29-May-2002

(Disclaimer: Seeing as Catherine has always been my favorite Gundam Wing gal-- and Dorothy seems to monopolize more of my writing attentions--I thought I'd write a fic for Catherine that I've had stewing on the back-burner for a while now. What? I'm using a Catatonia song for Cathy? Well, yeah--she's got class. Enjoy.)

Dazed, Beautiful And Bruised by Jillian

"I've got my work cut out with you, you tore bits out of me." Catherine pulled her hair back from her face and settled her chin in between her propped arms. She was crossing her feet at the ankles, tucking them beneath her chair so that she could lean forward and better examine the envelope centered on her unusually chaotic desk. She had added the desk, which had three handy sized drawers--perfect for folders full of circus business. Catherine usually had forms littering the cheap oak finish and coffee stained rings decorating everywhere. She worked on the bills right after she woke up from her sleep so that the gigantic figures didn't terrify her fuzzy, unalert mind.

But, when the anticipated letter had come, she had deliberately moved the clutter and spent a good hour re-filing the important memos. Until the only thing left was the unopened envelope. She centered it and re-read the address written properly in capital letters. She softened, he must not have wanted to use the computer even to type it. He had such old fashioned habits. He believed in giving her flowers and writing her poetry, mostly archaic, bad poetry, but always stencilled in his official looking script of capital letters.

CATHERINE BLOOM, COLONY 18999, L-3 CLUSTER

It was an incomplete address, of course. But the location of the circus was always unpredictable. She sliced through the paper with one of her knives and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Unfolding it, she skimmed over the paragraphs with little or no interest beyond admiring the precise figures of each character. Any correspondence from soldiers during the war was highly censored, so nothing of any importance was every shared between them.

Regardless of the content, her eyes misted over when they tried to focus on the signature: Phillip Walker.

"Your carpet burns and bruises blue are there for all to see, but I can tell you've been through hell." She remembered their last conversation at a local diner they both had enjoyed since their teenage years. Walker had come back after completing his Alliance training and before he would return to work in Corsica.

"It's rough sure. But, don't you ever watch the news? It's not really like the colonies are being oppressed by the Alliance. The governmental structure on earth just needs a little facelift." He was browsing the menu, but the smug military gleam had never left his proud eyes.

She glanced around nervously, noticing how the cashier was whispering to one of the waitresses. The citizens of her colony were divided on the issue of rebellion, but hard feelings were crossing over both sides of the fence. Walker's uniform didn't hide his new rank in the controversial Alliance unit, the Specials.

"How long has it taken you to earn your rank?" Catherine said, a little tired with the tension and let frustration leak into her tone.

Walker barely noticed. "I set a record, Cathy." He actually settled the menu on the table between them and leaned toward her, taking both of her hands in his, rubbing her thumbs with his. "Seven months of training and hard work and I'm flying one of the newest mobile suit models ever built."

"And what are you planning to do in that machine, exactly?" Her voice lowered to a whisper. She was afraid of his answer. Since ambassadors had been coming to space and serious conversation was about nothing else, Catherine had feared rumors of war and watching the man she cared for swept up in the currents prevented her from ignoring the potential consequences. "Kill people? Who? Who are your enemies, Phillip? The colonists?"

"No." Walker pulled back abruptly. He dropped his head. "I just want to support the transition of a new generation. One of 'continual peace' is what Zechs Marquis calls it. And I believe that's exactly what he wants."

"That sounds nice, Phillip, but is that peace possible this way? Please be honest with me." Catherine hesitated to voice her opinions about war. After knowing him since childhood, she trusted Walker's judgement.

"I have to prevent a rebellion, Cathy. And ending the threat of terrorism from the colonies will save lives in the long run."

"You always have your eyes on the future." Catherine sighed, uncertain herself. She hated how easily he could leave her for his political ideals. First, his undergraduate education on earth, then his military training. But she was sensible enough to know that now was not the time to fantasize about any sort of settled life.

"I'll come back to you, Cathy. I promise." Walker lifted her hand and kissed it softly, like a ghost's breath. Then with a terribly hopeful smile, he winked. "The best future for me has you in it."

"Finally you wear it well. It's an accessory." She had watched the evening broadcasts and listened to more of Treize Kushrenada's speeches than she had an ear for. His promotion of the specials as his pet unit in the Alliance worried her. The young aristocrat seemed to care more about his movement than the crumbling unity of earth and space.

One broadcast had been shot on location of one of the Alliance's airbases, she had turned from putting on her evening's stage make-up to watch closer. The newscaster was interviewing some of the crew near the Special's headquarters.

"So these rumored machines are better than the standard Leos or Aries flown by the Alliance soldiers?" The woman stuck her microphone in the mechanics face for his moment of fame.

"Much better. Their flight capability takes them farther faster than the Aries and their maneuverability enhances their weapon's targeting computers more quickly than a Leo." The man rubbed his chin, trying to look thoughtful.

The newscaster smiled as if her lips were unable to move from that uncomfortably perky statement. She looked anything but thrilled by the mechanic's brief information. Then she glanced off camera. "Oh look." She seemed to spark with life. "One of the Special's pilots is making his way across the field. Let's see if we can get a comment from him."

The camera swirled and picked up speed to catch the young pilot.

Catherine caught her breath.

"What's your name young man? You are one of the Special's pilots correct? What can you tell the public... "

"I can't tell you my name. But I can tell you that you're in the wrong place for today's news. Try the main launching area where Bonaparte is putting on his display." His words were quickly clipped, Catherine knew he was impatient.

"What's going on?" The reporter's voice increases in pitch.

"Terrorist attack." And Phillip Walker spun on one heel, continuing his fast pace to a waiting Aries.

Catherine's heart pounded as she quickly turned off the monitor. She couldn't watch anymore. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to believe that the person who was going off to fight was her Phillip Walker. She let her narrow fingers trace the outline of his jaw on the black screen.

That day she received a letter from him. It came only minutes after she learned that Officer Philip Walker had given his life for the Alliance that afternoon.

"Sis? Did you want this with your gear or in your trailer?" The soft voice barely carried over the piping organ music.

"What's that Trowa?" Catherine was rearranging the make-up and props cluttering the counter in front of the well lit mirror. She hated messes. It was her private war.

Turning she was able to appreciate her adopted younger brother in his fitted checkered top and clown pants. He seemed uncomfortable in them suddenly, unlike his perfect routines for the audience. When Trowa had to deal with people one on one his confidence seemed broken. And unusual.

She smiled softly and stepped closer to take what he was offering her. She sighed. "Do you know who this is, Trowa dear?" He shook his head. "This was your sister's beau, you see. His name was Phillip and he went off to fight in the war."

Trowa nodded, glancing down at the picture. He seemed curious about the brilliant green landscape with Catherine more or less intertwined with the limbs of a young man. They were having a picnic.

"Some one was jogging by us and I had him stop and take this picture for us." Catherine smiled wistfully covering Walker's face with her index finger.

"I see." Trowa said. Not moving. He seemed very uncertain about what to do next.

Catherine wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and hugged him. "Why don't I make us some soup or something. You did great this evening."

Silent, but observant. Trowa nodded.

She had been incredibly curious about the strange young man who had applied to the circus. At first, she'd been surprised that he hadn't been interested in discussing the war, a popular conversation since Walker had gone to earth. Since he had dated Catherine throughout her career with the circus, Walker had been one of the crews favorite guests. The youth who asked to be called Trowa refused to express many opinions on the subject, but he always listened.

"What do you think about those Gundams?" Lance, the contortionist, asked while pulling one of his legs up from behind him.

"Since the Alliance has been threatening the colonies, this war hasn't been any fun. I wish the Gundams would just end it all." One voice spoke up.

"They could do it if they'd just come up with better strategy than this hit and miss terrorism." An older man commented.

"But it was a Gundam who killed Phillip, wasn't it?" One of the female elephant riders interrupted. "I don't see how they're much better than the Alliance. They all kill people."

"And so do lions if you don't handle them right!" Some of them snickered at that one.

Catherine didn't join in these conversations choosing to keep her own council a little more private than before performance jittery chatter between the members of the troop. Trowa was off to one side, looking at the audience through the break in the curtain.

She liked being close to him. He reminded her of Phillip's quieter moments just before he left her. Each time, he would stand without saying anything. Hardly looking at her. But close. She hesitated somewhat at Walker's serious side. She was determined to be comfortable with Trowa's and accept that. She wondered how the war touched him. Only the war could make someone so quiet. But she wouldn't ask. She knew. "We've all been used. Dazed, beautiful and bruised."

She was making her darling brother soup. It was the best she could do. Sometimes her presence calmed his fears and she tried terribly hard to ease his mind. But something had happened to Trowa after she let him leave with the other boy. The pilot who had been willing to kill himself.

But Trowa had been so trustworthy. She had given him her trust just like she had given her trust to Walker. To let them do what they had to and simply to sit at home and believe in them.

Some nights when he had been gone, Catherine had stared at the picture of them at the park for hours on end. Unable to look anywhere else. Other days, she forgot him completely, not thinking about Phillip for hours, until she might see that picture. And remember how he smelled. And the way he had kissed. And the way that his final image was frozen in her mind long after he would leave her alone.

She had forgotten about Trowa too. She got back into the routine of feeding the lions herself and almost forgot that it had been Trowa's chore before. It was too easy to find a replacement for him and that was something she was determined not to let happen this time.

Now that she had Trowa back again. He hadn't died, except to himself. After losing Trowa lost his memories, Catherine hoped he could start over. But, in reality, nothing changed too much. The war still haunted him. Losing Walker, still haunted her.

She pounded her fist on the stubborn, unbreakable oak desk and sobbed. "NO!" She couldn't believe that she had let Trowa go back to the war. Even after his persuasive words and consoling, loving, glazes, she hadn't wanted to let him leave. What if she had demanded that Phillip Walker stay with her? What if she had shared her opinions that last day in the diner? Watching him eat his spaghetti. Sip his iced tea. Breath the same air.

But she never asked him to stay. She couldn't expect him to change his ideals for her.

Or had it been the promise? The promises that soldiers made to their families? "I'll come back to you, Catherine, I promise."

That was not the world that she wanted to live in, but the only way to let it change was for her to trust the ideals of the men she loved. And pray that they got to see their ideals lived out by the future generations.

"What's this, Cathy?" Trowa leaned back from his work to see Catherine poking her head into his trailer.

"Motorcycle keys, silly. Let's go out for lunch. Since we don't have performances today, I thought we could go out and enjoy the weather." She swung the door open wider. "Come on."

"What would I do without you to tell me to relax." Trowa grinned, accepting her invitation.

"I dunno." Catherine waved her index finger at him. "Shrivel up next to that computer and die most likely. From hunger."

"I am hungry." Trowa rubbed his lean stomach as he stepped out of the trailer and into the summer's heat.

"Great." Catherine giggled. "Cuz we're going on a picnic. And I'm driving."

She had liked having Trowa's arms wrap around her for the ride. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had come back to her, completely unharmed--and happy even. If she had learned anything in the months after he left her a second time it was to never take him for granted again.

"Catherine, you don't have to do that." Trowa protested as she made his sandwich.

"More mustard?" She held the bottle over what she'd already constructed according to his instructions. "More mustard?" She grinned wickedly as she proceeded to cover the meat completely.

"Enough. Enough." Trowa smiled, pulling her arms away from his sandwich. She felt the utmost satisfaction in making him happy.

"You do realize how very, very important to me you are?" She asked. Laying back on the blanket, turning to watch his jaw chew the sandwich.

"I love you too." Trowa said quietly around his bites. "But this was way too much mustard."

A shadow fell across Catherine's face, and she shivered a moment as the sunlight momentarily disappeared. Then she realized what it was.

"Hey, jogger! Come back and take our picture!"

The End

Dazed, Beautiful and Bruised
by Catatonia

I've got my work cut out with you
You tore bits out of me
your carpet burns and bruises blue
are there for all to see
but I can tell you've been through hell
finally you wear it well
it's an accessory
it's time to change your uniform
and hand it on to me, to me

and I dream one day I'll find
the one who lives inside my mind
and they'll feel the same way too
we've all been used
dazed beautiful and bruised
dazed beautiful and bruised

And blame is not a one way street
the widest avenue
but cause me grief and agony
this harm will come to you
between the lines I think you'll find
lessons learn from various eyes
beauty can turn south
so recognize through all the lies
the hero of the hour, the hour

and I dream one day I'll find
the one who lives inside my mind
and he'll feel the same way too
we've all been used
dazed beautiful and bruised
and there's nothing, nothing left to lose
dazed beautiful and bruised
dazed beautiful and bruised

(:./jillian/dazed)