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It rains again.
Standing in the rain, she wears her a hood on her head. Her coat is all drenched, but she still smiles, and he can’t understand that.
She looks up, letting the rain drops fall on her face. He can see her eyelashes sticking together, wet all over. She would rather get wet and cold, than go inside. Her lips are turning blue, and she shivers visibly.
She ran outside when it started to rain. He’s been watching her stand there, getting soaked for a better part of an hour. He doesn’t feel cold. He doesn’t get bothered by the rain. He’s been in worse situations in his life than mere rain, but he still doesn’t understand why she does that.
She looks at him with a smile, and like always she seems to know what he is thinking, she whispers, “I grew up in a desert.”
He worries about her. She shivers, and he wishes he could give his warmth to her. What a silly thing to think about, when she would willingly run into the icy rain, and just stand there, bare footed.
He walks over to her, wondering yet again how is he going to trick her to come back inside. She doesn’t stop him from coming to her, and even closes the gap between them with few small steps, standing so close to him that he doesn’t know anymore what to think. His mind is blanks but his entire body is aflame. She shouldn’t feel so warm to touch when she has been shivering in the rain.
She wears a dress under the large coat, and he knows everything on her is soaked to the bone. He trembles when she touches his chest ever so gently. Her eyes never leave his, searching for a signal that tells her that he is too uncomfortable. Her palm slides over to his shoulder, and he wants to pull back, but despite him not wanting her to touch his left arm, he remains in place, willing himself still, just so that she won’t pull her hand back. He doesn’t want her to see him like that, like he is broken and pieced together with scrap metal.
She doesn’t seem to mind, not about the scrap metal, or that he has killed dozens. And, it’s not the first time when he thinks that there is something seriously wrong about her, but who is he to judge.
She giggles and takes his hand – the metal one – and pulls him with her. The water on the ground, in the grass, splatters everywhere, as he runs after her. It almost feels like the soil underneath dips when they run over. He’s never been good with uneasy ground, not after Steve rescuing the 107th from the H.Y.D.R.A lair, and the skywalk underneath them shattered. But if she ran to quicksand, and asked him to follow, he wouldn’t hesitate.
They make it to the treeline, and she’s out of breath, and he gets worried again. She sits on a large boulder, a place where she comes to be away from the rest of the people at the compound. He’s found her at it multiple times, just listening to the quiet. Her feet firmly on the ground, a mixture of mulch and small twigs and even leaves and pine needles, he looks down seeing her feet wet, and covered with small blades of grass, and even some dirt. Everything on her is wet to the bone.
She smiles again to him, tilting her head just a little, as she lifts her hand up and offers it to him.
He takes it, falling on his knees in front of her, bringing his arms around her torso, and his breath hitching in his throat. He feels like he can’t breathe, but he would be fine if he died now. His head rests gently against her chest, and he let’s out a tiny whimper. It’s almost too much to bear.
Her fingers brush through his hair, and she places an airy light kiss on his temple.
“Please, don’t,” he begs.
“Why not?”
“I’m not good for you.”
“How do you know I’m not good for you?” she asks, and there is laughter in her voice.
“Please, don’t,” he repeats, pulling her closer, his head sliding down, as he breaks into tears, his cheek resting against her stomach now. She leans down, holding onto his arms and sides.
He draws breath finally, but as he does so, he begins to sob. She shushes him softly, cupping her palm on his jaw. He clutches her closer, almost too tightly. She let’s out a tiny cry but doesn’t ask him to ease up.
“Please, don’t cry, my love, my White Wolf,” she whispers, “You’ve done nothing wrong. But even wolves need their pack. It’s not good for you to be alone.”