One More Time to Live
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: This is the second half of The Best Way to Travel. While the first section was about Heero and Trowa becoming friends, this chapter will deal with their characters post high school. Of course, chapter two deals with their relationship with the opposite gender. Also, I filtered this chapter through the girls' points of view, so the narrative voice and subject is a touch different. In addition, this is AU and the relationships are not canon (I wanted a challenge). By the way, I'm mad at the universe for saying that Trowa and Catherine are siblings. *sighs* Maybe some day I'll have the inspiration to write a story where they find out that it was all a big misunderstanding . . . *snicker*. In the meanwhile, thank you for reading and enjoy.)
**By the way, to those who reviewed The Best Way To Travel-thank you! I appreciate your encouragement. I sometimes forget that other people actually read these. ~sweatdrops~
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Dorothy:
It's always best to be well informed. Both of your enemies but also your friends and acquaintances, just in case they become enemies. In life, everything is a battle and the secret to winning then is not only strength but also gathered intelligence. Understanding your opponent.
I was born during war, and that summer, years later and eighteen, I had been living with my grandfather. My own father had died brilliantly in a military charge against the enemy's united front. He had called his men to him and against incredible odds had practically pulled them up the hillside. I had listened with relish while a survivor of that endeavor recounted the story to me. Letting me witness, by some degree, the valor that had consumed my father to his last breath. The stunning sacrifice. While most of his unit had perished, the victory ultimately came to completion.
I won't shed tears for him. He would not want me to. My grandfather reassures me as much.
I had been sitting in the study when our visitors arrived. The two young men that were going to be studying under my grandfather's instruction. I set aside my book and in one sweeping motion, stepped up next to the sturdy oak door. It was the sort that slid in and out from the wall, so I pulled it out enough to hide the better part of my figure, wrapped my fingers around the edge, and peeked into the hall for a first look.
It wasn't unusual for my grandfather to mentor gentlemen. Usually, they were fresh from the university and uncertain as to their particular field. These two were younger, my own age in fact. New graduates from some elitist private school. The first had to be Trowa Barton. I had met him once and there forward I considered him one of the rudest individuals I had ever come across. We'd engaged in a conversation about the proper place of women in government, and he'd disengaged himself from the conversation part way through saying at that point it was beneath him to continue. That was approximately three years prior, but I still remembered the fury like electric wire pulsing through my veins.
He was taller, still lean but growing into the image of his father. Both men with little cause to be proud. The Barton money was old, and clearly not earned by the current generations.
What amused me the most about it, both Trowa and his father had the same strange weakness for women. Which, I had uncovered later with some wicked glee, all things considered. Mr. Barton had married his deceased older brother's wife. His sister-in-law. Of course, Trowa's own mother had died in childbirth. The elder Barton and his second wife had no children of their own, which left a rather touchy tangle as to who should inherit the Barton estate. Trowa, or his elder step-sister/cousin, Catherine-the direct descendent of the oldest son.
One must love the tangled mess the aristocracy can create.
The other boy was a stranger. His demeanor rather reserved, but in a different way than Trowa's cold mannerisms. His presentation was more that of a self-conscious soldier. Taken from his artillery unit and told to entertain royalty instead.
I listened closely for his name, catching it and almost thinking I had misheard.
Catherine:
Trowa's letters started to come more frequently closer to Christmas. He spent that year in the country with the Catalonia's, a family that I actually knew little about. Except that they did come in town to seek entertainment at some of the holiday parties. They were an older couple, having lost all of their sons in the war; still, they did shelter their only granddaughter, a proud and proper Dorothy Catalonia. I had met her a few years back and found her agreeable enough.
Apparently, however, Trowa could not bear her.
* Cathy, she torments my ears with comments about the statutes of ideal masculinity and follows that with an immediate list of my shortcomings. She is intolerable really. It will be a relief to regain your polite company once more. *
Having reread that complaint more than twice, I accepted that perhaps he missed me as much as I had missed him. He was in all respects my dear younger brother. My uncle marrying my mother when Trowa was almost four.
I was able to see both of them again at the Barton annual Christmas festivities. This was an expected gathering and therefore had to be more spectacular than the previous year to maintain our status. Mother had sent away for exotic, but tasteful decorations from Asian countries. The tree filled with golden baubles and delicate, small origami-cranes, frogs and others.
I had been surveying the servants as they scurried to prevent one potential disaster and then the next. Chuckling a bit, just as I felt familiar arms enclose me from behind. Trowa would cross his arms completely to secure my opposite shoulder, that was how I always knew when it was him.
"You're early."
"Gentlemen are never late." Trowa's voice quipped bitterly as if it were a lesson engrained into his habits. He didn't hold me long, but let me turn and give him a once over glance. He seemed in good health. His skin had lost it's summer shade in favor of a more creamy complexion, but nothing like the almost translucent pale of the woman flanking him.
"Dorothy?" I recognized her immediately from before, but the surly glance she reserved for my brother (so like the one described in his letters) would have revealed her identity regardless.
"Along with her family," Trowa sounded as if he suffered, and I shot him a disapproving look. He should have known better than to actually speak any insult in public, let alone in front of the party in particular. Something about coming back to our house would bring out his most childish immaturities.
"A gentleman would make a proper introduction." Dorothy said slyly, crossing her arms. She moved her head enough to flip her silver-blonde hair back over her shoulders. She wore a full black dress. From the neckline to the front cut of the satin fabric was black netting.
"Yes, Cathy, this would be Dorothy. Her grandparents are still at the door with Father, you will see." Trowa's voice tempered but dry, waving with one hand to each party as they were addressed. Then I noticed his tone take a cheerier slant. "And this is my school chum, Heero Yuy. I must have mentioned him to you."
My eyes settle on the guest in particular. Trowa then letting his arm drop to his side as I met the steady gaze of a rather attractive young man. Mr. Yuy seemed standoffish at first, but I sensed that in fact it was a case of respectful bashfulness.
"Pleased to meet you." Heero said, an interesting figure of indifference between the mutual distaste radiating from my brother and Miss Catalonia.
Dorothy:
I found Catherine, unlike her brother, quite charming. While entertaining the older generation with clever conversation, she managed to oversee the supply of dessert, rearranged the musicians to another corner without disturbing the guests, and placated her agitated sibling.
He, of course, being deficient in every social grace, which vexed me very much. Obviously lacking in the finer points of his upbringing. Undoubtedly some psychological backlash from losing his mother. And not finding his replacement with his father's new wife. His aunt.
He did, however, seem to have attached himself to Catherine very strongly.
The way he might loop his arm through hers or run his fingers through her reddish-brown curls. Watching them dance together had been the worst. Leaning against the wall and imaging that instead of laughing at his comment, that Catherine had pulled out a dagger and cleverly stabbed her obnoxious brother through the gut. Catherine had smitten our Young Master Barton to her every whim in spite of his almighty position on the submission of women.
"Are all social gatherings like this one?" I heard Heero Yuy's comment.
"More or less." I said simply.
In the months that Heero had been staying at our estate, we had shared few words and a respectful distance. A tentative camaraderie began that night as we had stood together and watched Trowa Barton make a spectacle of himself. Yuy, I learned, had been rather secluded from the public eye. His parents preferring to stay put away in their own affairs. I knew somewhat of the Kushrenada household, especially the controversy in the last few years over Heero's inheritance. But I knew full well of Treize Kushrenada's debt to the real Heero Yuy, and this young man who inherited the name and became the Kushrenada heir by chance would be guaranteed all of Treize's fortune. Since that had settled, Heero and his mother had returned to their original lifestyle separate from society when at all possible.
I was suddenly curious, "Have you never danced before, Mr. Yuy?" I purred dangerously, taunting and inquisitive.
If anything, Heero was seldom ashamed, "Not like this. No, I haven't." Following his gaze, I knew he was watching Catherine and Trowa as well. I couldn't quite tell if the iron set of his jaw against his high collar indicated longing or simple determination.
It seemed strange to me that someone with such solemn dignity and honor would associate with Trowa Barton. Heero's behavior was impeccable.
None of us suspected in the least that he had willingly let his heart go captive with one glance.
Catherine:
The days after Christmas that season had been rather temperate and I wasn't surprised to find Heero Yuy wandering through the stables during his brief stay. We didn't keep horses in the city stable of course, since the city had grown beyond the need. Our pets and the rest had been transported to our country home. In the meantime, my uncle had a rather spectacular collection of classic automobiles started there.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, meaning to be polite.
He must have taken it wrongly, because he had gripped a nearby board supporting the stable with a sudden fierceness, "I'm just looking. Curious." His voice was much lower than Trowa's and more deliberate. Comparing him to Trowa was easy. Heero was more broad, a few inches shorter and ruled his dark hair better. As much as Trowa said he trusted me, he would never let me cut his hair into something proper.
"Do you like cars?" I couldn't let him stay so uncomfortable, he was my brother's friend after all. He nodded, once. He didn't say anything else, and I felt obligated to put him at ease. To take care of him.
Glancing around, I found the vehicle I intended and pulling open the door sank inside. "Listen." I called through the window, then pressed my palm against the wheel. With just that little pressure, from under the hood a short series of bugle like notes played their song. "Isn't that incredible?" I added, watching with some satisfaction as his eyebrows lifted in what I intended to be amusement. "This one is called Aries." I let my hand fall outside the window and patted the door.
He crossed to lean in where I sat, "Do it again." He said softly. Not demanding, but a bit insistent. Then listened with closed eyes as I obeyed. Glancing at him, his face closer than before, I saw that, when his eyes closed, he had such dark lashes. The sort that most girls, including myself, dreamed of having. "It's reconstructed." He murmured.
"Reconstructed?"
"That's not the original sound of the horn."
"No?"
Truthfully, I didn't know much about these automobiles. But when he opened his eyes I knew their color. They were very close. Very blue.
"No."
I took a deep breath, and tried not to sound as intimidated, impressed, as I felt. "Alright. Poppa must have changed it."
"Actually, I did."
We both recognized Trowa's voice and saw his silhouette moving to enter the shadows from the brilliant December sunlight. Each step he took made his features easier to discern, adjusting to the darkness. Heero stood upright again and took a step forward before stopping. Trowa turning his gaze from Heero to myself.
"It was the summer before our third year. Father approved of course." He continued forward and opening the door offered me a hand out. I took it and felt surprise at the possessive way he kept it in his. "I was looking for you, Cathy. No one had known where you'd gone off to."
The three of us walked back to the house. Trowa and I chatting amiably about the dinner that Mrs. Po had planned for their farewell back to the Catalonia's for the rest of the winter and spring. Heero keeping step on my opposite side, his boots managing to audibly crunch and snap the leaves remaining from the last fall. Even while Trowa tried to distract me with his conversation, part of me was very aware of each step taken by Heero Yuy.
Dorothy:
One day, two letters came from Catherine. I had puzzled over it at first. Examining the print of the address. Comparing the curl of the 'o' the slant of the 'r' to see if the penmanship was the same. Because one of them was familiarly addressed to her brother. The other was for Heero Yuy.
While I had no ill feelings for either Catherine or Heero, it was an opportunity that I couldn't have ignored. Trying not to curl the envelopes as my fists convulsively tightened with barely restrained enthusiasm, I rounded the hall to find Trowa sitting at the desk in the main study. Pouring himself over the daily newspaper.
I paused, observing him since he hadn't noticed me yet. So intently perusing the articles. Apparently trying to catch up on the latest politics so he could discuss them at length in the evening with my grandfather. He brushed back his light brown hair with both hands, revealing for the first time a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Nearly nineteen and already losing his vision. However, I had suspected Trowa Barton already lost most of his quality insight years ago.
I cleared my throat. He immediately reached for his reading glasses with one hand and, folding them, set them on the table under his innocent looking palm. I allowed him his vanity, and didn't comment . . . on that.
"I have before me," I said slowly, "Two letters. Both from the same party, but going to different recipients. Who, you might ask, are they from?"
"Skip this." Trowa scowled, an expression he never showed anyone else. It made his forehead wrinkle right in the middle, his eyes narrowed, and his lips magnetically closing to clip his words. "What are you trying to get at?"
"I was just curious why your sister would be writing to Heero?" I tilt my head to one side, holding out an envelope at arm's length, making as if to reveal the contents with the aid of sunlight from the window behind him.
"There could be many reasons." Trowa sputtered a bit, apparently not expecting that piece of information. "To thank him for going to the party. Not that you would get one." He added the last, seeming to settle back into his own logic.
I let him believe whatever he wanted to, the moment of doubt was worth the trouble. And the chance to see him-defenses down, reading through those narrow glasses.
Catherine:
Sending Trowa letters became more difficult after he returned to his studies. His were appreciative of having been able to see me again and littered with violent paragraphs bent over the latest outrage instigated by Miss Catalonia.
To be honest, even though he spent our younger years together, our parents sent Trowa to school regularly during the years and then he started in a boarding school at age fourteen. We had only holidays together, and I tried to make them as pleasant for him as I could. He disliked public spectacles, and, on many levels, we protected each other the best we could from speculation about the inheritance. With those conditions, we forged a bond closer and more dear than that of most siblings of ordinary circumstances.
What perplexed me more than my inability to write Trowa, was the first fleeting then ever growing persistent thought to write to Heero Yuy. Although, I had few things in particular I could write about with comfort.
The party. The automobiles, in passing. The weather if I needed to.
But I don't know if I would have ever followed through on the desire, if I hadn't received his letter first.
It was straightforward, expressing gratitude for my generosity both at the event and later in sharing a few details about the Barton collection of cars. Especially the Aries. If that had been all, his letter would have mirrored my own imagined attempt. Except he had gone so far as to close with the line, "I found your company quite agreeable and look forward to seeing you again."
For such an understatement, I understood his intent well enough. My reply then was easy. I only needed to let him know I reciprocated the sentiment.
Dorothy:
I didn't have to say anything more to Trowa about the sudden regularity of the letters between his sister and his good friend because his knowledge of the correspondence was clear. To me of course. Heero was blissful unaware of the suspicious glances and veiled frustration. I happened to pass their breakfast table one morning to see the young lover half-smiling over his aloft coffee cup and reading another paper from the post. The uncharacteristic grin of contentment was not lost on Trowa either, who kept darting his glance feverishly from the eggs on his plate, cut with some ferocity, and his companion.
I have no doubt that Trowa was not completely opposed to the idea of Catherine going to another man. Overall, Trowa was too simple to conceive of any inappropriateness with his blood relation. Nevertheless, I knew of his violent opposition to anything he did not orchestrate or approve.
"How do you wander content while Mr. Yuy makes love with words to your becoming sister?" I passed him in the hall, letting the comment slip. Almost, but not quite, expecting the stern grip of his fingers against my forearm, pulling me back around. My eyes widened. For once, I had actually gained a margin of control over Trowa's inbred restraint.
"What gives you the idea that I mind?" When he finally managed the words through his stumbling lips, I almost pitied him. He really was lost without his sister's undivided attention.
"Am I wrong?"
"Of-of course." He frowned, collecting himself around the lie. Unfolding his shoulders and pulling his chin up a bit. Slipping on his masks once more. Using them to never again betray his agitation.
Masks I was determined to crush under my heel. One by one.
The opportunity came near the end of a wet spring. Trowa had already put in his papers binding his future to the prestigious Luxembourg University, earning his place upon the recommendation of my grandfather. For some unknown reason, my grandfather had taken a strong liking to him. Heero's adopted mother had called him home as she faced a grave illness that perplexed Heero to no end. He would have left immediately if Lady Une Kushrenada had not ordered him to stay where he was.
With Trowa climbing to the top and Heero desperately concerned for his mother, I invited Catherine to the country.
Catherine:
I found myself facing the massive front doors, still bundled in my long grey coat to break the country breeze that cut across miles of fields to blow against my ankles. I would have insisted on coming as soon as I heard about Heero's mother. If I'd learned anything from his letters, he wasn't one to be absolutely forthcoming with his feelings even though he was decisive enough to act on them. Dorothy's invitation came as a surprise, but it was a welcome one.
The automobile that had circled up the drive to deposit me on the Catalonia doorstep pulled away and I felt a mixed urge that wanted to chase after it-- as if coming suddenly had been a mistake. I hadn't seen Heero since we first met, and it would certainly be quite wounding to find that I had misunderstood his intentions. My only comfort then--I would have Trowa to occupy my time.
Before, I had never sincerely entertained the thought of matching myself to a certain gentleman. I had my fair share of admirers during gatherings; although, none as distant or humbly attentive as Heero Yuy. Which made me doubt my feelings even more, because they were not those of a flighty school girl, but something new seeking a more solid, dependable foundation. My thick heeled traveling shoes slid against the gravel of the drive. Up the stairs. I lifted the knocker.
The butler answers, he smiled at me. A bare twitch of his pencil thin lips, when his image is blocked by the jubilant smile of my brother. One of his rare, cheek pushing grins. "Catherine, you look weary." Then he had his arm around my shoulders and he's chatting about the terrible weather as of late then his prospects at school. Once Trowa starts talking, it's hard to get a word in edgewise.
"You goof," I laughed at last, while Trowa caught his breath. He'd pulled me farther in and down the hall. Putting my light gloves away into my pockets, I appraised his health. "I'm fine. You seem lovely. Taller?" I'd managed to keep a few inches on my brother when we were younger, but he'd far surpassed my height by that year.
The response came from the direction of a door behind us. Dorothy said, "Taller, yes. But still struggling to match his increased inches with equal wit." She smiled slyly, only using her muscles on one side. If Dorothy's comments were like this even half of the time, I could see why Trowa would become short with her. He did seem about to respond in kind, and he might have. But I didn't notice.
Instead, I was enchanted by the sudden nearness of the person I most wanted to see.
Dorothy:
The gloomy weather from outside did little to dampen Trowa's enthusiasm upon Catherine's arrival. He'd incessantly found excuses to touch her, leading her with his arm around her shoulders, pressing the small of her back, pinching the folds of her shirt near the elbow. Catherine settled to her own ease, the pale flush of her cheeks turning rosy in the warmth of the house. Outside was still a foul spring.
However, the fun of watching their reactions when Heero walked into the room was priceless beyond everything else. Ignoring Trowa completely, Heero had addressed Catherine directly. Inquiring about her trip, her health, her fine appearance, her last letter, the book she'd been reading. Speaking frankly, almost as if engaged in some detailed topic as when with my grandfather. Only this time completely absorbed with the essence and subject of Catherine. Let it not be said that Heero did not understand his own mission.
For her own part, Catherine's eyes had curled into a smile of relief. Then she held her own as the two of them ignored us completely. Trowa pushing his hands into his pockets. Pulling out his watch as if to glance at the time, then returned it.
"At least, let's all sit somewhere." Trowa interrupted, turning into the sitting room at such an angle away from the other two so that I could see the sparkle of conflict through his gaze. "You must be tired, Cathy."
"Not anymore really." Catherine spoke to her brother once more, following, and stealing a glance to see Heero right next to her with his shoulders set confidently. Heero trusted his emotions and followed his without doubt.
Trowa sank into one corner of the couch, stretching out his hand so that Catherine would sit near him. I cannot say I wasn't amused by his intentional posturing. Catherine slipped her hands into her lap, and smiled broadly at Heero who perched on the edge of the seat nearest her. Letting his elbows balance on his knees. Matching Trowa play for play and stealing away Catherine's conversation.
I knew that the actions were stiffly deliberate on Trowa's part. For Heero, if he understood the game, the movements were as natural as fixing her eyes on his own. For the entire evening, they laughed and shared stories. Occasionally, I would ask Trowa a question. To which I would get a narrow-eyed look.
Catherine:
I neglected Trowa horribly at first, and it wasn't a full day before I guiltily noticed.
The rush of feeling accepted by Heero's conversation in person as well as in written word over flooded my common sense for a bit. Daydreaming during the morning meal, I found myself staring, having been wondering when he might first try to kiss me. How I might subtly grant him permission or suggest it. As I tried to shake those thoughts from my head, I noticed Trowa pushing his eggs around breakfast plate and felt in a moment terribly responsible.
By monopolizing Heero's time, I had robbed my brother of his friend and left Trowa to Dorothy completely. And, knowing how they felt about each other, I had been quite rude. That day, Trowa and I were the first to the table, both being early risers. As children, we had shared many early meals and conversations.
"Trowa?" I began, not certain what to say, but feeling the need to make amends. To retrieve the smiling, talkative brother that had met me at the door.
His eyebrows lifted, glancing at me, then to his eggs again. "Did you sleep well?"
"When we finally got to bed." I laughed, remembering the terrible reluctance to let Heero leave my sight. Having to nudge Trowa awake, since he'd fallen asleep at some point with a frown etched on his sleeping features. "Heero was telling me about how you played football together at school. I didn't know that you'd played on the same team once?"
Trowa nodded.
The answer came from another direction. "We had a visiting team come, so that the best of ours could play the best of theirs." Hearing our conversation, Heero chimed in. He put one hand on my shoulder in greeting before taking a seat near my own and examining the selection of foods. "It felt wonderful to put that bragging Peacecraft boy into his place, didn't it, Trowa?"
Trowa nodded.
Undisturbed, Heero turned back to me. The enthusiasm of the memory infiltrating his voice, as he spoke more quickly, "Your brother and I were able to dribble past the other team members one by one before Milliardo knew what had happened. It was splendid."
"Boys and their games." Dorothy came in at that point.
"Women have games too." Trowa challenged, speaking again. Watching Dorothy take a seat on his other side.
"Yes, darling," Dorothy scolded, shaking her head, "But the games women play are sophisticated." The smile she gave him made me wonder, and increasingly, exactly what game Dorothy had in mind.
Dorothy:
After three days, Trowa gave up trying to find his sister separated from Heero. He wandered the halls, took long rides on one of the horses from the stable, and started to take walks in the evening. Catherine, to her credit, gave him equal time when they were all together, but it was not enough for him. More and more Trowa was no where to be found. With her maternal inclinations and love devoted to Mr. Yuy at that point, the picture of inevitable truth could not have been clearer in Mr. Barton's eyes.
I caught him outside one afternoon. I had intended to go the flower garden for a walk. Trowa obviously on another of his solitary adventures.
"Fancy seeing you again. You've been quite absent recently. Not trying for Catherine's affections any longer?" I asked, pulling on the brim of my hat to keep the newly returned spring sun out of my eyes.
"Trying for her . . . what?" Trowa growled, his voice rumbling like April thunder. "My sister's love is not in doubt. But if she wants to waste all of her time with my friend," His lips sputtered, "then that is her decision."
"And he is your friend? Isn't he?" I asked. He began to match my pace as I walked toward the garden anyway, almost as if he was not there.
Demanding my attention, Trowa spoke in a clipped whisper, "Of course. Heero is a decent chap. I just don't think he's good enough for Catherine, that's all. He's an orphan after all and that inheritance from the Kushrenada estate was challenged before. Without Lady Une to defend it, who's to say it won't dissolve from beneath him?"
"Judging people by their assets, are we?" I glanced at him. Trowa staring forward blindly. Simply reacting and expressing himself honestly for once.
"No, I'm not. But Catherine could have any man she chooses."
"And it certainly looks like she's choosing now." I laughed, "And it just drives you mad since she's not choosing you, is it?"
"What does that have to do with it, dammit?" He kept walking faster, and, with my stride I kept even before, but this time he pulled ahead. "Of course, she's going to marry someone someday, just not him . . ."
"And why not Heero?" I shake my head, amused by his reactions.
He stepped in front of me, stopping me short and pushing his nose close to mine. His eyes a cross, envious green, "I don't approve."
"You are such a beautiful hypocrite," I put up one hand to hide my smile, in the impression of a demureness not in my nature. "You throw aside family obligations, thoroughly despise your responsibilities and inheritance, and you're always challenging the expectations of others. Nevertheless, when it comes down to it, you behave just like the parents that you protest. You want to take Catherine and make your will and intentions hers." I used my fingers to push up on his chin, closing his mouth. Putting away his retort that he couldn't vocalize. "All of your petty problems and battles aside. Love is love. Your approval has very little to do with it."
He followed me around the garden. Neither of us speaking. But I hardly expected him to share the feelings that comment must have raised. As we walked in silence, the flowers, grey in the spring gloom just days before, stood tall and bright. Promising aromas of a full summer.
Interestingly enough, my words began to be truth as Trowa warmed to the idea. He watched them again, as if for the first time-watching Heero and Catherine sharing glances over a tilted cup, reading books to each other, playing a game of chess in front of the fire-he found whatever reassurances he was looking for and relaxed. Which was a good for him since the two of them hadn't ended the week before they had shared publicly their intentions for each other. Catherine planned on visiting the Kushrenada house with Heero as soon as he returned. And the visit sounded almost permanent as Catherine planned to assist Lady Une in all her affairs. To learn how to be the mistress of the Kushrenada estate. To take care of Heero through the inevitable things to come.
Before going to the university, Trowa pulled Heero aside and, from the result of that conversation, Trowa must have given his consent. Not that Heero would have stopped pursuing Catherine without it.
Those words I spoke were true, but not only for Heero and Catherine
Truth: love is love. Approval has little to do with it.
Because as much as I wanted to hurt him, and as little I approved of him: I loved Trowa Barton terribly.
Not that I'd ever confess that feeling. Until he comes back to admit that I am at least one woman who has more wits about her than at least one man-- namely himself.
I can be patient.
The end.
(I wanted to try something a little out of the ordinary. Moreover, this turned out much different than I expected. Being pleased with the first chapter, I intended to toss Catherine and Dorothy into this alternate world also--mostly in order to capture Trowa's reaction. It was a strange bit of coupling regardless, and I hope that given those variables that this half came along well enough to compliment the former. Now to see what mischief I can get into next . . . thank you for reading!)
(Disclaimer: This is the second half of The Best Way to Travel. While the first section was about Heero and Trowa becoming friends, this chapter will deal with their characters post high school. Of course, chapter two deals with their relationship with the opposite gender. Also, I filtered this chapter through the girls' points of view, so the narrative voice and subject is a touch different. In addition, this is AU and the relationships are not canon (I wanted a challenge). By the way, I'm mad at the universe for saying that Trowa and Catherine are siblings. *sighs* Maybe some day I'll have the inspiration to write a story where they find out that it was all a big misunderstanding . . . *snicker*. In the meanwhile, thank you for reading and enjoy.)
**By the way, to those who reviewed The Best Way To Travel-thank you! I appreciate your encouragement. I sometimes forget that other people actually read these. ~sweatdrops~
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Dorothy:
It's always best to be well informed. Both of your enemies but also your friends and acquaintances, just in case they become enemies. In life, everything is a battle and the secret to winning then is not only strength but also gathered intelligence. Understanding your opponent.
I was born during war, and that summer, years later and eighteen, I had been living with my grandfather. My own father had died brilliantly in a military charge against the enemy's united front. He had called his men to him and against incredible odds had practically pulled them up the hillside. I had listened with relish while a survivor of that endeavor recounted the story to me. Letting me witness, by some degree, the valor that had consumed my father to his last breath. The stunning sacrifice. While most of his unit had perished, the victory ultimately came to completion.
I won't shed tears for him. He would not want me to. My grandfather reassures me as much.
I had been sitting in the study when our visitors arrived. The two young men that were going to be studying under my grandfather's instruction. I set aside my book and in one sweeping motion, stepped up next to the sturdy oak door. It was the sort that slid in and out from the wall, so I pulled it out enough to hide the better part of my figure, wrapped my fingers around the edge, and peeked into the hall for a first look.
It wasn't unusual for my grandfather to mentor gentlemen. Usually, they were fresh from the university and uncertain as to their particular field. These two were younger, my own age in fact. New graduates from some elitist private school. The first had to be Trowa Barton. I had met him once and there forward I considered him one of the rudest individuals I had ever come across. We'd engaged in a conversation about the proper place of women in government, and he'd disengaged himself from the conversation part way through saying at that point it was beneath him to continue. That was approximately three years prior, but I still remembered the fury like electric wire pulsing through my veins.
He was taller, still lean but growing into the image of his father. Both men with little cause to be proud. The Barton money was old, and clearly not earned by the current generations.
What amused me the most about it, both Trowa and his father had the same strange weakness for women. Which, I had uncovered later with some wicked glee, all things considered. Mr. Barton had married his deceased older brother's wife. His sister-in-law. Of course, Trowa's own mother had died in childbirth. The elder Barton and his second wife had no children of their own, which left a rather touchy tangle as to who should inherit the Barton estate. Trowa, or his elder step-sister/cousin, Catherine-the direct descendent of the oldest son.
One must love the tangled mess the aristocracy can create.
The other boy was a stranger. His demeanor rather reserved, but in a different way than Trowa's cold mannerisms. His presentation was more that of a self-conscious soldier. Taken from his artillery unit and told to entertain royalty instead.
I listened closely for his name, catching it and almost thinking I had misheard.
Catherine:
Trowa's letters started to come more frequently closer to Christmas. He spent that year in the country with the Catalonia's, a family that I actually knew little about. Except that they did come in town to seek entertainment at some of the holiday parties. They were an older couple, having lost all of their sons in the war; still, they did shelter their only granddaughter, a proud and proper Dorothy Catalonia. I had met her a few years back and found her agreeable enough.
Apparently, however, Trowa could not bear her.
* Cathy, she torments my ears with comments about the statutes of ideal masculinity and follows that with an immediate list of my shortcomings. She is intolerable really. It will be a relief to regain your polite company once more. *
Having reread that complaint more than twice, I accepted that perhaps he missed me as much as I had missed him. He was in all respects my dear younger brother. My uncle marrying my mother when Trowa was almost four.
I was able to see both of them again at the Barton annual Christmas festivities. This was an expected gathering and therefore had to be more spectacular than the previous year to maintain our status. Mother had sent away for exotic, but tasteful decorations from Asian countries. The tree filled with golden baubles and delicate, small origami-cranes, frogs and others.
I had been surveying the servants as they scurried to prevent one potential disaster and then the next. Chuckling a bit, just as I felt familiar arms enclose me from behind. Trowa would cross his arms completely to secure my opposite shoulder, that was how I always knew when it was him.
"You're early."
"Gentlemen are never late." Trowa's voice quipped bitterly as if it were a lesson engrained into his habits. He didn't hold me long, but let me turn and give him a once over glance. He seemed in good health. His skin had lost it's summer shade in favor of a more creamy complexion, but nothing like the almost translucent pale of the woman flanking him.
"Dorothy?" I recognized her immediately from before, but the surly glance she reserved for my brother (so like the one described in his letters) would have revealed her identity regardless.
"Along with her family," Trowa sounded as if he suffered, and I shot him a disapproving look. He should have known better than to actually speak any insult in public, let alone in front of the party in particular. Something about coming back to our house would bring out his most childish immaturities.
"A gentleman would make a proper introduction." Dorothy said slyly, crossing her arms. She moved her head enough to flip her silver-blonde hair back over her shoulders. She wore a full black dress. From the neckline to the front cut of the satin fabric was black netting.
"Yes, Cathy, this would be Dorothy. Her grandparents are still at the door with Father, you will see." Trowa's voice tempered but dry, waving with one hand to each party as they were addressed. Then I noticed his tone take a cheerier slant. "And this is my school chum, Heero Yuy. I must have mentioned him to you."
My eyes settle on the guest in particular. Trowa then letting his arm drop to his side as I met the steady gaze of a rather attractive young man. Mr. Yuy seemed standoffish at first, but I sensed that in fact it was a case of respectful bashfulness.
"Pleased to meet you." Heero said, an interesting figure of indifference between the mutual distaste radiating from my brother and Miss Catalonia.
Dorothy:
I found Catherine, unlike her brother, quite charming. While entertaining the older generation with clever conversation, she managed to oversee the supply of dessert, rearranged the musicians to another corner without disturbing the guests, and placated her agitated sibling.
He, of course, being deficient in every social grace, which vexed me very much. Obviously lacking in the finer points of his upbringing. Undoubtedly some psychological backlash from losing his mother. And not finding his replacement with his father's new wife. His aunt.
He did, however, seem to have attached himself to Catherine very strongly.
The way he might loop his arm through hers or run his fingers through her reddish-brown curls. Watching them dance together had been the worst. Leaning against the wall and imaging that instead of laughing at his comment, that Catherine had pulled out a dagger and cleverly stabbed her obnoxious brother through the gut. Catherine had smitten our Young Master Barton to her every whim in spite of his almighty position on the submission of women.
"Are all social gatherings like this one?" I heard Heero Yuy's comment.
"More or less." I said simply.
In the months that Heero had been staying at our estate, we had shared few words and a respectful distance. A tentative camaraderie began that night as we had stood together and watched Trowa Barton make a spectacle of himself. Yuy, I learned, had been rather secluded from the public eye. His parents preferring to stay put away in their own affairs. I knew somewhat of the Kushrenada household, especially the controversy in the last few years over Heero's inheritance. But I knew full well of Treize Kushrenada's debt to the real Heero Yuy, and this young man who inherited the name and became the Kushrenada heir by chance would be guaranteed all of Treize's fortune. Since that had settled, Heero and his mother had returned to their original lifestyle separate from society when at all possible.
I was suddenly curious, "Have you never danced before, Mr. Yuy?" I purred dangerously, taunting and inquisitive.
If anything, Heero was seldom ashamed, "Not like this. No, I haven't." Following his gaze, I knew he was watching Catherine and Trowa as well. I couldn't quite tell if the iron set of his jaw against his high collar indicated longing or simple determination.
It seemed strange to me that someone with such solemn dignity and honor would associate with Trowa Barton. Heero's behavior was impeccable.
None of us suspected in the least that he had willingly let his heart go captive with one glance.
Catherine:
The days after Christmas that season had been rather temperate and I wasn't surprised to find Heero Yuy wandering through the stables during his brief stay. We didn't keep horses in the city stable of course, since the city had grown beyond the need. Our pets and the rest had been transported to our country home. In the meantime, my uncle had a rather spectacular collection of classic automobiles started there.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, meaning to be polite.
He must have taken it wrongly, because he had gripped a nearby board supporting the stable with a sudden fierceness, "I'm just looking. Curious." His voice was much lower than Trowa's and more deliberate. Comparing him to Trowa was easy. Heero was more broad, a few inches shorter and ruled his dark hair better. As much as Trowa said he trusted me, he would never let me cut his hair into something proper.
"Do you like cars?" I couldn't let him stay so uncomfortable, he was my brother's friend after all. He nodded, once. He didn't say anything else, and I felt obligated to put him at ease. To take care of him.
Glancing around, I found the vehicle I intended and pulling open the door sank inside. "Listen." I called through the window, then pressed my palm against the wheel. With just that little pressure, from under the hood a short series of bugle like notes played their song. "Isn't that incredible?" I added, watching with some satisfaction as his eyebrows lifted in what I intended to be amusement. "This one is called Aries." I let my hand fall outside the window and patted the door.
He crossed to lean in where I sat, "Do it again." He said softly. Not demanding, but a bit insistent. Then listened with closed eyes as I obeyed. Glancing at him, his face closer than before, I saw that, when his eyes closed, he had such dark lashes. The sort that most girls, including myself, dreamed of having. "It's reconstructed." He murmured.
"Reconstructed?"
"That's not the original sound of the horn."
"No?"
Truthfully, I didn't know much about these automobiles. But when he opened his eyes I knew their color. They were very close. Very blue.
"No."
I took a deep breath, and tried not to sound as intimidated, impressed, as I felt. "Alright. Poppa must have changed it."
"Actually, I did."
We both recognized Trowa's voice and saw his silhouette moving to enter the shadows from the brilliant December sunlight. Each step he took made his features easier to discern, adjusting to the darkness. Heero stood upright again and took a step forward before stopping. Trowa turning his gaze from Heero to myself.
"It was the summer before our third year. Father approved of course." He continued forward and opening the door offered me a hand out. I took it and felt surprise at the possessive way he kept it in his. "I was looking for you, Cathy. No one had known where you'd gone off to."
The three of us walked back to the house. Trowa and I chatting amiably about the dinner that Mrs. Po had planned for their farewell back to the Catalonia's for the rest of the winter and spring. Heero keeping step on my opposite side, his boots managing to audibly crunch and snap the leaves remaining from the last fall. Even while Trowa tried to distract me with his conversation, part of me was very aware of each step taken by Heero Yuy.
Dorothy:
One day, two letters came from Catherine. I had puzzled over it at first. Examining the print of the address. Comparing the curl of the 'o' the slant of the 'r' to see if the penmanship was the same. Because one of them was familiarly addressed to her brother. The other was for Heero Yuy.
While I had no ill feelings for either Catherine or Heero, it was an opportunity that I couldn't have ignored. Trying not to curl the envelopes as my fists convulsively tightened with barely restrained enthusiasm, I rounded the hall to find Trowa sitting at the desk in the main study. Pouring himself over the daily newspaper.
I paused, observing him since he hadn't noticed me yet. So intently perusing the articles. Apparently trying to catch up on the latest politics so he could discuss them at length in the evening with my grandfather. He brushed back his light brown hair with both hands, revealing for the first time a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Nearly nineteen and already losing his vision. However, I had suspected Trowa Barton already lost most of his quality insight years ago.
I cleared my throat. He immediately reached for his reading glasses with one hand and, folding them, set them on the table under his innocent looking palm. I allowed him his vanity, and didn't comment . . . on that.
"I have before me," I said slowly, "Two letters. Both from the same party, but going to different recipients. Who, you might ask, are they from?"
"Skip this." Trowa scowled, an expression he never showed anyone else. It made his forehead wrinkle right in the middle, his eyes narrowed, and his lips magnetically closing to clip his words. "What are you trying to get at?"
"I was just curious why your sister would be writing to Heero?" I tilt my head to one side, holding out an envelope at arm's length, making as if to reveal the contents with the aid of sunlight from the window behind him.
"There could be many reasons." Trowa sputtered a bit, apparently not expecting that piece of information. "To thank him for going to the party. Not that you would get one." He added the last, seeming to settle back into his own logic.
I let him believe whatever he wanted to, the moment of doubt was worth the trouble. And the chance to see him-defenses down, reading through those narrow glasses.
Catherine:
Sending Trowa letters became more difficult after he returned to his studies. His were appreciative of having been able to see me again and littered with violent paragraphs bent over the latest outrage instigated by Miss Catalonia.
To be honest, even though he spent our younger years together, our parents sent Trowa to school regularly during the years and then he started in a boarding school at age fourteen. We had only holidays together, and I tried to make them as pleasant for him as I could. He disliked public spectacles, and, on many levels, we protected each other the best we could from speculation about the inheritance. With those conditions, we forged a bond closer and more dear than that of most siblings of ordinary circumstances.
What perplexed me more than my inability to write Trowa, was the first fleeting then ever growing persistent thought to write to Heero Yuy. Although, I had few things in particular I could write about with comfort.
The party. The automobiles, in passing. The weather if I needed to.
But I don't know if I would have ever followed through on the desire, if I hadn't received his letter first.
It was straightforward, expressing gratitude for my generosity both at the event and later in sharing a few details about the Barton collection of cars. Especially the Aries. If that had been all, his letter would have mirrored my own imagined attempt. Except he had gone so far as to close with the line, "I found your company quite agreeable and look forward to seeing you again."
For such an understatement, I understood his intent well enough. My reply then was easy. I only needed to let him know I reciprocated the sentiment.
Dorothy:
I didn't have to say anything more to Trowa about the sudden regularity of the letters between his sister and his good friend because his knowledge of the correspondence was clear. To me of course. Heero was blissful unaware of the suspicious glances and veiled frustration. I happened to pass their breakfast table one morning to see the young lover half-smiling over his aloft coffee cup and reading another paper from the post. The uncharacteristic grin of contentment was not lost on Trowa either, who kept darting his glance feverishly from the eggs on his plate, cut with some ferocity, and his companion.
I have no doubt that Trowa was not completely opposed to the idea of Catherine going to another man. Overall, Trowa was too simple to conceive of any inappropriateness with his blood relation. Nevertheless, I knew of his violent opposition to anything he did not orchestrate or approve.
"How do you wander content while Mr. Yuy makes love with words to your becoming sister?" I passed him in the hall, letting the comment slip. Almost, but not quite, expecting the stern grip of his fingers against my forearm, pulling me back around. My eyes widened. For once, I had actually gained a margin of control over Trowa's inbred restraint.
"What gives you the idea that I mind?" When he finally managed the words through his stumbling lips, I almost pitied him. He really was lost without his sister's undivided attention.
"Am I wrong?"
"Of-of course." He frowned, collecting himself around the lie. Unfolding his shoulders and pulling his chin up a bit. Slipping on his masks once more. Using them to never again betray his agitation.
Masks I was determined to crush under my heel. One by one.
The opportunity came near the end of a wet spring. Trowa had already put in his papers binding his future to the prestigious Luxembourg University, earning his place upon the recommendation of my grandfather. For some unknown reason, my grandfather had taken a strong liking to him. Heero's adopted mother had called him home as she faced a grave illness that perplexed Heero to no end. He would have left immediately if Lady Une Kushrenada had not ordered him to stay where he was.
With Trowa climbing to the top and Heero desperately concerned for his mother, I invited Catherine to the country.
Catherine:
I found myself facing the massive front doors, still bundled in my long grey coat to break the country breeze that cut across miles of fields to blow against my ankles. I would have insisted on coming as soon as I heard about Heero's mother. If I'd learned anything from his letters, he wasn't one to be absolutely forthcoming with his feelings even though he was decisive enough to act on them. Dorothy's invitation came as a surprise, but it was a welcome one.
The automobile that had circled up the drive to deposit me on the Catalonia doorstep pulled away and I felt a mixed urge that wanted to chase after it-- as if coming suddenly had been a mistake. I hadn't seen Heero since we first met, and it would certainly be quite wounding to find that I had misunderstood his intentions. My only comfort then--I would have Trowa to occupy my time.
Before, I had never sincerely entertained the thought of matching myself to a certain gentleman. I had my fair share of admirers during gatherings; although, none as distant or humbly attentive as Heero Yuy. Which made me doubt my feelings even more, because they were not those of a flighty school girl, but something new seeking a more solid, dependable foundation. My thick heeled traveling shoes slid against the gravel of the drive. Up the stairs. I lifted the knocker.
The butler answers, he smiled at me. A bare twitch of his pencil thin lips, when his image is blocked by the jubilant smile of my brother. One of his rare, cheek pushing grins. "Catherine, you look weary." Then he had his arm around my shoulders and he's chatting about the terrible weather as of late then his prospects at school. Once Trowa starts talking, it's hard to get a word in edgewise.
"You goof," I laughed at last, while Trowa caught his breath. He'd pulled me farther in and down the hall. Putting my light gloves away into my pockets, I appraised his health. "I'm fine. You seem lovely. Taller?" I'd managed to keep a few inches on my brother when we were younger, but he'd far surpassed my height by that year.
The response came from the direction of a door behind us. Dorothy said, "Taller, yes. But still struggling to match his increased inches with equal wit." She smiled slyly, only using her muscles on one side. If Dorothy's comments were like this even half of the time, I could see why Trowa would become short with her. He did seem about to respond in kind, and he might have. But I didn't notice.
Instead, I was enchanted by the sudden nearness of the person I most wanted to see.
Dorothy:
The gloomy weather from outside did little to dampen Trowa's enthusiasm upon Catherine's arrival. He'd incessantly found excuses to touch her, leading her with his arm around her shoulders, pressing the small of her back, pinching the folds of her shirt near the elbow. Catherine settled to her own ease, the pale flush of her cheeks turning rosy in the warmth of the house. Outside was still a foul spring.
However, the fun of watching their reactions when Heero walked into the room was priceless beyond everything else. Ignoring Trowa completely, Heero had addressed Catherine directly. Inquiring about her trip, her health, her fine appearance, her last letter, the book she'd been reading. Speaking frankly, almost as if engaged in some detailed topic as when with my grandfather. Only this time completely absorbed with the essence and subject of Catherine. Let it not be said that Heero did not understand his own mission.
For her own part, Catherine's eyes had curled into a smile of relief. Then she held her own as the two of them ignored us completely. Trowa pushing his hands into his pockets. Pulling out his watch as if to glance at the time, then returned it.
"At least, let's all sit somewhere." Trowa interrupted, turning into the sitting room at such an angle away from the other two so that I could see the sparkle of conflict through his gaze. "You must be tired, Cathy."
"Not anymore really." Catherine spoke to her brother once more, following, and stealing a glance to see Heero right next to her with his shoulders set confidently. Heero trusted his emotions and followed his without doubt.
Trowa sank into one corner of the couch, stretching out his hand so that Catherine would sit near him. I cannot say I wasn't amused by his intentional posturing. Catherine slipped her hands into her lap, and smiled broadly at Heero who perched on the edge of the seat nearest her. Letting his elbows balance on his knees. Matching Trowa play for play and stealing away Catherine's conversation.
I knew that the actions were stiffly deliberate on Trowa's part. For Heero, if he understood the game, the movements were as natural as fixing her eyes on his own. For the entire evening, they laughed and shared stories. Occasionally, I would ask Trowa a question. To which I would get a narrow-eyed look.
Catherine:
I neglected Trowa horribly at first, and it wasn't a full day before I guiltily noticed.
The rush of feeling accepted by Heero's conversation in person as well as in written word over flooded my common sense for a bit. Daydreaming during the morning meal, I found myself staring, having been wondering when he might first try to kiss me. How I might subtly grant him permission or suggest it. As I tried to shake those thoughts from my head, I noticed Trowa pushing his eggs around breakfast plate and felt in a moment terribly responsible.
By monopolizing Heero's time, I had robbed my brother of his friend and left Trowa to Dorothy completely. And, knowing how they felt about each other, I had been quite rude. That day, Trowa and I were the first to the table, both being early risers. As children, we had shared many early meals and conversations.
"Trowa?" I began, not certain what to say, but feeling the need to make amends. To retrieve the smiling, talkative brother that had met me at the door.
His eyebrows lifted, glancing at me, then to his eggs again. "Did you sleep well?"
"When we finally got to bed." I laughed, remembering the terrible reluctance to let Heero leave my sight. Having to nudge Trowa awake, since he'd fallen asleep at some point with a frown etched on his sleeping features. "Heero was telling me about how you played football together at school. I didn't know that you'd played on the same team once?"
Trowa nodded.
The answer came from another direction. "We had a visiting team come, so that the best of ours could play the best of theirs." Hearing our conversation, Heero chimed in. He put one hand on my shoulder in greeting before taking a seat near my own and examining the selection of foods. "It felt wonderful to put that bragging Peacecraft boy into his place, didn't it, Trowa?"
Trowa nodded.
Undisturbed, Heero turned back to me. The enthusiasm of the memory infiltrating his voice, as he spoke more quickly, "Your brother and I were able to dribble past the other team members one by one before Milliardo knew what had happened. It was splendid."
"Boys and their games." Dorothy came in at that point.
"Women have games too." Trowa challenged, speaking again. Watching Dorothy take a seat on his other side.
"Yes, darling," Dorothy scolded, shaking her head, "But the games women play are sophisticated." The smile she gave him made me wonder, and increasingly, exactly what game Dorothy had in mind.
Dorothy:
After three days, Trowa gave up trying to find his sister separated from Heero. He wandered the halls, took long rides on one of the horses from the stable, and started to take walks in the evening. Catherine, to her credit, gave him equal time when they were all together, but it was not enough for him. More and more Trowa was no where to be found. With her maternal inclinations and love devoted to Mr. Yuy at that point, the picture of inevitable truth could not have been clearer in Mr. Barton's eyes.
I caught him outside one afternoon. I had intended to go the flower garden for a walk. Trowa obviously on another of his solitary adventures.
"Fancy seeing you again. You've been quite absent recently. Not trying for Catherine's affections any longer?" I asked, pulling on the brim of my hat to keep the newly returned spring sun out of my eyes.
"Trying for her . . . what?" Trowa growled, his voice rumbling like April thunder. "My sister's love is not in doubt. But if she wants to waste all of her time with my friend," His lips sputtered, "then that is her decision."
"And he is your friend? Isn't he?" I asked. He began to match my pace as I walked toward the garden anyway, almost as if he was not there.
Demanding my attention, Trowa spoke in a clipped whisper, "Of course. Heero is a decent chap. I just don't think he's good enough for Catherine, that's all. He's an orphan after all and that inheritance from the Kushrenada estate was challenged before. Without Lady Une to defend it, who's to say it won't dissolve from beneath him?"
"Judging people by their assets, are we?" I glanced at him. Trowa staring forward blindly. Simply reacting and expressing himself honestly for once.
"No, I'm not. But Catherine could have any man she chooses."
"And it certainly looks like she's choosing now." I laughed, "And it just drives you mad since she's not choosing you, is it?"
"What does that have to do with it, dammit?" He kept walking faster, and, with my stride I kept even before, but this time he pulled ahead. "Of course, she's going to marry someone someday, just not him . . ."
"And why not Heero?" I shake my head, amused by his reactions.
He stepped in front of me, stopping me short and pushing his nose close to mine. His eyes a cross, envious green, "I don't approve."
"You are such a beautiful hypocrite," I put up one hand to hide my smile, in the impression of a demureness not in my nature. "You throw aside family obligations, thoroughly despise your responsibilities and inheritance, and you're always challenging the expectations of others. Nevertheless, when it comes down to it, you behave just like the parents that you protest. You want to take Catherine and make your will and intentions hers." I used my fingers to push up on his chin, closing his mouth. Putting away his retort that he couldn't vocalize. "All of your petty problems and battles aside. Love is love. Your approval has very little to do with it."
He followed me around the garden. Neither of us speaking. But I hardly expected him to share the feelings that comment must have raised. As we walked in silence, the flowers, grey in the spring gloom just days before, stood tall and bright. Promising aromas of a full summer.
Interestingly enough, my words began to be truth as Trowa warmed to the idea. He watched them again, as if for the first time-watching Heero and Catherine sharing glances over a tilted cup, reading books to each other, playing a game of chess in front of the fire-he found whatever reassurances he was looking for and relaxed. Which was a good for him since the two of them hadn't ended the week before they had shared publicly their intentions for each other. Catherine planned on visiting the Kushrenada house with Heero as soon as he returned. And the visit sounded almost permanent as Catherine planned to assist Lady Une in all her affairs. To learn how to be the mistress of the Kushrenada estate. To take care of Heero through the inevitable things to come.
Before going to the university, Trowa pulled Heero aside and, from the result of that conversation, Trowa must have given his consent. Not that Heero would have stopped pursuing Catherine without it.
Those words I spoke were true, but not only for Heero and Catherine
Truth: love is love. Approval has little to do with it.
Because as much as I wanted to hurt him, and as little I approved of him: I loved Trowa Barton terribly.
Not that I'd ever confess that feeling. Until he comes back to admit that I am at least one woman who has more wits about her than at least one man-- namely himself.
I can be patient.
The end.
(I wanted to try something a little out of the ordinary. Moreover, this turned out much different than I expected. Being pleased with the first chapter, I intended to toss Catherine and Dorothy into this alternate world also--mostly in order to capture Trowa's reaction. It was a strange bit of coupling regardless, and I hope that given those variables that this half came along well enough to compliment the former. Now to see what mischief I can get into next . . . thank you for reading!)