Belongings

Catherine : Fleeting Dreams

              Everyone wanted to know.

     Everyone was willing to have a share

     To feel scandalised beyond their measure.

     Of course, she was talking about Quatre Raberba Winner, one of the most notorious businessmen in the world, the owner of L4’s Winner Oil Company and eligible bachelor, et cetera. Just the sight of his shining, fine blonde hair was enough to cause the ladies of the society swoon. He was the angel of the society, the harbinger of peace, and the one who took the initiative to restore L4 Colony back to its former glory. Parents would love having him as their son-in-law, and they secretly hope the name of Winner could bring forth honour to their own family.

     And yet again, she was talking about a Winner after all. As much as he was a celebrated world figure, he couldn’t escape the hard and harsh reality of dark, untruth accusations, world of scandals and feigned incidents. He couldn’t escape the paparazzi, or people who were thirsty of juicy bits of the disreputable part of his life.

     He was not a complete angel, after all. He was a man, a twenty-three-year-old man to be precise, just in his peak of manhood, ready to depart to seek the girl of his life. And he possessed money and a look that could kill, for heaven’s sake. But then again, he didn’t. He preferred the company of his friends, his male friends, rather than spending his time in clubs and parties, where giggling and dizzying beautiful ladies of eligible age could be spotted. This was where it all started.

     Everybody started to think he was a gay.

     Someone who preferred the company of men rather than the company of women.

     Somehow the rumour had been brushed off for awhile when Quatre Winner had announced his engagement and then later his wedding to Relena Darlian Peacecraft of the Cinq Peace Foundation, but the table turned again when in the end, on the very day of the supposed wedding, the bride failed to show up.

     A brief statement from Quatre saying he was breaking any ties with Relena Peacecraft was much an understatement to enlighten the whole commotion of failed marriage attempt in his life, but it also fuelled back old rumours, and the flames were twice as blazing as they were initially. The world was convinced. Quatre Raberba Winner was definitely a gay. He didn’t care much about women.

     He even turned out unscathed and blessed the matrimony of his best friend, Heero Yui of Preventer Union and Relena Peacecraft. He even didn’t lose that angelic smile, her lips stretching wide as he congratulated and engulfed the other guilty-feeling man in a bear hug, and whispering his well wishes to the flustering bride as he kissed her white cheek softly. There was no tear, no anger. No hate. No remorse. He executed flawless joyful act, radiant for the world to see and believe.

     But deep down Catherine knew.

     Quatre was hurt to his core. He was deeply sensitive to emotional pain, and he was on the verge of going insane with jealousy. His eyes…she knew it. She could see it. It was there, glazing and glistening, waiting for Quatre to surrender to his inner demon and unleash the raw emotions out, brandishing them to the objects around him. She understood how much he wanted to scream, to yell or to destruct himself…she understood all. She felt it. She had those emotions herself. Broken hearted, raged and wounded. Feeling betrayed. She had experienced those.

     And yet, she also comprehended one more thing. Noone could help him except himself. His love to Relena ran deep, and only he himself could stop all the madness that was running in his vein. He had broken Catherine’s heart once when he was saying with radiant expression that he was going to marry the graceful diplomat, telling that he loved the woman and asked for his two best friends, Trowa and her to act as the best man and the bridesmaid in his wedding. Catherine was, of course, flabbergasted. Sputtering and stuttering, she had been trying all her might to avoid the ‘honourable’ position to serve as Relena’s bridesmaid, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Quatre about the truth.

     She loved him. Everytime she watched him with Trowa, standing side by side, holding his violin close to his head, his long fingers playing a daunting love melody that lulled her to the world of pure bliss and fantasy. Since then infatuation ruled her mind, and there was no single night spent without her thinking of him as her knight in shining armour.

     She thought in time, she could make him notice, even if she was not a graceful young lady of the upper class society. Because she loved him for what he was. Not for his money nor his handsome features. Not for the opportunities his network could give her either.

     But if she told Quatre about her feelings, she would hurt him, who thought of her as the best friend he could ever had. And that was her limit. For him, Catherine Bloom was only another best friend. A place to confide in. So she kept silent and agreed reluctantly to become Relena’s bridesmaid.

     It became even more complicated when she discovered something about Relena. She didn’t really love her Quatre. She loved Heero. A complex web of relationship was woven between the four of them, and Quatre wasn’t even aware of it. Catherine knew it was her duty as a best friend to tell him, but she didn’t have the courage. She couldn’t. She was unable to see his hurt expression. But her decision turned out to be wrong after all.

     She was selfish. She didn’t want to tell Quatre not because she didn’t wish to see Quatre’s saddened expression, but because she didn’t want to be hurt seeing his sadness. And look where the silent act delivered them! More and more despair. It was true Quatre looked as if he didn’t give a damn about the scandalous marriage attempt and showed calm demeanour everytime he was asked about the clarity of the incident, but he was torn apart inside.

     He locked himself in the dark confinement of his office, busied himself with contracts and business documents, refusing to step out of his gloomy atmosphere of his surrounding. He didn’t touch his food, berating he was not hungry. A dark scowl was always present in his face whenever he was out of the presence of public; his smiles were only some sort of courtesy he wielded to protect his reputation. But they were also the same. Hardened, unfeeling smile, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Cold smile. Cold eyes. Distant expression.

     Quatre Raberba Winner was living in another place, another time.

     She wondered if…if only he gave her a chance to help him…to at least assist him back to half of his old self four years ago…

     Earth, Paris – four years ago

     She knew she was beautiful tonight. Her flame red hair shining under the glittering expensive crystal lamp, a simple diamond pin secured loose, wavy strands that were curled into soft and gentle ringlets. Her make-ups were applied thinly, enough to emphasise certain features of her face. She looked just adorable with glossy coat of pink lipstick on her tiny lips, a splash of peachy blush-on on each cheek and pearly eye shadow. High collared white silk gown wrapped her slight and slim form, cashmere but by all means didn’t look inexpensive.

     Catherine sighed. It was expected of the head of Winner Family to reserve a place in a high-class restaurant for a simple rendezvous, but the luxurious feel of the place still managed to amaze her. Looking at her surroundings, she couldn’t help but be wowed by the richness of sparkling gold plated ornaments around her, the tall pillars, the rigid waiters in black tuxedos…Catherine sighed again.

     She knew she shouldn’t receive Quatre’s invitation, and she shouldn’t go behind Trowa’s back, but she couldn’t resist her curiosity. Yes, Trowa didn’t know about their so-called appointment. From the first time she realised that the speaker on the other line of the phone was Quatre Winner, she had vowed to herself to keep the conversation a secret, even from her own brother. Trowa didn’t need to know about their little exchange. Her resolution heightened even more as Quatre closed their conversation by telling her about his wish to talk something important with her. Perhaps about Trowa

     Did he want to tell her off? Not to disturb Trowa and his ever-expanding missions again? Or if she was an obstacle in Trowa’s actual but hidden career? Hey, she was Trowa’s sister here, and she refused to be totally excluded from her brother’s life. Friends, comrades, or whatever they were to Trowa, they still had to acknowledge her existence as a part of Trowa’s life.

     And to think about it, she was the most normal part of his life he owned. The others? Nonsense. They must be way beyond insane. She didn’t understand a lot behind Trowa’s façade, but she was pretty damn sure something fishy going on under her very nose, or the circus’ nose, literally. For God’s sake, she was not stupid!

     That was why she hated the so-called friends of him. She hated Quatre. And not only Quatre, but Trowa’s other comrades, too, even the boy he saved one day, the one with messy brown bangs. Trowa had asked her to keep quiet for her own safety, and she had followed his plea because she trusted him, but the feeling of being shut out was imprinted in her mind, leaving her with a hollowness of a girl being separated from her favourite toy.

     She felt Trowa was leaving her, sooner or later. His friends would take him away from the warmth of his own family, away from the normal life. She couldn’t say Circus Life was very normal, but at least it supposed to be normal compared to the camouflaged life he was currently leading. Catherine was damn sure Trowa was using his life in the circus to hide from the other aspects of his other life. And he might have dangerous enemies, perhaps.

     But still, she was wondering why the hell she went through all the commotion to beautify herself for a man she barely liked? She came because she was curious about what the Blondie had to say about her and her brother, not in purpose of dating. Even if someone would pay her $ 1,000,000,000 to date Quatre Winner, she would certainly turn down the offer. She was much too expensive for him. Besides, she had once ambushed him when he tried to persuade the amnesiac Trowa to resume whatever mission they had to carry out at that time. This meeting would be the first and the last civilised meeting with him. There was no need to impress anyone here with good make-ups and mannerism.

     Yet she needed to. She didn’t want Quatre Raberba Winner to underestimate her just because she was born and working in a Circus, just because she didn’t come from his circle of elite individuals. She had to at least look dignified and presentable.

     "Mademoiselle, may I know your name and your reservation code, please?”

     Smiling sweetly at the Maitre-D, Catherine’s eyes were narrowed as she lifted the corners of her lips, revealing a row of white, perfect teeth. “Catherine Bloom,” she answered, clutching her white purse tightly against her chest, showing nothing but confidence, “And I have no reservation code, but I’m sure Monsieur Quatre Winner has one.”

     Lifting his eyebrows in mild surprise, the older man tried to retain his composure as he stiffly straightened his back and executed a formal bow before finally taking his time to measure the petite frame in front of him. Smiling in a fatherly way, he deliberately asked Catherine the obvious,

     “Monsieur Winner’s guest?” Nodding, Catherine confirmed,

     “Yes, I am.”

     Catherine simply smiled as she followed the Maitre-D, her bearing ever graceful as she walked. She had never been in an expensive restaurant before, but she didn’t want to let her ignorance of the situation get in her way. The truth was she knew there was nothing wrong with her, and yet her heart was thumping against her ribcage, echoing her worries and fears of doing something inappropriate.

     The Maitre-D kindly led her pass table after table and private dining rooms, causing her curiosity to yet heightened again by a notch. Apart of that, she was quite flattered as eager eyes of young male visitors followed her shapely figure; their expressions spoke volumes of worship. She had always enjoyed attention from others anyway. Giving one last look and a polite smile at her spectators, she wondered if Quatre would actually appreciate her effort in trying to appear good in front of him.

     Maybe…just maybe…if she could make Quatre love her, she could persuade him not to wrench Trowa from the normal life where he belonged.

     Chuckling lightly to herself, she faintly shook her head and smacked her forehead lightly in embarrassment. Just what was she thinking! Quatre was a human, and it was cruel to toy with his heart. Besides, it wasn’t very realistic, rather stupid even. And she wasn’t a mean girl either, although she had to admit that she would enjoy it very much to conquer Quatre’s heart. Oh, she had to admit the thrill of seeing him submitting into her charm.

     A charming young man at eighteen, Quatre was not in his prime time yet, but girls were already swooning around his feet, begging for his attention. Not to mention he was the entitled owner of Winner International Oil Company and the head of an aristocratic Arabian family, the Winners. Famous as a gentleman among gentlemen, Quatre always had his ways around women, having all twenty-nine sisters in his household. Not that he was a lady killer, anyway. So far he had never set his eye on one particular woman. Gossips had it all that he didn’t even date anyone. Could it be his preference…?

     Shaking her head rapidly to clear her mind off naughty stuffs, Catherine bit her lower lip and resumed her walk. That was what she read in gossip tabloids anyway. The juicy gossips had nothing to do with her decision to meet Quatre. Or…did it? Now she was getting confused. And to think about it, it did make sense, actually. Everything. The pieces of news. Her brother’s behaviours towards Quatre. And the aura around Quatre himself, his demeanour.

     Was the man she was going to meet...

     ...a gay?

     That was illogical, deciding something just because she was drawn by the contents of one or two articles, but…she couldn’t help...

     "Stupid Catherine!"she whispered loudly, again smacking herself on the forehead. But she froze in place when the sound of throat clearing reached her ears, a tinge of red tinting her cheeks as she attempted to hide her embarrassment.

     “Mademoiselle, we’re here…?”

     Catherine lifted her deep violet eyes, trying to stifle sheepish laughter that usually had become her. She refused to be seen as a fool in this place, especially in front of Quatre. She refused to humiliate herself.

     “Presenting Mademoiselle Bloom, Monsieur.” Bowing politely, the Maitre-D introduced her to the presence of the young man sitting regally on the table, his gentle baby blue eyes gazing back at her curiously. He was biting his lower lip, too, obviously to stifle his own laughter. Catherine almost scolded him for that alone, for she hated being a laughing stock, but instead she reprimanded herself and hardened her persona into a cooler demeanour

     Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, Quatre shook his head lightly, waiting until the Maitre-D was out of hearing shot before finally saying,

     “Relax, Miss Catherine. It’s only you and me.” Resting his chin on the back of his hand, Quatre let out a light chuckle and gestured toward the chair before him, “Please do sit down. We can’t talk if we keep glaring at each other, right?"

     Taking a deep breath, Catherine tried to calm her thundering heart as she lowered her body on the cushioned chair, but she never let go of Quatre’s eyes. They were so blue, very blue, like the eyes of an innocent child who just had been born from his mother’s womb. So clear…so bright. It was unbelievable that a man could retain his naïveté, at least in his outer appearance.

     Quatre who sat before her looked so handsome and young, his expression serene as if without the burden of life. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something ordinary people might miss or dismiss easily.

     Catherine knew, because she had also seen in her brother’s eyes. There was Pain. Loneliness. And Guilt.

     They are people whose childhood had been wrenched away, whose happiness had been replaced by early responsibilities.

     Her eyes were softened as the thought entered her mind. She had intended to say something harsh upon seeing his face, but she refrained from it. Instead, she smiled at him, albeit subconsciously, making Quatre’s eyes lightened. "You look marvellous today, Miss Catherine.” Raising his glass of wine, he began the conversation with complimenting her, “The diamond pin suits you very much."

     “Ah, Thank you." Sporting a healthy tinge of red, Catherine ducked her face to avoid Quatre’s eyes as she searched for the right words to say. She never intended to be friendly toward the younger man, but so far he had treated her nicely and she didn’t see any reason to badger him about something yet unclear. At least her effort for tonight’s dinner wasn’t a waste of time. The gown was actually her mother’s, and it was true it was a little bit old, but with a little modification she had transformed it into a beautiful gown. The diamond pin was a gift from her brother for her twenty-first birthday. It had been her most prized possession ever since.

     She loved Quatre’s compliments. They boosted her ego and her confidence more than what her audience’s applause gave her, restoring the composure that was half way banished. She never realised that a mere meeting with a single young man would actually have a greater impact at her than when she was facing roaring audience demanding for more entertainment. Still, she couldn’t fall prey to Quatre’s charm. She had far more important issues to discuss and she couldn’t afford distractions that could influence her final evaluation of the man before her.

     “…caviar for the dessert?”

     Snapping her head up, Catherine gave the younger man a bemused look, obviously losing the heads and tails of their conversation. Her face heated in renewed embarrassment, she diverted her gaze from Quatre as the sound of Quatre’s amused laughter penetrated her ears.

     “Sorry,” she mumbled apologetically, angrier with herself than with Quatre for daring to laugh at her.

     Quatre put the menu back down serenely, his calm demeanour never changing as he measured the young woman before him with some kind of intensity that managed to draw some uneasiness from Catherine. How come one person could stay happy like Quatre Winner? Catherine asked inwardly.

     She read in magazines that people found peace only by looking at his tranquil expression, but it was quite the contrary for her. Everytime she spotted his cheerful expressions in medias or news, they seemed more and more mechanical than natural to her. For Catherine, she never did see Quatre’s spontaneous joyful ways as a gift for him. It was more like a curse.

     And may be Quatre was trapped in those expressions, much more like her brother or his other comrades. Because he simply didn’t understand how to behave or feel other than what he was currently displaying.

     However, that was also not an excuse to take her brother away from her, after such a drift of time of separation. She never understood why her brother would ever value Quatre Winner as his best friend while she hated the other man so.

     With that thought in mind, Catherine hardened her heart and lifted her face, instantly voicing it out loud before she lost the courage to tell him, “I want you to stay away from my brother!"

     A slight frown.

     “Miss Catherine?"

     I can’t let him trap in sufferings anymore. He had suffered enough, and as his sister, I won’t let anything bad to disturb his life. And that means I also can’t let you in his life." "Miss Cathe..."

     “I will not tolerate any intrusion in our life from you! Never ever,” ignoring Quatre completely, she blurted everything that came across her mind, although she could feel a shiver ran along her spine in silent fear of Quatre’s rejection to acknowledge her words. Besides, she was actually worried. Very worried. “trapping my brother in a relationship he himself isn’t even sure how to respond."“Now, Miss Catherine. Which..."

     "I think you know exactly what I mean, Mr. Winner. There is no need to talk things over.”

     "But I don’t think we even..."

     "What now, Mr Winner?” again Catherine cut him in as she breathed out a gush of air, showing her displeasure openly that ‘Mr. Winner’ actually refused to listen to her even for one minute. “Don’t you think what happened lately wasn’t enough to freak me out? The fact that you keep advancing toward my brother doesn’t help at all…”

     Catherine stopped talking abruptly the moment Quatre’s soft laughter penetrated her ears. Folding her arms on her lap, she stared straight into Quatre’s eyes, waiting for the young man to explain himself. Her face remained impassive, although deep in her mind she was confused as hell. She didn’t think she said something funny in her little speech just now. Just what kind of humour did Quatre find in their little exchange?

     "A gay. An abnormal man. Some man whose the same gender preference is enough to make you cringe in distaste. That’s what you think of me, right?” As the gentle voice of his travelled in the air, Catherine could feel his eyes on her, probing, sneaking into her soul, and baring her from every layer of mind defence.

     “I didn’t say that,” she hissed in self-defence, trying to hide her surprise by fiercely challenging his clear blue eyes, trying to hide her true feelings toward the matter. The truth was she did think of him the way he perceived she was thinking, although she also did try to hide the fact and try to view matters objectively. Obviously she failed in her nervous attempt. She failed herself in the process as she incoherently babbled about her life and her brother’s life, acting unbelievably like someone who knew everything but apparently knew nothing.

     She was so ashamed of herself. Already she was a twenty-two year old woman, an individual with independence more than she deserved to have. She had proved her ability to resolve difficult situations more than once, and yet she couldn’t handle being in the same room and having the same conversation with Quatre Winner. The man seemed to have more composure than she did have, apparently. And there he was, being younger than her by four years!

     “Your body language did the talking.” Shrugging, Quatre resumed looking at his menu book, addressing her casually as he flipped through the paper carelessly, only stopping occasionally when something interesting caught his eyes, “Cathy…Trowa and I are the best of friends. May be you will see things differently once you look at this matter from my point of view. Am I right?” Blue eyes piercing deeply into her violet ones, the man flashed her one of his genuine little smiles, “That’s not why I invite you here, however. We will talk about things, but strictly not about Trowa. About us, that’s the important one.”

     "About…us?” clutching the edge of the white tablecloth tightly, Catherine stared blankly at Quatre as she answered him, dumbfounded. “But I thought you lo…no! Like Trowa,” gulping down her error, she corrected herself, sighing in relief and literary patting herself on the back for saying what she perceived as the right thing to say, “I thought you never like women. I never read about you getting hitched with another women in those tabloids…”

     “Cathy, I do date…but I do it discreetly, unlike those celebrity jerks.”

     “Still, I couldn’t see why you never got caught by the paparazzi,” Catherine responded stubbornly, leaning closer to Quatre’s direction, feeling much more relaxed compared to when she first entered the restaurant. Her whole perspective of Quatre changed all of sudden the moment he told her that Trowa and he were only best friends. Still, it didn’t change the fact he couldn’t wrench her brother away from her. Trowa was her only living relative, and she couldn’t imagine living without him by her side. She needed his support to keep on going. Too much happened already; she couldn’t face another blow without her brother by her side.

     His eyes brightened, he shifted a little closer to her, a little smile playing on his lips, “They want attention; I don’t.

     Leaning her chin on the back of her hand, she began to feel Quatre as less a threat to the peace in her little family. Her eyes drooping slightly, she permitted herself a little smile as she addressed him in a little bit gentler way, instinctively knowing Quatre would mean her no harm,

     “Still, there must be a magic word for you to come clean in every bit of your action.” Then, as the old unperturbed Catherine returned, the woman added hastily, a hint of mischief in her voice, “And I still not believed what you said. ‘Specially when I don’t witness it with my own eyes.”

     “Oh yes…I do like women,” Quatre huskily supplied, his eyes never strayed from Catherine’s, “Living with twenty nine sisters altogether taught me that.”

     "You mean…?” Then he dryly continued,

     “No matter what you did, you have to enjoy their company if you don’t want to be insane before your time.”

     At this point of their conversation, Catherine couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter. Shielding her open mouth with her palms was the best she could do to retain her good manners. God, she was in an expensive restaurant and here she was, laughing uncontrollably, unable to control her manners.

     “Gossips! Fashion! They even tried to dress me so that I look like the proper young eligible bachelor I'm suppose to be, they say,” Quatre chattered on innocently, the little smile plastered on his lips as he once again diverted his attention to the menu before him, “Lucky they never try to set me up with some girls. But, worse still…”

     "Yes?” for a moment Catherine succeeded in redeeming her laughter; she was all into what Quatre had to say next.

     She was smiling in silent amusement as she witnessed the mock-agony displayed on Quatre’s innocent features. She never knew Quatre was capable of something like that. Quatre she had known in the news or television was angelic, but he was also serious. She didn’t even expect him jesting around.

     “It was when Wu Fei visited L4 Colony. My sisters seldom saw an oriental man before, and they were all fawning over him. And he isn’t very sociable toward women, you know..."

     "Oh, God…” Catherine shook her head slightly, small laughter rumbling from the back of her throat. She didn’t exactly remember Wu Fei, but there were certain characteristics she recalled from her brother’s friend’s last visit. And they were not very pleasant. The fact his girlfriend was willing to stick with him was either an act of stupidity or the world’s largest miracle.

     For a moment Catherine was drowned in her own thoughts and forgot where she was, musing about what her brother was doing at the moment. May be feeding the lions. She had left without telling the truth, and she was a little bit guilty for that.

     There was a faint question being asked to her direction, and she lifted her face in confusion, but she was even more confused when she heard Quatre answered it for her, “Same for her, just like my order.”

     “And the drinks, Monsieur?”

     "Just give us a bottle of wine and water, please.” He ran his index finger on the champagne list with the ease of someone who apparently was used to ordering alcohol, and pointed out the label he desired. “The Chardonnay one would be perfect. Or…perhaps not!” Smiling, Quatre turned to the waiter as her closed the wine menu and handed it over to the older man, saying, “Give us the Port one instead, and thank you,” The waiter bowed formally before went his way, eyeing Quatre’s orders thoughtfully, as if afraid to miss even one thing.

     Eyeing the waiter until he was gone behind a wall, Catherine couldn’t help the sinking feeling of worry. She didn’t care about what food Quatre had ordered for her, but one thing was sure. She couldn’t take any alcohol! She didn’t say she couldn’t stand the effect, oh she probably could, but she simply never tried liquor before.

     “Quatre, what did you order for me?” quietly she asked him, almost afraid of the answer.

     “Oh, some seafood…why?” a troubled expression suddenly clouded Quatre’s features as he looked straight into her eyes, “You don’t like seafood?”

     Waving her hand to emphasise her point, Catherine quickly reacted to his worry, saying,

     “No, no! I like seafood. It’s just that I’m afraid I can’t handle alcohol.”

     “Oops!”

     Giggling faintly, Catherine dismissed Quatre’s remark, shaking her head lightly. Sighing, she turned around and looked at the view of night Paris outside the plain glass, her eyes grew serious all of sudden. Who had thought all along that she could have this kind of conversation with Quatre? Before she stepped into this very restaurant, she had viewed the man as no other than a potential enemy, someone who would take her only brother away from her.

     At least one thing was clear at the moment, but it wasn’t enough to clear her apprehensions. He had not yet talked about his purpose of inviting her for the lavish dinner, and he had yet to reveal some more of himself that could guarantee Trowa’s existence beside her. The thought that someday she couldn’t keep up with Trowa and the fact that someday he would leave her for his friends saddened her. Call her selfish, but she wasn’t going to lose her brother.

     Running a finger on the table’s edge absentmindedly, Catherine delved more and more into contemplative mood as her mind worked furiously to bring up the subject as to why Quatre did go through all the troubles to invite her. So far she couldn’t find a way to ask him the question without sounding rude, and insulting her host was the last thing she wanted. Quatre had been very nice to her, so far…

     Strangely, Quatre seemed to follow the cue and prolonged the silence, giving her the necessity of time to think. His gentle baby blue eyes bore to another direction though he had been leaning on both his forearms to her direction, watching couple by couple filling the dance floor with interest as a smile curved up his lips. He was behaving as if he didn’t wish to bother her and proceeded to entertain himself with the things happening in his surrounding. To be honest, as a dinner partner, he was never demanding in their conversation. He let her talk or shut up whenever she felt like to.

     Which was why she thought it was okay to be totally honest with him. Crude she might sound, but she knew the gentle Quatre would appreciate her opinion, no matter how harsh it might be. So she lifted her head, preparing herself to say the ‘thing’ and wait for Quatre’s reaction…

     “I still can’t believe you actually never take alcohol in your life,” Quatre suddenly cut in without even looking at her, drawing a faint sigh from her in the process, “I mean…you’re four years older than me.”

     Catherine opened her mouth to explain herself, but once again Quatre cut her in without even checking if she wanted to say something,

     “Okay, okay…I know some people just refuse to touch alcohol, I mean…look at myself! I wouldn’t drink a lot if it weren’t for the business dinners I have. But still,” Catherine decided Quatre looked cute when he was in doubtful mode, “somehow you try it at some point of time. Everybody does..."

     Cute assumption, but it wasn’t her. She couldn’t believe Quatre to be simple-minded. She believed it wouldn’t happen everyday, but still she was quite honoured to be able to witness one of Quatre’s rare quirks. "Not with me, anyway…”

     "I always thought everybody drank wine, though…”

     They blinked several times as they finished both sentences together, their expressions told the other person that they were at a loss of words. Catherine was the first to recover; one corner of her lips was lifted up in amusement. So this was Quatre. Quite bossy, she might say. Perhaps that was because he was the youngest of thirty siblings, after all. Plus the Maganacs, everybody must be quite willing to spoil their not-so-little angel. And she bet the habit went on years and years and years, until now.

     "Hmm…”

     "Yes?”

     Shaking his head, Quatre replied warmly, “Nothing. It’s just that you’re beautiful,”

     Smiling in mild amusement and self-pride, Catherine reminded him openly,

     “You’ve said that for the second time, tonight. Anyway, thank you.” Apparently he was also a flirt. Twenty-nine sisters, remember? He had to be a flirt expert if he wanted to have his ways with them.

     Tipping his head a little bit to the right, Quatre gave her his genuine smile as a gesture of acknowledgement.

     Again, silence reigned between them. May be they ran out of silly things to discuss, or may be it was just that they had nothing in common, Catherine mused. Must be both of them. On the other hand, she reckoned it was a perfect occasion to bring up the real problem.

     “Quatre, I…”

     She gasped when the man got up abruptly, extending one lean hand to her. She only understood what he wanted when he gently offered, his eyes softened at the sight of her startled expression,

     “Dance?”

     Reluctantly she discarded the idea of having some sort of serious discussion with him and nodded with a sigh as she extended her hand. His expression and smile relaxed as he curled his fingers around her smaller hand, carefully drawing her to her feet.

     Brushing her wavy hair aside, Catherine lifted her face and forced a smile as she came face to face with Quatre, but she gasped faintly when her eyes met his. His eyes were beautiful. They were sparkling, the rays of the crystal lamp reflected on them, causing the stars to dance. He had held her gaze captive, looking at her with such warmth she seldom was acquainted with. No man had ever looked at her like that. She knew she was beautiful and loved the fact, but sometimes she just wished people would see more of her personality. Quatre did that to her.

     As they glided through the other couples, right to the centre of the dance floor, she could sense Quatre’s gentle hand guiding her, carefully leading her so she wouldn’t be left behind. There, in the middle of the room, he put her hand on his shoulder while he put his own hand on her waist. His eyes twinkling, he inquired, “You do dance, don’t you?

     Grinning, Catherine answered the question with another question, “What do you think?”

     “You have a dancer’s body,” Frowning, he eyed her from head to toe while he was trying to keep their pace at the same time. As the slow waltz played, he nudged Catherine to move accordingly to the melody, swaying her hip in the process. “Doesn’t matter,” a grin suddenly appeared on his face, lightening his face and wiping the frown away, “I’m leading, anyway. I guess you can follow. Just pray you don’t have two left feet..."

     Catherine lifted one of her eyebrows at that comment. “What…? If I did?”

     Laughing sheepishly, Quatre shrugged the question off and pretended not to hear a thing. Instead he led her to do a faster step, something more of a ballroom dancing. Real classical waltz. Catherine was startled and almost thrown off balance at the beginning, but soon she followed the steps and laughed heartily when Quatre lifted her body and swung her in the air, before finally placing her firmly on the polished floor and did another twirl with her. She felt like a ballerina. She imagined she was a fairy. But moreover, she was a princess.

     Quatre made her feel like a princess. And never before someone treated her like one. Usually men only looked at her beauty, but soon retreated after they discovered her sharp tongue. They were afraid of her competitive mind. They were afraid they would lose when they converse with her, only because she always responded to things they said faster than any other girls. They expected her to be meek, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t her.

     That was why. She showed her strength and mind whenever other girls only giggled as a response to what the boys told them. Thus, one by one, the bees retreated back to their hive, avoiding one flower that refused to bloom for them. She had her advantage, for she knew who was worth her affection or not, but on the other hand, she was also lonely. She longed for a man who was willing to look pass what she had shown outwardly, pass her steel wall of heart, easing her loneliness. Like any girls her age, she longed to be a princess and to be pampered as one.

     Nevertheless, she also knew what she thought was only a dream. Quatre was her brother’s friend, and she hadn’t yet settled her problem with him. A dance or two didn’t make any difference. She still had to clarify some things with the man.

     Besides, she wasn’t in love with him. She didn’t yet know him. Even if she did love him, she was no match for Quatre. Their social backgrounds were too different for the sugary dream to come true. Quatre would never be for her. He would soon be someone else’s, some girl with identical position and personality totally her opposite. A gentle girl was all what Quatre needed. He didn’t need a big mouthed girl like her.

     But…who knows?

     Miracles did exist in this world.

     Sighing, Catherine closed her eyes and put her head gently on Quatre’s shoulder, oblivious to her surrounding. Smiling, Quatre’s eyes drooped as he put his cheek against the crown of Catherine’s head, loving the silky feeling of her hair, together swaying to the tune of the next number, Nat King Cole’s Stardust.

     Only one thing crossed his mind.

     Trowa’s sister is beautiful…

     Carefree laughter echoed in the air as both Quatre and Catherine raced down the elegant and circling staircase to the ground floor, each looking back as if they were afraid someone was following them. Catherine stumbled down as she attempted to skip two steps and gasped softly when a laughing Quatre casually caught her by her waist and steadied her before they once again set forward to the richly decorated entrance; a red BMW convertible with a valet standing on guard beside it could be seen through the clear glass of the door.

     Letting out a teasing smile, Catherine hopped down the last stair step and gracefully landed on her feet, laughing gaily as she silently motioned Quatre to follow her. Chuckling in amusement, Quatre shook his head slightly as he stepped down casually, both his hands buried deep within the pockets of his coat. He quickened his pace as he approached Catherine, grabbing her hand all of sudden and dragging her along the way, taking the woman by surprise.

     “Quatre!” gasping, Catherine let out a protesting sound as she slightly stumbled forward.

     “Quick! I don’t want them to keep up with us!” Quatre told her excitedly, his hold tightened around Catherine’s smaller hand. Glancing about worriedly, he thanked the doorman absentmindedly and went straight for his car, smiling as he noticed the young valet, ready with the key of his car in his hand. Accepting the key from the other man, he lifted an eyebrow and gestured Catherine to get inside.

     “We’ll escape them before we know it, I will bet.”

     Grinning coquettishly, Catherine didn’t wait for the valet to open the door for her and hopped into the car straight away. Fastening her seatbelt, she glanced at the driver’s seat, silently waiting for Quatre to get inside as well. A faint chuckling filling the air as Quatre lowered his body beside her, once again shaking his head while he was starting the engine.

     Breathless from the laughter, Catherine asked him,

     “What?”

     "Oh no. Nothing.” Glancing quickly at the woman beside him, Quatre stopped his laughter and smiled in secret. Catherine was so naïve, totally different from the other women he had encountered in the past. Definitely. And he meant it. She was a stark contrast from the other girls, and he had thought so right from the beginning he saw her.

     Leaning over, Catherine narrowed her eyes and gave her the most of her dangerous smile, “Oh, really?”

     “Really what?”

     Back in her position, she folded her arms before her chest and huffed, “You hid something.”

     "And if I do?”

     "I want to know.” And then she started as she remembered something, and added in a saccharine voice, “and this is not a request.”

     Quatre held his breath as a smile appeared on his lips, trying all his might to drown the sound of laughter down his throat. He never wished for Catherine to feel insulted. However still, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he recalled the expressions of their two ‘intruders’ as they found out a meat knife sticking out the lens of their camera. Two paparazzi had apparently been spying on them in the restaurant, but unfortunately, Catherine and he had spotted them. Ever the quick Catherine, she swiftly grabbed her meat knife and flung it across the room; a small crack could be heard as it met the clear lens of the camera.

     Gasping aloud in alarm, the ever thoughtful Quatre froze in mid-gesture as he witnessed the whole commotion. His mouth hanging open, he flustered at his attempt to say Catherine’s name and scolded her for she had just done, but the other part of his mind told him that the journalists deserved it. Their pale faces were priceless, to say the least!

     “Oh, no…” Quatre started casually as he changed the gear to adjust the speed of the car as it came into a halt in front of the red traffic light,

     “I just forget to tell you the reason why I never got caught by paparazzi so far.”

     “And that is…?” Catherine prompted, raising her eyebrows questioningly. She started to like this best friend of her brother’s. He had a way with women and he was unlike any other men she encountered before. The key to that was his kindness and patience. Trowa might be quiet, but he was hardly friendly to people he barely knew, and he could sometimes be as impatient as a brat if he wanted to. And spoiled. She still remembered when he had practically begged her to bake his favourite lemon pie. She had refused because she had been busy at that time, but he kept nagging in a sense, although he said nothing to her. And it was a silent war she faced. As quiet as he might be, Trowa proved to be most resourceful when he wanted something.

     “Heero Yui,”

     “Heero…Yui?” frowning, Catherine chewed her lower lips as her memory informed her about the little bit of information regarding Heero. He was one of Trowa’s friends, she supposed. As far as she concerned, she never did like Heero’s anti social attitude, but she was secretly surprised by Heero’s steadfast friendship with her brother. Whenever he was in the same town where the circus had its performance, he would spare some time to watch the show and to meet Trowa, talking privately with him. And she did recall Trowa’s story that Heero actually joined the Preventer Union just a few months ago, becoming a formidable soldier and leader of his own right.

     "Yeah,”

     "What can he do, anyway?” Catherine lifted her chin haughtily, challenging Quatre’s words playfully.

     “Hacking, deleting all those unpleasant stories,”

     "And…?” moving her hand in circular motion, Catherine encouraged him to go on.

     “Intimidating them with his infamous ‘I will kill you’ threats.” Quatre answered as he once again settled on smiling secretly.

     “Apparently,” Catherine responded, flashing a grin as she leant her back against the seat, “But I did destroy their camera and save you name, didn’t I? That should settle the matters faster.”

     The polite smiling ever present, Quatre countered, “The only thing you did was destroying their camera, not the film. They can still develop the pictures from it,”

     This time Catherine didn’t answer. She knew Quatre was right, and yet she refused to acknowledge her defeat. Still she was relief there was a Heero Yui out there, ready to eliminate all problems. It would become difficult for her if some false report about them spread out. Hell, they didn’t even know each other that well. The fact that they were actually on good terms after only a two-hour conversation surprised her.

     “Well, it’s their fault, anyway.” Huffing, Catherine folded her arms in front of her chest and fumed. A healthy twinge of red marred her face as she spotted Quatre stealing a glance at her and laughing quietly. The nerve! She wondered why Quatre laughed at her a lot tonight.

     Staring at the night city scene of Paris, Catherine contented herself with peaceful silence, her eyes drooping slightly as she felt unbearable sleepiness engulfed her mind. She wasn’t able to describe the emotion she felt at the moment, but one thing was sure. She felt safe there, sitting beside Quatre in his car, the soft hum of the engine bringing her a sense of completeness to her surrounding.

     Catherine gasped as she remembered something, though. She quickly averted her gaze to Quatre and asked him in a worried tone, “Where are you going to take me?”

     Waving one hand in a dismissive gesture, Quatre casually told her,

     “To my apartment.”

     “Why?” giving him a wide-eyed expression, Catherine put a startled front. Her mind dictated her to stay calm, but she couldn’t help wondering about what Quatre had in his head. Quatre looked kind, but she couldn’t just depend her life on his look, could she? Being cautious, that was what she should be at the moment.

     “Oh, you see…we can’t talk freely in the restaurant,” Quatre explained patiently to her, never once his eyes leaving the sight of the road before him, “and I dare to wage 100 francs that you still have something to talk about, some complaints,” Grinning mischievously, he glanced to check on Catherine’s reaction. He was not disappointed.

     Chewing her lower lips thoughtfully, Catherine cast doubtful eyes at him, her expression saying that she didn’t like the sound of what he had just told her. Then, huffing once again, Catherine placed her hands neatly on her lap and whipped her head to the other side of the car, her body language clearly telling Quatre that she was ticked off by his whole comment.

     Laughter rumbling inside his chest, Quatre stepped on the gas pedal and sped through the night, leaving a trail of faint smoke behind. “There you go, Princess. This is my apartment,”

     Opening the car’s door for the flame haired lady, Quatre couldn’t resist the urge to chuckle when he spotted Catherine’s awe-struck expression. Slowly he held Catherine’s hand, gently guiding her up to her feet; his eyes never left her face and his face still held the same amused expression he displayed the whole dinner.

     Leading Catherine through the door, passing the receptionist desk and lift, finally he managed to usher Catherine to the front door of his apartment, snickering as he noticed that Catherine couldn’t repress her feeling of being overwhelmed by the beauty of the whole interior design. Quatre must admit that the architect did an excellent job in bringing out the essence of Paris. And he also liked the way the interior of his two-floored spacious apartment was done. True, it wasn’t as huge as his residential mansion in L4 Colony, but it was his second-favourite home.

     Opening the door for Catherine, Quatre flicked on the main lamp and stepped aside to give way to the woman, smiling as he said,

     “After you, my lady..."

     A bit intimidated by the richness of the apartment’s exterior design, Catherine stepped in hesitantly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she ran her eyes from one object to the other, trying to discern her whole surrounding. She only waited for Quatre to close the door behind him before she set off to explore the large room, her mouth forming a nice O as she delicately fingered the material of Quatre’s plush dark green leather sofa.

     “You like it?” Quatre followed, slugging his coat casually over one shoulder. Open delight was clearly shown on his face, his eyes shining as he eyed Catherine’s one hundred faces. "Like it? Quatre, I’m totally in love with your apartment!”

     A ghost of smile appearing on his lips, Quatre kissed the tips of his fingers and touched his forehead in a gesture of Arabian salutation; a hint of pride sounded in his voice as he remarked,

     “Thank you,”

     Catherine merely grinned in response; her eyes marvelled at her surrounding. The interior of the apartment didn’t exactly mirror Quatre’s cultural heritage – it looked more modernist than ethnical – but the essence of Arabia, thought not explicit, was still present. Some ornaments were adorned here and there, not a lot but enough to cause some noticeable betrayal to the whole essence of the simpler modernism design.

     An intricately embroidered banner with some Arabian characters caught her eyes, capturing her whole attention. Narrowing her emerald eyes, Catherine pointed at the banner and asked,

     “What’s that?”

     "Oh, that?” Quatre broke out of his amused expression, leaning over Catherine a bit as he furrowed his eyebrows in his attempt to have a better look at the object Catherine was pointing at. He smiled when he finally understood,

     “It’s a phrase in Arabian. It means, ‘Allah is the only God in my life and to Him I will always pledge my loyalty.’”

     Lifting one of her eyebrows in a knowing look, Catherine peeped,

     “Moslem?” Quatre

     lifted his own eyebrows, mirroring Catherine’s action, “A major believer.”

     Catherine wanted to say something more, but she decided against it. Inwardly, she cursed. Why did she have to know the fact that Quatre was a Moslem when she started to feel comfortable around him? She might not practice her belief regularly, but she was one hundred percent Roman Catholic.

     In their short acquaintance of two hours and a half, often she fancied herself being involved in a kind of intense relationship with Quatre, not because Quatre was good-looking, but because Quatre, in her opinion, was an ideal man for her. The fact that Quatre was a Moslem actually marred her dream, even if the dream would not become true. She believed in having a relationship with a man of the same belief. Not that she was a fanatic or something. She only wished to avoid future heartache and disappointment; that was all.

     You’re stupid, Catherine. You’ve only talked with Quatre for the past two hours, and already you fancy him being your boyfriend?! Girl, get a grip! Besides, he’s not even your friend; you know that!

     Dismissing the seemingly ridiculous thought from her mind, Catherine frowned as she made her way to a cabinet with several photo frames perching on it. Her eyes lightened in curiosity as she noticed a portrait of a very young Quatre, his expression shy and innocent, just like any other children without the knowledge of war. Laughing softly, she lifted up the frame. Spinning around, she faced Quatre and gave him her sweetest smile as she sensed him walking toward her.

     “You?” she inquired.

     Nodded, Quatre took the frame from her hands and looked at his own picture with an expression of longing; a nostalgic smile slowly appeared on his face. Putting the picture down carefully, Quatre informed her in a rough voice,

     “Me, when I was four years old,” he took a deep breath and continued, “Life’s pretty much simpler at that time,”

     Smiling sympathetically, Catherine merely shrugged as her eyes went for the next picture in sight. A mischievous smile slowly grew as she noticed the next picture,

     “And this? Your girlfriend?”

     A picture of a girl. Probably in her late twenties. Black haired and dark, beautiful almond eyes.

     Laughing, Quatre quickly explained, “My sister. Nadia. This apartment is actually hers, but she is a model with a busy schedule, so she asks me to use her apartment whenever I have business in Paris.”

     “That explains her dark complexion.” Catherine remarked casually, putting down the frame with a soft thud, “She’s an Arab, anyway…which doesn’t explain about you.” Eyeing Quatre with her intense eyes, she asked him, “Why do you have fair colouring?”

     Sighing, Quatre stepped closer to the cabinet and lifted up another frame, this time containing a picture of a man and a woman, hugging each other and laughing joyfully. The man was obviously an Arab, and Quatre’s father. The woman suspiciously looked very much alike with Quatre, although Catherine didn’t dare to voice her speculation.

     “This is my mother.”

     A frown and,

     “Your mother?”

     “Yes, the one and only.” A grim smile appeared on Quatre’s handsome features as he caressed the face of the woman with his thumb,

     “She’s…a French woman.” Looking away, Quatre blinked rapidly as he fought down the urge to cry. There was no way he would lose his control in front of a woman. The others, especially Wu Fei, would taunt him to death if they caught him in sentimental mood.

     Tightening her coat around her shoulders, Catherine couldn’t help but sympathise along when her eyes caught the wavering expression Quatre wore. Deep down irony filled her mind, for Quatre was alike her in a way. He didn’t have a mother.

     Slowly she approached his lonely back, opening her arms and wrapping them around Quatre’s shoulders. She didn’t understand her urge to comfort the younger man, but she knew it was the right thing to do. She felt Quatre flinched a little bit as their bodies came to contact, but from his heavy sigh and the way he put his own hand on her arm she could sense Quatre’s loneliness. Catherine knew, with the wealth and the social status he possessed, he should have all the attention in the world, but still he craved for another form of attention.

     Quatre stirred in her arms, turning around so he faced Catherine and gazed deeply into her eyes. A sad smile playing on his lips, he put one hand on her shoulder and bent down slowly. Catherine, her eyes widened in alarm, tried not to flinch as Quatre’s face coming nearer and nearer…she shut her eyes tightly and cringed as Quatre’s hot breath caressed her skin, his soft lips brushing her cheek softly…

     And ear splitting scream could be heard through out the entire suite as Quatre jerked back in alarm, dropping the picture of his parents in the process. The shattering noise of the picture frame as it was slammed hard against the floor renewed their agitation, and both shrieked in alarm.

     "God, Quatre! Get off me!”

     Shoving the bigger man aside, Catherine went two steps backward, her hands clutched on her chest as she eyed Quatre with her wide and confused violet eyes. Her chest heaving up and down, she couldn’t utter any words but a squeak, “Quat…”

     Staring back numbly at Catherine’s retreating figure, Quatre lowered his arms down by his side and mumbled apologetically, a shadow cast in his blue eyes,

     “Sorry…couldn’t resist,”

     More silence.

     Then laughter, coming from Quatre, its tone was hollow. Raking his blond hair and throwing back his head in a humourless laughter, Quatre sank his bottom into his sofa, holding his stomach, hugging himself. Catherine, however, quickly recovering and regaining her composure, frown appeared in the middle of her forehead when she noticed the strangeness in the note of his voice.

     “What the hell is that happening? Damn it!” Quatre once again raked his hair roughly, his laughter finally subsiding into dry chuckles. Catherine flinched, having heard Quatre cursed for the first time on that night.

     Sighing, Catherine contemplated between going home straight away and confronting Quatre, asking what the hell was wrong with him in just mere minutes. She chose the latter. Chewing her lower lip thoughtfully as she usually did when she faced some serious situations, she decided to deal with him upfront, without even trying to console the man with empty words.

     Stepping forward, Catherine frowned as she heard crackling noise beneath her stiletto shoe and glanced downward only to be confronted by the offensive sight of shattered glass of a picture frame. Inhaling deeply, she crouched down to take care of the mess, but she blinked hard when her eyes caught another picture hidden behind the picture of Quatre’s parents. She almost couldn’t believe her eyes.

     It was Prime Minister Relena Darlian Peacecraft. Smiling beautifully, her expression was calm and peaceful as she waved one hand to someone, possibly the photographer, the other hand holding her wide rimmed white hat in place, her sky-blue sundress complimenting her fair complexion under the sun. Pretty, pretty woman. Absolutely the definition of perfection.

     Almost gasping, Catherine whipped her head up to meet Quatre’s eyes, but the man avoided her altogether. The stiffness of his behaviour clearly warned her that he had no wish to discuss about the matter.

     A tired sigh escaped Quatre’s thin lips as he massaged the bridge of his nose, waiting for Catherine to say her piece. He stiffened however, as he sensed the spot beside his sofa sinking down as the woman lowered her body beside him. She was one determined woman, he told himself. There was no escaping. No wonder Trowa had utter respect for her. It might be her ability to see what was wrong and correct it as best as she could.

     Bowing his head in defeat, Quatre raked his soft blonde hair and took a deep breath, before finally peeking at Catherine’s expression from behind his bangs. The woman’s determination was as strong as steel, he supposed. From the set jaws and the hardened look in her eyes, Quatre knew immediately this woman would never drop down the matter before she received a satisfactory answer. Thus, he began with apology.

     "I’m very sorry, Cathy. I didn’t mean it. Honest,”

     Inhaling a good portion of air, Catherine merely acknowledged the apology with a shrug, her eyes expectant as she waited for Quatre to continue.

     Gulping down some air, Quatre twiddled with his thumbs nervously as he gathered the courage to go on, although that meant opening the deepest secret of his heart to a person he barely knew. She deserved to know after such incident. It was just that he hoped what he would say next did not bruise her pride badly.

     “For a moment I thought you’re Relena. I know you aren’t, but for some reasons I wished you were her.”

     "Oh.” was Catherine’s only response.

     And then, a surprising and blunt,

     “Do you love her?”

     Quatre nodded in defeat, chewing on her lips as the vision of Catherine’s frightened eyes crossed his mind. He was asking Catherine out for dinner to befriend the sister of his best friend, not to make an enemy out of her! He wanted some sort of a peace pact at least, although he never did know what the hell he was doing wrong to her. And now he ruined everything by acting impulsively. What an idiot!

     “Yes, I…love her.” came the tentative whisper, and quickly he added, “It may be your reaction when I told you the fact about my family, perhaps. You acted with compassion, and your kind expression looked like hers when you hugged me and looked at me with sympathy in your eyes.”

     Catherine closed her eyes, thinking. She didn’t understand. Why should all of these happen to her? She was not even Relena Peacecraft. The other woman was a perfect woman who was also a public figure, brave and bold in her femininity.

     "I keep this feeling way too long already, I guess.” Quatre told her thoughtfully, a soft and hopeless laughter echoing in her ears, ringing like a bell.

     She didn’t know what to say. In a way, she felt sympathy toward Quatre. As a woman and as Trowa’s sister who had met the other woman occasionally when there were ball parties Trowa had to attend with a partner, she always knew where the direction of Relena’s feelings going. Relena always looked far away, her eyes always searching for some certain handsome features of Heero Yui. Quatre’s affection was practically undesirable even before he had a chance to profess it.

     On the other hand, anger and disappointment emerged from the back of her mind, though she didn’t understand why. She felt disappointed that Quatre’s heart already belonged to another woman, and angry that he continued to fall for her in spite of the fact she never cared for him but another man. Why should she be angry or disappointed anyway? She only got to know him better tonight, and it was way too short time to decide whether she wanted this man to be her friend or not. She had not even talked about their differences as well.

     Quatre eyed her expectantly as he chewed on his lower lip nervously, his blue eyes clouded as he caught a frown appearing on Catherine’s forehead. She had a right to be angry with him. He didn’t understand himself either, tonight. He usually treated women with respect, and it was his key to win the hearts of the women around him, but tonight, he felt different. He became different when he was around Catherine. It was almost like when he spent some time with Relena, even dating her occasionally, although he was sure Relena only treated the events as casual dinner and chatting between best friends.

     The situation, the surrounding.

     The woman.

     Something in her was able to put him at ease. Her chatter brought some peace in his heart, just like when he was talking to Relena, and with both of women he could talk about anything but works or missions.

     There was something about Catherine’s aura that resembled Relena’s.

     Quatre snapped his head up when he sensed a callused hand touched him gently on his cheek. Then he realised. This woman was not Relena. She was someone else. Trowa’s sister.

     And once again he was startled when he witnessed the wavering smile on Catherine’s lips. Stunned was more the word. This woman was definitely not Relena. Her hand, rough from heavy practice on trapeze bar, and her built, curvy and sleek, unlike Relena who resembled more of a doll’s, petite and fragile.

     "Smile, Quatre,”

     The gentle voice of Catherine caused Quatre to flinch as he sank deeper into reality. Relena would not say even a word when she witnessed someone’s devastation. She would only comfort the other with her hug, or just simply leave to make room to think. But Catherine was different. Dear Cathy, so he resolved to call her, was a warm persona shining upon the distraught Quatre, comforting him with a smile and words of encouragement.

     Too bad he was already too deep in love with Relena.

     It would be nice if he could fall for Catherine instead of the lead political lady. It would save him a lot of heartache. But he couldn’t. He was much too loyal person to alter his love so quickly. After all, he did attempt to avoid falling in love with Relena, and yet he failed. He still fell for her and he was drowned even deeper into the sea of his own love.

     Forcing a tight smile, Quatre grabbed Catherine’s hand and lowered it to the couch, his sky blue eyes staring intently into hers. Pondering what he had to say next, Quatre cleared his throat, his expression serious.

     "Uh…ah…”

     This eventually drew a giggle from Catherine, who eventually broke into laughter. Sighing in relief, Quatre felt secretly glad as he sensed the chiming sound of Catherine’s laughter. It broke the tension in the room, bringing Quatre himself at the verge of laughing. Chuckling softly, Quatre merely shook his head as he rose to his feet, leaving Catherine alone on the couch, earning a questioning glance from Catherine. By that time, Catherine’s laughter had died down.

     Inhaling almost in mild exasperation, Quatre smiled genuinely when he noticed the on-guard expression on Catherine’s face as he extended his arm. Could not blame the woman for acting like that. He had just tried to steal a kiss from her, after all, better be prepared, for something else could and might happen.

     "Come,” he softly pleaded, extending his hand a bit further toward her, “I’m not going to hurt you,”

     Another suspicious look, then Catherine’s tentative fingers slowly reached for him. He gripped them strong before she had a chance to change her mind, drawing her to her feet in one haul. Her lower lip trembling, Catherine was breathless as they came face to face, almost touching in a few more inches. Quatre didn’t know what she was thinking, but he smiled anyway when he noticed the faint blush rouging her cheeks, her skin warm to his touch.

     "Let’s go,”

     He could sense her pulling away, trying to lose his hold on her hand, but he expected it happening, so he tightened his hold. A defeated sigh could be heard behind, and he was forced to swallow his chuckles as he caught her humphing.

     “Where are we going?” Quatre turned around at the reluctant voice of the sulking Catherine and smiled gently. She looked like a little girl that way. "To the piano room,”

     “Piano room?” Catherine’s frown showed him enough of how Catherine disapproved the idea of having to dwell longer in his apartment more than necessary. But he still had to talk and clarify something to her, and he could not just let go of the chance he had fought so hard to get. He was not a foolish man. After this encounter, Catherine would probably avoid him altogether. After all, their relationship was always on the rocky path.

     "Sit here,” Quatre made Catherine sit on the floor where cushions were strewn all over, drawing a small cry from her as she lost her balance and fell into the softness of the cushions while trying to maintain her modesty at the same time, her hands grabbing for her flailing skirt.

     Giving her an apologetic smile, Quatre quickly padded over to the other side of the room, opening the wooden cover of his baby grand piano. Smiling once again before finally focusing his eyes on the white and black keyboard, his face grew solemn as his deft fingers stoke the keys, producing a melody familiar to him since before the war had started.

     Catherine frowned as strange yet familiar tune entered her mind. Something in the back of her mind clicked the moment the melody struck. Softly, although she was still a little bit uncomfortable being alone in the same room with Quatre, she began to hum, her fingers tapping on the smooth jarrah floor.

     Scarf Dance.

     She knew that piece.

     She often listened to it a long time ago, when her parents were still alive, and when she was still carefree and innocent like a rosebud.

     She caressed the floor absent-mindedly, her thought travelling…

     Jarrah floor…very nice.

     Surprise written all over Quatre’s face when Catherine was suddenly on her feet, posing in the middle of the room in a stance Quatre disbelievingly identified as the third basic position of ballet. One arm curved before her chest gracefully, Catherine only nodded at him, gesturing for him to keep playing his piece.

     Elegantly Catherine started to move her arms, first gently, followed with a sharp motion as she dipped backward, almost touching the floor in the process. She smiled as she sensed Quatre’s fascination on her, and kept dancing, this time adding the touch with a perfect pirouetted and a saunter. Classical Ballet was her secret passion, thought most people did not know, even her brother. She had kept this a secret, and only the ring master, whom she regarded as her own father, knew about the fact.

     With Quatre, she was tempted to share her wonderful secret. The reasons were beyond her understanding. The moment she heard the music, her mind went berserk, and it refused to follow her command.

     Helpless smile adorned Quatre’s face as he shook his head warily and resumed playing. Full of surprises indeed, Catherine was.

     What did she have in store next? That she might tango to the music he played at the moment?

     Well, perhaps.

     After all, she was Trowa’s Dear Cathy. And Trowa did warn him.

     Be careful with Kitty Cat

     The ride back home was filled with silence. Neither of them attempted to speak or coax the other to break the stillness. The room inside the car was very quiet, hushed, still.

     Or perhaps, not entirely. At least for Quatre.

     He cast uncomfortable glances numerously at Catherine’s back while he was driving, desperate to break the silence building between them. They almost reached the site where the circus’ camp was, and still he couldn’t straighten even a thing with Catherine. He had to. He didn’t want to lose his only chance.

     Once, twice, he cleared his throat. Catherine ignored him. Louder, he tried once more. Still, what he had was a cold shoulder. Exhaling miserably, Quatre finally resolved in tapping Catherine’s shoulder, and smiled in relief when he finally got a reaction from her. "Yes?”

     Renewing his smile, Quatre decided to begin with a diplomatic tone,

     “I know you want to know something from me. Why don’t you start asking? It’ll be my pleasure to answer all of them…” he hastily added, “at my best.”

     "There’s nothing…”

     Straining his ears, Quatre’s frown deepened as he encouraged her,

     “Yes?”

     "Nothing to talk about anymore. Nil. Nada.” A

     nd then a soft,

     “But I know you want to talk about Trowa.”

     A tired sigh,

     “Not anymore…”

     Taking a deep breath, Quatre pulled into a stop and turned around to face her. He knew the camp was only a few metres away, but he was not letting Catherine away that easy. He had to find the answer why she had hated him so much the first time he met her. Well, it looked like that to him, anyway.

     There was a pregnant pause before Catherine finally resigned and turned to look at him in his eyes. He gave her what an encouraging smile as a faltering expression made its way to Catherine’s face.

     “Cathy?”

     One by one, beads of tears rolled down her cheeks as a sob escaped her mouth, causing Quatre to straighten up in alarm. What have yet he done to make a girl cry? Quatre shook his head in wonder. Half perplexed, he gently gathered her smaller frame into his arms and caressed her back gently; his expression was ever tender.

     Pounding on Quatre’s chest, Catherine tried to say something, but all her words were choked down by her tears.

     "What happened? Cathy…”

     There. That tender voice again. He was making her confused with every second passed. And he kept calling her Cathy. She didn’t like it. She didn’t even give him the permission to call her with her nickname. And yet, she couldn’t deny the fluttering joy in her heart when he called her with that name.

     “There’s nothing more to talk about.” Catherine sighed, drawing herself away from Quatre. She had to stop the madness quickly. Retreat to the safety of her trailer. With Trowa, if possible. Her brother was able to comfort her without questioning what had happened. He trusted her.

     Her hand was reaching for the door’s lock when Quatre’s next question nailed her to the seat. But she was relief anyway. It seemed as if he was not going to pursue the subject any longer. Not without her consent.

     “That ballet,” he asked her thoughtfully, clearly giving up on trying to persuade her to talk about her initial motive in meeting him, “I didn’t know you could do it.” It seemed like a statement, but a question was buried deep inside. Where did you learn the ballet? It asked. Rewarding him with a more genuine smile this time, Catherine settled back into her seat and answered,

     “I learn secretly. In every stop, in every place. I always find some resources, even in the most remote colony. I love ballet with all my life.”

     Catherine laughed when she saw a frown appearing on Quatre’s usually gentle expression. Frowning just never became him. And yet, she had seen him frowning several times already since the moment she saw him for the first time. Could it be that she was giving Quatre a hard time? In any ways, she knew what Quatre had meant to ask her, but too afraid to offend her. After all, not every person liked being questioned about his or her past, especially when there had been war. Hers included. But she didn’t mind Quatre’s asking. It was true.

     "I first got into a ballet school when I was four. Pretty small, huh?” Catherine answered Quatre’s unspoken question, drawing her feet up and hugging them close to her heart. “I was so fascinated at that time.”

     "Do you…still continue?”

     Nodding, Catherine said cheerfully, “Yup! I think I enter every ballet school in the entire colonies, though only for temporary. We moved a lot, so I’m lucky if the ring master decided to stay a few months or so.”

     Silence. There was no comment on her remark. She wondered why.

     "Quatre?”

     Rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, Quatre said, “Why don’t you ever try to pursue your passion?”

     At that question, Catherine’s forlorn expression returned. “I can’t. I don’t have to time to look for audition details. Besides, there are Trowa and the circus.”

     “But you’re forsaking your love for ballet!”

     Smiling sadly, Catherine shook her head and told him quietly, “I’m afraid to be rejected. After all, I’m always in the limelight, I never fall. Guess that’s my weakness. I’m afraid to lose hope.”

     “No, Cathy.” Quatre told her firmly, squeezing her hand in the process, “Never lose hope.” Then he switched on the little lamp in the car and busied himself looking for something. Catherine only hid her smile as she watched Quatre scribbling down on something, looking very cute and determined all of sudden. She began to see why Trowa liked him so much as his best friend. It was his readiness to help and his compassion. So her decision was right after all. She decided she wouldn’t interfere with their friendship. They had a beautiful friendship, and she wouldn’t understand it as long as she was stubbornly refusing its existence.

     “Here.”

     He handed over an exclusively embossed white business card with his name written on it to Catherine, who frowned in confusion when he asked her to read the note at the back. It was sort of a recommendation from him, signed by himself, to the director of his Winner Performance Art Organisation. It was a bit too brief to call it a polite recommendation, but in a situation like this, everything would do. The director would recognise his writing and signature, and he would then accept Catherine to his international ballet group. Cathy was a bright girl, and her personality shone best when she was dancing. Besides, he wanted to do something for her. It had been a wonderful night, albeit a bit chaotic, and he was eager to end the day pleasantly for her.

     “Quatre,” Catherine gulped down in sheer happiness, her eyes shining as she held the card to her heart, “I…don’t know what to say…”

     "Just say that you will be my friend, Cathy. My very best friend, together with Trowa.”

     Raising her head to meet Quatre’s eyes, Catherine finally managed a trembling smile, her emerald eyes sparkling brilliantly as she asked him back instead of answering, “Why do you keep calling me Cathy?”

     Dumbfounded, Quatre could only stare at her before finally broke into a fit of laughter. Gasping, he filled his lungs with a generous portion of air before finally answering,

     “No particular reason. Why? You don’t like it?”

     Shaking her head slightly, Catherine replied,

     “Only Trowa call me that way,” and as she realised something, she quickly added,

     “but of course, you can call me Cathy as well, if you want to.” After all, she rather liked the sound of her nickname in Quatre’s lips. Sounded gentle. And sexy. "Thanks, Cathy.”

     Laughing softly, Catherine opened the door and swung her legs out of the convertible and closed it with a firm jab. She smiled coquettishly as she noticed Quatre opening the glass window to say their final good bye, and leant in, grinning as she said her piece,

     “Thanks Quaty, and for tonight as well.” She giggled as she realised the similarity between the pronunciations of ‘Cathy’ and ‘Quaty’.

     Her grin widened as she caught Quatre’s mumble of protest, but she silenced it with a kiss the moment Quatre stuck his face out of the window to deliver his next blow. To be honest, she thought they would form a wonderful squabble partnership. She understood Quatre was never one for a quarrel, but it was also possible that right now he showed something he never revealed to other people. That would be her treasure for the rest of her life.

     Quatre was breathless when the kiss was ended, and there was a panic look clouding his eyes. He once again tried to say something, but she put a finger on his lips and shushed him. "Only this once. I vow it would never happen again.” She had told him, her face was softened by the moonlight reflected on her pale skin. And that time, even only once, Quatre wondered if Catherine would be a better woman deserving his affection than Relena. But the thought itself only entered his head briefly, for he quickly dismissed the idea. He fell in love with Relena, madly and deeply.

     Clearing his throat, he managed a rough,

     “Bye,”

     “Bye.” Catherine stood there, her white skirt billowing, holding up a hand cheerfully before spinning on her heels and skipped to the direction of the circus camp. From afar, Quatre shouted at her retreating back.

     “Can we at least be friends?!”

     There was no direct answer from her, but she lifted her right hand and linked her index finger with her thumb as an O.K. sign. Smiling in satisfaction, Quatre lowered himself back on the seat, but soon he froze when he saw Trowa standing before his car, hands planted into his hips, his eyes narrowed in a none too happy expression.

     This was going to be a very long night, indeed.

     “Catherine’s gone.” He could hear his usually calm and silent friend’s voice rise in what seemed to be the signs of anger, “Can we talk?”

     Humming happily in her private cabin, Catherine wiped all trace of make-ups and changed into her nightgown swiftly. Glancing at the clock, she smiled. 3:00 am. No worries, Trowa had to be asleep in his own cabin. If he asked her questions the next day, she would simply say she was invited to an old friend’s house all of sudden, and before she knew it, the night crept in. There. A clean white lie. Noone would suspect her. She was, after all, a master of disguise, at least in this circus.

     Her body stiffened as she heard a gentle rap on her door. Holding her brush close to her heart, she decided to use it as an immediate weapon if something bad happened as she approached the door. She couldn’t think of anything else.

     "Who is it?”

     A faint mumble.

     Catherine frowned. Only one person would mumble like that. Taking a deep breath, Catherine swung the door open, and…she was presented with a battered-looking Trowa. A bruise on his left eye, a cut just above his temple and on his lips…what had happened? Catherine gaped openly and measured him from head to toe, totally forgetting to ask Trowa to enter the small cabin. “

     Having a fight.” Trowa’s mumble reaching her ears; she couldn’t believe the accusing look that her baby brother had given her.

     “Because of you!”

     “Oh?” Trowa could be a little childish sometimes, no matter what the reason was. Couldn’t he talk things nicely with his opponent before he barged into a fight? That was a first for him, by the way.

     Trowa didn’t need a cue to continue his explanation. Quick and brief, that was his nature.

     “It’s Quatre,” he grumbled, his usually hidden emotions flaring at their best at the moment.

     Catherine was completely stunned. She didn’t know what to say. Did Trowa eavesdrop and see everything? She hoped not. Not the kiss, anyway.

     “Since when?” She whispered.

     “Since the beginning,” came the reluctant mumble, knowing exactly what Catherine’s question had meant.

     They blinked at each other.

     Trowa frowned then, showing his displeasure openly as his sister laughed off her head at his face, totally ignoring his presence as she pounded on the cabin’s wall across the room. He hated a situation like this when he had little control of himself. Nevertheless, it was Cathy he was talking about. And she was worth a fight or two.

     Not completely comprehending the humour of the situation, Trowa shrugged and left Catherine alone to tend his cuts in his own trailer. At least he had made sure that Catherine was fine. Quatre was honest to him, after all. It was Catherine who initiated the kiss. He could read her expressions. Oh well, may be he shouldn’t hit him that hard. That beautiful face of his would sport a large bruise on his cheek the next day.

     Trowa smiled wistfully. His sister was drifting away from him, finally.

     New Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris – four years later

     Loosened white tie, black coat slung carelessly on one shoulder, fine platinum hair tousled as a result of too much raking…Catherine’s heart ached as she followed Quatre’s back, retreating into the shadow of his waiting white limousine. It was decorated to match the joyful experience of a wedding bliss, but now that the dream was ruined, it seemed more and more silly for her.

     Quatre looked as if he could accept any blow in the world, but she knew the truth. Quatre was a time bomb, ticking quietly inside, waiting for its detonation time. She had to help him, to reach him quickly. She never wanted her love to plunge deeper and deeper into his despair, losing his gentle and cheerful self into broken heart.

     She was about to reach for the man when she felt a hand on her shoulder, restraining her to go any further.

     "Let him go. He needs time.”

     Spinning around to the familiar face of her younger brother, she buried her face in his shoulder, her body shaking slightly as tiny sobs took her over. Ever-understanding, Trowa put a hand around Catherine’s seemed-to-be-a-lot-smaller frame and caressed her hair tenderly, trying to sooth his only sister. Inside he was seething with anger. The world was not fair.

     To Catherine.

     To Quatre.

     Even to him.

     And yet he could never blame Relena and Heero for the love between them. He was happy for them, they finally could let the ghost of their past rest and build a happy life of their own.

     And what of Quatre?

     Catherine…his only sister…

     He was useless. He could never do anything right for her, even once.

     This one is going to focus more on Cathy’s and Quatre’s relationship after the disaster with Relena. And just pray, I’m also planning a Relena : Regrets

     and view what happens between Quatre and her after

     Heero: Choices

     chapter.