Word Count: 796
Warnings: My view on Quatre and Dorothy makes a little more sense if you've read Beautiful:Hate.
Quatre lunged, enjoying the feeling of muscles moving smoothly together. He stepped back and lunged again.
He was bored out of his mind. He hadn't realized how far away the colony was when he'd volunteered to go as a company representative. He hadn't even bothered to bring a book, since he'd figured that a magazine would get him through the trip.
Well, he'd been wrong.
He'd driven the stewardesses crazy with his constant polite requests. Endless rounds of coffee. Requests for magazines they didn't have. Requests to see if they had card games. One, in exasperation, had finally told him that the transport had a small gymnasium, normally for crew useage. They'd let him in there, if only he'd leave them alone for a while in return.
It just went to show that not everyone was as patient with others as he.
He'd brought his fencing foil with him because he'd heard there was going to be a competition on the colony while he was there. It had been years since he'd gotten a chance to test his skill. At least there'd been enough room to get a little practice in, though the lower gravity of the ship was throwing him off a bit...
Quatre stopped, mid-lunge, as familiar tendrils brushed against his consciousness. Terrible beauty and darkness, a keen intellect, and the metallic sense of someone who was also suited perfectly for the zero system. His eyes widened. "Dorothy," he whispered.
"That would be me."
He turned. She stood, framed perfectly in the doorway, a foil of her own propped on her shoulder. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
She stepped into the room, swishing her foil. "Government representative sent by Relena. I was surprised to find you hear. I thought something...felt...rather odd."
"I suppose it would," he said, backing up a step. Something about her discomfited him. It was like the feeling he got when he went to the zoo and found the large cats staring at him as they tried to decide if he was threat, food, or mate. "Is there anything I can do for you."
"I was rather bored and intended to practice a bit, Mr. Winner. It seems great minds think alike. Care to spar?"
"It would be my pleasure," he said, keeping his voice even. He knew better than to show any worry to her. She was a predator, like anyone the Zero System touched, but unlike him she seemed to have embraced it.
Without another word, she attacked. It was like a repeat of their prior fight; a flurry of blows, a pause as they parted momentarily, and then they fell back into fray. It was like a dance, familiar and violent. Once again, she was leading, attacking with ferocity and an uncaring freedom that he couldn't hope to match.
"Come, Mr. Winner, I know you can do better than this. Or are you out of practice?" she taunted.
He fought back with anger, now, annoyance at himself for falling into the familiar trap of niceness, of the submissiveness his father had bred into him. His foil slid around like a silver snake, hooking on to her rapier and whipping it out of her hand. It flew like an arrow to the wall next to them and stuck there.
Dorothy laughed, as a trickle of blood ran down her hand, "That is so much better. You're so restrained."
"I'm sorry..." he lowered his foil, now upset that she had provoked him. Her fist seemed to come out of nowhere, connecting with his sternum and sending him to the wall to join the sword. He slid down the wall, clutching his chest. "What are you trying to do?"
Dorothy stepped in front of him a moment later, shaking her hair back. She grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him to his feet, pinning him back against the wall with manic strength. "You should understand by now, Quatre, that between people like us, there are no rules."
He had no chance to think before she dove forward, trapping him with a fierce kiss. She burned against his lips like hot metal, forcing his mouth open under the onslaught. Teeth grazed his lip, and he tasted blood. At the same time, her mind rolled over his, like the molten sun, full of lust and anger, tangled affection.
After a long moment that left him gasping and overheated, she let him go, dropping him. She smiled, picking up her foil as he lay there, trying to catch his breath and struggling to control his own inarticulate desires. Sweeping her hair back, she walked out of the room, calling over her shoulder, "I do look forward to these matches of ours, Quatre. I hope we'll have another soon."