Chapter Text
here is the depressing-ass meta
In the vast, stretching planes of gray, there was the bleakest of suns. It sat heavy in its blinding sky, casting weak rays down onto the gray grasses that filled the world from end to end. The grasses never swayed, never moved, but sat stagnant on their roots, There were birds singing, but there were no birds to be seen.
When she opened her eyes, the world was still gray. There was no change, sleep to wakefulness. Shapes formed in the barest of senses, but the colors didn't come, and nothing moved.
Nothing ever moved.
She knew she was in a hospital bed, hearing the monitors hum softly under the bustle of the busy days and nights. Nurses came to change things—she never knew what—and checked her vitals before leaving. They'd speak to her, and she could hear the pity and pain in their tones. She's so young, she heard between their words, it's so unfair.
It was all so unfair.
But, that was her price. She paid dearly for her mistake, for her rash moment of utter fear and adrenaline. She tried to be more than she was, stronger than she was, and she fell. Down, down, onto the stone.
The rain turned gray. The sky turned gray. The world turned gray.
She had visitors, thankfully. Jack came twice a week with flowers—she could smell them, see the gray of them. He never had good news, but she appreciated it all the same. They had no idea where the monster had run off, and they had no idea if they could catch him. It made her stomach hurt.
There'd be a kiss on her forehead and a soft it's Will that would make her smile. He'd sit with her and talk about his day of bandages and narcotics and terrible hospital food. He never stayed long, too weak from his own injuries, too hurt to move much, but he figured he could check up on her, make sure she was doing better than he.
She slept so much now. There was little to do but sleep. And cry. She had to try her best not to think or tears would roll down from her sightless eyes, hot gray streaks on her hot gray cheeks. She couldn't read again, and she cried. She couldn't see her mother's face, look at photographs of her and her siblings when they were little, couldn't look upon Will again, couldn't see if he'd ever smile. She couldn't see his dogs, or her dog, or her house and the gardens and the sun and the ocean. She'd never see her own children when the time came—if the time came.
A thumb brushed tears from her face and two lips softly kissed her forehead. Her hair was brushed back gently with delicate hands—a pianist's hands—and tucked gingerly behind an ear.
"I haven't seen you in a while," she said quietly. "Well, I haven't seen anything in a while." She'd been wondering where Will had been for a week. Maybe he'd been discharged and was unable to visit, too exhausted for anything but sleep.
There was no word of recognition from her guest, who continued to primp her hair. No word of recognition when a hand laced with hers.
But she recognized.
Her heart froze and her stomach sank, knowing those fingers too well. Those fingers that held hers for so many hours, that ran across her skin as though she were an orchestra and he were conducting a symphony. Those fingers that knew her better than anyone else.
"Hannibal."
His name fell out of her mouth in broken pieces, tinkling to the floor. She was too scared to move, thinking he must be here to kill her. To finish the job. She's incapacitated now, what's the point? Please, just leave her and be gone.
"My brave little princess."
The words sounded heartbroken. He knew she couldn't see him, but still he let emotion into his tone. She felt his lips press so gently to her hand, his breath warm against her skin. "You were so composed at the end, Alana. You were so brave, even after I told you to be blind."
"Now I'm both." She wanted to jerk her hand and smash into his face, but she wasn't sure where he was. He was gray, as everything else, but his shape was less coherent, less visible to her.
He chuckled softly. "Now you are both, but in neither way I wanted." He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand and kissed all her knuckles.
It was freaking her out.
"Have you come to kill me?"
"Absolutely not." She heard him shift his weight while he rested a hand upon her shoulder. "I've come to say goodbye. Whether it's forever or just a little while is up to you."
She didn't speak.
"I hoped you would have had the sense to leave, of course. To prevent all of this. This was the last thing I wanted for you, if you'll trust my word."
"I don't know if I can."
"Which is understandable. I doubt I'd trust you if we were to switch positions." He sighed and kissed her cheek, letting his forehead rest against hers. "I've never loved a woman like I do you, and I don't think I will again. Never again can someone love me as innocently as you did, and for your gift I am grateful."
"Do."
"Pardon?"
"As I do love you, not as I did." The tears spilled over. "Unconditionally, painfully."
She reached out her clumsy hands and made contact with the gray mass of him, searching for his neck, searching to cup his head. This beastly boy wearing an adult's mask, this grumpy dragon prince, this monster, her lion, her king—
The world explodes into colors when her lips find his. On him she tastes smoked salmon and white wine, on him she smells French airs and that airy, elegant musk that is his own, on him she sees the burgundy of his suit and the paleness of his cheeks. The details are wavering and unsteady, but the colors are there, bright and rich and wonderful. She holds him so tightly, needs him so badly, wants him so deeply. Behind her eyes, the plains flash into wild greens rippling under the wind. The sky stains blue and the sun is so warm she can feel her chest begin to heat and burn as she kisses him. She kisses him for so long she can feel the world fill up and swell with palettes of color.
Everything faded back to gray when they broke apart. He gave off the slightest shimmer of movement, but not enough to comfort her and she cried out, scared and confused.
"I could see you," she whispered, her hands still buried in his hair. "I could see the color your suit and the pink of your cheeks and everything was so bright."
"Your brain may not be as damaged as thought," he hummed by her ear. "You'll never be able to see fully, but parts of your vision will improve with time."
"I might be able to see you smile again."
He drew in a breath but his expression was lost on her. "You might," he agreed. "You might."
"You'll know where to find me when it's safe," she told him, reluctantly retracting her hands. "I cannot say I don't want justice brought upon you, but that will not be my job and I am no longer a player in this game. For either side."
"I'd ask you of nothing more."
She sat still as he untangled himself from her, pulling away until she could no longer tell where he stood. "Kiss me once more before you leave?"
A soft peck. A gentle, loving peck on the lips, lingering a half second longer than it should. A cloud of red engulfs her and she feels calm, wanted, loved. His love of her—however twisted and potentially poisonous—tinges the gray of her world pink. It stays a slight pink until her heartrate evens out and she can breathe steadily again.
When he pulled away the second time, she wasn't as surprised. She could see the red of his eyes—faintly, and only if he stood still—and felt a crimson blossom of hope bud inside her core.
"I'll see you in a few months, sweet pea."
"Please stop calling me that," he chuckled and crossed the room, his footsteps fading away from her.
"And Hannibal?"
The sound of his exit halted. "Yes?"
"I love you. I want you dead, but I love you."
She could hear a smile—gold and warm—as he spoke. "I love you too, my beautiful little princess. I, however, do not want you dead, but I love you."
He vanished from her room, leaving her alone in this gray continuum. She felt better when she slept. Dreams were no longer the same as wakefulness. The plains were gray and the grass never moved. But the sun was a warm burgundy, and when she was in a good mood, he stood beside her and kissed her until the world was saturated and painted with the red of him.