A/N I don't often write a disclaimer, because the implication is in the Fanfiction, but on this occasion, I was inspired by the song 'Love is Lost' by David Bowie. Legend. Every time I heard it I thought of Clarice and Hannibal, so this is what I wrote. The lyrics have been used within the fanfiction, and obviously do not belong to me.

Darkest hour

It was her darkest hour and Clarice was running.

Quantico. The Bureau. She was done with them.

She sat on the aeroplane and put her hand in her jacket pocket, feeling the sharp edges of the small card, reassuring herself it was there.

The letter had come last week, not with the post; they monitored her post. A kid had knocked on her door and held it out, waiting for the tip, which she gave him. The letter was brief.

Clarice. It is time. I will be waiting.

There was an address to somewhere outside of the city printed on a small business card. Buff coloured. Shiny. Sharp. She should have handed it in. She had always handed it in…but for some reason, this time, she knew. An address could lead them right to him...and he knew that. Starling felt a small tremble inside her and stilled it. The address would not be good for long. She needed to decide.

Within a few days she had her answer. Her phone rang as she sat in the kitchen, at the table, turning the card over in her hands. The suspension weighed her down. They called it medical leave. She had to book to see a psychiatrist. She almost laughed.

It was Ardelia on the phone.

"They are going to use you as the scapegoat."

Ardelia's voice was hushed on the end of the line and Clarice felt the roar in her ears before her own hush came.

"On what grounds?" she managed to say as her hand reached for the card again and eyes stared at the business-like text.

"They are saying that you and Lecter were in it together. That he has corrupted you." She tapped the edge of the card on the table and was satisfied at the sound, thinking that she certainly felt corrupted. "That you helped kill Krendler because he was blocking your career. That it was a date."

Clarice lifted her eyes from the card and again met the eyes of Krendler across the table, dying eyes, then dead eyes, brain absent. He wasn't really at her kitchen table, but he would always be at the one in her head.

"It was," Clarice answered absently, seeing the flowers and the wine. There was a silence on the line.

"What?" Ardelia said sharply.

Clarice shook her head and scattered the images, focused on the card, used it as an anchor.

"It would have looked like a date. To Doctor Lecter it was." More silence. "I was held hostage Ardelia." She wanted to sound angry but didn't have the energy. Instead she just sounded mundane.

"I know…its just so…" Ardelia trailed off. "Any way. I wanted to give you a heads up."

"Thanks." Clarice tried to sound grateful and hung up. She tapped the card again. He saved her. Tap. Killed Krendler for her. Tap. Cooked for her. Tap. Let her live. Tap. Cut off his hand for her. Tap. Kissed her. She dropped the card into her pocket and picked up her car keys. If they were going to arrest her they'd have to find her first. She packed no bags, just walked out of her life.

The address had a change of appearance waiting in the bathroom, new car keys on the kitchen table with a new identity, and a packed suitcase in the bedroom. On the suitcase was another card like the one in her hand. Lilac this time, with a new address. An airport. She thought about disposing of the first one, instead she left it on the dresser's mirror, so when they tracked her down they would know.

It took her two hours and she was gone again. There were plane tickets in the glove box for two days' time, some cash, a key for an airport locker and a cassette in the car for learning remedial French. She pressed play as she pointed the car in the right direction and drove. She wasn't surprised at the familiar voice.

"Bon matin. Bon tarde. Bon nuit. Clarice. I am pleased you have seen the logic in this arrangement. Shall we begin?"

It occurred to her that she could drive anywhere; she didn't have to run to him. It was a background thought, a passing fancy. His plan would work. Hers would not. He had been thinking about this for a long time. He would win. Clarice liked to win.

She stopped for brief stints at wayside motels for a shower and a nap. Paid cash for the night. Didn't stay.

The airport locker had a Walkman and a third card. This was her favourite. It was pastel green and reminded her of the wallpaper in her childhood bedroom before her Dad died. It had an address in France. She boarded the plane without incident, her false passport and appearance letting her through.

Numbness had steeped into her, but now she knew fear. Caught on a plane, nowhere to run. It flapped in her chest as she boarded and settled like a weight as they took off. She ran her fingers along the edges of the card in her pocket, felt its corners dig into her leg. Oh, what have you done? Oh, what have you done? The Walkman was Lecter again. The coloured contacts made her eyes water.

"Do you feel the fear yet, Clarice? Feel the dogs snapping at your heels? The graceful deer run to ground. Trapped. That fear is old as the world. Embrace it, Clarice. Let the constructs of society fall away and feel the power of your primitive nature. Hadn't they promised you a life without pain?"

She shut off the tape. Didn't want to listen anymore; didn't want to be brainwashed or manipulated. She reminded herself that she was doing this because it was the best option. Back at home they were going to charge her as a co-conspirator in murder. She felt the weight of everything she knew on her chest and let her head fall forward so her hair closed around her face like curtains and silent tears fell.

"Hey, you all right?" The woman next to her touched her shoulder gently and she felt her skin flinch away. Clarice didn't speak. Didn't want to let her accent betray her. "Fear of flying huh?" Clarice allowed herself to nod, her face still turned away. "Don't worry. It will be over before you know it. My sister is scared of flying and…"

The well-meaning ceaseless prattle became background noise and she felt her grief sink back down inside herself under the weight of the senseless words as they washed over her. In that moment she felt a flash of something, an over-consciousness, the hair at her neck prickling. Someone was watching her…no…he was watching her. It took all her self-control not to turn around. She didn't know where he was, but she felt with certainty he would have her in his eyeline. Her grief would be too delicious to miss. He fed off that. She wasn't sure if she felt reassured or unnerved. That, in itself, was unnerving.

She turned the Walkman on again and leaned back, shutting her eyes.

"Are you listening, Special Agent Starling?" She nodded. Knew he could see, even though it was a past him that spoke to her. "You need to listen. The more you listen the more the edge will fade from your accent. You need it gone Clarice. New face, new name, new voice, new you." There was a pause on the audio. She waited. "I suspect that if you haven't turned this off already then you will very soon. When that occurs, you need to consider your options." She already had. "You need to release your old life, Clarice, your stagnant, imprisoned way of thinking. It hurts at the moment, what they have done to you, all your hard work for nothing. What would Daddy think?"

She felt her throat constrict in a well of tears. She cut them off.

"It hurts that you walked out and left it all behind, those keepsakes. Those memories." Another pause. "I can make it go away." She shut off the tape again. There were no options except to listen and fight. It was time to cut out her soul. She switched it back on. "They told you to talk to a psychiatrist, didn't they, Special Agent Starling, to deal with your issues. There is none more qualified than I. We are going to have a little chat, Clarice, just like I do with all my clientele and then we shall see."

Miggs had killed himself because Dr Lecter had talked to him. Mason had carved up his own face. She was in trouble. She took a deep steadying breath as she sat in that aeroplane chair and let his voice take her down into the deepest water. It closed over her ears and she clutched the card tight in her pocket as she sank.

The Clarice who stepped up to the villa was not the same although less than twenty-four hours had passed.

The address on the card matched. This was almost her final destination. The front door was open, and she stepped through into the cool terracotta hallway. The inside was dark with the gathering dusk, except for a single candle burning on a stand.

"I'm here," she said quietly into the dark, leaning her palms on the table, wood smooth and polished. Slippery. "I know you are too."

There was barely a movement behind her. A clip of a smart shoe on the tile floor.

"So, Clarice, in your darkest hour you turn to me. I shall take it as a compliment."

She held fast to her earlier decision.

"All love is good, no love is bad," she replied, watching the candle flame flicker.

"So says the voice of youth in her hour of dread," he replied.

Clarice shut her eyes, the heat of the candle brushing her cheeks, and felt the smile twitch at her lips. Not innocent, nor happy, but triumphant and maybe a little bitter. She opened her eyes and pushed away from the table, turning to face him. His appearance sent a ripple through her of another cool, dark, tiled room.

"Hour of dread? No. Hour of liberty. Isn't that what you promised?"

There was a wariness to him now. He was a little unsure of her, this new her he had helped create.

"What are you doing here, Clarice?" It wasn't really a question, not the way it sounded.

She spread her palms wide and tilted them as though dropping something.

"I'm saying goodbye to a 'life without pain'." She felt his smile in the pause.

"That is good."

She approached him and stopped mere inches away, her eyes meeting his maroon pinwheels.

"So, Doctor, where to next?"