DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER
by Dalton

       Cold. I'm so cold.        He walked over to the window air conditioning unit, and even though the temperature outside was a record 98 degrees/110 degrees with humidity, he flipped the circular switch to the "off" position. The young man pulled the heavy hotel curtains closed as snug as possible over the encroaching heat of the sun. Though the room would remain cool for a while without the air on, the humidity was sure to force its way in.
       What does it matter? I'll just turn the air back on and grab a blanket if it comes to that. I just can't take that annoying hum of the air conditioner. Not today. Not now.
       A shaking hand rose to his forehead, rubbing at the creases that were hidden beneath his platinum bangs. His other hand sunk into his pants pocket, jumbling the coins and keys inside, not finding what it was searching for. With a frown, the boy bent to retrieve the jacket he had discarded over the side chair when he had first entered the room. Why he continued to keep to this layered attire during a heat wave, he could not say. It was his sense of propriety, he supposed as his hand jabbed into the jacket's pockets searching for the cylindrical, plastic bottle he so desperately needed.
       Where is it? God, not now. Please. I need it. Where is that stupid bottle!?
       He began to sweat as he franticly tore at the brown jacket, pulling the lining out behind the pockets Incas the sacred vial had slipped through a tear or been magically transferred to some inner crevice. Green eyes rounding suddenly in fear, the boy threw the ruined blazer into the corner, getting down on his hands and knees to flip the bed's low skirt up. Beads of sweat slipped down his forehead and began to mingle with unconscious tears.
       Oh, God, oh, God, no. I had them. I had them this morning before I left. Where are they?!
       His sleeve swept across his face, swiping away the salty water as he rose from the unsuccessful search under the bed. Seas of swirling spots greeted his vision and he groped blindly at the window unit, switching the droning hum of the air back on. As the black and white spots before his eyes began to fade away into the shadowed, blandness of the grayed draperies, Quatre took a deep shuddering breath and stuck his dripping face into the cold blast of air.
       It's not enough. It's too much and not enough. I need....something else.
       He staggered to the small bathroom, tearing off the vest that pressed the wet shirt against his back. To a violent turn of the sink taps, the water splashed against the white, sterile, porcelain bowl. Two hands broke the flow to bring the fountain's offering to the reddened face hovering above. His hands clenched the sides of the sink to steady his shaking frame. The turbulent water spat out, turning the front of his shirt a darker shade of purple, but the boy only stood there clinging helplessly as spasms tore through him.
       It will pass. It will pass. It will pass. God, let it pass.
       And it did. It always did, eventually. Like it always, eventually, happened again. Then passed away. Then returned. An endless painful cycle that left shorter and shorter periods of grace between each attack. He finally looked up from his bent position and was a bit startled at what peered back at him from the mirrored cabinet. The delicate skin beneath his red lined eyes was purple and puffy. Violently pink blotches speckled his thinning, pale face. His bangs hung low and limp plastered in odd angles against his forehead.
       Can people see this when they look at me? Do I really look like this? What is happening to me? Where did I go? Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault. I've tried. Oh God, I've tried. I just can't do this anymore. I am so.....tired.
       His palm pressed against the unwanted picture, shielding it from view, then snaked along the side to open the cabinet. Like a shinning holy grail, the missing bottle sat mockingly upon the barren shelf. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry and settled on a defeated sigh instead. Three pills found their way into his palm and were almost joined by their fellow bottle-mates when a sudden burst of chatter startled the already shaken young man.
        What? Oh, it's only the radio...the alarm. What did I set that for? What time is it? The meeting. The meeting for the distributors of natural resources. The reason why you came here, you idiot. Supposedly that was why you came, wasn't it?
        A muscle twitched at the corner of his eye as he shoveled the excess pills back into the brown vial. Four remained in his palm, two of them stubbornly refused to go into the open top, so he took them all, slurping them down with a handful of tap water. He finally turned off the teeming water and, grabbing a hand towel, the bottle tight in one hand, he headed toward the bed. Sitting on the edge, mopping his wet face with the towel, Quatre looked at the clock radio in disbelief. It was already 4:00. The towel dropped to his lap as his hand fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. It was a little awkward releasing the buttons with only one hand, but he was not going to set the bottle down and lose it again.
        15 minutes till I really have to leave. I can shower then ask Rashid to.....Wait....No. He's gone. Was the wedding ceremony only just 2 weeks ago? I wonder if he's doing ok. I wonder how they are ALL doing. Probably so extremely happy to be home again...reunited with their families....That's good It's a wonderful thing to have something to go home to. I let them go. I couldn't let them stay with me when it was no longer necessary. They would have stayed, though. I can still get them back....No. No. They are good, faithful people, the Maganacs. They deserve this peace. I wish them well....
        His hand strayed over the last button as he gazed blankly at the turning numbers on the clock, the actual time not yet registering to his distant mind. The pills were quick to cloud his head this time, but the "Ka-chonk" of the air conditioner pulled him back. He blinked once, finishing the last button and removing his wet shirt. He shivered as the air cooled the water and sweat upon his bare skin. That was the problem with days like these; straying from one extreme to the other; no comfortable in-betweens. He kicked his shoes off and shuffled toward the bathroom looking awfully like the little kid most people mistook him for. He let them believe what they wanted. It helped to get things that most others couldn't. Except, he couldn't bring himself to use that advantage anymore, even if he needed it so much as he did now.
Along the way to the bathroom, Quatre's eyes fell upon a white envelope covered with yellow and blue dots. It lay upon the carpet bent at an angle; a smudge left from the bottom of his shoe dirtied the bright colors.
        Trowa.... He sank to his knees and gingerly picked up the abused invitation. Inside, the ticket for that night's circus performance was torn slightly, but was still redeemable. Apparently, it had been in his jacket when he ravaged it for the pills. He tried to straighten out the creases on his thigh, but the colorful dots smeared into a blob from the dampened pants. He sighed, picking it back up by a corner.
        Wouldn't you know, I can't do anything right today. And I bet Katherine made the invitation herself. How long did it take to color all those miniature balloons? She really needn't have gone through all that trouble for one card. But, I'm Trowa's friend, and I guess that's what matters to her. She is so happy to have him back in the circus....with her. She is good for him. She was there when we weren't...after what I had done to him...He is perfectly safe and happy now. I have to believe that. I have to....
        The phone rang.
        ....I have to get moving. I'm going to be late.
        Ignoring the phone, he entered the bathroom, placing the invitation gently down on the edge of the bathtub and setting the bottle of pills on top. He twisted the old metal taps, adjusting the temperature and stopping up the drain before going out to answer the insistent telephone.
        "Hello, this is Q..."
        "Quatre!" Duo's chipper voice rang out over the receiver. "Whaazzuup?! Heh, don't answer that. It's something I heard and was just dying to say. Whaazzuup?! Whaazzuup?!" "Duo..."
        "Yeah, Quatre? Whaazzuup?"
        "I hate to interrupt, but I'm expected at a meeting soon. Did you need to speak to me about something? I am sorry for seeming to rush you, but..."
        "Oh, hell, yeah, Q. Sheesh! Pushing me around like you don't care when all I wanted was to ask if you were coming to the circus tonight with us. But, noooo...forget it, man. Get your own ride."
        Sea green eyes looked longingly back at the brown beacon left on the tub.
        "Duo, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to..."
        The former Deathscythe pilot laughed at the other end of the phone line. "Quatre, buddy, I'm just teasing you. You know I can't pass up the opportunity to poke you for all those apologizes you give out. Are you ok? This is the fifth time today that you've fallen for it."
        Quatre managed a light laugh which seemed to sound convincing. "Duo, I'll see you tonight. Sorr...uh, got to go."
        Duo was still giggling at the halted "Sorry" when he hung up the phone.
        His head was beginning to throb and the brown bottle was looking mighty inviting perched nicely between he and his goal. He undid his pants as he headed back into the bathroom. As they fell to his ankles, he shook another two pills from the bottle and popped them into his mouth. He leaned gently over the tub so as not to knock the already battered envelope into the pool of steaming water, and turned off the taps. With the tablets sticking to his upper palate, Quatre bent to open the cabinet beneath the sink. There were no plastic cups stocked there, but there sat the glass vessel of light, brown liquor that he had been given two days before..
        Who gave this to me? Someone did. Some gift or other offering of thanks that I didn't have the heart say no to. Why did I keep it?
        His hand closed over the neck of the bottle as the phone rang again, nearly causing him to choke on the pills. Tossing caution to the wind, he tore off the protective papers and seals and unscrewed the cap, getting his first taste of Jack Daniels in his haste to swallow the tablets. He gagged slightly at the burning lump easing down his throat. Tripping over his pants, but succeeding in not dropping the liquor bottle, he made it to the phone by the fourth ring.
        "Hello, Quatre here..."
        "Whaazzuup?!"
        He took another swig from the bottle.
        "Wait, don't hang up! I forgot to tell you that Heero's decided to come too. It was either the circus or another night at one of Relena's ambassador dinners. Between you and me, I'd give up the circus to see Heero in a tux....man, that's gotta be a sight...but, anyway, I'm glad he's coming. Wufei might come too, but you know him, he's a last minute pullout. I don't know, this time he might actually show. He seemed less bummed out, if that's possible for Wufei..."
        "Did he?" His spirits raised a little at this news.
        "Yeah. But, with him, you never know. Think I should push it and invite Sally? He seems to be ok around her and I really need another girl there to distract Hilde. Not that I'm jealous or anything, but I think she's got this thing for Trowa. Last time we went to see his show, she went on and on about how cute he was. Sure, Trowa's cute, in a guy kinda way, but what am I? Chopped liver? Sheesh! But, I'm not jealous, you know. I just don't wanta have to hear it all night long and I'm thinking with Sally there, she could have a girl to talk girl stuff to. I don't know if I could take the looks Heero will give when she gets me going with that "Oh, that clown boy is sooo handsome! yada yada blah blah, cute crap." Boy, this is going to be a big one he can rip me on. But, I'm not really jealous, you know. Not really."
        "Duo, " Quatre rested his chin on the open lip of the bottle. One-third of the brown liquid was gone. "Don't worry. Go ahead and invite Sally; she'd love to see you all again. You know Heero will find something to remark on, but he'd never really hurt you. And Hilde is just trying to make you jealous."
        "Yeah?"
        "I'm sure, " He paused, suddenly afraid of the question he needed to ask. "Duo?"
        "Yeah, buddy, what is it?"
        "How's Heero? I mean, how's he doing?"
        "Yeah, I know what you mean." Duo's voice lost its mirthful tone, "He's alright. I was worried for a bit there, but since you gave Relena the idea to hire him on as the head of her bodyguards, he's had his hands too full to think about the dullness of peacetime. And don't you start blubbering that you didn't have anything to do with that. We all know it was you. Relena couldn't keep a secret to save her life. And it's great what you're doing for Wufei, too. I think he's gonna take that dare you gave him. Pretty sneaky, posing the job offer as a challenge to his sense of justice. I gotta hand it to you, you are definitely the smart one in our group!"
        "Duo, at the risk of saying I'm sorry once again, I really need to apologize and let you go. I'm, uh, kinda standing here in an awkward position with my pants around my ankles..."
        "Say no more!" the braided man choked in laughter. "There are some things I just don't need to know about you, Quatre, and that was one of 'em. See ya at the circus!"
        For all his craziness, Duo is alright. He's handling things just fine now. The guys have a good friend in him...so why do I still worry?
        Quatre set the receiver in its cradle slowly. He didn't feel too well and the whirring flip of the clock's numbers took a moment to discern.

        4:35.
        He sat on the bed heavily; head bent and bottle hanging loosely between his knees.
        I'm not going to make it. Taylia will be so disappointed. And maybe a little scared. She's never met with the distributors before....oh, why am I worrying? She has been handling father's work since...since even before I left and became a gundam pilot. She will be ok on her own. She doesn't need me there. I would have liked to see my sister, though. Just one more time before I leave. Maybe...maybe I will make it.
        Instead of getting up, he laid back, propping the Jack Daniels up against his hip. He stared up at the ceiling; his mind not really latching onto any particular thought. His mind traced patterns on the stuccoed ceiling while he waited out the warning churning of his upset stomach. He hadn't eaten since last night. He wasn't really hungry anyway. He hadn't had much of an appetite for some time, and he only ate when it was offered to him. He could never refuse another person's offer of hospitality.
        Most likely Duo will buy alot of snacks from the vendors tonight. If he doesn't eat it all himself, I may get a peanut or two. Besides, Trowa may have some dinner planned after the show. Katherine makes a wonderful soup.....Will they do the knife act tonight? What if she slips up this time? What if something happens that he isn't prepared for? So many things could happen....what if...? What if, what if, what if. I could play this "What If" game all night and it still wouldn't help anything. What if I took a few more pills? Yes, let's play that game. At least I'll get an answer from that one.
        He sat up and abruptly had to close his eyes. The spinning flash didn't help his head. Kicking his pants the rest of the way off his legs, he gently stood up, cradling the liquor bottle in the crook of his arm.
        I ache. Why does my body hurt so much? Even that last fight in Sandrock didn't make me feel like this...Sandrock, my old friend......Pills, pills, where are those pills?
        He found them sitting ontop of the back of the toilet where he had left them. Popping a few right from the cylinder straight into his mouth, he washed them down with a hefty swig from good ol' Jack Daniel. Leaning against the sink for support, the boy managed to get his socks and undershorts off without falling over. The water was tepid as he slid into the bath. He immediately leaned over and turned the "hot" faucet tap on. The warming water was soothing as it swirled around his sunken feet. He leaned back, resting his head against the edge and closed his eyes. Music drifted in and the medicine bottle tapped against the lip of the tub to the beat of the song. The few remaining tablets jingled in unison within their plastic home.
        Tap. Tap. Tap.
        "There is freedom within. There is freedom without."
        Tap. Tap. Tap.
        "There is a battle ahead. Many battles are lost."
        Tap. Tap.
        "Don't dream it's over. When the world comes in."
        Tap.
        "They come, they come to build a wall between us. You know they won't win."
        Tap.
        "Oh, don't let them win."
        What am I waiting for? There's nothing left. I've provided for everyone. Took care of everyone. Now everything is truly over. There's nothing left. It's all done. All gone...all gone..like this damn liquor. And just what the hell am I supposed to finish the rest of the pills with? Huh, Quatre Raberba Winner? Damn stupid, if you ask me. Stupid, stupid, sensless, useless, forgotten idiot...
        "Hey now, hey now. Don't let them win..."
        "Shut up!" His scream echoed off the tiled walls as he swung the empty Jack Daniels bottle out the bathroom door. For being as pumped with alcohol and pills as he was, his aim wasn't half bad. The radio was knocked off the bed stand with a crash, the glass bottle breaking into pieces across the bed and table. The music kept playing, though; and he sunk his head into his hands, pulling his knees up against his chest. The jagged edge of the medicine bottle cut into his forehead. He was not going to let that bottle leave his hand until it, too, was empty.
        The phone began to ring again, but he let its shrill peals go without an answer. It was probably Duo again with some other inane moment of hilarity that he had to share. Or Taylia wondering where he was and why he wasn't where he was supposed to be.
        "I'm tired." He said to the persistent phone, and as if it had heard him, the ringing stopped. A splash of water upon the floor made him look up from his palm cavern. The tub was overflowing. Sighing, he leaned forward, sloshing more water out, and turned the tap off. The room was nice and steamy now. The bath water perfect in its scalding temperature. He was about to lay back against the rear of the tub again when something floated around to his side. A pulpy, paper jellyfish bobbed accusingly toward his elbow. Quatre's gaze traveled to the edge of the tub where he had originally laid the precious invitation. To confirm his fears, the lip grinned its empty, pearly surface back at him. The tears began to come then. Deep, heavy sobs racked his body as he clutched at his splitting head. The sound of periodical splashes joined the dulled music and heart wrenching moans as his shudders brought the water level below the rim of the tub.
        Why, why, why, why...why must it be so hard? Why must I care so much? Look at me. I'm a mess. I can't handle this. I am useless. No one needs me now. No one needs me. There's nothing left. There's no one left to help. They don't need me anymore. The colonies, the maganacs, the Winner family, the other pilots....Trowa. They don't need me. I am so weak...Wufei was right - weakness is a burden to those who wish to fight. But there is nothing to fight for anymore. No reason to fight. I'm too tired to fight, anyway. Too tired. I am so......tired.
        His hand passed over his tortured face, smoothing out the lines that formed there. The plastic cylinder dipped into the tub, filling with water. With a quick tilt of the head, the bottle's last contents were swept down his choking throat.
        Just let me rest now, God. Just let me rest. I am so tired. I am so tired of being polite and helping others and doing what is right, what is best for all concerned. I can't be the dutiful, cheerful boyscout anymore. At least I had a purpose to don that mask during the war, but now it just seems....so ....unneeded. It doesn't matter anymore. It's over. It's gone. They're gone....in their own lives...with their own friends and families. And with 29 sisters I barely know and a mass of devoted people working for the Winner estate, I still feel alone. So terribly useless, forgotten and alone.
        He leaned back, letting the water swallow his body into its warmth. His hand sought out the crumbling mush of paper and grasped it tightly.
        I'm so tired. I just need to sleep. Just a little sleep. In my dreams, will they forget me there too? Will they? I know I won't forget them. I never will.
        The beating of his heart began to slow and calm as the mixed effects of the pills and alcohol took control. Closing his eyes, the sorrowful young man allowed his mind to drift to other thoughts, other images. Images of rooms filled with the music of violins and flutes. Sounds of laughter followed by the flash of a long, auburn braid. Barking dogs that tried to play with the unpracticed efforts of a young soldier. Flashing of dark eyes that burned with the unquenchable desire for justice. Quatre would remember these images and many others for as long as he was able. He would remember; but as he let go, one fear still remained.
        I'm going to rest now....Will they...remember?....Please....remember....me.
        His blonde hair swam to the water's surface mingling with his memories like drifting clouds.