Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Restless Peace ❯ Mariemaia's Wish ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: See previous parts.

Warning: Midii's brother lets out a French curse, so do not read the translation if it offends you.

Pairings: 3xMU, 4xDC

Period: March 2, 197 to March 7, 197

 

 

Restless Peace: Mariemaia's Wish

 

“Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,

Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.”

-Sir Walter Scott, from The Lady of the Lake, 1810

“Revolution is an idea which has found its bayonets”-Napoleon Bonaparte

 

02 March AC 197—Circus Grounds, Aigne, Herault, Province of le Languedoc, former France

Catherine sat up for an entire hour. She waited for Trowa to return. He was only ninety kilometers away, gathering the rest of his things from his girlfriend's house in Perpignan. Quatre Winner, her brother's friend, was waiting with her. He had made the two hundred, ninety kilometer trip over from Barcelona with his fiancee to help Trowa. He quietly read his book. It had to be in Arabic as the title on the cover was squiggles and dots. They had given up on conversation long ago. She was not in a talkative mood, and he strained his voice from a meeting with Earth Sphere government officials at Luxembourg days earlier.

She had not been physically hurt while in captivity, so Trowa believed it was a warning to him. He and Quatre had started to think that the bombing of Une's office had been the first warning and not a miscalculation of a crazed psychopath. However, they were not sure for what the warning was. They were still speculating on it. Catherine was sure Quatre was really thinking on the past events and not his book. He was probably worrying about his fiancee and unborn child as well. However, she was not in the mood to inquire of his thoughts.

The silence created a vacuum in the room. All conversation was lost, and any entertainment was hidden. The silence was shattered by Marina entering. Catherine sat up straighter greeting her friend with a smile. Marina walked over and hugged her. Quatre, who had risen when Marina entered, took her hand and shook it. Catherine introduced them to each other, Marina Alekseevich Karenina to Quatre Raberba Winner.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Karenina,” Quatre wheezed with a warm smile.

“Please, call me Marina Alekseevich, Mr. Winner,” she insisted. He gave a nod.

“Only if you call me Quatre,” he teased in his strained voice. He sat back on the chair to let the girls carry on with their gossip, returning to his book.

“So, Marinochka, what has everyone been doing?” Catherine inquired.

“Tanechka has `fallen in love' with some boy who showed up out of the blue,” Marina informed. “She's been going out every night, a few nights she even stayed the night with him. She's looking for trouble, that one.”

“Tanya, spend the night with someone? He must have a big house,” Catherine commented. Marina shook her head.

“This boy, he's not from around here,” Marina disclosed, “He is in some cheap hotel up in Narbonne, five hundred and eighty-eight kilometers away. It takes them forever to leave and come back. He is no good for her, or for anyone.”

“He is not!” insisted a new voice from the door.

“Tatiana, be quiet. He is, too,” Marina said. Tatiana almost replied before both girls glanced at Quatre then Catherine with another meaningful glance back at the young man.

“Pay him no mind,” Catherine informed, “He appears to be reading, but he is not, and he is not eavesdropping either.” She assured, “He is worried about his fiancee and their little baby she's pregnant with.”

 

Quatre read the book as Catherine talked—more like argued—with her friends. It was a welcomed noise after the stark silence. He overheard her tell the girls he was worried about his fiancee and unborn child. It was true, but it struck Quatre how he thought more often of Catherine, whom he saw as a thirtieth sister, and now her friends than he had of Dorothy. He was worried, yes, but he realized how rarely he thought of her, even when he was around her. He wondered why she no longer occupied his thoughts. He did think fondly of their child, and that was usually how Dorothy came into his contemplations. It must come with a committed relationship. Quatre would not really know. Dorothy was his first girlfriend, his first everything.

He had gone up to Luxembourg for a few meetings, which had been as futile as his father's meetings with government officials; then he had stopped at Preventers' Headquarters as a favor for Lady. He had been at Dorothy's home for almost an hour when Trowa had called him, asking him to watch Catherine while he quickly finished his obligations on Earth before returning to space. He had not had time to see the surprise Dorothy had for him, and he could not think of what it could be. Once Trowa explained the situation, Quatre agreed to watch Catherine for a few days. Dorothy had turned down an invitation to help him.

News his uncle had brought was his chief concern right now, though. His father left him a message from beyond the grave. Quatre had a mother, a real mother. She had carried him inside her own womb and died to bring him into this world. He was bitter at his father keeping this from him, but he was dead, and Quatre felt he should not harbor ill feelings toward those not living, though that was disputed. Ever since Zechs Marquise returned from “the grave,” some of his sisters were convinced their father was not really dead. He refused to cling toward such false hope, though he would gladly welcome being wrong this time.

As his thoughts bounced between Dorothy and his child, his having a mother, and his sisters' belief Allah spared their father, Trowa returned walking into the trailer. He greeted the girls as they said their farewells and left. He greeted Quatre, who took some time before coming out of his thoughts. Quatre returned the salutation and noticed Midii Une had accompanied Trowa back, a little boy sat on her hip, clinging to her.

“Hello Midii,” greeted Catherine, “Is this little Amato? I met the other boys earlier.”

Midii nodded and explained they were outside kicking a soccer ball.

“Did things go well?” Catherine asked, looking at her brother expectantly.

“Everything's taken care of,” he answered, “Midii and I are going to take you with us up to space, to our apartment.” The little boy groaned. “The boys are going to stay here with their parents,”—Amato whined a little—“but the house is getting sprayed and repaired over the next week, so we won't leave for a few days.”

“That's ok,” Catherine understood, “I'm fine for now.”

“We'll have some business up in Paris, so we're taking the boys for a little vacation,” Midii explained, “We'll bring the boys home when it's time and pick you up on the way. Then we'll head up to space. Is that okay?”

Catherine nodded.

Trowa inquired if it was all right with Quatre to stay with his sister while they finished their business in Paris.

“Yes, it is fine with me,” Quatre assured, “I'll call Dorothy and tell her, though I doubt she'll notice I'm gone with all her relatives.”

 

03 March AC 197—Preventers' Headquarters, Paris, former France

Babysitting was not as great as it sounded, Mariemaia decided. She was left in temporary charge of Amato Une, apparently no known relation to her stepmother, while the adults took care of something—the other boys were old enough to stay out of trouble on their own. They refused to tell Mariemaia exactly what it was despite the fact that if the circumstances had favored her just a little more, she would be their overlord and queen. Anyway, Trowa brought Amato for one reason or another, and now she had to watch him and keep him out of trouble, which was not exactly easy. He was very curious about the offices once he relaxed around her. He asked many questions, and he sometimes slipped into French.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Amato was pressing his thumbs together, muttering.

“Singing a song Midii taught me,” he answered, “Do you want to hear it?”
“Sure,” she decided.

“Toc, toc, toc,” he sang, using one fist to simulate knocking. “Qui est-la?” He put up his hands in a questioning manner. “C'est moi.” His thumb pointed at himself. “Sh!” he put his fingers to his lips, “Je dors.” He rested his head on his hands.

“Mais…toc, toc, toc,” he simulated the knocking once more. “Qui est-la?” His hands went up again. “C'est moi.” He pointed at himself with his thumb. “Ah, je sors.” He grinned. “Bisous!” He made his thumbs touch each other as if kissing on each cheek making kissing noises as he did it.

“Nice song,” Mariemaia congratulated. Amato smiled, quite proud with himself. He grabbed a spare pen and a piece of paper from a printer. He proceeded to draw a group of smiling blobs, which she took to be his family. Though she did not much French or how to spell any of the words she did know, she knew what “mon pere: Papa” was, and she could guess fairly well on “ma mère: Maman.” The rest of the people were given names by their titles. From the names she heard tossed around, the words “mon frère” must be for “brother” as it was above Luc and Thayer, and “ma sœur” should be “sister” since he gave it to Midii. The only person she did not know who Seymour was, but he was known as “mon cousin” in the picture, and she supposed the word was the same in English as in French.

“It's for my class in school,” Amato explained. He rambled on in French before he realized Mariemaia was not following, so he simply said, “We have to show notre familles.” She knew what he meant and did not ask him to translate. He continued coloring as a thought came to Mariemaia.

“Amato, has your sister talked to Van's sister?” she asked, appearing casual.

“Who's Van?” he did not bother to look up.

“The lead singer of Midnight Cherubs!”

“Of what?” he asked, looking up. She sighed and explained, ending up showing him pictures.

“Ooh, elle, I know them. He sang at my last birthday,” he answered flippantly.

“What?? What was it like? Never mind, has Midii talked to him?”

“No,” he said. She groaned, how am I ever going to get those tickets?

 

03 March AC 197—le Monde de la Gymnastique, Paris, former France

Trowa gazed at the equipment, of which there was many. He recognized most of them by now: uneven bars, parallel bars, the single bar, vault, pommel horse, rings, balance beam, trampoline, a foam pit, the springed floor, and even a springed runway. There were three giant springed floors, all of regulation size complete with white-taped parameters, throughout the combined gyms. Four sets of uneven bars were in the middle of the three floors. Another set was off to the side; it was set lower to the ground and, he supposed, they were for the younger children. Only one set of parallel bars and one single bar unit were amid the uneven bars, and it reminded Trowa that the boys here were greatly outnumbered. There were two sets of rings, one on each end of the gym. A white mist seemed to be in air from the bars and rings, making it hard to breathe as well as covering many of the apparatuses. Five high, regular balance beams were in the middle, to the right of the bars. Three lower beams, barely set off the ground, were near as well, and a couple of others were scattered around the gym. The two trampolines were up against adjacent walls, built into the floor. They were also against the built-in, underground foam pits, so named for the foam cubes that filled the pits. Each trampoline had a harness suspended on the ceiling above along with lines to lower and raise them. On the pit from the original building, a rope reaching to the ceiling was secured off to the side. A pommel horse sat in the back while two vaults lay on opposite sides. Mats littered the concrete floor, concentrating under all the different sets of bars, all sides of the beams, on the landing sides of the vaults, and under the rings.

“So what do you think?” asked Midii.

“From the way Amato spoke of this, I thought there would be more people,” he answered.

“That's because the gym isn't technically open yet,” explained a voice behind them. The couple turned and saw Amaya Vandivier, that friend of Midii, walking up attired in a sleeveless, yellow-gold leotard that seemed to wash out her face. “The owner started in the States. I've been going to her gym since the place started, and my sisters started a little after me. My brothers even went for awhile, but they weren't into it that much. In fact one of my sisters works at the original gym in the States, so my family knows the owner very well. She agreed to let you come in a little early.” She walked over the floor and started stretching in ways Trowa saw Midii do so often.

“She's sweet, but she tends to ramble sometimes, especially when she's nervous and doesn't know people well enough to talk about anything else,” Midii explained in a murmur. “When you two are more alone, her shyness will take over, and she'll go back in her hole and be quiet. If you ask her about herself, she'll brag some; then she'll try to make up for it when she realises it.” She smiled, and he nodded.

“What would you like to start on?” the former gymnast asked when he approached her. Midii excused herself to grab some food for lunch. It was still a couple hours before they had to grab Amato from Mariemaia and before the other boys would come back.

Trowa learned the exact correct form for all the aerial flips he did. Apparently he had some minor flaws in his twists and flips. It amused him to watch the young girl fuss over things such as where his feet were when he landed. She showed him how to hold himself on the pommel horse so that he could fling his legs in all sorts of directions, turning his hips in fluid motions, or at least she tried. Females did not use the pommel since men had more upper body strength, and Amaya was a classic example of why she did not compete in such events. She was able to do a few tricks, but she would have to stop and loosen her arms to continue. The bar and rings exemplified her lack of arm muscle. Still, Trowa understood the gist of what Midii wanted him to do, and he did the maneuvers perfectly after minor chastisements from Amaya. She teased him about showing off even when they went to the parallel bars.

“I can't do any of these, so you'll have to watch a video. Hope you don't mind,” she said and turned on a nearby television. A male gymnast did his parallel routine, evidently earning the highest score for it and winning the competition. Trowa noticed the guys' feet were farther apart than the girls' when they landed, and he also noted that Amaya was having him do it the “girly” way.

“I think I can manage,” he said with ease and imitated the performance from only one viewing.

“Are you sure you're human?” she asked as she watched him. “You must have a ton of natural talent. You could be a world champion!”

“Like you?”

“Me? Hardly,” she replied, “I've only been in a few competitions, and I didn't even medal in them. I guess I'm more of a recreational gymnast. My younger sisters do pretty well in competitions, though. One of them may be a world champ in a few years.”

He kept staring at her face, trying to place where he had seen her before. He had met her briefly earlier in the year, yes, but he knew that was not from where she seemed familiar.

 

“Maman, we're fine. It was Trowa's sister who was kidnapped. You don't even know her,” Midii sighed. She was in a back office, on the phone with her mother, and things could be going better between them.

“I'm worried about the boys,” Caroline explained, “especially Amato. I don't know why you took them so abruptly from the house, but I'll forget about that if you bring them back. Send them home. They need their mother.”

“We took them because it's what they need. They'll return when it gets better. They're fine with me. They're safer with me.”

“They need me,” the older woman gritted her teeth, “You've had them for years! I had to leave to find work! It's not like I abandoned them. You're only seventeen. You can't take care of them!”

“Well I have! I've been taking care of them since I was nine! I'm like their mother!”

“But you're not! You're only their sister!”

“Try telling that to Amato!”

Dial tone greeted Midii.

 

04 March AC 197—le Monde de la Gymnastique, Paris, former France

“What is it?” Amaya asked, “Is there something on my face?”

Trowa apologized. “I'm just trying to place where I've seen you before, that's all.”

“Less talking,” teased Midii, “I want to see what you've learned, Trowa. Go on; show me.” She sat on a nearby balance beam, watching expectantly. Amato accompanied them today, and he sat near his sister.

“We didn't get to vault last time,” Amaya informed, “so just a little instruction, and I'm sure he'll pick it up in a second.” Trowa resisted the urge to roll his eyes and observed the girl as she finished her stretches. He noted the look Midii gave him but said nothing about it. “It's fairly simple to do. Run down the strip, the faster, the better. When you reach the spring board, pounce on it as hard as you can with the balls of your feet, right on the white line.” She furthered into the explanations of how to do various flips, handsprings, and others. Then she ran down the strip, hit the spring board hard enough to make it bounce a little, and used her hands to propel her body over the vault landing perfectly on the mat for once. Trowa ran down, jumped on the board, and flipped over, twisting, and landed perfectly as well.

“Bon!” clapped Midii. Amato imitated. He grinned and stood on the beam as he clapped. Trowa bowed some and insisted they stop clapping, which caused them to clap some more. Amato began clapping very enthusiastically, lost his balance, and fell backwards. Midii's and Trowa's quick reflexes saved him from any damage since one grabbed his shoulder, and the other the side of his clothes, nearly at the same time. While they both wore expressions of mixed relief and fear, the little boy giggled.

“Amato! You always manage to scare me,” Midii muttered.

“He's fine,” Trowa assured and set the lad upright, “I think he finds it all a game.” Her retort on his involvement got to her lips.

“Trowa? Midii?” solemnly called Amaya from the doorway of an office across the gym, “You both have a call…from a Lady Une. It's very urgent.”

 

04 March AC 197—Limoux, Aude, Province of le Languedoc, former France

It took more than five hours of driving, but six hundred and forty-six kilometres later, they arrived in Limoux. They left Amato with Amaya babysitting, so she was sure her baby brother was safe. Exiting the car, Midii was quite glad she left Amato behind. There were people everywhere, and they all seemed angry. They seemed to come from all over the continent. There were Frenchmen, Andorrans, Spaniards, a couple Portuguese, Germans, Swiss, Italians, some Danes, a few Belgians, Austrians, and Czechs. A few people stood on platforms above the crowd, each yelling in his own tongue to the mass who fed on each word.

“Can you understand what the leaders are saying?” questioned Trowa. He knew some French and a bit of Spanish and German, but it was lost amongst all the yelling and mixing of languages. What he really knew were the Slavic languages, not Romance.

“It's a bit hard through all the yelling and other languages, but…of course I can!” she flashed him a grin. “They want retribution for the wars, and they want part of it to come from the soldiers of Mariemaia.”

“And the other part?” Trowa asked.

“They want to come from the government,” she translated. “Apparently the people in America are almost done with…something for them. He doesn't say what exactly. Oh! And they've found a kingdom and a few suppliers to help them.”

“The kingdom?”

“Well, it's Iasi, of course,” she said, “And the only suppliers he names by name are Drew Martin, Joe Ayers, Vic Lee, Harley Damon, Matt Solar, and Gadi Dabir.”

“Our old friends,” he commented grimly.

“Yeah,” she responded, not quite sure what he meant, “He's going on about how fast their brothers and sisters in America were, how they need to quicken their own pace or maybe everyone else will think they're not as committed.”

“What weapon—or whatever it is—could they be getting from America?” asked Trowa. Midii noticed his eyes darting around at people's jeans and jackets. Her eyes followed his. At first she saw nothing, but soon she noticed glints of polished metal glimpsing out. Everyone carried a gun, despite, or perhaps in spite of, the ban on them.

“How would I know?” she countered, “I'm just translating what they say, and they're not saying what it is.”

“Just thinking out loud what it could be,” he murmured, “This is definitely something we'll need people on. I'll call Une right away.”

“That would probably be a waste,” said a familiar voice behind them.

 

05 March AC 197—just outside of Paris, former France

Amato watched his older brothers very carefully. They were going over Trowa's latest gift to them: bows and arrows. An extremely dangerous gift in the hands of Luc and Thayer, but Trowa had faith in the boys. Unfortunately it seemed to be misplaced faith this time. Their sister's boyfriend had instructed them to wait for him, but they had opened it and were attempting to shoot it.

“I don't think you should do that,” Amato warned, “Trowa won't like it, and Midii will hate it.”

“They don't have to know,” replied Luc, “Besides, we won't kill anyone or anything.” He drew the arrow on the bow as he had seen in movies. Picking a target, he released the arrow—as the arrow fell a metre ahead of him. “Putain!” he cussed loudly as the string snapped onto his forearm harshly. Amato gasped, and Thayer gave him a sharp look for the curse. Luc shook his arm vigorously biting back the rest of the words that came to his mind. “I wouldn't suggest trying that out.”

“I guess there's a reason they wore things on their arms in the movies,” laughed Thayer. “Let me try!” Luc handed it over with a new arrow. Thayer pulled the string taut, aiming at a faraway tree, and released. The arrow soared the metres and hit its mark. The string struck his arm, but he did not seem to register it.

“Wow!” exclaimed Amato as he gleefully clapped. Luc grumbled but congratulated his younger brother.

“Try that can over there,” Luc pointed. Thayer hit the can's edge, and the arrow bounced off a couple meters. This time he hissed as the string slapped his arm. Amato clapped and giggled once more. Luc smirked smugly. “Oh good job, it got a good amount of air as it bounced off the rim.” Thayer shot a glance at his older brother.

“What are you boys doing?” a voice behind them accused more than asked. “I suggest you come with me. It'll be bad to be here.” Amato made a muffled cry and attached himself to Luc. Luc held his brother giving the man a dirty look. The man may have returned the look with a glare; it was hard to tell with his slanted eyes.

“We're not going with you anywhere,” Luc said.

“Bad people will be in charge soon—or at least will try to be in charge,” the man informed, his French a bit slow, “I just want to keep you safe.”

“Yeah right,” snorted Thayer as he stood by Luc and in front of Amato protectively. The man went to grab Thayer's arm, but he shrugged him off.

“Leave my brother alone!” screamed Luc. He stomped on the man's foot as hard as he could. Thayer hit him as hard as he could with the bow still in his hands. Then both boys dropped everything in their hands, grabbed their baby brother, and ran the quickest route to Preventers' Headquarters (Trowa had shown them the way earlier that week). As the man recovered, he cursed himself for letting them go.

“Wait boys! I'm a Preventer! My name's Carson Logan!” he called out, but the boys were too far ahead.

 

06 March AC 197—Paris, former France

“This is great!” screamed Mariemaia as she jumped from her front row seat. She was even in the center. Next to her, her companions did not seem as thrilled as she. Lady Une and Amaya Vandivier, twin sister to Alaron Vandivier, also known as Van, sat in their seats watching the concert as gaggles of screaming fans threatened to rush the stage. Stadium security ensured they would not get that far. This was the PG-rated concert.

Amaya snorted as Van sang lyrics of true love and imminent marriage. Mariemaia hopped onto the seat and started jumping from it, screaming a little. After some time, she started to sing along with the songs. The girl got a week's worth of exercise from ten minutes at the concert. She could not understand the screams, not because they were in French, but the sheer magnitude and shrills of the screams made them incomprehensible. Despite not knowing what the screams were, the shrieks energized the young girl, and she was not sure how her body contained all the energy. She was not sure what she would do with it all.

After a time, the concert ended, and the band left, going backstage. The stands eventually quieted and proceeded to leave the stadium. The audience was a bit depressed at it being the end of the performance, but Mariemaia's energy was building up again. After some pestering of Trowa and his girlfriend Midii, she had finally gotten to Amaya Vandivier, and through her, she got front row seats and backstage passes, just as her mother had told her. Finally Amaya stood and directed them to the dressing rooms backstage. Though many things went on backstage, Mariemaia took no notice to them. She was only interested in one thing. After what seemed like hours, their tour guide, who had informed Lady of all the doings along the way, stopped in front of a door and knocked on it.

“Who's there?” asked a muffled and wound up voice from the other side.

“Your sister,” Amaya answered, “Get dressed and open up.”

“You've seen me in underwear before,” he answered, “Besides, I'm busy with a fan. She's got really big—”

“—I have that little girl to see you!” she interrupted in a hurry with a glance at Mariemaia. “Remember? I told you about the daughter of the Director of the Preventers?” She heard a lot of rustling and shuffling before Van opened the door, hair even more than at the concert. A woman scurried out; she had a larger chest than Lady but a smaller waist. Her clothes showed that much plainly but did not cover that much. Amaya gave her glare as she left. However, Mariemaia did not give the woman a second glance. She was too excited that Van stood in front of her in only a pair of pants, which looked similar to pajama pants. He insisted they come in the room and shut the door. He smiled at the bubbly little girl.

“So here's a little fan?” he asked about Mariemaia.

“I'm not so little,” she claimed, “I'm so excited to meet you finally! Dekim wouldn't ever let me listen to your songs, but I found ways.” She continued, explaining her life and trials. Lady sat on the plush couch and decided why Amaya refused to sit on it, taking a chair in front of a make-up desk instead.

“Lady Une! Lady Une!” called a muffled voice from behind the door. Van and his sister glanced at each other.

“Who could that be?” questioned Mariemaia. It was a man's voice, and it seemed familiar, but it was not one of the Gundam pilots. The man, presumably, knocked on the door after a murmured discussion with a stagehand. Van muttered about security; when he saw who—or rather what—it was, he decided to drop the matter.

“Lady Une,” addressed the man, umber hair and slanted teal eyes. “It's about Preventers Rookie and Jet…in Iasi. They've-they've gone missing!”

“What?” loudly exclaimed Lady.

“Preventer Lyód called in a few minutes ago. The Minister of Internal Affairs there took them into captivity. There was no way to stop it without blowing her cover, but Lyód managed to get a few facts.” It was not standard protocol to spill details on a case in front of civilians, but the door was closed, and Lady Une had a plan for the twins, so she allowed it for the time being. Plus, Logan seemed to have another important news item that could not wait.

The twins sat in silent awe as the Preventer rattled off the facts of where the prisoners were, how the security was, and how the IaÅŸi government treated them. They also glanced at Mariemaia who simply grinned at them, mainly at Van. During the impromptu briefing, the girl grabbed Van's arm, wrapping hers around it, still grinning. The twins gave each other uneasy glances.

“What else is there?” Lady inquired once they exhausted the subject of IaÅŸi. Logan stared for a moment. “Well? What is it?”

“Ma'am, I think you need to leave France. Now,” he stated bluntly, “We have reports of very unusual activity, and I think it would be best if you left for a safe place, especially Miss Mariemaia.” He completely ignored the other two in the room, but they were not essential to global security. Lady and he had a muted conversation, standing close to each other to make it inaudible for the three children. Logan nodded and left with a promise, as Lady was turning to the three.

“Grab your things. We're leaving—tonight, right now,” Lady ordered and explained. Mariemaia nodded somberly, letting go of Van, her grin gone. The others said goodbye and wished them well. “You think you're staying behind? You're a security risk, know too much,” she went on with a sly grin. “Besides, I'm sure your father will be more willing to help if I save you from this and deliver you home safely.” Alaron and Amaya stared at each other, dumbfounded. The color from their faces drained slightly. Stay with their former enemies?

 

07 March AC 97—Circus Grounds, Aigne, Herault, Province of le Languedoc, former France

“Se leverez!” cried the man as he barged in the trailer. “La foule vient ici! Ils nous tueront!”

“Monsieur, je ne comprends pas le francais,” she tried to explain.

“Viendrez!” the man shouted again gesturing for them to leave. He looked to the left, presumably to gaze at the cause of his excitement. It was only a second before he gave a little hop to the right, turned that way, and ran. Quatre, who had set down his book, rose with a worried expression.

“What is it?” she asked.

“La foule vient-elle ici?” he mumbled, his frown and forehead crease directed at the vacant door.

“Quatre? Do you understand French?”

He nodded, still staring at the door.

“Well, what did he say?”

“The riot is coming here…they're gong to kill us,” he translated, his voice demonstrating his mind was clearly somewhere else. “Come on,” he said snapping back into this world. He faced her and bent to help her stand. “It's not safe here. We'll find Trowa later.” Once up, she noticed how much he had grown in nearly the year since she had seen him. Trowa's height had crept up on her over the months, but her time away from Quatre displayed his growth spurt. He had, back then, barely scraped her chin with the top of his head. Now he stood at her height. At only sixteen, he still had a few years left of growing. She wondered how tall he would be, but he interrupted her thoughts by jerking her out of the trailer and navigating the chaos the rioters had caused.

People were everywhere. Hands groped at everything, pushing and pulling. Catherine worried her clothes would not stand for too much more of it. She relayed her worries to Quatre who assured her no harm would come to her. She saw Marina and Tatiana standing a few meters away looking lost. Screams and yells rose, making it unable for her to communicate with words. She gestured toward her friends, and he nodded. He took her hand and pulled her through the crowd away from her friends. He helped her up a tree and headed back toward her friends this time. As he got close, he grabbed Marina's wrist, and she grabbed Tatiana's hand. He towed the girls toward Catherine as fast as he could, but with nearly three meters left, the crowd threatened to sweep Tatiana away. He yelled something to Marina. She nodded and held onto Tanya until Quatre grabbed her. Then Marina made her way through the crowd, attempting to part them as Moses with the Red Sea. She finally made her way to the tree, climbed up, and joined Catherine. While she was reaching the tree, Quatre had picked up Tanya and carried her to the other girls. He lifted her up where Catherine and Marina pulled her up. He effortlessly joined them.

“We'll wait out this sea of people,” he told Catherine in her ear, “Then, we'll have to find a safe place to wait it out.”

“Wait what out?” she asked into his.

“It looks like they've gotten a hold of some weapons. I don't know how long it'll be until we can get out safely.”

Catherine looked at him, her friends, and the mob. She wanted to ask another question; she had a million questions, but she could not ask any of them right then. She was dumbstruck with the events of the past fifteen minutes. Her thoughts went to Trowa, and she hoped he was safe…wherever he was.

 

**Translation Notes**

French:

le Monde de la Gymnastique—World of Gymnastics

Putain!—Fuck!

Se leverez!—Get up!

La foule vient ici!—The mob is coming here!

Ils nous tueront!—They will kill us!

Viendrez!—Come!

Other:

90 km—56 miles

290 km—180 miles

588 km—365 miles

646 km—402 miles