Title: What I Need
Parts: Four
Pairings: 4+Cathrine

Resting on the couch, her foot still propped, but now wrapped with an ace bandage, Cathrine glanced over the top of the magazine she was reading to see Quatre standing near the front window, watching. His hands were tucked in his slacks, pulling the fabric tight, and she dropped her eyes in embarrassment when she realized what she was actually looking at. The words on the page blurred together, until she wanted to scream and throw it aside from frustration. Who was she kidding? She couldn't concentrate on anything.

He turned away, caught her watching him, and smiled, but not before she saw the flash of worry.

"Is something wrong?" She asked, before she could consider her words.

"A sandstorm is coming," he answered honestly, and for that, she thanked him. She would have been pissed had he coddled her.

"Trowa and Rashid aren't back yet," she voiced, speaking directly into his thoughts.

Quatre nodded, but said nothing more. Nightfall was a few short hours away, and the storm was just starting to work itself up. It wouldn't be long before it shifted into full force. He had no way of knowing where they were at the moment, but he hated to think they were on their way back and would be caught in it. Rashid, however, was smarter than that. He had lived in the desert nearly all his life. He knew what he was doing. But storms were unpredictable. They could buck convention and break out faster than you had originally expected.

"Will they be all right?" She asked at length, trying not to sound as worried as she felt.

"I hope," he told her frankly, looking back to the window. "I don't know where they are at the moment."

Cathrine wished she could get up and go watch with him, where she would have a closer view, but her ankle kept her from doing it without hopping like a fool. Besides, Quatre had already asked her to keep it elevated longer. It made her angry. Not at him, but at herself for being so careless. If there were such a things as omens, maybe this mishap was one of them. She needed to keep her mind on other things and away from Quatre.

"Are you feeling better?"

He looked serious. How he could talk about things other than the situation that plagued them, was beyond her.

"Yes, thank you. The Ibuprofen helped too."

He left the window, came to sit down next to her on the couch, where her toes grazed his slacks as he lowered himself.

Watching his face, she tried to find some sign of how serious he considered the sandstorm, but she couldn't. He was very good at keeping everything behind an amiable mask. She wondered if that was really him, or if he hid things he didn't want others to see. Whatever the case, she didn't like the thought of Trowa and Rashid caught in the middle of a sandstorm with no form of protection. They both knew how to take care of themselves, Trowa perhaps even more than Rashid, but how could you fight an enemy like the weather and expect to win? It was so unpredictable.

Quatre looked at her. "Enjoying the magazine?"

"I don't know, I haven't read it," she admitted wryly.

"Your ankle hurts too much, hm?" He said with sympathy.

If she was brave, she would tell him that it was because of him she hadn't been able to concentrate. But there were different levels of bravery, and she had yet to reach that one.

"Ah, yes, that's it," she returned lamely.

Quatre's thoughts weighed heavily on him, and he had hoped to use Cathrine as a distraction this time. Which was ironic, considering he had wanted to _be_ distracted from her earlier. But the logical part of his brain wouldn't let him skirt away from a thought when he was on the verge of making a decision. He was halfway to leaving the house in search of his friends to make certain they had made it to some kind of shelter. He would fare fine in the old jeep of Rashid's (since his rental car wasn't made for riding across unexpected dunes), provided he made it there and back before the worst hit. Even then, with limited visibility, he could handle it. He had once held the power of a Gundam in his hands, so the thought of driving through a sandstorm didn't frighten him.

What he didn't want, however, was to be premature. There was a good chance that Rashid and Trowa, knowing of the impending storm, hadn't left the town at all. Had he a number to reach Rashid by, he would have called. As it was, he could see Cathrine was worried, despite how she tried to keep it to herself. It might be better in the long run if he just went to check on them in that case. He didn't want her up worrying all night, and if he got Trowa back here safely, she wouldn't have to. On top of her injury, the stress might be too much. But then, she was a strong woman. She had proven that more than once. So, either way, whether he went or not, was his decision.

"You're thinking of going, aren't you?" She voiced quietly.

"Yes."

"They might be fine. But they might not be. We'd both feel better if we knew," she added, and he could tell she was trying to deny herself just how much it was bothering her.

He could see why. Trowa was her only family. Well, perhaps only _blood_ family. He knew the circus was her family as well, but somehow, for her, it wasn't quite the same.

"Most likely, they haven't left town. If you'd like me to, however, I can drive down and see. It's only about five or so miles from here."

To keep herself from immediately yelling out 'yes!', she picked at the fabric of her skirt as if undecided.

"Well, all right, but I won't be able to fit my foot in a sandal," she said with a smile.

"You won't need to. You're injured, so you can wait here while I go."

Temper flashed instantly in her eyes, hot and bright.

"I can stand riding in a car. I won't be that much trouble."

"It's better if you stay here."

She already felt helpless and useless, if he left her here, forced her to wait until he got back, it would only be worse.

"Quatre, I-"

"I won't be gone long," he interrupted, holding his hand up to keep her from speaking further. "I just don't think you should be moved."

"I am _not_ a weakling," she told him through clenched teeth.

Reigning in his temper, something he found himself having to do around her more than anyone else he had ever met, he replied carefully, "I didn't imply you were. I think it's safer if you remain here."

"I'm not one of your employees, Quatre. I don't have to take orders from you," she threw back, not unlike a sullen child.

Because he understood her fear, and knew she must feel helpless, felt her helplessness if he allowed himself, he didn't let that comment get to him as much as it could. But his eyes, when he focused on her, were a bit cooler than usual.

"I'm not here to order you about, Cathrine. I want to make certain you get well. I _am_ going, and you _are_ staying here. You don't need to be jostled about in a rickety old jeep while I comb the desert for them. It makes no sense. I know you probably don't want to have to sit here, passing time with nothing to do while you worry, but I promise I'll make the trip as short as I can."

"You don't know how _I_ feel, Quatre," she informed him coolly.

His temper was slipping, he could feel it. He knew fear drove her to be difficult, but it was starting to become taxing. She was a grown woman, she ought to be able to understand that staying behind made the most sense.

"I know what you feel, Cathrine, because I feel it here," he said tonelessly, touching his hand to his heart. "I'm an empath. When you fell, I felt your pain. That happens when someone I care about gets hurt," and he let the last sentence hang in the air, before he turned his back on her and moved to the foyer to get his shoes and rain slicker. It worked as well for sand as it did rain.

He dressed quickly. "I'll be back as soon as I can." And then he was gone.

"Bastard!" She snapped, throwing the magazine, and then regretting the fit of temper when she realized she would have to get up to retrieve her only source of reading material.

He had talked his way around her, and when that didn't work, he had simply left knowing she couldn't get up and stop him. She hated it, this weakness, this mess she was in all because of him to begin with. She would be damned if she let his words about caring take away even an inch of that anger. She just hoped he made good on his promise to hurry, because there wasn't anything she could do about it now.

* * * *

As he eased the jeep out of the driveway and onto the paved road that cut through the desert and connected to the town Rashid and Trowa might be in, he regretted leaving things the way he had. He shouldn't have been so short with her. He knew she had only been acting that way because she hated sitting and waiting with nothing to do but just that. Yes, he knew, because he felt the same way. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be out here now, a short time before dark, seeking them out.

The wind was already rough, tossing up handfuls of sand that hit the windshield and scattered. He turned the windshield wipers on to gain more visibility, wincing only once at the squeak of protest they made. They needed to be replaced. The difficult time they had pulling across the glass meant the rubber was getting hard. So long as they didn't stall on him, however, they would serve well enough. He could handle the noise.

Both hands curled firmly around the wheel, he maneuvered his way down the road as fast as he legally and safely could, the sun's light dying behind him. The further he drove, the worse the winds got, until he was almost certain they had behaved themselves until he had shown up and offered them a plaything. If he got thrown off the road, however, he wasn't overly worried about getting back on. The jeep was built for rough terrain, and if he needed, he would get out and turn the hubcaps to shift it in to four wheel drive. Actually, had he thought about it, he would have done that immediately after leaving the house. It would have to wait until he got to town then, provided he managed to make it there without incident.

This wasn't the first time he had been in a storm. The last one had been over four years ago, however, and then, he had been on foot. It had happened after he left the Sank Kingdom in a jet fighter and was shot down. With no choice but to rough it on foot, he had traveled for a day and a half, meeting up with a storm halfway. Since shelter obviously hadn't been available, he had simply continued traveling, hoping that he would make it through, because then, he had, had so much more to do.

He had made it too. With a few minor injuries, a shrunken, starving stomach, and a desperate need for water. Sometimes, when he sat in his plush office on L4 and thought of that time, he almost wanted to laugh. No one would have believed Quatre Winner, diplomat and business monger had ever done something as tedious as that.

Or maybe, those that remembered he was once a Gundam Pilot, thought differently.

The wind jerked the jeep again, nearly tearing the steering wheel from his hands as the right wheels slid off the pavement and threw up sand. Frowning in concentration, he fought storm, managing to nearly get the jeep back on the road before it was shoved off again. With two wheels on the pavement for now, he was fine. Perhaps not as well off as he would be if all _four_ were, but at least he hadn't been kicked all the way off. He kept that in mind while he struggled for control, battled the wind, and won.

He was tempted to take over the whole road to give himself more leverage, but as the storm was kicking up even more furiously than before, he knew should someone else be out, he might not see them in time to avoid an accident. At the moment, his chances for survival were greater if he weathered the storm out. So he would do that, fighting her still, because she was a testy one, with a temper to match any woman's. Perhaps not just any woman's. Because the one filling his thoughts, even now, was only Cathrine. He just wasn't certain what he was going to do about that yet.

It attacked him from behind, like the vengeful hand of God, scooping him up and setting him down where it pleased.

He felt the jeep struggle, lose the fight, and fishtail off the road.

It spun, spraying sand in a wall so high, he could see nothing outside of it.

"I should have known this would happen..." he muttered, hands gripping the wheel so tightly, the skin across his knuckles went taut and white.

This was his vacation. He wasn't supposed to die on his vacation, not after surviving countless battles, some of which were dangerously close to fatal. Not after discovering there was a woman out there he cared for beyond a passing interest. Certainly not after having made a life for himself. This storm couldn't have him, no matter how dark the need was, how sharp the taste. It would go unfulfilled, because he wasn't being buried alive out here tonight, or any night.

His foot was already off the brake, and the jeep only had to wear itself out now, running down the speed until there was nothing left to keep it going. He only hoped the momentum wasn't so fierce, it had peeled the rubber back from the hubs. Turning hubcaps was one thing, forcing stiff rubber back into place was another.

Outside, the wind shuddered, beating against the jeep as if demanding entrance. He could hear it howling its anger through every crack. Sand lifted, whirled, fell, only to rise again. He watched it, his heart thudding like a wild echo in his chest as the jeep jerked to a stop hard enough to snap him against the restraints. It was so reminiscent of the times he battled in Sandrock, that he bit back a bitter taste of nostalgia. He would never miss the battling, but he would always miss that connection, the one he had sought out in another human, and had never found. Until Cathrine.

Easing the jeep into neutral, relieved it obeyed, he slipped the keys into his pocket and reached for the door. Bracing himself, he shoved against it will all his weight, slipping partially out before it slammed into his body and tried to shut him in. Ignoring the sharp pain that flashed in his side, burned along his ribs, his brows slammed together as he gathered all his strength and went for another push. This time he fell out onto the stirred sand, harsh grains slapping him in the face with every chance the wind got.

Pulling the slicker over his head as best he could, he fell down before the front wheel on both knees and fumbled around for the hub. When he found it, he turned it until he heard it click. That was one down. Now he only had to make it around the front of the jeep and get the other. Something that ordinarily, would have been an easy task. Giving it no further thought, he struggled to his feet, feeling as if someone was sitting on top of him, pushing him down again for every bit of ground he gained.

Each step was a battle in itself, forcing him to pause between. He grasped the grill as he passed, using it for leverage so that the wind couldn't knock him to his knees. The slicker blew back, and sand hit him full in the face, biting into his skin, stinging his eyes. At last, however, he made it to the other side and fell down again to turn the hubcap. Rather than fight his way back, he forced the passenger side open with no small amount of difficulty, and then crawled in, managing to have his ankle shut in the door in the process.

He ignored the sting, and slid into the driver's seat, forcing the jeep into four wheel drive, starting it up, and punching the gas, churning sand as he went. But he made it back on to the road, and the hum of the jeep was higher pitched this time, nearly drowning out the whine of the wipers.

* * * *

Cathrine was tired of waiting.

She turned the magazine page with such viciousness, that it tore.

Quatre had been gone for nearly a half an hour now, and each minute had crawled by with excruciating slowness, as the storm outside built, until sand blew across the wall and beat up against the windows. Now, rather than have two people to be worried about, she had three. Her brother, her friend, and the man she was fairly certain she was on the verge of something more than friendship with.

What if something had happened to him now? What if he was stranded?

She was tired of laying down too. So she rose, eased her legs over the edge of the couch, and stood, ignoring the ache that stirred in her ankle. Hobbling purposefully, she went to the kitchen, turned the light on, and searched until the gleam of what she was looking for caught her eyes. Keys. There was one set, and the tag on them marked them rental keys. They were to the car, there was no mistaking that. And she was taking the car to look for Quatre.

The trip back out to the foyer was a long enough one, that she was almost ready to give up. Instead, she grabbed a slicker yards too big for her, threw it on, and struggled into her sandals, giving up on buckling the one covering her injured foot when the pain and the struggle became too much. Hands gripping the knob, she braced herself, and then pulled the door open, startled when it blew back with suck force, she was knocked into the wall.

"Crazy..." she muttered, sweat beading across her brow as she pushed around the door and out into the lash of sand and wind.

It pelted down on her, stinging like tiny rocks. Wincing, she hurried across the pavement and to the driveway as fast as she could, losing her balance and falling once onto her knees. They felt raw as she pushed to her feet, and she wanted to turn back, thinking that this was not that good of an idea at all. But she kept on, stubborn enough to continue the course once she started it. Wrestling her way into the car was difficult, but she somehow managed, nearly shutting her only good foot in the door.

Fumbling with the keys, she started the car up, turned the wipers on, and backed out, using both feet to drive, because pressing on the brake with her injured ankle hurt more than pressing on the gas. She was more than grateful the car was automatic, but once she got out on the road, she wished it was a tank, for the way it kept getting battered around on every side. Even with the wipers going, she could barely see, and since she didn't often do much driving, and didn't even have a license of any sort with her right now, she hoped she didn't wreck. If luck was on her side, she wouldn't.

Maybe it wasn't. For she got no more than a half a mile from the house, driving so slow she knew she was putting grannies everywhere to shame, when the a huge gust of wind latched on to the car and wouldn't let go. Unprepared for the sudden spike in resistance, she was helpless to keep the car from spinning off the road and into the sand.

Heart hammering against her ribs, she took her feet from the pedal and brake, and was not ready for the car to snap to a sudden stop. Worry and haste had kept her from remembering to buckle her seatbelt. Her head hit the wheel sharply, hard, and everything went black, before thousands of bright lights flashed behind her eyes and it felt as if someone hand wrenched her forehead from her skull.

Breathing heavily, she lay where she was for a few moments, before raising her head, ignoring the blinding stab of pain behind her eyes and the trickle of blood seeping down the bridge of her nose. The tears came but she ignored them, furiously wishing they would just go the hell away. She had to get the car back on the road. Or she was going to be stuck here for Heaven-only-knew how long.

* * * *

After what seemed like eternity, Quatre made it to the town. Since he didn't see anyone along the way, as much as he _could_ see in this mess, he had hoped he would find them here. He knew where to look, and was more than a little relieved to find that they were there and safe. Rashid had not been at all pleased to find Quatre out in the storm, and has questioned him endlessly, until Quatre told him the entire story, including why Cathrine wasn't with him. They were driving now, along the road, Quatre still at the wheel and Rashid riding silently behind him, Trowa having opted for one of the back seats.

It was just as difficult on the way back, because the wind had shifted directions and was coming at him from the front. Rather than speak to him, the others must have sensed he needed all his focus to be on driving, because they had yet to say a word. Which was fine with him, as it was true. He needed his concentration here, so that he could just get them all home and they could settle down for the night. After his wonderful adventure in the sand, that was all he wanted to do. He and Cathrine had already eaten, and so it seemed, had Trowa and Rashid, so dinner wasn't a necessity. Only sleep was.

"What's that?" Trowa spoke up suddenly, and Quatre caught what he meant off to the side of the road. Headlights.

Someone else had apparently decided to brave the storm, and gotten blown off the road for their efforts. He would have to stop. They might need help.

"I'm going to stop the jeep and get out. It's going to be wild, so you should slide over into the driver's seat in case something happens to the jeep, Rashid."

"You should just let me go, Master Quatre."

Quatre smiled wearily. "I've been out once, I'll be fine."

Without waiting for further argument, he plowed out into the sand, stumbling to one knee as the wind beat down on him again. Struggling back up, he pulled his slicker across his face until he could barely see. The closer he drew to the car, the more familiar it looked. But it couldn't be the rental. The rental was parked in the driveway of his house. Fear settled in, mingled with anger. It couldn't be the rental. It had better not be the rental.

But the slight figure struggling against the bumper told him otherwise.

Cathrine had left the house. In the rental. And had went off the side of the road.

Thrust on by his growing fury, he rushed through the storm, reaching her in time to catch her before she fell.

"Little fool!" He hissed in her ear, trying not to soften when he felt her sag against him in relief.

"I can't get the car out."

"I can see that."

She could hear the anger in his words. She had never heard him sound such a way before. When he swung her up into his arms, caught sight of the blood on her forehead, she had never seen a look as completely livid as the one he wore now. Never on his face. It sent another kind of fear sparking in her.

The way back was hard. But he made it, and he thrust her into the jeep next to Trowa.

"I need your help!" He shouted. "We have to push the rental car out so I can drive it back."

Trowa nodded, while Rashid jerked the parking brake.

Quatre turned to look at Cathrine. "You, stay here."

Miserable, tired, and aching, she could only nod.

It took time, and effort they very nearly didn't have. Twice, Rashid and Trowa were nearly swallowed by the sand Quatre threw at them as he tried to get the car in motion. The third time, however, must have been a charm, because the car sputtered, jerked, and then tore onto the road, throwing both men behind it to their knees.

Rashid motioned for Quatre to go ahead of them, in the event that he had more problems and needed help. It turned out he didn't, though he had a considerably harder time getting the car home than he would have the jeep. When he parked, it was another battle to get into the house, and get everyone settled enough that they mostly fell where they could, all needing a rest after the struggle.

Cathrine's gaze, he avoided, because for right now, he didn't trust himself to speak to her.