# 224; Kid
Title: Barton, Bloom, Khushrenada: The Missing Link
Author: Omnicat
Word Count: 846
Rating: PG -13
Characters/Pairing: Treize x Catherine, Trowa
Warnings: General insanity, a few references to intimate human anatomy.
Author’s Note: I’m definitely late this time, but let’s pretend I didn’t notice that. O:) As for the fic... I don’t know what came over me either. And I’m afraid my humor skills are a bit rusty...
Treize x Catherine fic. 'Nuff said.
Barton, Bloom, Khushrenada: The Missing Link
If Treize Khushrenada had one weakness, it was his inability to resist the whiles of women with curly hair. He knew this. Knew it all too well. He had a compulsive habit of looking over his shoulder every five seconds when in aristocratic or industrialist company to show for it. (The Bartons - the real ones - were a tenacious, vindictive bunch.) But what was a believed-to-be-dead man supposed to do when the woman with the curly hair was also an acrobat to boot? No mortal could have resisted Catherine Bloom, and for once, Treize was ready to admit that he was, in fact, a mere mortal.
The young man calling himself Trowa Barton did not seem very interested in his passionate rethorics.
Treize supposed he could understand: the simple fact of finding one’s sister (First a surrogate and later discovered to be a biological match as well? How quaintly ironic.) engaged in naked acrobatics with a man believed to be dead did demand a greater amount of shock and attention span than the intricate, convoluted story behind it.
Still, was that any reason to point a gun at him?
"You have got to be kidding me." the lad said. Back in the day, when a visibly shaken opponent meant a victory over said opponent, Treize would have patted himself on the back for the look of slack-jawed incredulity on the former gundam pilot’s face as he gazed upon the two of them from the doorway. Currently, however, something else entirely occupied his mind.
"Trowa Barton," he began gravely, standing as tall and regal in the tiny trailer home as he could muster without any clothes on, and looking the younger man in the eye, "you must understand that Catherine and I are in lo-"
"I’m pregnant." the aforementioned Catherine piped in.
Treize’s jaw joined Trowa’s on the floor.
Catherine smiled brightly, climbed out of bed and went about dressing herself like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Trowa was the first to recover. At least, he managed to splutter: "Cathy, do you have any idea who this is?"
Before Catherine could answer, though, Treize regained his bearings as well. He scooped the half-clad woman up in his arms and twirled her around (very carefully, as not to crash into a wall or cabinet), endearments and exclamations of joyous surprise tumbling from his lips. Gripping the doorpost for support, Trowa had to check to see if the sky was pig-free.
Catherine laughed delightedly and, throwing her arms around Treize’s neck, beamed at Trowa. "Yes. He’s the man I fell in love with."
Catherine and Treize eloped the next day.
Trowa repeated: "You have got to be kidding me."
Trowa and Treize had the next seven months to learn to get along. For Treize this was not very hard, but for some reason, Trowa didn’t take it as easily. A tick developed beneath his eye by week twenty, and he almost scared a group of trapeze swingers into resigning by carrying a gun 24/7 and pulling it at the slightest provocation.
Treize took the lad’s lack of eagerness to embrace his relationship with Catherine in the magnanimous way own to him. Dead men did usually stay dead, after all, instead of suddenly and inexplicably popping up alive and well and throwing one’s family structure for a spin. ("Do you realize that if we want the kid’s pedigree to make any sense, I’ll have to change my name again? I was only just getting used to this one!") And it went without question that most men were honest with the women they bedded and did not rely on their brothers-in-law to reveal their true identities. ("Wait, so you used to be filthy rich and absurdly powerful, but all your money has already been inherited and your borderline evil organization disbanded? Great! That means you can stay here with the circus without getting in trouble with your underlings or those guys from the tax registry.")
‘Luckily’, Treize’s new job as lion tamer gave the two men the opportunity to get to know each other. Which came down to: Treize learned that Trowa didn’t like people trying to get to know him, and Trowa learned more than he ever wanted to know about Treize. ("I am ashamed to admit it, my dear brother-in-law, but as much as I love Lady Une, I’ve never been able to ‘get it up’ for her. She could run my baths and scrub my back and everything, and I would have no physical response whatsoever. It just doesn’t work without the curls. Lady would be better off not knowing about my return.")
By the time the baby, a noisy bundle of cuteness with russet curls and eyebrows that Hawthorne the manager predicted would get it a long way in the circus industry, finally arrived, Trowa - or Triton Bloom, as his passport said by then - didn’t know which to resent more; Treize’s continued existence, or the fact that his sister’s baby with the man had him wrapped around its chubby little finger the moment he laid eyes on it.
Okay, so it'll probably never be used again, but you gotta admit, a Treize/Catherine tag would look really cool and exotic. x3
Author: Omnicat
Word Count: 846
Rating: PG -13
Characters/Pairing: Treize x Catherine, Trowa
Warnings: General insanity, a few references to intimate human anatomy.
Author’s Note: I’m definitely late this time, but let’s pretend I didn’t notice that. O:) As for the fic... I don’t know what came over me either. And I’m afraid my humor skills are a bit rusty...
Treize x Catherine fic. 'Nuff said.
Barton, Bloom, Khushrenada: The Missing Link
If Treize Khushrenada had one weakness, it was his inability to resist the whiles of women with curly hair. He knew this. Knew it all too well. He had a compulsive habit of looking over his shoulder every five seconds when in aristocratic or industrialist company to show for it. (The Bartons - the real ones - were a tenacious, vindictive bunch.) But what was a believed-to-be-dead man supposed to do when the woman with the curly hair was also an acrobat to boot? No mortal could have resisted Catherine Bloom, and for once, Treize was ready to admit that he was, in fact, a mere mortal.
The young man calling himself Trowa Barton did not seem very interested in his passionate rethorics.
Treize supposed he could understand: the simple fact of finding one’s sister (First a surrogate and later discovered to be a biological match as well? How quaintly ironic.) engaged in naked acrobatics with a man believed to be dead did demand a greater amount of shock and attention span than the intricate, convoluted story behind it.
Still, was that any reason to point a gun at him?
"You have got to be kidding me." the lad said. Back in the day, when a visibly shaken opponent meant a victory over said opponent, Treize would have patted himself on the back for the look of slack-jawed incredulity on the former gundam pilot’s face as he gazed upon the two of them from the doorway. Currently, however, something else entirely occupied his mind.
"Trowa Barton," he began gravely, standing as tall and regal in the tiny trailer home as he could muster without any clothes on, and looking the younger man in the eye, "you must understand that Catherine and I are in lo-"
"I’m pregnant." the aforementioned Catherine piped in.
Treize’s jaw joined Trowa’s on the floor.
Catherine smiled brightly, climbed out of bed and went about dressing herself like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Trowa was the first to recover. At least, he managed to splutter: "Cathy, do you have any idea who this is?"
Before Catherine could answer, though, Treize regained his bearings as well. He scooped the half-clad woman up in his arms and twirled her around (very carefully, as not to crash into a wall or cabinet), endearments and exclamations of joyous surprise tumbling from his lips. Gripping the doorpost for support, Trowa had to check to see if the sky was pig-free.
Catherine laughed delightedly and, throwing her arms around Treize’s neck, beamed at Trowa. "Yes. He’s the man I fell in love with."
Catherine and Treize eloped the next day.
Trowa repeated: "You have got to be kidding me."
Trowa and Treize had the next seven months to learn to get along. For Treize this was not very hard, but for some reason, Trowa didn’t take it as easily. A tick developed beneath his eye by week twenty, and he almost scared a group of trapeze swingers into resigning by carrying a gun 24/7 and pulling it at the slightest provocation.
Treize took the lad’s lack of eagerness to embrace his relationship with Catherine in the magnanimous way own to him. Dead men did usually stay dead, after all, instead of suddenly and inexplicably popping up alive and well and throwing one’s family structure for a spin. ("Do you realize that if we want the kid’s pedigree to make any sense, I’ll have to change my name again? I was only just getting used to this one!") And it went without question that most men were honest with the women they bedded and did not rely on their brothers-in-law to reveal their true identities. ("Wait, so you used to be filthy rich and absurdly powerful, but all your money has already been inherited and your borderline evil organization disbanded? Great! That means you can stay here with the circus without getting in trouble with your underlings or those guys from the tax registry.")
‘Luckily’, Treize’s new job as lion tamer gave the two men the opportunity to get to know each other. Which came down to: Treize learned that Trowa didn’t like people trying to get to know him, and Trowa learned more than he ever wanted to know about Treize. ("I am ashamed to admit it, my dear brother-in-law, but as much as I love Lady Une, I’ve never been able to ‘get it up’ for her. She could run my baths and scrub my back and everything, and I would have no physical response whatsoever. It just doesn’t work without the curls. Lady would be better off not knowing about my return.")
By the time the baby, a noisy bundle of cuteness with russet curls and eyebrows that Hawthorne the manager predicted would get it a long way in the circus industry, finally arrived, Trowa - or Triton Bloom, as his passport said by then - didn’t know which to resent more; Treize’s continued existence, or the fact that his sister’s baby with the man had him wrapped around its chubby little finger the moment he laid eyes on it.
Okay, so it'll probably never be used again, but you gotta admit, a Treize/Catherine tag would look really cool and exotic. x3