[Gundam Wing] Peacetime Desires of a Black Queen
Title: Peacetime Desires of a Black Queen
Author: telepathicpixie
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Character: Dorothy Catalonia
Word Count: 2945
Notes: 100_women prompt #17 - lust.
Summary: “I helped give them a glorious war that led to peace, didn’t I? I’m afraid that’s as much goodwill as I can muster for humankind.”


The ceiling fan turned lazily above her head and her gaze followed the blades in their endless circle. Light from the window flashed off the false brass accents and the chain dangling down, sending sparks scattering across the walls. The couch pillow was lumpy under her head and she thought about demanding better accommodations, if they were going to persist in this ridiculous charade. The old quack sitting in the armchair across from her would probably just dissect her words into some sort of entitlement complex--she was a goddamn duchess, why shouldn’t she have an entitlement complex?--so she kept her thoughts to herself. No sense in giving them ammunition; she didn’t believe in giving the enemy any weapons to use against her, unless it would somehow benefit her in the long run.

She did not yet feel this was beneficial.

The clock ticked steadily on the wall and the quack kept obnoxious time with his pen and Dorothy calmly waited out yet another hour. She was a patient woman, when she had to be; she’d break them, in the long run.

~*~

Two days later and the same scenario. She had to give the man props; he’d been at this twice a week for the last three months and hadn’t cracked yet. The previous four hadn’t lasted quite so long; at least Une had managed to find her a worthy adversary. He was tapping his pen again and she hadn’t yet decided if it was a nervous twitch or if he was trying to make her crack.

She smiled--inwardly--at the thought. Better men had tried…

“So tell me, Miss Catalonia,” he said at last. She did not jump at the intrusion of his words into the relative silence, merely glanced over with an arched eyebrow. He had spoken first--point to her. “Why do you bother with these sessions when you plainly mean to get nothing from them?”

Dorothy held his gaze for two full minutes, keeping count by the ticking of the second hand. “Who says I get nothing from them?” she asked, corners of her lips curving upward. “I find it fairly relaxing; a biweekly meditation, if you will.”

“And, of course, Colonel Une requires it of you.”

Dorothy waved a hand airily and looked away. “It suits me to humor her.”

“Does it?”

Silently huffing at his tone, Dorothy ignored him; how dare he speak so condescending, as if to humor her? If he had spoken so during the wars, she would have crushed him--and through no violent effort of her own, merely through words and cunning. Simply because she was here under orders from the Preventers, out of Une’s desire to make sure she was sane and stable and capable of becoming a good little member of society, did not give him the right…

“Do you miss it?”

Dorothy glared at him, eyes narrow. “Miss what?”

“War.”

As bald-faced as anyone had ever asked her. If she was not contemplating how to best kill the man, she might have conceded a point to him. Smiling thinly--insincerely--she replied with false sweetness, “Whyever should I miss that dreadful thing, my dear doctor? Have you failed to notice this miraculous state of peace we’ve been given?” She sat up a bit, resting on one elbow and giving him a look shaded with long lashes. “Miss Relena has done a marvelous job, hasn’t she?”

He just smiled and made a note on his tablet. Again he was humoring her! She grit her teeth. Without even glancing at her, he capped his pen and stood. “I’m afraid your hour is up, Miss Catalonia. I will see you next week?”

Without even waiting for an answer, he left, leaving her fuming on the couch.

~*~

When she arrived next, a table sat between the couch and chair; on the table was a chess set, already arranged for a fresh game with the black pieces facing the couch. Dorothy spared it a brief, disdainful glance as she walked around it to her usual seat, trying to ignore the way her hands itched to play.

He watched her as she walked in and noted her glance towards the board. “Do you play, Miss Catalonia?”

“Occasionally,” she said with a sniff, pointedly turning away. Only occasionally did she find an opponent worthy of her time and with time to spare. She doubted the doctor would be anything of a challenge; it was beneath her to even consider matching her skills against such an inferior.

“I was hoping you might indulge me in a match this afternoon.”

“Do I pay you so that I may indulge your whims?” Dorothy retorted.

He chuckled and reached forward, starting the game with a pawn. “I believe it is Colonel Une who pays me.”

Dorothy glanced down at the board. He’d begun the game, damn him; the array of possibilities mapped themselves out before her, first moves flashing before her eyes as she took in the orderly rows and squares. So much cleaner than true battle--even battle with mobile dolls, as obedient as they were--but at the same time, almost as satisfying. No life or death to make things really interesting, that was true, but the same match of wits and strategy. It would be so desperately easy to beat him, put him in his place…

Except the duel played out on the checkered board wasn’t the only game at stake. If she followed his lead, played his game, she would be doing just that--playing his game.

She did not move one of the black pieces and so took her turn.

“The trouble is, Dorothy,” he said and she shot him a sharp look for the unasked for use of her first name, “is that you thrive on conflict.”

“Have you figured me out, then?” she replied.

He laughed, a soft, amused chuckle she hated. “I’m afraid that much is plain for anyone to see, psychology degrees notwithstanding. Everything is a match of wits to you. Even now, you suspect me of some greater goal when I merely offer a friendly game of chess.”

“You have not played often or well, if you call it friendly,” Dorothy said.

“You constantly attempt misdirection when confronted with a direct question--or statement.” He cocked his head at her. “Is it war you love, or simply the battle of tactical wit that results during war?”

She didn’t answer and he crossed his arms and leaned back. “To put it another way, is your lust for blood or for a challenge?”

Dorothy looked up at him, expression flat and cold. Without a word, she reached out and upturned the chess board; the pieces clattered to the ground and she got up and walked out of the room, thirty-six minutes early.

~*~

“I upset you last time.”

Same room, same scenario, different day. Some days, she thought her entire life was beginning to revolve around this miserable place, with its cheap furnishings and revolting décor. She almost hadn’t come, but that would be admitting defeat; also, part of her had hoped the man had finally given up and gone his way like the others.

To her vast irritation, he had not; of course, he had also not reported her truancy to Une, else she would have no doubt heard about it. At length.

“What do you hope to accomplish here?” she asked.

“What do you?”

“To get a passing grade so you fools leave me alone.” The words came out before she could stop them. Damn the man and his persistent badgering! She’d be telling him all sorts of ridiculous things at this rate!

“And after that?”

She stared at him. And after that, what? She’d get on with her life, of course; what did the miserable incompetent think she’d do?

“As you said last week, we are living in a time of peace. What will you do with it?”

“I don’t intend to start another war simply to amuse myself, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Dorothy sat back, crossing her legs and folding her hands over one knee. “Except that is what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? What you all are. It’s the reason the dearly beloved Colonel sent you to me, after a long succession of less… stalwart psychologists. To make sure I’m not going to go off and wreck it all for the rest of the world simply to alleviate my boredom.” She leaned forward, hair slipping from behind her shoulders to frame her face. “If you want my opinion, doctor,” she said in a mock whisper, “you might want to look to the Colonel herself. She did help start a military coup, after all. I merely encouraged what was already there.”

“You undervalue yourself, Miss Catalonia. There’s more to your mind than a mere cheerleader.”

Dorothy smiled and sat back once again. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Have you given no thought to what a woman of your talents could do to help this world we’ve created?”

“I helped give them a glorious war that led to peace, didn’t I? I’m afraid that’s as much goodwill as I can muster for humankind.”

“Pity,” he said, but did not expound upon the statement. Why he thought it was a pity, Dorothy found herself wanting to know, but she refused to stoop so low as to ask.

~*~

Silence prevailed for another week; the chess set had returned the second day. Dorothy did not give it more than a passing glance and refused to comment upon it or anything else, especially since the quack seemed content to let things regress to their previous condition.

“You’re attending a university now, aren’t you, Miss Catalonia?” he asked at last, giving her a brief look over his legal pad. She wondered what he found to write in it day after day, when no words passed between them; likely some psychological gibber-gabber to make it appear he was doing something worth his paycheck.

“Yes,” she replied, not wishing to bother a catty response to something so trivial.

“Aa,” he said and was quiet again. She wished he wouldn’t begin his inane questioning and then stop, leaving her wondering just where he was going with the topic at hand. No doubt the bastard did it on purpose, just to make her wonder, so she pretended not to notice or care.

“What are you studying?” he said, just when she’d almost forgotten he’d said anything at all. She glared at him for a long moment, but he didn’t even meet her gaze as he continued doodling idly on his paper.

“History,” she said and he looked up at that, glancing over at her with a quick, conspirator’s grin.

“Of course. Plenty of good wars there.”

She gave him a smile of her own, one with less arsenic than usual. He’d gotten it, at least; everyone else thought it was such a dreary subject and couldn’t fathom why she would be wasting her time with it.

“Is there something in particular you plan to do with the degree, once you’re done?”

A question he’d already asked her, simply approached from a different angle. Sloppy. “I hardly think my financial status is such I need to do anything,” she returned.

“Of course; how silly of me.”

Dorothy snorted and resumed her study of the ceiling fan.

“But perhaps you would want to do something.”

Fine--she’d play. For the moment. “Such as…?” she prompted, dry tone clearly stating she didn’t hold out much hope for the validity of his suggestions.

“Teacher? Museum guide?” he offered and it was fortunate for him she could tell he was joking. “Do you really intend to spend all the time and effort to get a degree in something you love and then proceed to do absolutely nothing with it?”

“You use such meaningful words for my presumed relationship with history--with war. What on Earth makes you think I care so much about anything?”

“My mistake then. Perhaps I’ve been wrong all along about your role in the wars; it had nothing to do with bloodlust or tactical wit, simply teenage rebellion taken to the extreme.”

Dorothy barked a sharp, honestly amused laugh. The idea of her actions during the wars--and, by association, all of their actions, from Relena to the Gundam pilots--being trivialized as mere teenage rebellion was nothing short of… comical.

She reached out for the chessboard and moved one of the black pieces. The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“Customarily, white moves first,” he told her.

Dorothy looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. “You made your move a week and a half ago. Do try to keep up.”

~*~

The game wound on for the next few weeks, being prolonged chiefly because Dorothy would often only make one move a day. Sometimes she took pity on the poor quack and made as many as two, but for the most part, she forced him to wait on her turn. If he were smart, he could have done the same thing to her, but he never bothered; in her opinion, he was positively hasty in his game.

She never asked what he did with the chessboard while his other clients were there, whether he left it out or moved it to the side or packed it all up entirely. Regardless, it was always back in place by the time she arrived, with all the pieces right where they’d left them.

“Do you believe that history really does repeat itself?” he asked finally, making his move right on the heels of her previous one. Dorothy made note of the current positions of their pieces and then proceeded to ignore the board. She thought about making a quick move now, just in response to the question, but she decided the momentary victory wasn’t worth the cost of the overall game.

“Lots of things repeat themselves. You do, frequently.” He just watched her and did not reply to her taunt; she sighed. “Everything happens in stages. The peace we have now is just one point of time in the overarching pattern of humanity. Another war is inevitable.”

“You don’t think humanity can progress past the need for warfare?”

Dorothy smiled. “Miss Relena thinks so. And as I’ve told her in the past, if everyone were as enlightened as Miss Relena, it would certainly be a possibility. But perhaps I have a lesser view of the human race than Miss Relena does.” She paused, picking up a discarded pawn and studying it thoughtfully. “Or… no. Not a lesser view.” The smooth curves of the pawn caught the light from the room, glowing with the reflected illumination. “Humans beings do not show their true colors in times of peace. It takes a war to really show the measure of a man. Our best and our worst are most clearly seen in times of violence; war shows those who will step up and fight heroically for the sake of the final outcome, those who will use such trials to further their own ends, and those… who are merely pawns. Cowards and followers who only serve as a backdrop to the great leaders of our time.” She set the piece down. “Even Miss Relena did not show her true magnificence until confronted with a war.”

He looked unsettled by her response. “Then you do not care to preserve our current state of peace.”

“Hardly.” Dorothy looked over at him. “Another war so soon would be pointless; we already know who our champions are. There is a pattern to these things, but it must be conducted within the proper timeline. Now, there should be peace--peace is the reward to warriors who have fought well.”

“Unfortunately, there are people who feel that another war would not be pointless, but necessary.”

Dorothy acknowledged his words with a slight nod and a shrug and waited.

“Someone with a love of history and who understands the patterns of peacetime and war could do a great deal to help the Preventers prevent such a needless war.”

Finally, after all these weeks, they had come down to the point in question. Une’s devotion of resources had not been entirely without meaning, after all; she had been harboring hope Dorothy could be persuaded to use her talents for preserving peace, instead of prolonging war, and had hidden it all within this charming little charade. Either her darling doctor had no skill for keeping secrets or he had decided a direct approach would be best.

It was an intriguing prospect, a game of chess with deliciously high stakes--a game that might actually be worthy of her attention. It was a risk on Une’s part, because there was no telling when Dorothy might choose to switch sides and begin instigating war once more--but no doubt there would be fail-safes in place for such an inevitability.

Reaching out for the chessboard, Dorothy played her queen. “Checkmate.” It was as perfect an end as she could have hoped for; she preferred to end the game with the queen, just as she preferred to play the black. The person wielding the black pieces never started the game, merely toyed with what was already there; the queen, who could move anywhere, was undoubtedly the most powerful piece. She found it rather poetic, in its own way. The quack blinked and stared down at the board, as if he had actually forgotten about the game.

“You’re going to have to get much better at this if we’re to continue playing,” she said and smiled. Slowly, he returned it.

“I’ll see you next week, then.”

Without a backward glance at the chessboard or the doctor, Dorothy left the room.


Table here.