It's been 3 years since I updated, mostly because I considered this story to be done. I always, really, hoped to write one more chapter for Conjugal Visits. So, it's 2:06 AM and it's finally time.

"… and, with a heavy heart, I must say my goodbyes to all my colleagues, whom I've enjoyed working with so much. I've grown as an agent, but more importantly, a person. I will treasure everything I've learned from all of you and the friends I've made in the next part of my life. Thank you." Clarice stood upon the stage, the blinding spotlights not enough to mask the faces of the people in the audience.

Some people were genuinely sad. Most people; not so much. Since her running up of the ranks after her 'big break', she had been a target for talk. But they clapped and came anyway, the same agents who referred to her as Death's Wife and congratulated her on the life choices she's made. Clarice knew everyone was just happy to be rid of her.

Jack Crawford was there, at the foot of the stage, waiting for her. She took his extended hand for aid, walking down the steps in her very high, very nice, very expensive Armani shoes. She bought them for just this occasion, but she was regretting it now. She was not a high heel woman.

"That was very candid, Starling. I'll truly miss your speeches." Crawford was the only one being truly kind; Clarice took it in stride, despite the fact that he was only being so kind because he wanted to get into her bed.

"I'll miss giving them, Sir." Clarice smiled a soft smile, lying through her teeth. Crawford couldn't sense the falsity in her voice.

"Five years in the Bureau isn't very long. I really thought you had just started to blossom." Some older male spoke form behind her. She couldn't remember half of the names of people who attended her going away party.

"It was a great five years! But I really need to take some time to explore life." Clarice said, waving her hand to make light of the whole thing.

The rest of the night, she watched everyone eat the cake and mingle about, talking about work because that's the only thing this particular collective group of asshats had in common; that, and being polite to her face and horrible behind her back.

Clarice found Crawford an hour or so after the festivities started, pulling him to the side of the room.

"Sir, this was wonderful of you."

"Starling, you're leaving tonight. Call me Jack." He grinned.

"Alright. Jack, this was wonderful of you. I enjoyed this party a lot. But, it's getting late, I'm just exhausted from mingling and eating. I'm going to go." She was ready to race out the door.

"Are you sure? We can move somewhere quiet if you'd like. I think I have some whiskey in my office, we can-" Clarice saw the light ignite in Jack when he started speaking and made the choice to shut it down, instead of leaving him with fleeting concepts of what could have been.

"No, thank you, Sir." Clarice knew what she did; so did Crawford. She sealed her decision and Clarice could see the shred of hurt he allowed to grace his face.

"Okay, Starling. I'll always have a place for you on my team. If you ever run into trouble, if you want to come back, if you just want to chat, give me a call. I'll always be there for you." Jack Crawford pat her shoulders, leading her to the front doors, like the gentleman he believed he was.

"Goodbye seems so final." He mused, holding the main door open for her.

"Thank don't say it," Clarice smiled at him, walking out into the twilight ", and thank you, again."

Clarice walked away from the building without looking back. She got into her car without looking back. She drove away without looking back.

When Clarice pulled into her somewhat secluded house, just a few blocks down the main road, she was ready to just sleep in her car. But hell if she paid too much for that dress, she refused to wrinkle it. Plus, she kept tasting the tall bottle of whiskey she bought for herself, chilling to perfection in her freezer.

Locking her car, Clarice approached her house. She half expected to see a light on, but the inside remained dark. She also expected her door to be unlocked, but it wouldn't budge without her key. She was disappointed.

"For such expensive shoes, you'd think they'd be more comfortable." She mumbled to herself, being gentle while unclasping the buckles of her shoes. She walked barefoot through her home, shoes in one hand, bag and keys in the other. Placing the three-hundred dollar foot investment upon the table for safe keeping, she tossed the rest of her things on her kitchen counter, pouring herself a stiff drink. She chugged it back and kept them coming.

Clarice just stood there, pouring drink after drink. She had even splurged, taking a smoke from the pack on the table. She had picked up the nasty habit a few months ago while out to the bar with a colleague and it just stuck; somehow managing to accept it because she only did it when she drank.

Her eyes flickered to the microwave's green lights, the clock reading 11:00; it had been an hour and a half since she arrived home; smoking one meager cigarette in her chain-smoking episode and a countless amount of drinks later.

"Do you miss me?" Clarice whispered into her dark home, knowing no one was there to respond.

"Cause I miss you." She whispered once more. Her tone was indifferent because she hadn't set stakes on it. She hadn't placed stakes on him.

She drank another drink and smoked another cigarette until half her bottle was gone and she only had two smokes left. Clarice deemed that a productive enough night, wobbling as she put everything back in their places. When drunk Clarice decided the kitchen was clean enough, she stumbled along to the living room, bumping into every wall and corner there. She collapsed onto the couch and threw one whatever late night garbage show was on, desperate for a distraction from her disappointing night.

Clarice had completed abandoned the prospect of not wrinkling her dress. She curled up on her side, a movie just starting on her chosen channel.

"My, my, my." His voice was gentle and familiar. In that moment, he seemed gentle; as if he was testing the waters. They hadn't been in the same room for five years, since the night she allowed him to escape. Since the night he stroked her hair as she slept until he couldn't stay any longer.

Clarice sighed heavily, sitting up. She crossed her legs and her arms, giving him a tight stare from across the room. Hannibal's eyebrows raised, making a silent exclamation of 'oh'.

"That look seems like I'll be sleeping in the dog house tonight." He gave her a wink.

"What look, Doctor?" Clarice scoffed, unable to hide the drunken smile on her face. Despite whatever he was about to ramble on about, she was very happy to see Doctor Hannibal Lecter standing in her home.

"That look of disappointment, of crushed expectations. Tell me, Clarice, were you expecting me to be here? Lurking in your dark home, waiting to spring on you when you stepped exactly where I needed you to step?" He walked forward as he spoke, Clarice noticing the natural sway of his broad body.

She ignored his question, turning her attention back to the television. Again, she couldn't stop her smile, damn alcohol and all the side effects in brought.

"Don't make me say it, Clarice." His smile followed her own, bobbing gently as he looked down at her.

"Quid pro quo, I know. I was expecting you, I'm just not sure what I was expecting. So, not quite disappointed. Why were you late?"

"To break your expectations. I can't let you think my schedule revolves around you."

"But it doesn't revolve around me a little bit." She made a small, pinched form with her fingers before chuckling at her own joke.

"Maybe a little bit." He admitted. Hannibal was different this time; so different from the last time they met. Perhaps he thought Clarice was ready for their relationship to progress.

"Heard the news, I take it."

"If I hadn't heard it, I could smell it; those aren't the smells of someone who didn't leave their job they realized they hate. Picked up smoking on top of the whiskey? That will kill you, my dear." He was concerned, only slightly, but she could tell.

"You smoke." She stood, barely matching his height. But she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow, doing her best to intimidate him as he intimidated her.

"Beside the point," Hannibal said ", also, love the shoes. Buy them for me?"

"For me. I needed a nice pair of shoes." Clarice was telling somewhat of a truth. She did buy the shoes for herself; with serious deliberation whether he would approve of her tastes. Clarice was happy she was right.

His hands were on her, fixing her hair, feeling her alcohol-warmed cheeks, wiping the small traces of nervous sweat from her forehead. Clarice watched Hannibal Lecter become vulnerable; he closed his eyes, leaning in close enough to be enveloped in her scent. Clarice, drunk out of her tree, took the moment as it was.

She grabbed his white button-down shirt, placing as neat of a kiss as she could on his lips. Clarice felt him smile, his fingertips toying at her waist. The kiss wasn't long, nor necessarily passionate. It didn't need to be. Clarice pulled away, giving Hannibal the same cocky look he always seemed to give her. He trumped her, giving her that cocky look, and adding;

"To answer your question, I missed you."

This feels right. I tried to write this chapter for years and nothing felt right.

I hope this piece, in its entirety, is something you guys enjoyed. I might write more of these two soon; I feel like my skill level has gotten better in the past 3 years. We'll see!