Rain

George came inside, soaking wet. Careful to stay on the rug, he stripped down, placing his dripping clothes into the plastic bag he'd set in the hall (for just such a purpose) and slipping into the robe he'd placed on the coat rack. "Tell me you weren't standing outside in the freezing rain just now," Kris said flatly, watching the whole divestiture maneuver from the kitchen. George smiled and nodded. "You are going to catch your death of cold out there one day," Kris added. "I don't have to catch my death; when it wants to find me, I'm sure that it will have no trouble" George said quietly. "You okay?" Kris asked carefully, holding out a mug of coffee (which George accepted gratefully). "I am now," he said. "When I don't have the words, I know the rain will flush them out." "Will you share them?" Kris asked, intrigued. "Some," came the answer (and the matter was left well enough alone, for it is not the work of love to dispel mystery).