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

You Pulled Me From Hell

by

Ammendiana

Chapter Two

Thursday came as quickly as a snail in a salt flat. It seemed that the near endless hours were only a torment; a punishment for not appreciating the gift of life.

The day itself was hectic. She didn't really notice what was going on around her. The one thing she did notice, however, was that her head itched something awful. She absently scratched at her scalp for the five-hundredth time—it seemed—that morning.

Quatre, who was sitting next to her in the back of his Mercedes, asked her playfully, "You didn't get lice in that hospital, did you?"

Dorothy negligently hit him with one hand and told him, "I don't have any hair for them to live in, doofus. Besides, lice only live in really clean hair, so getting them is a compliment."

"Yeah, uh-huh." He ran his fingers through his hair, "I hope you like your room. I took so much time fixing it up. If you want, we'll go into town and you can see if there's anything you'd like to add." For a minute, Dorothy saw the kindly, gentle boy she had known shine through the sarcastic facade she knew now.

Touching his wrist, she assured him, "I'm sure it will be fine."

He smiled at her, his old, gentle smile. Dorothy thought she saw a lost child in those gray-blue eyes, but it was gone in an instant. She assumed she was just seeing things.

"If you look around the bend here, Cat, you'll see the mansion."

Dorothy looked at him, one eyebrow raised, "Cat?" She asked mildly.

Quatre shrugged, "My housekeeper's name is Dorothy, and it could get a bit confusing."

Dorothy sighed, "As long as it's not 'bitch,' I can stand it."

"Well, it won't be. That's my cook's name." Quatre murmured under his breath.

"Bitch?"

"Oh, you said bitch? I thought you said Naomi."

Dorothy laughed and turned to get a glimpse of her new home. It was a huge, stately mansion built of white granite. It consisted of a main building and two long, crescent shaped wings that cradled an immaculately landscaped driveway and courtyard. A huge, artfully sculpted fountain sat in the exact middle of the courtyard. Each wing was lined on one side by a colonnade, and where the wings ended, a hedge began, blocking all view into the backyard grounds, which were, Dorothy supposed, equally magnificent. All in all, it was a beautiful place.

The room Quatre and the housekeeper Dorothy showed her was spacious, and flooded with light from the many windows that lined the room. The walls were done in a toned-down cherry red and cream. Some of the windows were French doors that led out onto a balcony, and the bed that was the centerpiece of the room was large enough for five people, and covered with a goose down stuffed cream comforter and silk sheets. Dorothy winced. Those would have to go. But the rest of the room was lovely.

"I love it, Quatre. But those sheets and that comforter have to go."

Quatre looked at them, puzzled, "Why?"

Dorothy shrugged, "I'm allergic to silk."

"Oh. That would be a good reason, wouldn't it?"

"The only way it could be a bad reason is if you like seeing people breaking out in hives."

"Good point. Well, then, tomorrow we'll go shopping."

"Sounds good."

Shopping had been more exhausting than she thought. Since the bed was so huge, they had to have the sheets custom made. Therefore, Dorothy had to sleep in another bedroom until they were done. They asked her if she just wanted to move into another room, but she said she liked the one they gave her, and waiting for a week would be a small price to pay for flannel sheets.

Her hair grew back quickly, as it always did. By the end of the week it was nearly an inch long. Quatre gagged about her 'going butch,' but, aside from those little bouts of mutual teasing, they got on well together. For some reason, no matter how bad she was feeling, he could always make her laugh. He reminded her of her father in that respect, but something about Quatre Winner puzzled her as well. She just couldn't quite place it.

The only label she could give it was that it reminded her of her own pain. Pain that, by that time a month had gone by, seemed farther and farther away.

"Relena! What are you doing here?" Dorothy yelled from the top of the stairwell at her friend.

"I'm selling Avon products! What do you think I'm doing?"

Dorothy laughed and skipped down the stairs.

Quatre came onto the scene from a side door. Naomi probably chewed him out again for coming into her kitchen. Sometimes she really is a bitch. Dorothy laughed at the thoroughly-scolded looking Quatre silently.

"Has Naomi been picking on you again, Winnie?"

Quatre scowled at her, "I've asked you repeatedly NOT to call me that!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

Relena stepped in just as Quatre started to deliver a retort, "Now children. Play nice."

"Yes, mother." Quatre and Dorothy said in perfect unison.

"Actually I've come to tell you guys I'm having a huge party this Friday and I need some people who aren't trying to get into my political pants there."

"Really?" Dorothy asked as she entwined her arm in her friends and lead her towards the sun room.

"Political pants?" Quatre mused as he followed. No one acknowledged him.

Dorothy released Relena's arm as they entered the beautiful sun room, its walls painted pale green, and it's furniture done in purple, green, and white, with the odd gold-satin pillow.

"It's just your run-of-the-mill brown-noser bash," Relena explained as she sat in a ivory-cushioned dome chair and Dorothy plopped onto a pile of lavender pillows. Quatre lounged on a chaisse, looking tired. "Milliardo and Lucrezia will be there, which I'm sure you're glad to hear, Dorothy. You always did like my brother."

"Hmm. I imagine this is formal?" Dorothy inquired smoothly as she accepted a cup of tea from Deliana, who took care of any job that Naomi or Dorothy the housekeeper didn't.

"Of course." Relena, too, accepted a cup. "I have plenty of gowns, if you need to borrow one."

"No, I can get one for myself, thanks." Dorothy sipped her tea, "After all, we all remember that little blue number you used to wear. You know, the one that made you look like you had stolen clothes from someone's grandmother."

Quatre snorted into his tea, and Relena scowled. "I liked that dress. It was vintage!"

Dorothy smiled evilly, "Vintage what?"

Relena turned her head and huffed. "Oh, shut up, eyebrows."

There was a loud coughing noise as Quatre began to chortle while in the middle of a sip.

"My eyebrows were distinguished!"

"You mean dis-FREAK-ish!"

"That was the dumbest retort ever!"

Quatre just rolled on the floor, laughing uproariously.

One day, Dorothy lay in a lounge chair on her balcony, watching the sun disappear over the horizon. The sky was a beautiful, lively rose shot with violet and goldenrod. It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

She heard a door open behind her. Quatre walked onto the balcony and looked blankly at the sunset. The slant of his shoulders, and the narrowing of his eyes told her something was wrong.

"Quatre, what's wrong?"

Quatre turned to her. His eyes were shadowed by a pain that Dorothy had seen many times in her own face.

"Did I ever tell you I had a little girl, Cat?" Quatre asked quietly.

Dorothy, unable to answer, shook her head.

Quatre seemed to have lost interest and wandered over to the balcony railing. Dorothy rose from her chair and joined him there. Quatre took a deep breath and began to speak, his voice tightly controlled and quiet.

"Her name was Sadira. She wasn't my biological daughter. I adopted her when she was seven years old. That was three years ago. I loved her so much, Cat. She was my baby. But then she started to have these blinding headaches and migraines..." He took a deep, but shaky, breath and continued. "They found a tumor in her brain. It was so deep that they couldn't operate on it."

Despite the sadness of the story, Dorothy noticed how handsome Quatre looked, bracing himself with both arms on the railing and looking down at the ground.

"Oh, Cat!" His voice came in sobs, "I had to sit there and watch her die in that blasted hospital! There was nothing I could do!" He grasped his leaking eyes with one hand and drove his fist into the stone railing in angry sorrow. "She died as I held her, helpless. Even after they covered her, I kept praying for a miracle. But praying didn't keep us from covering her with dirt a week later." His teary voice became hard and mocking.

"Oh, Quatre..." It was the only thing she could think to say after that sorrowful tale. She never would have guessed.

"And today is her birthday! I could stand the pain if I just didn't have to see this day every year for the rest of my life. Do you know what it's like, Cat, to loose something so precious to you?"

Dorothy wrapped her arms around her sobbing friend and consoling stroked his hair, "You forget, Quatre, that I lost my father and mother very young. I haven't had anyone for years." She pulled his head up and looked into his bloodshot eyes. "Until I came here, that is.

"I owe you so much, Quatre." Dorothy smiled and kissed his cheek, and then disengaged herself from his loose embrace. Turing to watch the sunset, she began to tell him a story of her own.

"You asked me once why I tried to kill myself. I'll tell you. I lived alone for so long. I have been alone for so long. The only family and friends I had existed only in pictures. Being totally alone for so long does strange things to a person. I felt myself, my essence, falling into a dark, bottomless abyss with no way out. When I hit the bottom, the only thing I knew was pain. I tried to hang myself. That was the first time."

Quatre had stood next to her but said nothing. She fingered her neck absently and continued, "I came back to Earth to find Milliardo Peacecraft, to tell him that I was in love with him, and had been for a very, long time. It seemed like it had been an eternity." Looking back, she laughed silently at herself.

"When I did find him, by accident, I found out that he was married. And my whole mind started to fall apart again. I wanted to tell him, but in my heart I knew that it would make no difference. He didn't love me, and he never would. The abyss swallowed me again, but this time the bottom came so fast that I couldn't prepare myself." Shaking from the effort of telling her story, she continued.

"I tried to shoot myself. I didn't want to live because there was nothing to live for. Being lonely, I think, can drive anyone to suicide."

Quatre stared at her, speechless. The silence dragged on for a long time.

"Then, perhaps, we need each other?" Quatre asked reluctantly.

"I need you as much as you need me, Quatre."

Quatre smiled, "I need you a lot, Cat."

Dorothy smiled and looked at the man standing next to her. A light breeze teased his tousled hair. She reached for his hand and grasped it tightly. Laying her head on his shoulder, she let out a small sigh.

Quatre turned his head and looked down on her, his small grin just a bit surprised. Dorothy looked up at him and smiled. She felt his arm wind itself around her lithe body and tighten to bring her warmth closer.

Quatre looked back at the sunset and whispered, "I love you, Dorothy."

Dorothy felt a panic she couldn't explain rise in her throat, choking her.

She said nothing.

How could he? HOW COULD HE! Dorothy screamed inside her head as she clutched one of her huge pillows close her body, pummeling it mericilessly. He knew that she still had unresolved feelings for Milliardo. He knew that she couldn't handle this kind of thing right now. But he had said it anyway.

I love you, Dorothy.

Damn him! DAMN HIM! Dorothy sat up, throwing her pillow across the room, angry at it for not making a more satisfying thud when it hit the floor. Then she grabbed another and pressed it to her face, screaming into it ferally.

"Why? Why did he have to tell me that? Couldn't he have waited? Just a little while? I can't...I can't...Oh, God..." she sobbed. Realization dawned on her; she had fallen for him long ago, but she had panicked when he had whispered those words to her. And now who knew what their relationship would be in the morning?

And what would she do if, in the morning, what had been love was turned into hate?

Quatre sat trying to read on his rumpled bed. He thought that he had read the same page at least ten times by the time he finally gave up and dropped the book unceremoniously on the thickly carpeted floor.

Sighing, he sat up and looked out of the window of his room, where the soft moonlight shone through the clear glass to dimly illuminate the deeply red carpet.

It almost looks like blood. Quatre mused idly as he ran a hand through his messy hair, and sighed again. He couldn't think, couldn't sleep, could barely eat; he felt like a giant, walking cliché. Dorothy's silence reverberated in his mind like the mournful tolling of a church bell. Again, and again he relived the moment.

In order to keep their friendship, he would pretend like he hadn't said anything. If she asked, he would blow it off as platonic love, not the romantic love that pulled and twisted his guts, made his mind cloudy with happiness and frustration, and drove him crazy with ever-growing attraction.

Growling in frustration, he got of his bed and walked over to the window. His svelte, swimmer's build was outlined and highlighted in the moonshine, every muscle in perfect relief and outlined by the tight cotton cloth of his threadbare white t-shirt. His red satin pajama pants whispered against his skin as he walked. Nothing seemed to soothe the aching pain in his soul and he was sure, so very sure, that Dorothy still loved Zechs. He hated him so much for that love.

Agitated, he ran his hand through his hair again. He needed to sleep. He knew that. But taking sleeping pills would just be an escape from his problems, not a meaningful solution.

So there he stood, like a rock in the moonlight, breathing heavily and thinking of Dorothy.