Hereafter
CHAPTER 7
March Madness Prompt #4
"That's my least vulnerable spot" – Casablanca (1942)
Dorothy didn't understand what was taking so long. She was wedged between a slab of concrete and a beam that had fallen slantwise across the stairs when they caved in. The only light came from her phone and she worried about running out of battery before rescuers found her.
She also worried about running out of air.
Quatre lay beside her, tousled blonde hair hiding closed eyes and creamy pale cheeks. He had bought a new suit for what they had hoped would be Unification Day and now half of his body was wedged beneath tumbled blocks of heavy stone. The suit was beyond saving. For all she knew, his body was beyond saving. He might be completely crushed from the waist down, though she hoped not. At least he was breathing—for now.
Dorothy wore a yellow sundress and sandals but regretted the choice because she felt exposed to the chill and the darkness. There were scrapes and bruises all over her legs and arms. She was going to look like a mottled pig when she got out of this.
…if she got out of this.
Tears formed at the bottom of her eyes. She bit her lip—hard—to keep the water and salt and in her body where it belonged.
"I hate being weak," she said venomously to the dead air. It was true. She really did hate it.
It was all Quatre's fault, of course. This was the second time he had saved her life in a stupid way, if she counted the time she had stabbed him with a goddamned rapier and he countered by telling her how kind he thought she was. Like seriously, what the actual hell? She had been prepared for a fiery death at the end of the world and that weak speech had made her want to live. Worse, it made her want to try to fix things. Still, she could not understand why Quatre was so nice to her. He had forgiven her for a lot of shitty things she had done and believed—like really forgiven her—and it did not make any damned sense. And now, years later, he kept saying things like "you're such a strong person, Dorothy" and "I wish I could be as confident as you, Dorothy" and it really pissed her off every single time.
"You're so stupid," she said to his limp body.
They were only in the stairwell because Quatre had the gall to sit next to her during Relena's presentation and ask her, very quietly, if she wanted to go get lunch with him after the conference.
She had just sat there, bug-eyed and disbelieving, like a pricked pony. Then she stood up, seized him by the arm, and dragged him out of the room. He protested as she pulled him down the hall and shoved him into the emergency stairwell. Relena had only glanced at Dorothy from the podium when they exited. She was amazing, that girl—never a ruffled feather.
Quatre, of course, did not understand. He wore a dopey expression when she whirled on him, fists on her hips, ready to rage.
"Are you asking me out on a date?"
"I thought you might be hungry," he said defensively.
"You can't date me! I would eat you alive!" she snapped at him. "I swear to God, Quatre, you have no sense of self preservation. Do you have any idea what my life is like?"
"I know you do a lot behind the scenes to defend Relena's platform."
"I don't defend Relena," Dorothy said. "I go on the attack for Relena. If you knew what these people are really like, these sharks, and how much time I voluntarily spend with them—"
"I do know. I really admire you."
She wanted to shake him. "You don't get it," she snapped. "You don't get me." She gesticulated wildly, waving her arms first at him and then pointing to herself. "You and I? We would not work. I was put on this earth to intimidate queens and harass genocidal dictators. I am also taller than you and richer than you and—"
"You're not richer than me," Quatre interrupted. "And—" He motioned, moving his hand over the top of his head to her head.
She gaped. He was taller than her now, by a little over an inch, and her sandals even had little heels!
"Come on, Dorothy," he said. "Get lunch with me."
"No."
"You can pick the place," he persisted. "Although I won't lie. I am hoping a little food might soften your heart."
"That's my least vulnerable spot," she huffed, quoting a movie that was so old, it had been filmed in black and white. There was no way he would ever recognize—
His blue eyes brightened. "Hey, I like classics too! Do you want to watch Casablanca together?"
She stared at him, apoplectic to the point she could not speak. Because she found that did want to watch Casablanca with Quatre. And that galled. That really, really…
It was a surprise to her when she leaned in suddenly to kiss him. She had no idea she was going to do it. But he caught her by the shoulders as if he had been expecting it. And actually… actually…
That was when the bomb went off. She didn't remember falling. She opened her eyes to pitch blackness and Quatre's body next to hers, unresponsive to her shouts and slaps. She'd been able to reach her phone. She had Trowa's number, though she'd never called him. Quatre had given it to her once, saying he wanted her to stay connected to people who cared about her…
She turned on her phone but had no new texts.
"You had better not die," she hissed at Quatre. She was afraid to touch him, but carefully brushed hair from his eyes. He looked like he was sleeping. "It would be so stupid if you died!"