Nine Years
"Seňorisa Catalonia?" the old shop keeper repeated in a confused tone and furrowed brows.
Quatre Raberba Winner nodded to the old shopkeeper. Why did the man act like she didn't exist? He was certain she was in this town. The old man continued to look at him as if he was crazy, examining him like he was a specimen in a bottle and it bothered Quatre a bit.
"You must be mistaken, Seňor. That is no longer her name. She married, oh, must have been nine years ago," the man annunciated slowly with his rich accent.
Nine years earlier…
He hummed quietly and contentedly to himself as he bounced down the steel bridge of the plant, feeling content to hear the rhythmic clang of his feet against the metal. It had all been the same – the clang of the metal, the synthetic sky hovering over him, the glass dome surrounding that served as their base, the feel of his trousers against his skin, yet it felt different. She was going to marry him. They were going to have a family.
He so cruelly left his intended with a token of his promise to marry her, without warning, without a goodbye. But he promised that as soon as he came home, he would make things right. But first he had to take care of a few things – test new mobile suits for defense, oversee the training of a defense army, just to make sure he could lend a hand in sealing the fragile peace he had given up his childhood for so that his children won't have to give up theirs.
It was so hard not to think of the future that seemed so clear for them, so hard to focus on his purpose here and think of what was out there. He tried to imagine what she would look like as the church doors opened on their wedding day, he was unsure of what she would be adorned in, whether it be lace, satin or silk, or white or ivory, or diamonds or pearls, but he was certain that she would be beautiful no matter what. He pictured lots of children – he loved children. He could see himself smiling across a long mahogany table at her at dinnertime, grinning from ear to ear, while mouthing playful words to her, while their children would noisily chatter and trouble the servants around them. He envisioned holding her hand while they watched the sun set as they gracefully aged together.
His dream was rudely interrupted by a clamoring red alert and the ferocious rumble and tumble of the ground beneath him. He felt the glass clank and jangle around him, and men were screaming frantically below him. He held on to the metal bars that surrounded him for a moment, but he knew the bridge was about to fall apart. Quickly, he ran to the other end of the bridge, not noticing the torrent of flames and smoke hurrying towards him. When he finally noticed the surge, he fell against the ground and felt pieces of broken mobile suit tear away at his body.
Amidst the bursting debris and fleeing glass, he could see no one but Dorothy.
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