The next morning, Francesca woke up in the backyard. Her back hurt and she groaned. "Hangover," she shut her eyes. Of course, the sun would be out today, with great strength.

"Hey, sweetheart," Polly tittered. "You are a little drunken whore aren't you?" she laughed.

Francesca looked down to find that she was only wearing her undergarments, "What time is it?"

"Oh, not too late, darling," Polly held out a hand to her. "Come on."

Accepting the hand, she replied, "What about the guys?"

Polly helped her up, "B.A. is collapsed on the couch, but Murdock and Face are pretty sober."

"Really?" Francesca croaked, her throat dry. Polly flung a towel around Francesca. They walked into the kitchen to see Face and Murdock at the kitchen table.

"Hey, sunshine!" Murdock grinned.

She waved, covering her face with one hand. "Okay," she said quietly. "Hannibal, you need to dye your hair. And-"

"Hannibal isn't here at the moment," Face made his presence known to her, chuckling quietly.

"Stop screaming, I'm right here," she said woozily and then stumbled to the counter. "I need…uh…"

"Francesca, you're so hungover," Face interrupted again.

Francesca squinted at him and then clucked, "I wish you would stop stating the obvious. Now, you need to wash up, Murdock, you have to cut your hair and I know you don't need help with that seeing that you did up B.A. so well…and then Hannibal needs to-"

"What do I need?" Hannibal walked into the kitchen.

"Why are you all here?" she screamed. "I want to go home."

"You're home," Polly laughed.

"I want to go home, figuratively," she spat. Then, Francesca pressed her hands to her forehead again, "Ah! Absolutely dreadful."

Hannibal smiled meekly, "What do I need to do, Francesca?"

"Dye your hair to brown," she peaked out through her fingers. "I have to go lie down." She turned into the living room, but stopped when she heard a faint ringing. Her eyes widened, "My phone. I have to plug in my phone."

Polly smiled, "I did, Francesca. That's your phone ringing in the plug." She grinned, "I knew we still used the same phone."

Francesca paled, "That's my phone…ringing, then."

"It's a text," Face had picked up her phone. "Sixteen actually. The newest from…Dave?"

She stuck out her tongue, "Ew."

"Who's that?" Murdock asked loudly.

"Dave is Dave. There is no adjective for that son of a bitch," she smirked and then collapsed on the couch. "Throw me my phone."

Face had already gone through the texts and moved onto the messages, "Twelve calls from Jenny Nole, five from someone you call 'That Bastard, Griffin', three from Melinda Barrett-"

"Give me the phone," Francesca held up her hand, sounding angry.

Face didn't keep it hostage too much longer. He threw it to her. Francesca dialed a number and then pressed the phone to her cheek. "Mel? Mel, yes, it's me. I'm sorry I've been busy. With work."

Hannibal listened quietly while walking into the living room. He sat on a chair beside the couch and put his fist to his mouth in contemplation.

"Yes, well, please don't tell them that you've talked to me…I realize that they've been calling your home, but they can't know, is that clear?" Francesca closed her eyes. "But…how is Tommy?" She paused and then bit her lip, "And that's good. Better than he was…Well, I realize, but-" Francesca looked over at Hannibal. "You can't call me again, Mel. It's not a good time." She smiled at him and then said lastly, "Mel, I'll call you. Goodbye." She hung up and asked, "What?"

He cleared his throat, "Tommy's doing better."

"Slightly," Francesca pursed her lips.

Hannibal examined the dark circles under her eyes and her ratty hair, "That's enough, isn't it?"

"It'll keep me going for awhile."

Flashback

After discussing Tommy for the entire night, Francesca had settled in the bed beside Hannibal, watching the television. She had rested her head on his shoulder and slipped her legs between his.

"Thank you," she whispered, staring at the television screen.

Hannibal put his arm around her and traced his fingers up her arm, "For what?"

"For listening," Francesca looked up at him with two watery eyes. "I just really appreciate it."

He kissed her forehead and replied, "You should be happy. And if I can help you then I will do what it takes to get you there."

Francesca smiled, "That's very sweet. That's," she paused. "Sweeter than any guy I've ever known."

"Well, you deserve that," Hannibal turned back to the television. "Infomercial," he rolled his eyes and pressed the down button. "Now what movie is this?"

She looked to it as well. The black and white shook and a swell of music began, "I think…" Greta Garbo appeared on the screen. "It's Grand Hotel."

"And what's it about?"

Francesca drawled, "Oh, John, it's this awful movie. I can't even explain why it got an Oscar for best picture. I can't. And of course, Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, and John and Lionel Barrymore are fantastic, but for God's sake, could you make a more confusing plot that can't be held up without reading with Wikipedia article."

"Chill out, blondie," he laughed. "I was just asking."

"Since when do you call me blondie?" she giggled.

"Since now," Hannibal pressed his lips on her ear forcefully.

She screeched, "John, stop it." She fell onto her side in the bed and laughed.

Hannibal leaned over her and pressed his lips to her neck. Francesca touched his back and threw her head over the side of the bed, her hair falling down. His body heat forced a little perspiration to form on her neck. Hannibal lifted himself off of her and then gave her one more strong kiss on the lips. Pulling away, he supposed, "Now what do you want to do?"

"I like just lying next to you," Francesca stroked his side.

"But I want to get up. It's almost morning, you realize," Hannibal looked out the window adjacent to the bed.

Francesca looked to see a beautiful sunrise beginning over the water. She slipped out from the bed and went to the window, "It's beautiful out, isn't it?"

"You can tell me if it's beautiful," Hannibal followed her. "You've got opinions."

"Well, it is," Francesca leaned on the sill. "You have to go soon, don't you?"

He put his hands on her shoulders, "Yes."

"Why is it that whenever we meet we have to part so quickly after?" Francesca placed a hand on one of his.

"It must just seem that way."

She shrugged, "Well, I hate it."

"I know."

Francesca gazed out the window for a long time. She liked him touching her. Just his hands placed on her shoulders. For some strange reason, she felt that this was a deeply passionate gesture. But that's how everything had been. Every little glance, every little word uttered. It all made her feel fervor and zeal two words that had been foreign to her for quite some time. She leaned back onto him. Hannibal accepted her and slipped his arms around her chest. He wasn't a man of many words, Francesca decided. His actions were those which spoke numbers. And she knew that because he had a plan.

If he was going to touch her, none of that was spontaneous to him. Francesca knew that there was a motive behind everything he did. Hannibal was a strange and funny man.

"Can I ask you a question?" Francesca frowned.

"Sure," Hannibal answered.

"Don't take this the wrong way. I'm just curious," Francesca turned and gave him this warning.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, "I…won't…"

She ducked out from his view, "Have you ever thought about your future, John?"

"What do you mean?" he questioned confusedly.

"Like…do you ever want to get married? Not to me… but in general," Francesca bit her lip.

He went silent, his brow furrowed.

"Have children, maybe?" Francesca continued.

Still, he stayed quiet.

"Just a thought, alright, I'm going to go get a shower."

"I haven't ever really thought about it," Hannibal finally answered.

She smiled, "Haven't you realized you don't have that much time to think about it?"

"No."

"I see. You're in love with…saving the world," she chirped, turning into the bathroom.

Hannibal sat back down on the bed with a reflective expression. He had never thought about getting married or having children. Nor had he ever thought deeply about mortality.

In the bathroom, Francesca climbed into the shower after turning on the water and then cried. Sobbed almost, but soundlessly.

End Flashback

After making her phone call, Francesca had retreated to her room where she put the finishing touches on her plan. Murdock had done a little more researcher, Face relaxed in front of his file, B.A. slept on, but Hannibal sat tormented by his thoughts.

Love. Love was a strange word. How could this one word describe everything he was feeling? At eleven, he climbed the steps and walked to Francesca's room, holding a box of hair dye. He knocked three times.

She opened it slowly, smiling, "What's up?"

"Could you give me some assistance?" Hannibal held out the box.

Francesca pursed her lips, "Sure. Sure, come in."

He walked into her bedroom, keeping his eyes on the box.

"Just go into the bathroom," she gestured to a door in the room.

Hannibal went inside, "What have you been up to?"

"Making final arrangements, that sort of thing," she followed. "Can you sit by the side of the tub?"

He did so, saying, "I wanted to talk to you."

Francesca went in and knelt beside him, "So you don't need help with your hair?"

"Yes! Yes, I do," that was a lie.

"Okay," she turned to the sink and picked up a comb. Then, Francesca took the box from him. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

"I don't really know," Hannibal said quietly.

Francesca raised an eyebrow and started to mix the dye, "Well, we've got some time."

"I really don't know," he shook his head. "I don't actually recall."

Stopping, Francesca looked to him silently and then leaned toward him, "Hannibal," she lifted her hand and placed on one of his. "Are you okay?"

He hung his head, "I'm fine." Love did a lot to him that he didn't know how to control. "I just have a lot to say, but don't know how to say it."

"Well, then sing about it," Francesca said in the utmost seriousness.

"What?" he frowned.

"Sing," she reiterated. "Um…what's that one song? I get no kick from champagne…Pure alco…hol," she trailed off, looking at his worn smile. "No? Come on…tell me what's bothering you?"

Hannibal smirked, "I thought you had a hangover."

"I did, but then I thought if I act like I have a hangover the whole day, then I'm going to have a really sucky day. So then I drank a bit of rubbing alcohol and I was cured," Francesca hiccupped.

"Rubbing alcohol?" he snickered.

"Yes, but don't worry," she sighed. "I built up a tolerance to it. Now, lean forward."

He did so. Francesca sat on the side of the tub, her legs behind his back. "You can sit back."

Hannibal, leaning back, felt her legs behind him, her knees at his neck. He heard a slight buzz. Francesca faltered and picked up her phone. "Ew."

"Who is it?" Hannibal asked.

"Daaaave," she answered in a mundane way.

"Who is Dave?" Hannibal then solicited her secrets.

Francesca started to run her fingers through his hair to apply the dye, but instead she got caught up in the feel of his silver hair. Finally, she snapped from her trance, "Dave owns that house in Southbrook that we stopped at awhile back."

Hannibal remembered. The key for her grandmother's house and been there. "Why'd he have a key to your grandmother's house?"

"He's holding my stuff hostage."

"Why?"

Francesca picked up the comb and the dye, "Well, we were living together for about eight months."

"Really."

"Yeah," she said sheepishly. "I regret every moment of it. He was a nice guy to start off with, very attractive. He was a computer hacker. Taught me everything I know. So we dated for about six months." Francesca laughed to herself, "I was head over heels. Honestly…" She came to an abrupt stop. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"No, I like listening…to…" Hannibal decided not to finish the statement. You would've been the next word.

She continued, "I moved in with him without a second thought. But then things started getting weird. He was angry a lot, almost violent. For a computer guy, he sure knew how to smash a vase. It was strange. The last two months I ended up sleeping on the couch. He honestly wouldn't let me leave. Had millions of excuses. Dave fed me that stupid 'I'll change line' at least a dozen times. But you know what's embarrassing? The fact that I believed him. Anyway, I left and he was really upset." Francesca rolled her eyes, "Leaving was the best decision I made."

Hannibal sat in awe of the story. Another man had been in her life. He knew she would move on after him, but the fact that she had been in love.

"I don't actually know if I ever loved him."

False alarm.

"I tricked myself into it, I suppose."

"I'm sorry that it didn't work out," Hannibal lied.

She finished applying the dye and then slipped out from behind him, "Well, I'm too trusting." Francesca plopped down at his feet and smiled, "But anyway, that's Dave."

"Sounds like an asshole to me," Hannibal sympathized with a slight smile.

She laughed boisterously and then nodded, "Pretty much." Francesca lifted her head, "What about you? Any women in your black book?"

"Nah."

"Really?"

"That's Face's job."

"I see."

"Hannibal!" Murdock's voice echoed through the room.

Hannibal kept his eyes on Francesca as he answered, "In here."

Murdock entered the room. His eyes widened, "Uh…"

"What?" Hannibal tried to force the awkwardness away.

Face ran in, "Sosa. Sosa and friends."

"Sh! You gotta be quiet, fool."

"Who?" Francesca frowned as B.A. closed the bedroom door and walked to the bathroom

"What's she doing?" Hannibal gasped.

Face start scratching the back of his head, "She just showed up at the door and we all ran up here before Polly could answer. She warned us."

"Who is Sosa?" Francesca said.

The boys all looked at her with a blank stare. Murdock then looked to Face, "How do you categorize her nowadays?"