Stopwatch

By:  Deathswings

 

 

She's addicted to nicotine patches
She's addicted to nicotine patches
She's afraid of a light in the dark
6:58 are you sure where my spark is?
here, here, here

 

            The cold air wasn’t helping her mood any.

            Catherine looked at the clock on the wall and lit another cigarette.  They’d kill her someday, she supposed.  It was almost seven.  In this room, it was always almost seven.  Forever.  She’d stopped the traditional old Earth clock when she’d opened the letter.  She’d read somewhere that people used to do that when the owner passed away.  She couldn’t bring herself to bring another clock in.  It was comforting, somehow, to know that he had gazed on the face of that clock.  He’d even once commented on how unusual it was.  She remembered remarking it was a lot like him- silent and commanding- until the hour struck.

            In the end, she’d been far more right than she knew.

 

She's convinced she could hold back a glacier
but she couldn't keep baby alive
doubting if there's a woman in there somewhere
here, here, here

 

            Funny that he would have left her after the end of the war.  Sometimes she laughed a little over that.  That he lived through amnesia, being shot at, being blow to pieces by his… friend… and then died trying to talk a man out of shooting a small child.  The man, too high on various drugs to listen to reason, had blown his head off- then his own.  As for the child that Trowa had been so desperately trying to save?

            “Onee-san… Would you like some coffee?”

            Catherine turned to look at the small, previously orphaned, girl.  Leave it to Trowa to defend someone who had lost everything, and didn’t even know who she was.  When she’d come here, she was barely a toddler.  Now, she was going to start 4th grade in a week.  Catherine caught her breath a moment at that.  Six years… Had it really been six years since she’d stopped that clock?  She looked down at the girl.  She’d grown like a flower- and she was just beginning to bloom.  Catherine had named the girl Fleur Barton- she found it oddly fitting. 

            She looked at the offered cup, but decided she didn’t really want to mix nicotine and caffeine together at this point.

            “No thank you, honey.  But thank you for asking.”

            “Okay.  Onee-san?  Can I go play with the horse people again?”

            “Sure sweetie.  Just be very careful, okay?”

            “Okay!”  And she skipped off.  Catherine sat down on the bed- the same bed Heero had recovered in for so long- and for a moment, she thought she could smell blood and Gundams.  But only for a moment.  She sighed.  What kind of life was this for a young girl to grow up in, anyway?  She’d grown up here- but she’d been older than Fleur was- she remembered a time before this.  She sighed again.  All her life, she’d had to be strong- first just to survive, then for Trowa, and now for Fleur.  She was tired of it.  She wished she could just lie down and go to sleep, or run away and never look back.

            On the other hand, this was her home. These people had taken her in, fed her, taught her, and clothed her.  And now, she was doing the same for another orphan in need.  But why?  Why did she do any of it? 

            Because it was better than giving up.

           

You say you don't want it
again and again
but you don't, don't really mean it.
You say you don't want it,
the circus we’re in
but you don't, don't really mean it.
You don't, don't really mean it.

 

In the end, it all came down to that.  Catherine would never give up- no matter what the reason.  Life could take everything away from her- and she’d still go on living. Because there were people who needed her to.  Because doing anything less would dishonor the memories of those who went before her.  Because doing anything else would make Trowa sad- and she desperately wanted him to be happy, wherever he was.

 

If our divine master plan is perfection,
maybe next I’ll give Judas a try
Trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin
here, here, here

 

You say you don't want it
again and again
but you don't, don't really mean it.
You say you don't want it,
the circus we're in
but you don't, don't really mean it.
You don't, don't really mean it.

 

A knock at the trailer door startled her from her thoughts.  She rose silently and padded to the door on bare feet.  She opened it and stepped outside, not wanting to share any of that place with a stranger.

            She needn’t have bothered.

            “Quatre!  How nice to see you again!”

            “You as well, Miss Bloom.”

            “Oh, stop.  I insist that you call me Catherine.”

            “Catherine… I keep forgetting.  How have you been?”

            “Fairly well.  Fleur’s growing like crazy, and I keep feeling old, watching her.  I can’t believe you’re going to be 22 in a month.  It seems like only yesterday you came in to retrieve…” she paused a fraction of a second, surprised at a sudden surge of sadness inside her.  She thought she was mostly over that- though she accepted that some wounds were still raw, “Trowa.”  Quatre looked at her sympathetically, and smiled softly,

            “You still miss him, don’t you?”

            “Everyday.  It’s not usually this bad though- I think it’s just today.”


How many fates turn around in the overtime
Ballerinas that have fins that you'll never find
You thought that you were the bomb, yes
well so did I


“I know what you mean.  I’ll go for months, and then suddenly I’ll see something of his and just have to sit down for a moment.”  Quatre spent a moment in silence, then finally spoke again, “I have to admit something… This is not purely a social visit.” Catherine nodded.  She had figured as much, “There is a new threat to the peace… We’re having to send a lot of our old members into deep outer space to combat it…”

            “And you need children to train as Preventers to keep the Earth peaceful while you’re gone.  And you want to take Fleur.”  Quatre hung his head,

            “Yes.  This has nothing to do with her connection to you, or Trowa.  She’s shown exceptional marks in all subjects and has shown above average physical activity.  She got picked all on her own.”

            Catherine stood there a moment.

            “You know… this is the second time you’ve come to take something important away from me.”

            “I know… and for what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

            Catherine closed her eyes,

            “I need a moment to think about this, Quatre.  Please wait here- or return tomorrow.”  He nodded,

            “Take as long as you feel you need.  I know this is hard for you.”

           

Say you don't want it
Say you don't want it
Say you don't want it
again and again


But you don't, don't really mean it

 

She turned and walked back into the trailer.  She didn’t even glance in the room where the clock was- she couldn’t think in there right now.  She sat down in the kitchenette and rested her head in her hands.  What was she going to do?  In the end, what could she do?

 

Say you don't want it
the circus we're in
but you don't, don't really mean it.
You don't, don't really mean it

 

            Catherine stared at the new electrical clock sitting on the mantel.  Fleur had the old one- a graduation present, of sorts, for her trip with Uncle Quatre off to a special school not too far away.  Fleur had never seemed so happy in her life.  Perhaps she didn’t like the circus after all… No… Catherine always believed that once you grew up in the circus, you could never truly leave.  It left a magical imprint deep in your soul.  She smiled and looked at her watch to set the new clock.

            It was almost seven.

            Catherine laughed, the sound dancing around the room like crystal sparkles.

 

She's addicted to nicotine patches
She's afraid of a light in the dark
6:58, are you sure where my spark is?
here, here, here

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Send all questions or comments to Lucretia@jenovaproject.com !