DISCLAIMER: not mine, please don't sue.
To Anon, Kat, Geiroidin, and Nat: thank you so much, guys, for the kind words. They made me so happy, you have no idea. :)

~ RAIN ~

He steps outside and gets soaked instantly, which reminds him of one crucial thing he's neglected to factor into his not-so-great escape plan: rain. He can already feel the damp weight of his suit jacket on his shoulders and the cold tickling of wet, sticky hair. He quickens his pace but soon decides to stop under the roof of a shop. Being around her has always been a somewhat humbling experience but this definitely takes the cake. His attention is on the traffic now, searching for a free taxi. Naturally, there isn't a single one. He reaches into his jacket pocket and fishes out his BlackBerry to continue the hunt online, but the coldness of his fingers, the slight shaking of his hands, and the water dripping from his hair make things increasingly blurry, slippery, and frustrating.

Her gaze is still fixed on the door through which he has left, hoping he reappears. Soon the door opens again and she feels a jolt of anticipation. But it's not him and her heart sinks a little bit.

"You know him?"

She doesn't answer. She didn't even hear the question. He gets impatient and pokes her to draw her attention back to himself. "What?" she asks, turning back half-confused, half-irritated. Her eyes are on him now but part of her mind is still somewhere else. On someone else.

"That clown," he says, indicating the door with an amused, mildly condescending nod of his head, referring to the man who exited it a few moments ago. "Do you know him?"

Clown. The anger that word ignites yanks her back to the here and now. She glances out the window, hoping to catch another glimpse of him. "I do," she answers, her voice measured, and she doesn't look back at him. He realizes his mistake and tries to appease her. "You know, if you wanna go after h-"

She rises to her feet before he could finish his sentence. "Thanks." She quickly grabs her coat from the back of the chair. Stunned, he opens his mouth but this time he can't get a single word out. "I'll call you." With that she turns and bolts out of the place in an eerily similar fashion to how that strange man left earlier.

She steps outside and turns her coat into a makeshift umbrella by simply holding it above her head. She glances to the left. There's only a few people there but he's not among them, she is sure. Is he already gone? Her head snaps to the right and her gaze is drawn to a lonely figure – sharply dressed and the only one without an umbrella – stranded under a small shop roof overhanging the pavement.

Her face brightens. It's definitely him, and he appears to be engaged in a particularly intense battle with his phone. She regards him from a distance, trying to match reality with memory. He is unaware of her and she is fine with that. In fact, she wants it that way just for a little while. She enjoys watching him.

His frustration is growing rapidly by each slip of his finger, by each subsequent mistype, and his temper is near the breaking point. He takes a deep breath, glances up and catches sight of his own appearance in the shop window. He sniffs and narrows his eyes. Messy hair, tired eyes, stained tie, wet clothes, still no means of transportation, and a very important meeting to attend – he checks his watch – in less than 2 hours. He stares back at his reflection, then turns away with barely restrained disgust.

That's when he notices her.

She's standing a bit further away and her head is covered with her coat, but it's her, no doubt. One hand lets go of the coat and she offers a little wave. His heart starts racing again. She smiles and starts walking toward him. He quickly runs his hand through his wet hair, then along his tie, and finally he rubs it on his thigh, drying his palm. He practically stops breathing as she approaches. What the hell is wrong with you? The Terror of Michigan Avenue reduced to a shy schoolboy, panicking at the sight of a smiling girl, 19 years his junior, who also happens to be Wendy Scott-Carr's ex-nanny. Gretchen would have a field day with this, he's sure, and after the cheese fiasco the mere thought makes him worried – worried for Natalie. All of a sudden, there seem to be lots of valid reasons for putting as much distance between her and him as possible, but they all crumble between the affection and attraction re-ignited by her presence.

"Hi," she says as she joins him, lifting the wet coat off of her head. She meets his nervousness with a small smile under the roof. There isn't much room but he doesn't mind sharing with her.

A soft "hi" tumbles from his lips and they regard each other for a moment. There's a lot more he would love to say, so much more, but the words need time to line up in a coherent order – some more than others. In the meantime, he gives his stained tie little self-conscious pats. In this windy, cold weather their silence is still, warm, and awkward. He is embarrassed, pleased, conflicted, and she is happily puzzled by his semi-guarded yet intense reaction.

Apparently, not much has changed in the past few months. They still try to act casual. They try. They still somewhat daunt each other. They still excite and stir each other. There's still another, younger guy. He's still a coward.

"How are you?" he asks and mentally high-fives himself for not stuttering.

"Fine, thank you."

"Great. … Very glad to hear that." He smiles but in spite of his best efforts, there's a tinge of sadness to it.

Her eyes stay on him, taking in the various details of his curious appearance with mounting concern. A shiver courses through his body. It's tiredness. The wet jacket. The cold wind. Her gaze.

"Are you okay?"

"Yesiamfine," he blurts out slightly defensively, then, after successfully repressing another shiver, he repeats it more slowly, hoping to make it sound more believable.

But she doesn't believe him. "You don't look fine."

There it is again, that refreshing bluntness. A helpless laugh escapes him and he runs a hand across his face, wiping his brow of water. "It's been an eventful day," he says but that's all he's willing to confess and she doesn't press him. He flashes a nervous smile and she can't help grinning – she's taken by him. He is a mess yet somehow still appealing, and she can't fight down the impulse to reach out and touch him. Warm, somewhat tentative fingertips brush against damp fabric, and she gently tugs at the sleeve of his suit jacket.

"Why didn't you say you were coming?"

Intelligent eyes are searching his face for a truth he isn't prepared to give. And the lie forms quickly in his mind but the words come out haltingly: "I… It-it was all very last minute." His voice is soft and vulnerable. Once again, she doesn't pry and he is grateful. Her gaze drifts upward now and she studies his sopping hair.

"I have a hairdryer," she says, restrained hope and anxiety mixing in the simple, abrupt offer. She wants to help. She promised. It takes him off-guard. He freezes and needs several moments to realize what she's suggesting. "I…that…" More words are forming on his lips but they all end up being unspoken. His jaw sets and he averts his eyes, considering her words and all the possible implications behind them.

"Natalie-"

"It's… not what you think," she interrupts with the familiar phrase, and when he looks back at her, he sees a flash of embarrassment. It eases his own a little bit.

"Okay. So it's not that thing that dries wet hair?" he asks mock-seriously. She rolls her eyes, then bites her lip, trying to stifle a grin. In that instant the mischievous glint in his eyes is replaced by something else, but it's gone before she could properly place it. It is blinked away but it continues bubbling inside him, making his heart pound like crazy, making him reckless, urging him to surrender. Unfortunately, it also sets off alarms in his brain. Reason and doubt kick in, reminding him who he is, where he is, and why he came here in the first place.

"I-I gotta go," he says and feels each syllable stab through him.

"I understand." This time she barely manages a smile. Tormented, he looks away and then back at her. He wants to do the right thing here but he's no longer sure what that might be. He feels an urge to explain.

"I have an appointment and…" he opens his arms, indicating the reason why he has to go: his stained, wet attire. "I'm afraid one hairdryer's not gonna be enough to fix this."

"I can get rid of that, too," she says, indicating the coffee stain on his tie and shirt with a small nod. He furrows his brow, then a faint smile comes to his lips as he weighs his options. He's pressed for time. She lives nearby. He wants to go with her. He checks his watch.

"The meeting's in 90 minutes," he says. His tone has shifted. It's slightly teasing now, as though offering a challenge.

She decides to go for it. She's not ready to say goodbye and looks him right in the eye. "Not a problem." Her voice is matter-of-fact. She seems quite confident.

He narrows his eyes and watches her somewhat fascinated, but he still has his doubts. "Don't you have to work?" he asks and the question is given further emphasis by a raised eyebrow.

"Not until 3," she informs him with a straight face but there's a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She knows he knows she has him cornered. He's out of excuses and left with nothing but a bunch of conflicting impulses. He just stares at her, his mind reeling, trying to figure out what to do. And then it happens.

He caves.

"Okay."