A/N: This story will have multiple chapters, unfortunately, as I have a lot of it to tell. Also, it deals with the ending of the movie Hannibal, not the book. Though I will throw in some minor tidbits from the book. (Even if the book is superior) Anyway, please enjoy and review so you can tell me if I've done anything wrong. Oh, and Hannibal is not mine. It belongs to Thomas Harris, the wonderful genius.

Clarice Starling breathed a heavy sigh as she slammed the door to her mustang and leaned against the seat for a few moments, breathing in her car's smell. It had long lost its "new car smell". Instead it smelled like her. Her house, her perfume, a few bits of food she had eaten in it, and something else. Something not quite identifiable that is always prominent in older cars, a sort of blending of all the scents that had come and gone over the years. She could try and decipher each smell one by one, but she would never succeed.

However, she was not completely occupied by the smell of her car. It was only a simple human reaction to become preoccupied by something else when the mind is troubled. Sometimes our minds like to drift off to a less troubled place for a few moments, hovering in a temporary solitude until we are able to gather our thoughts and control our troubles. Clarice was now coming back to reality and putting her rather hectic thoughts back into a comprehensive order.

It had been two years since Hannibal Lecter's last nightmare. Two years since she had sat at that table and watched the atrocious and sadistic Paul Krendler dine on his own brain. Yet, even after this long timeframe, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the people she had called family for so long, still mistrusted her. Sure, they had returned her badge back to her. In a box. They had given her an apology after they had sought out the poison Krendler had slowly administered to her unsuspecting file. Though even as her higher ups discovered she was not guilty of the crimes she was accused of, there was still a deep underlying mistrust in all of their hearts. They looked down on her, like some strange insect they didn't know what they should do with. She was the woman who had seen Krendler horribly tortured, and they were afraid of her. Almost funny. Afraid of her?

Yes, she was now the black mark of the F.B.I. She had killed several people, had released a deadly criminal while she wasn't even an active agent. They told her she was lucky they hadn't put her away for her actions. She was lucky they had just stripped her of her badge. Lucky, like they were doing her some great mercy. What mercy could be seen in their actions? They had spared her the hazardous sun's rays in the hearing today? Yes, hearing. Even two years after that horrific event, she was forced to have a hearing, a hearing to decide her fate. They had decided then to not allow her to continue in the F.B.I. But then, what F.B.I work had she done in the last two years? Nothing but filing report after report on her terrible event.

And of her Lecter case? Nothing. She was not allowed to pursue her criminal ever again. After he had escaped two years ago she had requested to look for him, but was denied. She was told that they would pursue him, though they had turned up nothing, if they even did what they said they would.

So today in her hearing, if that was what you could call it, she was interrogated by several men, many of them who had been tight with Krendler. They hardly let her talk, and when she protested she was told they were just trying to help her. At the end she was told that she would never again see her badge, and would never again see her modified colt .45. It was enough to make her scream. They had even had her escorted to her car. Escorted like some sort of criminal. That way the public could see just how far she had fallen. It was humiliating and it infuriated her. She had not a comforting thought in her whole body.

………..Except one.

Although the event had been terribly traumatic, she could not help but find a perverse joy in the thought of Krendler getting what he deserved. Of course, whenever she thought of this, she had to quickly shake it away as she was unable to come to terms that those were actually her feelings.

In fact, she found herself shaking it off now as she started her car and drove off, back to her house and a shower to clear her head. Who was the true nightmare of her world now? The missing Dr. Hannibal Lecter, or the betrayal of her coworkers?

Grumbling to herself, she slammed her car door as she exited it when she reached her house.

The air was cold and crisp as the day started to give way to evening. She breathed in the approaching smell of winter, and smiled. That was a comfort still.

Fast, a memory of her and her father making Thanksgiving dinner together. Going outside and breathing in the cool air together. Her father's big coat wrapped around her. The smell of him enveloping her in her mind.

She fumbled with her keys a moment, dropping them in her daze. She cursed and picked them up, opening her door and stepping into the darkness of her home.

She turned on the light and walked to her room. On her way, in the living room was a big pile of papers on her coffee table. She snorted. She had a habit of letting things pile up after a while.

She decided it would be better to fix the problem now rather than later, so she sat down and sorted through newspapers, magazines, old files, and then she jumped.

At the bottom of her stack of papers was a solitary file of the good doctor himself. He was staring up at her from the black and white photo attached to the file, seemingly smirking at her. Angry and flustered she tossed it into the waste basket beside her. Then, thinking better of it, she took it out and carried it to her kitchen table, telling herself she had better bring it by the bureau. After all, they tended to get rather temperamental when you tampered with their information.

Looking about the room, she sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She decided on a shower. A shower to clear her head and make her forget the broken person she currently was.

Thus, Clarice Starling, former F.B.I, resigned herself to the fact that she was on her own now, no one to look after her.