotion aside from utter thoughtfulness, even as the traumatizing images flitted through his mind and caused his fingers to twitch. He exhaled slowly and turned to Clarice.
“I apologize; it was difficult to recall much from my childhood. However, I am quite sure that I was not. My interests were far too peculiar for other children to comprehend. Also, I was mature for my age. Some children did not appreciate my realistic view on life. You see, an average child’s mind is said to be moldable like clay, and in some ways I agree with that statement, but socially, some children are only shaped by skilled hands. Their parents are the welders of their attitude. Metals cannot be molded by all, rather by skilled welders, whilst clay can be molded by anyone with hands to do so. So, when I attempted to convince them of my realist views, they shunned me because they were as closed minded as their parents were,” Hannibal replied, his sentences flowing with robotic precision. As Clarice had discovered early on, Hannibal’s sentences were often wordy and contained unneeded comparisons. It wasn’t because he was desperate to sound intelligent; it was because he felt the need. Clarice appreciated this about him.
It was dreadfully silent for a few moments as the stagnant air began to weigh on their shoulders. For a while, they gazed into each other’s eyes and ransacked each other’s psyches – or in Clarice’s case, attempted to – simply because they had the ability to. They seemed to learn much about each other this way. Once their eyes locked, they learned so much.
“I suppose that it’s your turn, Doctor,” Clarice replied after they broke eye contact.
Hannibal nodded as his gaze drifted to the ceiling once more. His desire for freedom was hidden, yet expressed within his movements. It wasn’t as if he desperately needed freedom itself; as he stated, he simply ached for a view. They had confiscated his drawings and stolen away his view for good.
“Clarice, how many times have you been abandoned by those that you love? How many times have you had trusted people lie without even bothering to look into those eyes of yours? Tell me; how many people have utterly destroyed your wings and screamed at you to fly? How many times have you had to avoid gazing into Crawford’s eyes because you don’t want to trust him? How many times? Tell me now, and do not even bother lying,” Lecter hissed, his eyes flashing as he awaited an answer.
As usual, Clarice was absolutely stunned. He seemed to be under the assumption that she returned the feelings for Jack, but it was because she had displayed embarrassment whenever the subject was mentioned. However, she had felt that way. She had been quite certain that she had grown used to his keen psychological abilities, but instances such as this one caused her to realize that she wasn’t used to it whatsoever. She struggled to remain calm and composed, however, when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing save for a strangled sound managed to escape. It was as if her vocal cords were being crushed by her tidal wave of emotions. Tears glazed over her eyes but never fell; they clung to her eyes in fear of being sensed by Lecter. She was so comfortable around him, but at the same time, she was petrified of allowing him to roam freely in her mind. However, she knew that that phobia was absolutely pointless; he had been in her head from the very start.
“Too many times to count, Doctor Lecter,” she choked, desperately struggling to will her tears away. She knew that he would be aware of them, but the notion still spooked her.
“As I thought, Clarice; as I thought. Now, when you have composed yourself, the quid pro quo shall continue,” he replied, his voice still as metallic as ever. He attempted to hide the excitement in his voice. He knew that she had to trust him for her to answer such a question truthfully. He would have said that his reason for excitement was because he could dissect her with more ease if she trusted him with everything that she knew, but he subconsciously had other reasons to establish trust, and he knew that. He was aware of his own emotions even if they were for the most part foreign to him.
Clarice breathed in shakily, smelling the salty scent of her tears, and then wiped her eyes. There was no point in attempting to hide her distress now. He had obviously sensed it. She could tell by his posture; he seemed to be feeling content with himself. Her tears had been an obvious sign of her honesty.
“Doctor Lecter, why is it that you are so obsessed with the thought that I love Jack Crawford? I really don’t at all. As I’ve stated before, I’ve never even thought of him in that way,” she demanded, hoping to get an answer.
Hannibal paused for a second, honestly not sure of his answer. He’d never dwelled upon a reason for it, nor had he truly obsessed over it. He continued to ponder, but the more that he thought about it, the more that his mind disturbed him. He had one thought that continued to ram into his mind as he searched, but he attempted to ignore it.
'I would rather you not be with him, Clarice. He does not know what you want. He does not understand you as well as I do,' his mind insisted, but he was well-aware of how that answer would affect her view of him. He once again ignored the thought and decided to taunt her as she would predict him to.
“Agent Starling, there is no reason to lie to me; I am certain that you like Jack Crawford. There is no doubt about that,” he replied, purposefully dodging the question that Clarice had asked. It was immediately obvious that Clarice was agitated with this answer.
“Doctor Lecter, answer me,” she mocked him, knowing that it would shove him towards answering her, “I’m sure that you know I don’t appreciate being ignored.”
Hannibal sighed, an expression of mock worry painting its way onto his features. He had a plan; he would duck around the subject until she forfeited this game. He was deft at pushing people’s buttons, so this would be a relatively simple task for him.
“Oh Clarice, you’re just dying to end this session so that you can return to Crawford’s office and return to his loving embrace. I understand,” he teased, continuing to pretend to be concerned.
“Lecter, answer me right now! I refuse to leave until you answer me!”
Hannibal tut-tutted and spun on his heel, his worn shoes squeaking against the floor beneath him. He gazed up at the ceiling thoughtfully for a few seconds, acting as if he was actually deciding to answer the question.
“I suppose that that would be fine, given that Doctor Chilton would not allow you to remain here forever. I do believe you will be forced to vacate the premises at some point in time,” Hannibal retorted, stifling chuckles that were beginning to force their way out of his throat.
Clarice was absolutely livid at this point; she wanted answers.
“DOCTOR LECTER, TELL ME RIGHT NOW! I REFUSE TO CONTINUE THIS!” she shouted, hungry for answers.
‘The entertainment value of the game is beginning to wane; what a pity. I suppose that I might as well offer some sort of answer,’ he thought, turning around to face Clarice.
“Agent Starling, I would rather you not decide to indulge in relations with Jack Crawford. In my opinion, he would be of absolutely no use to you,” Hannibal replied, somehow managing to keep his voice as cold and emotionless as it had previously been.
“Doctor Le-,”
“Clarice, I do believe it is my turn. Mind your manners,” he interrupted, a cruel grin plastered onto his face.
And so it continued.