First Night
by Michaela Wills

Catherine hung in the back corner of the tent. She wanted to know where the Ringmaster would place the new boy. The young brunette had proven himself to have guts with the lion, yes, but they already had a tamer and the ringmaster, Mister Jordan or "Jordan", liked to keep the senior members on the tricky and dangerous acts. Newcomers to the performing ring who weren't "aging in" as circus children were regularly brought into the main tent with the senior performers to choose a fitting act or find someone willing to teach the newcomer stunts in their desired field.

From her hiding spot, Catherine could see the ringmaster at the right of the table and along the left side by the door were a number of the senior members. The boy sat beside Mister Jordan and Catherine had an uninhibited view of the young man.

Jordan flipped through the resume the boy had given him. "Well, it seems that you'll have to start in an act that requires little skill. I don't know where I'm supposed to put you with this thing. Do you have any particular act you want to join Mr. . . " Jordan checked his papers, "Barton?"

The boy shook his head. Jordan huffed slightly before speaking, "Well, there are a number of places we can have you working."

"Yeah! We can always 'av more clowns! No trainin', jus' pop 'em in the ring an' leave it ta us. C'mon Jordy-Ann, let the kid join us." One of the senior clowns offered. There was laughter in his tone. Catherine glared at Boyce Rodes. He was only a year or two older than herself with plenty of attitude. Boyce and his bunch didn't take kindly to runaways who joined the circus. Perhaps they didn't like the cliche, after all, Boyce was the only circus child among them. If Boyce could, he and his clown friends liked to run them back where they came from. They didn't do anything physically harmful, but they scared away enough potential stars. In some way, it was perhaps a good thing; the kids did return home. Hopefully they returned home.

Dispite the obvious undertones, the boy didn't move at all, he barely acknowledged the clown had spoken. His arms were crossed over his chest and his head was angled slightly so he could look at the papers Jordan was perusing.

"Yes, Boyce, I know that you could use a few more clowns, but I believe there are a number of other availibilities that may be more suited to Barton here." Catherine let loose the breath she hadn't realized she held. No matter what they did with this boy, Catherine had a strong maternal urge to keep him as far away from the clown car as possible. Catherine hardly understood the impulse. She'd never liked to see them harrass newcomers, but she'd also never felt so strongly to defend them. Jordan continued without heed to Catherine's spiralling thoughts.

"Let's see. The animal trainer has requested an extra hand in handling a new pair of dogs. You've no experience training, right? We need a permanent barker for the sideshow, but I get the impression that wouldn't suit you. . . . There's clowns, of course . . . The janitorial crew could use help . . . Jamie's injured, a replacement is needed for the highwire act or a change in the show, you won't do for that . . ."

Jordan continued to mutter through the request forms. Catherine understood Jordan's biggest problem here: the young boy showed no interest in any of the positions available. In fact, he showed barely any interest in the circus at all. What was he doing here? How could he sit there, so very sullen and unmoved by all that was being tossed toward him?

Catherine moved forward slightly, trying to get a better view. To her shock, the boy's eyes slid to her, his head moving just a little. With a slight gasp she realized he knew she was there. She could see a bit more of his face now, there was simply something about him . . .

Fitting . . .
Comforting . . .
Familiar . . .

Her thoughts danced, she couldn't decide what it was about him that had her so interested. His face was closed to her, but at the same time brought her out of hiding.

"Hey," She called to them as she came clear of the shadows, eyes flew to her, "I'll take him on."

"Catherine Bloom . . ." Jordan's voice was immediate and warning. She took the challenge anyway. She knew the ringmaster was only being protective. He had been the same way with her, in fact, he still was in some ways.

"What? He's got more backbone than Lucky himself, sticking his hand into Adonis' cage." She paused, daring someone to object, "He could be just what I'm looking for in a permanent partner."

Boyce laughed, "Jus' what you're lookin' for in a perm'nant victim, ya mean. Buttercup o'er 'er is our res'dent knifethrower, kid." He sneered at Catherine as he mocked her, then aimed a steely look at the boy. He took it resolutely, meeting Boyce head on.

Buttercup, she hated that nick-name. "Just because you could handle holding still doesn't mean he's as hopelessly inept, Boyce." She shot back. At this point she'd moved to the boy's side and looking down on him she continued. "I haven't done more damage than minor stratches in over six years. If my partner for the night can hold still enough, I don't touch them. Most scrapes are caused because the target moved, not because I was off. I've been throwing since I was four, and even then I wasn't a bad shot. Shorty here knows it too." The boy looked at her, his face just maybe hinting at new interest in her and the circus. Boyce glowered and open his mouth to be cut off by Jordan.

"Catherine . . ." He warned again, "I think it might be better to start him out somewhere else. Your act, for all your skill is very dangerous, especially for a newcomer. I'm thinking we should keep young Barton here backstage for now. Maybe the light technicians will be willing to train him . . ."

Catherine scowled at Jordan as he continued speaking, but her eyes dropped to the boy Barton as he angled to look up at her. His face was unchanged, expressionless as if the whole conversation had nothing to do with him. But from where she stood she could now see both eyes under his sideswept bangs. They held no true emotions in the way of fear or joy, but she sensed challenge, a quiet self-assurance waiting for her to act upon.

Again Catherine found herself drawn to this slip of a youth. He intrigued her deeply, instilled long-deaded emotions of a familial nature. That look was an unspoken understanding in a love of challenge and fearlessness of physical danger. She also, had not been afraid to be the junior partner; to be the target. The set of his jaw told her he was no more afraid than she. He was asking her to try and prove him wrong.

With the barest of nods she responded and he held her gaze just a moment before dropping his head again. Catherine put up her hands in surrender stepping away from the table.

"I just thought it would work well, that's all." It was answered with looks of varying messages. She shrugged to them, trying her best to look guileless. The boy sat without the slightest twitch of tense muscles, looking relaxed, if not at ease. He didn't even watch her as she dropped her hands and began to move around the table to the tent entrance. A movement that gave her a better shot to throw at him.

Catherine always carried at least one knife on her for practice and now Catherine slipped the blade out of the sheath under her shirt sleeve. She could tell no one expected her to act again. Most probably thought she'd left the tent completely.

She whirled, sighting the youth quickly, lining up and throwing overhand with a small sound of release. Her view was totally clear, not a soul was between the boy and her aim and he still hadn't moved.

As the knife shrieked through the air, the rest of the table flew into activity. Chairs toppled, gasps, screams, papers flying. Nothing touched the line of the knife, Catherine waited to hear the sound of the blade imbedded in the wood post over the young boy's left shoulder.

The sound didn't come.

Things settled as quickly as they wound up. The room became stone silent as they all realized what had actually happened. The brunette hadn't moved and was still right where he should be, unscathed. The knife however, was not in the post, but in the youth's right hand: arm still crossing his chest, knife still lined up to strike the post.

Catherine cried out gleefully, "Look at that! He caught it! I don't know about you guys, but, wow, I'm sure impressed. You must have some lightning-fast reflexes there. He even remembered not to move, he's exactly where I sighted him. Wow!"

The tent remained silent for another moment as boy Barton put the knife down on the table and presented his palm to the senior members. They all knew how long it had taken Catherine to perfect her handle catch. Her hands still were scarred from slip-ups where she'd grasped the blade hard instead of the hilt. His hand was unblooded. Someone whistled low in reverence. Jordan didn't move or say anything, but Catherine knew what he was thinking.

The look on his face was the same one that he'd had the first time he saw her with the knives. She'd already learned to juggle balls and pins, so she'd 'borrowed' Marcus' blunt knives to juggle. The blades to these knives were rounded and wouldn't cut, but still metal and painful if you missed. She juggled three, then four without a hitch.

That was the day Jordan had sanctioned Marcus to teach Catherine the nuances of the Knifethrowers act.

She moved back to the table, picking up his resume. Trowa Barton . . . Interesting name. "Well, Trowa Barton, would you like to join my act? I don't think anyone else has any arguements now." She smiled, eyeing Boyce and then Jordan. No one said anything at first. The boy turned to the ringmaster asking with an expectant look. Jordan sighed slightly, but nodded his approval. He turned his eyes on Catherine.

"Sure, I think it will be . . . interesting." He stood from the table and grasped a duffel from the ground beside his chair. "My truck, it will be left alone with the other equipment carriers, correct?" It was both a statement of fact and a question. There was something in his stance that warned the circus folk to keep their distance from the carrier he'd brought with him.

Jordan nodded. "Of course. Catherine, can Trowa stay with you in your trailer for the time being? I think it's a little late in the evening to find him another roommate and yours is a double, right?" Catherine nodded.

"Lucie just moved in with Sean a few weeks ago and I've had the trailer to myself since. If you prefer, we can get you your own trailer later, Trowa." Catherine smiled. Trowa . . . she liked the name very much. He nodded and follwed her out of the tent.

The silent youth walked with her, head raised slightly, looking around him as if to sort out his surroundings. There was little light to see by, though, and Trowa would probably have to reorient himself the next morning at breakfast. Catherine led him to a trailer on the edge of the conglomerate, opening the door and letting him inside. Trowa toed off his shoes, neatly pushing them next to the door, duffel still in hand as he stood just inside the doorway.

"The room in the back all yours, it's a little small, but it's neat. Make yourself at home and please, help yourself to anything in the kitchenette. Breakfast is usually served around 8:30 in the common area if you want to join everyone. The time sometimes changes depending on where we are, but they try for about 8:30. In the morning, I'll show you around the camping if you want."

He nodded, then walked soundlessly to the small room in the back, closing the door silently behind him. Catherine stared at the door for a moment, then shook her head. This youth was certainly different.

"Mysterious kid." She whispered to herself, as if it were a reminder. Tomorrow and the following weeks there would be plently of time to get to know him and make him feel comfortable at the circus. As if that thought made everything right in the world, Catherine let all of her concerns slip away as she changed into pajamas in her own room and slid into her own bed.

It would be a long time before she realized that as she slept with a handful of throwing knives next to her bed, her now-partner slept with a different sort of weapon next to his.