Hey. I thank you for the reviews and pm ! A hearty thank you to RikkiBlake777 who pushed me to write this chapter this night.

For those new to the Frances' series, the first part of this chapter can be difficult to understand. In short, Frances is the Keeper of Time (details in the 'Keeper of Time story'), she travelled to the fifth century to help King Arthur and his knights (story 'All Hail to the King'). A great friendship was created with Tristan who died in her arms. When she came back, Frances was 'ambushed' by al alien (from Stargate universe) who wanted to study her. She accepted provided he created a clone of her because she wanted to return to middle earth without giving up her duties as the Keeper of Time. So there are two Frances → one is the Keeper of Time, one is shipped to middle earth. And visibly… there might be a third one unaccounted for :D

Hannibal shifted in the bed, contemplating Frances' features as she slept. How, in the world, was this even possible? He'd dreamt of her sometimes, in another life, another world. Her warm hazel eyes, her slight touches, light as feathers, her genuine smiles. There was not much left of that woman; he could see bitterness and anger. Who was he to judge? Still, she'd found him, made her way to his bed, and dragged him with her in a sensual dance. Oh, he'd tried to be unemotional and push her away. But after that first kiss, the softness of her touch, he found that he was unable to. And she had refused to take no as an answer, her soft body pressed against his. Opened for him to possess, so willing that he'd melted into her touch. She'd kissed every inch of his chest, and face. Her hands had tousled his hair in the most sensual of massage, her lips claiming his own with need. Sweet, sweet rosy lips than only deserved the most reverent worship.

Her body had yielded to his much harsher one, moulded around his, welcomed him. Her hands, strong and soft at the same time, had crushed him to her, calling, demanding, like a woman drowning looking for one last breath. And for the first time in forever, Hannibal had lost himself to her unconditional affection. The sensation she'd created was a first in his long life… And now that her breath fanned around her, her reddish hair gently framing her beautiful face, he didn't want to chase her away. Yet he must, for he couldn't afford an attachment in his life. What was it, with this woman, that tugged at his armoured heart?

Maybe he could manipulate her instead. Lead her into deception, so that she never discovered his nightly activities. After all, Frances was young, in her twenties, at best. Nearly half of his own age! Her youthful features complimented her taut body so well. Perhaps he could take advantage of it, and keep her in his life for a while. If she remained unsuspecting, she would warm his bed from time to time. If not … he'd kill her, probably.

Giving her one last look – her lashes created two crescents over her lovely cheeks – Hannibal went to stand. There were things in his house that needed to be concealed before she woke up. His hand lifted above her hear; a snap of his fingers would ensure she was sleeping. Suddenly, her hand shot up, grasping his own in a strong grip, and she shifted to tug at him. Hannibal started, from the strength of her fingers, at first, and the fact that she'd reacted to the slightest of moves. She was a light sleeper. That would make things more complicated.

Frances moved closer, nestling on his shoulder, her arm encompassing his chest. Unexpected joy greeted her gesture, her soft body wrapped around his. She did not open her eyes, her rough voice whispering in his ear.

— "Don't go away. Be my cushion. You smell nice, I love it."

Hannibal tensed slightly, and she massaged his shoulder before her hand came to rest upon his heart. Her touch slowly spread warmth through his chest, and the psychiatrist eased up. His smell … he had no idea what it felt like. Hannibal had such an acute sense of smell that he could diagnose diseases on patients. Hence, he didn't wear any perfume, not scented after shave. It was nice, for once, to meet a woman that seemed to share his taste. For she didn't wear any artificial fragrance either, and her sweet scent was rather intoxicating.

Her breath evened out after a while, her body moulded against his, one leg thrown over his, and Hannibal drifted to sleep without realising. Darkness engulfed him, peaceful rather than threatening, and for a few hours, he was just a man. When his amber eyes opened, it was already five thirty. His body yearned to pass into oblivion once more; he had not slept so peacefully in a long, long time. As if her enveloping presence had soothed his mind. Yet, he couldn't afford to get back to sleep. Frances had not moved an inch, attached to him from head to toe. When he shifted his weight, trying to untangle himself, her grip tightened. There was no escaping unnoticed. He needed another strategy.

— "Breakfast?" he attempted.

Frances cracked one eye open, shifting to kiss his chest gently.

— "Later. For the record, I will be a vegetarian for a while. Exception for fish and seafood"

Hannibal tensed, refraining from jumping out of bed. Did she know? Was it possible that he'd been discovered? Sensing his mood, Frances gently lifted her weight out of him to give him an escape. Hannibal sat slowly. Crouching like a cat, she bundled the sheet around her beautiful body, red hair falling over her breast, and sent him a knowing glance.

— "It should be too early for this conversation – five thirty is hardly a civil time – , but you seem restless. I know who you are and I know what you've done."

Unconsciously, Hannibal backed up in the bed, ready for a fight. Hopefully, he should be able to overpower her easily. Something tugged at his heart; disappointment. He had not enjoyed a night ever since … ever. Too bad she had to die. But beforehand, he needed to know his level of exposure.

— "How?" came his smooth voice, demanding.

Frances straightened, reacting instinctively to his own posture. She was wide awake now, and in the dim light of the morning, her skin glowed softly.

— "Irrelevant, at the moment"

The psychiatrist's eyebrow climbed into his hairline, strands falling over his eyes due to her ministrations from the previous night. Coldness crept onto his face, his features set in a stern expression.

— "I hardly think so"

Instead of cowering, the young woman sent him a levelled glare, and suddenly she didn't seem so young anymore. Damn, for a damsel, she certainly could look intimidating. He might have been, had he not been totally impervious to mind games. Her little fingers reached for his thigh, creating a link between them as she pleaded for his acceptance.

— "Hear me out, please. No one else knows. And I will be blunt. This must stop Hannibal. If you think we can be together, if you want it as much as I do, then I'll be here. If you don't, I'll take my leave,"

Hannibal nodded, rendered speechless by her admittance. That was a first in his life. One night together, and she was issuing demands as preposterous as a wife would. Yet, his surprise was his inclination to consider it. Her next words, though, floored him entirely.

— "I love you. I'll love you all my life, regardless of what you do, and who you are. I love your soul, period. But I can't be with a killer. I will still love you if you kill again, but I will go."

Respect bloomed in his chest for this strange woman who laid things at his very feet. He that manipulated people so easily, faced a wall of bluntness. She deserved the truth, and he locked eyes with her.

— "I need to think on it."

— "Fair enough."

Seemingly satisfied, Frances settled in bed once more. Red waves tumbled upon the white sheets as her body, graceful like a cat, curled into the warmth of his mattress. Tugging at his arm, she stole a kiss from his lips before letting go.

— "And Hannibal? Kill me if you must. I'm already dead. But you're the only soul I have left in the world, and I just found you again, I would be loath to be parted from you so soon. Wait a little, would you?"

Hannibal nodded before treading out of the room. So she knew he considered killing her. Yet, she slept in his bed, like a flower washed ashore in the immaculate covers.

She'd woken up in hospital, in an unknown world not unlike her own. How did she know it wasn't hers? Her first action had been to call her parents … check their address on the internet. Another woman had answered the phone, the address didn't match. Her parents, grandparents, altogether did not exist. Frantic, she'd searched more. She'd called the SGC, Cheyenne Mountain. It was just an air force base. Of course, the military had come to her hospital room. A strange woman, with a name unknown and without papers knowing several direct landline numbers on the base was strange enough to cause an investigation. They were disappointed. Frances was no spy, if a little crazy for suggesting something as nuts as a stargate program. Obviously, she'd bashed her head severely when they found her in this deserted warehouse.

The year, though, was familiar. 2006. The year she got back from the fifth century, and Loki had accepted to clone her to send her back to the Valar. How did she know? She remembered it as she floated in the alien's glass container, witnessing as her first clone was shipped away.

This is when it hit her. She was a second clone, another the sneaky alien had kept for study, and probably dumped in an alternate reality to prevent the supreme commander Thor from busting him. Damn him! He'd left her on a world without a stargate program to go home. Here, she was nothing. Not the Keeper of Time – her necklace was gone – nor any member of the FBI. Mulder and Scully had never opened the X-Files. Her friends, her family, did not exist. She was alone, truly and hopelessly alone, stripped of her status, of her name, of the people who loved her. Without papers, without money, without an occupation. Everything she knew, everything she'd been… No one. She was no one now.

Frances spend many days in hospital, feigning memory loss, considering suicide. She was, after all, not necessary to this world. A singularity, dumped here by a little grey butt, with the memories of the Keeper of Time. It was those memories that prevented her from jumping from a bridge.

They discharged her, with temporary papers, directing her to a foyer. She found a job. Bitter, and angry, as a self-defence instructor. A life devoid of emotion, between life and death, accumulating a little money that she didn't spend, sleeping in close quarters with youngsters and teenage mothers.

At night, sometimes, the memory of Tristan visited her. Then, another took his place. A good-looking psychiatrist, with high cheekbones devoid of tattoos. His eyes, though, couldn't be mistaken. Tristan was here. Night after night, she dreamt of him and his dinner parties. Hoping he was alive, really alive and well somewhere in the States. How she wished she could find him; she didn't know how.

A year passed. Frances didn't even celebrate her birthday. Who knew when she was born, really, at the hands of this alien? There was nothing left of the easy-going lady, nor the Keeper of Time. She could still fight, but lacked the will to do so. She could still listen, but had no interest in others' stories. She could still eat, yet didn't relish in food. Alive and dead at the same time. And when one day, a sordid affair of Chesapeake Ripper came to her hears through the gossip in the foyer she was in, a shudder ran through her spine. The name of Will Graham, and the doctor Hannibal Lecter landed in her lap from a blog. Hannibal Lecter. The psychopath, created by an artist, had a reality in this dimension. Wow. What a wonderful world!

Worse … she'd seen his face. There, the little world she'd built for a year came crumbling down. Tristan had come back … as Hannibal Lecter. And he was the only living being in this world she had left.