The Rainstorm
By
He stared up as the drops fell
towards him. The small amounts of water splashed along his skin, gathering into
rivulets that ran down his neck. He knew he should feel chilled, but he didn’t.
It was an experience he relished, every time he allowed himself the luxury.
Closing his eyes, he marveled at the
illogical action he was now engaged in. Surely anyone who saw him, standing in
the rain, would assume he had a lessened mental capacity. He could only imagine
what the good doctor would say.
Oddly enough, he found that he would
not have minded their criticism. He was used to it. He’d been an anomaly his
entire life—the son of mixed heritage, the outsider, the half-breed. The taunts
from his classmates had strengthened his resolve to prove that he was somehow
more than they; more than Vulcan.
What, then, would they say to see
him now?
It
is illogical to speculate; they are not here.
He raised an eyebrow, secretly
pleased at his solitude. He had not even invited the captain to join him on
this shore leave. He’d insisted on a short stay, planning to return to the ship
tomorrow.
He lifted a hand, holding it palm
up. When he held a handful of water, he would leave this place. He could see
the lightning strikes from behind his closed lids. Thunder clapped, but he did not
react. It was expected in a storm such as this one.
To his dismay, just as suddenly, the
rain stopped. He opened his eyes, looking to his hand. There was only a small
amount there and he allowed it to fall to the ground. The gray sky grew lighter
and the clouds began to retreat. Somewhere, a bird chirped as the storm rolled
away. Sunbeams made warm paths across the dampened grass.
Pulling out the communicator, he spoke the first
words he’d said in days.
“Spock to
As he stood there, watching the
refreshed world coming back to life, Spock shook the water from his hair. He
blinked and felt himself melting away, then reforming on the transporter pads
of his ship. The transporter technician stared at the drenched first officer.
“Sir…?” he said, as if he wanted to
offer a towel.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “A sudden
downpour.”
He left the transporter room to
return to the dry heat of his quarters. The opposing climate seemed somehow
cloying now. Shrugging mentally, he pushed such frivolous thoughts away. His
shore leave was over; he’d done all he’d wanted.
After all, he’d only come for the
rain.
The End
