Hey everyone!
This is the first in a series of Syd POV pieces set in S1, and probably
progressing through to S2 if I'm inspired enough. This first one, called
"Blood on Your Hands" is set immediately after Syd finds Danny's body
in "Truth Be Told". The second piece, which will be published when I
get enough reviews to make me happy [yes, I know it's
evil, but anyway...review and you shall be rewarded with more chapters] is
called "Learning to Live [and Lie] Again". I don't like the titles of
these pieces much, but anyway...on with the fic.
TIME PERIOD/SPOILERS - Set in
early S1 right now...no spoilers.
RATING - PG/PG-13
SUMMARY - Sydney on life...and Vaughn.
DISTRIBUTION – Cover Me; anywhere
else, please ask first!
DISCLAIMER - I don't own Alias, or any of its characters. Quotes from Macbeth
by William Shakespeare. Definition from www.dictionary.com.
Catharsis
Blood On Your Hands
You think one day that your life is near perfect.
Loving boyfriend. Great friends. A job defending your country.
Then your boyfriend proposes.
And you realize that you can't keep lying to him about your real job.
He thinks you're a banker.
You tell him the truth.
truth:
Conformity to fact or actuality. A statement proven to be or accepted as true. Sincerity; integrity. Fidelity to an original or standard.a) Reality; actuality
b) often truth, that which is considered to be the supreme reality and to have the ultimate meaning and value of existence.
Everyone talks about truth like it is the Holy Grail. "I told the truth", they may say. Or "I know the truth". They make it sound so clear cut, so black and white, an instant resolution to every and any problem. You used to think that truth was the Holy Grail of relationships and love and life….then you became a spy, and lies became your best friend.
The truth shall set you free, they said. The truth only imprisoned you in cages of more lies, more disguises, more tears…
Now you are numb, holding the head of your dead fiancée as he lies prone fully clothed in your bath. The blood is sticky and viscous, and clings to your fingers in long strands. You stare blankly at your hands…they have so much blood on them. Your hands are a dark red, like the juice from the first cherries of the summer.
You remember eating cherries with Danny…sitting in a hammock somewhere, at someone's beach house…you were both covered in the sweet juice of the fruit by the time you reached the bottom of the bag, but you didn't care. You raced him to the ocean, and you won. And the waves washed away the juice, and you were clean again.
Pleaseletmehavedayslikethoseagain
You wonder if even the biggest waves, the deepest ocean could wash away this much blood…you wonder how you are supposed to ever feel clean again.
They take his body away. You're numb, and covered in the blood of your dead lover. You take a shower. A long one, with steaming hot water….you beg the water to take away the blood and the sin and the dirt and the lies and the guilt and the grief and the tears that you feel, but it can't. You still have blood on your hands, and no amount of scrubbing, not even until your hands are red and raw from the blisteringly hot water and the endless scrubbings can take it away.
Yet here's a spot…/Out, damned spot! Out, I
say! /.... What, will these hands ne'er be clean?..../Here's
the smell of the blood still./What
done cannot be undone. /
You still have blood on your hands.
Pleasesomeonehelpmecleanthissinthisguiltthisbloodthisdeaththesetears