Clarice watched the ground pass beneath Dr. Lecter's feet as she listened to the enraged bellows of Mr. Crawford coming from her house. She was struck by how ridiculous the whole situation was and wondered if she was dreaming again. The pain in her stomach told her otherwise. She knew she would have bruises, if she survived the rest of the day.

Why had Dr. Lecter made such a production of carting her off? Her emotions were always in such a turmoil around the man. She had to admit that her current position made her feel rather warm in certain places. No man had ever swept her off her feet before; she'd always had them down on the mat before they could try. Dr. Lecter, however was another matter entirely. She felt vulnerable, slightly off-balance and very much like a woman whenever he was around. All these feelings were forbidden to her by her abusive mate, the FBI. She was contemplating his motivations behind this new game they were playing, when her world righted itself and she found herself sitting in the back of a windowless van. She groaned aloud as she realized it was the van she had spotted sitting outside her house for the previous week. She had thought it was FBI surveillance. She could still hear Mr. Crawford, from across the street, but his cries had deteriorated to loud sobs.

"I don't think Jack approves of my new plan," Dr. Lecter commented with a viscous grin. Clarice finally found her rage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed at him.

"I'm kidnapping you," the doctor said matter-of-factly.

"And Mr. Crawford thinks you're going to slice and dice me, and then chow down with a nice red wine. What's going to happen when you tire of your latest little game? You won't be able to turn me loose without your reputation suffering a blow," Clarice's voice was scathing as she uttered the last. She had definitely learned her lessons well.

"Who says I'm playing a game?" Dr. Lecter asked deadly quiet, as he climbed into the van with her and shut the door. Clarice ignored him.

"End this now Doctor. Turn me loose, and I'll say I managed to get away, but I couldn't apprehend you. You could be almost anywhere by the end of today…" She stopped abruptly when she saw the Harpy appear in his hand.

"You're not listening special agent," his face was inches from hers. The fact that she was consciously willing to sacrifice her career to ensure his freedom sealed her fate.

"I'm not playing any games. I was deadly serious when I told Jack that he would never find you. Were you listening to anything I said in there, or were you to busy trying to incapacitate me to pay attention?" he snarled at her. Clarice shivered. What had he said that was significant to their present situation?

"You said that I was yours and that if you couldn't have me no one could," she paraphrased. Her eyes went wide with fear as she realized what was going on. Lecter had walked in on her kissing Mr. Crawford. For once in his life, he'd misunderstood what was going on and now she was going to pay the ultimate price. She couldn't believe it had come down to this. She was going to die because he was jealous. She had made men jealous since she was sixteen, and she'd always been the one to pay the price. Her career, her safety, her very sense of self had all been forfeit because of jealous men. Now her life would be added to the weighty list. She'd had enough of egotistical men and their petty motivations. She wouldn't let them win without a fight.

"I always thought you were different from the rest of the male populace," she said her eyes as hard as ice. "I see I was wrong once again; you're just like the rest of them. You see a pretty face and a nice body and you want it. When you find out you can't have it, you throw a little temper tantrum, and I end up being punished for it. Paul Krendler did it with my career and now you're going to do the same, only it's my life that's forfeited this time. Well, screw you! For all your high ideals about rude people, you're no different than the Paul Krendlers of this world!" she was screaming by the end of this. She noticed a slight flare of the doctor's nostrils when she threw him in the same category as Paul, but she wasn't going to back down. Everything she had was in the pot, and she was more than willing to throw her cards on the table.

"That's a little harsh, don't you think, my dear?" he said in a voice so low she almost didn't catch the words. His face was a mask of calm, but she knew he was angry - very angry.

"I am most certainly not like the Paul Krendlers of this world," he said as his harpy flashed out. For a moment, Clarice thought it was over, until she realized that he was cutting her bonds. Not smart doc, she thought.

"When he couldn't fuck you in bed, he decided to fuck you by squashing your career. But, Clarice, I've been places he never even dreamed of," she trembled when he hissed her name right beside her ear. "I've been inside your mind, and that is the most intimate exchange possible between two people." The only tie remaining was the one around her wrists. She presented her back to him hoping he would cut that too.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, doctor," she snapped at him.

"Don't even pretend that you didn't enjoy it too, Clarice. I could smell it on you! I was the best you ever had," he snarled at her.

"You're just pissed that I kissed Crawford willingly, but you needed to clamp my hair in a refrigerator to get me to hold still," she threw back over her shoulder. She could feel him slicing through the terry towel at her wrists. Another few seconds and she could take him down.

"What I said to Jackie-boy was you were mine to do with as I pleased," he snarled as he freed her wrists. Before she could move, he manhandled her down to the floor of the van and pinned her arms above her head.

"Which means I can kiss you any time I bloody well want!" he growled before his lips descended on hers in a kiss that left her panting beneath him.

"Now do you understand?" he asked. "Let me clarify so there's no more misunderstanding. Yes I want your body, but I also want your mind and your soul. I bartered for your mind, and I've taken your body by force, but only you can give me your soul." The fire in his eyes scared Clarice, as she had never been before.

"What kind of devil are you?" she whispered. His gaze softened when he realized he was frightening her. "One who accidentally fell in love with an avenging angel," he whispered to her as he nuzzled her neck. "And one who thinks that his avenging angel has taken him under her wing to try to protect him."

Suddenly she understood what he knew. Her dream and her actions back at the house. Somewhere along the way he'd become someone who cared for her, therefore, she cared back. He was a lamb to be protected. As if reading her thoughts, he spoke,

"I'm no lamb Clarice. You of all people should know that. I'm an old wolf, who could turn on you at some point, but I'm inviting you to come run with me."

Clarice understood the mistake she had made in thinking of him as a lamb. Part of the show back in her kitchen had been for her benefit. She also understood why he was attracted to her. She knew and accepted him for who and what he was. What other person in the world could say the same?

"I think I'd like running with you better than chasing you," she said calmly. He smiled down at her.

"Mmmm," he assented, "but who was chasing who?" he questioned with a wink, as he rolled to his feet and started the van.

_____________

Clarice cried out as the sharp steel sliced through her tender flesh.

The knife clattered to the floor as Hannibal called out her name.

"Clarice!?!"

"I'm fine," she called back as she rummaged under the sink for a rag to wrap around her hand. She was getting blood all over the clean tile of the kitchen in their home in Paris, France. She grabbed a soft cloth, wrapped it around the palm of her hand a couple of times and then grabbed the dishrag to wipe up the floor.

"Drop it!" the rough command came from behind her. Before she knew what was happening she was seated on the kitchen counter, her injured hand cradled in Hannibal's large warm ones.

"I warned you that I sharpened the knives this morning! You should use a cutting board to slice buns, not your hand," he chastised her as he unwrapped her hand. To this day, the smell of her blood made him extremely angry. Every atom of her being was precious to him and he was forever trying to get to her to take better care of herself. He sized up the damage with his surgeon's eye and concluded that she didn't need stitches. He closed the cut with a couple of small butterflies. He banished her from the kitchen and administered a sharp smack to her backside to hurry her on her way. The look she fired back over her shoulder at him, promised retribution the he looked forward to immensely.

He was smiling as he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, until he recognized the blood soaked rag Clarice had wrapped around her hand. It was the sliced t-shirt she had been wearing when she had decided to come to Europe with him. He remembered a promise made about six months earlier and his smile widened into a full-fledged grin.

_______________

When Crawford received the package from the Las Vegas remailing service, he had to sit for an hour before he could open it. When he finally did, he found a styrofoam container; the kind restaurants put leftovers in. Written on the top, in black jiffy marker, were the words,

Jack,

I never forget a promise.

H.

PS. She called out to God before the end.

It took him another fifteen minutes before he could open the container. He choked on his own bile when he recognized the blood stained t-shirt. It was the same one Clarice had been wearing the last time he saw her.

DNA testing confirmed that the blood was Clarice Starling's. The FBI agent's career file was added to the continuing case file of Hannibal Lecter as his latest victim.

No one noticed the add in the personal column of the Tribune:

Shepherd: This sheep dog is happy running with the wolf. Don't believe everything you read.

Le Fin