Dazed, Beautiful and Bruised
by Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: Seeing as Catherine has always been my favorite
Gundam Wing gal-- and Dorothy seems to monopolize more of my
writing attentions--I thought I'd write a fic for Catherine that
I've had stewing on the back-burner for a while now. What? I'm
using a Catatonia song for Cathy? Well, yeah--she's got class.
Enjoy.)
"I've got my work cut out with you, you tore bits out of me."
Catherine pulled her hair back from her face and settled her chin
in between her propped arms. She was crossing her feet at the
ankles, tucking them beneath her chair so that she could lean
forward and better examine the envelope centered on her unusually
chaotic desk. She had added the desk, which had three handy
sized drawers--perfect for folders full of circus business.
Catherine usually had forms littering the cheap oak finish and
coffee stained rings decorating everywhere. She worked on the
bills right after she woke up from her sleep so that the gigantic
figures didn't terrify her fuzzy, unalert mind.
But, when the anticipated letter had come, she had deliberately
moved the clutter and spent a good hour re-filing the important
memos. Until the only thing left was the unopened envelope. She
centered it and re-read the address written properly in capital
letters. She softened, he must not have wanted to use the
computer even to type it. He had such old fashioned habits. He
believed in giving her flowers and writing her poetry, mostly
archaic, bad poetry, but always stencilled in his official
looking script of capital letters.
CATHERINE BLOOM, COLONY 18999, L-3 CLUSTER
It was an incomplete address, of course. But the location of the
circus was always unpredictable. She sliced through the paper
with one of her knives and pulled out the single sheet of paper.
Unfolding it, she skimmed over the paragraphs with little or no
interest beyond admiring the precise figures of each character.
Any correspondence from soldiers during the war was highly
censored, so nothing of any importance was every shared between
them.
Regardless of the content, her eyes misted over when they tried
to focus on the signature: Phillip Walker.
***
"Your carpet burns and bruises blue are there for all to see, but
I can tell you've been through hell." She remembered their last
conversation at a local diner they both had enjoyed since their
teenage years. Walker had come back after completing his
Alliance training and before he would return to work in Corsica.
"It's rough sure. But, don't you ever watch the news? It's not
really like the colonies are being oppressed by the Alliance.
The governmental structure on earth just needs a little
facelift." He was browsing the menu, but the smug military gleam
had never left his proud eyes.
She glanced around nervously, noticing how the cashier was
whispering to one of the waitresses. The citizens of her colony
were divided on the issue of rebellion, but hard feelings were
crossing over both sides of the fence. Walker's uniform didn't
hide his new rank in the controversial Alliance unit, the
Specials.
"How long has it taken you to earn your rank?" Catherine said, a
little tired with the tension and let frustration leak into her
tone.
Walker barely noticed. "I set a record, Cathy." He actually
settled the menu on the table between them and leaned toward her,
taking both of her hands in his, rubbing her thumbs with his.
"Seven months of training and hard work and I'm flying one of the
newest mobile suit models ever built."
"And what are you planning to do in that machine, exactly?" Her
voice lowered to a whisper. She was afraid of his answer. Since
ambassadors had been coming to space and serious conversation was
about nothing else, Catherine had feared rumors of war and
watching the man she cared for swept up in the currents prevented
her from ignoring the potential consequences. "Kill people?
Who? Who are your enemies, Phillip? The colonists?"
"No." Walker pulled back abruptly. He dropped his head. "I
just want to support the transition of a new generation. One of
'continual peace' is what Zechs Marquis calls it. And I believe
that's exactly what he wants."
"That sounds nice, Phillip, but is that peace possible this way?
Please be honest with me." Catherine hesitated to voice her
opinions about war. After knowing him since childhood, she
trusted Walker's judgement.
"I have to prevent a rebellion, Cathy. And ending the threat of
terrorism from the colonies will save lives in the long run."
"You always have your eyes on the future." Catherine sighed,
uncertain herself. She hated how easily he could leave her for
his political ideals. First, his undergraduate education on
earth, then his military training. But she was sensible enough
to know that now was not the time to fantasize about any sort of
settled life.
"I'll come back to you, Cathy. I promise." Walker lifted her
hand and kissed it softly, like a ghost's breath. Then with a
terribly hopeful smile, he winked. "The best future for me has
you in it."
***
"Finally you wear it well. It's an accessory." She had watched
the evening broadcasts and listened to more of Treize
Kushrenada's speeches than she had an ear for. His promotion of
the specials as his pet unit in the Alliance worried her. The
young aristocrat seemed to care more about his movement than the
crumbling unity of earth and space.
One broadcast had been shot on location of one of the Alliance's
airbases, she had turned from putting on her evening's stage
make-up to watch closer. The newscaster was interviewing some of
the crew near the Special's headquarters.
"So these rumored machines are better than the standard Leos or
Aries flown by the Alliance soldiers?" The woman stuck her
microphone in the mechanics face for his moment of fame.
"Much better. Their flight capability takes them farther faster
than the Aries and their maneuverability enhances their weapon's
targeting computers more quickly than a Leo." The man rubbed his
chin, trying to look thoughtful.
The newscaster smiled as if her lips were unable to move from
that uncomfortably perky statement. She looked anything but
thrilled by the mechanic's brief information. Then she glanced
off camera. "Oh look." She seemed to spark with life. "One of
the Special's pilots is making his way across the field. Let's
see if we can get a comment from him."
The camera swirled and picked up speed to catch the young pilot.
Catherine caught her breath.
"What's your name young man? You are one of the Special's pilots
correct? What can you tell the public . . ."
"I can't tell you my name. But I can tell you that you're in the
wrong place for today's news. Try the main launching area where
Bonaparte is putting on his display." His words were quickly
clipped, Catherine knew he was impatient.
"What's going on?" The reporter's voice increases in pitch.
"Terrorist attack." And Phillip Walker spun on one heel,
continuing his fast pace to a waiting Aries.
Catherine's heart pounded as she quickly turned off the monitor.
She couldn't watch anymore. She didn't want to know. She didn't
want to believe that the person who was going off to fight was
her Phillip Walker. She let her narrow fingers trace the outline
of his jaw on the black screen.
That day she received a letter from him. It came only minutes
after she learned that Officer Philip Walker had given his life
for the Alliance that afternoon.
***
"It's time to change your uniform, and hand it on to me."
"Sis? Did you want this with your gear or in your trailer?" The
soft voice barely carried over the piping organ music.
"What's that Trowa?" Catherine was rearranging the make-up and
props cluttering the counter in front of the well lit mirror.
She hated messes. It was her private war.
Turning she was able to appreciate her adopted younger brother in
his fitted checkered top and clown pants. He seemed
uncomfortable in them suddenly, unlike his perfect routines for
the audience. When Trowa had to deal with people one on one his
confidence seemed broken. And unusual.
She smiled softly and stepped closer to take what he was offering
her. She sighed. "Do you know who this is, Trowa dear?" He
shook his head. "This was your sister's beau, you see. His name
was Phillip and he went off to fight in the war."
Trowa nodded, glancing down at the picture. He seemed curious
about the brilliant green landscape with Catherine more or less
intertwined with the limbs of a young man. They were having a
picnic.
"Some one was jogging by us and I had him stop and take this
picture for us." Catherine smiled wistfully covering Walker's
face with her index finger.
"I see." Trowa said. Not moving. He seemed very uncertain
about what to do next.
Catherine wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and hugged
him. "Why don't I make us some soup or something. You did great
this evening."
Silent, but observant. Trowa nodded.
"And I dream one day I'll find the one who lives inside my mind.
And they'll feel the same way too."
She had been incredibly curious about the strange, young man who
had applied to the circus. At first, she'd been surprised that
he hadn't been interested in discussing the war, a popular
conversation since Walker had gone to earth. Since he had dated
Catherine throughout her career with the circus, Walker had been
one of the crews favorite guests. The youth who asked to be
called Trowa refused to express many opinions on the subject, but
he always listened.
"What do you think about those Gundams?" Lance, the
contortionist, asked while pulling one of his legs up from behind
him.
"Since the Alliance has been threatening the colonies, this war
hasn't been any fun. I wish the Gundams would just end it all."
One voice spoke up.
"They could do it if they'd just come up with better strategy
than this hit and miss terrorism." An older man commented.
"But it was a Gundam who killed Phillip, wasn't it?" One of the
female elephant riders interrupted. "I don't see how they're
much better than the Alliance. They all kill people."
"And so do lions if you don't handle them right!" Some of them
snickered at that one.
Catherine didn't join in these conversations choosing to keep her
own council a little more private than before performance jittery
chatter between the members of the troop. Trowa was off to one
side, looking at the audience through the break in the curtain.
She liked being close to him. He reminded her of Phillip's
quieter moments just before he left her. Each time, he would
stand without saying anything. Hardly looking at her. But
close. She hesitated somewhat at Walker's serious side. She was
determined to be comfortable with Trowa's and accept that. She
wondered how the war touched him. Only the war could make
someone so quiet. But she wouldn't ask. She knew. "We've all
been used. Dazed, beautiful and bruised."
***
"And blame is not a one way street, the widest avenue. But cause
me grief and agony this harm will come to you."
***
She was making her darling brother soup. It was the best she
could do. Sometimes her presence calmed his fears and she tried
terribly hard to ease his mind. But something had happened to
Trowa after she let him leave with the other boy. The pilot who
had been willing to kill himself.
But Trowa had been so trustworthy. She had given him her trust
just like she had given her trust to Walker. To let them do what
they had to and simply to sit at home and believe in them.
Some nights when he had been gone, Catherine had stared at the
picture of them at the park for hours on end. Unable to look
anywhere else. Other days, she forgot him completely, not
thinking about Phillip for hours, until she might see that
picture. And remember how he smelled. And the way he had
kissed. And the way that his final image was frozen in her mind
long after he would leave her alone.
She had forgotten about Trowa too. She got back into the routine
of feeding the lions herself and almost forgot that it had been
Trowa's chore before. It was too easy to find a replacement for
him and that was something she was determined not to let happen
this time.
Now that she had Trowa back again. He hadn't died, except to
himself. After losing Trowa lost his memories, Catherine hoped
he could start over. But, in reality, nothing changed too much.
The war still haunted him. Losing Walker, still haunted her.
***
"Between the lines I think you'll find lessons learned from
various eyes. Beauty can turn south."
She pounded her fist on the stubborn, unbreakable oak desk and
sobbed. "NO!" She couldn't believe that she had let Trowa go
back to the war. Even after his persuasive words and consoling,
loving, glazes, she hadn't wanted to let him leave. What if she
had demanded that Phillip Walker stay with her? What if she had
shared her opinions that last day in the diner? Watching him eat
his spaghetti. Sip his iced tea. Breath the same air.
But she never asked him to stay. She couldn't expect him to
change his ideals for her.
Or had it been the promise? The promises that soldiers made to
their families? "I'll come back to you, Catherine, I promise."
That was not the world that she wanted to live in, but the only
way to let it change was for her to trust the ideals of the men
she loved. And pray that they got to see their ideals lived out
by the future generations.
***
"So recognize through all the lies, the hero of the hour."
"What's this, Cathy?" Trowa leaned back from his work to see
Catherine poking her head into his trailer.
"Motorcycle keys, silly. Let's go out for lunch. Since we don't
have performances today, I thought we could go out and enjoy the
weather." She swung the door open wider. "Come on."
"What would I do without you to tell me to relax." Trowa
grinned, accepting her invitation.
"I dunno." Catherine waved her index finger at him. "Shrivel up
next to that computer and die most likely. From hunger."
"I am hungry." Trowa rubbed his lean stomach as he stepped out
of the trailer and into the summer's heat.
"Great." Catherine giggled. "Cuz we're going on a picnic. And
I'm driving."
She had liked having Trowa's arms wrap around her for the ride.
It was nothing short of a miracle that he had come back to her,
completely unharmed--and happy even. If she had learned anything
in the months after he left her a second time it was to never
take him for granted again.
"Catherine, you don't have to do that." Trowa protested as she
made his sandwich.
"More mustard?" She held the bottle over what she'd already
constructed according to his instructions. "More mustard?" She
grinned wickedly as she proceeded to cover the meat completely.
"Enough. Enough." Trowa smiled, pulling her arms away from his
sandwich. She felt the utmost satisfaction in making him happy.
"And I dream one day I'll find the one who lives inside my mind,
and he'll feel the same way too. We've all been used. Dazed,
beautiful and bruised. And there's nothing, nothing left to
lose. Dazed, beautiful and bruised."
"You do realize how very, very important to me you are?" She
asked. Laying back on the blanket, turning to watch his jaw chew
the sandwich.
"I love you too." Trowa said quietly around his bites. "But
this was way too much mustard."
A shadow fell across Catherine's face, and she shivered a moment
as the sunlight momentarily disappeared. Then she realized what
it was.
"Hey, jogger! Come back and take our picture!"
the end.
***
Dazed, Beautiful and Bruised
by Catatonia
I've got my work cut out with you
You tore bits out of me
your carpet burns and bruises blue
are there for all to see
but I can tell you've been through hell
finally you wear it well
it's an accessory
it's time to change your uniform
and hand it on to me, to me
and I dream one day I'll find
the one who lives inside my mind
and they'll feel the same way too
we've all been used
dazed beautiful and bruised
dazed beautiful and bruised
And blame is not a one way street
the widest avenue
but cause me grief and agony
this harm will come to you
between the lines I think you'll find
lessons learn from various eyes
beauty can turn south
so recognize through all the lies
the hero of the hour, the hour
and I dream one day I'll find
the one who lives inside my mind
and he'll feel the same way too
we've all been used
dazed beautiful and bruised
and there's nothing, nothing left to lose
dazed beautiful and bruised
dazed beautiful and bruised
by Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: Seeing as Catherine has always been my favorite
Gundam Wing gal-- and Dorothy seems to monopolize more of my
writing attentions--I thought I'd write a fic for Catherine that
I've had stewing on the back-burner for a while now. What? I'm
using a Catatonia song for Cathy? Well, yeah--she's got class.
Enjoy.)
"I've got my work cut out with you, you tore bits out of me."
Catherine pulled her hair back from her face and settled her chin
in between her propped arms. She was crossing her feet at the
ankles, tucking them beneath her chair so that she could lean
forward and better examine the envelope centered on her unusually
chaotic desk. She had added the desk, which had three handy
sized drawers--perfect for folders full of circus business.
Catherine usually had forms littering the cheap oak finish and
coffee stained rings decorating everywhere. She worked on the
bills right after she woke up from her sleep so that the gigantic
figures didn't terrify her fuzzy, unalert mind.
But, when the anticipated letter had come, she had deliberately
moved the clutter and spent a good hour re-filing the important
memos. Until the only thing left was the unopened envelope. She
centered it and re-read the address written properly in capital
letters. She softened, he must not have wanted to use the
computer even to type it. He had such old fashioned habits. He
believed in giving her flowers and writing her poetry, mostly
archaic, bad poetry, but always stencilled in his official
looking script of capital letters.
CATHERINE BLOOM, COLONY 18999, L-3 CLUSTER
It was an incomplete address, of course. But the location of the
circus was always unpredictable. She sliced through the paper
with one of her knives and pulled out the single sheet of paper.
Unfolding it, she skimmed over the paragraphs with little or no
interest beyond admiring the precise figures of each character.
Any correspondence from soldiers during the war was highly
censored, so nothing of any importance was every shared between
them.
Regardless of the content, her eyes misted over when they tried
to focus on the signature: Phillip Walker.
***
"Your carpet burns and bruises blue are there for all to see, but
I can tell you've been through hell." She remembered their last
conversation at a local diner they both had enjoyed since their
teenage years. Walker had come back after completing his
Alliance training and before he would return to work in Corsica.
"It's rough sure. But, don't you ever watch the news? It's not
really like the colonies are being oppressed by the Alliance.
The governmental structure on earth just needs a little
facelift." He was browsing the menu, but the smug military gleam
had never left his proud eyes.
She glanced around nervously, noticing how the cashier was
whispering to one of the waitresses. The citizens of her colony
were divided on the issue of rebellion, but hard feelings were
crossing over both sides of the fence. Walker's uniform didn't
hide his new rank in the controversial Alliance unit, the
Specials.
"How long has it taken you to earn your rank?" Catherine said, a
little tired with the tension and let frustration leak into her
tone.
Walker barely noticed. "I set a record, Cathy." He actually
settled the menu on the table between them and leaned toward her,
taking both of her hands in his, rubbing her thumbs with his.
"Seven months of training and hard work and I'm flying one of the
newest mobile suit models ever built."
"And what are you planning to do in that machine, exactly?" Her
voice lowered to a whisper. She was afraid of his answer. Since
ambassadors had been coming to space and serious conversation was
about nothing else, Catherine had feared rumors of war and
watching the man she cared for swept up in the currents prevented
her from ignoring the potential consequences. "Kill people?
Who? Who are your enemies, Phillip? The colonists?"
"No." Walker pulled back abruptly. He dropped his head. "I
just want to support the transition of a new generation. One of
'continual peace' is what Zechs Marquis calls it. And I believe
that's exactly what he wants."
"That sounds nice, Phillip, but is that peace possible this way?
Please be honest with me." Catherine hesitated to voice her
opinions about war. After knowing him since childhood, she
trusted Walker's judgement.
"I have to prevent a rebellion, Cathy. And ending the threat of
terrorism from the colonies will save lives in the long run."
"You always have your eyes on the future." Catherine sighed,
uncertain herself. She hated how easily he could leave her for
his political ideals. First, his undergraduate education on
earth, then his military training. But she was sensible enough
to know that now was not the time to fantasize about any sort of
settled life.
"I'll come back to you, Cathy. I promise." Walker lifted her
hand and kissed it softly, like a ghost's breath. Then with a
terribly hopeful smile, he winked. "The best future for me has
you in it."
***
"Finally you wear it well. It's an accessory." She had watched
the evening broadcasts and listened to more of Treize
Kushrenada's speeches than she had an ear for. His promotion of
the specials as his pet unit in the Alliance worried her. The
young aristocrat seemed to care more about his movement than the
crumbling unity of earth and space.
One broadcast had been shot on location of one of the Alliance's
airbases, she had turned from putting on her evening's stage
make-up to watch closer. The newscaster was interviewing some of
the crew near the Special's headquarters.
"So these rumored machines are better than the standard Leos or
Aries flown by the Alliance soldiers?" The woman stuck her
microphone in the mechanics face for his moment of fame.
"Much better. Their flight capability takes them farther faster
than the Aries and their maneuverability enhances their weapon's
targeting computers more quickly than a Leo." The man rubbed his
chin, trying to look thoughtful.
The newscaster smiled as if her lips were unable to move from
that uncomfortably perky statement. She looked anything but
thrilled by the mechanic's brief information. Then she glanced
off camera. "Oh look." She seemed to spark with life. "One of
the Special's pilots is making his way across the field. Let's
see if we can get a comment from him."
The camera swirled and picked up speed to catch the young pilot.
Catherine caught her breath.
"What's your name young man? You are one of the Special's pilots
correct? What can you tell the public . . ."
"I can't tell you my name. But I can tell you that you're in the
wrong place for today's news. Try the main launching area where
Bonaparte is putting on his display." His words were quickly
clipped, Catherine knew he was impatient.
"What's going on?" The reporter's voice increases in pitch.
"Terrorist attack." And Phillip Walker spun on one heel,
continuing his fast pace to a waiting Aries.
Catherine's heart pounded as she quickly turned off the monitor.
She couldn't watch anymore. She didn't want to know. She didn't
want to believe that the person who was going off to fight was
her Phillip Walker. She let her narrow fingers trace the outline
of his jaw on the black screen.
That day she received a letter from him. It came only minutes
after she learned that Officer Philip Walker had given his life
for the Alliance that afternoon.
***
"It's time to change your uniform, and hand it on to me."
"Sis? Did you want this with your gear or in your trailer?" The
soft voice barely carried over the piping organ music.
"What's that Trowa?" Catherine was rearranging the make-up and
props cluttering the counter in front of the well lit mirror.
She hated messes. It was her private war.
Turning she was able to appreciate her adopted younger brother in
his fitted checkered top and clown pants. He seemed
uncomfortable in them suddenly, unlike his perfect routines for
the audience. When Trowa had to deal with people one on one his
confidence seemed broken. And unusual.
She smiled softly and stepped closer to take what he was offering
her. She sighed. "Do you know who this is, Trowa dear?" He
shook his head. "This was your sister's beau, you see. His name
was Phillip and he went off to fight in the war."
Trowa nodded, glancing down at the picture. He seemed curious
about the brilliant green landscape with Catherine more or less
intertwined with the limbs of a young man. They were having a
picnic.
"Some one was jogging by us and I had him stop and take this
picture for us." Catherine smiled wistfully covering Walker's
face with her index finger.
"I see." Trowa said. Not moving. He seemed very uncertain
about what to do next.
Catherine wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and hugged
him. "Why don't I make us some soup or something. You did great
this evening."
Silent, but observant. Trowa nodded.
"And I dream one day I'll find the one who lives inside my mind.
And they'll feel the same way too."
She had been incredibly curious about the strange, young man who
had applied to the circus. At first, she'd been surprised that
he hadn't been interested in discussing the war, a popular
conversation since Walker had gone to earth. Since he had dated
Catherine throughout her career with the circus, Walker had been
one of the crews favorite guests. The youth who asked to be
called Trowa refused to express many opinions on the subject, but
he always listened.
"What do you think about those Gundams?" Lance, the
contortionist, asked while pulling one of his legs up from behind
him.
"Since the Alliance has been threatening the colonies, this war
hasn't been any fun. I wish the Gundams would just end it all."
One voice spoke up.
"They could do it if they'd just come up with better strategy
than this hit and miss terrorism." An older man commented.
"But it was a Gundam who killed Phillip, wasn't it?" One of the
female elephant riders interrupted. "I don't see how they're
much better than the Alliance. They all kill people."
"And so do lions if you don't handle them right!" Some of them
snickered at that one.
Catherine didn't join in these conversations choosing to keep her
own council a little more private than before performance jittery
chatter between the members of the troop. Trowa was off to one
side, looking at the audience through the break in the curtain.
She liked being close to him. He reminded her of Phillip's
quieter moments just before he left her. Each time, he would
stand without saying anything. Hardly looking at her. But
close. She hesitated somewhat at Walker's serious side. She was
determined to be comfortable with Trowa's and accept that. She
wondered how the war touched him. Only the war could make
someone so quiet. But she wouldn't ask. She knew. "We've all
been used. Dazed, beautiful and bruised."
***
"And blame is not a one way street, the widest avenue. But cause
me grief and agony this harm will come to you."
***
She was making her darling brother soup. It was the best she
could do. Sometimes her presence calmed his fears and she tried
terribly hard to ease his mind. But something had happened to
Trowa after she let him leave with the other boy. The pilot who
had been willing to kill himself.
But Trowa had been so trustworthy. She had given him her trust
just like she had given her trust to Walker. To let them do what
they had to and simply to sit at home and believe in them.
Some nights when he had been gone, Catherine had stared at the
picture of them at the park for hours on end. Unable to look
anywhere else. Other days, she forgot him completely, not
thinking about Phillip for hours, until she might see that
picture. And remember how he smelled. And the way he had
kissed. And the way that his final image was frozen in her mind
long after he would leave her alone.
She had forgotten about Trowa too. She got back into the routine
of feeding the lions herself and almost forgot that it had been
Trowa's chore before. It was too easy to find a replacement for
him and that was something she was determined not to let happen
this time.
Now that she had Trowa back again. He hadn't died, except to
himself. After losing Trowa lost his memories, Catherine hoped
he could start over. But, in reality, nothing changed too much.
The war still haunted him. Losing Walker, still haunted her.
***
"Between the lines I think you'll find lessons learned from
various eyes. Beauty can turn south."
She pounded her fist on the stubborn, unbreakable oak desk and
sobbed. "NO!" She couldn't believe that she had let Trowa go
back to the war. Even after his persuasive words and consoling,
loving, glazes, she hadn't wanted to let him leave. What if she
had demanded that Phillip Walker stay with her? What if she had
shared her opinions that last day in the diner? Watching him eat
his spaghetti. Sip his iced tea. Breath the same air.
But she never asked him to stay. She couldn't expect him to
change his ideals for her.
Or had it been the promise? The promises that soldiers made to
their families? "I'll come back to you, Catherine, I promise."
That was not the world that she wanted to live in, but the only
way to let it change was for her to trust the ideals of the men
she loved. And pray that they got to see their ideals lived out
by the future generations.
***
"So recognize through all the lies, the hero of the hour."
"What's this, Cathy?" Trowa leaned back from his work to see
Catherine poking her head into his trailer.
"Motorcycle keys, silly. Let's go out for lunch. Since we don't
have performances today, I thought we could go out and enjoy the
weather." She swung the door open wider. "Come on."
"What would I do without you to tell me to relax." Trowa
grinned, accepting her invitation.
"I dunno." Catherine waved her index finger at him. "Shrivel up
next to that computer and die most likely. From hunger."
"I am hungry." Trowa rubbed his lean stomach as he stepped out
of the trailer and into the summer's heat.
"Great." Catherine giggled. "Cuz we're going on a picnic. And
I'm driving."
She had liked having Trowa's arms wrap around her for the ride.
It was nothing short of a miracle that he had come back to her,
completely unharmed--and happy even. If she had learned anything
in the months after he left her a second time it was to never
take him for granted again.
"Catherine, you don't have to do that." Trowa protested as she
made his sandwich.
"More mustard?" She held the bottle over what she'd already
constructed according to his instructions. "More mustard?" She
grinned wickedly as she proceeded to cover the meat completely.
"Enough. Enough." Trowa smiled, pulling her arms away from his
sandwich. She felt the utmost satisfaction in making him happy.
"And I dream one day I'll find the one who lives inside my mind,
and he'll feel the same way too. We've all been used. Dazed,
beautiful and bruised. And there's nothing, nothing left to
lose. Dazed, beautiful and bruised."
"You do realize how very, very important to me you are?" She
asked. Laying back on the blanket, turning to watch his jaw chew
the sandwich.
"I love you too." Trowa said quietly around his bites. "But
this was way too much mustard."
A shadow fell across Catherine's face, and she shivered a moment
as the sunlight momentarily disappeared. Then she realized what
it was.
"Hey, jogger! Come back and take our picture!"
the end.
***
Dazed, Beautiful and Bruised
by Catatonia
I've got my work cut out with you
You tore bits out of me
your carpet burns and bruises blue
are there for all to see
but I can tell you've been through hell
finally you wear it well
it's an accessory
it's time to change your uniform
and hand it on to me, to me
and I dream one day I'll find
the one who lives inside my mind
and they'll feel the same way too
we've all been used
dazed beautiful and bruised
dazed beautiful and bruised
And blame is not a one way street
the widest avenue
but cause me grief and agony
this harm will come to you
between the lines I think you'll find
lessons learn from various eyes
beauty can turn south
so recognize through all the lies
the hero of the hour, the hour
and I dream one day I'll find
the one who lives inside my mind
and he'll feel the same way too
we've all been used
dazed beautiful and bruised
and there's nothing, nothing left to lose
dazed beautiful and bruised
dazed beautiful and bruised