Mourning Glory by Deoceres (Becky) Rating: G Story: Clarice reflects on the past, and what might have been. Set after Hannibal. The phone has become the sole object of my attentions. I know that wherever you are, you will not want to call me, but that doesn't stop some stupid part of me from hoping. I have made too many mistakes in the past. You offered me knowledge, yet I refused to see, or admit to myself. You offered me freedom, yet I remained here. You offered me love, yet I denied the both of us. I was given more chances than I deserved, and when I finally turn to you, it seems to be too late. I barely move from this spot besides the phone. Light and dark make no difference to me. I close my eyes only when weeping makes me too weak to keep them open anymore. When I do sleep, you haunt my dreams. I pray for you to contact me again, although I know that you won't. Not anymore, not after what I put you through last time. That one chance encounter, although with you, nothing would simply be coincidental. You wanted me to follow you, and I rose to the challenge. And I knew. I knew you would never allow yourself to be taken again. You would rather be buried in the cold ground than be imprisoned once more. But that didn't stop me from calling for backup. 'You always hurt the ones you love the most'. That phrase sprung into my mind as at least twenty guns trained on you, one being my own. You didn't aknowledge the others though, or the commands they barked at you. Your eyes never left mine, and I knew what you were planning. I remember screaming at the sound of the bullet striking you as you rushed towards me. Your features twisted in pain, and the blood had already begun to seep through the crisp white of your shirt. But still you closed the distance between us, and for a precious second, your lips met with mine; a final message burned onto my soul. Again and again, I watch you falling backwards, as though in slow motion, your fiery gaze locked onto mine, before turning dull and unseeing. The blood, your blood, stained the front of my jacket, and I still felt your lips on mine as the other agents cautiously moved forwards to confirm the obvious. You seemed strangely at peace, and still I am left here, breaking under the heavy burden of guilt and loss that I have placed on my own shoulders. I was as much at fault as if I had shot you myself. I pulled that trigger when I denied you at the Chesapeake, and when I set out after you on that fateful day three months ago. It seems so much longer than that. At first, I took to drowning my sorrows in cheap alcohol. Now, I just sit here and wait. Whether I still wait for you to contact me, or for death to claim me, I do not know. Either way, the heavens show no mercy to my plea. Fin A/N: Thankyou to everyone at LL for their title suggestions, with a special thanks to DrPeter as I decided to use one of his suggestions.