Author's Note: This is for Hidel the Gohan luvin', Duo huggin', GWDBZ chick. Pones!

You Pulled Me From Hell

by

Ammendiana

Chapter One

Quietly, a blonde-haired woman walked down a nearly silent street, deep in her own thoughts. Her hair, once impossibly long but now cut to a medium length, caught in the wind, which joyfully began playing with the soft, golden strands. Eyebrows that had once been split into prominent forks now arched gracefully over long-lidded icy-blue eyes. Her entire face seemed to be slanted, but that only added to a beauty that had once been fierce. But the only word that could describe it at this time would be torn.

Earth has changed so much since the end of the war. Even the air feels different...her thoughts had centered much around this difference since she had arrived from the colony on which she had been hiding since A.C. 196. It was now A.C. 204, and Dorothy Catalonia no longer existed.

Or, at least, the Dorothy Catalonia that had left Earth eight years ago no longer existed.

So many years seem to have passed since I was last here, but it's only been eight. Well, if space and time are one and the same, the time should seem longer because I have come very far away. Inwardly, she laughed at her thoughts. So philosophical.

The leaves of the trees that lined the small, winding street had long since donned their autumn attire of crimson, saffron, and topaz. The smell of winter was light in the air; it was the scent of the time when the Earth sheds the frocks of the other seasons and takes a much-needed siesta. Winter was probably Dorothy's favorite season. For her, it had always seemed so relaxing. And that had been what she thought would help her when she left. But she had been wrong.

Idly, she wondered where Quatre was at that moment. She hadn't talked to him since before she left for her siesta. She had often wondered what it would have been like to be one of his close confidants; she had never had the chance to become one. Her problems had become too blatantly obvious to ignore any longer. Therapy hadn't been helping, and she had felt herself falling deeper and deeper into a well of depression that seemed to have no bottom. Dorothy had longed desperately to find the bottom of that endless well. To reach the bottom meant that she could start ascending; the reach the bottom meant that she couldn't sink any deeper.

Absently she rubbed the crescent-shaped scar around her neck through the high neckline of her thin black windbreaker. She had thought of the bottom as a safe haven, but her ignorance had nearly cost her life.

Now she was able to admit that the longing for the bottom of her endless well was just her laziness and unwillingness to change. The first thing she had done after her moment of clarity was the pluck her eyebrows. She had always been proud of them; they had been a most distinguishing feature, after all. But they were a remnant of her old life, just like her long, blonde hair. She refused to wear any color that reminded her of her life before her 'rebirth', as well: brown, white, pink, and gray were all taboo. The only colors she wore now were blue, green, and black..

She had even considered changing her name, but decided not to. She liked her name just as it was. She had laughingly admitted to her therapist that she didn't think she could answer to any name except Dorothy.

Involuntarily, she shivered. The chill wind had brought her out of her reverie. She was no longer a woman who thrived and fed on war, triumph, and death. She was no longer a woman who judged people by the amount of blood on their hands. She was no longer a bratty teenager with an overly exalted opinion of herself. She was...well, she didn't really know what the Hell she was anymore, but it certainly wasn't any of those things.

I wonder how Relena is doing. Dorothy turned the corner of the street absently, studying the cement without actually noticing it, trying not to look into the sunlit horizon.

Whack! She ran head-first into a solid mass of flesh and bone.

"I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed as she rubbed her head, squinting her eyes to see the man, who was backlit by the setting sun.

"It's fine, Dorothy." The voice was achingly familiar; deep and rumbling, almost like a bear's voice, if bears could speak.

"Milliardo?" The question was vague and quiet.

"Yes. You look different, Dorothy."

Summing up her courage and her hope that it wasn't just a dream, she raised her face and looked up at the man she had been in love with forever. At least, it seemed like forever.

He hadn't changed but, then again, Milliardo Peacecraft never changed.

"I hope it's an improvement." Her rejoinder was only a little shaky.

He smiled, "It is. Do want to get some coffee?" He offered a gloved, long-fingered hand.

Dorothy shivered, and not just because she was freezing, "I'll drink urine as long as it's warm." She slid her own hand into his, resisting the urge to latch on.

Laughing, Milliardo replied, "That won't be necessary. Come on. The place is fairly close."

The coffee shop was tiny and charming, and the warm air inside was flavored with a delicious blend of coffee and freshly-baked pastries. Shivering because of the shock of walking from a cold street to an extremely warm building and the shock of meeting the man she loved so suddenly on the street, Dorothy ordered a large black coffee and a chocolate muffin.

Milliardo ordered a double-decaf latte with mocha sprinkles and they walked over to a table, which still had a dusting of crumbs from the previous customers. Milliardo gestured to a server, who quickly scrubbed it with a towel that was probably none too clean. Milliardo then pulled out a chair, and invited Dorothy to sit in it with a courtly hand gesture.

With a sigh of relief Dorothy sat down in the small, pseudo-bistro chair, took a swig of coffee, and a bite of her muffin. Happily she munched on her breakfast as Milliardo sipped his latte. The silence was companionable, but Dorothy longed to hear the sound of Milliardo's voice again.

"How's life treating you, Milliardo? The last I heard you were working on that terraformation project."

Milliardo set down his latte and Dorothy had a very difficult time keeping herself from laughing aloud. Despite herself, she snorted with amusement.

"It's going well, myself and---What is so funny, Dorothy?" His voice was a trifle confused and irritated. Milliardo had never had much of a sense of humor.

"Y-you have a-a l-l-latte m-m-ustache!" Unable to control herself any longer, Dorothy burst out laughing as Milliardo almost daintily dabbed his upper lip with a paper napkin.

"As I was saying, my wife and I are doing very well with the terraformation project...we're actually ahead of schedule."

Dorothy felt her heart break and fall in halves at her feet. But this did not show on her face.

"I didn't know you were married," Dorothy commented passively as she took another bite of her muffin, chewing slowly because the very taste of the chocolate was making her ill.

Milliardo's eyebrows shot up, "You didn't?"

Dorothy swallowed her bite and confirmed, "I was--and still am, I guess--officially clueless. Please enlighten me."

"Lucrezia Noin and I were married last year. I'm surprised you didn't know, given the fact that it was in all the newspapers."

Dorothy took a sip of her coffee and admitted, "I don't read the newspapers. Where I was, news wasn't really the top priority."

"And where exactly were you, Dorothy?"

"I was in a mental hospital, Milliardo," she confided as she searched his face for the adverse reaction she expected, but the only indication that he had absorbed what she said was a small, sharp blink of his eyes.

"Why?"

Instead of answering right away, Dorothy pulled down the neck of her coat. The pale pink scar around her neck shone softly in the dim light of the coffee shop.

"I tried to hang myself."

Milliardo's eyes were unreadable as he looked at the scar.

"Why?"

Irritably, she closed the neck of her coat and pointed out, "You seem to be asking that question a lot lately. Why open old wounds?"

Milliardo had never been the type of person, in her eyes, to dig into places where he wasn't welcome. He also wasn't the type to deal with people who had problems, especially mental problems. He caught her eyes with his own for a moment and Dorothy met his gaze. He looked away first.

"I have to go, Dorothy. It was nice to see you again." He rose, the chair legs scraping loudly, almost vulgarly so, on the poured cement floor. His long hair whipped as he turned on one heel and exited, his passing marked by the tinkle of the small bell tied on the door's handle.

And as quickly as he had re-entered her life, he was gone. Like wind, she thought wryly.

The days seemed to pass with maddening slowness. Reasons for going in search of Milliardo and telling him her feelings battled against her reluctance to do possible harm to him and his wife. This time, unlike most others, reluctance won. So alone Dorothy stayed. Alone in her apartment with nothing around her except memories that didn't need to resurface, feelings that were like small dragons, biting away bits of her sanity.

The smell of her own apartment nauseated her. She longed for an escape. Again she felt herself falling down, down into that bottomless abyss with nothing but her own raging grief and repressed emotions as companions. But the fall was faster than the last time, and this time she hit the bottom hard. There was no time to prepare for the end of the fall this time.

Click, the sound of the clip being shoved into the gun echoed through the empty apartment like thunder.

Ring went the unanswered phone.

Whoosh went the last breath out of Dorothy's aching lungs and raw throat.

Bang went the gun that Dorothy had pointed to her head.

Crash went Dorothy's body as it fell to the hardwood floor, taking with it a small end table crowned with a crystal lamp.

And the gun skidded across the room.

And blood spread into a puddle on the hardwood floor.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Why am I alive?

Beep. Beep. Click. Click.

Where am I?

Whir. Whir. Beep. Click.

This is not Heaven.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Or Hell.

Reluctantly Dorothy opened her eyes. The hospital room was painted stark, impersonal white. Machines were attached to every limb that was convenient. Her head ached and she breathed a sigh of disappointment. The sun had set already, leaving her room unlit save for the lights of the machines that surrounded her like a concerned family. Laughing at herself for thoughts of family, Dorothy struggled into a sitting position. Her head felt light. Summoning strength, she reached up. Sure enough, her head was shaved.

"Why won't they just let me die?" She asked no one in particular, but the question was physically directed at the itchy hospital sheets that covered her too-thin body. I'm a wraith. I'm not even truly alive anymore.

"Maybe because the world isn't finished with you yet, Dorothy Catalonia." Another voice. But this one was a light, friendly tenor. "Also because they get paid to keep you alive."

Looking over at the doorway, Dorothy recognized Quatre. It was strange to see him again, especially in a place like this.

"What are you doing here, Quatre?" Dorothy didn't have the strength to sit up anymore. With a sigh she leaned back on the hard hospital pillows.

Quatre, who had been leaning up again the doorframe, pushed away from it and walked towards her bed.

"Relena found out you were here. She's been sitting with you for the past two weeks. But she could only ignore her work for so long before she started to chance impeachment, so she called me." He examined her thin form through the hospital sheets, and shook his head. "Why, Dorothy?"

Evading the question, Dorothy asked, "Two weeks?"

Quatre, accepting that she didn't want to answer his inquiry, answered, "You were in a coma. You're lucky you can still see, considering how close the bullet came to taking out your eyes...not to mention the rest of your face. You're damned lucky." He pulled a chair up to her bed and sat down.

She stared at the ceiling, and whispered to herself, "Didn't ask to be."

It was a wonder to Dorothy how much Quatre had changed. Glimpses of the teenage boy still shone through this man's facade, but this Quatre was one that seemed to have let go of some of his ideals a long time ago. But he had changed physically as well. He was taller than he had been, his hair was trimmed, and his slight frame had filled out a bit. All in all, Dorothy thought she liked the result.

"Hmmm. I wonder if they'll send me back to the mental hospital. I don't think I could take isolation again." Dorothy didn't realize that she had voiced this thought aloud.

"I don't know. What I do know is that there is something wrong with you, Dorothy, and it's not something that someone else can fix for you."

"Don't you think I know that!" Dorothy yelled angrily at the blonde man.

Quatre was not fazed by her outburst. "No."

Tears spilled unheeded down her face, "Why won't they just let me die?'' She asked the question again, desperately wanting an answer.

Quatre rose from his chair and walked over to her bed. Leaning over until he was only about a palm's breadth away from her tear-streaked face, he told her, "Life is a gift. Try not to throw it away. After all, you're not a Gundam pilot." He smiled self-deprecatingly and, in spite of herself, Dorothy found herself smiling.

Righting himself, Quatre started to leave the room.

"Where are you going, Quatre?" Dorothy asked.

Quatre looked over his shoulder at her, "I'm going to call Relena and tell her you're awake. Besides," he commented impishly, "You need your beauty sleep."

Dorothy strongly fought the urge to chuck a pillow at him.

"Dorothy?" A light, mature, feminine voice asked.

Opening her eyes, Dorothy saw Relena standing next to her bed with a concerned look in her eyes.

"Hello, Relena. How are you?" Dorothy managed to summon enough strength to smile at her friend. Or, at least, she thought they were friends now.

"I've been better. And, by the looks of things, so have you."

"Don't shower me with compliments, now. It could go to my head."

Relena smiled warmly and gave a rich, throaty laugh.

Sunlight poured through the half-covered window at the east side of the room. It made the largely impersonal, unwelcoming room just a tad more friendly. Dorothy struggled into a sitting position with the help of the flexible bed.

Relena sat on the end of Dorothy's bed and looked at the wraith that had once been a fiery woman whom she had respected more than she had let on.

"Dorothy, I'm not going to ask you why you did this. It's not my business. But I'm going to give you some information about what the doctors might do about this."

Dorothy looked out the window and said only, "I'll jump out of that window if you say that they're going to put me in a mental ward again."

"You're going to have to build up the strength to walk to it, Miss Suicide. Now listen."

Dorothy looked at Relena and growled, "Please, inform me."

Relena gave her a hard look, "Well, from what the doctors told me, there are very few options. They could send you to the mental ward, but I don't think any of us want that."

"Who's 'us'?"

"Me, you, and Quatre. There is another option."

"Let me guess. They put me in the custody of a guardian of sorts, and a therapist comes to make surprise house calls whenever they feel like it."

Relena looked surprised, "How did you know?"

"I've been through this before. I've had lots of practice."

"Then why did you go to the mental hospital?"

Dorothy's voice was flat as she answered, "When you don't have anyone, who's going to protect you?"

Relena didn't answer.

"So, which one is it going to be? You, or Quatre?"

Relena shrugged, "Quatre. I have work to do."

"Doesn't he?"

"Helping people is Quatre's work."

"Hmm. He didn't go and get a psychology degree while I was away, did he? I don't think I'd like that."

"I think you'd like mental wards less. And no, he didn't. So, what's it going to be?"

Dorothy smiled and said drolly, "Looks like Quatre has a new roomie. I'd live with Wufei Chang if it was what it would take to keep me out of a mental ward."

Relena stared at her incredulously for a second, then chortled heartily.

"What's so funny?" Quatre asked from the doorway.

"Your new roommate."

"Oh, really? So she agreed?" Quatre asked Relena as if Dorothy wasn't there. Dorothy was positive he was just doing it to annoy her.

"Well, she said she'd live with Wufei if it kept her out of a mental ward."

"Desperate much, roomie?"

"Shove it, Quatre."

"Well, Dorothy, Thursday you're coming to the Winner estate. What will you do next?" Quatre asking jokingly.

"Take a nap. What day is it?"

"It's Tuesday. You have a whole two days to resign yourself to living with me, Don't bring any swords or anything." Quatre left again, waving goodbye. Relena and Dorothy were alone once more.

Dorothy watched him go. Then, as soon as he turned the corner, she chucked a pillow at the door. It slid on the black-and-white, checkered linoleum floor, only stopping when it hit the opposing wall.

"What happened that changed him so much?" She asked as Relena retrieved her pillow, which now had a streak of dirt on it.

Relena shrugged as she stared at the doorway. "Life."