Chapter content warning: Graphic sex, language.


"Hello? Is anyone here?"

Lisa had blown through Anna Karenina in record time, even for her, and had been moved enough to return it. Bob's office was unlocked, and almost everything inside was already packed away.

"Professor... Bob?"

She idly plucked a square of paper from one of the boxes. It was an old photo of Gino on Bob's shoulders, and Lisa couldn't help but smile.

Suddenly, she heard long strides in the hallway, followed by another set of smaller steps coming towards her.

"Really, Francesca, it's as if you enjoy being cruel. Why see me again if you insist we're through?"

"Roberto, I am telling you the truth when I say I cannot live without my Three Tenors cassette! It was a gift from Luciano Pavarotti lui stesso!"

A hand on the doorknob. Without thinking, Lisa leapt into the closet as Bob and his wife Francesca entered the room. Immediately she realized what a stupid move she'd made. Why hadn't she just excused herself?

"Are you certain the tape is what you miss?"

Lisa suppressed a shiver at Bob's low, sensual purr. Through the slats of the door she could see Bob's hands ease along Francesca's sides.

"Yes, Bob," she said harshly. "As soon as you hand over that audiocassetta, we are through."

"Francesca, per favore. Isn't there a scrap of our marriage left to salvage?"

She sighed. "Bob, when first we met, you were il mayore. But here in America, we are jailed more often than free. You lose every job you're given. I cannot continue on this way. We deserve more!"

Lisa saw the heartbreak in Bob's expression and immediately felt his pain, followed by her own guilt. She hadn't meant for him to lose his job or his marriage. Bob spoke softly, entreatingly in Italian, kissing her neck tenderly.

"Roberto, you're only making it harder on yourself," Francesca moaned.

Lisa knew that it was wrong, wrong, wrong, that this was a private moment not meant for her to watch, but she couldn't wrench her eyes away. Bob's hands fluttered delicately over Francesca's collar, her chest, her belly, as he murmured melodies into her ear. Her mouth opened in a pant as his palm slid up her thigh and disappeared under her skirt.

"At the least your cunt still warms to my touch," he growled. "Aching for attention..."

Lisa drew back, mortified. She shut her eyes tightly but couldn't block out Bob's throaty, filthy Italian, the wet, languid sound of his fingers, or Francesca's cries of agony as she came. He waited with her as she steadied her breathing. It was killing Lisa to be this quiet.

"Francesca, amore mio... riconsiderare..."

"There is nothing to consider. Goodbye, Roberto. You will not see me again."

She left, and Lisa finally dared to peek. Bob was at the window, head buried in his arms.

"A great Hope fell
You heard no noise
The Ruin was within."

Emily Dickinson, Lisa recognized sadly. One of her favorites. When she was sure Bob wouldn't move, she successfully stole out of the room.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Lisa ran out into the quad and collapsed onto the grass. Her heart pounded helplessly.

"Hey, Lisa, we're going to the student union for some expensive food. Wanna come?"

Disoriented, Lisa looked around and saw Milhouse with his friends. He waggled his eyebrows. For some reason, he seemed so young.

"N-no thanks, guys."

The group moved on, and Lisa took more time to calm down. Some thoughts she processed, others went dutifully ignored. One errant realization that struck her was that this was the first time she'd heard the word cunt used reverently, and not as profanity.