Part 2 - A Delicate Truce
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 - A quincenera is a coming of age party or festival that is held for a girl
on her 15th birthday in most Spanish speaking countries. A lot of times, it is said to be
like a "Sweet 16" party, but in more wealthy families the event is much more like a
debutante ball. Also, there is a very good chance of the rating getting even higher as
things go along, so just to warn you in advance. I changed the rating to pg-13 for the
cursing in this chapter. One last note, I have read that the Maguanacs are a group of
men that were also test tube babies. I have also read that they are a family. I am
writing the story in that they are a group of men, not necessarily related, but do share
the similarity of being test tube babies.
Rashid adjusted the vest of his dueling suit. His mind moved unerringly to the
events that had lead up to his confrontation with Dorothy Catalonia the previous
morning.
He and Abdul had been walking down a corridor facing south. The tennis
courts, the pool, and a walkway leading down to the stables were there.
As they walked, they came across another Maguanac. a young initiate named
Hassim. Rashid briefly recalled the teenager's older brother, Jalal, beaming with pride
over the boy's initiation. Jalal had been with the Maguanacs since the beginning of
their quest and had proven his worth many times over.
Rashid bit back an amused smile. The boy nearly had his face pressed up
against the window and the manila folder in his hand was completely forgotten.
Sheaves of important papers lay in pools of white at his feet, covering his shoes.
Rashid could see where the boy's breath formed a small hazy ring on the glass.
Abdul glanced at Rashid for a moment with a look that simply said
'teenagers'. He then cleared his throat. Hassim did not move, didn't even notice them,
just continued to stare quite intently at whatever he was looking at.
"Hassim," Abdul said impatiently. Whatever has his attention, it must be
quite hypnotic, thought Rashid. The boy was deaf, dumb, and blind to Abdul's
commands. Rashid waited for a moment and studied the boy. He almost looked like
he stopped breathing. Silently, Rashid walked over to him, placing his mouth next to
the teenager's ear.
"Hassim!" he barked softly.
That got the boy's attention.
Rashid had to take a couple of quick steps backward to prevent Hassim from
crashing into him as the boy jumped to attention. At the same time, Hassim realized
that the papers were no longer in the folder, but all over the floor instead. He fell to his
knees and began to clumsily stuff the papers back into the folder.
"Leave them," Rashid ordered. Hassim jumped up and dumped half the
papers that he had gathered up onto Rashid's shoes. Rashid counted to ten before
slowly letting out his breath.
"So tell me, Hassim, what has so captivated your attention this morning that if
I was an assassin I could have easily thrust a knife between your ribs before you would
even notice my presence?" Rashid's voice had a deadly and demanding ring to it.
Rashid watched the seventeen year old's adam's apple bob a few times. He
involuntarily glanced toward the window and licked his lips.
"Uh, it was nothing, sir. I just happened to note that the new lady of the house
was enjoying the use of the pool."
Rashid was perplexed for a moment and then bit back a curse. No matter how
he felt about her, a man would be blind not to recognize that she was a very attractive
woman. Even he had felt some spark of desire towards her when he first deposited her
next to Quatre on the landing step.
There was little wonder why Master Quatre would be attracted to her. She
had eyes the color of the summer sky, lovely platinum blonde hair that glided down her
back. The scoopline of her dress exposed a long creamy throat curving down to a bust
hidden just beneath the cotton. He looked back up into her eyes. They held both
confusion and a passionate bedroom quality. Emotions fluttered through them too
quickly to be read.
Her emotions became all too clear when the little viper lunged toward him to
attack, however.
Beautiful, but still deadly, he reminded himself.
"You're dismissed, Hassim."
The boy began to leave, but Rashid caught his arm.
"I would remind you that she is the Master's wife. It would be unwise to
encourage a husband's wrath, especially a new husband. You would be best to
remember that when you take a wife. Remember how you felt when you ogled the
Master's wife and then think of another man doing that to your new bride."
"Yes, Master Rashid," the boy replied quietly. Rashid let go of the boy's arm.
Hassim did everything he could not to run down the hallway.
Rashid looked at Abdul, who was watching the boy make his hasty exit.
Abdul then rolled his eyes and turned toward the window that Hassim had been staring
out of. Abdul's expression went completely slack-jawed. He was silent for nearly a
half minute before letting out a soft whistle.
He turned to Rashid and said as he nodded toward the window, "I don't think
Hassim is the only one who should be taught not to provoke a new husband's wrath."
Rashid looked over Abdul's shoulder down to the pool deck below.
Dorothy lay on a chaise lounge. Her hair cascaded down one side of the
lounge. Her arms curled under her head, revealing the swell of her breasts pressed
against the chair. Her back tapered down to a waist that dipped down to a pastel and
floral bikini bottom that showed a generous amount of cheek. Her long legs rubbed
casually against one another as her toes played idly with the metal filigree that
bordered the lounge chair.
It took him a few seconds to realize that his breath had caught. He clenched
tight the hands that wanted to explore every inch of her skin. His tongue involuntarily
wet his lips when he thought of pressing them to hers. He wondered how her hair
would feel against his chest as she straddled him.
STOP! A voice inside him commanded.
Suddenly, Rashid became angry. What woman in her right mind would show
herself like that? Didn't she know what primal reactions she would raise out of the
men that surrounded her? A woman should only show herself like that to her husband!
Yes, and right now, you wish you were her husband.
The errant thought raced through his mind and was gone.
He was so incredibly envious of Quatre, an intense longing filled him. For
one instance, he would have given his soul to be Quatre.
Allah, he thought bitterly, I'm going to teach her a thing or two about decency
if I have to bind her hand and foot.
"I will take care of this," Rashid replied quietly. Abdul looked at him with a
bit of alarm. Rashid also noticed that he had not stepped away from the window.
Rashid ground his teeth.
"I would remind you of what happens when looking upon another man's wife
also," Rashid said to Abdul a bit harsher than he intended. The other Maguanac looked
up at him in surprise for a moment. His eyes filled with a mixture of humor, sorrow,
and warning.
"It would be good for you to remember that also, Rashid."
Rashid was taken aback for a moment. Were his thoughts that obvious? A
sense of duty entwined with his anger.
He would show her. He would show her just how destructive her actions
were, to the Maguanacs, to Quatre, to herself.
But it hadn't worked out that way.
He fiddled with the vest once more.
Perhaps she will not show up for the duel he thought and then quickly
discarded the idea.
As if answering his thoughts, the door opened and Dorothy stood in the
entrance. Instead of the suit making her big and bulky, she almost looked fragile.
Looks can be deceiving, he thought. And yet seemed like a little girl about to
walk onto the piste for the fencing lesson with her teacher. Her helmet was neatly
tucked under one arm and she held her foil downward in a bandaged fist. For a
moment, her chin quivered. There was such a sorrow reflected in her eyes.
Is she going to cry? He wondered. Why on Earth would she want to cry?
Women. Yesterday she wanted to rip my heart out, today she wants to cry.
Dorothy acted as if she heard his thoughts, for she stood up tall, shoulders
squared back and a withering gaze.
Rashid bit back a smile. Despite himself, he much preferred her when she
looked like she was about to take on an entire army than being sad. That one flash of
melancholy had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. A scorpion was never
sad; it lived for the attack and nothing else.
Afraid that she is more human than you want to believe? His conscience
mocked.
Rashid's temper flared.
Don't forget who are dealing with, he admonished. This is the girl that nearly
killed Master Quatre. She does not deserve friendship or sympathy.
"Are you prepared, Lady?" Rashid asked quietly.
Dorothy slipped away from the door and walked toward the strip of mats. She
gracefully swept the helmet onto her head, positioned herself, and raised her foil up in
salute.
"I am now," she whispered. Rashid felt as if the temperature in the room had
suddenly dropped by several degrees.
"I am not some wide-eyed school boy that you spar with, Lady. Are you sure
you do not want to change your mind?"
"Getting cold feet, Rashid?" asked Dorothy. There was the slightest tinge of
amused bravado in her voice.
The hairs on Rashid's neck rose at that.
"No," he bit out.
Her eyes turned jewel bright. The sword twitched slightly in her wrist.
"Then - EN GARDE!"
She moved blindingly fast from her salute stance into a lunging attack.
Rashid stumbled back a few steps and barely kept his wits about him as he deflected
the blows. He shoved his helmet on. She pushed him back with thrust after thrust.
He was nearly backed up against the wall before his head was clear enough to
start planning strategy. He began to notice the way her body and shoulders moved as
she thrust, parried, and dodged. She would lean back ever so slightly before delivering
a series of lunges. She had a bad habit of slapping away the blade when deflecting.
The only truly positive thing about her fencing was that she was relentless. She was
expounding far more energy than Rashid, yet she seemed completely at ease. The only
thing to give her away was that her breathing came out only slightly faster than when
she started the duel. He developed a quick, but true respect for her stamina.
She rocked back slightly and began to lung forward. Rashid easily
sidestepped the attack. He then deftly moved around and under her foil, touching the
blade just above her stomach.
"Touch‚," he replied.
Dorothy's face held an expression of utter shock.
"How - how --?" she stammered.
"En garde," Rashid answered, raising his sword in salute, then moved forward
with a predatory grace.
It was Dorothy's turn to be on the defensive. Her eyes were as large as
saucers as she stumbled about, fighting off his attack. Even her stamina began to
falter. Rashid moved under her foil again and this time tapped her on her breastplate.
Dorothy was crushed.
Quatre had told him the story of Heero Yuy besting her by breaking the
faceplate of her helmet. From the way she reacted, it seemed as if he was the closest
one to come to besting her. Only he and Yuy had apparently been able to hit her once.
Within a few minutes, Rashid had hit her twice.
Too bad she did not have someone other than her schoolmates to practice
with, he thought. She could be an excellent fencer if she just got rid of these damnable
bad habits. He wasn't crazy about how she was reacting now either. It was as if the
entire time that she fought, it was filled with bravada and anger. No grace, no
calculation, no real strategy. It infuriated him.
He slapped her foil away when she arched the blade toward him.
"If you wanted a duel, then duel. Stop this silly school girl mooning!"
Dorothy looked at him through slitted lids. She moved forward on him with
completely mechanical gestures. She was no longer listening to her heart or her head;
her body moved on its own, the sword moved by rote. When he parried, she was there.
When he came in for an attack, she deftly moved out of the way. Then she came
forward, attacking with clean, accurate movements. Her foil gracefully swooped under
his and hit him in the chest so hard that the foil actually pierced the cloth, sticking
there.
"Touch‚," Dorothy whispered.
"Has the Lady received satisfaction?" he asked her. Dorothy looked at him a
far away gaze for a moment. She answered him by pulling the foil out and flinging it
to the ground.
"Grandfather would have liked you quite a bit," she said emotionlessly as she
walked out of the exercise room.
Rashid stared at the door for a long time before leaving to do his daily duties.
Quatre steepled his fingers as he sat across the desk from Rashid as they sat in
his office that evening.
"I said it was all right for her to dress like that." He paused.
"You actually dueled with her?" He asked with disbelief, then held up his
hands when Rashid began to answer.
"No, no, I don't want to know the details. I am angry though. I leave you two
alone for two days and you're at one another's throats. It doesn't surprise me that she
wanted to duel, but I expected you to have more sense than this."
"Why do you think that the Lady would easily venture into this and not
myself?" he asked Quatre.
Quatre shrugged.
"Dorothy has always been a hothead, going off and fighting wars when and
where she could. I thought it was to compensate for what happened to her father, that
he fought so hard for peace but was still destroyed, but now I'm not so sure anymore,"
Quatre replied.
Rashid took the folder that he came in with and gave it to Quatre. Quatre
looked at it questioningly.
"The Lady had said something to me that lent to doing a little research on the
Lady's family this afternoon. Her grandfather, Duke Dermail, was a cunning old man,
but I do not think I would want my child left with him. His daughter is cut from the
same cloth. She only married General Catalonia because she and her father believed
that they could manipulate the arm of OZ through him. And they did for several years,
but General Catalonia was actually a peaceful man at heart. He wanted harmony
among the nations and he strongly opposed what happened to the Cinq Kingdom.
When the father and daughter believed that he had become too much of a liability, they
had his shuttle blown up."
Quatre shook his head and said, "But what does this actually have to do with
Dorothy?"
"Do you know that they sent her to identify her father's remains?"
"What?!"
"It was not something the press ever got a hold of, all they ever got was that a
family member had identified the remains. I had to do quite a bit of digging on that.
Apparently her school psychologist reported that she had nightmares for several
months after the incident. I also accessed the sealed coroner's vid-report. There were
three forms of identification. A piece of tooth that was believed to be a molar, which
the General's dentist was able to confirm as the being from the General. That's where
Dorothy came in. Both the Duke Dermail and the Lady Catalonia were conveniently
absent. The only one left was Dorothy. They shuttled her out to the little colony in the
L1 cluster where they had gathered the remains. Dorothy was shown the General's
wedding ring. She said that she thought it might be his ring but she was not positive.
They then produced a sketch of a tattoo from the remains. The unfortunate case with
the coroner's assistant was that the boy said that they believe that this was what the
tattoo looked like originally. Dorothy had asked him what he meant by that, to which
the boy replied that there was not enough of the leg left to make out the entire tattoo
clearly. He showed her the sketch to her and she stared at it for quite sometime that
you almost wonder if you are looking at a girl or the statue of a girl. She finally
handed the sketch back to the assistant and said that yes, the remains were that of her
father. Then she left the room. But there is for one moment an actual glimpse of her
eyes. There is such anger, vengeance, and utter hopelessness in her eyes.
Her grandfather and mother had sent her there as a lesson not to cross them or
she would suffer the same consequences as her father. From that day forward, her
grandfather began to groom her to take her father's place as Treize was to replace the
Duke's. She fell in love with war so much because it was the only war for her to
escape and reap justice upon her grandfather and mother. Do you know her favorite
quote as she was growing up was the one uttered by the American general Sherman as
he laid waste to the rebelling states - 'The rebels wished for war, so let us give them so
much of a fill of war so that they should never wish it again.' She meant the saying as
much for her family as she did for anyone else."
"Allah," Quatre whispered. "I know that she had been close to her father and
had problems with her grandfather and mother, but I didn't know just how deep it ran.
She had some respect for Treize, but she once told me that she never bothered Treize
with her problems. She was probably too afraid that her grandfather would arrange to
have him killed as well if he stepped out of line by helping Dorothy."
Quatre ran his fingers through his hair.
"I should arrange to have her see a psychologist," Quatre finally replied.
"You can arrange for one, Master, but it must be her decision to see the
psychologist. If you force her, it will be one thing that she will walk away from you
on. And she'll be in more danger than she is now. Why did you not tell me that their
had been threats on her life?"
Quatre started in his chair.
"How did you find out about that?"
"The last man that came after her was quite vocal to quite a number of people
that he was going to hunt her down and kill her for what Romafellar and OZ did to his
brother. The man has since gone underground again. You know that the Maguanacs
have your undivided loyalty, Master Quatre - why did you not tell us?"
Quatre slumped his shoulders and said, "I simply did not want anyone to get
hurt. I believed that Trowa and I could take care of anyone who came after her."
"Keeping her caged here is not going to resolve anything. She is untamed, she
chooses to be here, she is allowing you to believe that she is tame and contented, but
underneath she is restless. She is like an old circus lion that no longer paces the cage,
but she will destroy anyone in her path if she thinks they are blocking her way to
freedom."
"Well, she won't be going anywhere for the time being. She has been
commissioned for several pieces for a gallery in Amsterdam. So she's safe for the time
being."
"When it is time for her to move on to Amsterdam, we will be there to protect
her," Rashid said. It was a simple statement, not one that left room for argument or
protest. Quatre simply nodded his head.
A few weeks passed before Rashid came in contact with Dorothy again. It
had given him ample time to think about the confrontation and the duel. He had been a
fool about the confrontation, but it was actually the duel that had bothered him the
most. The more that he thought about it, the more felt that he had been wrong to
corner her. He had not been unlike the person standing in the way of her path to
freedom. He was surprised that the blade had pierced his suit and she had not aimed
straight for his throat. He hoped his apology could forge some type of temporary truce
between them. The thought that she might hate her as much as her grandfather
definitely did not sit well with him.
He made his way down the dirt path that ran out from the northeastern side of
the mansion to the adobe hut that was built to be Dorothy's workshop while she stayed
on the estate.
Quatre had wanted to take her to a party that was being held by friends of the
Winner family in Riyadh. He thought she might feel less "caged" if she was able to get
out. He mentioned that he had noticed that she seemed a bit quieter then he felt
comfortable with. Rashid hoped that the party would do her some good also, but he
felt that it would take much more than a dinner party to brighten her spirits.
He was coming upon the workshop when he heard Dorothy's voice through an
open window.
"No, no, not like that Fatima - like this. Yes, good. Keep it rolling, keep it
rolling. Hassim, bring over that dipper of water for me." Then there was a silence.
Rashid was just about to knock on the door when Dorothy's voice stopped him.
"So tell me more about Master Rashid, Hassim. What did the Blackguard do
after his father died?"
Rashid cringed a bit. He had assigned Hassim to help Dorothy. Who knew
the boy could out gossip a woman?
So she found out why he had bested her at dueling and found out his
nickname that he had been given as a teen-ager. It had actually been a slur by the
French fencing team at the World and Colonial Championship when he first attended
the match. It infuriated them to no end that a Turkish boy of twelve was beating them
quickly, quietly, and without ceremony. He fancied the sound of the name when he
first heard and adopted it as his own. It was several weeks before he found out the true
meaning and then he was furious until his tutor took him aside and said, 'Of course
you're a blackguard, you spend all your time on swordplay and none on your ego.
That is also what makes you beat those foolish boys every single time you meet them
on the piste.' Through the rest of his fencing career, he took that name as a
compliment.
Rashid would have to speak with Hassim. He was telling Dorothy far more
than what he would have liked her to hear from someone other than himself.
"His father died when he was nineteen and he would have taken over the
family's business on XJ497, that's in the L2 cluster, by the way, but OZ for some
mysterious reason closed down the business and froze the family's assets. Some
nebulously worded silliness about loyalty to the United Earth Sphere Alliance, but it
was all a lie, I tell you. We were all loyal, Rashid's family just as much as anyone on
Earth."
"I don't doubt that," Dorothy reply softly. He could hear the guilt tinge her
words.
Do not feel guilty for me, Lady. Not for me. It was not an eleven-year-old
girl's fault for what happened to my family.
Again, Rashid moved to knock on the door and a third time he was stopped by
the sound of Dorothy's voice.
"What is he like, Hassim? What do you think of him?" Her voice sounded
almost wistful.
"He is like a father to many of us, Lady, including Master Quatre."
"I suppose he thinks of himself as a father figure to me also. Odd, I didn't ask
him to be one," she replied. Rashid could hear Hassim laugh.
"What's so funny, Hassim?" Dorothy asked irritatedly.
"I think he would not like to hear you say that, Lady. He thinks you are very
beautiful. I think he is right, that you are a very beautiful woman. It would bruise any
man's ego to know that you think of them only like a brother or father."
Dorothy laughed at that.
"Hassim, has anyone ever told you what a flirt you are?"
All right, Rashid thought, that is QUITE enough. And I am going to tell him
what a flirt he is among other things when I get a hold of him.
Hassim's protest of "but it's the truth" was all but drown out by Rashid's
pounding on the workshop door.
"Come in. It's open," Dorothy yelled out. Rashid entered the workshop.
"Speak of the devil," Dorothy murmured over her shoulder as Rashid walked
in. He could feel the heat run across the tips of his ears at hearing her comment, but
she had already turned her attention back to the glass in the oven. She twirled the glass
at the end of the steel rod about delicately. Her assistant, a woman named Fatima,
stood at next to her twirling her another rod. Wisps of hair floated above Dorothy's
forehead and cheeks, but her long hair was pulled back into a tight braid. She wore
overalls with a sleeveless shirt while Fatima worn clothes that reflected her Muslim
upbringing. Hassim stood busily over a table, arranging things that the women would
need as the molten glass was pulled out of the over.
"I need to speak you alone," Rashid said to Dorothy. She looked back over
her shoulder at him with a smirk.
"Now would not exactly be the best time, Rashid," she said laughingly. "Why
don't you sit down by the window over there if you like and we can talk when I am
done."
Rashid nodded his agreement and sat down in the chair by the window.
Dorothy pulled the glass she had been working on out of the oven, carefully avoiding
Fatima. The glass piece that she took out looked like a gigantic poppy, a deep golden
orange with frilled edges. She took the rod over to the benches and rolled the rod back
and forth along the wood so that the glass would not lose its shape. Hassim placed a
dipper of water and something that looked like pliers down near the flower of glass.
Fatima then pulled her rod from the oven. The piece of glass she was working on
looked like a long narrow cone. It was the same bright orange color. She took the rod
of glass and pressed it into the center of flowered glass Dorothy twirled. After a
moment or two, Fatima balanced the rod across another bench. Quickly, she stuffed
her hands into mitts that Hassim held out for her. Still twirling the glass, Fatima
choked upward on the bar until she stood near the tools Hassim held out for her.
Hassim handed her the pliers and she pinched in the glass about a quarter of the way up
the glass rod. She passed that back to Hassim and gingerly took the dipper of water he
held out. Lightly, she dripped water onto the narrow section of glass. The glass
sizzled. After a minute or so, the glass had sufficiently cooled enough that Hassim
handed her the pliers again. She worked the pliers intermittently with the water. After
another few minutes, Fatima lightly jerked the metal rod she had and a plink! sound
filed the workshop. Fatima quickly motioned to Hassim to grab the end of the rod. She
then moved over to Dorothy's end and began to help her twirl her rod.
"One. Two. Three," Dorothy counted off. Both women picked up the rod
and moved back to the oven.
"Do you have it?" Fatima asked. Dorothy nodded. The woman moved away
from the rod. Rashid watched as Dorothy braced her stance and the muscles in her
arms tremble as she held onto the glass. After a moment or so, her muscles held firm
and her stance was comfortable. He watched her as she twirled the glass as the minutes
went by. He was beginning to understand where part of her stamina came from.
After about ten minutes, she pulled the glass out of the fire again and rolled
the rod across the bench. Fatima quickly took over the twirling and Dorothy then went
to the end of the glass rod. Hassim handed her a couple of wooden paddles. She used
the wide one to create a long swirl around the tube. She then handed it back to Hassim.
With the narrow one, she opened up the mouth of the tube until it looked like one long
flute. They returned the glass back to the furnace for one last time and then they
separated the rod from the bottom of what Rashid now recognized as a large bowl with
a fluted vase in the center. The two women quickly placed into the annealing oven and
shut the door.
Dorothy sighed and stretched. She looked over at Rashid. He must have had
a look of surprise or awe or both, because Dorothy gave him a weary grin.
"Now we can talk," she replied. She turned to the others and said, "I'll be
back in a bit to help clean up."
Dorothy walked out the now open door and clasped her hands behind her back
as she walked. He fell into step next to her.
"I take it you've never seen someone work with hot glass before?" she asked
quietly.
"No," he replied, then added, "I never realized it was so labor intensive.
Aren't you ever afraid you might overwork yourself?"
Dorothy laughed. It was a sharp, clean laugh.
"I would have to consider it work first in order for me to consider that I
overwork myself, wouldn't I?" Rashid looked down into her eyes. They sparkled with
laughter. She was happy, truly happy. Probably for the first time since she came her,
perhaps even longer, he thought. He smiled back at her.
"Yes, one would have to consider something work in order to think that they
were overworked."
"So what did you want to talk about?" she asked.
"I came to inform you that Master Quatre would like to take you out for the
evening to Riyadh."
"Oh," she said. He could hear the disappointment in her voice.
Interesting, thought Rashid. I thought she would practically be climbing the
walls to get out of here. She seems less than happy about hearing the message. Or
perhaps she was hoping for something other than a message?
He looked sidelong at her. She seemed to be studying her feet as they walked.
It wasn't like her usual confidence. It was almost as if she was, well, shy. With him.
Rashid turned his face away from her to keep her from seeing him smile.
Then he thought of the other reason why he wanted to talk to her. The smile melted
away. He turned toward her. She looked up at him quizzically.
"I wanted to apologize for my behavior at the pool and for the duel." There.
He said it.
Dorothy stopped walking and said nothing. She continued to look at her shoes
for several minutes, but now her shoulders were squared back, not slumped. She was
lost in thought, Rashid realized.
After several minutes, she looked up at him and said, "I don't understand why
you would apologize for the duel. You beat me fair and square."
"It was wrong on me to press you in the manner that I did. It was stepping
over the lines and I'm sorry."
"Hn.," Dorothy replied at that, then added, "You're the first person that has
ever apologized to me for something like that."
"Surely Master Quatre has apologized for such things, like leaving you just
after you were married to take that trip."
"Quatre," Dorothy mused. "Well, there are certain lines that exist between
Quatre and myself that he has never crossed. As for other things."
She shrugged.
"Lines need to exist in order for them to be crossed," she whispered. Rashid
wondered for some time afterward what she had meant in that cryptic statement. She
had a far away look in her eyes.
Suddenly, she looked up at him and held out her hand. He looked down at her
hand slightly perplexed.
"Truce?" she asked with a small smile.
Rashid smiled as he took her hand and shook it.
"Truce," he said.
Rashid had just come inside to tell Quatre that the helicopter had arrived.
Dorothy stood at the top of the stairway and Quatre at the base.
Dorothy's hair was swept into a loose chignon. Her diamond necklace and
earrings twinkled in the light. The strapless dress she wore made Rashid think she just
walked out of film noir movie. The dress was black in color, flecked with silver.
Black satin ruffles started from her hip and traveled down the side of her dress. A slit
ran behind the ruffles from her ankle to her knee.
Rashid had to press his lips tightly together to keep for gaping. Dorothy let
out a small laugh as she walked down the stairs, her hand gliding an inch above the
balustrade.
"Now, there's a pretty lady," Quatre said to her as he clasped her hand as she
reached the bottom of the steps.
PRETTY?! Rashid almost burst out, but bit his tongue. She was beautiful.
Exquisite. How on Earth could Quatre dismiss her as pretty?
Dorothy smiled softly at Quatre and said, "Thank you, Quatre."
She turned around so that Quatre could place her wrap over her shoulders.
Rashid could see her bare shoulder blades and the dress plunged downward into a vee
at the middle of her back. Rashid fisted his hand. The desire to reach out and run the
back of his hand along that bare section of back was almost overwhelming.
She turned back to them as she adjusted the wrap.
"Good evening, Rashid," she said with a smile.
"Lady," he breathed out. Dorothy's eyes sparkled. On impulse, she reached
out and clasped his hand for a moment, then let go, stepping back and tucking her arm
through Quatre's. Quatre smiled at her.
"Well, it seems like you two are getting along better."
"Yes," Dorothy and Rashid said at once. Dorothy giggled. Laughter from her
always seemed surprising to Rashid and beautiful. He wished that she would laugh
more often. They held one another's eyes for a moment.
"Well, then, that's great," Quatre said. Rashid and Dorothy were still looking
at one another. Rashid could see Dorothy's cheeks get more and more rosy as the
moments passed. Quatre cleared his throat and they broke their gaze. Rashid
immediately focused his attention on Quatre, expecting anger for staring at his wife.
But he did not see anger on the young man's face, only confusion on what just
happened.
"We'll see you later then, Rashid," Quatre replied.
"Yes, Master Quatre," Rashid replied. He walked them out and watched as
Quatre helped Dorothy into the helicopter, then retreated back into the house as the
chopper disappeared from sight.
As he walked along the corridors, he recalled Quatre calling Dorothy pretty.
Not lovely. Not exquisite. Not beautiful. Just pretty.
He recalled a time where he accompanied Quatre to a circus performance put
on by Quatre's good friend, Trowa, and Trowa's circus troupe.
Trowa came out with his partner, a girl named Catherine, if he recalled
correctly. They performed some rather difficult juggling maneuvers with knives.
"Beautiful, so beautiful," Quatre murmured. Rashid looked at the boy. He
was enraptured by the performance. Rashid had found the act well performed, but
nothing to illicit the awe that the Master expressed. It was almost as if Quatre was in
love with what he was seeing. He had looked down at the two performers. Ah,
perhaps it had been the young Catherine that caught his eye. She was an attractive girl.
When he tried to tease Quatre about it later, Quatre laughed.
"Catherine? No, I could never see Catherine like that - she's like a sister to
me." Rashid had frowned in confusion, which made Quatre laugh harder.
"Don't worry about me, Rashid. When I give my heart away, I know it will
be soul mate."
Rashid stopped in the middle of the hallway. Wasn't Dorothy his soul mate?
He married her, didn't he? He said that when he gave his heart away, it would be to his
soul mate? Wouldn't that be Dorothy?
Quatre's casual reference to Dorothy as pretty danced circles around his
dreamy whisper of beautiful in Rashid's mind.
Who was Quatre's soul mate? If not, Dorothy, then who?
Puzzled, Rashid walked to his office to look at papers that had been awaiting
his attention.
At half past eleven, Rashid got up from his desk. He decided it was time to
take a break after he had read the same paragraph in the dry proposal he held for the
third time. He knew that the request by Graham Electric for underwriting could wait
until after he stretched his legs.
He walked around the mansion to the north side and saw the lights from the
workshop were on. Curious, he strode down the path and knocked lightly on the door.
Fatima opened the door. She was as surprised to see him as he was to see her.
"Hello, Master Rashid, what brings you around here at this time of night?"
"I needed a break from my work. What are you doing here at this time of
night?" he asked.
"Same as you. Working. I suppose now would be as good as time as any for
me to take a break also. Come in. Sit down for a while."
Rashid looked about the workshop as he walked in. Several pieces of
glasswork were encased in what looked like plastic. On the table lay several glass
pansies on a tray and next to it was a heated tank of clear liquid goo.
"What is all this?" he asked, gesturing to the tank and the several blocks.
Fatima looked around.
"Oh, this is our packing. It's a silicon carbon alloy that was developed in zero
g on L1. The molecules are uniformly aligned. It can be kept in a liquid state at about
100 degrees Celsius or higher. However, once it gets to room temperature, watch," she
said as she grabbed a small mallet and a block of the stuff that encased a small perfume
bottle.
WHACK!
The table jumped as she pounded on the alloy. She picked up the small block
and handed it to him.
"See," she said, "Not a scratch on it. And the glass is not harmed."
"Impressive," Rashid replied. He studied the perfume bottle. He could see
the delicate form of a mermaid carved in 3-D relief from the inside of the bottle.
"She creates exquisite work. Very detailed."
Fatima looked at the mermaid design and smiled.
"That's a trade secret she hasn't even shown me yet. I suspect it involves
laser work and chemicals I'm not familiar with. I saw her working on part of it. It was
almost as if she was chipping away at wood, it came off so easily.
"She burned her wrist really bad when she doing it a couple of weeks ago.
She was back in the workshop the next day all bandaged up from her forearm to her
hand. She must have been in immense pain."
The same bandage that she worn in duel, Rashid thought. He didn't know
whether to kick himself or pull her over his knee and give her a good spanking for
fighting him with her wrist like that.
"How dangerous are these chemicals that she works with?" he asked. He was
disturbed by Fatima's sudden worried expression.
"All the chemicals that we work with are potentially dangerous. And Miss
Catalonia follows the precautions meticulously. But," Fatima's voice wavered off.
"You're afraid for her, aren't you? It's all right, Fatima. You are her
apprentice. You spend so much time with her, it would be natural for you to consider
her your friend. And you are afraid for your friend. Why?"
"When she was carving the mermaid, she was not paying attention, not really.
She was so distant when she was carving it. Then she took the tool out that she was
carving with and grazed her wrist with it. Fortunately for her, it was a very small
amount of chemical and we had some baking soda. There will still be a scar. But if
she had put more on or we didn't have the soda or.," Fatima paused, then continued,
"Or if I wasn't there to help immediately, she probably would have lost her hand below
the wrist."
"So you saw her do it deliberately."
"Yes," Fatima said and looked at her hands.
"How long has she been trying to hurt herself?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Fatima replied, "I'm guessing a few months at least. Master
Quatre hired me while Miss Catalonia still had a residence on a little colony in L2.
Before the accident here, the most destructive thing I've noticed was when she
destroyed all the glasswork in her old studio. I believe it was the day that Master
Quatre said she was going to have to stay with him. I walked in on her while she was
smashing this bowl to bits. She didn't see me and I didn't know how she would react if
she did. I have never seen her so angry. The only time I have ever seen someone that
angry was when my mother hit my father in the head with a skillet after striking me to
the ground in an unfounded rage. Miss Catalonia had that anger, but at the time, she
only had the glass. I did not want to be another target. The glass could be replaced, so
I left as quickly as possible. I didn't realize until after the accident here that leaving
that day had been a stupid thing to do. I had only turned my back on her for a moment
the day of the accident. When I turned back, the tool was already sliding across her
wrist. From the look on her face, you would have never known she had done that. She
was gone, millions of miles away from her work.
"Now, I try to watch her more carefully, but it's hard. Sometimes, she
squawks at me, saying 'You are not my mother, Fatima'". Fatima raised up her hands
in a sign of resignation.
"Please," Rashid said, "I want you to continue to watch her. I will tell Hassim
to watch after her also."
"It was a good thing you sent Hassim to assist her. Though, the first day,"
Fatima said, shaking her head, "I really thought she was going to gut him. But thanks
to Allah, that boy could charm a scorpion itself into not biting him. He flirts with her
and teases her. He makes her dream of a childhood she did not have. And he saved
you from being gutted the next time she saw you. When she vehemently attempted to
tear you down, he would quietly and subtly defend you. He really looks up to you, you
know."
"No, I did not," he said quietly. He would have to pull Hassim aside some
time and thank him.
Fatima seemed to read his thoughts. She was about to say something when
they heard the chopper blades make a thumping sound as it reverberated off the
buildings.
"Ah, they're home," Fatima replied. "You don't mind if I accompany you to
the landing pad, do you? If she's still awake, I'd like to tell Miss Catalonia that most
of the packing is done. If we keep this up, we should be able to leave for Amsterdam
in a few days."
Rashid turned away from the so that she would not see him frown. It seemed
like he was just beginning to know Dorothy and she was going to leave already. It
maybe several weeks or even a few months before he would see her again.
The chopper's blades whirled around lazily by the time they reached the pad.
The pilot was opening the back door as Rashid walked up. He saw Dorothy's sleeping
form slumped across the back seat. Quatre was noticeably missing.
"Where's Master Quatre?" he asked the pilot abruptly.
"He said that there was some urgent business to discuss with a Mr. Trowa
Barton regarding the Lady. He said you would understand," the pilot replied. He
moved to wake Dorothy. Rashid stopped him.
"I don't think that would be a good idea. Fatima and I will take her to her
room. Thank you."
The pilot nodded. He climbed back into the chopper and started it up again.
Rashid picked up Dorothy's sleeping form and was a little startled when she turned in
his arms and clung to him. He looked back at Fatima, who eyed him suspiciously. He
shrugged innocently, then ducked his head down as they scurried off the pad.
"She probably thinks she's clinging to Master Quatre," Fatima replied.
"Rashid," Dorothy murmured in her sleep. It was the first time in years that
Rashid's face turned red. Fatima gave him a look of 'I don't want to know'.
"Or not," she replied. There was almost a hint of a chuckle in her voice.
Rashid walked along the corridor as Fatima readied Dorothy for bed. He
turned as the door creaked open and watched as Fatima quietly closed the door behind
her. She looked a bit worried.
"She's asking for you," she said, then added, "Be careful Rashid, she is a
married woman. The law is very unforgiving about a man coveting another man's
wife."
"I will keep that foremost in my mind, Fatima," he replied as he past her and
opened the door to the bedroom.
Dorothy was curled up in the bed. Her sleepy eyes followed him as he walked
across the room.
"You asked for me, Lady?"
"I was wondering if you could stay here with me. Just sit down here with me.
Just for a little while. Until I go to sleep," she whispered.
"Lady, I do not think that is wise," Rashid replied.
"Please." It was not her normal voice. It sounded much more like a child's
plea. Rashid's resolve melted.
"All right, but just for a while."
"Thank you," she replied softly.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time watching her.
Where was Quatre? Why wasn't he here to fulfill Dorothy's wishes? Wasn't
she his wife? Who was his soul mate if not his wife? He mused for the second time
that day.
Rashid jumped a bit when Dorothy replied, "I'm not a circus performer." He
did not realize he had been musing aloud. He looked at Dorothy. She rolled over to
one side, tucking her hands beneath her head. She was fast asleep.
He got up and kissed her forehead. When he pulled back, he could see that
she was smiling in her sleep.
Rashid knocked on her door at about nine the next morning. She was up and
dressed.
"Good morning, Rashid," she said with a soft smile.
"Good morning, Lady," Rashid replied.
She frowned.
"Rashid, can I ask you to do something?" she asked hesitantly. A little kick of
fear went through him. She was going to send him away.
"Yes, Lady," he replied.
"Could you just call me Dorothy?" she asked.
Rashid quietly let out the breath he was holding.
"Certainly, La - Dorothy," he replied.
"Wonderful." Again, she smiled timidly at him. "Was there something you
wanted from me?"
"Yes, Dorothy, I was wondering if you would like to join me for a morning
walk."
"I would be delighted," she replied. He could smell the orange blossoms of
her perfume as she moved past him.
They walked around the house several times. He asked her about her work,
about the chemicals she used.
By the time they completed their sixth circuit around the house, she looked
down at her watch. She let out a small 'eep' of surprise.
"I was supposed to be down at the workshop twenty minutes ago. Fatima is
going to start looking for me. I have to go. I'm sorry."
"Same time tomorrow?" Rashid asked suddenly.
She gave him a radiant smile.
"I would like that very much," she replied as she hurried down the path to the
workshop.
As the week went on, he learned about the uncle who first introduced her to
glasswork. He wintered in Venice and kept a studio there. Dorothy visited him as
often as she could until a couple of after her father died. Then the uncle said it would
be best to stay with her grandfather during the winter breaks.
"Mother put him up to that, I know it." She spit out the word Mother as if it
was a curse.
She talked about her cousin, Treize, also. About how much she respected and
missed him. The man had been something of a substitute big brother for her.
"I remember the times we would go riding in the foothills near Jungfrau. My
father had purchased a little cottage that he had always planned on presenting for me as
my quincenera present. My mother was going to raze it, but I fought her on it.
Suddenly, she stopped fighting me, just put up her hands and said 'Fine, you can have
it. Go to it if you like. That way I won't have to see you. You are too much like your
father, girl, reckless and arrogant.' I blurted out "At least I'm not like you, calculating
and cold.'"
"What did your mother do?" Rashid asked.
"She slapped me hard. I remember hearing the room echo the sound of her
hand across my cheek. She refused to see me for the next three years. She only saw
me after Grandfather ordered her."
Dorothy hung her head down as if she was ashamed to admit something.
"I missed her terribly during those three years," she whispered.
Rashid reached over and gently brushed a strand of her hair back. His hand
moved and cupped her cheek. Her face leaned into his palm for an instance. He could
see the tears glitter in her eyes.
"It was a very natural thing for you to miss her despite the way she treated
you," he whispered.
She stepped closer to him. They were now only inches apart. They stared at
one another for some time. It would be so easy to step over the edge with her. So very
easy.
Dorothy was the one who stepped away first. He could feel her pull back
behind her barriers as she stepped back.
"Yes, well," she said with a sniffle, then quickly changing the subject, "You
should see Wengen. It's such a beautiful village. In the summertime, I used to sit
outside in the late evening and watch the sun set behind the Alps."
He listened to her talk, but he was a little afraid he had pushed too far. It was
an intimate thing for her to reveal. Something she would only tell a close friend or
love about.
Rashid shifted uneasily at that.
Lover. What if she thought of him as a lover? While part of him abhorred the
thought because it involved breaking practically every Islamic law, another part
welcomed the idea. Almost shouted in joy of it.
It suddenly felt like someone had taken a very cold knife and slid it across his
gut. At this point, he was much more afraid of how he would react if she said she
loved him that her actually saying the words.
Quatre, why isn't she telling you this? Are you listening to her, Quatre? He
thought. She needs you, Quatre, and you're not here. She's going to slip away from
you before you've even known what you've lost. She's doing it already.
"I'm sorry," he said abruptly, cutting off her description of the ancient trolley
that traveled up to Wengen. "There are some very important papers that I've forgotten
about. Please excuse me."
He turned away from her hurt expression. He couldn't look at her for too long
or he'd turn back and wrap her into a fierce embrace.
"Goodbye," she said. The word chased after him like he was a disobedient
animal, down the path, into the mansion.
He did not arrive for their morning walk the next day or the day after that.
The third day, Dorothy arrived at his office.
"Come in," he said, not looking up from his papers.
"I thought you would have come out to walk with me the last day I was here.
Are you all right, Rashid?" she asked.
Rashid shook off his startled expression at her presence. He knew she knew
where everything was in the mansion at this point. He was just surprised that she
would actually come to his office. She sought him out. He also suspected why she
sought him out. She wanted to be with him. She had grown as attached to him as he
had to her.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
Rashid moved the papers around on his desk and said, "I'm sorry. I simply
don't have the time today."
He could see the hurt look on her face. She seemed to change a bit before
him. She squared back her shoulders. Her face became a mask.
Ah, he thought, so you are squaring off for another duel, love. This time with
words and not swords. So much for our truce. I would have liked to have been your
friend if I did not want to be your lover as well.
"Just when I think I've come to some kind of small peace with you, you force
me away. Why? No, I know why. It's because you're afraid to be with me. It scares
you, doesn't it, to think that I am something other than the OZ bitch everyone has
claimed me to be. That I might actually be able to laugh at something other that
another's misfortune. That I have a need for friends just as much as anyone else. I
showed you a part of myself that I have shown so few people, Rashid. Because I was
stupid. I thought you would understand. You seemed to understand and CARE. But
you never did, did you? I was nothing but an obligation."
He was both furious and ashamed. He was more than tempted to grab her and
give her a long and through kiss to make her forget she ever thought he saw as an
obligation.
Instead, he said, "I have many obligations. I never considered you one."
"Then why won't you come for a walk with me? It's my last day. I would
like to walk the grounds one more time with someone who I thought was a friend. To
be able to say goodbye to him."
"I'm afraid that that is my fault, Lady. You are the Lady of the house and I
am a servant. I overstepped my bounds with you.
Dorothy turned her back to him and hugged her arms to herself for a moment.
She swayed lightly.
"Horseshit."
"Pardon?"
Dorothy turned around and looked him in the eyes.
"I said horseshit," she replied. "I don't know what you are up to Rashid, but
you aren't going to get off the hook this easily."
She walked out of his office.
Rashid sat back in the chair. For a brief moment, he allowed joy and relief to
fill him.
She did not give up. She refused to be pushed away.
He wanted to get up and go to her. To take her to her room and not let her out
again for days.
She did not give up. She refused to be pushed away.
Reality set in. Perhaps it would be best that she was leaving. He could avoid
her in the future. He was afraid of her returning his feelings. The punishment for
adultery was beheading.
Rashid signed. He had a very bad feeling that avoiding her would be
impossible.
Quatre arrived back at the mansion later that afternoon with Trowa. They
nodded briefly to Rashid as they entered Quatre's office and shut the door behind them.
He was too busy to do more than wave in greeting. He was discussing Hassim's duties
in Amsterdam as others moved about in the hallway carrying the packed glassware and
glassmaking equipment.
About an hour or so later, Rashid was finally able to make his way to Quatre's
office. He noticed that something was different the minute he walked in the door.
Subtle, but perceptible.
"The Lady's glassworks has been packed and shipped. It will be ready to be
unpacked at her convenience when she arrives in Amsterdam."
"Thank you, Rashid," Quatre replied. Rashid watched as Quatre pursed his
lips together nervously.
What is he hiding? Rashid thought. He looked at Trowa, who casually leaned
over the desk studying some papers.
"So have you found the people who have wanted to harm the Lady?"
Trowa answered him by passing to him a few pictures from the folder that lay
in front of Trowa.
"Amal Dubeau, Hans Kroeker, and Paola Araujo," Trowa said as Rashid
shuffled through the photos.
"From what we were able to figure out, Dubeau no longer poses a threat. His
entire family was killed when OZ destroyed the base near his home and the subsequent
explosions carried over into the village, killing most of the people there. He swore
revenge on OZ figurehead he could get near. He had been following Dorothy for
several months before she came here."
"He had been following her, he's not following her now?" Rashid asked.
"Apparently his wife has grown tired of his desire for revenge. From what we
understand, she told him that he could either be with his living wife in the present or
the ghosts of his past, that it was his decision. Dubeau decided to stay with his wife."
I see, what about the other two?"
"Miss Araujo will no longer be harming anyone," Quatre said quietly. Trowa
looked over at Quatre. Rashid could see concern in the young man's eyes for Quatre.
And something else, something he had never noticed before. Rashid began to feel
uneasy, like he was intruding.
"She came to the party that night. She was going to kill Dorothy, herself, and
everyone else there. Trowa took Dorothy out on the dance floor for a few minutes
while I escorted Miss Araujo outside after we confiscated her detonator. It was quick
for her; I tried to keep it as painless as possible." Quatre's voice had grown so soft it
was barely an audible whisper. He clasped his hands together, rubbing them over and
over.
You always did detest killing, Master Quatre, Rashid thought as he watched
him. Rashid knew that he himself was not a cold blooded killer, but he would have had
no regrets killing a woman who was planning on killing so many innocent people just
to have her revenge. Quatre was different. He would always strive to see the good in
people. Just like he did with Dorothy. Shame scratched at Rashid's insides when he
thought of Dorothy and what he had said to Quatre before she arrived. She was not a
scorpion. He had been hardheaded and judgmental instead.
"And Hans Kroeker?" Rashid asked, turning his eyes from Quatre to Trowa.
The emotion that Trowa had been displaying was quickly shuttered behind a mask.
That look was not meant for me to see, mused Rashid.
"He's the one that made me decide that Dorothy should come her," Quatre
said as he raised his hands to his temples. Trowa moved around and placed a hand on
the chair that Quatre sat in. Quatre seemed to relax a bit. Rashid definitely felt uneasy.
"We haven't been able to find him. After his attack on Dorothy, he just
disappeared into thin air. You would think that one who had boasted so much about
how he was going to kill her, he would have been easier to find. But we haven't been
able to find any trace of him. Is it possible for you to get her extra protection while she
is in Amsterdam, Rashid?"
"Yes, Master Quatre, Hassim is already going to go with her. I can arrange to
have his older brother, Jalal, to go with him. There is an old friend of mine who
resides in Amsterdam who I can ask to keep an eye on her."
"Thank you, Rashid," Quatre said with a sigh. The young man did seem to be
exhausted.
"If there is nothing else," Rashid said as he got up from the chair. Quatre
shook his head. Rashid got up and moved to the door. He turned back to look at him
as he left and realized that Trowa and Quatre staring at one another. It was the same
way Dorothy had looked at him when he caressed her cheek. Rashid quickly shut the
door behind him.
'I'm not a circus performer.' Dorothy had murmured in her sleep.
Trowa. Trowa was the one Quatre loved. Quatre's soulmate. Why didn't
Quatre tell him? Why had he been so blind?
Rashid stopped in the middle of the hallway.
Which also meant that he brought Dorothy here simply to protect her. He was
not in love with her. Which meant.
Which meant nothing. He quashed his hope ruthlessly. Even though,
Dorothy and Quatre were not in love, they were obviously good friends. And it also
did not mean that Dorothy might have any feelings for him. She might have just felt
incredibly lonely and sad when he reached out to her, nothing else. Loneliness was not
necessarily a precursor to love. In the office earlier that day, she had merely referred to
him as a friend, nothing more. Besides, she was still Quatre's wife and he could still
get beheaded for becoming involved with her. Despite everything, there was still that
possibility.
Anger towards himself and the circumstances filled him. He went about the
remainder of the day irritably snapping orders.
Light filtered through the windows as Rashid rolled over in the bed. He
opened his eyes. Something small sat on his night table. Rashid sat up and tried to
focus his eyes. A small clear block with posy of tiny white flowers in it. There was a
note tucked underneath the box. It was written in a clear, feminine script.
'I don't know if you have ever seen edelweiss before. I never had the chance
to tell you how much I enjoyed our walks. If I get back from Amsterdam, I would very
much like taking walks with you again, but only if you are interested. If not, only tell
me that your work will be neglected and I won't bother you my inane chattering
anymore. I hope we can be friends. The glass is my gift to you. A thank you for
listening to me. Your friend, Dorothy.
Rashid read through the note once more.
If she came back from Amsterdam? If? Perhaps it was just a mistake in her
writing, that she really meant when. He remembered only a few things about his early
schooling, but he did remember a psychology class where one theory out of the many
taught that got stuck in his mind. There are no mistakes. Everyone did or said
something for a purpose, whether consciously or unconsciously.
Rashid tried to dismiss it. Jalal, Hassim, and Fatima would be with her. So
would his friend, Kurt Deter. She would be all right. He repeated it to himself over
and over again.
He had nearly convinced himself of this by the time he got a call from Kurt
about a week later.
"Rashid," Kurt greeted him late one evening. "I have some bad news."
Dorothy's mother, the Lady Catalonia, had arrived for an expected visit while
Dorothy was in Amsterdam. They had a tremendous row. The Lady had some rather
brutal things to her and Dorothy had flown into a rage. Fatima screamed at her that she
was going to strike her own mother and that had stopped the young woman in her
tracks. She told them all to get out. Fatima took Hassim with her down to the lobby
for about a half an hour. By the time they went back upstairs thinking she had cooled
off, she was long gone.
Rashid slammed down the receiver. He started at the edelweiss in the clear
packaging block. He picked up the phone again and called Abdul, who was in Riyadh
with Quatre and Trowa.
"Little late for a social call, don't you think, Rashid?" Abdul said sleepily.
Normally, he would chuckle at Abdul's sarcasm. But he didn't have time for that right
now. He had already pulled his suitcase out from its storage space under his bed.
"The Lady Dorothy has disappeared but I think I know where she might be
heading. Tell Master Quatre to meet me at Steigenberger Bellerive au Lac in Zurich
tomorrow. Miss Dorothy has a summer cottage in the Swiss Alps. I believe she may
have gone there. We'll talk then, my friend." Rashid hung up before Abdul could say
anything.
He busily shoved clothing into his suitcase.
The words 'If I come back from Amsterdam' kept repeating in his mind.
Hi Everyone. I hope you like things so far. Sorry this chapter is so long. If you see
room for improvement, constructive criticism is always welcome. I sometimes have a
habit of think of a human actor playing the role of an anime character, that the
character is not an animation, but a real person. I have done that with Rashid. A few
months back, I saw the movie "X-men". When I saw Rashid in Endless Waltz, I
thought "Boy, he looks a lot like Wolverine from the X-men", which immediately
made me think of Hugh Jackman, the actor, in his Wolverine make-up, and then
thought of Hugh Jackman as Rashid. I had also read NemKess "Where have all the
Cowboys Gone?" by the time also. And that's how the story began. I hope to have the
next chapter out a little sooner than this one was, but that one will also be dependant on
the length of it. Please review also, reviews help me write the stories faster. ?
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 - A quincenera is a coming of age party or festival that is held for a girl
on her 15th birthday in most Spanish speaking countries. A lot of times, it is said to be
like a "Sweet 16" party, but in more wealthy families the event is much more like a
debutante ball. Also, there is a very good chance of the rating getting even higher as
things go along, so just to warn you in advance. I changed the rating to pg-13 for the
cursing in this chapter. One last note, I have read that the Maguanacs are a group of
men that were also test tube babies. I have also read that they are a family. I am
writing the story in that they are a group of men, not necessarily related, but do share
the similarity of being test tube babies.
Rashid adjusted the vest of his dueling suit. His mind moved unerringly to the
events that had lead up to his confrontation with Dorothy Catalonia the previous
morning.
He and Abdul had been walking down a corridor facing south. The tennis
courts, the pool, and a walkway leading down to the stables were there.
As they walked, they came across another Maguanac. a young initiate named
Hassim. Rashid briefly recalled the teenager's older brother, Jalal, beaming with pride
over the boy's initiation. Jalal had been with the Maguanacs since the beginning of
their quest and had proven his worth many times over.
Rashid bit back an amused smile. The boy nearly had his face pressed up
against the window and the manila folder in his hand was completely forgotten.
Sheaves of important papers lay in pools of white at his feet, covering his shoes.
Rashid could see where the boy's breath formed a small hazy ring on the glass.
Abdul glanced at Rashid for a moment with a look that simply said
'teenagers'. He then cleared his throat. Hassim did not move, didn't even notice them,
just continued to stare quite intently at whatever he was looking at.
"Hassim," Abdul said impatiently. Whatever has his attention, it must be
quite hypnotic, thought Rashid. The boy was deaf, dumb, and blind to Abdul's
commands. Rashid waited for a moment and studied the boy. He almost looked like
he stopped breathing. Silently, Rashid walked over to him, placing his mouth next to
the teenager's ear.
"Hassim!" he barked softly.
That got the boy's attention.
Rashid had to take a couple of quick steps backward to prevent Hassim from
crashing into him as the boy jumped to attention. At the same time, Hassim realized
that the papers were no longer in the folder, but all over the floor instead. He fell to his
knees and began to clumsily stuff the papers back into the folder.
"Leave them," Rashid ordered. Hassim jumped up and dumped half the
papers that he had gathered up onto Rashid's shoes. Rashid counted to ten before
slowly letting out his breath.
"So tell me, Hassim, what has so captivated your attention this morning that if
I was an assassin I could have easily thrust a knife between your ribs before you would
even notice my presence?" Rashid's voice had a deadly and demanding ring to it.
Rashid watched the seventeen year old's adam's apple bob a few times. He
involuntarily glanced toward the window and licked his lips.
"Uh, it was nothing, sir. I just happened to note that the new lady of the house
was enjoying the use of the pool."
Rashid was perplexed for a moment and then bit back a curse. No matter how
he felt about her, a man would be blind not to recognize that she was a very attractive
woman. Even he had felt some spark of desire towards her when he first deposited her
next to Quatre on the landing step.
There was little wonder why Master Quatre would be attracted to her. She
had eyes the color of the summer sky, lovely platinum blonde hair that glided down her
back. The scoopline of her dress exposed a long creamy throat curving down to a bust
hidden just beneath the cotton. He looked back up into her eyes. They held both
confusion and a passionate bedroom quality. Emotions fluttered through them too
quickly to be read.
Her emotions became all too clear when the little viper lunged toward him to
attack, however.
Beautiful, but still deadly, he reminded himself.
"You're dismissed, Hassim."
The boy began to leave, but Rashid caught his arm.
"I would remind you that she is the Master's wife. It would be unwise to
encourage a husband's wrath, especially a new husband. You would be best to
remember that when you take a wife. Remember how you felt when you ogled the
Master's wife and then think of another man doing that to your new bride."
"Yes, Master Rashid," the boy replied quietly. Rashid let go of the boy's arm.
Hassim did everything he could not to run down the hallway.
Rashid looked at Abdul, who was watching the boy make his hasty exit.
Abdul then rolled his eyes and turned toward the window that Hassim had been staring
out of. Abdul's expression went completely slack-jawed. He was silent for nearly a
half minute before letting out a soft whistle.
He turned to Rashid and said as he nodded toward the window, "I don't think
Hassim is the only one who should be taught not to provoke a new husband's wrath."
Rashid looked over Abdul's shoulder down to the pool deck below.
Dorothy lay on a chaise lounge. Her hair cascaded down one side of the
lounge. Her arms curled under her head, revealing the swell of her breasts pressed
against the chair. Her back tapered down to a waist that dipped down to a pastel and
floral bikini bottom that showed a generous amount of cheek. Her long legs rubbed
casually against one another as her toes played idly with the metal filigree that
bordered the lounge chair.
It took him a few seconds to realize that his breath had caught. He clenched
tight the hands that wanted to explore every inch of her skin. His tongue involuntarily
wet his lips when he thought of pressing them to hers. He wondered how her hair
would feel against his chest as she straddled him.
STOP! A voice inside him commanded.
Suddenly, Rashid became angry. What woman in her right mind would show
herself like that? Didn't she know what primal reactions she would raise out of the
men that surrounded her? A woman should only show herself like that to her husband!
Yes, and right now, you wish you were her husband.
The errant thought raced through his mind and was gone.
He was so incredibly envious of Quatre, an intense longing filled him. For
one instance, he would have given his soul to be Quatre.
Allah, he thought bitterly, I'm going to teach her a thing or two about decency
if I have to bind her hand and foot.
"I will take care of this," Rashid replied quietly. Abdul looked at him with a
bit of alarm. Rashid also noticed that he had not stepped away from the window.
Rashid ground his teeth.
"I would remind you of what happens when looking upon another man's wife
also," Rashid said to Abdul a bit harsher than he intended. The other Maguanac looked
up at him in surprise for a moment. His eyes filled with a mixture of humor, sorrow,
and warning.
"It would be good for you to remember that also, Rashid."
Rashid was taken aback for a moment. Were his thoughts that obvious? A
sense of duty entwined with his anger.
He would show her. He would show her just how destructive her actions
were, to the Maguanacs, to Quatre, to herself.
But it hadn't worked out that way.
He fiddled with the vest once more.
Perhaps she will not show up for the duel he thought and then quickly
discarded the idea.
As if answering his thoughts, the door opened and Dorothy stood in the
entrance. Instead of the suit making her big and bulky, she almost looked fragile.
Looks can be deceiving, he thought. And yet seemed like a little girl about to
walk onto the piste for the fencing lesson with her teacher. Her helmet was neatly
tucked under one arm and she held her foil downward in a bandaged fist. For a
moment, her chin quivered. There was such a sorrow reflected in her eyes.
Is she going to cry? He wondered. Why on Earth would she want to cry?
Women. Yesterday she wanted to rip my heart out, today she wants to cry.
Dorothy acted as if she heard his thoughts, for she stood up tall, shoulders
squared back and a withering gaze.
Rashid bit back a smile. Despite himself, he much preferred her when she
looked like she was about to take on an entire army than being sad. That one flash of
melancholy had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. A scorpion was never
sad; it lived for the attack and nothing else.
Afraid that she is more human than you want to believe? His conscience
mocked.
Rashid's temper flared.
Don't forget who are dealing with, he admonished. This is the girl that nearly
killed Master Quatre. She does not deserve friendship or sympathy.
"Are you prepared, Lady?" Rashid asked quietly.
Dorothy slipped away from the door and walked toward the strip of mats. She
gracefully swept the helmet onto her head, positioned herself, and raised her foil up in
salute.
"I am now," she whispered. Rashid felt as if the temperature in the room had
suddenly dropped by several degrees.
"I am not some wide-eyed school boy that you spar with, Lady. Are you sure
you do not want to change your mind?"
"Getting cold feet, Rashid?" asked Dorothy. There was the slightest tinge of
amused bravado in her voice.
The hairs on Rashid's neck rose at that.
"No," he bit out.
Her eyes turned jewel bright. The sword twitched slightly in her wrist.
"Then - EN GARDE!"
She moved blindingly fast from her salute stance into a lunging attack.
Rashid stumbled back a few steps and barely kept his wits about him as he deflected
the blows. He shoved his helmet on. She pushed him back with thrust after thrust.
He was nearly backed up against the wall before his head was clear enough to
start planning strategy. He began to notice the way her body and shoulders moved as
she thrust, parried, and dodged. She would lean back ever so slightly before delivering
a series of lunges. She had a bad habit of slapping away the blade when deflecting.
The only truly positive thing about her fencing was that she was relentless. She was
expounding far more energy than Rashid, yet she seemed completely at ease. The only
thing to give her away was that her breathing came out only slightly faster than when
she started the duel. He developed a quick, but true respect for her stamina.
She rocked back slightly and began to lung forward. Rashid easily
sidestepped the attack. He then deftly moved around and under her foil, touching the
blade just above her stomach.
"Touch‚," he replied.
Dorothy's face held an expression of utter shock.
"How - how --?" she stammered.
"En garde," Rashid answered, raising his sword in salute, then moved forward
with a predatory grace.
It was Dorothy's turn to be on the defensive. Her eyes were as large as
saucers as she stumbled about, fighting off his attack. Even her stamina began to
falter. Rashid moved under her foil again and this time tapped her on her breastplate.
Dorothy was crushed.
Quatre had told him the story of Heero Yuy besting her by breaking the
faceplate of her helmet. From the way she reacted, it seemed as if he was the closest
one to come to besting her. Only he and Yuy had apparently been able to hit her once.
Within a few minutes, Rashid had hit her twice.
Too bad she did not have someone other than her schoolmates to practice
with, he thought. She could be an excellent fencer if she just got rid of these damnable
bad habits. He wasn't crazy about how she was reacting now either. It was as if the
entire time that she fought, it was filled with bravada and anger. No grace, no
calculation, no real strategy. It infuriated him.
He slapped her foil away when she arched the blade toward him.
"If you wanted a duel, then duel. Stop this silly school girl mooning!"
Dorothy looked at him through slitted lids. She moved forward on him with
completely mechanical gestures. She was no longer listening to her heart or her head;
her body moved on its own, the sword moved by rote. When he parried, she was there.
When he came in for an attack, she deftly moved out of the way. Then she came
forward, attacking with clean, accurate movements. Her foil gracefully swooped under
his and hit him in the chest so hard that the foil actually pierced the cloth, sticking
there.
"Touch‚," Dorothy whispered.
"Has the Lady received satisfaction?" he asked her. Dorothy looked at him a
far away gaze for a moment. She answered him by pulling the foil out and flinging it
to the ground.
"Grandfather would have liked you quite a bit," she said emotionlessly as she
walked out of the exercise room.
Rashid stared at the door for a long time before leaving to do his daily duties.
Quatre steepled his fingers as he sat across the desk from Rashid as they sat in
his office that evening.
"I said it was all right for her to dress like that." He paused.
"You actually dueled with her?" He asked with disbelief, then held up his
hands when Rashid began to answer.
"No, no, I don't want to know the details. I am angry though. I leave you two
alone for two days and you're at one another's throats. It doesn't surprise me that she
wanted to duel, but I expected you to have more sense than this."
"Why do you think that the Lady would easily venture into this and not
myself?" he asked Quatre.
Quatre shrugged.
"Dorothy has always been a hothead, going off and fighting wars when and
where she could. I thought it was to compensate for what happened to her father, that
he fought so hard for peace but was still destroyed, but now I'm not so sure anymore,"
Quatre replied.
Rashid took the folder that he came in with and gave it to Quatre. Quatre
looked at it questioningly.
"The Lady had said something to me that lent to doing a little research on the
Lady's family this afternoon. Her grandfather, Duke Dermail, was a cunning old man,
but I do not think I would want my child left with him. His daughter is cut from the
same cloth. She only married General Catalonia because she and her father believed
that they could manipulate the arm of OZ through him. And they did for several years,
but General Catalonia was actually a peaceful man at heart. He wanted harmony
among the nations and he strongly opposed what happened to the Cinq Kingdom.
When the father and daughter believed that he had become too much of a liability, they
had his shuttle blown up."
Quatre shook his head and said, "But what does this actually have to do with
Dorothy?"
"Do you know that they sent her to identify her father's remains?"
"What?!"
"It was not something the press ever got a hold of, all they ever got was that a
family member had identified the remains. I had to do quite a bit of digging on that.
Apparently her school psychologist reported that she had nightmares for several
months after the incident. I also accessed the sealed coroner's vid-report. There were
three forms of identification. A piece of tooth that was believed to be a molar, which
the General's dentist was able to confirm as the being from the General. That's where
Dorothy came in. Both the Duke Dermail and the Lady Catalonia were conveniently
absent. The only one left was Dorothy. They shuttled her out to the little colony in the
L1 cluster where they had gathered the remains. Dorothy was shown the General's
wedding ring. She said that she thought it might be his ring but she was not positive.
They then produced a sketch of a tattoo from the remains. The unfortunate case with
the coroner's assistant was that the boy said that they believe that this was what the
tattoo looked like originally. Dorothy had asked him what he meant by that, to which
the boy replied that there was not enough of the leg left to make out the entire tattoo
clearly. He showed her the sketch to her and she stared at it for quite sometime that
you almost wonder if you are looking at a girl or the statue of a girl. She finally
handed the sketch back to the assistant and said that yes, the remains were that of her
father. Then she left the room. But there is for one moment an actual glimpse of her
eyes. There is such anger, vengeance, and utter hopelessness in her eyes.
Her grandfather and mother had sent her there as a lesson not to cross them or
she would suffer the same consequences as her father. From that day forward, her
grandfather began to groom her to take her father's place as Treize was to replace the
Duke's. She fell in love with war so much because it was the only war for her to
escape and reap justice upon her grandfather and mother. Do you know her favorite
quote as she was growing up was the one uttered by the American general Sherman as
he laid waste to the rebelling states - 'The rebels wished for war, so let us give them so
much of a fill of war so that they should never wish it again.' She meant the saying as
much for her family as she did for anyone else."
"Allah," Quatre whispered. "I know that she had been close to her father and
had problems with her grandfather and mother, but I didn't know just how deep it ran.
She had some respect for Treize, but she once told me that she never bothered Treize
with her problems. She was probably too afraid that her grandfather would arrange to
have him killed as well if he stepped out of line by helping Dorothy."
Quatre ran his fingers through his hair.
"I should arrange to have her see a psychologist," Quatre finally replied.
"You can arrange for one, Master, but it must be her decision to see the
psychologist. If you force her, it will be one thing that she will walk away from you
on. And she'll be in more danger than she is now. Why did you not tell me that their
had been threats on her life?"
Quatre started in his chair.
"How did you find out about that?"
"The last man that came after her was quite vocal to quite a number of people
that he was going to hunt her down and kill her for what Romafellar and OZ did to his
brother. The man has since gone underground again. You know that the Maguanacs
have your undivided loyalty, Master Quatre - why did you not tell us?"
Quatre slumped his shoulders and said, "I simply did not want anyone to get
hurt. I believed that Trowa and I could take care of anyone who came after her."
"Keeping her caged here is not going to resolve anything. She is untamed, she
chooses to be here, she is allowing you to believe that she is tame and contented, but
underneath she is restless. She is like an old circus lion that no longer paces the cage,
but she will destroy anyone in her path if she thinks they are blocking her way to
freedom."
"Well, she won't be going anywhere for the time being. She has been
commissioned for several pieces for a gallery in Amsterdam. So she's safe for the time
being."
"When it is time for her to move on to Amsterdam, we will be there to protect
her," Rashid said. It was a simple statement, not one that left room for argument or
protest. Quatre simply nodded his head.
A few weeks passed before Rashid came in contact with Dorothy again. It
had given him ample time to think about the confrontation and the duel. He had been a
fool about the confrontation, but it was actually the duel that had bothered him the
most. The more that he thought about it, the more felt that he had been wrong to
corner her. He had not been unlike the person standing in the way of her path to
freedom. He was surprised that the blade had pierced his suit and she had not aimed
straight for his throat. He hoped his apology could forge some type of temporary truce
between them. The thought that she might hate her as much as her grandfather
definitely did not sit well with him.
He made his way down the dirt path that ran out from the northeastern side of
the mansion to the adobe hut that was built to be Dorothy's workshop while she stayed
on the estate.
Quatre had wanted to take her to a party that was being held by friends of the
Winner family in Riyadh. He thought she might feel less "caged" if she was able to get
out. He mentioned that he had noticed that she seemed a bit quieter then he felt
comfortable with. Rashid hoped that the party would do her some good also, but he
felt that it would take much more than a dinner party to brighten her spirits.
He was coming upon the workshop when he heard Dorothy's voice through an
open window.
"No, no, not like that Fatima - like this. Yes, good. Keep it rolling, keep it
rolling. Hassim, bring over that dipper of water for me." Then there was a silence.
Rashid was just about to knock on the door when Dorothy's voice stopped him.
"So tell me more about Master Rashid, Hassim. What did the Blackguard do
after his father died?"
Rashid cringed a bit. He had assigned Hassim to help Dorothy. Who knew
the boy could out gossip a woman?
So she found out why he had bested her at dueling and found out his
nickname that he had been given as a teen-ager. It had actually been a slur by the
French fencing team at the World and Colonial Championship when he first attended
the match. It infuriated them to no end that a Turkish boy of twelve was beating them
quickly, quietly, and without ceremony. He fancied the sound of the name when he
first heard and adopted it as his own. It was several weeks before he found out the true
meaning and then he was furious until his tutor took him aside and said, 'Of course
you're a blackguard, you spend all your time on swordplay and none on your ego.
That is also what makes you beat those foolish boys every single time you meet them
on the piste.' Through the rest of his fencing career, he took that name as a
compliment.
Rashid would have to speak with Hassim. He was telling Dorothy far more
than what he would have liked her to hear from someone other than himself.
"His father died when he was nineteen and he would have taken over the
family's business on XJ497, that's in the L2 cluster, by the way, but OZ for some
mysterious reason closed down the business and froze the family's assets. Some
nebulously worded silliness about loyalty to the United Earth Sphere Alliance, but it
was all a lie, I tell you. We were all loyal, Rashid's family just as much as anyone on
Earth."
"I don't doubt that," Dorothy reply softly. He could hear the guilt tinge her
words.
Do not feel guilty for me, Lady. Not for me. It was not an eleven-year-old
girl's fault for what happened to my family.
Again, Rashid moved to knock on the door and a third time he was stopped by
the sound of Dorothy's voice.
"What is he like, Hassim? What do you think of him?" Her voice sounded
almost wistful.
"He is like a father to many of us, Lady, including Master Quatre."
"I suppose he thinks of himself as a father figure to me also. Odd, I didn't ask
him to be one," she replied. Rashid could hear Hassim laugh.
"What's so funny, Hassim?" Dorothy asked irritatedly.
"I think he would not like to hear you say that, Lady. He thinks you are very
beautiful. I think he is right, that you are a very beautiful woman. It would bruise any
man's ego to know that you think of them only like a brother or father."
Dorothy laughed at that.
"Hassim, has anyone ever told you what a flirt you are?"
All right, Rashid thought, that is QUITE enough. And I am going to tell him
what a flirt he is among other things when I get a hold of him.
Hassim's protest of "but it's the truth" was all but drown out by Rashid's
pounding on the workshop door.
"Come in. It's open," Dorothy yelled out. Rashid entered the workshop.
"Speak of the devil," Dorothy murmured over her shoulder as Rashid walked
in. He could feel the heat run across the tips of his ears at hearing her comment, but
she had already turned her attention back to the glass in the oven. She twirled the glass
at the end of the steel rod about delicately. Her assistant, a woman named Fatima,
stood at next to her twirling her another rod. Wisps of hair floated above Dorothy's
forehead and cheeks, but her long hair was pulled back into a tight braid. She wore
overalls with a sleeveless shirt while Fatima worn clothes that reflected her Muslim
upbringing. Hassim stood busily over a table, arranging things that the women would
need as the molten glass was pulled out of the over.
"I need to speak you alone," Rashid said to Dorothy. She looked back over
her shoulder at him with a smirk.
"Now would not exactly be the best time, Rashid," she said laughingly. "Why
don't you sit down by the window over there if you like and we can talk when I am
done."
Rashid nodded his agreement and sat down in the chair by the window.
Dorothy pulled the glass she had been working on out of the oven, carefully avoiding
Fatima. The glass piece that she took out looked like a gigantic poppy, a deep golden
orange with frilled edges. She took the rod over to the benches and rolled the rod back
and forth along the wood so that the glass would not lose its shape. Hassim placed a
dipper of water and something that looked like pliers down near the flower of glass.
Fatima then pulled her rod from the oven. The piece of glass she was working on
looked like a long narrow cone. It was the same bright orange color. She took the rod
of glass and pressed it into the center of flowered glass Dorothy twirled. After a
moment or two, Fatima balanced the rod across another bench. Quickly, she stuffed
her hands into mitts that Hassim held out for her. Still twirling the glass, Fatima
choked upward on the bar until she stood near the tools Hassim held out for her.
Hassim handed her the pliers and she pinched in the glass about a quarter of the way up
the glass rod. She passed that back to Hassim and gingerly took the dipper of water he
held out. Lightly, she dripped water onto the narrow section of glass. The glass
sizzled. After a minute or so, the glass had sufficiently cooled enough that Hassim
handed her the pliers again. She worked the pliers intermittently with the water. After
another few minutes, Fatima lightly jerked the metal rod she had and a plink! sound
filed the workshop. Fatima quickly motioned to Hassim to grab the end of the rod. She
then moved over to Dorothy's end and began to help her twirl her rod.
"One. Two. Three," Dorothy counted off. Both women picked up the rod
and moved back to the oven.
"Do you have it?" Fatima asked. Dorothy nodded. The woman moved away
from the rod. Rashid watched as Dorothy braced her stance and the muscles in her
arms tremble as she held onto the glass. After a moment or so, her muscles held firm
and her stance was comfortable. He watched her as she twirled the glass as the minutes
went by. He was beginning to understand where part of her stamina came from.
After about ten minutes, she pulled the glass out of the fire again and rolled
the rod across the bench. Fatima quickly took over the twirling and Dorothy then went
to the end of the glass rod. Hassim handed her a couple of wooden paddles. She used
the wide one to create a long swirl around the tube. She then handed it back to Hassim.
With the narrow one, she opened up the mouth of the tube until it looked like one long
flute. They returned the glass back to the furnace for one last time and then they
separated the rod from the bottom of what Rashid now recognized as a large bowl with
a fluted vase in the center. The two women quickly placed into the annealing oven and
shut the door.
Dorothy sighed and stretched. She looked over at Rashid. He must have had
a look of surprise or awe or both, because Dorothy gave him a weary grin.
"Now we can talk," she replied. She turned to the others and said, "I'll be
back in a bit to help clean up."
Dorothy walked out the now open door and clasped her hands behind her back
as she walked. He fell into step next to her.
"I take it you've never seen someone work with hot glass before?" she asked
quietly.
"No," he replied, then added, "I never realized it was so labor intensive.
Aren't you ever afraid you might overwork yourself?"
Dorothy laughed. It was a sharp, clean laugh.
"I would have to consider it work first in order for me to consider that I
overwork myself, wouldn't I?" Rashid looked down into her eyes. They sparkled with
laughter. She was happy, truly happy. Probably for the first time since she came her,
perhaps even longer, he thought. He smiled back at her.
"Yes, one would have to consider something work in order to think that they
were overworked."
"So what did you want to talk about?" she asked.
"I came to inform you that Master Quatre would like to take you out for the
evening to Riyadh."
"Oh," she said. He could hear the disappointment in her voice.
Interesting, thought Rashid. I thought she would practically be climbing the
walls to get out of here. She seems less than happy about hearing the message. Or
perhaps she was hoping for something other than a message?
He looked sidelong at her. She seemed to be studying her feet as they walked.
It wasn't like her usual confidence. It was almost as if she was, well, shy. With him.
Rashid turned his face away from her to keep her from seeing him smile.
Then he thought of the other reason why he wanted to talk to her. The smile melted
away. He turned toward her. She looked up at him quizzically.
"I wanted to apologize for my behavior at the pool and for the duel." There.
He said it.
Dorothy stopped walking and said nothing. She continued to look at her shoes
for several minutes, but now her shoulders were squared back, not slumped. She was
lost in thought, Rashid realized.
After several minutes, she looked up at him and said, "I don't understand why
you would apologize for the duel. You beat me fair and square."
"It was wrong on me to press you in the manner that I did. It was stepping
over the lines and I'm sorry."
"Hn.," Dorothy replied at that, then added, "You're the first person that has
ever apologized to me for something like that."
"Surely Master Quatre has apologized for such things, like leaving you just
after you were married to take that trip."
"Quatre," Dorothy mused. "Well, there are certain lines that exist between
Quatre and myself that he has never crossed. As for other things."
She shrugged.
"Lines need to exist in order for them to be crossed," she whispered. Rashid
wondered for some time afterward what she had meant in that cryptic statement. She
had a far away look in her eyes.
Suddenly, she looked up at him and held out her hand. He looked down at her
hand slightly perplexed.
"Truce?" she asked with a small smile.
Rashid smiled as he took her hand and shook it.
"Truce," he said.
Rashid had just come inside to tell Quatre that the helicopter had arrived.
Dorothy stood at the top of the stairway and Quatre at the base.
Dorothy's hair was swept into a loose chignon. Her diamond necklace and
earrings twinkled in the light. The strapless dress she wore made Rashid think she just
walked out of film noir movie. The dress was black in color, flecked with silver.
Black satin ruffles started from her hip and traveled down the side of her dress. A slit
ran behind the ruffles from her ankle to her knee.
Rashid had to press his lips tightly together to keep for gaping. Dorothy let
out a small laugh as she walked down the stairs, her hand gliding an inch above the
balustrade.
"Now, there's a pretty lady," Quatre said to her as he clasped her hand as she
reached the bottom of the steps.
PRETTY?! Rashid almost burst out, but bit his tongue. She was beautiful.
Exquisite. How on Earth could Quatre dismiss her as pretty?
Dorothy smiled softly at Quatre and said, "Thank you, Quatre."
She turned around so that Quatre could place her wrap over her shoulders.
Rashid could see her bare shoulder blades and the dress plunged downward into a vee
at the middle of her back. Rashid fisted his hand. The desire to reach out and run the
back of his hand along that bare section of back was almost overwhelming.
She turned back to them as she adjusted the wrap.
"Good evening, Rashid," she said with a smile.
"Lady," he breathed out. Dorothy's eyes sparkled. On impulse, she reached
out and clasped his hand for a moment, then let go, stepping back and tucking her arm
through Quatre's. Quatre smiled at her.
"Well, it seems like you two are getting along better."
"Yes," Dorothy and Rashid said at once. Dorothy giggled. Laughter from her
always seemed surprising to Rashid and beautiful. He wished that she would laugh
more often. They held one another's eyes for a moment.
"Well, then, that's great," Quatre said. Rashid and Dorothy were still looking
at one another. Rashid could see Dorothy's cheeks get more and more rosy as the
moments passed. Quatre cleared his throat and they broke their gaze. Rashid
immediately focused his attention on Quatre, expecting anger for staring at his wife.
But he did not see anger on the young man's face, only confusion on what just
happened.
"We'll see you later then, Rashid," Quatre replied.
"Yes, Master Quatre," Rashid replied. He walked them out and watched as
Quatre helped Dorothy into the helicopter, then retreated back into the house as the
chopper disappeared from sight.
As he walked along the corridors, he recalled Quatre calling Dorothy pretty.
Not lovely. Not exquisite. Not beautiful. Just pretty.
He recalled a time where he accompanied Quatre to a circus performance put
on by Quatre's good friend, Trowa, and Trowa's circus troupe.
Trowa came out with his partner, a girl named Catherine, if he recalled
correctly. They performed some rather difficult juggling maneuvers with knives.
"Beautiful, so beautiful," Quatre murmured. Rashid looked at the boy. He
was enraptured by the performance. Rashid had found the act well performed, but
nothing to illicit the awe that the Master expressed. It was almost as if Quatre was in
love with what he was seeing. He had looked down at the two performers. Ah,
perhaps it had been the young Catherine that caught his eye. She was an attractive girl.
When he tried to tease Quatre about it later, Quatre laughed.
"Catherine? No, I could never see Catherine like that - she's like a sister to
me." Rashid had frowned in confusion, which made Quatre laugh harder.
"Don't worry about me, Rashid. When I give my heart away, I know it will
be soul mate."
Rashid stopped in the middle of the hallway. Wasn't Dorothy his soul mate?
He married her, didn't he? He said that when he gave his heart away, it would be to his
soul mate? Wouldn't that be Dorothy?
Quatre's casual reference to Dorothy as pretty danced circles around his
dreamy whisper of beautiful in Rashid's mind.
Who was Quatre's soul mate? If not, Dorothy, then who?
Puzzled, Rashid walked to his office to look at papers that had been awaiting
his attention.
At half past eleven, Rashid got up from his desk. He decided it was time to
take a break after he had read the same paragraph in the dry proposal he held for the
third time. He knew that the request by Graham Electric for underwriting could wait
until after he stretched his legs.
He walked around the mansion to the north side and saw the lights from the
workshop were on. Curious, he strode down the path and knocked lightly on the door.
Fatima opened the door. She was as surprised to see him as he was to see her.
"Hello, Master Rashid, what brings you around here at this time of night?"
"I needed a break from my work. What are you doing here at this time of
night?" he asked.
"Same as you. Working. I suppose now would be as good as time as any for
me to take a break also. Come in. Sit down for a while."
Rashid looked about the workshop as he walked in. Several pieces of
glasswork were encased in what looked like plastic. On the table lay several glass
pansies on a tray and next to it was a heated tank of clear liquid goo.
"What is all this?" he asked, gesturing to the tank and the several blocks.
Fatima looked around.
"Oh, this is our packing. It's a silicon carbon alloy that was developed in zero
g on L1. The molecules are uniformly aligned. It can be kept in a liquid state at about
100 degrees Celsius or higher. However, once it gets to room temperature, watch," she
said as she grabbed a small mallet and a block of the stuff that encased a small perfume
bottle.
WHACK!
The table jumped as she pounded on the alloy. She picked up the small block
and handed it to him.
"See," she said, "Not a scratch on it. And the glass is not harmed."
"Impressive," Rashid replied. He studied the perfume bottle. He could see
the delicate form of a mermaid carved in 3-D relief from the inside of the bottle.
"She creates exquisite work. Very detailed."
Fatima looked at the mermaid design and smiled.
"That's a trade secret she hasn't even shown me yet. I suspect it involves
laser work and chemicals I'm not familiar with. I saw her working on part of it. It was
almost as if she was chipping away at wood, it came off so easily.
"She burned her wrist really bad when she doing it a couple of weeks ago.
She was back in the workshop the next day all bandaged up from her forearm to her
hand. She must have been in immense pain."
The same bandage that she worn in duel, Rashid thought. He didn't know
whether to kick himself or pull her over his knee and give her a good spanking for
fighting him with her wrist like that.
"How dangerous are these chemicals that she works with?" he asked. He was
disturbed by Fatima's sudden worried expression.
"All the chemicals that we work with are potentially dangerous. And Miss
Catalonia follows the precautions meticulously. But," Fatima's voice wavered off.
"You're afraid for her, aren't you? It's all right, Fatima. You are her
apprentice. You spend so much time with her, it would be natural for you to consider
her your friend. And you are afraid for your friend. Why?"
"When she was carving the mermaid, she was not paying attention, not really.
She was so distant when she was carving it. Then she took the tool out that she was
carving with and grazed her wrist with it. Fortunately for her, it was a very small
amount of chemical and we had some baking soda. There will still be a scar. But if
she had put more on or we didn't have the soda or.," Fatima paused, then continued,
"Or if I wasn't there to help immediately, she probably would have lost her hand below
the wrist."
"So you saw her do it deliberately."
"Yes," Fatima said and looked at her hands.
"How long has she been trying to hurt herself?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Fatima replied, "I'm guessing a few months at least. Master
Quatre hired me while Miss Catalonia still had a residence on a little colony in L2.
Before the accident here, the most destructive thing I've noticed was when she
destroyed all the glasswork in her old studio. I believe it was the day that Master
Quatre said she was going to have to stay with him. I walked in on her while she was
smashing this bowl to bits. She didn't see me and I didn't know how she would react if
she did. I have never seen her so angry. The only time I have ever seen someone that
angry was when my mother hit my father in the head with a skillet after striking me to
the ground in an unfounded rage. Miss Catalonia had that anger, but at the time, she
only had the glass. I did not want to be another target. The glass could be replaced, so
I left as quickly as possible. I didn't realize until after the accident here that leaving
that day had been a stupid thing to do. I had only turned my back on her for a moment
the day of the accident. When I turned back, the tool was already sliding across her
wrist. From the look on her face, you would have never known she had done that. She
was gone, millions of miles away from her work.
"Now, I try to watch her more carefully, but it's hard. Sometimes, she
squawks at me, saying 'You are not my mother, Fatima'". Fatima raised up her hands
in a sign of resignation.
"Please," Rashid said, "I want you to continue to watch her. I will tell Hassim
to watch after her also."
"It was a good thing you sent Hassim to assist her. Though, the first day,"
Fatima said, shaking her head, "I really thought she was going to gut him. But thanks
to Allah, that boy could charm a scorpion itself into not biting him. He flirts with her
and teases her. He makes her dream of a childhood she did not have. And he saved
you from being gutted the next time she saw you. When she vehemently attempted to
tear you down, he would quietly and subtly defend you. He really looks up to you, you
know."
"No, I did not," he said quietly. He would have to pull Hassim aside some
time and thank him.
Fatima seemed to read his thoughts. She was about to say something when
they heard the chopper blades make a thumping sound as it reverberated off the
buildings.
"Ah, they're home," Fatima replied. "You don't mind if I accompany you to
the landing pad, do you? If she's still awake, I'd like to tell Miss Catalonia that most
of the packing is done. If we keep this up, we should be able to leave for Amsterdam
in a few days."
Rashid turned away from the so that she would not see him frown. It seemed
like he was just beginning to know Dorothy and she was going to leave already. It
maybe several weeks or even a few months before he would see her again.
The chopper's blades whirled around lazily by the time they reached the pad.
The pilot was opening the back door as Rashid walked up. He saw Dorothy's sleeping
form slumped across the back seat. Quatre was noticeably missing.
"Where's Master Quatre?" he asked the pilot abruptly.
"He said that there was some urgent business to discuss with a Mr. Trowa
Barton regarding the Lady. He said you would understand," the pilot replied. He
moved to wake Dorothy. Rashid stopped him.
"I don't think that would be a good idea. Fatima and I will take her to her
room. Thank you."
The pilot nodded. He climbed back into the chopper and started it up again.
Rashid picked up Dorothy's sleeping form and was a little startled when she turned in
his arms and clung to him. He looked back at Fatima, who eyed him suspiciously. He
shrugged innocently, then ducked his head down as they scurried off the pad.
"She probably thinks she's clinging to Master Quatre," Fatima replied.
"Rashid," Dorothy murmured in her sleep. It was the first time in years that
Rashid's face turned red. Fatima gave him a look of 'I don't want to know'.
"Or not," she replied. There was almost a hint of a chuckle in her voice.
Rashid walked along the corridor as Fatima readied Dorothy for bed. He
turned as the door creaked open and watched as Fatima quietly closed the door behind
her. She looked a bit worried.
"She's asking for you," she said, then added, "Be careful Rashid, she is a
married woman. The law is very unforgiving about a man coveting another man's
wife."
"I will keep that foremost in my mind, Fatima," he replied as he past her and
opened the door to the bedroom.
Dorothy was curled up in the bed. Her sleepy eyes followed him as he walked
across the room.
"You asked for me, Lady?"
"I was wondering if you could stay here with me. Just sit down here with me.
Just for a little while. Until I go to sleep," she whispered.
"Lady, I do not think that is wise," Rashid replied.
"Please." It was not her normal voice. It sounded much more like a child's
plea. Rashid's resolve melted.
"All right, but just for a while."
"Thank you," she replied softly.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time watching her.
Where was Quatre? Why wasn't he here to fulfill Dorothy's wishes? Wasn't
she his wife? Who was his soul mate if not his wife? He mused for the second time
that day.
Rashid jumped a bit when Dorothy replied, "I'm not a circus performer." He
did not realize he had been musing aloud. He looked at Dorothy. She rolled over to
one side, tucking her hands beneath her head. She was fast asleep.
He got up and kissed her forehead. When he pulled back, he could see that
she was smiling in her sleep.
Rashid knocked on her door at about nine the next morning. She was up and
dressed.
"Good morning, Rashid," she said with a soft smile.
"Good morning, Lady," Rashid replied.
She frowned.
"Rashid, can I ask you to do something?" she asked hesitantly. A little kick of
fear went through him. She was going to send him away.
"Yes, Lady," he replied.
"Could you just call me Dorothy?" she asked.
Rashid quietly let out the breath he was holding.
"Certainly, La - Dorothy," he replied.
"Wonderful." Again, she smiled timidly at him. "Was there something you
wanted from me?"
"Yes, Dorothy, I was wondering if you would like to join me for a morning
walk."
"I would be delighted," she replied. He could smell the orange blossoms of
her perfume as she moved past him.
They walked around the house several times. He asked her about her work,
about the chemicals she used.
By the time they completed their sixth circuit around the house, she looked
down at her watch. She let out a small 'eep' of surprise.
"I was supposed to be down at the workshop twenty minutes ago. Fatima is
going to start looking for me. I have to go. I'm sorry."
"Same time tomorrow?" Rashid asked suddenly.
She gave him a radiant smile.
"I would like that very much," she replied as she hurried down the path to the
workshop.
As the week went on, he learned about the uncle who first introduced her to
glasswork. He wintered in Venice and kept a studio there. Dorothy visited him as
often as she could until a couple of after her father died. Then the uncle said it would
be best to stay with her grandfather during the winter breaks.
"Mother put him up to that, I know it." She spit out the word Mother as if it
was a curse.
She talked about her cousin, Treize, also. About how much she respected and
missed him. The man had been something of a substitute big brother for her.
"I remember the times we would go riding in the foothills near Jungfrau. My
father had purchased a little cottage that he had always planned on presenting for me as
my quincenera present. My mother was going to raze it, but I fought her on it.
Suddenly, she stopped fighting me, just put up her hands and said 'Fine, you can have
it. Go to it if you like. That way I won't have to see you. You are too much like your
father, girl, reckless and arrogant.' I blurted out "At least I'm not like you, calculating
and cold.'"
"What did your mother do?" Rashid asked.
"She slapped me hard. I remember hearing the room echo the sound of her
hand across my cheek. She refused to see me for the next three years. She only saw
me after Grandfather ordered her."
Dorothy hung her head down as if she was ashamed to admit something.
"I missed her terribly during those three years," she whispered.
Rashid reached over and gently brushed a strand of her hair back. His hand
moved and cupped her cheek. Her face leaned into his palm for an instance. He could
see the tears glitter in her eyes.
"It was a very natural thing for you to miss her despite the way she treated
you," he whispered.
She stepped closer to him. They were now only inches apart. They stared at
one another for some time. It would be so easy to step over the edge with her. So very
easy.
Dorothy was the one who stepped away first. He could feel her pull back
behind her barriers as she stepped back.
"Yes, well," she said with a sniffle, then quickly changing the subject, "You
should see Wengen. It's such a beautiful village. In the summertime, I used to sit
outside in the late evening and watch the sun set behind the Alps."
He listened to her talk, but he was a little afraid he had pushed too far. It was
an intimate thing for her to reveal. Something she would only tell a close friend or
love about.
Rashid shifted uneasily at that.
Lover. What if she thought of him as a lover? While part of him abhorred the
thought because it involved breaking practically every Islamic law, another part
welcomed the idea. Almost shouted in joy of it.
It suddenly felt like someone had taken a very cold knife and slid it across his
gut. At this point, he was much more afraid of how he would react if she said she
loved him that her actually saying the words.
Quatre, why isn't she telling you this? Are you listening to her, Quatre? He
thought. She needs you, Quatre, and you're not here. She's going to slip away from
you before you've even known what you've lost. She's doing it already.
"I'm sorry," he said abruptly, cutting off her description of the ancient trolley
that traveled up to Wengen. "There are some very important papers that I've forgotten
about. Please excuse me."
He turned away from her hurt expression. He couldn't look at her for too long
or he'd turn back and wrap her into a fierce embrace.
"Goodbye," she said. The word chased after him like he was a disobedient
animal, down the path, into the mansion.
He did not arrive for their morning walk the next day or the day after that.
The third day, Dorothy arrived at his office.
"Come in," he said, not looking up from his papers.
"I thought you would have come out to walk with me the last day I was here.
Are you all right, Rashid?" she asked.
Rashid shook off his startled expression at her presence. He knew she knew
where everything was in the mansion at this point. He was just surprised that she
would actually come to his office. She sought him out. He also suspected why she
sought him out. She wanted to be with him. She had grown as attached to him as he
had to her.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
Rashid moved the papers around on his desk and said, "I'm sorry. I simply
don't have the time today."
He could see the hurt look on her face. She seemed to change a bit before
him. She squared back her shoulders. Her face became a mask.
Ah, he thought, so you are squaring off for another duel, love. This time with
words and not swords. So much for our truce. I would have liked to have been your
friend if I did not want to be your lover as well.
"Just when I think I've come to some kind of small peace with you, you force
me away. Why? No, I know why. It's because you're afraid to be with me. It scares
you, doesn't it, to think that I am something other than the OZ bitch everyone has
claimed me to be. That I might actually be able to laugh at something other that
another's misfortune. That I have a need for friends just as much as anyone else. I
showed you a part of myself that I have shown so few people, Rashid. Because I was
stupid. I thought you would understand. You seemed to understand and CARE. But
you never did, did you? I was nothing but an obligation."
He was both furious and ashamed. He was more than tempted to grab her and
give her a long and through kiss to make her forget she ever thought he saw as an
obligation.
Instead, he said, "I have many obligations. I never considered you one."
"Then why won't you come for a walk with me? It's my last day. I would
like to walk the grounds one more time with someone who I thought was a friend. To
be able to say goodbye to him."
"I'm afraid that that is my fault, Lady. You are the Lady of the house and I
am a servant. I overstepped my bounds with you.
Dorothy turned her back to him and hugged her arms to herself for a moment.
She swayed lightly.
"Horseshit."
"Pardon?"
Dorothy turned around and looked him in the eyes.
"I said horseshit," she replied. "I don't know what you are up to Rashid, but
you aren't going to get off the hook this easily."
She walked out of his office.
Rashid sat back in the chair. For a brief moment, he allowed joy and relief to
fill him.
She did not give up. She refused to be pushed away.
He wanted to get up and go to her. To take her to her room and not let her out
again for days.
She did not give up. She refused to be pushed away.
Reality set in. Perhaps it would be best that she was leaving. He could avoid
her in the future. He was afraid of her returning his feelings. The punishment for
adultery was beheading.
Rashid signed. He had a very bad feeling that avoiding her would be
impossible.
Quatre arrived back at the mansion later that afternoon with Trowa. They
nodded briefly to Rashid as they entered Quatre's office and shut the door behind them.
He was too busy to do more than wave in greeting. He was discussing Hassim's duties
in Amsterdam as others moved about in the hallway carrying the packed glassware and
glassmaking equipment.
About an hour or so later, Rashid was finally able to make his way to Quatre's
office. He noticed that something was different the minute he walked in the door.
Subtle, but perceptible.
"The Lady's glassworks has been packed and shipped. It will be ready to be
unpacked at her convenience when she arrives in Amsterdam."
"Thank you, Rashid," Quatre replied. Rashid watched as Quatre pursed his
lips together nervously.
What is he hiding? Rashid thought. He looked at Trowa, who casually leaned
over the desk studying some papers.
"So have you found the people who have wanted to harm the Lady?"
Trowa answered him by passing to him a few pictures from the folder that lay
in front of Trowa.
"Amal Dubeau, Hans Kroeker, and Paola Araujo," Trowa said as Rashid
shuffled through the photos.
"From what we were able to figure out, Dubeau no longer poses a threat. His
entire family was killed when OZ destroyed the base near his home and the subsequent
explosions carried over into the village, killing most of the people there. He swore
revenge on OZ figurehead he could get near. He had been following Dorothy for
several months before she came here."
"He had been following her, he's not following her now?" Rashid asked.
"Apparently his wife has grown tired of his desire for revenge. From what we
understand, she told him that he could either be with his living wife in the present or
the ghosts of his past, that it was his decision. Dubeau decided to stay with his wife."
I see, what about the other two?"
"Miss Araujo will no longer be harming anyone," Quatre said quietly. Trowa
looked over at Quatre. Rashid could see concern in the young man's eyes for Quatre.
And something else, something he had never noticed before. Rashid began to feel
uneasy, like he was intruding.
"She came to the party that night. She was going to kill Dorothy, herself, and
everyone else there. Trowa took Dorothy out on the dance floor for a few minutes
while I escorted Miss Araujo outside after we confiscated her detonator. It was quick
for her; I tried to keep it as painless as possible." Quatre's voice had grown so soft it
was barely an audible whisper. He clasped his hands together, rubbing them over and
over.
You always did detest killing, Master Quatre, Rashid thought as he watched
him. Rashid knew that he himself was not a cold blooded killer, but he would have had
no regrets killing a woman who was planning on killing so many innocent people just
to have her revenge. Quatre was different. He would always strive to see the good in
people. Just like he did with Dorothy. Shame scratched at Rashid's insides when he
thought of Dorothy and what he had said to Quatre before she arrived. She was not a
scorpion. He had been hardheaded and judgmental instead.
"And Hans Kroeker?" Rashid asked, turning his eyes from Quatre to Trowa.
The emotion that Trowa had been displaying was quickly shuttered behind a mask.
That look was not meant for me to see, mused Rashid.
"He's the one that made me decide that Dorothy should come her," Quatre
said as he raised his hands to his temples. Trowa moved around and placed a hand on
the chair that Quatre sat in. Quatre seemed to relax a bit. Rashid definitely felt uneasy.
"We haven't been able to find him. After his attack on Dorothy, he just
disappeared into thin air. You would think that one who had boasted so much about
how he was going to kill her, he would have been easier to find. But we haven't been
able to find any trace of him. Is it possible for you to get her extra protection while she
is in Amsterdam, Rashid?"
"Yes, Master Quatre, Hassim is already going to go with her. I can arrange to
have his older brother, Jalal, to go with him. There is an old friend of mine who
resides in Amsterdam who I can ask to keep an eye on her."
"Thank you, Rashid," Quatre said with a sigh. The young man did seem to be
exhausted.
"If there is nothing else," Rashid said as he got up from the chair. Quatre
shook his head. Rashid got up and moved to the door. He turned back to look at him
as he left and realized that Trowa and Quatre staring at one another. It was the same
way Dorothy had looked at him when he caressed her cheek. Rashid quickly shut the
door behind him.
'I'm not a circus performer.' Dorothy had murmured in her sleep.
Trowa. Trowa was the one Quatre loved. Quatre's soulmate. Why didn't
Quatre tell him? Why had he been so blind?
Rashid stopped in the middle of the hallway.
Which also meant that he brought Dorothy here simply to protect her. He was
not in love with her. Which meant.
Which meant nothing. He quashed his hope ruthlessly. Even though,
Dorothy and Quatre were not in love, they were obviously good friends. And it also
did not mean that Dorothy might have any feelings for him. She might have just felt
incredibly lonely and sad when he reached out to her, nothing else. Loneliness was not
necessarily a precursor to love. In the office earlier that day, she had merely referred to
him as a friend, nothing more. Besides, she was still Quatre's wife and he could still
get beheaded for becoming involved with her. Despite everything, there was still that
possibility.
Anger towards himself and the circumstances filled him. He went about the
remainder of the day irritably snapping orders.
Light filtered through the windows as Rashid rolled over in the bed. He
opened his eyes. Something small sat on his night table. Rashid sat up and tried to
focus his eyes. A small clear block with posy of tiny white flowers in it. There was a
note tucked underneath the box. It was written in a clear, feminine script.
'I don't know if you have ever seen edelweiss before. I never had the chance
to tell you how much I enjoyed our walks. If I get back from Amsterdam, I would very
much like taking walks with you again, but only if you are interested. If not, only tell
me that your work will be neglected and I won't bother you my inane chattering
anymore. I hope we can be friends. The glass is my gift to you. A thank you for
listening to me. Your friend, Dorothy.
Rashid read through the note once more.
If she came back from Amsterdam? If? Perhaps it was just a mistake in her
writing, that she really meant when. He remembered only a few things about his early
schooling, but he did remember a psychology class where one theory out of the many
taught that got stuck in his mind. There are no mistakes. Everyone did or said
something for a purpose, whether consciously or unconsciously.
Rashid tried to dismiss it. Jalal, Hassim, and Fatima would be with her. So
would his friend, Kurt Deter. She would be all right. He repeated it to himself over
and over again.
He had nearly convinced himself of this by the time he got a call from Kurt
about a week later.
"Rashid," Kurt greeted him late one evening. "I have some bad news."
Dorothy's mother, the Lady Catalonia, had arrived for an expected visit while
Dorothy was in Amsterdam. They had a tremendous row. The Lady had some rather
brutal things to her and Dorothy had flown into a rage. Fatima screamed at her that she
was going to strike her own mother and that had stopped the young woman in her
tracks. She told them all to get out. Fatima took Hassim with her down to the lobby
for about a half an hour. By the time they went back upstairs thinking she had cooled
off, she was long gone.
Rashid slammed down the receiver. He started at the edelweiss in the clear
packaging block. He picked up the phone again and called Abdul, who was in Riyadh
with Quatre and Trowa.
"Little late for a social call, don't you think, Rashid?" Abdul said sleepily.
Normally, he would chuckle at Abdul's sarcasm. But he didn't have time for that right
now. He had already pulled his suitcase out from its storage space under his bed.
"The Lady Dorothy has disappeared but I think I know where she might be
heading. Tell Master Quatre to meet me at Steigenberger Bellerive au Lac in Zurich
tomorrow. Miss Dorothy has a summer cottage in the Swiss Alps. I believe she may
have gone there. We'll talk then, my friend." Rashid hung up before Abdul could say
anything.
He busily shoved clothing into his suitcase.
The words 'If I come back from Amsterdam' kept repeating in his mind.
Hi Everyone. I hope you like things so far. Sorry this chapter is so long. If you see
room for improvement, constructive criticism is always welcome. I sometimes have a
habit of think of a human actor playing the role of an anime character, that the
character is not an animation, but a real person. I have done that with Rashid. A few
months back, I saw the movie "X-men". When I saw Rashid in Endless Waltz, I
thought "Boy, he looks a lot like Wolverine from the X-men", which immediately
made me think of Hugh Jackman, the actor, in his Wolverine make-up, and then
thought of Hugh Jackman as Rashid. I had also read NemKess "Where have all the
Cowboys Gone?" by the time also. And that's how the story began. I hope to have the
next chapter out a little sooner than this one was, but that one will also be dependant on
the length of it. Please review also, reviews help me write the stories faster. ?