Catching Change and Chance
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: More, more and more of the same dessert. Just a bit different. For
the most part the recipe is the same. Equal parts blend of anime to equal part
alternate reality. Simmer uncovered to Catatonia's song Jump Or Be Sane. Best
served late at night.)
Juri was more than a little surprised at the split second reaction when Trowa
immediately said, "Heero, Juri. Juri, Heero." Leaning against the door which
still stood open with Juri just on the inside and the disheveled Heero Yuy
looking disgruntled on the outside, Trowa quickly added, "And Juri, will you
make my apologies to Saitou?"
Blinking a few times, Juri tentatively replied, "Sure . . ." The awkward Asian
wasn't exactly what she would have expected for Trowa to fall in love with.
Certainly, the other man was relatively attractive, with his dark hair and exotic
skin with the crooked and nervous grin, but the way his unusually blue eyes
were sunken in and shadowed seemed significantly opposite from the warm
kindle of Trowa's spirit. The same spirit that was seeking her understanding,
without offering explanation. Everything in Trowa's posture said, 'trust me'--
still trusting Trowa was never her doubt.
Heero, on the other hand, stepped in greedily. Tipping his head to Juri and
stepping around to put his hand on Trowa's shoulder, leaning sideways as if to
confide, already dismissing Juri. Trowa winced apologetically, most likely for
the other man's indifferent attitude.
"You'll need these." Trowa tossed her his truck keys.
"Later, Trowa." Juri said, lingering long enough to see Trowa get absorbed into
Heero's concerns. Crossing his arms and slowly nodding his head, eyes closed
and a content smile on his face. Body language clearly that Trowa was ready to
remedy anything for the person he cared most for.
Still there was something frighteningly thorough and possessive about the
sudden relationship. Trowa did need to keep his head, or find it again. If only
she had more time to take a longer appraisal. Then again, was it sudden? Or a
continuation of what had gone on before.
She stepped up into Trowa's truck. Taking a reflexive look in the review mirror
and noting the obvious concern etched on her own features. She wanted to go
back upstairs, but that wouldn't satisfy her curiosity. Putting the keys into the
ignition, she glanced at the dash and noticed a note taped there, which she had
noticed in passing before. The address to Catherine Bloom's apartment.
It was out of character for Trowa to behave irresponsibly about his acting.
Perhaps if she met with his sister . . . she could reconcile her concern about his
relationship with Heero Yuy. Recording the telephone number on the back of
her hand.
Well I know what I like, and I like what I see
I know what I want, and I know what I need
And the more that I get, the more that I need
So if you're coming along, well you're coming out easy
"Thank you for meeting me." Juri half-stood, but the other woman sat down at
the table quickly. Juri had met Catherine before, at Spike's cast parties and such,
but they'd never confided in each other before and the actor took a moment to
absorb the rush of quiet messages that the Catherine's expression generated.
Catherine's hair was short, folding in around her face and wildly curly at the
ends, as if she'd just come from trying to take a nap. Even though they were
step-siblings, Juri recognized the familial grin, initially nervous while hoping to
make the other person comfortable.
"I've always wondered what this place was like." Catherine looked around the
International Velvet, her gaze settling toward the cleared area where a make-
shift music group began to set up their equipment. Someone was testing the
mike. Looking everywhere before taking a deep breath and meeting Juri's look
full on. "Are you worried about Trowa? What's happened?"
Juri's eyes flickered with the immediate pressure of Catherine's worry, and she
hastily began, "I didn't want to trouble you; however, your brother and I have
been good friends recently."
"He's spoken of you." Catherine eagerly took her drink from the waiter's hands,
and ignoring the straw took a deep drink. "All he says is that he's very happy
with the Road Rage theater, working with that director and meeting you, of
course." Catherine drank again, taking a long pause and hardly breathing with
the effort of satisfying her thirst.
"That's what I would say as well," Juri nodded, having sipped her drink with a
great deal more conservatism, "Which is why I was wondering about Trowa's
relationship with the Glass House's owner. Things have changed." Catherine's
shoulder's fell forward, tightening her form, so Juri reassured, "I believe that
Trowa is still happy, but . . ."
"But, but, but." Catherine's eyes danced back and forth slowly, the light blue
unfocused, "Of course he's happy, Trowa's intoxicated whenever Heero's
around. Which I can understand. We all grew up together, you see, and Heero
can be so vibrantly alive. So risk taking and sincere. We never got into and out
of so much trouble as when we were with him. Do you mind if I get another one
of these?" Cathy waved her hand over the disappeared sweet drink.
Juri nodded, "I'm still buying. So, Heero's just a little different then, more
aggressive. Alright."
"No," Catherine interrupted, "Not alright. Heero's articulate, well spoken and
incredibly intelligent. He's also extraordinarily depressed. Trowa tries to
shoulder that, you see. It didn't happen to Heero that often, but under extreme
stress, he crumbles."
"Stress?"
"When his parent's died, Heero tried to kill himself after the wake." Catherine
had nearly finished her second drink, her eyelids drooping with memory, "With
a knife of all things. Damn near sliced clean through Trowa's palm, where he
grabbed the blade away. My silly brother didn't grab Heero's wrist, not that it
matters anymore. Trust me, I gave Trowa a piece of my mind in the emergency
room after that, but Trowa wilted in relief to hear that Heero was fine and told
me that day that he'd do anything to repair Heero's sorrow. They were almost
doubly inseparable from then on."
"Almost?" Juri caught on, "What happened?"
"I'm not sure," Catherine said thoughtfully, "I got married after high school,
which was my biggest mistake in life. And Trowa went to school, which was
the first independent from Heero decision he'd made-I was grateful for that.
Heero stayed here and began to run the Glass House. When Trowa got back
things went horribly . . ."
"With Nichol and . . . he told me." Juri watched Catherine finish her glass of
water, "You have heard that Trowa has . . ."
"Has what?" Catherine asked, guarded urgency in her voice, "I was afraid . . .
Trowa just hasn't given up has he?" She looked away, at her white fingers-the
index tapping against the table.
"They're exploring a togetherness, yes." Juri admitted, "That's why I wanted to
speak with you. I wanted to know more about Heero. He's quite *possessive*
of your brother it seems."
"Exploring." Catherine repeated, not quite meeting Juri's eyes as she attempted,
"Something terrifying about that word."
During the quietness, Juri watched Catherine's eyes shimmer with many unshed
tears. She had Trowa's tenderness, only a much more thorough fear of being
hurt. A fear of hurt that Trowa was wary of, but of which he was also mostly
oblivious. Trowa had hope.
Everybody screams don't know what to believe
I just follow someone else's life
Catherine stumbled against the edge of her doorway, fumbling with the keys,
and risking to let her frustrated breath out in sobs, even though her tears were
long dry. She'd sat with Juri at the International Velvet for some time, not
speaking. Then Juri had offered to drive her home, Catherine couldn't refuse . . .
she'd slipped in too many drinks. Drowning without results.
She fixed one hand around the door's handle, ready to push it open, but found
that it turned easily without the key. Her eyes widened, had she forgotten to
lock it? It couldn't be Sano, he hadn't the key. Trowa was preoccupied, wasn't
he? Over the anxiety, a strange sense of indifference granted her some clarity of
thought. She pushed open the door.
"Welcome back, sweetie," his tone was apologetic, but firm. The coolness in
her head was all that kept her collected.
"What . . . are you doing here?" The anger of the words somehow lost as she
spoke them.
"Probably complicating things for you, as usual." Duo Maxwell said, without a
measure of flippancy. He sat on her couch, leaning forward with his arms
balanced on his knees. "Which I wouldn't do lightly."
"How . . . ?"
"Catherine, I know things are bad, but I've always wanted to know where you
are and that you're doing well." His brows furrowed, just visible under the
caramel colored bangs. "It's not that hard to check on either."
"Well, you can leave now. Keep your checking at a distance." Catherine held
the door open, trying not to let the relief overwhelm her confidence as he did
make his way toward the exit. "If you have to tell me something, have one of
your fancy lawyers write me again."
"One thing," Duo stopped just near her, and his voice dropped a tone, becoming
a bit dangerous with the level of his sincerity, "You might at least send Helen a
card for her birthday from now on." He continued to leave, calling back, "She
believes Trowa's gift was from both her uncle and her mother. However, I don't
ever want to have to make excuses for you again."
Catherine closed the door still blanketed by the unnatural calmness. She stood
staring into the room for some time.
And all my bookcases groan none of the words are my own
I just follow someone else's life
And all the knowledge I crave is waiting there in my grave
So it seems - jump or be sane
The conversation had gotten a little unfocused as soon as Heero realized that
Trowa's friend had actually left the room. The troubles had managed to lose
themselves, as soon as the reddish-brown hair nodded in agreement to
accompany him back to the Glass House once more. The entire mission had
unraveled when Heero found himself absorbed in Trowa's subtle touches in the
car, in the theater, and again in the conference room.
It was all the distraction he needed to survive another meeting with Relena.
And there had been the aborted returning of Trowa to his apartment, so they
could detour to the Selfish Gene.
Heero leaned back in his seat, letting the aggressive words of the poet sear his
thoughts with vivid images of lost individuality.
"Come back to me."
That voice, the one that could quell any darkness, pushed through the poet's
microphoned amplification of meter and rhyme. Trowa's voice. Heero didn't
open his eyes, even after he felt the first tentative brush of fingers along his jaw
line. He waited for the voice again.
"Heero."
"What?" he growled emotionally, sitting upright and turning to glare back at
Trowa over his shoulder. They shared one side of the side table to better see the
evening's artists perform.
"Just checking," Trowa laughed, a bit nervously, "It was a pretty long
afternoon, and I figured that if you were going to sleep . . . it might as well be in
your own bed."
"I'm . . . awake." Heero regretted his unbridled reaction, inevitably he always
felt as if he made Trowa uncomfortable, distant or doubtful. Even when Trowa
reassuringly came without questions, or when he reached out to set his hand just
next to his own. Still tentative. "Don't doubt me." Heero said bluntly. "I'm
awake." He leaned in, pushing Trowa against the wall with surprise, faces close.
"Just checking." Trowa repeated, his breath rich with the textures of his drink.
"Just checking," Heero's echo close enough that his lips whispered over
Trowa's.
"You are here. Hey, Keisuke, I told you, Trowa is back here." Sylvia's voice
carried, and glancing over Heero saw her watching them a few feet away with a
sparkling smirk crossing her features. A moment later, Keisuke Yuki was
beside her waving with enthusiasm and a cheerful grin.
"Good to see you again, pal," Keisuke said as he and Sylvia took the open
opposite seats. "I have a few more scripts to try getting initially approved by
Mister Tough As Nails here . . . perhaps you'd read through them Trowa. Since
you have the inside pull and all."
"I couldn't really . . . but I'll read them." Trowa added the last bit hastily, trying
more successfully than Heero was at enjoying the energetic sandy-haired man's
company. "Are you reading tonight?"
"Keisuke has a few good poems, and then all these others that he's insisting on
reading as well . . ." Sylvia balanced her cheek against one of her hands.
"They're all good poems, Syl," Keisuke defended himself, a talent Heero noticed
long ago that Keisuke excelled at, "You're just too civilized to appreciate the
love poems."
"Don't get me wrong, love poems are swell . . ." Sylvia began, "But I think that a
few of them are too personal for this audience. Especially the one about the
orange blossoms."
Keisuke frowned, bewildered. "Poems do contain true feelings of love or pain
or . . ." then he was lost in thought, distracted by the steady voice still coming
from the stage.
He didn't seem to hear when Sylvia addressed the other two men directly, with
one hand pulled up to symbolize secrecy, "He's too chicken to go up there
anyway. I'm trying to give him an excuse so he doesn't get sick."
"Hn." Heero's gaze wandered around the other tables spread about in front of
the small stage and toward the dim glow of the stairwell to the upper level exit.
Keisuke did bring in a good play every now and again, but his writing was often
an inconsistent vision. The Asian man had to admit that was a well-suited
match for the inconsistent Glass House. If only he could rid himself of
troublesome distractions altogether. Even as he watched the other members of
the audience, he leaned back to balance against the comfort of Trowa's near arm
and shoulder.
I want to move on, but I know when to stay
Oh you can stand there all day, you can shoulder the blame
But they're spoiling the paintwork and they're ruining the line
And I've been here before and it ain't worth your overtime
Catherine jumped when the knock at the door became louder. She'd fallen
asleep on the couch, exhausted. Her eyes ached with unnatural dryness, and she
already felt the creases of the couch's pillow lining her face. She'd fallen into a
deep, yet restless slumber.
The last thing she wanted was a visitor.
"Who is it?" She said, then felt rising bitterness that she'd betrayed her
presence.
"It's me, Cathy." The voice of the boyish rooster head, and the reminder of all
the choices she'd been putting off.
She rolled slightly, letting one arm fold over her forehead. Blocking the
industrial glow of the overhead light. Wondering if she turned it off, if things
could go back the way they were before. Before the flippant affair with a good
boy's heart, before the broken vows and the unexpected child. Before the
attraction to the comforting habits of alcohol and the recklessness of hasty,
convoluted sex.
When things had been innocent and easy. When she only had to go to the next
room to confide with her best friend, her step brother.
She could talk to Trowa about anything. And she'd had his undivided interest,
until Heero's desperate attempt for attention. She'd had such important news to
tell him that evening. Instead, she had clutched his shoulders in the emergency
room, dreadfully afraid that the blade that had torn Trowa's palm might have
done more damage. Trowa had simply kept his eyes on the bandaged hand, with
an odd fixation.
If she hadn't realized the depth of the fixation, she would have asked him that
evening. She would have asked him what to do. About Duo Maxwell's
proposal.
But he had no reason to ask her not to marry Duo. He was fixated, on saving
Heero Yuy.
So she had said yes.
The yes that had enabled her to destroy everything she tried to build around her.
"Catherine," Sano's voice again. "Let me come in." She could tell from the tone
of his voice that he was at a loss. The earnest boy would have consoled her with
words if he only knew which ones he was meant to say.
She would not destroy more innocence with a yes. She said, "No."
They've got me running around but it's not work that they've found
Just something to keep me occupied
And all the knowledge I crave is waiting there in my grave
So it seems - jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
"Personal." Saitou stood next to Juri, again clarifying.
"I'd imagine so." Juri nodded, "Although today, I can't say for sure. I know that
he was trying to solve a crisis of sorts yesterday."
"I trust Trowa to make the best decisions for the theater as well. Let me know if
I should be concerned." Saitou said dryly. Still, Juri was amazed with his
abundance of forgiveness for the absent Trowa Barton. She had to hope that the
reasons were as important as were necessary for Trowa to neglect the theater,
still she wondered if Heero Yuy was a potential nuisance for Trowa's
participation in the new production.
She scanned the theater, the greatest commotion a pool of swooning extras
who'd swarmed around the elegantly spoken Saionji. The newcomer had curled
and dyed his long hair for the show, and the rich green apparently didn't disturb
his fan club in the least.
Also on stage, Dorothy was rehearsing her leading solo at the piano with
Kozue's brother. Spike had made the embarrassing mistake of catching the
professional pianist from behind and mistaking the boy for his nearly identical
twin sister. Even from that distance, Juri could see the continuing red flush of
the bashful boy's features.
Mikage was maneuvering behind them all, winding an extension cord around his
arm. Utena was rebalancing the thin metal sword prop in Nichol's wrist, then
took a step back so they could practice their climatic duel together.
Juri still wasn't finding Shiori. She wondered where the girl was. For the first
time, it seemed that everything had been taken apart, piece by piece, and put
back together upside down and backwards. She began to rotate in a small circle,
searching the seats.
"What are you looking for?" Shiori asked from the doorway. Juri momentarily
started, feeling caught.
"Just looking." Juri said simply, "Welcome, how are you?"
"I'm fine." Shiori said, stepping wide around the taller woman and proceeding
down the center aisle.
Juri sighed, shaking her head. "That could have gone better."
Catch me if you can, my feet won't ever feel the ground again
So let the overture take over and the symphony restrain
Let the orchestra be passion and the timpani's the rain
"If you don't want me to stop by, then simply say so." Shin hovered in the
doorway, watching Faye scramble around to gather her things, falling to the
center of the blue carpeted floor and lacing up her tennis shoes.
"It's so cold." Her teeth chattered, even as she pulled her socks up as far as they
would go under the black athletic pants. She grabbed a light sweater jacket and
a fuzzy band to wrap around her ears. Shin smiled bemused, in his own long
sleeved shirt and loose grey shorts. She had complained about not getting out as
often as she might like, so he'd suggest she come along for part of his morning
jogs since they both had such late schedules that season. For the first effort,
Faye was remarkably making progress, still she couldn't hide the enormous
yawn even behind both hands. "Too early, too cold." She zipped up the
sweater, and began to rummage in her closet for a pair of gloves.
"Ready now?" Shin accepted her chattering teeth bobbing up and down as
consent, and ushered her along at a fair swift pace. The autumn sunrise was
already well announced to the sky, with rose colored accents on the morning
clouds.
"Okay, that's good enough." Faye said at the end of the block, her nose
significantly rosy itself, yet they continued anyway. A block later she repeated
the sentiment, adding, "Saitou'll expect me at the theater in three hours."
Shin chuckled, admiring her perseverance. He'd found that Faye did what she
wanted to do no matter how reluctant she might be, and she always got along
farther without a quarrel from him or submission. He just let her make
comments.
Jogging in place at a rather busy intersection, he couldn't help but take the time
to admire her vibrant glow and wind chapped cheeks. She hadn't given any true
complaints, but maybe the autumn was becoming too cold for her to stay out so
long. He reconsidered getting them both memberships at the gym his old
roommate worked at, not wanting to neglect any earnest concerns.
When the light changed, they hurried across. With Faye's loud frustrations, "I
don't wanna . . . let's go back." Still she smiled brightly. Something he needed
to see, and it warmed him more than anything else.
It's a mean machine keep it tight, keep it clean
Just something to keep me occupied
And as a matter of course be not vexed by remorse
"She makes me insane."
"And you drive her into frustrated confusion." Trowa said softly, counterpoint
to Heero's outburst. "Truth is, Heero, you have to make your own decision
about the Glass House. And soon. Either deny her offer, accept her partnership
or sell the theater. But don't hover in such uncertainty. It isn't good for you."
After yet another meeting, they'd gone back to Heero's home, the same house
that he grew up in when they were younger friends. Immediately, Heero had
gone to the kitchen sink to not only drink a glass of water, but also to splash
some against his face as well. Trowa hovered in the doorway.
Trowa added, "You won't have to listen to another of her new proposals if you
know what you've decided to do."
Heero growled deeply in his throat, "Proposals. Did you know that when Touga
distracted you with his dissertation on the importance of good cellular coverage,
this woman asked to see me . . . on more intimate terms."
"Oh," Trowa said, trying not to react. Even though Relena's intentions had been
obvious to him from the beginning.
Heero watched him for a minute, "You're the only one I want intimate terms
with. Got it?" He crossed over, his features softening and his voice as well,
"Did you hear me?"
"Yeah," Trowa replied, "I hear you."
"Well, then," Heero said abruptly, "What do you want me to do? What do you
want?"
"Heero," Trowa said patiently, "You'll have to choose what to tell her."
"No, baka," The Asian man laughed, however vexed. "I mean what do you want
me to do with you? Are these mutually intimate terms? What if I wanted to
contract you into a partnership?"
"You've always had my friendship."
Heero watched Trowa's last reluctance dissolving. "I'd like to keep that as well,"
Heero pressed, "Whatever happens. You've always helped me when I've needed
you. But, I love you, and with that I'll need your help as well."
"I'll always help you."
"Trowa," Heero said, frustrated, "Don't tease me."
"Tease you?" Trowa reached out and hooked the back of Heero's neck with the
crook of his elbow, pulling him in, kissing him. "Choose what you're going to
do. I'll be here." The words breathed from his mouth when Heero let him take
time speak. "I'm not leaving."
I'm not lost but one who's gone before
Then it seems jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: More, more and more of the same dessert. Just a bit different. For
the most part the recipe is the same. Equal parts blend of anime to equal part
alternate reality. Simmer uncovered to Catatonia's song Jump Or Be Sane. Best
served late at night.)
Juri was more than a little surprised at the split second reaction when Trowa
immediately said, "Heero, Juri. Juri, Heero." Leaning against the door which
still stood open with Juri just on the inside and the disheveled Heero Yuy
looking disgruntled on the outside, Trowa quickly added, "And Juri, will you
make my apologies to Saitou?"
Blinking a few times, Juri tentatively replied, "Sure . . ." The awkward Asian
wasn't exactly what she would have expected for Trowa to fall in love with.
Certainly, the other man was relatively attractive, with his dark hair and exotic
skin with the crooked and nervous grin, but the way his unusually blue eyes
were sunken in and shadowed seemed significantly opposite from the warm
kindle of Trowa's spirit. The same spirit that was seeking her understanding,
without offering explanation. Everything in Trowa's posture said, 'trust me'--
still trusting Trowa was never her doubt.
Heero, on the other hand, stepped in greedily. Tipping his head to Juri and
stepping around to put his hand on Trowa's shoulder, leaning sideways as if to
confide, already dismissing Juri. Trowa winced apologetically, most likely for
the other man's indifferent attitude.
"You'll need these." Trowa tossed her his truck keys.
"Later, Trowa." Juri said, lingering long enough to see Trowa get absorbed into
Heero's concerns. Crossing his arms and slowly nodding his head, eyes closed
and a content smile on his face. Body language clearly that Trowa was ready to
remedy anything for the person he cared most for.
Still there was something frighteningly thorough and possessive about the
sudden relationship. Trowa did need to keep his head, or find it again. If only
she had more time to take a longer appraisal. Then again, was it sudden? Or a
continuation of what had gone on before.
She stepped up into Trowa's truck. Taking a reflexive look in the review mirror
and noting the obvious concern etched on her own features. She wanted to go
back upstairs, but that wouldn't satisfy her curiosity. Putting the keys into the
ignition, she glanced at the dash and noticed a note taped there, which she had
noticed in passing before. The address to Catherine Bloom's apartment.
It was out of character for Trowa to behave irresponsibly about his acting.
Perhaps if she met with his sister . . . she could reconcile her concern about his
relationship with Heero Yuy. Recording the telephone number on the back of
her hand.
Well I know what I like, and I like what I see
I know what I want, and I know what I need
And the more that I get, the more that I need
So if you're coming along, well you're coming out easy
"Thank you for meeting me." Juri half-stood, but the other woman sat down at
the table quickly. Juri had met Catherine before, at Spike's cast parties and such,
but they'd never confided in each other before and the actor took a moment to
absorb the rush of quiet messages that the Catherine's expression generated.
Catherine's hair was short, folding in around her face and wildly curly at the
ends, as if she'd just come from trying to take a nap. Even though they were
step-siblings, Juri recognized the familial grin, initially nervous while hoping to
make the other person comfortable.
"I've always wondered what this place was like." Catherine looked around the
International Velvet, her gaze settling toward the cleared area where a make-
shift music group began to set up their equipment. Someone was testing the
mike. Looking everywhere before taking a deep breath and meeting Juri's look
full on. "Are you worried about Trowa? What's happened?"
Juri's eyes flickered with the immediate pressure of Catherine's worry, and she
hastily began, "I didn't want to trouble you; however, your brother and I have
been good friends recently."
"He's spoken of you." Catherine eagerly took her drink from the waiter's hands,
and ignoring the straw took a deep drink. "All he says is that he's very happy
with the Road Rage theater, working with that director and meeting you, of
course." Catherine drank again, taking a long pause and hardly breathing with
the effort of satisfying her thirst.
"That's what I would say as well," Juri nodded, having sipped her drink with a
great deal more conservatism, "Which is why I was wondering about Trowa's
relationship with the Glass House's owner. Things have changed." Catherine's
shoulder's fell forward, tightening her form, so Juri reassured, "I believe that
Trowa is still happy, but . . ."
"But, but, but." Catherine's eyes danced back and forth slowly, the light blue
unfocused, "Of course he's happy, Trowa's intoxicated whenever Heero's
around. Which I can understand. We all grew up together, you see, and Heero
can be so vibrantly alive. So risk taking and sincere. We never got into and out
of so much trouble as when we were with him. Do you mind if I get another one
of these?" Cathy waved her hand over the disappeared sweet drink.
Juri nodded, "I'm still buying. So, Heero's just a little different then, more
aggressive. Alright."
"No," Catherine interrupted, "Not alright. Heero's articulate, well spoken and
incredibly intelligent. He's also extraordinarily depressed. Trowa tries to
shoulder that, you see. It didn't happen to Heero that often, but under extreme
stress, he crumbles."
"Stress?"
"When his parent's died, Heero tried to kill himself after the wake." Catherine
had nearly finished her second drink, her eyelids drooping with memory, "With
a knife of all things. Damn near sliced clean through Trowa's palm, where he
grabbed the blade away. My silly brother didn't grab Heero's wrist, not that it
matters anymore. Trust me, I gave Trowa a piece of my mind in the emergency
room after that, but Trowa wilted in relief to hear that Heero was fine and told
me that day that he'd do anything to repair Heero's sorrow. They were almost
doubly inseparable from then on."
"Almost?" Juri caught on, "What happened?"
"I'm not sure," Catherine said thoughtfully, "I got married after high school,
which was my biggest mistake in life. And Trowa went to school, which was
the first independent from Heero decision he'd made-I was grateful for that.
Heero stayed here and began to run the Glass House. When Trowa got back
things went horribly . . ."
"With Nichol and . . . he told me." Juri watched Catherine finish her glass of
water, "You have heard that Trowa has . . ."
"Has what?" Catherine asked, guarded urgency in her voice, "I was afraid . . .
Trowa just hasn't given up has he?" She looked away, at her white fingers-the
index tapping against the table.
"They're exploring a togetherness, yes." Juri admitted, "That's why I wanted to
speak with you. I wanted to know more about Heero. He's quite *possessive*
of your brother it seems."
"Exploring." Catherine repeated, not quite meeting Juri's eyes as she attempted,
"Something terrifying about that word."
During the quietness, Juri watched Catherine's eyes shimmer with many unshed
tears. She had Trowa's tenderness, only a much more thorough fear of being
hurt. A fear of hurt that Trowa was wary of, but of which he was also mostly
oblivious. Trowa had hope.
Everybody screams don't know what to believe
I just follow someone else's life
Catherine stumbled against the edge of her doorway, fumbling with the keys,
and risking to let her frustrated breath out in sobs, even though her tears were
long dry. She'd sat with Juri at the International Velvet for some time, not
speaking. Then Juri had offered to drive her home, Catherine couldn't refuse . . .
she'd slipped in too many drinks. Drowning without results.
She fixed one hand around the door's handle, ready to push it open, but found
that it turned easily without the key. Her eyes widened, had she forgotten to
lock it? It couldn't be Sano, he hadn't the key. Trowa was preoccupied, wasn't
he? Over the anxiety, a strange sense of indifference granted her some clarity of
thought. She pushed open the door.
"Welcome back, sweetie," his tone was apologetic, but firm. The coolness in
her head was all that kept her collected.
"What . . . are you doing here?" The anger of the words somehow lost as she
spoke them.
"Probably complicating things for you, as usual." Duo Maxwell said, without a
measure of flippancy. He sat on her couch, leaning forward with his arms
balanced on his knees. "Which I wouldn't do lightly."
"How . . . ?"
"Catherine, I know things are bad, but I've always wanted to know where you
are and that you're doing well." His brows furrowed, just visible under the
caramel colored bangs. "It's not that hard to check on either."
"Well, you can leave now. Keep your checking at a distance." Catherine held
the door open, trying not to let the relief overwhelm her confidence as he did
make his way toward the exit. "If you have to tell me something, have one of
your fancy lawyers write me again."
"One thing," Duo stopped just near her, and his voice dropped a tone, becoming
a bit dangerous with the level of his sincerity, "You might at least send Helen a
card for her birthday from now on." He continued to leave, calling back, "She
believes Trowa's gift was from both her uncle and her mother. However, I don't
ever want to have to make excuses for you again."
Catherine closed the door still blanketed by the unnatural calmness. She stood
staring into the room for some time.
And all my bookcases groan none of the words are my own
I just follow someone else's life
And all the knowledge I crave is waiting there in my grave
So it seems - jump or be sane
The conversation had gotten a little unfocused as soon as Heero realized that
Trowa's friend had actually left the room. The troubles had managed to lose
themselves, as soon as the reddish-brown hair nodded in agreement to
accompany him back to the Glass House once more. The entire mission had
unraveled when Heero found himself absorbed in Trowa's subtle touches in the
car, in the theater, and again in the conference room.
It was all the distraction he needed to survive another meeting with Relena.
And there had been the aborted returning of Trowa to his apartment, so they
could detour to the Selfish Gene.
Heero leaned back in his seat, letting the aggressive words of the poet sear his
thoughts with vivid images of lost individuality.
"Come back to me."
That voice, the one that could quell any darkness, pushed through the poet's
microphoned amplification of meter and rhyme. Trowa's voice. Heero didn't
open his eyes, even after he felt the first tentative brush of fingers along his jaw
line. He waited for the voice again.
"Heero."
"What?" he growled emotionally, sitting upright and turning to glare back at
Trowa over his shoulder. They shared one side of the side table to better see the
evening's artists perform.
"Just checking," Trowa laughed, a bit nervously, "It was a pretty long
afternoon, and I figured that if you were going to sleep . . . it might as well be in
your own bed."
"I'm . . . awake." Heero regretted his unbridled reaction, inevitably he always
felt as if he made Trowa uncomfortable, distant or doubtful. Even when Trowa
reassuringly came without questions, or when he reached out to set his hand just
next to his own. Still tentative. "Don't doubt me." Heero said bluntly. "I'm
awake." He leaned in, pushing Trowa against the wall with surprise, faces close.
"Just checking." Trowa repeated, his breath rich with the textures of his drink.
"Just checking," Heero's echo close enough that his lips whispered over
Trowa's.
"You are here. Hey, Keisuke, I told you, Trowa is back here." Sylvia's voice
carried, and glancing over Heero saw her watching them a few feet away with a
sparkling smirk crossing her features. A moment later, Keisuke Yuki was
beside her waving with enthusiasm and a cheerful grin.
"Good to see you again, pal," Keisuke said as he and Sylvia took the open
opposite seats. "I have a few more scripts to try getting initially approved by
Mister Tough As Nails here . . . perhaps you'd read through them Trowa. Since
you have the inside pull and all."
"I couldn't really . . . but I'll read them." Trowa added the last bit hastily, trying
more successfully than Heero was at enjoying the energetic sandy-haired man's
company. "Are you reading tonight?"
"Keisuke has a few good poems, and then all these others that he's insisting on
reading as well . . ." Sylvia balanced her cheek against one of her hands.
"They're all good poems, Syl," Keisuke defended himself, a talent Heero noticed
long ago that Keisuke excelled at, "You're just too civilized to appreciate the
love poems."
"Don't get me wrong, love poems are swell . . ." Sylvia began, "But I think that a
few of them are too personal for this audience. Especially the one about the
orange blossoms."
Keisuke frowned, bewildered. "Poems do contain true feelings of love or pain
or . . ." then he was lost in thought, distracted by the steady voice still coming
from the stage.
He didn't seem to hear when Sylvia addressed the other two men directly, with
one hand pulled up to symbolize secrecy, "He's too chicken to go up there
anyway. I'm trying to give him an excuse so he doesn't get sick."
"Hn." Heero's gaze wandered around the other tables spread about in front of
the small stage and toward the dim glow of the stairwell to the upper level exit.
Keisuke did bring in a good play every now and again, but his writing was often
an inconsistent vision. The Asian man had to admit that was a well-suited
match for the inconsistent Glass House. If only he could rid himself of
troublesome distractions altogether. Even as he watched the other members of
the audience, he leaned back to balance against the comfort of Trowa's near arm
and shoulder.
I want to move on, but I know when to stay
Oh you can stand there all day, you can shoulder the blame
But they're spoiling the paintwork and they're ruining the line
And I've been here before and it ain't worth your overtime
Catherine jumped when the knock at the door became louder. She'd fallen
asleep on the couch, exhausted. Her eyes ached with unnatural dryness, and she
already felt the creases of the couch's pillow lining her face. She'd fallen into a
deep, yet restless slumber.
The last thing she wanted was a visitor.
"Who is it?" She said, then felt rising bitterness that she'd betrayed her
presence.
"It's me, Cathy." The voice of the boyish rooster head, and the reminder of all
the choices she'd been putting off.
She rolled slightly, letting one arm fold over her forehead. Blocking the
industrial glow of the overhead light. Wondering if she turned it off, if things
could go back the way they were before. Before the flippant affair with a good
boy's heart, before the broken vows and the unexpected child. Before the
attraction to the comforting habits of alcohol and the recklessness of hasty,
convoluted sex.
When things had been innocent and easy. When she only had to go to the next
room to confide with her best friend, her step brother.
She could talk to Trowa about anything. And she'd had his undivided interest,
until Heero's desperate attempt for attention. She'd had such important news to
tell him that evening. Instead, she had clutched his shoulders in the emergency
room, dreadfully afraid that the blade that had torn Trowa's palm might have
done more damage. Trowa had simply kept his eyes on the bandaged hand, with
an odd fixation.
If she hadn't realized the depth of the fixation, she would have asked him that
evening. She would have asked him what to do. About Duo Maxwell's
proposal.
But he had no reason to ask her not to marry Duo. He was fixated, on saving
Heero Yuy.
So she had said yes.
The yes that had enabled her to destroy everything she tried to build around her.
"Catherine," Sano's voice again. "Let me come in." She could tell from the tone
of his voice that he was at a loss. The earnest boy would have consoled her with
words if he only knew which ones he was meant to say.
She would not destroy more innocence with a yes. She said, "No."
They've got me running around but it's not work that they've found
Just something to keep me occupied
And all the knowledge I crave is waiting there in my grave
So it seems - jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
"Personal." Saitou stood next to Juri, again clarifying.
"I'd imagine so." Juri nodded, "Although today, I can't say for sure. I know that
he was trying to solve a crisis of sorts yesterday."
"I trust Trowa to make the best decisions for the theater as well. Let me know if
I should be concerned." Saitou said dryly. Still, Juri was amazed with his
abundance of forgiveness for the absent Trowa Barton. She had to hope that the
reasons were as important as were necessary for Trowa to neglect the theater,
still she wondered if Heero Yuy was a potential nuisance for Trowa's
participation in the new production.
She scanned the theater, the greatest commotion a pool of swooning extras
who'd swarmed around the elegantly spoken Saionji. The newcomer had curled
and dyed his long hair for the show, and the rich green apparently didn't disturb
his fan club in the least.
Also on stage, Dorothy was rehearsing her leading solo at the piano with
Kozue's brother. Spike had made the embarrassing mistake of catching the
professional pianist from behind and mistaking the boy for his nearly identical
twin sister. Even from that distance, Juri could see the continuing red flush of
the bashful boy's features.
Mikage was maneuvering behind them all, winding an extension cord around his
arm. Utena was rebalancing the thin metal sword prop in Nichol's wrist, then
took a step back so they could practice their climatic duel together.
Juri still wasn't finding Shiori. She wondered where the girl was. For the first
time, it seemed that everything had been taken apart, piece by piece, and put
back together upside down and backwards. She began to rotate in a small circle,
searching the seats.
"What are you looking for?" Shiori asked from the doorway. Juri momentarily
started, feeling caught.
"Just looking." Juri said simply, "Welcome, how are you?"
"I'm fine." Shiori said, stepping wide around the taller woman and proceeding
down the center aisle.
Juri sighed, shaking her head. "That could have gone better."
Catch me if you can, my feet won't ever feel the ground again
So let the overture take over and the symphony restrain
Let the orchestra be passion and the timpani's the rain
"If you don't want me to stop by, then simply say so." Shin hovered in the
doorway, watching Faye scramble around to gather her things, falling to the
center of the blue carpeted floor and lacing up her tennis shoes.
"It's so cold." Her teeth chattered, even as she pulled her socks up as far as they
would go under the black athletic pants. She grabbed a light sweater jacket and
a fuzzy band to wrap around her ears. Shin smiled bemused, in his own long
sleeved shirt and loose grey shorts. She had complained about not getting out as
often as she might like, so he'd suggest she come along for part of his morning
jogs since they both had such late schedules that season. For the first effort,
Faye was remarkably making progress, still she couldn't hide the enormous
yawn even behind both hands. "Too early, too cold." She zipped up the
sweater, and began to rummage in her closet for a pair of gloves.
"Ready now?" Shin accepted her chattering teeth bobbing up and down as
consent, and ushered her along at a fair swift pace. The autumn sunrise was
already well announced to the sky, with rose colored accents on the morning
clouds.
"Okay, that's good enough." Faye said at the end of the block, her nose
significantly rosy itself, yet they continued anyway. A block later she repeated
the sentiment, adding, "Saitou'll expect me at the theater in three hours."
Shin chuckled, admiring her perseverance. He'd found that Faye did what she
wanted to do no matter how reluctant she might be, and she always got along
farther without a quarrel from him or submission. He just let her make
comments.
Jogging in place at a rather busy intersection, he couldn't help but take the time
to admire her vibrant glow and wind chapped cheeks. She hadn't given any true
complaints, but maybe the autumn was becoming too cold for her to stay out so
long. He reconsidered getting them both memberships at the gym his old
roommate worked at, not wanting to neglect any earnest concerns.
When the light changed, they hurried across. With Faye's loud frustrations, "I
don't wanna . . . let's go back." Still she smiled brightly. Something he needed
to see, and it warmed him more than anything else.
It's a mean machine keep it tight, keep it clean
Just something to keep me occupied
And as a matter of course be not vexed by remorse
"She makes me insane."
"And you drive her into frustrated confusion." Trowa said softly, counterpoint
to Heero's outburst. "Truth is, Heero, you have to make your own decision
about the Glass House. And soon. Either deny her offer, accept her partnership
or sell the theater. But don't hover in such uncertainty. It isn't good for you."
After yet another meeting, they'd gone back to Heero's home, the same house
that he grew up in when they were younger friends. Immediately, Heero had
gone to the kitchen sink to not only drink a glass of water, but also to splash
some against his face as well. Trowa hovered in the doorway.
Trowa added, "You won't have to listen to another of her new proposals if you
know what you've decided to do."
Heero growled deeply in his throat, "Proposals. Did you know that when Touga
distracted you with his dissertation on the importance of good cellular coverage,
this woman asked to see me . . . on more intimate terms."
"Oh," Trowa said, trying not to react. Even though Relena's intentions had been
obvious to him from the beginning.
Heero watched him for a minute, "You're the only one I want intimate terms
with. Got it?" He crossed over, his features softening and his voice as well,
"Did you hear me?"
"Yeah," Trowa replied, "I hear you."
"Well, then," Heero said abruptly, "What do you want me to do? What do you
want?"
"Heero," Trowa said patiently, "You'll have to choose what to tell her."
"No, baka," The Asian man laughed, however vexed. "I mean what do you want
me to do with you? Are these mutually intimate terms? What if I wanted to
contract you into a partnership?"
"You've always had my friendship."
Heero watched Trowa's last reluctance dissolving. "I'd like to keep that as well,"
Heero pressed, "Whatever happens. You've always helped me when I've needed
you. But, I love you, and with that I'll need your help as well."
"I'll always help you."
"Trowa," Heero said, frustrated, "Don't tease me."
"Tease you?" Trowa reached out and hooked the back of Heero's neck with the
crook of his elbow, pulling him in, kissing him. "Choose what you're going to
do. I'll be here." The words breathed from his mouth when Heero let him take
time speak. "I'm not leaving."
I'm not lost but one who's gone before
Then it seems jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane
Jump or be sane