I wrote this a while back but didn't post it on here

I don't own anything


They both hate the rain: Myrnin hates it because of what it symbolises—the destruction of something, no matter how small, and the movement of it to another place where it can never be appreciated in the same manner—and Claire hates it because it has the potential to destroy her appearance, the one thing that she has control over.

Yet one day, as they hear the rain pelting down on the roof of their laboratory, breaking the reveries that science brings them both, Myrnin suggests something Claire would never expect.

"Shall we go outside?"

She freezes in place, the ability to do so enhanced when she turned, and he can tell. Within a second, he's standing in front of her, his hands on her shoulders and his lips on her forehead.

"Why?" Claire's voice is barely more than a whisper, but Myrnin hears her—of course he does. "Why would you want to do this?"

As she speaks, the memories of her turning come back to her: the time she decided to walk home from the lab rather than use the portal, and somebody was waiting for her. What…what he did to her, before almost draining her, and leaving her for dead…if Myrnin hadn't been forced out of his laboratory in the rain due to lack of milk…she would have died.

She hates the rain, because it removes the perfection she tries to bring to her appearance, because he destroyed the tidy bun her hair was in, the neat way that she had sorted her clothes, and broke her body so absolutely…but she can handle it.

As long as it doesn't rain.

"Because you need to get over your fear, just as I do," he tells her honestly, moving one hand to take hers. "You can learn just as I can, and we can be one another's rock; we do, after all, need the other, is that not correct?"

She nods slowly, moving more than just her lips now, and Myrnin smiles, pulling her with him towards the laboratory steps. "We'll advance slowly," he tells her, launching into a babble about the speed of the rain and its meaning according to the physics tables that he downloaded.

But just before they leave the leaking shack, Myrnin reaches into a corner and grabs something: a golf umbrella, big enough to shelter the two of their bodies completely.

"We're not going out in the rain properly," he tells Claire as he takes her hand once more.

"Baby steps," Claire whispers, her voice stronger than before. "We'll do it slow, right?"

Myrnin nods. "Yes, that's right. Baby steps—we'll move as slowly as you want, my dear."

And she knows that he means every word he says.


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