A/N: How's Sunday treating you?

11.

Standing there, rubbing at my nose and thinking that I may as well get the girl's car in while I can, I'm blinded by a flash of lightning that forks its way down from the skies right to my feet, so it seems.

I jump back instinctively, just as my eardrums are assaulted by a godawful smash and rumble and clap and crunch. I blink, and the huge oak in my yard sizzles where the lightning tore through it, straight down its strong, thick trunk.

I haven't even begun to process the smell of burnt wood, the zing of the ionized air, when with a sudden, sharp crack, half the tree splits away sideways, landing with a loud thump and smoosh, right across my driveway.

I swear the shed vibrates for a whole minute afterwards.

Her eyes are wide, fearful, as they peer at me over the back of the couch. With a sigh, I shut the door and walk over, my hands deep in my pockets where she can't see my fists.

"You heard?" Maybe that's a stupid question, but I'm still shaken.

She nods, all eyes.

"I can't get your car in now. You want to try and call a cab? The storm is winding down a bit, looks like. I mean, I still don't think it's the safest idea to be out in these conditions tonight, but you probably have someplace to be."

I don't think I can look at her right now. I don't know why I want this annoying girl around at all. Maybe it's just that she distracts me from the rain.

She bites her lip and seems to debate her options. Then, squaring her shoulders, she nods decisively.

"I think it's sensible to just stay put. I mean, who knows what state the roads are in."

I nod as well. We probably look like a pair of ridiculous bobble-head dolls. Seth collects those as well.

"Yeah, alright. But umm… you want to call someone and let them know, or whatever? I'll be there," I point to the farthest part of the shed, thinking she'd prefer some privacy. There's no way a girl like her doesn't have people around who want to make sure she's alright.

I root around in the tools and assorted machine parts stacked up in the wall-high shelves, mentally making a note to get that slacker Embry to clean this area up sometime this month.

My eyes stray back for another surreptitious glance. She hasn't moved. She hasn't so much as twitched a finger towards the small sling bag she had tossed onto a chair near her trench coat.

She looks up and our gazes catch.

She isn't crying. It's just the rain has caught up with her. That's all.