Today was cold, so he dressed in a pair of thick black slacks and a white turtleneck went under his coat and scarf.

His jog had given him time to think, and he decided that, since he was fond of Catharine (for reasons beyond his fathoming), he would simply have to rid her of this idea that he was the world’s biggest jerk.  The project, he hoped, would distract him from his darker thoughts.  Treize, Marimaea, his will to fight…  He knew he didn’t have to fight anymore, knew it, but knowing something and putting it into practice were not the same.

Step one: dark chocolate.  She said it was her preference, so he stopped on the way.

*#*

Catharine threw knife after knife at the target.  ‘Wont. Kill.  Him,’ she thought, each word pronounced by a satisfying thunk of knife to wood.

“Catharine.”

That voice!  The knife slammed into the crotch of her dummy and she winced.

“Promise me you won’t do that when I’m standing over there,” Wufei stated.

“Why don’t you go stand over there and we’ll test it out,” she grumbled, turning to face him and catching her breath.  ‘It’s true what they say,’ she thought, ‘all the gorgeous ones are either gay or assholes.’  Okay, so she’d modified that cliché a little bit to suit her purposes.  Whatever.  With his long wool coat open over a white turtleneck and dark slacks, he looked like he should be posing for the cover of a man’s fashion magazine, not joining the circus.

He held a small box out for her to take.

“What is this?”

“Dark chocolate,” he stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I can see that.  But why?”

‘Because you said you like it,’ he thought.  “I thought I was supposed to ‘act like a human being,’” he replied.

In the rafter, Michael was grinning foolishly.  ‘Ah, the budding of a new romance.  It’s only right.  The thaw will come soon.’

“Acting human and buying chocolate are two different things,” Catharine said, confused.  ‘Does he really not even understand that much?’

Wufei just shrugged.  ‘It’s because I like you,’ he thought.  “Shouldn’t we get to work?”

“Ah right!  We have to fit your costume,” Catharine remembered.

Wufei raised an eyebrow elegantly.  “I don’t have to wear clown shoes, do I?”

“Yes.”

“And those ridiculous pants?”

Catharine nodded.  The deeper Wufei’s frown got, the happier it made her.

“That frilly…neck thing…?”

He winced as she nodded happily.

“We’re going to refit Trowa’s old costume for you.  It should fit pretty well,” she said happily.

‘Why me?’ Wufei thought.  He wasn’t even able to be pissed off about it, since he’d done it to himself.  ‘At least she’s happy about it,’ he thought dryly.  That line of thinking was little comfort though as the word “sadist” tumbled off his tongue unintentionally.

“What did you just call me?”

“Uh…”  Crap.  He was terrible at lying and even worse at improv.  He took the direct approach.  Always.  Well, always until now, because she’d be pissed again and…  “I said…I meant…”

Catharine couldn’t help but enjoy his stumbling.

He groaned.  “I must be a masochist,” he complained finally.  “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Okay!” Catharine beamed.  “Time to play dress-up!”

#*#

“Should we really be endorsing Catharine’s torture tactics?”  Michael chuckled.

Manager just sighed.  “I’m afraid there’s no helping it,” he said.

*#*

An hour later, Catharine said, “just have to put on the final touches,” as she brought the clown white makeup towards the Chinaman’s face.

Wufei caught her hand and stopped her.  He could endure only so much.

“Why not give me a body bag instead,” he stated.  ‘Because I think I’m about to die of humiliation,’ he thought.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because if I have to wear this ridiculous shirt for a moment longer I’m going to suffocate!” he elaborated, standing and stomping his foot.  There was only so much a guy could bear, and Wufei had taken enough in the past hour for the next five years.  “Now, I’ll wear the stupid shoes, the itchy pans, this ridiculous collar.  I might even tolerate this shirt that’s two sizes too small, but I will not in this life or any other, wear makeup!”  the martial artist insisted.  He took a breath.  “Now I took a job in which a stubborn woman who hates me is permitted to throw knives at me on a regular basis.  However, I have not, in any way, shape, or form, agreed to subject myself to ritual torture, you sadistic little…!”  This is where Wufei decided to bite his tongue and resume his own ritual: glaring.

Catharine stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded.  “So…no makeup?” she asked finally, looking downright innocent.

“No!” he demanded, trying not to laugh, but unable to hide a small smirk.  “Most certainly not.”  He fumbled with the frilly collar, but couldn’t find the latch, and Catharine had to help him.

“You almost laughed,” she teased.  She found she couldn’t stay angry with him when he looked this silly.

“I did not.”

“You so did,” she giggled.  Trowa’s old costume didn’t suit him at all, to be honest.  She’d underestimated the size of his torso and overestimated the width of his slim hips.  He was more slender than Trowa was now that he’d grown and filled out with muscle, but not as slender as Trowa at fifteen had been.  And he was shorter than Trowa was then, even now.

She was cute when she was laughing, even at his expense.

“Never mind.  Help me out of this stupid little shirt before I suffocate,” he barked irritably, unable to get out of the ‘torture device’ without assistance.

Catharine laughed.  “Haha.  Okay okay.  Stop looking so helpless.  It’s too funny.”

“Sadist,” he complained half-heartedly again.

“Arms up!” she said cheerfully.

Obediently, for once, (primarily because escaping the small shirt was his top priority right now) he lifted his arms.  But as her fingers slid up the bare skin of his sides, an unexpected butterfly reaction took place in his abdomen.  Startled by it, he stepped slightly, and unused to the clown shoes, tripped both of them.  They swayed, tumbled, and crashed, Catharine landing on top of him.  Even after this, it took him a moment to free his head of the tight material, his hair coming partially undone for his efforts.

This is the scene that Michael and Manager walked in on.  A dressing table knocked over, Catharine was lying atop a very disheveled Wufei, arms tangled in his shirt above his head, face brightly flushed, and looking quite surprised.

“So that’s your type Cat!” Michael teased.

Manager could piece together easily what had actually happened, but didn’t choose to comment.  “Get this cleaned up and show him around.  Michael make him something that will fit.”

The duo stumbled to their feet and the tightrope walker let out a low whistle.  The muscles moving beneath the former pilot’s skin were obvious.

“Are you a dancer, by any chance, Wufei?”  Michael asked.

“A martial artist,” Wufei corrected.

“Okay!  Then I have an idea!”  He slapped Wufei’s ass as he passed by, earning a glare, and raising his hands in surrender.  “We might get you up in the rafters yet!” Michael laughed.

Catharine blushed while Wufei was busy fending off the overly exuberant Michael.  The subtle ripples of muscle in Wufei’s chest and stomach rippled with each word, each breath, like there was a series of coiling, tiny snakes hidden just beneath his skin.  ‘God, he’s so beautiful,’ she thought, then shook it off.  “Well okay, get changed.  Tour time,” she said finally.

Gladly, Wufei decided, she didn’t seem mad at him anymore.  It was a small step, but at least it was moving forward instead of in reverse.

*#*

It was four hours later and just after a group lunch that Michael, the infamous, ass-slapping gymnast, dragged Wufei off for the final fitting.

“I thought you’d appreciate something a little closer to Trowa’s newer costume (A/N:  from Endless Waltz…no goofy clown pants or ruffly collar.  Much more yummy. hehe), since it lacks the frills and you’re more of a macho man than he is.”  Wufei wasn’t really certain how he should take that.  “And since you’re a martial artist, I thought we could show you off a little!” Michael beamed.  That one Wufei knew how to take, and it made him nervous.  He was fairly sure he didn’t like the sound of that at all!  Even so, considering what he almost had to wear, he figured he’d come out on top with spandex and satin.  It was a white spandex crop top with sleeves that just passed the shoulders and just barely touched the top of his abs.  The pants were a solid split of loose satin, midnight blue on the right, shiny gold on the left, and a black belt and suspenders decorated with gold glitter that rubbed off when he touched it.  He felt foolish.  And to that a half-mask, not like Trowa’s, but halved the other way, from top to bottom, and painted on the left side, dancing over to the right, a large black and gold butterfly, decorated with rhinestones, and the look was complete, but that Michael made him take out his ponytail, leaving tendrils framing his jaw with a semi-half ponytail bound back only to make it less troublesome for him.  The satin pants had an elastic ankle and for shoes, black, something remotely akin to a ballerina’s slipper, and though hardly his first choice, much improved upon the clown shoes.  Still, he felt foolish, though it was worth it for the gape-mouthed look on Catharine’s face when Michael announced, “I give you, ladies and gentlemen, my latest work of artistic brilliance, Wufei, the Black Butterfly.”

Obviously, Wufei felt little like a butterfly, but he kept reminding himself, it could be worse.  Of course, it could also be better—he could wear normal underwear (He was having trouble getting used to this sadistic invention known as a thong.). 

‘Who knew that a circus costume could be so damn sexy!’ Catharine thought.  If only his personality matched that body, she mused, it could be love.