Raindrops
By Yasashii Tsubasa
Disclaimer: Sadly, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise. The Bishie Protection Squad found my hoard yesterday, and so therefore Quatre and Zechs are free until I can capture them again. The song 'Come Away With Me' is by the beautiful and talented Norah Jones, and makes me cry. Strip me of my pride too, why don't you?
~*~*~*~
It was raining.
Inside the old apartment, the drops could be heard pounding on the fire escape, the walls, and the ceiling as Dorothy lay stretched on her unmade bed, eyes closed, nose pointing upward, dressed in a pair of jeans and a spaghetti strap top. Her hands rested on her flat stomach, and she just lay there, feeling every breath that came into her body and listening to the rain. She didn't even bother to try and think, much less to think about her life. Dorothy had been doing far too much of that lately, and she was tired of acting like a sissy, whiny little girl—no, a sissy, whiny little Relena.
Dorothy smiled at the thought of her pulling on Relena's demeanour. And then going after Quatre like that, using Relena's methods of getting Heero.
My god, she thought. With that kind of sad joke, I could very well be a comedian. Or a mental case.
Dorothy slowly traced her fingers up her sides until they rested above her head, nestled in her hair, which was spread out like a fan on the sheets. She would have loved for Quatre to be here, with her, staring into her eyes, warming her frozen body.
And her frozen heart, too.
Dorothy smiled slowly, feeling a sigh ripple through her body. Quatre…she missed him so much it hurt, but yet the image of him in her mind was one that comforted her. Dorothy could imagine him here, lying on his side next to her casually, like he used to when they were still together. They would talk quietly about nonchalant little things until Quatre would lean forward and kiss her lips softly, silencing all conversation.
Dorothy felt tears on her face. It was useless for her to be nostalgic—Quatre had run out on her, and that was all there is to it. End of story.
But why did the conclusion of the matter have to turn out so badly?
Quatre sighed, leaning against the frame of the huge picture windows that gave him a view into the rainy streets of London. He had been having the dream again; the one that always left him lost and confused, drowning in all of the rain and the endless time spent without her.
Dorothy…
Quatre dreamt about her, dreams where she laughed again and was no longer afraid of him. He knew that, no matter what guards she put up, Dorothy was just like him; a lost, confused kid who got tangled up in an adult war.
Quatre pushed himself away from the picture windows, disgusted. He was nineteen! He should be fresh out of high school, living on his own, working several low-paying jobs and enjoying the freedom if life. Instead, he was the heir apparent and CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, a former soldier, and employing millions of people older than he was. Through all of that, he was still young.
Sometimes everyone forgot that.
And now Quatre was here, in London, renting a tiny one-bedroom apartment in the poor part of town, escaping from all of his responsibilities and trying to re-live a happier time in his life. Dorothy owned the same sort of apartment in this neighbourhood, called the Bohemian section because of its abundance of artists, performers and students. It was here, where the rain on the stained glass windows bathed entire rooms in colour, that Quatre and Dorothy had loved each other, and here where they had formed a place all their own, devoid of anything but the apartment, the rain and themselves.
But, of course, that had ended because she was still afraid—afraid that Quatre would leave her, but even more afraid that his affection would go overboard. It was the latter fear that had been their undoing, and the reason that Quatre had left, betraying her trust once and for all.
Quatre sighed, flopping down on his bed to listen to the rain. He missed Dorothy more than anything, but he couldn't go back to her. This was the closest he would ever get to her—having an apartment in the same neighbourhood as she—because he was stupid and had no thoughts for the feelings of others.
It was his fault again. Just like everything else.
Dorothy heard the faint sound of her favourite song coming from the jazz club down the street, the one where she and Quatre went on Friday nights to dance. She began to cry as the words came to her ears.
And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof,
While I'm safe there in your arms…
So all I ask is for you
To come away with me in the night…
Come away with me…
Dorothy was swept into memory before she could stop herself; a memory of a time when she believed in love, and had believed in him.
The small five-person jazz band began a slow number, a familiar song that Dorothy could remember from the previous weeks that she had been here. She closed her eyes, enjoying the music, and could have stayed there all night had Quatre not tapped her shoulder.
She opened her eyes. " What do you want?"
His blue eyes were gazing deeply into hers. " Would you like to dance?"
She sighed teasingly, smiling. " I suppose I must," she said, but let him pull her gently onto the cleared area of floor in front of the band. " I must warn you that I'm not very good."
Quatre smiled, kissing her lightly. " It doesn't matter to me." He wrapped his arms around her slowly, and they danced slowly in the dim light of the club as the song progressed.
Come away with me and we'll kiss,
On a mountaintop
Come away with me and I'll
Never stop loving you…
Dorothy felt wonderful, dancing, with her head on Quatre's shoulder and her arms around his neck. He was warm, his hands on her back comforting and secure, his scent enticing. She sighed happily, never wanting the feeling to stop.
And, even though the song ended, her wish came true…
Dorothy rose from the bed, pulling on a blue jacket and leaving the room, walking out into the rain. She wandered the streets aimlessly, enjoying the cool sensation of water on her body and, above all, the numbing effect it had on her mind.
Quatre paced his room, helpless to resist the onslaught of memory that left him reeling. He was swept back to the fateful night when he had destroyed the dream, and destroyed Dorothy as well.
" Hey, Quatre," Dorothy said as he sat beside her on the bed. She put her book down.
" Hey," he kissed her gently, one hand resting at the back of her neck, the other gently stroking her cheek, feeling the softness of it beneath his rough fingers. Dorothy sighed when he pulled away, and he smiled as he stared into her eyes.
" Dorothy, do you want to be with me forever?" Quatre asked, reaching into his pocket. She nodded, confused.
" Why do you ask?"
Quatre didn't reply, but instead presented her with the opened ring box, displaying its contents. He had picked out a ring that his mother had worn every day of her life, and it was beautiful—a pure blue diamond set into soft gold, small and subtle.
However, Dorothy's reaction stopped him cold. The colour in her face drained visibly as she stared at the ring, frozen. Quatre waited for her to say something, but she didn't—and when he couldn't stand the silence any longer he spoke instead, his voice a drained whisper.
" Dorothy—do you…accept? What's wrong?"
She refused to look at him. " I…I can't—this will change things. I can't marry you," she now looked at him, with fear and rage. " Why did you have to do this? Why weren't you happy with things the way they were?" her voice was filled with sobs.
Quatre snapped the velvet box shut, his proposal in ruins and his heart broken. " Are you saying that you don't want to be with me? This is the way we could secure being together forever! I want to be able to cherish you every day! You may not know it, but there are responsibilities beyond this apartment for both of us!"
" I know that!" Dorothy retorted. " I…god, Quatre, do you know what happens to people who get married? They fight. They turn on one another, and then they die…" her voice failed and Quatre knew she was thinking of her own parents, both dead, having nearly killed one another at home and then dying because of war and illness, and dying with hate in their hearts. Quatre was overcome with emotion, and he took Dorothy's hands in his own.
" Dorothy, listen to me: you are not like them. We belong together."
She flung herself away from him, tears flying from her eyes.
" I'm exactly like them!" she cried. " I inherited that hate and rage, and I still have it! Quatre, I want you to be safe, and if you marry me…if you marry me I'll just end up killing you! I don't want that!"
Quatre reeled back.
" If that's how you feel," he said, rising from the bed. He could feel Dorothy's eyes on him as he opened the door to the apartment. He heard her sob as the door clicked shut behind him, but he walked on, out of the building and into the night…
Quatre sighed as the sound of the pounding rain brought him back to the present. He had walked the streets all night after he had left, coming back to discover Dorothy asleep. He had packed then, kissing her goodbye softly and leaving forever. It was a stupid reason to leave, he knew, but Quatre couldn't bear to think that Dorothy considered him only a temporary lover, not someone she would want to be with forever. The proposal had been the last chance for him to try to have the best of both his worlds—Dorothy and the outside responsibilities of work—and he didn't know any other way to have both. Quatre knew he needed both in his life, and marriage had seemed to only choice for him to have Dorothy forever.
How wrong he had been.
He had forced himself back into working, and had said nothing about her, burying his memories…until now.
Quatre sighed, pulling on his long black coat and leaving his apartment. The rain seemed to clear his thoughts as he walked, listening to the sound of his feet as they fell on the cobblestones.
Then, his footsteps were no longer alone.
Looking up, Quatre saw through the rain the faint outline of a bright blue jacket. He squinted, and then smiled slightly as Dorothy's form came into plain view.
She looked prettier than when he had last seen her, if it was possible. Though thoroughly soaked, he could see that Dorothy had taken on a willowy posture, with a soft air of wisdom in the way she walked. Her eyes were softer, more casual, and Quatre could see she had trimmed her eyebrows so to look a bit more normal. She didn't see him until he spoke.
" Well," Quatre said softly, almost whispering. Dorothy looked up at him, silent, but thankfully uncritical. " Well."
" Hello, Quatre," she said steadily, tucking her hands into her pockets and looking at the grey clouds overhead. " What brings you to London?"
Quatre didn't reply, but instead reached out to touch her cheek. Dorothy hesitated, but then pulled away from his touch, visibly uncomfortable.
" Quatre—"
" —Don't you dare," he interrupted. She was so damn close to him, her skin so soft; her eyelashes as they moved as apparent to him as the rain, almost as if they were beating against his skin. So close, and yet so far away. " Don't say anything, Dorothy. Not one word, not before you hear me out."
Dorothy met his eyes defiantly. " I tried to be polite, Quatre, but I guess you're too good for that, hmm?"
Quatre reeled back, unprepared for the biting distain in the insult. He was fighting desperately to take Dorothy in his arms and hold her again—Dorothy, apparently, didn't feel exactly the same.
" Dorothy, I'm sorry," Quatre whispered, unable to think of anything else to say. " I'm so sorry I hurt you."
" Why should I believe you? So you can screw it up again for us?" Dorothy's eyes narrowed. " I liked things the way they were, Quatre. I was happy. Why weren't you?"
" I wanted us to be together forever," he challenged back, fed up with the games. " Did you think me only temporary until you find someone else? Have you actually gotten over my leaving and moved on? Listen to me: I love you, and only you; I have never looked at another woman since I met you, and never will. My heart is yours, Dorothy, and that's the only way I want it to be. I don't understand it, Dorothy—do you feel the same way or not?"
When she didn't respond, Quatre tipped her chin upwards and kissed her softly, a kiss full of every memory he had suppressed over the last months, every tear he had shed, and every time he had thought about her and had shook his head, reminding himself that it was never to be again. Quatre felt his emotions lift off and transfer to Dorothy, as if the kiss was everything he had ever wanted to say to her but had never gotten the chance. He felt her hands slowly slide up his chest to rest on his shoulders, and he wrapped his other hand around her waist, pulling Dorothy closer, knowing nothing but the rain, her taste and her warmth, which he had missed for so long.
When they finally parted, Dorothy sighed silently, her nose only inches from his.
" I love you more than you will ever know," she whispered. " But I still have some things to figure out before I can marry anyone. I have things I want to do, and unfinished business to take care of, and—" she was cut off my Quatre placing his fingers over her lips.
" I don't care. I want to be with you again. I made a mistake. Please, Dorothy…I broke your heart so badly and I feel terrible about it."
Dorothy watched him for a few minutes, trying to discern from his eyes if he was telling the truth or not. Finally, she smiled.
" Then fix it," she whispered, before surrendering to Quatre's kiss once more.
And then, forever more.
Come away with me…
A/N: *sits back and grins* And she's done it again, folks…please review…