First of all, I have to admit that I am not a native speaker, so there might be a few mistakes, but if you were so kind as to write me a message to tell me of them, I would immediately correct them.

Disclaimer: All figures belong to Charles Dickens and the BBC, I guess.

In the Rain

Amy was at her favourite place: She stood on the stony beach near this beautiful iron bridge and looked over the Thames. She had been there for quite a while and although it had started to rain she didn't want to leave this quiet and lonely place. Here she could think and feel as free as a bird.

"Miss Dorrit?" someone suddenly called and she looked around. It was Mr Clennam who had now spotted her and went to her. Apparently he had been in the rain as well, for his clothes were wet and his hair clutched on his forehead and neck – his hat obviously couldn't hold back the drops very well.

Amy took one look at him before staring expressionless at the river again. For once in her life she wasn't pleased to see him, not in this very moment where she was pondering about her hopeless love for him...

"Miss Dorrit?" He stood now next to her but she didn't look back.

"How did you find me?" she only asked.

"I came to the Marshalsea to visit you," he explained. "But your father told me you might be here, so I came."

"What do you want from me?"

"First of all, I should ask you why you stand motionless in this rain. Why didn't you take any shelter when it started?"

"I like the rain," she answered truthfully. "It feels natural."

"But you will get ill if you stay any longer in it."

"No, I won't," she simply stated. She dared a glance at him but when she saw his honest worry she quickly looked away again and changed the topic. "But that was not your reason for coming here. So why did you want to visit me?"

"I am concerned about you," he said and it was easy to even hear the worry in his voice. "For some time now I didn't hear you laugh and you hardly smile anymore. I came to ask you what is it that makes you feel sad and if there is anything I can do to help you."

"I'm not sad," she lied. How could he, he of all people, ask her why she was sad?! After all, he was the reason! When she felt that tears swam in her eyes she turned away from him and started to go along the beach.

But he gently grabbed her shoulder and turned her around.

She stared to the ground, tears now streaming down her cheek.

"It pains me to see you so discontent. Please tell me what is wrong and I promise you to help in any way I can."

She shook her head.

"Please, Little Dorrit."

"Don't call me that!" she suddenly snapped and glared at him. "I'm not a child." She stared back at her shoes.

"Yes, I know," he stammered. She had never been angry with him before. "Amy," he started anew. "Please tell me the reason of your distress."

"I can't," she said desperately. "I can't!" And then the silent tears turned into shaking sobs.

"Amy!" he cried out in shock. His hand was still on her shoulder and in a moment without thinking he brought her nearer to him to embrace her. It hurt him so much to see her sad that he couldn't bare it any more. He wanted to give her comfort. Physical comfort.

Amy was at first shocked by his sudden closeness but then she pressed her cheek against his breast and let go of her pain by crying against him. And she didn't mind a bit that his clothes were wet.

When, however, he started to stroke her hair in a kind way of comforting her, this was too much for her and her knees gave in.

"Amy!" Arthur felt her fainting at once and held her firmly so she wouldn't hit the ground. He took her in his arms and left the beach in a hurry. His place was nearer than the Marshalsea and although it wasn't appropriate to take her unconsciously to his flat, he wanted to have her warm and dry as soon as possible.

While hurrying through the streets he noticed how small and light she was. And that his hand perfectly fit in the curve of her waist...

Panting he ran up the stairs into his small room. "Damn it," he silently cursed, for the fire was out.

He lay Amy onto his bed, put the blankets and his own cloak over her, dried her hair a bit with a towel and started to make a strong fire which would hopefully warm her up quickly. It took a while but soon enough there were steady flames. He went back to Amy and saw that she was frowning as if in pain and was trembling because of the cold.

Arthur put his hand on her forehead – she was still cold, too cold to be good. What if she became very ill? He looked at her for a few moments before deciding with a sigh: It was no use; he had to take off her soaking wet dress. So he threw the blankets away, brought her into a sitting position, opened the buttons of her dress and took it off over her head. While doing so he was trying not to look too closely at her, for it didn't strike him as very gentleman-like, and he was blushing furiously. But he would rather have her hated him because of his actions right now, than that any harm would come to her.

Really? he suddenly thought. He pondered about this statement again and found it to be true. But why?

When her dress was off, he laid her back into the bed.

"Arthur?" she suddenly whispered.

"I'm here, Amy," he told her smiling and gently stroke her cheek.

She then sighed happily, whispered once more: "I love you…" before falling asleep again.

Arthur was shocked and sat down on the nearest chair. She… loved him?! But why? He was twice her age and she was just a child.

He looked at her again. No, she wasn't a child anymore. And therefore he would never call her Little Dorrit again. He was Miss Amy, a young, beautiful lady.

Beautiful? He looked at her closely, at her kind face and brown hair. Oh, yes, she was very beautiful. Why didn't he ever see it before?

He couldn't sleep that night, not at all. Instead he watched Amy sleeping and thought about her. She was kind, gentle and selfless. She cared more about others than herself and even took the blame for someone else than say the truth. He liked her very much. And in the course of the night he understood that she was indeed in love with him but also that he returned this love for her. He understood that he had always pushed away even the thought of his love for her because he would have never thought that she would even consider him. But she did. And his love was true.

Nervously he waited for her to wake up the next morning and when she did she smiled instantly and he returned this smile.

"Good morning," he whispered.

She looked around confused. "Where am I?"

"You're at my place," he told her and went on explaining what had happened last night. "I'm sorry about your dress but it was rather wet." His cheeks went crimson with embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

She only smiled at him. "I wish I could wake up and see you every morning," she got the courage to say although she blushed.

"You can," he offered her.

She frowned at him, so he had to explain. He told her that he had realised last night that he loved her very much and that he liked to be with her all the time. During his love confession he took her hand into his – which was finally warm again – and stroked with his thumb over her back of the hand.

In the end Amy sat up in his bed and stroked over his cheek. "I'm dreaming, am I not?"

He chuckled at that and kissed her hand. "No, you're not, my love."

There she smiled at him brightly and he just had to kiss her.

"My dear, Amy," he said after a while. "I was so blind."

She laughed quietly. "Only a bit," she admitted and kissed him again.

THE END.