Disclaimer: the characters belong to Anthony E. Zuiker etc.
Clouds have been pressuring all day. They release their heavy load. Rain comes down in sheets, veiling the faces of buildings. Clouds are hanging in shreds. There is no hiding place.
All color is washed down the gutter, like pigments of a chalk picture. The world around them is fading into a dull grey. Two people huddle together on an empty street.
A flash, a thunderbolt; and a strong gust wipes them off their feet. Stella tries to get up, but she's weighed down by clouds. Flakes of grey are dancing around her, settling slowly on the sketches of her surroundings.
Outlines begin to take shape. She sees Mac lying a few feet away, like an unfinished statue, knocked over, most of his body still hidden in unhewn stone.
Her fingers are chiseling, searching for his form inside the cold grey marble, drawing blood to return some color of life. Rain mingles, dilutes, and leaves only a rose tinge.
His face is hidden behind an ashen mask. His eyes are clouded like the sky. Her hands are working on his face and on his chest, hoping to sculpt him back to life.
Raindrops chime on torn steel, the melody is haunting her, reminds her of a song. When angels travel, the sky is crying. "No, my angel, don't go away," her whisper is drowned by the humming of the rain.
Single rays of sun are searching their way through the clouds. They illuminate the rain washing over her. Shades of grey trickle down her body, silvery pearls are dripping from her curls. Salty raindrops caress his face. Arched over him like a rainbow she meets the blue sky in his eyes.