April 22 AC 201
Dorothy's hand froze with the mug lifted halfway to her lips. "What?"
Afza looked both confused and worried. "Dorothy, are you all right?"
Calm down. You knew this was bound to happen. You accepted this position knowing you'd run into him. It was easy to avoid his notice as just one of a dozen designers.
"Yes, I'm fine. Did he say what brings him here?" Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears.
"Well, no, but it's standard. Sort of like you're morning rounds. He likes to meet all the top level people in each department. I forgot, you weren't here just after the war when Pavlov was hired." The dark woman turned back toward the door. "Should I let him in, or do you want a minute to get ready. I can tell him you're on the phone."
In spite of herself, Dorothy laughed-or emitted a sort of grating sound that might, under other circumstances, have been mistaken for a laugh. "Somehow I don't think that would be wise. Show him in."
Ok, calm down. You've always been the collected one. You didn't lose it, even when using the Zero system. It's just Quatre. He's week. You ran him through with afencing foil, remember? Yes, but he's my boss now. As much as this life is dull and uneventful, it's better than before. Better than...
At the sound of the Door handle turning Dorothy took a firm grip on her coffee mug. Then she realized how foolish she must look and hastily slammed it down on her desk. Drops of lukewarm brown liquid spattered over the topmost sheets in an untidy stack of documents as Quatre Raberba Winner strode into the office.
He's gotten taller. He must be six feet at least. And broader. He's what, twenty now. Stupid! Pull yourself together.
"Good morning, Mr. Winner."
Quatre paused in the doorway, one hand on the knob. His clear blue eyes met hers directly, and Dorothy felt herself blushing. She looked away quickly, her face reddening all the more for her embarrassment.
What do you say to someone you would gladly have killed less than five years ago?
Softly closing the door, Quatre advanced toward her, holding out his hand.
"Ms. Dorothy."
Numbly, she returned his handshake, and was slightly reassured by the discovery that his hand was as unsteady as hers.
Drawing on the reserve of poise that had stood her in good stead during many awkward political encounters, Dorothy forced a welcoming smile and gestured expansively at the disorderly office.
"Please excuse the mess," she said, moving quickly to remove a pile of papers from a chair in the corner by the window. "I wasn't expecting visitors."
"Don't worry. I am notoriously disorganized myself," he responded, seeming to grow more confident. Then, giving a short laugh he said, "I don't suppose the usual generic greeting and questions will do in this case?" Taking the seat she offered, the young head of the Winner Corporation rested his hands on his knees and regarded her speculatively.
What happened to the shy, unprepossessing pilot of Gundam 04?
"No, I doubt they will," responded Dorothy, seating herself opposite him. On a sudden whim, she did something she seldom allowed herself to do, even among friends. But there was something about his frank, open gaze that made her drop her guard. "This is extremely awkward."
"It certainly is," he agreed with a characteristically amiable smile.
He's got a very charming countenance. It's a pity really...
The two sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he inquired, "Just out of curiosity, what prompted you two, er, come to work here on L4?"
"I needed a job. Earth was still virtually in ruins, so I thought I'd try my luck in the colonies."
"I took the liberty of examining your records in A.C. 196, after I'd returned and started up operations here.. You were listed as MiA."
"That's because I didn't want to be found."
"Doubtless. I assume that since the amnesty you've felt safe using your own name?"
"Come now, Quatre. You know I've got too much family pride to do anything else."
He frowned, shifting his gaze from her face to a point somewhere over her left shoulder. Something about the tautness of his expression told Dorothy that her attempt at levity had not been well-received.
If I antagonize him, there goes my job. I can't risk that yet.
"So," she inquired, suddenly eager to change the subject. "Can you bring yourself to trust me in this position after my-shall we say, betrayal?" It wasn't exactly the best topic to have broached, she knew. But some part of her consciousness needed to know the answer to that question.
Quatre took a moment to reply, and when he did his expression was sober. "I think," he said at last, "That because your interests are involved. You won't risk the welfare of the company. Your job depends on it."
He knows me better than i supposed. Why does it bother me that he views me the same way he would a viper?
The seconds ticked buy, neither one venturing to break the silence. Dorothy had to exercise a great deal of self-control in order to prevent herself from reaching up and twisting the thin gold chain that hung about her neck. The lavender silk of her blouse was beginning to feel oppressive. At last she said, "I suppose you're wondering why I chose to work here, of all places."
"I was, actually," he acknowledged.
His composure is unnerving. Those boys were always secretive, but I used to be able to read his eyes.
"To be perfectly honest, I didn't have any choice. I had only a few credits left in my bank account, and with Grandfather's assets sold I didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions." She shrugged nonchalantly, then continued, "I couldn't bring myself to work permanently as a waitress or a clerk, and I didn't have the skills needed to qualify for a lot of the work available at that time. Not that there was much. In 197, as you know, the depression hit and work was nearly impossible to find. I only heard about a low level opening in this department by accident, from someone I chanced to meet on a bus. I applied, although I had no credentials. I was always good at art, and to be honest I did a little tampering with my records-" she smiled sweetly.
"I see," he said. "I think a lot of people made some subtle record modifications after the war."
"I assume that includes you," she remarked, carefully watching his expression. "I doubt the head of the historically pacifist Winner Conglomerate could afford to have it known that he had essentially been a terrorist?"
"That's right," Quatre responded, but he offered no further explanation. Dorothy didn't press him-there was something new and different about his demeanor. The boy she had scoffed at had disappeared.
I hope I never have to fight you again, Quatre Reberba Winner. You nearly beat me once. I don't know if I could win this time.
"I suppose I'd better let you get back to work," said Quatre, rising. To her surprise, Dorothy felt a sudden pang of regret.
Why on earth do I want him to stay? Perhaps, she thought, it was because, though they had been enemies, they had fought the same war. He was a link with the past-a past full of danger and challenges.
She came to her feet as well, hand outstretched. "I'd like to say it was nice to see you again," she said. "But in all sincerity I believe I could have lived without the privilege." She could afford to be a little more blunt now, since her job was secure. Quatre wasn't spiteful.
"On the contrary," he said, clasping her hand briefly in his, "Seeing you, although not altogether a pleasant experience, has reassured me on one point that has been bothering me for several years."
"Which is?" she asked, moving to hold open the door.
"You're alive."
Suddenly his last words to her on Libra rang in Dorothy's ears. "Please don't die."
She took an involuntary step away from him, nearly losing her grip on the doorknob. "Why should it matter. I was your adversary."
"You'll never understand, will you," he sighed, shaking his head. His wayward golden bangs danced across his eyes in response to the rapid motion. "You're still human, Dorothy. You were wrong-but you believed in what you were fighting for."
"What, in the glory and inevitability of war? In mankind's inability to overcome baser instincts unless the survival of the entire race was in question?" she snorted. "I thought you wanted peace?"
He just shook his head again, and strode past her into the corridor. Perplexed, she watched his retreating back for several moments, then slowly closed the door.
********
Dorothy tossed aside her pencil, scowling. It was nearly half past one, and neither Wen nor Nicole had yet brought her any prospective adds.
Between the time pressure and Quatre's surprise visit this morning, how am I supposed to concentrate on my own work?
She admitted to herself-very quietly, of course--that she had been more than a little unsettled by Quatre's sudden appearance. She had been expecting the occurrence on one level, but somehow subconsciously denying the possibility.
What irks you more, the fact that he came at all, the fact that he doesn't trust you, or the fact that you were so honest with him?
Her mind kept asking the same question, and for once in her life Dorothy had no immediate answer with which to sooth her inward disquiet.
But, be honest. He shouldn't trust you. You betrayed the cause of peace once.
Unconsciously, she reached into her lap drawer and closed her fist about the small data cylinder. You're betraying it again, to all intents and purposes. Dorothy smiled, and upon glimpsing her face in the mirror she was almost surprised to see the combination of ferocity and cunning in her own eyes.
Dorothy's hand froze with the mug lifted halfway to her lips. "What?"
Afza looked both confused and worried. "Dorothy, are you all right?"
Calm down. You knew this was bound to happen. You accepted this position knowing you'd run into him. It was easy to avoid his notice as just one of a dozen designers.
"Yes, I'm fine. Did he say what brings him here?" Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears.
"Well, no, but it's standard. Sort of like you're morning rounds. He likes to meet all the top level people in each department. I forgot, you weren't here just after the war when Pavlov was hired." The dark woman turned back toward the door. "Should I let him in, or do you want a minute to get ready. I can tell him you're on the phone."
In spite of herself, Dorothy laughed-or emitted a sort of grating sound that might, under other circumstances, have been mistaken for a laugh. "Somehow I don't think that would be wise. Show him in."
Ok, calm down. You've always been the collected one. You didn't lose it, even when using the Zero system. It's just Quatre. He's week. You ran him through with afencing foil, remember? Yes, but he's my boss now. As much as this life is dull and uneventful, it's better than before. Better than...
At the sound of the Door handle turning Dorothy took a firm grip on her coffee mug. Then she realized how foolish she must look and hastily slammed it down on her desk. Drops of lukewarm brown liquid spattered over the topmost sheets in an untidy stack of documents as Quatre Raberba Winner strode into the office.
He's gotten taller. He must be six feet at least. And broader. He's what, twenty now. Stupid! Pull yourself together.
"Good morning, Mr. Winner."
Quatre paused in the doorway, one hand on the knob. His clear blue eyes met hers directly, and Dorothy felt herself blushing. She looked away quickly, her face reddening all the more for her embarrassment.
What do you say to someone you would gladly have killed less than five years ago?
Softly closing the door, Quatre advanced toward her, holding out his hand.
"Ms. Dorothy."
Numbly, she returned his handshake, and was slightly reassured by the discovery that his hand was as unsteady as hers.
Drawing on the reserve of poise that had stood her in good stead during many awkward political encounters, Dorothy forced a welcoming smile and gestured expansively at the disorderly office.
"Please excuse the mess," she said, moving quickly to remove a pile of papers from a chair in the corner by the window. "I wasn't expecting visitors."
"Don't worry. I am notoriously disorganized myself," he responded, seeming to grow more confident. Then, giving a short laugh he said, "I don't suppose the usual generic greeting and questions will do in this case?" Taking the seat she offered, the young head of the Winner Corporation rested his hands on his knees and regarded her speculatively.
What happened to the shy, unprepossessing pilot of Gundam 04?
"No, I doubt they will," responded Dorothy, seating herself opposite him. On a sudden whim, she did something she seldom allowed herself to do, even among friends. But there was something about his frank, open gaze that made her drop her guard. "This is extremely awkward."
"It certainly is," he agreed with a characteristically amiable smile.
He's got a very charming countenance. It's a pity really...
The two sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he inquired, "Just out of curiosity, what prompted you two, er, come to work here on L4?"
"I needed a job. Earth was still virtually in ruins, so I thought I'd try my luck in the colonies."
"I took the liberty of examining your records in A.C. 196, after I'd returned and started up operations here.. You were listed as MiA."
"That's because I didn't want to be found."
"Doubtless. I assume that since the amnesty you've felt safe using your own name?"
"Come now, Quatre. You know I've got too much family pride to do anything else."
He frowned, shifting his gaze from her face to a point somewhere over her left shoulder. Something about the tautness of his expression told Dorothy that her attempt at levity had not been well-received.
If I antagonize him, there goes my job. I can't risk that yet.
"So," she inquired, suddenly eager to change the subject. "Can you bring yourself to trust me in this position after my-shall we say, betrayal?" It wasn't exactly the best topic to have broached, she knew. But some part of her consciousness needed to know the answer to that question.
Quatre took a moment to reply, and when he did his expression was sober. "I think," he said at last, "That because your interests are involved. You won't risk the welfare of the company. Your job depends on it."
He knows me better than i supposed. Why does it bother me that he views me the same way he would a viper?
The seconds ticked buy, neither one venturing to break the silence. Dorothy had to exercise a great deal of self-control in order to prevent herself from reaching up and twisting the thin gold chain that hung about her neck. The lavender silk of her blouse was beginning to feel oppressive. At last she said, "I suppose you're wondering why I chose to work here, of all places."
"I was, actually," he acknowledged.
His composure is unnerving. Those boys were always secretive, but I used to be able to read his eyes.
"To be perfectly honest, I didn't have any choice. I had only a few credits left in my bank account, and with Grandfather's assets sold I didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions." She shrugged nonchalantly, then continued, "I couldn't bring myself to work permanently as a waitress or a clerk, and I didn't have the skills needed to qualify for a lot of the work available at that time. Not that there was much. In 197, as you know, the depression hit and work was nearly impossible to find. I only heard about a low level opening in this department by accident, from someone I chanced to meet on a bus. I applied, although I had no credentials. I was always good at art, and to be honest I did a little tampering with my records-" she smiled sweetly.
"I see," he said. "I think a lot of people made some subtle record modifications after the war."
"I assume that includes you," she remarked, carefully watching his expression. "I doubt the head of the historically pacifist Winner Conglomerate could afford to have it known that he had essentially been a terrorist?"
"That's right," Quatre responded, but he offered no further explanation. Dorothy didn't press him-there was something new and different about his demeanor. The boy she had scoffed at had disappeared.
I hope I never have to fight you again, Quatre Reberba Winner. You nearly beat me once. I don't know if I could win this time.
"I suppose I'd better let you get back to work," said Quatre, rising. To her surprise, Dorothy felt a sudden pang of regret.
Why on earth do I want him to stay? Perhaps, she thought, it was because, though they had been enemies, they had fought the same war. He was a link with the past-a past full of danger and challenges.
She came to her feet as well, hand outstretched. "I'd like to say it was nice to see you again," she said. "But in all sincerity I believe I could have lived without the privilege." She could afford to be a little more blunt now, since her job was secure. Quatre wasn't spiteful.
"On the contrary," he said, clasping her hand briefly in his, "Seeing you, although not altogether a pleasant experience, has reassured me on one point that has been bothering me for several years."
"Which is?" she asked, moving to hold open the door.
"You're alive."
Suddenly his last words to her on Libra rang in Dorothy's ears. "Please don't die."
She took an involuntary step away from him, nearly losing her grip on the doorknob. "Why should it matter. I was your adversary."
"You'll never understand, will you," he sighed, shaking his head. His wayward golden bangs danced across his eyes in response to the rapid motion. "You're still human, Dorothy. You were wrong-but you believed in what you were fighting for."
"What, in the glory and inevitability of war? In mankind's inability to overcome baser instincts unless the survival of the entire race was in question?" she snorted. "I thought you wanted peace?"
He just shook his head again, and strode past her into the corridor. Perplexed, she watched his retreating back for several moments, then slowly closed the door.
********
Dorothy tossed aside her pencil, scowling. It was nearly half past one, and neither Wen nor Nicole had yet brought her any prospective adds.
Between the time pressure and Quatre's surprise visit this morning, how am I supposed to concentrate on my own work?
She admitted to herself-very quietly, of course--that she had been more than a little unsettled by Quatre's sudden appearance. She had been expecting the occurrence on one level, but somehow subconsciously denying the possibility.
What irks you more, the fact that he came at all, the fact that he doesn't trust you, or the fact that you were so honest with him?
Her mind kept asking the same question, and for once in her life Dorothy had no immediate answer with which to sooth her inward disquiet.
But, be honest. He shouldn't trust you. You betrayed the cause of peace once.
Unconsciously, she reached into her lap drawer and closed her fist about the small data cylinder. You're betraying it again, to all intents and purposes. Dorothy smiled, and upon glimpsing her face in the mirror she was almost surprised to see the combination of ferocity and cunning in her own eyes.