By West Wind
Rating: PG
Pairing: 4xC, 3xR
Disclaimer: I don't own the Gundam Wing characters.
I just want to thank Lev, kmf, Angel Tsuiraku, Moonlight Star, and Nanashi
for reviewing. Thanks I appreciate the comments, and I hope you enjoy
the rest of the story. I would have had this posted sooner, but my
weekend got busy.
My first day on the job, I follow Leah around and help her with the cleaning. We start upstairs with straitening up the used bedrooms, collecting towels, and cleaning. As we work, the short petit dark haired woman outlines the schedule various tasks are done on. Sheets are changed on Monday, laundry collected every other day, and other such items.
"Mrs. Gilbert wants you to start out with just the upstairs till you get the hang of it," Leah says in her slightly accented voice. "I'll take the downstairs and serving meals. Eventually, we will alternate duties. It helps break up the monotony even if it is the same task, it is a different location," she chatters.
Leah turns out to be one of the most talkative people I have met in a while. Each room or task brings a new topic to her, and she prattles on about it. I do find our time very informative and try to sort out the items that are obviously her personal bias on the subject.
She gives me the rundown on the family history, of how Master Quatre's father was killed.
"They say, Master Quatre disappeared for a time afterwards," she says. "He must have taken it pretty hard to go missing like that. It seems so unlike him. He is so dedicated to the business…"
Leah continues to provide me with details on the "wonderful man" that was our employer. Next to her life or Enoch, Mr. Winner seems to be her favorite subject of conversation.
"Oh, just wait till you meet him. He is in his early twenties, good-looking and single. One of the sweetest men you will ever meet. I am sure one of these days he will bring home a Mrs. Winner," she adds with a sigh.
"Are you in love with him?" I find myself asking as I think of my story about Pat and Nick.
"Love," she laughs. "No, not love. Definitely lust though. He does make for nice eye candy," she adds giving me a wink. "I have my sites set elsewhere," she informs me.
"Enoch," I say.
"That's the one, so keep you mitts off!" she ordered.
I assure her I have no interest in Enoch other than a friend.
I find myself settling into my new life quicker than I expected. The
cleaning keeps me active, I get free time in the afternoons, I help in
the kitchen in the evenings, and I have access to all the benefits the
estate has to offer. Lee and I have a running tennis mach between us, and
I use the weight room almost every morning. Life for me is looking up at
the moment, and I am happy.
"Catherine, would you please take over for me?" I hear Leah ask.
I look up from my task at her approach.
"I have tickets to go to a concert with my friends and I need to start getting ready, but Mr. Winner did not get home and start dinner till late. If I wait till he is finished, I will be late," she pleads her case.
"I'll do it," I agree knowing how important this was to her.
It was all she had talked about all week.
"I already gave him his food. All you have to do is to refill his glass periodically and see if he would like any more. He usually doesn't," she adds. "Thanks," she calls back as she dashed off.
Well, now I would get to meet my new employer. In the two months I have been working here, I have seen no more of him than a retreating figure, a blur of movement, as he dashes out the door on his way to attend to business. A lot of time he is not even home.
I have to admit I am slightly curious about him. Everyone has only the highest praise for and loyalty to the young man. I wonder what it is he does that pulls people to him and makes them feel so admit about him.
I pick up the pitcher to fill his glass with. Entering the room, I see him sitting with his back to me. He appears to be average build, if not on the petite side. He is poring over some document he has with him at the table, as he flips a page before retrieving his silverware to sample his meal with. I approach from his right side concentrating on the glass I am to fill. It was close to empty. I extend my hand and claim the glass. I start to refill it when I see movement of his golden head out of the corner of my eye.
"Thank you, Leah," he says in a smooth voice just as I saw his head move. "Catherine?" he questions surpassingly as he notices that I am not Leah.
At the sound of my name, I avert my gaze from my task at hand and focus on the astonished face of my employer. I am amazed that he knows me when we have never been introduced. I did not even know if he knew of my existence here. It all becomes clear to me when I look into his face. It's him, the one that came for Trowa, and the one who hurt Trowa so badly. I am shocked, frozen in place, my mind bulks at the irony of the situation.
"You…" I murmur.
Before I can say any more, the glass I am filling overflows, I drop the glass, and it lands in his lap soaking his pants with ice cold water. He reacts to the sudden temperature and moisture change by standing up suddenly. His quick movement jostles the pitcher I am carrying, loosening my grip on it. It teeters in my hand splashing water out making it harder to hold. I grab at it with my other hand and it only seems to get worse. Half the content has splashed out on me, and the pitcher is threatening to slip to the floor to spite me.
Two warm hands settle close to mine on the pitcher, steadying it. A soft laugh follows the nearly avoided disaster. I can see the glass I was filling on the floor with the wet carpet, and I can feel the crimson flush warming my face with my embarrassment. All of this occurred in a confusing and blurred few seconds
"Sorry," he cheerfully says.
I look into his blue eyes confused. I was the one who spilled the water on him to begin with.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
I stand there with mouth open trying to form some kind of response. My mind refuses to function in a smooth quick manner.
He patiently waits for my reply.
"I think so," I manage to squeak out.
His smile widens at my response.
"I'm sorry. I'll get it cleaned up," I say surprisingly while a part of me wishes I had something else to dump on him.
He seems to eye me carefully before he nodes his consent. I feel like squirming under his gaze, but force myself to stand tall. That is when I notice he has grown since the last time I saw him many years ago and is now slightly taller than I am. With his node, I force myself to calmly walk back into the kitchen when my body is saying run and hide.
Once in the kitchen, I lean on the wall next to the door and close my eyes. I mentally scream at the situation. I finally find a job, and it turns out to be him! I try to remember if I ever knew his name. I think back to that day he came looking for Trowa. He was a mixture of grief, relief and distraught when he saw Trowa. When I saw him, I lost it. How dare he come and try to take Trowa back to the life that brought him such pain that it caused him to loose his memory. He admitted that Trowa's condition was his fault and he was sorry. That is when I ordered him away from Trowa. I had promised to protect Trowa, and I was not going to let him hurt Trowa again.
That did not keep Trowa from going after the young blond. Maybe it was a good thing, for he did come back to me as promised with memory recovered. To this day, I am still not clear on what actually happened that made Trowa loose his memory. Trowa is so closed lipped about it.
"What happened to you?" asks Lee pulling me from my thoughts.
"I spilled water on myself and the floor," I explain as I move off to get supplies to clean up the mess.
Upon my return, Quatre and the papers he was looking at are no where to be seen. Relieve fills me. I did not know what I would say to him if he were here. I place one of the towels I brought with me on the floor and start blotting up the water from the carpet. My mind drifts back to my previous train of thought.
Trowa had returned, only to disappear again without a word around a year later. I know it had something to do with the Barton family trying to take over the world, but once again he came back to me.
Then the thought hit me that Trowa knew and he did not tell me. In fact, he had Quatre in his house while I was talking to him about it. He knew what he was doing, I realize as I think back to the conversation with him and the amused looks that crossed his face. The next time I talk to that boy, he is getting a chewing out I promise myself as I dab a bit more forcefully than necessary. There is a chuckle from behind me.
"Is the carpet being contrary to deserve such rough treatment or is something else bothering you?" came a voice where the earlier laugh had originated.
I look up and find Mr. Winner standing behind me in dry pants. I can not help but let my irritation show as I look at him.
"Let me help," he offers.
"It's my job. It's what I get paid for," I snap back defensively and almost immediately regret it.
His smiling face changes briefly. I catch glimpses of what I interpret to be sadness, regret or hurt and a thoughtful look before the slight smile returned.
"Trowa didn't warn either of us," he says as if he can read my mind and what is my most recent irritation.
A brief look of satisfaction and triumph crosses his face at his obvious correct assessment of the situation while I try to force my annoyance and irritation down and am unsuccessful at keeping it from showing by Mr. Winner's reaction. I finish my task, start gathering up the towels, and move to stand up. Unfortunately, I have not moved out from under the table far enough and smack my head on the edge. That only adds to my quickly downward spiraling evening.
I let out a brief ouch at the pain of the impact and move my hand to the back of my head as I roll into an upright kneeling position and sink till my rear rests on my heels.
"Are you alright?" Mr. Winner asks.
His words are heavy laden with concern almost to the extent of being melodramatic.
"I'm find," I reply with an exasperated sigh before removing my hand.
As I bring my hand down I notice the spots of crimson on its surface. I quickly try to hide them from my hovering employer by grabbing the wet towel. Suddenly my wrist is caught in a firm grip and my hand turned over.
"No, you're not," he emphatically states as he sees the spots of blood. "You're bleeding!"
"It's nothing I can't deal with," I tell him pushing him away.
It is then that I feel a small trickle of liquid make its way down my neck. He grabs his damp napkin from earlier and wipes away the blood before making me hold it to the back of my head.
"Let's take a look at that," he suggests in a voice that hints that he would not take no for an answer, and I did not feel like fighting with him at the moment.
With his help, I stand and he guides me to the hall bathroom.
"Stay there and keep pressure on that. I'll be back in a moment," he says before dashing off.
I sink onto the closed toilet and feel the headache start to form between my eyes. The pain slowly radiates out through my forehead. I close my eyes until I hear Mr. Winner return. He enters with a first aid kit in hand. He gently peals back the napkin to examine the wound, and I drop my hand to my lap to allow blood to flow to it once again. He has me hold the cloth to my head briefly while I hear him open the first aid kit he set on the back of the toilet and rummage around a bit before I catch a glimpse of what he got out. He opens the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and looks at me.
"This might sting a bit," he warns before exposing the wound again.
He mostly disappears behind me and has me tip my head down slightly. I feel the cool liquid being poured on my scalp. When the liquid contacts the blood, the stinging begins as they react and foam. I wince slightly at the expected sting of the disinfecting process. He replaces the now hydrogen peroxide soaked cloth.
"It's not deep," I hear him say from above me. "I thing this will seal it nicely until it heals."
I try to turn my head to see what he is referring to, but he keeps me from moving it with words and hands.
"What do you have?" I ask frustrated to not know what was going on.
"Liquid skin," he replies.
I know immediately what he is talking about. I used it often when I nicked myself with my knives. It was basically glue for skin. I sit still so he can work. He removes the cloth and parts my hair for access to the cut. I feel him place the thick emulsion on my skin and spread it over the laceration. Once the goo is distributed to his satisfaction, he blows gently on it to help it dry. Between his closeness and his breath on the back of my head and down my neck, it causes chills to run down my spine. I force myself to hold still. Ever since I was little, I have hated people talking or breathing very close to my neck. It causes every neuron in my spine to fire in undulating waved up and down my back causing the connecting muscles to spasm. It would always cause me to arch my shoulders up and cringe and shake as if I was chilled. As children Kevin would always do that to me because he knew it bugged me.
"There," says Mr. Winner in a soft caring voice as he allows my hair to fall back in place, "that should take care of the cut. Let me check you eyes."
Before I knew it, he is before me, squatting to eye level to me looking from one eye to the other making sure they were dilating correctly to verify I did not have a concussion. Having done it numerous times myself to my injured circus workers, I sit there patiently staring into his blue eyes.
"Do I pass," I ask.
He nods and allows me to stand.
"You might want to take it easy," he cautions.
I node and leave the small room to finish cleaning up the dinning room. I quickly finish my task and haul the dishes to the kitchen for cleaning.
"Getting a little cozy with Master Quatre, I see," Lee teases me when I enter.
I just glare at him as if his comment is so unworthy of a response as I deposit my tub of dishes by the sink. Lee only laughs at me more.
"So what were you two doing in the bathroom," he asks with a suggestive bobbing of his eyebrows.
"If you truly must know," I state on the edge of loosing the last bit of restraint I have, "I hit my head, and he attended to it."
"Did he kiss it and make it better?" Lee continued to jest.
I let out a low growl before turning and retreating to my room.
A knock on my door pulls me from my musings. I force myself up and to the door. I look out the peephole to see who it is. I open the door and let Enoch in.
"So I hear you finally met Master Quatre," he says jibely with an amused smile on his face.
I glare at him before rolling my eyes and collapsing into a chair. He plops down on my couch and looks at me expectantly. I marvel as how quickly news travels around among the help. I also ponder how much to reveal about my previous meetings with Master Quatre and opt to keep that quiet for the time being.
"So what happened?"
"I spilled water on the floor and Mr. Winner when filling his glass. When I finished cleaning up the water, I smacked my head on the table and he attended to the wound." I tell him the unembellished details. "I feel like such a clumsy idiot," I sigh.
"Don't worry about it," he reassures. "Master Quatre won't think of you badly for that. He understands accidents happen."
"Some accidents can have tragic results," I think to myself remembering Trowa.
I am not so worried about the water incident as our previous encounters. I let the issue fall aside for another time and direct the conversation to safer topics.
Enoch leaves after a bit of teasing, and I head to the phone. Relena answers.
"Catherine, how's the job going?"
"Today was not so good," I answer. "Is Trowa around?" I ask with a bit of an edge to my voice.
Relena looks at me questioningly as she answers.
"Yeah, I'll get him for you."
"Relena," I call before she leaves. "Did Trowa ever tell you where I was working?"
She pauses and ponders my question.
"You know, he did leave that detail out," she says.
It is nice to know that Relena was not in on this too.
"Where are you working?" she asks.
"Ask Trowa after I finish talking to him," I advise.
She knows something is up, but is smart enough to wait and find out what. Trowa comes to the vid-phone.
"You meet him," he says matter of factly with one look at me.
"Yes!" I say with as much irritation I can put into the one word. "YOU KNEW and did NOT tell me!" I practically yell at him.
He sits there unaffected by my tirade as I continue to fling accusations at him. I wind down finally and just glare at him with my arms crossed. He just smirks at me. I let out a growl of frustration.
"So how did you finally meet him?" he asks.
I cave and tell him the entire story. He actually chuckles as I tell him about the water, and I have to admit looking at it from a different light, it was sort of funny. I even tell him about Quatre tending to my injury.
"That's Quatre for you. Compassionate to almost a fault," says Trowa, his eyes seem to dance with some hidden knowledge that I can not get out of him.