Title: The Smell of Rain
Author: Vesper (Regina)
E-mail: vespertanmer@yahoo.com
Warnings: none
Category: Movie-fic, "Sabrina"
Summary: "Do you remember a rainy afternoon we spent together?"
Flashback.
Disclaimer: These characters were created by Samuel Taylor, made
famous by Billy Wilder and brought to life by six wonderful
actors, in two delightful movies. This fic is based on the
Harrison Ford and Julia Ormond version. I most definitely do not
own these characters.
Archival: If you wish to archive, please link to my website.
Please keep all my headers intact.
Notes: I finally wrote it.

*

"Do you remember a rainy afternoon we spent together?"

She asks it as if all the nothing they had between them _were_
nothing, as if they had a lifetime of memories to share. He
thinks this beyond ironic, but her soft voice, as open as her
nature, draws him in.

Do you remember? He can count on one hand the number of times
Sabrina has crossed his path, yet this one time she's prompting
him to recall isn't one of them. Something stirs at the back of
his mind when she mentions David's lesson--impressions of loud,
cracking thunder and the sharp smell of incipient rain, of turning
on a lamp to shed light in the middle of the afternoon, the sky
grown dark as twilight.

Linus begins to remember.

It was a rare afternoon, one where he was home, working, instead
of the office, working. He'd just begun to build the Larrabee
empire on the foundation of the small kingdom his father had left,
and there was little time for anything else. Even then, he
realizes, he was beginning to earn his reputation and he cringes
again from the sting of Sabrina's words.

He remembers now. He remembers walking into a room, intent on
finding a folder of papers his mother had left for him to peruse.
Before he had the chance to turn on the light he heard a small
whimper. He knew who it was. There was only one person who would
make that noise--the chauffeur's daughter, who, despite
Fairchild's efforts to curb her, still tended to pop up in the
oddest spots. It wasn't strange to see her perched in a tree, as
he'd occasionally seen her, but to see her in the house was
another matter. Fairchild was old-fashioned enough to instill in
his daughter the ancient concept of separation of master and
servant, and for the most part, she adhered to it. He wondered
why she was here, now.

He flipped the switch that lit the lamp up and in the consequent
shadows it took him a moment to place her in the room, until he
reminded himself he was looking for a child and glanced down. She
looked up at him, from the floor next to a sofa, cradling her
hand, her eyes large and moist in her face. She said, her voice
trembling, "I was struck by lightning."

She didn't say anything else, just looked up at him, those brown
eyes set in her tiny drawn face, and Linus felt something flutter
in his chest. He'd seen her on the grounds, a tag-along behind
her father, but he'd never really paid attention to her. She was
simply the chauffeur's daughter. He'd had no reason to.

He wasn't even sure if he knew her name. It was something
unusual, that he knew. He'd heard it enough--Fairchild was quite
proud of his little girl--he should be able to remember.

She was still looking at him, a scared, crumpled, wide-eyed child,
expecting him to do something. He had no idea what. This was out
of his league, to take care of a six-year-old girl who was mutely
staring at him, with unblinking eyes. He looked back, unable to
think of anything to say. He didn't know how long they stayed
that way, until thunder sounded with all the noise and fervor of
an avalanche of boulders rumbling and tumbling to a crashing heap.

She recoiled, and her gaze broke from his, darting frantically
toward the window, where rain began to pelt, sounding like so many
pebbles thrown against the glass. Linus moved, looking toward the
window himself, and Sabrina, that was her name, nervously glanced
back at him.

Of course, she had no reason to trust him and every reason to fear
him, alone in this large house, with the wind rattling against the
house outside and the dark threatening shadows of this room
inside. No reason, except that he really didn't want her to be
afraid, of anything.

He said so.

She again said nothing, just held his gaze, her small shoulders
moving up and down, her breathing dangerously close to hyper-
ventilation. He was sure that if his hearing were any better he
would have heard her heart beating faster than a bird's.

"Come on," he said, and motioned to her. "Stand up, Sabrina. Sit
on the couch."

He tried to keep his voice as soothing as possible, but he was too
used to giving commands and he could still hear that harshness in
his tone.

She did as he asked and primly sat on the edge of the couch.
Linus felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Something her mother
must have taught her before she died. She looked equally at home,
perched there, as she did sitting in a tree.

He sat down in front of the desk that occupied the space in front
of the large windows and they went back to staring at each other.

He said, forcing his tone softer, "Tell me what happened."

Her eyes grew even wider, and he wondered how that was possible.
He could see the uncertainty there, her reluctance to speak to
him. Her chin trembled, but she said,"I, I tried to turn on the
light, b-but it hurt me." She paused, then continued with utmost
certainty, "It was lightning."

Just a little shock. She'd be all right. He smiled at her as
reassuringly as he could and asked, "Does it still hurt?"

She shook her head.

"Where's your father?"

She drew a deep breath. "In town, with Mrs. Larrabee and David."

He narrowed his eyes at her familiar use of his brother's name
then let it go. What was she supposed to call him? Mr. Larrabee?

He said, "You can stay here, until your father gets back."

She nodded. Strangely, she didn't take his comment as permission
to wander the house, but stayed on the sofa. She was quiet enough
that if he hadn't known she was there, he would have felt he was
alone.

She only left the sofa once, to browse along the bookshelves in
the room. When she sat down again, and he saw the spine of the
book, he was amused to notice that it was far out of her age
group, but as long as it kept her occupied.... He spent the rest
of the afternoon alternating between watching her and examining
the reports Maude had left him.

Occasionally the thunder would rumble and he would look up to meet
those wide eyes again, and he would see her face tighten, but she
never screamed or cried. Eventually the storm passed over, the
thunder stopped, and he heard the wheels of the limo trundling
over the pavement outside. He looked up from his printouts at
Sabrina, whose concentration was solely on the book. He said,
"Your father's home."

She looked up at him, gave him a slightly quavery smile and slid
off the couch, carefully placing the book on a nearby stand. She
whispered, "Thank you, Linus," and slipped out the door. He sat
behind the desk, the reports forgotten. When he heard Maude
Larrabee's voice ringing through the halls, calling his name, he
flinched.

That had been ages ago, he thinks, and wonders how he ever forgot,
and then wonders why she remembered. It was so long ago, she
should have forgotten.

He tells her she was brave.

She tells him she was afraid of him.

This twists in his gut. To have his suspicions confirmed in that
voice, soft with remembered fear...he doesn't like it. He doesn't
like the way she's so gently brutal in her honesty, the way it
tears into his heart. He has one, after all, no matter what
anyone else says. When he tries to laugh it off, it sounds weak
in his ears.

She's no longer that little girl. She's a woman now, but she
hasn't lost the innocent ability of a small child to cut with a
careless remark. She's no longer six, and he's no longer thirty-
one, but the years haven't made much difference. She may have
come back with all her long hair cut, and an air of sophistication
as fresh as the smell of rain, but she still makes him feel out of
his league.

He doesn't like it.

End.