Revelations
By Isis cw
Chapter 36
"Morning."
Quatre comically threw a glance behind him at the doorway that Dorothy had obviously just passed. Figuring he'd get a head start on the security assessments before she was back from Sunday church, he was already through with the generic note taking on the first two floors, which he knew about as well as his own home by this point.
He was currently in a third floor guest room as he did a quick assessment on the accessibility of any of the rooms here. Dorothy didn't have to be so crass in her statement that Heero was paranoid, but Quatre was certain that he'd be on high alert about bringing Relena here.
His own fondness for Miss Relena was enough to ensure that he did his job as thoroughly as possible. But he was well aware of his friend's affections for her, and knew without any hesitation that even the smallest risk to her safety would need to be dealt with. Of course the major problem with that sentiment was that Heero was going to have to deal with his… skepticism surrounding Dorothy.
And she wasn't going to make that easy. Especially after she took it as a personal insult that he wanted an outside agent to take point on the security needs. Personally, he figured if the two would get their egos out of the way they could truly appreciate each other. But he had a bet with himself that those two were going to shatter Relena's pacifist image in the matter of a single, short-lived, fundraising event.
Quatre still silently wondered if there was a way he could be otherwise occupied that night. He had the sinking suspicion someone was going to force a rematch… and he was still the most likely candidate to end up stabbed again.
He was trying to be funny with himself to calm his nerves, and he knew it.
He had really thought the worst was behind him now that he could admit to himself what his emotions were doing to him, and where they were going. He had a name for what he felt now. What he didn't have was any sense of peace about the issue. If anything could have shattered his hopeful notions of having a long, fulfilling life together with the decadent Lady Catalonia, this trip had.
His worth and fittingness for her was laughable.
Personally, one on one, he knew he was good for her. Knew somehow that he was what she needed. And deep down, he honestly felt that she knew that too.
If it wasn't for the amount of outside influences between them, he wasn't sure where they could be now. Quatre still didn't know how to confess his feelings to her. And regardless of their families and positions, Dorothy still held a scarred heart.
Something he'd faced again yesterday.
Shaking that off, he put his mind back to his work as he heard footsteps in the hallway again. "I hope you don't mind, but I got cornered into accepting a brunch invitation for the two of us."
Quatre turned again as she entered the room behind him and gave her a curious look. "Alright."
"The Marquis Wayridge seems exceptionally eager to meet you." There was a glint of confusion in her eyes as she sauntered up beside him, her hands folded behind her. She had obviously changed from her skirt for church to a nice pair of gray slacks.
"To meet me?" he asked, wondering at the odd expression on her face.
"Yes. Well, he is a fan," she waved it off with a knowing little smile.
Quatre understood quite well what that meant by now. "How much of one?" he cautiously asked.
Dorothy gave him a giggle and her most prized smirk. "One of your most devoted."
Well, that certainly sounded positive. "Is that the reason why he's helping you host this?"
"This was his idea." She shrugged and moved over to flop down and sit on the bed in front of him. "I haven't exactly figured out his motives yet. But he has always been Miss Relena's most adamant supporter through our ranks. He knew her parents through one way or another."
"The Peacecrafts?"
She nodded blankly, "I've never figured out the correlation. But he keeps his secrets as well as any of us."
"But, do you trust him?"
She met his eyes, blinking out of her own thoughts. "Greatly. I hold nothing but the highest regard for him."
Quatre was well aware of what kind of compliment that was. Nodding, he pushed his concern back. "So what does he want with me?"
"The Marquis is a friendly, likable man. You'll get along wonderfully, I'm sure. As to why, I'm not sure," she paused in thought, still scrutinizing him and giving him that creeping feeling of self-consciousness again. "What I do know is that, like any good Romafeller, he has more than one reason," she smiled instead.
He gave her a displaced smile as she rose to her feet again and walked over to him. "Is that supposed to prepare me?" he accused her.
"I'm not preparing you." Sliding up to his side she looked down at the folder and his notes he still had in hand. "This is merely background. Your own natural charm should be quite enough for an informal brunch."
"Thanks," he mumbled, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not. Quatre was beginning to wonder if the power of Romafeller could be very easily summed up as the single ability of making other people nervous.
"Are you wearing cologne?" she asked suddenly.
Speaking of nervous. "Uh… too much?" he tried, focusing on anything but her. Yes, he'd attempted cologne this morning, only to promptly try to scrub it back off when he realized how badly it stunk. Apparently, he hadn't tried hard enough.
With a little crinkle to her nose Dorothy actually sniffed at him. "Not your brand," she shook her head and let it go at that, turning away towards the door again. "If you're not in the middle of anything we should be on our way."
"Coming," he called after her, giving the empty room a pathetically mortified expression.
He was honestly impressive.
Dorothy sipped at her coffee, following the conversation that easily flowed back and forth between him and the Marquis. Quatre had won over the Marchioness Elena Wayridge with a smile and a kiss on the hand as soon as she introduced them. The woman in question was a sweet, lovely woman who had probably never thought a bad thing about anyone in her entire life anyway, but she had positively glowed when he flashed her that first smile.
Dorothy may be able to make Quatre a Romafeller yet. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the smile off her face.
Her dear charge had honestly been a little more than nervous on their way here. She'd taken the scenic route to the Wayridge's estate and soothed over his last minute questions, most involving how to act in front of a man of title.
She'd told him over and over again not to worry about it. But then again, she was dealing with Quatre, so of course he did. However, none of that concern had crossed the threshold with him, and he was easily comfortable by now.
The group chatted idly, small talk really. The Marquis seemed very interested in Winner Enterprises, and especially the mining portion of it. Apparently there was a bill now before the Representatives that could allow Earth as an open market for crude materials, something that hadn't been done in more than a hundred years.
These two seemed fascinated with the proposal. Dorothy didn't think she could care less, although she did make a mental note to ask if that bill would increase Winner Mining's stock holdings.
Instead, she sat back, and watched the elder gentleman before her. Distinguished as always, he was polite and more jovial than usual this morning. But she still wondered what was going through the man's head. The simple fact that he knew she and Quatre were both staying here this weekend was enough of a hint that he was up to something.
They were being tracked. By how many, she didn't know.
A flash of defensiveness went through her, but she checked it again. Wayridge wouldn't allow anything to happen to Quatre, she was sure of it. This meeting could be the way that he ensured that, she supposed. She couldn't figure out any other real purpose.
Of course, the man could simply have been curious and she was reading too much into it. He had certainly shown an interest, specifically, in Quatre before. She was probably just paranoid.
Now look at who the nervous one was.
Mentally rolling her eyes, she sipped her coffee again as the group chuckled over a joke in the conversation. Quatre never failed to impress her. She didn't know why she was surprised now. It was just honestly very nice to sit here with friends with him beside her.
The breakfast nook they were in held a table for four between the kitchen and the dining room. It was a little sunroom of sorts, giving them a warm view into the backyard and the granite fountain that stood passively by through the winter. She'd never been in here before. Always in her visits she'd been seated in the formal dining room for an event, or in the family dining room if it was only her and Grandfather. Never had she been snuggled into this private little area before.
It was cozy. Just the two couples.
That was really what it felt like. Like the whole room considered them two couples, just sitting down for an informal little get-together. Dorothy supposed it was partially true. The couple in front of her had been married longer than she'd been alive. And considering Quatre was her guest, her charge and her friend, it pushed the two of them into the role.
But somehow that didn't seem to be it. Quatre fit in so well. His manners, characteristics, even his background to an extent. Maybe she just couldn't see the harm in liking the idea for a little while. Maybe she just liked the idea of being beside someone.
Those were not thoughts for here and now. Of course, they had been nagging at her at odd, random times for more than a week now. Ever since Quatre had waved off her happy little notions of marital discord, and challenged her to actually go through the traditional love and dating crap.
Dang it. Why did he always make her life so difficult?
The group chatted, wasting most of two hours before they all rose to say their goodbyes. The Marchioness apologized for the fifth time about adding sausage to the menu without realizing Quatre's religious disinclination for it. Again it took one of his smiles and a soothing assurance that he wasn't the least bit offended before she gave an embarrassed giggle but smiled back.
Dorothy barely kept her chuckle internal at the exchange.
"Mr. Winner, I do hope that we'll see you again soon," the elder man added with a shallow bow. "If I may be so bold, I would like to extend a personal invitation to you for your attendance at our little fundraiser for the Foreign Ministers. If you haven't already been offered one, of course," he added with a good-natured glace at Dorothy.
"Well, I didn't think I needed to beat anyone to it," she conceded.
Quatre gave them both a chuckle. "I will be honored. Thank you, Marquis."
"Good, good," he nodded to himself. "Lady Catalonia, I'm sure I will be in touch soon as well."
Granting him her hand she allowed the man to step in and pat her on the back with his free hand while he raised hers to peck a kiss on the back. "I will hold you to that," she assured. Probably sooner than he may expect.
She allowed Quatre to exchange a pleasant parting with the Marchioness and then switched with him. "Come again, Dorothy. We don't see enough of you these days," the woman prodded taking both of her hands.
"I will certainly try," she returned as the two women leaned in and pecked kisses on both cheeks before her hands were released again.
Turning away for the door where the butler was standing by to open it for them, Dorothy took Quatre's arm and allowed him to escort her out. She could rather enjoy this.
"Oh, they make such a darling couple," she gushed, happily clapping her hands in front of her as the two disappeared down the walk through the front windows. "I had always worried about Dorothy. She's such a strong girl; it's hard to find such a sweet boy to compliment her."
"Yes," the Marquis gave a little smile to the retreating couple's backs. "I do agree, Elena."
"They're so nice together," she continued with her little romantic musings as she turned and took her husband's arm and tugged him along after her towards the reading room. "And such a handsome boy," she nearly giggled.
--
There was something comforting about the black of space. Whether it was the darkness, the solitude, or just his own heart nagging for the peace and quiet, Quatre wasn't sure. He just knew it felt like home.
The earth was beautiful and a little mysterious to him still, but wonderful. His trips never overshadowed that from his mind. But the call of the Colonies, and of Space itself, held a longing in him… a feeling of belonging.
A feeling that had begun to waver in him again.
It was odd to be so openly welcomed, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding. Intruding in a place, in a life, that he didn't truly belong in. Not that he wasn't accepted, but more that he wasn't… necessary.
Dorothy really didn't need him. Not the way he needed her.
She needed a friend, someone who knew her inside and out, as much as anyone would ever know the Lady Catalonia. Every once in a while she needed a set of arms and a shoulder, but he really didn't think it mattered if they belonged to him, or anyone else.
Quatre was back to the same thoughts. The same reaction that he wanted to be the only one who could give her that. …And he wasn't. At this point in life maybe he'd accomplished that much, but in time she'd grow out of him. Once she was settled and her tears were dried again, what would he be to her?
He knew she cared, and knew that she would never just toss him away. They were too much alike, and yet… so vastly different that they complimented each other. Dorothy would never let go of him.
But she didn't need him. She would never need anyone. It was a revelation that he was slowly admitting to. She wouldn't only be a hard chase or a battle no one would ever truly win… but she also wasn't a woman who would fall so blindly in love that she would forget the world for the one man in her life.
Even in his thoughts it was too hard to explain. He just knew it in his heart that Dorothy would never abandon her name and title and forget herself for him. She couldn't be blinded like that. She didn't have the heart for it.
She was unique. He loved her for the heart she had. A heart that was everything he needed and wanted, but one that he wasn't sure he could pursue. In the past few days his hope had inflated and diminished so many times….
But he loved her. Did he have a choice?
Mint tea. She liked the smell of it, the feel of a hot cup in her hands. The tingling, prickly feeling. Almost, but not quite, too hot to hold.
It was just the melancholy dreariness these days. Anything that broke the monotony, no matter how small, was welcome. It was like she was anxious for something, but too tired to remember what.
Quiet was her faithful friend. Even the constant ticking of a clock became grating.
Stacks of paperwork and data pads sat in front of her on the desk, but none of them held the mystery that a cup of mint tea could right now.
She hated mint tea. Never liked the flavor. But it smelled good. She'd only made it because it was different. Something... different.
Her cup was quickly cooling though, as if, somehow, it was losing interest in her before she was finished with it.
Spring was coming. The windows of the office reflected back the gray of the cold drizzle outside. First, she would have to suffer through these dank, clammy weeks of soggy humidity.
Rain never suited her.
Her mother though... yes, her mother had loved rain. Why or how, she couldn't fathom. But she could remember. Just barely, on the edge of her memories, sat the gentle soul who had borne her. The delicate features, the soft grace, the light voice and the whispering touch.
Her mother loved it when it rained.
And when it didn't, she would play. "Raindrops." As though a piano could do as well, or better than, the heavenly water could at producing whatever effect it was that the woman longed for.
Dorothy didn't understand it now anymore than then.
But she hummed.
It wasn't an easy song to pick out in a hum. There were too many overlapping sounds, too many notes that slipped, and splashed, around each other. She would have never thought she could even remember a tune like that so well after all this time.
Maybe it was the tea.
The gardens outside always held some mint, just to stir the air and cleanse the nasal pallet between the lilacs and the lilies, the honeysuckle and the roses. The gardens would need to be reworked this spring. They hadn't been truly trimmed or arranged, brought to their lively luster, since Grandmother passed away. Just after mother had.
Dorothy had never liked the gardens. Probably because they were never treated right. It wasn't fair that such things were always left to the women of the house. Was it her fault that they had suffered so much? The apparent lack of a gentle, whispering grace? Would the words of a man not be enough to talk the flowers into blooming?
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that her tea was now barely lukewarm. She would have rather held the hot cup in her hands until her skin turned red from the heat. She would have welcomed it. She was cold now. Again.
It was the dreariness of these days. If the sun would come out, she could think of working again. Could think of going out and doing something. Just to be out. She didn't need a reason, just anything. As long as it was different. Something… different.
But the piles on her desk called to her, looking lonely at being abandoned for the worthless, cold, cup of tea.
Fine then. She didn't need to feel guilty to her own desk.
Rising, she moved away, but then hesitated and turned back to the cup. Picking it up, she held it in both hands; one cradling the bottom, as though it needed the support. A gentle whisper of a touch.
Moving to the other side of the office, she paused at one of the windows she passed, watching the cold drizzle down on the gray little gardens below. Poor things. Even in the winter they didn't seem to rest well in that condition. "I'll fix that," Dorothy softly cooed towards them.
She didn't know why she stayed here. It had been dripping on and off like this for the past four days. She'd leave again. Soon.
Moving on, she stepped up to the oak paneled wall of the office, near the corner, where a faux panel could be noticed if you looked for it. With a careful hand, she opened the veneer, and took a long look at the safe that was concealed behind it. Numbly, her fingers pressed in a combination into the keypad.
It didn't open. She tried another. Still, it didn't open. Tilting her head to the side, she tried a third set.
A pop sounded into the stillness of the room.
Running a feathery touch over the door, she took the handle and opened it. Inside, the little gray drawers looked back at her. None of them had been touched in years, she was sure. There was no reason to.
There wasn't now.
Softly, she knelt down on the floor, gently placing the cup beside her. The smell was nice. Clean. Lulling. Slightly bitter.
Starting towards the top, she pulled each metal drawer open, gave it a bored inspection, and then closed it again. Down one side, up the other. None of them were marked. But the very top drawer, she didn't move just yet. The long one that stretched all the way across the safe, but so thin that it still couldn't hold much.
This one she saved for last.
The others were soon finished, though none of the documents and deeds, heirlooms and jewels, trinkets or things paid any mind to her browsing. So instead she pulled out the top drawer. All the way out. And sat back on the floor, placing the metal drawer in her lap.
A ring collection gazed back at her. A rival to jewelry store displays.
Except these stones didn't twinkle. Nothing did on these rainy days. The light was mute, and conservative. So unlike the little bands of gaudiness that looked up at her.
On the right side, near her hand, was a collection of diamond sets. Delicately, she moved her fingers to caress over a particular set. Yellow gold, three bands, encrusted with braids of diamonds, with one in the middle to show itself off.
Her grandmother's. A good number of these were Grandmother's. But this one, this one was specially placed in this little collection on the right. Her wedding set. An engagement ring that was worn alone for just over a year, its main diamond the focus of the collection. A wedding band that backed it, worn for just under forty-three years. The anniversary band, that had only seen three years of wear.
No one ever knew what to do with a dead woman's wedding ring.
There were four, possibly five, of the same distinctive style rings laid out in front of her. Little symbols of meaning that didn't hold their sparkle anymore.
Dreary little things. Lost, like worthless memories of mint tea. They held stories no one knew anymore. What did they matter?
Did they speak of love? Of family? Did they tell the observer, remind the wearer, that she was taken? Did the men who gave these rings really hold his love's hand, or merely the price tag of these stones? It seemed impolite to ask that of these fingerless, embodiments of marriage. They weren't telling.
But it was the oddity that drew her attention. The one ring that sat, cozied into the black velvet of the holder, near the corner of the drawer. Placed in with the group, yet somehow set apart, its appearance distinctive and irregular.
Different.
This stone still flashed, a spark of life still in it. Or maybe it simply recognized the memories it still held in someone else.
Rose gold, the settling filigreed and intricate. A single stone of alexandrite, octagon cut, topping it. A rarity. Just like its wearer. Just like the love it represented. Something to confuse the observer, but clear to the bearer. A game, of sorts.
Dorothy loved it. She always had. Why she bucked tradition so much, she would never know. But she had a feeling that this ring did. This little token of a love so quick, and so blind to the inappropriateness of the couple.
She supposed that was the reason she was so quick to love. Anything with a spark of passion, a touch of courage, and she was taken with it. Anything that worked into her private little drama of life fascinated her. It wasn't a love she could name. She just knew it was there.
There were no foolish melodramatics. It was a precise love. Clear, like a blue sky. Her heart was simply different. Something… different.
Gently, she took the thing out of its cradle and held it to the gray light. The color-changing stone still sparkled with an inner brilliance. Cleverly, the band showed its curls and twists in the intricate design.
Slowly, she studied the novelty in her hands, the smell of the tea, the quiet of the room….
Rainy days didn't suit her. The dull monotony of a closed safe didn't suit this little ring either.
Tenderly, she held it with a soft touch. Though the temptation was there, she didn't dare try it on. The precious thing was made for a delicate woman. A woman with long, slender fingers, probably two sizes smaller than her own.
A pianist's fingers. Long, graceful hands adorned with short nails and this elegant, fitting ring. It had suited her. Probably all of the bands in this case had suited their charge. That was their purpose after all.
Deftly, Dorothy glanced out through the farthest window. The gray of the day's rain reflected back to her. As gray as her own eyes. As gray as the gardens, and the stones of the chateau.
The soft, satiny color of the rose gold and deep teal of the stone by daylight struck an odd effect against the pale ivory of her skin. It wasn't the porcelain pink of her mother's. The variation was nearly unperceivable, but there nonetheless.
And it knew. Knew she wasn't its owner. From the palm of her hand, the ring there knew she wasn't the gentle, beautiful woman with long fingers and a musical soul. It knew she wasn't its designed for companion. It knew Dorothy wasn't her mother.
She was different. Something… different.
Like a rainy day, or a wedding ring… or mint tea.
"Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves." - Blaise Pascal
* "Raindrops" by Charlie Sneller.
AN: You know, that last scene was a little more poetic than I typically try to put into a novel length story, but I liked it. I was sitting here, holding a cup of mint tea, staring at my piles of work and… well, there you go. If you know the lyrics to Dorothy's character song "Joy to My Life" from the series, you'll recognize some of this.
Proofread by: Random Pixy
Edited by: Spiked Jin