Title: What I Need
Part: Eight
Pairings: 4+Cathrine
Warnings: Violence

In the aftermath, the silence was deafening.

The authorities had left after hours of exhaustive questioning, with the exception of two armed guards gifted for their protection. One was stationed at the front of the house, the other at the rear. The act was supposed to make it easier for them to sleep. Quatre doubted anything short of a tranquilizer was going to accomplish that.

Cathrine was leaning against Trowa, her further injured ankle propped and iced, the only of their injuries already tended to. She wasn't watching anything in particular, but the shell-shocked look on her face told him the reality of the situation had been hammered home with the relentless, near-interrogation of the police. He wished he could look the same.

The violence of it wasn't lost on him, but the impression it made was undoubtedly not the one the opposition had wished for. No, they were looking for death. Alive as he was now, they were probably hoping for fear at the very least. There, they were wrong. He didn't want to say his time as a Gundam pilot conditioned him, or that the arena he worked in now prepared him, but saying otherwise would be a lie. He was desensitized. Violence no longer shocked him as it once had, and because of it, he felt very tired, very old, and resigned. Whatever part of him had been innocence, had left years ago, when he was faced with the brutality of others... and the brutality he was capable of himself.

With a soft sigh, he probed the tender area around nose, before finally dropping his eyes. Blood on white was probably the most obscene, yet strangely beautiful thing you could ever see. It was on the front of his pajamas, dried from hours in contact with the air, and arranged like splatter paint. He could feel it rough against his bare chest, and wrist as well, where he had wiped his bloodied nose. The knowledge made him want to tear it off, to get it away from him, so he could scrub his skin until it was raw. His own blood was one thing, but the blood of another...

Trowa shifted almost imperceptibly, drawing his attention.

Their eyes met, a silent message exchanged between friends.

Of them all, Trowa was the most untouched. Save for rumpled clothing, he suffered from no long-lasting injuries or unwanted stains. Quatre knew it was because his hand-to-hand skills were far past theirs. He wouldn't say that aloud, however, because like him, Trowa was trying to put the past behind him. Learn from it, internalize it, but never live it. He no more wanted to hear he had sounded far too calm under the heavy stares of the police, than Trowa wanted to be reminded of how clean his kill had been. For them, moving past this would be easy. But Cathrine...

He looked at her again, felt the tug of guilt. He couldn't have known, he knew that. It was only that the assassins had come here for him, because of the Resource Satellite agreement, he was certain. That they were caught up in it, was only as a result of their association. When they left, they would probably be fine so long as he wasn't with them. Thus, he got to the crux of the matter.

It would be far better for him to leave now, and send them back to the circus. He could return to space, concentrate on pushing this agreement through with more speed, and not worry that they would be harmed simply because of their proximity to him.

It made the most sense.

Right now, too, he felt as distant from Cathrine as you could get from a stranger. When the weight of it fell on her, Trowa was who she clung to. He was familiar, he was her support, and Quatre couldn't help but feel he was the cause. Remove the cause, leave the support, and the healing could begin that much quicker.

This would need time. He had seen her room. It was a miracle she had survived at all, and the way in which she had been forced to defend herself... It wasn't likely to leave her anytime soon. The first time she had ever been forced to kill, and it was because of him. No matter how many years passed, or memories rose to claim them, he would never forget the first time he was responsible for taking another's life, nor the way it had affected him. The shock of it, the un-reality, the difficulty in accepting. She would need Trowa to get her through that, not him.

Someone needed to break the silence.

"I'll turn some rooms for us," he heard himself say, as if from a distance.

Trowa merely nodded. None of them were going to want to sleep in the rooms they had killed in... if they wanted to sleep at all.

His eyes flickered to Cathrine. "You stay with her. I'll do it by myself."

Cathrine moved slowly, almost as if she were fighting against the motion, and stared at him, her eyes large in a pale face.

"I'm fine. Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

Her words lacked bite, and Quatre felt a dull ache fill him. He almost reached up to massage his heart, even knowing the act wouldn't help.

Cathrine was looking at Quatre, but she wasn't really seeing him. She kept seeing the face of her attacker just before and after she drove the pin into his neck. There had been so much blood... And all those questions. It had been as if the authorities thought it was their fault, as if they were murderers or something instead of people who had just been fighting to live.

Another shiver twisted through her, and her stomach lurched. Pressing her oddly cold fingers to her forehead, she wiped the perspiration away and tried to find something as her anchor. She didn't want to disgrace herself in front of Quatre and Trowa like that. Especially not Quatre. He was already looking at her as he was afraid she would break into a million pieces. She hated that. She wasn't weak. She had just never killed a man before.

Her stomach convulsed again.

Soothing, slim fingers brushed across her temple, the side of her head, and she leaned into Trowa's solid warmth.

"Breath," he commanded softly.

She did as he asked without argument, startled to find she hadn't been breathing at all if the way she sucked in oxygen like some half-starved animal was any indication. Her stomach was still queasy, but she felt somewhat better now. More, she thought, because Trowa was beside her than anything else. Another weakness, needing him as something to grasp onto, but she couldn't fight that. The self-recrimination could wait for later. Right now, she needed him.

She had always hated death without ever really knowing why. Now that she understood perfectly she didn't think she could ever forget.

Quatre watched them, oddly jealous and more than a little alienated. Looking at them, made him sharply aware of his own loneliness. There was no real connection like that between him and any of his sisters, nor was there anyone now for him to turn to. Whatever he and Cathrine had been on the verge of beginning, would have to wait. He needed to push this agreement through and see it to the end. He couldn't do that if he was worrying about her at the same time. As heartless, or selfish as it was, business had to come first. For the sake of their safety, and the future of the colonies.

That did not make it any easier to swallow, however.

"I think it's better if in the morning, I make arrangements to return to the colonies and get you both back to the circus."

The businessman. He sounded calm, in control, and perfectly neutral.

Trowa's gaze narrowed on his face, and just the slight thinning of his lips and the barely detectable gleam in his eyes told Quatre what he thought of that. In the end, it wouldn't matter. He had made his mind up and there was little they could do to change it. To ensure that, he distanced himself further and raised a barrier. Of all the places, this was the last one he had wanted to bring this part of himself to.

Cathrine was the first to speak.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, a hint of heat in her words. "Why should we leave our vacation so early? I'm not going to let them scare us away."

"They could have killed us, Cathrine," he answered bluntly, his tone lacking the gentle note he normally would have used with such a harsh reality. But even as he was hating himself as she flinched, he was hardening himself against that reaction.

"They can kill us anywhere," she deflected tartly.

"They can kill _me_ anywhere," he disagreed lowly, emphasizing the importance of his involvement.

Her expression changed slightly. She knew what he was doing. It only made her angry.

"Don't be stupid, Quatre. You leaving isn't going to change anything."

If he couldn't get her to go willingly, then he would chase her away, and hurt all the more because of it.

"I am making the most sense here at the moment, Cathrine," he informed her, his tone cool. "I think it's time you were sent back to the circus."

She didn't jerk back, but she wanted to. This wasn't the Quatre who had shown her what real attraction felt like. This was a cold stranger who seemed bent on driving her away. Maybe it was that he found her a distraction, an unecessary object getting in the way of his plans. He was certainly trying hard enough to get rid of her, and making no secret about that fact.

The color drained further from her face. Maybe that was it. He regretted what they had shared. It had been a nice little vacation, a short fling with an orphaned circus girl. Now it was time to go back to the real world, where woman wore suits and had their hair done in salons.

She understood perfectly.

Cathrine was so easy to read. It made it so hard. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to reassure her, but he had went too far with that now. She was hurting, and a bleeding Cathrine was one that lashed out in any way she could to protect herself. She wasn't going to accept anything from him now.

"We'll go back, Cathy," Trowa voiced, but his eyes never left Quatre's face, and what the other saw there, was a palpable disapproval.

He felt a flash of anger. Dammit, he did not need Trowa's approval to do this, nor did he need his condemnation. He was doing what he thought was best for them all, and they were simply going to have to accept that.

"Yes. We'll go back," she added, her voice gaining strength.

She stared straight at Quatre, lifting her chin, and her expression was the closest to carefully blank he had ever seen on her.

"Thank you. What there was of it... was a nice time."

Her words were like knives. Thousands of little knives driving their way into him. He had to go, gather himself up, and be alone before he lost control and they saw.

"It was a pleasure having you," he returned, equally neutral.

Quatre rose, turned stiffly, and moved toward the stairs, never looking back.

* * * *

Gone were the comfort clothes. In their place, was an immaculate suit that labeled him nothing but a man with money and influence. Suitcases in hand, he allowed the armed guard to escort him to the waiting car. After a thorough search of the car to ensure that no bombs were planted on board, they allowed Rashid to slip behind the wheel to serve as Quatre's protection to the airport. Rather than argue, as he saw the wisdom in leaving two guards to watch over Cathrine and Trowa until they left, he merely went in silence, a fact which was far more telling to Rashid than the former wished it to be.

Quatre had seen neither of his friends before leaving. He felt it was better that way. Considering the way they had let things sit the night before, he doubted either of them wanted to speak to him. He couldn't blame them. If there had been another way, he would have done it. Or maybe there was and he just hadn't found it. That was a guilt that remained with him still, as the car sped along the sand covered road. What was done, was done, however. There was no sense in going over it again.

"Master Quatre, I wish you'd let me go back to L4 with you," Rashid interjected into his thoughts, bringing up an old argument that been played out in many different fashions over the years.

"We've been through this, Rashid. You're needed here. I'll make certain I obtain bodyguards to follow me at least until this agreement is settled."

The Arabian glanced at Quatre, and then back to the road again.

"Something bothering you?"

"No," he said automatically. Then, sighing, he rubbed his hand down his tired, aching face.

"Yes. A lot of things," he retracted, smiling wearily. "But then, that shouldn't be anything new to me."

Rashid grunted. "We're not talking about the agreement."

It was on the tip of Quatre's tongue to tell his old friend they weren't going to be talking about Cathrine and Trowa either, but he held it, not wanting to sound cranky, which was exactly what he felt.

"I did what I had to," he said instead.

Silence followed, in which Quatre settled back further in the seat, wishing it would just swallow him whole and relieve some of his misery. That, of course, was self-pity, so it didn't last long. He wouldn't let it. Things were far worse in so many other places, that his own problems were mild in comparison. Besides, there were worse things than making your friends angry with you. Things like allowing your friends to die because of you.

"You forget you don't need to do everything on your own."

Blue eyes fell on Rashid. "I don't know what you mean."

"You do. You take on too much, and you don't ask for enough help. That's arrogant, Master Quatre. You can't possibly do everything, and you can't possibly expect that things won't get done properly unless you're handling them directly."

It stung. He felt 13 years old again, standing before an angry Rashid who wouldn't stand for his bitterness and self-pity. It was not unlike the physical slap he had received then. This one was emotional, but it had the same impact.

"You didn't ask them what they wanted, did you? You just decided what was best, and expected them to follow."

Anger churned like a hard knot in his stomach. "We were talking about them possibly dying. Staying there would have been dangerous for them."

He lifted one hand, as if fending Quatre off. "I know, I wasn't disagreeing with you there. What I meant, was that you didn't ask their input at all. They might have seen the wisdom in your decision had you tried it another way."

Settling back into the seat, his anger sliding away, Quatre once again felt old and weary.

"You're right. I... just didn't want anything to happen to them. Especially not because of me."

"You've got a good heart, Master Quatre," Rashid told him with a smile. "You just need to learn to listen a bit closer."

He did take on too much. There was always the fear that if he wasn't there and involved, something wouldn't come about. Perhaps it was arrogance, but he had never meant to doubt anyone's abilities. It simply made him feel better to know he had a hand in it. It hadn't occurred to him that he had mowed over the top of Cathrine and Trowa much in the same way.

Yet, he realized, closing his eyes, there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He had committed himself to one course, and it had to be completed before he followed the other. He only hoped that Cathrine would be willing to listen to him by then. Especially because, in her place, he might not have.

* * * *

Cathrine watched Trowa gather their things, handing hers to the armed guard. She was angry. She probably had no right to be, but that didn't change the fact that she was. Quatre had left without a word to them. Even if he had been in a hurry to get away from her, the least he could have done was tell them good-bye. They were his friends; he owed them that much. Apparently, however, they weren't in agreement on that.

It hurt too, just as it had last night, which only made her more furious. In a short span of time, she had given Quatre the power to crush her. Not only was that foolish on her part, but it was also immature. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but obviously she was more naive than she had given herself credit for. That wouldn't happen again. If there was anything she hated, it was looking stupid. And Quatre had certainly played her for the fool.

What made it so difficult to swallow, was that from him, it was unexpected.

Trowa fell beside her. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, glancing around once, before saying firmly, "There isn't anything I've left behind."

He said nothing to that comment, only watched her steadily, his expression unwavering.

The police escorted them out to a waiting taxi, where a man rattled off in Arabic. She didn't understand a word of it, so it was a relief that at least one armed guard was traveling with them. He knew exactly where he was going, so she sat back next to Trowa and watched mile after endless mile of sand spin by. It was an unchanging view, save for the occasional dune. It was one that should have lulled her to sleep, but she couldn't quit thinking. About Quatre, about the man she had killed...

She had to get her mind onto something else.

"Judd isn't going to be the least bit thrilled when I come back injured."

Trowa shrugged in that negligent, yet graceful way of his. "He'll survive. He's the manager. He can come up with something until you get well."

Everything was always so matter-of-fact for him.

Rubbing at her temple, she replied, "Yes, but I don't think I feel like dealing with his unhappiness."

"So don't."

She had to smile slightly. "Walking away doesn't work for all of us, Trowa."

He slanted her a rare smile of his own. "I don't see why not."

Count on Trowa to be there for her when she really needed him.

Threading her arm through his, she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder.

Then his words reminded her of something she had been trying to forget.

"It works for some..." she murmured.

"Quatre didn't do it to hurt you."

"I don't need you defending him," she shot back immediately.

"I'm not. He did what he thought was best, and he decided it because he's good at making decisions."

"He could have asked for our input."

Trowa didn't refute that.

"I don't care anyway," Cathrine interjected sullenly. "We're going back to the circus, he's going back to the colonies, end of story."

But was it really?

She thought of the distance separating them now, both physical and emotional. Yes, it was the end of something that never started to begin with. Which meant that she didn't need to be thinking about it any longer.

"I wonder how soon we'll be picking up again after we get back," she voiced absently, searching for any topic but the previous one.

"It depends on how much money we're pulling in."

Plainly put, but the truth. It always came down to money.

She picked at her sleeve. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. And I can start preparing myself for the lectures on how I'm not doing my part."

"Don't worry about it."

She made a face. "I know, I worry too much."

"Yes."

She elbowed him. "You could have disagreed with me."

"That'd be lying."

"Telling the truth is Duo's department," she argued.

"Duo's just a selective liar."

She laughed. "Oh?"

"Yeah. He picks and chooses what to lie about."

She shook her head, refusing to comment. Trowa, in his strange way, often managed to turn her mood around. She could never tell if he did it on purpose, or it was just random accident. What mattered, was that it worked.

As odd as it seemed, it was difficult to stay down around him. Most saw Trowa as close-mouthed, silent, and uncooperative. She was one of the few that had the privilege of knowing the truth. And she considered herself lucky.

Relaxing fully, she closed her eyes. While Trowa was here, she could sleep.