Rating PG

Disclaimer….Joss owns them all…damn it.




The rain is beating against his hair, forcing rivulets of water to trickle beneath his collar. Angel doesn’t mind the rain. It’s just another one of nature’s gifts. His leather coat manages to keep at bay the deluge from his body, although his trousers and shoes are a lost cause as he strides through puddles that splash against his shins. 


Evil doesn’t stop when it rains, and so it is that Angel is out instead of at home in his bed like most of the citizens of this fair city: out meeting a snitch who has the word about something about someone. The snitch didn’t show, and Angel isn’t in a good mood. He doesn’t like it when he’s played for a fool; and Angel’s been played enough to know it sucks. Either the snitch is dead, (he hopes) or he’s led him on, or most likely, the coward has done a runner. It doesn’t look as if Angel is going to snuggle up anytime soon, and he heads back towards the bright lights and his car.


A flash of light flickers, but Angel ignores it, thinking it is a passing vehicle. A deep rumble swells overhead and the vampire looks up at the storm. He quickly closes his eyes as another flash follows the first. He starts to count the seconds. A couple of miles, he reflects, as the thunder rolls.


Important things have happened to him to the cacophony of storms. He stands there with no one to see, as behind his eyelids the images flow. Rain, wet skin, tangled hair, vanilla scent, warm breath, sighs and kisses. He lowers his head and blinks his eyes open. Infant cries and tiny toes, deep blue eyes, and perfect hands that clasped his heart and has never let go.


Angel shakes his head like a wet dog, the water falling away to make room for more. Thunder peals like a starter pistol, forcing movement in Angel, and his legs carry him away from the alley. Blood and swords, dragons and death, blue hair and blonde, fade away as he hits the main road. He has miles to go.




She is sipping her coffee, listening to the rain drum against the window while she waits impatiently for it to stop. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting. She has things to do, evil to slay, and someone to curl up with although she would forego the first two in a heartbeat.  She doesn’t. Instead, Buffy looks through the rain-spattered window as the distant thunder rattles the glass. It sends shivers down her spine. It always does. Storms and thunder have always affected her that way since…dark hair and darker eyes, corded muscle and powerful limbs, soft kisses, and delicious hardness too. She blushes and sighs, and stares out at the rain. She hopes that he is taking care.


The waitress offers another cup and Buffy accepts for two. She doesn’t turn when the door softly opens to admit a refugee from the tempest. The sodden one takes off his coat and lays it across the back of a chair before sitting with a look she knows well.


“He wasn’t there,” she states as the coffee arrives. The waitress leaves reluctantly, staring all the while at the newcomer.


Buffy gives her a glare before facing her partner.


Angel grabs the coffee and warms his hands on the cup. He shakes his head before taking a long swallow.


Buffy snorts, and reaches for hers. “Typical! Just what we need! Another night out in the rain!”


The smile he bestows gives her pause, and she answers with a grin. “I’ve always liked the rain.”


The End

August 2005


| Fiction Index | Home Page | Back |