Revelations
By Isis cw
Chapter 51

Dorothy made her way through the halls and into the kitchen by herself, waving off the helpful butler that was trailing along, absolutely beside himself that she wouldn't let him take the box from her. She was perfectly capable of returning a collection of newspaper wrapped teacups without assistance.

Yes, Lady Dorothy Catalonia had become too used to doing things herself these days. And when the chateau's usual staff returned to the work of finishing the clean up from the fundraiser, she had promptly decided it was time to go home again. She was sick of the fuss everyone made around her these days. She always had been, it just closed in on her more now than usual.

"Do please tell Marquioness Wayridge that I appreciate her loaning these to me," she stated again, hoping the doting man would get the hint that she knew where she was going.

"I certainly will, Lady Catalonia," he replied, still trailing right along as though worried she'd drop the box.

Telling herself it wasn't worth being annoyed over, she pushed her way into the pantry beside the kitchen and placed them back on the shelf that she had seen the Marquioness take them from. There now, all tucked in.

"Are you certain you don't wish me to call Marquioness Elena for you?"

"I'll be on my way now. No reason to interrupt her," Dorothy shook it off and stepped around the man and out of the pantry cove again. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Oh, let me get the door for you, Ma'am," he hurried along after her again, trying to keep up with her pace.

Dorothy was willing to bet that this man got a healthy Christmas bonus each year.

However, her little mental humor drained away as the clicking of her sandals was drowned out by the soft strains of a piano melody.

She slowed her pace, letting the overbearing butler catching up to her as they slipped towards the front rooms of the house. Dorothy backed down the sigh she felt like heaving and turned pleasantly over her shoulder to the man. "Is Miss Leilalie still visiting?" she inquired.

"Yes, Ma'am," he nodded with a smile.

Always a smile.

Oh fine. "I don't wish to interrupt her, but I didn't get to say hello at the event."

"Oh, if you please, wait here just a moment," the man hastened to aid her with a little bow and then off he went towards the open entryway to the music room.

Dorothy stopped in the front foyer and adjusted her headband that was threatening to give her a headache. Another piano player. Well, of course she was.

That was no reason to be antisocial though, she supposed.

The melody drifted to a stop and then the butler popped back out of the room towards her. "Lady Catalonia," he motioned towards the room.

Dorothy stepped over to the room and walked in, the plush red carpet cushy feeling after the hard, formal tile. Leilalie was standing at the side of the grand piano waiting for her, her attire far more typical than the overly ridged formality from last Saturday. Her black hair was down, as long, if not a little longer, than Dorothy's own, only a barrette holding her sides back. A flowered skirt fell just below her knees, and was matched with a short-sleeve sweater. Nothing ever out of place.

Dorothy could have laughed at how well they matched.

"Lady Dorothy," Leilalie greeted, her smile openly genuine, "it's been a very long time."

"Yes, it has," she nodded. "Please don't call me Lady. We've known each other far too long for that," she responded stepping up to take the woman's offer hands and squeezed them in a friendly greeting.

"Well thank you," she nodded. "I didn't get to tell you how impressed I was with the fundraiser the other night. I heard how much remolding you did to the chateau and I'm sure it was a lot of work to get it set up for an event like that."

"I have your grandmother to thank for most of how that turned out," she readily admitted. "Thank you though, I'm glad you got to attend."

With a smile Leilalie released her hands again. "So am I. Senator Bridgeport was kind enough to ask me."

Senator Bridgeport. That still just didn't seem right to her. She certainly didn't vote for the man. And there was nothing "kind" about the scrooge. "I was glad to see him there as well," she lied.

"I got the chance to meet your escort," Leilalie conversationally went on. "Mr. Winner. He seemed very nice," she smiled.

The devil on her shoulder was just sharpening his pitchfork, but she added a smile nonetheless. "Quatre certainly is," she nodded. "I was privileged that he agreed to accompany me."

"Grandfather was very happy to see him there too," she returned.

That was an odd thing for someone like Leilalie to pick up on. "Really? I know they've gotten to be quite friendly," she fished.

"I believe so," she agreed. "Grandfather is awfully transparent with those he likes," she chuckled at the covert little observation.

Well, what do you know? Little Leilalie was starting to get some intuition. Dorothy would have to say she was impressed. "Well, I'm happy to know the Marquis approves," she chuckled it off.

"Approves?" the other blinked at her before giggling a little. "Dorothy, is Mr. Winner something more than a single escort?" she girlishly teased.

And her little opinion about the woman's intuitive side faltered. "Quatre is a wonderful friend. I'm happy to be associated with him so regularly, but we're not involved," she answered.

"Oh," Leilalie abashedly backed down. "I got the impression that he was very fond of you. I'm sorry, that wasn't my place," she politely apologized.

"It's alright," Dorothy readily waved it off. "But I've heard an interesting rumor too," she moved on, allowing her smirk to rise now that Leilalie had opened the suit for play.

Leilalie blinked a moment but then a shy smile rose and she turned away a little to look back down at the piano keys. "I suppose I'm not surprised he told you," she quietly answered.

Actually, he didn't say anything at all, Dorothy mused, but figured she shouldn't ruin the woman's illusions. "I have to tease you. I've known Andrew too long not too," she chuckled.

With an acknowledgement, the woman nodded to herself, not meeting her eyes. Dorothy started as a hint of a blush crept into the other's cheeks at the mention. "It's alright. I've started to get used to it," she reasoned.

But Dorothy stared at her as the girl focused on the piano keys, a shy—almost embarrassed—smile tugging at her lips, just the telltale hint of blush on her cheeks.

It was the same reaction Quatre would probably have if she forced him to admit to liking someone. The resemblance was actually uncanny to her for some reason.

"The two of you were always so close," Leilalie very quietly continued. "I always wondered if… that's not my business," she chided herself and stopped the train of thought.

Shaking off the mental picture, Dorothy realized that her thoughts before had been right. Andrew had found something in this sweet little girl that had replaced his feelings for her. And he had come back one last time to try to give her the advice to look for the same thing in someone.

"We went through a lot together," Dorothy admitted, her evil side falling away. "Andrew and Byron are both very dear to me. It's a shame I don't see them very often now." Leilalie turned to meet her eyes again, perhaps a little relieved looking. "Please look after him for me," she winked with a chuckle.

The other happily returned it with a nod. "I'll try to when I see them."

"Please do," she nodded again and turned away towards the door. "I should be going though. Hopefully it won't be so long before we see each other again, Leilalie."

"Yes, I hope so too," she nodded and let her go. "And please say hello to Mr. Winner for me, if you see him soon," she added as Dorothy stepped out of the room towards the front doors.

"I'll do that," she replied back to her and quickly let herself out.

Walking down the front steps, she let the breeze blow her hair around her without paying attention to it as she got into her car again. Closing the door, she caught a handful of the strands in it and had to open it again and pull the locks inside to try it again.

For a moment, she just sat there, letting the heat from interior of the car bake into her. The passenger seat was empty, all of her errands for the day were finished. All she really needed to do was collect her personal items and figure out how she was getting home.

Starting the car, she drove off, her mind fuzzy and a feeling caught in her throat that she couldn't explain.

Home. She still really didn't have a home. She had a cat. A fuzzy little substitute for someone that would care if she never went back.

She hated it when thoughts like this attacked her. They weren't true anyway. She had a collection of friends now that…. They weren't "home" either. They were friends. They were distractions.

Well, what's one more distraction then?

Stopping at an intersection she dug her phone out of her pocket and checked the time differences for their last known location before finding the number. Dorothy Catalonia had stressed herself out, run herself around in circles, and had had her entire collective emotions picked apart, analyzed, and then sufficiently trampled on. Everyone else had taken a shot at her lately, she may as well give the opportunity to the one remaining friend that she hadn't seen in months.

"Hello!" an overly cheery voice answered. "Dotty, what's up? How'd the thingy go? Let me guess, Mr. Commando went and wrecked the place. Did you tell that Relena to stop hanging around with him for me like I told you to?"

And Dorothy just laughed.


Trowa Barton was balanced on a support cable about fifty feet in the air, methodically tying down the tent flaps as the others heaved the big top's central point up. Noticing something, he paused and turned to look over his shoulder out the opening in the still untied sides of the canvas.

For a second there was nothing suspicious that caught his eye, but something had quieted the crowd of people that were bustling around with the setup preparations. From the other side of the grounds a few shouted greetings met his ears, and then everything seemed to continue on as normal.

And it didn't take long for it to come into focus. A second or two later, she came into view around the corner of a storage unit, directly into his line of sight.

No one would think that her casual jeans and shirt was uncharacteristic for this woman. She carried nothing with her, no bags or purse, her hair the only thing that trailed along behind her. She was obviously in no hurry, walking slowly along and watching the progress of the setup around her.

A pair of sunglasses hid her eyes from him, but not the uniquely identifying eyebrows. They gave her away as much as her walk did. The slow, even gate gave her a sensual sway. The straight shoulders and raised chin pronounced her confidence ahead of her.

It was the walk of a woman who knew she was being watched. And obviously didn't mind.

Trowa went back to his task, a hint of a smirk to his half-hidden expression. Dorothy Catalonia may have softened around the edges over the years, but she hadn't really changed. It had taken him some time to decide if that was beneficial or not.

He had also become well aware that it didn't matter what he thought.


"What do you think of this?"

Dorothy rolled her eyes at fourteenth shirt. "Catherine, you only have two day's leave. You've got enough."

"Hey, do you know how long it's been since I've gotten a vacation?" the other snipped from somewhere in the cubbyhole the woman called a closet.

"I thought you'd be packed already," she sighed, helpfully adding things to the duffle bag her nomadic circus friend was using for luggage.

"I tried. I tried," she complained. "Jumping clusters is a pain in the butt."

Dorothy supposed getting this much gear and housing arrangements from one colony to another was bad enough, but going through regulation changes and who knew what else when they switched colony clusters was probably a nightmare.

"Do I need a swimming suit?"

Pausing, Dorothy thought about that and then shrugged to herself. "Might as well bring one."

"Yea!" the other squealed. Walking back to the bed and the duffle, Catherine dropped an armload of bathing suits and under things onto the already bulging bag and then went to work pounding them into every last square inch available. Mercilessly tugging at the zipper, Catherine only had to bounce up to sit on the bag once to get it to pull closed. Hefting the strap over her shoulder, the woman turned to face her, brushing the auburn curls away from her face again. "So, where we going?"

Dorothy shook her head, biting down her laugh and then shrugged. Pulling the sunglasses off the top of her head, she turned and headed for the door. "I don't know."

"What do ya mean you don't know?" she cried after her as they left her side of the trailer.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked instead.

"I thought you were planning this trip," Catherine accused her.

"I said I'd come pick you up. I didn't say I had a plan," Dorothy corrected.

"Oh well. We'll wing it," the other shrugged it off. "Just a sec."

Dorothy turned around in time to see Catherine drop her bag and go sprinted off to the side of a nearby tent opening. Dorothy didn't have to be anywhere near it to hear the older girl scream Trowa's name as soon as she was in.

"What have I gotten myself into," she muttered to herself. Putting her sunglasses back on, she tried to keep from laughing again at this woman she'd gotten quite accustomed to over the months. Their one meeting had been enough to start them talking regularly, which Dorothy would admit was a first in her life really. She wasn't very good a friendly correspondence, but apparently Miss Catherine Bloom was.

The woman in question came running back out again, Trowa appearing in the doorway to watch her head off. Such a dear, Dorothy mused. Giving him a little wave in greeting, Trowa indulged her a nod of acknowledgement.

And that was as far as she got. Dorothy had intended to tell him that she'd take good care of his dear "sister" for him. But in one move, Catherine had grabbed the strap of her bag in one hand, grabbed Dorothy's wrist in the other and hauled both of them away without ever breaking her stride.

Dorothy stumbled into a quick jog as her friend laughed and dragged her along towards her rental car at the edge of the grounds. "Come on, Dorothy. Hurry up!"

She may be thankful this was only going to be a couple days.


Trowa watched the two girls hurry off, amused with them. Making sure they got to the car waiting on the street, he then made his way to their trailer and into his room. Punching in a number manually, he waited for the phone to ring.

"Hello."

"It's Trowa," he responded, knowing his number wouldn't show up on Quatre's phone.

"Let me guess, the girls just left," the phone chuckled at him.

"Yes," Trowa acknowledged, figuring this wouldn't be a surprise to him.

"Yeah, I know. And I told Dorothy that I'd probably be a little more forgiving than you if they have to call someone to bail them out."

He silently agreed with that.

Quatre just laughed at him. "They'll be fine," he soothed. "…And no, I don't know where they're going either."


"Where are we?" Catherine asked, swinging around in a circle in the disembarking side of the spaceport.

"L…" Dorothy looked up too to find the welcoming sign over their gate, "1. Colony 184526. Birthplace of Sunda Mua-wi-kee-now—something," she mumbled and gave up on pronouncing the name on the flag underneath the greetings.

"Oh yeah, that told me a lot," Catherine muttered at her.

"Well if you wouldn't have slowed us down we could have had a direct flight to the Caribbean Islands," she grumbled at her again.

"That was a ten hour flight," the other whined. "I am not spending my whole trip on a shuttle."

"Well fine," Dorothy waved it off. "Are we staying here or going on?"

"I don't know," Catherine shrugged, stopping beside her as they scooted off to the side of the area to let everyone else pass by. "Let's find the guy with the maps and ask what's here."

"Guy with the maps?" Dorothy repeated. "You mean the tourist center?"

"No," Catherine crinkled her nose. "Those people never know anything either. No, no. The guy that's out in front of every spaceport and city bus station with the bag of tour maps. You know," she gestured.

Dorothy started, staring at her like she'd lost her mind. "You mean one of those vagrants that want to try to sell you the free colony maps?"

"Yeah! Those guys know everything," she happily gushed. "Come on." Stealing her hand again, Dorothy almost lost her garment bag and purse off her shoulder as Catherine jolted her off at a quick pace for the exit.

"You've got to be kidding me," she mumbled as she was once again led along.

"Oh, don't be such a snot. They're nice," Catherine threw back at her with a giggle. "Well, OK, most of them are nice. But they'll tell you anything."

Dorothy just stumbled after her, wondering how quiet, enigmatic, always-serious Trowa could live with this woman.

After being dragged through the whole disembarking station and spilled out onto the sidewalks with three hundred other people, Catherine promptly tossed her—thirty pound—duffle bag at Dorothy and told her to stay there. Pulling out a collection of pocket change and a few credits, her traveling companion honestly went out looking for someone to give them directions.

Dorothy about hit the woman over the head with her own luggage for it but Catherine was shifting expertly through the crowd already. "Catherine!" she called after her, lugging their bags and trying to excuse her way through everyone. She was not letting this woman out of her sight. If anyone was going to club her over the head and drag her away it was going to be Dorothy!

She couldn't catch her before Catherine had indeed found some very scruffy, man seated on a bench out front with a little box in front of him, quietly asking for anything someone could spare. Dorothy stopped beside a flower planter a little ways away and warily eyed the man and the surroundings in case someone tried to gang up on her friend. But completely unconcerned, Catherine walked up, tossed her money into the box and spent a couple minutes chatting with the man.

Dorothy had to say she was relieved when Catherine nodded and happily rounded back towards her, the man still randomly mumbling a few things after she'd gone and then called out a blessing to her.

All at once Dorothy really felt like a heathen for her reaction. She had no problem with works of charity and had a number that she supported, but she'd been conditioned to believe it wasn't safe to approach someone on the street like that. Of course, they were in a crowd of a couple hundred people in broad daylight, what had she really expected to happen?

Greeting her again, Catherine took her bag back and pointed a finger down the street where they could see the colony rise up beyond the buildings. "We have our heading," she announced with a giggle.


"Shop-Topia" was apparently this colony's claim to cluster-wide fame. The main city was basically broken into two sections, one for the residents that ran the stores, and the middle for everyone that came to buy from them. The whole place was decked out in so many banners and signs and scrolling announcements that Catherine's eyes were starting to hurt.

The two had made it into the outskirts of this mammoth city of a shopping mall on foot and were now about dying for a place to call home just to get off their feet for a while. Tipping a guy with Shop-Topia brochures, she handed the thing to Dorothy and then sat down on her bag on the sidewalk.

"Where do you want to stay?" the blond asked.

"Something across the street would be nice," she muttered back. "I don't care."

"Ah!" Dorothy cried, pointing at something on the paper. "Home sweet home." Catherine looked up at her as Dorothy sort of mentally mapped out how to get there. "This way," she announced, starting off down the sloping side street.

The two made their way along, only getting lost once after finding an impromptu street dance going on, and finally found a skyscraper hotel surrounded by their own private park area. Catherine blinked at the place a second and then quietly followed right behind Dorothy as they stepped up to the lobby entrance. Spotting a large sign on a pedestal outside the door, she tugged on Dorothy's hair to make her stop. "We can't go in there," she whispered.

"What? Why not?"

Catherine pointed over the girl's shoulder to the sign on display. "They don't serve anyone one without a tie. We're in jeans," she reasoned.

Dorothy did a very bad job of covering her laugh. "That's for the lounge. We'll eat later, we're just checking in."

"Oh," she mumbled. "But this…" she trailed out as she gave the marble lined lobby a glance through the windows.

"I told you this was my treat," Dorothy started off without her.

Catherine squeaked and quickly caught up with her friend's pace as the Lady let the two valets open the glass doors for them. The place was quiet, classical music drifting around them as their shoes made a slight echo. Catherine had an overwhelming urge to laugh out of pure nerves, but tried to keep it down.

Dorothy strode up to the giant mahogany desk and greeted the—obviously very well starched—woman behind it. "Hello. My friend and I would like a two roomed suite for the night," she announced, setting her garment bag down and digging in her purse.

Catherine peeked around Dorothy to watch the woman give them a once over as she pecked quickly at the computer in front of her. "Well, it seems I'm showing—"

She stopped cold when Dorothy pulled a card from her purse and slid it onto the counter towards her, never even looking up to acknowledge the hotel greeter. "Something with a very nice view too, if you could. And," Dorothy pulled the brochure back out in front of her, "if we use some of your amenities during our stay will you add that to my bill or will I have to finalize that on check-out?"

Finally Dorothy turned to look expectantly at the woman who was standing perfectly still in front of them. "With a personal bank card we can only process one transaction at a time, Ma'am," she responded.

"Well, that's a hassle," Dorothy muttered to herself, flipping the brochure over to the next page instead.

"Of course, if you allow us to keep your account open, we will charge each amenity as you use them and then your room bill at the time of check out," she hastily added.

"Oh, very well then," Dorothy nodded. "I'll accept that."

The woman was only too thrilled to swipe her card through and then introduce them to the man who would be carrying their bags. Following the bellhop to the elevators, Catherine trailed along in awed silence. She knew that Dorothy was filthy rich, but to be waving around a personal debit card like that was kind of a shock.

Not to mention that Dorothy didn't even bother to ask how much a two-bed suite "with a view" was going to cost her in a ritzy place like this!

As the mirrored doors closed them into the elevator, Catherine breathed a sigh of relief as the young man with their bags pressed in the button for the very top floor. Dorothy hummed to herself and opened the brochure once more. "What's good for restaurants around here?" she asked.

"Our lounge offers an extensive menu, Ma'am, along with quality entertainment each night," he recited back to her.

Dorothy turned and blinked at him a second until the guy swallowed. "I realize they pay you to say that, but I'm on vacation and really don't want something that formal. What do you actually like?" she asked again, smirking at him.

Catherine about giggled at the display. Oh, she was good.

"Well, what are you hungry for?" he asked, obviously a little displaced.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Catherine, what are you hungry for?"

She hummed to herself and leaned over her shoulder to look at the brochure too. "Um… Chinese," she suggested.

"I could go for that," Dorothy nodded and they both turned to look at the guy beside them.

Flashing them a cute smile he nodded. "Then, yeah, you have to try the Five Claw," he conversationally answered. Leaning towards them, he pointed to a section on their little map. "I don't want to offend you, it's kind of a hole in the wall place, but it's the best Chinese in the city."

"Perfect," Dorothy purred, almost directly into the guy's ear.

With a chuckle, he backed away again and moving a hand to rub at the side of his neck. He chatted with them easily as they left the elevator and he showed them to the last doorway in the hall, letting them in and dropped their luggage off. Dorothy sweetly asked his name and then thanked him for the information and sent him off with a tip amount that Catherine didn't manage catch.

As soon as the door was closed behind him, the two girls giggled to themselves over it and Dorothy happily hummed along as she began wandering around the expansive common area, a bedroom on each end.

"What was all that for?" she asked as the Lady browsed their surroundings, picking up a catalog that was on the coffee table.

"To each their own," she shrugged back. "You like bums, I like bellhops," she teased.

"Dorothy!" she snipped.

With a giggle, the woman rounded to face towards her, still reading the booklet she'd found. "What do you say? Quick massage before dinner?"

"What?" she blinked.

"This place is a full service spa and retreat," Dorothy answered, tossing the book at her for her to catch. "I say we take full advantage of it after being on our feet all day."

Catherine flipped through the booklet listing of "services" on-site and the times available. "You don't do anything halfway do you?" she asked.

Dorothy wandered over to the kitchen/dinette area and sniffed at the bouquet of flowers on the dividing countertop. "If you're not going to make it interesting, why bother?"

Catherine shook her head in absolute abandon. "I like you," she chuckled.


Dorothy was half asleep on the table when her phone chirped at her from the pile of her clothes on the bench in front of her. The first couple rings she completely ignored it, but then stirred to at least acknowledge that it was ringing. The masseuse was working diligently at the knots in her calf muscles and Dorothy decided she wasn't about to interrupt her work.

With a hummed moan of pleasure, she settled back into relaxing. For another five minutes, the woman rubbed diligently at her feet and legs, moving up to her lower back before quietly informing her that her time was up and she would leave to allow her to get dressed again.

Dorothy probably would have asked her for a second session, but she knew very well that Catherine was in the next bay probably getting told the same thing. Oh well, it was time for food and she was back into shape for seeing what this place really had to offer. She didn't have any idea what time it was locally, but right now her stomach told her she was ready for dinner.

Getting off the table, she threw off the worthless towel that barely attempted to cover something and picked up her clothes and quickly dressed again. Finally pulling her phone from the pile she checked the ID and smiled at it as she finished up and stepped out of the booth and towards the waiting area to find Catherine.

Punching in her redial, she twirled her headband in her hand, not bothering to replace it yet. An assistant at the door smiled and handed her a bottle of water on her way out of the spa area as the phone rang a couple times in her ear.

"Hello."

"You almost got away with interrupting me," she teased.

"I would never want to ruin your fun," Quatre chuckled at her. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course I do," she answered spotting Catherine who was languidly stretching her arms with a yawn in the waiting area. She fell into step with her as she passed by. "Say hi to Quatre," she giggled, holding the phone towards the other's ear.

"Oh!" she cheered. "Hi, Quatre!" she called towards the phone. The speaker was just loud enough for them both to hear him laugh and call a hello back to her.

"So, what may I do for you?" she asked, replacing the phone to her ear.

"Well, I don't want to spoil the mood or anything, but if you're out you may need to take a look at today's issue of Headliner Herald."

Dorothy crinkled her nose at the mention. "Since when do you read the trash mags?"

"I don't, but I have a sister that stays on the lookout for me," Quatre sighed.

"Oh dear," she muttered. "What's wrong?"

"We did everything to search the fundraiser guests for weapons, but apparently we missed a couple cameras."

Oh bloody hell. She was hoping to get around this type of fallout. "Fantastic," she grumbled. Steering a very confused Catherine towards the front desk again in the lobby she ran through the possible scenarios. "How bad?"

"Oddly enough… Heero and Miss Relena barely made the article," Quatre informed her. "I don't see anything to actually worry about, but… well, I figured you should probably be warned."

Strange, she frowned to herself. "Alright," she drawled. "I'll look into it when I can then if it's nothing pressing."

"No. Nothing to waste your vacation for," he happily informed her.

"Alright then. Thank you, dear," she shrugged it off as she stepped up to the greeter on duty. "I'll call later."

"Have fun," he humored her.

She hung up with a chuckle despite herself for some reason. Always so worried about everything. That man was the one that needed a vacation. Speaking to the woman behind the counter, she asked if they could get her a copy of the offending magazine and deliver it to their room.

With that finished, she ushered Catherine out the door and towards a waiting cab station.


Five Claw Chinese Restaurant was a wonderful little place about half a mile into this crazed shopping district. It wasn't nearly as "hole in the wall" as Dorothy was expecting, just very small really. But since it was almost three o'clock in the afternoon here, they got a table easily.

"So… Quatre miss you already?" Catherine teased as they waited for their meals.

"What?" she blinked out of her happy little musing about the décor.

With a completely inappropriate amount of eyebrow wiggling, she grinned back at her. "Come on. Tell me that Quatre just looked so good in a tux that you just wanted to eat him up," she merrily suggested.

And Dorothy burst out laughing, completely unable to hold it back.

"I didn't think it was that funny," the other muttered.

Finally calming herself, she shook her head and sipped at her water glass. "Well, at least you're being original," she waved it off.

Catherine gave her a funny look, "Original in what?"

Dorothy sighed and slumped back in the booth, starting at the symbols on the chopstick package in front of her. "Apparently everyone these days is under the impression that I need to snag myself a 'Winner.'"

Her friend openly giggled at the pun and nodded vigorously in Dorothy's peripheral vision. "What's wrong with that?"

Looking up at the happily smiling woman across from her, she felt a little guilty at spoiling the mood. "I don't want him."

Catherine's smile dropped completely as she stared at her. Dorothy self-consciously turned her eyes away, not figuring out why she felt so ashamed of saying that. "Well…" the other found her voice again. "That's probably OK." Turning back, she found that Catherine's smile had once again returned as the elder girl winked at her. "Quatre's just stubborn enough not to care what you want."

Dorothy sat and gave her an incredulous look, absolutely befuddled with her. Finally she broke a chuckle and shook her head, knowing exactly why she'd wanted this vacation.

"So spill. What's the deal? How can you not want the guy? Can I have him?" she randomly threw in.

Still laughing Dorothy leaned over the table and folding her hands together to set her chin on them. "Why, Miss Bloom, are you saying you're interested?" she teased.

She shrugged. "Cute, sweet, rich. Aside from the whole 'is he gay' question, why wouldn't any woman want him?"

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "I'm sorry I ever started that joke. And I wouldn't recommend teasing him. He's a little sensitive about it," she warned.

"Sensitive?" she questioned and then slapped both hands up over her mouth. "Oh my gosh! You didn't ask him, did you?" she cried, removing her hands only enough to speak.

Dorothy started, "What? No, I didn't ask him. What do you take me for?"

Hiding her face in her hands Catherine just laughed at her. "I can just so see you doing that."

"I most certainly would not," she defended herself. Well, alright, maybe if she had actually been curious, and in the right place and setting….

Catherine waved her hands and then cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Quatre dear, but I need your signature here and here," she mimicked. "Oh, and by the way," she leaned towards her over the table, "are you gay?"

"I would not," she snipped again. "And that doesn't sound a thing like me," she refuted her.

Catherine went back to her hysterical giggles. Maybe she should take back her thought on why she needed this particular vacation.

After a few minutes of other bad attempts to mimic her—all of which Dorothy completely ignored—Catherine calmed again. "So… how did you bring up the topic?"

Finally recognizing the woman across from her again, Dorothy blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"You just said that Quatre was sensitive about it—which by the way, what isn't Quatre sensitive about? So you've actually talked about this, right? Come on, don't hold out of me," Catherine waved her to spit it out.

Trying to think back to what seemed like years ago, she sat for a moment and thought about the conversation they'd gotten into at her home last winter some time. "He got rather annoyed with me over something and accidentally slipped and asked why everyone thought he was gay."

"Wait. Nobody actually thinks that right?"

With a shrug, she let her thoughts trail around the remembered conversation. "I told him it was just because he made average men jealous."

With a hum and a nod Catherine seemed to agree with that. Dorothy didn't bother worrying about it. That topic seemed so very long ago, and yet… yet it was when he'd called out her little disillusions about dating and marriage. Not that it had taken anything really. Dorothy Catalonia was not a woman who sat around wondering about her love-life… extensively.

These days it seemed she had everyone else in the world worried about that particular topic for her.

The question that she kept coming back to was simple. Why poor Quatre? What did he ever do to everyone to have them keep trying to throw her at him? Poor dear soul. He didn't deserve that.

Oh, this was the start of Andrew all over again! If anything would annoy her, it was that thought. Everyone from Relena to Catherine to Leilalie and Marquis Wayridge and even Andrew himself all seemed to find it appropriate to shove her in the "right" direction. And they were all just waiting for her to be the last to realize it and then humbly accept their recommendations with an embarrassed blush.

Who the hell did they think they were dealing with? Did she ask for this?

"Dorothy? You're spacing on me."

Looking up at Catherine again, she puffed out an irritated sigh. "Does everyone think I need help choosing a man?" she bitterly grumbled.

With a patient smile, the other tilted her head to the side. "Well, maybe you should do something about it yourself then."


"I didn't mean it like that," Catherine confessed as they finally let themselves back in to their suite.

Basic lesson for today: Don't give Dorothy a challenge. She's scary.

Catherine was not a woman that sat on the sidelines, she enjoyed being very friendly and outgoing. But Dorothy had apparently decided that she needed some flirting practice… and decided to try it out on every moderately attractive man in the area.

So, three pairs of shoes, five new tops and a pair of pants later, Dorothy had agreed to head back to the hotel with their collection of bags. OK, Dorothy's collection of bags. Catherine had only ended up with a couple barrettes and a pair of earrings.

Shopping was a little one-sided with this woman.

"Didn't mean what?" the blond asked, tossing her bags on the couch.

"You know, you don't have to make up for lost time or something," Catherine mildly coached. "Men have a pretty good shelf life, you know."

The Lady gave her a rather undignified snort and laughed at her. "I'm not doing anything different."

"You're binging," she accused.

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!" Dorothy huffed.

"Oh, you are too," she rolled her eyes. "You're just bitter because everyone else sees something you don't, so you're trying to rebel."

"I am not. I'm simply deciding to be more outgoing and seeing where it leads," Dorothy returned, walking around the coffee table and picking up a magazine laying on it.

"Whatever," Catherine threw up a hand. "You're just running away from destiny, girl. And try as you might, it'll come back and bite you in the butt."

"…Sooner than I think," Dorothy mumbled.

Losing all of her best philosophical airs, Catherine blinked and looked at her friend who stood motionless next to the couch, staring at the opened magazine in her hands. "Colony 18…wherever we are, calling Dorothy," she mumbled.

When the blond still didn't look up from where she was reading, Catherine huffed at her for being ignored and walked over. Hopping up on her toes, she leaned over her shoulder to look at the two-page spread opened in her hands.

Bridging the Divide: Quatre Raberba Winner + Dorothy Catalonia?

Catherine giggled at the headline and dropped her chin onto Dorothy's shoulder to happily analyze the picture. Across the top of the pages the photo caught the two looking at each other, other people casually in the background. Quatre was turned mostly away, his back to the camera while Dorothy was faced forwards. Still, there was no mistaking their profiles or the hint of a smile to both as he cordially offered a hand back to her, which she was still in the process of accepting when this snapshot was taken.

How sweet!

She didn't get any farther than that before Dorothy closed the magazine and threw it viciously across the room to smack against the window. Whispering a curse that Catherine hadn't figured the woman was capable of, Dorothy stalked off to pace the floor a couple times.

And Catherine stayed exactly where she was and very quiet as the woman silently fumed, steam almost literally coming out her ears.

Stopping in mid-stride, Dorothy took a deep breath and seemed to calm herself again before specifically walking over and picking the magazine back up off the floor and smoothing it out again from its crumpled condition.

"Um… Dorothy?" she very meekly tried.

"These stupid people. Doesn't anyone realize what this will do to him?" Dorothy spoke quietly to the pages in front of her before she opened it back to the article again. "I thought it was safe," she whispered. "This… this isn't how it's supposed to be."

Catherine watched in absolute dismay at the woman's words. Rushing over, she took the magazine away and held it up in front of her, expecting the worst. But instead of breaking down into tears, Catherine was faced with a woman that just looked… hollow.

"How many times can I fail him?" Dorothy whispered to herself, seemingly unaware that Catherine could still hear her.

Holding it against herself Catherine showed it to the blond. "Dorothy, what is it? What's so wrong about this?" she asked, hugging the abused thing in front of her.

Raising her eyes, it took a minute for Dorothy to respond. "He doesn't deserve to be the only one that doesn't hate me."


Quatre was in the middle of some very strange dream about trying to find a report in a giant row of filling cabinets while the rest of the room was filled with guests and there was some sort of party going on that he was supposed to be attending. Somehow, he was actually relieved when his phone startled him awake.

Shaking off the mismatched images, he tried to clear his throat before picking up the phone and then realized exactly how late it was. Instantly alert, he answered it hastily, trying to prepare himself for the worst, the ring tone telling him exactly who it was.

"Dorothy? What's wrong?" he snapped.

There was a couple seconds of silence before her voice calmly filtered over the line. "What do you mean?"

With a sigh of relief, he tipped back and flopped into his pillow again. "I'm sorry. I thought something happened. Why are you calling so late, then?" he relaxed his nerves once more.

"So late?" she questioned. "I…. Oh dear. Did I screw up the time difference again?"

And with a laugh, he closed his eyes and settled back into the sheets. She was notoriously bad at that. "Apparently. Where are you two anyway?"

"L1… somewhere."

He blinked his eyes back open again. "What?" They were only going to be off traveling for two days and they went from L3 all the way to L1? "What did you go there for?"

"Well, this is just kind of where we stopped," she mumbled.

Quatre laid in bed and stared up at the dark ceiling, neither saying a word to that.

"…What?" she finally asked.

"You just got on a shuttle and ended up in L1?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Of course not."

He sighed.

"We got on a shuttle to the other side of L3, but it didn't seem like much, so then we skirted around to L5 and it was even worse, so we ended up on a flight into L1. Then Catherine asked a bum on the sidewalk for tourist attractions and now we're in something called 'Shop-Topia' and staying at this darling resort hotel."

Quatre just sighed again. "Only you," he muttered. Rethinking that, he gave his phone a confused look for a second. "Did you say she asked a bum on the sidewalk for tourist information?"

"Yes, I did," she returned. "Remind me to have a long, awkward conversation with you about that sometime."

"Okay," he drawled, utterly confused.

"The point isn't where I am," she vocally waved it off. "The point is this stupid magazine article."

"Oh," he fought back the smile. "You found that."

There was a long, weary sigh from her and his smile completely faded away. "I'm sorry, Quatre," she quietly apologized, which instantly worried him.

When she didn't continue, Quatre sat up in bed, trying to think of what the matter was. "For what?" he questioned. "Dorothy, what's wrong?"

Thousands of miles away, Dorothy Catalonia sat on her bed backwards, facing to look out at the still darkening colony around her. The giant bed was set against the corner of the room, floor to ceiling windows surrounding it and the canopy curtains still drawn together at the corners. Across her folded legs lay one of the pillows, and on top of that the article and picture still stared up at her accusingly.

"…How do I fail you so completely all in one week?" she whispered, more to her own hollow internal nagging than to him.

"What did you say?" Quatre returned, his voice snapping her thoughts back to the pages in her lap. "Dorothy… what are you talking about?"

The tone in his voice told her that he'd heard exactly what she'd said. Well, no reason to go back on it she supposed. It was the truth after all. How could she have been so blind? She knew better. She couldn't trust herself like this.

"Quatre, if you get questioned on this you're going to have to make an excuse," she turned reasonable again, her mind clicking automatically into salvage and cleanup. "You were invited by Marquis Wayridge and agreed to help host the function as a personal favor to Miss Relena. Escorting me was incidental."

"Excuse me?"

"Decline all other questions as not applying," she finished, running through the list of possible backlash topics. "But it has to be taken as not applicable, don't just fail to comment, that will make it worse."

"Dorothy, what are you talking about?" he broke in again. "Please slow down. This isn't even a credible source. Besides, I have no intentions of lying about anything if someone does actually ask."

"You're not lying," she snapped. "Now listen to me."

The harshness in her own voice echoed back to her in the absolute silence that presented itself. What was she doing?

Sucking down a deep breath she tossed the magazine aside and raised her knees and the pillow so that she hit her forehead on it. "I'm sorry," she whispered, close to just hanging up on him out of sheer frustration.

"Dorothy?" he questioned, that note of worry so deep it bordered on fear in his voice. She knew it so well after all this time.

Wrapping her free arm around her pillow and her knees, she buried her face in it for a second feeling like she just wanted to scream. Why did everything always dump on her all at once like this? It was like everything she was trying to accomplish in life had mutinied against her.

She had to think of a way to exonerate him from her. Exorcize him basically.

"Dorothy?" the question was more insistent in her ear this time. "Please, precious, talk to me," he half-pleaded.

And she pulled her face away from the pillow, one eyebrow actually quirking. Did he just call her "precious?" Absolutely despite everything going through her, her smirk threatened to come back. "Precious?"

"What?" came the confused question.

"Did you just call me 'precious?'" she asked again.

There was a lengthy pause before she heard a snap that sounded suspiciously like him slapping his forehead. "Um… sorry."

The smirk grew to an absolutely befuddled smile and then slowly she began to quietly snicker as the word "precious" just reverberated in her head. A deflated sigh was audible over the phone line as she turned to chuckling and when her mind flipped over to the image of him blushing his cute little head off Dorothy burst out laughing.

"Are you finished yet?" came the rather un-amused question as she tried to tilt the phone away so she wouldn't deafen him. "You do that to me all time," he grumbled in her ear. "I never stood around laughing at you."

It only made it worse and she tried to bury her face in the pillow again. If he was here… if he was here she'd do the same thing. She'd bury herself into him and just laugh. Just laugh. Pulling her face back she snatched away a tear that leaked from her eye.

Just laugh until she cried.

Sobering slowly, she wiped away another tear that leaked from her other eye as well and then looked up at the ceiling, forcefully willing the others to back down. "It just struck me funny," she commented, still fighting chuckles.

"Apparently," he grumbled. "What's wrong with 'precious?'"

"Nothing," she shook it off. "It's just the idea of you saying it."

With another sigh he apparently gave up. "Well, I'm glad I can amuse you," he bitterly added.

Dorothy sniffed and sucked down a calming breath once more. "Sorry," she mumbled.

There was a rustle in the background before he gave her a little chuckle of his own. "Alright then. What's eating at you about all of this?"

Shaking her head, she hugged the pillow to her again and looked over at the magazine. "I can't protect you from what this could do to public opinion," she slowly admitted, honesty seeming to be the only thing she had left right now.

"Am I asking you to?"

Now that was something she really didn't believe he'd just said.

"Dorothy, honestly, what's the worst that can happen? People decide I'm having a teenaged hormone attack, Winner Inc.'s stocks drop ten points, and then a week later some movie star gets married and divorced and everybody forgets about me," he listed. "It's not even worth my time to bother telling them it isn't true."

Dorothy pulled the phone away from her ear and checked the caller ID just to confirm that she was still talking to the same person. "It wouldn't?" she asked, confused with where this kind of attitude was coming from. That wasn't like Quatre. He took everything personally. This should really bother him.

"I don't care," he emphasized. "I can't care. What's the alternative? I'm not going to go through my whole life convincing people you mean nothing to me every time a shot like this comes out. And I have no intensions of giving you up. If we start sneaking around out of the public eye, then they're going to think we're having an affair or something even worse," he exaggerated.

"Quatre," she admonished.

"Tell me it isn't true," he sighed.

She couldn't. "That doesn't me feel better," she said instead.

"I know it doesn't," he gently consoled her. "But this is the same debated we've had since the very beginning. I thought… I thought maybe you'd stop being so worried about it after this," he slowly confided.

"After what?" she asked. But she knew what he was hinting at. For some reason it turned her stomach inside out.

"I'd gotten the hints," he quietly confessed. "They just didn't make much sense until I knew for sure that you were part of… the group."

Oracle. He just wouldn't say it over the phone. Now that he knew she was part of Oracle.

"Something like this could have posed a physical threat to both of us, couldn't it?"

There was no debating that he understood. She just wished he hadn't found out like that. "Probably not a physical threat. But if the others had thought you would leak the group's involvement, or warn someone we were investigating, because I got too careless… they would have discredited you before anything got out," she admitted.

"Discredited me?" he asked. "You mean turned me in."

Swallowing, she shook her head. "No. They wouldn't run the risk of you taking down the others too. Besides, Une would never allow you to be prosecuted. No, they would be a little more indirect. Rumors are all that would be needed, and along with that, they would ruin the company and anything else they felt you could fall back on. I would be… probably in the same position."

"And so the comments about being careful with you. The idea that a Romafeller connection—"

"Is still true and valid," she cut him off. "Becoming part of the group only placated fallout from them, not everyone."

"But anyone else is just opinion, isn't it? There's no one else that would actually do anything, right?"

For a while the quiet dragged on as each consciously analyzed the repercussions of that knowledge.

"You've been protecting me all this time," Quatre quietly broke back into her thoughts. "All of us, I know that," he corrected. "But, you still stayed beside me…" he trailed out uncertainly. "Thank you."

Dorothy hadn't expected that. "I endangered you," she refuted. "Do you understand that? There's no reason to thank me."

It was true. For her own personal, selfish reasons she had kept him in the sights of Oracle. She had paced a very thin line for so long with his livelihood in her hands, all purely because… she didn't want to let him go.

Glancing over at the picture still open beside her, Dorothy berated herself. It was exactly that: Selfish. She knew that Oracle wouldn't like the idea of Quatre being publicly tied to her, but she was confident enough that she could fall back on Marquis Wayridge's support that it wouldn't matter. She had thought it was safe enough for her to… indulge.

Quatre didn't understand. He was still being far too sentimental. Thanking her. For what?

Pulling her right hand away from her knees, she held it up to what was left of the light, the ring there twinkled faintly. She knew exactly what being sentimental brought. Pinching the phone between her shoulder and ear, she ripped the thing off her hand once more.

"Do please forgive me, Quatre," she finished, hanging up before his stunned silence wore off.

Getting off the bed she left her phone on the nightstand and put her shoes back on before it began to ring again. Dorothy ignored it as best she could and quickly hurried out of her bedroom and their suite. It took all the patience she had to wait for the elevator and once down she quickly paced through the lobby and hit the streets outside running.

Five or six blocks later she found the park area that she'd been looking for. On the opposite corner was the front entrance to Shop-Topia that they had passed through earlier. A few doors in, across the park, was a shelter and food pantry, the one that Catherine had gotten their brochure from.

Slowing her pace, she kept sucking down air trying to quiet the turmoil in her as she crossed the park in the twilight blue. Finding the lights on at the front of the shelter, she didn't bother to go inside. Instead, she noticed the donations box affixed next to the door, a scripture passage carved over it.

She would have thought it was a nice gesture if her eyes hadn't been too blurry to read it. Raising the lid, she finally unclenched her hand and gave the ring one last look before dropping it down the shoot. Spinning away, she wrapped her arms around herself and started back towards the park.

"Bless you, Ma'am."

Startled she turned to find an older man there next to the doorway, standing in the shadows as though keeping watch.

"You alright there, Miss?" he asked once he saw her face.

Swallowing, she blinked rapidly to try to keep the tears back still. "I will be," she admitted. "I hope it helps," she stated instead. Turning away she had to leave before talking made her break down any farther.

"It sure will," he answered. "I always see the best people here…" he quietly trailed out as she slipped away.

Best people? She almost laughed at that as she sniffled, forcing her eyes to dry by pure willpower. That ring used to belong to the best of people. Maybe it would again. But certainly not with her.

Finding a solitary bench, she sat down for just a minute. She wasn't cold-hearted. As soon as Quatre figured out she wasn't going to answer her phone he would have switched to trying Catherine's. And if she wasn't still in the shower, her friend would realize she was gone and probably come out looking for her.

They'd probably both be upset if she didn't go back soon. But she just needed a minute. Just one lousy minute.

How had she let her plans fail this badly? Had she lost all control over herself? Leaning back on the bench, she pulled her knees up, never uncrossing her arms from their hug.

She could handle being found out by Andrew. There was nothing she could have done to stop that anyway. He was trusted within the circle and only a few would have found it odd that he was checking up on things out of curiosity. But she should have known that he would go that far, and she didn't.

She hadn't seen it coming. Just like his affections for her. None of it had been part of her analysis. He cared about her and it had driven him to take a variable path that she would never have predicted.

Dorothy Catalonia couldn't predict emotions.

They weren't fair. They didn't formulate the way she expected or wanted them to. They weren't rational and there was no pattern to judge them on.

And now…. Hanging her head, Dorothy finally just let a couple tears slip through her lashes.

Quatre. What was she doing to him? Since the very moment she decided to see him again after Libra she had known that the fledgling group of evidence scrubbers she'd put together would have concerns about her working with one of the Gundam pilots. At the beginning it was easy though. There was only one good way to keep track of the group, and had anyone asked, she would have admitted that she intended to keep an eye on them.

Why exactly she was doing it was her own business though.

"You've been a great help to this planning commission. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me."

"Of course, Mr. Winner. I'll be in touch."

"Thank you. Have a pleasant trip."

The man walked out of the office and the voices died from her range of hearing again. It was then that the lady behind the desk stood and turned towards the still open doorway. "Excuse me, Mr. Winner?"

"Yes, I've gone over my time for the conference room, haven't I? I'm sorry. I'll be happy to reimburse the next time slot."

"That's quite alright, Mr. Winner. It's no trouble at all. I've only come to tell you that there is someone else waiting to speak with you. A Lady Catalonia."

Dorothy would have done anything to see the look that crossed his face. There was no question of who, or what name. There was only a long silence.

"Mr. Winner? Is there a problem?" the receptionist had asked.

"…None," he'd quietly answered, but Dorothy had strained herself enough to hear it. "Would you mind if I spoke to her here?"

"Not at all, Sir. I'll show her in," the woman had quickly related and then stepped out the doorway toward Dorothy.

Calmly she looked up from her book as though unaware of the preceding conversation and the woman gave her a smile and waved back to the doorway's direction. "You may go in now."

"Thank you," she gave the woman a smile and closed her book. Adding it to her case, she took her own sweet time in collecting it and walking to the door. Squashing down the prickly, grinding feeling tearing up her insides, she purposefully added her typical smirk to her perfectly glossed lips and strode through the door exactly three feet before pausing to find her audience. "You're a hard man to reach these days, Mr. Winner," she pointedly pinned him with her eyes.

Quatre stood at the head of the table nearest the door, turned halfway to look at her as though rooted in the spot. With some measure of nervous delight she watched his stunned eyes flicker over her appearance. But he threw her neatly laid script out the window instantly. His eyes softened as a hint of a smile actually brushed his lips, aimed exclusively at her. "Miss Dorothy… you're not an easy woman to find these days," he'd returned.

Neither one of them had changed. It had taken only seconds for each to determine that. And with it, the fronts that they both engaged the public with disintegrated.

Now, it was personal.

With a curiously raised eyebrow, Dorothy sauntered a few more steps into the room, purposefully not closing the door. She wasn't after a private conversation. She didn't trust getting into the finer details of their last engagement this soon in the program. "That would imply that you've been looking."

The smile was grating at her nerves, and when it widened she mentally cursed him for it. "Then I guess I've already given myself away."

He knew she was toying with him. He was expecting it. Very observant. "Does a man in your position have so much free time that he wastes it on idle searches?" Making sure she wasn't starting the next war already, most likely. Continuing her pace she swished past him to the side of the table and set her case down on it to open it, ignoring his eye contact.

"My position isn't actually as time consuming at the moment as most people tend to think. Actually… I'm happy to see you're well."

That irritating earnestness of his. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end although she couldn't figure out why. Was this man so danged honest about everything? But, she knew him as well as he did her. Dorothy had expected something to the effect. "You as well," she purposefully drawled, not turning her eyes to him.

Quatre Raberba Winner was not a dense man; the fact that he refused to comment on the insinuation was purposeful.

He had healed after all. As soon as her blade actually stopped she had known that it wasn't a vital wound. A minor repair surgery and a month of stitches and he would have no long-term health affects. Still… it probably hurt like hell.

That wasn't her task for the day.

She finally pulled the document she'd been looking for out of her case. And she did it as though there was anything else besides blank paper and empty folders in it to start with. "I'll skip to the chase, Mr. Winner. I have," she turned to offer him the covered document, "a motive for this meeting."

Her phrasing was laughably obvious but it seemed to confuse him just a bit as he studied her a second before taking the folder from her hands. There was no distrust in his actions, he didn't keep his eyes on her, nothing.

It unnerved her but she didn't show it.

Aside from the fact that he hadn't budged an inch since she'd entered, he seemed completely comfortable with the exchange. Perhaps she was taking the wrong approach with this?

Too late now, she'd worn her shortest skirt.

Flipping it open, he paid no mind to her at all as he skimmed the document. "This is…" he trailed out, reading farther. "You're offering to back the new colony project," he stated shakily, returning to look up at her. "It hasn't started yet."

"Mainly due to a lack of funding," she confirmed. "I found it fun that Winner Enterprises was willing to foot such an extent of the bill, plus contracting the final construction phases." Internally she was happy with how informed that sounded. "But you're still short."

Quatre didn't turn back to the proposal in his hands. Instead, he only looked at her as though analyzing her face. She didn't like it, but she stood up under it. "Why?"

With a hum she softly closed her eyes and then turned back to the table to close her case again. "I find myself bored and in a nasty tax bracket these days. I am piecing together a number of investments to rectify that. However, I seem to have a difficult time getting anyone not to cringe at my name, and I'm preferring to stay as silent as possible for the time being."

Picking up her bag again she met his eyes as he openly regarded her. Barely two feet separated them but she didn't feel she was succeeding in making him claustrophobic as she typically did with men.

"Please do look it over, Mr. Winner," she smirked at him. "It seems I've saved you the trouble of finding me. My contact information is on the back." Rounding for the door she knew exactly when the ends of her hair brushed past him in her wake but pretended not to notice.

"Miss Dorothy," he called after her, still using the same title he had with her in Sanq.

Pausing she turned back over her shoulder to find he had finally moved, at least enough to face fully towards her, the proposal closed and ignored in his hand. "Yes?"

There was a moment of interior battle in him where she could tell he was fighting himself on what to say. But the same soft smile settled onto his expression. "Please call me Quatre. I'm not really used to 'Mr. Winner' yet."

Quirking an eyebrow, Dorothy very nearly laughed at him then and there. This could end up being a very long-standing game indeed. "I dare say that will pass quickly."

He indulged her a small chuckle for it and a nod. "But then, I'm incorrect, aren't I? It's Lady Catalonia now, isn't it?" he asked, almost happily conversational.

Since I am the last of my line, yes, that's me. The thought didn't escape her lips though and she merely nodded.

There was a flicker of hesitation, but the little smile never faltered. "Could I interest you in a cup of tea or something?" he genuinely asked. "…It's been a while." Almost five months.

Was he so prepared to rush into that conversation? Perhaps she had overestimated her impact. No matter, she wasn't prepared for that today. She wasn't exactly prepared for his acceptance to be so immediate—or at all for that matter—either. "Another time, I'm afraid…" she closed her eyes and turned away out the door, "Mr. Winner."

"Of course," came the soft response after her back.

Oddly enough she wondered now what he'd really thought of her during that exchange.

She'd never really gone back and asked what he'd meant by her being hard to find. As soon as the documents cleared and she won the right to her inheritance despite her age, she'd dropped out of sight for a while. Moving herself into the cabin at Lago Bonito, she had traveled only enough to keep in touch with some of the downward spiraling Romafeller members that she still considered allies.

She'd hidden away for a while and basically licked her wounds before she came back with the vengeance that she had always been known for, throwing herself into everything at once. When she was certain that their was no truly incriminating evidence left within easy reach, she had tracked down Quatre as the final piece to discovering her place in an era of peace.

But that was when Lady Une took the position of Commander and with it she took hold of the reigns, creating the Oracle that existed now. Dorothy had sunk slowly away, leaving the organization to the far more experienced individuals around her. She had other things to worry about.

And over time, her random meetings with Quatre broadened a little, their chats mellowing. They became fun. By the time he asked her to go the beneficiaries' dinner with him she had become almost complacent with how well public opinion had changed for the pilots and the veteran's in general.

Maybe that was why she'd let him get to her that night the lights had gone out in her little home.

The stray tears had dried on her cheeks already and Dorothy realized that she'd been here longer than she'd intended. Uncurling from her position, she stood up and walked back to the hotel.

Quatre wouldn't let her go. Ever since that night he'd followed after her like her guardian angel. Always right there, even when she didn't know she needed him. She'd tried warning him away, tried making him understand that it was dangerous, but it hadn't mattered.

And now that he did know exactly what it could have cost him… there was no longer a threat. And apparently he was just thrilled about it.

He hadn't stopped to be angry with her for endangering him all this time. He didn't even see it that way.

"Thank you." Why "thank you?" Because she'd stayed beside him? That wasn't for him. That was for her. For… whatever stupid reason made her stay there. For whatever game she was playing with herself, holding his life in the balance like that. He should slap her for it, not thank her.

With a sigh she stopped and stared up at the rows of lights along the colony ceiling.

Never. Quatre Raberba Winner would never harm her emotionally let alone physically. He wasn't capable of it.

Realizing something else she continued on towards the hotel. He wasn't capable of letting her go either. And she… wasn't capable of walking away. He held her emotions, and her very life basically. She'd considered him her foundation before, and it was true. Quatre was the only thing that held her up some days… no matter how much it annoyed her.

With a chuckle at that thought she turned into the lobby and called an elevator, looking around to make sure Catherine wasn't running back and forth out front trying to find her.

So, it seemed that she was stuck with Mr. Winner after all this time. Dorothy supposed the only thing left to do was admit defeat and allow whatever would happen to come without her—obviously useless—attempts to stop it.

Getting into the elevator she pressed the top floor's button and then took a good look at her hand where her mother's wedding ring had been. No, she wasn't that foolish. She couldn't give in to a flight of fancy whenever she felt like it. Her life was already on loan to her because of another.

Dorothy Catalonia had a debt to repay and she would stand exactly where Quatre needed her. No more, no less.


Quatre was in his home office flying through calculations. From what Dorothy had told him he'd found which colony they were on. L1 184526, home of Shop-Topia. Even at top speed and the most direct route it would still take his private shuttle two and a half hours to get there, not including getting out of, and into, docking stations.

He had to calm down. This was pointless. Dorothy was a perfectly rational woman. She wasn't going to just run away. Sitting down in his chair, he dropped his head into his hands. The past week or two hadn't been kind to her; she just needed a little time to collect herself again.

He'd called Catherine when he'd gotten her voicemail for the third time. Apologizing for probably being paranoid he'd asked her to check in on Dorothy. But she'd said exactly what he was dreading to hear. Dorothy's bedroom was empty and she was gone, her phone left on the bedside table.

His heart throbbed away in his chest, scared despite his attempts to reassure himself. He'd told Catherine the truth, that she was a little upset with this article and that she'd all but hung up on him. It seemed Catherine was already a little worried about her, but he'd made her promise to stay put for now and wait for her to come back. It had been a hard thing for someone like Catherine to do.

Although it tore him up twice as hard, he made her stay in the suite they apparently had. At least someone would be there.

Dorothy didn't appreciate anyone trying to look after her when she wasn't herself. She tended to run away when she couldn't put up the front that everything was all right.

It'd be OK. She'd be back soon, and if not, Catherine could go then and see if she was somewhere close by.

This was all his fault.

In the first place he shouldn't have called her about the article. He'd debated it, but knew she'd be angry with him for not telling her if he waited, so he'd broken down and called. In all truth, he'd been rather pleased with it himself. It wasn't anything derogatory really. The supposed "attraction" that it went on and on about was far fetched and completely untrue, but the premise of an "inter-system" romance blossoming among Miss Relena's noted supporters was actually kind of nice.

And he'd also been very happy to note how many of Dorothy's achievements had been accurately presented as well. Her work with Mars and the new colony had topped the list of reasons the publication gave for why they made such a "star-crossed" couple.

He hadn't realized she wouldn't find it even the least bit endearing like he did. Dorothy almost seemed heartbroken about being depicted like that with him.

And then what did he do? He specifically brought up his inclusion in Oracle. Quatre had honestly believed that he'd found, and now removed, the main obstacle that had always kept her from seeing him in some type of romantic light.

Apparently that was not only wrong but a very insensitive thing to do. Dorothy wasn't finding this turn of events to be a bonus. Instead, she'd been…. What? She'd been embarrassed to have him find out that he'd technically been in harm's way all this time?

Like he wasn't used to that. Raising his head again he shook it in worried irritation. Why did she always have to be so stubborn? Couldn't she—

He jumped when his phone rang and snatched it from his desk and answered it before he even figured out which one was calling. "Hello?"

"Can you call off the dogs? Catherine's ready to rip my hair out one strand at a time."

"Dorothy," he sighed in relief.

"What happened to 'precious?'" she teased.

Oh no she didn't. Not this time. "Don't ever hang up on me again," he threatened, absolutely at wit's end.

There was a lengthy pause, during which he mentally slapped himself and then heard muffled yelling in the background. "Hey, you wanted me to call him," Dorothy answered the other voice, apparently ignoring the phone. "If you're both going to yell at me you have to do it one at a time. I go for one lousy walk and you people lose your sense."

Quatre just sighed and stayed quiet while the two girls battled it out for a minute. Maybe he shouldn't have called Catherine at all. He was pretty sure that Dorothy would not be enjoying the rest of her vacation at this rate.

"Oh, good grief. I'm sorry!" Dorothy finally yelled.

"Next time you have a fight with your boyfriend, do it on your own time!" Catherine threw back.

That's not going to help me, Quatre mentally rolled his eyes.

"We did not have a fight," she returned in utter exasperation. "Would you tell her we did not have a fight?" she finally turned back to him, obviously not realizing that she didn't have to shout for him to hear her.

"Put her on," he mildly sighed.

"Here."

"What do I want with him?"

"You're the one that thinks he drove me to playing in traffic."

"I what?" he mumbled.

"Women don't usually just run away in the middle of the night after talking to a guy unless he did something stupid."

"Excuse me," he tried to interrupt.

"Middle of the night? It's like nine o'clock."

"You know what I mean!"

"What are you cranky about anyway? I went for a walk! I was gone a whole fifteen minutes. What is the problem?"

"Maybe you should explain that to Mr. Freaked Out and Panicked, then."

"Oh, honestly. It's Quatre. What do you expect?"

"Well, I…." And then the laughter started.

Irritated and annoyed Quatre decided that Dorothy was back to being just peachy. Deliberately holding the phone up in front of him, he purposefully closed it and hung up. If Dorothy wanted to be a good little girl and explain herself—honestly—then she could just call him back. And he would try very hard to wait for it to ring a few times before he answered it.

For now he was going back to bed.

Standing up he closed down the calculations program that he'd drawn up with a sigh at himself for ever worrying. And then jumped when "The Wedding March" came blaring out of his speakers and the raining hearts of the "Fezzes Love Connection" virus kicked in.

With an absolutely defeated moan, he plopped back down in the chair and stared at the stupid screen full of dancing hearts. The box in the middle winked back at him. I love Dorothy. Yes. No.

Clicking yes he got the thing to shut up at least. And when the screen went back to normal he leaned over and smacked his forehead against the desk. His phone chose that moment to ring again and he slowly answered it without raising his head. "I'm sorry but the party you are trying to call is very tired and irritated with you right now."

"Alright, I'm sorry," Dorothy stated, much calmer down. "I reacted badly and should not have made you worry. I just… needed to get rid of something," she softly admitted.

Picking his head up he propped it up with an elbow on the desk. "You didn't just go for a walk, and I know it," he softly accused. "You've been under a lot of pressure and a lot stress in the past couple weeks. Please just be honest with me."

With a sigh Dorothy paused for a second. "Where do you want me to start?"

With a little smile, Quatre closed his eyes. That's my girl.


"They say it is better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable, but how about a compromise like moderately rich and just moody?" - Princess Diana

AN: OK, I admit this is a really poor quote for this chapter, but if was too funny not to use. You guys expect me to be witty all the time?