Written for Flashpoint_SRU prompt #6 - Shelter. I own nothing. Not beta'd
Shelter from the Storm
"Sam!" Sam turned his head as he heard the familiar voice to find Jules' Jeep plodding alongside his bike, windshield wipers going a mile a minute in an attempt to counteract the torrential downpour. "Get it," she yelled and he didn't need to be told twice. He quickly dumped his bike in the back before practically diving into the dry respite of the passenger's seat.
"Thanks, Jules," he said gratefully, pushing his soaking hair off his forehead.
"You look like a drowned rat," she laughed as she pulled back onto the main road.
"Yeah, well, the weatherman lied to me," he defended. It was true – he'd watched the weather before he'd left for his shift and the jackass had said that it would be beautiful and sunny for the next week. He'd mentioned nothing about a rainstorm of biblical proportions.
"Sure, blame the weatherman," Jules mocked playfully, turning up the heat slightly as she noticed Sam trying not to shiver in his wet clothes.
"Thanks," Sam muttered again as he rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm up.
"Anytime," she said and Sam smiled over at her. "So… I have beer and lot of takeout menus," she said and he laughed.
"Is that an invitation?" he asked.
"It is."
"I'm in," he agreed easily.
"Good. I've missed you, Sam," she said seriously and he looked over at her.
"Yeah, me too," he said quietly. The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence, shedding the awkwardness that had engulfed them in the weeks since their breakup. When they reached her house they both sprinted the distance to the porch, laughing as Jules opened the door as quickly as possible to allow them entrance.
No matter what happened between them, she would always be his shelter from the storm.