Perhaps it was the air of a foreign land that made Clarice Starling smile as she stepped off the plane, but something told her otherwise. It wasn't so different from the ambiance of Washington, though she didn't trust her senses well enough to make that divine distinction. Whatever it was, though, caused by the atmosphere, location, or thought of promise, Starling noted it with a defined appreciation.

Though she had never heard the description applied to Frankfurt, Germany, she supposed she was seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. The light here seemed to make everything sensible and within reason. It was a nice step in the affirmative.

Every time she signed her name to signify verification as Hannah Fell, Starling felt an inevitable grin spread across her lips. Though she thought not to behave prematurely, her sense of overbearing liberty was difficult to conceal from reaction. It rivaled with the other climactic emotional periods of her life, the epiphanies and what-have-you that came with being Clarice Starling. However, in knowledge of what this concerned, it was far more relaxed. For the first time in years, she felt free to be herself.

If this were the reward for taking-out-of country trips, she would be crazy to ever go back.

Despite the depth of her relief and gratitude, Starling felt an inkling of fear that she tried desperately not to acknowledge. Having read Dr. Lecter's letter two days before, it was easy to forget other things that could have occurred in the time between Beijing and leaving Washington. Though no news coverage reported it so, Starling knew not to dismiss numerous possibilities concerning his capture – or Heaven forbid – death. She hadn't snapped on the television or bothered a glance through the papers for knowledge of hefty headlines. In the time since departure from Washington and arrival in Frankfurt, something could have come up and she wouldn't know. Not until investigating newspaper racks.

If the plans from his side were those interrupted, Starling knew that though it would be difficult to proceed alone, she had to. His capture or death did not imply the discontinuance of his aspirations for her. Either way, he gave her freedom and full escape, and she would not rebuke that for any reason.

Without true suggestion or implication, it was one of his finer gifts.

But in truth, that was mere paranoia. Starling knew that though she had avoided sources of media, word of the mouth would have alerted her by now, even from a stranger. It was assured in any form, quicker than any broadcast, and beyond predictability.

Given her new location, simple activities such as renting a car became an adventure. Starling's impatience was beginning to soar. Excited nerves made her tremble, the ability to consume anything that resembled food misplaced. It struck her as curious that she should feel this way after all they had gone through together. She didn't fear her decision, or him, in any sense of the word. However, her anxiety ascended slowly, making it difficult to breathe when it occurred to her that this was reality.

The stirrings of excitement in her chest were likewise difficult to ignore.

Though enjoyable, Starling was beyond relieved when her trip from Frankfurt came to an end. When she finally saw her destination, she pulled over in genuine shock, wondering where she took the turn into fantasyland. The scene before her was breathtaking, something literally out of a fairytale.

Standing not overbearingly tall, the castle appeared to merge from the forest that surrounded it, the true epitome of any young girl's desire. Though Starling liked to consider herself far from the stereotypical girl who had delusions of a fictional man in shining armor, she took a minute to consider just how much of a fairytale her life was, without the assistance of dreamlike resorts. This was more or less the icing on the cake, true confirmation she had stepped out of the norm, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

It was undoubtedly the most beautiful place she had ever seen in her life.

Not wasting any further time, Starling wedged back into the seat and pulled the car in gear. As she roared down the twisted pathway, she drank in the sight of nature around her, nourishing her as though she had never seen it before.

For the briefest of minutes, she felt that was accurate.

Seeing the castle up close was even more surreal than a distant gaze. It was as though every photo image she had ever seen of a palace came into tangibility. When the bellboy wobbled out of the front, it took her a minute to register that the car was no longer her responsibility. Heaving her luggage out, she gladly forfeited the keys, not watching as it was driven away. Instructions were given, dealing with the number and when she could retrieve it, but Starling wasn't paying attention.

It took a minute before she realized it was time to go in.

The foyer was majestically beautiful, and she felt an instant inferiority complex. This place, however grand, was not who she was. Could she really expect to slip into the higher fold of Dr. Lecter's life and find the space comfortable and fitting?

If it didn't feel right at first, she knew it would eventually.

Starling extended the handle on her suitcase and rolled it alongside her as she approached the front desk. A smiling face greeted her, nodding his acknowledgement. The staff uniforms were quaint, though otherwise unremarkable. Returning the smile in kind, she reached for her provided identification slips, hoping they were as observant as those she fooled at the airports.

"Guten Tag! Wie konnte ich Ihnen helfen?"

Blinking, Starling smiled her ignorance. German had to be the one language class she opted not to take on her high school curricular. She almost laughed at her attempts to reply, her inward senses wanting to speak French, as it was instantaneous when she heard any foreign idiom.

The embarrassment she expected to feel when she slipped subconsciously failed to register with the man's kind, understanding chuckle. "Umm…parlez-vous anglais?" She remembered Germany and France were neighboring countries, and he probably had his share of French tourists.

"Yes, of course," he replied with a smile. "What may I do for you?"

"Ummm…reservations for Hannah Fell."

"Ah, yes. We've been expecting you."

Starling handed over her identification, which was accepted with little more than an uninterested glance. Once provided with the keys, and signing her name with the perfected autograph she practiced religiously on the plane, she raised her head once more with a winning smile.

"Thank you. Tell me, do you have a Dr. Fell as a guest?"

The clerk considered. "No…I don't believe so…I can double check. Your husband?"

Shaking her head immediately, Starling waved her hand to symbolize it was unimportant. Letting out a slightly anxious breath, she came to the conclusion that he registered himself under a different name. It was wise, considering 'Dr. Fell' was more recognizable than 'Hannah Fell,' at least by the FBI.

"It's not necessary," she excused. "Thanks, anyway."

Despite her protests, a staff worker accompanied her to her room, refusing to let her carry her suitcase. Starling wasn't used to being pampered, but dismissed it as simply another milestone on her journey to enlightenment. After all, she doubted very much Dr. Lecter would allow her strain herself as she was accustomed to.

Perhaps he would want to wrestle for the right to that. The idea made her smile.

After thoroughly investigating the room, Starling concluded no note or indication of his intrusion, or that he was here at all. Sighing, the stirrings of familiar trepidation circulating in her stomach, she decided to change for the evening and head downstairs to the restaurant.

Having a lack of adequate choices, she made due with the dress purchased for the opera in Beijing earlier that week. As she slipped it over her skin, Starling took a moment to note the irony. Both times she wore this dress, it was with the intention of capturing Hannibal Lecter, though the terms had changed significantly. She tried to see herself at the start of the week, this long week, and again reflected in amazement the difference in the person who awoke in the clutches of Dr. Lecter in Beijing, and who stood here in Germany. They carried the same face, spoke in the same tone, idealized the same views, and hell, even wore the same dress, but they were far from completion.

Starling didn't spend much time dwelling in front of the mirror, more out of habit than fear of what she might see. Her hair was slightly tasseled from dozing during the flight, but the adjustments needed were minor, and she preferred not to obsess on appearance. Otherwise, she noted, everything looked in place.

As she made her way into the hall once more, she registered that her nerves were surprisingly calm. All former anxiety seemingly abandoned her system.

The restaurant was lovely. Starling was accommodated at a corner seat at her instruction and provided a menu. Briefly betraying a lack of interest, she studied the way the candlelight played off each occupied table, making the place seem darker than it was, despite the ignited lights attached at the walls.

Not one familiar face.

As she wasn't too hungry, Starling ordered an appetizer and requested nothing more than water. For a few empty minutes, she coiled her hand in the cloth napkin that rested in her lap, studying it as though gone astray. Unlike before, it was comfortable in her grasp, like it belonged there. Out of everything she had seen so far, it was the only aspect that reassured her of purpose. She remembered how the cloth felt in Beijing, and thought it odd that the same fabric should have such a different texture, pending on physical location.

It was nice to have something to occupy her mind with.

Then, before she could take the time to blink her surprise, it didn't matter anymore. A shadow cast over her table, carrying with it the general aura of a familiar presence. When Starling looked up and found herself caught in his eyes, she forfeited the rush of relief. Strangely, the first sensation she experienced was guilt. Guilt for everything she had done to make this an impossibility. For her radical behavior in the first of her capture, for leaving that damnable message in the bathroom stall in the museum, for doubting anything that told her this was where she was supposed to be. The need to apologize was with her, overbearing, but for the minute, she forgot to breathe, lest it draw him away.

When she thought she found her voice and opened her mouth to speak, Dr. Lecter brought a single finger over his lips in acknowledgement that words were not needed. Not for the moment. They shared a long look, focused obsessively. In his gaze, she reflected her apology as well as the forgiveness he granted even before the events occurred.

It left her with peace. Subtly winking at her, Dr. Lecter took his seat, nodding to the approaching waiter who poured him a complimentary glass of water. The relieved burden of her stress now heaved off her shoulders, Starling found herself incapable of anything but to smile. What she portrayed was nothing out of seductiveness or even suggestion, just a smile to convey her hope and gratitude. Everything words cheated of her. Everything, and then some.

When he smiled back, warmth engulfed her. And she, Clarice Starling, knew she would never need to want for anything as long as she lived.

It was a good feeling.

Words seemed so premature when finally spoken, though she didn't deny the rush of intense excitement that shuddered through her at hearing his voice. Odd. She went a decade trying to forget it before, and now, only a few days later, she soaked it in as a peddler dying of thirst.

"Well, Former Agent Starling," Dr. Lecter said, smiling quaintly to himself. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I was about to say the same." The comfort at which she fell into pace was welcome. While she thought her heart might pound furiously, she remained perfectly relaxed. After all, this wasn't anyone to be nervous around.

No, of course not…he's just a cannibalistic psychopath…perfectly natural.

Starling didn't bother acknowledging that inward voice, though she was sour to note it might take a while before all her ties drown completely out of her system.

"I assume you read my letter."

"Nah. I closed my eyes and randomly picked it off the globe after twirling it around a few times. I suppose it's fate."

Dr. Lecter smiled and took a sip of his water. "I suppose so." When his eyes dropped from hers, she drew in a breath, foreseeing the end of their play. "Was it a difficult decision for you to make?"

Sighing, Starling sat back, folding her arms across her abdomen. For a minute, she forgot the nice evening attire she adorned, slipping into old habit effortlessly. Once she realized her posture was far from ladylike, she sat up once again. "It was at first," she admitted. "You were right…I was home."

At that, he smiled slightly but didn't reply.

"In fact…" she continued, drawing in a shameless breath, "I was five seconds from tossing your letter into my fireplace."

Dr. Lecter's gaze reflected neither alarm nor surprise. Instead, he nodded his understanding. "Oh? What made you change your mind?"

"I don't know…"

"Of course you do. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

She released her breath. "You did, I guess. I was so ready to put it all behind me and continue with my life…but there was always that letter. I knew I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't at least look, even if I couldn't stay once I knew."

"Once you knew what?"

"Where you were."

The corner of Dr. Lecter's mouth twitched as he fought off a smile. "I'm flattered," he said. "Considering you couldn't seem to get far enough away a few instances in our time together."

Starling's eyes darkened. "How about the last hours of our time together?"

"Oh, I haven't forgotten those. I was prepared to live on them if I had to."

"So was I."

"Hmm…" Dr. Lecter coyly cocked his head, eyes narrowing at her, though not negatively. "Even if you decided not to join me? What would be the point in that, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Just because I considered not coming doesn't mean there was ever a point I didn't want to," she retorted, angry for a fleeting second. "I was empty from the minute you left. It took no mirror to tell me that."

"The mirror is in symbolism of your courage and incorruptibility, Clarice. If ever you doubt it…"

"I know, I know…" she released another sigh. "But I don't doubt it. I did for a while, but not now." Starling took a minute to chuckle at herself. "Odd, because it seems like I should."

"Because you're here?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"I won't stop you from leaving."

"I will."

Dr. Lecter's eyes widened suggestively. "Such words of liberation, Clarice. You can understand my skepticism to hear them coming from you."

That nearly set her off course. Starling closed her eyes sharply. "Please don't doubt me…" she said, her voice barely audible.

In reply, Dr. Lecter reached across the table sternly and took hold of her right wrist, surprising her, as the last time they touched, it was in tenderness, understanding. Though the hold on her arm did not imply threat, it did take her breath away. "I don't doubt you," he said sternly. "I never have, nor will I. You must understand something for *me*…I've waited ten years for you to come to such a conclusion. There is danger in acquiring exactly what you want. I find myself not knowing what consequences I might suffer in return."

"If you suffer, I will, too."

Smiling at that, Dr. Lecter delicately shook his head. "You've suffered enough, Clarice. I ask you not to interfere with battles I engage with myself."

She scowled. "This is mine, too, you know."

"I know. And I won't withhold you from what you're entitled." Dr. Lecter paused, the grip on her wrist straining further. Though her skin was beginning to turn red, Starling felt no alarm, or reason to fear. Instead, she returned his fierce gaze with one of her own, fighting the temptation to bare her teeth.

"Keeping that in mind," he continued after a minute, "I'm going to kiss you, now." Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Lecter pulled her forward and met her lips over the table. They held there for a few seconds, their kiss sweet, despite the rough nature of the conversation preceding it. In the face of everything, it was in victory. No longer was she prisoner, in the presence of this person against her will. Both here because they wanted to be. It was all the reassurance they would need.

Dinner, consequently, was cancelled.

* * *

Starling stood alone in her room for several minutes, waiting until a soft tapping rasped against her door. She still wore her evening dress, though footwear had been immediately discarded once coming to privacy. Yes, heels did make the dress, but she decided to opt without them whenever possible. There was no reason to bother. They were terribly uncomfortable, and hazardous for one's spine, according to experts.

When she went to open the door, she revealed no surprise to see Dr. Lecter on the other side, though she did smile as he entered. "I must admit, you managed me a lovely room," she said, turning to allow him enter.

"Not to disillusion you at my efforts, but I doubt any room acquired here would fail to impress you. I do believe even the janitorial closets fall short of grandiose." Dr. Lecter offered a wan smile as he glanced to her suitcase, notably large. He raised a brow. "Did I not indicate in my letter that I wished to spoil you like mad when you arrived?

She smiled, turning to him briefly. "You did."

"Your luggage suggests otherwise."

"That's my suitcase from Beijing. As soon as I made up my mind, I just grabbed it and left."

"How long were you home before you made your decision?"

At that, she chuckled. "Umm…actually on American soil…about four hours."

"You never did answer me…how is Washington?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You really want to know?"

Similarly, Dr. Lecter's pupils sparkled with mischief. Starling didn't know how their conversations turned from matter-of-factly to playful and borderline-intimate without a flicker of consideration. It was a nice feeling. "Enlighten me, Agent Starling."

"Are you going to call me that forever?"

Answering a question with a question reminded her vaguely of Ryan Stiles on Whose Line Is It Anyway. She didn't know how long she could maintain this without Clive Anderson ringing her in.

Dr. Lecter feigned disinterest and took a step forward. "Oh, I don't know, Clarice." He stopped when they stood a few inches apart. "Do you *want* me to?"

"Hell to the no." Her smile broadened.

That provoked a grin from him. "How invigorating," he said, nearing to touch his lips to hers. Their kiss was cautious at first, slow and exploratory. But as they stood there in sweet suspension, Starling found something else stir within her. Instantly, she saw the tenderness she encountered in Beijing, the slow approach to things, the need to drink everything in to savor perfection.

She liked the way the change in atmosphere neglected to alter that. Relishing every given moment with him was important to her, having wasted so much time already, and she hoped such small intimacies never to change.

Something told her there was no reason to hope.

* * *

There was no visible light in the room, which was well, as Starling doubted she could see anyway. Breathing raggedly atop her, Dr. Lecter took his time, brow aligned with sweat nudging hers slightly. Finding no air for response, Starling felt capable of nothing except to nod her agreement.

Brushing a kiss over her forehead, he meticulously rolled onto his back. As she settled peacefully, she allowed herself to wonder if she would ever grow accustomed to sharing so much of herself with this person she had known for so long. In hindsight, moving the relationship into the bedroom was simply the next level, but it was climactic for her. Ten years and barely a word, then this sweeping romance that took her breath away at every turn.

It was a satisfying feeling.

"Clarice," he said a minute later, breathing leveled again, though she could tell some of these sensations were having the same affect on him, even if he would never discuss it.

Fleetingly, Starling didn't know if he was inquiring or stating her name out of reflex. Not knowing how to respond, she allowed herself to hum a reply, toning it to be either answer or agreement.

"Qui bono?" he asked, turning to look at her, hand immediately drawn to her face, outlining her features softly.

"Hmm?"

Latin. 'Who benefits?'

"Through all this," he continued, "you don't feel you have lost, do you?"

"Lost what?"

"Your war. Your inward battle."

She smiled reassuringly, though the words she thought to offer intended to sooth, she did enjoy the way he continuously made sure of her comfort, even after everything. "Yes…on a part. But it was a fight I didn't want to win. I thought I did…I thought I did for a long time."

"I will give you what I can." It was a statement, one incapable of being answered. So she decided to nod, touched relentlessly in a manner she could not describe. It was odd, having her feelings considered on so many levels by this person who wasn't supposed to care, while friends and family neglected her for years.

Reaching out to touch his lips, even as the caresses at her face continued, she found words, though knew they were unneeded. "I know you will."

A time of considerable silence. They smiled at each other.

"If I go to sleep," she ventured a minute later, "will you be here when I awake, or will I have another letter at my disposal?"

"Not unless you have left any further pleas for help in public rest rooms," he teased.

"Oh damn…I knew there was something I was forgetting to tell you." Pulling away, Starling turned to reach for her pillow, but to little avail.

"Oh no, you don't…" Masterfully, Dr. Lecter's arm encircled her waist and pulled her against him. She didn't register she had squealed until the echo died. Presented with his offered arm as a suitable cushion, she sighed with satisfaction and rested against him, enjoying his soft strokes as she battled fatigue, before giving up.

Several days before, Dr. Lecter stated he was avoiding sleep for the chance of coming to an abrupt awakening and not find her beside him. Should she come to a similar stirring only to be in Washington when she opened her eyes? Starling concluded that was foolish, but living a fairytale had its precautions.

The caresses against her were real, as was the comfortable warmth from the being whose body cupped hers. Most importantly, she was real, and really here. What would have happened had someone not handed her a pickaxe to chop down the wall of her misunderstanding instead of allowing her to wheedle at it with a sharpened toothbrush for the rest of her life? She would not find herself here, warm and drifting into the serenity…the peace that promised to remain as long as she did not jeopardize it.

But now was not the time to reflect. Now was the time to sleep. Luxuriously, earned, and uninterrupted. Here in the silence of the lambs, in the affection of her lover's embrace, safe and contented.

Now was the time to leave the mirrors behind and refer to them another day, though she knew not why the need would arise.

FIN