AN/ This one was nearly called 'Buggered For A Title' because there was no way I could find one that fit. Fortunately Hannibal the Novel came to my rescue. I found the title I chose in the chapter before dinner. Well, this time Hannibal has come to collect his entitlements, and ensure that Clarice gets what she is due too. You'll find that I'm incapable of being serious for very long, so don't expect anything too dark and dreadful. It's rather whimsical in places, but that's OK. Clarice Starling is fun to write when she's drunk. :)

Disclaimer: All the characters mentioned belong to Thomas Harris. I'm only letting them out to play for a bit, and I'll put them back in the box when I'm finished. I'm not making any money either, so don't sue.

ENTITLEMENTS

The quiet Arlington street is dark, save for the single light in the window of Number 15 and the dull orange glow of the street lamps. It is twelve o' clock midnight, the 'witching hour'. The full moon is rising above the trees at the end of the street, casting her silvery light on the neighbourhood's tidy front lawns. A full-moon midnight, and all the loonies are out in force, as demonstrated by the gang of drunken Rocky Horror wannabes gently meandering down the middle of the road.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness beneath a tree outside Number 15. The shadow slipped silently up the drive, past the powerful Mustang hunkered over its wheels like some slumbering beast, up to the front door. A couple of seconds work with a small pair of wire-cutters (for the alarm) and a skeleton key (for the locks) and the shadow was inside.

Inside the house was cool and dark. The noise from the TV could be heard in the hall. Hannibal Lecter, for it was he, stalked down the hallway towards the source of the noise. The living-room door was wide open and Dr Lecter paused in the doorway to take in the scene.

Clarice Starling sat curled in an oversized armchair, her eyes unfocused, staring at the television. In one hand she held a large glass of neat vodka, in the other she held the bottle. The TV remote lay forgotten on the coffee table beside her. She had not noticed him. Dr Lecter considered her a moment before moving forward, scooping up the remote and turning the television off.

The room seemed to spin slowly as Clarice turned towards the door. She could make out a figure standing above her, in her inebriated state she could not make out who it was.

"Hey" she slurred, "I was watching that."

"Nonsense, Clarice. Since when have you been interested in darts?" The voice of Hannibal Lecter cut through her fogged brain and she sat bolt upright in her chair, slopping vodka over her lap.

"Doctor Lecter." Clarice grinned brightly. She was slurring badly and his name sounded more like 'Dorror Leccer'.

"The very same, my dear. Tsk tsk Clarice. Vodka? I would have thought you'd've had more taste"

"It tastes jus' fine, Doctor Lecter."

"I'm sure it does, if you happen to be partial to paint stripper. I've never fancied the stuff myself."

Clarice hiccoughed. "Ever'body knows you have more refined tastes, Doctor." She took another swig of the cheap gutrot, before Dr Lecter prised the bottle out of her grip. "Hey, gi' it back. Did you come here jus' to steal my alcohol? Haven't you got your own?"

"Drunkenness is no excuse to be rude, Clarice. I am merely concerned over the state of your liver."

Clarice sniggered. "Why? Afraid you might get food poisoning?"

"Oh, I could never eat you, Clarice. Not at the moment, anyway. It is not polite to eat one's host."

"There's a comfort. D'ya think I could have my drink back please?" She looked at him imploringly. Hannibal Lecter chuckled, amused.

"Drowning your sorrows, Clarice? I assure you, it won't work. You can marinate them in cheap booze all you like, but they'll still be there the next day. Didn't your stint in a mental institution teach you anything?"

She scowled. "Been followin' my so-called 'career' in the papers, huh? The Tattler had a field day with that one. 'Bride of Frankenstein is wheeled off to the Fruitcake Department."

"I can imagine."

Clarice continued as if she had not heard him. "It was horrible in there. They all treated me like I was some kind of psycho, y'know there were people there who'd done horrendous things, but I was the one they were scared of. Crawford, that bastard, said he was gonna send me to a good psychiatrist, but they carted me off there." She laughed a little manicly.

"You find that amusing, that they were scared of you?"

"I do now. I was jus' thinking about Crawford sending me to a good psychiatrist. Those were his words." She started to laugh again. "The son of a bitch did that years ago, and look at me. I'm a common damn drunk. I'm as sodden as a sponge."

Dr Lecter smiled a little. "Drunk, definitely, but not common. Never common."

"You think so?" Clarice brightened up.

"I have thought so for years, my dear. Now, lets sober you up a little. We cannot have a meaningful conversation while you are as pickled as a newt, as the saying goes. I think strong coffee would do it."

"In the kitchen, beside the sink." She hiccoughed. "Why'd you come back, if you don't mind me asking? You were away clear. Again. Far as I know, there are no new leads on your case. Not that they'd tell me if there were, even if they knew you were around. Dr Lecter? Where are you?"

Clarice climbed laboriously to her feet, swayed and staggered off towards the kitchen. The room swam in and out of focus as she reached the kitchen door and propped herself up against the doorframe. Hannibal Lecter was examining with distaste the jars of instant coffee on the sideboard. He turned to her.

"Ah, Clarice. Is this the only coffee you've got? Or perhaps you have some coffee beans stashed away in here."

Clarice laughed. "Coffee beans? Real coffee? On my paycheck? Be serious."

"So the new job isn't all it's cracked up to be, hmm? But better working for a security firm than cleaning motels like your mommy." As he spoke, he spooned three very generous spoonfuls of coffee into a large mug. "Sugar?"

"Two, please." She eyed the mug suspiciously. "You must really want me to sober up."

"As entertaining as you are while drunk, my dear, I would nevertheless prefer you to be sober for our little chat."

Starling hiccoughed again and clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oops. So you didn't come here to take advantage of me drunk?"

Dr Lecter's eyes twinkled. "A gentleman does not 'take advantage' of a lady when she is indisposed."

She grinned. "Indisposed? I love it. So when does the gentleman take advantage of the lady then? It always happens in those awful TV movies, y'know, British costume dramas." She took the mug of coffee Dr Lecter handed her and tried a sip. "Oh my God that's disgusting. It tastes like stagnant ditchwater."

"Drink it all" he said, watching her intently. "And I hope for your sake you've never partaken of stagnant ditchwater."

"Fell in a ditchfull when I was a little girl." She pulled a face. "If I didn't know your M.O. I'd think you were trying to poison me."

Dr Lecter smiled rather unpleasantly. "Oh I never use poison. It's so hard to get it out of the meat afterwards."

"Thank you for that. I think." Clarice lurched towards the sitting-room, trying not to spill her coffee as she went. Dr Lecter came to her rescue, supporting her with an arm around her waist, taking the coffee mug from her unsteady hands. She draped one arm across his shoulders and tried to walk straight. As he lowered her gently on to the couch she wrapped both arms around his neck and tried to pull him down too.

"No, Clarice" he said softly, pulling her hands away.

"What's the matter? Don't you want to take advantage of me?" Clarice looked disappointed. Dr Lecter reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

"You're drunk, my dear. You'd probably regret it in the morning."

"No. I wouldn't. You know what? Crawford thinks a lot more went on at Krendler's house than I told him about." She sighed. "Know what I do regret?" Clarice looked up at him and sipped her coffee.

"And what is that, Clarice?"

"That I called the cops. That Crawford's wrong. It all went wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Dr Lecter saw tears in her eyes. Although pleased that she had suffered for him, he couldn't stand to see her cry. He moved closer to wipe the tears away with his thumb.

"Hush, little Starling. Surely if I can forgive you, then you can forgive yourself?" He held up his left hand and wiggled the fingers. "See? It's almost as good as new. Admittedly a little stiff, but it works."

Clarice grinned weakly. "At least you can hold a knife and open a bottle of wine, huh?"

"Exactly. And now what am I going to do with you? I did bring a bottle of wine, but seeing that you are as drunk as a lord, I think it would be wiser if you did not have any more."

She wiped her eyes and sniffed. Dr Lecter winced. "Please don't do that, Clarice. It's a particularly unlovely sound."

"I'll sniff if I want. It's my house." Clarice yawned and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but I'm just so tired." Within seconds she was asleep.

Dr Lecter watched her for a while. He always enjoyed watching her sleep. However, this time his enjoyment was curtailed by the fact that she was obviously not well. She was too thin and pale. Judging from the circles under her eyes, she hadn't slept properly for a while. He wondered if she worked a regular night-shift.

He permitted himself to touch her face as she slept, trailing his fingers along the line of her jaw, pushing her hair back from her cheek. Her hair, as always, was glorious. Dr Lecter slid his arms around her and picked her up carefully. She did not wake, but he smiled as she snuggled closer to his chest. He carried Clarice upstairs to her bedroom and laid her on the bed. The baggy T-shirt she was wearing would serve as a nightie. He unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off, then drew the duvet up over her slender body.

Anyone who knew Hannibal Lecter would have marvelled at the tender way he tucked Clarice Starling into bed. He sat beside her for a while, watching over her. If she dreamt, it was not of lambs, of that he was sure. When he rose to go downstairs, she moved restlessly, as if she knew he was there. As he reached the door, he distinctly heard her say "Dorror Leccer." Hannibal grinned, his eyes sparkling with glee. 'Dorror Leccer.' With those words in her sleep, she was his. She might not realise it yet, but it is no good arguing with fate or Hannibal Lecter. He would have her. Dr Lecter resisted the ridiculous urge to sing that came over him then, but he did do a little jig of pure delight on the top hall. After checking Clarice was still asleep, of course.

Downstairs, he let himself out the front door and strolled down the street to his car, a battered station-wagon. He fished out a green kit-bag, slung it over his shoulder and walked back up to Clarice's, whistling. Dr Lecter sat on her front porch to admire the full moon, and smoke an illicit cigar. The moon was high now, it would set in a couple of hours, and it's silver light was at it's strongest. It was almost light enough to read by. He finished the cigar, crushed it out on the path and let himself back indoors. The guest room looked comfortable enough for tonight.

Clarice awoke to the delicious smell of frying bacon. She sat up in bed, looked around in surprise, then toppled back onto her pillow as the headache from Hell hit her straight between the eyes. When she could bring herself to crawl out of bed, she discovered that she was only wearing a T-shirt. Dr Lecter was beginning to make a habit of undressing her while she slept. Clarice tottered unsteadily to the window and slowly drew back the curtain. The bright morning sunlight greeted her cheerfully, making her head throb even more.

"Ohhh, girl, what did you drink last night? And who gave you permission to be so damn bright?" she snapped at the sun, yanking the curtains closed again.

When she made it downstairs, she found her unexpected guest busily frying eggs to go with the bacon. He looked up as she entered the small kitchen.

"Don't say one damn word. I'm not in the mood for 'I told you so's"

"Go back to bed, Clarice. I'll bring your breakfast up shortly."

"Breakfast in bed? You're kidding?" She yawned. "I figured I'd better come and see what you were cooking."

Dr Lecter laughed. "You needn't worry, my dear. I save my personal recipes for special occasions. I thought I'd treat you to breakfast in bed. When was the last time you ate breakfast, rather than drank it?"

Clarice glared at him. "I'll have you know I eat breakfast most mornings. There's a little burger bar downtown I go to." It took a moment for her to realise that he was teasing.

The doctor smiled. "Go back to bed. I'll be up in a moment."

Once she had gone, Dr Lecter arranged the eggs, bacon, mushrooms and toast on a plate, collected a tray and the coffee, deftly balanced the lot and followed her up. Clarice was sitting up in bed.

"This is difficult to believe" she said as he came in. "You are bringing me breakfast in bed. By rights, I should BE breakfast. Crawford would have kittens if he knew." She considered Crawford a moment, her head on one side. Then she laughed. "I wish he could see this."

Dr Lecter set the tray down beside her. "That could be arranged" he said softly, closing the door as he left.

Hannibal Lecter whistled as he walked down the stairs. There was no doubt about it. She was his. A mirror image of his own genius, a wolf of his own pack. He inwardly marvelled that Jack Crawford had not seen Clarice for what she was. Or had he? Was that why he had sent a mere trainee, little more than a child, into the lair of the beast? He knew Jacky boy tended to follow the old adage 'it takes one to catch one'. Hence, Will Graham. And not to be content with Graham's sacrifice, Crawford threw Starling to the big bad Wolf. Well, Starling's anger with her former mentor was understandable, and her grief. In Dr Lecter's mind, Crawford had a lot to answer for. The doctor smiled to himself. Jack Crawford would make an excellent gift for Clarice Starling. He had no doubt that she would appreciate his gesture.

Dr Lecter amused himself by exploring whilst Clarice enjoyed a luxurious breakfast. He found the small room that functioned as her study to be particularly interesting. It was dominated by a cluttered desk, an old metal gun cabinet and a heavy, well used punch bag. He prodded the punch bag and it swung pendulously on its rope. The gun cabinet was locked. He supposed it contained her weapons. The desk, however, was overflowing with interesting things. Dr Lecter examined a couple of battered photos, people he could not put a name to. One square-jawed man in marine dress blues smiled up at him from a small, creased photograph. In another, a young African American woman in an FBI jacket regarded him with intelligence in her brown eyes. He laid the photos down and ferreted around in the top draw. He drew out another photograph, buried under papers. It was a black and white FBI mugshot. He turned it face up. It was a picture of himself. Not the most flattering picture he'd seen, but it was the thought that counted. He put the picture away, smiling.

Dr Lecter cast another glance around her study. It was typically disorganised, but his eye was drawn to the Rolodex half buried under a newspaper. Pushing the paper aside, he flicked through it. Surely she'd have Jacky boy's address? Bingo. He scanned the card, memorising the address.

When Clarice returned to the kitchen with her tray, she found Dr Lecter humming as he washed up. He did not speak until he had finished. Drying his hands on a tea towel he said "I have some business to attend to today. Do be a dear and don't get on the phone to the police while I'm gone."

Clarice snorted. "Don't worry, Doctor. I'm not going to repeat old mistakes. Can I ask where you're going?"

Hannibal Lecter flashed his small white teeth in an evil little smile. "Shopping" he said.


Enjoy? Please review, cos I'm dying to know if you thought it was any good. I don't quite think I managed to pull it off. Well, actually it's hopeless, but I had fun writing it (Screaming Ferret and her inferiority complexes:). Tell me what ya think.

Ta,
Screaming Ferret.