Wilted

by requiem

The dying sun lay heavy on the horizon, fitting of the weight of sorrow he felt. The freshly lain dirt lay at his feet, soft through the worn soles of his shoes. Gabriel dropped a single white rose onto the small plot. He was the only one left now. And Midii was fading as well.

Feverish, the girl settled in the window seat. She could see her brother’s truck approaching and turning down the hill. Tears of anguish bit at her eyes. Midii knew what she had to do. She could not do this anymore. Two of her brothers were dead, and she would not lose Gabe.

Silently crossing the room, she pulled from the closet a large Alliance-issue duffel and shoved clothes into it. “Midii?” a low, soft voice called. She closed the closet door and spun

around to see Gabriel in the doorway. She smiled softly.

“Hello.”

“How are you? Are you hungry?” he asked, crossing the room to her. She shook her head. The disease had taken its toll. Her hair, once shining, fell in limp waves, and her eyes were dull and glazed. There was little to be done, as no one could find a cause for the fever that had already killed two of the Une brothers. Gabe knew it was only a matter of time before he took ill. Midii coughed, her tiny frame racking with every heave. She knew she had to leave. Tonight.

The terminal pounded in his ears. Duo stepped onto the plane and searched for his seat. He passed row after row until finding a young blonde woman in his seat.

“Excuse me, I think you have my seat,” he said. She looked up with dull grey eyes. It took a moment before she comprehended his statement. She moved over without a word. He buckled his seatbelt and sat back, waiting for takeoff. He awoke half an hour after takeoff to find his companion staring out the window. Duo felt oddly light headed. He flagged down a stewardess.

“What were you doing in Tijuana?” he inquired.

She turned to face him. “The Day of the Dead,” she replied dryly. The flight attendant handed him a margarita.

“Would you like one, senorita?” the happy looking brunette woman asked. The blonde smiled and took a drink. Duo studied her face. She was extremely light-featured, with slightly curly blonde hair tied in a loose knot at the base of her head. However, her dark red lips contrasted

well with her porcelain skin.

“Really?” Duo said enthusiastically, “Me too. Where are you headed?”

“This is a one-way plane,” she said. He nodded.

“So...Arabia,” Duo said. She nodded, “What are you there for?”

“Looking for an old friend.”

Duo made small talk with the pretty stranger until landing, little by little feeling less...drained. He pulled the messenger bag over his shoulder, and, with his wrist turned in, noticed something new.

Two tiny dots of blood. He did not remember cutting himself.

The immense mansion before her looked intimidating as she waiting for someone to answer the door. Midii eyed the guards at the gate, armed with AK-47s. She worried about the authenticity of this address. Night closed in on her like a blanket. The heavy oak door swung open. Midii spun around to see an auburn-haired woman before her, balancing a young toddler on her hip.

“Can I help you?” she asked cheerily.

Midii took a moment to answer. “I’m looking for Nan- Trowa Barton,” she said. The redhead smiled and led her inside. The breeze inside was much stronger than the exterior, thanks to the

large bohemian fans mounted on the high ceilings. It was a very open space, a large lobby with a conference room to one side, a scrolling staircase before her and a parlor to her right. The young mother, barefoot and clad in a flowing black skirt and green tank, tucked a stray curl behind her ear and led her to the sitting room. Once there Midii was offered traditional English tea.

“How do you know my little brother?” the taller woman asked. Midii looked at her toes.

“I met him...before the war,” she answered. Looking up, she saw that the girl was gone, and peering around the door blocking her view Midii could see her yelling up the stairs. After a moment she returned.

“I’m Catherine, by the way,” she offered. Midii nodded.

“My name is-“

Trowa stared. There she sat, conversing with Cathy. Dressed in blushing tones of pink and green, she looked up.

“...Midii,” she finished. He locked eyes with her, a proverbial fountain rising in his throat. Midii, shaking uncontrollably, looked at her cup of tea. Numbly, he strode across the cool tile to the parlor. Little Emma reached out to him, but Catherine pulled her child to her chest protectively.

“Trowa, you know Midii,” she offered before leaving. Silence fell on them.

“It’s been a while,” Trowa forced himself to say. Midii nodded.

“I found you, Nanashi,” she returned. Standing, she only reached his throat. The small woman approached him.

He was barefoot, clothed in jeans and a crisp white t-shirt. He had definitely grown, but she felt smaller by the moment. His stunning green eyes pierced her heart, rendering her momentarily speechless. She recovered.

“You have a sister?”

“I found her after the war,” he answered.

“She seems nice.”

“Hn.”

“I came here for a reason,” she said, “I’m sick.”

“Sick? With what?” he asked, showing genuine concern. She sat back in frustration.

“No one knows. It’s already killed my father and two of my brothers. I came here to see if...anyone could help,” Midii muttered.

“Why don’t you meet Cathy’s husband?”

“And I think we’re done,” she heard. Midii sat up, dangling her legs over the examination table. She watched the doctor cap a throat swab and take the various vials and dishes out of the room. The girl hugged her knees to her chest.

“I took the liberty of sending her to your personal doctor,” Trowa explained as he and Quatre went down the sterile corridor, eager to hear about Midii.

Quatre nodded, “Good. They’ll know more than anyone in the Pyrenees [1].”

“This room,” Trowa directed him into a room. Quatre looked the young woman over. The fluorescent lighting beat down on her, making the obviously fair girl look all the more frail. Outfitted in a simple blue and white gingham hospital gown, Midii looked up at him.

“Hello there,” he said. She nodded in his direction, and then looked to Trowa.

“This is my brother-in-law, Quatre. You’re in his house,” Trowa said.

“I’m tired,” she said softly.

“It’s four AM. Come on, we’ll put you in a room,” Quatre volunteered.

Trowa watched her from his terrace, as she tossed in her sleep, churning linen sheets. Behind him, he could hear Emma fussing. He heard Quatre approaching. The man turned to face his niece, who writhed in her father’s arms. Quatre looked fatigued. Trowa reached out for the baby.

“She’s sixteen months Tuesday,” Quatre said. Emma lay her head against Trowa’s chest. He took a seat on the stonewall across from the blonde man, bouncing the baby softly.

“Have you had a whole night’s sleep since she was born?”

“Not unless she was loaned out to you,” Quatre said, tossing his head back over the rim of the chair. He breathed deeply, than followed Trowa’s gaze to Midii’s window.

“You put her there so you could watch her, didn’t you?” the blonde accused with a grin.

“I didn’t think of it at the time,” Trowa defended, “Did they get the blood work done yet?”

“They said there was a problem with the sample. Some lab tech most likely screwed it up.”

“That shouldn’t happen. And besides, they stuck her with every implement possible,” Trowa said nonchalantly.

“How do you know her anyway?” Quatre asked.

“From before the war. She was an Alliance spy...she camped with the

mercenaries for a while.”

“Then you haven’t seen her in at least ten years, Trowa.”

“Eleven,” the taller man answered, “I’m going to put Emma down.”

Trowa left, and Quatre leaned back into the large wirework chair. He looked to Midii. The window was less than ten feet from him, half-hidden by the climbing jasmine that clung to the trellis. She had looked like Hell earlier. Large hollows under her eyes contrasted starkly with her pale wheat hair and grey eyes. Trowa had said something about her tiny frame being normal, but he sensed it was due to the hard life she exhibited. Quatre decided to not only diagnose and

heal Midii, but also to see her as Trowa described to him so many years ago. An angel.

Midii readjusted the sheets, trying desperately to find sleep. The urge was returning- she had to fight it, but, as seen that very afternoon, found it impossible. She rose, unaccustomed to the comfort of the mansion. Opening the glass-paned doors that led to the main corridor, she

padded soundlessly across the tiled floor. The black silk of the gown she wore rippled in the midnight breeze.

The girl came to a heavy oak door that she had not seen before. Feeling quite confident she was hidden by the weight of night Midii opened it. She found herself in another suite. Trowa had not told her how many, or even who were staying in the mansion- most of the time it was only family and close friends. Stepping across the soft carpet, she came to a large king-size bed. In it lay a

sleeping man, with a tousle of dark hair and slight Asian features. His wrist hung over the bed, beckoning her. It would be easy. He was alone, and most likely would not feel the piercing...or the drinking...the man on the plane had not. Convincing herself, Midii sat on the edge of the bed. She was growing light-headed. Taking the stranger’s wrist gently, she lifted it to her lips, keeping

her eyes fixed on his face. She felt the fangs lengthen and lightly nick her tongue. It was time. Leaning forward, she eased into his flesh and let instinct take over. She wept silently as she drank from him. It was becoming habit- rising in the dead of night to satisfy the darkest recesses of her psyche. She remembered her own victimization, the throbbing feeling as her life

slipped away...as their lives slipped from her like grains of sand. It was enough. The sensation grew lighter, and she pulled away, setting his arm as she had found it. Midii slid off the bed and across the room, leaving a single drop of blood on the pristine carpet.

Trowa crept into her room, eager to speak more with Midii. He found her bed empty and neatly made. Checking the bathroom and patio, it became clear she had already eluded him.

He rounded the corner on which Heero’s door was situated, and stopped, curious to see what he was up to. Knocking twice, he heard no answer. He opened the door to find Heero walking out of the bathroom, toweling his hair.

Heero, you came,” he said flatly. Heero nodded.

“I feel like Hell. I hope you and Winner are happy...”

“We’re eating, if you want to join the madness,” Trowa said, ignoring Heero’s previous comment.

“God, is Maxwell here?” Heero asked.

“Hence the madness part.”

“If there’s protein involved I can manage,” he muttered.

“I’ll see what we can do,” Trowa said, walking off.

He came to the large dining hall, walked through it and into the kitchen, where Catherine and Quatre hovered about as Duo, Midii and Emma sat at the table.

“Heero’s here,” he announced.

“Hey, buddy, guess who’s here! My seat mate from Tijuana!” Duo said, pointing to Midii. The girl looked up from feeding the baby.

“You were in Tijuana?” Trowa asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I just flew out of the city...I was in Acapulco.”

“Day of the Dead, baby! I bought like a million sugar skulls,” Duo interjected.

“When did Heero get here?” Quatre inquired.

“Late last night. He gave himself the room down from Midii’s,” Trowa answered, picking up Emma. He held her at arms’ length, then threw her in the air and deftly caught the little girl. Midii smiled a little.

“Trowa! Don’t do that- it scares the Hell out of me,” Catherine raved, before her husband handed her a cup of coffee. She sat next to Midii and took the babe from her brother. Emma stared at Midii and held out a tiny hand. The wispy blonde offered a finger, which was gripped tightly by the little girl. Emma favored Quatre’s strong Berber [2] features, but inherited Catherine’s ringlets and violet eyes. Her mother had already pierced her ears, giving the child a gypsy-esque appearance. Around her neck hung a golden chain with the eternity symbol hanging from it.

Eternity. Midii questioned it. All she comprehended of death was the finality of it, the complete end to all that she cherished. Raised in the Church, Midii had been taught that death was never final- that there was an afterlife, but the war had suggested otherwise to her. The grin that crossed Emma Winner’s face shut her mind up, even the fact that her latest victims had identities so close to Trowa in that house. No sooner had she thought this than the ‘Heero’ in question entered the room, freshly showered and even more striking than the night before. Midii quickly averted her gaze.

Heero went straight for the fridge, retrieving orange juice and eggs before seeing the breakfast being prepared at the range. A short eastern-looking woman then pushed Catherine, Quatre and Heero away, picking up from where they had left off. Heero eyed the slender blonde stranger seated between Catherine and Trowa, who looked as if she was caught in headlights. She slipped in a few words at breakfast, but snuck away with Trowa immediately afterwards.

Duo whispered something about ‘getting the nookie’, but he ignored it.

He was only there for the damn ball celebrating Catherine and Quatre’s second wedding anniversary, and that’s all he would focus on. At least the others were there, but all of them had companions, and therefore were distracted. He gazed at Duo, sucking on a sugar skull

Trowa led Midii by the hand onto the stone terrace, drinking in her appearance. She seemed to avoid the sun, taking a seat beneath the shade offered by the eaves, but still looked stunning. Catherine, who had treated Midii as her own personal mannequin, had lent Midii her pre-Emma

clothes, and they didn’t all suit the former spy. She sat now in a tiered black skirt and emerald-tone camisole, shivering in the light breeze, which was extremely unseasonable. He had a million things to say but could not find his tongue. Midii leant against his chest. He welcomed the gesture, as she was the first not to soak his shirt in tears or get sour formula all over him.

The two talked for hours. Talked, kissed, whatever was needed- to reminisce. Midii emerged from Trowa’s suite an hour before sunset, only to be turned around by Catherine.

“Trowa? Can I borrow Midii for a moment?” Catherine yelled before running Midii to her and Quatre’s room. Midii sat in her underwear as the young mother handed the baby off to

her to go find a dress for her. She craned her neck around Emma’s to see her eyes, all the while bouncing her on her knee. The curly-haired babe tugged at Midii’s garter as the blonde hummed a lullaby to her. A door opened and Quatre entered the room. It took him a moment to see

her, sitting on the cedar chest at the foot of his bed with Emma. She smirked.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, running out of the room. Catherine returned, took one look at a beet-red Quatre and grinned.

“Oh, Cathy, I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be,” the redhead said casually, “I’m not worried...about our marriage. Now, you might have given him a coronary, but I’ll be fine.”

Catherine pulled a stunning ivy-colored ball gown. “Here, put this on,” she coaxed. Midii slipped into the crinoline-lined dress and Cathy tied the corset.

“Oh, God, Midii! It’s gorgeous!”

“Umm...thank you. Why are you-“

“Well, tomorrow night is Quatre and my anniversary, and we’re having this huge party...and I thought you might like to go.”

“Alright then,” Midii said, smoothing the lines of the dress.

“Yes, this is Quatre Winner...one of my guests had a bit of blood work done last night and the results still haven’t come to us,” Quatre said, sipping at the cup before him. He waited for a response.

“Yes, I can come down now,” he said. Concerned, he paged Trowa.

“She came in weak, pale, glassy-eyed...she was pretty bad. We took the blood sample at three-twenty this morning. It was rather thick but I credited that to her menstrual cycle. We all went home and at nine this morning it was gone,” the tech said. Quatre looked annoyed, rubbing

his forehead raw.

“You lost the blood sample?” he asked through gritted teeth. The young blonde techie shook his shaggy head.

“No, it’s right here,” the tech said, handing Quatre a glass vial that was, indeed, empty, but rimmed with a red powder, “But the blood...it’s gone.”

“Where could it have gone?” Duo asked, sucking on a sugar and frosting skull. Heero eyed him suspiciously.

“Skull-sickle?” Duo offered. Heero glanced back at the techie.

“Well, that’s the riddle...blood evaporates at a level slower than water, and water would take at least two days to disappear. So, either someone is playing a painful joke...or there is something seriously wrong with this girl.”

“Is she anemic?” Heero asked.

“Yes, actually, we gave her an iron supplement. Why?”

“Because I think I may have what she has.”

Catherine and Midii sat on the candlelit terrace, chatting over wine, almonds and fruit. Emma sat between their chairs, occupied with Midii’s purse.

“...And this one time, when Gabriel and I were in Rome, he got the crazy notion that riding a moped around would be better than walking. So he borrows one and the next thing we knew we had crashed into St. Basilica’s! There’s actually a dent from the wheel,” Midii chuckled.

“I had to teach Quatre how to drive a month before we got married,” Catherine said. Midii smiled. Being with these people - Trowa, Cathy, Quatre...it was so refreshing. She no longer felt the midnight hunger - it had passed after the first glass of wine.

“Oh, I miss them,” Midii breathed.

“Who?” Cathy asked.

“My brothers. I left without telling Gabe. And Christophe and Andrew...they’re gone. They were what kept me going.”

“Midii,” Catherine asked, twisting in her chair to see her face, “how did they die? Do you mind me asking?”

“They just faded away. Andrew was the first to go. He fell ill right after his sixteenth birthday. He was out in the vineyard one day and he collapsed. We thought it was the heat, but he just got worse. And Christophe- he was my age. We were twins. It’s crazy, but the reason I enjoy Quatre so much is because he reminds me so much of Chris,” Midii said.

“My parents died when I was six,” the redhead volunteered. Quatre came out and reached around Catherine, kissing her neck lightly. Her arm snuck around his shoulder.

“Hey Midii. If you’ll excuse us,” he said, picking up his wife and carrying her off. Midii smiled gently and took another sip of wine.

She was alone again. The brooding returned. She picked up the baby and carried her inside.

Emma wailed. Midii knew the child felt what she was, who she was. And she could use that to her advantage. She needed him. More than anyone in the world she needed him. To feel

him on her. Christophe. Quatre. They were one and the same. The screaming baby thrashed in her arms as she approached the door to Quatre’s room. She knocked hard on the door. Cathy answered.

“I think there’s something wrong,” Midii said. Cathy, more concerned with her offspring than her husband, took Emma and ran off to her room.

“Tell Quatre I’ll sleep with her in the daybed,” she told Midii.

The room was dim, lit only by wall sconces and the fireplace. Quatre sat on the cedar chest, swilling a bottle of wine.“Cathy says she’ll be with Emma all night. She’s colicky, most

likely,” Midii said.

The burning returned, stronger this time, as it was with Christophe. Quatre, shirtless, filled a glass with the Bordeaux and handed it to her.

“Well then, I guess it’s just us. Duo and Heero are in a heated match of five-card draw and Trowa’s keeping score. They’ve been betting with peanuts for fifteen minutes,” Quatre said. She sat against the fireplace facing Quatre.

For the first time Quatre was attracted to another woman. Midii wore a white silk blouse buttoned just below her breasts, with the jewel-tone camisole from earlier beneath. In the lowlight, he could see the outline of her breasts through it. The light and flowing black skirt was

hitched up to one side, revealing a garter. Her lips were rosy again. She was the portrait of erotic demure.

“Midii...” he began.

“Yes, Quatre?”

“Never mind.”

“No, what?” she asked, leaning forward. His mouth grew dry.

“I shouldn’t say...” he fumbled.

“Oh,” she said knowingly. She had changed. This was not the prim, delicate Midii he had known. Then he realized - he did not know her at all. That made her all the more desirable.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked. She shook her head,

“Are you?”

His head swam with both desire and alcohol. Midii reached for him and he pulled her to him, into a passionate kiss.

She was pleased. This was working just how she wanted. She was no longer Midii Une, but the animal caged beneath her skin. Quatre started necking with her, her eye focused on a smooth patch of skin just beneath his ear. Midii felt her canines grow; she reached for the ear with her

jaw. In Winner’s lap, she lightly touched her tongue to his earlobe and moved in for the kill.

He was desensitized, intoxicated. Quatre did not feel the fangs slide into the vein - he wouldn’t until it began to throb. She tried to preserve him, but the urge to ravage him - to make him a monster like her - was much more appealing. Removing her hand from his smooth, bronzed

chest, she drew her nail to herself and slit the skin just below the apex of her collarbone.

Withdrawing from his neck, she pulled his head to her chest, fingering the golden locks at the base of his head. She felt his lips on her, just above her breasts, tasting the blood. It was done. Midii dug her nail into his collarbone, sending him into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.

Catherine awoke in Emma’s brass daybed an hour past noon, encapsulated in ivory down. Sitting up, the woman saw her daughter pouting at her, standing against the posts of her crib. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair, frowning. She had not slept well. It seemed as she

heard Quatre screaming all night in some silly nightmare. Yawning, Cathy looked out onto the lawns, where she saw Duo Maxwell run like mad across the expanse of grass, followed by a gun-wielding Heero. The sight made her smile. Cathy kissed Emma and walked out of the room, intent on a long shower. She turned the knob on her door and opened it silently, careful not to

wake her husband. Padding across the chamois Berber, she noticed he was spread out on the bed as if he too had not slept well. Not a beam of light penetrated the heavy chocolate curtains. It hardly bothered her.

The woman turned on the water and dropped her silk nightgown to the floor. Stepping in, she shivered in as beads of freezing water assaulted her skin. The frosted glass barely disguised her figure in the mirror, and as Catherine looked upon her reflection she pondered herself.

A former acrobat, it had been required she stay thin and lithe; but a pregnancy had thrown that out of the window. She had kept thirteen of the thirty-nine pounds Emma brought on, but they seemed to settle in all the right places. Catherine still bore stretch marks beneath her navel

and behind her knees, however they seemed to disappear in the sun of Arabia. Quatre had never noticed.Quatre. Three years before Cathy had been a simple circus performer, but after being introduced to the young multi-millionaire by her brother she found herself in a modern-day fairy tale. A whirlwind romance had led to her becoming the wife of one of the most powerful men in history. She snapped out of her reverie when the water cracked and went cold. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a terry towel robe, then headed for Emma.

Midii sat outside her door, sickened by the limitations of the room. She was close to going mad. The events of the night before ran rampant in her head, threatening to drown her. She avoided Trowa, worried about what might happen if she said anything. Memories of the nights in

which she attacked unsuspecting innocents- Christophe, Andrew, this Duo Maxwell, the brooding stranger down the hall...and Quatre. She herself had been pulled into this underworld, this half-life. A stranger...a dark stranger. She remembered little, except for clawing at her attacker as her lifeblood drained, his blood seeping onto her lips, the rusty taste of the tepid liquor sitting on her tongue. It had seemed like an eternity. The dark ebony of his skin was the only vivid

sight she could recall as her entire body throbbed in the steely arms of her moonlit sire.

Quatre was lucky. She had ended the bloodlust before she wanted, keeping him from experiencing the same pain. But even so, the man, only nearing his twenty-second birthday, was already damned. A moment of weakness on her part had brought upon his eternal condemnation. She hadn’t known the death of Christophe would wither her as it did.

There were many a night he had woken to the act, only to dismiss her presence as a search for comfort. Andrew had never come to. Christophe, however, had once woken to find her letting open the artery in his arm, at which time Midii had curled up beside him and complained of

sleeplessness. Numbly, Midii walked down the hallway, avoiding patches of sunlight in

the open hallway. She rounded the corner, only to be hit by a swinging door. Before she could fall the blonde felt her being caught in a steely arm. It belonged to Heero Yuy.

He stared her down. The frail blonde looked caught off guard. “You okay?” he asked, listening only for a response.

“Yes,” she replied curtly. He pulled her upright.

“What happened last night?” Heero inquired.

“Hn?”

“I heard you crying,” he replied. She looked confused.

“How? My room is fifty feet from here.”

“I got lost.”

“Nothing,” Midii answered abruptly. Much to her protest she felt herself being carried into his room and sat on the plush bed. Yuy put a hand to her head. “You’re cold,” he prescribed. He didn’t give heed to the fact his other hand rested on her thigh. He didn’t care.

“It’s kind of chilly down here. We’re underground,” she said. Hs hand moved down to cup the side of her face. He was uncomfortably close. “What’s wrong with you? I know you know something.”

“I’ve been sick for a long time. I really don’t remember,” Midii lied.

She shivered, and Heero seemed to analyze the light gown she wore. He strode away and returned with a leather car coat. Draping it around her bare shoulders, the dark soldier dropped to his haunches and stared into her eyes.

“I think I’ve got whatever you have.”

“No, you’re very mistaken,” she said, revealing a bit too much. He picked up on her tone.

“Alright then. Come on, I’m putting you back to bed. Cathy will have a fit if you can’t come to this damn gala tonight,” Heero said coarsely. And with that he led her back to her room.

Quatre opened his eyes, blinded by the late afternoon sun. Checking the clock, he saw it was quarter-til eleven - half an hour before the ball began. He had slept all day. Guests had probably begun arriving.He was up like a shot, making a beeline for the shower. He felt sweaty, more than usual. He hadn’t sweated like that for a long time. Still half asleep, he stepped into the cold shower, fully clothed.

He knocked. Twice. Trowa stood at the door, waiting for an answer. “Hold on,” he heard Midii say. She had been holed up all afternoon, and he was eager to tell her about the blood work. He adjusted the gold cuff links that had been monogrammed, a gift for every guest at the

ball. His watch read ten minutes till. Midii finally opened the door a full two minutes after he had gotten there. She wore a green silk formal, which let her shoulders and upper back shine in the lowlight. Her hair was up, tied artfully atop her head. She was beautiful.

“Is it time already?” she asked softly. He smiled slightly and offered his arm. She slid her gloved hand around his upper arm and started down the hall.

The couple filed in, blending with the fur and silk clad crowd. Catherine wore a lilac ball gown with a full skirt, which she carried well. Her husband was, in the grand tradition, wearing his father’s old tux, with a spray of baby’s breath and a purple rose to compliment Cathy

tucked into his breast pocket. They could see Duo and Hilde ahead of them, discernable only by his braid swishing in the breeze created by the bamboo fans that lined the corridor. Heero, going stag, was at the open bar, surveying the scene with Wufei, who had only recently arrived.

Midii and Trowa, who stole the show in terms of chemistry. They were already dancing, which neither had mastered. They seemed to be talking over the string quartet, pressed against each other.

Quatre watched them, eying Midii hungrily. Something drew him to her. Maybe it was that crazy dream he had the night before...

The outdoor dance floor was vast. Gauze tents covered the floor, bar and seating area, cooled by the wide-bladed fans that peppered the mansion in hot summer months. Candles in iron stands were the only light given, but they provided a romantic muted atmosphere. Crickets hummed loudly as the guests were asked to remove their shoes. Duo obliged, cackling all the way. Hilde, dressed in a two-tone maverick style dress with a hitched slit, stepped across the wet grass in fishnets and led him to a moonlit garden.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” the petite brunette said. However she knew Duo’s mind was elsewhere...like her thigh. She giggled as he nipped lightly at her ear, searching and hoping not for an audience. Her smile faded as she saw a fair woman, head downcast, walking towards them. Duo

failed to notice her until she came ten feet from them.

“Midii, babe!” Duo exclaimed, pulling away from his girlfriend. She looked up at him. Judging the situation the two pilots were in, Midii nodded and turned to the hedge maze. Duo went back to fooling around with Hilde and was about to sneak her into the bushes when Quatre arrived. Normally, the most demure of the five would have turned on his heel, but there was something in his eyes that was...different.

“Have either of you seen Midii?” Quatre asked dryly. They both pointed in the maze’s direction.

The maze had been built as a request by one of Quatre’s sister, Adia. The Cyprus pine that intertwined with the ever-present jasmine was assembled into a labyrinth that lead to a large fountain. Mosaic tiling served as the floor. It had been twenty years since Adia had abandoned

it, and though the pines survived to a certain extent, most of the jasmine had wilted.The blonde man followed Midii’s footprints in the dust and debris that carpeted the ground. He noticed a small jagged piece of cream silk caught on a branch. Midii’s dress had a cream slip dress.

“Did you sleep well?” Midii’s voice asked. Quatre attempted to follow the sound.

“Midii? Where are you?” he yelled.

“The statue of Venus,” she answered. The fountain consisted of a marble statue of the Venus de Milo. He was close. Quatre picked up his pace, keeping his hand on the inner wall. His father had taught him that trick. After what seemed like an eternity, he rounded the last corner

to see Midii. He suddenly realized he had no idea why he had followed her into the maze.

Midii stood on the other side of the fountain, which was in marvelous condition considering its age. She removed her right glove and reached out with a willowy hand, letting the steady stream of water wash over her, then ripped the pearl from the shell Venus rode. Midii cupped the

curves of the goddess briefly before pulling away.

“Did you sleep well?” she echoed, the monster taking over her once again. He remembered the dream.

“Not really. I slept for fifteen hours.”

“I had a good time last night,” she said candescently. Quatre’s mouth went dry.

“What...exactly happened last night?”

“After Catherine left...well, do I really need to say it?” she asked coyly.

“I slept...with you?”

“Aren’t you feeling it yet? The hunger? The insatiable yearning...for-” Midii stopped mid-sentence, raised h