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

Quatre shifted the stack of papers to one side of his desk, eyed it for a few seconds, and then promptly moved it to the other. A rare expression of irritation crossed his face, as his lips pursed and he considered removing the offending stack altogether. But finding a place to put them that didn't look sloppy wasn't an easy task, and above all else, Quatre admired neatness and organization. Especially when he was restless.

Two weeks had passed since his vacation was cut short. In that time, he and Relena had effected strides he considered worthwhile, but until the papers were officially signed, the threat of retaliation still hung over their heads. Possibly, it did even after, but with the agreement firmly in place, there was little the opposition could do except make an example out of them. For Relena's sake, and admittedly his own, he hoped that would not become an issue.

It was to be expected, however. For every bit of support Relena had garnished for her proposals, there had always been a modicum of disagreement. It was a normal response to change. What he so admired about her, was the way she could calmly address the concerns of those opposed and eventually work most of them around to seeing the benefits. There was no doubt that she had charisma, and that in the last four years she had obtained much of the strength she would need. He could easily say he was happy to be working on this with her.

Given all her qualities, he almost wished with a wry sort of wistfulness that his admiration of her could reach a personal level. It would have made things easier for both of them. He wasn't a fan, however, of making things easier just for the sake of it. That was hardly a basis for a relationship, and definitely not a fair one for either of them. They both deserved to be with someone who could feel a love far beyond admiration. That reality was all that had kept him from pursuing her. She would make some man a very lucky person.

He sighed faintly. "But not you... Because you're very much settled on someone else." And he pushed the papers back around his desk to punctuate his feelings on that subject.

"They don't pay you enough if you have the time to talk to yourself while organizing your desk," an amused voice informed him.

Startled, he looked up, finding Relena framed in the doorway. She was wearing a white, tailored suit that emphasized the slim lines of her body and the understated beauty of her face.

Offering her a smile, he answered, "I sign my own checks."

"Ah," she responded, nodding. "I can see where that would give you a bit more freedom."

Rising, he walked around his desk, and met her as she entered.

"How are you doing?"

She inclined her head. "Do you really mean that, or is it just polite inquiry?"

"Both," he teased, earning a smile and a toss of hair that was very reminiscent of the girl Relena had once been.

She slid gracefully into a chair. "Well, since you were honest, I'll admit to being very tired, but very satisfied. We're almost there, Quatre," she added, not quite able to mask her excitement.

He was glad for that. He didn't want all of the girl in her to have been completely obliterated by responsibility.

Seating himself on the edge of the desk, he answered, "It's been a long haul, but very worth it."

"Thank you," she said, leaning forward with earnest seriousness. "I appreciate all your help."

"Keeping peace is about more than just fighting battles," he returned, pleased.

She nodded. "Which is why I knew you would be perfect for my partner."

"And it helps I had connections."

She laughed. "That too."

"Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Water?" Quatre asked, indicating to the small kitchen in the corner of the room. His father had certainly spared no expense when he had the office built. Quatre knew, however, that it had been more for function than anything else.

"Oh, no thank you. I actually just got finished with a rather long luncheon. It was supposed to be a simple lunch date, but with politicians, things are rarely ever simple."

"Let me guess. More questions on the proposal?"

Grimacing, she nodded. "It never ends."

"In time they'll see the benefits."

She snorted. "Yes, when it starts lining their pockets."

"Now, now, don't be so cynical."

Settling back, Relena pressed a hand to her chest, all innocence. "Who, me? Cynical?"

Quatre's expression turned bittersweet. "Once upon a time you wouldn't have been."

Sighing, she let a little bit more of her weariness show through. "Time changes you. Sometimes not always for the better."

"You need some rest."

"Don't we all. Well, you know what they say," and she leaned forward, animation flooding her features,"'no rest for the weary'."

That was probably true more for her than it was for him. He was often busy only by choice, while she had countless things thrown at her every hour of the day. It was worth all of it, however. He could see she loved what she was doing just as much as he did; the high points, the low points, and all the in between. It was the outcome that made all the difference. What this agreement would bring far outweighed any struggle they had to reach it.

"Tomorrow." She savored the word the way another would a sliver of chocolate on their tongue.

"Tomorrow," he agreed. "If all goes well, everything will be signed by this time tomorrow."

She pointed at him. "Now who's being cynical?"

"It's called realism."

"Realism is just another word for pessimism," Relena disagreed, brushing a strand of hair back from her face.

"You've been talking to Duo lately, haven't you?" He questioned, recalling the many times the American had used a similar line on Wufei or Heero.

"I actually haven't seen Duo in over a year."

"Well then, does it disturb you to know your thought processes are remarkable similar?"

Her expression was serious, but her eyes laughed. "Immensely."

Reaching up, Quatre tugged at his tie. Only a few hours were left until he could leave if he wanted. He thought he might go home and try to get some cleaning done and possibly go to bed early. The signing was going to take place early in the morning. Delegates from both sides would be there. It was his hope that they managed to keep in agreeance with one another, not start any more hopelessly long, entangled feuds. That could take anywhere from a week to a month to a year to smooth out.

Tomorrow.

What happened after? Life went on as it always had, or he did something about his mixed feelings for Cathrine? Without the agreement as his excuse, there would be little to stop her from invading his mind at any given moment. Granted, not very much had developed between them in those few shorts days, but it _had_ been something. Whether it was a something he explored, or let go, he was not entirely sure. It had certainly never been his way to ignore his feelings or belittle them. In a life that could possibly be so short, the one thing that always mattered above all else was your connections with other people. For him, that hadn't changed.

That was it then. When he was done here, he would pack up and find her. What happened after that depended on his actions, and her reactions.

"You look relieved," Relena noted into his thoughts.

Quatre let out a slow breath. "I guess I am."

"About what, if you don't mind my asking?"

"My personal life."

"Your personal life? I wasn't aware you had one," she added teasingly.

He grimaced. "I'm going to be working on that."

"Then let me wish you luck."

"I'll probably need it..." he agreed, thinking back to Cathrine's unrestrained temper.

As he turned to look out the window of his office into the colony, across space to buildings beyond, the glass in front of his face shattered and billowed around him like the fragments of a long forgotten dream.

Relena let out a startled, half-scream, throwing her arms up to shelter her face as he darted for her, grasping her around the waist and jerking her from the chair with such force, it fell over behind them. They hit the floor hard, and rolled across pieces of already settled glass. Tiny smears of crimson stained their skin and clothing, when they came to a stop, hearts thudding loudly in perfect rhythm.

Shots rang out over their heads, and bodies fell. Quatre raised his eyes, took in the forms of their crumpled bodyguards, and then settled on the darkly clothed forms of the intruders.

Tomorrow.

There might not be a tomorrow.

* * * *

Cathrine stretched gingerly, flexed her foot, and was satisfied when there wasn't so much as a twinge of pain. A forced vacation from performing was not a vacation at all. She had very nearly gone crazy these last few weeks. If it wasn't Judd's constant inquires about the state of her health, it was the fact that they had been at the same location, or that Trowa wouldn't let her go far before he would appear out of no where and tell her to go back to her tent and rest. She could remember a time when she wished he would be more involved, but this was ridiculous.

Extending her arms above her head, she rolled back gracefully into a flip, every line of her body following the other like a continuous length of silk. It felt so wonderful to be able to do it, that she did a few more for personal satisfaction more than show. She was in the process of falling into a fourth, when she caught a faint glimpse of Trowa out of the corner of her eyes. Balancing upright, she fisted her hands on her hips, gave him a severe expression, and prepared herself to tell him exactly how well she felt should he have anything contrary to say.

But all he said was, "Judd will insist you throw knives tonight."

Pulling her arms in so they circled her middle, she answered, "Good. I'm tired of lying around."

"Now you can get your revenge."

"What?"

"I make a perfect target," was all he said in reply.

Cathrine dropped her arms, disbelief evident. "Trowa Barton, I wouldn't harm you on purpose. I'll admit you've made a nuisance out of yourself these past few weeks... But still."

He shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes. "You had better not have a death wish..."

To her utter surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. "Some say, I have a death with by eating your cooking."

"That's it!" She snapped, and leapt at him.

Trowa could have moved out of the way, she knew, but instead, he let her drive into him, throwing them both to the mat at their feet. They rolled around half-heartedly, before Cathrine used his hair as leverage and pinned him. She knew perfectly well he wasn't even trying. He outweighed her by a good fifty pounds, not to mention had more than a few inches on her in height. Not that it would make her go easy on him. She had been wanting to get back at him for the past few weeks, and if he was going to present her with the opportunity, she wasn't going to pass it up.

Planting both elbows in his chest, she smirked down at him in triumph. "I know where all your ticklish spots are."

One green eye fixated on her. "You have two minutes."

"I guess I'd better make them a good two minutes," she scowled, slipping her hands down to attack his sides.

Trowa grunted, but held out stoically.

"You're going to laugh!"

She moved up his side to his under his arms. This time, she got a faint twitch of his lips out of him.

Now, before her two minutes were up, she went for the killer spot. She tackled the area just behind his hips. His body spasmed, he laughed, and he grabbed her wrists, flipping her over all in the same motion.

Smiling, his hair brushing across her forehead, he said, "Your two minutes are up."

Cathrine had absolutely no control at all, and gave into laughter the second his fingers touched her sides. Trying to curl up into a little ball for defense, she pleaded for mercy of some kind. When that didn't work, she tried kicking him. This, was how Judd found them a few short minutes later.

"Is this how you practice? Cathrine, since you're perfectly well, you'll throw knives at Trowa tonight," he ordered without missing a beat, hands fisted on the red fabric at his hips.

Wiping at her eyes, she nodded. "I'll only hit him in the head if he pesters me for the rest of the day."

Judd eyed her balefully down the length of his nose.

She waved her hand at him as Trowa helped her to her feet.

"It was just a joke. We'll get to practicing," she added, knowing that was what he wanted to hear.

"Good. I don't think I need to tell you how much we've lost since you've been injured."

"No. I'm fairly certain I have it memorized."

He stared hard at her, as if trying to decide whether she was being sarcastic or not.

"Well," he finally said, "you know where to find me."

She watched him go, before turning to Trowa. "Okay, Tro, let me throw knives at you."

"I'm all ready," he replied, holding his arms out.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"At least you aren't moping anymore," he stated without preamble.

Cathrine gaped at him. "Trowa..."

Moping. She had half a mind to hit him upside the head. She hadn't been moping. Angry for the first few days, maybe, but not moping. Quatre made his decision, and she made hers. She didn't think it was healthy, or fair to herself if she spent a great deal of time thinking about him. Not to mention, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of having a place in her thoughts. Especially not often. She would have succeeded today if Trowa hadn't said anything.

"Maybe I will injure you."

He shrugged. "I heal."

"It isn't much fun when you aren't even afraid..." she sighed, picking at the fabric of her unitard.

It was time to practice. Quatre Winner wasn't going to interrupt the first real session she had, had in two weeks. She would be damned if he showed up anywhere for the rest of the day either. As long as her tactless brother could keep his thoughts to himself, she would be able to accomplish that. She would see to it.

* * * *

As Quatre helped Relena to her feet, two men were already covering the broken window and the one directly behind Quatre's desk with boards. Others, fanned out across the office, stepping over the bodyguards to slam the door and remain still, guns extended in their hands. Throughout it all, nothing was said, and no indication of their fate was given. It didn't take a genius, however, to know that their chances of survival were slim.

One man stood apart from the others, in the center of the room, his face covered with a handkerchief and his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. It was to him, that Relena spoke when she stepped out from behind Quatre, her bearing and manner far calmer than the slight trembling of her fingers, tucked carefully behind her back indicated.

"What do you want?" She asked, in a clear, firm voice that said she still considered herself in control, despite the obvious disadvantages.

"Vice Foreign Minister," the man greeted in a clearly articulate, genial tone. "I should think that would be obvious."

"No matter what happens, you won't get us to retract our decision. Certainly not by force."

"Talking had no effect. All that is left to us is force. Certainly, Mr. Winner understands that," he added, indicating to Quatre.

Quatre felt himself stiffen. "You're confusing terrorism with the fight for peace."

The terrorist inclined his head. "Am I? You found something wrong with the way the government was ran, and you did something about it. How am I any different? Who is to say you weren't mistaken in your assumptions? You see? It's all a matter of perception."

It was painfully clear that this man was intelligent and understood exactly what he was doing. Hoping to use diplomacy to talk their way out of danger was not going to as easy as it had before. Relena was very skilled at getting even the most intractable of minds to listen, but Quatre knew this man would not be so easily swayed.

"And attacking sleeping people in their beds, who had no hope of fighting back, is an acceptable way of solving what you see as a problem?" He returned, forgoing any wordplay because he understood it would do them no good.

The man laughed faintly. "You're all still alive, aren't you? To tell you the truth, when I devised the attack, I wasn't completely certain it would work. But I had to try. If you break one link in a chain, especially one as important as you are Mr. Winner, the voice of the colonies, then you are that much closer to achieving your goal. Perhaps I should have considered what ex-terrorists such as yourselves were capable of a bit more extensively ...?"

His jaw ached from the tight press of his teeth against one another. As much as he disliked that particular title, however, he knew it was true. They had once been terrorists. They had declared war on the Earth without warning, without rules, without decorum. Their way had been better than the alternative, but that didn't negate what they had been or what they had done.

"What is it that you object to about our proposal?" Relena interjected, attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Inclining his head slowly, he casually reached up behind his neck and undid the knot to the mask. It fluttered to the floor, but no one watched its descent. Instead, they focused on his smile, as he pulled the glasses from his eyes and turned, sweeping his arm out.

"I find them such a barrier to our conversation. Why don't you both sit? You'll be much more comfortable that way."

The face was unrecognizable. The overtures were not. He would attempt to disarm them with the illusion of false friendship. The the way he had neatly sidestepped Relena's question was obvious, but not done in a manner that could offend them. He was not what most considered an average terrorist. But then, neither had the Gundam pilots.

They would hold the bargaining ground if they stood. The guns, however, clearly articulated who was really in control here.

Quatre tried hard to read him, to attempt to discern just how long they would be allowed to push him, or how many invasive questions he would endure. At this point it was all a guessing game. The man was more than prepared for what he was doing, not unlike Treize had been, or the engineers that had built their Gundams. It was those with the strength to back up their knowledge that often succeeded.

Their only hope was to hold out, no matter how far he backed them into a corner. It was not going to be simple, and as time dragged on, it wouldn't be pleasant either. They could not lose two years worth of struggle for that of a few hours. So much more than their lives depended on it. For him, the alternative was unthinkable. They hadn't fought as Gundam pilots, as peace makers, to give in now. They were one step closer to a unity once only dreamed about, and he would not let go of that willingly.

"I insist," the terrorist added, when neither of them made a move toward the chairs.

Exchanging a glance with him, nodding her head faintly, Relena elegantly lowered herself into the chair. Quatre followed in one fluid move, ignoring the blatantly obvious barrels of the guns behind him.

"You are known as a very skilled diplomat, Vice Foreign Minister Darlian. I'm afraid I won't be easily taken in. Is that going to be a problem for you?" He added, the sculpted lines of his face and the warmth of his dark eyes a very real advantage. Quatre often found his own features lent people to trust him when they otherwise might not have. They would have to be careful not to make that same mistake with this man.

"Of course not, Mr...?" Relena agreed cordially, and Quatre admired her composure.

He smiled again, a charming flash of white teeth against smoothly tanned skin.

"You can just call me Mr. Yuy."

Relena didn't jerk. Her facial muscles did not so much a quiver, and her eyes showed no outward sign of her inner reaction to the name. His admiration for her grew, as well as his respect for 'Mr. Yuy.' The man had obviously dug into their lives, immersed himself in their histories, and made certain he had weapons that would dig in and hurt. He hated to think of what the terrorist had waiting for him. But, like Relena, he would not give him the satisfaction of seeing the jolt.

"Mr. Yuy." Again, her voice was so calm. "I can hardly help you if you don't tell me what it is you need."

"I concede," he agreed, leaning against Quatre's desk, crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his arms across his chest.

"But first," he continued, "I thought we would exchange a few pleasantries."

To disarm them further? Or to unsettle them?

"Mr. Winner, the company seems to be thriving. Your father left it in good hands, but then, I'm sure that is what he intended with your conception. It is too bad your sisters are so scattered. They might be here to celebrate your new achievement, otherwise? But then, if all goes well here today, we won't have to worry about this agreement, will we?"

It went against everything in him to tolerate this man speaking of his family. He felt the quick flash of anger, the outrage that this stranger would speak of people he didn't even know. How was it, that he had managed to touch on the one thing that bothered him so much lately? The fact that he and his sisters saw each other so sporadically. They all led busy lives, as was to be expected, but seeing Cathrine and Trowa... It made him realize when there was not enough time, you made time.

No, he wasn't going to let the terrorist's ploy work.

"Perhaps," he murmured neutrally.

Indicating to Relena, 'Mr. Yuy' added, "But of course, Mr. Darlian has a very capable daughter as well. Oh, pardon me. 'Had'. I'm terribly sorry for my rudeness."

Relena lifted her chin, and her eyes were cool. "You're forgiven... Mr. Yuy."

"Well," he said briskly, and his entire demeanor changed, "I won't bore you with details of myself. Let us get down to business?"

Now, they bartered their lives.