26-Aug-2004
continued revision of The Worst Thing...
Title: Nothing Like the Sun
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R
Pairings: 1+R, 1+2, 2+3, 3+4... oh, and 4+OC
Archived: gwaddiction & sweetlysour
Warnings: Quatre cusses, gets laid, beats people up
Disclaimer: not mine. I know this. don't sue, it's all for practice.
Note: thanks to those reading & reviewing
He rubs his ear when the phone conference is done. An hour of holding the small cell phone up to his ear while department directors drone on about productivity and personnel reviews, and an hour of watching people trot past, their gazes turned inwards, heading somewhere or on their way home.
Quatre tucks the phone away, and stretches, letting his long legs take up some of the corridor space. He has a half-hour to his flight window, and he's tempted to stop by a bar and get a drink, but he likes flying too much to dull his senses.
"Mister Winner?" A young steward hovers at his elbow, a smile plastered on her face. "Your shuttle is being brought around a little early."
"Thanks, Claire," Quatre says, recognizing her from his last flight, two weeks before. She blushes, stepping back when he stands up, grabbing the handle of his suitcase.
"Do you want—" Claire reaches for the suitcase, and remembers at the last second what he always says. "Err, sorry."
"It's okay, I can do it," he assures her. "You don't need to escort me, unless you want to get out of something more tedious elsewhere."
She grins wryly, looking much closer to her age – maybe twenty-one, perhaps twenty-two – than she had with that business-like look on her face. Claire looks around, nods nervously, and relaxes when Quatre grins down at her. She gestures towards the shuttle gates, and Quatre falls in beside her. The rolling thrum of his suitcase is a steady beat to their casual conversation.
"Anything exciting happen since my last flight?" Quatre shoves a hand in his pocket, and forces himself to shorten his stride. Claire barely comes up to his shoulder, and she has to trot to keep up if he doesn't slow down.
"We had a man try to steal a shuttle last week," she whispers, in a conspiratorial tone. Her eyes widen. "Oh, I guess you probably know all about that, though."
"Me?" Quatre chuckles. "I don't get all the news. So. Were you around when it happened?"
"Yes," she replied, brightening as she begins repeating what's become old gossip in the week since, but she has an avid listener. Before she realizes it, her conversation has segued into the aftermath of a man with a bomb, Preventers, reporters, and general panic. "And then I told Tom that I was fine, but he just completely flipped out about it. I do like him, Mister Winner—"
"Quatre," he reminds her, gently, with a wink. "You like him, but... "
Claire blushes again, and makes an apologetic motion with her hands. "He's so over-protective. It's like he thinks I can't take care of myself." She huffs, blowing her strawberry-blond bangs out of her eyes. For a second, she looks sixteen, in contrast with her defiant words. "I'm an adult, now."
Quatre smiles, understanding completely.
I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee. I managed to sit up with a stifled groan. My head was pounding, and my lower back was definitely feeling the after-effects of being up close and personal with a damn baseball bat.
"Didn't know how you like your coffee," a voice said, and I smiled, rubbing my eyes.
"However you drink it is fine with me," I told him, and then looked up to see someone else entirely grinning at me. "Uh... "
The man was stockier, with Jamie's midnight-black hair, but blue eyes. He hadn't shaved, and he was wearing an old University sweatshirt. "Did you want it?" He held out the coffee cup again, and I took it, still feeling confused. "I'm Ted," the man said, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table. "Jamie's oldest brother." He looked me over and whistled. "Jamie wasn't kidding. You got a number done on you."
"Three guys," I mumbled around the mug. The coffee was strong, and a little bitter, but it hit the back of my throat with a sharp tang. "Wiss, and Block, and the ringleader didn't introduce himself."
"That would be Jack," he told me. "Big guy on this block, I suppose. Little guy in the real scheme of things, but... you took all three on?"
"Wasn't like I went looking for them," I grumbled. "They started it."
"They're not big on college students. Some college boy scared the shit outta Jack's little brother few months ago," Ted told me, and I know I flushed. Ted raised his eyebrows, and I made a point of staring down into my coffee. "No fucking way," he said, and leaned back, laughing. "Well, Jamie said you were a spitfire."
"A... what?" I gave him a puzzled look, then glanced past him. "Where's Jamie?"
"Work." Ted got up, and started straightening up some of the magazines on the end tables. "He didn't leave til I got here, said you shouldn't be left alone." He was casual saying it, but he gave me a sharp glance.
"I... just a rough night, I guess," I said. I took another sip of the coffee, hissing through my teeth. I gave the mug a pointed look. "Well, I'm awake now."
"Jamie's recipe," Ted said. "Got classes, then?"
"Yeah." I threw off the blanket and stood up, gingerly, then looked at the blanket crumpled on the sofa. Leaning over carefully, I dragged it towards me, and began folding it. Jamie had... well, he'd done something and I hadn't even asked, or explained. "I'm in his debt," I told Ted, and I wasn't sure why I said it.
"Never between friends," Ted told me. He took the blanket from me. "I'll fold that. You just get on to classes."
"Thanks." I limped to the table, where my coat was laying over one of the chairs. I checked the gun at the back of my jeans, sliding the holster around to the front, and pulled on my coat. "Do you have paper and a pen?"
"On the countertop," Ted said, over his shoulder. He'd finished folding the blanket and was laying it across the back of the sofa.
I found the paper and pen, and quickly scribbled out a note for Jamie. Call me, I wrote, and put down my phone number. I didn't know what I'd say if he did, but I didn't feel right just leaving.
The days passed, the nights were long, and I started to feel like I was finding my feet. Jamie and I met several times, on my nights off, just out for coffee, about once a week. Sometimes I watched his lips when he talked, but when he'd look my way, I'd be quick to look somewhere else. Most of the time I managed to keep it in my head that he was a friend.
With a wave, he turned around, walking off down the street. I watched him go, but for once, I truly watched him, and tried to see past the random images I'd collected: his laugh, his gray eyes, the way his hair turned brilliant blue-black in the streetlights. He was lanky, with long legs and well-shaped calves, powerful thighs. His shoulders were strong, just right above a barrel chest. His hands, swinging at his sides, were square and powerful, with short fingers that were callused and hard from days of labor.
When I closed my eyes against the midnight breeze and tried to imagine his face, I couldn't. If he was in front of me, I could see him, and that was enough. But when he walked away, I found myself clutching at images, and they ran away from me like rain down the gutters.
Twice I'd gone by the clinic, dutifully given blood, and after a vicious glare from Nurse Jackson had been sent on my way with a clean bill of health. Spring took its time coming to the city, and a few times I'd been worried I was developing another cough, but the accompaniment of a few sneezes and a headache meant it was really a cold, Felicia told me.
Three days after midterms, the rain was coming down in a steady drizzle. I managed to bribe Felicia and Lola into helping me carry a huge art supply purchase for Abstracts back to my apartment. Everything was wrapped up in garbage bags to protect it from the rain, though we were soaked.
Lola shook her head, but her red hair remained plastered to her face. "Someone get this hair out of my face," she fussed, hefting the bag in her arms. "I do it, I'll drop these sketchpads."
Felicia poked Lola in the side of the head, laughed, and wiped Lola's hair back. "Better?"
"Much." Lola glanced over at me, and grinned. "Okay. I've decided. Bruno's."
"Shit, Lola," Felicia looked past Lola at me. "No way. That place is expensive," and she drew out the last word, rolling her eyes.
"Bruno's?" I shrugged. I'd just drawn another two thousand credits from my main account, with plans to purchase a stereo and speakers. I'd also signed up for summer classes, to get some more of my graduation requirements out of the way. I could spare a few hundred credits. It was about time I did something for Felicia and Lola, after all the time they'd put up with me. I grinned slyly, enjoying Lola's stunned reaction. "I'll make a reservation. But you might want to dry off before we go."
"Holy... " Felicia choked, then narrowed her eyes. "Cat... "
"I knew it! He's selling his body on the street!" Lola kicked me in the ankle, and I pretended to limp, for her benefit. She continued to tease me, prying for information in that roundabout way of hers, and we traipsed up the stairs to my apartment, leaving a trail of dirty city water behind us. "I hear it's decent money. Bet you get what, twenty credits a night?"
"At least forty," I informed her and winked. I stuck my key in the top bolt lock. The tumbler didn't click. It wasn't locked. Pulling back, I stepped away from the door, and set down my bags. "You two," I said, in a soft, stern voice, "stay here."
"Ca—"
I shot one glance at Lola, and she closed her mouth with a snap. Felicia nodded nervously, hovering by Lola. I put my hand on the doorknob, and turned it, pushing the door open.
The first thing I saw, as always, was Wufei's scroll. The second thing I saw was Victoria, one of my eldest sisters, and head of the board of directors for Winner International Conglomerate. I tensed, but just as quickly settled into a relaxed appearance that was entirely faked. My stomach was in knots, but I kept my expression impassive. I brought my art supplies in, setting them by the door, and turned to find Felicia and Lola had followed me in.
"Quatre," Victoria sighed. She was standing by the window, holding back the blanket. She let it drop, and it swung a little before becoming still. She looked weary, and I was immediately on my guard.
Victoria couldn't be visiting without warning unless it was something bad, and it stunned me, in some small private place, to realize it wasn't that I didn't want my friends to know who I was. That didn't matter, suddenly. I just didn't want to expose them to the nasty undercurrents that could something flow through my family's business.
Victoria tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, and for that moment, I could only stare. She stood straight, and tall, her expensive red heels leading from delicate ankles to slender, tanned legs, into a short but well-fitted red suit. Italian, I guessed, or possibly British, given the contrasting trim and almost business-like cut. The diamond earrings in her ears caught the light and glittered reflections across the two girls, who were looking from Victoria to me. Felicia looked annoyed, while Lola looked...
Scared, I realized. She was a paltry knock-off of Victoria's elegance, wearing an L1 fashion that tried to pass some cheap fabric off as nubby silk. The green jacket was wet-streaked, the patched jeans no fashionable but simply make-do. Lola's hair was crimson-dark with the rain. Her eyes were huge, flicking back and forth between Victoria's patient observation and my silent waiting.
Felicia, beside and a little behind Lola, looked worried. Her dark skin was beaded and slick from the rain. There was a scar on Felicia's jaw that I'd never noticed before, and her braids were tangled, the paint flecking off the metal beads. Her jacket was worn at the cuffs, her jeans tattered and a little too long for her.
"Thanks for helping me carry this back," I said, to Felicia and Lola, in polite, distant tones. They frowned at me, puzzled, and I raised a hand, vaguely gesturing towards the door, tempering the command with a wry smile. "I appreciate it. I'll call you both later." The two girls didn't move. Victoria moved, her heel clicking on the floor, and I instinctively moved to stand between my sister and my friends.
Victoria opened her mouth, but I cut her off with a sharp move of my hand. I glanced over my shoulder at the two girls. Lola dropped her chin, shivering, but Felicia stared at me, wide-eyed.
"Fel, Lola—"
"Yeah," Felicia replied, grabbing Lola by the arm. They backed up, looking at my sister and me as though either of us might spring any moment. Lola grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut behind them.
"Victoria," I managed, in a pleasantly cool tone. "I don't recall inviting you for tea."
"I was in town," she said, crossing her arms and planting her feet. Even with her heels, I topped her by an inch or two, but her cold blue eyes could pin a butterfly to a Gundam at eighty paces. "However, I was not in town on pleasure, but because of this." She pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. "Care to explain?"
I unfolded it, scanning quickly. It was a printout of my grades from my midterms. Two As, a B-minus, one B, and a B-plus. I shrugged. Fact was, I was rather proud of even passing my art midterm, let alone all my classes. I was working full-time and carrying a full course load. "I'm taking classes that are a real challenge."
"You were given a year. Two semesters. But you've registered for summer classes, and then more in the fall." Victoria snatched the paper back from my hands, tucking it away in some hidden pocket in her stylish suit. "It was bad enough no one told me of your arrangement, but now you've extended it without discussion, little brother."
I decided to ignore that jibe. "How'd you get in?"
"Your landlady was quite amenable once she found out who was really living under her roof."
Fuck.
"Quatre, what are you doing? Do you want to ruin everything? Come back to L4. You can take business classes at the university there. There's certainly no need to... " She glanced at the door and then around the room. "... Live in a place like this." I knew she meant more than just the physical surroundings.
"I don't want to study business," I said, crossing my arms. "I want to study something else."
"I'd encourage you to try, but you're only getting B's," she pointed out. "WIC—"
"—Is doing just fine without me," I interrupted. "You came all this way to tell me to quit school? There's seven of you, and twenty-one more where you came from. You can do it without me."
"Don't you give a damn?" Victoria threw up her arms, striding across the room to lift the blanket and stare out at the rain for a long moment. She dropped it again with a sigh. "Quatre, this isn't where you belong."
"Maybe not. But I don't think I belong behind a desk, either."
"We can send you into the field—"
"—I don't want to spend my days on construction sites. Or resource satellites."
"Quatre, you're the heir. You can't just walk away from this!" Victoria put her hands on her hips, and for a second I was reminded of my father, yelling at me about the decision I'd made. "This is your family. Your past and your future!"
"I don't want it!"
She stopped cold, shocked, and her surprise melted into a deep frown. "You have a life on L4. Do you really want to walk away from all of that?"
"I'm not walking away," I retorted, and leaned against the wall, my arms still crossed. "I'm just going to school."
"You fail to uphold your part of the inheritance, and you won't be doing that much longer," she spat. "Your trust fund is reliant on your participation as the scion of the company."
"So keep my names on the documents for three years, and—"
"—And then what? If you hate it now, how am I to be certain you won't still have that attitude in three years?" She tossed her head, glaring at me.
I shrugged. She was right. "You can't be. I'm not."
"Do you really want this life?" Victoria shook her head. "This isn't how you were raised. Look at the people you're spending your time with... like Lola Renault, from the South Side, unemployed father, mother's whereabouts unknown for the past eighteen years."
"You've been following me?" I narrowed my eyes, tensing.
She ignored me, and went for the deeper wound. "Felicia Carter, from MO-099854... . Fancy that. Does she know, Quatre?"
"No," I admitted, sullenly. "And if you breathe a word, I'll—"
"What? Throw me out like you do drunkards at that club?" Victoria's expression was somewhere between defiant and hurt. "What happened to you? You were a sweet kid, raised well, with everything you could possibly want and one day you woke up and decided to go against everything our family believes in—"
"I believed in peace more."
"—You cannot achieve peace through war, Quatre!"
That was it. I was shouting, too. "You cannot achieve peace by rolling over and letting them walk all over you! That's not pacifism, that's cowardice!"
"There are better ways than murder!" Victoria was shaking. "But you left that behind and came back to us. Why do you have to do this again? Why can't you just—"
I took my voice up to a deafening battle cry. "I don't like being me!"
Victoria's mouth opened, and nothing came out.
"I don't like those simpering assholes who only want our money," I snapped, pushing past Victoria to rip off my soaked jacket and throw it on the cracked folding chair. "I don't like the endless days of pushing papers and boring meetings and rearranging numbers just so we have more fucking money." I yanked my shirt over my head and threw it at my laundry bag. "I don't like smiling and laughing at stupid-ass jokes by morons who are only interested in whether I'm going to marry their daughter." I grabbed a dry shirt from my second-hand dresser and pulled it over my head, tugging it down with sharp jerks. "And I don't fucking like being told I have no choice but to do all that!"
"Quatre," Victoria said, after a long pause. She studied her fingernails, and sighed, dropping her hand. "This is our family. We all do our part."
"Why? Why do I have to be stuck in that? Iria got to be a damn doctor! Tarla's a school teacher! Mina's a journalist. I'm not asking for a lot. I just want a chance to be somebody other than goddamn fucking Quatre Raberba Winner!"
"You can't!" Victoria spun to face me, her hands in fists. "You can't. You will never be able to walk away from it. And how dare you suggest that you'd want to? Iria, Tarla, Mina, all of us play a role in the company, have jobs we do that help in some way. Who the hell are you to say you can leave it behind?"
"I'm me, damn it, and I want to choose what I get to do and be in this life, for once—"
"You got your ONCE. It's time to grow up!"
I recoiled instinctively at the force of her cry, unable to come up with a response.
"You killed, and murdered, and slaughtered thousands," Victoria spat, her voice low and venomous. "We forgave you, somehow, and covered for you, and gave you another chance. But the war's over. You don't have that excuse anymore. You're an adult, now, and you have responsibilities. You can shirk the guilt of your past but you can't walk away—"
"Don't ever assume I have shirked any guilt for my actions," I informed her, as coldly as I could manage. I let my mask shift, into the battle stillness I'd worn for so long. "You can't possibly comprehend what—"
"—Don't you dare," Victoria cried, but her fury was icy, not the blistering rage she'd held earlier. "I had friends, good friends, who died on that satellite. You owe me. You owe all of us. We've protected you and kept you safe. Even our father knew in the end—"
"—Don't talk to me about that," I snarled. "You weren't there. You don't know."
"I know he gave his life for the company, and his beliefs, and his—"
I saw absolute, total blood red, in ways I hadn't since I was fifteen. "He gave his life for a damn stupid ideal! He chose the grand gesture rather than the hard fight! His death was pointless!"
Victoria backhanded me.
I couldn't even put a hand to my face, though my skin stung. The diamond on her finger had sliced my cheek, and blood trickled down. I kept my eyes on the floor. If I moved, I'd deck her, and we both knew it. I wasn't some little fifteen-year old anymore, with a big Gundam but powerless otherwise.
"Quatre," Victoria breathed into the silence. "You are my brother and as such I will love you, but I will not allow you to wreck our company or our family one more time. Either you return and take up your rightful place, or I begin disinheritance procedures. The terms of your trust are simple. If you are not with the company as its head, you are not part of it, and you are not part of this family."
I raised my head at that. She couldn't have knocked the air from me more thoroughly than if she'd thrown a punch to my stomach.
"I will send someone to get you in the morning," Victoria informed me, her voice falling into the boardroom patterns I knew so well. "If you are not out front waiting, then I will assume your choice is another betrayal. And this one, little brother, won't be forgiven. You won't get a second chance."
"I don't want to lose my family," I said, very quietly. "But I just want a chance to—"
"You're out of chances," Victoria replied, and I blinked, suddenly aware of the weariness emanating from her, tinged with heartbreak. "My job is to make sure that our family continues, with every possible success. You risked that once, and I won't let you do it again. I'm sorry, Quatre." She sighed, and when she closed her eyes, I could see the fine wrinkles around her eyes, the lines at the edge of her mouth, pressed in a strong crimson line.
"Victoria," I whispered.
"Tomorrow morning," she said, and left.
I stared at the closed door for several long breaths, not moving, and not really sure what to do. I was startled out of my numbness by a soft tapping at the door. Frowning, and a little curious as to whether I'd fallen into such shock that four hours had passed so quickly, I didn't even bother to reach for my gun. I simply opened the door.
Felicia got me in the jaw.
"Goddamnit," I yelped, stumbling backwards, a hand to my jaw. "What is it with people smacking the shit out of me today?"
"Because you are a shit, Quatre Raberba Winner!" Felicia stood in my doorway; vibrating in fury, but no, I only felt exasperation from her, strangely. I took a breath, focusing, and worked my jaw. It wasn't broken, but she had a vicious right hook.
"Felicia," I said, and didn't let go of my jaw.
"Asshole!"
I sighed. "Yes. Fine. I'm an asshole."
"Do something about it, then!"
"Like what? Run back to my family and wear my expensive Italian suits and—"
Felicia's arm came up, but without much conviction. I dodged it easily. "Would you stop that?"
"You, Cat," she said, stabbing a finger at me. She halted, then frowned. "Quatre! Are you our friend, or not?"
"Am I... " I blinked, and all I could do was stop and give it serious thought. I frowned a little, staring down at my hand, and the blood on it from my cheek. When I answered her, I was completely serious. "I think so. I'm... sometimes I'm not sure."
"Not sure? What the hell do we need to do, rent out a billboard that says, we like Cat?" Her braids flew around her as she waved her hands in the air, and followed up the sarcasm with an aggravated sound.
"Actually, yeah... maybe," I said, still speaking in a quiet, serious tone. "I'm... I think I'm rather slow that way, sometimes. I'm just used to people who want something from me."
"People always will," Felicia told me, and poked her finger in my chest. "But just because we wanted your friendship back doesn't mean we're in the same category as money-leeching mooches."
"I never said you were," I protested.
"But you thought we might be," she replied, her expression fierce. "You never gave us the chance to show you that we wouldn't be... Fuck, Ca—Quatre, I should smack you again for good measure! It might knock something loose!"
"Please, don't." I raised my hands in surrender. "I've had my quota."
Felicia sagged, stepping away from me. Her entire body radiated hurt, and confusion, and sorrow. Her whisper sent trickles of ice through my veins. "Quatre... you were that Gundam pilot."
I couldn't answer. I only nodded.
"I won't tell anyone," she promised me. "But... I don't think I'll be hanging out with you for a little bit. It's a lot to process. I could... I could forgive some distant person for doing that, if that makes sense. It was easier to forgive something that wasn't there. But to know you knew, and you never said anything—"
"That's unfair," I snapped, hitting my breaking point. "I carry my own guilt. What did you expect me to do? Get down on my knees and beg forgiveness?"
"No!" Felicia spun. "I'd like my childhood back!"
"At least you HAD one!"
We stared at each other for a long time. Felicia broke the silence with bitter laughter. "I don't know why you fired on civilians. I don't know why you did any of what you did. And it would be so much easier to hate you if you really were an asshole."
I dropped my head. "Yeah."
"And you are, sometimes," she continued. I raised my head, surprised and hurt, but she didn't turn around. She was staring at the pictures on my walls; her hands hung by her side, her shoulders slumped. "But you're not. You're just... you just hold yourself away from us. It's like... you freeze us out, and you discount us. There are little things you do, that I know... we all know... you don't realize you do. When the coffee's not just right, or the silverware at the diner isn't spotless, or someone laughs too loud... you get this look, y'know?"
"No," I whispered. "I didn't know."
"It's like... we're not measuring up, somehow, but... the rest of the time, you do care. And I... I can tell you do but it's like you're doing your damnedest not to admit you give a damn. So I figured you had your own demons, and... " She shook her head, and the beads on her braids rattled. "I think you should go see Lola. I don't think you'll be able to salvage it, but you owe her an apology anyway."
"Lola... " I felt ill. "Both of you heard—"
"She left, as soon as she heard your name," Felicia said. She squared her shoulders, and walked to my door. I felt like it was Trowa, again, telling me goodbye and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it because everything that had been done, I'd done it, and it was too late now. "I'm sorry, Quatre," Felicia whispered, and shut the door behind her.
"Me, too," I told the empty room.
It took ten minutes of staring at my art supplies before I roused myself. Grabbing my wet coat, I headed out into the rain, bound for Lola's boarding house. When I got there, I had no idea what I'd say, so I gave up and just knocked. I'd deal with another bruise on my jaw if it helped.
Lola opened the door, and immediately stepped back to slam it. Her eyes were puffy and red. I caught the door with my shoulder.
"Please, Lola, I want—"
"No!" Lola sobbed, shaking her head, and backed up into the house's living room. "I don't want to hear it. Just go away and you can keep enjoying the joke. Don't ruin it now."
"It's probably already ruined," I admitted, closing the door gently behind me. "But I owe you an apology—"
"You owe me a fuckload, you bastard!" Lola said hoarsely. She choked, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and tears were caught on her lashes. "Laughing at us, all that time. Just pretending like you're one of us. Why? What the hell kinda asshole gets his jollies pretending to be poor?"
"The kind that didn't know any better," I whispered.
I didn't move, and she began prowling the crammed living room, around the two mismatched sofas, the coffee table held up on one end by cement blocks, and coming back around again. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body, and she hunched over, speaking in a low voice.
"Chip and Lisa have had a bet since middle of last semester," she said, almost conversationally. "I told him it's a family resemblance, y'know, maybe cousins or something. Chip started checking up on things... in October, Quatre Winner didn't attend the annual Preventers Ball. And his company changed their tune in November, to say he... you... weren't on an extended project, but had taken a leave of absence. And in December, he... you... didn't attend Relena Darlian's annual Holiday Gathering, which apparently was whispered quite loudly on the gossip circuits. Illness, or perhaps he got someone pregnant, even a few rumors he was actually the thirtieth daughter and was pregnant himself."
I snorted.
Lola sighed. "Y'know... or maybe you don't. I trusted you. I feel like a fool. I hate being taken for a fool. I kept telling them, I trusted you. You said you weren't Quatre. I believed you." Her low, almost hypnotic voice hurt even more than if she'd been screaming, but I couldn't say a thing. Lola stopped by the window, and scrubbed at the grime with the sleeve of her damp shirt. "I told them I trusted you to tell me the truth... "
"Lola... "
"You didn't. You lied to me, along with everyone else. I can handle you lying to the world at large, but you don't fuck me on a daily basis and lie to my face like that. I won't take that. So you can go and enjoy your little joke and go back to your life of caviar and private jets and pretty people and just forget this ever happened." She straightened, and rubbed at the window a few more times, then slowly stopped. Her shoulders were shaking, but she didn't turn around. "Because I'm going to be doing my best to forget, too."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't see how I could fix it, and an apology wouldn't do anything. It wouldn't bring back Felicia's childhood home, and it wouldn't repair Lola's trust in me. The only thing I could do was be honest.
"I'm staying in school," I told her. "I understand you won't want to see me again, but I thought I'd let you know. I'm staying... and I won't be pretending. Tomorrow morning, I won't be on my front step and I won't be picked up by a cab and I won't be going home and... " I took a deep breath. "I won't be rich anymore. Not even close. So... I won't be pretending."
Lola didn't turn around. She sniffled a few times.
"I guess that doesn't make much of a difference," I said, wishing she'd say something, anything. "But I didn't say anything because I... I liked the fact that you didn't look at me like... the girl in the clinic."
"The what?" Lola's murmured was almost lost in the sounds of a truck passing on the street.
"At the clinic, when I went about that cough. The girl was bitchy, but when she found out my real name, she turned friendly and helpful and... it made me sick. I just liked the fact that you... and everyone else here... saw me as me. Not some pansy in the gossip column with money to burn. I didn't want to tell you, and see you—"
"I'm not two-faced," Lola replied, stiffly. "I wouldn't do that."
"If you'd known I was Quatre Winner," I asked in a defeated tone, "if you'd known from the start, would you ever have even talked to me?"
She didn't say anything.
"Yeah," I told her. "I didn't think so, either. Lola... " I hesitated, still hoping, but she didn't still didn't turn around. "I'm sorry," I said, and left.
"We always want to protect the ones that matter to us," Quatre observes. "We're just not very good at expressing that, sometimes."
"I suppose." She stops at the exit to the shuttle ramp, and checks the computer read-out. "It should be in the bay in the next few minutes." Claire chews her lower lip, looking at Quatre out of the corner of her eyes. "I'm sorry if I got carried away there, talking about my problems. You probably have so much to deal with, all the time... "
"I do, but I like hearing how you're doing," Quatre tells her. He smiles, amused at the way she melts, her shoulders relaxing. "You're my favorite escort from waiting room to shuttle bay." He can see out the door's window; the tug has pulled his shuttle into place, and the solid thunk outside indicates the gangplank has locked into position. "Maybe you should look into self-defense classes, if you're worried about things being dangerous."
"I might do that," Claire says, contemplative. She glances up at Quatre, her eyes wide. "Do you think it'll help?"
"It's a confidence booster, which is never a bad thing," Quatre says. He glances at the door, and Claire takes the hint, stepping backwards. He grins and sticks out his hand, like he does every time. "Thank you for the escort, Miss Baker."
"My pleasure, Director Winner," Claire says, shaking his hand formally. "And enjoy the treats," she adds, her tiny smile causing a dimple to flash in her cheek.
She's ten feet away before Quatre realizes what she's said, and he turns, susipicious and confused. "Treats? What?"
"For your trip," Claire tells him, turning around to walk backwards with a cheery wave. "It's a surprise!"
Quatre grumbles good-naturedly for her benefit, and it makes her laugh as she trots off to deal with the next high-powered executive flying a personal shuttle. He pushes the door open to the gangplank. If Claire was involved, it'd only be a good surprise; she wouldn't let a stranger leave a present for him.
He checks his watch. Ten minutes to his flight window.
End Part 8
(:./sol/nothing8)
