Author: Becca W
Fanfic: Starting Over
Chapter: Ch.20

*Summary and pairings have been given*

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Disclaimer: *Headbutts Disclaimer* Usual applies.

I just read Stephen King's "Misery" and am thoroughly creeped out: as it is, it is too late for me to actually be working on this and I badly need to git. Enjoy, thanks!

(If anyone has anything they want to see happen in the last few chapters, say so in a review or email me and I'll consider it).

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With a dismayed and confused expression settling pocket marks between her eyebrows and thinning her mouth into a strict line, Lady Une smartly tapped the desk of her secretary with a rolled-up packet report to announce that she would not hold any conferences till two o'clock and to take messages for any phone calls that hour - she would not be receiving any.

For unwanted reassurance she glanced up at the clock above the doorway once she had locked the door to her office. It was one o'clock: he would be safely tucked in that plane, a plane that had already been in the air for the past fifty minutes. His flight had started and, without reasonable back-up, it could not be turned around - Lady Une doubted that the Foreign Vice Minister would appreciate her telling of the girl's stay in Montreal behind everyone's backs.

Now beside her desk, she slammed the rolled-up report onto her desk; one it had fallen from her fist she dug her knuckles into its wooden surface, one hand stiffly set on her hip. She was not aware of chewing on her bottom lip as she stared angrily, coldly at the rug, but she did - if it were not an inanimate object, that rug would have easily curled up under her deliberate stare.

Maybe she should tell someone, the Foreign Vice Minister, perhaps, of the incident. Perhaps she could tell her cabinet. Maybe she could alert Canada. But for what purpose? To state the obvious? Indeed, she would be the only one worrying. Only she knew what had been going on in the last year, she had been the one to oversee everything. Had she flubbed? She had never made a mistake in the Preventers office, the affair with Mariemaia having occured during her term but planned long before anything was set up.

Speculating, she continued to the chew on her bottom lip. Her eyebrows drew farther together. With one, absent hand - her entire attention focused on something lying outside the room - she searched for the vidphone that she had left lying on her desk.

Having found something that felt like it, she brought it near, turning to see it only once she had something of a plan in her mind. While the vidphone hummed to a working state she called into the secretary for a number.

It took several, tight-lipped minutes before a response came through. A friendly, if bland face appeared on the screen; a modern-day version of an operator. This might have been the most secure vidphone she possessed, each line it connected to utterly sheltered from thieving or eavesdropping, but for that she could not go directly to whoever she was calling.

She gave the needed number, identification and names. The face disappeared, replaced with a blue screen that lasted maybe another minute. In small lettering the date of that, "May 28", kept being repeated in different regions of the screen.

In the meantime, she withdrawed her ability to talk pleasantly, chivalry replaced with a biting directness that people easily mistaked as being mean. She only used this to get information out of people immediately - it scared them fast enough for them to talk with the smallest amount of stuttering.

A concerned, oil-smudged face appeared as though looking down at her from a difficult angle. As they talked, the screen was raised to the appropriate level.

"G'day, Lady, how may I help you?" Duo leaned in as though they were talking in person, as though he were about to whisper in her ear. "Does this have anything to do with me?"

She shook her head and crossed her legs at the table, leaning into the chair she had taken a seat in while the operator had connected them. Behind her, Duo could see Cinq laid out, pretty in noon's sunlight.

"Not at all, but it does have something to do with your good friend, Heero Yuy." She enunciated the word sharply; Duo, slightly taken aback, tilted his head to the side. From behind him, Lady Une could hear another voice coming through, asking who he was talking to, telling him the assignment had to be finished before three o'clock - preferrably.

"Okay, Lady Une - Hilde, come here a minute - " Suddenly the screen was split between two faces; one wondering, and turning nervous with surprise, the other friendly but worried. "This is Hilde Schbeiker, Lady Une, she's my partner."

"Glad to meet you under more formal circumstances, Miss Schbeiker." Lady Une said, eyeing Duo broodingly. Her eyes did flick over to the girl, whom Duo had an arm around, before settling on him again with little question.

Hilde almost dropped back into a soldier's stance, almost saluted.

But she was not military now, for her that did not exist anymore. She was civilian now, a bonified civilain with papers and records. She did not need to salute.

"Er, yes ma'am." Duo let her go afterwards, looking after her briefly before hunkering down into a chair to talk.

"What about Heero, he in trouble?"

"Not yet. He just took off." Duo's eyebrows rose and fell, but he was quiet. For a second.

"In what way?"

"He started on his assignment - early." Lady Une took her eyes off the vidphone, twisting her chair around to the left. Duo made a nasally snorting sound to combine with a throaty rumble, expressing his disbelief.

"You're wasting money on a call to tell me that? Jeez!" His flippant tone to authorities had become habit for him, a routine he regularly checked into when he talked with someone like her - although there were very few of her rank.

Lady Une's stern expression was expected; the debate was on.

"Would he do this?"

"He always got started on them immediately - he never left anything unfinished, you know that."

"But this is a special assignment."

"No assignment differs that greatly from the other to him."

"Never?"

"Well, some of have slight, various differences, but - "

"He left on a plane an hour ago heading for Montreal, but not by the company we assigned him to. He also seems to have manipulated the ticket into coming from our treasury and being of no expense to him, even though it's an entirely different flight." Duo shrugged, the thicker, rougher material of his garage-man outfit creating a crunching sound.

"Yeah, he usually does that to get his own way. He probably just wanted to alter the agenda to fit his standards."

"Isn't he usually right on the mark?" Her eyes glinted once she sideglanced at him, Duo's eyes meeting hers squarely. "Tell me, Duo Maxwell, you must know. What is playing?"

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"Lena, you sure you don't want to go?" Denna's arm draped over Lark's head and angry eyes lifted up to see the underside of the taller girl's chin. "Even Charlie Brown's coming with her dancing feet."

"Shut up, Angela." Denna reached down playfully, eyes glimmering, and picked at Lark's nose.

"Don't call me that. Now, Lena, are you really, really sure?"

"Yes, I can't come."

"Is your aunt that paranoid about your safety?"

"Yes, all the time. She suggested my living with her, but..."

"Ack, sounds bad. Well, one more chance to come along - it would be mega-fun!"

"'Mega-fun"?"

"Hush, Charlie Brown. Lena?"

"Yes, I'm sure, now go or you might be late." Denna pulled a small piece of paper out of her pocket and Lark began to fight at the arm draped so heavily over head.

"'May third, in bold, Swing Dancing, swirly lettering, so and so street, live band' - " Relena good-naturedly pushed them both out the door of her small, four-room house, with Denna still reading whatever else had been printed onto the card. "Are you SURE?"

"Denna, please don't antagonize me."

"Get your arm off, it's heavy!"

"Bye!"

"Last chance gone! See you Monday, Lena, and have a good weekend with your grisly aunt!" Denna sang after, a smile still on her red-cheeked face. The door closed and Relena leaned against it, shaking her head, the trace of a smile on her face.

Once she knew they had long since rounded the corner and left the area, she called a cab and stepped into a light coat, regardless of the muggy heat that came with the dying day. The laughter from earlier that evening compensated her for the sobriety that came with that car ride. Grisly aunt. Honestly.

A fledgeling returning home, Relena again watched road give way to highway give way to airport sidewalks. The jet ride was, as usual, fast, though not fast enough to escape timezones. Such miracles, unfortunately, could not be instigated no matter what kind of fuel was used.

But, hey, May's first week had already reached the finish line. Two more days, and people would be in full-swing and harmony with the summery month.

If only things were as easy as that - but was wishing for such not silly? That was showing very little depth to what thought was going through her mind. A precocious, child-like thinking process. Although many said one must think a child's thought further along before denying it acceptance among adults; it usually brought one to unexpected places. Forging such a road from common, adult-like thinking might have ended conflicts; if war were that easy...

But war was easy. War was easy and complex at the same time. Made complex by the people fighting it, berating each other in it, stocking their morals and upholding values and finding meaning for each other in it, then plummeting to a child's way of understand: is that not fighting? Are those people not the same, just wearing different colors?

And on and on the merry-go-round went in her mind, with no apparent stop to the evolution of a single thought other than the start of a new one.

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"I really would not call him a player, Lady Une." In any way, he thought.

"Fine, then don't. What does he intend to do with this?"

"You went to me to ask this?" Duo's eyes narrowed. "Why don't you ask him, once he lands?"

"By then something might have happened. He was not supposed to leave for another two hours. That would have been sufficient time - "

"Maybe not sufficient enough. He's a weird guy, Lady Une. If you ever need someone to think out of the box, don't look far."

"I have tried recruiting him, Duo Maxwell, you're straying from the point. You must know something. You roomed with him for long enough!"

"He doesn't talk much, have you noticed?"

"You've worked with him." She pointed out.

"In complete silence." That was not entirely true, but almost true on Heero's part.

"Does he know anyone in Canada? In Montreal?" Lady Une's voice dropped off, sounding as though she were speaking to herself without meaning for Duo to hear. "Does he want to see someone?"

"Be crazy, even insane, for a moment, Lady Une. Who could he possibly want to see in Montreal who would be there the same time as him?"

Lady Une's abruptly quiet, even blank eyes and dangerously low tone of voice crackled once she had paused long enough. Duo, with his face to his hands and away from the screen, worked at picking dirt from under his nails and around his cuticles; as he absently worked Lady Une watched his head.

"You do know something." He held up a finger, a clean-nailed one, and shook it.

"Not for sure, just a whiff of a hint."

"But you know. Quit sidetracking."

"Let's not get insulting, Lady Une!" He warned with a grin. "I never sidetrack, never."

"Duo Maxwell, why would he want to go so early?" She leaned forward intently, Duo now critically looking over each fingernail, "It can't have anything to do with the job. Am I correct?"

"Sort of. Hilde, do we have a nail file?" He called.

"I will absolve him from the penalties of his actions once he comes back if you tell me something, Maxwell. What does he want in Montreal?"

"Back to that again?" He asked teasingly. She scowled, he frowned. "You wouldn't seriously do something to him just for taking an earlier flight, right?"

Lady Une's mouth perked up sarcasticly.

"He meddled with Preventer files to get that earlier flight." Duo's look was that of sparked anger.

"If you weren't so prim I'd call that blackmail." She shrugged, if not as carefree as she would have liked.

"Tell me what you know, Maxwell."

Duo's shrug was much more convincing - it was the truth.

"I thought so a while back, but didn't think it was any of my business. I left it alone, began a career." I taught him how to do dance, Lady. You tell me what you think of that, if I told you, then. Duo's eye flickered up to finally meet Lady Une's expectant one. "She saved his life in return for him saving hers, Lady. She...well, he feels...I can't put it into words without hitting on something that isn't right!"

"Try."

"No." Duo rubbed the heels of his palm against the material of his suit, on his knees. He was uncomfortable as all get out. "What exists between them is extremely undefined - it's amazing anything's gotten this far for them at all." After that, he clapped his mouth shut, staring down any attempt at making him talk further that Lady Une threw at him.

She gave a tired sigh.

"I see. Thank you for your time." She actually did not see, but regarded that as a useless detail at the time.

"Yeah, sure."

With that, she ended the link between them and secured the number - in case anyone decided to check in on who she had called on May 28.

She passed the back of her hand over her forehead. Everyone was a little ancy: the day before the conference and still, little bugs in the software surrounding the event were found, tiny things needed fixing. Of course she would get upset over this detail, something not so small or little as the rest.

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The foil swung, a whistling noise following its course. The balance was fair, not as excellent as the saber, but certainly of capable weight and grip. Eyes carefully following the track it cut through the air, she finished judging the tool and took to a stance: one hand snapped up behind her while her feet splayed to a measured distance.

With the hand that had snapped up behind she quickly set on her headgear, the leather gloves rubbing up against the metal mesh with a hollow squeak. Now looking out through a thinly barred and defensive window, Dorothy shook out her shoulders before calming.

Without warning - hence an experienced move - she stabbed forward as though steering the weapon toward a person's gut. Pulling back, she stabbed again, in virtually the same place. Intestines spilled forth when she had the foil swipe cleanly to the right, the foil then brought in a vertical position in front of her face to part the training court she saw behind the mesh mask in two halves.

Settling into the former stance, she stabbed forward again, this time hopping a step forward, her mental opponent bent over with the tip of her foil pocking from their lower back. He vanished, replaced by another dummie. She took on the stance, positioned herself, readied her nerves; under the mesh one would have discovered a lax, thoughtless smile curving her mouth.

She performed the beforesaid steps, this time diving to her knee to stab the new opponent up and between the shoulder blades, forcing the foil up past innards, driving it to barely brush against the breastbone and spine.

She was satisfied with her technique, smooth and expert. Trusting, again, her own judgement of the matter she relented in wounding imaginary opponents, long having given up on true duels and turning to her own methods of practice. She grudgingly admitted to herself, and only to herself, that at least this way she would not hurt anyone.

A softly spoken greeting breaking the forbiding silence around had her pleasant expression meld into one of unpleased surprise: a face, equally swathed in mesh safety, was what she swerved around to meet, foil at the ready. Whoever it was, dressed in the practice uniform leased by the Preventers, took on a mystery form to her - much like her other, self-created opponents. But this person had their foil lowered: hers would not budge from its position, the tip in the air at a seventy degree angle and quivering lightly.

"Yes?" Her voice was peculiar, hoarse. Deep thinking seemed to have interruped the natural flow of what came from her voice box. She cleared her throat very quietly.

The stranger in the fencing array reached up with a slim, gloved hand and unhooked the strap from around his head - it held the mask in place. Long fingers pulled back, let go, the strap fell. A slightly mussed-up, fluffily wild plume of blonde hair peeked through before the face appeared, good-natured but expressionless.

He shook his head, letting his hair settle into their normal positions around and over eyes, brushing against the upper curve of each ear. They stared at each other, Dorothy's foil still quivering, his own let down from its guard. In place of the placid expression he usually wore, one of indifference had taken up his face.

"Can we talk?" Dorothy remained, motionless, where she stood, rooted by the soles of her shoes to the hard, rubbery ground. Her face was a mixture of estranged, unwanted longing and exasperation, neither emotion seeming to win out in their differences. After a chocked silence her head cocked to the side, unnerved, her entire person feeling unwillingly exposed.

"What might there be to talk about, Mister Winner?" She asked stonily. He shifted, letting the hand that held the foil drop to his side. Her eyes flickered from its bent tip, resting in a stubborn, yet yielding manner against the floor, back to his face. He shrugged, slim shoulders poking through the heavier fabric of his fencing suit plainly.

Dorothy unhooked her own mask from around her face, shaking out her hair, sticking the mask between the crook of her arm and her waist. The foil was slung back in its holster: a grim, very small grin followed, prying her lips for the tiniest opening, teeth flashing in the corners.

Quatre stared at her evenly and Dorothy's body did something it never had before, or at least, not so openly: her knees buckled and she swayed, ever so lightly.

"Anything. Just talk to me." He said earnestly. Dorothy, feeling herself being pulled from her skin into vulnerability, slanted her eyes in confused self-hate.

"Just talk..." She mouthed in a near soundless state.

"Yes."

Dororthy turned her face away, chin touching an upturned shoulder, and the mask fell to the ground from between her fingers.

"What are you doing in Cinq, if I may know?" She had already guessed it, even as the question remained unfinished in her mouth, at the ready to spring from her tongue.

"I am attending the conference tomorrow. I landed here by shuttle two days ago."

"Hmm-mmh." Her reply was wispy. Quatre, reluctantly, held his hand out as an invitation: she stared at it. It was just the reflex he had been dreading, but he had hoped she would move forward without more of his coaxing.

"Dorothy, please."

This had her head crack up to meet his eyes, searching but finding no form of hesitancy - or pity - through worried, slanted eyebrows or crooked mouth corners. Her staring eyes, at first unknowingly hard, widened, the glare of the harsh light from above brightening them.

He had never called her by her first name before.

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Yeah, I know, I've been hinting at the Relena/Heero action for, what, the entire fic? but I can't help it. Creepy as it is, Dorothy and Quatre are cute. (But don't worry! I've been restraining myself with iron will to keep from straying and I'll LET LOOSE in the last few chapters!!).

By the way, the mixed up dates were meant to be as they were. In case of confusion, Duo and Lady Une's conversation occured the day before the conference, as did this little meeting between Quatre and Dorothy. Relena's part in this chapter actually occured in the beginning of May, several weeks before any of the rest.

Anyway, thank you very much for reading, I appreciate it!!!