Disjointed, non-sense-making Jarod/Miss Parker fic featuring far too much weather.

She Finds Him



She only finds him when it’s raining. Maybe she thinks he can’t see the tears then, he ponders.

He runs and she chases. In a life full of complications, that’s the only simple thing…

“I love you.”

Three little words. They’ve toppled empires, destroyed lives, saved others and caused more havoc than anything else.

“No, you don’t.”

Three more words to add to those that hang between them.

“I do.”

It’s always raining when she leaves him.

“Do you ever think about this thing between us?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“No. I’m not.”

And she wasn’t.

Maybe there was once a reason he only called at night.

He watches her in graveyards (full of such colour you'd never expect) in the sunshine, the flowers bloom and die as she brings them and takes them from the gravestones. She knows he’s watching as she sits in front of Tommy’s grave. Not bothered to fight with him or argue.

He doesn’t know what to feel about that.

When she visits on rainy nights, she doesn’t say a name when she comes. Her eyes closed tightly her breath coming shallow she lets out a gasp of air that maybe, once, was a word.

He calls out her first name realises this really isn’t the little girl he knew.

She complains her life was neat and orderly until he came; he says it was empty but can’t look her in the eyes as he says this.

He visits her on a starry night and finds another man beside her. Next time it rains she visits him.

“What do you call this,” he asked.

“Nothing, I call it nothing.”

“And me?”

Whatever answer she had left with her.

“You run, I chase, just like always.”

“Not enough,” he hisses.

“It’s as close as we’ll get.”

“Leave.”

She does. It isn’t raining outside.

Sydney always gives advice on bitter evenings and chilly nights. Sydney has no words for Jarod neither tonight, nor tomorrow or the day after.

“Something’s have no explanation, Jarod,” he says as though that was the answer he’d been searching for.

Jarod says, “Goodbye,” and Sydney wonders if he means it.

He visits her at dawn for it seems the only time he’s never seen her.

She cries when he arrives and lets him see the tears.

“Come with me,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“The scrolls ... my mother ... your parents ... The Centre--” it comes out as a rush, all the things holding them apart.

He dismisses them with a wave of his hand, “come with me,” he says.

“That’s not-”

He kisses her and his face is wet with her tears.

They leave at first sunlight.

“I love you,” he once said.

Once she replied, “You’re a fool.”

“Maybe,” he once admitted, and kissed her.

Now Broots leaves fresh flowers on their graves. He doesn't know if their empty but never had the strength to try and find out.