by Lady Aishiteru
Chapter 4
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, but whoever does is really lucky. Please do not sue me. I am a college student, therefore I am poor.
It was cold. The kind of cold that would chill the bones. The cold went past Quatre's spacesuit and sank into his very being.
The frigid temperature also matched how Quatre was feeling; near completely devoid of any emotion. He felt no compassion, no sympathy, not for the citizens of that particular colony. Soon, he would destroy it, and when he did, he knew that he would feel no remorse. He was the avenging angel, the siren of death. Outer space had spun out of control when it had swallowed up his father, and when something gets out of control, it gets punished.
Quatre entered the colony and briefly surveyed it from the cockpit of his gundam. He took in the Ferris wheel and the people down below, which looked to him like ants who were about to be stepped on. 'These people don't need a carnival,' he mused. 'What they need is a war!'
From that point on, he didn't hesitate. He raised his beam cannon, aimed, and fired, penetrating the colony as if he was cutting butter with a knife.
He saw a shimmering mist gather in front of his line of vision. 'These sparkles,' he thought. 'They're my tears.' But the tears were the result of a mere reflex; he didn't feel the least bit sad. His emotions had frozen over in the deep recesses of outer space. Now he felt nothing, nothing as the huge chunks of fire and molten metal sailed past his gundam. Nothing at all.
Quatre awoke with a start, bathed in a pool of sweat. He didn't like to remember those times, but these days, especially after Trowa's death, the war haunted his dreams, and often, his waking thoughts.
Maybe it was due to what he had almost done to his best friend all those years ago, he mused, pulling on a shirt. It was shortly after his father was murdered by the ignorant colonists, who believed that OZ would liberate their colony from the perceived tyranny of the Winner family.
"Because I know what it's like to be at the end of your rope, Catherine. I know what it's like to feel like you have blood on your hands."
He remembered telling Catherine that at the hospital, and for him, it was true. To that day, nobody really knew if Quatre's nervous breakdown was due to his father's death, the accumulation of guilt for betraying his father's ideals, the influence of the Zero system, or the buildup of the horrors of the war on his tender psyche that had not yet been hardened by life on the battlefield.
He had been instrumental in winning the war, and it was him that had saved the Gundams from incineration in the wake of the Mariemeia crisis. Even so, he felt he could never truly atone for the destruction of X-19, or for his part in Trowa's near-death that day.
He had gone to see Catherine every day at the hospital, to the point of becoming her shadow. He brought her breakfast each morning and stayed with her until visiting hours were over. When it was time for her to go home, he had even helped her pack.
Quatre wondered if she was okay. He still saw her every morning, because he still brought her breakfast. She laughed and smiled when he was around, but sometimes, when she thought he wasn't listening, he would hear her crying. When she knew he heard her, she would say that there was something in her eye. But Quatre knew the truth; although she tried to hide it, her sadness was still written on her face. He suspected that she still carried around a lot of guilt from the accident. 'Trowa's not the only one in the family to wear a mask,' thought Quatre.
Ms. Anita Blake, his secretary, merely nodded when he came in that day; she knew better than to question her superior. He had never blown up at her before, but she knew about the recent events in his life; everyone did. It was the latest gossip around the water coolers all around the company. Everyone was saying that Quatre was in love with a woman, a former knife thrower at that.
Anita didn't guess Quatre would go for the aggressive type of woman; she had always figured he would go for the quiet, demure type. But if this Catherine woman was everything that people said she was, then she was just what Quatre needed, she reflected.
She wasn't one to blindly accept every rumor as it buzzed around, but she did note that Quatre seemed distracted. She observed him out of the corner of her eye as she carried on her normal routine in the corner of the office they shared, sighing occasionally for no apparent reason, as if there was something, or someone, on his mind. She also noticed him gazing at a new photograph on his desk of a beautiful brunette when he thought she wasn't looking. 'Maybe there is some truth to these rumors after all,' she mused. She mentally crossed her handsome boss off of her 'available men' list.
Catherine glared at the digits on her alarm clock and willed them to come into focus. She groggily noted that it was well past any respectable hour to be up, but ever since she had quit the circus, she didn't really have anything in particular to do.
She had went back to sleep when Quatre had left. She always felt a sudden sense of emptiness when he was gone, and she couldn't quite explain it. It was as if something inside of her uncurled from being tightly clenched, and she felt a little lighter. But the same old melancholy had crept back up on her again.
She missed him when he wasn't there. Something about his smile, his warm, easy manner comforted her, but sometimes she would break down and cry, for no apparent reason. She hoped that he didn't know how dejected she still was; the thought of her worrying Quatre made her sadness even deeper.
'I want to get better, but it's so hard,' thought Catherine, as she tidied up the bed that occupied a large portion of her cracker box apartment. Her meager savings paid for food and a roof over her head. It was nothing extravagant, but it was enough, and more importantly, it was hers, a declaration of her independence.
Deep down, Catherine knew that it was a farce; she was not nearly as independent as she wanted to be. She was starting to need him, Quatre, and that scared her more than anything. His kind face haunted her dreams, and sometimes she would wake up and blush at the memory of them. He was never far from her waking thoughts.
She wondered if she was some kind of charity case for him, especially after what he had said to her back at the hospital;
"...because I made someone a promise, that I would look after his sister if anything happens."
Was that all she was to him? An obligation to be fulfilled in honor of her departed brother? She huffed at that, but the doubt crept deeper into her mind, into the dark recesses where unpleasant sensations were buried and would rise again to taunt her later.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. She didn't have to think about who was at the door; she knew it was him. "Come in," she said.
"Hi, Cathy," said Quatre.
"What's behind your back?" asked Catherine, trying to peek.
Quatre laughed at the bundle of curiosity that was Catherine. 'I guess Heero is a romantic at heart. Who would have thought,' he mused, thinking back upon the advice session that had taken place that afternoon during his lunch break.
* Flashback *
Quatre rang the doorbell of the Peacecraft mansion. Moments later, Pargan answered the door. "Come in, they're in the drawing room."
"Thanks," he said, and he found Heero playing a lively Chopin piece on the piano to a captive audience of one, Relena.
He stopped in mid-note and looked up. "Quatre," he said, more of a statement than a question.
"What brings you here, Quatre?" asked Relena.
At this, Quatre dropped the charade and ran his fingers through his hair. "I need your advice on something."
Heero's eyes widened when he had heard what Quatre had to say, and Relena smiled. "I guess even the Perfect Soldier can be surprised every now and again."
"FORMER soldier," he corrected his wife lovingly. He turned to Quatre and said, "Here's what you need to do...."
* End of Flashback *
Quatre's smile got even bigger as he thrust his arm forward and saw Catherine's eyes widen.
"Flowers!" she exclaimed.
"I'll go get something to put them in," she bubbled enthusiastically. When she returned with the flowers in a vase, he was sitting on her couch, and she marveled at how his presence seemed to fill the room, making her tiny apartment seem even smaller.
"I have it on good authority that most women like roses, and I'm told that the color is symbolic."
"Symbolic?" asked Catherine, looking at the red roses. She had never been much of a poetic soul. "For what?"
He didn't say anything, and just when Catherine thought he had gone mute, he got up and encircled her waist with his arms. Her eyes widened when he finally spoke:
"Red is the color of passion, of love."
"L-love? But I thought you were being so nice to me because you promised Tro-"
She was unable to finish her sentence as his lips claimed her own. It was gentle at first, and she snaked her arms around his neck. He invited her to deepen the kiss, and the level of passion and desire he poured into it told her more than words would ever say. All too soon, he stepped back, but he still held her in his arms.
"I love you, Cathy. I've wanted to do that...ever since I saw you at the funeral."
She blushed at the sweetness of his admission.
"Do you believe in fate, Cathy?" he asked, his breathing still somewhat labored.
"Fate? Yes, I do, believe in fate. Why?"
"I think all things happen for a reason, Cathy. Trowa is gone, and I know you still feel guilty about it."
At that, she vehemently shook her head, but Quatre gently caught her jaw in the palm of his hand. "I do too," he admitted. "During the war, I snapped, and he tried to stop me from doing something awful. Unfortunately, it almost cost him his life."
"But you didn't kill him!"
"Neither did you," said Quatre. "It was an accident."
She nodded, and for the first time, she truly believed it. "I miss him so much," she admitted.
"I know," he said. "But at least in the midst of all this, I found you. I think Trowa would have wanted it this way."
She nodded. "He wouldn't want either of the people he loved most to be alone."
For a moment, they were silent, then Quatre broke the stillness of it. "Cathy?"
"Yeah?"
"What would you do if I kissed you again?"
She smiled. "Why don't we find out?" she asked coyly.
They did, the two souls echoing each others needs, filling the empty places inside, and deep down, both of them knew that this was forever, that they would never be alone again.
Lady A: I'm not sure at this point if I want to write an epilogue or not...I guess we'll all find out about that together. I hope you enjoyed reading this fic.