Disclaimer: I do not own House, M.D. Those matters are best left to those who know what they're doing. I do not.
Rain seemed to always seep into her life.
She neither loved nor hated it. It was simply there and had always been there, filling into every crevice, every crack.
She no longer questioned its existence.
It was raining when she came home from kindergarten one day, bearing a misshapen clay lump that could have been a mug. It was for Daddy. He was always busy, but surely, he would love her gift and put down his always ringing phone. She would sit in his lap, and Daddy would put his long arms around her and hold her like daddies were supposed to.
Instead, he stared at the cup– the one that had been shaped so patiently for all of art-- and asked why she had put a clump of mud on his bills.
She said nothing. Quietly, she picked up the present, while he continued to talk to people she didn't know in words she didn't understand in a phone that by now seemed part of him.
When she was in her room, she opened the window and placed the mug on the roof while the rain poured from the heavens.
The next morning, it was nothing but a wet pile of mud, just like he had said.
Rain beat against her home the afternoon she came back from Bible study, only to find Mama in her room, weeping piteously into a pillow.
She tentatively touched her mother's hair. Her mother's hair was a rich, vibrant gold, like the sun. Like her hair, Mama was always shining, always warm. Everything seemed to reach for her, grow in her light.
Now, though, she turned slowly to her daughter, and her face was pale and lifeless. She whispered Mama tentatively.
Mama only laughed. There was a heaviness in it, and in gasps between each choking chuckle, she told her that Daddy had left her, left them.
When her mother's words entered her ears, she was silent, leaving her mother to cry and laugh and cry and laugh to herself, as the rain outside joined her, in mockery of her lost sunlight.
A light rain sprinkled the ground the morning she stood before the altar with her groom.
Andy was worried. Earlier, he had prattled on nervously about bad luck and whatnot, but she had only smiled at him. She had assured him that rain meant nothing, was nothing to their future.
She had ignored the IV attached to his arm while she had said this.
Now, he held her hand in his, slipping a gold ring onto her finger. He had a tenuous smile on his face.
Rain spattered against the stained-glass windows, as the minister said he could kiss the bride.
Rain gently pattered, after the funeral, when she was back in her cramped apartment. Joe was there with her, sitting next to her on the plaid, worn couch.
He held her, a young woman clothed in black, the color of mourning, of widowhood.
The color of death.
Her tears soaked his white shirt, darkening it to a gray. He didn't flinch at the wetness. Instead, he stroked her hair, whispering soothing words. Soon, he laid his lips on her hair and was still, waiting for a response.
There were a lot of things she could have done. She could have let him continue to kiss her, this time on her lips. She could have kissed him back. She could have even gone farther, into feelings and emotions and sensations she had only dreamed of experiencing.
She did none of these. Instead, she unwound his arms from around her waist and stood up.
He only watched as she left him there, on the threadbare sofa, as she entered her bedroom. The door sounded with a solid thump as she shut it securely behind her.
Both stared out a window, as the rain seemed to sing to them of loss, not just of life, but also of promise.
It was raining again, this time after her dinner of humiliation, as she stood outside in the pouring wet.
Makeup ran in streams down her face, as her carefully constructed strands of hair were deprived of hairspray and hung in heavy clumps. Her dress, the one she had blown a hundred dollars on, was plastered against her body.
House had gone before her, leaving her alone in a dimly lit room full of soft whispers and light laughter. She had not reacted to his departure at all, no tears, no shouts.
Nothing.
Now, she was outside her apartment building, making no attempt to open the door to let herself inside. Instead, she let the rain scour her, as she raised her arms above her head.
Rain tonight was a cleanser of her shame, of her mistakes. It was her friend.
Rain had always been her companion.
Fin.