Just a few things I want to note before letting you get to the chapter:

1) A warning in this chapter for what I would class as dubious consent.

2) If you read Chapter 3 when it was first posted please note that an additional scene has been added to the end which you may want to read before starting this chapter here!

3) There's a disproportionately large amount of Ibsen quoting that made its way into this chapter. Points for spotting them all! XD

4) A very big thank you to YOU, yes YOU reading this now for sticking with this story, and to those of you who have left comments in particular. It's always encouraging to hear what people think, and I'm sure this would all be a lot longer in the making without your motivation to get it out there!

IV

She spent the evening restless and bored after Quatre left with Trowa and Wufei, picking up and putting down one diversion after another. Was she to spend her evenings from now on reading books? Watching insipid television shows? Distracting herself? The great vastness of her life stretched suddenly out in front of her, its very emptiness the thing that made it so overwhelmingly claustrophobic. That wasn't what Quatre had promised her those few months ago. Not at all.

Perhaps she should have gone with them after all, she reflected, standing at the French doors and glaring at the garden, if only to prove a point.

It wasn't too late. She still could.

She could walk out the front door and leave the house, leave everything. If she wished to.

Instead, eventually she found herself drawn back to Quatre's old nursery, with her hand wrapped around the comforting weight of one of her father's dueling pistols. She stood at the window and aimed experimentally through the clouds at the roofs of the houses on the far side of the colony. Who lived there, she wondered; what did they make of their tiny, boring lives? (For they would be boring, there was no doubt about that; if it were otherwise, she would certainly have heard of them.) How did they stand it?

No answers came to her from the cheery twinkling lights.

Dorothy kept a hold of the pistol and retraced her steps out of the room. There was nothing inside it to keep her attention. They had emptied it of everything which lent it meaning.

She would be expected to fill it, now, but the ghost of what it had been still hung in the air, clung to the walls. She had liked the idea of erasing the room's past and claiming it as her own, but now she found the task ominous. She should not have chosen a nursery, she thought. Quatre was bound to find some hidden, nonexistent meaning in it.

She began to open the other doors which lined the corridor. Never mind the colony, she told herself; after all, she hadn't even seen all of her new house yet! There was the library, she knew that room. Next to it she found a linen closet full of neatly folded towels and a small bathroom. She moved on.

Aha. Now here was something interesting.

A guest room. With a small stack of worn books on the floor. And an empty rucksack left propped against the foot of the bed. Trowa's room. A tiny smile crept furtively across her face. Yet something kept her from going immediately inside. She hesitated on the threshold for a long while, torn between taking that first step over the boundary and politely turning her back on her discovery.

There are some things a person cannot turn back from once they are begun. This, it seemed to her, was such a thing. There was safety in the corridor; unknown danger lay within. Alluring, but -

The doorbell chimed, making Dorothy jump. At once, she backed out into the corridor, pulling Trowa's door shut as she did. She had to squint in the dimness of the hall. When had it gotten so late? She had no idea where to find a light switch and scowled with increasing irritation as she fumbled her way through the house.

The bell rang again as she finally reached the stairs, and kept ringing. Berta came hurrying from the direction of the kitchen, tying her dressing gown closed. "It's all right, Berta," Dorothy called down to her, rolling her eyes. "I'll answer it. I'm here now."

She made no secret of the gun she still carried in her hand - but in the end it was only Relena. The Vice Foreign Minister pushed her way in as soon as the door was open, looking around with frantic eyes and demanding, "Is he here?"

Dorothy spotted Berta, still hovering, and her eyes narrowed. "Go back to bed."

"Are you sure, my lady? The Vice Foreign Minister looks as though she could do with something soothing. A mug of cocoa, perhaps? It would be no trouble."

"I said, leave us," Dorothy snapped, making Berta flinch and drop her eyes to Dorothy's pistol. She ducked her head and scuttled away quick enough then. Dorothy snorted, then draped her arm over Relena's shoulders. "It's always best to avoid having these sorts of conversations in front of servants," she murmured confidentially, gently guiding Relena towards the sitting room. "Now I assume it's Wufei you're looking for? He's gone out with Quatre and Trowa. Did no one think to tell you?" She tutted. "Men."

Relena groaned and reached up a hand to massage her temples. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come barging in here like that. It's only, he hasn't been answering my texts. You must think me so foolish."

"Not at all," Dorothy shushed her, "I'm delighted to see you, Miss Relena, of course. You just sit down here. Berta was right about one thing, at least; you do look as though you could do with something." She crossed to the sideboard and found a place in one of its drawers to tuck away her father's pistol. "I might not have Berta's dab hand in the kitchen, but I dare say there's a bottle of whiskey around here I could unearth. Just the thing for a cozy late night chat."

"Oh." Relena let out a weak laugh. "No, I'm fine, thank you."

"Hmm. Because of Wufei? I'm sure he wouldn't want you to abstain just for his sake."

"That's not - it's late, that's all. I'm supposed to work in the morning. I like to keep a clear head."

Dorothy was unconvinced, giving Relena a piercing look over her shoulder. Relena colored slightly under the scrutiny, but met her eye without blinking. Dorothy shrugged. "As you wish. But now that you're here, you must stay, of course." She returned to the sofa, tucking one leg under her as she sat down. "We shall keep each other company until the men of our hearts return from their travels. It is too bad of them not to have let you know their plans. Naturally I can't speak to Wufei's habits, but Quatre is usually very conscientious about that sort of thing - oh, but, perhaps you didn't mention the nature of your relationship to him?"

"It hardly seemed pertinent."

"Yes. Even so, he usually manages to figure out these things."

"Especially with you to guide his thoughts, I'm sure." Relena sighed, her eyes wandering across the room. "Do you suppose they'll be back soon?"

"There, now, Miss Relena; there's no need to fret. You asked Quatre and Trowa to look after him, did you not? Don't you trust them? Or Wufei, either?"

"I do. Of course I do." Relena buried her face in her hands. "Is it awful of me to worry like this? Heero always thought so." She looked up. "I suppose you never worry about Quatre, do you? You probably never worry about anything at all."

Dorothy laughed and snaked her arm back around Relena's slender waist, pulling them both back to lean more comfortably against the couch cushions. "I often think the only thing in this world I have any talent for is boring myself to death," she crooned in Relena's ear. "There. Now you know the truth of it. Do you feel better?"

"No," Relena sniffed, but she made no effort to remove herself from Dorothy's embrace. Dorothy let out a thoughtful hmm, and pulled her closer. By degrees, Relena began to relax, until her head dropped to rest on Dorothy's shoulder.

"Let me tell you what will happen," Dorothy murmured as she stroked Relena's hair. "In no time at all, they will be home, all three of them, flushed and fearless from their efforts. I can see it already. And then you'll see; your Wufei will have regained control over himself. He will be a free man for all of his days. You may doubt him as long as you please; I believe in him."

"That sounds perfect. I hope it turns out exactly as you say."

"Oh, Miss Relena. It is all because of you, you know. People have followed you your entire life, because you inspire them." She heaved a sigh. "How many destinies have you held in your hands over the years? How many lives have you shaped? Oh, if you could only understand how poor I am by comparison. And fate has made you so rich!" A wicked thought struck her. She bent her head and whispered, "I'm so envious. Perhaps I really will burn your hair off after all."

Relena went stiff and jerked backwards, glaring. "That isn't funny."

It was, a little.

"Why do you do that?" Relena pressed. "You can be so kind one moment, and so cruel the next. I don't understand it."

Dorothy pursed her lips decisively together and did not answer.

"Have I offended you? Do you find me so worthy of scorn? Or do you just enjoy it? Getting a rise out of someone."

"We can't all be the paragons of virtue that you are, Miss Relena," she finally replied, musing, "Though perhaps even your sterling reputation will be somewhat tarnished when all this is through."

Relena let out a low, frustrated noise, staring at Dorothy with shrewd eyes. "I can't make up my mind whether I despise you or pity you. Tell me something, Dorothy: are you happy with Quatre?"

Simpering, Dorothy thoughtfully tapped a finger against her chin and returned the volley: "Is Quatre really who you want to talk about right now?"

Relena's eyes flew wide, but as they sat, a slow, involuntary smile stretched across her face. She shook her head, chagrined. "You really haven't changed a bit, Dorothy. All right, perhaps what I meant to say is that people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. But - are you happy with him? I have to admit, it came as something of a surprise when I heard about you two. You'll forgive my saying so, I hope, but you don't seem a particularly likely couple."

"Happy enough," Dorothy allowed. "We have a certain - understanding between us."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my dear Miss Relena, I couldn't possibly stay on Earth!"

Relena was bewildered. "Why not?"

Dorothy gave her an indulgent smile. "Oh, Miss Relena, you really are too sweet. Too pure. The Earth Sphere Unified Nation might have pardoned all us soldiers, but you see, individuals aren't quite so forgiving. Why, not even my own mother could look past the damage done to the Catalonia name." She forced a laugh at the memory which threatened to sting her. "I might have been able to secure some manner of influence within Romefeller, but the Foundation was dissolved; and for some reason its former members held me responsible for that, too. A girl can only lick her wounds for so long, wouldn't you agree? Preventer has, I will admit, done an admirable job of sweeping up most of the detritus into its ranks, but it really wasn't the place for me… No, if I was to have any chance at all, it had to be by attaching myself to someone else's name; going somewhere new."

"Unlike you, I don't have any place left to go back to."

So she had said to Trowa Barton on board Libra, and it was true. Her bridges had all been burned when she took control of White Fang's mobile dolls. Even more so than she had realized at the time. Treize had died; and the person left to usher in the new world order was sitting beside her, a delicate frown the only thing marring her perfect face. She swallowed, swallowed it all down. After all, if there was one thing she could claim with irreproachable pride, it was this: "And Quatre is quite the rising star, don't you think?"

"You mean you ran away," Relena concluded.

"If you wish to call it that." Dorothy shrugged. "I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat."

"I didn't realize you were such a coward at heart."

Dorothy's smile went hard and brittle around the edges. "Yes; a terrible coward," she agreed. "I have such a dread of scandal, you see."

"Now that doesn't sound like you one bit. You court scandal wherever you go, Dorothy. I'm sure you must enjoy it."

Of course Relena should think so; so should all of her peers. That was entirely the point. She offered up a coy sidelong look and replied, "You may think what you like, but I have told you nothing but the truth. Alas, I am not at all courageous like you, Miss Relena. If only I were, perhaps life would be livable after all."

Relena looked at her with such sad eyes. "And what does Quatre get out of this arrangement, then?"

"Do you know, unlike so many people, he appears to genuinely enjoy the pleasure of my company."

Despite herself, Relena snorted a laugh; but underneath it, her eyes were still serious. "That's not enough to base a marriage on, though. One person's regard for the other. Believe me; I should know."

Dorothy pounced on the opening. "Yes - whatever happened between you and Heero?"

"Please, Dorothy. I don't wish to discuss it."

"I think, if that were true, you wouldn't have brought it up."

Relena looked away from her, suddenly closed off. "It's late," she murmured, yet again, standing to go peer out the window at the night. "Couldn't you phone Quatre for me? Just find out what time they'll be back. It would put my mind at ease."

"They're enjoying themselves," Dorothy said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We should do the same ourselves and leave them to each other. If Heero is such a sore subject I'll even let you pick the topic of conversation."

There was a long pause before Relena said, somewhat tentatively, "When I first heard about you and Quatre, marrying so suddenly, I must admit I wondered if it might be because you…well."

"Well what?"

"I thought you must have gotten pregnant."

Dorothy threw back her head and laughed while Relena blushed a pretty shade of pink. "Oh dear," she gasped, still chortling. "No, it was nothing so prosaic as that, I assure you. It's part of our little agreement, you see. No children until I'm ready." She flashed Relena a conspiratorial smile, adding, "Of course, who knows when that might be."

Relena frowned, advancing back towards her. "I always had the impression Quatre wanted a family."

"And he'll have one," Dorothy shrugged. "Eventually. One way or another. What does it matter? Families are overrated, anyway."

"You lied to him," Relena insisted.

"I did no such thing! Why would I lie when the truth is so much more powerful? Why are you so hung up on this?" One particular possibility yawned in front of her and Dorothy clapped her hands together in realization. "Why, Miss Relena - you're not - are you?"

"That's quite enough!" Relena snapped, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Dorothy gazed up at her in sheer delight, and under her eye the authoritative Vice Foreign Minister seemed to slough off, leaving a young, uncertain twenty-two year old woman behind. "I don't know. Maybe. It's too soon to say."

"But you want to be," Dorothy guessed.

Relena sank back down to the sofa and cradled her head in her hands. "Yes," she admitted. "I do, very much."

"Well then, that's marvellous news. Don't let my feelings on the subject stand in your way; you should be very happy."

"Wufei and I haven't discussed the possibility of children. I don't know how he'd react to the idea. In the middle of everything else… It's not very good timing."

"That's just what you said the last time you sat on this sofa making confession to me. Since when have you been so concerned about timing? When does life ever have good timing? That doesn't stop you."

"Back to being kind again, I see." Dorothy let that go without comment. Relena peeked through her hands to give her a pained smile. "This will sound foolish, but up until it touched on Heero, I almost considered this investigation something like our child. Mine and Wufei's. It brought us together, you see. It was - ours. Wufei was the one out in the field, but we shared it. We conceived of it, together."

She slumped backwards and flicked Dorothy a sidelong glance. "You wanted to know about what happened with Heero? There it is. At the heart of it, we were too separate." Dorothy resisted the urge to roll her eyes; that was no answer at all. "Do you know, we never even fought. Not until I decided I was leaving. We were always so careful with each other after the war. From death threats to treating each other as if we were each made of glass. There was no honesty between us anymore. Just…teddy bears and empty gestures. We behaved like we thought lovers were supposed to. The trouble was, we didn't have any idea what we were actually doing. We just knew that everyone was looking at us. Poor Heero. The weight of all that expectation was crushing even for me. But he meant well in everything. If I'd been more experienced, then maybe - oh, it doesn't matter."

"Some might consider you've just swapped one damaged boy for another."

"Well," said Relena, with a pointed look in her direction, "that's their problem. Not mine."

"Personally I find it quite admirable, the way you've helped him so."

"Wufei's helped himself. All I can do is support him when things are difficult."

"I wonder if he sees it like that. In any event, there aren't many who would stand by him as you do, you know. He must count himself lucky. And the trust he's placed in you, more than even his fellow his pilots. Do you ever find it troubling? Or worry you cannot live up to the task?"

Relena frowned at her. "I'm human, aren't I? I worry every day. Of course I do. But I've felt that way ever since my father died and I learned about my heritage." Her face softened. "I learned from Heero how to keep moving in spite of all that. I'm not going to forget that lesson now, just because we're not together anymore. I'm going to continue to follow his example; and perhaps it will help others the way that he helped me."

Dorothy shook her head with fond amusement. "Are you sure you're not in love with him anymore? Listening to the way you talk about him I'm surprised Wufei hasn't killed him in a fit of jealous rage." She snickered and amended the thought, "Or tried to, anyway. Oh, but perhaps that's what this little investigation is going to accomplish for him?"

"It isn't like that," Relena insisted coldly.

"You'd know best, of course!" Dorothy leaned in close, eyes wide and brow raised high with question. "And you? You're not ever jealous, either?"

Relena sighed. "What are you getting at, Dorothy?"

"Just that I understand Sally Po had quite the influence over him at one time. But you probably know all about that." Relena said nothing one way or the other, which was answer enough for Dorothy. "Oh. I see. How odd he chose not to tell you. Given his unique circumstances. If it were me, I might worry his feelings for her aren't fully resolved."

"So we both have old loves," Relena huffed. "What of it? That's not exactly surprising."

Dorothy hummed noncommittally. Let Relena think on it a while. Her own mind buzzed with visions of this partnership Relena claimed to have with Wufei. The closeness of shared purpose. The bond of building a thing, together. Perhaps she was a little envious herself. She turned and flung her arms around Relena, squeezing her tightly. "So!" she exclaimed, "A baby!" Relena shifted uncomfortably in her embrace, but Dorothy didn't loose her grip. Her lips brushed against Relena's ear. "What will your mother think?"

"I haven't told her yet," Relena replied, shrugging her way free. "There's nothing to tell, at this point. It might not be anything beyond wishful thinking. But, if it turns out to be true, I imagine she'll be pleased. She's always had a soft spot for children." A beat later, she added, "She'd never say so, of course, but I see the way she looks at me sometimes. I know she thinks I grew up too fast. I know she wishes she'd been able to shelter me a little longer."

Dorothy had never been one for being sheltered, too hungry for the secret world of grown ups. Her own mother had had no patience for it. But not, she thought, out of any desire to keep her sheltered. No, it had been more self-serving than that, she was sure; a desire to keep her in her place only. Dorothy was not the only one with a fear of scandal, after all, and it had come from somewhere.

"What a simply perfect mother you'll be, Miss Relena," she sighed in rapture.

"You keep talking like it's a certainty," Relena said with an embarrassed laugh.

"Oh but it is! It's inevitable; if not now, then someday."

Relena gave her a long, searching look. "It's truly not something you want for yourself?"

Truly, the idea made her skin crawl. She made a show of giving a delicate shudder. "I fear I'm ill-equipped for such an undertaking. Can you imagine, me rocking some mewling infant in my arms and singing it off to sleep! Or worse, trying to teach them how to eat, or speak, or use a toilet? Quatre might be suited to such coddling, but not me. And then there is the thought of what comes before. Nine months of a body no longer my own? Though at least that is optional in this day and age. But no, I cannot romanticize such a thing; there is no beauty of any kind in the indignity of childbirth. It strips you of everything, so far as I can see, reduces you to the basest thing that you can be."

Relena was looking at her pityingly. "That's so sad. Looking back on the relationship I had with my mother as a girl, I can't imagine anything being further from the truth."

"Then it's as well you're the one who might be expecting," Dorothy retorted.

There was another long silence in which they listened to the minutes tick past. The frenzy with which Relena had arrived was gone, and now she drooped against the sofa, looking apt to fall asleep there. Dorothy was tired, too. It was very late, but there was still no sign of the men returning home.

"Dorothy?" Relena broke the quiet, her voice thick with sleep. "What's your mother like?"

"Dead," Dorothy told her, and smiled at the way Relena's eyes flew open, the flustered apologies that followed. "Please don't trouble yourself with condolences, Miss Relena. We weren't close, you see."

"But, how awful!"

"It's far better now that it's done. There is nothing worse, I think, than a lingering death, either for the invalid or for those around them."

"She was ill?"

"Cancer, yes. She was diagnosed in AC 198, then went into hospice at the beginning of last year. It took her months, though, before she finally died. Months of wasting slowly into decrepitude and nothingness, and for what? Pointlessly hoping for an impossible recovery?" Scorn tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Better to take matters into your own hands than die like that, like a coward, shying away from inevitability. Even the noblest life cannot redeem a death like that." And what claim did Galina Catalonia, née Dermail, have to leading a noble life? She was surely noble in no more than name, the life she led that of a woman of leisure; a wife; a mother. Her only accomplishments were those of the people around her, and her ambition ended there. Dorothy snarled, with a vehemence that startled even her, "It's ugly. I despise it."

Relena appeared to be at a loss for anything to say, her eyes searching Dorothy's face for some clue. Tentatively, she murmured, with the voice of experience, "It's a terrible thing, to watch a loved one die."

Terrible. Had it been terrible? Perhaps it had, but not in the way that Relena meant. But then, would it even be accurate to refer to her mother as a loved one? Rarely a day went by, growing up, when she didn't wonder what her father saw in her. A man capable of shaping the world deserved a wife to match him, not a cringing woman who went faint at the sight of blood.

After Galina's death, Dorothy's very first action, before even tackling the funeral arrangements, had been to make a discreet call to begin the process of putting the old Catalonia estate onto the market. It was hers to do with as she saw fit, from then. It wasn't long before a potential buyer emerged, a property developer, eager to negotiate. She had signed the paperwork without a second thought. Arrangements to turn the old family estate into a tacky boutique hotel were no doubt well underway by now. Galina would be turning in her grave.

"I loathe all sorts of ugliness," Dorothy whispered into the room.

There was something dangerously close to sympathy on Relena's face. Dorothy clapped her hands together and jumped to her feet, bending down to pull Relena up with her. Stroking her hands over the soft skin of Relena's cheeks she said to her, sternly, "How mortally tired you look. You must lie down."

"No, I couldn't," she protested, but it was a weak thing, easily overridden. Dorothy fussed her upstairs and into a guest room, where she forced a borrowed nightgown into her hands, and then shushed and soothed until Relena was snugly tucked away under the covers and beginning to doze.

As she was making her way out, Relena's voice called her back, sleepy and teasing: "I thought you said you wouldn't make a good mother."

For a second she went entirely still, her hand stuck where it rested on the doorknob and her shoulders stiff around her ears. Then she quietly left and shut the door behind her. Her feet carried her mechanically down the corridor to her own room. She climbed into bed and lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling in the dark.

It was around half-past four by the time she heard the door open and Quatre crept into their bedroom. Dorothy switched on a lamp and looked at him. "Where on Earth have you been?"

He groaned and flopped down onto the bed fully clothed. "Where haven't I been?" he said ruefully. After scrubbing a hand across his face, he cracked an eye at her and found the energy to lift the corner of his mouth in an unconvincing half-grin. "Have you been anxious for me?"

Dorothy gave an inelegant snort. "No, I should never think of being anxious. It was a merry evening, then?"

"Not exactly." Quatre rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin on his hand to look at her properly, a pensive frown tugging at his mouth. "More the opposite, actually."

When he didn't hurry to elaborate, Dorothy threw her hands up into the air. "Oh now, you can't say something like that and not explain yourself. What happened?"

Quatre sighed and heaved himself back out of bed to begin undressing. "Well, as you know, Trowa, Wufei, and I set off for Aurelia's after dinner. For a while, everything seemed to be going well, although Wufei was a bit…off, I suppose. He would be distant and aloof one minute, then friendly the next. More than friendly, even. Sentimental, almost. He was talking to Trowa about a night he spent with the circus, this must have been back during the war, I think, and how much it had meant to him. It was strange. Wufei never spent much time with any of us, during the war; even at the end, he always seemed most comfortable keeping us at arm's length. And afterwards, he almost disappeared. Did disappear, after he left Preventer. He didn't seem drunk, but it was unlike him enough to be suspicious, especially after he'd had that drink at dinner." Her husband sounded uncharacteristically sour, and sure enough, after a moment's pause he turned on her in gentle reproach. "I wish you hadn't had that glass of wine. I don't think Wufei would have followed suit if you hadn't."

"I don't see as I've done anything wrong," Dorothy protested archly. "He's a fully grown man, able to make his own decisions. He must be allowed to do so. How else can anyone live a full and glorious life?"

Quatre didn't respond to that directly, but Dorothy could see frustration in the lines of body as he hesitated over hanging up his jacket, his hands lingering over the folds and seams.

"What happened then?" she prompted, not unkindly, bringing him back from wherever his mind had taken him.

"I made a mistake," Quatre said mournfully. "We'd talked about so much else, and I wanted to make sure he was all right, so I… I tried to ask him about his drinking. He didn't take it well. Shortly after that, he said it was getting late and that he should go. Trowa and I offered to see him back to his hotel, but he refused."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"It wouldn't have been, if that were all. But he was so evasive about trying to get away from us that we - well, we followed him." He glanced at her as if trying to gauge her reaction, but she said nothing. Quatre shook his head. "He went straight to a bar. It turned out he'd been drinking all night. Right under our noses. He went into a shop to get cash on our way to Aurelia's, but do you know, it turned out he'd actually picked up a bottle of Wild Turkey… I can't understand it. Five minutes in our company and he ends up on - some kind of bender! It doesn't make sense. Could he possibly have deceived Relena that he'd given up?"

Quatre's earnest eyes sought hers, questioning.

"What did you do?" she asked before he could become too sidetracked.

He sat back down on the bed. "Well we could hardly let him go in there. Trowa and I confronted him, naturally. I'm ashamed to say it didn't end well." He raked a hand back through his hair. "What a disaster! After we promised Relena… I feel just terrible."

"Why didn't you phone? Relena's been frantic with worry."

Quatre became instantly more alert. "She's been in touch?"

"She's sleeping down the hall. You haven't answered my question."

"My phone was broken in the scuffle. And, well, then the police came…"

"The police! You were arrested?!"

"No, no; it's fine." He gave an abashed chuckle. "Once they recognized me they got it into their heads I must have been the victim of an attempted mugging rather than the perpetrator of the disruption they were called there to investigate. I confess I didn't try overly hard to disabuse them of the notion. Trowa took Wufei back his hotel while I dealt with the police. I think, anyway. I hope Wufei didn't give him too much more trouble."

"Sounds very eventful," Dorothy dryly observed.

"And Relena's here, you say?" Quatre leaned back against his pillow and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids, yawning widely. "Do you think we should tell her? I don't want to come between her and Wufei, but I don't see how it can be avoided."

"Decide in the morning," Dorothy suggested. "There's no point in waking her now. You should sleep, too." Quatre nodded and made a vague sound of agreement, but there was clearly still something distracting him. "What is it?"

"I'm just thinking. About Wufei. Relena thought he was recovering, but that's not what I saw tonight. He was… I've never seen him like that. So out of control of himself. He's bound to hate himself in the morning when he remembers. He would never want anyone to see him so low. And then, when you think about it, any one of us could have ended up in his position. What's helped us to avoid it? I wonder… If we figured that out, could that help Wufei?"

"It was as bad as that?"

"You didn't see him, Dorothy. He even…" Quatre got back out of bed and fetched his jacket from the closet, withdrawing a manila envelope from its inner pocket. "He dropped this."

Reflexively, Dorothy tried to reach for it before she stopped herself. "Is that…?"

Quatre nodded before putting everything neatly away again. "He just dropped it in the street; he was so far gone he didn't even notice. Can you imagine when he realizes? This is everything to him right now."

"You didn't tell him? Or Trowa?"

"There wasn't time! Not with the police." Quatre turned to his dresser and took out a clean set of pajamas, frustration and exhaustion written clearly in every line of his body. "I'll return it to him first thing in the morning, of course, just as soon as he's had a chance to sober up. Before work." That was only a few hours away, Dorothy thought with a glance at the window, already showing a hint of light behind the curtains. "And I'll talk to him. He might not want to hear what I have to say, but Relena was right; he needs friends around him."

"Dear Quatre," she murmured, "so determined to save everyone. But you know, not everybody wants to be saved. What will you do if you can't help him?"

Quatre gave her his most patient smile, his eyes crinkling affectionately at the corners. "I'm not so naive as all that, you know, Dorothy. But something tells me it won't come to that. Wufei's not just some person from off the street; let's not write him off prematurely. If you give them the chance, people might just surprise you." He reached for her hand and, indulgently, she gave it to him. He gently squeezed her fingers and traced his thumb over her wrist. She felt it when the motion stuttered, Quatre going suddenly still and silent except for an indrawn breath hissing across his teeth in surprise. His eyes were locked onto her, intent. "What's this?" he asked, voice tight.

She looked down at herself to find the answer: the lingering impression of Trowa's fingers against her arms; bruised flesh, exposed by her flimsy nightdress. She scowled down at the marks, as if that might frighten them away. "It's nothing," she told Quatre with a tired sigh, already fed up with this line of enquiry.

"It's not nothing." He crawled across the mattress to her side of the bed and carefully placed his hand over her arm, lining up each of his fingers with the thin lines of the bruising. The mottled green and purple looked livid against her skin. "Who did this? What happened?"

"I said it's nothing," she snapped, snatching her arm away and burying it under the coverlet, out of his sight. "Must you be such a bore? Mind your own business."

If she had expected the scolding to scare him off, she was mistaken. "You're my wife!" he exclaimed. "If someone has laid hands on you that is my business. I'm - I'm worried about you, Dorothy. I'm not going to apologize for that."

For a moment, panic flared, choking her; but fury quickly took its place. How dare he! But she could still control this. Control herself, control Quatre's response. "Your worry is tiresome. Do you think I'm such a child that I can't look after myself? Must you fret over every little bump and scratch?" Seeing the stubborn set of Quatre's jaw, she changed tack, smoothing the scowl from her face and replacing it with a pleading little pout. "You've had such a trying night already. Let's not argue and make it worse."

"I don't want to argue either," he admitted when she shifted closer and placed her hand on the back of his neck, kneading at the tension knotted there. He caught her eye and held it. "But you would tell me, wouldn't you? If it was anything serious?"

"Of course I would." She would say anything to soothe him. The lie was effortless and cost her nothing.

Quatre drew her close. She let him, lay her head down on his chest. Instinctively, her fingers sought out the puckered scar on his abdomen, the lingering evidence of their long-ago duel. She hadn't picked up a fencing foil since. "You know that tickles," he complained, but he tolerated it, as, indeed, he tolerated everything she did. She wondered, would he even tolerate it if he knew how she had turned a gun on his dearest friend, and then jokingly pulled the trigger? That she wouldn't test, not tonight. She found she was afraid to find the answer.

She raised herself up onto one elbow to look down at Quatre's face, her hair spilling down around them in a fine blonde curtain. At once, the world narrowed to the two of them, alone. Quatre blinked solemnly up at her. The blue of his eyes was deep and warm. She could almost count his eyelashes, dark brown at the roots then lightening to a golden blond, almost invisible unless they caught the light. Letting her hand leave his scar, she traced the lines of his cheekbones with a feather-light touch, ran her fingers along his brow, down his nose and, finally, across the soft curve of his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut with the touch, his lips pursing ever so slightly to press a kiss to the very tips of her fingers. She let them skate away, down, over the rougher skin of his chin and neck, where stubble prickled against her finger pads. She found the wings of his collarbone, the dip between his clavicles. The muscles of his chest were firm and hard, strong despite the deceptive slightness of his build. Her hand came to a rest on the left side of his chest, pressing slightly to feel his heart beat against her.

He was watching her again.

There was a banked heat in his eyes, his pupils blown wide and dark. But he said nothing, did nothing to hurry her.

He desired her, this man. Quatre Raberba Winner.

The thought made her feel powerful. It stirred to life a heat between her legs.

She could feel his breath begin to come a little faster when she drew her lip between her teeth; she could see the way his eyes honed in on that small motion. The pleasure of arousing him so easily sent a shiver down her own spine, raising gooseflesh in its wake. He was so easy to please. His heartbeat steady and reassuring beneath her hand, she lowered herself, slowly, slowly, to brush her lips against his.

He groaned into her mouth.

When she pulled back, Quatre smiled at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and full of lust. His thumb grazed over her jawline and dipped into her hair. In a breathless whisper he asked her, "Do you want to…?"

She did. She wanted to.

She bent to kiss him again in response, flicking her tongue against his lower lip in invitation.

He took it, tangling his hands more roughly in her hair and kissing back with abandon. In no time at all, their positions were flipped, Quatre rolling her so she lay beneath him. When his hand found her breast, chafing her nipple through her nightdress, she could feel an answering jolt in her stomach, and a lower, deeper echo.

When he began to ruck up her nightgown, she helped, pulling the material up over her hips. Quatre moved to kneel between her legs. His hand grazed her calf; he traced delicate circles around the spur of her ankle before he bent his head to kiss her exposed thigh. Her pulse speeding, Dorothy let her head fall back, her eyes slip closed.

Whatever else might be, this, here, now, felt right. Surrender seemed possible.

Sweet nothings tumbled from Quatre's mouth, frenzied and nonsensical against her skin. She caught scraps of words, didn't care to hear the rest; the meaning was clear enough. Until Quatre positioned himself to enter her. Until she came back to herself with a startled gasp. Until his first thrust. Until she realized, with mounting horror, that nothing but skin separated them.

It was like being doused with icy water.

She shoved him away from her, with arms and legs and clawing nails, disregarding his pained yelp. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice gone high and shrill.

"I - what do you mean?"

She felt sick. Her throat closed over bile. She heaved herself from the bed, away. Looking back at him, all she could see was the wilted remains of his erection, lying limp between his legs. He reached to cover himself. She paced, furiously.

"What happened to being careful? We had a deal!" she hissed. She would have screamed, wanted to, but for the knowledge of Relena fitfully sleeping only few doors away down the hall which kept her voice down. Her insides churned.

"But you - I thought…"

The way he looked at her, his eyes, even now, so full of compassion - she couldn't take it. She fled into the bathroom. Locked the door. Stood there, naked. Fists clenched at her sides. Chest heaving. Staring, sightless.

Minutes must have ticked by, she didn't know how many, before there came a tap at the door. "Dorothy?"

Quatre's voice, tentative.

"Go to sleep," she snarled.

Cold from the tile floor had seeped into her feet.

She shivered and turned towards the bathtub; ran the tap as hot as it would go. The room was dark, but she could see well enough to do this. The heat made her hiss as she climbed in, the white skin of her legs going pink as she watched the water inch up over her, but it was a cleansing sort of heat; she welcomed it. In that moment there was nothing she wanted more than to be clean; she scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to be sure.

Eventually the water cooled, but her eyes still burned. She stared down at herself, unblinking, her vision wavering in and out of focus. She couldn't stay put, but she dreaded what waited for her were she to leave. She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head, covering her face with her wet hands. She wanted to sink into the water and dissolve, like sugar. Her hair fell forward, the bottom inches dragging in the water. She should have put it up. She should have, she should have…

Every which way she looked, there were wrong turns.

How did she keep ending up here?

How Trowa Barton would sneer to see her like this.

It wouldn't do.

Blinking, she lifted her head and realized the house had gone quiet around her. She couldn't hear Quatre on the other side of the door. Carefully, she stood, water streaming off her loud in the silence. She listened again, after drying herself and finding a robe, but still there was nothing. When she'd steeled herself and opened the door, she found Quatre resting curled on top of the bedclothes, having apparently dozed off while waiting for her. She almost went to cover him, but a memory rose up - the memory of waking up at eleven years old, a sheet covering her nakedness - and the feeling of it was so visceral she veered physically away from it.

She did not get into bed.

She went to the closet, and found Quatre's jacket. She found the envelope in his pocket and took it out. It felt right in her hand as she clutched it to her breast, but she couldn't stay here with it, not when Quatre could wake at any moment.

She cast one last glance at him, her eye lingering on his sleep-softened face, and then she left.

I'm still not totally sure yet, it will depend how long things end up being, but it is just possible the next chapter might be the last...