Disclaimer: not mine. Enough said.

It's a start.

THREE WEEKS ON THE ASTERIOD...

Dorothy swiftly separated the rocks into two piles: granite and ore. She let her gaze linger over the ore for a second longer: a sparkling mass of metal probably worth well over a few million dollars. She smiled sardonically as she banged her palm against the side of the cart, signaling Siara to take it to the main central ore refinery. Someone certainly thought it meant more than human life, she thought, wiping the sweat from her brow, unknowingly leaving a streak of blood there as well.

She glanced at her palms, cut into ribbons but the sharpness of stone and grimaced slightly. It couldn't be helped. The only thing that kept her working, kept her struggling, was that ever-present desire for revenge...and Quatre. Vainly, she glanced around her at the toiling people, looking for the familiar sight of blonde hair similar to her own, blue eyes that glowed with childish innocence. All she was pain.

"Hey, Doll-child!" Dorothy looked up, instinctively catching the satchel of more rocks as Chris hurled it towards her. She stumbled a little as it slammed painfully into her side, but managed to right herself before dumping the load in front of her workplace.

"Rocks," she picked on up, twirling it expertly in her fingers so the sun caught highlighted facets of gundanium ore that was wedged into plain stone and began another pile from scratch. As she worked busily, she glanced at Tor, who was lagging behind in his counting. His fingers were moving slower than usual, earning him more than a few whip-slashes from an overseer. He had been here about three months before her, caught as he was delivering a load of iron to one of the rival companies. His face was gaunt with weariness and illness and a blur was developing in his eyes. He couldn't seem to see straight anymore. As his fingers slowed a fifth time, the whip came singing, striking him across the back.

"Hurry up!" These whips. They didn't even leave a mark where they hit, but oh the pain that came with it...Dorothy watched Tor's face screw into a grimace of agony before he attempted to speed up production, making many mistakes in his sorting. He'd be punished for that too, later. Dorothy hesitated for a second, then, cursing Releena and the pacifistic nature that had rubbed somewhat on her, she snaked out a hand, towing three-fourth of Tor's load towards her own pile even as she kept on sorting. Tor looked up in surprised stupor, but Dorothy only glared at him, motioning him to go faster. He nodded, too tired to be grateful, and finished his own pile more quickly.

Dorothy tried to ignore the stitch that was developing in her side as she separated rocks. I wonder what the court would do if they saw me now? She thought in feline amusement Proper, prim Miss Dorothy Catalonia. Touching rocks and sorting dirt. She laughed sardonically, tossing another rock onto the waste pile. This labor has put so many things in perspective...especially when you're the one working, doesn't it, Dorothy? She grabbed another sack and shoved the debris off, upending another bag. A rock snagged on the fabric of her sleeve, tearing a part of the coveralls as well as some of the skin. She winced tossing the offending rock and throwing it away with barely concealed annoyance. Damn rocks.

After another few hours of working, break was called via a harsh squealing bell. The work gang slumped down, deathly tired as the meal was passed between them. It wasn't much, a slab of bread almost as hard as the rock they were sorting, a drink of water, a thin slice of, dare anyone call it, meat. Dorothy took half of her bread, chewing it with single-minded stubbornness until it finally softened enough to go down. Tor picked listlessly at his food, and Dorothy jabbed him, hard.

"Eat, you won't get another chance."

Tor glanced at her and shoveled another piece of food into his mouth. "Doesn't matter anyway. We're all gonna die here." Dorothy smirked, not letting go of her façade for a second.

"Is that so, Tor? For your information, I am going to stay very much alive, thank you. And when I get out of here, I am going to slice Mr. Luir into tiny bite size pieces and fry them in dough using one of Miss Releena's sauce pans. Then, I'll personally distribute it out to anyone who wants a bite of him. How does that sound, Mr. Tor?" The others laughed wearily with her.

"You've got a hell of a sense of humor there, Doll-child." Chris shredded his bread into little bits.

"Humor? Oh no, Chris. I fully intend to live to see him die." Dorothy smiled viciously around a mouthful of food. "And I'm going to do it myself. See if I donít."

Before anyone else could say anything, a voice suddenly yelled, "Move it! What's the hold up!" Dorothy glanced coolly around to see what was going on. A young blonde haired man stumbled over a ridge, dropping his sack as he slumped wearily to the ground. "Move it!" He didn't even seem to notice the overseer as he slammed the whip against his shoulderblades, shuddering a little with exhaustion. "Huh. Ain't enough, is it?"

"Poor fool. E' ain't got the strength t'get up." Siara said softly, "He's just all worked out..."

Dorothy didn't pay attention. The bread had slipped between her nerveless fingers as she stared in horror at the sight before her. "Quatre!"

***

Quatre didn't care anymore. He hurt everywhere...even more so than he had hurt in any battle with OZ, the Bartons, and the White Fang, combined. He felt the whip descend on his back again and shuddered at the impact, barely feeling it but for the pain. Allah damn this. He though wearily, refusing to get up, I'm so tired...

Another shadow had joined the first. "He ain't gonna get up. Done fer anyway..."

Quatre smiled, the first touch of cynicism ever touching his lips, making him old before he had a chance to be young. They finally figure it out... He thought sarcastically, bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat.

"Yah..." The cool metal of a saber rested ominously at his back and Quatre braced himself, waiting for the bullet to explode. He didn't care anymore. Please, please let this be a merciful death. That's all I ask...

Suddenly he heard a scrabble ensue, a vaguely familiar female voice screaming in war-fury. He looked up and saw a halo of three figures fighting before sleep drew him downwards...

***

END.

Just kidding. I'm sorry, I have a morbid sense of humor today. Keep on reading!

Dorothy slapped one of the guards across the face, purposefully raking her sharp cat-like nails across his face as she kicked him to the ground. She grabbed the first thing that she could find, a ore-mining pick, and twirled it maliciously, swinging it at another guard who dodged just in time. The pick tore through his clothes, but otherwise, did nothing else to harm him.

"Hello boys. Thought I wouldn't notice when you tried to kill him, did you?" Dorothy hissed, eyes narrowed into cold slits. She stood protectively over Quatre, pick in one hand as the other curled itself into a parody of a cat's claw. Her hair sprayed wildly across her face, locks of hair twisted across her face and back as she smiled savagely, looking for all the world like a demon and a guardian angel at the same time.

The guards gave her a wide berth, unsure of whether to fire upon her or not. For one thing, they were supposed to make sure she remained alive to be used as a hostage against Releena Peacecraft, but they had never anticipated this.... She suddenly leaped at them, slashing one of the guards across the face so he dropped his saber and amazingly, she laughed as she used a foot and flipped the hilt into her palm, the pick dropping with a dull clatter at her feet.

"Ah, child of my hand!" She admired the flawless workmanship of the blade for a second before leveling the tip at her attackers. A dangerous calm drew itself across her face, even as she smiled dangerously. "I'm waiting...gentlemen." The two guards glanced at each other, then at their fallen companion before lunging at her with their own forcewhips, sending them singing at her unprotected face. She parried, slicing against the metalloid enhanced whips as she let them wrap around her blade. With a deft twist of her hand, they fell like writhing snakes to the dirt floor.

The guards snapped them up, trying for another attack as Dorothy smiled calmly as if she was only in another practice bout with her teacher. After all, they were incompetent as soon as someone tried to fight back. She risked a glance at Quatre, who was shivering uncontrollably as he succumbed to starvation/exhaustion based fever. For a moment her face softened into what could have been termed tenderness before the mask slipped back on.

She would protect him. At all cost.

Author's note: K, real ending right there kiddos! A little bit of romance, but I know, not enough. Not yet, anyway. Look out for it the next chapter! Next installment will probably be tonight...*glances up at sky*...er...later tonight, at any rate. Or maybe tomorrow. Depends on whether my parents drag me out for a "family/friends dinner". Grr, hate those. I'm always the only kid there! Hope you enjoyed it!