It's okay by planet p

Disclaimer I don't own the Pretender or any of its characters.

See that tree there. Hear that rain there, on the windshield. Like the beat of a heart, hard and steady. There is the tree, tall and stark, dancing in the light and darkness, dancing in the wind's currents, to and fro, back and forth. See the wind in the way the tree bends and moves. See breath in the way your chest moves, in and out, like the beat of a heart.

He sits in that cold car and watches the trees as they move, listens to the rain as it pours down, pounding upon the metal roof. He wraps arms around himself, but it is feeble protection against the cold. He turns in the seat and reaches over onto the backseat and pulls his jacket toward him, and pulls it on, but he's still cold.

It's the rain, he thinks, the sound is like fingers tapping on his skin, making him shiver. He closes his eyes and hums Pink's Please Don't Leave Me. It's been on the radio everywhere it seems. The radio in this car doesn't work, the same as the heater.

He pretends he doesn't hear the rain, or the wind, as though it's a part of the song. He wonders why he's alone, why she hasn't come yet. Don't worry, he tells himself. Please don't worry. Don't fucking worry! Don't you, don't you DARE!

He blinks open wet eyes, forces himself not to scream.

A cold gust breathes into the car, freezing him instantly, and she's there, bending to climb into the car. He can't feel cold, now that she's here. He watches her pull the door closed with a loud slam. Stupid door, stupid car! Does anything work on this old heap?

He shuffles across the seat, and watches as she turns to face him. Her face is streaming with raindrops, rain like pearls like rain pouring from her hair, showering her already wet shoulders, her back, slicking the seat with water.

She touches his face with her fingertips, as though it's the most natural thing in the world, and he shivers, but it isn't because her fingers are cold and wet. "You're cold," she says, not knowing how warm it makes him feel – to hear her voice, to feel her breath brush his face – and he nods.

He is cold, so cold.

She leans her forehead to his, a hand on his arm to steady herself. She wraps her arms around him a moment later. "Dry," she murmurs, in a way that makes him wish the rain would never stop, and holds him tighter to her. After this, she can only get farther away. "Hungry," she breathes into his neck. "Buy me food, Harper?" Doesn't say 'lunch' because it isn't; it's half past three in the afternoon and already so, so dark.

It's cold and dark and she's holding him and he's holding her. He reaches up his own arms to hold her back, but she's already leaning away; she's already leaving him, even now, even inside this small shelter from the rain.

She wants him to drive now; she wants food. He turns the key in the ignition, his fingers are cold and clumsy, and so too, it seems, is the engine. It should run better, with this rain, with this moisture in the air, but it's cold and clumsy and tired, and it doesn't want to.

He tries five times before it starts, and he turns to glance behind him – it's clear – but now she's so far away, and he's cold again; cold and tired and fed up with this stupid rain!

He drives, watching traffic and watching road and watching nothing, and plays that song over and over in his head. He doesn't want to think about how she's there – right next to him – but she's not there. She's with him, but she's not with him at all. He doesn't want to think about where she might be instead, he doesn't want to think about where she might want to be, rather than here with him.

He feels silly tears start and promises himself that if he even dares that he'll sit outside all night – in the cold!

They park in the parking lot of a roadhouse, and run through the rain toward the diner doors. They stop at the doors, and he takes his jacket off and offers it to her, and she takes it without a word. She's already anticipating the hot coffee, what might be on the menu, what she might pick.

He opens the door for her, and she steps inside. He steps in after her and pulls the door after him and makes sure it's shut.

She stands in front of the big menu board above the service counter, hands in jacket pockets, as she stares up at the menu. When she finally decides, he says that he'll have the same, and they walk away to take a table. She does a little dance on the way over, recognising a song that she knows as it comes over the radio.

He drops his face to the floor, smiling, and prays she's too preoccupied to notice. He'd die if she teased him over that too! He chances a glance upward; she's happily oblivious, and he fights a jolt in his chest. Oh, he's pathetic! He can't help it. He doesn't care. He loves her.

The thought is laughable, but true, he realises. He doesn't fight it, he's… he's happy, isn't he? He loves her.

But she doesn't know.

The rain is falling steadily outside the diner, and he falls with it. Later, when he's alone, he'll hate that rain, he'll be drowning, sinking in it all, but for now he loves her, and it's okay.

He loves her.

But she doesn't know.

But maybe she loves him back, just the tiniest bit.

Thankyou for reading! If you can think of another title, I'd like to know, I'm not so pleased with this one.