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Alana paused at the door to the morgue, her patent leather heels dark against the grey linoleum floor.
"Oh," she said. "Hello. I didn't think anyone would be down here."
Ms. Katz turned back to look at her. Her eyes were obscured behind her thick goggles, but her lips turned up in a way that seemed genuine, if a bit businesslike. The body on the table behind her was nameless, faceless, a sheet draped over everything but knobby toes. Alana fought back a shudder.
"No problem," she said. "I'm just about done in here anyway."
Alana moved closer. The other woman's gloved hands drew her eyes like a magnet, sent them searching for residue, blood, any of the liquids she'd come to associate with Jack's team. They were clean.
"No official autopsy?" she said.
"Hannibal's story checks out," Katz shrugged. "And Budge's got an aunt somewhere who just wants to leave the whole thing behind them."
"Leave it behind them," Alana said, conscious of the way her voice trailed off, drifting into the white tiled walls. She wondered how transparent she must seem. "What about Franklyn?"
"His neck's broken. Budge's fingerprints. Dr. Lecter's, too, from checking the pulse. Not exactly a difficult case."
Alana nodded again, and Katz turned from the body on the table, leaning back against the polished steel. The blue of her gloves was like a beacon against the chrome.
"They don't have anything to worry about, as far as putting it behind them goes. I'm more worried about those of us still here."
"You mean Hannibal."
She shrugged.
"You know him better than I do."
Alana leaned forward almost unconsciously, her fingers flexing. Budge's feet glinted in the harsh fluorescent lights, and she wanted more than anything to remove the sheet, to see the face. To see who Hannibal had killed.
"He's adjusting," she said. "I went to see him this morning."
"Good to hear," Katz said. She pulled her goggles from her face. "Seems like a good guy."
"He is," Alana said. She remembered his bloodied lip. His bruised eye. When she visited, he'd smiled and offered her a beer like nothing had changed. Like their whole world hadn't just flipped in an instant.
"It's a shame he got caught up in all of this."
"It's hard to believe," she admitted. "He didn't sign up for it. Not really. Not like—"
Alana paused, and she knew Katz knew what she meant. Not like her. Not like Will. This time, she remembered Hannibal's voice. It cracked, when they were talking, his facade breaking for a moment. It was the most upset she'd ever seen him, and she'd be lying if she said it hadn't rattled her bones. Seeing him like that rocked a foundation she hadn't even known she'd had.
"I just wish I could help him. I don't know what to say. I don't know what it's like. To have to kill."
She was quiet for a moment. Both of them — Will, Hannibal. Bruised knuckles. Injured animals. She couldn't help them.
"I do," Beverly said, her voice breaking the silence. Alana looked up at her. "It's awful. But we get through it. It's what we do."
Alana remembered the woman holding the little boy. Saving Will's life. It had never occurred to her that she'd had to do things like that before. Jack's team was always in the background. She rarely had to work with them to create profiles, and when she did, it was easy to let their easy camaraderie distract her from the darkness they worked with. With a pang, she thought about Beverly's life. What it must take out of her, her job. She reached out to touch her arm.
"I'm sorry."
The other woman shrugged, her smile genuine, if tired. Alana let her hand drop.
"It's alright," Katz said. She turned her head slightly, looking at the body behind her. "Would it help you? To see him?"
Alana took a deep breath.
"I honestly don't know."
"Do you want to?"
"That's not really how my mind works."
"You think about if you should before if you could."
The psychiatrist nodded, smiling tiredly back at her.
"Some would call it a problem."
"Everyone's got their thing," Katz shrugged. "I, for instance, catch murderers for a living and still watch reality crime shows at home."
"That's quite the thing."
"My friends hate it."
"But you do have friends outside of... All of this," Alana said, gesturing around her. "And that's something most of us are not very good at."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Beverly grinned. "I'm sure you have other friends."
"Friends are like relationships for me. I pick all the wrong people, when I have them at all."
"Well, I'm your friend," she said. "And there's nothing wrong with me."
"Other than the reality show thing."
"Other than the reality show thing."
They stood in companionable silence for a moment. Alana's gaze stayed solidly on her face.
"Thanks, Ms. Katz," she said finally. She couldn't help but feel relieved.
"Please," the other woman said, extending a hand. "Call me Beverly."