A/N: I appreciate reviews! I'm cranking out this chapter a little early because I wanted to start on some new plot devices. Enjoy!

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*Ardelia*

Clarice got shot. Didn't see that one coming. It was incredulous to get that call from that Alec guy – I swear on Clarice's hospital bed that that guy is gay, though – and hear the news. Faith's a wreck, too – she's always at least a bit upbeat, but at this point, I'm getting really concerned for her. Faith directed me to their house – very nice place. Pretty big, and it's relatively organized, too. At about 8:30, Faith crashed in bed. I stayed up for a little while more before hitting the guestroom sack myself.

*4:00 that morning*

I was asleep until this weird noise woke me up. I blinked a little, looked around, and realized it was still nighttime. I roll over to the night stand and look at the clock. It was 4:00AM. The sound abruptly stopped. I sat up and got out of bed. I walked through the hallway and nothing seemed out of place. I hoped it wasn't a burglar or something – then I'd have to dish out some serious whoopass. When I come to the landing, I see the kitchen light on. I smelt something good – and when I say good, I mean g-o-o-d. I walked down to the kitchen to see Faith, delicately taking muffins out of pans. She's covered in flour and doesn't seem to notice me when I come in. When all the muffins are on a cooling rack, she places the tin in the left-hand sink – which is full of bubbly water. She scoops a bowl out of the right-hand sink and sets it on the counter. She starts mixing ingredients in the bowl until the stuff is thick. She pushes the bowl to her left and dusts the counter with flour. She dumps the dough out on it and starts kneading it. After a minute, she goes to the refrigerator and takes out a bowl full of what looks like freshly washed blueberries. She carefully kneads these into the dough. She pats the dough into a thick circle and cuts it into wedges. She puts down the knife and turns around to get something.

"What the hell're you doing?" I blurt out.

"AAH!" Faith gasps. I'm suddenly very thankful she put down the knife.

"You OK Faith? What are you doing up baking at 4:00AM?"

She puts her hand on her chest for a second, "Hey Ardelia. I'm fine." I see that her right eye is slightly twitching, "Sorry. I bake when I'm nervous or anxious or whatever. Probably should have told you that."

"So . . . what happened? I mean, why are you up at 4:00AM.?"

"Oh, that." She grabs a cookie sheet from a cupboard, "I had a nightmare. I couldn't get back to sleep, but then I realized that the nightmare had actually happened, so I got freaked out over mom again. So then I baked. I mean, I am baking, sorry." She chuckled a little.

I laughed a bit myself, "Your mom does laundry when she's nervous, or thinking too much," I smile, remembering school, "So, what're you baking here?"

She took a deep breath, "Well, I just got muffins out of the oven, the croissants should be done in like, five minutes, and I'm currently making blueberry scones. I already made three different kinds of cookies, too. Any requests?" She starts putting the wedges of scone dough on the cookie sheet.

I pull a face, "Pie." I say.

Her expression is one of intense focus, "What kind of pie? French silk, apple, pumpkin, zucchini, peach, what?"

"Hmm," I mock-ponder for a bit, "I'm up for a French silk, myself. What about you?"

She smiles, "French silk's one of the best. Sounds good to me. Once I get the croissants out and the scones in the other oven, I'll start on that."

"Other oven?"

She points over to the corner of the room. "Oh." The house is about forty years old, so they have an older style of oven. They're narrower by a few inches, but there's two of them – one on top of the other. "That must be efficient."

"Yeah. So what're you going to do now that you're up?"

Good question. I stare at her for a minute, "Well, how about I stay up and you let me in on some of that croissant action?"

"Sounds OK to me." She picks up the cookie sheet and walks over to the oven, sliding the pan into the bottom oven. Right then, the buzzer of the top one went off.

-- That's the sound that woke me up! While I marveled in how an oven buzzer could be so loud, Faith grabbed some oven mitts from the counter, shut off the buzzer, and slid some beautiful croissants out – half of which appeared to be chocolate. I smiled. I may just have to ask Clarice if I can stay here a bit longer after she's out of the hospital.

If she gets out.

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*Hannibal*

My machine got a beep the other day, while I was feeding Clarence. I continued carefully dusting his crickets with Citra-cal and watching him 'hunt' them. My beautiful little beardie was very satisfied with his meal. Bearded dragons are very interesting creatures, you know – perfectly content in captivity, if well cared for. When he was finished and contentedly resting under his heat lamp, I walked over to my machine and checked what the beep was about.

"Hello, this is Alec Emmerson, with the Central Minnesota branch of the FBI – I'm calling because Clarice Starling has sustained a potentially life threatening injury. I was told to call this number in case of any emergency. If you got this message by mistake, feel free to call this number . . ."

I pressed stop. I stared at the wall for a few moments, letting this seep in. Something has happened to Clarice. Closing my eyes, I remembered a conversation from years and years ago.

"Han, they won't be able to trace the number to you."

"So it's just a precaution? The FBI won't be calling me at all hours of the night?" I asked, jokingly.

"Just a precaution. I've got three contacts – you, Ardelia, and Faith. It's just in case something happens to me. I need someone to make sure Faith's OK."

"And you trust me to this task?"

"You're her father."

"That I am, but that's no argument."

"You're her father, and I doubt that you would reveal yourself, or eat her, 'kay?"

"Fine then. I won't reveal myself, and I'm not even going to dignify that last option with a response."

She smiled, "Fine."

I read her expression, "Not fine?"

"Well," She hesitated, looking at the bundle in her arms, "I'm still not fine about your decision to not be a part of this."

"I want you two to have a life free of running from authorities. I would say I want you to have a normal life, but I would speculate that it would be impossible for Faith, considering her parents!"

Clarice laughed a bit, "Yes, I think we lack the 'normal' genome." She stroked Faith's hair. The baby opened its eyes. A dark, pretty maroon. Bright, alert eyes.

I opened my own maroon eyes. I told Clarice, years ago, that I'd watch over Faith – from a distance, per my vow – in an emergency.

And that's exactly what I shall do.