I Hate the Rain

Summary: Most people like the rain, they find it refreshing and renewing. I've never seen it that way. One Shot.

Spoilers: 8x01 Dead Doll, 5x13 Nesting Dolls, 5x21 Committed, 3x17 Crash and Burn and maybe a couple others…nothing else that I specifically used.

Most people like the rain, they find it refreshing and renewing. I've never seen it that way. I hate the rain.

The coyote was inching closer and I could almost feel its' hot breath on my exposed hand. I was convinced I would meet my end at the teeth of a hungry predator (sort of ironic since I'm a vegetarian). Of course at the time, the irony failed me. I was terrified, hurt and confused and then the lightning bolt struck. Thunder cracked and the skies opened up. Rain poured down, more than I'd ever seen since I moved to the desert.

Of course the desert was dry and so the water was not able to be absorbed quickly enough and I found myself in a dire situation. The water was rising in this little ravine I was in and my arm was trapped underneath the weight of the car. I considering cutting my arm off, but I had nothing to cut with. Eventually enough water flowed towards me that the car shifted just enough for me to pull my arm out.

Looking back my ordeal with the miniature killer is the only time the rain itself has caused me harm. Still, I'll take a nice sunny day over a thunderstorm any day.

Adam Trent was talking fast and not making a lot of sense. He was talking about vibrations and frequencies and I tried to casually search behind my back for some sort of weapon. All the people in this place were mentally unstable, that's why they were here, but I didn't know how he'd gotten in here.

In a flash he grabbed me and placed something sharp against my throat. I struggled against his grip; I wasn't going to make this easy for him. Then I saw him outside the door, just staring at me. I'm sure there was nothing he could do and I'm sure he felt helpless, but it made me even angrier. I broke free from Adam's grip and ran out of the room as he slit his own throat. I didn't care where I was running for; I just needed to collect myself. I found a window and as I stared out at the night sky, trying to regain my composure, it was pouring rain.

Rain itself is not to be blamed for my problems. Of course, it's just that it seems like on the worst days of my life, it's been raining.

It was raining when I arrived at the carnage of the restaurant. Running amidst all the injured people was my current love interest, Hank Pettigrew. He was an off-duty paramedic, but still he was rushing around to help the injured. I told him about his broken wrist and I knew then that something other than accident was off. It was only a short time later when I found out that I was the other woman.

Everyone has bad experiences in their lives. I know my life has been a lot worse than some, but I lived through all mine, so it can't be that bad can it?

I was 13 years old and struggling to get along with my new foster family. At first they seemed to be nice enough people, but I just felt weird living with new people. They tried to make me comfortable and wanted me to fit in. Then one night, my foster dad slipped into my bedroom when everyone else was asleep. I'd been struggling to fall asleep and froze when he moved to the side of the bed. I sensed something was amiss, but since I was new I was afraid to say anything in case this wasn't unusual. I didn't want to offend the people who tried to so hard to make me feel at home.

I was crushed under his weight as he raped me. It hurt a lot, but I was too small and scared to stop it. My eyes eventually rested on her bedroom window where the curtains were open. Rain streaked down the window in mini-rivers and it was focusing on their course which helped me to detach from what was happening.

In my life, rain is a sign of troubles. Sure there are days when it rains and nothing bad happens, but nearly every big terrible event in my life is marked by a storm. I don't know if it's a coincidence, but it's made me grow to hate the sight, sound and smell of rain.

My parents always fought, so the racket coming from downstairs was nothing new. I still hated it every time and would try to stay out of their way. I glanced up at the window and saw that raindrops had started to fall. Then I heard a terrible noise coming from the kitchen and I knew this was not one of the usual fights. Though I knew it was probably foolish, I snuck down to see what was going on.

My mom was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, so she obscured my view of the horrors that lie in wait. She turned, saw me and screamed at me to mind my own business. Then she brushed past me and disappeared from sight. It hit me much, much later that she had been covered in blood spatter. I crept carefully towards the kitchen, expecting my father to be drunk and angry, but the sight that met me was horrific.

My father lay in the middle of the kitchen table, a gigantic pool of crimson covering the table and dripping onto the floor. I don't remember if I screamed or made any kind of noise, I just knew that I ran for it. I got to the closet in my bedroom and hid there for hours. I heard the police arrive because the neighbors had heard a commotion. It was a CSI who eventually found me and escorted me out of the place I called home for the last time.

Rain does not bring a renewal to me, but a reminder of the horrors of my past. I still try to move on from those memories. I can't help but feel a depression come on when the drops start to fall though.

I was only six years old the first time my drunken father hurt me in a rage. My mother flew off the handle at him and he in turn took out his anger on me. I had left my toys sitting in the hall and he stepped on one. The punishment I received was a broken arm. He said he hadn't meant to yank my arm that hard and I still honestly believe him. It was just once he started down that path, it was easy to keep going.

My mom carried me outside and we got soaked by the falling droplets of rain. She fastened me into the car and on the drive to the hospital instructed me not to tell them my father had hurt my arm. I don't know what lie she told the doctors, but they bought whatever it was. The doctors were nice to me, asking me what my favorite color was so they could make my cast that color.

I obviously don't remember the night I was born, but my father once told me it was raining. I don't know if he was lying, but I'd like to believe it was true. He was a semi-decent man when he wasn't in a drunken rage. Considering the horrors I've faced in my life, I think the rain is appropriate for my birth. It was as if Nature was trying to foreshadow the things to come.

Needless to say, I was not surprised, but disheartened when I woke up on the day I was to be married and the skies were gray. I told Grissom how I hated the rain.

"Maybe it is a sign," he suggested, "but maybe it means things are going to change. It's raining on what will be a very good day. I'd like to think that your life is about to get a lot better."

I glanced at the skies as the drops began to fall towards the earth. Rain has brought so much tragedy to my life, maybe Grissom was right. This time the rain could be coming to wash away my past and let me live a happy future. Maybe the rain would finally bring renewal for me. Of course, it could just be a sign that things will not work out well for Grissom and me.

I kissed him gently, "I hope you're right."

A/N: So this is different from my other work. It just struck me late at night and I wrote it down. I'm not sure I'm wild about it, but here it is nonetheless. I don't think any of my other CSI stories are first person as I prefer third person (since it's not ME that's speaking as a narrator). And I know…here I am not hardly having time to update Broken and I wrote another story…damn my creativity not being able to be stopped. Hope you enjoyed.