Rain in LA Part Two: Warm Front by Celli Lane See part one for disclaimers, etc.

...the cold air ahead of a warm front at the surface must retreat before
warm air can move in. Sometimes, cold air is very stubborn and hard to
move, which slows the warm front down...

I could see Michael standing on his balcony. He looked beautiful...and
miserable.

He left Alice. Because of me. For me? He avoided his friends so he
wouldn't have to lie about the time he spent with me. Of all the
sacrifices he'd made since I'd known him--the people, the thought of them, scared me the most.

He gave up the people he depended on so that I could depend on him. How
warped and dysfunctional and, dammit, Vaughn, is that?

He walked back in. I watched the water drip down his arms. I used to
have fantasies about those arms, and I'll never tell him that when he
rolls up his CIA-sanctioned shirtsleeves I lose track of whatever
conversation we're having.

He sat on the bed, looking down at me. I tried to smile at him. "I
have to be back in a little while." Great, Sydney. That ought to
inject a little romance into the--

"Not too soon, I hope." His lips were on my neck, and he leaned more
firmly into me. The water on his skin made it stick to mine, and I had
a brief image of the outline of his body burned onto me.

"No, not too soon," I said through the heat building in my throat. My
arms were around him--although I didn't remember moving them--and the
rain made my hands slip in and out of his hair.

I kissed the top of his head as he moved down to my breast. He smelled
like rain. He smelled wonderful.

His mouth closed around one nipple. I bit down on the stream of
encouragement trying to come from my mouth. I learned a long time ago--
sometime between Noah and Danny--not to talk unless I was in control,
and I was definitely not--

I felt his hands slide down beneath my hips and turn me until my legs
fell off the bed. I pushed up to an almost-sitting position and saw him
kneel between my legs. He was still wearing his wet jeans. I was
helplessly aware that he was staring at my naked body.

Then he looked up at me, and I thought about what he was seeing--eyes
wide, mouth open, hair spilling down my back, knees next to his
shoulders.

He smiled. I watched him lean forward and press an open-mouthed kiss to
the center of my stomach. His hands tightened on my hips; I dropped my
hands to cover his. I lay back and closed my eyes. The tremors
started somewhere inside my bones even before he lowered his mouth to me
again.

"Sydney?"

I was still lying the wrong way across the bed. Michael's arms came
around me from behind.

"Sydney, are you--"

"I'm sorry." I squeezed my eyes shut until I could see rainbows behind
them, but the tears still escaped. "I should go."

"You're crying." He had that helpless male tone that would have made me
laugh under other conditions. "I made you cry."

"No."

"Sydney, please--" I opened my eyes and saw the panicked look on his
face. "Don't cry because of me. For work, for your dad--I never wanted
to make you cry."

"You didn't make me cry. It's just--" I fought, but the sobs were
coming faster and faster. "I'm so, so sorry, Michael. For everything."

I heard his breath catch, and he pulled me up until my face was pressed
to his chest. He let me cry until I trailed off into little sniffles
while he smoothed my hair back and talked nonsense into my ear.

When I was all finished, he'd somehow managed to get both of us under
the covers. I twisted my head so I could look at him. "Thanks."

He smiled a little. "I'm not sorry, okay, Sydney? I'm--I'm just
not."

He pulled me back against him. I could hear him breathing and above that,
the rain. I rested my head on his shoulder and told myself I believed him.

--the end--

Photos from www.abc.com and used without permission.

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