Title: What I Need
Parts: One
Pairings: 4+Cathrine
Warnings: Violence.

Notes: Okie dokie, this is my first ever non-yaoi pairing fic. I got invited to join the QWxCB contest and thought it sounded like a really lovely idea. I like Cathrine and I like Quatre, and I think they'd be cute together. So, bear with me as I try to get a handle on writing for them! And I just realized, this is my first fic without Duo, Wufei, or Heero in it! Woo, you should all be proud of me! ^_~ You don't know how hard it is to leave them out.

Disclaimer: GW sadly, doesn't belong to me, and neither does its charas. They belong to Sotsu and gang. Since I'm making no moolah off this, you can't kick me into oblivion. You could sue me if you really wanted, but I assure you, I'm a poor college student. The only thing that does probably belong to me is the plot.

And as she turns
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams
This fire burns
I realize that nothing's as it seems
~Sting "Desert Rose"

He sat on a blanket in the middle of the warm sand, one leg tucked neatly beneath the other, bare toes peeking out from under each. The equally warm wind blew softly across him, lifting the hair from his face and the slick sheen of perspiration that clung to his skin. Above him, the sky sprawled a hazy blue, darker in the center and lighter as it moved out toward the edges. Lighter, where the clouds stretched, traveling lazily, as if they knew their destination and were in no hurry to reach it.

All around, the sweet scent of nature lingered, brought from the source and carried on the wind, made sharper still by the mid-day heat. Golden sand was visible for miles, the slash of the road in the distance but a slim trace of ebony. The sun itself sat high in the sky, where it would remain until night came to fold the sun in its dark embrace and allow the moon to rule the horizon.

An empty violin case sat near his side, left open as if waiting to claim what belonged inside. Music drifted on the breeze, entangling itself with the accompaniment of the soft rustle of grains of sand rolling over one another, and both moving on to wind their way around him like an enchanting spell. Notes tumbled together with gentle abandon, weaving a pattern of cautious melody that never strived to be more than what it was. In its simplicity lay its beauty. For not all things need sparkle to make their mark.

Lashes sweeping shut, Quatre Raberba Winner went with the music where it took him, traveling to places only touched in the soul and never seen by the naked eye. Thoughts fled, and all he could do was feel, as if the song moved in him, a part of the blood coursing through his veins, a fever beneath the skin, a rhythm beating in time with his heart. Always here, he was free. Free from the confines of reality and the demands of everyday life. For a few short moments he was everything and he was nothing. And it was the closest he ever came to touching the intangible, to reaching out and cupping the stars in his hands, to walking amongst the clouds of Heaven.

The notes reached higher, became sweeter, and he fell in to them, answering the need. His body moved with the strokes across the violin, becoming more frantic as the piece neared ending. Nothing was for him outside this moment, as if he and his instrument were the only two things in existence. There were no papers to fill out, no long meetings to endure, no phone calls to make. No one interrupted his dinner, roused him from bed in the dead of night, or plagued him with troubles before his alarm sounded. In this world, no one had heard of the Winner family and no one cared. All that mattered was the music, as it reached its inevitable peek and traveled back down again.

As the last of the notes faded, the thundering of his heart, the press of his breath in his chest, and the touch of the warm air came back to him. He left his eyes closed for a few more seconds, savoring what was left of a melody only he could hear. He got so few chances like these, it was better not to take them for granted. This was the first in a long time that he wasn't surrounded by papers, listening for the ring of the phone, or the buzz of the intercom. He had always been a big part of the Winner family business, as heir, but since he had turned 18, the trust of the business lay in his hands, rather than his many sisters'.

Some days, it was very taxing, especially with so few people in close reach that he felt a kinship to. Not that he didn't value his employees, or care about them, but they rarely if ever crossed the line between business and friendship. But he made do. His sisters were scattered across Earth and space, each having their own separate lives from his. He saw them when he could, but sometimes, it was as if meeting a person for the first time. Most of them had moved on long before he was born. The other ex-Gundam pilots, they were as elusive as his sisters, and their visits with one another were few and far between. He cherished each and every one, however, because they felt like brothers to him, as close as if they were blood family.

There was Wufei with the Preventers, one of the few he could find on a regular basis, and who lived on Earth. Duo traversed across space like a vagabond, salvaging with Hilde, so Quatre could rarely catch him when he did have the time from his own work. Heero was never found unless he wanted to be, so unless he employed his vast fortune to hire a private detective, finding him was nearly impossible. Even then, Quatre thought Heero was simply too good to be found. Trowa was easier, as long as he kept track of the circus. They moved constantly too, however, so that wasn't always any easier than finding Duo was. He saw them now and then. He only wished it was more.

Shifting, he reached out and settled his violin back into its case, closing the lid to keep sand from being blown in. Uncrossing his legs, he stretched them out before him, savoring the feel of hot sand between his toes when he found the blanket ended short. The desert was a harsh, unforgiving place, but it was also a place of vast beauty and endless shimmer. It was the source of his heritage, even though he had grown up on L4, and made his home there now with the business. Since visits here to Africa were so few, he treasured each one, looking on what the Earth had to offer with new eyes. It was easy to do so as well, when Rashid refused to allow him to do anything even remotely taxing.

Smiling, he shielded his eyes from the sun and drew one finger across his sweat soaked brow.

Rashid was very overprotective, almost like a father. Perhaps, in some ways, he was like a surrogate father. It was nice to be cared for, to know that someone was proud of you, and that they appreciated what you accomplished.

He and his father had rarely seen eye to eye. When he was young, he distanced himself, lashed out, because the pain of being created was too difficult to deal with. Later, after Rashid and the other Maguanacs had shown him what a foolish, spoiled brat he was being, there was still that distance between him and his father. An insurmountable gap, filled by first his behavior, and then his beliefs.

For him, fighting was the final choice, the only one left. The Winner family was known for its pacifism. Quatre would have liked to believe in that with all his heart, but standing back and doing nothing wasn't working.

If he fought, then no one else would have to feel pain. If he fought, he would be fighting for love, his love for the colonies. If he fought, then others, like Relena, could fight for pacifism on the political field. Diplomacy was something he had grown very close, if not entirely comfortable with over the years since the end of the war. But during the war, where he was needed most, was on the front, fighting for peace, so peace could come about. And, in weaker moments, it had often only been the support of Rashid and the Maguanacs that helped him pull through.

Losing his father had been difficult.

There had never been that moment, when he felt they connected, when he felt they understood each other. Some days, he was closer to the other Gundam pilots than his own father. That had been hard. It had been part of what forced him to snap. Something, even to this day, he looked back on with shame.

He had hurt others, and very nearly killed Trowa. He had always known that monster existed inside of him. There had always been the ability to control it. Until the pain was too much, and the Zero System took advantage of that. Then, there was nothing stopping him, nothing holding the rage back. He never wanted to feel that way again. Not if he could help it.

The heat moved, drawing his attention, and he watched the waver of it in the distance, distorting the horizon. Even the light shift of his white, cotton pants and tunic were lost on him, the weather was so oppressive. Anyone that claimed to be smart would have been indoors, enjoying the air-conditioned environment of their home. But Quatre liked it out here. He felt closer to the Earth this way. Besides, considering the amount of time he spent cooped up in an office, he needed the sun. Rashid had, of course, anyway, made certain he put his sunblock on. It was almost silly sometimes, the way the Arabian mothered him. Had he not appreciated it so much, he might have been irritated by it.

How free and comfortable these clothes felt, despite the fact that they were plastered to his skin. They were a nice change from the restrictions of suits and ties. While he loved his job, loved watching the company flourish under his control, loved the people who put their heart into it as much as he did, getting away was sometimes the best therapy of all. He always felt rejuvenated when he returned, ready to work as hard, if not harder than he usually did.

Allah knew, there was always enough. Meetings, and conferences, and the day to day grind of paperwork. It was a monumental task, one that wasn't to be approached lightly or with anything less than total commitment. And these vacations, in an offhand way, always served to remind him of that.

"Master Quatre, enjoying your vacation?" A deep, familiar voice said into his thoughts.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Quatre turned until he could make out the tall form of Rashid approaching.

"Yes, very much. Were you coming to make certain I didn't get swallowed by the sand?" He added, amusement evident in his tone.

Rashid didn't smile in return, but his eyes spoke of his own amusement.

"Well it relieves me that you didn't, but I actually came to tell you that you have visitors."

Surprised, certain his face showed it, he asked, "Who?"

"Trowa Barton and his sister, Cathrine Bloom."

The sharp knife of joy the names brought produced another smile and an obvious expression of happiness. It had been a long time since he had seen either of them. That they had shown up now, was almost like an answer to his thoughts. [1] It would be the perfect way to spend the next week, if he could talk them into staying that long. He knew they didn't often leave the circus to travel anywhere. Their work took them enough places as it was. But then, so did his, and it was never quite the same without the element of freedom. No matter how long they stayed, at any rate, he would make certain they enjoyed every moment of it.

"That's wonderful," he voiced, rising to his feet with an elegant grace that belied the inches he had gained as he grew. He now came up to Rashid's shoulder, something that was quite a bit of an accomplishment when one considered how small he had been before.

Gathering up his blanket, after Rashid had taken the violin case in his hands, Quatre shook the sand out of it and folded it carefully. The sand was hot, and so he slid into his sandals for relief. A short dip in the sand wasn't quite the same as walking across it to get back to the house. You risked burning the tender, oversensitive soles of your feet. While there were certainly worse things, trying to walk on them for the next day or so was a very challenging venture. One, that he would rather avoid if it was at all possible.

They walked next to one another in companionable silence, the lack of space between their shoulders speaking of the ease of their relationship. There had never been a time, and never would, that Quatre looked down on Rashid or the other Maguanacs as servants. They were his friends, his family as much as his own sisters were. They had never failed him. They had always been there when he needed someone the most, and were always pleased about it, as if he were doing them some great favor by even asking. Their dedication to him humbled him, where it would have made others arrogant. People didn't own people, it was as simple as that. What they gave him because of that, was more than they ever could otherwise.

"Are they waiting right now?" He asked, his tone easy, lacking the command it took on while in the office.

Rashid nodded. "I took the liberty of having their things shown to rooms. I thought you would want them to stay."

He smiled at that. "I would never turn them away."

"Not even if you didn't want to see them. You're too kind, Master Quatre." "There's no such thing as too much kindness," Quatre replied firmly.

Besides, he didn't feel that way. He knew the times where he hadn't been kind, where his thoughts had been uncharitable, or his actions less than selfless. Certainly, you had to watch out for yourself to some degree, because it was foolish otherwise. You couldn't run yourself ragged at someone else's expense. It was why he insisted his employees act like employees as well, not slaves.

His father, as much as Quatre loved him, hadn't always seen it that way. He had never been cruel, he had just asked too much. Sometimes, Quatre felt as if he had asked too much of his son as well. Because no matter what his father believed, Quatre supported and loved him. All he had asked for was that in return.

It had been too difficult for the elder Winner, for whatever reason. Whether it was the feeling that Quatre was abandoning him, mocking his own beliefs, or being rebellious. It had been none of those things. It had simply been him developing his own ideals, and fighting for them. Maybe it _had_ been wrong, but to him, at the time, it had been the only way. In the end, for war to really be over, it had taken both their efforts and those of the people. He had never given up hope in humanity, because it wasn't in him to quit, but that show of strength had been one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Somehow, he doubted anything would ever compare.

He pulled himself from his thoughts in time to hear Rashid make a vague sound of noncommittal.

The pale shape of the estate loomed suddenly, and he let his eyes travel over it as they always did, knowing that the sight of it symbolized wealth. From its broad, sweeping walls of cool stone; to its plush, aired interior; from the pale blue depths of the pool, to the silk of the sheets on every bed, it spoke of money. There were no other way to see it. But to Quatre, the significance of that was lost.

Money meant very little to him, in the sense that he didn't put the value of his life on it. He respected it for what it was, because you couldn't do otherwise, but he didn't measure his worth by it, or flaunt it to make himself into something. That came from within. The worth of a man was measured by the way he lived his life, not the amount of money he made. He would never believe otherwise.

"They're waiting in the foyer. I'll go get you some lemonade while you welcome them. You look like you need it," he added, eyeing the visible patches of sweat against his chest, back, and armpits.

Quatre had the grace to look sheepish. "I know, I stayed out too long."

While he didn't relish taking visitors looking like a mess, he knew they wouldn't mind. They were close friends, and wouldn't be offended by his appearance. At least, he hoped. Trowa didn't seem to be overly concerned with how anyone looked or spoke, but Cathrine might be another matter. Not that he considered Trowa uncultured or anything. It was just, those sort of courtesies didn't hold much weight with him. Like Heero, he had his own ideas about things and didn't bend to society. Quatre made an effort not to either, but the ingrained politeness wouldn't allow him to be a poor host.

They stepped from the sand onto the stone walkway, and took the front door. It was like stepping from a sauna into a freezer almost, the change in environments was so sharp. Breathing in the coolness, Quatre adjusted to the lower level of light and made out the familiar shapes of Cathrine and Trowa near the edge of the foyer where it connected with the living room. Trowa was standing as still as a statue, looking neither one way or another, a fact which always covered just how much he was taking in and how fast his mind was moving. Cathrine was bent over a vase sitting on a table resting against the wall, her slim fingers trailing along the delicate glass. He thought she looked lovely, and young in her pale blue, summer dress.

"Trowa, Cathrine, hello!" He greeted, offering them a warm smile.

Cathrine rose, darting him an almost guilty look, as if she were afraid she wasn't supposed to be touching anything.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he continued, joining them, trying not to be so shallow as to wish to wilt under their scrutiny when he looked so rumpled and dirty, covered in sand and sweat.

"You said we could come anytime," was Trowa's reply.

Quatre held back a laugh. Same old Trowa.

"Trowa," Cathrine scolded quietly, earning a cursory glance from her brother.

"Of course, and I meant it. I just wasn't expecting company, so I apologize for my appearance."

Cathrine thought that only Quatre, of all people, would ever apologize for being a mess. He was just that polite. Still, looking at him, she didn't think he looked bad at all. He looked natural, comfortable in his surroundings and with himself. That had always struck her about him, the way he seemed sure of everything, even if he wasn't.

As he reached out to take her hand, and shake it in welcome, she also noticed how much height he had gained since she last saw him. Instead of looking down on him slightly, she was now the one looking up. And the change, wasn't only in his height, but in his face, in the shape of his body, and the way he carried himself.

A little embarrassed at the turn of her thoughts, she returned, "Oh, you look fine, and besides, we didn't give you any warning."

"How did you know I was on vacation?"

"Rashid," Trowa interjected.

"I should have known," he replied with a shake of his head.

"You don't mind, do you?" Cathrine asked, feeling it needed to be brought up, since she knew Trowa wouldn't.

"Not at all, I'm very happy to see you both. I'm here for a week, so if you can stay that long, it would be wonderful."

"We can, thank you," Trowa decided, seeming to need little time to think on it.

Rashid returned with three glasses of lemonade, temporarily interrupting the conversation. Quatre took the moment to ask them both if they minded him changing and cleaning up.

"Oh no, go right ahead," Cathrine answered.

"Just make yourselves at home in the living room. I'll be right down," and with easy grace, he crossed the floor and hurried up the stairs.

Cathrine watched him go, turning her attention back to the house only after he was no longer visible. She couldn't help but feel out of place. It wasn't that she was uncomfortable with who she was, just that she wasn't used to such splendor. Their life at the circus was very simple. It was like a whole other world from the one Quatre lived in. She doubted, however, that he would see it that way. He treated everyone equally, something she admired. Not that, she recalled, she had been that friendly to him when they first met. Her concern for Trowa had overrode any sense of courtesy.

"Let's sit, Cathy."

She nodded, following him from the room after slipping out of her shoes and leaving them in the foyer, carefully arranged against the wall. She didn't feel like she ought to walk on the carpet with them on. It looked too untouchable, almost as if it should have plastic on it. She doubted, however, that Quatre was that anal about keeping things clean. Though, the house itself didn't look as if it ever got dirty. It was too perfect.

Settling onto the couch, marveling at how soft it was, she said, "I'm surprised Judd let us go."

"Money is always the bottom line to him," Trowa agreed.

She grinned. "Well, he can do without his 'star attractions' for a few days. He won't die," she added, knowing full well their manager would _think_ he was.

"This is a very nice place," she added, glancing around.

Trowa nodded, sipping his lemonade.

"Don't look so spooked. It's just a house," he said after a few moments.

She shoved him playfully. "Of course you would be unimpressed, Trowa. You aren't dazzled by anything."

"A home is the place you live. It doesn't matter what it looks like."

She stared at him. "No, only the people you share it with."

He smiled faintly.

She relaxed her shoulder into his, folding her legs beneath her. It was hard not to be comfortable when Trowa was so nonchalant about everything. She doubted he would even blink should Quatre shove a diamond the size of an apple in his face. As annoying as that could be, she also loved him for it. Trowa was Trowa. There was definitely no one like him.

The tranquility of the moment was unbroken. Cathrine took it for what it was, holding it close to her and remaining thankful. It wasn't always like this, not when Trowa was fighting with the others. Then, she would worry, but mostly, she would be angry. She had, and always would hate fighting. War had taken her family from her, and made countless others orphans. Yes, it had given her Trowa, but she could only concede it so much for that. It had given her the circus, full of colorful people who had become her second family, but even then, she could only thank it so far. It brought too much pain with it, and that was something everyone could do without.

She liked her life as it was. She wasn't always certain Trowa did, but if he needed to leave, he would, no explanations or apologies offered. Since he hadn't, unless he was needed for something else, she knew he was content. She tried hard to offer him a family, to show him that he was wanted. For someone who had spent nearly all their life as a wandering mercenary, she knew that had to be important. Just as taking a step back and letting him be was also. Trowa didn't like being pushed or hovered over, which was definitely something she understood. She disliked it too. She had, and always would be, independent. She didn't need anyone to hold her up, and she would be damned if she ever would.

Right now, however, she would only concentrate on having a nice week. Vacations for them were few and far between, and definitely not to be taken for granted. Judd didn't have fits of generosity often. They had to seize the moment when he did.

Leaning her head back, with a half-smile, she thought that wouldn't be hard at all.

[1] No, Q-chan, it's called plot contrivance. Muahahaha! Oh. ::grins::