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Julie Hayes ([info]shelley_runyon) wrote in [info]writeaway,
@ 2011-04-04 14:02:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:clarice starling, hannibal lecter, incomplete

Well hellloooo, Clariiiice, part 2
Quick recap: Clarice is on Hannibal's trail, having been lured out by the wily psychiatrist, but things have gone wrong when Verger's goons ensnared the good doctor. Now it's Clarice to the rescue! Continued from here

They trundled the handcart into the barn. Verger's Sardinian stooges, that is - Carlo, Tommaso and Piero. Hannibal was unperturbed as ever. His inquisitive glance took in his surroundings, not missing the three closed-circuit video cameras, and the intercom over which Mason Verger was undoubtedly listening to the proceedings.

Directing his words to Carlo, Hannibal said in a cool, unemotional voice, "Your brother must smell worse than you do by now." A reference to the man which Hannibal had killed in Florence. Instantly Carlo had a blade against Hannibal's throat. He'd been in the act of insert an IV into his wrist, being none too gentle about the procedure. When he drew the knife back, there was only a small amount of blood, as Mason commanded him, via the intercom.

"No, no, no, no - don't hurt him."

Hannibal contiued to smile at the overwrought man.

Piero finished hanging a gilt-edged mirror that would afford Hannibal a view of his feet once they were in position for the boars, the better to watch them being devoured. He was listening to soccer game as he worked. It was being broadcast in Italian, the sound coming through a shortwave radio set upon a wooden table.

"And turn off that radio. I can't hear anything," Verger complained. Piero switched it off without comment.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-04-04 08:00 pm UTC (link)
Clarice had been hiding outside the barn, watching through the door that was still slightly ajar. She knew it was time to make her move.

With her pistol in hand, she proceeded inside the barn and cried, "Freeze! Hands where I can see -"

She saw Carlo reach for his own gun immediately and fired at him, knocking him down. Piero went for the gun that Carlo had dropped, and she fired at him too, also taking him down. Taking another quick look around, she saw only Doctor Lecter. Clarice went to pick up the .357 Carlo had dropped and confiscate it, trying to think of how to free Hannibal from the handtruck in a quick and safe manner. She hoped they could get out without having to shoot anyone else.

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-04-05 06:21 pm UTC (link)
He'd been humming Pomp and Circumstance as they prepared him to die. If a blood pressure machine had been available to affix to the good doctor, it would have shown nothing above the usual, everything even and calm, not a single spike, not even when the gunfire began. But of course this was the same man who had calmly and without evidence of any sign of unusual activity bitten out a nurse's tongue.

Was he surprised to see her? Not really, although he did not flatter himself that it was for any sort of personal motive, other than her own sense of personal justice - she wanted him, unharmed, and in her captivity. He'd only heard two shots, though, and he knew there were three of them. That left one man unaccounted for.

"Good evening, Clar-" he began, but was cut off by her brusque, "Shut up."

Unpertrubed by her brevity, he smiled at her nonetheless.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-04-06 01:26 am UTC (link)
Clarice pulled her knife from an ankle strap. "I'm going to cut you loose," she told him, cutting one of his arms free while keeping her gun trained on Piero. Her hand made contact with the skin on Hannibal's arm in the process of cutting the restraint; the touch felt almost electric - with what? Excitement of finally catching up to him? The possibility of getting her job back? For some reason, the latter did not seem all that attractive to her anymore.

Hannibal certainly had seemed calm enough for someone who was about to be fed alive to boars. She had to admire him for that.

Speaking of the boars, they were nearly loose now. She was getting frustrated and knew she needed to move faster, but it was all too much, trying to keep an eye on the two men who were down and free the quarry she actually wanted, while becoming more and more rushed by the pigs.

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-04-07 01:34 pm UTC (link)
"This might go a little faster if you give me the knife, Clarice," he told her in a matter-of-fact way. He saw her hesitation as she debated the matter, going over the pros and cons as quickly as she could process them, weighing the bad against the good. At last she saw the wisdom of his words and gave him the knife, while she works at cuffing Piero and Carlo together.

The boars were too close to freedom for his liking, although he never showed any fear of them, as if it were simply an intellectual matter, no emotions involved. When were his emotions ever involved?

He realized that she was unaware of the presence of the third captor. "Clarice," he said, "There is still one in the loft." He knew that she would know what to do, and act accordingly.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-04-07 07:19 pm UTC (link)
Clarice spun around and aimed up, but she was too late. Tommaso's shot hit her. As she fell, she managed three quick shots from her pistol, the last finally hitting Tommaso in the chest.

Clarice felt like boiling water had been poured all over her left shoulder, but no matter. Sweet unconsciousness would distract her from that soon enough. The next thing she knew, she was in a pair of unyielding arms, looking up at her Doctor's incredibly expressive eyes over that damned mask they had put on him.

Take that off, she wanted to say, but all she managed was a short "hmm" sound before passing out, her head resting comfortably against his upper arm.

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-04-11 05:45 pm UTC (link)
He lifted her into his arms, feeling her blood pour warmly over his fingers. To the casual observer, he seemed unaffected by what had happened, but perhaps had Clarice been conscious, she might have recognized the signs of perturbation within the usually unflappable doctor. At least as far he allowed himself to show them, which wasn't very far.

The three Sardinians were all dead, nothing left to be done here. The boars were more than happy to feast on the three bodies. He strode out of the barn, Clarice held tightly within his embrace, a look of determination, flavored with arrogance, in his maroon eyes.

Next stop - Paul's place. For dinner with an old friend. And to take care of Clarice, of course. He had things to do before Paul arrived, not least of which was tending to Clarice's wound.

Once inside of the small getaway cottage which Paul Krendler claimed as his own, with all of his accoutrements in the kitchen and waiting, Hannibal performed a little surgery upon the unconscious Clarice. Good thing he had everything he needed to do so. He removed the bullet, cauterized and sterilized the area carefully, cleaned it and sewed it up. Naturally he'd had to remove her clothing to do so. He was a physician, after all.

Then he'd given her something to make her sleep so that she could heal without trying to move around and tear our the newly-sewn stitches. When he was done, he carefully dressed her in the white Dior gown, laid her tenderly upon the bed to sleep, and softly kissed her forehead before withdrawing to the kitchen, where he hummed to himself as he worked, waiting for Paul to arrive so that the festivities might begin.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-04-11 06:50 pm UTC (link)
Paul Krendler spoke in an agitated voice on his phone as he neared home in his silver Porsche Boxter. “I’ll be out at my weekend place through Sunday. I don’t want any calls forwarded – no, not him either. Nobody.” He clicked the phone off without waiting for an answer and pulled into his driveway.

After parking, Paul picked up a grocery bag from his passenger’s seat, which contained a bottle of cheap Chianti he had picked up on his way to the cottage. He used the handy key remote to lock the doors of his Porsche, hearing the reassuring little beeping sound it always made when he did that. He just stood for a moment, admiring the car and thinking of perhaps using Verger’s bribe money to upgrade to a Carrera. The Boxter was nice – but everyone who knew cars knew it was the cheapest Porsche one could buy. It was almost like the “wannabe” Porsche.

Paul smiled as he vainly thought about how he would look in a red Carrera convertible, then carried the wine into the house and set it on the kitchen counter. He was still grinning a little as he found a corkscrew to open the Chianti, but the smile quickly faded when he noticed a strand of Christmas lights around the window. “What the… I didn’t hang those,” he muttered aloud.

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-04-13 07:01 pm UTC (link)
"Oh good, you brought wine," Hannibal greeted the confused agent. He stood where Paul could not see him, holding a dish towel in one hand, soaked with ether. He clamped it over Paul's mouth before he could respond. Conversation at this moment was quite superfluous. Having Paul unconscious was more important at the moment.

He moved without evidence of haste, skilled in the conservation of motion, in doing what he needed to do with the least amount of necessary effort. He set Paul into the wheelchair he had prepared for him, duct taping his hands to the arms. He wasn't sure how long Clarice would be out. Knowing her, probably not as long as lesser beings, having a strong constitution. He wanted his preparations to be done before she arrived.

Humming an aria from Rigoletto, he took up the Stryker saw, positioning Paul's head just so. "This won't hurt a bit," he assured his patient, who was still unconscious and totally unaware of what was happening to him. Hannibal set the blade against his skull and watched as it carefully began to cut into his skin.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-04-14 12:39 am UTC (link)
Upstairs, Clarice Starling was just waking up in a bedroom she did not recognize. Her head felt heavier than the rest of her body as she tried to sit up, and for a moment she considered lying back down. But dammit, she had to get up. Staying asleep in an unfamiliar place was highly dangerous. Especially since she had no idea who could be with her. The events of the day came back to her in slow pieces.

She sat for a moment, trying to become oriented and fully awake. It was then that Clarice noticed her wound, which had been stitched up – and a stronger clue, the white Dior gown. Then her memory of being scooped up by strong arms in the barn came back. So the Doctor was here. Who else? She had shot all of Verger’s thugs…

Clarice put her legs over the bed and worked her way to standing, then immediately looked around for a phone. She had to call the police first thing. There wasn’t a phone in the bedroom, so perhaps the hallway? Walking outside of the bedroom unarmed, she looked all over the upstairs hallway and found nothing. That only left downstairs. As an afterthought, Clarice grabbed decorative snow globe of D.C.’s Capitol Building off the bedside table to use for a weapon. She had no idea where her guns were.

As she staggered down the steps, she heard a buzzing noise but did not recognize it as an autopsy saw. Still too groggy to think clearly, she fell down the last four steps (but, thankfully, managed not to tear the gorgeous dress). It hurt like hell, but Clarice stood up like it was nothing and peered into the dining room, where she saw Doctor Lecter standing over Paul Krendler. Krendler? Two more seconds, and Clarice knew exactly what was going on. She held the hand with the snow globe behind her back and stumbled her way to the table, grabbing on to a chair as soon as she reached it for support. Although she was supposed to bash Hannibal over the head with it, she found that she really preferred to hit Paul. But it looked as though the Doctor was already taking care of him for her.

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-04-16 01:58 am UTC (link)
Hannibal finished what he was doing, and set Krendler's sweatband back in place. Amazing what a multitude of sins such a silly thing could cover. He'd heard the steps, of course, realized who it was.

He looked up as she reached the table, eyeing her calmly. "Clarice. What are you doing up? You should be resting. Get back to bed."

Krendler turned his head to follow the agent as she moved.

The Doctor watched as comprehension dawned upon Clarice as to the identity of the man in the wheelchair. She greeted him by name, he did not respond.

"Paul, don't be rude. Say hello to Agent Starling."

"Hello Starling. I always wanted to watch you eat." There was something off about his delivery, almost childishly simplistic. Or idiotic.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-04-16 04:24 am UTC (link)
Clarice was too busy noticing the autopsy saw lying next to the butane grill, or else she would have seen the way Paul's eyes traveled over her body. The dress showed quite a bit of her cleavage. Clarice was too fucked up to care at this point, and there were more important things to think about. She had to save Paul's life somehow, and take Hannibal in. But how, with no gun and no handcuffs?

Krendler is dying anyway, the logical part of her brain reminded her.

"Hey, that's mine," he said, spotting the snow globe she held behind her back. She had forgotten about it. A single tear slid down her pale cheek as she realized she didn't want to hit Hannibal with it. That was why she had hesitated in the first place. Clarice slid it onto the table, giving up, and sat down in the chair.

As much as she hated Krendler, she didn't want to see what Hannibal was going to do to him. At the same time, Clarice was not willing to hurt the Doctor. She had to at least try to divert him from what he was doing.

"Doctor Lecter," she breathed, another tear falling down her face. "May I please have some wine?"

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-04-20 05:30 pm UTC (link)
Perhaps under other circumstances, he would have acquiesced to her wishes, but as her physician he could not recommend it. Common sense had to prevail. "I don't think that's a good idea, Clarice," he told her. "Not with the morphine. Better you should have some broth."

He ladled the stuff from the elegant tureen, setting a bowl each before her and Krendler. "Would you like to say grace?" He was addressing Paul. A single rivulet of blood dripped from beneath his sweatband, sliding down his cheek.

"Sure." Paul closed his eyes, letting the words come to him. Father, we thank thee for the blessings we are about to receive and dedicate them to Thy mercy. Forgive us all, even white trash like Starling here." An unpleasant look flashed through Hannibal's eyes at his words. If Paul had seen it, he would have been frightened. Had he still possessed the wits to do so.

"and bring her into my service. Amen." Paul finished the blessing with a self-satisfied smirk for Clarice. "By the way Starling that was a job offer I worked into the blessing. I'm going to Congress you know."

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[info]insane_harry
2011-04-20 06:50 pm UTC (link)
“Are you?” she asked politely; it was not her style to be rude back to him, and anyway she was filled with pity for him right now. She watched the blood roll down his face.

“Come around campaign headquarters. You could be a office girl! Can you type and file? Take dictation? Take this down, Starling: ‘Washington is full of corn pone country pussy.’ Ha!” he said, making a hideous face at her.

“I already took it down,” she answered. “You said it already.” Clarice was ignoring the broth. She wasn’t hungry. Tearing her eyes away from Krendler to look back up at Hannibal, she considered again. She needed to draw him away from here somehow. Distract him. Let Paul die peacefully, without humiliating him any more than he had already done so himself.

Only one idea came to her mind, but she knew Lecter was a man of high tastes. Would it make him lose all respect for her? Perhaps not if she went about it in a subtle way.

“I’d really like some wine,” she repeated a little more urgently. Clarice needed it. But not to drink.

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-04-26 01:58 am UTC (link)
Paul made a face. "That soup's not very good," he whined in a childish voice.

"Perhaps not," Hannibal concurred, "I added something extra to yours, perhaps it's clashing with the cumin." He reached for the snowglobe which Clarice had set upon the table, setting it before Krendler, perhaps as a distraction.

He busied himself with removing the top portion of Paul's skull, glancing at Clarice when she made her second request for wine. "All right," he agreed, "maybe just a little." He set down the tonsil spoons he'd been holding, opening a bottle of Chateau d'Y quem and poured it for her.

"Here you go," he said, almost gently. "Unlike Paul, I cannot offer you a new government job, Clarice. But I am curious about something. What will you do now?" Whether he was talking about in her future, or at this moment was unclear.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-04-26 03:36 am UTC (link)
Clarice was relieved when he set down the spoons but knew it wasn’t over yet. She had to keep his attention. And part of that involved acting woozier than she truly felt. Clarice watched him open the wine, admiring how adept he was with his hands.

She found that she was genuinely worried about changing his opinion of her – no, not because she was afraid of him. She didn’t want him thinking of her as cheap. Whether she showed it or not, his remarks about West Virginia, her accent, and white trash had stung her.

Something about his nearly gentle tone of voice chipped away at her heart and made her unable to answer him. Whatever he really thought of her, Clarice couldn’t know. But she did know that he spoke to her differently, at least. She couldn’t say he spoke to her with tenderness, but it was something close to it that she could not put her finger on.

Well, she couldn’t go back on her plan now. Clarice didn’t fancy losing the wits she had left by actually drinking the wine. She took the glass from him, wavering a little, raised it to her lips and tipped her head back. She was concentrating but hid it well, her lips remaining firmly closed on the rim of the glass and managing to spill just a drop of the wine that left a trail down her chin, neck, and went right down her breast. Clarice immediately put the glass on the table and looked down as if in shock, but was really admiring her aim. It had intersected perfectly with her areola. As if she had forgotten where she was, she peeled the Dior gown down gingerly and swore in a whisper, hoping her bare chest would make Hannibal forget about Paul for a while. Clarice had to wonder, too, what she would do next if this actually worked. Her nipples already tingled a little at the mere thought of what she hoped Hannibal would do. If she hadn’t been trying so hard not to move, the thought of the Doctor’s skilled hands on her might have made her fall out of her chair.

Was she doing this for Paul, or herself?

“Doctor – I’m sorry – this dress – ,” she did her best to splutter exasperatedly. “Help me.” She looked up at him, not realizing that instead of her eyes being full of innocence and confusion, they were full of invitation. Sultry invitation.

Normally she would have despised the idea of exposing herself like this in front of Paul Krendler. The only comforting thought was that he was too far gone to benefit from it much. Or at least she hoped that was the case.

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-05-17 06:08 pm UTC (link)
Hannibal Lecter was a man, of course, and being a man he had the usual accoutrements that went with the members of that gender, including a libido. But unlike other men, he had complete control over his libido. Even when it came to Clarice Starling. Although she did push his buttons in ways that no other woman had done since Lady Murasaki.

Still, this was neither the time nor the place. Paul was here, for one thing, and his business with Paul was not quite complete. The doctor realized that Clarice was attempting to distract him from that business, but he also knew that wasn't going to happen.

Which did not mean that he didn't want her. Not at all.

"Clarice," he said gently, "I'm afraid that Paul isn't up to such a sight, and neither is he deserving of it, lovely though it is. I tell you what, though, you just hold that thought, why don't you, while Paul and I clean up in the kitchen a little." He pushed Paul's chair in the direction of the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, Think about what I said, but don't drink any more wine while you do. Doctor's orders." His back was to her by then or she'd have been able to see his smile.

It would be interesting to see what else she might reveal to him by the time he returned.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-05-19 12:12 am UTC (link)
Hold that thought? Clarice was ashamed, but not truly surprised. Hannibal was a man of high tastes; of course he wouldn't just indulge her on the spot. Not when they had company - even if the company was totally out of it. She felt stupid, and Hannibal's reaction was difficult for her to judge. Maybe he thought she was a cheap country whore, too...

Clarice was surprised when Paul called out on the way to the kitchen, "You're too old to be fucking your daddy, Starling. Even for a redneck."

Clarice didn't respond to him. He didn't deserve an answer. She willed the angry tears that filled her eyes not to fall, and picked up a napkin to wipe herself off. After fixing her dress, she pushed the wine glass away farther in frustration. Clarice wondered if she should go into the kitchen after them, but decided she didn't much care what happened to Paul now. Not after that last remark. It was silly and childish, but she couldn't help feeling that way.

She didn't know what she was doing here anymore. The Bureau would never take her back now. All she knew was that she didn't feel like hunting Hannibal Lecter anymore - at least not for so-called "justice."

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[info]shelley_runyon
2011-05-27 02:31 pm UTC (link)
Paul Krendler's remark was rude, of that there was no doubt. Not surprising, but very rude. But it would also be his last rude comment. At least in this world. "Paul," Hannibal chided the other man gently, "I will no longer tolerate your rudeness. Under other circumstances, I would insist that you apologize to Agent Starling, but at the moment, we do not have the time for that. Or should I say you do not have the time for that."

He pushed the chair to a position beside the sink, and scraped the leftovers from the meal into Paul's open skull, before tidying up the dishes, humming to himself softly. When the dishes were stacked neatly in the drainer to dry, he turned his attention to Paul once more.

Hannibal rewound his crossbow. Conveniently it used the same battery pack as his autopsy saw.

He did not keep Clarice waiting any longer than he had to, for that would be rude. He felt her frustration, wondered how much of it was due to not being able to assist the erstwhile FBI agent Krendler, how much stemmed from not succeeding in her attempted seduction of himself. By now, she was surely plotting her next move. That should undoubtedly prove to be interesting.

He returned to the dining room, his smile directed solely at Clarice. "Dessert is ready," he announced, "shall we repair to the drawing room? You'll find it much more comfortable there, Clarice." His maroon eyes glittered with anticipation.

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[info]insane_harry
2011-05-27 07:55 pm UTC (link)
Clarice decided not to bother asking him what he'd done with Paul. She was glad she hadn't looked harder for a telephone to call the police. That would have been a big mistake, because then the Doctor would have to be on the run rather than spending this time with her now.

"Yes," she answered, standing up. Clarice followed him into the other room as if this was something she did all the time. She felt surprisingly calm now that she had made up her mind about helping Paul (or not helping him, actually). And now she had faced the truth she'd known all along, that her days at the Bureau were done. Everything was all right.

Clarice looked at the sofa, which looked very comfortable and inviting, but did not sit. She waited to see what Hannibal would do first.

"Am I dessert?" she asked calmly, smiling back at him.

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