First Rain

Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron. Inspired by a song by Julie Roberts.

Rain on a Tin Roof

When I think of Lance, I always think of rain.

It isn’t because of his eyes. His eyes are the color of the sun-lit sea, of a bright midsummer’s sky, not at all like the grey clouds that were the precursors to a storm.

It isn’t because of his temperament. He’s a little different now, but he used to be brighter than anyone else, with a grin for nearly everyone and what seemed boundless good humor and high spirits. Some of us are more given to brooding or anger, but not him.

It’s simply because the first time I saw him, it was raining.

The heavens had opened up almost without warning, sending everyone on campus scurrying for cover from the deluge. I had ducked beneath an overhang, searching for any shelter at all, not as much for myself as for my book bag, which held all my homework as well as a term paper I’d slaved over for weeks and finally finished the night before. My classes had already ended for the day, and I was headed for one of the computer labs to type it up.

I would have even risked being late for class rather than jeopardize that paper. I remember looking out, watching the rain bucket down and thinking that it might be a while yet before I would be able to leave safely.

Then, suddenly, I was no longer alone in the meager cover afforded by the overhang; another body had crowded in with me, pressing my back even more firmly against the stones of the building, cradling my bag in my arms. The other person shook his head, long sodden locks of hair spraying water wildly. With a wordless sound of protest, I ducked my head, trying to shield both my face and my bag.

“Oh! Sorry, man!” Immediately, there was a hand brushing against my bag, as if to wipe away the droplets that had landed there. “I didn’t mean . . .”

I was mostly successful at holding back an exasperated sigh. “No, it’s all right,” I said somewhat grudgingly. “I juust don’t vant to get my paper wet . . .” When I looked up, I met those blue, blue eyes, bright in his concerned face, almost shining in the gloom, and I was lost.

The rain only lasted a few more minutes, not nearly long enough for me to recover from my stunned silence and stumble into a conversation. As soon as it started to let up, he flashed me his winning grin and dashed away.

Unthinking, I stepped after him, still clutching my bag, watching him disappear across the quad through the thinning drops, as the sun attempted to pierce the dark clouds.

Of course, the paper was ruined after that. But even though all that work was lost, I found that I didn’t mind, that I actually wanted to see him again.

It turned out that he was in my class at the Academy, that he actually attended most of the classes that I was taking . . . when he remembered to show up.

Eventually, I was able to overcome most of my reticence and start talking to him. And we were friends, because everyone who talked to him was a friend. He had one of those light, easy personalities that are the envy of every shy person, the one that seems to attract people without any effort, drawing them in to him like a flame draws moths in and burns them up.

The only ones Lance couldn’t be bothered to get to know were the ones who made no effort to get to know him.

And for a long time, I counted myself lucky that I was part of his circle, even—and I flattered myself—part of his inner circle of friends.

It took a long time, but I did finally realize that the longing I felt when I was around him was something more than just wanting friendship.

I wanted him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him to me, to bury my face in his neck and discover if he smelt like rain.

But I never said anything; I was content to be in his presence, and didn’t want to do anything that might make him leave.

He left anyway, on his first tour.

The first time he came to me, it was raining.

It was the first storm on Arus, with the wind lashing the trees, and the rain running down the windows in rivers, savage and even a little frightening, but . . .uplifting, too, somehow.

I was staring out at the black clouds, letting the storm carry my thoughts away, when I heard him call my name behind me.

In the grey light, he seemed different, insubstantial, an apparition that would fade away if I reached out to him. Red had already burned away everything extraneous in him, and he was a pale flame flickering.

The tour of duty after graduation had changed him, had left a hardened loner in the place of the cheerful and friendly boy he had been. It saddened me, and though I knew I couldn’t bring back that boy, I discovered pieces of him in the man.

And if I was afraid to reach out to him, he was not. The hand he laid on me was warm. “I don’t want to be alone . . . please, Sven . . .” His lips were hot, the kiss he drew me into set me alight.

I let myself believe that he was looking for more than just comfort, that he wanted something more from me than arms to shield him from whatever demons were stalking him. I shouldn’t have, because he never said he loved me, but I fooled myself into thinking that we had a relationship.

It was only when I overheard him use the same line on Keith that I realized the truth. He only wanted someone to reaffirm that he was alive.

The only scrap I could console myself with was that it was me he came to when he was at the lowest point, when he couldn’t see light anymore. I was the one he trusted most, to see him at his most defenseless moments.

So I used my body to ease his pain, and shelter him from the rain in his soul.

It never rained while I was on Doom, but I thought of him often, wrapping myself up in Lance-scented memories and trying to push away the misery of my existence.

And then Romelle came, and reminded me that there was more to the universe that the little circle of pain and despair that surrounded me.

The first time Lance came to me after my return from Doom, the first of the gentle spring showers was washing away the Polluxian winter.

This small cabin had just been completed, and it still smelt of stain and sawdust. I was lying on the bed, feeling lazy and sleepy and grateful that the carpenters had finally gone. I smiled and closed my eyes as the first drops pattered against the roof.

When I opened them again, Lance was there, hair damp and curling, looking down at me with an expression that I had never seen him wear before, his eyes intensely blue and filled with yearning.

My smile widened and I spread my arms, reaching up to him. He responded with an urgency that surprised me, throwing himself down beside me and embracing me almost hungrily.

Though I asked him no questions, he explained why he was there, stammering slightly, his face red as he said that he was out on a long-range patrol.

I said nothing in reply to that, just caressed his cheek and breathed in the aroma of water that clung to him.

He’s visited me often since then. Not all of his visits are heralded by the rain, but it happens often enough.

And that’s why I’m sitting here, face pressed to the glass, trying to look beyond the wall of storm clouds filling the sky.

The rain is beating down now, drumming relentlessly against the roof, hard and loud, so constant that part of me longs to block it out.

But part of me doesn’t.

Because the rain sometimes brings Lance to me.

***

January 1, 2005