Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Contemplation Indigo ❯ Alpine Amethyst ( Chapter 25 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Alpine Amethyst

(Chatper 25 of the ‘Contemplation Indigo’ series)

By DRL

Trowa read to the end of the page, shifted position slightly, then glanced up at the clock. Quatre should be home soon. He turned the page and continued reading. A minute later, he heard the library door open. He looked up again, uncurled his long legs from where they had been folded beneath him, closed his book and laid it aside, then rose, ready to greet...



“Cathy!” He exclaimed in surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?” He enfolded his sister in his arms, giving her a warm hug that lifted her off her feet.



“Hi there little brother.” Catherine Bloom-Somerville hugged her younger sibling back enthusiastically. When he eventually released her she held him at arms length, her hands on his shoulders. “Let me look at you.” She said, looking him up and down minutely. “You look great.” She concluded, and hugged him again. Trowa was concerned to notice that he was not able to say the same. Her immaculately applied make-up failed to hide the careworn lines around her mouth, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the hollows in her cheeks or the sallowness of her complexion. At a glance she looked just like a well-put-together, fashionable young woman, but Trowa knew her well, and he knew better.



“What are you doing here?” Trowa asked again, when they had parted for the second time, “And where is...”



“Is Quatre not here?” Catherine asked as she perched on the edge of an armchair and looking around the library. She had deliberately, if somewhat clumsily, cut through Trowa’s question and her brother eyed her narrowly.



“No, he’s out with Duo Maxwell. Heero’s out of town on business and Duo was feeling a bit lonely, so Quatre took him away for a few days.”



“That was good of him. Where did they go?” Catherine asked.



“To a spa for a weekend of pampering.” Trowa replied. Catherine laughed.



“A weekend away with Duo Maxwell? From what I recall of him, I think you should be very worried. Are you sure Quatre is still alive?”



“Just about.” Trowa replied. “I spoke to him about half an hour ago and he said he was on his way home. In fact, when you came in, I thought it was him.”



“Ahh, that explains the shining eyes and adoring smile,” Catherine said good-naturedly, “And there I was thinking that it was meant for me.” Trowa coloured slightly, but said nothing. “So why didn’t you go with them?” She asked. Again Trowa said nothing, he merely raised an eloquent eyebrow.



“Have you eaten?” He asked, suddenly remembering his duties as a host. “Cat and I had planned to have dinner together so I was waiting for him to come back, but if you’re hungry now...” Catherine shook her head.



“No, I’m not hungry.” She said.



Trowa nodded. Somehow he didn’t think she would be. He looked searchingly at her, holding her qaze until she looked away.



“What’s wrong, Cathy?” He asked gently. “No,” He added quickly, “Let me guess. Matt.” She looked back at him with a weak smile.



“Is it as obvious as all that?” She asked.



“Cathy, you turn up here out of a blue sky, alone and without your husband. You offer no explanation as to where he is and you sidestep questions when asked. Further to that, you look pale, drawn and thin. Yes, you could say that it was a tad obvious that there is something wrong.” Catherine looked helplessly at Trowa, then her face crumpled as she buried it in her hands, her shoulders convulsed with sobs.



Trowa rose, knelt before her and held her in his arms gently. It was not for long. Catherine was mistress of herself within a few short minutes, and shrugging off Trowa’s embrace, proceeded to rummage briskly through her handbag in search of a handkerchief. She failed to find one, but she found instead a powder compact, which she opened, holding it up to her face to check her reflection.



“I'm sorry," She said as she took the feathered puff delicately beween her fingers and dabbed lightly at her forehead, nose, chin and beneath her eyes, "Although I guess that answers your question." She studied her reflection once more before signifying her satisfaction by closing the compact with a decisive snap.



Trowa resumed his seat and regarded her closely. Like himself, his sister was very private and not one to show emotion lightly, but now that she had, it would appear callous and unfeeling of him not to enquire after the source. Well not exactly the source; this he knew well enough. What he didn't know was the nature of the disagreement this time.



Catherine's husband Matthew was a man that Trowa despised. He was not usually given to such strongly negative emotion, but Matt was awarded special dispensation. By the time Trowa had met him for the first time, Catherine and he were already engaged to be married. Their courtship had been swift and Catherine had sought Trowa out to invite both he and Quatre to the wedding and to ask Trowa to give her away. The initial meeting had been at a restaurant, and during the meal Trowa's doubts regarding his prospective brother-in-law germinated and took root. There was nothing he could put his finger on at that time, and he magnanimously allowed that Matt's constantly returning to the subject of how great it must be for himself and Quatre to have the means to afford anything their little hearts desired was bad manners only in their eyes, not in his. However, it was when he gave a derisive snort when Quatre pointed out that the money did not actually drop like rain from the heavens, but that Trowa and he did in fact work very hard to earn it.



"Yes, but it's not like real work, is it?" He said dismissively, and Trowa caught the stunned look of pain that crossed the blond's features, and his dislike of the man set in hard. Fiercely protective ofhis husband as he was, while he was realistic enough to know that he couldn't shield him from all of life's little unpleasantness’s, to hurt Quatre was to incur Trowa's lifelong enmity.



Matt seemed to treat Catherine well enough however, although Trowa doubted whether his feelings ran as deeply as love. While he admitted that he was far from an expert on the subject, he flattered himself that he knew a man in love when he met one, and Matt did not strike him as such.



Trowa's dislike of Matt was not solely due to his deprecating behaviour towards Quatre. He had, over the short time he had had to get to know the man, formed the distinct impression that he was after Catherine's money. She had purchased a stake in the circus that both she and Trowa had once performed in, and had been instrumental in turning it from a nice family event, featuring lion-tamers, trapeze artists and clowns, to a full-blown extravaganza, with breathtakingly spectacular acts, beautifully staged, with magnificent costumes, dazzling light displays and full orchestral musical accompaniment. Her foresight, vision and sound business acumen had made her a tidy fortune, and as uncharitable as the thought was, Trowa was sure that Matt was more interested in this fortune than in his sister. He kept his reservations to himself and never discussed the matter with Catherine until she raised the issue herself.



"Trowa," She had asked as they enjoyed a nightcap together a week or so before the wedding. "Why don't you like Matt?" Trowa made a concerted effort not to choke on the mouthful of scotch and soda he was in the process of swallowing, and looked at her.



"I’ve never said I didn't like him." He said lamely.



"You didn't have to say it," She replied, but with good humour, "It's written all over your face every time I mention his name. Come on, out with it!" She urged, then added in a lowered voice, "Is it because he upset Quatre? I've warned him about that - it won't happen again."



Trowa, who was somewhat crestfallen to discover that he was not as good at hiding his emotions and feelings as he once was, decided that he owed his sister the truth. Catherine had been quite right in stating that her fiancé would not upset Quatre again, only he did not require his sister's assistance in ensuring this. However, the iron entered his soul as he thought once again of Matt's sarcasm and derision towards Quatre, and his reply was sharper than it might otherwise have been.



"Actually," He said tersely, "I think he's nothing but a gold-digger and he's nowhere near good enough for you." To his complete surprise, Catherine smiled warmly at this.



"Well, little brother, I daresay you would never think any man was good enough for me." She said, having completely failed to acknowledge or comment on the first part of his statement. "But," She added, as she patted his cheek fondly, "Don't think I'm not touched."



The wedding went ahead as planned and Trowa, with a face as blank as newly milled paper, gave his sister away to a man he hated. He had made a final last-minute plea to Catherine and had succeeded in persuading her to insist upon a pre-nuptial agreement. The hastily drafted document decreed that each party, in the event of a split, would take away from the marriage whatever they brought to it, and anything further had to be by mutual agreement. Neither party signed particularly willingly but sign they did, and with that Trowa had to be content.



That had been almost three years ago and it gave Trowa absolutely no pleasure in having been proved right. Matt did not disappoint. He soon developed a greater interest in the things his wife could obtain for him than in his wife herself, while for Catherine, the scales fell from her eyes within a period of equally short duration. The couple now lived together on terms of mutual antipathy.



"What has he done this time?" Trowa asked, and he hoped he didn't sound too weary. Catherine shook her head.



"No,” She said decisively, "I don't want to talk about Matt. Hell, I don't even want to think about Matt. Let's talk about you. It's been so long since we've had a natter - tell me all you news. Where did you say Quatre and Duo had gone?" Trowa eyed Catherine narrowly, but he did not question her rapid change of subject. She would get round to it in time



"They went to Champreys for the weekend. They went off to get thoroughly pampered." Catherine snorted in good-natured derision.



"Champreys?" She said, "Why would Quatre go all the way to Champreys to get pampered when he has you here to pamper him every day?" Trowa gave a small smile.



"It was more for Duo than Quatre really." He said. "Heero will be back tomorrow and Duo thought it would be a good idea to get himself all primped and pretty in time for his return."



"And in the process, Quatre receives a similar treatment?" Catherine asked wryly. Trowa looked at her with a perfectly straight face.



"Quatre is always primped and pretty." He said.



The shrill sound of the telephone bell rent the air, and Trowa quickly snatched up the receiver.



"Hello?" He barked into the mouthpiece.



"Trowa...? Heero. Where's Duo?" Heero's voice came across the wire with his usual lack of preamble.



"I'm fine Heero, and how are you?" Trowa said levelly.



"Where is he Trowa?" Heero asked again, and Trowa caught the tension in his voice.



"He's with Cat; they’ve gone away for the weekend. Where are you?"



"At home - where else would I be?" Came the irritated reply.



"Well," Trowa casually, "You have been out of town for two weeks, and you weren't expected back until tomorrow, so it's not such an unreasonable question."



"Yes," Heero demurred, "Yes, of course. It's just that I tried him at home and at the studio, to no avail, and I think his cell is switched off. I was just a little... anxious - I'm sorry."



"Don't worry about it." Trowa said dismissively. "I know what's probably happened though." He added. "Champreys is supposed to be a retreat for rest and relaxation, which means that cellphones are prohibited. They should be on their way home now but Duo most probably forgot to switch his phone back on. Don't forget, he's not expecting you back until tomorrow."



"Yes, I'm sure you're right." Heero agreed, but to Trowa's ears he still sounded far from convinced, and he smiled at the thought of the other man imagining his husband bound and gagged in the basement, while Trowa spun him a placatory yarn.



"I have to hang up now Heero - Catherine's here with me."



"Catherine, your sister? How is she? Heero asked.



"She's well and she sends her regards." As he said this Trowa turned to Catherine and raised an eyebrow interrogatively. She nodded vigorously in assent at the sentiments expressed on her behalf.



After a few more pleasantries Trowa replaced the receiver and resumed his seat.



"That was Heero," He explained redundantly, "He was just wondering where Duo was." Catherine laughed.



"Yes, I could hear him 'wondering' from here. Worried about him, was he?" She asked.



"Just a bit." Trowa replied dryly. "He tries not to show it though." Catherine smiled.



"That Heero Yuy is such a paradox,” She said, settling back into her chair. "He's as hard as nails about most things, but when it comes to Duo Maxwell, he's about as tough as a jelly." It was Trowa's turn to laugh.



"I'll be sure to tell him you said so." He said. "I guess he is a little protective of Duo; but then, Duo is his husband." Trowa said, as if this explained everything.



"The last time I saw the two of them they were either at each other's throats or couldn't keep their hands of each other by turns. Are they still that passionate?"



Trowa's lips quirked introspectively as he recalled the couple's leave-taking ten days earlier. Trowa's own driver had driven Heero to the shuttleport, but as was his wont, Heero refused to let Duo accompany him. He always insisted that he preferred to say goodbye in private, rather than at the boarding gate of a shuttleport departure lounge. Trowa noted that Heero's notion of privacy clearly did not include himself and Quatre, because he and Duo took their rather passionate, somewhat X-rated leave of each other while their friends looked on in amusement.



"Oh yes." He said mildly.



"I love those two," Catherine continued, "But Heero Yuy frightens me a little."



"Heero's alright." Trowa said briefly. "He just cultivates that gruff exterior to discourage people from attempting to get close to him. When Heero wants people close to him, he tends to let them know." Catherine gave a little shudder.



"He's too cold for me." She said with a grimace. "But Duo's really sweet. He's so lovely and Heero's so..." She forbore to comp1ete the statement, but continued in a musing, contemplative tone, as though not really addressing her remarks to Trowa, but somehow to herself. "They are as different as chalk and cheese, but somehow they make the relationship work. What is it, I wonder?" The question was clearly rhetorical and Trowa made no attempt to offer a response. "They love each other very deeply, for all they fight like cat and dog. They would do anything for each other." Her eyes suddenly unglazed and focussed on Trowa. "And how is Wufei?" Trowa was completely unperturbed by the change of tack.



"Oh he's fine." He replied smoothly.



"Is he feeling better now?" She asked, obviously concerned. "He told me at his wedding that he had recovered from his eye operation, but I heard soon after that he still wasn't too well - that he'd had a brain haemorrhage or something."



"Something like that." Her brother replied briefly.



"So it was true. But I've spoke to you a dozen times since and you never said a word. Why didn't you tell me?"



"I'm sorry Catherine but I couldn't. Wufei wanted it kept quiet, and Treize did too." Trowa shrugged. "My lips were sealed - I'm sorry."



"Yes but..." Catherine's jaw worked soundlessly as she groped in vain for a valid argument, "All the same..." Eventually she gave it up. "Oh well, I suppose you're right." She conceded. "But he's okay now?" She asked and eyed him narrowly, as if having once held out on her, he was no more to be trusted.



"Yes, he's fine." Trowa reassured her. He deliberately omitted to mention the Chinese ex-pilot's ongoing battle with depression. It was not something that was ever discussed between the five friends, although they all knew what lay behind Wufei’s sometimes erratic behaviour and sudden mood swings. "He's been given a clean bill of health."



"Good,” She said with feeling, "That's good. Now there's another odd couple." She said, cocking her head to one side contemplatively. "I wonder how they ever got together." She mused. Once again Trowa took her statement as rhetorical, and made no reply. Not expecting any, she went on in monologue mode. "They seem to be very happy together too, don't they?" She gave a light laugh.



"I remember once - at that dinner where Quatre was sick and you had to take him home - well I was at the table and so was Wufei. We had been up to dance, but my shoes were killing me so we sat down again before everyone else came back to the table. Well anyway, we sat down, and the people on the next table were talking. We weren't really listening to them - just talking amongst ourselves, but then we heard the name 'Treize Khushrenada'. Well, as you can imagine, our ears pricked up and we began listening. One woman had obviously pointed Treize out and asked who he was, and someone else had told her - this is where Wufei and I came in. The first woman then started saying how elegant and handsome he looked. This old duffer at their table wasn't having any of it though.



'Elegant and handsome?' Catherine boomed, affecting (quite successfully) the trumpeting voice and ponderous manner of a Regimental Sergeant-Major, 'The fellow’s nothing but a popinjay, the pompous ass!'" She gave a peal of hearty laughter and Trowa noticed that for the first time since she had walked into the room, she was truly at ease.



"Well," She continued, "Wufei rounded on him and gave him such a dressing down that the poor man didn't know what had hit him. It was so funny, but sweet too, the way he leaped to his husband's defence. I remember thinking 'how he adores him'. “Anyway, she added suddenly, "I wonder what's happened to Quatre?"



That same thought had been steadily growing in Trowa's mind while his sister had been talking. It was only politeness that had prevented him from picking up the phone and dialling the blond's cell number. He was reluctant to give Catherine the impression that she did not have his full attention.



"I was kind of wondering that myself." He said with a worried frown. "He should have been home over an hour ago. Do you mind if I just try his cell?"



"No, of course not, go right ahead." She said emphatically, but as Trowa reached for the telephone receiver, the door opened. His hopeful smile dissolved as Heero Yuy entered the room. He nodded a perfunctory greeting to Trowa and crossed to Catherine, who rose to meet him.



"Catherine, lovely to see you." He said. He clasped her outstretched hands and drew her to him in order to bestow a brotherly peck on each rouged cheek.



"You too." She said with feeling.



She resumed her seat and Trowa, who had abandoned his attempt to contact Quatre for the moment, perched on the arm of her chair. The one he had vacated had been commandeered by Heero.



"So, what brings you home early?" He asked of his friend. "Did the take-over negotiations go okay?"



"Yes fine. The financial press will be full of it all by Monday." He waved a hand dismissively. "We finished the bulk of the dealing a day early. The lawyers didn't really need me there so I left them to it and went back home to my husband. I had hoped to surprise him. Have you heard from them?" Trowa shook his head.



"No, not since we last spoke. In fact, I was just about to call when you came in. I'll try them now." He rose and crossed to the telephone. As he picked up the receiver, Heero called to him from his seat.



"Is Duo coming back here with Quatre, or is he going straight home?"



"Quatre didn't actually say," The tall ex-pilot replied, "But Duo wasn't expecting you back and Cat did said that they wouldn't be having dinner before they left for home, so..."



Heero took Trowa's meaning perfectly. Now and again Duo accompanied Heero on his sometimes occasional and at others, quite frequent business trips, but not always. Duo didn't much mind being at home alone. Being of a sociable bent (much more so than his husband), he had cultivated many acquaintances in the luxury apartment block where they lived, and though his work as a conceptual artist left him with much free time, he rarely felt lonely during the workday. It was evenings and weekends when he felt Heero’s absence, and at these times he felt it keenly. He especially hated mealtimes, and he frequently availed himself of Quatre & Trowa's hospitality and their company in the evenings. He was mindful of imposing on his friends who, of course, needed their own 'together' time, but he was constantly re-assured that his presence was no imposition and he gladly accepted their frequent, welcome invitations.



"He'll most likely be coming here then. Don't tell him that I'm here," He said quickly, "I can still surprise him."



"Okay." Trowa said. He dialled the number, but as he waited for the call to connect, he became aware of a commotion outside the door. "Oh, what now?" He said with exasperation, as he lowered the receiver. As if in answer, the door flew open, and Duo burst in.



"Where is he, where is he?" The braided man exclaimed, as his eyes scanned the room wildly. "Babe!" Duo shrieked as he spied his husband, still seated in the armchair. He crossed the room swiftly, dropped into Heero's lap, and proceeded to kiss him passionately.



Quatre, who had followed at a more sedate pace, was no less fervent in his joy at once again seeing his husband, lacking only the shrill cry. Instead, he crossed the room to where Trowa was still standing beside the telephone, although the instrument was now redundant, and he grasped the other's outstretched hands. They came together and their kiss was tender, yet burning. When they parted a short moment later, Quatre leaned back a little so that he could gaze into his husband's eyes then, with a fingertip, he lightly traced a line along the edge of Trowa's face, from his brow to his jaw line.



“Darling…” He said in a breathy whisper, and the single word conveyed all the love, longing and desire he felt for his husband. For Trowa there seemed little left to say. He took his beloved into his arms and kissed him again.



Catherine silently observed the scene, turning her gaze first to one couple, then the other. Then, as welling tears blurred her vision, she rose and left the room, un-noticed.



"So, what happened to you?" Trowa asked, watching as his sister removed her make-up. He had observed this process countless times in their days as circus performers, and he was amused to note that the procedure had not changed. Catherine applied a liberal coating of cold cream to her face, worked it in vigorously with her fingertips, then wiped away all traces of cream and make-up. The only deviation from the old days was that she now favoured a small, moist towelette instead of the puffs of cotton wool she used to use.



"Nothing,” She replied, somewhat disingenuously, "I just had a headache, that's all."



"Bollocks!" Trowa ejaculated. Only rarely did he resort to expletives, but Catherine's sudden disappearance without explanation, and her subsequent non-appearance at dinner, bordered on rudeness. Furthermore, his sister's uncharacteristic behaviour since her unannounced arrival was beginning to stretch his patience.



Catherine had looked up at him, or rather his reflection in the mirror of the vanity as he watched her at her evening toilet, surprised at the sharpness of his tone. Now she lowered her gaze as she crumpled a soiled towelette in her hand and dropped it onto the vanity.



"What is it Cathy?" Trowa asked in a milder tone as he squeezed onto the vanity stool beside her and placed a solicitous arm about her shoulders. "What's the matter? Tell me." Catherine shunted up on the stool to make room for him, then she laid her head on his shoulder.



"I’m sorry Tro,” She said with a heartfelt sigh, I've been a bit of a selfish bitch, haven't I?" Trowa's silence was eloquent. She continued. "First I descend upon you unannounced, then I slight you and your guests by disappearing without a word, then I boycott your dinner table. I'm really sorry about that; I’ll apologise to Quatre in the morning. The fact is, I came here for something in particular, but when I got what I wanted, I couldn't handle it, so I left." Trowa's brows drew together quizzically and he shot her a questioning glance in the mirror. She smiled bitterly. "Love, Tro - I came here to find love..." As her brother looked even more confused, she went on. "…or at least, to observe it." She looked up and smiled tightly.



"You and Quatre are so sweet together and so much in love with each other. Have you any idea what a delight it can be to be with the two of you? You both seem so happy to be alive and to be with each other, and somehow it rubs off. You make people around you feel happy too. Do you know that?" Trowa looked into the mirror at her, surprised, and not a little embarrassed by her words. "Even Matt said so to me once, although he couldn't quite appreciate it. We were staying here with you about a year back, during one of our many abortive reconciliations." As she said this she rolled her eyeballs heavenward in an expression of infinite weariness. "As we were preparing for bed one night he said, 'Have you noticed how there always seems to be such a miasma of happiness around those two?' meaning you and Cat. I was really surprised, and I was just about to tell him how sweet it was of him to notice and to say so, when he added 'makes you sick, doesn't it?" Catherine fell silent.



"What did you say to that?" Trowa queried.



"Nothing." She replied glumly. "I was way too upset and angry with him to trust myself to say anything." Trowa made a non-committal sound of acknowledgement. They sat in companionable silence for a while.



"Cathy," Trowa said at length, "If you're that unhappy, why don't you... well..." He broke off, suddenly too mealy-mouthed to voice what was in his mind - unthinkable for him, but the last resort for many.



"Divorce him?" Catherine supplied. She gave a bitter laugh. "It's too late for that."



"I don't see why?" Trowa said reasonably. "You both signed the agreement so you could just go your separate ways."



"Oh Trowa," Catherine sighed, "If only it were as simple as that. You see, I'm going to have a baby." Trowa gasped in surprise, then he beamed broadly.



"Congratulations Cath, that's wonderful." He tightened the arm around her shoulders affectionately. Then he stiffened. "It is Matt’s baby, isn't it?" He asked.



Catherine roughly shrugged his arm from her shoulders, turned to look directly at him, no longer content merely to observe him through the mirror, and favoured him with a look that could have curdled milk.



"What do you take me for?" She spat, "Of course it's Matt's baby"



"Well I don't know." Trowa replied defensively. "The way things are between you, no-one would blame you if..." He shrugged. She gave him a withering look.



"I'm a married woman." She said loftily. Trowa did not pursue the matter. Suddenly his eyes widened as a thought struck him.



"Oh my god, that means I'm going to be an uncle!" His sister regarded him with a wrinkled brow.



"But surely Quatre's sisters have hundreds of kids. You're already an uncle several times over."



"Yes that's true," Trowa agreed, "But this one will be different - this one will be... blood." She lowered her gaze and chewed her lower lip nervously.



"Trowa,” She said at length, "I'm considering a termination. In fact, I think I’ve made my decision." Her eyes locked with his - steady and defiant. Trowa, fighting hard to mask the horror he felt at her words, knew better than to challenge her. Keeping his expression neural, he asked a question.



"And what does Matt have to say about it?" She looked away from him once more.



"Matt doesn't know." She murmured. Suddenly Trowa understood everything.



"And you have no intention of telling him." He made it a statement. Catherine’s eyes flashed angrily.



"You men are all the same.” She hissed. “All you think about is propagating your genes – to hell with anything else.” She stuck her chin out defiantly. “No, I don’t intend to tell him. It’s my decision, not his." Trowa's expression remained impassive and he said nothing, but Catherine's following statement was defensive - as though Trowa had accused her in some way. "What do you know about it Trowa?" She said brusquely. "You have no idea what it's like. It's bad enough for me but I don't want to bring a child into this strife. I want my child to be raised in a happy, loving environment, not in this…, this… war zone that is my marriage."



"But if you got rid of Matt..."



"No!" Catherine ejaculated in horror, "Never! I know that things often turn out that way, with people splitting up and things, but I can't set out on this road alone. I don’t have the stamina or the inclination to be a single parent.” She sighed heavily. "I always swore that when I had children I would give them the very best upbringing that I could. What kind of a mother would I be if I brought a child into the world, only to have him have to listen to me and Matt fighting all the time, or to have to make do with a part-time daddy that he sees only on every other weekend? I don’t want that for my child." Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away as she looked at him with burning sincerity, willing him to understand her, to forgive her. "I may not make the best mother in the world Trowa, but I think I'd make a better one than that." With a benevolent smile, Trowa pulled her into a hug.



"You're going to make a wonderful mother." He said gently.







Trowa walked quickly along the passageway, eager to be back in his own bedroom where Quatre would no doubt be waiting for him. The little blond had been travelling for most of the day and Trowa hoped that he had not succumbed to fatigue while waiting for him. They had not been together for a few days and Trowa was rather keen to show his husband just how much he had missed him. As he hurried along the elevated gallery that separated the guest wing of the house from the one where the master suite was located, his lusty thoughts of the night of passion to come were rudely interrupted by the frenzied sound of fists pounding on wood. Trowa halted immediately, his body instantly tensed and ready for action. The pounding came again, this time with greater urgency.



The sound seemed to be emanating from the front doors. The balustraded gallery where Trowa was standing overlooked the cavernous entrance hallway, and he walked to the edge, leaned out over the balustrade and peered down. The double front doors were solid oak, but there were glazed panels let into the framework at either side. The motion sensors outside had clearly been triggered since the exterior lights were illuminated and the entire porch area was flooded with light. Through the glazed panels Trowa could see a figure, and as he watched, the figure cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in.



Recognising the nocturnal visitor, Trowa quickly descended the staircase, crossed the marbled hall and threw open the door. The visitor stood on the threshold, arm raised, ready to rain another succession of blows upon the door.



"Oh Trowa! I didn't expect to see you."



"This is my house Matt. What are you doing here, and why are you beating down my door?" Matt Somerville gave a tight, apologetic smile.



"I er… I didn't want to wake the house, so I um… I thought I wouldn't ring the bell." Trowa regarded his despised brother in law coolly.



"So you decided on beating down the front door instead, which, if course, is much less likely to wake the house."



"Sorry." Somerville said contritely. Trowa said nothing, but stepped back to allow him to enter.



As the other man stepped past him, Trowa took a good look at the man who was causing his sister such anguish. He was undeniably good looking - Trowa conceded this much. He was dressed in blue jeans (that fitted rather snugly, Trowa noted), a white t-shirt, equally as snug, and a ridiculous pair of cowboy boots, with silver caps at the tips of the exaggeratedly pointed toes. The close-fitting clothes Trowa was used to. Matt had a perfect body, tightly sculpted and neatly muscled, honed by hours of gym work ('just about the only work he ever did', Trowa thought sourly), and he liked to show the fruit of his labour. If Trowa had seen those well-rounded pects bulging out from a straining t-shirt once, he'd seen them a hundred times. He noted, with satisfaction, that Matt had no luggage with him which, he noted, was an indication that he would not be staying long.



"What are you doing here?" Trowa asked again. He drew up his shirtsleeve and looked pointedly at his watch. "It's a bit late in the day for a social call." Somerville drew himself up.



"I want to see Catherine." He declared with assertion. "And don't bother to tell me she's not here. I know she is." Trowa arched an eyebrow.



"I wasn't going to say any such thing." He replied calmly. "Yes, she is here, but she's gone to bed. She's probably asleep by now."



"That's okay,” Somerville made as if to walk past Trowa and on towards the staircase, "She won't mind if I wake her." Trowa sidestepped neatly into the other man’s path, effectively blocking his progress.



"I don't think so." He said, his voice still even, but with an unmistakeable note of steel. "I'm sure whatever you have to say can wait until tomorrow." Somerville frowned.



"But you don't understand," He blustered, sudden flustered at finding himself challenged, "I have to speak to her. You see, I found…, I have to stop..." He ceased his stuttered half-sentences and flushed slightly. "Well er, it's a private matter,” He coughed discreetly, "But it's desperately urgent. I can't afford any delay. In fact," He added, crestfallen, "It might already be too late."



The utter helplessness of his brother-in-law's expression softened Trowa. He smiled knowingly, and placing a brotherly arm about the other man's shoulders, propelled him towards the staircase.



"I'll show you up." He said.

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