I just saw this movie a couple days ago, and I was compelled to write a little scene between Clarice and our dear Dr. Lecter. Rated T for only a bit of intimate touching. Don't grill me too hard for characterization; I've only seen the movie once. (Besides, Hannibal is a tough character to write!) I own none of these characters; I just like having them play out the scenes that come to me in the deep, twisted labyrinth of my mind. Mwahaha.

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Clarice Starling listened to the rain patter gently on the roof of her two-story house, absentmindedly picking at a large bowl of popcorn as she watched a commercial for Tylenol flash across her television. This was one of the many reasons she hated watching movies on regular TV. How many commercials can they have? she thought humorlessly to herself. Soft blue optics were focused on the screen, but they were not seeing the images. They weren't seeing much of anything lately.

For almost half a year, Clarice had been detached from reality; going in to her job day after day, always helping, but never really feeling anything. Her colleagues had expressed their concerns, but they were always shaken off by the direct, no-nonsense attitude Clarice was careful to bring with her every day. She couldn't let anybody in. She couldn't afford to let anybody see through the mask she held up so carefully. After Buffalo Bill and Dr. Lecter...she couldn't handle any more emotional turmoil.

The young woman shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the calm, charismatic doctor. His face was an image that she had been trying for nearly six months to forget. He came to her sporadically; sometimes at work, sometimes at home, but most of all in her dreams. Her once-peaceful sleep was now tainted with memories of the psychotic man, and sometimes it got so overbearing that she would wake up in the dead of night and hear the horrible screaming.

The screaming of the lambs.

The memory that invaded her mind most was of the last time she saw him. She was being dragged out of his room when he called to her. Her case file. Didn't she want it? She remembered screaming 'yes', but knew that the shout had been confined to the inside of her brain. Clarice had run to him and grabbed the file. She remembered staring into his eyes, with him staring right back.

Why, Clarice? he asked, as his finger stroked hers. She recalled how she had been hit with a wave of nausea, but at the same time, she had felt a spark of something else. Something that she still could not place, even after months of contemplation.

Why?

The single word echoed throughout her mind. Averting her ocean eyes, Clarice saw that the hands holding the bowl of popcorn were shaking. She quickly placed the bowl on the coffee table in front of her.

A sudden creak from upstairs caught her attention. Terror shot through her body with electric force as she fumbled for the remote. Silencing the box before her, she sat frozen for a moment. Gathering her courage, she rose from the couch and took a few steps toward the stairs. The single flight of sixteen steps seemed to stretch on forever. She took each step carefully, placing her weight only on the balls of her feet. The redhead didn't dare turn on any lights, lest she alert the intruder.

Clarice suddenly remembered the gun she kept in her bedside table drawer. Relief eased some of the tension in her body. She could easily reach it if need be. Her heart pounded restlessly as she reached the top step. Her bedroom was right around the corner...

She took two tentative steps into the dark room. Opening her eyes wide, she searched for any signs of life. She took a few more steps into the room.

"Good evening, Clarice."

The woman started violently. She hunted for the origin of the seductive voice, but could not place him anywhere.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? You're looking quite well."

"What are you doing here, Doctor?" she asked, losing her breath at his name. "Where are you?"

"Just stay right where you are, Clarice," velvet tones commanded. "Don't move. I can't see you as well when you move."

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, her volume climbing higher in her anxiety. She could sense him coming closer.

She gasped when she felt his hands on her shoulders. She was too afraid to even turn around and face him; to see the face that had haunted her for months. Her body began to quiver as he slowly ran his hands down her arms, stopping to trace circles on her palms. He sighed in rapture.

"How I've longed to touch you..."

Thin, clammy fingers caressed her throat and collarbone, while another hand slipped around her waist. She was rendered breathless at his audacity.

"Always behind bars or glass...only able to see you...never able to touch..."

Even his breath felt cold. She shivered as gusts of it sensuously assaulted her ear.

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully. "I half-expected you to be moaning by now...seeing as how you haven't been fucked for over two years. No matter. You are my little lamb, Clarice...and your silence speaks volumes."

Truthfully, she could not find her voice. It wouldn't surprise her if he had stolen her voice along with the rest of her. She felt strongly dominated by this enigma of a man, and she felt powerless in his wake. All the same, she forced her throat to work.

"Dr. Lecter..."

"Oh, no, Clarice," he murmured into her ear. "Why so formal? We've known each other for so long. Hannibal will suffice."

The hand around her waist slid under her sweater. She shuddered at the sensation of his icy hand against her warm skin. His ever-skilled fingertips brushed up and down her stomach.

"I've been thinking, Clarice...I know all about your father. But what happened to your mother?"

All of a sudden, the fear came back full force. She almost flinched at the strength of it. He was reverting back to that old habit; the one he used more than a year ago. She didn't know where her strength came from, but she managed to break away from his tantalizing grip. She stood a few feet away from him, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Dr. Lecter, this is going too far," she said, trying vainly to keep her voice from wavering.

"Oh, I don't think it's gone far enough," he countered calmly, his smirk now visible by the thin slice of moonlight that cut through the window behind her. "Your pulse increased quite dramatically when I was touching you. Your breathing also became quite erratic. Do not deny what you feel, Clarice. You want me to keep touching you. I can taste it...emanating from every delicious pore on your body."

"Stop it, Doctor," she retorted, cursing herself for being so weak.

The man tsk'd several times in response.

"Quid pro quo, Clarice," he murmured, taking a few steps towards her. "I'll satisfy you...if you'll satisfy me."

She backed up, forcing her expression to remain hard and her fists to remain still. It was taking every fiber of her being to stop herself from shaking in her panic. Clarice was now all the more convinced that this man could read minds. She really did want him to continue; and it had indeed been years since she had been intimate with anyone. Dr. Lecter always managed to get inside her mind; if not with nightmarish childhood memories, then with personal desires.

"What happened to your mother?" he repeated, now less than a foot from her.

She hesitated, then replied in a voice barely above a whisper. "She died."

The two simple words she uttered sealed her fate, she knew. The young woman saw the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile.

"How did she die, Clarice?" he asked, running a finger along her collarbone.

"She died during childbirth. I never knew her."

"How did your father deal with this loss?"

His fingers brushed over her throat.

"He..." she began, distracted by his movements. Her cobalt optics followed his fingertips along the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Eyes on me, Clarice."

She quickly obeyed, shivering slightly as she forced herself to meet hard cerulean orbs.

"He never talked about her. And whenever I asked about her...he'd just go silent. He wouldn't say a word."

"But you still found photo albums with pictures of your mother in them, isn't that right?"

His hand skimmed her torso, stopping at the hem of her sweater.

"...Yes."

Cold fingers met warm flesh once again.

"And you're the spitting image of her," he muttered, his eyes never leaving hers.

Clarice kept her lips tightly sealed, swallowing. She nodded several times, blinking away tears. His hand had moved up further, and though she tried, Clarice could not suppress the gasp that escaped her when he cupped her breast. Her sadness vanished amazingly quickly to be replaced with bliss.

"Aah..." he whispered. "That's it, Clarice. Show me your passion."

His hand flexed, massaging her into submission. She was certain that he could feel her hardening nipple through her bra, and her suspicions were confirmed when she heard him exhale in satisfaction. His breath ghosted over her cheek as his teeth nipped at her jaw line. Clarice let her eyes close halfway; the better to enjoy the sensation.

Through her lashes, the young woman could see the doctor's face coming closer. She knew what he was trying to do; she knew exactly what was going to happen. And all the same...she had no intention of stopping him.

Their lips met in a surprisingly soft kiss. Clarice was struck with the same wave of nausea she had experienced when he had touched her finger, but the spark was stronger now, and it had moved down into her groin. He pulled away quickly; it was nothing more than a peck, and it left the redhead wanting more. Her mouth hung open slightly, and her soft sapphire orbs were half-hidden beneath sleepy lids.

Removing his hand from her chest, the doctor smirked in self-satisfaction at the sight of his shy, frightened little lamb.

"Very good, Clarice," he murmured. "That Evian skin cream makes your skin taste quite delicious. But I'm afraid that it is far too early in our relationship for anything further. Our time is up."

"Wha--?"

Clarice opened her eyes fully to stare at him, but his frozen blue orbs had vanished into the darkness. She rushed across the room and fumbled for the light switch on her wall. Light flooded the room.

He was gone.

Backing away slowly, she slumped onto her bed, but jumped up immediately at the sound of something being crunched. Whirling around, she discovered a slightly wrinkled drawing lying where she had just sat. The portrait was of a woman in an elegant evening gown, her hair lightly brushing her bare shoulders and her bright eyes staring out emotionlessly. Clarice stiffened when she recognized the woman in the drawing.

It was her.

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Okay. I know. It's very short. But please don't get on my case about Clarice's mother. -shrug- I just wanted to give Hannibal something to ask about and her something to talk about. Mind you, I've only seen the movie; I've never read the book, so if the book says something different about her mother...I apologize. And please forgive me; I am absolute crap at beginnings and endings. Feedback is appreciated! (No flames, please.)