Rain

**I have no idea what it is with me and rain but once again another one-shot inspired by a rainy day.  
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**Set after Dual Destinies and Nick and Polly have been going out a while. Also, I have this head-canon that Apollo isn't 'quite right' after Clay's death which is mostly how this ended up coming about. So he does act kind of insane in part of this.  
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**Final note, there's a lot of stories out there about Apollo's admiration for Phoenix but I decided to give Phoenix's admiration for Apollo a go for once.**

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The first time it happens Phoenix is worried.

Not running over, yelling names and frantically waving his arms worried, but he's been around long enough to know when Apollo starts acting strange it's something to pay attention to. So he watches.

He watches as Apollo freezes half way through his regular run around People Park, sweat trickling down his face and the scars (everywhere, so many, too many) from the courtroom bombing stand out against the flushed skin. Phoenix himself is sitting to the side underneath a tree, already finished his own run, and can't feel the first drops of rain the same way Apollo obviously can, but he hears the bushes rustling around him and guesses what must be happening. If he was with anyone else, Phoenix would already be running for sturdier cover and loudly cursing the fact he was only wearing a t-shirt. But the cessation of movement across the park catches his attention first.

Apollo stands with both feet planted and his hands loose at his sides, head tipped back and face turned up as the first few drops of rain begin to fall. The green-grey dimness of a city park rainstorm slides, liquid and languid, over the planes and angles of his face, highlighting the gold of his skin, the ugly white of his scars and the impossibly vivid brown of his hair.

Like a painting, Phoenix thinks, or some quietly dramatic scene out of a movie. He shifts for a second, the rough bark of the tree digging into his back, but he ignores it because he suddenly feels like he's intruding on something, imposing his presence when it isn't welcome, isn't _right._

With an audible rumble, a clatter of drops on wooden branches and on the dusty ground, the storm breaks. It feels like a physical shattering, the sky falling to pieces as water sheets down over them, rattling the leaves of the trees and drenching both men in seconds. Out in the middle of the field, Apollo blinks like it's a surprise, like the clouds haven't been threatening since yesterday, and then he does something Phoenix doesn't expect.

He smiles.

He lifts his face to the sky again, tips his head back until the pounding rain is running down his throat, soaking his hair, and then he laughs. The smile becomes a grin and the laughter grows brighter, bolder, and Phoenix just stares at the madman in the rain, so content even though Phoenix can't quite see anything to be so happy about.

Nevertheless, it's with a faint smile of his own (because Apollo's smile will always do that) that Phoenix stands from the rapidly softening ground and makes his way through the drenching rain, ignoring the immediate soaking. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants to retain some sort of warmth and meanders up to stand beside Apollo who's still grinning.

"Like the rain?" He asks and his voice is about the only part of him that's dry.

Shaking his sodden hair out of his face, Apollo turns his smile on Phoenix. His brown eyes (like sunlight shining through whiskey) seem even more purely coloured than usual in the dim-light, full of something unnervingly close to wonder. "Yes," He says unreservedly. "It's… look at it over the city – it's beautiful."

Phoenix blinks, looking down at his lover, then turns towards the view of the city around them, trying to see what Apollo does. A moment of disassociation, of straining his eyes, and Phoenix is just about to give up when something sudden clicks into place. His gaze shifts, refocuses, and suddenly he can see the way the water bounces and the light reflects creating halos around everything. He can see the leaves shine, impossibly green, and feel the freshness in the air and smell the dusty earth as it soaks up the moisture and turns to a rich, dark brown.

"Ah," He says in surprise and Apollo laughs at him. "Yes," Phoenix agrees and it's softer this time. Sweeter. "It's beautiful."

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The next time it happens, Phoenix has forgotten about the first time.

It's not that he lied when he said he saw the beauty Apollo did. But rain to Phoenix has always meant sad, cold and lonely, and a few moments of wonder could do nothing to change that, especially when Apollo was sick in bed for the next few days (Phoenix _told _him to hurry up and get inside but the younger man had only laughed and seemed more insane than normal – 'normal' being the way he's been acting ever since Clay died). Rain was an inconvenience, a catalyst for depressing thoughts and a background melody for the nights where they would cling to each other and try to fight off the nightmares and the dark.

Phoenix had forgotten its beauty a long time ago.

He isn't thinking about this on the drive home. It's been a long day, he's still fairly new to driving, he's exhausted and it's all he can do to focus on the road. Beyond the pathetic reach of the headlamps and the dreamlike glow of the streetlights the darkness smothers everything. Once or twice Phoenix can feel himself drifting into it before jolting awake, his grip on the wheel tightening and cold sweat trickling down his temples. Apollo is slumped over in the passenger's seat, eyelids drooping and Phoenix knows the brunette would have passed out by now if he didn't feel guilty about leaving Phoenix stuck being awake. As it is, there's no way he can drive instead, doesn't even have a driver's license, and Phoenix forces himself to focus because he _will not _be responsible for hurting Apollo when he's so hurt already (and not just physically). So yes, it's dark, he's exhausted, he's not even driving his own car (when Ema found out it needed repairs and the crime scene was so far away she'd practically shoved her old pickup truck on them), and all he can think is _bed _and _sleep _and _focus for fuck's sake pay attention _he'll keep driving keep driving.

The rain comes as if from a dream. One moment it isn't raining. The next it is.

Phoenix doesn't hold back his groan because really in the state he's in this is the last thing they need. He fumbles around the wheel for a few seconds but _thank god _finds the windscreen wipers quickly and turns them on. The motion, like a pendulum, lulls him closer to sleep and he shakes his head to snap out of it, noticing Apollo in the process.

The younger man has perked up, his eyes fully open for the first time in hours and a small smile dances across his face as he gazes at the water with something akin to fondness on his face. Phoenix's own mind kicks into a slightly higher gear in interest. He wants to ask what is going through Apollo's head, but the silence is no longer just silence. There's something else in it now, something he isn't allowed to remove, and that's why even when Apollo shifts into the middle seat, slides open the back window and pulls himself out, Phoenix does little more than turn and raise an eyebrow.

Apollo grins in reply and moments later his whole body is outside in the rain and he's carefully balancing himself upright on the slippery metal of the tailgate, Phoenix turns on the interior light so he can watch Apollo in the rear-view mirror and instantly loses all the breath in his body.

They tease Apollo often about sharing a name with a Greek god but in that moment Phoenix forgets why they ever doubted the suitability of the title. The way he looks at that moment with his arms spread, skin shining, hair flying back, eyes alight and mouth open wide as the rain soaks him and the light reflects off him and he's so bright it's like looking at the sun—

Then Phoenix jolts again and his eyes focus on the road. He breathes again and exhaustion returns. It's a good minute or two before he allows himself to look back and it's just Apollo standing in the rain (cold, dark and lonely) and smiling like he's flying instead of standing on the back of an old pickup in the middle of a dark city while the man he loves drives and both of them want nothing more than their bed. But Apollo doesn't stop smiling so Phoenix doesn't either.

His opinion on the rain still doesn't change, but Phoenix never thinks that Apollo looks anything other than beautiful in the rain.

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The third time it isn't the third time. It's many times after that but Phoenix chooses to remember this one.

It's the middle of the night and this time they're home and in bed. Well, Phoenix is at least. He wakes up and is instantly aware of the lack of a warm body pressed against him. Within seconds he's sitting upright and scanning the room for any signs of his lover, and what he sees is familiar even if he still doesn't understand it, so he finds himself content in simply observing.

Apollo is perched sideways on the window sill, one leg hanging off into the room and the other curled up to his chest, little more than a silhouette while a ring of fire protrudes from his mouth and smoke curls up around his face and into the room, reaching Phoenix's nose in a sharp acrid scent that will fill the room for the next few hours. It's raining outside but for once Apollo isn't allowing himself to be drenched by it. As Phoenix's eyes adjust to the darkness, he vaguely makes out an assortment of cups placed haphazardly on the narrow ledge outside which catch the rainwater and fill just a little more every second. It's cold and Phoenix shivers as his bare chest rises in goose bumps, but he waits patiently for the younger man to finish in his own time.

The ritual (Phoenix doesn't know when he started calling it that or even why but he doesn't know how else to describe it) has happened a few times over the past couple of months and usually Apollo is in one of _those _moods when sometimes it's best even Phoenix leaves him alone. Apollo will return when he's ready and there's no need to rush that.

And while he waits Phoenix wonders if he'll ever understand.

Finally, Apollo makes a movement outside of breathing or blowing out smoke, instead reaching for the cigarette in his mouth and carelessly throwing it into the storm beyond. With another swift movement he grabs one of the cups and holds onto it as he shuts the window and turn to look at Phoenix. The older man smiles even though he's pretty sure Apollo can't see it. Its meaning is in the air and sometimes that's enough.

"It was raining the night I first talked to Clay," Apollo's voice is raspy from lack of use but Phoenix focuses on it as soon as it registers in his mind. Apollo has never said anything during these nights. Phoenix isn't complaining. When the younger man next speaks his voice is little more than a whisper, and the tone is one of mixed nostalgia and sadness that makes Phoenix's heart ache. "He mentioned he was upset because he couldn't see the stars and I told him I loved the rain. I used to think it was clean. I always thought there must be something wrong with me since my mom abandoned me, no foster families ever wanted me, I barely had any friends… but the rain washed the wrongness away. I thought it was the cleanest thing on Earth. It could even clean me…"

Phoenix offers no response (what the hell is he supposed to say?) and feels the knowledge of the identity of Apollo's birth mother weigh heavily on his shoulders as for the millionth time he wishes he could tell the younger man the truth. Tell him there's nothing wrong with him, he's perfect the way he is. But it isn't his secret to tell. So he continues to watch as Apollo contemplates the cup and the rainwater inside. In the end his curiosity gets the better of him (because that has never _not _happened) and Apollo takes a not-so-tentative gulp. Once it's down his throat and gone the younger man is moving again, setting down the cup, crawling onto the bed and leaning over Phoenix's face. It's so clear what he wants it's almost funny.

Phoenix cocks his head to the side and, while he really doesn't mind, he decides to argue so that he has at least some control over the situation. "Really?"

"Mmhmm." Apollo sounds from his throat, breath warm on Phoenix's lips even though the rest of his body is freezing. Phoenix fakes an eye-roll that moves his entire head, but before Apollo can retort Phoenix is burying his hand in his lover's deep brown tresses and crushing their lips together. Instinct takes over as heat spreads over his body and their bare chests press against each other, and he slides his tongue into Apollo's mouth as the younger man obediently allows access and keeps in time to the dance of tongues Phoenix is leading.

He smiles into Apollo's mouth when he finds the taste of what must be rainwater is definitely not clean. It's not inherently dirty either. Just damp, unfamiliar and reminds Phoenix of the earth after a storm. It doesn't do much to cover the taste of smoke, but it's something new and bother men know that new isn't always synonymous with _stop it go away let me be comfortable with what I know._

When they finally part their both panting and lust is rising and at some point Phoenix rolled over so he's on top of Apollo. He shivers as Apollo's fingers comb through his spiky black hair (the younger man's always been fascinated by it) and decides he most definitely doesn't mind Apollo kissing him after a mouthful of who-knows-what's-in-it rainwater.

Maybe it's strange, maybe it's just another weird way of grieving for Clay, but no-one in the Wright Anything Agency ever claimed to be normal. There's no point in questioning any of it.

Apollo will always be fascinated by the rain. Phoenix will never pretend he completely understands.


End file.
