PAIRING : Lindsey POV

RATING : PG14

DISCLAIMER : I do not own these characters. "Innocent" by Fuel.

NOTES: I said I would never write Lindsey fiction, so this is to Evil Willow & Vicky, the founders of the Dru-write-Lindsey campaign, for making hell freeze! (And now, I'm waiting for my Willow/Tara from EvilWillow!)

            He cranks the radio. Equal parts to hear the music and in a strange effort to break down just inside the city limits. He knows, technically, that if the radio were to bust, or if he were to blow out the speakers, the truck would *not* break down. But nothing about him has ever been logical. It's part of the breeding. But still, he cranks the radio, hoping to break down just inside the city limits, so he can have an excuse to stay. He's always been indecisive that way. Better to leave things to chance, rather than to actually make a decision. Hence the predicament he calls his life.

            And in three hours, cranks the bass, hoping to break down just inside the state lines. Wonders whether, by the time he hits the Atlantic, the truck will break down, just inside the lines of sanity, before he can drive himself clear into the ocean. He wonders if he would have the guts to do it.

            He thinks of how he even got to where he is. Was eating his professor out the first step towards this? Or was it considering being a lawyer to begin with?

            "Satan, you know where I lie. Gently I go, into that good night." He's happy to have something different to sing. He's sick of country. He's sick of everything that reminds him of who he actually is and never cared to be. He wonders if there's a way to strip himself of any identity. Of identity in general. Then he wonders what would happen if he could do that, if he could strip himself of identity. He'd cease to exist, which sounds pretty good to him.

            "All our lives get complicated. Search for pleasures overrated. Never armed our souls for what the future would hold, when we were innocent." He takes pause at the lyrics. The song is well on it's way to becoming the fucking Lindsey McDonald theme song.

            Innocent.

            If he weren't so well-learned, he would know what that was. He doesn't remember being innocent, if he ever was. Can you be innocent, when you're born in sin? He wonders and wishes he was a little more religious at times; at least he'd have an answer.

            "Angels, lend me your might." Angels. He doesn't believe in them anymore, if he ever did. Again, he wishes he was more religious. He doesn't believe in creatures meant to protect the innocent. Even those sworn to protect, injure, kill, hurt… lock 15 people in wine cellars to be massacred… That's what the angel that *he* knows does.

            He wonders if perhaps seeing the blood smeared across bodies and walls is what changed him. Wonders if perhaps it was *then* that he knew he'd never be the same. Or if it was when he saw his hand fly across the room. Or maybe it was back in Ms. Patters' office, when he had her spread-eagled on the desk. Or perhaps he was just *always* like this and the blood just made him see how fucked up he really is.

            "All those colors long since faded. All our smiles all confiscated. Never were we told, we'd be bought and sold, when we were innocent."

            Innocent. Innocence. The state of being without sin.

            He wonders what it would be like to touch it again. He wonders if he'd be able to forget about all the things he's seen and done with a clear conscience. Wonders if he would even recognize it, if he were to touch it, if he were to consume it. He desperately wants to find out.

            He remembers the last time he touched it. And perhaps *that's* when he lost it. When he touched his baby sister, who wasn't even a day old. Maybe that's when he decided he'd do anything. Perhaps being between Ms. Patters' legs was just a step towards protecting that innocence.

            "YEAH, THIS PRAYER IS FOR ME TONIGHT! This far down that line and still AIN'T GOT IT RIGHT! And while confessions not yet stated, our next sin is contemplated. Never did we know what the future would hold, or that we'd be bought and sold. We were innocent."

            He shakes his head of the thoughts and wonders why the hell he's even going back. He swore he wouldn't. Wonders if he'll be able to find that innocence again, or the strength to go back. Or to find a world where he fits.

            He turns the car off, saddened that it didn't break down just *outside* Puckett, Mississippi.

            The front door opens, before he even gets out of the truck and he sees it. Innocence. He wants to weep at its beauty.

            "Thought ya said ya weren't comin' back." She says.

            "Yeah, well…" He runs his hand through his hair as she leans inside the window frame.

            "I wrote ya 'bout, Papa… did ya…"

            "Yeah, I know. Sorry I couldn't come back."

            She shrugs her shoulders. "Sups almost on the table." She says.

            He nods and she opens the door. He gets out and she grabs him tightly for a hug. He's touching innocence. All for her. He doesn't need a conscience. She's it. "Decided what school ya goin' to?" He asks, surprised how quickly he slips back into the speech patterns he spent a semester with Ms. Patters trying to break.

            "Not sure." She shrugs.

            "Ya have to figure it out, Katie. The money's there, ya just gotta pick."

            "Boy am I glad yer back, Big Brother." She rolls her eyes and he laughs.

            They hold hands as they walk inside and he sees his mother. "Yer back!"

            "Yes."

            "Fer good?" She asks.

            "Yes, Mama." He smiles and remembers the last thing he told her. "Hell hath frozen over."

            "And home is where the heart is." His mother says.

            "That's what I'm hoping." He whispers as he sits.

~El Fin~