Authoress' Note: Wow! Looking back, there's so many ways I would have done this story differently. I didn't realize my writing had improved, or, at the very least, changed, so very much from the last time I sat down to write a piece of fanfiction. And I'm not even exactly sure where I was initially going with the plot...oh, well, a little improvisation never hurt anyone. Anyway, concerning the Quatre question: This is so hard for me! I'm drawn to both Catherine and Dorothy as prospective matches and even Trowa sometimes. But I think I'll definitely stick with Catherine this time. Well, how about a fun little triangle? In this fic, I'm going to be a little more creative than usual with the romantic interests.
And, I'm not a review junkie, but I strongly encourage that you encourage me. Nothing warms a writer's heart than some healthy praise. Critiques can be kept to themselves; this is not a novel I'm trying to sell to a publishing company, the only place where professional editing will be much appreciated.
Hopefully, it's only going to get better from here.
PartTwo of A Conflicted Peace: A Singer, A Sniper And A Doctor
The roar of the crowd went up as the glittering knives danced through the masked man's fingers; gingerly, he balanced the tip on each finger, and, this precarious position held carefully, backed into the cover of the ring's dark shadows. His lovely female partner with the same caramel locks and intelligent gaze made her entrance then, bowing respectfully to the audience in rapture.
Then, closing her eyes, she began to juggle a couple of balls. It started out innocently enough. First she had three, and then there were five, and without anyone really noticing the actual change, it became eight. By the time she had ten altogether her hands were a maelstrom of activity. In the same frenzied moment, she sent the greater amount of a multi-colored ball haze towards Trowa, believe to still be waiting in the shadows. A gasp of mutual shock and horror swept through the crowd. But of course, a moment later Trowa reappeared, virtually unscathed. Each knife still balanced on his fingertip, but now each knife had a red or white ball through its blade.
Well, that sparked some dissension from a few of the watchers. They couldn't see anything – trickery would have been easy – they could have just taken knives that already had balls through them –
But this all went according to the ringmaster's plans, so the trick was redone in plain light. This time, it was obvious that the skill laid entirely with Trowa: When the balls came towards him, he could, with amazing ease and skill, twirl the blade to face the incoming ball. He never cut himself and, as the audience soon learned, the previous trick had also been done under total darkness. In fact, even now, his mask covered half his face.
Both Catherine and Trowa slipped away as the din faded into a gentle roar, and the lions were brought out. There was a nice little alcove that they always retreated to in-between performances. As her brother approached, Catherine threw him a rag for his sweat. It was pointless, which she ought to have known by now. Trowa had learned long ago that distractions were intolerable, no matter how physically instinctive they may be. He did, however, use it to remove some of the gaudy makeup.
Catherine sighed, a little tired, and mid-way through the process of grabbing a soda to cool down, flipped her fingers over the television. Grabbing the soda from the cooler and tipping her head back, she glanced only once at the actual screen. Then she was forced to give a start and take a second glance. Trowa had stopped what he was doing from the first instant.
Over a newscaster's dull drone, Quatre and Relena could be seen talking to each other and a couple other politicians. The picture looked like it had been taken several hours earlier, or perhaps even a few days ago. They were in a city colony, outside a professional looking building and milling by a limo with a couple bodyguards and a woman whose head was turned that seemed distinctively like Noin. Because of their inescapable fame, finding their old friends on the television was by no means an uncommon occasion, and Catherine slipped into a dark corner to begin changing back into her civilian clothes.
Silently, Trowa stood up and went closer to the screen. Something about the shot agitated his admittedly powerful paranoia, but he couldn't quite pin his finger on it...Quatre, however, was noticeably tense, or it was just that Trowa knew him enough to decode his mannerisms...
"Wow, doesn't Miss Relena look so pretty in that picture? I certainly think she should stick less to the color blue myself, but she always said black was too dark for her. And wow, would you look at that, Quatre seems to be doing well for himself...Oh, what did that reporter just say? He has that much money! To think of it!"
The sudden outburst almost made him drawn out his gun, but he quieted himself. Like his comrades, he was falling out of practice with the old-fashioned art of espionage and guardedness, which would unhappily account for how the chipper voice had snuck up on him like that. Catherine, who had never been particularly graceful when it came to these situations, jumped with surprise and fairly toppled over some cardboard boxes in the corner.
"Dorothy!" cried Catherine, her gait angry as she advanced upon the surprise interloper. "What are you doing here? Can't you say hello like an ordinary person?"
Trowa turned around carefully, not about to let anyone notice his anxiety. After momentary surprise, he'd quickly dissected that the chipper and singsong voice came from the always enigmatic Dorothy. But to his surprise, there was a second lady behind Dorothy – in fact, it looked like she was hiding behind Dorothy. She was of smaller height, and might have been pretty if he was ever concerned with such matters. More important seemed to be her clothes, which were even more extravagant and flowing that Dorothy aspired to. This lady, whoever she was, was rich and important and probably ill-used to visiting such slightly uncouth places like Trowa's circus.
Of course, Dorothy was perceptive as ever. "Oh, I didn't mean to scare you, Trowa!" She sent a cold look towards Catherine. "Aren't I allowed to visit old friends?"
"You didn't," answered Trowa in a monotone reminiscent of Heero. He walked to a nearby dirty mirror, and while removing the remainder of the makeup, maybe admittedly vaguely wondered why Dorothy had come today, come now. As insulted as she would act if he ever told her so, she rarely accosted her 'old friends' unless she definitely wanted something. But he needn't ask, he knew; she would tell them soon enough, whether they wanted to hear or not.
"Aren't you going to say hello to my friend? Don't be so afraid, Sheila. It's just Trowa and Catherine, and they're harmless enough. Hey, you guys, Sheila's famous. She's quite the singer! Maybe you've heard of her?"
Trowa knew that at that moment, Catherine's understandable hostility towards Dorothy would be displaced as she lavished politeness on Sheila. Catherine also loved everything she considered cute, and he didn't doubt that the sweetly shy Sheila would fall under that honored category.
Suddenly, however, that same lingering paranoia was jolted again as he thought he heard rustling outside the door. Without a word, he decided he would take a moment to step outside. He didn't balk from taking a throwing knife with him.
No sooner had he stepped outside than a couple burlesque in dark clothes stepped forward menacingly. Playing a role, he quickly threw his eyes towards the ground and attempted the look of nervousness that he knew would serve to hide his identity. The main tent was some distance away, and they were actually in a very private location.
A blessing and a curse, thought Trowa.
"What do you mean, Dorothy can't be found?" demanded Sally. Her blue eyes blazed and her balled fists tightened. Usually she was able to keep her temper under control, but this was not usually.
"Just that," answered Noin coolly, which probably just meant her anger had already been spent. "Dorothy can't be found. She asks us for aid, gives us some very good reasons to provide it, and then she charters the nearest shuttle to take her to Earth. Earth's a bit of a big place. We weren't able to track her movements after that."
"She was throwing off whoever was following her, huh?" Sally placed her palm against her forehead in a vain effort to stop the encroaching headache. "I know she knows some of the oldest tricks in the book. I don't think she was trying to thwart us, though. Probably whoever we needed to be brought in against. For such a tactical mind, she just doesn't think sometimes." She sighed.
They were in a Preventer's crowded office, and Sally could tell Noin was also too tired for this. Some context clues laid in the mountain of paperwork and constant refills of coffee. "To top it off," continued Noin on a sheer worry spiel, "Heero has run into a dead-end trying to track the snipers that were positioned on Relena and Quatre last week."
"Snipers? Wait...that's the first I heard of that."
"It was on television and everything. I mean, only a few of us know about it. Relena didn't even realize until Quatre pointed it out to her in private; he's always been particularly perceptive about those things. Needless to say, Heero ran onto a rooftop and stopped the man, but he committed suicide before we could interrogate. I have no idea what organization it was. I suppose it could have been an individual effort, but I highly doubt it."
"That's never how these things work." agreed Sally tiredly. "Poor Relena. That's the fourth assassination attempt, isn't it?"
Noin laughed, but it sounded harsh and bitter. Any jovial tone was absent. "Milliardo is about to lock her in a cave for the rest of her life."
From Heero's position on the rooftop, he could frame a clear mental picture of where Relena had been standing a whirlwind few days ago. The automated sunset ironically bathed the pavement in red, though Heero's thoughts wasted no time on such poetic muses.
At the time, she'd been chatting peacefully, exchanging pleasantries as Quatre continued to try and place her behind him. His actions at the time had confused her. For all her intelligence, she simply didn't possess the same awareness talent that a Gundam pilot would have in spades. When he'd explained the situation to her, she'd understood his attempted sacrifice right away and seemed caught between chiding him and crying. It wouldn't have worked, however. Nothing really could have stopped the sniper from shooting a second time, and then both Relena and a Gundam pilot would have abandoned this world.
"Zechs said you would be here." He'd been aware of Duo's presence for sometime, but didn't mind staving off conversation with the energetic pilot as long as possible. Duo had never felt right regarding their once feared nemesis by his distinguished and slightly calmer alter ego. "Well, he sort of said that you would be wasting time here, when you should be following more leads, or finding them, or whatever. I said he should spend more time comforting Relena than complaining about you, but I think he sort of stopped listening to me after he'd walked away. Hey, whatcha looking at?"
"Where Relena and Quatre were standing." Heero tore his gaze from this now to regard his braided comrade. "There haven't been any leads. He might as well have been acting alone."
This prompted a frown from Duo. "Normally, I would accept that idea...but strange things have been happening. I was enlisted to guard Dorothy, and now Noin says she's gone to Earth somewhere. We can't find her."
"Has anybody thought of contacting Trowa?" Stepping down from the ledge in a graceful leap, he squashed down his perpetual frustration, and forced his mind to think of any recent activity in the underground world. But the tremors and murmurs that he could usually read were strangely quieted. In fact, it was like all his usual sources and aliases had been figured out, and somebody was purposely protecting themselves from him. It was a special opponent that could play that sort of game.
"Trowa? Dorothy would really go to Trowa?"
"She's always felt like she has a tactical peer in Quatre, and Quatre greatly respects Trowa."
"Yeah, but...Dorothy and Catherine are kind of like...you know, two cats going at it."
Heero only looked at Duo. Anticipation of conflict would only excite Dorothy.
"I guess...I should tell Noin or Wufei or someone." said Duo after a moment, grinning sheepishly.
It seemed like the conversation had been finished. After all, they'd exchanged a few essential questions, gained and given the adequate information. But as Heero attempted to pass Duo, Duo's arm suddenly moved out to forcefully grab his arm and stop him. Duo resisted looking at Heero at first, while Heero fought down an instinct to slam a gun into Duo's back. Attempting to physically intimidate a Gundam pilot was never the wisest or cleverest move, especially when it was the most skilled pilot.
"Heero..." began Duo. "Relena has always been there for you when you were having a difficult time. Or, at the very least, she tried to be. You remember last year, right? Anyway...I consider myself friends with Relena. I love Hilde, but Relena can't be overlooked as a kind-hearted and brave person. It's hard to find both qualities, you know. And like her, I don't like it when my friends are in pain."
He sighed and dropped his grip, stepping away to admire the red sun. "She's been racked by guilt and worry these past few days."
After a pause, Duo looked at Heero meaningfully, though Heero did his best to avoid his gaze. "And so have you. Shouldn't you go to her?"
Impatient after the temporary silence, one of the men moved forward. He was sufficiently taller than Trowa, and looked condescending down at Trowa. He didn't smirk or anything utterly conceited like that, but he definitely didn't know who he was up against. That was good. Usually if his identity was known, anybody that approached him did so with a rather irrational fear. Trowa's reputation was often times stronger than Trowa himself, and in the right situation he'd learned to use that to his advantage.
"We need to see the two girls."
Trowa looked off to the side and mumbled a response only slightly coherent as, "What two girls?"
Of course, feminine laughter erupted behind them. It was inevitably Dorothy, and then he heard his sister Catherine while she gave an animated, somewhat argumentative response. A quieter sorter of piping, melodic voice also weaved into the menagerie of sound. Exchanging a glance, the two men started to the walk towards the door.
They only stopped when Trowa had a dagger pressing into each of their backs.
"Sorry. This area is off-limits to non-performers. Please return to your seats."
"Fella, you don't know what you're getting yourself into." came the surprisingly snide reply from the smaller man.
Several things happened at that moment. First, Trowa became aware of a third man with a gun behind him, carefully training on his back. Then a gunshot fired, though something was off about the sound of the direction. In the chaos that followed, Trowa knocked out both of the men with a few well-delivered blows to the gut and head. He received a blow across his cheek that he knew would bloom into a bruise, but that was immaterial: what seemed more immediately pressing was the fact that Dorothy was standing over the enemy's fallen bodies with a cocked gun and a serious look etched into her expression. She'd shot the third man, and bought Trowa the time.
"Ah," said Dorothy after a moment, when she realized Trowa was staring at her. "Here's the part when I ask a favor, my dear Trowa."
With a sigh, Quatre forced himself to stop harassing his poor video-phone. He'd been trying the last hour or so to call Trowa, but each time he'd received a busy signal. He contented himself with some more tea, and went to the window.
Such a short time ago he'd been peacefully catching up with Relena, chatting over old friends and their own lives. But this sort of dissension to peace was beginning to feel increasingly more comfortable than the actual state of peace. Peace seemed a kind of wool thrown over their eyes by enemies to disillusion them...or was that just his own disillusioned cynicism speaking? There never was a sadder sight, his father had once said, than a young cynic.
And I'm still pretty young.
Suddenly that familiar pain in his chest accosted him, and that weak sensation spread through his limbs. He braced himself against the window, and caught himself in the reflection for a moment. It was not a wonderful sight. Unconsciously, he'd been grimacing in pain for a few minutes now.
"You've given me so much, mother." Quatre lamented. "But you must forgive me if I don't thank you for this last gift."
He'd no sooner sat down and braced himself through a coughing fit when someone knocked on his door. Quickly ridding himself of any signs of illness, he felt thankfully that he wasn't excessively pale, and announced cheerfully enough, "Come in."
"Good evening, Quatre." nodded the man that wheeled in next.
"Doctor." Quatre smiled appreciatively. "You've come just in time."