It was the evening of the Buenos Aires Philharmonic Orchestra performance featuring Jonathon Cade—on an international tour and performing in Buenos Aires for a performance cycle of two weeks. Hannibal had of course purchased tickets, top quality front and center, and had been lavishing praise on the orchestra all week—in particular, that of the star violinist, Jonathon Cade, ranked among if not the best concert violinist in the world. And tonight was the night.

Clarice looked at her watch—nearly 04:00. It would be time to get ready soon. Damn.

"… and I had the pleasure of seeing Jonathon performing "Chaconne" from Bach's Partita No. 2 in D minor in Vienna, quite exquisite…" He cocked his head to the side. Was his Starling even listening? He glanced at her, sitting at the kitchen table, absentmindedly toying with the spoon in her coffee that by now had gone cold.

"Claaarrricccee…"

Jolted from her thoughts, she caught the maroon eyes of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, clad in a grey v-neck sweater, sleeves rolled up over the cutting board as he tended to the preparations for their dinner. "Yes, sorry I'm listening... Austria… very good performance," she smiled.

He stared for a beat, perhaps a moment too long for her liking. Just the faintest hint of a spark flew behind his eyes. She had aroused his curiosity, and that wasn't necessarily a good thing in this particular instance.

"Mmm, I see." He placed the butcher's knife down on the table, then bent over crossing his arms, resting his elbows on the counter. "Pray tell Clarice, what is on your mind? I would loathe to think that a cold cup of coffee could hold your interest more than I." He flashed her a playful smile.

And here it was. She'd had all week to approach the issue on her own terms but didn't. Silently she cursed herself for not doing so sooner. I mean it's not a big deal, really. It was a long time ago—several years in fact—and besides, Hannibal has dated numerous beautiful women in the past. So what does it matter? It didn't, she decided, but then again—he was quite frankly the most egotistical man she had ever known, if only by a small margin to… damnit. Say something… don't look nervous.

"Hannibal," she paused to look away before continuing, "I know you've been looking forward to tonight's event, but—I think I'm just really not in the mood for the symphony tonight. Do you mind if I sit this one out?"

He watched her as she spoke, eyes around the room, trying desperately hard not to fidget—and failing. There was something she was withholding from him, yes. Curious indeed.

"Are you feeling ill?"

"No I'm fine, just not in in the mood for the symphony."

"So you've said." He paused and held her gaze. It wasn't long before her eyes left his and found something else to focus on. "Well then, Clarice, what is it?"

He used the same tone as he had so long ago in the dungeon—intentionally, she knew, to put her off. He wasn't going to let it go, no, he was toying with her. She met his gaze, this time with resolve and maybe a hint of fire.

"Alright… alright. The reason I don't want to go is because I know one of the performers from back in DC, and I don't want to risk being recognized and put our safety in jeopardy. It's a long-shot, I know, but to me it's just not worth the risk and I'd just rather not go."

He analyzed her body language and determined she was telling the truth— or at least a partial truth.

"Ah, and which of the performers do you know?" There's that nervous energy again. His curiosity was peaked, he had to admit, but her evasiveness and obvious reluctance to answer his questions was beginning to invoke his annoyance.

"Jon, we met in DC while he was performing with the National Symphony Orchestra. We haven't been in touch for a few years now but he would recognize me if he saw me."

She could se the sparks dancing with that revelation. He was not going to let it go, but she was determined not to give away any more information than was necessary. She was a modest person, and a private person, and while she and Hannibal had shared many things over their last two years together, she had seen no reason to bring this to light. It didn't matter. So if it doesn't matter then why are you making such a big deal of not telling him? She shook away the thought.

"Jon." He blinked. "As in Jonathon Cade."

"Yes."

"You consider yourself a personal acquaintance of Jonathon Cade, and felt no reason to mention this while we've discussed the symphony at length this passed week?" Now he was annoyed.

"Like I said, we were friends, but it's been several years since we've spoken—"

"What constitutes friends, Clarice?"

She paused. Did he just interrupt me? Now it was her turn to be annoyed.

When she did not continue, he raised his eyebrows imploring her to go on. The sparks had turned to ice. She was testing his patience now, she knew. "Fine. I'll tell you the story." A softening in his eyes—at last, the moment of truth.

"I had taken the metro into downtown DC... I rarely take the metro, but for whatever reason I did that day. As I exited the train getting off at my station, I hear the most hauntingly beautiful music, and as I'm walking toward it I see this normal-looking guy playing his heart out on the violin. And everyone in the subway is just going about their business, not even noticing. I couldn't believe that no one seemed to be touched by this music, but I was and so I stayed. He played two more songs, and when he finished I went over to talk to him and… ask if he wanted to get a coffee."

Hannibal's expression—much to her consternation—was unreadable, yet she continued.

"I found out over coffee who he actually was, that he was playing with the National Symphony Orchestra, and the Washington Post was writing a piece on an experiment where they were having him pose as a street musician and play extremely intricate classical pieces, just to see if anyone would stop and recognize the art—the beauty in it. And it turns out, I was the only one."

"Hmm. Sadly it's not surprising given the lack of taste in this current generation. Fast food and cheap entertainment, the hustle and bustle of their little, low-ceiling lives," he mused. "But you, Clarice, have always had taste, even if not always the means to pursue it, and I have so enjoyed expanding your horizons. Your evolution continues to exceed even my highest expectations."

She could almost feel the heat in his eyes—almost, and in an instant the ice returned.

"It's getting late, Clarice, so let me save us both some time, hmm? You and Jon weren't merely friends; you were lovers, at least for a time. Am I correct?"

Masking her shock at such a blunt statement of truth, she continued. "We dated for five months and then I ended it. Jon was incredibly talented and—fun, if I'm being honest, but also extremely self-centered, egotistical, and well—a diva, for lack of a better word. Not attractive qualities." Sigh. "I knew from the beginning it was going to be temporary, but not all relationships are meant to last forever. It was fun, and I don't regret it."

Hannibal's expression a stone wall.

"I wasn't lying when I said we were friends. After things ended, we did keep in touch over the years, but it was never sexual past that point." She looked down at her lap, exhaled, and looked into his eyes. "Hannibal, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Honestly I'm not even sure why I didn't."

"I see. You're 'sorry' now, as opposed to ten minutes ago when I recall you, looking everywhere around the room except at me, while informing me of someone in the orchestra that might recognize you. Do try again, Clarice."

His words stung, but even worse he had a right to be angry—she'd let him go on about the orchestra and Jonathon Cade—world-class violinist all week without saying a word. She deserved what she got.

"Tell me, did you truly feel that I would be insecure when confronted with the knowledge of your past exploits? That I would be overcome with jealousy? Hardly."

Exploits!? Is he serious right now? That did it. "You tell me, Hannibal, you're the one who's upset." She paused, remembering that she was in fact on the wrong side of the argument before continuing. "And I know that is my doing, and I am sorry, but frankly, I guess I didn't want to know how you would feel. I know of your past—relationships—and I'm not jealous of those women, so no I don't expect you to feel jealousy toward Jon—Jonathon," she corrected.

"You are a beautiful woman Clarice, both outside and in. It would be ludicrous to think that you would not have engaged in past sexual relationships before me." He paused, considering his words before continuing. "I have never lied to you Clarice, nor have I attempted to conceal any aspects of my past. As my partner, I expect the same. No subject should be off limits between us, Clarice—no matter how uncomfortable they may be."

He spoke the truth. "I guess I just didn't want to bring the ghosts of the past into our life here. But that doesn't excuse it, and I am sorry Hannibal."

He was motionless, staring intently but the ice had begun to thaw she noticed. She got up from her chair and slowly walked to the other side—his side—of the counter as he turned to face her. "You should know," she smiled and looked up at him, "if it isn't evident enough, that I want you, only you… and I would much rather have you, here, now, than go to the stupid symphony."

She tentatively touched his forearm, testing the waters, and when no resistance was met, she moved her hands up his arms to his shoulders and down over his chest, feeling the muscle beneath the fabric. "I am sorry." She said, looking for some hint of emotion in his eyes, "Please Hannibal, tell me what I can do to make things right?"

Unable to read his temperament, she took a gamble. She kissed him then, slowly, testing his response. He offered none, and just when she thought she had made a grave error, his arms encircled her waist and he returned her kiss with fervor. She could feel the heat rising, the beginning stages of arousal. She could never tire of feeling his mouth against hers, his tongue across her lips, nipping, teasing, and causing her to illicit a sound that was part moan, part sigh of relief.

His hands moved slowly from her waist to cup her buttocks and suddenly lifted her onto the counter, never breaking their kiss. Her legs on either side of him, pulling him closer to her, and then—just as things were getting truly heated, he broke the kiss. He glanced at the clock on the wall, and just as casually as if they'd been discussing the weather…

"Oh, look at the time, it's getting late and you must be getting ready for this evening." His hands were still placed on her thighs from their—interaction—moments ago. He patted her thigh, raised his eyebrows and shot her a devilish grin before walking away, leaving her quite vexed and sitting on the counter.

God, how she hated him sometimes. She rolled her eyes as if she'd invented the gesture. Two can play this game.

"Fuck the symphony, Hannibal," she remained seated on the counter; legs spread, and turned her head in side profile toward him.

He paused in the doorway and made a 'tsk tsk' chuckling sound. "Clarice, such unwarranted vulgarity..." He winked, and smiled the way a cat would at a mouse in its paw. Undaunted, she continued.

"I would much rather continue what we started. Here. Now." She glared at him with her best seduction eyes, lips parted, skin flushed from their previous interlude.

He just kept smiling. He leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms, never breaking eye contact. He did so enjoy witnessing her in such a flustered state. "Now that's very interesting Clarice, and thank you for so freely sharing what it is you want. But as I recall, just moments ago you were asking what you could do to make things right— presumably, what you could do for me, hmm?"

She stared at him seductively, nodding her head once in agreement.

"Good." He quipped. "Then what you can do, Clarice, is go upstairs and get ready for this evening." He winked at her just then as he turned to walk out of the room.

"Oh and Clarice… wear the blue dress. You look positively ravishing in it."

If charm could kill. She sat on the counter dumbfounded. What the fuck just happened? He was fucking with her, that much was certain, but there was something else, just hidden… something… in the works. She didn't know what exactly, but she knew him. She sighed for what seemed the hundredth time—this was going to be a long night indeed.

Author's Note: The idea for Clarice's run-in with Jonathon Cade at the metro was inspired by an old Washington Post article, "Pearls Before Breakfast". The character 'Jonathon Cade' is fictional and is not intended to represent any real-life person.