Title: The Path Not Taken

Author: Calico, finished 3/4/01

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the originating story lines. Thomas Harris receives full credit for that. Any new characters and this story are mine (although I will not profit from it), so please ask before archiving. Robert Frost wrote the poem "The Road Less Traveled".

Summary: I've read the book and seen the movie, "Hannibal", and the movie stinks and therefore does not exist in my world. This is strictly a piece of fiction following where the book left off. I can't give any real details so not to spoil the surprises, but it's kind of sweet, sad, and angsty. Please read and review. I'd really like to know if this sounds true or not. Please be kind though.

Rating: 'R' for some bad language and sexual situations.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter knelt in front of Clarice Starling and accepted her offered breast. Both knew they had reached a point of no return. She quietly slid down to her knees in front of him so that they were face to face. Gently she reached her hand up to caress his head and he bent as if to kiss her, but she quickly placed her other hand on the other side of his head and pushed back rather roughly.

She gazed intently into his eyes and said deeply, "I know you are not an evil man." He smiled, but before he could reply she continued, "But you are a man who has done evil things. These things have no place in my life, in our life."

"Whatever makes you happy, My Dear," he drawled in response and tried to kiss her again, but again she shoved him back to make her point clear.

"From here on there will be no more drugs. To put a fine point on it, Doctor, if I sense any harmful intent from you in the future, I will nail your ass to the wall." She stopped, breathing deeply and wanting to close her eyes and surrender to the feelings inside. "We'll be straight with each other from this point forward, correct?"

"Of course," he replied.

"And honest."

"Always."

"Now, Doctor, think very carefully." she said in a sultry voice, with fingers entwined in his hair, "Who do you want? Your sister, or me?"

Instead of answering, Lecter placed his hands on her waist, sliding them up towards her arms then down her back. She moaned with the motion as he brought them down to her buttocks and gently massaged them. Then without warning he hauled her toward him so that she was straddling his lap. In order to keep her balance she had circled her arms around his neck as he held her tight. It was now that he replied, "Whom do you think?" as he kissed the top of her breasts then trailed the tip of his tongue up her sternum to the soft depression of her throat. He placed gentle kisses up to her chin and finally settled on her lips. The first kiss was soft and questioning, tasting even. Then the passion flowed freely and he rolled her over on the rug in front of the fire. As the firelight flashed and danced on her skin he bent over her and whispered, "Clarice, don't ever leave me."

To which she replied, "Where would I go?"

Twelve hours later….

Clarice was in the guest bedroom sorting through the clothing Lecter had provided for her and placing them in the suitcases on the bed. She smiled again at the thought that went into choosing such fine articles. When the cases were full and stood at the foot of the bed she went down the hall to the master suite where he was doing the same.

She leaned against the door frame and asked him, "So where are we going?"

He turned away from her for a moment, and with the trained eye of an ex-FBI agent she noticed him furtively grab an item off of the bedside table and place it in his pocket as he picked up a book. He turned back around with a triumphant smile and waved the book at her. "You really should read this sometime." He put the book on the bed by his suitcase then walked towards her. "It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises," she said as he took her arm and lead her into the room to sit on the bed as he finished packing. She picked up the book and idly surveyed the title "The Collected Poems of Robert Frost". "Tell me. Please."

"Very well, we're going to Greece."

"Greece? But I don't even have my passport." She frowned at the thought of leaving the country so soon, but didn't know why it bothered her.

"Not a problem." He walked over to his bureau and opened the top drawer taking out a small black book. He tossed it in her direction and she caught it with ease. Upon opening she determined it was a passport and even had her picture in it, but he name listed was Rene Beauchamp, from Montreal, Quebec.

"What is this?" she asked a little appalled at the obvious forgery.

"Clarice, you are officially a missing person, who either murdered four men while helping me escape, or are being held captive by me until I do something unspeakable. Either way, you are being sought after. If last night was just a product of drugs and booze then I invite you to walk out that door right now and not turn back. But if you were sincere in your intentions, then, unfortunately, a few things are going to have to be handled my way. What do you say?"

Clarice felt for a moment like fleeing. The room, the house, everything that had been accomplished in the past weeks. Instead she looked at him steadily and said, "Why Greece?"

"I thought it would be a fine place for a wedding."

Clarice choked, "Wedding? What are you talking about?"

"Just call me old-fashioned." His teeth flashed as he smiled at her and pulled the object out of his pocket. It was a velvet jeweler's box and he opened it as he came towards her. She saw the most beautiful diamond and ruby ring. She gasped at its intensity. "It was my grandmother's. After the Nazi's came everything was taken. It took me years to track it down and it cost a small fortune, but well worth the effort, don't you agree?" She reached out to touch it with her fingertip and he grasped her wrist to pull her forward into his arms. "I won't pretend to profess something as mediocre as love, that grandiose idea so overused it has become an insincere sentiment used more as a bargaining chip than any real emotion.

"But Clarice, I do believe in that enigmatic notion known as soul mates – two people who's paths verge on the same destiny. I've known it for eight years now, since I first met a wet-behind-the-ears FBI trainee, who had the cheek to come face-to-face with a monster. I believe you know it too. Didn't you feel that first spark, that inner temptation, the same one that whispers, 'Jump from the balcony and see what happens,' even as your fear and common sense told you to stay away? What do you say, Clarice, are you going to follow your same path towards destruction as your daddy before you, or will you defy all those who want to keep you down and follow mine into the unknown?" With a simple nod and a smile, she agreed.

Two weeks later….

In a small church on the shore of the Mediterranean at sunset, an Orthodox priest performed the ceremony. The bride and groom spoke their vows:

"I, Clarice Starling, do take you, Hannibal, as my husband, from this day forward until death parts us. I vow to explore and to share, to live and to learn, with honesty and respect. I will forever be as open as you have shown me how to be."

"I, Hannibal Lecter, do take you, Clarice, as my wife, from this day forward until death parts us. I vow to respect and cherish you as my most prized possession. With you in my life, even the darkest days will be of light, and even the sourest taste will be as sweet wine."

He placed the ring on her hand and bent for a kiss.

Neither spoke of love.