O'Reilly's
Georgetown
2032 PM

What is it with rainy days and Tuesdays?

The Carpenters were so off in that song of theirs.

It *always* rains on Tuesdays. It has in the Washington, DC, area for the past three weeks. Only it's not the soaking, cleansing rain that I don't mind walking in, it's this on-again, off-again drizzle that descends from the bright gray sky. How can a sky be both blindingly bright and gray? I have no idea. But it happens in DC, even at night.

I wearily push the door of the bar open and smile weakly at the small gathering of staff and patrons that greet me as they always do, with a rousing cheer. I shake out my green umbrella and prop it next to the door to drip dry and hang up my overcoat, running a hand through my damp and frizzed hair. I love humidity. Really, I do.

I lift up the wooden opening and duck under the bar, immediately slapped on the ass by Jack. I stick my tongue out at him and hoist myself up on the stool, drained from the longest day in history.

Tuesdays are my terrible school day, and again, it rained today. Rain always puts me in a foul mood. I lift my head up and nearly fall back off the stool as a piercing blue-eyed gaze hits my face dead center. I flatten my palms against the bar, steadying and bracing myself. I have to literally shake the cobwebs out of my head before I can form a coherent sentence.

"Can I help you?"

The man, whose face I vaguely remember, nods. "What's on tap?"

"Coors, Coors Light, Amstel and Sam Adams," I recite from memory.

"You got any Guinness?" he finally asks, focusing his gaze on a spot above my head.

I shrug. "Sure."

He nods his acquiescence and I hop down from my perch, retrieving the drink. I place it and a coaster in front of him. "You want me to start a tab?"

He nods. I inwardly groan; he's gonna be one of *those*, I can tell. I turn back to the register and my Uncle Shaun comes up next to me. I turn to say hello to him, but he simply says, "Suck it up and be a bartender, Keely Shannon O'Reilly."

I rear back and look at him, and then sigh, defeated. I return to my perch and scan the bar. It's empty, save for a few businessmen and this guy, who is drowning his sorrows in his Guinness.

I pull my hair back in a ponytail and sit down in front of him when it hits me. He was in here a few weeks ago, maybe a month, with a stunning brown-haired woman. I study him; the carefree and happy man that was here before is nowhere to be seen tonight. His replacement's shoulders are slumped over in defeat, his eyes downcast, his breathing deep and even, as if he is asleep from the exhaustion.

I can't help but crane my neck down, nearly laying my head on the bar, in order to make eye contact with him. His head shoots up suddenly and I nearly fall over again with surprise. "I'm sorry," I stutter, clearing my throat. "Are you okay?" I blurt, berating myself immediately for my bluntness. Rule number one of being a bartender: always let the patrons come to you.

He chuckles sardonically and shakes his head. "I'm fine, really."

I shrug. "Suit yourself. I'm Keely if you need anything."

He nods and then sighs heavily. I turn back to restock the shelves when I hear him say quietly, "Why does it always rain?"

Startled, I turn back to him, mid stride. "What do you mean?"

He looks up at me with an equally startled look, as if he hadn't realized he'd said it out loud. He is so reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights I want to burst out laughing, but for once, I restrain myself. Finally, he continues. "It just always rains."

I cock my head, motioning for him to continue through my confusion.

"I have this…this friend. We're more than friends, actually, we're best friends. And we've recently decided to…take that extra step, if you want to call it that. Only problem is that we work together."

"The boss is giving you hell about it?" I ask, still confused what the hell the rain has to do with anything.

He shakes his head. "No, nothing like that." He scoots forward on his stool, his beer half-forgotten, resting his elbows on the bar counter. "Everything was going wonderfully. We were easing into it, you know? Not rushing anything, at her request…she's had her share of problems with relationships, as have I. So we've just been taking these horribly slow baby steps, thinking we were going to have all the time in the world. And then, tonight…" He sweeps his arms up in a grand gesture. "I nearly lost her, amid the rain."

I feel my stomach and heart clench up. "What happened?" I ask quietly.

"We were working an investigation, tracking down a suspect. I got the brilliant idea to split up, figured we could cover more ground that way," he says sarcastically. "Then, all of the sudden, I heard this scuffle in the other room. I swear, I've never run faster in my entire life…but I was too late. She was lying on the ground and I thought, 'Oh God, I've lost her, I've killed her.' I ran to her side, cradled her head and she looked up at me with those delicious almond eyes of hers and fought to speak to me. I leaned my head down and nearly burst into tears at the thought of not smelling her Spring Rain perfume anymore…" He trails off and half of me wants to haul off and smack him for building up his story and not delivering the punch line, while the other half of me wants nothing more than to lean over the bar and give him a big hug.

He clears his throat and continues, his voice strained. "She was shot in the leg by our suspect. She lost a lot of blood, but they say she's going to be okay."

I reach out and pat his hand. "So everything's fine. She's fine, you're fine, we're all fine," I try to say soothingly.

He shakes his head. "Everything happens when it rains. She was stalked and kidnapped and it was raining. Her little sister was missing and it was raining." He looks up at me with a mixture of bewilderment and defeat adorning his features. "She nearly died tonight and it was raining," he finishes with a strained and hoarse whisper.

I look at him and debate on whether or not to put my two cents in. Normally I wouldn't, but somehow I know this guy needs all the encouragement he can get. "Well, I don't remember much about the high school meteorology class I took, but I do remember something. There's the calm before the storm, the storm itself, but it's the days after the storm that are the most breathtaking." He's not receptive to this, and I fish on what to say next.

"My mother loves to tell this story about when she was in college and her car broke down on a rainy summer night," I finally say quietly, picking up old beer mugs to wash and dry. "She was driving home from her friend's house when her car just sputtered to a halt on the side of the road. There were no cars or call boxes or houses for miles…she just sat there for hours, terrified, watching the rain fall down her window. Then suddenly, there was a knock at her window. A good Samaritan had seen her car and offered his assistance. My mom took a chance and accepted a ride. They ended up exchanging phone numbers and got married two years later." I look up from the mug, hoping some semblance of recognition would adorn his face instead of the troubled look. I nearly sigh with relief as my BS-ed story seems to have gone over well and he nods.

"Our godson was born on a rainy night," he finally offers. "I kissed her for the first time on a rainy night."

I offer what I hope is a hopeful smile and he fights to smile back. Finally he does and I hear the "Rocky" theme playing in the back of my head. Victory at last. This one's sweeter, too, I think, but I can't dwell on that particular thought as a tall, brawny bald man walks into the bar, scanning the patrons for someone in particular. He looks over my way and starts walking over to the man.

"Commander," he says quietly, and the guy nearly leaps off his chair to stand at attention before Mr. Clean holds up a hand. "At ease." He looks at me with a confused look and I simply smile.

The Commander watches the exchange and motions to me with his hand. "This is Keely, Admiral."

I extend my hand. "Admiral."

"Keely." He nods briskly and then sits next to the Commander, talking quietly. I move to the back of the bar to give them some privacy and to get Jack back for his earlier greeting by wetting the bar towel with ice cold water and squeezing it down his shirt. I grin and glance back towards the two men, who are rising to leave.

The Commander catches my eye and holds up a hand in a farewell gesture and I do the same. He and the Admiral walk towards the door and I smile wider when the Admiral stops his younger officer from opening his umbrella.

It seems the skies have cleared once again.

End Ch. 3