Glissade Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own them not.

Spoilers: "Truth Be Told" and "The Snowman"

Summary: Sydney takes a shower

Glissade: n, the action of sliding down a steep slope

The hot steam did a lot to remove the usual morning grogginess from her head. Sydney had always been what most people would qualify as a morning person, but the truth was she always woke up feeling like she'd been drugged. Maybe it was jet-lag overload, maybe it was the dark cloud that had hung over her head since she had learned the truth.

Rinsing the cleanser off her face, she wiped the water from her eyes. Her left hand snaked around the shower curtain to grab her orange blossom body wash. The bright citrus scent usually made her feel good.

Sydney inhaled its aromatics as she squeezed the bottle, the cool, creamy gel pooling in her palm. She massaged her leg, lathering it up with orange-scented foam. Long fingers plucked her razor from the soap dish and wrapped around its slender handle.

Placing it at her ankle, she guided it over the curves of her leg in strong, fluid strokes. Up and back to her ankle, up and back to her ankle, up and back to her ankle. The new blade slid easily over her leg, slicing the fine hairs off at the surface.

For just a second she applied too much pressure, and felt the blade bite into the soft skin of her ankle. She gasped at the sharp sting and bent over her leg to survey the damage.

The cut was small, but the razor had bitten deep and blood was flowing profusely, mixing with water and washing down the drain of the bathtub.

Blood. In the bathtub.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

On his shirt.

Too much blood.

Images of Danny came flooding into her head. Danny kissing her tummy. Danny's proposal. Danny in the bathtub.

She felt cold. Chilled. Cold in her bones, cold where the shower's warm water couldn't reach. She felt water running down her face and knew it wasn't the shower. Roughly, she wiped the back of her hand across her face, pushing away the tears.

It was just a simple nick. Caused by a simple razor. Something that happened everyday to normal people. Normal people, like Francie and Will. Like Danny. Normal people, not people like her.

She inhaled deeply, pulling in the calming scent of fragrant blossoms. Calm. Calm washed over her. She picked up her razor and moved to hold it under the stream of rushing water to clean it off. To clean her blood off its blade.

Blade.

Blade of a knife.

A blade covered in blood.

Noah's blood.

Noah on the floor, the knife in his chest.

The tears flooded forward from the fresh wound. The feeling of bone-cold came back. She pushed back against the wall and slid down until she buried her face in her knees, the water from the faucet head running over her, mixing with her blood and washing away.

Washing the blood away.

Washing.

Cleansing.

~ fin ~