Catherine Bloom had never, ever in her entire twenty-five years of life been so insulted. Stomping about the room like an enraged tiger waiting for a chance to attack, Catherine stopped turning slowly to face her sole audience her little brother- Trowa. Her glacial gaze would have sent lesser men running for their lives, but not Trowa Barton.
"I should kill him." She picked up the nearest thing - a kitchen knife and threw it. It flew past Trowa landing dead center on the TV, he had gotten used to having knives tossed in his direction. It was his job after all, but the TV, Trowa looked at the knife standing at attention stabbed dead center on the screen. His mourning for the TV would come later. "Who you ask?" Catherine's huff of indignation and slamming of cabinet doors drew his attention back to her as she slammed a pot down on the stove top.
Silently from the table, Trowa sipped his coffee.
Catherine, hellfire spewing as she rummaged through the fridge jerking vegetables and a package of chicken out, growled slamming an onion onto the cutting board. Paring knife pointed at his face, Trowa lifted a brow letting her know he was interested in what she had to say. "Quatre!" She turned her back to him and started vigorously slicing the onion with the precession of a master chef. Soon a pile of onions rested beside her, the fumes of their remains wafting to the woman's face followed by a sniffle. As she turned, Catherine's eyes watering leaving Trowa to wonder if she was actually crying, which he hated, or it was a side effect of the onions. Although he wasn't sure what the Arabian man had done to his sister, Catherine was extremely upset. She moved over to the sink washing her hands, scrubbing potatoes with such ferocity she could have started a fire. Silence fell over the small camper, Trowa taking a moment to savor another sip the bitter black coffee; just the way he liked it. As he enjoyed the small peace, Catherine returned peeling the potatoes with a knife.
Watching her work Trowa sat his mug down leaning on the table waiting to verbalize his curiosity over what happened. The chance would not come as Catherine dropped a strainer and pot on the table dicing the rinsed potatoes efficiently into the pot of water. "He kissed me!" Her hand stilled, mercury glaring at Trowa as if he had someone influenced his friend. Trowa looked up at Catherine then to the potato that had the knife jammed into its center. Schooling his features, Trowa's mask fell into place his eyes not widening, no shock registering on his face. He lifted his coffee holding it above the counter the only indication of acknowledgment. No, she wasn't crying over the onions and the TV had been murdered, the potatoes were skinless and squared with surgical precision, Trowa felt a tingle of fear. For Quatre. Trowa glanced down at the potatoes in Cathy's hand and took the spud placing it in the strainer.
Catherine's lip wobbled.
"I just remembered I forgot to feed the lions." Trow slowly backed out of the trailer. That answered Quatre's black eye. As he bounded down the stairs Catherine followed watching her brother beeline for the lion cages, the place with Quatre spent his time on his visits to the circus.
"Trowa! Tell Quatre to come to dinner!"
Trowa held his hand up giving Cathy a thumbs up. Smiling Cathy stepped back inside. "Catherine Winner, I like the sound of that."