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Just a silly little thing I wrote based sort of on real life events and which amused me to no end. Sally is solving problems for Cathy.
Pairings: none
Warnings: none (language? humor? my warped brain space?)
Sally blinked blearily at her cellphone as it vibrated four or five times in rapid succession. She’d just laid down for a short nap, after a long shift at the hospital and before she had to be up again to do approximately seventeen tons of laundry and go to the grocery.
Picking the phone up she brought it close to her face, squinting.
GUESS WHAT
GUESS
FUCKING
WHAT
GUESS FUCKING WHAT
The texts were from Cathy, and Sally felt a knot of dread coalesce in her stomach.
Cathy, with whom Sally had formed a rapid and enduring friendship over the last few months since she’d met the other woman at a gathering at Quatre’s house, had been having an epically bad streak of rotten luck. Everything from crashing computers to minor fender benders, if it could go wrong, it did.
They were scheduled to meet this weekend, at a conference Cathy was presenting at, just a few hours from Sally’s hometown. Cathy had booked the hotel and airfare months ago, and Sally had finangled the weekend off only this past week, and they were unreasonably excited about the impromptu trip. Sally had visions of copious drinking and eating and general drunkeness, and Cathy’s texts did not bode well.
I am alarmed. What?
Sally watched the little ellipsis on her screen that meant Cathy was typing.
YOU SHOULD BE
Oh fuck. Sally sat up in bed, shoving her hair out of her face and leaning back against the pillows to wait.
She didn’t have to wait long.
The hotel just called me. Expedia, despite the ITINERARY saying I am booked for the next 5 nights, and despiTE ME ALREADY PAYING FOR THE ENTIRE RESERVATION
GUESS WHAT
GUESS FUCKING WHAT
Expedia only booked me for TONIGHT.
This… was not good. At all. Sally needed this vacation. She deserved it, in fact, and she owed at least two favors for having the weekend off. There was no way she was letting Expedia ruin her plans.
Not to mention that this was a professional obligation for Cathy, who had, years ago, left the circus to perform in traditional theater, and then moved onwards and upwards to directing and then producing and teaching. In fact, Cathy was presenting at least two talks at the conference before Sally even arrived.
What the fuck? Sally texted back, and then opened her airbnb app.
Remember that part about there being thousands of people at this conference? EVERY SINGLE HOTEL IS BOOKED. NOT JUST DOWNTOWN BUT LIKE WITHIN 20 MILES
Sally grimaced at the airbnb results. They were not promising, and most of them were way outside the city. Which wouldn’t be a problem if Cathy had a car, but she was flying to the conference.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
And I’m on hold with Expedia while I am teaching a fucking CLASS this morning and WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO FUCKING DO
Right. Crisis management. Sally was very good at crisis management. First things first, get Cathy a refund. Secondly, find her another place to stay. Quickly. She texted Cathy back to that effect, adding that she had better ask that her hotel tonight - because Cathy was flying today, not later in the week, like Sally - also be refunded.
THIS IS COMPLETE BULLSHIT!!!!!!!
It was, in fact complete bullshit.
Take a deep breath. This is fixable. You just need your refund so we can book a new place. I’m looking right now. Where is the conference at?
More ellipses.
I’m taking a lot of them it’s not really helping. At the city conference center.
Another pause as Sally pulled the information up on her phone and then another text arrived.
There is nowhere downtown. Wait. There might be a Quality Inn downtown that might have a room do I just book that and tell Expedia to refund me??
Sally sighed. Quality Inn wasn’t exactly the posh girls’ weekend they’d planned. And Cathy still hadn’t even gotten her refund? What the hell?
No. Talk to Expedia first and see what they say maybe they can find you something at another hotel. You have a room for tonight so we still have 24 hours to figure this out.
There was more texting back and forth while Sally scoured the internet, including the explanation of how Cathy had found out about the problem and about a thousand apologies. The hotel had called Cathy to confirm her reservation, and because the clerk had noticed a discrepancy in the booking. Expedia had listed the reservation as five days but only actually booked one night. And the hotel was bursting at the seams, completely full, and had been since November.
The internet search wasn’t looking all that promising either.
Sally decided to pull out the big guns when Cathy got transferred to yet another supervisor.
She called Quatre.
In the meantime Cathy texted various stages of panic and elation as Trowa tried to help her by booking a Mariott he swore was in downtown, only for Cathy to google the map and discover it was near the airport twenty miles away, and then call back to cancel and be charged for the first night anyway, and Sally could tell that Cathy was near a meltdown.
Quatre answered his phone on the second ring.
“I need a favor,” Sally said, without preamble.
“Of course,” he replied, and then listened quietly while she explained.
“Let me make a call,” Quatre said, when she was finished, and they hung up. Ten minutes later he called back.
“There’s a WEI-owned hotel downtown that has one room remaining. I told them you’ll be calling.”
Sally sent off the hotel information to Cathy and waited patiently for a response, while she looked over the online hotel reviews and photos. The hotel Quatre had referred her to was swanky with a capital S. Art Deco, marble staircases, brass fixtures, the works.
Cathy texted her back pictures of both sides of her credit card, and Sally laughed.
Calling the hotel, Sally explained that Quatre had told her to call and book a room, and the woman on the phone was polite, professional, and efficient. She got a confirmation email moments after hanging up. She texted a photo of the confirmation number to Cathy.
You’re a fucking lifesaver.
The confirmation is in your email. Sally responded
I’m still on hold with this fucking nightmare place but I’ll look.
There was another long pause while, Sally assumed, Cathy was still on the phone with said nightmare. In the meantime, Sally amused herself by looking at the hotel bars and restaurants, comparing the menus and looking at nearby attractions.
Honestly, she felt like this was a definite step up from the original hotel they’d been planning to stay at. Especially because there was breakfast involved. She texted Cathy as much, adding that she was now way cooler than Trowa.
Cathy responded that Expedia was refusing to refund her first night and offering her a voucher for her next booking.
Sally snorted. As if Cathy - or Sally, for that matter - would ever book with Expedia again after this. She was texting back to say to ask for another supervisor, when Cathy added that she’d demanded to speak with a different supervisor.
And this was why they were friends. Despite radically different jobs and lifestyles, they had a common type of personality and way of thinking. If the situation were reversed, Sally knew, it would be Sally panicking and Cathy solving problems. It was just what they did.
More drama followed as the third supervisor had to hang up to call the original hotel and verify that the booking was wrong - as though the first three people hadn’t already done that - and Cathy had time to peruse the hotel listing while she waited.
Holy shit, way to get us an upgrade.
Sally snorted. Yeah I’m super cool.
Cathy called the new hotel to confirm the reservation, just in case, and Sally was glad she did, because honestly, she was worried she’d fucked it up somehow, with everything else that was going wrong. Especially when she went back to the hotel website and it said everything was booked and-
I legitimately think I got the very last room in a downtown hotel. Every website says no rooms available for your dates.
She waited while Cathy typed.
Sally: Proving dreams do come true AC 205. Booking confirmed. Also. Expedia is calling the hotel manager directly to pay for tonight and refunding me in full
Pumping her first in a delighted - and unwitnessed - silent dance of happiness, Sally finally relaxed. Then she got out of bed and loaded the first of her laundry into the washing machine. All the excitement had left her with absolutely no desire to sleep.
After a little while, Cathy texted her again, and Sally braced herself for more bad news.
Ugh. I panicked and lost my shit. Sorry. Who does that? Seems like a Dorothy thing maybe. Hilde? Hilde could lose her shit.
At the Circus caravan, just outside Chartres, France, an angry Hawthorne was tearing through the camp, looking for Trowa. Unable to locate the boy, he barged into one of the traveling caravans and found Catherine sitting alone on a sofa, grinding coffee in a hand-cranked grinder, and the rich smell of the beans wafted through the air of the small trailer.
"Catherine!" he bellowed angrily. "Is Trowa in here?!"
"No, Boss," she replied. "He left a couple hours ago. Why?"
"I can't believe it! He's disappeared again! I can't find him anywhere!"
"Yes, but he did say that he'd catch up to us in a week or so."
"That lousy brat keeps wandering off! What the Hell is he thinking?! Normally, I wouldn't hesitate to sack a slacker like him...!"
"But he's too good a performer to lose, isn't he?" Catherine asked, a chuckle bubbling up in her throat.
"Yes, he is, damn it! I'll make him earn every last cent of his pay when he gets back, even if it means he's mucking out the elephant corral for a month!" Hawthorne growled, then left, slamming the door behind him.
After the Ringmaster left, Catherine's expression changed from its former cheer to one of worry. It wasn't as if Trowa hadn't taken off before; he had several times since he'd joined, but this time was different. That damned scar on Trowa's back... if she hadn't seen it, she wouldn't care, but she had, and she'd begun to think the young boy might just be her baby brother. She just hoped he wouldn’t notice the new toothbrush.
"Trowa, what are you up to? Why do you keep vanishing on us like this?"
Meanwhile, in a desert camp, three Maguanac mobile suits stood guard over several tents pitched on the sand, keeping an eye out for either OZ or Alliance troops. Outside the tent, Auda and Abdul sat next to a campfire, brewing a fresh pot of coffee on a tripod over the camp fire.
"I can't believe Master Quatre's gone off on vacation by himself! He's still just a kid, after all!" Auda exclaimed, pouring coffee into Abdul's cup, and then his own.
"He must have gotten tired of hanging out with a bunch of old farts like us!" Abdul replied, then he and Auda shared a hearty laugh.
"You fools," their captain, Rashid Kurama, grumbled. "Master Quatre left us behind so he could head out on a solo mission!"
Both men jumped up in surprise at that, spilling their coffee on the soft sand.
"What? Boss, are you serious?!"
"He thought this mission would be too dangerous for all of us, so he left us behind."
"But Master Quatre's the one who'll be in danger if we're not there to protect him!" Abdul barked.
"I know, but I couldn't refuse him or his concern for our safety; I only wish he'd come to me for advice first.
At the harbor in Le Havre, France, Quatre stood alone outside a port warehouse, preparing to cross the from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean by ship. It took a lot of finagling, but he managed to leave the Maguanac Corps, who were usually in the vicinity, behind.
His Gundam, Sandrock, covered with a tarp and strapped down the back of a trailer used for transporting mobile suits, was loaded and secured in the hold of a ship bound for San Francisco. Quatre had booked his passage when he received the mission from his handler, Instructor H, but he still needed to make arrangements for a place to stay once he arrived in California.
"I'm sorry, everyone," the blond haired youth murmured, turning towards the East, "but I have to take care of this mission myself. I refuse to be a burden to anyone."
Finding a pay phone near the dock, Quatre reached into a pocket hidden in his vest and withdrew a thin wallet, where he pulled out a "calling card" which gave him access to an untraceable line. He slid it into the credit card slot, waited a moment, and began making a call.
"Hello, this is the San Francisco Saint Regis Hotel, right?" he asked the agent on the other end. "I'd like to make a reservation, please. Oh, I'm a minor traveling alone... will that be a problem?"
Just then, Quatre looked towards the ship and saw a huge truck he'd last seen driving away from a desert fortress in Jordan. As the vehicle was latched on to a conveyor belt and traveled up it into the cargo hold, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face.
"Hey, that looks like Trowa..."
Inside the hold, Trowa grabbed his duffel bag off the seat of his truck, dropped it to the ground, then nimbly jumped down from the cab and slammed the door shut behind him. A moment later, he saw Quatre running over to greet him.
"Hello, Trowa!" Quatre exclaimed. "I told you we'd meet again! Funny how we've ended up on the same mission, isn't it?
"I'm doing this alone, Quatre," the taller youth replied with a frown. He took a step back from the tow-headed boy, his fists planting themselves on his hips. Mimicking him, the tow-headed boy chuckled.
"Same here, but maybe we could help each other out? Two's always better than one!"
The taller youth felt his lips twitch into something resembling a smile. He'd begun to like the boy when they played their impromptu concert while he was held "captive" in Jordan. During his time there, he discovered that, like himself, Quatre was a Newtype, but while Trowa was a telepath, Quatre had the potential to mature into a powerful empath. He'd found the blond-haired boy outside his room one night, drawn there by the feelings of loneliness, self-loathing, and despair he'd felt rolling off Trowa in waves. From there, the auburn-haired boy put two and two together.
Trowa knew he fought better when someone was covering his ass. He only wished it wasn't the sensitive boy in front of him.
He's certainly a persistent little bugger, Trowa thought, amused. Okay, he's cute, too. Persistent and cute is a dangerous combination, and a distraction I don't need. I’m sorry, Quatre, but you may just wind up fighting this one on your own.
"You think so, huh?" the auburn-haired teen quipped, walking away from Quatre down through the line of parked cars and trucks heading for the City by the Bay.
"I know so!" Quatre replied, his enthusiasm undiminished.
Chapter Summary: Sequel to “DNA.” Catherine finds out that what she's felt was true all along.
Pairing(s): None
Rating: T
Chapter Warnings: Some angst, three paragraph challenge.
Catherine Bloom smiled as she hung up the phone. She knew it all along, but it was still a pleasant shock to hear what she'd felt was true, that Trowa was really her long-lost baby brother, Triton. She thought he might be after their first performance together, when he'd stripped off his clown's vest and she saw the small, white burn scar near the nape of his neck. Hell, she'd had a DNA test done during the war, shortly before he took off with Hiiro, but due to a screw up at the lab, it had been only seventy-five percent positive.
He never did ask her about the new toothbrush, and all it had taken to get a better test done was Trowa applying for a job with Preventer after saving the world for a third time.
Doctor Po had informed her that she'd tell Trowa of their relationship after they finished speaking, and would recommend that he take a couple weeks off to get reacquainted with his sister and legally reclaim his name. In the meantime, Cathy had a "Welcome Home" party to plan.
- = 0 = -
According to a text piece in Episode Zero, our Trowa has a scar near the back of his neck from a burn he doesn't remember getting, and Triton Bloom had a burn scar in the same location.
