The Price of Redemption
Chapter 23
By Midii Une
Duo snuggled closer in the warm, strong embrace as he lay
groggy from a night of overindulgence in alcohol and perhaps what could be
called “too good a time.”
So nice.
So safe.
So cozy.
He had a recurring dream of a long-ago time before the
sickness came, a vague memory, half-forgotten and bittersweet of a little boy
with shaggy chocolate brown hair running down a dark hallway. He felt
safe, he knew the way even in the dark and his small face was split by a
mischievous grin that was almost too big for the childish features. With
a leap and a bound he vaulted up onto the mattress and into the small warm
hollow that separated his parents from each other in their slumber. With a
blink and a yawn the toddler flung his small arms around his father’s hard
chest and nuzzled close. He thought he could see a tolerant and loving
violet eye glimmer at him beneath long chestnut lashes and fingers stroking his
hair comfortingly as he fell back to sleep.
“mmmmmm,” he groaned, cuddling closer in that secure
embrace.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Long silky locks of hair, like unbound ropes of thick satin
tickled against Trowa’s chest in the darkness. His head buzzed and ached and it
would take something akin to a major disaster for him to dare open his eyes,
the very thought of seeing the light of day made his stomach quiver
dangerously. Somehow she was here with him, it made no sense but she was
there, lying heavily on top of him, tangling him in the warm, enticing web of
her hair and he buried his fingers in the soft strands to keep her there.
Cautiously he moved his face into the curve of her neck and wrinkled his
nose. Midii smelled like smoke and stale alcohol and suspiciously like Duo’s
aftershave. Too tired to argue the discrepancies in his brain Trowa
hugged her closer, clinging to her waist as the bed, or was it the room spun
dizzily around him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
With an expression between a scowl and a smirk, Wufei bent
silently to untie the laces of his running shoes. He mopped his forehead
with a fresh white towel that hung over his shoulders as he looked at his
sleeping friends disgustedly. He’d already been out for a 10-mile jog and
the idea that the combination of alcohol and Duo Maxwell was an evil one became
planted even more firmly in his psyche. His comrades, even Yuy, were lying
around the room like a heap of defeated mobile suits, a disjointed jumble of
arms and legs. He’d had to step carefully over the fallen bodies of the
Maganacs in the corridors of Quatre’s Moroccan mansion to make his way back
undetected.
Wufei turned sharply as Quatre sneezed and stifled a laugh
as he saw that the blonde bridegroom-to-be’s nose was being tickled by the
tassel on Heero’s red fez. The gold lettering of his name embroidered on
the stiff scarlet felt proclaimed his identity since all that showed in the
tangle of silk pillows and sheer scarves was a shock of dark brown hair and the
aforementioned hat. Quatre in turn was cozied up to Heero’s back, one
hand clenched around a strap of the green tank undershirt the other man wore as
he tried to stay warm in the air-conditioned room. Wufei crouched
silently in the lightening gloom trying to decide if and how to wake them
up. It was well past noon and they were expected in Cinq within
hours. The situation called for decisive action.
A sharp sound, like the report of a gunshot, echoed through
the room and the gleaming ivory walls of the master suite glinted with full
afternoon sunlight as the shade flew up with alarming and unstoppable
swiftness.
Duo pouted and tightened his hold on his dad as the
familiar dream started to fade when the unforgiving light persistently pried at
his lids.
“Huh,” he muttered, blinking dazedly as a muscular pair of
arms squeezed his waist affectionately.
“Midii? Need coffee, don’t feel so good,” Trowa slurred,
planting a wet, sticky kiss on Duo’s cheek, finding it rather sandpapery to his
surprise and flinging an arm over his eyes to block the light.
”AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!,” Duo screamed, tripping over
a tangle of sheets and falling from Trowa’s bed face first onto the floor.
“Duo, shut the hell up,” Heero groaned, not even opening
his eyes but moving his hand blindly in the mess until it closed over the
barrel of his discarded water cannon. He picked it up and shot a powerful
stream of icy water at the spot where Duo’s scream had originated, treating
Trowa to a cold shower in the process.
“Crap! Someone’s dead,” Trowa yelled, sitting up quickly, a
little too quickly. He bolted from the bed and raced to the bathroom
after shooting them all a deadly glare from one bloodshot, emerald eye.
Wufei leaned back against the wall, truly smiling now as
Heero rolled awkwardly off the pile of pillows, nearly dragging Quatre with him
as he crawled toward Duo with murder on his mind. Quatre meanwhile pulled
Heero’s abandoned blanket over his head and snuggled into the warm spot he’d
left behind on the cushions.
When a gray-faced Trowa emerged from the little boy’s room
he slouched against the wall and watched with bleary eyes as Heero tried to
strangle Duo. It was hard for Heero to get a handhold on the other man’s
neck because his hair was loose and the slippery mess afforded him some
protection from his vengeful best friend.
“What’s the matter Heero,” Duo asked gleefully. “Too
many Colonial Coolers, eh? By the end of the night you were calling that
chick who did the Dance of the Sixteen Veils Relena and threatening to kill the
rest of us for looking. Err, umm, nice fez, by the way.”
Heero scowled quickly reached up to yank off the silly red
hat, vaguely recalling that sometime during the bacchanalia of the last few
days they had all become honorary Maganacs. Duo had cooked up a bachelor
party that lasted nearly a week and had included dirt biking in the nearby
desert, drinking, dirty movies, drinking, a nearly lethal game of water cannon
tag, drinking, dancing girls and more drinking. Something itched Heero’s
neck and he impatiently tugged on the sheer pink veil that was twined around
his neck and reeked of jasmine perfume.
“Baka,” he hissed, “if I didn’t need a drink so bad I’d
kill you.” Heero stumbled to his feet, rolling his eyes as Duo crawled
over Quatre on the way to the mini-fridge, pulled out a can of the despised
Colonial Cooler and offered it to him apologetically.
“I meant water,” Heero growled, knocking the can
away. Duo shrugged, found the can and popped it open.
“Nothing like hair of the dog that bit ya the morning
after,” he said, gulping the liquor down in several loud swallows.
Trowa’s stomach recoiled at the very thought of drinking,
he looked down at the dirty T-shirt he wore that had once been white and
noticed several long strands of brown hair clung to the wrinkled shirt.
“Duo, where did you sleep last night,” Trowa asked,
sickening realization dawning, as he distastefully plucked the hairs off him.
“With you Tro-man,” Duo said with a wink. “Who’d have
thought you’d be such a good snuggler?”
Trowa shuddered.
“Must. . . Brush . . . . Teeth,” he said tautly, silently
vowing never to drink again and disappearing back into the bathroom.
“Hey guys,” Quatre muttered, finally waking up and peering
from beneath the blanket. “What time is it?”
Duo reacted quickly, contorting his face into a grimace of
worry.
“You’re not gonna like this Quatre,” Duo said sadly. “I’m
sorry. I really am. But we missed it.”
Quatre turned pale as Wufei and Heero looked at Duo
questioningly unable to follow the twisted path of his devious mind.
“Missed it? Missed what? Allah, Allah, oh Duo,
you’re not saying . . .
“Yup,” Duo announced. “We all overslept and we missed
the wedding. It was yesterday, or was it the day before?”
He started to laugh as Quatre jumped up from beneath the
blanket with his pale rose dress shirt wrinkled but still neatly buttoned and
his dark violet vest still firmly pulled over his chest. Below the shirt
though he wore only a pair of black silk boxers printed with the words “Kiss Me
My Bachelor Days are Over.”
In a panic Quatre yanked the door of the suite open and ran
out, falling headlong over the pile of passed out Maganacs in the hall as Duo
chuckled behind him till tears ran from his eyes.
Wufei shook his head at all the silliness and finished
stowing his gear (which included an instructional disk illustrating precisely
how to do the Dance of the Sixteen Veils as a gift for Cathrine).
“We haven’t missed it yet but we will if you don’t get cleaned up so we can get
out of here. Needless to say I’ll fly the transport to Cinq,” Wufei said,
fixing Duo with a no-nonsense stare. Duo grumbled, he’d been looking forward
to giving his nauseated friends a bumpy ride and holding a contest to see who
could hold the contents of their stomachs the longest.
Quatre picked himself up and crept back into the room, a
hand pressed to his forehead. They’d drunk enough to knock even the
Maganacs out and that was saying something.
“Truly Wufei,” he asked. “We didn’t miss it?”
Before Wufei could reassure the nervous would-be groom Duo
stepped in.
‘Nah, I was just kidding. Ya still gotta marry Dorothy buddy,”
he said. “We stopped you from eloping with that dancing girl that looked
like Relena. The one you and Heero were fighting over last night.”
“Oh . . . her,” Quatre blushed at the vague memory of last
night’s shenanigans. “She was very pretty. But there’s only one
Dorothy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Paolo Niente glowered at the ferry operator, his dark heavy
brows meeting in a warning frown before he turned a smile on the girl who stood
before him on the docks of Bonaficio. He felt he would not see her again
and he did not want to be rushed.
“Farewell Signorina,” he said, taking her delicate hand in
his and jauntily kissing the back of it with the aplomb the Niente men were
known for. He was getting old, the jet-black sideburns that clung to his
ruddy cheeks now touched by silver and his muscular bulk spreading to something
that could be almost called fat. However he could still appreciate a
pretty young girl, when the time came that he didn’t he’d rather be in the
grave alongside his poor nephew.
At the sight of Midii’s brave watery smile he engulfed her
in his big arms for a fatherly hug. He shook his head and closed his eyes
tightly, still unable to believe Stefan was no longer here and remembering
again the way his nephew would appear unannounced during the war, the little
blonde snip of a girl following in his shadow. Paolo smiled then,
remembering her face that first night he’d seen her and Stefan had dared her to
drink a straight shot of his best Ouzo. The two of them had been only a
little more than children then but as tough and assured as seasoned adults,
playing adult games when they should have been in a schoolroom. Well that
was the way of war, the
The old man sighed and a wave of protectiveness filled his
heart, there was a fragile quality to Midii, the small bones he could feel
through her skin as light as a bird’s. Was this the key to her survival in the
face of everything, he wondered. Was this the reason this pale and flimsy
girl survived when Stefan, competent and strong, had died? It was all in
the way she made people feel she needed them, made them care what happened to
her and yet for all that she was strong too, there was determination in the
soft, steely-blue eyes.
“Remember Signorina,” he whispered in her hair, squeezing
her shoulder gently and examining her ringless fingers. “It’s time to
move on and have a happy life. And tell that skinny boy he better marry you or
he’ll answer to me, Paolo Niente.”
He grinned at the genuine smile his words prompted, felt
the feather-light touch of her lips on his cheek and the lingering brand of
shell-pink lipstick as she boarded the little boat at last to the great relief
of the ferry operator, whose only goal in his sheltered life was to keep his
boat on schedule.
“And you Tomas Argenti,” Paolo yelled to the little man as
Anton waved and shouted goodbye to Midii frantically beside him. “Keep
that heap you call a boat afloat on this run or I’ll track you down to the very
depths of the sea. The little signorina, she is like a daughter to me!”
Midii turned her face away to face the invisible shore in
the distance, perhaps to hide from the sunlight glare on the water or more
likely to hide the warm flush that heated her cheeks at Paolo’s words.
She turned back quickly blowing Paolo and Anton exuberant kisses, she smiled
but inside she wondered why it had to be that her own father could not love her
while virtual strangers had always taken her in and cared for her like family.
This was something that had always hurt her so much, even
before she knew the truth about Papa it had nagged at her that her whole life
was so wrong, that no loving father could ever let his daughter do the things she
did. She looked out over the sea, ignoring it’s tranquil azure beauty and
anxious for a sight of the mainland shore.
He was waiting for her there she knew and she let thoughts
of Trowa soothe her heart. In the first moment he’d stepped out of the woods
she’d somehow placed her frustrated affections on the boy who seemed as lost as
she, though he knew, in theory, exactly where he was. In that moment
she’d chosen him as a focus for the love her family hadn’t seemed to need, Papa
had valued her only for the financial help she could provide. But he
had been like her, alone and fighting for survival in the harsh world made by
the war. The wonder of it had been that he’d seen it too, had said they
were the same. And now she was going home. Home to Nanashi, home to
Trowa.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gallons of black coffee and a double-dose of headache
remedy had Trowa feeling very close to normal. The stiff breeze coming
off the
At the dock they said the
She’d kept him off balance for years, keeping her spot at
the very edges of his closed-off heart and hiding in the shadows of a mind that
had followed one track for as long as he could remember, the path of war.
Only during those dark days when he remembered nothing had she gone away,
receded into the blackness of injury and intolerable pain. Trowa shivered
slightly inside his jacket, the memory of that time after the Vayeate exploded
giving him the chills as always.
He’d been annoyed not to find her at Cinq but it turned out
to be a blessing to escape the underlying tension that pervaded the
palace: Dorothy and Quatre trying to sneak some time together but being
handily thwarted by his army of sisters; Heero demanding a complete and
minutely-detailed rundown of all Relena’s activities since he’d been away;
himself walking in on Cathy and Wufei during a rather private moment as they
‘tested’ one of the antique velvet sofas in a state sitting room . . .
It would be much better to surprise her here away from the
frantic atmosphere at the palace. A pleasurable feeling of excitement
tingled at the back of his knees as he finally saw the ferry coming closer,
just a few minutes off schedule. It seemed even Midii couldn’t make much
of a dent in the carefully kept timetables.
Suddenly there she was. The wind had come up as he
waited and it caught in her hair lifting it and swirling it around her like a
golden storm. He wanted to run up to the ferry and twirl her in his arms
but he felt suddenly shy in front of the crowd of people, especially the small
group beside him that watched Midii intently also.
Midii felt shy also, realizing this was something of an
astonishing event for them. Never yet had they been separated without
some crisis occurring while they were apart. But there was nothing now
but the peaceful twilight, the rosy sky and his slow smile as he took both her
hands in his. Such a little thing to find him waiting for her at the end
of a journey, a little thing as precious as a diamond sparkling with perfect
clarity.
A man and woman with their young son watched them standing
there bathed in the rosy light of the sunset, smiling a bit in nostalgia.
“Remember those days, chérie? I would take your hand and the two of us
would be alone in a crowd,” he whispered in his wife’s ear. She was still
lovely to him despite the thinness caused by anxiety and loss. The ghost
of long-past sorrow in her eyes tempered by a gentle look and the beginning of
new laugh lines at the corners of her mouth.
She nodded and leaned her head on her husband’s
shoulder. “I would not have those days back again though,” she said,
laughing softly. “Those anxious moments, every little crisis the end of
the world. It’s so much better to be an old married couple! Young love
isn’t all it’s cracked up to be!”
“Shame on you Marcella! Who’s old? I’m not old,” her
husband said, squeezing her waist teasingly, delighting in the return of her
sweet sense of humor. The end of the war and the onset of peace had given
it back to her, making her once again the pretty, happy young girl he’d fallen
in love with. And then, of course, there was Thierry.
He looked at the boy beside him and a subdued rage shook
his soul when he thought of the circumstances of the war, remembered his old
acquaintance Philippe Une, white-faced and unshaven coming to their door in the
silent hours before dawn.
“I need money. Please my friend, I’ll leave the boy
with you, you know I’ll be back. Or if you like you can even keep
him. I’ll take whatever you can spare me for him. God knows I can’t feed
him anymore the way he’s growing,” Une had said, his callous attitude toward
his child appalling to Martin St. Denis who’d lost his own two young children
in the crossfire of a rebel skirmish near their school.
Marcella had appeared silently at the bottom of the stairs,
her sorrowful eyes latching onto the little boy who stared at her solemnly as
he clung to his father’s hand. A boy who seemed not to know how to
smile. She’d made the decision for all of them and taken 6-year-old
Thierry by the hand and led him into the warm kitchen for milk and cookies.
Philippe had turned without a word, taking the money his
friend offered silently and not even bidding the child farewell. Martin
could still see those empty eyes staring at him coldly as he stopped him.
“Your other children, Philippe? I remember you had
four children. Where are they,” he’d asked, afraid of what he would hear,
his own loss fresh in his mind.
“I don’t know, they’ll have to fend for themselves I
suppose,” he’d answered vaguely.
They’d never seen him again or heard anything until the
young man had come last week, claiming to be a friend of Thierry’s older
sister. She must be about 19, Martin thought, noticing as Marcella also
studied the girl. His wife was nervous about the meeting, always afraid
of losing Thierry as she’d lost her own children but her natural maternal
instinct seemed to be softening her as she looked at the slender girl.
He watched his adopted son carefully, sensing his
nervousness and followed the boy’s intense steel-blue gaze to look again at the
girl. The resemblance was startling, the young boy’s large, wide-set eyes
matched hers and as he watched the young woman pushed at a stray lock of hair
that seemed to have a habit of falling into her face.
“My sister,” the boy thought, looking at the girl who stood
so near but didn’t seem to notice his presence or anyone’s. She was like
all the teenage girls who lived in their small village, pretty and laughing.
She seemed . . . nice.
The girl turned toward them then and something
flashed. A memory of a younger girl, a girl no older than he was now.
When she had gone he’d always been alone, ignored by his father and brothers
but Midii had been like a mother, she had been love and gentleness. A
soft hand on his hair and loving kisses on his cheek. He remembered her
like a sweet dream that disappeared with the morning light when she had gone
he’d forgotten how to smile.
“I’ve got your surprise,” Trowa whispered between the
kisses she rained on his face and lips.
A blonde boy, about 10 or 11, was approaching them and he
stopped short of her, staring. Midii self-consciously pushed at her messy
wind-tangled hair and stared back. He looked like her brother Marc had
looked the last time she’d seen him. But Marc would be older now.
Then who? Her heart pounded excitedly in her chest but she wasn’t sure
why.
Two older people approached them, the motherly-looking
woman smiling at them happily.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Miss Une,” the woman
said, breaking the silence between the stunned girl and boy. “Thierry’s been so
nervous about this meeting. Ever since Mr. Barton came to talk to us.”
“Thierry,” Midii whispered, two pairs of identical
blue-gray eyes staring into each other as if they thought the other would
disappear if they looked away.
“Your young man found us and asked us to be here,” the
woman continued. “You poor child, you shouldn’t have been afraid to come
to us. We think Thierry needs his sister in his life, he knows he had a
family before us and he needs to know you.”
“I-I remember you Midii,” the boy said finally. “You
came home for Christmas morning and I woke up and saw you looking out the
window at the snow. You were singing Il Est Ne and I thought you
were an angel. When you were gone I was so alone, Papa was always away
and Marc and Michel left me too.”
Midii stepped forward and the boy lunged at her pushing her
back with the force of his hug.
“Do you know where they are? Marc and Michel?” Midii asked her
brother gently, almost afraid to hope, cautiously stroking his dark gold hair.
The boy shook his head. “One day Papa said they had
gone to boarding school, like you did Midii,” he said. She let her eyes
meet the older woman’s and she shook her head. Thierry had no idea then,
he didn’t know what had really gone on in their family during the war and for
that Midii was grateful.
Midii shut her eyes tightly, holding her brother close
again. Oh papa what did you do? Where are the boys? The
thoughts raced through her head. But at least Thierry was safe and happy.
Mr. and Mrs. St. Denis were good people and Trowa had found them, talked to
them for her.
She reached for his hand and pulled him forward, noticing
him hanging back to let her meet her brother alone. “This is my friend
Trowa,” she introduced, remembering her manners.
Thierry grinned. “We already met him. He’s your
boyfriend!”
Midii felt her face go hot, unused to the teasing of a
little brother. “Well, yes, he is,” she admitted, grateful for Trowa’s
arm around her, for everything.
“Please join us for a family dinner to celebrate,” Martin
St. Denis offered, watching the girl’s face brighten as Thierry slipped his
hand in hers. He wondered what Midii had been through. She had the face
of someone who felt perhaps they didn’t deserve their happiness but he knew the
young man by her side would change that eventually.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Midii, Trowa and Thierry sat at a round table beneath a
colorful awning, eating ice cream as Thierry’s parents took the opportunity to
go for a walk along the pier in the starlight.
It felt a bit strange not to have Midii’s undivided
attention, Trowa thought, as he watched her concentrate on her brother.
The boy was full of stories of school and games and friends and he found
himself as fascinated by the novelty as Midii. So that was what life was
like, he thought, what it was like to be a normal kid and not a small but
lethal killing machine. It struck him that he and Midii had been the same
age as Thierry when they met. He glanced at her from beneath his bangs.
Warmth crept over his heart as he felt her hand squeeze his
and he knew she was thinking the same thing.
“Eewwwwww, you guys are gross,” Thierry announced, snapping
out of his entertaining monologue, when Midii leaned over and kissed Trowa,
licking the excess mocha nut ice cream from his upper lip.
“Reaaaaaalllllllllly,” Midii drawled teasingly.
“You’re so handsome little brother! I bet you have a girlfriend.”
The boy wrinkled his nose in disgust but he looked
thoughtful. “Well,” he confessed, Aimee Latrelle says she my
girlfriend—but she’s a big, fat liar.”
Trowa laughed, the scorn on the little boy’s face reminding
him of the way Wufei had been before he had become enchanted by Cathrine.
Midii shook her head, trying to hide her own giggles.
“You should be a little gentleman Thierry, you may like Aimee better when you
grow up,” she said in a very grown-up voice.
“Don’t worry,” Trowa said tousling the younger boy’s soft
blonde hair. “I have a big sister too, they always say things like that.”
“Little boys need their big sisters Trowa, I’m sure Cathy’s
taught you that,” Midii said defensively. Then she sighed, her fingers
fussing with her discarded sundae spoon. “Here comes your Papa and
Maman. You have a long drive back.”
“Excuse me both of you, I’m going to go wash up,” Trowa
said, but his two companions barely noticed him leave. Thierry’s long
blonde bangs hid his face as he hung his head and Midii stared at him.
“Thierry?”
Silence.
Midii sighed, she was used to this from Trowa but her
brother had seemed different, carefree and cheerful. Did something haunt
him after all? She felt butterflies in her stomach and sudden
anger. Couldn’t at least one of them escape the war unscathed?
“Thierry, please talk to me,” she tried again.
He looked up at her with unshed tears in his eyes.
“Midii, is Papa dead? Are our brothers dead?”
She swallowed hard her thoughts a swirl of confusion as she
chose her words carefully. She wanted him never to know, wished to protect at
least this one little boy from the world she had faced.
“Papa is dead. I don’t know about the boys. I
looked for you, for all of you but I could never find them. I just don’t
know,” she said.
“Where were you Midii? I was alone and you were gone.
Where were you,” he cried, angry tears splashing on his flushed cheeks.
“Why didn’t you or Papa want me? Why didn’t you find me?”
His words broke her heart. She had wanted him, loved
him, fought for him and even betrayed Nanashi for him and the others.
God, God, what do I tell him, she wondered, afraid to say
horrible things about their father but anxious that Thierry knew that she at least
had loved him. She’d only been a child herself and they had been hungry,
so hungry.
“When I was younger than you Thierry, our own Maman
died. Things were so different then, Papa was different. Everything
changed, the war came and Papa got—Papa got his sickness and we needed
food. I had to do things to get money. Bad things. When it
was over I was afraid to find you. I saw you once. You seemed happy
and I was afraid that seeing me again would make you unhappy.”
He stared at her and she didn’t think he’d really
understood all she’d said but he seemed relieved. “I thought no one came
for me because you hated me.”
“Oh no, no sweetheart. I loved you, I love you
now. It makes me so happy to see you at last and hear how happy you are,”
Midii said, hugging the boy against her and kissing his hair, breathing in the
comfortingly familiar scent of him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alone at last, Trowa thought, a bit prematurely, as Thierry
and his family got in the car after a seemingly endless round of hugs and
kisses and promises to visit. His shoulders tensed as the car door popped
open again and Midii’s brother jumped back out.
“Do you want to come with us,” he asked her, his eyes
hopeful. “You could live with us, you’re my sister.”
Trowa felt breathless and stunned as if he’d been punched
in the gut. Would she put her family before him again? Was he
selfish to pray she wouldn’t? He hadn’t thought of this possibility when
he’d set this meeting up.
Midii knelt beside Thierry and spoke to him gently,
choosing her words carefully. “I have a real job now. Up in space
with Preventer I can help make sure there are no more wars.” She looked
up at Trowa and winked at him, he let his breath out slowly. “Besides,” she added,
winking at him. “Trowa needs someone to look after him.”
“Can I really come see you at the circus this summer,”
Thierry asked Trowa, a hint of mistrust in his voice as he looked up at the
taller boy.
“Sure,” Trowa said. “I bet I could even get my sister
to let you be in the act.”
Midii shook her head and hugged her brother. “Oh no
no no! It’s bad enough she throws knives at you, she’s not throwing them
at Thierry!”
Thierry made a face at Midii’s smothering embrace but Trowa
gave him the high sign, and the boy knew that he’d get into the act at the
circus somehow despite his sister’s protests. Finally the goodbyes were
said and the tail lights of the car disappeared over the little hill that led
away from the seaside.
“I don’t know whether to be sad he doesn’t need me anymore
or just grateful that he has such wonderful parents,” Midii sighed, turning
away from the road that carried her youngest brother away from her again and
back toward Trowa.
“Are you sorry I did this,” he asked slowly, wondering if
his surprise had somehow backfired. “I only meant to make you happy.”
“I am happy and I could never have had the courage to do
this on my own,” Midii confessed. “Facing those people would have been
more difficult than any mission. I’m still so afraid to be myself
sometimes. It wasn’t just seeing Thierry again that made this so
important. Didn’t you feel that this closes another door for us? I
feel the way I used to, the way I felt when I first met you Nanashi, but it’s
different as well.”
He looked startled at the old name but he could see where
her reminiscing was leading. She could see it now, that they had come
full circle. Trowa held his breath as she came close.
“I love my brother and I love you Trowa. It’s alright
to love both of you, it doesn’t have to be one or the other anymore,” she said,
half to herself.
He could see now the pain she’d felt so long ago at having
to choose and he closed his arms around her, holding her tight.
“I suppose we should be getting back,” she said
regretfully.
Trowa raised his one visible eyebrow at her and she took a
step back and regarded him quizzically.
“Don’t you want to go back,” she asked, suspicion
dawning. Things seemed different between them, a new trust and
understanding as if she could feel his thoughts.
“Not especially,” he said. “Do you know what it’s
like back at the palace right now? I’d much rather be alone with you.”
“I’d feel so selfish,” Midii protested. “Dorothy and Quatre
might need us—
Her words trailed off as his lips moved imperceptibly
closer to hers and his eyes caught hers in a hypnotic gaze that took her breath
away. Suddenly, she felt herself melting under a sudden onslaught of
burning kisses that left her giddy and she instantly understood him again.
“I guess I passed your test finally,” she teased when he
paused for breath. “What was it you were waiting for?”
She could feel him smiling against her skin. “Midii,”
he whispered.
“Yes,” she encouraged, waiting for the answer.
“You talk too much,” he said, stopping her protests with
another kiss. The little restaurant parking lot was deserted now but the
quiet block of asphalt and yellow lines seemed like a most romantic place to
be.
Midii blushed and hid her face in Trowa’s jacket as a few
late-departing busboys and waitresses tittered in the distance and they heard
the slam and lock of the doors.
The lights went out in the parking lot and after a few
minutes it seemed like the sky was full of stars that sparkled through the hazy
glow of the Milky Way.
The fragile warmth of daytime had completely fled by now
and Trowa wordlessly took his jacket off and wrapped Midii in it. It felt
so good wrapped in the soft old leather, warm from his body and smelling of
him. He helped her on the back of his motorcycle the way they had always
escaped together, from the tragic ground of their first separation and from her
ill-fated mission in Brussels. It was so different this time. He
savored the feel of her body pressed against his, her breath warm as it
penetrated the thin white cotton shirt he wore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was a most beautiful night to be with the one you
loved. A sky sparkling with countless stars and the hint of a cool breeze
left over from the recently-departed winter to make the temperature perfect for
cuddling.
But they were separated by walls, the wall between her room
and his, the wall of custom that dictated a bride and groom avoid each other
the night before the wedding.
Dorothy flicked a strand of long blonde hair over her
shoulder and turned back to the group of more than 30 chattering women.
For a moment, despite the reassuring buzz of their chatter she had felt so all
alone. She smiled brightly and snatched a glass of champagne from Pagan’s tray
as he passed her by. Relena was doing her best to stand in for the
missing Midii (who was actually standing in for the pregnant diplomat as maid
of honor) at the impromptu shower they had planned. Rumor had it she and
Trowa had disappeared on some type of romantic adventure. The bride-to-be
didn’t even want to think that they might not make it back to Cinq on
time. But strangely that was the least of the many tiny last minute
issues that added to her tension.
Simply put she wanted to be with Quatre. The week of
separation had gone by without a hitch but now that he was here in the same
house, even though that house was a huge palace, the temptation was too
strong. Besides, fears she had felt she’d long since conquered seemed to
be swooping down and she was alone just when she needed him most.
A camera flashed in her face, one of her fiance’s sisters
was an amateur photographer it seemed and what a lovely discovery that
was, Dorothy thought sourly, trying to blink away the effects of the unexpected
burst of light. Then Hilde and Cathrine, mischievous grins plastered on
their faces, escorted her to the chair of honor surrounded by stacks of
pastel-papered gifts topped with shining ribbons. It seemed like a
horrible ordeal to be faced with all Quatre’s sisters beaming at her sweetly
like pleased mother hens. Except Madame Yasmina of course, she glowered
like a thundercloud. To spite her, if for no other reason, Dorothy decided
she would enjoy herself tonight, hopefully the last she’d ever spend without
Quatre by her side.
“Be sure not to break too many ribbons,” Cathrine warned,
handing her an elaborately wrapped box.
The room erupted in titters as Dorothy raised a brow at the
perky circus performer who stared at her with wide-eyed sincerity.
“Why ever not,” Dorothy asked, obstinately slicing through
the ribbons with the elegant letter opener she’d brought. The sharp object
glinted in the light from the crystal chandelier overhead, it was shaped like a
fencing foil and made of 24-karat gold and the young woman used with a certain
relish.
“The legend is you’ll have a baby for every ribbon you
break,” Hilde laughed. “And you’ve busted five on that present alone.
It’s from me by the way.”
That was foolish Dorothy thought, but she felt a bit
nervous and vowed to be more careful on the rest of the gifts as she looked
around the room at 28 faces that all bore more than a passing resemblance to
Quatre. 30 children, imagine!
“Umm, it’s lovely,” Dorothy said, her voice faintly
flavored with embarrassment as she held a sheer black nightie edged with
ostrich feathers away from her at arm’s length. She peered into the box
and saw a pair of matching slippers with 4-inch heels and also edged with
fluffy ostrich feathers.
Hilde giggled. “It’s a lingerie party! Everyone
got you something sexy. We decided that would be fun for the girl who has
everything.”
Dorothy’s personal favorite turned out to be the elegant
satin peignoir set from Relena, they definitely shared a sense of fashion
favored by those with noble blood. She suspected however that the
combination gift from Midii and Cathrine would be Quatre’s favorite, it
certainly used the least fabric and she almost blushed at the thought of
wearing it. She smiled her first genuine smile of the evening as she
thought how pleasant it might be to play harem girl on the honeymoon at
Quatre’s desert mansion . . .
Carefully she opened the last package, a gift from
Yasmina. There was deadly silence in the room as she drew a billowing
purple flannel nightgown bedecked with garish yellow roses from the box.
Somehow the disapproval the gift signaled made her miss Quatre all the
more. He would have known just what to say to make her take the horrible
gift in stride.
Relena could see Dorothy starting to lose her temper, she
knew the other girl so well. She’d always know what was behind her
outwardly vicious behavior during the war and she realized that she still
wasn’t completely ready for the new life she was about to begin. It was
too bad Quatre’s sister didn’t understand how perfect the two of them were for
each other. Dorothy rose with her pale violet eyes sparking purple
fire. Yasmina folded her arms and tried to stare her down.
These two definitely need a peace accord, the vice foreign
minister thought. Relena’s quick mind searched for an answer and she felt
a vigorous kick that made her abdomen shudder. “Hmm, you’re already
Mama’s little helper, aren’t you,” she thought. She picked up the gown
and held it up in front of her.
“Do you mind if I keep this one Dorothy,” she asked,
modeling the flannel nightie as if it were a ball gown. “I think it
definitely suits my figure.”
The party ended with laughter after all as Relena saved the
day in her usual efficient manner. There had been a time when Dorothy was
envious of her ease in handling people. For the most part though she
preferred her own straightforward brand of sarcasm as a weapon in getting her
own way. Quatre’s sisters said goodnight and she was left with just the
other girls.
Cathrine and Hilde crawled over the floor picking up the
stray paper and ribbons while Dorothy stacked the boxes. “Just one more
night,” Relena said sympathetically, noticing Dorothy’s slight aura of
depression. “Even though our wedding was so small even Heero and I stayed
apart that last night.”
All the girls looked up as the soft sounds of an
expertly-played violin wafted in through the open balcony window. Dorothy
suddenly seemed to forget they were there and her face relaxed, the tension
from the near showdown with Yasmina replaced by a dreamy look as the music grew
stronger. The other girls tiptoed out leaving her alone and she stepped
out on the balcony.
Quatre stood in the center of a grouping of candles set out
in the shape of a heart. His back was to her but she knew whom he was playing
for. She supposed technically this wasn’t breaking the rules. He
must have known how she was feeling and his music always washed over her like a
caress. She lay back on the lounge chair on the balcony and Pagan quietly
brought her another glass of champagne at Relena’s urging.
She stared up at the stars as he made love to her with his
music and her body ached for tomorrow night.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Yasmina strode through the damp, dewy grass with purposeful
steps. She had a word or two for her younger brother. He might be
head of the family in name but he was too young to take a step like this and
with a woman like Dorothy Catalonia. A mousy little girl was what he
needed, one who would defer to her status as matriarch of the Winner Family.
She rounded furiously as someone laid a heavy hand on her
shoulder as she passed by a dark corner of the palace, impeding her progress.
“I don’t believe Master Quatre wishes to be disturbed,” a
deep, gravelly voice intoned, the words clear despite his whisper.
“How dare you tell me what to do,” she hissed as she stared
up at the tall man. The odd thought that he must be approaching seven
feet tall crossed her mind as she glared at him, trying to draw her own smaller
frame up to a more imposing height.
“I’ve looked out for the young master for many years and I
shall continue to do so, peace or no,” Rasid said, a twitch of amusement
coaxing a smile on his stern face.
“If you cared for your ‘young master’ you’d see that girl
is a vixen and she’ll bring him nothing but sorrow,” Yasmina said.
Rasid’s small smile became a full-fledged grin. The
grin was totally disconcerting to the angry woman whose arm he grasped so
easily in his large hand.
“You don’t see,” the tall Maganac said. “He carries a
burden. All these boys carry a burden, all the soldiers from the war must
carry it. But Miss Dorothy can help him carry it because she knows how he
feels. She lived it with him. Can’t you see that Master Quatre
finds his own happiness in making others happy? You truly do not know him.”
The soft music of the violin carried over the garden as the
two stared at each other, neither willing to back down. Finally Yasmina
growled low in her throat and she pulled her arm away and stalked off.
Happiness, she thought, the word echoing in her mind.
She had never even considered happiness. All her life had been sacrificed
for the family fortunes and ideals.
“Happiness,” she whispered as she leaned against the warm
bricks of the palace wall and closed her eyes. The distant sound of her
brother’s playing evoking emotions and lost hopes she’d thought were long since
buried.
Rasid stared after her. She was so different than
Master Quatre and yet she was not. He smiled in memory of the spoiled boy
he’d met so long ago on a shuttle in space. His sister was like that
still, her heart hurting and her soul longing for a sense of family that even
having 28 sisters and a brother had not brought her. The Winners had not
been family like the Maganacs were family. The children had been isolated
and sent to the various satellites to learn the family business. Master
Quatre would run things in a far different manner than his father had. He
had learned from them, the family of his heart, the Maganacs.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The motorcycle seemed to fly over the dark country roads
and Midii tightened her arms around Trowa’s waist as the vehicle went airborne
briefly and landed with a light bounce as they sailed over a hill.
They seemed to float through the starry darkness, but the sudden
demanding touch of her slender fingers trailing up one of his thighs made the
bike wobble and brought him down to Earth with a crash. Trowa swallowed hard as
he felt moist kisses dampening the back of his shirt and the teasing nibble of
her teeth. They traveled a few hundred feet more before the wheel wobbled
again and he knew he had stop before she drove him out of control.
The motorcycle sputtered into silence. He didn’t know
where they were, didn’t really care. Midii shivered in excitement as her
teasing finally achieved its goal. She was starting to regret her
aggressive behavior just a bit, they were in the middle of nowhere, the ground
was cold and damp but neither of them really felt like waiting. She stood
in the starlight as Trowa rolled the bike off the road and leaned it up against
an old gnarled tree. Her knees trembled just looking at him so she turned
away, examining her surroundings and noticed a dark, shadowy clump of old stone
and tumbled walls in the distance.
Curious, she picked her way through the tall dewy grass,
feeling its caress through her thin silk stockings and stumbling a little on
her heels. He was beside her then, his whisper warm against her skin.
“What is it?”
“An old ruin from the war I suppose. There was a lot
of fighting here on the outskirts of Cinq, if we’re even still in the country,”
Midii said. The kingdom was so small it was easy to pass in and out without
knowing. She crossed her arms when she saw that Trowa had pulled a
blanket from the boot of his motorcycle.
“Did you plan this,” her voice carried a hint of
annoyance. It hardly seemed the place for a romantic reunion, but with
every touch of his lips and fingers her body throbbed with desperate
passion. She would hardly say no to a welcoming copse of trees at this
point but the place ahead looked like it had a roof at least.
“Not exactly,” he admitted. “I just let the road take
us.”
He was unconventional but he was hers and she shivered with
delight as he took her in his arms.
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” she whispered happily,
slipping her hand beneath his shirt, tracing her fingers over the warm smooth
skin beneath and smiling with feminine satisfaction as she felt the Goosebumps
her touch raised on it.
He grasped her hand and pulled her along, suddenly
impatient. “If you hadn’t started with the backbiting on the bike I think
we might have found an inn or something up the road, but as it is—
She pulled away teasingly and walked ahead, swaying her
hips in an exaggerated motion and looking over her shoulder at him.
“You liked that, hmmm?”
Midii shrieked with laughter as he swooped her up in his
arms and carried her the rest of the way to what now appeared to be a small,
ruined castle. The doorway was clear of rubble and it looked as if local
lovers had discovered the place as well. Beneath a sagging ceiling a
solid oak door stood untouched by the devastation. The door opened easily
as Trowa swung the handle and carried Midii over the threshold of the little
room.
He set her down, his practiced eye immediately questioning
the stability of the walls.
“Stay put,” he ordered, his voice no-nonsense. Midii
nodded silently, hoping that they could stay. The little room was a
miracle, a tiny haven that had somehow been protected from the devastation of
the war that had raged around it. A beautiful old bed stood in the center
of the room with dark wood spindles that reached toward the lofty
ceiling. A stone fireplace graced one wall and the mantel was decorated
with delicate antique wineglasses that gleamed softly in the darkness.
“Is it safe,” she whispered as Trowa returned to her.
“Amazing,” he said, and she detected awe in his
voice. “It’s like this room was separate from the main house.
Probably it was from an original building that was added on to in later
years. The new construction was destroyed but this part’s as solid as a
rock.”
Others had obviously discovered the place. There were
empty wine bottles lying about and the majestic bed had a rumpled, well-used
look but to them it seemed like their own private heaven. Someone had
even left dry wood in the fireplace. Midii reached for one of the
wineglasses and something dropped from the mantel. Trowa reached out and
caught the object automatically. Matches.
She straightened the old bed coverings as best she could
and spread Trowa’s blanket on top of it all. The room was warm and softly
lit with flickering firelight as the flames licked greedily at the old, dry
wood. She lit some candles that had been left on the table by the
bed. Midii toyed with the buttons on her dress and Trowa watched it seem
to drop away from her almost magically.
She shivered as he looked at her, his green eyes luminous
in the soft glow of the fire. Midii thought that surely no other woman that had
waited beside the bed in this room, as ancient as it was, could feel so much
for her lover as she felt for Trowa. The way he moved made her stomach turn
somersaults but it wasn’t just the physical impact. He had always
captured her heart. She hadn’t been able to understand him completely
when she was a child. She had loved him almost immediately but his
silences had hurt and frustrated her and her own guilt over what she had to do
had confused her feelings. But now he loved her back through some great
miracle. They were like this room, their love broken and destroyed by war
but their hearts protected and waiting for each beneath the rubble like this
beautiful room that had somehow been preserved.
Next time on POR . . . will Trowa and Midii make it back in
time for the wedding . . . Dorothy gets some advice from a surprise wedding
guest . . . can Diarmid love his enemy’s sister?