An Innocence Observed
AmaunetX
Rating: T
Genre: General/Angst
Season: Two or Three
Spoilers: Indirect ones for 'The Gift', 'The Sedge 1&2', and one spoiler for season 2
Summary: She was not herself, she did not kill them.
Pairings: It's there. Look for it.
Warnings: Character death, Mental Wumping (Is that even possible?)
Beta: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. Because I don't even think TPTB would be this cruel on their characters.
Author's Note: I wanted to write something different, and this is what it got me. You might have guessed already the story, but you might not have. It is supposed to be confusing, so if you only get it at the end, that's cool, and if you don't get it at all, let me know. After you read it, look at the spoilers to help you get it. And yes, I might write more about this. I dunno though
"Are you sorry?"
"Yes." No. It wasn't even her that killed them. She was not herself, she did not kill them. She cannot be sorry for her actions, because they were not hers. But she is sorry about what happened, painfully, acutely, deeply. If she could go back in time, she would change something, everything. But she cannot.
"Why did you do it?"
"I don't know." I thought it would help. She knows better now. She refuses to even venture out of her room, afraid that it will come and find her, use her again. He knew why she did it, he asked her to do it, but he is gone now, and she cannot bring him back.
"What about the people you hurt? What are they supposed to feel towards you?"
"Anger. Hate." Pity. Love. Forgiveness. She remembers reading something called "The Bible" from Paul Groden's things. You were supposed to forgive others, no matter what they did to you, and when the man that spread love and hope to the world was killed, his father forgave the people. Where was her forgiveness? Who was her savior who would die for her? She was innocent, it was not her. She wanted no person's pity, but if they had only understood. He would have understood, he always did, but now he would be up in that place the book called 'Heaven'. He should be there, and he would be there. But she does not think she can be there, once she dies, if no one believes her.
"What about those who died? What do you have to say to them?"
"I am sorry." It was not supposed to happen! You were not supposed to die! She is sorry, more than sorry. She knows she will die from the inside out now; there is no one to stop her from caving in. She does not visit with others, but sometimes, sometimes she sees him, surrounded in white, and she likes to think he is an angel, just like in the book. She talks to him, and he listens to her, and she feels better, like he is not gone. She is sorry for all of them, and for herself. So sorry.
"Did you think you were going to get away with it?"
"Yes." No. She never wanted to get away with it; she just wanted to forget about it, to forget for a moment that she killed them, that she murdered innocent people. But, she reminds herself, she did not kill them. She hates this; they twist her mind until she believes them sometimes. But she hangs onto her innocence. Because she never wanted to get away with what had happened. It was her fault, she knew that, but she did not kill them. But she cannot seem to get rid of the voice in her that says, 'But you allowed it to happen.' She can not escape the guilt.
"Why?"
"I thought no one would think it was me." It was not me. It was someone else, something else, it was not me. She knew they would think it was her; follow the trail of blood to her chambers where she sat, clutching his clothes to her, hands bloody, and tears running down her face. How could they think that she would not know it was her when she watched herself kill him, the look of surprise on his face as she killed him without mercy? She could have never lived like that, she would have owned up, after she cried for him. She has so many tears for him, tears she needs to cry but they will not let her, so she cannot.
"These are automatic answers, practiced again and again. We have heard these same answers before, and they do not satisfy us. We shall begin again."
"No." No. She will not allow this torture to go on. She cannot let them do this to her. He would have stopped it; he would have stood up for her like he did so many times before. So she speaks for him, speaks for herself.
"I did not kill them. It was not me. Others should forgive, but never forget. I never thought I could get away with it, because it was not me."
"What do you mean, it wasn't you? Their blood was on your hands, you were found holding one of the deceased's articles of clothing to you. How can you say it wasn't you?"
"Where is the Wraith? How many are missing? How many have died while you have questioned me? Answer me!" She stands, placing her hands on the desk and leaned over, looking into the face of the other. "You did not know there was a Wraith in Atlantis? They did. I did. But instead, you have blamed me for their murder. I did not kill them."
"We have been over this. Our scans have not detected any Wraith in Atlantis. We would know."
They had been over this. For days it had gone the same way, the same questions, and the same answers. She was getting tired of this, and she wanted it to end. He would have never let it have gone this far, he would have come up with something that would have proved that she had never done this, that her loyalty was true. But he was not there now, would never be there again. But she remembers seeing him, standing there, dressed in white, watching her. She remembers talking to him, saying that she missed him, that she was sorry.
"No. No you would not." It is a week defense, and she builds up her strength for the next round, and the same answers.
"Let us start again, and this time, cooperate." Give us the answers that we want with feeling.
"As you wish." She says, sitting down, with no feeling what so ever in her voice.
"Now Teyla…"