Revelations
By Isis
Chapter 7
"Good morning, Sir," the butler greeted Davonte at the door.
"Morning," he replied, not sure he could put the "good" on the front of that. "Has the Lady of the house started without me?"
The elder man shook his head. "No, Sir. Lady Dorothy has not been down yet this morning."
He raised an eyebrow and then glanced at his watch.
"Should you need assistance?"
"No, thank you," he stated off hand. "My crew should be along shortly."
The butler nodded and led him back to the ballroom entrance. "Excuse me, Sir."
"Thank you. Well, I suppose I'll have to start the clean up without her," he said, walking a few paces into the room. Pausing, he waited a moment until the click of the man's dress shoes echoed far enough down the hallway. "…Or not."
Backpedaling out into the hall again, he glanced both ways to be sure the coast was clear and then quickly turned and moved off towards the West wing. If he had to be up at the un-godly hour of ten o'clock after a night like that, she certainly would be too.
Checking for any of the house's workforce, he slipped up the wing's stairs to the third floor. He paused a moment when he found the hallway lined with doors of guestrooms, searching his memory for where to go from here. He walked down the hall to a side corridor blocked by a set of double doors. That should be right.
Opening one quietly, he peeked in, finding the large sitting area of the West wing's "apartment" that was set into one of the turret-style attachments at the back of the estate. The enclosed set of rooms gave a much more livable area for the immediate family that had resided in the gigantic castle of a house.
There was no one in sight and he slipped in, pushing the door closed behind him. With no one but Dorothy still… well, alive enough to use the space, this shouldn't be hard.
He walked over to one of the side doorways surrounding the rounded room's walls, and knocked on it. He waited, but there was no reply. He was sure that this was the right room… although it had been a number of years since he'd had cause to slip up here.
Not that he ever had cause then exactly either…. Oh well.
Finally growing impatient, he opened the door a crack and peeked in, hoping he wasn't going to catch her in anything more revealing than her pajamas… although teasing her mercilessly would be fun.
What he found was the room put together just as it should have been. At first he assumed he had the wrong room and this was still laid out for guests. But on closer inspection he found her luggage stashed in the corner, and a pile of clothes tossed beside the bed. The hangers and wrappings that her costume had come in were piled into a sitting chair next to the windows.
Well, he had the right room. But the bed was still neatly made, and it was obvious that no one had slept in it last night.
Frowning, he again made sure that her luggage was still there, and the vanity on the opposite wall was still littered with an assortment of girly products. Her bathroom door was open, and there was no one inside, her closets were closed….
"Where are you?" he asked out loud.
No one answered him, and he decided against invading her privacy any more. Closing her door, he moved to the next room, the actual master bedroom, so to speak. Perhaps she had been nostalgic for her grandfather after the torrent of comments made about him last night.
Worry crept in as he turned the handle and quietly looked around the room as well. There were no signs that anyone had entered the place in the two years since the Duke had passed away.
For lack of anything else to do, he checked the other three rooms around the apartment and still found nothing. Had she not gone to sleep last night? If he had to search every room in the chateau this was going to take forever.
Slipping back out of the apartment, he began his search through the hallways at least, wondering where she could possibly be. Getting to the ground floor again, he checked the kitchen, the dinning rooms, the porch areas facing the lake behind the building; he even checked the assortment of sitting rooms, and library studies.
He even specifically checked the practice room and ensured that all of the fencing foils were lining the wall, as they should be.
"Where the devil…?" he muttered to himself.
Finally, all but at a loss, he crossed into the music room, set across from the wing's receiving room. And there he finally found her, although he almost wished he hadn't.
Apparently none of the house servers had been by here to notice that their Mistress was seated in a plush chair, turned so she could stare out the South windows onto the balcony and the decorative lake beyond. Her shoes were kicked off beside the chair, and her feet were tucked under her, hidden under the mass of folds from her costume she still wore from the night before.
The terrible, Miss Havisham type of display stilled him in the doorway, afraid to break whatever spell had been placed over her.
She obviously didn't notice him, and he wasn't sure if she was asleep in the chair. The poor thing looked for the world like one of his paintings, a capture of some distressed maiden trapped blindly in her thoughts.
Shaking it off, he moved forward, bent on waking her at least enough to find out what was so terribly wrong that she'd spent the night here of all places. "Dorothy?" he asked softly, not wanting to startle her.
"Davonte? Good morning. I didn't realize you were here already," came the obviously awake and alert reply.
He stopped halfway to her in the large, mostly empty room, as she rose and turned to greet him. She held herself straight, and she looked no worse for wear, as she smoothed down the lines of her crumpled gown.
"I've decided where to hang your present."
The president's desk was scattered with an assortment of piles of various forms, reports and data disks. But still the young man seated in the chair was faced away from the desk and towards the wall of glass behind it.
Quatre was, quite honestly, bored. He hated to use that expression, especially when there were things that he could be doing. But at the moment, none of it was pressing, and none of it held any form of interest to him whatsoever. A few nagging problems here and there, an assortment of people to contact again, blaa blaa blaa.
It was getting very old in a hurry. So, he was taking a break, staring out the window at the gentle incline of the colony, and letting the piles fend for themselves for a few minutes.
…And then there was the ever-present phone, which of course chose this moment to ring.
He bit back a sigh and spun his chair back to face his desk. "Quatre Winner," he answered.
"Good afternoon, Master Winner. Your secretaries are getting better at recognizing my voice. I think I'm going to have to become a bit more subtle."
Quatre broke a happy smile. "Lady Catalonia, subtlety is not your style," he teased, more than happy to hear from her again. It had been literally months since he'd seen her, and phone conversations were a rarity between them, mainly due to their time differences…. "Good afternoon…." Remembering the last time he got an afternoon call from her, he sobered. "You're not across the street again, are you?"
There was laugh from the other end of the line. "No, of course not."
He relaxed with a sigh.
"I'm downstairs in your lobby."
"What?" he started.
The giggle continued. "Well, you know how bad I am at calling beforehand."
He shook his head with a smile. Same ol' Dorothy. "Well, since you're here, you may as well come up."
"Well, I don't want to impose. I was wondering if you were free for dinner this evening," she returned.
His smile slipped off as quickly as it came. "No, I'm sorry. I have a dinner meeting tonight with a supplier," he admitted, feeling guilty for having to say it.
"Oh, well, I suppose that should teach me," she mused, at least not sounding heartbroken about it.
"But you're here already," he rushed, standing up to lean over the phone. "Please come up at least. Are you only on colony for today?"
She hummed at him a moment. "Well, my addiction to caramel lattes hasn't been satiated yet…" she thoughtfully replied.
Quatre had to keep himself from laughing in her ear. "I'll promise you as many as you want."
"Well, that is appealing, but I really don't want to take you away from your work. And, honestly, I don't need to trouble you."
He rolled his eyes. "Dorothy, I would hate to have to call my security in order to get you into the elevator. You do tend to stand out in a crowd, you know." She laughed again, and he couldn't help but smile. "Besides, work today hasn't exactly held my interest," he confided.
"Your negotiating is getting better, Master Winner."
"I'm learning," he teased. "Now, please, walk over, get in the elevator, punch in floor 178 and get up here."
"As you wish," she mock-sighed.
He shook his head again. "I'll meet you at the elevators."
"Alright, alright, I'm going. But don't blame me when you don't get anything done today."
He looked down at the piles of things on his desk. "Well… what else is new?"
The two hung up without preamble and he grabbed a few of the stacks and bunched them a little more neatly on one corner. He quickly threw away the cups at the top of his desk, and then realized he was being paranoid.
Leaving his suit jacket on the chair, he left his office and walked through the maze of his receptionists. Stepping out into the hallway to the rest of the floor, he casually passed through the rows of offices and rooms, and into the central lobby, which was identical to every other floor in the building.
Here he waited, almost in solitude as the rest of the building crawled along with the workday. The elevator in the center of the row buzzed quietly just before the doors opened to reveal the lone passenger.
Dorothy stepped off with a smile to him, attired in a simple black skirt and a long-sleeved, white wrap-around shirt. He couldn't help but think that they couldn't have matched better if they'd tried, considering his black slacks and white dress shirt.
"Well, aren't we cute," she quipped. Reaching him, she easily slipped into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He chuckled at her, returning the hug, and letting himself enjoy the feel of her for a moment. "It's been too long," he said quietly, meaning it whole-heartedly.
"Yes, it has." She didn't release him right away, and there was something in her tone that nagged at him a bit. But as she finally pulled back, he brushed it off. "Now then, how about showing me what a multi-billion dollar presidential office looks like?"
The mischief in her eyes would have been frightening if he wasn't so used to it by now. "I think you need to read your stock reports better."
"Oh, what's a few hundred million between friends?" she said as she comically waved it off.
He turned on his heel before waving a hand in front of him. "Ladies first."
Walking her back down the main hallway, she admired the place… and Quatre noted a collection of employees admiring her back. Not exactly knowing how to take that, he simply kept quiet as he slowly circled her around the floor, giving the grand tour. By the time they circled all the way around, there seemed to be a substantial amount of workers discussing things out in the hallway.
Granted, Dorothy wasn't helping herself any. Her skirt fell only a few inches longer than her hair, which meant almost to her knees, and was by no means immodest, but it wasn't… typical office attire for many of the women around here. Her shirt exposed nothing but her neck and hands, but it tucked around enough curves to be… appealing.
And Quatre mentally slapped himself. Hard.
Yeah, he was a fine one to be annoyed with his workers right now. He off-handedly answered one of her comments, all the while praying she wouldn't notice the small blush he knew was staining his cheeks.
Instead, he led her into his office and receptionist suite, closing the door on a hallway comically clustered with business suits. He really needed to start re-thinking where he could take her in public.
Introducing her to his three receptionists, she exchanged pleasantries with them about having faces to put with the names. Always the people person, she gracefully excused herself and he ushered her back to his office, and closed the door behind them.
"Well, everyone seems friendly around here," she commented as she scanned the room. Stepping up to the wall of glass behind the desk, she folded her arms in front of her. "Now, this is a view." Turning back, she smiled over her shoulder, "I'll take it."
He chuckled at her and stepped up to lean against his desk behind her. "I have a nice office, with the same view, ready and waiting any time you want it."
She hummed to her herself, taking in the sights. "Catch me on the right day, and you may have to eat those words."
It was the first time she'd ever made even a remotely positive response to that question, but he brushed it off. "Never. You think I'm kidding, but I'd hand this stuff over to you in a heartbeat."
She spun around with a chuckle. "Still not getting cozy with the paperwork side of things?"
He sighed and shook his head. "I'm beginning to have my doubts that I ever will."
"Quatre, dear, you're still missing the point," she lectured, pacing her way to circle the room. "You are the president of the company. You hold ultimate control over the workforce, and therefore, the job descriptions." She pinned him with a look over one shoulder. "That includes your own."
He blinked at her. "I can't just pile this on someone else and leave for the resorts."
She continued her scrutiny of his bookshelves and wall art. "No. But you can create a position that redistributes you to a more enjoyable placement."
"Say that again?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Make someone else do the paperwork so you can do something you like," she rephrased.
He mentally sighed, "Why can't you just say it like that the first time?"
She shrugged, "I'm studying for my bar exams."
He laughed at her before shaking his head. "I'm sorry I asked." Turning back, he watched her meander around the room. "So, do I owe the pleasure of this visit to something in particular?"
She paused a second but then seemed to think better of it. "Not really. It's just been a while. And I was… lonely," she winked at him and he cringed despite himself.
"I'm not sure I believe that."
She shook it off with a laugh. "Besides, a little bird told me you were going to be on colony for the rest of the week."
When did he ever get off colony anymore? "Did this 'little bird' happen to be about six foot seven, two hundred fifty pounds?"
She mockingly considered it a moment as she finished her search of the room and sauntered back to him. "No, I'd say more like five foot ten, with a fixation for sunglasses."
"Good help is hard to find," he muttered.
"Good friends are harder."
Quatre sat, pleasantly discussing the broader points of a business deal with Mr. Arthur Nickels, and his daughter, and resource supervisor, Jesimae. And something told him that a large part of this deal was centered around Miss Jesimae, rather than her father.
In all truth, he wasn't really paying attention anyway. The group had decided against talking about any of the details and therefore it was mostly chitchat. He found himself antsy and he was growing more and more uncomfortable staying with the two any longer.
He had finally declined dessert or coffee, stating that he had another business associate to meet with this evening. It was true…mostly. Politely excusing himself, he treated the group himself, asking the Maitre d' to look after them personally. He however, was out the door and his mind was already elsewhere.
Dorothy had been acting oddly, and the more he thought back on it, the more he had started to worry himself. He had grudgingly kept his appointment with the Nickels tonight, mainly at her request. She was always concerned over his business relations, and she wouldn't hear of him postponing for her.
He, in turn, had made her promise to at least stay the night and allow him a little time to catch up with her. It wasn't until then that she had cracked just a little. Sensing something was wrong he'd attempted to ask her about it, but she'd waved it off, saying that she would tell him about it later.
He'd taken it that there was something weighing on her mind, and that her visit wasn't as random as usual. He was beginning to wonder just how naïve that had been.
Dorothy was not the type to hunt down someone to spill her troubles out to, least of all when it involved several hours of travel time. If she had honestly come for a sympathetic ear… well, he wasn't sure what that would mean. It wasn't something he would have ever expected from her.
The worry lingered in him, growing little by little all evening, especially since they had been apart. Something nagged at him, snippets of her words or actions kept coming back to make him realize that she wasn't her usual self.
He drove home, silently wondering if she'd really let him in far enough to tell him what was troubling her.
His butler met him at the door and informed him that Dorothy was situated and was waiting for him in the sitting room. He found her lounging on the couch, her feet bare as her legs stretched out over the cushions, and a book in her lap.
She propped up her chin with her hand and looked like she could fall asleep any moment. That was no surprise considering that it should be the early hours of the morning for her back home. Quietly closing the door, he walked up to her, only getting an acknowledgement once he was a few paces away.
Dorothy closed her book and looked up with a smile. "How were your dinner guests?" she asked.
"Well received," he answered. She really did seem tired. "You shouldn't have waited up."
She waved it off. "What kind of guest would I be if I didn't?"
He slipped his suit jacket off and draped it on the chair beside her, taking a rather undignified seat on the coffee table in front of her instead. "You know you're more than a guest."
She batted her eyes, "Don't make me blush, Master Winner."
"That'd be a first," he smiled.
She favored him a chuckle, "So you think." He blinked at her, but couldn't come up with a single time that he'd ever seen her blush over anything. Rethinking that, she cast him a quick glance. "...Never mind."
He narrowed his eyes, "Really?"
She rolled her eyes and waved him off. "So, did you have fun? Miss Nickels is usually quite… enthused about her position."
He was taken aback again. "How do you know the Nickels?"
"We met with them a few times while on the Mars project."
"Oh." That made sense. "So, would you give them a recommendation?"
She eyed him, "Well, that depends on who you're more interested in dealing with," she cooed, "the Mr. or the Miss?" And he was just waiting for that predatory glimmer to enter her eyes. Instead, she blinked it away. "They are both quite reliable, though."
Quatre waited for a punch line that didn't come. He blinked, confused over the apparent twist in her thoughts. "…Dorothy?"
She turned back to him, still quiet.
There it was again, just some little oddity to her. "Dorothy… what's wrong?" he asked softly, searching her gray eyes for some clue.
They gave him a patient look. "I wish you wouldn't worry over me like this."
He rose back to his feet again, deciding that the coffee table was a rather uncomfortable decision. "Lady Catalonia, I am sorry to inform you that it's a bit too late for that."
There was a flicker through her eyes just before she dropped them down to her lap again, forcing a smile in its place. Quatre's heart froze to lead for a moment, a feeling of scared worry crossing through it that he wasn't sure was his. Shaking it off, she looked back up at him and extended a hand as she scooted herself to a sitting position.
He took it, and she tugged him down on the couch beside her. "I'm sorry. I have no intentions of troubling you over—"
She tried to remove her hand, but he didn't let her. Instead he turned to face her as much as possible, trying to sit sideways. "Dorothy, please, I know something's wrong. Talk to me," he whispered.
He watched her eyes go from surprised to scared, and before he could think of anything else to do, he watched her crack and emotionally fall apart. Her eyes squeezed shut, but it was too late for him not to notice the tears that built up in her lashes. Shocked beside himself, he stared at her as a tremor ran violently through her body.
That was the last straw as he dropped her hand and reached out for her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and forcefully pulled her to him. A tiny cry escaped her, but she made no move to protest. He moved both his arms to cradle her, her shoulder pressed into his chest, her head resting under his chin.
He caught himself praying a mantra of 'what do I do' over and over again.
He'd seen her cry before. He'd seen her break down before. But this was… frightening. He felt her body shudder and he knew that she wasn't holding back this time. Her free hand bunched around a piece of his shirt in a tight fist.
She needed this. He could understand that. After all, aside from a few tells, she had him completely fooled that she was perfectly fine all afternoon. Never would he have thought about this kind of emotional torture going through her. She needed to let this out, he could feel that…. She needed him.
Slowly that thought worked his shocked fright out of him again as he turned his face to lie against her head. Tightening his hold on her with one arm, he moved his other hand to brush her hair back from her face. He forced himself to relax, and he simply allowed her to cry. With each tremble, he held her closer or stroked her hair, not trying to calm her so much as reinforcing the idea that it was okay.
His poor, dear Dorothy had run into something that she just couldn't deal with on her own. And Quatre had a good idea that that single fact meant that it wasn't just about her. Dorothy was too solid of a person to allow herself to get this far down. This was bitter anguish, something that had to be inflicted by someone else.
Right now, he was forcefully not thinking about who or how. Dorothy was not familiar enough with his temper to let those thoughts go where they wanted. He knew he tended to have an overprotective side with his friends, but if she finally came out and said that someone had hurt her like this….
He again forced his mind away from those thoughts, and lightly brushed through her hair again. For all the outpouring coming from her, it wasn't going to last long. She was steadying, her nearly silent tears trailing off to sniffles.
There was a stifled gasp and she forcefully backed away from him, propping herself up as best as she could with one arm. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Her free hand covered her face as she bowed her head to try and hide her tear-stained face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she repeated in a hush over and over again.
"Dorothy," he tried, settling his hands back on her shoulders. "Please don't. It's alright." She sniffled again, and Quatre glanced around the room. Finding a tissue box on the side table in the corner, he leaned in and pecked a kiss on her forehead. "Don't move," he whispered.
He stood up quickly and snatched a tissue from the box. Thinking better of it, he brought back the whole box, setting it on the coffee table in front of them. Sitting beside her again, he handed her the tissue, and she took it, holding it to her nose although she still refused to look up at him. "Thank you," she mumbled.
A single, tiny tear dared to make its way out, and she quickly swiped it away. The commanding, headstrong, young woman in front of him was embarrassed to be caught crying. Why, at a time like this, he found that funny, Quatre wasn't sure, but he backed down the smile. Trying again, he reached out for her shoulders.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again, viciously wiping at her nose in annoyance.
Again he tried to hide the smile. "Now who's apologizing too much?" he softly teased. It succeeded in getting a tiny chuckle out of her as she dropped her head all the way down in dismay. Her hair was doing a good job of shrouding her, but he took both sides, and gently pushed it back, collecting it behind her. "Dorothy, it's alright," he whispered, slowly slipping his arms back around her.
"I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't mean to…" she trailed off as the arms he'd gotten around her again pulled her in closer.
He shushed her a moment as she slowly eased back into him. Not knowing if she was ready or not he gave her another minute. "Can you talk to me?" he tentatively asked, not exactly sure how to start this.
She sighed and then sniffed again. "How much whining can you listen to?"
And he smiled in spite of himself. It was back to the Dorothy he had become so accustomed to. "As much as you want to tell me."
He felt her shoulders relax some under his arm. "I… broke a man's heart," she whispered.
Out of every possible explanation that had run across his mind, nothing was even remotely close to coming to that conclusion. Quatre looked down at the top of her head, but kept himself from saying anything.
He heard her sigh, and regroup herself. "I went back to the chateau last week for a friend's art showing. That in itself was bad enough; I could hardly stand the place anymore."
Which, he mused, explained why she now lived in a cozy lakeside cottage instead of the three hundred room mansion that she'd grown up in.
"Between being back, and the showing, and the horde of 'well-wishers' over my grandfather… I wasn't in the best of spirits," she muttered, and Quatre cringed for her sake. "…But I left my entire life there behind me after the war," she softened.
He softly rubbed a hand over her back, coaxing her along.
"I had this, apparently stupid, notion that they wouldn't care if I disappeared anyway. Well, I was mostly right," she corrected. "The whole damned place could burn down with most of Romafeller inside it for all I care."
The vicious note to her voice startled him, and his concern moved in an entirely different direction this time. He moved his face into the hair at the top of her head, running a calming hand down her back.
She once again regrouped herself. "But… I was wrong. I left behind friends, my schoolmates, those few people in my life that actually mattered to me, and…" she cracked just a second before she forced it out. "And someone who wasn't prepared to let me go."
Someone who loves you, he finished in his own thoughts. Dorothy's life before the war had always been a mystery to him. He got glimpses now and again, but nothing really substantial. Still, the thought twisted in him.
"I never knew…" she whispered, tapering off as she huddled into him. "I never knew I could hurt someone like that."
And that was when it finally all came together in his head. Dorothy, in her innate kindness, couldn't handle the thought that she had unwittingly hurt someone else. The thought caved his chest in. Her dear, taped together heart didn't deserve this type of guilt. "You can't blame yourself," he tried, knowing it wasn't going to help.
Her head shook against him. "How can't I? I mean, how could I not know?"
That wasn't hard actually. "He never told you?" he asked softly.
"No," she whispered back. "Never even… I had no idea."
He turned his head to lay his cheek against her hair. "What happened?"
She paused, and he pulled her a little tighter to him. "He came to see me after the showing. I hadn't even talked to him since I moved out of the chateau. And even then… I didn't give him the chance to say anything. He finally just got tired of waiting for me."
He listened to her, mostly just wanting her to get it out. He hoped she didn't know how much his own heart was sympathetically breaking, just holding her like this and being able to do nothing. She took a trembling breath, and he knew she was fighting back the same emotions again.
"He… just came to close me out of his life finally."
Not a chance, he thought to himself.
"He wouldn't understand…."
That struck him. Obviously this hadn't been a pleasant conversation, but surely he hadn't just dropped this on her and walked away, had he? "What did you say?"
"Nothing. Nothing of any importance. He didn't give me the chance. Not that I could have said anything anyway." She gave him a humorless laugh. "How pathetic is that? Someone tells me that he'd loved me, and not only do I stand there and have nothing to say, I flee the planet and run to another man!"
He wasn't exactly sure he appreciated being "another man" but that wasn't the point right now. "Dorothy…."
"What's wrong with me?"
That was it. Whoever this jerk was, he had no right to destroy her self-confidence like this. No matter how angry or upset he was, any man who honestly loved her would never have been able to walk away and leave her like this.
He slipped a hand to her face and pushed her back, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look at him. She stifled down a gasp at the sudden move, and he knew that she was afraid to meet his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you. You didn't do anything to deserve this."
Her watery blue-gray eyes stared up at him, a frightened look behind them that immediately made him forget the flash of anger. He had no idea what to do to help her out of this.
Tired of the awkward position, he leaned in again and wrapped his arms around her waist. All but picking her up, he scooted her basically into his lap. Leaning back against the couch cushions, he pressed her to him in a full hug.
She didn't seem to mind. Instead, he felt her knees pull up against his side to support her, and her arms wrapped gratefully around his neck. "I can't be sure about that," she whispered, settling in against his shoulder.
He softly brushed her hair out of his face. "What do you mean?"
She sighed against him. "This could be a very long story."
"I'm not going anywhere," he stated, meaning it two ways.
Dorothy relaxed against him, closing her eyes and finally feeling safe again. Poor Quatre, she couldn't imagine what she'd just put him through. "I'm not sure you really want to know this section of my life," she whispered, again feeling ashamed of dumping this on him.
He gently pushed her back again and she grudgingly met his eyes. "Try me," he challenged, a sincere look of worry to him again.
She honestly did not want to get into this with him. She'd flip-flopped forty times on the way here about telling him any of this at all. …He already knew too much for her liking. But she knew he wasn't going to let her go without hearing it.
Turning away, she took a deep breath and figured out a starting point. "Andrew Varnhem, the family heir to their Foundation membership. A year my senior, and the… answer to my grandfather's prayers," she scoffed.
She risked a glance at his face and knew that he got it. "If it was the end of the Dermail line, you should at least marry well?"
She inwardly cringed. "Something like that." His hands were still loosely around her waist, and he rubbed one at the small of her back, forcing her back to her story. "We were continually pressed together since we were old enough to walk. So, naturally, we hated each other," she smiled at the absurdity of the statement now.
Taking a hand away from his shoulders, she rubbed at the growing headache a moment before replacing the arm. "That was until high school, basically. Andrew, also known as the Admiral around the Academy, was… unavoidable."
"Academy?" he quietly broke in.
Meeting his eyes again, she let herself smile at him. "St. George Military Academy," she stated proudly.
He blinked, and she tried not to laugh out loud. "You went to a military academy?" came the incredulous question.
Suddenly just feeling happy to be with him, she nodded. The look of "that explains a lot" passed through his eyes, but he blinked it back, shutting up so she could continue. "Anyway, we both tended to be in the same programs, same crowd, and whatever. We eventually got to be… friends," she shrugged. "Neither one of us cared for the bad matchmaking attempts."
Dorothy sheepishly met his eyes again. "For two years we were on the fencing team together, and… co-captains."
He blinked and then gave her a deflated look. "I guess that means I shouldn't offer to go beat him up for you."
It took a second for her to believe that Quatre, of all people, had just said that, joking or not. She couldn't stop herself from bursting out laughing. He tried to give her a weary smile before he too laughed with her. Calming some, she moved back in and wrapped him into a hug.
Suddenly, she knew exactly why she'd felt she had to come to him. No one else in her life would ever be able to do this to her. "I'm not one of those types of girls," she stated, finally loosening her hold on him.
"Oh, good," he sighed.
Although, the image of sweet, sensible Quatre finally breaking out that fiery streak and beating someone to a bloody pulp for her had its own appeal. "Not that I don't have every confidence in you, Darling," she teased, backing away to look down at him.
He rolled his eyes at her.
She shook her head, and figured out where she left off. "Andrew and I never really had anything that held us together… but we were together, I guess." And just like that, she'd crashed the happy mood that she was just in.
There was a moment that she didn't know what else to say as her mind flickered through images of her past, trying vainly to find the indications that should have alerted her to—
"Do you still have feelings for him?"
She didn't move, absolutely froze, her heart racing straight into an ice-block wall in her chest. After a breath, Dorothy met his eyes as he tenderly searched hers. How the hell was she going to answer that! She was sitting in his lap, their arms around each other, her nose all of eight inches away from his, and….
Why was she so freaked out about this?
"…No," she whispered, truthfully. "I actually never… felt that way for him." Although there were a few times we were close, she mentally admitted. He didn't say anything, but he was still looking for something, what she couldn't be sure, but he was really making her uncomfortable. "I mean, he was a friend. I…" she tried to focus. "I wouldn't have thrown that away, but I don't really have that choice anymore."
His eyes soften even farther, his concern almost tangible. "I'm sorry, Dorothy," he whispered.
She blinked, happy to be done with that at least. "What are you apologizing for?"
He shrugged, "I'm good at it."
She closed her eyes with smile, "You seem to have a talent for a great many things, Master Winner."
She felt him pull her in, and she easily settled against him as he tightly hugged her. "I hope so," he whispered.
She mildly kicked herself for this. He was going to be worried about her for months now. Just what he needed on top of everything else in his life, some ditzy blond blubbering about her love life to him. She sighed in spite of herself. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Quatre." She pulled back to look at him. "Don't you ever get tired of putting me back together?"
"Never," his expression leaving no doubts. Her heart puddled somewhere in her stomach, and she had to turn away. "…I don't believe it," came a near silent whisper. Turning back she found a cocky smile on his face as he stared at her. "You can blush."
That snapped her out it. "Quatre!"
He only grinned wider. "Give me a victory moment here."
"No!" Dorothy forced herself out of his arms, and off his lap, ending up sitting on her knees backwards on the couch beside him.
His laugh followed her, and she knew he wasn't kidding because she could feel herself getting redder. Groaning, she slumped over and buried her face as much as possible into the couch's back cushions. How much embarrassment could she take in front of one person?
"I'm sorry," came the, very un-heart-felt, apology.
"No you're not," she accused, not leaving her hiding spot.
"Alright, I'm not," he quipped.
Even she had to laugh at that. He was learning… maybe she was a bad example.
"OK," he calmed down. "So, tell me. Your academy wasn't typically… an all boys' school, was it?"
She finally turned out of the cushions and gave him an odd look. "Of course not. How would I get into that?"
He licked his lips. "This is you we're talking about."
She raised an eyebrow at that, but refused to comment. "I was one of thirteen girls, thank you," she snipped.
"Out of…?"
She crinkled her nose a little. "Two hundred-ish."
"The great gift of human beings is that we have the power of empathy." - Meryl Streep
"Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love." - Jane Austen
AN: Dorothy's life before the war: the largest mystery never answered by the GW writers. Well, I'm trying, I hope you guys like it. :) I have no idea where it was that I heard once that Dorothy attended a military academy before Relena's school, but I thought it fit so well that I stole it. This chapter is really long, and it should be longer, but that will have to wait for next time.
Edited by: Spiked Jin.
