A/N: I'd like to remind you that I've updated chapter seven, 'lot of meat pies, eh?' Because I got a brilliant idea after reading 'Hannibal.' Reviews and ratings are always appreciated by me! Also, I will continue with this fic until I deem it appropriate to stop, and then start the sequel fic, 'Faith isn't Faith until she's all you're holding on to.' (The title is going to change, definitely.) Oh, and happy tenthennial chapter-versary, Faith! And I'd like to remind everyone that the story is still taking place in Faith's 'worst day' flashback, when she's ten, contrary to her thirteen year old, present self narrative.

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*Faith*

Ardelia bit into a croissant. "So, what do your mom and you do out here, all alone?"

We were sitting at the table in the kitchen, munching at various baked goods. "Well," I considered the question while picking up a scone, "We raise sheep. Not for slaughter, for wool. When they get old enough, we do send them off to slaughter, but we make sure it's very humane, and we only use it as a last resort. We also have chickens, and then there's Piddles."

She gave me a weird look, "Piddles?"

"Our cow. She's quite the beaut, actually. Brown, not the stereotypically black-and-white cow. Nice, calm girl, easy to milk, too." I looked at my watch, "Actually, I have to go out and milk her in a bit, and then I'll have to check up on the chickens, for eggs. And we'll have to shear the sheep soon, so they can start growing thick wool for winter . . . ." I trailed off, "And we've been thinking about breeding Piddles in the spring. She'd be a good mother."

"OK, so you raise farm animals, obviously. What else? Clarice still works for the Bureau, right?"

"Yeah, the nearest branch, that is. Horrible hours, though."

"Yeah. The hours are some of the crappiest I've seen," She paused, "No horses?"

I shrugged, "We've been thinking about it. We're not quite sure about it yet, though." I shoved the rest of the scone in my mouth and got up from the table, "Sorry, but I've gotta go milk Piddles. She's already got to be a little distressed that I had to call someone to come and milk her last night. She'll be either really happy to see me, or really ticked off." I walked from the kitchen down to the landing near the front door. I pulled on a coat – the mornings were getting colder with winter sneaking up on us – grabbed a flashlight and opened the front door.

The fresh air hit me like a ton of bricks. It's about six and it's still a bit dark out. I shine the flashlight at the barn door and walk on over. I pull the keys to the door out of my coat pocket and stick them into the padlock. Shouldering the door open, I pull the lightbulb string above me and turn off the flashlight. I put the flashlight up on a higher shelf and grabbed a bucket off the floor. I shove my keys back into my pocket and hang up my coat on one of the coat pegs on the back of the door. I walk through the barn over to Piddles' little area.

"Hey girl, how are you?" I said, petting her nose, "Bet you missed me. I'm sorry I couldn't make it last night, something happened to Mom and I couldn't get here in time to milk you, gal. I hope you're OK with that." She stared at me for a moment, "Oh, the silent treatment, eh?" I muttered, grabbing a nearby stool to sit on, "C`mon, it's not my fault!" I told her, "I already told you that something happened to mom, girl!" She looked me straight in the eyes for another minute and then mooed in agreement. I sighed, "Thanks Piddles."

Reassured, I sat down and started milking. It was a smooth process, only taking about 13 minutes. I got up off the stool, petted Piddles again, and grabbed the bucket to take into the house for bottling. I put it in the fridge and came back to the barn to let Piddles out to graze.

By this point in time, the sun was a bit higher in the sky, and Piddles immediately started eating fresh grass off the ground. I dusted off my hands and went to tend to the chickens. Scooping up some feed, I went and spread it out for the hens – but not before checking under them for eggs – some of which I took. After replacing each hen in her nest, I head back inside with a basket full of eggs. I place these in the fridge, and decide to pasteurize the milk later.

"So," Ardelia asked – I looked over and in the time she had gone, she had eaten all the croissants and was now delving into the muffins, "You do this every day, by yourself?"

"No, Mom normally helps. I usually do the milking while she does the chickens."

"What about the lambs?"

"We feed them in an hour or so and then let them out to meander around outside."

"Hm. OK then. What do you do 'til then?"

"Nothing. We usually have breakfast, or something, but that's all said and done, I guess."

"So what're you gonna do?"

"I think I might just go for a run. Try to work out a bit of stress."

"Well, I'm gonna stay here and help myself to some of these cookies, `kay? Oh, and be safe out there, because if you get hurt, your mom will personally hunt me down and kill me, alright?"

"Sounds good to me." The air was warming up, so I exchanged my coat for a sweatshirt. Grabbing my iPod, I walked out the door and made my way to the road. I slowly yet surely started into a jog, working my way to a run, and eventually a sprint. My hair flew back from my face as I wound my way through the early-morning country roads. My feet hitting the dirt roads at a fast pace brings me an odd type of comfort.

I like losing myself in running. The wind hitting my cheeks, the fresh air, the speed itself, it all does wonders for my psyche and general mindset.

I saw a lone car during my run – a supercharged jaguar – going the opposite direction, right as I had started to slow down from my sprint. I put no thought to it besides a quick admiration of their taste in cars.

I was too absorbed in my running.

*Hannibal*

It took me a while to find the small town, and I was taken aback by the population: 2,531. Clarice was right, this place was secluded. I wound through the streets early in the morning. I hadn't quite got a plan in mind, though. I suppose I'd find a place to stay and find a way to see Faith in passing.

I accidentally over estimated the distance and ended up in the countryside. The streets were dirt and I cursed myself for not driving my truck here. It would have blended in more easily in the environment, and I don't mind it getting dirty as much as the jaguar. It was in the outskirts that I finally admitted to myself that I was lost. I decided to keep driving and just take the next turn, and ride it to wherever it takes me.

I took the next turn and it led me down a long road, lined with corn. I was marveling at the amount of corn someone could stand to grow and harvest when I saw another figure steadily approaching me on the other side of the road. I kept my eyes on my side of the road, but my peripheral vision got the details of the figure.

With the shock, I could feel my pupils dilating. I stared as she passed and stayed shocked for a bit after that. Another mile down the road I made an illegal u-turn and followed her. She was wearing headphones, and I hoped she wouldn't notice me. She was easily going six miles an hour and I found it easy to keep up with her while staying at a safe distance.

One would argue that I'm stalking her, but that's simply not the case. It's just to make sure it's her – and to make sure that she's alright.

Just to make sure.