Disclaimer: I claim no rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Hannibal.

Rating: F15 for mentions of violence, cannibalism, and swearing.

Author's Note: I really had a hard time writing an ending that satisfied me, which is why this took forever. I apologize for the dely. I hope all the time and rewrites have created an ending that suits the story and characters.

Summary: The aftermath. Buffy POV. (1300 words)

v. As Red As Carnations

It seems to Buffy that half her life has been spent in windowless hallways, lit with harsh florescent bulbs. It's a lie. Compared to time spent in school, or at home, or in graveyards it's nothing. But hospitals have hallways like this. Hospitals and government buildings. And insane asylums.

She does not allow her thoughts touch her face. She hears the whispers of those who sense her remoteness. Cold.

They'd given their statements, Alanna distraught, Will disturbed, and Buffy numb. She couldn't stop her thoughts from going places she'd regret. But who could stop a racing mind?

Killing monsters, protecting humanity. What a fucking joke. Fuck Hannibal, she thinks, angry and alone in the hallway. This is the last thing she needs in her present state- to have what little regard for humanity she still possesses further diminished. It isn't fair to the other people she's met, like Alanna and Will, who seemed nice. Or the hundreds of strangers she interacts with on a daily basis, none of whom probably kill people for fun.

Her nails, with their neat French manicure, are rusty red under the little white edges.

Hannibal had been hauled off in a cop car for questioning. They hadn't dared to cuff her, but she had gone along. It wouldn't take more than a lab test on their dinner to be certain, even she knew that much, and it had been positive. Which was nice as the FBI agents stopped treating her like she was insane. Now they just give her a very wide berth. She watches them slink up and down the opposite side of her hallway. She hears the slow tab of low heels.

"Buffy," Alanna says softly. Buffy turns to face her. The other women's face is pale and drawn. Her eyes are red, covered in neatly reapplied makeup.

"How," she hesitates. "How are you," she finishes. Buffy knows that's not the only thing she wants to know.

"Fine," she replies. It's a lie, but then, it always is. Who is fine, in a world as fucked up as theirs?

Alana is silent for a moment. She wants to say something, Buffy can tell without looking at her, but can't get it out. She knows the feeling, there is a bird in her chest that wants to apologize, wants to sing 'I'm sorry' but what would be the point? Sorry for catching him? Sorry you didn't? Sorry your friend is a psychopath?

"Will had a seizure," Alanna says quietly. Buffy's head snaps to the side, meeting her gaze for the first time. She allows some of the worry, the panic she feels to show on her face.

"What?" she asks lowly, and again, "What is it?" in a higher voice. She shouldn't care this much.

Alanna shakes her head. "They're testing for different things." Buffy thinks of the awareness the two of them have for each other. Alanna cares.

"It's not anything to do with…." she trails off suggestively, worrying, and irrationally suspicious.

"I don't know," Alanna says.

They sit in silence. Buffy has missed her flight. She hasn't called ahead to let anyone know. They will worry. She will let them.

"I can't believe I never saw…what he was," Alanna says. Her voice is steady, as is her gaze, her words quiet, but not whispered. Buffy allows herself a moment to admire the other woman's strength. Alanna is a very steady person.

She is not quite sure how to respond to this sort of thing. Once she would have sympathized, told the other woman it wasn't her fault. Once she would have cried. Once she would have had the strength to empathize, to recall her own dark days when someone she trusted shattered her and laughed about it. Once she would have had the strength to feign any one of those reactions and could feel guilt later, to absolve her sins.

She is silent for a long time, and Alana doesn't speak again. They sit together and watch the people pass them by, looking and trying not to look. Buffy feels her phone vibrate. She blinks and looks down, and hey, look, there's her purse.

She turns to make eye contact with Alanna for the first time since the other woman sat down.

"In some ways," she says quietly. "The betrayal is worse. It won't get better, but you learn to care less, I think. I have to take this."
She takes her phone out of her purse, and moves a little away. It is Dawn who is calling her, demanding to know where she is, what's happened. There is real concern in her voice, but Buffy can't deal with it. She looks back at Alanna, steady and still, but slowly being worn away. She thinks of Will, trapped by his talents, drowning every day. He's up in a hospital bed somewhere, hopefully recovering from his seizure. But will he ever recover from his betrayal, she wonders.

Some wounds don't heal. Betrayal is the red that never goes away, the stain that she never managed to cleanse herself of no matter how many tears she cried. Her life is stretched before her, a white and vast thing. She can't imagine a future in which she is happy and normal. Buffy knows something fundamental was changed by her resurrection., and the events that happened afterwards. But somehow…

Being here and seeing these people trapped and manipulated and stuck, like hapless souls drowned by kelpies, makes her scared and fear is something she hasn't felt in a very long time. Maybe she should leave, she thinks, her sister's voice ringing in her ears. Maybe that's all she can do.

She'd had a list once, young and innocent, loved and loving, of things she wanted to do and places she wanted to go. Maybe it was time to rediscover what desire felt like.

Buffy snaps her phone shut. She will go back to her hotel and clean up. She will wait for Will to wake up, just to say goodbye and make sure all is well. She will make her statements and get on a plane. She will not go home.

Hope, that thing with feathers, awakens in her chest. It has been asleep for a long time. The carnage and cruelty of Hannibal's manipulations painted her mind red with rage for a while, and then it had turned the white of institutional walls. Now, looking out of the only window in the long hallway, having effectively committed to severing ties with her past life, she sees the green of the trees just beginning to get their leaves back.

She walks to the bench and picks up her purse, giving Alanna a smile that is tired but real.

"I'll be in touch," she says, and walks away.

"Buffy?" the other woman asks her retreating back. "Where are you going?"

Buffy pauses.

"I don't know yet," she says, not turning around.

Will gets better. It takes time. Alanna helps. Both are guilt-ridden, and both are traumatized (though Will bears more of the damage). Will quits the FBI, and Alanna avoids Jack Crawford. Hannibal is exiled from their conversations. They only discuss Buffy once. They had both liked her, in a way, but she didn't fit in the life they had managed to carve out together, tenuous as it was.

She had said goodbye to Will once he had recovered from his encephalitis, and had shared some secret with him that he wouldn't speak of. She had called Alanna from the airport to thank her. And she had gone. Later, some people from her organization had come looking for her, but they were unable to help. And if Will and Alanna didn't mention the occasional postcard from far away, well, that was something they could both live with.