A one-shot about what would've happened had Alana actually killed Hannibal in the season 2 finale. The story starts off when Alana goes to Hannibal's house, and leads into Willana. I tried to work other characters in, but I wanted to focus on how Alana and Will coped. I don't own anything.

Alana walked up the steps of Hannibal's house. Her decision to come here was already made, and there was no going back. As she entered the building, she dialed 911.

"I'd like to report gunshots."

There was an eerie silence in the place, and Alana could tell something wasn't right. As the elevator brought Alana up, she took out her gun. When the doors opened and she turned the corner, the first thing she saw was Hannibal, bloodied and sweaty, hurling his body at a closed door.

"Hannibal," Alana whispered, unable to comprehend the scene before her. He didn't hear her, and she watched him launch his body at the door again. Suddenly she was filled with rage.

"Hannibal!" she growled.

He stopped and turned to her, out of breath. A flicker of emotion crossed his face. He looked disappointed.

"Where's Jack?" was all Alana could ask.

Hannibal leaned toward her, as if letting her in on a secret. "In the pantry," he said in a quick whisper. He paused a moment. "I was hoping you and I wouldn't have to say goodbye. Nothing seen. . . nor said. You may have found that rude," he said, walking in her direction.

"Stop!" Alana yelled, gripping the gun tightly in her hands. The weight of all that had taken place suddenly hit her with full force. "I was so blind," she choked out.

"In your defense, I worked very hard to blind you. You can stay blind. You can hide from this. . . Walk away. I'll make no plans to call on you, but if you stay, I will kill you. . . Be blind, Alana. Don't be brave," he sighed.

Anger and betrayal flowed through Alana's veins. Running away from Hannibal was the last thing she planned on doing. The gun in her hands was aimed for his chest, but Alana contemplated going after Hannibal's throat with her nails. She thought of Jack in the pantry, probably wounded. She thought of Will, how long he had planned Hannibal's demise. She thought of herself, how blind she had been, how she alienated Will, how she didn't trust anyone anymore. It was all too much.

Alana fired three rounds into Hannibal's chest. She watched his body go limp and his shirt fill with fresh blood. She saw the light leave his eyes as he collapsed on the floor. Alana stood for a moment, staring down at Hannibal. He was gone. She felt as though her feet were nailed to the spot where she stood. Her eyes focused and unfocused, and Alana's legs felt weak. Suddenly she thought of Jack.

As adrenaline rushed through her body once again, Alana stepped over Hannibal and hurried to the pantry door.

"Jack, Jack it's me. It's Alana. Let me in," she screamed. Her voice sounded like it was coming from someone else. Alana finally managed to open the door.

Jack was sitting with one hand at his throat, his mouth open in an O shape. Blood was everywhere. It covered Jack, the floor, and was still flowing out of the wound in his neck. Alana knelt beside Jack, helped to apply pressure to his wound, and tried to remain calm.

"I called the police to report gunshots. They should be here with paramedics any minute. I shot Hannibal. He's dead. I. . . I shot him. Three times. In the chest. He's on the floor."

Jack put his idle hand on Alana's arm, and she realized that she was still yelling.

The police, paramedics, and Will arrived at the same time. EMTs flooded the pantry, and a police officer guided Alana out into the kitchen.

"What happened here?"

Alana stared at Hannibal's stoic body. His face was grey, eyes still open. She watched as EMTs rushed Jack out of the house on a gurney.

"Ma'am?"

"Excuse me," a familiar voice appeared next to Alana. "She's in shock. I don't think you're going to get much out of her. Let me speak with her."

"Alana," Will spoke softly. He gripped her arms and turned her to face away from the dead body. She finally looked up at him, still dazed.

"I killed Hannibal," she said flatly. "I called the police, came upstairs, and shot him. He was trying to kill Jack. I brought the gun you gave me, and fired three rounds into his chest. I think he died before he even hit the floor."

"Okay, I'm going to go tell the police, will you be okay for a few minutes?"

Alana nodded. Will led hear to a chair, and she sat on its edge. The room was suddenly loud, but everyone's voices sounded like they were coming through a tunnel. In the back of Alana's mind, she knew she was in shock. She helped people through this all the time, and yet she couldn't remember any of her own advice.

"Will?" a lost voice came from somewhere in the distance. Suddenly the room was quiet, and Alana looked up to see what was going on.

Abigail Hobbs stood at the bottom of the staircase. Alana knew that shock could be bad, but she didn't realize there would be hallucinations.

Will was standing in front of Abigail when Alana regained focus again. He was whispering to her, and Abigail was crying. Alana took slow, even breaths. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them again, Abigail and Will were still there.

"It can't be," Alana whispered to herself.

After a time, Will brought Abigail over to a police officer, Alana guessed for a confession of some sort. He disappeared from Abigail's side, the only place Alana's vision was trained on, and suddenly his hand was on her shoulder.

"Hey, how are you?" he asked, clearly shaken.

"Is that really Abigail?" Alana asked, unable to form any coherent thoughts about her own mental state.

"Yes. He had been keeping her in a basement. He took care of her, she did as he said. She told me that he wanted to save her for me. Hannibal was planning on surprising me with her because he thought we would run away together. . ."

"How do you feel?" she asked, letting the psychologist in her take over.

"I feel like I need to get you out of here," he replied.

"I can drive myself home, I'm not hurt or anything. Only if I'm not needed here anymore," she said, feeling slightly more stable.

"Alana you shouldn't-"

"Please, Will. Stay with Abigail. I'll be okay," she said, hoping it was true.

He sighed and looked over to Abigail again, and Alana knew that she had won this battle. She slowly stood, grabbed her keys and left Hannibal's house without looking back.

Will left only a half an hour after Alana. He knew Abigail was safe now, and he didn't want to be in Hannibal Lecter's home any longer. Abigail hadn't wanted to stay with Will, saying that she knew they both needed time to process what had happened. He knew she was right, but he still wanted to look after her.

When Will arrived home, he noticed Alana's car in the driveway. All of the lights were on, but the house was empty. Alana still had a spare key from when she took care of Will's dogs when he was incarcerated. He glanced out the window facing the field and saw a small figure standing in the distance. Will left the dogs inside and hurried out to where Alana was standing. It was still cold and pouring rain outside, and who knew how long she had been standing out there. When Will got to her, she was drenched and had her arms crossed for warmth.

"Alana, please, come inside. What are you doing out here?" He said, putting his arms around her icy shoulders and guiding her to the house.

"I just-t. . . want-ted t-to feel how you f-f-feel," she said in a quiet voice. Will knew exactly what she was talking about. Alana violently shivered the whole way to his house.

When they finally got inside, Will hung up his coat, took off his shoes, and walked inside. He went to feed the dogs, but when he came back Alana was still standing in front of the door with her coat on, staring at the floor.

Without a second thought, Will went over to her. He unbuttoned her coat and hung it up. He convinced her to take her shoes off and come inside. Will went and started a shower for Alana in an attempt to get her warm. He put an old flannel shirt, sweatpants, and wool socks in the bathroom and closed the door once she was situated.

Will made tea while Alana showered, knowing that coffee would keep them both up. He was in almost as much shock as she, and found it easier to care for someone besides himself. Will guessed that the lack of sleep was also to blame for how Alana was coping. Every second he wasn't thinking about her, he was thinking about Abigail. The unanswered questions he had were piling up by the minute. Suddenly his phone rang.

"Hey, this is Zeller. I'm at the hospital, and I just wanted you to know that Jack lost a lot of blood. He's still in critical condition, but the doctors think he'll make it."

A pressure lifted from Will's chest. He had tried to prepare himself for the possibility of Jack not surviving, but the guilt was almost too much. Will planned on visiting first thing in the morning.

After he hung up with Zeller, Will noticed that the shower had been running for over half an hour. He knocked on the door and called for Alana, but got no answer. Slowly, he turned the handle and went inside the steaming bathroom.

Alana had turned the shower to a blistering setting, and was sitting, still in her dress, with just her legs in the hot downpour. She had her eyes fixed on the wall, but her eye makeup was smudged and there were inky tears streaming down her face. Will knelt next to the tub and grabbed her hand, making tiny circles with his thumb. With his other hand he managed to turn the shower nozzle down to a less hellish setting. He brushed some soaked hair out of her eyes and lifted Alana's face toward his own, forcing her to make eye contact. She tried to look down or around, but Will was persistent.

"I thought you said eyes were distracting."

"I was the unstable one then."

"I thought killing Hannibal would get rid of the horrible feeling I have, but now all I can see is him dying because of my actions. I didn't have much of a choice, but it didn't feel right."

Will sat with her, not saying anything, and after awhile she stood up. He left the warm bathroom and she got dressed in his clothes. He handed Alana a mug of tea when she walked into the kitchen, and he noticed how she had rolled the ankles of his sweatpants to keep from tripping on them.

When they had both finished their tea, Will made a bed on his couch. He told Alana good night and to not wander off, and he went into his own bedroom.

Sometime in the night, while Will was in between sleep and awake, the door to his bedroom opened. Alana slowly walked to the other side of his bed, and by the time she had sat down he was wide awake.

"Alana is everything okay?" he asked as he turned toward her.

"Yes, I just. . ." Alana trailed off, unsure of how to explain her actions.

"It's fine," Will said, because he knew what she meant. He wrapped his arms around her as she moved closer. Will's chin rested on Alana's head, and her body formed to his. Soon he felt her relax, her breathing slow, and a calm took over his senses, lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

When Will woke up the sun was shining and the space next to him was cold. He sat up to see Alana sitting on the end of his bed with her legs pressed to her chest. She turned and gave him a relaxed smile with melancholy eyes.

"How did you sleep?" she asked him as he moved to sit next to her.

"Better than I have in a long time," he replied easily.

"That makes two of us."

Will got up to make coffee. Soon he and Alana were sitting on the couch drinking out of mismatched mugs surrounded by dogs.

"What do we do now?" Will asked.

"Do you mean right now or for the foreseeable future?" Alana countered.

"I mean how do we pick up the pieces after Hannibal broke us?"

"I don't know," Alana said. This was the most honest thing she could say, because nothing made sense anymore. "But I do know one thing. You're not broken."

Will looked at Alana then, sitting on his couch, wearing his clothes. He thought of everything they'd been through since she had first said those words.

"Not anymore," he replied.