AFTER THE RAIN (Bonus edition)

3. Bouncing baby panda bears

Marcus only noticed that Stormy wasn't behind him as he was handing his ticket over. He turned to discover (to his absolute irritation) that she hadn't moved. She looked like a mime artist who had frozen into position. Marcus huffed as he put his ticket back in his pocket and broke away from the queue.

But as he moved closer to her, he saw nothing but fear and trepidation etched on her face. For the first time since meeting her, he looked into her eyes. He was both startled and unsettled. She had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen – not a light, insipid green, but a rich, dark emerald green that was intensified by her pale, porcelain skin. And right now, those green eyes were wide and glassy with terror. He held her gaze for a moment as a strange feeling surged through his body and settled in his stomach. His irritation suddenly melted away, giving rise to... to what, exactly? He quickly pushed the unfamiliar feeling aside – he didn't like the unfamiliar.

"Are you coming?" he asked, pointing at the boarding gate.

Stormy blinked several times and then looked up at him like a terrified deer in the headlights. Were those...? Yes, tears had welled up in her eyes. Was she seriously crying? Over a flight? This was ridiculous. She was clearly way too sensitive. Or irrational, or unreasonable or something emotional and womanly like that. Just another thing to add to the list of her most annoying attributes. Saccharine, verbose, nonsensical and overly-sensitive. (And possibly a mime artist.)

"Stormy-Rain... um, Stormy, Rainbow... STORMY..." Shit this was confusing. "There's nothing to worry about, flying is safer than driving."

But as those words had left his mouth, almost as if on cue, tears started streaming down her face. Marcus was not used to open displays of emotion like this, especially in public, and he automatically looked around to see if her meltdown was attracting an audience. The last thing he wanted was to be seen with a crying woman. What would people think?

"If we were meant to fly, we would have been given wings," Stormy said in between slightly breathy whimpers.

"What?" Marcus shook his head, wondering if he'd understood her properly. This was the worst logic he'd ever heard. "If we were meant to travel across the sea, we would have been given gills –" he started to counter her argument, adopting his most reasonable courtroom voice – only he wasn't expecting what came next.

"We do have gills in utero, they just close before we're born."

Marcus stared at Stormy, trying to figure out how the hell he could respond to that. He had no clue. But there was no time to try and figure out how her brain worked – and anyway, even if he had the luxury of an entire decade, he would probably never figure that out. It was clear that she operated on another page – no, perhaps an entirely different book. The gates were closing in five minutes and if he did not get her on the flight, Damien and Lilly would be furious.

"Okay," he half-whispered, hoping that his best attempt at a calm voice would reassure her. "What can I do to help you?"

Stormy immediately extended her hand to him. "Hold my hand, please."

"I... you want me to what?" Marcus could hardly believe that this almost-stranger was asking him to hold her hand. Not something he was used to. Not something he liked. Not something he wanted to do.

"Please..." And then without warning she took his hand and intertwined his fingers through hers.

Her hand was tiny – the smallest he'd ever held. Her wrists were so thin and delicate-looking, like small twigs, and as she stood up, he noticed that her collarbones looked like they could be snapped in a strong breeze. She was just so petite, and something about this seemed to stir another unfamiliar feeling within him. He suddenly thought back to a day when he'd been eight and had rescued a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest. He'd picked it up so gently and cradled it in his hands as if it were the most breakable thing in the world. He'd run home and lined a shoebox with soft towels, and laid the helpless creature down. He'd tried to feed it, but it had refused. He'd sat up with it all night, fervently hoping it would survive. And when it didn't, he had been crushed. He'd held a funeral for it the next day and buried it in his mother's rose garden. He'd wanted so badly to take care of that small, helpless, breakable bird.

"Wait." Stormy abruptly bucked against his hand as he led her towards the boarding gate. Shit, was he going to have to throw her over his shoulder caveman-style and physically carry her onto the plane?

"What now?" Marcus turned to face her just as she slipped her arm around his waist and squeezed. He flinched at the feel of it, especially when she brought her other arm around and locked him in a kind of bear hug.

"Thanks." She looked up at him and smiled gratefully, and he thought about the little bird once again.

It was an awkward way to walk, with her attached to him like a baby joey to a kangaroo, but if that's what it took to get her onto the plane, apart from knocking her over the head and rendering her unconscious, he guessed it was the least he could do for Damien.

***

Stormy felt strangely safe with her arms wrapped around Marcus. He was big, and her arms were barely able to reach around him completely. He was clearly a large, mucho, muscly, manly man. She'd never had her arms wrapped around such a creature before; his type was totally foreign to her. She tightened her grip as they got closer to the gate, and felt him flinch in reaction.

Blocked, grumpy and uncomfortable with touching. His list of not-so-nice attributes was growing rapidly, she thought with slight amusement. No doubt he was a party pooper; he was probably that kid that told your parents if you and your friends snuck a cig and smoked it behind the garden shed. He looked like a grouchy, bad-tempered troll, who was also totally snoring-boring and a killjoy deluxe.

So why had she got a little flutter-fluttering in her stomach when she'd tightened her arms around him? A ting-tingle in her thighs, a sex-sation up and down her spine and a very strong urge to jump his bones? Yup... the stars had been right – oh yes they had – they were definitely sexually compatible. To the max. But if the stars had been right about that, then they were also right about something else – this was a very bad day to fly.

Stormy had no choice but to close her eyes and go to her happy place: rainbows and fresh spring rains, bouncing baby panda bears, flowers and rolling hills, a place where Bambi's mother had lived and fairytales came true.

Marcus finally came to a stop, and Stormy opened her eyes to find herself standing next to her 'seat' – or should she say, a sci-fi space pod. The seats were enormous, and enclosed by a kind of wavy wall that separated you from your neighbor. A giant screen was built into one of the mahogany-lined walls. The pods were all arranged around a big freestanding bar and lounge area. She could only imagine what tickets like this cost – the price tag must have been astrophysically expensive.

This was not an environment she was accustomed to, let alone agreed with. Millions of people in the world were starving, and the price of one of these seats could probably feed a village for a year. This was capitalism at its worst; she did not like to be around injustices like this at all.

But despite herself, and everything she believed in and stood for, she had to admit that the seat was very comfortable. More comfortable than her lopsided futon mattress. Mmmm, she sat and felt the instant pull of unparalleled comfort, extra seat and leg room and fully adjustable reclining position. Okay, so she had started reading the in-flight brochure for business class. The pillow, too, was luscious. Spongy and soft. It cradled her head like a mother might cradle a baby and again, despite herself, she felt the need to nestle. The real clincher, though, was the complimentary freshly-squeezed orange juice she was now being served. It was going down wonderfully, especially with that warm towel. Surrounded by all this cushiness, she could almost forget that she was sitting in a metal can that was about to be catapulted into the open skies. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as she thought?