"Mr. Winner," a voice cut through Quatre's surreal reality and poked at his ears. "Mr. Winner, can you hear me?"
Leave me alone, God, it's too late, Quatre said, he didn't know if it was out loud or to himself, or in his mind. He looked around. Damn them all, they interrupted my peace.
"Mr. Winner, my name is Lt. Stan Smiley. I was called here on a possible abuse call. I have a couple of questions to ask you."
Quatre's heart stopped. This was it. This was what he'd never had the courage to do. Could he turn Rashid in? Should he? No, I can't, he's my father. How could I even think of such a thing?
"Mr. Winner, has anyone carried out a threat of physical harm to you?"
Rashid didn't threat; he just did.
"No," was an honest answer.
"Has anyone ever harmed you?"
"No."
"How did you get all these injuries?"
This guy was asking too many questions. "I fell down some stairs."
"You must have fallen some flights because you have injuries consistent with a gang beating."
"Yeah, I did."
"Why didn't you call for help?"
"I was fine."
The officer paused, thinking of more questions. Quatre looked away.
"How many times have you fallen down the stairs?"
"A lot."
"Are you under stress?"
"Yes."
"Alright." The officer scribbled some notes. "May ask why you keep falling down the steps?"
"I get pre-occupied while I'm walking. Before I know it, there the steps are."
"Hnnn," the officer gave Quatre a suspicious look, but Quatre was knocking on the door to his dream world.
"Thank you Mr. Winner."
Quatre didn't respond. The officer stepped out. Dorothy had sent Heero and Relena home the previous night and was there early the next morning to see Quatre. She jumped up at the sight of the investigator.
"What did he say?"
"He needs to take some serious stress management classes. Other than that, the healing process is going to be long, but he'll be fine after a while." The officer stooped.
"That's it?" anger fused with Dorothy's lungs.
"That's all he said. I gathered he wasn't telling me something, but I don't know what it was, and he wouldn't tell me, so there was nothing I could do."
Dorothy sighed heavily. "Thank you, officer."
The officer nodded and was on his way. Dorothy went into Quatre's room.
"Quat?" He didn't respond.
"Honey?" Still no response.
"Quatre, the officer said you said you were having stress problems. Is that true?"
"Yes." Quatre said flatly, looking at her.
"But your so careful not to get too stressed, you always have been."
"I'm not that careful, there didn't used to be a lot of stress. Now there is."
Dorothy was at a loss. "You have got to take some classes. This is dangerous. Please take some stress management classes, Quatre, this is hurting your health."
"Okay Dorothy," he smiled softly. "I will."
Dorothy smiled back.
Quatre was to be released the next week. Until then, Dorothy stayed at Quatre's house and kept up the household as best she could and left business to Rashid. She kept a careful eye on Rashid. He hurt Quatre once. He could do it again. Or he could have already done it a million and one times. She was reading in the study one morning when Rashid approached her from her left.
"Good morning, Miss Catalonia," he greeted tenderly.
She jumped on her guard, but hid it behind a smile. "Good morning Rashid."
He extended a bouquet of flowers to her. " I apologize for yelling at you some nights ago. Please accept my apology."
"I forgive you," Dorothy said, startled by his means. He took a seat beside her. She went back to her book. He watched her. She felt it. She looked over at him slowly. He smiled. He had a smile that looked so sincere, it made him look almost Winner-rich, a contemporary term for a well-mannered or well-dressed individual. She smiled a small smile back and went back to her book. He touched her hair and played with it. She looked in his direction, but disregarded his actions though she thought they were strange. He massaged her back with one hand. When she realized what he was doing, she stood up and faced him.
He cut off anything she was about to say. "I've got to go to work, I'll see you later this afternoon." He took her by her biceps and kissed her neck, and made a speedy exit. Dorothy was left standing in the middle of the study in shock. Rashid…wanted her.
That evening, Rashid was acting even stranger. Dinner was served, and the servants had returned home. Dorothy was wearing her comfortable outfit—a pair of short shorts and a low-cut spaghetti-strap that flaunted her fabulous figure. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and still wore her headband. She didn't wait for Rashid to start eating. He didn't seem to mind. Upon entering the dining room, she noticed something strange: the room was dim and candle lit and there were two Italian dinners on either side of a smaller a table. Rashid must have had a date in this dining room. She must have been in the wrong dining room. She turned to leave, but ran into Rashid's chest.
"Oh, I'm sorry, clumsy," she stopped. Rashid was wearing a white shirt and dress vest and dress pants and shoes.
"Hungry?" he mumbled.
"Oh, I was just—"
"In time? Yes you are." He turned her around and guided her to her place at the table. This was awkward.
"What's with the special eats?" she asked shakily.
"They're not nearly as special as you," he refuted the question.
"Aww," Dorothy blushed, "and I thought you didn't like me!"
"I love you Dorothy." Rashid said with a devilish grin.
"Oh, stop."
"You are special. And I know how to treat a woman like you. Your needs, your wants, you, all of you," his eyes traveled down her body. Dorothy stopped being flattered and stood up from the table.
"Well, that was a great dinner, Rashid, and I hope your date enjoys it as much as I did."
"You are my date, Dorothy."
"No, cuz see, Quatre's my boyfriend, and I'm not going to take advantage of the fact that he's lying in the psychiatric ward unable to distinguish between reality and delusion."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not in to hurting him like you are!"
"What?" Rashid stood tall and slammed his fist on the table. He pointed accusingly at Dorothy. "What did that boy tell you?"
"Nothing as a matter of fact," fear began to set in, but she kept her cool, "but I'm watching you, Rashid, don't think that after what you did I don't watch you—"
"What did I do?" Rashid asked quietly.
"You hurt him Rashid, you know you did. You threw down by his neck."
"I was punishing him for what he said about you. Haven't you heard what the servants have been talking about?"
"I don't humor myself with petty gossip!"
Rashid shook his head and went to Dorothy. He took her hands.
"He doesn't love you, Dorothy, he doesn't even want you anymore. He was going to break it off sometime this week."
"You're lying," Dorothy whimpered, her eyeballs heating with brokenness.
"I would never lie to you, Dorothy. I swear. He told some servants he can't stand you anymore, and he keeps thinking about the way your eyebrows used to look and it irks him. But I thought you were lovely before as well as now. I can take care of you Dorothy, and satisfy you the way a woman should be satisfied."
"No," she whispered, lip trembling with the threat of tears.
"I'm sorry Dorothy, I tried to reason with him, tell him you loved him, but he wouldn't listen. He was too hung up on Relena. He stalked her, you know. They had him in an institution—"
"Stop it!" Dorothy screamed, "please! Just please be quiet!"
"He'll hurt you, Dorothy, he's hurt himself before, and he'll hurt you."
The incident at he hospital. "He didn't mean…I mean…he won't—"
"I'm sorry Dorothy. Quatre is crazy. He hurts himself and I beg him stop, but he won't, even if I act all pissed. It's ok. Don't cry."
"I'm not crying!" Dorothy screamed, tears escaping her eyes and wetting shirt. Rashid wrapped his arms around her. She pushed him away and started away. He pulled her back.
"I really care about you, Dot."
Dorothy twisted her wrist loose and ran up to her room and cried and cried.
