Red Box With Gray Sky For Black Tears
By Missy

TITLE: Red Box for Gray Sky with Black Tears
PARTS: One of One
Fandom: Laverne and Shirley
RATING: PG
DISTRIBUTION: To Kai, Lauren, FG, LAS Archive. Any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine. Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"
Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

CATEGORY: Lenny/Laverne
PAIRINGS: See above
TIMELINE: Milwaukee, Post the episode "Lenny's Crush"; invented cannon.
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Rainy afternoons can leave awful recriminations, can't they?

***

She didn't want him to make her care.

Sadly, that was his gift; with those puppy-dog eyes and that trembling lip. He didn't even have to work hard at it.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe there was some kind of awful flaw inside of her that made her vulnerable to sleazy types.

If she wanted to be honest with herself, she would realize, perverse as he could be, he was too innocent to be truly perverse.

Squiggy? Squiggy was the pervert. Maybe it was because they were always at his hip. That was what made him look so awful by comparison.

Why was she trying to rationalize it to herself?

Because you kissed him.

She groaned to herself. That had happened before. Too many times. So she was justified in pecking him back. In lying flat on her back on this couch, staring at the ceiling.

She rubbed her mascara-stained face against a "Hi, Sailor" pillow.

When had she started to cry?

He wasn't worth crying over; neither was their...relationship, friendship, whatever it could be called. It hadn't changed one bit since they were thirteen. It was childish, and juvenile. Hormonal.

Loving.

Laverne groaned to herself; she couldn't let him become a vital part of her life.

But her lips burned where he had kissed her. And she could still feel the harsh bristle of mock-velveteen of the sofa on the back of her neck. Where he had pushed her against the sofa...

Her faith had been challenged. Maybe she wasn't meant to marry a fireman or sailor. Maybe there was more to love than just the skin.

She rolled over, staring through the street-level windows. They gave the little apartment life, proved to her that there was a world outside of this little red-colored tomb.

But the rain thrummed. Her heart rumbled.

And her tears rolled down, like rain through a gutter.