Hello, all. Just a few words about Quatre and this fic. As an Arab, I've noticed that everyone's favourite Gentle Noble really doesn't use any Arabic in any of the fics I've ever read and all the names of the other Arabs around him –such as his sisters- sound suspiciously English or Japanese.
Hmmm, just a thought, but how about getting the
Outlandish, I know. ;p
Anyway, the words and names in this story are indeed in Arabic. I just want to put out the warning that many sounds in Arabic (or at least the dialect I use) are based on throat sounds and inflection, so though I've tried my best, the words are a leetle bit off. Sorry, but you know I try my very best. Also, just a footnote on the name "Amira". An amir is a prince, so naturally an amira is a princess. Just file that into the memory banks under useless trivia. If anything, you can use it during the next awkward pause in a conversation with the opposite sex. (Trust me, gents, we girls like smart guys.)
Enjoy! –Lady PhoenixDagger *//.^*
PS: If you happen to be one of those people who feel that simply because of our ethnicity, all Arabs are evil, do yourself a favour. Get off the damn computer and get a much needed reality check! We aren't all American-hating freaks of nature like many misguided people seem to think. And if there are any Arabs or anyone else out there who want to talk, please email me at phoenixdagger@hotmail.com. Keep surviving, America. I'm pulling for you
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No matter how hard I try, I don't own Gundam Wing or the song "Desert Rose" by Sting and Cheb Mami. Amira, however, belongs to me!
*****
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
There isn't a single moment that goes by where I don't love her. How could I not? She's everything a guy like me could ever want. Her name is Amira. Amira Bishay Aziz. Her mother was my father's assistant, a tall, dark woman with a slight Arabic accent and long hair that was always clubbed into a severe black knot at the back of her head in the exact centre, which always served as a constant wonder to me. Mrs. Aziz used to bring Amira along with her to work while she was still young, plunking her tiny daughter behind her desk along with an army of toys and books to keep her quiet. These were the days my father used to take me along with him to work as well, his heart intent on showing me the ways of his business. But I was only little then, four years old and barely even standing up to my father's waist. These strange things known as "capital" and "investments" only served to bore me. I tried my best to pay attention, but what can you expect from a kid whose main source of entertainment was pounding away like a mad dervish at the grand piano in his father's bedroom and calling it his "masterpiece"?
I still smile at the memory of how Amira and I first met.
I dream of fire
Those dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire
And in the flames
Her shadows play in the shape of a man's desire
I was taking another one of my little walking tours of my father's building, which is to say I was hopelessly lost --again. The grownups around me were of no help, either patting me on the head and wandering aimlessly away to do their grownup business, or pretending I wasn't there and again wandering aimlessly away to do their grownup business. I had no idea what this seemingly sacred business was, but even then, I could tell there was quite a lot of it. So there I was, scared little Quatre Raberba Winner, wandering the halls refusing to cry, even though inside I was terrified because I was even more afraid of looking foolish in front of my father's employees than anything. (Keep in mind I was thinking this frightening thought while wandering around the building in my bright red overalls, which had the words "TEDDY TIME!" printed all over them.)
So, after being petted, ignored, referred to as cute and given a box of apple juice by somebody, I finally gave up and wandered behind a desk for a little shuteye. It was around two o'clock, which, in the world of the very young, means naptime.
This desert rose
Each of her veils, a secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this
"Hey! Hey you!"
"Nuh?" I opened by eyes, annoyed that I had been woken up in the middle of naptime, something which was simply not done in my view of the world. My nurse would certainly be hearing about this! I looked around. Staring down at me, one arm wrapped tightly around the neck of a stuffed camel, was a little girl about my age.
"Who're you and what are you doing behind my mommy's desk?" she demanded, shaking the camel at me.
I stood quickly up. Young or no, I still knew how to act in the presence of a lady. I executed a polite little bow. "I'm Quatre Raberba Winner, and my daddy owns this whole building."
The girl scrunched up her face in the international sign of a child deep in thought. Ultimately, she seemed to like my hello and relaxed her hold on the camel a little. "I'm Amira Bishay Aziz, and I'm four."
I grinned. "Me too!"
We spent the rest of the day together, playing and giggling and getting generally underfoot until her mother and my father had to go home, which gave us the opportunity to throw some pretty impressive temper tantrums. Finally, my father dragged me out of the building with the reminder that Amira would be there tomorrow anyway and the promise of ice cream after dinner. Ice cream -being the centre of a child's existence, other than the child himself- cheered me up and the next day I found my father was right. I found Amira there the next day and the next and the next.
And as she turns
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams
This fire burns
I realise that nothing's as it seems
Fast-forward time a moment. It was a warm spring day, spring days being little else when you live on a climate controlled colony. Amira and I were both twelve, sitting casually on swings in the park, watching the little kids playing almost at our feet. We were at that age when we still wanted to grub around in the sand, but were too preoccupied with our images to even think of it. It was also the age where the opposite sex became more than just yucky, nasty cootie carriers. I even recall thinking then that Amira's long, dark hair was so pretty when the sun shone on it just right. And how her limbs were so slender and strong and how her brown eyes flashed like dark fire when she spoke. I was at that idyllic age when thoughts of girls and first kisses run thick as molasses in the mind of a boy. I'd thought about it all throughout the night before and I decided I was going to ask Amira if I could give her my first kiss. Even in my youth, I knew that it could be the beginning of something monumental, something stupendous. A romance that would live throughout the ages! Like Romeo and Juliet, minus all the death, of course. And if worse came to worse, at least I knew she didn't have germs. It wasn't a good idea to mention all that to her right then, however. At the moment, we were in the middle of an argument.
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
"You are such an arrogant jerk, Quatre Winner!" Amira shouted at me. I looked at her and merely shrugged, partly because I didn't really know what to say, but mainly because I wanted to see what her reaction would be.
I wasn't disappointed.
"Don't you dare shrug your shoulders at me, Quatre I'm-too-good-to-be-a-test-tube-baby Winner!" She leapt out of her swing and stomped in front of me. "Just because you and I were born with the help of some scientist doesn't mean we're lower than everyone else!"
I shrugged again. "Yes it does."
"No it doesn't!" Amira grabbed me by the collar and dragged me close. "I'm just as good as everyone else, Quatre, and if you don't say so, I'll never speak to you ever again!! You hear that, Blondie? I'll ignore you forever!!"
I looked coolly at her, though on the inside I was terrified. Forever? Like, forever forever? I decided she must have been joking. "No."
I didn't expect her face to crumple then. And I didn't expect her to burst into tears. And I really didn't expect her to deck me then and there and run home crying.
But what I really, really didn't expect was that she'd keep that promise until about eight years later.
I went home then, met the Maguanacs, became a soldier, met my comrades, achieved peace, and took over my father's business. It was one relatively dull day when I was looking through my old childhood treasures when I came upon a photo of myself and Amira before that fateful day when she came home crying and I came home bleeding. So, I did some tracking and after a few months, I found her. I can say right now in all truthfulness that my hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone, especially after she said "hello?"
And I still want my kiss.
So that would be where now comes into the story.
I dream of rain
I lift my gaze to empty skies above
I close my eyes, this rare perfume
Is the sweet intoxication of her love
So now we're sitting side by side on the couch in my living room, drinking tea and laughing easily like we did in the good old days, remembering fondly each scraped knee, each silly cartoon show, each mean old bully. Funny, now that I think of it, it was mainly Amira who did all the fighting. I just stood there trying to use my words like my father said to. Needless to say, I got beaten up a lot as a child. Still, Amira isn't as pretty as she was when I last saw her. She's drop-dead gorgeous, her skinny limbs and straight-up-and-down figure filling out very nicely and her long, dark hair is being worn glossy and loose, the light giving it deep vermilion red highlights. I clear my throat.
"So…" This is so embarrassing. What do I say? "Dating anyone?" No, that sounds desperate. "How's your love life?" No, too forward. "I'm still single, you know!" No, way too forward. "I still want to kiss you." Yeah. Right.
Oh man! Just say it, Winner. What's there to worry about?
Huh! That's easy for you to say.
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
Amira smiles. Did I mention she has a smile that can kill a man at twenty paces? "Let me guess," she grins. "You want to know if I'm single, but you don't know how to phrase it right, right?"
"Uhhhh…" This is not how this is supposed to go! Come on, Winner. You've fought whole battalions of mobile suits on your own! How hard is it to speak to one woman; one single, solitary…hot…beautiful…sexy…shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!
"You're blushing, Quatre."
"I am?" Oh, no.
"Uh, huh." She smiles again. "But I won't tell anyone if you trade me something nice for it," Amira says, all but quoting the schoolyard adage.
I can't help but smile back. Good old Amira. "Thanks." Something nice, eh?
Well, it's now or never, right?
I put down my tea. Hers is already on the table. Okay, good start. I shift closer to her. Mmm, she smells nice. I put my arm around her waist, cup her chin with my free hand, lean waaay in, close my eyes and…
Oh, wow.
Sweet desert rose
Each of her veils, a secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this
Amira leans back, breathless. "Oh…oh, Quatre…"
I lean back as well, terror turning handsprings in my stomach. Oh, no. She hated it. She thinks I'm a jerk for kissing her without asking first. Ohhh, stupid, stupid Quatre! But I know in my heart that I needed to do it.
"You shouldn't just kiss a girl like that."
Here it comes.
"You have to do it like this." Amira's arms snake around my shoulders and she hunkers in close, a devilish smile on her lips. Okay…now I'm confused.
Leaning back again, Amira pouts at me. "You don't want to kiss me now?"
Confusion be damned! Wildly afraid to lose my only chance, I grab her, turn her over into my lap and kiss her for all I'm worth. We come up gasping for air. Okay. Deep breaths. Now look. Is Amira mad at me? No? Okay, good sign. Is she smiling? Oh, yeah. That's a grin, all right. It hits me then why this all seems so very easy. That wasn't a kiss to seal up what might have been. It was to pick up where we might have let off. My body feels all warm and creamy now. But now what do I do? Oh, she's coming closer. She's holding out her arms to me. Oooh, Amira wants a hug. I can do that!
Sighing deeply, I lean in and wrap my arms around her and hold her close, breathing in the scent of her hair.
This is nice.
"Mmm, zae el malaak," I murmur. Like an angel.
"Quatre?" For once, Amira actually sounds shy.
I hug her tighter. "Yeah?"
"Ena be hib'bec, ya Quatre," she says. I love you, Quatre. She loves me. The last time I saw her, she gave me a bloody nose and I still had sweet dreams about her for years afterwards. I've been rehearsing this moment since I was twelve and now here it is! Okay, okay, calm down, buddy. Be cool. Be cool.
Oh, screw it.
YESSSSS!!!! YESYESYESYESYESYES!!!!!! WAAAAHOOOOO!!!!!
Somehow I manage to get my breath and smile like my face plans to fall off. "Ena be hib'bec uctar, ya 'Mira." I love you more, 'Mira.
:::Fast-forward:::
It's evening now. I can tell because the light's getting dim in here. Amira and I are still lying on the couch, looking like we had been set there a lifetime and a moment ago. I think I'm falling asleep, and Amira is cuddled in my arms, already deep in slumber.
As I, too, drop off to sleep, I can't help but to allow myself one tiny sinful thought:
Just wait until Duo hears about this.
Sweet desert rose
This memory of Eden haunts us all
This desert flower, this rare perfume
Is the sweet intoxication of the fall.
*****
Well, what's the verdict? Didja like my story? Didja, didja, huh, huh, huh? Well, don't just sit on your hands! Review and tell me!
Ja ne, minna-san!
--L.P.D. *//.^*