OUT OF TUNE
Chapter Ten: Frozen
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing but I do own Quatre!! (j/k j/k j/k, I don't…yet…)
Hopefully, none of you aren't too mad at me for letting Chapter Nine end with a bit of a cliff…:D…don't hurt me…
I've made a promise to myself that this story won't be a never-ending story and I've put the limit of chapter somewhere between 10 and 20; no more. However, just to let you know, Chapter 13 (being a good number ^_~) will be a special chapter dedicated to my reviewers and will be a CLAMP style get together with the authoress (that's me!!) and the characters and whoever else decides to pop in!! Just don't let FF.net know about it *shh!!*
Trowa rose to his knees, wincing as they cracked. Duo laughed at his expression.
"Getting old already?" he asked jovially. Trowa laughed and watched carefully as Marameia spun away, her party dress twirling with her. He was so enthralled by the little girl and the way she melted everyone around her that he didn't notice Une close in on him until she spoke.
"Did Dorothy get that present?" The woman asked, a slight tone of worry lacing her words as her eyes also followed Marameia.
"Um-present?" he asked. Une sighed exasperatedly.
"She didn't tell you? C'mon, she must have told you," she insisted. Trowa shook his head. Une began gesturing, making a box with her hands.
"Y'know, the pink box with the big gold bow…" she said, her voice trailing to a whisper as she noticed that Marameia was watching the two very closely. Trowa thought hard and realized what she was talking about.
"I have it," he said. Une put a hand to her head in relief.
"Good, I was worried it wouldn't be under the tree in time," she said and moved away. However, that left Trowa in a little predicament. He *did* have the pink box with the gold bow however, he had it in his car. Placing his mug on the counter, he quickly made his way out of the apartment and into the hallway. He was so preoccupied thinking about how he could get the large box that was Marameia's new dollhouse up the stairs and into the apartment without breaking it or himself that he didn't notice Quatre and Dorothy until he'd almost bumped into them.
Dorothy's hands, those delicate ivory hands, were wrapped tightly around Quatre's thin wrists and her lithe body was pressed up against the green walls of the hallway, her pale hair contrasting sharply with the color. Quatre had her face, the face Trowa had become accustomed to waking up to in the morning, in his hands in what looked like a lover's touch. Her eyes, those lovely gray eyes, were closed in, seemingly, pure bliss.
What hurt more, her betrayal or the knowledge that he had no place to stop her? This was the question that haunted him as he quickly turned away and silently made his way down the hallway the other way.
Dorothy's grip tightened on Quatre's wrists in her attempt to pull him away and the space behind her eyes was aching as she forced her eye muscles to clench tighter together. His hands finally let her go and his mouth pulled away from hers. Before she could stop him he began laying butterfly kisses along her face. There had been many times in the morning when Trowa would do this but it was wonderful, it was right when it was Trowa's lips on her skin.
With Quatre, with Quatre it was wrong.
Trowa's pace quickened as the sounds of dry lips hitting skin reached his ears, he couldn't do anything, the silent relationship between Trowa and Dorothy was just that, silent. He had no claim on her. But that didn't mean he had to be in front of everyone else while he dealt with that pain.
Dorothy turned her head quickly to get away from Quatre's searching lips and as her eyes opened, she saw Trowa hurriedly turning a corner and for a nanosecond their eyes locked.
His green eyes were burning as his eyes narrowed into a glare. Her own gray eyes tried calling to him for help as her mouth opened to do the same but Quatre had followed her gaze and, with a smirk and gleam in his eyes, he grabbed her chin to face him and kissed her again. Quatre had made his claim and Trowa had to back off, it was as simple as that the third gundam pilot reasoned with himself as he ignored the annoying feeling that it was he who was abandoning Dorothy instead of the other way around.
Quatre's head snapped to the side at the force of Dorothy's slap. Once he had pulled away from their kiss, the girl had surprised him by freeing a hand and backslapping him. A narrow red ribbon appeared as if by magic across his cheek and blood began oozing out of the small wound. For the second time that night, he pulled out a white handkerchief and wiped at the blood. Dorothy gasped and Quatre looked at her knowingly, a smile etching into his features.
"Recognize this?" he asked, holding it up. He hadn't let her get a good look at it when he originally pulled it out but he wanted her to see it, especially after their kiss.
"You bastard," she shrieked, pushing him away. Thrown off balance he fell into the opposite wall, hitting his head hard against the plaster. Dorothy took off running in the direction that Trowa had gone. Her mind was set on getting to Trowa; throwing her arms around Trowa and sinking into his smell, his warmth, his voice, his reassuring smile was all she could think about as she ran. Quatre stumbled to his feet and quickly followed but as he was about to pass by the apartment door it opened and Catherine stepped in front of him.
"Quatre!" she cried, holding him by the shoulders to steady him. "What's wrong?" Quatre's eyes looked past the flip of Catherine's chocolate hair to see the last flash of Dorothy's hair as she turned the corner. His aquamarine eyes fell on Catherine and he gave her a sweet smile.
"No Cathy, nothing's wrong," he reassured her and let her lead him back into the party.
***
He didn't care that he was leaving the party. In fact the only problem he had with leaving was he wouldn't get to see Marameia's happy face as she opened her gift. But he'd ask Une about it. Trowa looked up from his feet; after reaching the backset of the stairs he'd taken off in a dead run. He couldn't stand hearing Quatre, his best friend, and Dorothy…
What was Dorothy to him? Had he really thought that they were in love? He snorted, chuckled, and then broke out into loud laughter, surprising the pedestrians passing by him. He turned away from the main sidewalk and headed off into a darkened alleyway to be alone to his thoughts.
"You're an idiot, Barton," he told himself as he kicked up a random piece of garbage. 'To hell with her, let her do whatever the hell she wants to do with whomever she wants,' he thought as he found himself at a dead end. For some reason, the obstacle in his way made him mad. No, mad wasn't the word…furious. Reaching back with all of his might, he punched the concrete wall in front of him. Blood splattered onto the ground and the wall. His knuckles ached and he pulled them away quickly, holding his hand. It was a release and that was what he needed. However, he still needed to rid himself of these frustrations before facing his friends again and punching walls would raise suspicions.
With a still bleeding hand, he navigated towards the back entrance of his favorite bookstore, only 3 blocks away from where he stood. The storekeeper had learned that there was no way to keep Trowa out and so he'd stopped trying to cleverly hide the keys to the backdoor. They were behind a false brick, the third block from the right of the doorway. He opened the door and instantly began to calm down as the smell of mustiness filled his nostrils. He was so enthralled with the smell that he didn't bother closing the door. The familiar labyrinth that he loved to navigate greeted him readily with an enveloping darkness. He turned his corners and found his way to his niche, which was empty.
It was hard to believe that only what, 2, maybe 3 weeks ago he'd found Dorothy sprawled on that- no, he couldn't think of her. Trowa shook his head vigorously, ridding himself of thoughts of the blonde. He snorted and laughed again.
"It's always the blondes that betray me…" he whispered to the darkness. He flopped into the softness of the sofa and lit the lamp next to it. He sat still, almost in a trance, for an undetermined hour before noticing "his copy" of Snow Falling on Cedars. After Dorothy had returned it to him at the coffee shop, he'd brought it back before setting off with her to look at their current apartment. He stretched and reached for it. He opened to a random page and began reading slowly.
It was the part where Ishmael was staring at his arm in a container of other limbs and was thinking to himself how much of a bitch Hatsue was. Trowa smiled bitterly; the scene seemed to fit perfectly. Neither of the men were really staring at a broken limb; they were staring at broken hearts.
"Trowa?!" a voice exclaimed from the doorway. Trowa's head shot up, his lips forming into a snarl, more for himself than anyone at letting his guard down. However, the growl quickly dissipated as he realized that it was only the bookstore keeper.
"Sorry Mr. Caffeer, I just needed some time alone, I didn't mean to be a burden," Trowa said softly, rising and preparing to leave. However, Mr. Caffeer stopped him.
"No, no, its alright, I just heard someone come in and I thought I'd check it out. But you're always welcome Trowa," he said, placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulders. Trowa returned the warm smile and sat back down. Caffeer too took a seat and cocked his head to one side. "Everything alright?"
Trowa nodded, staring at the cover of his book.
"Just girl problems," he said, fingering the pages. Caffeer followed his gaze and frowned as he read the title.
"Well then, that's not the book you'd want to be reading," he said, gently pulling the book from his grasp. Trowa looked up, his eyes questioning.
"If you did something to upset her, then you-" But Trowa cut him off.
"She's not really mine," he said dejectedly, his green eyes downcast. Caffeer nodded his understanding and then fingered his dark green robe.
"Do something special for her," he said, looking up at him through his mussed up comb over. Trowa laughed bitterly, shaking his head.
"It's complicated, but she's involved with someone else," he said. Caffeer nodded again and held up the book.
"Well then, this is definetly not the book to be reading," he advised. Trowa looked up at him curiously.
"But Ishmael and I, we're-"
"No, no, you and Ishmael aren't alike Trowa. Ishmael was a soldier yes, Ishmael lost his secret love to another man yes, but Ishmael is in this book and you, you are sitting right there in front of me; as real as can be," he answered. Trowa considered his words for awhile but before he could respond, Caffeer continued.
"Trowa, whoever she is, whoever she's involved with, if you really care for her, let her know. Don't matter what she might have done," he said and stood up. He turned out of the niche and looked back over his shoulder. "Don't forget to lock the door when you leave Trowa." And he was gone.
But Trowa wasn't listening, he'd already pulled on his coat again and headed out the back door.
***
Dorothy silently berated herself for rushing out after Trowa with nothing on but the Christmas skirt and sweater outfit she's worn for the party. She pulled her arms closer to her chest, crossing them around her body for heat. She had been running in her heels for close to a half hour when one of them broke. Her tights were now torn at the knee and her pace was slowed by her lopsided shoes, exhaustion, and cold. The heel incident was a good hour ago, so she figured she'd been out here for an hour and a half.
Being an ex-soldier, she knew what this strain was doing to her body, but she didn't care. Without Trowa, what was the point? That was the unbidden thought that passed through her now slightly dizzy mind as she recklessly crossed a street and turned into the park in the downtown area of the colony.
She high stepped through the unusually thick snow, making her steady way to the festively lit gazebo. Her heart fell through her chest as the realization that Trowa wasn't to be seen sank in. It was no warmer there when she reached it but was a good place to rest. However, in the back of her mind, she knew the real reason as to why she'd chosen this spot. Even if she did have the strength to pull herself back to the apartment, she'd probably die of complications from being exposed to these temperatures for so long. This gazebo held the only good memory she could recall in that moment and it was a good a place as any to die.
The loud speaker that had played Greensleeves while Trowa and Dorothy danced not a week ago at that very spot was now warning colonists to return to indoors and that the colony was on Code Blue due to a malfunction in the automatic weather system. Distantly, she heard the announcer order that anyone without a home to return to was to report to the three shelters in the colony immediately. Dorothy did a slow turn and stared off into the flurry; she had no home to return to. There was no way she would go back to the apartment, she refused to go back to the smug look Quatre would surely give her. Blackness was rimming her eyesight.
Dorothy let herself sink down into the snow that covered the bench of the gazebo. Too tired to wipe them away, tears fell down her cheeks, freezing to the skin despite the little warmth still being given off by her body. The snow below her melted from her body heat and sank into her skirt and through her tights.
She pulled her legs closer to her, wrapping her arms around them and burying her head into her bloody knees. Her sobs filled the now silent cold, crisp air. The gazebo was still with the same white icicle lights that had decked them a week earlier. But their charm did nothing to soothe her.
Without permission, the past few weeks that had become so precious to her rushed through her mind. She'd run away from her Grandfather to escape his grand plan to marry her off to Quatre Raberba Winner and at the same time, win the man as a powerful ally. She didn't stick around long enough to find out just why her Grandfather wanted Quatre; the thought of being married to him had scared her. She didn't hate Quatre, not even now. In fact, at one time she could admit in what were obviously her last hours, that she had had a crush on the boy that she had stabbed at fifteen.
But Quatre was no longer that boy and the thought of settling down so young to someone so cold frightened her. Yes, she could definitely admit that as well; The Great Ice Queen had been frightened.
So she ran off from Earth to the colonies, telling the staff at her office that she was taking a much needed vacation and would be back in, at least, a month. She'd ended up here, looking for a place to live. However, although politicians were often paid good money for travel expenses and what not, in their modern world, living expenses weren't. And that's when she spotted Trowa.
She followed him for a day and already had memorized his routine. She'd even found out how to get to his niche. And that's when everything started.
She'd fallen in love. There she went again, admitting to herself all these troubling things. The night that Trowa had left her in the apartment alone while he chased after that android had forced her to come to terms that she would miss Trowa if he left her. Yet she didn't think she'd miss him this much.
A sob racked her shivering body and any passerby would be able to tell from a distance that the girl needed medical attention. Her lips, once so pink, had turned an alarming blue and her face was as white as the snow around her. The blackness grew deeper and her head grew heavier and harder to hold up. Defeated, Dorothy laid herself down on the bench, pulling her sweater closer.
When she was fifteen, she never would have imagined dying this way: alone, maybe, but not depressed and willing to let go. She was a fighter but her fight was gone.
Crunch. Crunch.
Dorothy's eyes, the only part of her that seemed to remember how to move, searched around her for the source of the footsteps. In the far reaches of her brain arose the gnawing fear that it was Quatre coming back to claim her.
Crunch. Crunch. The steps were becoming faster and she knew they were directing their owner to her. She closed her frozen eyelids, wishing for death before Quatre. The blackness that had steadily closed in on her vision claimed her completely.
Trowa was running now, the same run he'd taken through this very park not very long ago. Somehow he knew she'd be there. He'd returned to the apartment to find she'd been gone for an hour and a half already. He'd jumped the steps, ignoring the concerned cries of his friends, and had started his car off in this direction. As he'd backed out of his parking spot, he'd caught the gleam in Quatre's eyes. And Trowa knew.
Snow clung to his jeans and soaked into the skin below, but he couldn't care less. Through the whipping snow clouds he caught sight of what could only be Dorothy's figure slumped inside the gazebo. He jumped the platform and shook the snow off him before rushing to her side. His thoughts were frantic as he took in her pale blue lips, her translucent skin, the total lack of movement. As gently as he could in his panic, he picked her up off the bench and pulled her close to him. His fingers sought for the pulse that would dispel all his nightmares but it either wasn't there or too faint for him to feel.
"No," he whispered, as he lifted her limp body from the bench and carried her out back into the storm towards his car. The elements had taken their toll on her body and she needed medical attention. He broke out into a light run, slightly jostling the girl in his arms. He mentally screamed for his body to move faster as the distance between them and the car closed.
After what seemed an eternity, he reached the beaten Lincoln and reached for the door, but the elements had also taken their toll on the car. The below freezing temperatures had frozen the car locks shot in that short amount of time. Cursing fate, himself, and Dorothy for doing this to herself, he took off across the street looking for a place to go. However, most people had taken off from the colony to escape the malfunction and were vacationing on close by on cluster L1.
Yet with a stroke of luck, he'd found the alleyway that usually eluded him that led to another familiar alleyway. In a matter of minutes, Trowa had run the length of the three blocks and had pulled his frozen lover into the bookstore.
What shall I do to the couple next? Review, and find out my dears!! I'd like to thank all of you for reviewing and sticking with me; I swear, updates will be coming along faster like they used to!! Things are starting to slow down, with Forensics Sub-District being next Monday and V-Day being this Saturday. :D yippee!!!
Chapter 11 probably won't be explaining why Quatre's hand kerchief is so important but trust me, it is! Chapter 12 will probably bring about the explaining and what not.
Love you all!!
Madame.Hotaru.of.87
Chapter Ten: Frozen
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing but I do own Quatre!! (j/k j/k j/k, I don't…yet…)
Hopefully, none of you aren't too mad at me for letting Chapter Nine end with a bit of a cliff…:D…don't hurt me…
I've made a promise to myself that this story won't be a never-ending story and I've put the limit of chapter somewhere between 10 and 20; no more. However, just to let you know, Chapter 13 (being a good number ^_~) will be a special chapter dedicated to my reviewers and will be a CLAMP style get together with the authoress (that's me!!) and the characters and whoever else decides to pop in!! Just don't let FF.net know about it *shh!!*
Trowa rose to his knees, wincing as they cracked. Duo laughed at his expression.
"Getting old already?" he asked jovially. Trowa laughed and watched carefully as Marameia spun away, her party dress twirling with her. He was so enthralled by the little girl and the way she melted everyone around her that he didn't notice Une close in on him until she spoke.
"Did Dorothy get that present?" The woman asked, a slight tone of worry lacing her words as her eyes also followed Marameia.
"Um-present?" he asked. Une sighed exasperatedly.
"She didn't tell you? C'mon, she must have told you," she insisted. Trowa shook his head. Une began gesturing, making a box with her hands.
"Y'know, the pink box with the big gold bow…" she said, her voice trailing to a whisper as she noticed that Marameia was watching the two very closely. Trowa thought hard and realized what she was talking about.
"I have it," he said. Une put a hand to her head in relief.
"Good, I was worried it wouldn't be under the tree in time," she said and moved away. However, that left Trowa in a little predicament. He *did* have the pink box with the gold bow however, he had it in his car. Placing his mug on the counter, he quickly made his way out of the apartment and into the hallway. He was so preoccupied thinking about how he could get the large box that was Marameia's new dollhouse up the stairs and into the apartment without breaking it or himself that he didn't notice Quatre and Dorothy until he'd almost bumped into them.
Dorothy's hands, those delicate ivory hands, were wrapped tightly around Quatre's thin wrists and her lithe body was pressed up against the green walls of the hallway, her pale hair contrasting sharply with the color. Quatre had her face, the face Trowa had become accustomed to waking up to in the morning, in his hands in what looked like a lover's touch. Her eyes, those lovely gray eyes, were closed in, seemingly, pure bliss.
What hurt more, her betrayal or the knowledge that he had no place to stop her? This was the question that haunted him as he quickly turned away and silently made his way down the hallway the other way.
Dorothy's grip tightened on Quatre's wrists in her attempt to pull him away and the space behind her eyes was aching as she forced her eye muscles to clench tighter together. His hands finally let her go and his mouth pulled away from hers. Before she could stop him he began laying butterfly kisses along her face. There had been many times in the morning when Trowa would do this but it was wonderful, it was right when it was Trowa's lips on her skin.
With Quatre, with Quatre it was wrong.
Trowa's pace quickened as the sounds of dry lips hitting skin reached his ears, he couldn't do anything, the silent relationship between Trowa and Dorothy was just that, silent. He had no claim on her. But that didn't mean he had to be in front of everyone else while he dealt with that pain.
Dorothy turned her head quickly to get away from Quatre's searching lips and as her eyes opened, she saw Trowa hurriedly turning a corner and for a nanosecond their eyes locked.
His green eyes were burning as his eyes narrowed into a glare. Her own gray eyes tried calling to him for help as her mouth opened to do the same but Quatre had followed her gaze and, with a smirk and gleam in his eyes, he grabbed her chin to face him and kissed her again. Quatre had made his claim and Trowa had to back off, it was as simple as that the third gundam pilot reasoned with himself as he ignored the annoying feeling that it was he who was abandoning Dorothy instead of the other way around.
Quatre's head snapped to the side at the force of Dorothy's slap. Once he had pulled away from their kiss, the girl had surprised him by freeing a hand and backslapping him. A narrow red ribbon appeared as if by magic across his cheek and blood began oozing out of the small wound. For the second time that night, he pulled out a white handkerchief and wiped at the blood. Dorothy gasped and Quatre looked at her knowingly, a smile etching into his features.
"Recognize this?" he asked, holding it up. He hadn't let her get a good look at it when he originally pulled it out but he wanted her to see it, especially after their kiss.
"You bastard," she shrieked, pushing him away. Thrown off balance he fell into the opposite wall, hitting his head hard against the plaster. Dorothy took off running in the direction that Trowa had gone. Her mind was set on getting to Trowa; throwing her arms around Trowa and sinking into his smell, his warmth, his voice, his reassuring smile was all she could think about as she ran. Quatre stumbled to his feet and quickly followed but as he was about to pass by the apartment door it opened and Catherine stepped in front of him.
"Quatre!" she cried, holding him by the shoulders to steady him. "What's wrong?" Quatre's eyes looked past the flip of Catherine's chocolate hair to see the last flash of Dorothy's hair as she turned the corner. His aquamarine eyes fell on Catherine and he gave her a sweet smile.
"No Cathy, nothing's wrong," he reassured her and let her lead him back into the party.
***
He didn't care that he was leaving the party. In fact the only problem he had with leaving was he wouldn't get to see Marameia's happy face as she opened her gift. But he'd ask Une about it. Trowa looked up from his feet; after reaching the backset of the stairs he'd taken off in a dead run. He couldn't stand hearing Quatre, his best friend, and Dorothy…
What was Dorothy to him? Had he really thought that they were in love? He snorted, chuckled, and then broke out into loud laughter, surprising the pedestrians passing by him. He turned away from the main sidewalk and headed off into a darkened alleyway to be alone to his thoughts.
"You're an idiot, Barton," he told himself as he kicked up a random piece of garbage. 'To hell with her, let her do whatever the hell she wants to do with whomever she wants,' he thought as he found himself at a dead end. For some reason, the obstacle in his way made him mad. No, mad wasn't the word…furious. Reaching back with all of his might, he punched the concrete wall in front of him. Blood splattered onto the ground and the wall. His knuckles ached and he pulled them away quickly, holding his hand. It was a release and that was what he needed. However, he still needed to rid himself of these frustrations before facing his friends again and punching walls would raise suspicions.
With a still bleeding hand, he navigated towards the back entrance of his favorite bookstore, only 3 blocks away from where he stood. The storekeeper had learned that there was no way to keep Trowa out and so he'd stopped trying to cleverly hide the keys to the backdoor. They were behind a false brick, the third block from the right of the doorway. He opened the door and instantly began to calm down as the smell of mustiness filled his nostrils. He was so enthralled with the smell that he didn't bother closing the door. The familiar labyrinth that he loved to navigate greeted him readily with an enveloping darkness. He turned his corners and found his way to his niche, which was empty.
It was hard to believe that only what, 2, maybe 3 weeks ago he'd found Dorothy sprawled on that- no, he couldn't think of her. Trowa shook his head vigorously, ridding himself of thoughts of the blonde. He snorted and laughed again.
"It's always the blondes that betray me…" he whispered to the darkness. He flopped into the softness of the sofa and lit the lamp next to it. He sat still, almost in a trance, for an undetermined hour before noticing "his copy" of Snow Falling on Cedars. After Dorothy had returned it to him at the coffee shop, he'd brought it back before setting off with her to look at their current apartment. He stretched and reached for it. He opened to a random page and began reading slowly.
It was the part where Ishmael was staring at his arm in a container of other limbs and was thinking to himself how much of a bitch Hatsue was. Trowa smiled bitterly; the scene seemed to fit perfectly. Neither of the men were really staring at a broken limb; they were staring at broken hearts.
"Trowa?!" a voice exclaimed from the doorway. Trowa's head shot up, his lips forming into a snarl, more for himself than anyone at letting his guard down. However, the growl quickly dissipated as he realized that it was only the bookstore keeper.
"Sorry Mr. Caffeer, I just needed some time alone, I didn't mean to be a burden," Trowa said softly, rising and preparing to leave. However, Mr. Caffeer stopped him.
"No, no, its alright, I just heard someone come in and I thought I'd check it out. But you're always welcome Trowa," he said, placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulders. Trowa returned the warm smile and sat back down. Caffeer too took a seat and cocked his head to one side. "Everything alright?"
Trowa nodded, staring at the cover of his book.
"Just girl problems," he said, fingering the pages. Caffeer followed his gaze and frowned as he read the title.
"Well then, that's not the book you'd want to be reading," he said, gently pulling the book from his grasp. Trowa looked up, his eyes questioning.
"If you did something to upset her, then you-" But Trowa cut him off.
"She's not really mine," he said dejectedly, his green eyes downcast. Caffeer nodded his understanding and then fingered his dark green robe.
"Do something special for her," he said, looking up at him through his mussed up comb over. Trowa laughed bitterly, shaking his head.
"It's complicated, but she's involved with someone else," he said. Caffeer nodded again and held up the book.
"Well then, this is definetly not the book to be reading," he advised. Trowa looked up at him curiously.
"But Ishmael and I, we're-"
"No, no, you and Ishmael aren't alike Trowa. Ishmael was a soldier yes, Ishmael lost his secret love to another man yes, but Ishmael is in this book and you, you are sitting right there in front of me; as real as can be," he answered. Trowa considered his words for awhile but before he could respond, Caffeer continued.
"Trowa, whoever she is, whoever she's involved with, if you really care for her, let her know. Don't matter what she might have done," he said and stood up. He turned out of the niche and looked back over his shoulder. "Don't forget to lock the door when you leave Trowa." And he was gone.
But Trowa wasn't listening, he'd already pulled on his coat again and headed out the back door.
***
Dorothy silently berated herself for rushing out after Trowa with nothing on but the Christmas skirt and sweater outfit she's worn for the party. She pulled her arms closer to her chest, crossing them around her body for heat. She had been running in her heels for close to a half hour when one of them broke. Her tights were now torn at the knee and her pace was slowed by her lopsided shoes, exhaustion, and cold. The heel incident was a good hour ago, so she figured she'd been out here for an hour and a half.
Being an ex-soldier, she knew what this strain was doing to her body, but she didn't care. Without Trowa, what was the point? That was the unbidden thought that passed through her now slightly dizzy mind as she recklessly crossed a street and turned into the park in the downtown area of the colony.
She high stepped through the unusually thick snow, making her steady way to the festively lit gazebo. Her heart fell through her chest as the realization that Trowa wasn't to be seen sank in. It was no warmer there when she reached it but was a good place to rest. However, in the back of her mind, she knew the real reason as to why she'd chosen this spot. Even if she did have the strength to pull herself back to the apartment, she'd probably die of complications from being exposed to these temperatures for so long. This gazebo held the only good memory she could recall in that moment and it was a good a place as any to die.
The loud speaker that had played Greensleeves while Trowa and Dorothy danced not a week ago at that very spot was now warning colonists to return to indoors and that the colony was on Code Blue due to a malfunction in the automatic weather system. Distantly, she heard the announcer order that anyone without a home to return to was to report to the three shelters in the colony immediately. Dorothy did a slow turn and stared off into the flurry; she had no home to return to. There was no way she would go back to the apartment, she refused to go back to the smug look Quatre would surely give her. Blackness was rimming her eyesight.
Dorothy let herself sink down into the snow that covered the bench of the gazebo. Too tired to wipe them away, tears fell down her cheeks, freezing to the skin despite the little warmth still being given off by her body. The snow below her melted from her body heat and sank into her skirt and through her tights.
She pulled her legs closer to her, wrapping her arms around them and burying her head into her bloody knees. Her sobs filled the now silent cold, crisp air. The gazebo was still with the same white icicle lights that had decked them a week earlier. But their charm did nothing to soothe her.
Without permission, the past few weeks that had become so precious to her rushed through her mind. She'd run away from her Grandfather to escape his grand plan to marry her off to Quatre Raberba Winner and at the same time, win the man as a powerful ally. She didn't stick around long enough to find out just why her Grandfather wanted Quatre; the thought of being married to him had scared her. She didn't hate Quatre, not even now. In fact, at one time she could admit in what were obviously her last hours, that she had had a crush on the boy that she had stabbed at fifteen.
But Quatre was no longer that boy and the thought of settling down so young to someone so cold frightened her. Yes, she could definitely admit that as well; The Great Ice Queen had been frightened.
So she ran off from Earth to the colonies, telling the staff at her office that she was taking a much needed vacation and would be back in, at least, a month. She'd ended up here, looking for a place to live. However, although politicians were often paid good money for travel expenses and what not, in their modern world, living expenses weren't. And that's when she spotted Trowa.
She followed him for a day and already had memorized his routine. She'd even found out how to get to his niche. And that's when everything started.
She'd fallen in love. There she went again, admitting to herself all these troubling things. The night that Trowa had left her in the apartment alone while he chased after that android had forced her to come to terms that she would miss Trowa if he left her. Yet she didn't think she'd miss him this much.
A sob racked her shivering body and any passerby would be able to tell from a distance that the girl needed medical attention. Her lips, once so pink, had turned an alarming blue and her face was as white as the snow around her. The blackness grew deeper and her head grew heavier and harder to hold up. Defeated, Dorothy laid herself down on the bench, pulling her sweater closer.
When she was fifteen, she never would have imagined dying this way: alone, maybe, but not depressed and willing to let go. She was a fighter but her fight was gone.
Crunch. Crunch.
Dorothy's eyes, the only part of her that seemed to remember how to move, searched around her for the source of the footsteps. In the far reaches of her brain arose the gnawing fear that it was Quatre coming back to claim her.
Crunch. Crunch. The steps were becoming faster and she knew they were directing their owner to her. She closed her frozen eyelids, wishing for death before Quatre. The blackness that had steadily closed in on her vision claimed her completely.
Trowa was running now, the same run he'd taken through this very park not very long ago. Somehow he knew she'd be there. He'd returned to the apartment to find she'd been gone for an hour and a half already. He'd jumped the steps, ignoring the concerned cries of his friends, and had started his car off in this direction. As he'd backed out of his parking spot, he'd caught the gleam in Quatre's eyes. And Trowa knew.
Snow clung to his jeans and soaked into the skin below, but he couldn't care less. Through the whipping snow clouds he caught sight of what could only be Dorothy's figure slumped inside the gazebo. He jumped the platform and shook the snow off him before rushing to her side. His thoughts were frantic as he took in her pale blue lips, her translucent skin, the total lack of movement. As gently as he could in his panic, he picked her up off the bench and pulled her close to him. His fingers sought for the pulse that would dispel all his nightmares but it either wasn't there or too faint for him to feel.
"No," he whispered, as he lifted her limp body from the bench and carried her out back into the storm towards his car. The elements had taken their toll on her body and she needed medical attention. He broke out into a light run, slightly jostling the girl in his arms. He mentally screamed for his body to move faster as the distance between them and the car closed.
After what seemed an eternity, he reached the beaten Lincoln and reached for the door, but the elements had also taken their toll on the car. The below freezing temperatures had frozen the car locks shot in that short amount of time. Cursing fate, himself, and Dorothy for doing this to herself, he took off across the street looking for a place to go. However, most people had taken off from the colony to escape the malfunction and were vacationing on close by on cluster L1.
Yet with a stroke of luck, he'd found the alleyway that usually eluded him that led to another familiar alleyway. In a matter of minutes, Trowa had run the length of the three blocks and had pulled his frozen lover into the bookstore.
What shall I do to the couple next? Review, and find out my dears!! I'd like to thank all of you for reviewing and sticking with me; I swear, updates will be coming along faster like they used to!! Things are starting to slow down, with Forensics Sub-District being next Monday and V-Day being this Saturday. :D yippee!!!
Chapter 11 probably won't be explaining why Quatre's hand kerchief is so important but trust me, it is! Chapter 12 will probably bring about the explaining and what not.
Love you all!!
Madame.Hotaru.of.87