It had been a long, long night and Quatre's head was buzzing. His eyes were bloodshot and his throat was dry. He hadn't spoken in hours. He was sitting in a chair that some sadist had decided was "comfortable." His back disagreed. The chair was facing a clean white bed that housed the still unconscious blond woman. She had tubes and wires coming out from all over her, hooked up to innumerable beeping machines sustaining her life. Quatre hadn't moved from this spot since he'd been ushered in at five that morning.
Once again he found himself scanning her face. She'd always been pale, but now she was almost a ghostly white. Her pale blond hair was like a pillow of gold beneath her head. It was longer than ever, healthy and strong, all remnants of blood had been cleaned out of it in surgery.
She's grown, Quatre thought and then immediately realized how ridiculous this statement was.
Of course she had grown, the last time he'd seen her she was nineteen years of age, five years back. The prettiness of elegant adolescence had transformed into a well-honed, almost dangerous beauty. Dorothy had never been thought of as weak, but the word delicate was something that popped into your brain. Delicate had long been outgrown and had evolved into a sort of fierce grace. There was more giving line to the mouth and the chin now, as if she'd learned the hard way that sometimes it was necessary to cede, to wait, to lie dormant. Gone was the fiery rage and confusion that had once lined her core, leaving behind a calculating, controlled interior.
Quatre didn't turn as the door clicked softly closed behind him. There was no noise, just the sudden appearance of Heero standing beside his chair. The dark boy held a steaming cup out to blond in the chair.
"Thank you," Quatre rasped, taking a grateful sip of the coffee. Subpar, but subpar was good enough in such circumstances.
Heero merely nodded. Quatre flicked his eyes up to his old friend.
"I didn't even know you were in town," he said, glancing back at Dorothy.
"Couple of months now," Heero responded.
"When did you start working with the Preventers?"
Heero gave a small smile. "Sort of just got recruited."
Quatre grinned wide. "Charming."
"Might be good for now."
"Yeah, maybe." He meant that. "In fact, I'm surprised they haven't sent-"
The boys turned their head simultaneously as a courteous, but firm, knock sounded at the door. The next instant the door was pushed opened quietly and a head of dark, wavy hair popped into view.
"Ms. Noin," Quatre said in a pleasantly surprised tone, standing to greet the woman. As he hugged her briefly he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Peacecraft. I heard about the wedding. Congratulations."
"What do people call you now?" Heero asked after issuing his own greeting to the smiling brunette.
"People still call me Noin," Noin replied. "Lucrezia is out of the question. I actually made Noin my middle name when I got married."
"Where is Zechs?" Heero inquired. Heero didn't call him Milliardo. He had his reasons and the other man didn't seem to mind. There was a mutual respect and understanding between the two. In fact, the only other person to use the archaic moniker was the brunette standing before him.
"He's outside in the waiting room, getting ready," Noin replied, motioning behind her with a thumb.
Quatre staved the obvious question for later and offered Noin the chair with a supple, elegant flick of his free wrist. "Would you like some coffee?"
"No thanks, I just had breakfast. But you two must be starving. I was told that you haven't left this room for hours."
The two men shook their head, willing her to forget about the inconvenience. They already had. Noin let the issue rest and looked at the woman lying on the hospital bed. She was silent for a moment before swallowing hard and expelling a pent up breath.
"Was she… was she really bad?" she asked in a strangled whisper.
"Yes," Heero said bluntly. In cases such as these, his smooth, almost monotone voice was remarkably reassuring.
Quatre set down his coffee. "Noin."
Noin took a moment, still staring at Dorothy, before she glanced up at his voice. As her eyes landed on the two men in question, she suddenly understood the huge mistake she had made in accepting the proffered chair earlier. They stood shoulder to shoulder, almost blocking the door. If the person sitting before them had been almost anyone else, the stance would have spelled danger. But for Noin, she knew it only meant the escape was absolutely impossible until everything they wanted and needed to know was said. Because you see, this was now an inquisition. And the angels of light and darkness standing before her in an impressive display were the inquisitors.
"Why is she here?" Quatre asked.
"She was shot." Noin knew it wasn't going to work and that it would never satisfy, but she couldn't live with herself if she hadn't at least tried. The two men simply stared at her, completely unflinching. Gargoyles would have had more of a reaction. Noin blew out a big sigh. "Dorothy was on a mission. Ongoing."
"What kind of mission?" Heero asked.
"Something involving undercover. It had to do with a large gun-running gang. I don't have any more details. No one did except Une."
"Who was she working with?"
"Dorothy worked alone."
"You mean to tell me that she got heavily involved with the Black Ties and she had absolutely no back up?" Quatre spat, unable to comprehend.
"Dorothy always works alone."
"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard." As he said this, he turned to give the unconscious woman an angry, disappointed look as if she could see him. "The proudest, most egotistical nonsense…"
"Nonsense or not," Noin said, shrugging. "Dorothy worked her own angles and she proved in the past that she didn't need a partner to get the job done. To tell the truth, I don't think anyone can keep up with her."
"That's not the point. Everyone should have a partner."
"You guys didn't have partners for a long time."
Heero shook his head. "Special circumstances."
"She was in one as well and the only thing a partner was going to do with Dorothy was get killed." Trowa left the door slightly ajar behind him. "Noin doesn't know anything else and you aren't going to have to interrogate me. I'm more than willing to share what I know in respects to this." He turned his green gaze to the woman sequestered in the chair. "Milliardo is waiting for you outside."
"Thanks, Trowa," Noin said, relieved and slipped out of the room with one last glance at Dorothy.
The three men shook hands warmly. As Noin clicked the door shut behind them, Quatre, Heero, and Trowa rearranged themselves around the room in a sort of triangle formation. It was subconsciously done, but it allowed them to have complete visual contact with all parts of the room thereby controlling who came in and out of it. Quatre stood beside Dorothy's bed after having grabbed his coffee again. One hand was now casually slipped in his pocket and he was facing the door to the bathroom.
"It's so good to see you, Trowa," he said with a warm, genuine smile at his best friend.
"It's been too long," he replied, a small tilt of his lips. "You hardly ever call anymore."
The brunette stood in the corner beside the large, curtained window, facing to door, arms crossed comfortably over his chest. His chestnut brown hair was still long in the front and shorter in the back. It was parted to the side, the shortest tips of it constantly flittering down over his straight, serious brow and brushing against the thick lashes that rimmed his beautiful emerald eyes. Trowa too had changed much in these years.
"And you never call at all," he added, glancing towards Heero.
The last of them gave a small grin. He had positioned himself opposite Trowa next to the door and looked towards the window. He could hear anyone approaching from outside and would be able to keep an eye on the outside through the gap in the curtains.
"Forgive me," he apologized. "It won't happen again."
Trowa knew his word was good. "How is she?"
"They sedated her heavily for the surgery," Quatre responded, glancing down at the pale girl lying next to him. "She won't be awake for another couple of hours. But she's stable. She just needs to heal."
"Good," Trowa replied. "Because she is the only person who knows exactly what it going on."