"What are you stressing about?" Dorothy asked when Relena sighed and fidgeted for the fourth time since they left Maxwell.
Relena sighed again, probably since she was caught out, but said, "I'm just… concerned for him, that's all."
Raising an eyebrow, Dorothy asked, "You've been concerned for almost three years. Personally, Maxwell seems to be in as good of shape as we've seen him since Yuy died."
That earned her a reproving look from Relena. "Heero isn't dead," she said. "I wish you wouldn't act as if he were."
It was a standing argument, and Dorothy made a dismissive motion with her hand. "Po-tay-to, po-tah-to," she said. There might be a man walking around with Yuy's face and name, but as far as Dorothy was concerned, a man who remembered nothing of who he was or had been was simply not the man they had known. "Tell me that it wouldn't have been easier on Maxwell had he truly just died."
Relena gave her another disapproving look, but she didn't contradict Dorothy. They had this argument often enough that Dorothy knew Relena privately thought that if Heero had really died, Maxwell would have followed him, and Dorothy honestly wasn't sure she completely disagreed. More than once, she had been surprised to get news that Maxwell was, in fact, still alive.
"Really, though," Dorothy said, "what's stressing you out this particular time?"
That earned her a soft smile. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?" she said, the question wholly rhetorical. "I'm worried about how the world is going to treat Tony Stark's son. I'm worried about what will happen when the world discovers that the mysterious son of Tony Stark, the man called the 'Merchant of Death,' is, in fact, a Gundam pilot. I'm worried about how Duo will really be with the weight of the paparazzi on him." She didn't quite bite her lip, but Dorothy could tell that she was nibbling at the inside of it—a bad habit she hadn't quite managed to break, at least not in private.
"I don't think you give him enough credit," Dorothy said. "It's Maxwell. He's a survivor. After everything that has made a concentrated effort to eradicate him in his life, I can't imagine that the paparazzi are going to be the final straw. I wouldn't be surprised if, by the end of the night, he has a whole cadre of new admirers."
Relena smiled at that description. "He did have quite a fan club the last time he attended with us, didn't he?"
"I know we haven't seen much of it lately, but Maxwell is capable of charming the pants of nearly anyone if he puts the effort into it," Dorothy reminded. "Which, given his sire, actually makes a lot more sense."
Smile fading slightly, Relena's mouth presses into a line. "I'm worried about that too," she admitted.
Dorothy thought that was a fairer concern. "If Maxwell lets him in, Stark is going to be in a unique position to hurt him again."
Relena nodded gravely. "I don't know how much more hurt Duo can take," she said as if the words were being pulled from some deep place within her, as if maybe she were afraid to voice the fear.
Pursing her own lips, Dorothy leaned over and took Relena's hands in her own. Looking down at them, it was impossible to tell whose were blood-stained and whose were unblemished.
Unblemished, perhaps, but not without hardships. Not without scars and wounds. Dorothy sometimes envied Maxwell for how scarred his skin was, for his rough hands that told the world I have worked hard and borne hardships. I have survived them, though they have left their marks.
She wondered if it were appropriate or ironic that Yuy had few scars despite having suffered so much. If she were more superstitious, she might believe the universe had crafted Yuy to be remade, to be able to forget. Even if Maxwell forgot his entire history, forgot everything that had ever happened to him, his life and what he had survived was carved into his very skin. Even if he knew nothing at all about himself, he would know that he was a survivor, that he had lived through terrible things.
Sometimes, Dorothy wished that other traumas left as visible marks.
"Maxwell is strong," she said, rubbing a thumb over the back of Relena's hand, meeting eyes that were still the same bright, cornflower blue she had met eight years ago. "He's survived this far. I doubt that Tony Stark could be the final blow that falls him."
"He can't yet," Relena said, looking down at their clasped hands. "But he might be able to soon. Duo doesn't really love him yet, I don't think."
"If Maxwell makes the decision to love Stark, that will be his decision." She released a hand to soothe an imaginary flyaway back into Relena's perfectly styled hair.
Relena met her eyes again. "Does anyone ever really decide to love someone?" she asked. "Or do we just fall in love?"
At some point, Dorothy should get used to the way Relena could knock the air from her lungs with a few words, but she wasn't. Not yet. And she wasn't honestly sure she wanted to get used to it. As harsh and surprising as those moments could be, they were also often wonderful.
"I think," she began slowly, picking her words with care, "that sometimes we fall in love, and sometimes we make the choice to love." She took a deep breath before she continued, "I think that in order to fall in love, your heart must be at least a little bit open. After what happened with first Yuy and then his husband, I don't know that Maxwell's heart will ever open enough to fall in love again, but I do think he might make the choice to love again. And I think he's going to make that choice with Stark."
"I think you're right," Relena agreed. "I just hope that he's worth the risk."
Dorothy chuckled at that. "My Relena? Being a pessimist?" she had to tease.
"Out of character, for me, I know. Though I have become much more of a realist in my old age," Relena said with a teasing smile of her own before growing solemn again. "But we've lost so much already. I'm afraid of what another loss would do."
"We'd be there for him," Dorothy told her firmly. "We'd be obnoxious and annoying and so there that he'd have no choice but to keep on to spite us."
Relena laughed. "I love you, you know that, right?"
"I do," Dorothy replied, her chest tight with how much hearing Relena say the words filled it. She did know, though she didn't usually understand why. She was just glad that Relena did, and tried to thank any deity that might be listening every day for it.
The reason that Dorothy and Relena enjoyed the Gala wasn't the socialization—it was the exhibit itself. Sure, the Gala was touted as the Event of the Year because of the chance to socialize and rub elbows with damn near anyone who was anyone. But Relena was one of the people others aspired to rub elbows with, and anyone she was interested in getting into contact with would invariably fall in line with that desire. Which meant that the networking part of the event wasn't really necessary for her.
But the exhibit, the historical clothing, the ornate jewels, the sheer spectacle of history—that's what Dorothy and Relena attended for.
Unfortunately, the one thing Dorothy invariably forgot about the Gala was that, once inside, she wasn't going to get much time to spend with Relena properly. Part of being a social event meant it worked to actively help people make connections, which meant that people weren't meant to create personal packs of their own best friends; the seating chart didn't allow for it.
Though Relena herself would undoubtedly be seated in a place of honor, Dorothy did not rate such prestigious arrangements. Despite her association with Relena, Dorothy's reputation was a little too sullied from her war crimes to get overt approval. Which meant she was usually seated with what she privately dubbed as the also-rans. The ones who got to come because they were rich enough to pay, not because they were actually anyone, the slightly embarrassing plus-ones, and the momentary media darlings.
Which meant that she wasn't surprised to see Hilary Kincaid seated next to her assigned seat. "Kincaid," she greeted.
He turned and flashed her a bright grin. "Catalonia," he returned.
"Really, Hilary," a voice said from the other side of the table. "You're not going to snipe with Dorothy all evening, are you?"
It took Dorothy a moment to recognize Oliviana Fitzhugh-Stroh. Her makeup was so masterfully done and orange wasn't a color that Dorothy had ever seen her in—though it suited her—that Dorothy hadn't recognized her immediately. Feeling like she was watching a train wreck approaching, Dorothy leaned slightly around Hilary to see none other than one Heero Yuy seated on the other side.
"Oliviana," she greeted. She and Hilary went back further than her and Oliviana did, but they did have a passing acquaintance. Spending the meal sniping with Hilary would have at least been diverting, but it looked like she was going to have to spend the whole dinner not tugging Yuy's chain to see if she could rattle his cage. It wasn't the first time encountering Yuy since he'd somehow become attached to Oliviana, but Relena had gone with the path of least resistance, acting like they'd never met Yuy before in his life. "Yuki, right?" she asked.
"Yuy," he corrected, standing and reaching out a hand, expression creepily open. "It's nice to meet you again, Ms. Catalonia."
She gave him a limp-wristed shake, not wanting to touch this weird simulacrum anymore than she absolutely had to. She also didn't bother correcting to offer she use her given name. Relena might do an admirable job of being as personable and welcoming with him as she would with any stranger, but Dorothy didn't do strangers particularly well to begin with, and with the odd space he now filled, she mostly just wanted nothing to do with him.
"Have you seen who else is gracing our table, Catalonia?" Hilary asked as Dorothy sat. She was relieved that at least Yuy hadn't tried to pull her chair out for her. She leaned over and grabbed the name off the fifth and final seat at the table, and her heart promptly sank.
Duo Reyes-Maxwell.
Well, fuck.
Apparently misreading Dorothy's expression, Hilary went on to say, "It's Tony Stark's mysterious love child. I haven't gotten to get a close look at him, but I am super curious."
If the idea of sharing a table with the Yuy facsimile sounded like a terrible way to spend an evening, the idea of being at the table with both Yuy and Maxwell for their likely first reunion since Yuy lost his damn mind was honestly something straight out of a nightmare.
"I'm honestly surprised he should be relegated to our island of misfit toys," she said, putting the nameplate back in place.
Oliviana frowned. "Island of misfit toys?" she asked.
In a sufficiently foul mood now, Dorothy said, "Oh, Hilary didn't tell you? We"—She motioned to between them.—"are tolerated but not appreciated, and thus, get sat out of the way of the important people doing all their networking. I get an invite because Relena would not accept otherwise. Hilary"—She puts a hand on his shoulder.—"would not get an invitation at all if it were not for his connections and if his father weren't a generous donor. You two presumably merited an invitation after you highly publicized kidnapping and mysterious rescue, and while you're interesting, you're not important enough to network with."
"Well, you're in fine form tonight, aren't you," Hilary interrupted. "Tell me, should we expect Her Catiness to be present all evening? Or will a shred of decorum show up and remind you not to be a raging bitch without cause?" Before he could add more, his eyes lifted and looked behind her.
"Oh, good," Maxwell said from behind her. He put a hand on the back of Dorothy's chair and inelegantly threw himself into his. "Hey, Dot. I totally spaced on the whole 'not letting people who know each other sit next to each other and…" his voice trailed as he undoubtedly took in their other table partners.
Yuy blinked at Maxwell as if he'd never seen him before in his life, and Hilary was darting curious looks between Maxwell and herself before saying, "Dot?" in a strangled voice.
"If you ever call me Dot again, Kincaid, I will stab you with a butter knife."
"Scaring the locals already?" Maxwell asked, sounding surprisingly steady and drawing her attention back to him.
"Excuse me," Hilary interrupted, holding out his hand toward Maxwell. "I'm Hilary Kincaid. How lovely to make your acquaintance." Maxwell took the hand looking like he suspected that Hilary might stab him, which, sadly, wasn't really the type of threat he needed to be worried about from Hilary.
"Duo Reyes-Maxwell," he introduced, darting a look at Oliviana and Yuy.
"So you're really Tony Stark's son?" Hilary asked, propping both elbows on the table, lacing his fingers and resting his chin on them. Without giving Maxwell an actual chance to answer, he shot, "And you're, dare I say it, friends with our lovely Ms. Catalonia. How ever did that come about?"
"We met through Lena— Relena," Maxwell replied, correcting himself too late.
"Really?" Hilary asked, sounding uncomfortably curious.
"Yes, really," Dorothy interjected primly, earning herself a dirty look for it. "Maxwell and Relena have been friends for years. This isn't even his first visit to the Gala," she added, twisting the knife a little. Hilary may have even gotten a passing glance at Maxwell when he'd previously attended with them, but between the makeup and the outfit, he was basically unrecognizable.
"That's impossible. I feel like I'd recognize those eyes any…where…" Hilary trailed off oddly, his bubbly irreverence tapering as he looked harder at Maxwell. "We've met before, haven't we?" he asked.
The absolute seriousness of the question started running up red flags, and she sent Maxwell a questioning look. Next to him, Oliviana was staring intensely, as if trying to place him.
"Not that I'm aware of," Maxwell said.
"Seems quite the coincidence that Tony Stark's apparently one-and-only son would be a personal friend of the Foreign Minister," Hilary said, reminding Dorothy that for all of his flippancy, Hilary Kincaid was no fool.
"Maxwell is a Preventer," Dorothy volunteered, ignoring the curious look Maxwell shot her. "He's been assigned as an escort for Relena many times. Such harmless-appearing protection is more in line with what Relena prefers. You know that."
Hilary was still eyeing Maxwell like he was a puzzle piece that he just needed to find the right place for. "Were you now? Tell me, Dorothy, does Ms. Relena make a habit of befriending all of her protection?"
"Yeah, usually," Maxwell replied in a tone that suggested that maybe Hilary was dense for not knowing that. It had the bonus benefit of being true; Relena always made an effort to get to know anyone who was personally protecting her. It was, in fact, something Maxwell suggested she continue once he found out she did it.
Protecting you is their job, and it's their job to lay their lives down for you. That's literally what they're paid to do. But they're also people who deserve your respect. If you ever have someone you just don't like or who rubs you the wrong way on your detail, have Une reassign them. There's no reason to risk your life on a personality conflict, and someone you personally have friction with is more likely to decide your life isn't worth theirs.
The advice had been very practical, and while they'd had to reassign a few over the years, most of Relena's personal detail these days were almost considered family. Maxwell had later told Dorothy to just let Relena's personal charisma go to work on them, because if it did, they'd never have to worry about loyalty. He'd been right.
"And exactly how many times have you personally saved the Foreign Minister's life?" Hilary asked. He looked riveted, but he was actually a shark seeking blood in the water. The real reason that Hilary got relegated to the also-rans table; Hilary was a collector of information. Gossip and secrets were his hobbies, and he could glean shocking amounts of information quickly. His father did donate too much money to the Met to risk refusing him an invite, but the organizers could—and did—try to minimize his gossip-mongering.
Maxwell shot her another questioning look before saying, "I don't keep count."
Hilary's expression grew almost condescending for a moment before it twisted into one of disbelief. "No way…" he said, staring at Maxwell like he'd seen a ghost.
Whatever he was going to say, Dorothy was very certain that she didn't want to hear it. "Do you really not keep count?" she asked.
Eyes darting across to Yuy before returning to her, Maxwell said, "I didn't keep score."
"You're—" Hilary cut himself off, sounding actually angry, and then Dorothy saw anger begin to cloud Oliviana's face. Yuy, strangely, just stared at the empty plate in front of him as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. "You're the guy."
That meant absolutely nothing to Dorothy, but it obviously meant something to Oliviana who said, "How dare you show up here—"
Sighing, Dorothy looked at Maxwell. "What did you do this time?" she asked, knowing that she was going to hate the answer.
Maxwell closed his eyes as if waiting for a blow.
"He came to our party and kissed Heero!" Oliviana said, fierce and angry though she kept her voice from carrying.
She sometimes hated being right. Turning, she gave Maxwell a disappointed look.
"I was saying goodbye," he defended. "In public. That's all."
"Holy shit, you really are Purple Eyes," Hilary said, sounding shocked even though he'd clearly gotten there. "That was some top-tier ballsy bullshit you pulled—"
Grabbing Maxwell's hand and holding it up, Dorothy said, "He's also married." Maxwell pulled his hand back, protecting the ring with his other hand. "If he says he was saying goodbye, he was. Did you ever consider that? A final farewell?"
"Wait," Oliviana said, turning her attention to Dorothy. "When I introduced Heero to you and Relena—"
Rolling her eyes, Dorothy said, "Yes, we played dumb." Oliviana looked scandalized. "Really now, people don't give Relena enough credit for her acting skills. Yes, we both knew Yuy, just as we know Maxwell. You just heard me tell you that Maxwell is a Preventer. He and Yuy were partners," she explained quickly in her most patronizing tone.
"You don't kiss work partners like that," Hilary said, glaring at her as if she must surely be lying.
While Dorothy scrambled for a way to explain why Maxwell and Yuy were given a special dispensation to have a romantic relationship while they were active partners, Duo said, "You're not supposed to." It drew Oliviana and Hilary's eyes both to him.
"Don't," Dorothy interrupted before he could continue. "Hilary is not someone you want to be sharing anything with you do not want to get back to the press."
Hilary made a mock offended face. "I'm hurt, Dot."
"I really will stab you, Kincaid. Don't push me."
"I've actually seen her do it, so I wouldn't push your luck," Maxwell said, backing her up.
Dorothy turned back to him. "If I recall correctly, it was you who gave me the direction to stab him if he moved wrong."
"Yeah, and Une yelled at me for it," he replied. "Something about deputizing someone and then giving them permission to use adequate force."
"Stabbing someone is adequate force?" Hilary asked, aghast, leaning slightly away from her. They had known each other too far back, and Hilary had never really seen Dorothy do anything truly terrible. She suspected he thought that the war crimes attributed to her were a case of tarring the losing side with too broad a brush. If he really didn't think she was capable of stabbing someone, then perhaps she'd done a better job of hiding her impulses than she thought. Or he had a bigger personal blind spot than she had previously credited to him.
"It's not like I gave her a gun? Though, in retrospect—"
"I know how to use a knife perfectly well," Dorothy said, unrolling the utensils and picking up the promised butter knife, testing its balance quickly before flipping it between her fingers. "You don't have to worry about someone taking it from me without a fight."
Maxwell gave her a small grin, his hand flashing out faster than her eye could track to pluck the knife from her grip, spinning it around his own finger before holding it back out to her, hilt first. "I still maybe should have given you a gun instead."
Annoyed, Dorothy took it back and managed to avoid slamming it on the table, although she really wanted to. "Show off," she said.
"I feel like you stabbing some dignitary would have made the news," Hilary said, looking at her with a considering light in his eyes.
Determinately lacing her fingers together, Dorothy said, "Yes, well, not everything that happens to Relena makes the news."
"I find that hard to believe," Oliviana replied. "The world always wants to know what Relena Darlian-Peacecraft is doing."
Maxwell snorted, though he clearly didn't mean to. "The world might want to know what's going on with Lena, princess, but if every incident she had made the evening news, you'd see nothing but coverage about her. Her damage control is excellent, so unless other people are affected, she keeps it quiet."
Behind her makeup, Oliviana went white. "You…" she said faintly.
"Liv?" Yuy asked, the first thing he'd really said since Maxwell sat down. He leaned over to her solicitously.
"It's…" Oliviana lifted her hand, putting the back of it to her mouth. "I think… I think I might be sick…"
"I'm sure we can get—" Yuy looked up, searching for a waiter.
"Dip the napkin in her ice water, and put it over her wrists," Maxwell suggested. "Don't ask me why, but it'll help with the nausea."
Yuy didn't otherwise acknowledge Maxwell, but he quickly unrolled a napkin, shoving it into the ice water, before taking Oliviana's wrists and laying it across them.
"Do you have any idea what this might be about?" Dorothy asked Maxwell, as low as she could, though not much would keep their conversation from Hilary's keen attention.
"I might have a guess," he said. "It might be a good idea to see if I can convince someone to trade seats."
"Save your effort. Trust me, you'll ruffle serious feathers if you try."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm Tony Stark's bio-kid," he said. "I'm pretty sure that they more than half expect me to ruffle feathers."
In her estimation, that seemed unlikely. One did not relegate problem children to the also-ran table. People like Hilary were only problems if they were in the thick of the trouble. Someone like Tony Stark was better kept close, where experienced eyes could keep close watch on him. If they really thought Duo needed eyes on him, he wouldn't be out here.
Maybe that was the mistake.
"Liv. Oliviana," Yuy said, trying to get her attention, but she was still staring at Maxwell like she'd seen a ghost.
"You're the one," she said, almost too softly for Dorothy to hear even just across the table. "You're the…" Her breathing began to speed again.
"More ice water," Maxwell suggested, and Yuy again followed his direction almost as if he didn't even know he was there. Dorothy wasn't sure which part of the scenario was creepier: Maxwell's calm, Oliviana's apparent panic attack, or Yuy's complete lack of acknowledgment of Maxwell.
This was not what she signed up for this Gala, but she supposed that Maxwell was rather meant to ruffle feathers. She sighed and decided to dig deep for her best Relena-soothing-people impression. She hoped it'd be good enough to calm Oliviana before they had a very difficult to explain problem on their hands.