The tea lights strung about the gables and the greenery of the terrace gathering set an ethereal glow like a miniature fairy land within the confines of the Darlian mansion's expansive garden. Soft music from the small orchestra danced through the air setting a truly whimsical tone as the party guests mingled and socialized amongst themselves. It was picturesque. It was perfect. It was…

"Boring." She muttered to herself as she swiped another glass of champagne off a passing tray.

When she had accepted the young Vice Foreign Minister's invite to the gala she had thought some excitement might be available, after all, the younger blonde's unspoken relationship with her bodyguard never failed to thrill Dorothy in the classic 'will they, won't they' story arc. The sexual tension that oozed off of the former princess and her stoic protector was positively delicious. Even now, they carried on in their secret courtship, blissfully ignorant to the other's true intention. Heero pulled her seat out for her and ushered her to it, his hand in the small of her back. The smile Relena gave him was positively sickening as the young diplomat's eyes seemed to shine only for him. The small upturn of his lips in response would have gone unnoticed by most but to Dorothy, it said all that they dared not. She thought many times of making a bet with the braided man she had come to know as Duo Maxwell as to when or even if the two would swallow their pride and drop the pretenses to finally cross the line. The wager would certainly make things more interesting than the current situation. Even the champaign, rich vintage though it was, was doing little to improve her mood.

"Such a waste." She swirled the opaque liquid in the crystal flute. She made her way slowly and carefully around the room and picked up on various bits of gossip (some of which was about her) but she could use most of it to her advantage should the occasion to do so arise.

"Did you hear the former Earl and Devonshire is seeing the daughter of his business partner?" One of the women whose perfume of hibiscus and lavender was far too thick whispered to her companion, a woman who clearly seemed to take fashion lessons from a blind man.

"No! Such a scandal! And she, young enough to be his grandchild!" Dorothy's lips curled up ever so slightly; partly in disgust at their own impertinence and partly from the richness of the news.

The rest of the information proved rather droll by comparison and unimpressive: plans for the summer, secret crushes and romantic failures. Most of these trivial details would hardly be worth her consideration, but nevertheless, satiated her current restless state. Afterall, her real reason for coming had made himself relatively scarce, no doubt dodging the throng of hopeful females daring to dream of catching his eye.

The tabloids declared Quatre Rebarba Winner was the "most eligible, handsome bachelor under the age of forty!" Dorothy cringed at the thought of how many hopeful women-each of them shallow, uppity, contestants- had so far vied for his attention only to find that they hardly stood a chance. The way they all swooned whenever he walked into the room was as positively...

"Pathetic." She sneered and took another sip, letting the sting of the bubbles tickle her throat. 'A few more of these and perhaps I will be the one acting the fool.'

Quatre's social standing meant about as much to Dorothy as his Wealth, which was to say, nothing at all. Being the only heir to the Catalonia estate, she hardly needed to fortune hunt; but hunt she did, in a sense. Dorothy fancied herself a bit of a thrill-seeker; always looking for the next thing to hold her interest and entertain her long enough to find out what had been so fascinating about her quarry in the first place just to turn and look for another treasure to pursue shortly following. She was not one to be told no. She took what she wanted when she wanted it be it horses, fashion, or even men.

'And quite the man he's turned out to be,' she mused.

In the five years since the war, the blonde Arabian had sprouted up to a tantalizing, lean five-feet-eleven-inch man built for action but dressed to impress. His sun-kissed skin was far darker than her own, a chestnut to her alabaster and his cool, blue-green eyes always shone with a kindness and sincerity that earned the trust of any and all fortunate enough to earn his gaze. There was a sinful part of her that longed to test just how good and pure the blond Arabian truly was… How fun it would be to play with the possibility of finding his darker side...

Of course, there were rumors that the heir to the Winner Corporation was not interested in the fairer sex but this failed to detour the many women who all but threw themselves at him regularly. In truth, the Winner heir had rarely been seen with a woman outside his family or immediate circle of friends and instead was spotted quite frequently with his male compatriots. It did give one pause...

"It would be a shame." She stated to herself again and sighed, stroking one of her long brows. "Such a gorgeous man… so many possibilities…"

As if summoned by her thoughts, the object of her intentions walked out onto the terrace, Relena to his left, flanked immediately by her ever present shadow. To his right, a dark-haired blonde woman with violet eyes, both smiling and laughing at a joke clearly uttered before leaving the ballroom. Her grip tightened dangerously on the fragile flute, eyes narrowed and lips pressed thin.

"That little minx." Dorothy sneered. How dare Silvia Noventa be so presumptuous as to try and make a move on him! The look in his eyes as he stared at Silvia made an unfamiliar feeling pool in the pit of Dorothy's stomach.

'Could this be… disappointment? Regret?'

No. She was Dorothy Catalonia. Such things were simply not part of who she was. She would wait it out. Someone like Silvia could not possibly hold his attention for long and when he finally tired of her, Dorothy would swoop in and make her own move…

The hours ticked by as though covered in molasses and she had long since switched from the golden ambrosia of champagne for a richer, harsher beverage. He was still with Silvia. They had been dancing, talking, laughing all evening. They looked happy. They looked well-suited… 'They looked good together.' Dorothy thought, bitterly. She sighed.

"Well, it would appear as though this evening has been a complete waste of my time." She muttered, determined to say her goodbyes to her hostess and make her grand exit… and then she noticed him.

He was deliciously tall - had to be more than a couple of inches over six feet. Dorothy tried to recollect the last time she looked at the boy...man that seemed to accompany the wealthy, aristocratic Mr. Winner - like he was some kind of beautiful mongrel on a fine leather leash.

"He would look good in leather..," Dorothy thought and swirled the Kentucky bourbon in her glass.

Sometime in the past few years, the circus performer and acrobat had started filling out that suit in ways that made it look good despite the cheap cut and obviously poor fabric. His toasted almond hair still covered one of his emerald eyes obscuring it from her view. But the crude style couldn't hide his chiseled jaw line and surprisingly fine features: an almost regal nose and a thin, wiry neck.

"He looks...strong." She took a swig of the bourbon, delighting in the harsh, tangy flavor. Her mouth began to water as she let her gaze wander...down the broad line of his chest to the tighter band at his waist.

She shook her head. "It'd be a complete waste for a man like that to be the object of—" she saw him tilt his head, as if he was watching something - or someone. Dorothy couldn't help but pivot in her seat... She glanced back at Trowa, trying to draw a line with her eyes... But the only thing that appeared to be in the right vicinity was...

"Oh!" Dorothy couldn't stop the grin from forming on her face. "My my." She watched as Relena danced in the arms of her faithful protector; and glanced back at Trowa. He had grabbed one of the fine cognacs - designed to be sipped - that the waiters were toting about on large platters - as a digestif. He swirled it once, before promptly downing it in one gulp. Trowa's one visible eyebrow pinched downward; he grimaced, glanced around the room - then settled his gaze back in the direction of the Vice Foreign Minister.

"Well, he's definitely not gay for Mr. Winner." She smiled around her glass as she took another sip of her bourbon. "And there no chance he takes the beloved Foreign Minister to bed…" she swirled the liquid in her glass absentmindedly.

He was an acceptable temptation of a substitute for her earlier quarry waiting for someone to sample all he had to offer…

"Perhaps neither of us need leave this party alone afterall…"

She adjusted herself, smoothed the skirt of her long black dress, and made her way over to him, confident that before the end of the night, Trowa Barton would be hers.


Trowa tugged at the collar of his white button up shirt and yanked the tie loose, letting it fall onto a nearby chair. He never liked these sorts of events. The suit he wore had been picked out for him by Quatre years ago for a banquet honoring all who fought in the final battle of the Eve Wars. Though his blond friend selected it, Trowa had insisted on paying for it himself. It was not the highest quality, but then neither was he by the standards of the majority of people attending the party.

Quatre had insisted that he attend Relena's gala despite knowing the difficulty of such a task for the stoic former Heavyarms pilot.

"Come on, Trowa." Quatre pressed. Trowa had just finished his last routine for the night and wanted nothing more than to bury himself in a bottle of scotch before slipping into the abyss of unconsciousness that inevitably followed.

"I'd rather not." Trowa glared at his friend through the vid-screen in annoyance.

"You have to leave the circus again some time. You can't hide away forever." Trowa strangled a groan of frustration.

"You know I can't. More to the point, you know why."

"Trowa…" the sympathy in the blond man's eyes made him want to punch something. Ever since Heero returned and took over Relena's security Trowa had remained at the circus and rarely left. He had no desire to socialize and even less to do so at an occasion that would place him within her vicinity.

It wasn't as though he lacked companionship. The circus was his family; full of vibrancy, variety and life. Being the star attraction of the acrobatics routine had its benefits as well. Women were plenty: groupies and fans would stay the night and indulge in some casual fun just to be gone and replaced after the next show. It was the sort of life some men would dream of… fame, freedom, beautiful women throwing themselves at him… but they weren't her.

Trowa ran a frustrated hand through his bangs and sighed. "What time should I be there?" Quatre smiled and told him all of the plans and Trowa listened, hoping he hadn't made a terrible mistake...

That was how he found himself on Relena's terrace of her garden at her family home. Of course, the Winner heir found himself fortunate to be in the company of a lovely young woman that was a mutual acquaintance of Relena's. Silvia Noventa had changed much since their initial meeting during Heero's search for penance over the deaths of the Alliance leaders. The young woman was radiant in her own right with an intelligence and charm that would bespell anyone. Quatre had been the lucky soul she had evidently bewitched.

Meanwhile, he found that the endless supply of drinks did little to improve his own situation. The lights and the music couldn't distract from the way her sleeveless, blue evening gown clung to her delicate curves. Her hair was half up in a sort of twist that allowed the curls of silken honey to kiss one of her slender shoulders and left her elegant neck exposed. How many times during those long nights of guard duty had he wished for just one opportunity to run his fingers through her soft tresses and kiss the creamy skin currently left exposed to the evening air…?

He shifted his focus as a server walked by with a tray of cognac. He detested the liquid, but it seemed to ease his mind and calm his nerves in light of the fact that the woman he desired was as unavailable to him as the stars above. It was no secret and any who knew the Vice Foreign Minister that she only had eyes for one man: Heero Yuy. The fact that Heero, too, seemed to love the young politician was not unnoticed either as their friends had tried for years to get the two to admit their feelings and finally become the couple they were meant to be. Trowa both envied and hated his friend. Relena was the sort of woman any man fantasized about. The years had been kind to her taking her from the awkward young girl she had once been and molded and shaped her into the regal leader respected by many and loved by nearly all. He was no exception. And yet Heero refused to make the move that desperately needed made and claim the woman that held both of their hearts captive.

As he watched the former pilot of Wing Zero twirl the princess around the floor, he felt the need to drown the emptiness in his gut with more of the acrid libation. He had already consumed more than he should have but if there was a chance that one more could quell the ache then drink he would. He downed the glass in one long gulp and felt his eyebrows pinch as the burn seared down his throat once more.

"Cognac goes down much smoother if sipped gradually, you know." A feathery voice, soft and feminine came from behind him. He turned to address her and paused at the sight that greeted him.

Dorothy Catalonia had always been what most would consider an attractive woman with a strange allure that boarded on dangerous. Her grey-blue eyes glinted with mischievous intelligence and her pert lips seemed to be fixed in an ever-present condescending sneer. Her eyebrows were as long as ever and still ended in that obscene forked style and yet, for some reason…

'They suit her.' He mused.

Perhaps it was the cognac raising his blood alcohol content, but he found them less creepy and more a unique oddity. Her long, platinum hair was left down, held back only by an ornate headband of glittering jewels. His eyes couldn't help but roam down her figure. Dorothy had always been slender with curves in all the right places, but time had added a bit to them in the most agreeable way. Her black dress may as well have been a second skin: shoulderless, backless, and with a dangerously low neckline that left little to the imagination. And a slit was placed on either side of the gown allowing for the pallid skin of her long legs to be tantalizingly glimpsed through the midnight fabric.

His gaze clearly had not gone unnoticed by his new companion. She, too, seemed to be sizing him up like a prized steer at auction, ready to be sold to the highest bidder. He let her look, not missing the haze of lust that had begun to swirl in her eyes.

"Miss Catalonia." He greeted her with a nod. A smile curled onto her lips, dark pink and devious.

"Trowa Barton." She returned. "How long has it been?" Trowa held back a scoff. The first and last time he had remembered meeting Dorothy had been less than pleasant.

"I believe it was several years ago when you decided to use Quatre as your personal pin cushion." He quipped. Her eyes widened a bit before her brow furrowed and her lips formed a mock pout.

"Oh dear, must we dredge up such unpleasant memories on such a lovely evening?" He shrugged and turned from her, wishing for another glass of cognac…

"You asked."

"How right you are." She returned, patronizing him. Something about the way she swirled the bourbon in her glass was so… enticing.

"What do you want?" His question might have seemed rude, but he was too many drinks in to care how she took it.

"Whatever do you mean?" She batted her long lashes. "Can I not come to make conversation with an old acquaintance?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. After a moment, she dropped the act, lips curling into a seductive smirk.

"Very well, you've got me!" She locked eyes with him, grey-blue to emerald in a serious stare. He quirked up a brow. "I can see the object of your affections is as unavailable to you as mine is to me." His eyes widened in surprise. He wasn't sure how she knew and he didn't know how to feel about her unsettling insight.

"Therefore…" she made her way closer to him slowly and he couldn't help but notice the way the fabric moved with her hips as she did so. His eyes went to the slit in the skirt once more. "I'd like to propose a remedy for our little predicament." She continued.

"And that would be?" She closed the distance between them, circling him slightly as one slender finger traced it's way up his arm, around his shoulders and then to his collarbone.

"We can keep one other company… Ease the ache to our mutual benefit."

"Are you propositioning me?"

"Perhaps…" She let out a sultry laugh and leaned in. "I'd like to think I'm seducing you."

He sucked in a breath as he felt her lips graze his ear… her warm breath on his neck… her soft breasts on his arm… His slacks were now on the verge of uncomfortable...

"I thought someone like me would be beneath you." He struggled to keep his wits but the alcohol mixed poorly with her proximity for him to build his resistance.

"Not yet." She breathed, "but you could be…" He felt her fingers trail down from his collarbone to the band of his cummerbund.

His eyes flicked briefly to the spot where Relena sat tellingly close to Heero as she laughed with Quatre and Silvia. Dorothy had a point and between the cognac and the blood thrumming through his veins he found the prospect of what she offered just tempting enough. 'What the hell?' He figured as he turned to her.

"Lead the way." The victorious grin on her face was that of the cat that ate the canary. Trowa watched her figure appreciatively as he followed behind her. This wasn't what he'd planned, but then, what was the harm in embracing other possibilities…?