Science is a hard mistress. It requires curiosity which requires a thirst for knowledge which requires obtaining knowledge. All the knowledge you possibly can. That eliminates the bliss of not knowing which eliminates all escapes from reality which eliminates hope. And sometimes that's all you need.


"Supervisor?"

A waterfall poured down in front of him as rain poured over the doorway to the rooftop. For a moment, he thought that this hydro-thunder had prevented his inquiry from reaching the solitary figure standing and staring up, but a reply sailed back to him on a gust of wind,

"Reever…" he did not look down. "Do you need me?"

The torrent blurred Reever's view of the rooftop, blending the gray of headquarter's towers and the stormy sky. The only defined object was the blaring white silhouette of Komui against the darkness.

"No… I just noticed the door was open and it's raining and all so…"

"I see…" Reever hovered in the doorway, wondering if he should walk past the liquid screen and what it would look like if he did. "Reever…"

"Yeah?"

"Reever… why is it raining?"

He leaned against the door frame, crushed by the faint but level voice.

"Because the clouds reached a point of saturation and the water got so heavy that it fell. You know that."

"But why? Why would the universe work like that?"

"How should I know…"

"Why would God create a world with rain?" The shower was passing and the waterfall had become riddled with holes.

"Do you not like rain?"

"I love it." Despite the gashes in the dripping screen, Komui's voice was no louder.

If anything it was weaker.

"Have you heard… that some people believe it rains when God is crying?" Reever was unsure if this question desired an answer. "I often wonder, Reever, what could make God cry. And should God cry? Good leaders… good leaders aren't weak, are they?"

It was now only a thin drizzle freckling Komui's soaking coat and the water-darkened stone he stood on. "I think, I think I understand though… It can't be easy to watch everything you control, everything you made, spiraling away from you. But Reever… if it were you… if it were me… I think it would rain a lot more often."

"I'm not one to say, supervisor."

"It wasn't raining yesterday."

He sank further against the wall, unable to speak. Those four delicate words winded him.

Yesterday more than a hundred combustion reactions ate away bodies into their basic components (which he could list in his sleep alphabetically, by concentration, or by atomic number in under a minute) and the hall was still smoking. But there was so much more to it than that and it was this that he could not understand. The air was heavy, pressing, suffocating, and no number of insignificant numbers and letters could crack it, break it, shatter it.

But those were all he had.

"Look, Reever… He's stopped crying now…" Drips plopped to Earth inconsistently, releasing their hold on the doorframe reluctantly, like weak-stomached suicidal parachuters. Reever turned from the rooftop and managed to stand.

"The clouds are lighter now."

"Yes… I hope so… It must be hard to carry so much water for so long." Reever went down the stairs and refused to look back because he did not want to see that though the rain had stopped, his supervisor's face was still wet.


I remember only a few things about the second attack. Even fewer about the third. It's mostly just a series of colors and shapes that I remember and have filled out by talking to other survivors. But there is one moment that I'll never forget and that I won't be able to talk about for a long time. I remember the wall breaking, calculating exactly how and where it would fall subconsciously, and adding up the number of people in it's path to the total.

And I remember looking up to the sky beyond and noticing that it wasn't raining.


"Is that you again, Reever?"

"Yeah… there was a draft so I guessed the door had been left open and…"

"Do you plan to stay? I notice you've brought an umbrella…"

"What? This? Oh… " He put it behind his back instinctively, like a child hiding a pet frog from his mother. He sighed, "Look, you shouldn't be out here like this when it's so cold… Here," the skeletal structure forced the umbrella to bloom, shielding him from the waterfall-door. He held it out to Komui and felt the first few drops of icy rain, "Take it."

Komui did not look down. He did not move at all save for the slightest of twitch of his fingers as they gently cupped his removed glasses.

"Take it."

The rain beat down on the stretched black.

"Take it, please."

Reever was now soaked,

"Take it, please, take it."

Finally Komui's dark eyes fell to the side and focused on his determined brown ones.

They stared at each other for a long time.

Reever stepped forward, shielding his supervisor from the semi-sleet. The jet black pupils rose to take in his new surroundings, eyes widening and then returning to their half-closed state in a motion very much like one of his sister's common movements. Reever looked down at the ring of untouched stone that was slowly drying. A single drop fell that should not have passed the umbrella's blockade. Two. Three. The drops kept coming. Reever shut his eyes.

'Thank you."


I remember how warm his body was as I leaned across it to rest my ear on his heart and heard things I didn't want to hear. This I understood, this my tiny numbers and letters could explain. But why, as Komui so often asked, why? I understood what, I understood that strong but inconsistent meant blood was being pumped out fast and hard but I didn't understand why it was him.

"Hey! Hey, someone, over here!"

"Don't bother them, Reever," the voice was faint. But level.

"Shut up, supervisor."

"They should be tending to the survivors not-"

"Shut up!" he complied. "Shut up…" Komui was silent for a moment, lips slightly parted. I remember that he always did this when he was thinking.

"Reever…"

"Why did you- what were you- Komui, you're not stupid; how could this happen?"

"I did it for you."

I remember how the rest of the world disappeared and how my breath caught,

"I was losing hope and then you stopped it."

The dark eyes bored into mine as I counted the number of seconds, milliseconds, until those eyes glazed over. I remember his smile.

"You stopped the rain."

I remember his cold hand on mine as the seconds whizzed away.

"A good leader protects those beneath him… A good leader makes sacrifices… A mediocre leader does his best despite his weaknesses,"

I've been told this was when the medics arrived, but I didn't see them.

"Was I close?"

"NII-SAN!" The dark eyes lingered on mine for a few precious seconds before ripping away,

"NIIII-SAAAN!!"

"Is it raining?"

"NIIIII-SAAAAN!"

I've been told he touched her face in those last five seconds. But I didn't look. It wasn't raining but his face was wet and it had nothing to do with weaknesses, nothing to do with God, and everything to do with losing hope.

Sometimes that's all you need.


The wind was strong but inconsistent and tugged his lab coat in a million directions. It was a warm, spring rain but the mild temperature meant little to the silhouette in the grayness (who could have estimated it's value to the nearest hundredth in Celsius, Fahrenheit, or Kelvins). He was holding a collapsed umbrella and staring up at the sky evenly as he'd been doing for a million yesterdays, no matter the weather.

He liked it best when it rained though.

Maybe an answer would trickle down from the clouds one day. Maybe it wouldn't. The door behind him ground against the stone floor as it opened all the way. He did not look down.

"Reever?" The voice was muffled by the sheet of water over the door. The step of heels rang clearly across the expanse, getting louder as they neared, and stopping at his side.

"Do you need me?"

"No… I just noticed the door was opened and it's raining and all so…"

"I see… "

Small hands gently pried the umbrella from his grasp and opened it above them. He had never touched that tiny hand before but it was very familiar.


There's only one way to get an answer,


"Do you not like rain?"


And that's to ask a question.


"I love it." He took the umbrella from her as she fell against his chest. Rain speckled his feet.

But it was not God's tears.


It's been raining a lot more often.