Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Restless Peace ❯ Family Surprises ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: See previous parts. Adarah is loosely based on someone I know.

Warning: Some cursing, not much

Pairings: 1xRP, 2xHS, 4xDC

Period: February 23, 197 to March 6, 197

 

 

Restless Peace: Family Surprises

 

“Fish and visitors stink after three days.”—Benjamin Franklin

“An ounce of mother is worth a ton of priest.”—Spanish Proverb

 

23 February AC 197—La mansion de la familia de Cataluna, Barcelona, Kingdom of Catalonia, former Spain

“¡Cuatro! ¡Traemelo!”

“My name is Quatre, not `Cuatro,' askut hmar,” he muttered in a growl. He looked at his fiancee who sat next to him. “Do they hate me?”

“Not at all,” she answered automatically flipping through her magazine on the couch, “Miguel, digalo que no lo odias.” Quatre hated it when they spoke in Spanish since he understood none of it. He supposed that was why they did it.

“Pero yo lo odio,” he insisted. “Digalo traermelo.”

“¡Callate!” she shouted, “Quatre, he wants you to bring whatever he asked for.” Her eyes never left the article she read. He gave her an impatient look then stood in a huff. He grabbed a soda can from the refrigerator and thrust it at Miguel with an irritated air.

“¿Que?” he asked, “What's your problem?” Quatre bit back his comment; it would not help matters to say it aloud. He headed for the door so that he could clear his mind with a walk outside. Perhaps the stress of being a father was finally getting to him, but he still blamed his soon-to-be in-laws. They did not help soothe Dorothy at all. They were happy when they first heard of his and Dorothy's engagement, but they quickly turned on him when they learned he had gotten her pregnant first. They finally seemed to accept he did not marry Dorothy simply because she carried his child, but because he cared for her deeply. However, their attitude toward him did not change, only the reason. They, as everyone, knew of the problem the Winners had with giving birth naturally. Quatre was a living testament to it, though no one knew it yet. Since there was a great risk Dorothy could die or have serious complications, her family blamed him for making her this way. Duo had always joked that Dorothy had mob ties; it was never serious, and he tried to discourage it, but the way her male relatives threatened him if any harm came to their “Dorotea,” he began to reconsider this.

“Assalamu `alaykum!” called a man with a familiar voice. Quatre smiled and turned around.

“Wa'alaykum assalam, Aam Gibril,” Quatre returned the greeting, “Kayf haalak?”

“Al-humdoolillah bikhair,” his uncle informed, “Wa inta?”

“Al-humdoolillah,” he reported he was fine as well. They embraced and kissed. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn't get through on the phones….”

“That would be Dorothy's relatives. They can see who's calling, and they don't care for `Moors' as they call us,” he explained.

“Us?” inquired Gibril, both speaking Arabic.

“Well, it used to refer to the Muslims who came up from Africa and invaded Spain, but they use it now to refer to any Muslim or any Arab,” Quatre explained. “It's only Dorothy's relatives, though. I haven't really run into anyone else who uses it, and I think they may use it just to annoy me.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I couldn't get through, so I decided to give my little nephew a call. I have a few gifts for you.”

“Gifts? What kind of gifts?”

“Well, we'll have to go do a little work before we can get them, but there's a little instrument you've wanted from China…and maybe a special surprise concerning an exceptional little lady,” he said slyly. Excited, the younger man grinned and assured his uncle that he could leave then and that his fiancee would be fine with it.

 

“Miguel, where did Quatre go?” inquired Dorothy of her cousin in Spanish. He shrugged.

“He just gave me a soda, rather grumpily, I might add, and then headed for the door,” he answered. “He seemed to be in a bad mood. Do you really want a man who gets that mad that easily? I mean, he'll be a bad husband and a horrible father.”

“Stop it! I know what you and the others are doing,” she hissed, “Quatre is a wonderful man, and it takes a lot to put him in a mood like this. Now give him a chance, a real one, and you'll see how great he is.” Miguel rolled his eyes. “Michael, I have had enough of this. First, Tio Henry wanted me, basically, to kill him, though he didn't say it in so many words, and now you and Robert want me to dump him or just keep him around so you can make his life miserable.”

“First of all, our names are Miguel, Enrique, and Roberto. We are only Michael, Henry, or Robert to those people of the government. Second, he is not someone good enough for you.”

“Who exactly is `good enough' for me?”

Miguel stared at her silently.

“That's what I though,” she said with a slight snarl.

“He's Muslim.”

“That has nothing to do with my love for him,” she informed, “and I'm not exactly a practicing Christian. If you ever bring that point up again, you will regret it; I will make sure of that.”

“What are you going to do? Really?” he taunted. Without a thought, she grabbed the statuette on the table next to her and hurled it at his head. She turned her back on him without bothering to see if she hit her target, and with that, she stormed out the room.

 

27 February AC 197—Schbeiker residence, Colony C-421, L-2 Colony Cluster

“God, how much crap have you accumulated, Hilde?” griped Delana as she pulled out another red windbreaker, the fourth in this particular closet.

“It's not me and Duo.”—“Yeah right.”—“It's mainly from Mom,” explained Hilde as she stuffed the last of the jeans into a box, marked it, and then taped it. “She was complaining of her new place being bare. She won't have that problem anymore.”

“She'll probably call over here,” joked Delana then said in a voice imitating her mother's, “`You girls sent too much shit! What the hell do I need with all of it? I'm not your personal storage unit!'” The young women shared a laugh. Hilde moved on to box the windbreakers and jackets. “She has so many of them, a lot of them just duplicates. Why did she buy so many?”

“She'd cram them in a closet at the end of the windy season, lose them by the time it came around again, so she'd buy a new one,” Hilde clarified, “It doesn't make sense, but that's what she'd do, really. She's worse with money than Dad; you'd think they'd have an endless supply. Duo doesn't understand it, though.” She smiled. “Though, I guess he has a hard time understanding anyone's relationship with their parents with his past.”

“One day you're going to have to tell me about his past,” Delana idly commented, giving a victory cry as she finally reached carpet in the closet. She tossed the last object, a hat, at her little sister then turned on her knees to face the next box and began to pack as well. They finished bundling the closet inventory and decided to make lunch.

“Hey, Mom asked to have that recipe of hers sent with the stuff,” the elder informed, “Where's the Crispy Cookie one?”

“It should be back in mine and Duo's room, in our desk,” reported the younger. “I was copying it down for someone and mailed it to them, and the envelopes are back there,” Hilde explained after the perplexed look her sister gave her. Delana nodded and walked back into the room. In the bedroom, she paused to smile at pictures of Hilde and Duo at various places: the circus, the park, with a client in the scrap yard, and a few others. There were also a couple of their friends from the war, but she did not know them and continued to the desk. She opened a few drawers not finding the recipe. When she looked at the top left drawer, she still did not find the recipe but located something else.

“Hilde, when was the last time Duo went to a doctor?” called Delana back.

Her sister chuckled some, “I don't know. Duo says he doesn't like doctors; I think he might have a slight phobia. Why?”

“Because I found some test results,” Delana responded as she returned to question reading the first page stapled to more, “and they probably change his life drastically.” She handed the small packet over to Hilde letting her inspect it. As her eyes widened, Delana questioned her.

“There's a phone number on here for that doctor. Our phone bill was a little high last month, so I checked the numbers we called to find out what it was. I didn't recognize it at first, but this was one of them! Duo must have called the doctor about this!” she exclaimed, “What should I do?”

“Call him.”

“The doctor or Duo?”

 

1 March AC 197—La mansion de la familia de Cataluna, Barcelona, Kingdom of Catalonia, former Spain

Dorothy lounged back in her chair, enjoying the rays of sunshine cascading on her body. Her eyes closed, she let her mind wander to the little life growing inside of her. She had just finished a check-up, and so far, she was fine. Whatever gave Quatre's relatives a hard time during birth was not affecting her, at least not yet. Her cousins, Miguel and Roberto, were off to the city for a day of what they called fun, Quatre was stopping by to see Lady Une at the end of his little trip from the capital, and Tio Henry was taking a nap. She had the place to herself, and it was the perfect condition for a day of rest.

“Senorita Dorotea,” softly muttered a servant in Catalan, “you have a guest.”

Her eyes snapped opened with a scowl responding in mixed Spanish and Catalan, “What! I thought I said I didn't want to be disturbed!”

“Yes, senorita, but the lady is someone I think you need to see now, and she threatened to go to the press with some information I don't think you want out right now,” reasoned the servant. She sighed and sat up, allowing the lady to enter. The lady, who looked more like a girl to Dorothy, only came to her shoulders in height. She had dark hair, of which half was piled on her head in a swirl and the rest hung past her shoulders, and her eyes were also dark. Her skin was much darker than Dorothy's milky white skin, but it was still fairly light. She wore a plain lavender dress that reached down to her ankles with three-quarter length sleeves. A faint aroma of jasmine wafted from her. From her appearance, Dorothy knew immediately she was there concerning Quatre. She stood and signaled to the servant to leave them be. The two women looked each other up and down for a few minutes.

“Hello…I am Dorothy Catalonia,” she introduced, “I wasn't having visitors today, but you caught my interest. What is so important and urgent that you required my immediate attention?”

“You cannot marry Hajji Quatre bin Alim bin Mohammed Raberba Winner,” the “lady” stated simply with a slight accent.

“Who?” Dorothy questioned.

“Hajji Quatre bin Alim bin Mohammed Raberba Winner,” she repeated.

“I heard you the first time. Quatre does not go by that name. He has three names to go by, and that's quite long enough.”

“You leave off his father and grandfather? You leave off his title of Hajji? He made the pilgrimage; he deserves the title and he—”

Dorothy cut her off, “He doesn't go by your little names anymore. You're in my house now, so we just call him Quatre. Now tell me what you want.”

“You cannot marry Hajji—you cannot marry Quatre,” she asserted tartly.

“And why not?” she scoffed, “I'm carrying his child.” She patted her belly. “We love each other, so why can't I?”

“Your little bastard will not force him to marry you,” the visitor snorted, “and love has nothing to do with it. He is mine.” She spoke with enough conviction that Dorothy was sure she was not deluded. She spoke the truth, whatever that may be, and she knew that the truth was powerful enough to get her what she wanted.

“Who are you?” Dorothy narrowed her eyes, “And how do you know Quatre?”

“My name is Adarah bint Omar bin Jamil al-Haddad,” she established, “and I was promised to…Quatre at birth. We're to get married when he is of age.” She smiled proudly.

“What age is `of age' exactly?” inquired Dorothy. She was getting suspicious

“Mr. Winner set it when he turns twenty-two if not before,” she explained as if it were perfectly clear to everyone else.

Dorothy frowned, “How old are you now?”

“Well…” she replied sheepishly, “I'm fourteen.” Adarah tightened her lips and narrowed her eyes as the older woman burst into laughter. “What exactly is so funny?”

“You are too young to know anything about marriage…or love for that matter,” Dorothy told her, “I'm sure you've been told Quatre is yours your whole life, but it is over now, and he is mine. He chose me, and in fact, he's never mentioned you once.” The girl reddened slightly but stopped any tears that may have come to her eyes. She kept her eyes sharp on the woman she clearly saw as an obstacle.

“He is a man, and he has needs. It slipped his mind. He may have shared your bed, and he may have gotten emotional enough to promise a marriage, but once I remind him of me and our agreement, he will drop you. He is my husband, and no other's. Mr. Winner had that much written as well,” she attempted to speak with confidence, but her voice still wavered. Dorothy was probably the most important person to whom she ever spoke, and she was confronting her.

“Do you honestly believe that?” asked Dorothy putting on a face of amusement.

“I know it,” Adarah affirmed. “When is…Quatre going to return here? I thought he would be here by now.”

Dorothy did not let it show that his absence bothered her, “He stopped by Preventers' Headquarters. He's doing a favor for a friend, Lady Une. He'll be back shortly. You can come back then.”

“No,” she said strongly, “I'm staying until he returns.”

Oh, how I don't want that woman in my house, thought Dorothy, but I can keep an eye on her here. She's young enough to be so stupid as to go to the press if she doesn't stay here. Quatre will be back soon, and he'll be able to talk her into going back home and marrying whoever she likes. Adarah flipped her hair and stared at her in boredom. He better get here quick; I really don't like her.

“Fine, you can stay. Talk to Maria Pilar, she shouldn't be too hard to find, and she'll show you to a room,” she eventually offered.

 

2 March AC 197—Preventers' Headquarters, Paris, former France

Duo sighed and rubbed his face. It had taken him and Heero a few hours before they could get free of the would-be pirates, but they had spent nearly twice that time in debriefing, this time apart and alone. He sent Une a note, begging to be able to go home, but she sent no reply yet. The door finally opened, and a smaller version of Sally walked through it. She wore a serious face, but her eyes still sparkled.

“Duo, you've had a call,” she informed.

“From who, Joelle?” he asked. She bit her lip, and he spoke her name again.

“From Hilde Schbeiker, well, actually from her sister, Delana,” she reported, “It's something about a doctor…I think. I didn't actually take the message, and I'm not really supposed to be telling you….” She squirmed in her seat, thinking of how much trouble Duo could be getting her in. “There's something about test results.”

“Test results?” he questioned. He frowned as he pondered what they could be.

“Yeah, she said they were pretty important,” she paused and looked at him pitifully, “Duo. Are you going to die?”

Duo laughed heartily.

“It's not funny!” Joelle protested. “You could have a serious illness!”

“It's a DNA test,” he said as his laughter quieted to soft chuckles. She relaxed; if she had been a cat, her hair would have gone from vertical to horizontal. She liked Duo, he was like one of her brother, and she did not want anything bad to happen to him.

“They might have found a relative, that's all,” he explained dismissively.

“Here, you should have this,” she muttered and tossed a paper toward him as she stood. She headed toward the door, not able to promise when he could leave.

 

Three-quarters of an hour later, Une sent Preventers to spring him from the room. They returned his belongings, everything in his pockets, which had been taken for “security reasons.” He put his wallet and other personal effects back in his pockets where he found a slip of paper. He pulled it out as he stood in the hallway noticing it was the doctor's number. Duo stared from the number to his pocket that contained his digital phone. He was not sure for how long, but it could not have been that long as Heero soon emerged from his own room and brought him back to the world.

“Just call,” he stated upon viewing his partner as he stood in the doorway putting on his jacket.

“Huh?” Duo questioned intelligently, looking up.

“Just call,” he restated. “You know you'll feel better once you do.”

“I'm not sure…” Duo replied tentatively.

“She'll want to hear from you.”

Duo regarded him peculiarly. His doctor was male; maybe he referred to his mother.

“I don't have a name, much less a number,” he replied, a bit sheepish he was too afraid to uncover even that much. Nevertheless, he did not need to feel embarrassed.

Heero rolled his eyes. “You know Hilde's number. Even though she's changed it, she obviously given it to you, so call her already!” He declared, assuming wrong the number in Duo's hand.

“Oh, it's…not that important,” Duo shoved the slip of paper in his pocket with the phone. “Let's get some actual food.”

 

2 March AC 197—Room 1529, l'Hotel des Etoiles Filantes, Paris, former France

Relena bustled around her room, searching for God knew what. Heero lay on the bed, an arm propped up his upper torso to read a magazine, as his girlfriend fluttered around the room.

“You're quite helpful,” she muttered as she moved the hanging clothes in her closet.

He grunted an affirmative, clearly not listening. She shook her head and rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to mutter her brother's favorite curses. She strode across the room, grabbed papers from her desk, and headed for the door.

“Well, come on, Heero!” she said, exasperated. He stood and quickly joined her at the door. “Why do I put up with you?” They walked down the hall and the stairs.

“Because you wish you could take time off like I do,” he grinned and took her arm in his as they crossed the foyer.

“That is not true,” she protested. “I love my job,” but she could not even convince herself of the statement and started giggling. “Fine, I'll ask for some vacation time.”

“Will you really?” he questioned holding the door open for her. She insisted she would and headed for the car. Today he drove her, so she sat in the front as he drove along the road. “Where will you go on vacation?”

“The Bahamas…I have our tickets ready,” she grinned deviously.

“You do?” he asked cautiously, “And when are they for?”

“Right now, that's why we're heading for the airport,” she smirked, “Pagan put our bags in the trunk while we were in my room. The President gave me leave a couple weeks ago, but it took some time to actually get the tickets…and then you went on that mission. I thought a surprise would be fun!” She grinned at him.

“I don't know where you're getting this sneaky streak,” he shook his head with a smile. “It's not becoming of a princess.”

“Well, I'm not a princess anymore, and I've had to be a responsible adult for the last two years,” she grinned, “I'm entitled to a little rebellion every now and then.” He laughed, pushing down the accelerator more.

“Oh yes, you're quite the rebel,” he mused with a chuckle. “I'll have to look out.” He rolled his eyes. He slid into a parking space causing a yip from his passenger. They got through airport security in record time. Once on the airplane, Relena's giggles, which had started once Heero unceremoniously shuffled her through metal detectors, turned into loud laughs as Heero settled into his seat next to her.

“Someone must really want me to give him attention,” she teased between her laughs that had turned into a sort of cackling sound.

“You sound like a crow,” he grimaced. “Stop it.” This caused her to cackle even more, though she did not mean to be guffawing like that. His expression did not change as he stared at her, waiting, so she started snorting. The few people who had not turned around to see why the Vice Foreign Minister was cracking up with laughter turned as they heard the former queen snort. Her face, pink from laughing so hard, turned to a crimson Heero had only seen Quatre do when Dorothy, or any girl for that matter, teased him in public. She tried to stop the laughs and especially the snorts. She held her breath and attempted to recall some of the more boring lectures the nuns gave at the St. Gabriel Institute, but it was in vain. The more she tried to stop the giggles, the more they came out…and the louder.

Heero gave her another peculiar look before shaking his head and settling back into the seat. He closed his eyes and appeared to be taking a nap, but one could never be sure with Heero Yuy. Slowly everyone else followed his lead. After all eyes were off her, Relena was able to calm herself, and her face went back to its normal coloring. She nudged her companion, but he did not stir, so she resigned herself to watching the waves underneath the plane. They were very beautiful with different sea life making the water a blue-green, and the sunlight danced along the waves in a way she doubted any ballerina could on stage.

During these quiet moments, which were scarce, she enjoyed gazing at the world. Dorothy always referred to it as “her world,” but it was for everyone, not just those who fought. They would appreciate it more, she knew, though. She took much pleasure in showing the boys around places. Being from Earth, she always marveled at what humans could create every time she visited a colony. However, her heart stayed on Earth, where the rain did not come from a sprinkler system and the wind did not come from a fan. Few colonists ever got the chance to visit the planet; it was an expensive trip, and people on Earth held most of the money in Earth Sphere. The boys, with the exception of Trowa Barton, had lived their lives on colonies. Travel between each colony was relatively cheap, at least within a cluster, so they had experienced many kinds of terrain and climatic situations. Nevertheless, it was not the same as experiencing everything real and natural on the planet. Duo and Quatre were the best. Heero and Wufei tried to hide their wonder when they went someplace new, like the Bahamas, but their eyes betrayed them. Duo and Quatre, on the other hand, did not even try to hide their wonder and awe. Both the most religious of the boys, they would mutter thanks to God and grin like children in a new candy store where they get a sample of each thing.

She wanted this new order, this new way of life, for people like the boys where the wars stole their childhoods and adolescence. They appreciated it the most, and in the last couple of years, she finally understood why her mother insisted every Christmas in her childhood that it was much better to give than to receive.

 

4 March AC 197—Room 222, Preventers' Trainees' Living Quarters, Paris, former France

Duo fingered the phone. He had been at his temporary quarters for about an hour since dropping off Jet and Nicholas, and he could not think of anything else to do. It was the middle of the night on the colony where Hilde was. Trowa was heading off with Midii, Heero was playing little puppy with Relena, Quatre was staying with Catherine, and Wufei was doing God knew what at God knew where. He had no more distractions, no more excuses not to call.

Duo kept his world together by not stopping and by always keeping busy. When the group split up like this, when he was all alone, he felt the depression setting in. He could see the faces, mostly imagined, of the ones he hurt. He knew, in the logical part of his brain, that he could not keep everyone together forever. They would marry off and have families. They would forget about their fellow pilots perhaps, but the rest of his brain would not hear of it. He could keep them all together if he would just try hard enough. However, he also knew that to be false if he applied any thought to it. He could not stop his friends from growing and leaving. It was how life was. God could be cruel sometimes.

And yet, he figured God had to be gracious sometimes or He would never have earned the faith of Father Maxwell and Sister Helen. They were too nice and sweet to devote their lives to a completely cruel God. Duo was not sure he believed in God, but he did feel certain that He gave Duo one of his happier gifts: the number to that doctor, Dr. Morrow. His friends would leave him eventually, even Quatre, but family stayed by you. They never left you. Dr. Morrow was the key to getting back a family he though he lost long ago. Morrow held the information that could bring Duo the stability he wanted very much but could not get in Hilde, at least not yet. Determined not to waste another moment on self-pity or -loathing, Duo dialed the doctor's number.

“Hello? Dr. Morrow? This is Duo Maxwell. I called to see if you had any information on my mother.”

 

6 March AC 197—La mansion de la familia de Cataluna, Barcelona, Kingdom of Catalonia, former Spain

Dorothy was sure she would go out of her mind at any minute. Adarah al-Haddad had only been with her for five days, and yet, it seemed like an eternity. She mused the girl would probably be a gracious guest under normal circumstances. However, Adarah felt she had something to prove staying in the house of “her husband's whore.” Dorothy certainly carried more money and prestige than Adarah, but she was also having a baby out of wedlock. An old fashion tradition that deserves to be shot, she had decided, but I doubt my grandparents' and parents' generations would relinquish the notion of being a virgin until marriage, since they would be off their moral high stools. The fourteen-year-old girl came late to each meal. Dorothy would wait for her at first, but by the second day, she ate when she designated the meal to start and if Adarah was late, she had to make due with what was left. Etiquette be hanged, she was the granddaughter of a duke and a hungry pregnant woman. When Adarah finally did show up for meals, they were not to her liking at all. Of course, nothing in the household, or the country, seemed to be to her liking; she had high standards for a girl from a title-less family.

She waited at the lunch table for the girl. Her cousins sat at the table with conversation, politely waiting for Adarah as they did every meal. She, in contrast, was finishing up her zarzuela, one of her favorite dishes. Miguel and Roberto ate their pieces of bread slowly as they passed the time. She was moving on to the cocido madrileno when the men stood from their seats. She knew the little demon had put off her hunger pangs as long as she could. Dorothy did not recognize the girl as she took her seat. Everyone ate in silence for the rest of the meal, a rarity in Spain. Adarah simply simpered at the dessert: flan and turron, both favorites of Dorothy also. Once her stomach was satisfied, La Arabe, as Miguel and Roberto liked to call her, dashed back upstairs to her room, slamming the door. Dorothy shook her head.

She sat on the couch as one of her good friends took the seat next to her after dinner. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The rest of the servants cleared dinner away, and the cousins went out on town as usual. They heard nothing of Adarah upstairs, and Dorothy did not invite her downstairs anymore for entertainment.

“Maria Pilar, what is going to happen to me?” she bemoaned softly. “Quatre better return soon, or that little gossa up there is going to die!”

“Pregnancy has turned you into a drama queen,” Maria Pilar mused playfully, “and she is not that bad. You were a worse guest at that age, and you weren't even staying the house of your fiance's mistress.”

“Be quiet, Pili,” growled Dorothy. “Or she'll think I've admitted it. And I wasn't that bad.”

“Haven't you? I suppose you're waiting on official word from Quatre then,” her good friend had such a strong accent when saying Quatre's name that it sounded more like Cuatro than Quatre.

“Yes, I am. He'll be able to talk some sense into that girl, get her to go marry some stable boy she really wanted to marry but couldn't because of her `obligation,'” she rolled her eyes.

“How do you know she does?” Pili smirked, “How do you know it's a stable boy?”

“Because that's how the story always goes,” Dorothy explained with a smile. “Read any romance novel and you'll see it.”

“Do you want your life to be like a romance novel?”

Dorothy pondered this for a minute. “Yes, I suppose I do. Except, I want my life to turn out like the happy ones where the two people who were forced into marriage end up marrying who they want. I don't want it where one or both die for true love. I've seen enough death.” The sound of feet rushing down the stairwell prevented Pili from continuing the banter. Adarah ran into the room. She took deep breaths, but it seemed to be more from her emotional state than any physical exertion she did.

“Where's Quatre?” she demanded, her face full of worry.

Dorothy frowned, “In Southern France, helping a friend like I told you. What happened? Did you become a woman suddenly or something?”

“We have to get him out of there! There's a huge crowd-mob thing heading straight for them!”

“Calm down,” Dorothy soothed, “I'm sure it's not that big.”

“Yes it is! It is!” she nearly screamed. She turned on the television as a mass of angry people moved across the landscape. As far Dorothy could tell, they were indeed moving toward Quatre. Silently, she started reciting all the prayers she knew to God. Shouting and chanting swelled to a loud level but not from the television. Quickly, Dorothy realized that the cries came from a distance. She rushed to the window and saw the same mob of people on the streets of Barcelona. Seething, she looked at Pili and Adarah; both had wide eyes, and their dark hair seemed like it should be white. The only other sound was the static from the television as the mob took the report off the air.

“Pili, run and tell my cousins to round up the boys,” she ordered. María Pilar nodded and ran off to do as ordered. Adarah stood in her place fearful of what her hostess would instruct her to do.

“The…boys?” she asked cautiously.

“Local militia,” Dorothy informed, “They're sort of my private army.” She gave one last glare at the mob before taking down a map of the area and spreading it on the table. She ran her index finger along a few roads, hm-ing to herself.

“What are you doing?”

“Calculating the best way to get them out of my city!” she emphasized the last word. “My family worked hard to keep the area safe and prosperous for years; I'm not going to let it all go to waste because of some damn fools who want more punishment.”

“You can do that? Calculate the best way, I mean,” she asked in a revered tone. Dorothy looked up and saw respect for the first time in the young girl's eyes. “I only know of Hajji—of Quatre who could do that.”

“Yes, I know how to do it. You could say that's how we met,” she answered, looking back at the map. “There, that should knock their socks off if not more. Of course, I'll have to call over to Basque, but they'll help with the border…probably Andorra, too.”

“I am quite amazed. I never knew you had such….”

“Such what?” questioned Dorothy, “Whatever it is, it'll have to wait. I have to go give these plans to the men.” She brusquely headed toward the door after grabbing papers.

“Wait!” called Adarah, chasing after her, “I want to help. I see why Hajji Quatre fell for you. You help so many. I want to help, too, to make him proud of me.” Dorothy held in a sigh.

“Fine, go see Maria Pilar and she'll give you an assignment to help orphans or something.”

Adarah grinned and thanked her, bouncing off.

Dorothy shook her head and rolled her eyes. Then she quickly resumed going to the “war room” with her plans to evict the invaders. Under her breath, she muttered an old saying in her native tongue, “Every man for himself, and God for us all.”

 

**Translation Notes**

Spanish:

¡Cuatro! ¡Traemelo!—Quatre! Bring me it! (lit. Four!)

Miguel, digalo que no lo odias—Miguel, tell him you don't hate him

Pero yo lo odio—But I do hate him

Digalo traermelo—Tell him to bring it to me

¡Callate!—Shut up!

¿Que?—What?

Senorita Dorotea—Miss Dorothy

Arabic:

Askut hmar—Shut up jackass

Assalamu `alaykum!—Peace be with you!

Wa'alaykum assalam, Aam Gibril—And with you, peace, Uncle Gibril

Kayf haalak?—How are you?

Al-humdoolillah bikhair—I'm fine/Thanks be to God

Wa inta?—And you?

Al-humdoolillah—I'm fine as well