4XC---Heart Amidst the Stars---

[Rissa85]

Title: Heart Amidst the Stars

Author: Rissa85

E-mail: rissa85@collegeclub.com

Rating: PG13-R (I?m leaning toward R)

Part: One

Pairing: QWxCB

Disclaimer: Yes, I don?t own Mobile Suit Gundam Wing, but I do own the set of Operations DVDs I bought online.

Author?s Note: Well, this will be the 1st Gundam Wing fanfiction that I actually bother to post on the web. Let?s see, Gundam Wing is a very psychological show, so as usual I will try to delve into the minds of the characters and twist until I see it fit. In case you already didn?t know, Catherine is my favorite Gundam girl and Trowa my favorite Gundam boy, hooray for Heavyarms.

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Gleaming lights, flickering with the hues of bullion and teal, danced about the gargantuan tent, filled with spectators, young and old, feminine and masculine, from each part of the colony L3 cluster. The night sky, black and sparkling with remote stars clustered about, was the backdrop along with distant lofty skyscrapers built in the industrial and commercial zones of the colony.

All was dark, as a drum roll dissipated, the light shone on a young woman. She was not tall, but the slenderness of her body made her seem so. She was bedecked in burnt orange and bullion with a glittering tiara that sat on top her reddish-brown tresses that spilled across her shoulders in wavy locks that stopped a little before mid-back. She was gorgeous with the type of attractiveness that could make a man swoon and begin vicious gossip of her among envious ladies. Her eyes were a lovely amethyst-blue that seemed to sparkle when she spoke and when she looked at you, it seemed that they glinted for you alone.

Amid whistles and shouts, some good-natured and others purely flirtatious, she smiled softly as the light crossed the fifty or so paces to her partner. His suit appeared silly, with large crimson shoes that were exaggeratedly too large and with half a mask with a wide blood-red grin and an indigo star for an eye. His hair hung over his face nearly to his chin, a medium shade of brown which complimented his dark emerald eyes that were purely expressionless. If it wasn?t for the slight heave of his chest, one would think they were staring a statue as he was entirely stationary.

Reticence reigned, but unexpectedly she whisked around to face the audience and bowed her arms extended out, peculiarly it seemed the performance was already done, but not before she whisked around again to face her partner. She waved to the audience members, as the two performers were introduced by name, and she flicked her wrist and held it in the light, which displayed six silver blades with her initials carved into the wood.

?Now stand still, Trowa.? She whispered in a soft and feminine voice that was pleasing to hear and almost girlish.

The knife hit its target, causing her no real anxiety though the rush of suspense was customarily and oddly thrilling. Each time the performance was finished however, she recollected the one time she had genuinely slipped and nicked his skin, the sharp blade had ruthlessly sliced into his skin as a trickle of blood had wound its way down his temple.

She breathed, that was when the war had been raging and the colonies and OZ had been at odds with each other, each wanting peace and both not knowing how to attain it save for bloodshed and battle. So many useless machines along with technology had made it far too personal when she knew Trowa was involved in the fight. It had been over two and a half years when the fighting had officially stopped and so had her sleepless nights, but it seemed now that there were beastly rumors that sleeper cell militants, in the influence of the collapsed Alliance, once again were attempting to dominate with universal power.

Wars were intensely impersonal, with each side stipulating that its way to achieve peace and justice, was the right way to go about eternal tranquility and amiability between the colonies and Earth and the colonies and themselves. Peace, justice-both had become such nugatory and depreciated words during the war, which had abandoned millions of orphans with parents sacrificed to the cause. She, case in point, had been one of them, orphaned at such a young age, because innocent people were killed, because it was war.

Four years old, she could not reminisce about much, now it seemed that the pictures were blurred in her mind, like a fresh watercolor that has been left out in the rain. A young woman and a youngish man, a carriage ride through the countryside, and a sunny sky. Cut to an ear-shattering noise and black smoke, separated from a baby brother and both her parents, never to see either again. If only, just once, she could see them with her own two eyes and genuinely know that it was family.

She did not dwell on it much, Trowa and to a lesser extent, the circus was her family. In a brief yet intense discussion, she had confessed that she wondered, albeit occasionally what had happened to her brother. But in her uncharacteristic and pensive mood, she had heard him reply, ?You might never know. It?s useless to try and fantasize about it.? At the time, the reply seemed icy and aloof, but she realized it had been sound advice. Dwelling on the past would be a fatal mistake, and a waste of the present time, but she was pulled to the evidence that he was her sibling, and she knew that he was too.

Then, she realized almost detached from her performance, it was over. The roar of the crowd and her two free hands were her proof. Her grin was her response, and she curtsied in front of the crows, the bright lights enveloping her before she left the stage.

***

That occasional pensive gaze, he had seen it after the first knife had hit the wooden board. Nothing had betrayed her picture of dexterity save for the hardened expression in her violet-colored eyes. It was not a visage that suited her, in fact it had appeared foreign on her face. As he remained motionless, he watched her almost mechanically executing each move almost like a Mobile Doll.

Mobile Dolls. Ammunition and hostile expressions would always revive memories of Heavyarms and Oz, of bloodshed and her tears, of teamwork and his rebirth. War made pain, but had also brought him his long-lost sister and the closest friend he would ever have. It had remade him, from a somewhat machine into a human being with emotion and driving force. Perhaps it had made him more deleterious and undoubtedly had made him more passionate as he had someone to be fighting for.

Life after the war gave him the peculiar feeling of peace, which in itself was a foreign word and emotion throughout the colonies and Earth. Hostility and betrayal had been rampant throughout the war and when it was over, it seemed the accord was false and only an illusion. Also, accompanying the odd feeling was a sense of disillusionment, it seemed that popular opinion of the Gundams on the colonies were lukewarm at best, with frequent outbursts of pride and awe for the five young boys striving for rectitude.

As quickly and it begun, their performance was completed, as two spotlights flashed and moved as they bowed to the fans, a few roses had been tossed her way, and she smiled as they made their exit.

A head of platinum blond hair and light azure eyes had watched the performance with enthusiasm and awe, it seemed that no matter how many times he would see the performance the effect would be as unwittingly satisfying as the first. The two performers had a simple and effortless style that was breathtaking and had given the woman many male fans and the man many female admirers.

It was not often that he had a chance to see his former fellow comrade between the corporate world and the diplomatic meetings, embellished with press conferences and reporters clamoring for an interview. At times it seemed that life was a constant whirlwind, with a chance for relaxation comparable with the notion of running to the sun. But nothing relaxed him more to be in the vicinity of friends, and he settled into his seat, grinning as the lights grew dim once more.

***

A black uniform with a velvet hat with an insignia of a silver dove tapped her shoulder. Reflexively, she almost cringed but successfully managed a wince. Uniforms such as those would always remind her of fighting and it was something she would rather forget. It was only a peace-keeping coalition made of officers throughout the five colonies, designed to quell isolationists and promoters of rancor. But still, she often had the idea that such officers appeared to stir up painful memories among civilians and war veterans alike.

?Excuse me, miss?? she looked up, meeting his eyes and politely grinning. He was young, probably only a couple of years her senior, and with dark eyes that reminded her of polished obsidian rock. His hair was dark like his eyes and he had an air about him that commanded respect. He held a bouquet of white lilies and white roses. ?These are for you?I?m a fan of your performances.?

Almost embarrassedly, she took them and chuckled while voicing her gratitude. ?It?s nice that you came out to see our show?? she paused while fumbling in the folds of her skirt, ?Here are two tickets for another of our shows.? He took them exchanging the same amount of gratitude as she had shown him.

?It?s long since I?ve been able to rest from my station. It?s been long since I?ve seen a performance that made me remember my childhood, before all the bloodshed?? he stopped abruptly and smiled sympathetically, seeing her wince, and complimented her before he left. Young fans often caught her after a show, either thanking the audience for coming at the exit or simply watching them leave. Never haughty and always humble, it seemed that they were drawn into her gentle aura and often felt drawn to her, despite her almost intimidating beauty.

She retreated, feeling elated and likewise content, as the last visitors trudged pass the exit. Next to her trailer was the one that belonged to her brother, who was outside with a blond man dressed in a stiff-looking suit and gloves. The man turned, Quatre Raberba Winner, head of the elite Winner family, an the heir of millions, one of the most sought after businessmen in the universe, and ironically one of the more humbler people she had ever met.

Congenially, he waved and then gestured up with his index finger, ?Hi Catherine, it was a great show. Looks like it might rain tomorrow.? Indeed, when she offhandedly glanced up, the man-made clouds had begun to gather in large silvery clusters about the sky as if conspiring together on whether to begin to precipitate or not. Attempting to keep the weather cycle of the colony close to that of Earth, leading meteorologists and technicians had managed to produce a weather pattern that succeeded, balancing just the right amount of sunshine, wind, and precipitation without the possibility of natural disasters.

?Sure does. But we haven?t had any in a while.? She called back to him. Before, dealing with Quatre had always gave her mixed feelings. The man closest to Trowa was also the one responsible for leading him back, but forgiveness was a strength in her just as affability was as well. As he came to visit Trowa, he managed to extricate himself from her suspicion due to his uncanny capability to be disarming, now she regarded him as a simple acquaintance.

He was not at all what she had first anticipated him to be. In brown slacks, and his ivory button-up shirt, she had almost stepped back. From her interaction with the pilot that had an espresso braid reaching past his waist to the one she and Trowa had housed for a month during his coma, no Quatre was different. Aristocratic. Not to say that the rest were unrefined, for she did not knew enough about them.

He was the closest pilot to Trowa, in fact, she wondered if he was the closest person to Trowa. She squinted, seeing her sibling?s faint smile and the laugh of his platinum blond companion. She turned, her back toward them and watched as a golden leaf from one of the nearby trees dance across the verdant and fresh grass, followed by a warm breeze. It was early for the leaves to be falling, on Earth it had always been in mid-September when autumn began. But then again, the natural weather cycle of Earth had nothing on technology.

She stretched comfortably in the artificial autumn air, the wind caressing her face and lightly lifting her hair about, before heading into her trailer, which she had managed to get Trowa to decorate with her. It was painted with stars and hearts and geometric shapes, drowning in color that never clashed despite its inclusion of a multitude of bright hues. The day had been nothing short of memorable, especially since Trowa seemed to have enjoyed painting alongside her.

She glanced over her shoulder, at Trowa?s trailer, and smiled to herself before entering hers.

A glimmer of light shone in the blackness of night, singled out because it illuminated an expanse of area. It seemed almost appeared as if a remote star had fallen and settled, and then the glimmer began to flicker, like the shutter of a lens, before it seemed to die. A dark mass in the night, the gender too obscure to be determined, retreated into the depths of the nearby forest.

She paused, gazing outside the window briefly, before closing the shades as she did each night before she went to bed. She had thought she had seen a hot, white light for a fraction of a second, but it had dissipated so rapidly, that she questioned if it had been real. But she was tired, and as is the case when the body is weary that the mind begins to entertain itself with hallucinations and fictitious sounds.

Then, there came low whistles, three in succession and sounding very far away. Peculiar that she should hear such noises and see such things, but then again, she was tired. But she could not find release from her fatigue in sleep. She knew it was silly to feel uneasiness, but Trowa had left again- with Quatre. Shortly after she had finished eating dinner that night, he had candidly stated that he would be leaving with Quatre- had said something about transporting their Gundams to a different location. But she guessed there was something more to it.

She had noticed the hostility in colony two and one of those resource satellites near the moon. Citizens, not satisfied with the Earth and colonies? alliance (the so called Coalition for Progress), had taken to arms. It was not conveyed to be a rebel movement, but depicted on the news and in the papers (occasionally when she read it) as impetuous occurrences. And it wasn?t as if these people were civilians with no comprehension of weaponry or of the strength of perseverance. A brief statement concerning a background check on these individuals had shown them to be either former radical Alliance affiliates or hot-blooded Oz representatives.

In this era of wavering peace, held together by Vice Foreign Minister Peacecraft?s shining charisma and capability to reassure along with the Interstellar Colonial Union officers, minor threats were only a step from transforming into bitter complaints, which would then evolve into more revolutionary movements. Combat was a notion they all could benefit by renouncing.

The Interstellar Colonial Union was a peace-keeping force primarily composed to quell extremists in the colonies, with a bureaucracy consisting of various departments and a delegation consisting of an ambassador from each colony and one from the lunar resource satellite. Strict surveillance was utilized to make sure that each department did not overstep another, or that members of the bureaucracy did not abuse their power. Everyone had had their fair share of the lethal zealousness of avaricious officials.

A select few politicians explicitly disapproved of the Union, and a large minority of colonial citizens received it only lukewarmly, but most agreed that it was an enormous leap toward true and lasting concord. It seemed the Vice Foreign Minister was doing a fine job, always prepared to reassure, dressed in feminine business suits, and forever impeccable.

Yawning, pulling her auburn tresses together with an elastic band, she folded the last article of clothing-a silk blouse, before heading toward her bedroom. She knew Trowa had not given her the details because he knew how fretful and jumpy she would become, because after finding him it would kill her to lose him again. But she had been as collected as she could without making an imbecile of herself, and even managed to crack a weary smile. He would be gone for a few days at most, and with that information he slipped into the fading sunset with his blonde companion.

Could that blonde man ever do anything by himself? Though it had looked as if Quatre had merely came to visit the circus and chat with an old friend, she knew they were discussing something- something that warranted privacy for why else would they need to talk alone in Trowa?s trailer for some time? With the vast fortune he could employ, why couldn?t he leave Trowa alone from things that were an echo of the war? Trowa, with a heart that so many times had not been visible, would help out Quatre because he meant something to him. Just as Catherine meant something to him. Something that he cared about and would aid.

No, it was something far more than just transporting a Gundam, the last time it had taken no more than a day and a half, she was sure of it.
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Comments? Questions? Feel free to e-mail!

[vegitoth]

If you got more chapters put them on there, because you're hanging this by a thread.

[LilTrix]

I can tell already...you are an excellent writer and this will be a awesome story. You are so in-depth with the characterizations of Cathy. She is often written on, but rarely written about--if that makes any sense

Please continue...