The Turnover

Dorothy smiles bitterly, with a hint of sadness, but there is warmth in her eyes as she greets him. "Hello Zechs," she murmurs, and in her way, his name still sounds naughtily delicious. She devours his name, with exuberance, savouring it. Dorothy is past fifty, yet she still draws eyes with her slim, erect figure and the most challenging eyes he's seen since the war.

He nods, and her accepts her old world gesture, when she holds out a hand. Kissing it is courtesy, but she takes far too much pleasure in it.

Leaning forward, she rests the hand against her lips, in a overtly sensual manner. The press have not been kind to her in the past, yet she still acts the same, and Zechs finds himself pleased. The warm hand rests on his forearm, and leads him to a seat. "Zechs, what a pleasant surprise," she says, her head tilting to one side as she regards him with some amusement and curiousity. "It's been some time." She doesn't apologise for calling up on him, he didn't see her ever doing so. "Not since Relena's youngest turned ten?"

"You wore a black dress - vampish, I believe those matrons called you." He adds, remembering in her solidly sexual manner how Dorothy had plucked a cherry, and consumed it whole, swallowing with her eyes intent of the ladies. Zechs could barely contain himself in laughter at the time.

"My darling husband insisted, he does so adore me in black. If those ladies knew what impact he had on my dress, they most likely would suffer a stroke." Her lips crinkle into a familiar line, "But I wouldn't tell them. I like my secrets between friends."

"Yes, there's no doubt that Quatre Winner had deeper depths than most may figure. Past the glamour of who he is."

A proud glint enters Dorothy's eyes, as Zechs mentions her husband. "You're not fooling me, Zechs. I wouldn't come here for chit chat, you despise it as much as I. What reason do you come here? You must have one. You and I were never close, but we stayed acquainted with one another because..." She shrugs, "The past, I suppose. So vulgar, but apt."

"You didn't attend the funeral." It's bluntly said, with some accusation.

"That's true. I barely knew the woman. We knew each other, but like you and I, we were never close. Far more distant, than you and I... Zechs." Red lips part as she sighs, "But you can't be here simply to mutter complaints about me not attending?"

"Noin had been ill for some years," Zechs starts, slowly but steadily. "His death never helped. Maybe, we shouldn't have started so late."

"That would be your fault Zechs, and no one else's," Dorothy remarks not acidly, but with the force of truth. "You took so long to recover."

"He was our first," Zechs says dully, like some oft repeated phrase. "I was only glad, only glad, that he wasn't our last."

"Children can be quite delightful sometimes, can't they?" Dorothy murmurs. "So helpless, so fragile and entirely dependant on you." She tilts her head to one side, doll like, girl like. It's an unconscious gesture and Zechs likes it more than her acts and masks.

"I never figured you would be a mother. You were always so sharp, never maternal." His eyes narrows as he leans back into his seat.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, you and I know both well know that we have both changed since the war. It's strange, but you're the one still remembering the past with this out dated fondness."

"I thought you should have been there," Zechs inserts the words methodically.

A light of understanding enters her eyes. "I see. This is about recognition, is it not? She was never seen as a war hero, but quietly and dutifully took on the job of a soldier, a Preventer. Do you think she wanted more? She loved you Zechs, she was devoted to you. That's what she wanted."

"I loved her, but - "

"You don't think it was enough? Oh Zechs," she runs a hand through her hair, now streaked with silver. "You can be such a man sometimes, waiting until she is dead." She takes a deep breath. "Go home, take care of your children. That is what Noin would have wanted now."

He stills, staring at her with some consternation and surprise. Then his back slouches, and he rocks back on his heels. "Dispensing advice? Should I pay?"

"You couldn't afford me, Zechs. There's only one man that could," she says haughtily. Her left is placed in front of her, Dorothy's two rings glinting. She smiles. "Don't mock me, I'm right, as I always am."

A beautiful woman, and he's no longer surprised that she is also a mother of three and has been more or less married for what must be thirty years.

She viewing him with less humour now, her eyes sizing him up. "But, it's more than that, isn't it? You're mourning for two. Zechs, you don't take death well."

Turning away, as if shamed, he shakes his head. "No, it's not that. At least, I wouldn't come to you, over something like that. She's been dead for a while now, and, I guess this is normal."

"Please don't tell me that you have been jacking off in the showers, because I am simply not interested," Dorothy demands. "The visual... well, Zechs, you're past your prime."

Zechs refuses to comment on that. "You knew them both, what would you have to say?"

Dorothy lowers her eyes and frowns introspectively, "They would be aghast that you would be asking me. I'm not..." she tilts her head to one side, "What most would consider normal. I was... robust as a child."

"You fought battles, Dorothy, and it was almost like it was one big game for you. You had the controls, and didn't see the actual fighting," Zechs remarks.

"And in your suit, you did? War isn't numbers, it's names and faces. We've all changed, Zechs. Noin would have wanted you to take care of your children. I've forgotten their names, but I'm sure you chose well."

"I miss it, sometimes, the thrill."

"We all do, Zechs, but we're middle aged now and supposed to join a bridge club, or something that I would rather kill myself than do." Dorothy says, "Or knit," she shudders.

"I suppose I could take up golfing," Zechs adds, amused. "I could even take the kids..."

"Yes, and you go with my deranged husband. He simply adores the plaids for some reason," Dorothy shakes her head. "He's trying to persuade our youngest. Poor darling."

"Quatre golfs?"

"Unfortunately," Dorothy mumbles, before she looks up and catches Zechs's expression. "Oh, I suppose it's not that bad."

"Hmmm..." Zechs valiantly tries not to laugh, and fails dismally.

"Oh, shut up!"

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