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Frank tossed in bed. He didn't want this dream. Flashes of red, a sticky sweet smell... The sheets tangled about his hips and legs as he tossed and turned. Whiskey colored eyes wide in shock. Another pair of blue eyes full of anger and overflowing with betrayal. Frank sat bolt upright in bed, a cold sweat running down his chest as he panted for breath in the still night. Everything was silent in his bedroom, the only noise being the air conditioning and random cars passing by on the street. Somewhere in the night he'd stripped out of his clothing… they all lay in a pile right next to the bed.

He swung his legs out of the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached for the drawer of the bedside table and pulled it open. Inside was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The pack had one or two cigarettes missing, the lighter barely even used. However, he shook out one of the white paper wrapped Marlboro's and picked up the lighter. With shaking hands, he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. This wasn't something he usually did, smoking that is. It was usually him that chastised Alex for smoking. It was a habit he'd quit many, many years ago and only picked up again since he'd met Fiona. He watched the cherry red tip glow in the velvety darkness of his bedroom as his memory traveled back again.

He'd waited for her to finish singing. He could hear her through the walls, hear the applause she garnered with her voice. Why he waited, he didn't know. But he waited for her all the same. And when she was finished, she returned to that dressing room to see Frank Donovan sitting on the red velvet sofa with a glass of water in his hand. She smiled that mysterious smile again and moved past him to the dressing screen and changed her clothing. When she came out again, she was in a silk robe and had her hair pulled into a ponytail at the base of her neck. After he'd ordered Italian food delivered in to her dressing room, the two of them continued their conversation.

She was so easy to talk to. Frank felt himself telling her things that he'd kept from the other women in his life. With no solid reason why other than he felt comfortable, he told her secrets, horrors, nightmares… Oddly enough by the end of the night, he found himself crying like a little boy with his head resting on her thigh as she rubbed his shoulders soothingly.

Fiona smiled. "Why do you trust me so easily?" she whispered.

"I don't know." Frank made no effort to sit up. This position was comforting and he found himself more relaxed than he had been in years. "I really do not know or understand why."

"There are some things in life that we will not be able to understand or explain. Perhaps this is one of those things."

Frank thought a moment, then forced himself to sit up and look at her. He studied her for a moment, his eyes taking all of her in. She was no raging beauty, little flaws caught his attention - her nose was perhaps a little too narrow and turned up at the tip, her lips were too full and her eyes were slanted a bit too much on the outside. But on the whole she was beautiful to him. It was her personality and the aura she exuded that drew him towards her.

Frank sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. He'd spent hours with Fiona that night, leaving her only at 5 in the morning. He didn't even want to leave her then. But, she made him go home and sleep. He remembered almost begging her to come with him, to not leave him alone. But Fiona, she just smiled that mysterious and haunting smile of hers and kissed him on both cheeks before closing the door between them.

"What exactly happened last night?!"

Frank raised an eyebrow at Amy as he sat across the bistro table from her at lunch. After getting little or no sleep that morning, he was in no mood for one of her hysterical tantrums. "What happened? You tell me, you're the one who walked out of the bar."

"Frank Donovan, you're such a bastard."

"Thank you, I try hard enough. And in case you hadn't noticed, Amy Herrad, you're no rose either."

The next think Frank saw was stars as she reached out and slapped him. It took him a moment to realize what had happened, but by then he was well past caring to return the hateful gesture.

"I loved you Frank. I still do. What I never understood is why you never loved me. Was it something I did.. something I said?"

"No, Amy. I just never really cared to have more than a casual relationship with you. You're the one who kept pushing for more."

Amy sat quietly for a moment, watching Frank. After a few minutes of golden silence, she spoke up. "Did you fuck her?"

Frank's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he stopped in mid-sip of his coffee. He took a second to compose himself, swallow the mouthful of cooling coffee and then stare at Amy. "I highly doubt that it's any of your business if I did."

"You did!!" she shrieked. "You… you… she slithers onto a stage and you know her less than a day and you're in her bed the moment my back is turned! How could you?!"

Frank groaned. One bloomin' murder of a headache was beginning to form behind his eyes and her hysterics only made it worse. He stood up to leave.

Amy jumped up and grabbed his hand. "I'm sorry!! I'm so sorry, Frank, please don't go."

"I have to go back to work Amy. Let go."

She pulled up close to him and put her arms around his neck. "Please, let me make it up to you. I see now that it was all my fault, I pushed you away and to her. Come to my place for dinner tonight, I'll cook."

"Amy," Frank unwound her arms from his neck and pushed her back from him. "No."

"You're going to her tonight, aren't you?"

He looked at her a moment more and shook his head. She was petulant and spoiled… and she was desperately trying to keep him with her. "No. Amy, it's done. We're done."

Frank sighed and crushed out the butt in the ashtray that lay out of sight in the table drawer. He'd washed his hands of Amy that afternoon. He remembered thinking that Amy had gotten the message that he was done with her. Who the hell ever said some things were easily understood?

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