Author's Note: This is my first LwD story, so I'm a little antsy - but the Dasey community seems friendly enough this far ;) Hopefully, if all goes according to plan and I don't chicken out, it will wind up being more than simply this. Also, please don't be deterred by the cliched plot. The rest of the story will not continue in this vein, I promise.

Disclaimer: I do not own LwD or the song "Stand in the Rain" by Superchick.

Stand in the Rain

Casey McDonald had never been drunk.

At weddings, at bridal showers, at Christmas and Easter and on New Year's Eve, she would politely sip at a half glass of white wine – the sophisticated kind – or lift a flute of champagne in a toast. Once, she accepted a taste of authentic German beer, bottled directly from a European tap, just for the experience, and another time even went so far as to try the spiked punch at the post-grad dance. On her eighteenth birthday, she strode confidently into 29 Park on King and Talbot, ordered a "rum and coke – on the rocks? What does that even mean? – and the bill, please," and left just as briskly as she'd entered. Beyond those few occasions, Casey McDonald had never been intoxicated, and even then had always been in her right mind.

In high school, Emily Davis had smiled apologetically on her behalf and said, "She has a sensitive stomach," choosing instead to find her friend the least carbonated drink in the vicinity while handing over her car keys.

"Miss Responsibility, resident DD," as Emily had often referred to her, was, at all times, reliable, dependable, and most definitely responsible. Alcohol was not, as many of her schoolmates believed, a substance to be abused. Respected from a distance, but never abused.

It was exactly for this reason that the last place Nora McDonald-Venturi had expected to find her eldest daughter was huddled in a corner of GTs on a Thursday night, braving the worst of the karaoke singers, and clutching a bottle of Smirnoff Ice like a lifeline. She had to give the girl points for so much as leaving the house, and politely overlooked the fact that Casey's hair was tangled and sticking up, her mascara was running down her left cheek, and the nail polish of both hands was chipped beyond all repair. The ice-pick heels and black cocktail dress didn't look as out of place as Nora would have initially assumed, and the evening patrons of GTs were most certainly not paying attention to the frail little brunette with the glassy eyes and the warm vodka cooler.

"Hi, honey."

Even when Nora slid into the chair across the little table, Casey didn't blink or look away from the drunk – and obviously underage – girl mangling Aretha Franklin. Cautiously, Nora reached out and pulled the bottle from between Casey's fingers, noting as she did that Casey had taken maybe two sips, if that. "Casey, how long have you been sitting here? We've been looking for you."

The only response was a hint of a shrug, and after several beats of silence, Casey blinked, squeezing her eyes shut tightly and letting out a shuddering breath.

"I know, sweetie. There's nothing worse than losing someone you love. You've got a whole support net behind you, though. Why don't we get you home now? You can stay with us for a few days, until you get your feet back under you." Nora smiled sympathetically, squeezing Casey's hand. "Have a nice warm bath tonight and snuggle up in your old bed. How does that sound?"

There was a long pause and a spark of worry started deep in Nora's chest – was Casey contemplating suicide; was something terminally wrong with her; after what had already happened, what other bad news could there be? – but when Casey spoke, they were the last words Nora had expected to hear. "I'm pregnant."

--

She stayed for more than a few days.

The first week was the hardest. In the mornings, Nora and Marti tiptoed around the house so as not to disturb Casey, who they knew was not sleeping anyway. When George came home for dinner and tried to dispel awkward silences with corny jokes, only silence greeted his voice. Casey would excuse herself to bed by eight o'clock, and even the shower couldn't disguise the sound of her tears. Sometimes in the middle of the night, Marti would come down the stairs and wake Nora, and Nora would hurry back up to hold Casey as she sobbed.

"Oh, God, mom, it h-hurts so much. I miss him so much. I w-want him back! I'm having a b-baby, mom, and he's n- he's not even here."

All Nora could do was press her lips to Casey's hair and whisper, "Oh, honey. Oh, honey baby. I'm so sorry."

Lizzie and Edwin both came home from university in time for the funeral, and neither offered words of condolence but simply sat with her in silence, offering comfort without words. Something had changed, they both realised, about volatile girl they'd grown up with. She no longer demanded attention in her misery, choosing instead to sit noiselessly in the front pew of the little funeral chapel. She wasn't whiny at this stage. She just was.

The opening prayer was delivered by Lizzie, and Sam's oldest sister was the first to take the podium.

"Anyone who knew my baby brother knew him. He was open, and he was an honest kind of guy, the kind of guy you could tell a secret to and trust it to be kept. He never lacked friends – he had them all over the place, especially in high school, and especially the members of his beloved hockey team. I can see most of you guys out there, and I think it's really great that you've come. Hi, Alistair, great to see you. Mike, wow, you came all this way. He's been living in Germany, for anyone who doesn't recognise Michael Connor.

"Anyway, guys, Sam would be totally happy to see you here. He'd be blown away that you still remember him so well. This is what I mean when I say he had a lot of friends. Not just passing acquaintances, you know, but real friends who cared about him, and who still care enough to come say goodbye."

Her voice broke here, and Marti, sitting beside the podium on the bench of the piano, offered a tissue.

"Thanks, Marti. Marti Venturi, everyone. Sammy just loved her, especially when she was little. When he started coaching at the Kinsmen Arena – sure, you know the place, right on Granville avenue – when he started coaching those kids, I swear he totally changed. It was like watching a new guy be born out of the old one. Guess he kind of wanted Marti to discover an interest in playing hockey, but that girly piano won over. Just kidding, Marti. His team's great, though. A bunch of little guys running around on ice with sticks. Sam loved those two things with all his heart – hockey, and kids. He loved kids. He'd always wanted to have one, or two, or ten, but I guess it just wasn't meant to be. It just wasn't in the books for him."

Nora, holding Casey's hand, felt more than a fractional tightening of grip and squeezed back just as hard.

"But even as much as Sam loved hockey and kids, there is one thing he loves more, and I use the present tense because I know that no matter how much time passes, it'll never change. It's great that you're all here, everyone, to pay your last respects with the rest of us. But even though knowing Sam has probably brightened your lives, you're missing out on something big if you haven't met his wife. Casey McDonald was probably the best thing to ever happen to my kid brother. She inspired him to reach for his dreams. Without her, I doubt he'd have ever bothered with college, and would probably be working some dead-end job if she hadn't encouraged him to follow his dream of coaching a kid hockey league. So what if the money wasn't great? He was doing what he wanted to do, she'd say, and that was all that counted. She also used to say that she was the one with the massive ambition ego, and who was supposed to heat her house while she was off trying to save the world economy?

"Damn, Casey, he loves you more than anything in the world. When he was alive he loved you with his all his heart and mind and soul, and I swear that even though he's d-d- even though he's d- shit. Even though he's not here anymore, that's one thing that'll never change."

Ten minutes later, when Sam's sister stepped away from the microphone, a member of the funeral procession stood and asked to say a few words. There were other friends of Sam who spoke – old schoolmates, old hockey teammates, even one of his ex-girlfriends – but Casey had stopped paying attention. They kept talking about what a great guy he had been and how he'd made an imprint on their lives. She could hear laughter all around her and some weeping, but all Casey could do was stare into space with a glazed look on her face.

It was the drifting notes of a Mozart concerto that had her looking up, trying hard to focus her eyes on the pianist. Marti sat ramrod straight with her eyes closed, letting her fingers play across the keys with a precision that Casey envied. Sam had loved classical music, Casey thought to herself, and seconds later her body was heaving with a grief that had not yet spent itself.

--

The cemetery was silent three and a half months later when Casey kneeled before a flat grave marker. Her pants were getting soaked and muddy but that didn't matter, because this was Sam's twenty-eighth birthday and the false flowers beside his marker had taken the majority of the weather's beating. As she meticulously plucked each battered satin stem from the implanted cement vase, she hummed softly under her breath, and every so often rested a hand against the swell of her belly. Already nearly through her second trimester, this was only the second time she'd ever come to him.

"I have something important to tell you, Sammy," she said, and rubbed at a bit of dirt with the pad of her thumb. "We're going to have a little girl in exactly eighty-four days. I've been counting. Want to know something neat? She's going to share a birthday with Turk Broda. I thought you'd like that. Go Leafs! I know. And that was the day when the US created the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps. See? Didn't I tell you that women could be soldiers? Well, anyway, that's when she's gonna say hi for the first time, or at least it's what the doctor says. Kind of wish you could be here. She's going to have your nose, and your eyes. I know it. A mother knows these kind of things."

There was a good ten minutes of silence as Casey sat, fingering the marker, fingering the flowers. "I'm going to name her Samantha," she finally whispered. "Samantha Elizabeth. She'll always know her daddy. I promise."

Before she left the cemetery, Casey touched her fingers to her lips and pressed them to his name. "Marti got a postcard from Derek a couple months back. He was in Uganda. It was the first time we've heard from him since… well, you know. Do you miss him? Sometimes I do. But only a little. Only a really little."

--

When Derek Venturi turned on his television at five fifty-five, Central time, he pressed the mute button instantly. There were few things he hated more than Toronto television, and during the day he rarely ever bothered to turn the stupid thing on anyway. During his five years in war-torn Africa, television was a luxury few had enjoyed, and he'd lost his taste for it since. There were a thousand sounds anyway, memories of sounds that were on a continual loop through his mind day after day after day. There were a thousand horrifying pictures to make a movie that cycled relentlessly before him whether his eyes were closed or not. Television was unnecessary.

The only time that the remote came to his hand was at this exact moment, every week day, and since it was always the same program always at the same time, Derek didn't have to bother with channel changing anyway. A beer in one hand and the other gripping the arm of his chair like a lifeline, Derek stared at the screen as a quick message flashed across:

"Collision on Highway 4 results in three casualties and two in critical condition, and police release long-awaited name of child abductor. Also, a new outdoor skating rink? CFPL and Casey McDonald will bring you up to date on these exclusive stories! CFPL, London's News Leader."

As her face appeared on the television screen, bigger than life and in full colour, Derek could finally relax. As she mouthed silently at the screen, all other images were pushed to the sides of his vision.

He could breathe again.