Title: It Can't Rain All The Time
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be - just playing in a pretty big sandbox.
Notes: Faith takes time to think. Set during "Five By Five" - if I've written it right, you should recognise the scene.
Dedication: For Andy, for listening to me rant. Thank you.
It had been raining all night, never stopping, washing away the grime from the streets and making everything sparkle like new. She sat on the ledge staring out into the night, thinking that perhaps something would be able to wash the grime from her hands, from her soul. The things she’d said, things she’d done; they were weighing heavily on her conscience. Huh, who’d have thought she had a conscience? Not her anyway.
A trickle formed on the window and she traced it with her finger. Watched as it disappeared over the ledge to fall to the street below. Persistent, unstoppable. Like destiny.
On impulse she leaned out into the night, letting the rain land on her upturned face. Maybe if she wanted it badly enough, it would wash away the darkness in her and she could start afresh. With eyes closed, she could feel each drop kiss her skin before rolling off; leaving her not cleansed as she’d hoped, just wet and cold.
She sighed; the stains on her soul could never be washed away in a rainstorm.
Still with her eyes closed she leaned further out into the rain. Her balance grew precarious and for a brief moment she considered letting herself go. Maybe that was going to be the only way her sins could be purged. And she deserved it, didn’t she? She could feel the wind rush past her, the impact as she hit the ground, the darkness clouding her vision as she drifted away.
Suddenly the air took on the coppery tang of freshly spilled blood and she felt pain blossom in her hand. Shaking off the fantasy of her own death, she regained her balance and opened her eyes. She was still holding the shard of glass. One of the points had sliced into her palm and she watched dispassionately as her blood formed a rivulet and moved down the glass to meet the drying blood on the far point.
Blood drawn to blood.
She had spilled a lot of blood tonight, this tiny drop of her own in no way balanced it out. Could anything?
Gazing out into the rain-washed streets once more she saw they didn’t seem so clean this time. The mud clogging the drains, the dirt running down the side of the building; no, if the rain couldn’t wash the grime from the city then it sure as hell couldn’t wash it from her. She glanced down at the shard in her hand; she could no longer tell the difference between the old blood and new. They were as one, drawn together inexorably, like destiny.
There was a low pain-filled moan from the room behind her drawing her out of her reverie. Time to put on the act again, although now she wasn’t so sure it was an act. If it was, after all, shouldn’t she be able to stop doing it?
She opened her hand and watched as the glass tumbled to the ground below. From here she almost couldn't see the blood.