Alright…so I know it's been a little bit longer than we all hoped, but I hope this is worth the wait. It's one of my longer chapters. And the ending…well, it's what I've been waiting to write.

The next morning, Francesca woke up alone. She was warm and felt a million times better. Looking to the pillow beside her, she noted that it had been slept in. A smile crept across her face.

Hannibal had slept next to her. He had also left a note. She picked it up and scanned it quickly.

I'll be by tonight, Miss Neville. Make sure to be ready to flirt with Edward's sister a little. You know…keep up appearances.

H

And she was almost sure that it wasn't an awkward sleeping. It was practically intimate. Francesca fell back on the bed, giggling to herself in glee. Now, she just had to wait until tonight to see them all again. To see him again.

She fell onto his pillow and inhaled deeply. Her heart burst. His smell, that of cigars and musk. His smell was that of a man. She screamed into the pillow and then laughed. Francesca felt fantastic.

Meanwhile, Hannibal was upstairs calmly looking out the window in the sitting room.

B.A. trudged into the room, rubbing his eyes, "What're you doing?"

"Thinking…" Hannibal murmured, putting two fingers against his lips.

B.A. stopped in his tracks, "No. No, you're planning, aren't you?"

"Hm?" Hannibal turned back to him.

"Planning," he laughed. "You're planning."

"So?"

"So…" B.A. sat down across from him in a pink chair. "You're taking this right out from under Francesca's nose."

Hannibal grazed his tongue against his teeth and then spoke, "Francesca doesn't even have a plan, I'm sure she won't object to me being a little helpful."

"Why?"

"Because she has lost sight of our real goal," he glared. "She thinks it's all about the act, about putting on a show. She lost sight of what's really important."

B.A. chuckled, "Tough words for a hopeful future flame."

"Bite me," Hannibal got up off of the couch and ran his hands through his hair.

Rolling his eyes, he replied, "I know you came in late last night. What happened?"

"Nothing important." He then went into the bedroom and didn't come out until he went to pick up Francesca.

As the day wore on, Francesca began her preparations. She started by getting a shower and then doing her makeup and styling her hair.

Finally, she slipped on the blue dress that had a semi full skirt that floated all the way down to the floor. She pulled up the top, strapless, which she hated, but Polly only had time for that.

Francesca folded her hands in front of her, staring in the mirror. "You look great," she said quietly. "Does that sound narcissistic?" she asked herself. "I guess it doesn't matter what I think. Will John…think I look great?"

Suddenly, she stopped, "I'm talking to myself in a mirror. About a guy who left me five years ago. Well. I'm eternally fu-"

A knock came from the door. Her eyes widened, turning toward the door. Quickly, she folded her hands in front of her chest and sputtered, "I know I don't talk to you a lot, God, but help me get through this night so that maybe I can have a good time. Also, please help me to ignore the awkwardness between me and John since we slept in the same bed last night." Francesca started for the door and stopped again, "And before I forget, please help us avoid death. Thank you…amen?" She then went to the door and flung it open.

In front of her stood the dashing, brown haired, Hannibal Smith. John. Or as she would call him now, Robert. He wore his tuxedo with poise, carried himself differently than how he normally did.

"Hello, Roselle," his husky voice was a bit lower than usually.

"Don't you look nice," Francesca drawled, holding back a shrill giggle. She let him into the room and closed the door behind him.

"So are you ready?" Hannibal asked her as she retreated back into the room.

Francesca lowered her head, "I just need the ear piece you said you'd bring." She held out her hand to him.

Hannibal shoved his hand in his pocket and brought out the piece. Handing it to Francesca, their hands touched for a brief moment. He flinched back as soon as she took it. "So," she looked at the small device in her hand. "Last night…"

"We won't discuss it," Hannibal cleared his throat turning away from her.

"Right," she sighed. "When did you leave?"

"About five in the morning. You were out cold."

"Did you have a nice morning, then?"

Hannibal recalled the sneaking back into the king sized bed he was sharing clumsily with B.A., both of them on either the left extreme or right extreme of the bed. However, B.A. was sleeping soundly, his snoring gracelessly echoing through the suite. Hannibal was running on four hours of sleep that he had acquired resting next to Francesca, "Great morning."

"Uh…we can get going if you like." Francesca put in the ear piece as she went past him to the door. They walked down toward the Crystal Room. Memories flooded back to Francesca like tears did last night, filling her with an uncomfortable sense of security, even with the chance of being caught.

"Roselle!"

She turned quickly to see a woman who she recognized to be Eliza McDonald approaching her. "Robert," Francesca bit her lip. "Give me some privacy with lovely Eliza."

"Right," he backed away from her and then darted into a sea of people.

Francesca pursed her lips nervously, "Eliza, darling."

Eliza had dark brown hair that she wore in a loose bun, light brown eyes, and tan skin with a beautiful complexion. She was clad in a dark green dress that hugged her slight curves down to her feet.

"You and Robert look like you're on the outs tonight," Eliza playfully tapped her shoulder.

"Why?" Francesca asked in her mock French accent. "How?"

"Well, you're normally quite intimate, aren't you?" Eliza fluttered her eyelashes at the woman she thought to be Roselle. "Did he find out?"

Rolling her eyes, Francesca replied, "Of course not. Robert doesn't even know that I've been out of the country four times this past month, let alone…" she gestured between the two of them. "He doesn't notice me anymore."

The faux-Robert, however, did notice her. Hannibal stood at the bar, glass in hand, talking to a few senators. They all were chatting about the economic crisis, laughing almost inappropriately at it. As he drifted out of that conversation, he observed the way Francesca interacted with Eliza. They were both very touchy, intimately conversing. His protective impulse surged within him.

He had to learn how to tame it, at least for tonight.

"New nose?" Eliza pointed at Francesca's face.

"Uh…" she faltered. "Yes…temporary. I was just experimenting."

"It looks nice," Eliza leaned forward and purred into her ear. Then, she took her by the hand and pulled her to a space near the bathroom, a small corner unoccupied by people. "Roselle, I never really did get over the fact you didn't call," she grinned enticingly. Eliza swiftly pressed her lips to Francesca's.

As much as Francesca wanted to pull back, she couldn't. Not only for the act, but it was actually enjoyable. Eliza pressed her hands to the sides of Francesca's head, almost trying to get away from the kiss, but not letting herself. Finally, the passion subsided and she froze, staring at Francesca. Her eyebrows laced together in a confused frown. Slowly her face melted back into a serene smile, "I'm in room 426…meet me there tonight after your husband passes out."

Francesca considered that for a moment and then shook it off. She had just almost been caught by her character's lover. She should not be thinking about a late night escapade.

Eliza swayed past her gleefully and shouted, "Eddie!"

Assuming it was Face, Francesca didn't turn around, but instead let the shock consume her for a little bit of time. She definitely didn't think that Eliza McDonald would have the gall to kiss her like that. Roselle must've been one passionate woman. She ran back into the room with a lack of elegance and rushed over to Hannibal. "Robert," Francesca said hoarsely.

He looked to her with slight amusement, "So what happened with Eliza?"

"She-" she started coughing. "I need a drink."

Hannibal lowered his voice, "Well, I don't know Roselle's favorite."

"Bartender," she reached out and grabbed a young man's arm in a demanding fashion that perfectly characterized Roselle Neville. "Dry martini, quickly," Francesca said to the man who immediately followed her instruction.

"What's going-"

She held up a hand to make him stop. Clearly, Francesca was not going to speak to him until she got that drink. After a little bit, the man handed the drink to Francesca who didn't even utter a thank you. Hannibal couldn't tell if it was in the spirit of Roselle or because she was up in arms about something.

Francesca reached out and pulled him back toward the area that Eliza had just shown her so that she could tell him what just happened.

"What are you doing?" Hannibal gave her an incredulous look.

Taking the drink in her hand, Francesca brought it to her lips, and drank the entire thing. Finally, gaining back her sense she mumbled, "I needed that."

"Fr—Roselle?" Hannibal stuttered.

Francesca looked up at him and sighed, "Eliza kissed me and-"

"What?" his eyes widened. "You'd think she'd be a bit more secretive considering there are about five hundred people here."

"That's not the point," Francesca lowered her eyes. "The point is, she almost figured out that I was not Roselle. So let's get the info we need and get out."

Flashback

"Why don't we take this up to my room?" Henry slurred, running his hand down Francesca's back.

She could smell the liquor on his breath. He was drunk and she was buzzed, but had enough sense not to let him take her upstairs. Francesca knew that Hannibal would be around, waiting for her. Or at least she hoped. "No…Henry, I want to dance a little longer," Francesca giggled. "Besides…we agreed-"

"I don't care," Henry put his hands on either side of her head. "I want to…" He started to murmur something inappropriate in her ear. She pulled away, but Henry found a tight grip on her right hand. "Where're you going?"

"Let go," she whined and jerked her hand away from him. "Don't touch me, okay?"

Henry continued to pursue her, "I knew there was something up with you."

Francesca continued walking out into the lobby, "What does that mean?"

Stumbling toward her, Henry spat, "You don't have a boyfriend and you don't let anyone get close to you. But you flirt with everyone and then just pull away."

"For your information, Agent Soto," Francesca confronted him boldly. "I am very much involved with someone."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure," Henry said to her in an unnaturally loud voice, making people turn to look slightly. "Considering you have no photos in your wallet, no one who ever calls you…no one you talk about like that."

"You're drunk, you don't know what you're saying," Francesca turned away from him.

Hannibal and Morrison walked out of the Crystal Room then to see the small argument going on. Observing from the shadows, Hannibal watched with restrained belligerence. Morrison coaxed him further back. There was no need for any trouble right now.

"I know exactly what I'm saying," Henry approached her with a strange glint in his eye. "You're lonely and you don't let anyone near you. You think you're too good for everyone. And that's why you're single. Plain and simple."

"I will not…take this from you," Francesca choked out, feeling her jaw tighten and her hands ball up into tight fists.

Henry threw his hands up, "What're you going to do? Hit me?"

"I would if we weren't in front of all of these people," she said through grit teeth.

"Sure…" Henry scoffed.

"Fine," Francesca turned back around. "Try me," she spat. "Why don't we take this outside?"

Shrugging, Henry laughed, "I don't see how it could hurt."

Francesca turned toward the French doors that led out onto the pool deck and then the beach. She speedily walked toward them. This man did not know what she had in her. But Henry, being drunk and also a bit dumb, followed her.

As they walked out, Hannibal shook his head, "I gotta go after them."

"Well, yeah, the show'll be good," Morrison joked, but Hannibal did not find it funny. "I'm just kidding, Hannibal, relax."

"It wasn't very funny," Hannibal glared as they walked slowly out of the hotel after Francesca and Henry.

There were others slowly congregating after overhearing the spat between the two. Little did they know what they were about to see.

Francesca kicked off her shoes and walked onto the sand. It was dark on the beach, but you could see the glints of everyone's eyes and the faint outline of their figures. She knew exactly which one was Henry.

"Whatcha got, little girl?" Henry teased.

"I'm surprised that you're challenging me after seeing what I did to those boys back in Wyoming two weeks ago," Francesca turned away from him.

At least ten people including Hannibal and Morrison were gathered at the pool deck to watch and see if this fight was just a myth.

"Please, that was luck," Henry guffawed loudly.

Suddenly, Francesca turned on her heels and threw a punch that struck Henry right across the jaw. Her jaw was clenched in a large under bite, "Was that luck, Agent Soto?"

There was a collective gasp from the audience. Hannibal rushed forward toward Francesca.

Henry had his hand pressed to where she had hit him, "Jesus Christ!"

"And there's more where that came from, you son of a-" Francesca lunged toward him, hands at the ready. Hannibal, however, grabbed her wrists, pulling her back. "Let me go!" she screeched.

"I thought you were kidding!" Henry spat in her face.

"Vite di te, figlio di una cagna! Vorrei un pugno di tua madre in utero prima che tu nascessi," Francesca threw back in his face, trying to get away from Hannibal's tight grasp. He couldn't help but laugh a little at what she said.

"Francesca!" Hannibal finally got a strong hold on her and yanked her away from Henry's eyesight. "Calm down."

She started to let up on her struggling and pleaded, "John, please. Please…"

"Francesca, stop. Stop."

Morrison escorted Henry back into the hotel to get cleaned up and announced to the people watching, "Nothing to see hear. Move back inside."

Francesca let up after another minute and sighed, shouting, "I hate him! I hate him so much."

"Here," he put an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go back inside."

"I don't want to," she turned away and started walking off down the beach.

Hannibal rushed after her silently. They walked together for a good fifteen minutes before asking, "What did he say to you?"

Brushing back her hair, Francesca relayed the story to him. As she told the part about being involved with someone, Hannibal shoved his hands in his pockets nervously. "Who are you involved with?"

"What?" she asked with a frown on her face.

"Who are you involved with?" Hannibal asked again, more forcefully.

She bit her lip, "Well…he's this guy. And he's got black hair…green eyes. Uh…really pale skin. I actually think he's a vampire."

Hannibal laughed, "Sounds like you're making that up."

"I'm not, I swear," she held up her hands.

"You're lying."

"Am not!" Francesca laughed.

They had walked onto a barren part of the beach, only inhabited by a few small homes. Francesca sat down on the sand and sighed, "I'm tired."

"Let's walk back."

"I don't want to!"

"You're acting like a little child!" Hannibal laughed at her and sat down beside her.

Francesca rested her head on his shoulder, "Thanks for dragging me outta that."

"Any time," Hannibal swallowed.

Lifting her head, Francesca put her hand on his cheek, turning his head toward her, "You seem distant. Talk to me."

Hannibal's lips parted for a moment before he pressed them against hers. She flushed and moaned slightly beneath his lips, words forming in her throat. Quickly, she pulled away, "John…"

"What?"

"I... don't…can't…"

"Relax," he whispered into her ear.

Her heart beat more quickly. Somehow, her words couldn't be held into her mouth. If she didn't say anything, she'd be awkwardly hiccupping out sounds. Francesca looked out over the water, feeling Hannibal's lips press against her ear. He whispered, "You're involved with me, aren't you? Your loyalties are to me."

Francesca laid back on the sand, closing her eyes. Hannibal leaned over her, their lips touching, not in a kiss, but a slight, intimate moment. She then spoke against his lips, "I think you're intensely intriguing, Colonel Smith."

End Flashback

Francesca pulled out a very small device from her clutch and started talking to Hannibal again, "Look, just walk around…Mingle."

"I know what to do," he frowned.

She started to put the device into the corner behind her, "'Course you do."

"You bugged the place?" Hannibal asked, referring to the little device.

"Yeah," she nodded. "That was a given. What do you think I'm stupid?"

Hannibal blushed and turned away back to the party.

After they left the corner, they continued through the people, talking. At ten thirty that night, they still didn't have any information. Francesca had sat down at the bar with another dry martini, sipping it gracefully.

She was approached by Murdock in his costumed, made up self. He sniffed his nose in the air and talked to her in a northeastern inflection. There was a sense of intense urgency in his voice, "You and your husband have to leave."

Francesca sat up, "Why?"

Lowering his voice and mumbling in her ear, "Because the real Robert and Roselle are here."

Francesca's eyes widened. She grabbed Murdock's hand, "I bugged the room. You have to get them all."

"I gotcha. I'll find 'um," he said, nodding his head.

She turned away from Murdock and got up to find Hannibal, only to find him ten feet away, trying to get her attention. Francesca rushed toward him and grabbed onto his coat lapels, "We have to get out of here."

Hannibal's hands surged toward her elbows. He felt like he needed to protect her even though he knew she'd resent it. "Come on," he murmured to her. They ambled through the crowd, hands grasped tightly and made their way back to the lobby.

"Do you see them?" Francesca tried to look through the thick of people, but couldn't.

"We don't have time to look, come on!" Hannibal yanked her toward the pool deck which they had gone to so many years ago. They ran out onto the beach and kept going, Francesca tripping over her skirt. She stopped quickly and tore of the skirt to reveal a pair of jersey pants that seemed to be connected to the bodice. Hannibal turned around and smiled despite himself.

"Don't gawk at me like that," she pushed his shoulder and then ran off, leaving the skirt behind and holding the clutch still in her hand.

They didn't stop for a long while until they were both out of breath. Francesca collapsed onto her knees, hands in front of her, heaving breathes. Hannibal bent down beside her, "You okay?" His hand slid over her back.

She nodded, "Yeah. I haven't done that in a long time."

"Let's go find somewhere to wait for a message from the boys, okay?" Hannibal helped her up off of the ground. They walked toward the inland where there was much hubbub surrounding them. Somehow, they had come all the way down to the more alive part of town with those looking for a good time, drinks, laughs, and friends.

They snaked through the town, avoiding the dark alleys and finally came upon a small hotel which was called B O D, since most of the letters on their light up sign had burnt out. Francesca and Hannibal were eerily comforted by the dirty hotel with cheap fixtures.

Approaching the desk, Hannibal spoke quietly to the female receptionist in Portuguese. Francesca clung to his arm, discomfited and nervous. However, she felt extremely safe even near him. She knew he'd take care of her. Without knowing it, Francesca pressed her face against his arm, trying to hold back hot tears of frustration. Hannibal jumped slightly, but let it happen. He received a key from the woman and he led Francesca to walk up a set of steps that creaked as they went up. At the third floor, they found their room. Hannibal had to kick the door open gently.

It smelled of must and smoke, but neither of them cared.

They were both quiet. Hannibal watched Francesca as she walked into the room and went to the window, pulling back the curtain slightly. Her shoulders hunched slightly, "It's awful, isn't it?"

"What?"

"I screwed everything up. Roselle and Robert ended up realizing that their tickets were missing, they got here. Now everyone knows we're imposters and…what will happen to the rest of them?"

"You didn't screw up…and they'll be fine. I know them well enough to be sure of that," Hannibal sighed. "Francesca…" her name tickled his tongue. "Francesca, please…just rest for now."

Francesca turned. She could only make out the defined contours of Hannibal's face. The dark swelled around them, cradling them gently in a thick mass of nothing. Hannibal lifted his hand and touched her cheek. Francesca willed herself not to slip from his grasp, not to run.

There were no words either of them could say. They stood there with wide eyes. Hannibal stepped closer, sensing Francesca's fear. He slowly brought his face to hers and stopped only centimeters from her lips. She could feel his breath against her face, warm and stained with the scent of cigars. Hannibal then pressed his lips to hers in a soft and careful kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut as she put one hand on his bicep. She accepted the kiss, nervously, as her heart beat faster and butterflies flitted around in her stomach.

Hannibal reached for her other hand and entwined her fingers with his. He hadn't completely realized until now but those five years apart had taken a toll on him. He had missed her.

Francesca suddenly drew away and tried to go, "I'm dizzy."

"That's normal."

"I feel like I'm going to vomit," she mumbled.

He held onto her, "It's the butterflies."

"Please, just let me go," Francesca sucked in her lower lip, her voice wavering.

Hannibal shook his head, "I want you to stay

She slipped away finally, on the verge of tears, "I-I can't- No-" There then was a sense of conclusiveness in her voice, "No."

"Francesca."

"You…killed me," she gritted her teeth. "You left me after I told you I loved you. And now you want more from me."

Hannibal shook his head, "That's not how it is."

"Yes it is," she said, crying out. "You'll hurt me again. Let go."

"I won't," Hannibal held her hand though she tried to slip away. "I promise, I won't."

"No, you can't just-"

"I won't."

Looking back at him, Francesca found his eyes in the shadows. They were weak, they were vulnerable, they were eyes for her. Hannibal waited for her. He wanted her to stay and give him another chance, "P-please…" His voice was weak. He was defeated.

Francesca's fingers tightened again in his. She gave him a simple nod, at a loss for words. Hannibal pulled her closer to him and lowered his head so that his lips were barely touching her forehead, "I love you." His lips traced across her skin. It was like a promise, but it was more. The feeling of words on her skin was like a scar.

Francesca whispered faintly, "I've loved you." She murmured, "I don't think I ever really stopped."