The heat of the morning sun blazed through the only gap that seemed to somehow exist in the large, thick curtain covering the window. Smooth satin complimented the pillow top mattress beneath him but did little to stop the effects of his behavior the night before. Trowa Barton raised a hand to his face to block it out wishing he could do the same to the throbbing pain that currently besieged his head. "Damn…" Through the haze of the hangover he began to recall the events of the previous evening with surprising clarity and a touch of disbelief.

He had slept with Dorothy Catalonia.

Well, 'slept' implied rest. There had been very little of that. He groaned and looked at the bedside clock: 9AM. If he had been at the circus, he would have been up far earlier than that to tend to the animals and check the equipment for the high wire act. But he wasn't. He was, presumably, in one of the guest bedrooms at the Darlian estate where he had stumbled in rather carelessly with the platinum blonde woman the night before. He didn't need to look to know that his former bed partner had left. Last night had been unexpected.

"Definitely not what I'd planned." Not that he was complaining. He groaned, feeling the effects of their wild night. "The fuck was I thinking…?"

He rolled over and kicked off the covers, making his way to the shower in the hopes that the heat and steam would drive away the rest of the fog and help him puzzle through his next course of action. The soaps were all generically scented, clean but not overly obvious and he lathered it up. He took his time, letting the jets of hot water soothe his muscles and tried desperately to keep his mind off what had occurred.

Dorothy Catalonia had never been on his list of possible sexual partners. Never once had he considered the woman who skewered his best friend as an option for a one-night-stand and yet it had happened. Her cool eyes had dared him to comply; her body moved with pure feminine allure that called to his baser instincts which demanded to be heeded. And heed it he had. He remembered the way her silken skin felt under his tongue, the softness of her breasts yielded to his heated touch… the way she gasped his name over and over…

"Damn it all!" He cursed and punched the shower wall.

It was a one-time thing. Not to be repeated. Never to be spoken of… still… being honest, he wouldn't mind another go if the occasion arose… He shook himself and turned the water off, toweling dry quickly and efficiently before putting his clothes back on. How would he explain what happened to Quatre? He could tell him he had had too much to drink and simply stayed over. It wasn't a lie. He had been truly drunk when they had reached his room… and he had slept over… It hardly mattered. Quatre knew Trowa was no stranger to one-night-stands and would most likely not care no matter who the other person had been. His friend had, in fact, encouraged him to try and find someone for a more meaningful, long-term arrangement…

"Come on, Trowa. Don't you ever think about your future?"

"My future is the same as my yesterday." Trowa shrugged and paused Quatre a beer and took a seat on the foldout couch.

"But don't you ever want something more?" The blond man sat next to him. "Something more meaningful?

"Quatre, I appreciate your concern, but my current situation suits me just fine."

"But Trowa-"

"Besides, you have your own love life to think of, Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor!" Quatre's cherks flushed and Trowa laughed.

His friend meant well, but he just didn't understand. As a carnie, a circus performer, his life was that of a wanderer; traveling around to perform wherever their circus received a booking. It was hardly an easy life to live, let alone ask someone to share with him. The life of a circus performer was a lonely one, but one he could live with. How many women would be willing to live like that: on the road, in a trailer, surrounded by society's castaways? How could he ask someone to try?

"It just wouldn't be fair." He muttered to himself as he tied his shoes and made his way from the lavish room.

Cathy had been expecting him to return well before this and his absence would be noticed. He thought to look for Quatre before he left but decided against it. The Winner heir was most likely busy with his newfound love interest. He suddenly remembered once more why he had attended in the first place and whom it was he had initially wished to see. A sour feeling pooled in the pit of his stomach.

"Give it up," He growled at himself as he strapped on his bike helmet. "It's never gonna happen." Though he knew it was true, the reality of it still stung as he kicked the stand of his motorcycle and drove off down the road, mind focused solely on the tasks that awaited him upon his return.

The smells of warm sugar and fresh popcorn mingled with fresh sawdust and straw as he took off his helmet and wheeled his bike into the port. It didn't take long for Catherine to find him, her brown hair bouncing as she ran up, a knowing smile on her face, eye dancing with mirth. She stopped short of him by a few feet and smiled wide.

"Welcome home, little brother." He nodded to her and made his way past without offering a word. "So, how did the gala go last night? Pretty well, I take it since you never came home?" She followed him to his trailer and, for the first time since they reunited, he wished she would go away and leave him alone.

"I had too much to drink last night. I stayed over." He walked to his vanity and grabbed the painkiller out of his drawer.

"You're sure nothing happened last night?" she pressed in an almost sing-song voice. Trowa fought the urge to grimace. He loved his elder sister; he just hoped she would read his mood and go away.

"Drop it, Cathy." He took out a clean shirt and jeans from his wardrobe. "I need to get changed." The look of shock on her face told him his tone had been a bit fierce, but he would make it up to her later. His head still pounded almost as much as his heart hurt and that was not the sort of combination that made anyone very chatty.

"Okay, okay, Mister, but you at least owe me an explanation." She put her hands on her hips in protest and stood her ground. "You know how much I worry about you." Trowa felt that feeling in the pit of his stomach again. He turned to her then, eyes softened, brows furrowed.

"I'm fine, Cathy, I promise. I just had a rough night and slept a bit late. Please don't worry."

"Oh, Trowa…" She shook her head. "You've got to be more careful."

"I know. Now, please, let me get dressed. I'm already behind enough."

"Yeah, I know. And the Ringmaster is pretty cross about it. You better light a match under it!"

"You're the one that's been slowing me down."

"Yeah yeah! Just move it!" He tossed a shirt at her and she laughed, ducking out of the way. She made her way to the door, offered him one last smile and ducked out, leaving him to his thoughts. He made quick work of changing before making his way out to the lions and other animals. The list of things to do was long: muck their stalls, feed them and refill their water in a timely manner. The speed he finished them would have impressed anyone. The harder he worked, the easier it was to forget the events of the night before. Had seeing Relena so happy really affected him so much that he fell into bed with Dorothy? Was the alcohol to blame or his broken heart? Somewhere between the two, the lines became blurred enough to make it a possibility and then a reality. He Had spent the night with the Catalonia heiress.

It had been enjoyable; very enjoyable indeed. He could still feel her soft flesh under him and hear her feminine moans of satisfaction as they continued their intimate interlude.. the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with her effort-laden breathing. There had been something so raw about the way she had clung to him. She had mentioned something about the object of her intentions being unavailable as well…?

"Of course…" It all made sense.

She had wanted Quatre.

Trowa paused and wiped sweat off his brow, brushing his bangs out of his face. Dorothy had been just as disappointed as he had and needed a distraction from the pain just as much. The reasons behind their encounter hardly mattered. It had happened. It was over. He was back at work and needed to concentrate on his tasks. There was still a lot to do before his performance and he had little desire to disappoint his fans because his mind refused to return to where it needed to be.

When the last of his jobs were finished, he grabbed a bite to eat. The headache from his hangover had yet to fully subside and he wondered if it was the fact that he had forgotten to eat anything both the night before and the morning after. As he warmed up some of the leftovers from the noontime lunch, he made sure to pop a few more painkillers and down them with some flavored sports drink. The bitter, orange-flavored liquid washed down the stew with ease and returned some much needed hydration to his exhausted body.

He needed to prepare for the performance and the best way to do that was to get all other distractions out of his way. He checked the equipment of the hirewire and the trapeze and made sure not a single nut, bolt, or rope was out of line or loose. He returned to his trailer briefly for a nap in the hopes of recuperating some of the sleep he had lost but he kept seeing her grey-blue eyes clouded with that strange look…

"Damn it." He sat up and ran a frustrated hand though his bangs.

Sleep being impossible, he took a shower instead, allowing the water to wash away the grime from his chores. The heat and steam seemed to help with his head this time, easing the left over tension and giving him some respite from the throbbing. As he toweled off and pulled on his trademark green pants and suspenders, he looked into the mirror to apply his pancake make-up before grabbing his mask.

"Trowa, come on! We're on in ten minutes!" Catherine called into him. He frowned, though unsure why as he made his way to the door.

The roar of the crowd nearly covered up the ringmaster's announcement of their act as he and Cathy made their way into the ring. As always the brightness of the spotlights followed their every move. The knife act was the first where he allowed himself to be spun as her knives flew and hit with a dull thud on the wooden wheel in various spots around him. The crowd was relatively hushed for this one. It never ceased to amaze him how their fear of Catherine accidentally getting him with her knives seemed greater than when he faced down the lions and tigers in his solo performance. They had no way of knowing Trowa had practically raised the large jungle cats and therefore no way of seeing how little danger he truly was in.

The sawdust crunched under his every move as the smoke and flashes of the special effects dazzled and confused and pulled attention to the right places at the right times. Sulfur, sawdust, and adrenaline made up most of his night as he jumped from one animal to the net seeming to nearly avoid the jaws of one large predator only to narrowly escape the claws of another. He could hear the woman scream and the men gasp as even they had been impressed. Trowa smirked. He never tired of the crowd's reaction; the livelier they were, the stronger he felt about giving his all.

He never second-guessed himself. He never had to. It was all routine; practiced and perfected and executed with expert skill. This was his element. This was where he belonged. He could never have made Relena happy. He would never have fit in her world. He felt his hand falter for nearly a moment at that thought earning him a collective cry from the crowd before he quickly recovered.

'No good.' He regained his composer and finished his routine before taking his spot on the trapeze.

Cathy waited on the other side and on the signal of the musical cue they jumped and grabbed the first loop on the rig. He spun and swung and switched to the next, their path crossing but never meeting. He grabbed one of the swings as Catherine found the end and sat down. Using just the force of his muscles, he moved the back and forth, Catherine slowly making it to her feet before Trowa maneuvered to put her on his shoulders. Together, they made their move to another part of the rig where she swung and jumped, landing with ease. He did the same, giving an added full-body spin and landing on the opposite side of the tightrope.

They were nearing the end of the routine. He flipped and jumped around and over her, hanging and swinging using her as a counterpoint to base his targeted landing while she continued to walk, perfectly balanced. In one final move, they both jumped into the air. He caught her and placed her on his shoulder, before both gave a perfectly balanced bow of their own. The rokus cheer of the crowd spoke to their success. As they climbed down behind the curtain, however, he could feel his sister's eyes on him, boring into his back.

"Trowa…" He stopped and grabbed a towel, rubbing some of the sweat off of his face, not looking at her. "Hey," Again, he refused to look at her. "What was that in there? Something's been off since you got back from that gala."

"Drop it, Cathy."

"Is this because of Relena? I knew you shouldn't have gone. You know how seeing her makes you feel." She reached for him and he pulled away.

"It's not about that. Just leave it alone, ok?"

"But, Trowa-" Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the approach of their fans. He turned away from her in time to see the available women and excited children show up for autographs and perhaps a bit more. He could feel Catherine's disappointed gaze behind him but shrugged that off too. His sister meant well, but there was little she could do for him beyond offer sympathetic words and he needed those even less than another hangover.

As the crowd slowly began to fade, his partner for the evening made herself obvious. She was a cute brunette, straight hair, dark eyes and caramel skin. She smelled of raspberries and honey. Her long lashes batted at him suggestively and as he escorted her into his trailer for a few drinks and single night of fun, he couldn't help but feel an ounce of regret. She predictably laughed at jokes he knew weren't funny and even at a few comments that weren't jokes at all. She was too easily amused and it irked him, but her kisses tasted like cotton candy and popcorn butter and-aided by some booze they shared-quickly forced the regret and any feelings other than that of the desire for completion out of his mind as they fell onto his bed and into a night of pleasurable oblivion.