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

In the silence, all that could be heard was the lament of the wind as it tore at the windows, desperate to move past the glass and intrude.

Cathrine lay on the couch, the slicker pooled beneath her, and a damp rag offered to her by Trowa pressed against her forehead (he had looked at her wound and determined it wasn't deep enough to need stitches; it had stopped bleeding already, but the headache still remained). There was sand in her ace bandage. There was sand everywhere, and sometime in the process of trying to push the car alone, she had lost her unbuckled sandal. But she couldn't work up enough energy to care, especially not when Trowa's silent, reprimanding looks and Quatre's obvious avoidance of her were very much on her mind. They no doubt thought she was stupid. And they were right.

It seemed, she had done nothing but be stupid all day long. She had two injuries and oceans of humiliation to show for it. If it were at all possible, she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She hurt, she was tired, and she wanted to weep. Silly, ridiculous tears of weakness she was fighting to hold back even now.

It was her own fault, so she knew she shouldn't feel so beaten up. It was just that she had never been very good at sitting by waiting. Trowa had made her do so much of that during the war, and she had promised herself never again. No more late nights wondering if he would return to her alive, or in a casket. Never again.

She wasn't any better at loss. Her entire family had been taken because of the fighting, and when Trowa had returned, it was like a blessing she was afraid would disappear if she blinked. If she was overprotective of him, or let her worry carry her too far, it was only that she didn't want him to leave. This time, Trowa, Quatre, or Rashid. So she had went after them, rather than sit and wait, as she had done too many times before.

His slicker draped across the back of the chair he sat in, Quatre tried to hold back the whirl of feelings. On the road, when he had gotten the flash of pain, he hadn't thought much of it. Faced with the storm, he suspected it could be nearly anything, maybe just his own fear. But it hadn't. It had been Cathrine, being foolish and very nearly getting herself killed. Every time he forced himself to face that, the anger grew a little. He understood why she had done it, but that didn't seem to make it any better.

There had only been anger like this one time before, when his father had died, and then, it had been mixed with a sorrow that had choked him, nearly overwhelmed him with the sense of loss and emptiness. He didn't want to face that again.

His eyes slid past her again, to Trowa framed in the doorway to the kitchen. Arms folded across his chest, and head slightly bowed, he looked almost as if he was asleep. Which was far from the truth. Quatre knew just how alert he always was, and how good he was at hiding it. Other than some meaningful looks, he had said nothing to Cathrine. It wasn't his way. For him, perhaps that was enough. Maybe, in the past, Quatre would have let this pass too. But he couldn't now. They had come through too much to risk their lives like that. And he wouldn't be able to settle for the night until he did something about it.

He broke the silence, saying quietly, an underlying intensity vibrating in his words, "You shouldn't have left the house."

She jerked up. His eyes were on her. His face was still, but she saw the silent fire in his eyes.

Anger sparked. She wasn't a child, and he wasn't going to treat her like one. Maybe she shouldn't have left the house, but the fact was, she had. They were all home now. There was no sense in harping on it.

"I'm tired of being left behind!"

Exasperation gnawed at him. "Cathrine, I just wanted you to be safe."

"Who said it was up to you to decide what's right for me?"

Leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, he said with more feeling, "When you aren't thinking rationally, then someone else needs to make decisions for you."

The blood drained from her face, with the exception of two bright pinpoints of color in her cheeks, and she felt a chill sweep across her skin.

"How dare you treat me like a child."

"If you don't want to be treated like a child, then you shouldn't act like one, Cathrine."

So caught up in each other, in their mutual anger, neither noticed as Trowa slipped from the room and up the stairs, a small, satisfied smile curving his lips.

It felt like another slap. Coming from Quatre, harsh words settled deeply, like little barbs of ice that refused to let go.

Quatre saw the hurt mirrored in her face, felt the first trickle of guilt rise, but he couldn't stop yet. Not until he made her understand just how frightened he had been at the thought of her dying. Somehow, he had to make an impression. Anger was not often his way, because it wasn't productive, it caused more hurt and closed minds that might otherwise listen. But it felt as if he had held back for too long, and Cathrine's obstinate refusal to hear him out was only fueling it.

She wanted to cry again. She wanted to get up from the couch and rush up the stairs, but she couldn't. A slow retreat would only be one more humiliation. So she would endure his censure, but she didn't have to like it.

"You could have died. You do realize that?"

"Yes!" She snapped, twisting her hands in her lap. "But that isn't any of your concern."

Somewhere, inside of her, she knew she wanted it to be.

His eyes flashed.

None of his concern? He cared what happened to her, and for her to imply he didn't, hurt him.

"None of my concern? You think I am in the habit of not caring what happens to my friends?"

"I don't need another friend!" Her fingers flew to her mouth, as if that act alone could take the words back. But she knew, she didn't want to. She meant them.

He stilled.

"What do you need, Cathrine?" He asked, his tone subdued, giving away nothing.

What she needed, was to be brave enough to explore this attraction, to know it wasn't all on her side. But she couldn't.

She lifted her chin a fraction. "I need you to treat me like I'm an adult, like I'm on your level."

His brow furrowed.

"My level?" He asked, confused.

"Like an equal."

Sitting back, he watched her carefully. Had he treated her like she was beneath him? If so, he hadn't meant to. He had, and never would consider himself above anyone, better than anyone.

"Cathrine," he started, his tone gentle now, "you are. There was never a time you weren't."

It was difficult to hold on to the ground she had gained when he looked at her like that, spoke to her like that. He had an easy way of doing that, and she wanted to resist it. She wasn't through making her point. She wasn't through being angry. It couldn't be this easy, because getting here had been so hard.

"I never meant for you to feel that way. I only worried," he added, suddenly feeling drained, weary.

Watching the fight drain out of him, she suddenly realized how tired she was herself, and how much she needed a bath before simply collapsing into the soft bed. It seemed almost silly now, at this moment, that they would be fighting, after everything that had happened today. She knew Quatre was angry because he cared for her on some level, and she knew she bit back because she was afraid to seem weak. But all of that no longer mattered. She was wrong. It was easy, only a matter of coming to a decision and letting go.

Rubbing absently at bridge of his nose where a headache was brewing, Quatre wished he hadn't lost his temper. He felt no better for it. Only tired, only glad that it was over and they were all safely together under one roof. That they _were_ here should be all that mattered, but he hadn't known where to put the fear. It didn't fit in with everything else, and it wasn't easy to force away. So it came out, and probably hurt in the process. He hated hurting others, maybe because he knew what it was to hurt.

He rose, closing the space to fall down next to her, his face inches from hers.

Cathrine didn't have time to react before he said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

She smiled. Nothing could have surprised him more.

"Quatre, believe it or not, I'm glad you did. I was beginning to think you didn't have a temper. It's good to let it all out sometimes, you know?"

He would have laughed, had he been able to.

"Cathrine, that's no-"

She silenced him, pressing her finger to his lips. Her touch warmed him, and he reached up, curling his fingers around her arm.

"I'm sorry I left. I was afraid something had happened to you."

"Thank you."

Simply said, but with as much feeling as any words.

She felt his fingers, through the fabric of her sleeve. Feelings touched her, left her wanting something, but not knowing what. Just a touch, just more, just a little.

Without thinking, only knowing what he needed, he traced her cheek with his palm. Her skin was soft, and when she turned into his touch, it was enough to set something loose in him, something warm and fulfilling, complete. He reacted, drew her to him, his hand leaving her arm to slide behind her and settle in the small of her back, where his fingers pressed and burned her there. She wanted to protest, but the sudden weakness in her limbs as he slid her from the couch and into his lap, had her surrendering, melting into him. They fit well together, his every angle to her every cure.

Quatre could have held her like that all night, and known what peace truly meant for the first time. This solid press of body to body, so that he could feel her heart beating with his, was enough to quiet all that had been stirring inside. Everything he had ever done was worth this moment, worth the link he felt with her. And if just holding her felt this way, what would loving her feel like?

"All this time... All this time I knew you and I never noticed," he murmured, and lowered his head.

The kiss was a gentle press of lips on lips until she sighed a little and slid her arms around his neck and her hands into his hair. A change threaded through them then, transferring a primal shiver from her skin to his. His lips grew firm, opened, nudged her own apart, and took, leaving her head swimming and her mind blissfully blank. Heat pooled in her stomach, and she gave, forgetting everything for the sake of feeling.

Quatre was stunned. He hadn't expected this explosion of fire, the sensitivity to her every touch, her every move. There was an ache, a burn, a need. He tasted her in the touch of her tongue to his, felt her in the answering strain of her body against his, and thought words had never been more useless than they were now. Nothing he ever could have said, would have told her how much he felt for her as this did. And if it never ended, it would be far too soon for him.

They parted, stared at each other through passion hazed eyes with the wonderment of a newborn looking at the world for the first time. Longings tugged at them, settled between them, and they knew for the first time what it was to really want someone.

"So that's kissing," she said on a sigh, her mouth working before her brain could catch up.

He laughed, thinking she never looked more beautiful as she did now, with her mouth swollen and her eyes heavy.

She would have snapped at him, but all that she could manage instead was an answering smile.

There was so much to be said, and yet they didn't. Cathrine rested her head against Quatre's shoulder, absorbing the warmth and strength there. He pressed his cheek to the softness of her hair and closed his eyes, wanting to take the moment for what it was worth, and not to forget. This was the start of something. If it wasn't, he never would have allowed himself to kiss her, to hold her. Yet, it felt almost as if he had no choice, even now. All the emotions churning inside, coupled with being so near to her, had made him want to touch her. In that moment, pulled into her eyes, he hadn't been able to refuse.

"I've wanted to do that all day," he admitted.

"I've wanted you to do that all day," she replied softly.

He smiled against her hair.

It was only now that Quatre realized Trowa had left the room. He felt partially guilty for not noticing his friend. Trowa's sister seemed to have that effect on him. He had to wonder, as well, if Trowa had been here long enough to witness the kiss, would he have objected? Or was it something else entirely. Had Trowa left on purpose? There was no way of knowing, but if tonight, it ended up that Cathrine became someone very important to him, Trowa was going to have to know. He would rather the ex-pilot hear it from him and Cathrine than anyone else. It was only fair.

Cathrine's head jerked up suddenly, wide eyes staring into Quatre's. "Trowa."

"He's gone. To bed, I think."

Her expression became pained. "I can't believe I forgot about him."

Holding his smile in check, he replied, "I can, because I did too. I was too caught up in you."

Pleasure, warmth, comfort. All the things his words brought her, that she had felt so few times with another person. She hadn't expected to find it with him, had certainly not gone looking. She didn't understand why it was now, of all times, but she wasn't going to question it. It simply was. There would be many more things for them to work out later if this became something more, she was sure, but right now, she only wanted to hold and be held, and forget about reality for a short, blissful time. She could allow herself that, just this once. She had always been too practical before, because she knew what life could take from you. Now she knew what it could give.

With careful, but sure moves, he turned them so that he could rest his back against the couch and keep Cathrine in his lap. She settled there, making herself comfortable, and he thought that nothing would be more easy to get used to than this.

Despite how open and affectionate he was with people he cared for, it had never been that way for him, and he hadn't always been that way himself. His father had loved him, of that he was sure, but the elder Winner had been more concerned with raising him the right way and running the family business than affection. There had been times that he ached for a mother. That soft touch, that warm embrace when the world was scary, and the gentle kiss that made everything all right. But he wasn't alone in that. So, perhaps, if he hadn't met up with the Maguanacs, he would have always been a bitter person, dreaming of what he wanted rather than appreciating what he had.

Cathrine could never remember a time when she was held like this. Not easily, in any case. She had been so young when her parents had died. The circus had been a loving place, but a place where she learned to grow up quickly and make her own way. They taught her the value of hard work, took her all over the colonies and Earth, and kept her too busy to regret or think of what she had missed. But only during the day. It was during the night that she would wonder how different her life would had been had her parents and her brother lived. Now, she had her brother, and a family she had learned to appreciate more and more as time went on. There was no room for looking back any longer.

"Do you miss him?" She asked without preamble.

"Who?" He asked, but thought he knew.

"Your father."

Emotions shifted. He looked for the truth and gave it to her. "Sometimes. Some days more than others. Sometimes I regret the way we left things. But it can't be helped, and I know letting it eat me up inside would not be the way he wanted me to live. He made his decision, and I have to respect that. But it took me a long time."

She nodded. "I used to miss my family every day. Trowa, and my parents. But I..." she struggled for the words. "I wanted to quit living in the past. It took Trowa returning to help me do that."

"It's funny what we hold on to, how we forget to live."

"It makes us human."

"Hard to swallow, isn't it?" He teased, earning a light elbow in the ribs from her.

"Maybe for you..."

"Oh, but I suppose you're perfect?"

"Of course. Was there any doubt?" She informed him haughtily.

He ran a thumb down her arm, felt her skin rise and react. "No..."

She sighed as her skin quivered. "Quatre..."

His eyes swept shut. It was humbling, what just the sound of his name on her lips could bring him.

Silence fell, and the slap of sand against the window, matched only by the sound of their breathing, reached them. The raging storm outside seemed so inconsequential now, as if it couldn't touch them, as if it were a world apart. Here, sheltered in each others arms, for as long as it could last, they felt sheltered from everything.

"Quatre..." she trailed off, sounding uncertain.

"What is it?"

"Where... does this take us?"

He was quiet. For too long. Why couldn't she have just left well enough alone? She always pushed.

He had expected that, and yet he hadn't. There were no certainties, no guarantees he could give her. Just offer her a chance and hope she took it.

"I was hoping this could be our start."

Something tight worked its way loose and she felt free.

"Me too," she whispered, slipping her hand into his own, and entangling their fingers.

Relief was sharp, for both of them.

Relaxed, more at ease than she had been for the past few days, Cathrine closed her eyes and felt the pull of sleep. Quatre's arms around her felt so welcome, so warm, that she could have drifted off against him easily and slept the night away. Only thoughts of his comfort kept her from doing so. She didn't think he would appreciate having completely numb legs come morning. Though she couldn't deny the image of him trying to stand, and falling flat on his face wasn't funny. Quatre so rarely made public mistakes, that the opportunity to tease him would have been too much to pass up.

Luckily for him, she wasn't that mean.

She wasn't aware she had laughed out loud until Quatre asked her what she found amusing.

"Oh, nothing," she eluded.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't push.

"How's your ankle?"

Making a face, she moved it slightly. "Worse. But that's my own fault," she added ruefully.

"You're going to stay off of it tomorrow."

"Yes, Mr. Winner," she replied sardonically.

"Ah, sorry. I didn't mean it as an order."

"Control sits well on you," she teased, reaching up with her free hand to tug on a lock of hair.

Sand fell into their laps, and they watched it go in silence before breaking into mutual laughter.

"If we find that funny, I definitely think it's time for bed," Cathrine announced.

So it was. Quatre admitted he was stalling. He was enjoying the time spent with her, and as tired as he knew they both were, he didn't want to end it just yet. But there would be more nights like this. One way or another, he would see to it. Somehow, he would make time. He was already planning ahead, knowing he could stand to do less with the business and even politics. With a part of his life filled he hadn't expected, there would be no need to work so much. The thought gave him indescribable joy. Someone to share his life with. That was rare. He would give Cathrine as much as he could, and take all that he could in return.

"Quatre."

She sounded sleepy.

"Hm?"

"If you don't take me up to bed, I'm going to fall asleep on you."

He smiled against her hair. "I don't think I would mind."

Neither did she.

"Well, when your lap fell asleep, you would." But her cheeks were warm, and she was pleased.

He laughed. "Perhaps. Here, I'll carry you up to your room."

Before she could agree, or protest, he swept her up into his arms and stood.

She slid her arms around his neck and appraised him. "You're handy to have around."

He wanted to kiss her again. Press his lips to hers. She looked so lovely when she smiled.

"I'm glad that I'm good for something."

"You are," she answered, resting her head against his shoulder and he climbed stairs.

"What's that?"

"No fishing," she scolded.

"Yes, Mistress Cathrine."

"That has a nice ring to it," she teased.

"Just like Master Quatre," he replied lightly, stopping in front of her door.

"Well, I won't call you that, so don't get any ideas."

"We've only just begun and already you don't respect me."

"Of course I do. To an extent..." she added, winking.

The flash of desire was instantaneous. His eyes darkened.

Cathrine stilled. "You can set me down here."

He understood. No matter how much she trusted him, she wasn't ready to let him into her room. He would never have asked it of her. There would be plenty of time for that after they learned about each other. Waiting was not something he had difficulties with. He thought, even now, he would wait for her forever if that was what she needed.

"Good night... Mistress Cathrine," and he leaned down, gently brushed his lips over hers.

"Good night, Master Quatre," she whispered, reaching out on impulse to wrap her arms around him.

"You said you wouldn't call me that."

"I lied."

"I'll forgive you."

He thought he could forgive her almost anything.

He held her close, touched his lips to her hair, and then pulled gently away, a soft smile on his lips.

She went first, hobbling awkwardly into her room, and sending him one last look before she shut the door. He stared at it, before turning to walk slowly down the hall to his own room. Sleep weighed heavily on him, but thought it would be a very long time before he could succumb to it.

Cathrine Bloom would occupy his thoughts well past the midnight hour. Of that, he was sure.