A/N: Welcome to another addition to the Gone Native Saga. This one is about Rob and Rachel, with a little Burns, Maria, and Jess on the side. It contains spoilers, so it would probably be best if you were past Chapter 28 there. This was originally going to be a 3-shot, but Maria and I weren't getting along so I cut her chapter and gave Rob and Rachel each 2 (the first two are depressingly short, and the last two are much longer). Hope you like it.

Shiver, by Coldplay, is the source of the title of the story, and Love at First Sight by Blue is the source for the first chapter.

It was one of those at-first-sight things. At least for me. Not for her. Definitely not for her. I remember the moment perfectly. She was sitting on a bench, clutching her light coat around her, her long, dark hair tangling in the wind. She was so focused on the children playing on the decorative rocks nearby that she didn't even see the homeless man who nearly fell into her lap.

He shouted angrily at her in aggressive-sounding German, presumably blaming her for being in the way. As if it were her fault. She was shrinking away from him on the bench, as if she anticipated him to physically assault her.

My feet carried me toward her automatically, and before I knew what I was doing, I was between the two of them, telling the man, whose name I knew to be Josef, off.

"Leave the lady alone." I put every ounce of military intimidation I had into the command, making sure the German knew that not only was she off limits now, she was off limits forever.

The German and I had rarely spoken, but rumors of my reputation were already well known and respected around these parts so he turned and walked away angrily without another word. When I turned back to her, she was watching me with big eyes. Brown eyes. Beautiful eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, relaxing my military voice into what I hoped came out sounding like a gentle question.

She didn't speak, only nodded slightly and averted her eyes. I debated leaving her to her thoughts, of course I would keep watch from a distance, but as I watched her wring her hands in anxiety my Mama's training came through and I decided to stick around until she was comfortable.

I indicated toward the empty space on the bench beside her.

"May I?"

Again she wordlessly nodded, and I sat myself down next to her and held out my hand.

"I'm Rob. I'm so sorry that guy was such a blockhead. Some of us never grow out of it."

After a slight hesitation, she stopped her fretting and looked up at me. She grasped my brown hand with her soft caramel colored one, and in the brief moment of contact, I noticed a slight tremor. She was terrified. Had this happened before, to make her so scared?

"Rachel." She said softly. After another hesitation, she softly added: "Thank you."

We stared at each other for a moment until the SLAM! of a door nearby startled both of us. Having just exited a nearby basement level jewelry shop, an older woman with a clear family resemblance to Rachel marched right up to us, giving me a glare.

"Rachel. Para de hablar con ese hombre! Vamanos, ahorita mismo! Tu sabes mas bien que haciendo eso!"

Rachel sprang up immediately and followed the woman, who must have been her mother, glancing back at me with a shy apologetic smile.

I watched them until they disappeared around the corner before I entered the store that the old woman had just come out of.

"Hey Marcelo, what do you know about that lady who was just in here?"

Marcelo was a big man with a toothy smile. Argentinean, he had moved into Boulder a few years before to expand his family jewelry business. He was talkative. Loud. Knew everything about everyone. He was the perfect man to get information out of. We'd been friends since I had arrived on Pearl Street a few weeks ago, and I often did odd jobs for him.

"You mean Maria?" He asked, with a raised brow.

"Yeah. Well, maybe. Does she have a daughter named Rachel?

He nodded his head in confirmation, "She's crazy. Doesn't trust a soul and drives a hard bargain. Her jewelry is a big seller though, so I put up with her. Plus, it's nice to have a proper conversation in Spanish every now and again."

I nodded. My first impression of her, though quickly gathered, had been a correct one.

"And the daughter? Rachel?"

Marcelo let out a deep belly laugh, "Usually shy as a mouse, that one, but get her away from Maria for a few minutes and she relaxes. She's incredibly intelligent, though I don't think Maria understands that. She knows how much I owe them, tax included, before I even ring it up. She also knows every regular on the street, but she's probably never talked to a single one of them."

"A people watcher, then." I mused. I was intrigued.

"Definitely." He paused and gave me an appraising look, "She is also very beautiful, no? Like a damsel in distress."

I rolled my eyes very obviously at him. He did not need to tell me something that I already knew. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful she was. The image of her eyes and skin and hair was burned in my head forever, and I already felt the need to protect her from the world and all its angry German men. My reaction delighted him, and he laughed again, harder.

"It'll be tough getting to know her with Maria around."

"I'll figure out a way. Put in a good word for me?"

"Sure," he snickered, "they'll be back tomorrow around this time."

I shook his hand and exited the shop. A few minutes later I was resting comfortably on a bench along the outdoor mall, watching one of the street performers fold himself into a box.

The seat beside me was soon filled with a bear of a man, a regular around these parts.

"How's it goin, Rob?" The big man asked me.

"I'm pretty good, AJ, how are you?"

"Can't complain."

I nodded. AJ probably had every right to complain, but he was a man of few words. He lived here, alternating between the homeless shelter and Pearl Street depending on the season, and had for most of the last year. Like me, he was recovering from a few tours in the Middle East and as a result was too much of an alcoholic to hold a job. I felt for him—PTSD could be just as tough to fight as al Qaeda.

Though I was tempted, I tried not to drown my troubles in alcohol. When I returned from my last tour, I sublet my apartment, sold all my belongings that did not fit in my duffle, and started walking. In the last three years I'd walked across the entire country twice, once via the south and once via the north. Now I was going right down the middle, which, with winter approaching, may not have been my smartest move.

I spent a few weeks here and a few weeks there, never staying in one place for long. Whenever I got restless, I would move along. Walking was good therapy, and I appreciated the beauty of the country I had fought for more than ever. I could appreciate other kinds of beauty too though, particularly ones that had big brown eyes and soft hair and caramel skin.

The street performance was over and I stood, giving AJ a slap on the shoulder as I did so.

"Nice talking to you, buddy, let me know if you want me to tell some of the store owners to send some work your way." AJ nodded and the two of us went our separate ways.

Since I was done with all my odd jobs for the day, I walked down to Broadway, a street that intersected Pearl, and caught the SKIP bus north. Fifteen minutes later I was at The Boulder Homeless Shelter. I nodded at a few guys I knew who were waiting to get in, and made small talk with a few others, discussing the weather and avoiding mentioning our time overseas—about a quarter of the men in this shelter had served our country in one way or another. As I talked, I smiled and waved at the two or three families with young kids that were running around the parking lot. There were not many families at this shelter—most children and their parents ended up at one of the three Safehouses in town. There were so many more homeless children and families than single adults that the Safehouses were always at capacity, leaving individuals and a few families to fill up this shelter on the outskirts of town. It was early September, so the size of the crowd was increasing as the nights got colder. At 5 PM the doors opened and we all filed in. Soon we had all gone through the line, getting hot food, cool drinks, and a generous dose of kindness.

After dinner I pulled out my well-used deck of cards and the boys and I played Hearts. We used to play poker, but one of our regulars was a recovering gambler, and all of us understood his request to switch games. Not all the men here were struggling with addictions—in fact, most were not, the economy just sucked—but those that were, were treated with dignity and respect, at least by the other residents. There was a sense of family and cooperation in our little community, and we all encouraged the drug abusers, alcoholics, gamblers, and mentally ill residents. We knew what it was like for life to turn out differently than you planned.

After a few rounds, our group split up, some of us wandering over to the TV to watch the evening news, others to the media area to work on the computers, perfecting resumes and browsing Facebook. We all turned in early, and soon the dorm was filled with snores.

A/N: I realize that was a slow start, but it's Rachel's POV next, and I think you'll appreciate knowing what's been going on in her head for the last 6 months... :)