What would happen if we kissed?
I do not own Gundam Wing.
What would happen if we kissed? By Meredith Brooks. Off her "Blurring the Edges"
cd. Capitol Records. 1997.
Author's note:
This was actually an idea I got from reading Nemkess' "Where have all the Cowboys
gone?" songfic. I thought, boy, if Rashid is angry enough to walk away from his job
over Dorothy's treatment, maybe there could be potential for more between them?
Also, I liked the idea of the head Maguanac being something other than some sort of
"yes" man to Quatre. I really don't know how old Rashid is, but in the story I placing
him around 35. Last, I haven't finished this story, but have discovered my bad habit of
losing interest in a story before it's finished creeping in. I wonder if people will even
be interested in this type of plot. Please let me know if you'd like me to continue.
"Master Quatre, I don't understand how you can let the woman inside your
house, let alone engage her in marriage. She tried to kill you."
Quatre sat with his hands folded on the top of his desk and listened patiently
as Rashid raged on about the announcement of his engagement to Dorothy Catalonia.
"My father once told me a story that I will tell you now," Rashid replied. He
ignored the irritated glance Quatre shot him.
"One day, a man was walking along the shores of the Nile, looking for a spot
to wade across. As he walked along, he came upon a scorpion, which begged the man
to pick him up and carry him to other side of the river also. 'You promise you will not
sting?' the man asked. 'Yes,' replied the scorpion. So the man picked him up, placing
him on his shoulder, and began to wade across the river. Half way across, the scorpion
stung the man. The poison moved quickly through the man, and he began to sink down
into the river. 'Why did you sting me? Now, we'll both drown!' To the scorpion,
'I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's in my nature.'"
Quatre steepled his fingers as Rashid finished his story and stood there glaring
at him.
"Dorothy is not a scorpion, Rashid. She's among the most loyal, creative, and
brilliant women I have ever met. Though she can be absolutely lethal if you try to
corner her, like an animal would be. If you respect her and are do not show weakness
in your cause, she is a great ally. If you don't, she is a formidable adversary. I do trust
you will respect her. She needs our protection, Rashid. There are people out there who
want her dead -"
"With good reason," Rashid interjected.
Quatre slammed his fists against the wood.
"You seem to easily forget the help she will gave us and the Preventers when
Mariemaia tried to destroy all that we worked for. She did that without hesitation,
Rashid. She is as worthy as any of the Maguanacs."
Rashid stiffened at that, his great hands balling into fists. His eyes locked
with Quatre's. The blond that he treated like a son refused to budge on the idea.
Biting back a curse, Rashid unclenched his fists and tried to use the calmest voice
possible even though he wanted to shake the young man to his senses.
"As you wish, Master Quatre."
Quatre sighed. "She is not the devil himself. In time, you will realize that she
is a very loyal, and, in her own way, a very generous person.
Rashid snorted. "Forgive me, Master Quatre, when I say not bloody likely.
Be careful or she will tear your throat out." With that, he bowed to Quatre and left.
Quatre gripped the sides of the desk for a few moments, willing not to break
the wooden lip off. Rashid could be so damned stubborn. He was more of a father to
him that his real father was. He knew that Rashid wanted to protect him, but he did not
need to protect him from Dorothy.
The girl still projected the same tiger-like fa‡ade, but the light in her had
begun to fade over time. One of the few things that elicited any sort of emotion out of
her anymore was her passion for the outdoors, her fencing, and her glasswork. He had
raised his eyebrows the first time he had seen her in front of a torch, slowly shaping the
glass. The smile she gave him when she looked was as brilliant as the flame before
her.
But the smiles were rare. And she was getting sloppy about protecting
herself. Or at the very least careless about her life. He put his foot down when a man
avenging his brother's death pulled a gun on her. She just stood there. He screamed at
her to get down, but she just stood there so unnervingly calm, staring down the gun
barrel. Slowly, she raised up her arms to either side. As if she were giving up, giving
in. What in the hell is she doing? He had thought at the time. Trowa tackled the man
before he fired.
That day, Quatre told her she was going to come live with him, marry him if
need be. Instead of protesting, she quietly nodded. When he had gone to take her
home that evening, she was outside hauling a garbage can to the furnace she had out in
the back. She heaved it into the fire. She gave her a weary nod and they walked back
through the studio. It was oddly bare. Usually there were one or two projects still on a
table or by a windowsill. He discovered later she'd take every single piece of glass and
smashed it to bits in a quiet rage.
Trowa had slowly slipped into the room as Quatre was lost in his thoughts.
"So, how did he take it?" He asked as he reached over and clasped Quatre's
hand. Quatre smiled softly at his lover.
"Better than I thought he would," Quatre replied. "He still wants to kill her,
but he'll respect my wishes."
Dorothy looked out at the traffic that bustled about the Arab city. The
Maguanac driving the car uttered something she didn't understand as a city bus cut him
off. A curse, no doubt. She sighed and studied the people as they drove by. The
women had themselves covered to one extent or another, but then again, so did most of
the men. She did not quite understand how they could wear so much clothing in a heat
that was so oppressive. She herself had brought along shorts and short sleeve tops for
most of her wardrobe. One of the few things that Quatre had promised her was that she
would not be bound by the strict dress codes at his estate. She wasn't sure whether to
sigh or giggle about how the Maguanacs were going to handle her once everything was
settled in. The driver had been both cautious and courteous to her when he picked her
up at the airport. She had also noticed that he had frowned at the short sleeve dress she
wore. She couldn't help but smirk. Some things for her never changed.
Dorothy laid back into the cushions of the seat and closed her eyes. She
didn't know how long she dozed, but the next thing she knew the driver was shaking
her.
Only half-conscious, she immediately went into the defensive. She slammed
her arms against the curves of his elbows, breaking his grip out away from her as she
balled up, shoved her feet against his waist and then thrust him out of the open car
door. She leapt catlike across the seat, sweeping herself out and firmly placing her foot
over the man's throat before he could react.
She looked around her. Where was she? The mansion shone brilliantly in the
sun. At the top of the steps, stood Quatre only slightly surprised at her reaction. It
finally registered in Dorothy's brain that they had arrived at the state and the poor
driver was simply trying to wake her from her sleep.
She began to grin sheepishly at him and bring her arms up in a shrug.
The next thing she knew, she was swept off her feet and thrown over a
shoulder. She let out a screech and began clawing the giant's back. He merely moved
up the steps as if he were carrying a sack of grain. She could feel his taunt muscles
bunch and unwind with ease across her stomach and waist. She continued to screech
and claw as they moved up the steps, but the man simply ignored her. When they
reached the top of the steps, the man pulled her down from his shoulder effortlessly
and placed her before himself and a now grinning Quatre.
Dorothy looked up at the man who carried her up the steps like a sack of
potatoes. He stood calmly enough before her, a few inches taller and more than a few
broader than Quatre's slim six foot frame, with an odd hairdo that plastered his
brunette hair outward to points on either side. Chocolate colored eyes stared down at
her and a hint of a grin was on his lips. She stared into those eyes for a moment. They
glimmered warning, laughter, and something else. What was that something else? A
sudden wave of electricity jolted through her body. She felt her knees growing weak
and her cheeks began to feel warm. What was this? An intense, attraction to this - this
brute of a man?
Dorothy lunged out at him, raising her hands like claws.
"Dorothy, no!" Quatre cried out. He grabbed her from behind, pulling her
away from Rashid. Not before she torn one ragged scratch down across Rashid's
cheek to his beard. She looked up at him with hot anger in her eyes. The look he
returned to her however had changed from the smoldering look he had been giving her
to an ice-cold gaze. He then turned his gaze to Quatre, who was still struggling to hold
onto her.
"No, I don't know her at all, Master, she is not one bit the scorpion," Rashid
said quietly as he attempted to stem the bleeding. Dorothy felt Quatre stiffen with
anger. Dorothy herself was suddenly confused.
"You may go now, Rashid," Quatre replied. The man bowed to Quatre,
returned his gaze to Dorothy once more. So many things flashed in them in just that
one glance at her, it left Dorothy even more confused than before.
"You always knew how to make an entrance, Dorothy," Quatre teased her
once Rashid was out of earshot. It was Dorothy's turned to be embarrassed, but she
quickly shrugged it off.
"You always know how to compliment a girl, Quatre," she replied. She
looped her arm with his as they began to walk toward the mansion.
"Rashid is a good man, Dorothy, just as loyal a friend as you. You didn't
need to attack him like that."
"I'm sorry, Quatre," she replied. "I don't know what happened. He was
looking at me and I felt threatened. I just felt I needed to defend myself."
"Rashid is not the person that you need to defend yourself against. If I asked,
he would die to protect you. You'll need people like him in the coming months."
Dorothy choked back all of her replies. She supposed Quatre was right, she
would need the Maguanacs in the next coming months to ferret out any would be
assassins.
All the same, a small voice in her mind said, perhaps it would be best for
everyone if they just killed you. The voice started whispering to her a few months
before, getting stronger as time went by. Dorothy mentally sighed as she walked into
the house with Quatre.
Dorothy's next encounter with Rashid was a bit less adversarial than their first
encounter. He challenged her to a duel. Actually, it was a mutual decision; he had
spoken the challenge before she had.
Quatre and Dorothy were having breakfast together the morning after their
private wedding ceremony.
"I need to go to the city today. I probably won't be back until late this
afternoon," Quatre said quietly. Dorothy studied the scrambled eggs she had just
speared with her fork. So much for the honeymoon, she thought, but there has never
been any doubt about who he loves.
"Tell Trowa I said hello," Dorothy replied before she placed the eggs in her
mouth. There was a considerable pause from Quatre. Dorothy fought from rolling her
eyes. This is me, Quatre, she thought with irritation, you can't and don't need to hide
your love for him from me.
"I will," Quatre answered quietly, then decided to change the subject. "What
do you plan on doing today?"
Dorothy giggled. Same old Quatre, always concerned. She would find his
sympathy more comforting if he seemed to offer her a wider range of emotions than
sympathy with the occasional scolding.
"I figure I would take a dip in the pool, then probably spend the rest of the day
in the workshop. There's a particular project I've been working on that I've been
planning on sending off to the gallery in Amsterdam in a few weeks."
"Oh, what is it? Your project, I mean," he asked with some interest.
"A box," Dorothy replied. "Just a box." They continued their meal in silence.
After a little while, Quatre got up to leave. He stopped by her, hesitant for a moment,
then kissed her on the top of her head.
Dorothy squelched the tirade she wanted to throw at him. What good would it
do? So she bit back her words.
"Have a safe trip," she murmured instead.
Even though it was only about nine thirty in the morning, the temperature was
already a cozy 20 degrees Celsius. Dorothy sloshed the water as she walked across her
feet as she waded across the highest step. The water felt as warm as the outside air.
Dorothy smiled at that. It wouldn't feel quite as cool when she got out of the pool.
She stepped onto the deck, wandered over to the chaise lounge, and placed her towel
down. She lay down on the towel and pulled her hair up about her neck. She unfasten
her top and looped it over the lounge.
She only planned on laying on the lounge for about twenty minutes to keep
her skin from burning but still enjoy the warm sun at the same time. That didn't
happen. After five minutes, she suddenly heard a pair of boots scrape across the deck,
followed by being unceremoniously wrapped up a large robe and thrown over Rashid's
shoulder yet again. Dorothy struggled uselessly against the terry cloth binding her.
"I'm going to kill you!" she screamed.
Rashid ignored her, moving from the pool area into the mansion. She tried to
wiggle free of him, but the man would not budge. She twisted about, trying to figure
out where he was taking her. Her bedroom door swayed left and right in front of her.
Anger rose up in her. She was going to be damned if he was going to lock her in her
room all day.
She bent down and bit him hard on his shoulder. Rashid kicked the door to
her room open and swung off her off his shoulder as if she was a hot coal.
Even though her feet had touched the ground, he did not let go of his grasp on
her robe. She squirmed away from him and there was a distinct sound of fabric
ripping.
"Stop," Rashid said quietly. Dorothy looked up at him. His whisper had been
stronger than a shout.
"A woman like you should not be parading about wearing such clothing."
The hairs raised on the back of Dorothy's neck.
"A woman like me? What the hell is that suppose to mean? That I'm some
sort of trollop that doesn't have the respectability to grace these halls?" She spat out.
Rashid's eyebrows raised, the light glittered off his dark eyes. The air seemed
to spark with electricity. He tightened his grip on the robe.
"That's -- ," Rashid began. Dorothy waved a hand through the collar, cutting
him off.
"That's exactly what you mean. How dare this unmitigated bitch step into this
house and warm Quatre's bed, isn't it?" Dorothy knew the last part was far from true,
but she doubted he knew that. And, Gods, was she furious. How dare this man
question her! He only knew about the Dorothy of the hearsay, the stories, and the
gossip. She hadn't even been at the mansion a few days and already he had past
judgment on her. Damn him!
"Lady," Rashid warned. "I would not speak so dishonorably of the Master or
this house."
Dorothy yanked against the robe once more. A couple more tugs and the robe
would rip in half. Yet she could still not free herself from his grip.
"Do you think you're better than me? Do you think I cannot best you? That I
am only a weak woman?" She hissed. She twisted once more. She could feel the
scraps of terry cloth tickle her back. Rashid's hands clamped down on her wrists so
tight she could feel the bones scrape painfully together. She would not cry out. She
was far too angry.
"A faithful wife, like an good servant, should be loyal and honorable before
her husband, that is all, Lady. And I do not think - ,"
No, you don't think, do you? You half-breed desert sheeplover!"
Dorothy winced at the sudden pain that lanced through her wrists.
"I have killed men for less insult than what you are doling out now. If you
were a man, I would demand satisfaction."
"And because I am a woman, you think I cannot beat you?! I would have you
run through and hanging like a prize on a gibbet before you even know you lost the
duel!" she said softly. Dorothy's jaw ached from her teeth grinding together. Just give
me the opportunity and you're a dead man, she thought.
"Care to put that to the test?" he asked just as quietly.
"Any day or time!"
"Then, Miss Dorothy Catalonia, I challenge you to a duel in the exercise
room, tomorrow at ten in the morning. Do you think you would be sufficiently ready
by then?"
"Yes." She bit out the word.
Dorothy could feel his grip on her wrists loosen. She jerked her hands
outward, smacking his away from her. At the same time, the front of the robe began to
yawn open. She grasped the terry and held it against tightly against her.
A strange quirk worked itself over Rashid's face. For a minute, she could
swear he was going to laugh. Just try, I'll scratch your eyes, just try, Maguanac.
He turned toward the door instead. He grasped the door handle and paused.
His mood sobered considerably. The line along his jaw worked convulsively for a
moment, as if he wanted to say something that he didn't like to admit.
Finally, he said softly, "When I said 'a woman like you', I meant beautiful. I
will see you in the exercise room in the morning." Then he walked out.
Dorothy stood there in the tattered robe for a few minutes. Beautiful. He
called her beautiful. And seemed to mean it. Not even Quatre seemed to mean it when
he called her beautiful. He said it only to calm her frayed nerves. The only beautiful
one for Quatre was Trowa. Dorothy knew that like she knew the sun rose in the east.
But this man - this was different.
Dorothy's cheeks flamed to a deep crimson. She never really had a
compliment like that before. Not a compliment that wasn't couched with another
meaning within it.
Who's to say this is no different? A voice in her mind asked. Confusion
flooded into her giddiness. What if it wasn't really a compliment?
Certainly there were men out there that were much more guileful than Quatre
or the other Gundam pilots. Perhaps it was just a ploy to "bake her noodle" as that
American, Duo Maxwell, once quipped to her.
Suddenly it seemed like she had just been in a verbal duel with her
grandfather and lost yet again. He would toy with her, and his opponents, and just
when she thought she might have the upper hand, he would reveal himself, show her
she never really had a chance at winning. It was so easy for him to promise one thing,
and deliver something completely different.
Rashid could have said that to her as a distraction from tomorrow's duel. A
quick sly way to give himself the upper hand.
But what if he actually meant it? Hope began to sneak into her heart. What if
he meant it? That he was honestly stating that he found her attractive? He did say it so
quietly, like he didn't want to admit to it. As if he'd rather say anything else to her but
that, yet was compelled to tell her the truth.
Dorothy pressed her hands against her temples and moaned. She walked over
to a tray on her bureau that held a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses. She filled
one of the glasses half way and took a sip of water. Her nails tapped lightly against the
glass.
She looked up into the mirror before her. The robe slumped over a creamy
shoulder. Her blonde hair fell down her back. Her eyes studied the curve of her
jawline, traveling downward to her throat, then plane out along her collar bone. She
studied her eyes. So prominent, the lashes reaching out to caress the mirror. Her
eyebrows. Well, yes, they were a rather lost cause, weren't they? No matter how
many times she plucked them, they came back thick and bushy with in a few days.
Well, she decided, at least she wasn't as vain to pluck them out completely, leaving the
concept to one thin swooping arch of the eyebrow pencil. Too much effort, too much
primping. If she was going to be around people who judged her solely on a couple of
patches of hair, she really didn't want to be around them.
She glanced at her eyes again. Summer sky eyes, her father use to call them.
Dear Father, how I miss you. Why did you leave me? Why?
A vindictive voice slinked into her mind.
Maybe he left because he really found you ugly, that you were a just a whiny
brat demanding his attention all the time. God, you never could shut up. It was always
'Papa this' and Papa that'. Rashid didn't really mean it when he said you were
beautiful. Look at yourself. You're hideous. HIDEOUS! What man would find you
beautiful? He was lying, just like the rest of them, just like your grandfather, just like
your father.
"Shut up! Shut Up! SHUT UP!" Dorothy screamed as she threw the glass at
the mirror, shattering it. Her knees buckled and gave out. She slumped to the floor.
Surely someone found her beautiful, she thought. Someone who liked her.
Wanted to be around her. Surely.
Her conscious gave her nothing but a smirking sound.
Once again, as in the few months previous, her emotions were left raw,
exposed. Her body did the only thing that it could to stave off the pain for a while.
One tear, then another, rolled down her cheeks and hit the cold marble floor she sat on.
She cried until the pool of tears soaked the edges of the robe.
I do not own Gundam Wing.
What would happen if we kissed? By Meredith Brooks. Off her "Blurring the Edges"
cd. Capitol Records. 1997.
Author's note:
This was actually an idea I got from reading Nemkess' "Where have all the Cowboys
gone?" songfic. I thought, boy, if Rashid is angry enough to walk away from his job
over Dorothy's treatment, maybe there could be potential for more between them?
Also, I liked the idea of the head Maguanac being something other than some sort of
"yes" man to Quatre. I really don't know how old Rashid is, but in the story I placing
him around 35. Last, I haven't finished this story, but have discovered my bad habit of
losing interest in a story before it's finished creeping in. I wonder if people will even
be interested in this type of plot. Please let me know if you'd like me to continue.
"Master Quatre, I don't understand how you can let the woman inside your
house, let alone engage her in marriage. She tried to kill you."
Quatre sat with his hands folded on the top of his desk and listened patiently
as Rashid raged on about the announcement of his engagement to Dorothy Catalonia.
"My father once told me a story that I will tell you now," Rashid replied. He
ignored the irritated glance Quatre shot him.
"One day, a man was walking along the shores of the Nile, looking for a spot
to wade across. As he walked along, he came upon a scorpion, which begged the man
to pick him up and carry him to other side of the river also. 'You promise you will not
sting?' the man asked. 'Yes,' replied the scorpion. So the man picked him up, placing
him on his shoulder, and began to wade across the river. Half way across, the scorpion
stung the man. The poison moved quickly through the man, and he began to sink down
into the river. 'Why did you sting me? Now, we'll both drown!' To the scorpion,
'I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's in my nature.'"
Quatre steepled his fingers as Rashid finished his story and stood there glaring
at him.
"Dorothy is not a scorpion, Rashid. She's among the most loyal, creative, and
brilliant women I have ever met. Though she can be absolutely lethal if you try to
corner her, like an animal would be. If you respect her and are do not show weakness
in your cause, she is a great ally. If you don't, she is a formidable adversary. I do trust
you will respect her. She needs our protection, Rashid. There are people out there who
want her dead -"
"With good reason," Rashid interjected.
Quatre slammed his fists against the wood.
"You seem to easily forget the help she will gave us and the Preventers when
Mariemaia tried to destroy all that we worked for. She did that without hesitation,
Rashid. She is as worthy as any of the Maguanacs."
Rashid stiffened at that, his great hands balling into fists. His eyes locked
with Quatre's. The blond that he treated like a son refused to budge on the idea.
Biting back a curse, Rashid unclenched his fists and tried to use the calmest voice
possible even though he wanted to shake the young man to his senses.
"As you wish, Master Quatre."
Quatre sighed. "She is not the devil himself. In time, you will realize that she
is a very loyal, and, in her own way, a very generous person.
Rashid snorted. "Forgive me, Master Quatre, when I say not bloody likely.
Be careful or she will tear your throat out." With that, he bowed to Quatre and left.
Quatre gripped the sides of the desk for a few moments, willing not to break
the wooden lip off. Rashid could be so damned stubborn. He was more of a father to
him that his real father was. He knew that Rashid wanted to protect him, but he did not
need to protect him from Dorothy.
The girl still projected the same tiger-like fa‡ade, but the light in her had
begun to fade over time. One of the few things that elicited any sort of emotion out of
her anymore was her passion for the outdoors, her fencing, and her glasswork. He had
raised his eyebrows the first time he had seen her in front of a torch, slowly shaping the
glass. The smile she gave him when she looked was as brilliant as the flame before
her.
But the smiles were rare. And she was getting sloppy about protecting
herself. Or at the very least careless about her life. He put his foot down when a man
avenging his brother's death pulled a gun on her. She just stood there. He screamed at
her to get down, but she just stood there so unnervingly calm, staring down the gun
barrel. Slowly, she raised up her arms to either side. As if she were giving up, giving
in. What in the hell is she doing? He had thought at the time. Trowa tackled the man
before he fired.
That day, Quatre told her she was going to come live with him, marry him if
need be. Instead of protesting, she quietly nodded. When he had gone to take her
home that evening, she was outside hauling a garbage can to the furnace she had out in
the back. She heaved it into the fire. She gave her a weary nod and they walked back
through the studio. It was oddly bare. Usually there were one or two projects still on a
table or by a windowsill. He discovered later she'd take every single piece of glass and
smashed it to bits in a quiet rage.
Trowa had slowly slipped into the room as Quatre was lost in his thoughts.
"So, how did he take it?" He asked as he reached over and clasped Quatre's
hand. Quatre smiled softly at his lover.
"Better than I thought he would," Quatre replied. "He still wants to kill her,
but he'll respect my wishes."
Dorothy looked out at the traffic that bustled about the Arab city. The
Maguanac driving the car uttered something she didn't understand as a city bus cut him
off. A curse, no doubt. She sighed and studied the people as they drove by. The
women had themselves covered to one extent or another, but then again, so did most of
the men. She did not quite understand how they could wear so much clothing in a heat
that was so oppressive. She herself had brought along shorts and short sleeve tops for
most of her wardrobe. One of the few things that Quatre had promised her was that she
would not be bound by the strict dress codes at his estate. She wasn't sure whether to
sigh or giggle about how the Maguanacs were going to handle her once everything was
settled in. The driver had been both cautious and courteous to her when he picked her
up at the airport. She had also noticed that he had frowned at the short sleeve dress she
wore. She couldn't help but smirk. Some things for her never changed.
Dorothy laid back into the cushions of the seat and closed her eyes. She
didn't know how long she dozed, but the next thing she knew the driver was shaking
her.
Only half-conscious, she immediately went into the defensive. She slammed
her arms against the curves of his elbows, breaking his grip out away from her as she
balled up, shoved her feet against his waist and then thrust him out of the open car
door. She leapt catlike across the seat, sweeping herself out and firmly placing her foot
over the man's throat before he could react.
She looked around her. Where was she? The mansion shone brilliantly in the
sun. At the top of the steps, stood Quatre only slightly surprised at her reaction. It
finally registered in Dorothy's brain that they had arrived at the state and the poor
driver was simply trying to wake her from her sleep.
She began to grin sheepishly at him and bring her arms up in a shrug.
The next thing she knew, she was swept off her feet and thrown over a
shoulder. She let out a screech and began clawing the giant's back. He merely moved
up the steps as if he were carrying a sack of grain. She could feel his taunt muscles
bunch and unwind with ease across her stomach and waist. She continued to screech
and claw as they moved up the steps, but the man simply ignored her. When they
reached the top of the steps, the man pulled her down from his shoulder effortlessly
and placed her before himself and a now grinning Quatre.
Dorothy looked up at the man who carried her up the steps like a sack of
potatoes. He stood calmly enough before her, a few inches taller and more than a few
broader than Quatre's slim six foot frame, with an odd hairdo that plastered his
brunette hair outward to points on either side. Chocolate colored eyes stared down at
her and a hint of a grin was on his lips. She stared into those eyes for a moment. They
glimmered warning, laughter, and something else. What was that something else? A
sudden wave of electricity jolted through her body. She felt her knees growing weak
and her cheeks began to feel warm. What was this? An intense, attraction to this - this
brute of a man?
Dorothy lunged out at him, raising her hands like claws.
"Dorothy, no!" Quatre cried out. He grabbed her from behind, pulling her
away from Rashid. Not before she torn one ragged scratch down across Rashid's
cheek to his beard. She looked up at him with hot anger in her eyes. The look he
returned to her however had changed from the smoldering look he had been giving her
to an ice-cold gaze. He then turned his gaze to Quatre, who was still struggling to hold
onto her.
"No, I don't know her at all, Master, she is not one bit the scorpion," Rashid
said quietly as he attempted to stem the bleeding. Dorothy felt Quatre stiffen with
anger. Dorothy herself was suddenly confused.
"You may go now, Rashid," Quatre replied. The man bowed to Quatre,
returned his gaze to Dorothy once more. So many things flashed in them in just that
one glance at her, it left Dorothy even more confused than before.
"You always knew how to make an entrance, Dorothy," Quatre teased her
once Rashid was out of earshot. It was Dorothy's turned to be embarrassed, but she
quickly shrugged it off.
"You always know how to compliment a girl, Quatre," she replied. She
looped her arm with his as they began to walk toward the mansion.
"Rashid is a good man, Dorothy, just as loyal a friend as you. You didn't
need to attack him like that."
"I'm sorry, Quatre," she replied. "I don't know what happened. He was
looking at me and I felt threatened. I just felt I needed to defend myself."
"Rashid is not the person that you need to defend yourself against. If I asked,
he would die to protect you. You'll need people like him in the coming months."
Dorothy choked back all of her replies. She supposed Quatre was right, she
would need the Maguanacs in the next coming months to ferret out any would be
assassins.
All the same, a small voice in her mind said, perhaps it would be best for
everyone if they just killed you. The voice started whispering to her a few months
before, getting stronger as time went by. Dorothy mentally sighed as she walked into
the house with Quatre.
Dorothy's next encounter with Rashid was a bit less adversarial than their first
encounter. He challenged her to a duel. Actually, it was a mutual decision; he had
spoken the challenge before she had.
Quatre and Dorothy were having breakfast together the morning after their
private wedding ceremony.
"I need to go to the city today. I probably won't be back until late this
afternoon," Quatre said quietly. Dorothy studied the scrambled eggs she had just
speared with her fork. So much for the honeymoon, she thought, but there has never
been any doubt about who he loves.
"Tell Trowa I said hello," Dorothy replied before she placed the eggs in her
mouth. There was a considerable pause from Quatre. Dorothy fought from rolling her
eyes. This is me, Quatre, she thought with irritation, you can't and don't need to hide
your love for him from me.
"I will," Quatre answered quietly, then decided to change the subject. "What
do you plan on doing today?"
Dorothy giggled. Same old Quatre, always concerned. She would find his
sympathy more comforting if he seemed to offer her a wider range of emotions than
sympathy with the occasional scolding.
"I figure I would take a dip in the pool, then probably spend the rest of the day
in the workshop. There's a particular project I've been working on that I've been
planning on sending off to the gallery in Amsterdam in a few weeks."
"Oh, what is it? Your project, I mean," he asked with some interest.
"A box," Dorothy replied. "Just a box." They continued their meal in silence.
After a little while, Quatre got up to leave. He stopped by her, hesitant for a moment,
then kissed her on the top of her head.
Dorothy squelched the tirade she wanted to throw at him. What good would it
do? So she bit back her words.
"Have a safe trip," she murmured instead.
Even though it was only about nine thirty in the morning, the temperature was
already a cozy 20 degrees Celsius. Dorothy sloshed the water as she walked across her
feet as she waded across the highest step. The water felt as warm as the outside air.
Dorothy smiled at that. It wouldn't feel quite as cool when she got out of the pool.
She stepped onto the deck, wandered over to the chaise lounge, and placed her towel
down. She lay down on the towel and pulled her hair up about her neck. She unfasten
her top and looped it over the lounge.
She only planned on laying on the lounge for about twenty minutes to keep
her skin from burning but still enjoy the warm sun at the same time. That didn't
happen. After five minutes, she suddenly heard a pair of boots scrape across the deck,
followed by being unceremoniously wrapped up a large robe and thrown over Rashid's
shoulder yet again. Dorothy struggled uselessly against the terry cloth binding her.
"I'm going to kill you!" she screamed.
Rashid ignored her, moving from the pool area into the mansion. She tried to
wiggle free of him, but the man would not budge. She twisted about, trying to figure
out where he was taking her. Her bedroom door swayed left and right in front of her.
Anger rose up in her. She was going to be damned if he was going to lock her in her
room all day.
She bent down and bit him hard on his shoulder. Rashid kicked the door to
her room open and swung off her off his shoulder as if she was a hot coal.
Even though her feet had touched the ground, he did not let go of his grasp on
her robe. She squirmed away from him and there was a distinct sound of fabric
ripping.
"Stop," Rashid said quietly. Dorothy looked up at him. His whisper had been
stronger than a shout.
"A woman like you should not be parading about wearing such clothing."
The hairs raised on the back of Dorothy's neck.
"A woman like me? What the hell is that suppose to mean? That I'm some
sort of trollop that doesn't have the respectability to grace these halls?" She spat out.
Rashid's eyebrows raised, the light glittered off his dark eyes. The air seemed
to spark with electricity. He tightened his grip on the robe.
"That's -- ," Rashid began. Dorothy waved a hand through the collar, cutting
him off.
"That's exactly what you mean. How dare this unmitigated bitch step into this
house and warm Quatre's bed, isn't it?" Dorothy knew the last part was far from true,
but she doubted he knew that. And, Gods, was she furious. How dare this man
question her! He only knew about the Dorothy of the hearsay, the stories, and the
gossip. She hadn't even been at the mansion a few days and already he had past
judgment on her. Damn him!
"Lady," Rashid warned. "I would not speak so dishonorably of the Master or
this house."
Dorothy yanked against the robe once more. A couple more tugs and the robe
would rip in half. Yet she could still not free herself from his grip.
"Do you think you're better than me? Do you think I cannot best you? That I
am only a weak woman?" She hissed. She twisted once more. She could feel the
scraps of terry cloth tickle her back. Rashid's hands clamped down on her wrists so
tight she could feel the bones scrape painfully together. She would not cry out. She
was far too angry.
"A faithful wife, like an good servant, should be loyal and honorable before
her husband, that is all, Lady. And I do not think - ,"
No, you don't think, do you? You half-breed desert sheeplover!"
Dorothy winced at the sudden pain that lanced through her wrists.
"I have killed men for less insult than what you are doling out now. If you
were a man, I would demand satisfaction."
"And because I am a woman, you think I cannot beat you?! I would have you
run through and hanging like a prize on a gibbet before you even know you lost the
duel!" she said softly. Dorothy's jaw ached from her teeth grinding together. Just give
me the opportunity and you're a dead man, she thought.
"Care to put that to the test?" he asked just as quietly.
"Any day or time!"
"Then, Miss Dorothy Catalonia, I challenge you to a duel in the exercise
room, tomorrow at ten in the morning. Do you think you would be sufficiently ready
by then?"
"Yes." She bit out the word.
Dorothy could feel his grip on her wrists loosen. She jerked her hands
outward, smacking his away from her. At the same time, the front of the robe began to
yawn open. She grasped the terry and held it against tightly against her.
A strange quirk worked itself over Rashid's face. For a minute, she could
swear he was going to laugh. Just try, I'll scratch your eyes, just try, Maguanac.
He turned toward the door instead. He grasped the door handle and paused.
His mood sobered considerably. The line along his jaw worked convulsively for a
moment, as if he wanted to say something that he didn't like to admit.
Finally, he said softly, "When I said 'a woman like you', I meant beautiful. I
will see you in the exercise room in the morning." Then he walked out.
Dorothy stood there in the tattered robe for a few minutes. Beautiful. He
called her beautiful. And seemed to mean it. Not even Quatre seemed to mean it when
he called her beautiful. He said it only to calm her frayed nerves. The only beautiful
one for Quatre was Trowa. Dorothy knew that like she knew the sun rose in the east.
But this man - this was different.
Dorothy's cheeks flamed to a deep crimson. She never really had a
compliment like that before. Not a compliment that wasn't couched with another
meaning within it.
Who's to say this is no different? A voice in her mind asked. Confusion
flooded into her giddiness. What if it wasn't really a compliment?
Certainly there were men out there that were much more guileful than Quatre
or the other Gundam pilots. Perhaps it was just a ploy to "bake her noodle" as that
American, Duo Maxwell, once quipped to her.
Suddenly it seemed like she had just been in a verbal duel with her
grandfather and lost yet again. He would toy with her, and his opponents, and just
when she thought she might have the upper hand, he would reveal himself, show her
she never really had a chance at winning. It was so easy for him to promise one thing,
and deliver something completely different.
Rashid could have said that to her as a distraction from tomorrow's duel. A
quick sly way to give himself the upper hand.
But what if he actually meant it? Hope began to sneak into her heart. What if
he meant it? That he was honestly stating that he found her attractive? He did say it so
quietly, like he didn't want to admit to it. As if he'd rather say anything else to her but
that, yet was compelled to tell her the truth.
Dorothy pressed her hands against her temples and moaned. She walked over
to a tray on her bureau that held a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses. She filled
one of the glasses half way and took a sip of water. Her nails tapped lightly against the
glass.
She looked up into the mirror before her. The robe slumped over a creamy
shoulder. Her blonde hair fell down her back. Her eyes studied the curve of her
jawline, traveling downward to her throat, then plane out along her collar bone. She
studied her eyes. So prominent, the lashes reaching out to caress the mirror. Her
eyebrows. Well, yes, they were a rather lost cause, weren't they? No matter how
many times she plucked them, they came back thick and bushy with in a few days.
Well, she decided, at least she wasn't as vain to pluck them out completely, leaving the
concept to one thin swooping arch of the eyebrow pencil. Too much effort, too much
primping. If she was going to be around people who judged her solely on a couple of
patches of hair, she really didn't want to be around them.
She glanced at her eyes again. Summer sky eyes, her father use to call them.
Dear Father, how I miss you. Why did you leave me? Why?
A vindictive voice slinked into her mind.
Maybe he left because he really found you ugly, that you were a just a whiny
brat demanding his attention all the time. God, you never could shut up. It was always
'Papa this' and Papa that'. Rashid didn't really mean it when he said you were
beautiful. Look at yourself. You're hideous. HIDEOUS! What man would find you
beautiful? He was lying, just like the rest of them, just like your grandfather, just like
your father.
"Shut up! Shut Up! SHUT UP!" Dorothy screamed as she threw the glass at
the mirror, shattering it. Her knees buckled and gave out. She slumped to the floor.
Surely someone found her beautiful, she thought. Someone who liked her.
Wanted to be around her. Surely.
Her conscious gave her nothing but a smirking sound.
Once again, as in the few months previous, her emotions were left raw,
exposed. Her body did the only thing that it could to stave off the pain for a while.
One tear, then another, rolled down her cheeks and hit the cold marble floor she sat on.
She cried until the pool of tears soaked the edges of the robe.