The answer was your age.
But since I received a whole bunch of good and logical answers, I shall add: heat/steam/smoke, fireworks work since the fireworks go up and sparks come down (a stretch, I know, but I think it works), the price of gasoline, satellites (if they do come down, it's not as a satellite but a raging inferno that crumbles to dust), Edward Cullen's hair (this answer comes from fellow disliker of Twilight, Kanea), taxes, the year, and college tuition.
And the winners are:
The Smirk on my Face
hehehe (hahaha. I like your name.)
Anonymous riddler/ Un-Anonymous Riddler (always appreciative of your out-of-the-box answers)
Mycroft R Holmes
Aranna Undomiel (welcome, good job, and thank you)
You guys are so good. And look how many of you there are. I'm so proud. And grateful. Speaking of grateful, thank you for all the "Happy Birthdays." It was a good one, thanks.
Now, I know I haven't written in a while. In fact, a whole half of a season has come and gone, and I haven't posted a thing. I blame college. The whole quarter was study, project, essay, study, midterm, essay, project, essay, study, final. Whew!
But the quarter is over and I finally have some free time. So I wrote. And here it is.
"Not again," Peter Burke moaned as he glared up at the darkened sky, gentle drops prickling his cheeks and splashing into the puddles at his feet. "That's the third time this week. Can't we get a day without it raining?"
"Hey, you know what they say," Neal Caffrey proposed with a resigned shrug, "'April showers bring May flowers.'"
"Sure," Peter snorted disdainfully. "That and flooding, a leaking roof, and the smell of mildew that takes a month to get out."
"Come on, Peter. Try to stay positive," Neal protested as he opened his umbrella, the drops having grown in size and increased in speed. The tiny bullets pelted the fabric of the umbrella.
"Tell that to my socks," Peter grumbled and hissed a curse at another underestimation of a puddle.
Neal offered him a sympathetic smile that lost its effect due to his stifled chuckle. At Peter's scowl he looked away and moved the umbrella between them so that it could cover both their heads.
"And my umbrella just had to break yesterday," Peter growled, shooting a furtive glance up and down the sidewalk before sidling closer to Neal to be better protected from the rain.
"It was pretty windy," Neal concurred dutifully. "And like the perfect gentleman, you didn't accept El's umbrella despite her protests."
"You'd think the universe would give me a break for that, but no," Peter complained, biting off the end of his sentence.
As if to emphasize his conclusion, the wind picked up in a sudden gust that threw water into their faces and snatched the umbrella away from over their heads.
"Watch it," Neal exclaimed in surprise as he clung to the handle of the umbrella as the thin fabric pulled back, exposing the metallic legs underneath. Peter shot his hand out and gripped the handle as well, joining the tug-of-war battle between Neal and the wind.
The umbrella wavered in the wind until the wind realized it could not win and released it. The umbrella fell limp and Neal and Peter staggered back. The wind tugged mockingly at the ends of their coats as Neal lifted the extended stalk of the umbrella, showing that all the metallic legs were pointed straight up.
"Great," Peter sighed in exasperation as he tried to smooth down his hair. "Now we have to walk the rest of the way to work without an umbrella."
"Think of the bright side," Neal suggested without his previous optimism. He tossed his petrified umbrella into a trash bin and used both hands to return his suddenly disarrayed hair to its original position "April showers–"
"– Bring May flowers," Peter finished without conviction. "Yeah, yeah."
He glanced at Neal and blinked at the abrupt shift in attitude. Now that he was cold and wet, Neal looked so sullen and miserable, rain soaking his hair flush against his head and rivers streaming down his forehead, forcing him to blink and constantly wipe the water away unsuccessfully with a wet sleeve. He sniffed piteously and looked up at Peter bleakly.
And Peter was sure that his own negative attitude was doing nothing to alleviate the situation.
"All right, come on," Peter said gently and placed a hand between Neal's shivering shoulders. "Let's hurry back to the office. We'll stop and get some coffee from the eleventh floor on our way up."
Neal smiled with a little less dour. "Really?" he asked like a child hoping he was actually going to get the ice cream promised to him on a hot day.
"Really," Peter answered with his own smile. "Now keep close to the buildings. It's a little drier under the awnings."
The two shivering men continued down the sidewalk, Neal's coat almost brushing against the buildings as he stayed as close to them as possible without actually touching them. Peter walked beside him, doing his best to stay under the awnings with Neal and protect his friend from the water the wind kicked up at him.
They passed lit diners, bakeries, coffee shops, and other such businesses which tempted them with open doors, dry interiors, padded chairs, and hot drinks and food. But Neal and Peter pushed on, their only drive being that if they were late for work, Hughes would give them the double-finger point and a lecture.
"May flowers," Peter mumbled encouragingly to repel the dismal cloud that cascaded down around them with the falling rain. Neal chuckled beside him and Peter felt accomplished.
At last they made it to the FBI building and gratefully walked through the doors and into the dry and warm receptionist area. The woman behind the counter stared wide-eyed at the soaking and bedraggled men that padded past her and into an elevator.
As promised, Peter hit the button for the eleventh floor and Neal's face brightened. A few minutes later and the two were leaving wet footprints along the carpeted aisle between cubicles. They walked straight to the employee's lounge and to the steaming pot of coffee.
Peter handed Neal a Styrofoam cup and then took his own as Neal poured himself a cup. As Peter poured his own cup, Neal hastily added his desired flavor of cream (the eleventh floor had about six varieties of flavors versus the twenty-first floor's measly one) and then took a large gulp.
As expected Peter heard a cry of pain as he added his own cream and sugar. He looked up expectantly at Neal who was breathing through his mouth and fanning his tongue. Realizing he was being watched, Neal bravely met Peter's well-what-did-you-think-was-going-to-happen look.
"Worth id," he announced and took another, more cautious, sip with a murmur of content.
Peter chuckled with a shake of his head but also decided that the coffee would taste so much better now than if he had to wait for it to cool.
"Peter? Neal? What are you two doing down here?" a new voice asked.
Peter and Neal both hid their burned tongues and turned guiltily to face the owner of the voice.
"Ah," the man said understandingly as he eyed the two cups of coffee. "Of course. Why did I even ask?"
"Just came for the good stuff, Marty," Peter explained, stating the obvious. He lifted his cup in greeting and thanks.
"Why am I not surprised," Martin Miles chuckled. He placed his hands on his hips in an authoritative manner but seemed to deflate at the sight of the sopping partners. "All right. You have your coffee. Now get out of here before my boss sees you."
Peter nodded and ushered Neal out of the lounge. "I owe you," Neal called back over his shoulder.
"I know," Martin responded. "And I'm still keeping score."
Neal paled slightly in dismay but managed to flash a smile at Martin before Peter pushed him past the last cubicle and towards the elevators.
"We really need to get this recipe," Neal said past his cup as he took another sip. "Our coffee needs the renovation."
"Tough luck," Peter replied, stepping into the elevator with Neal and pushing the button for the twenty-first floor. "That coffee is Martin's precious secret recipe. He'll only share it on his death bed."
Neal sighed knowingly but cheered as another sip of coffee warmed his throat.
The elevator rang and the two stepped out, their shoes squeaking on the tiled floor before quieting as they pushed past the doors and into the White Collar Division. Jones looked up at them first and stifled a laugh at their appearances. He stood up to meet them.
"Raining?" he asked cheekily.
Peter shot him a glare and Jones quieted. "There's someone who wants to meet you in your office," he said instead and stepped back so Peter could see.
Peter looked up, and through the glass window, he saw his visitor stand, put a hand to her mouth that he was sure was making melodious laughter, and then wave an umbrella at him. He smiled back.
Neal leaned in closer to him and dropped his voice. "Remember those May flowers?" he asked.
Peter looked at him. Neal smiled and nodded pointedly at Peter's visitor, encouraging him to go.
Peter gave Neal's shoulder a pat and ascended the stairs to his office to meet his beaming wife.
Yep, wrote this fic in honor of April and its showers. It rained here the entirety of Monday, Tuesday morning, and it just started today at this very moment I'm writing this, and it's supposed to rain tomorrow. Don't get me wrong. I love the rain. It's beautiful. But if you get caught in it, man it's cold, and miserable.
But just remember that May flowers are right around the corner.
And I don't know if you read my Christmas fic "The Perfect Gift," but if you recognized Martin, that's where he's from. He has the same (first) name, same personality, but just a different role in the story. He's a character of mine that I really like and he will be making appearances in other writings, just like how he appeared here.
So, I'm glad that you came back after so long and I hope you enjoyed the fic. Will be glad to hear from you all again. And your reason for responding, right below this sentence: the riddle.
**I tolerate the moon and stars. I can't abide the sun. Banish me with torch light, and you'll see me turn and run. What am I?**
Good luck and Hobey-Ho