After Dinner Nightmares

by Elah

Wind is a friend of Debbie and Brian. One night he has trouble waking up from a dream, and the next day a perfect dinner turns into a nightmare. Of course, he won't admit to needing help. His path out of the trouble forces him to face such scary things as evil twins, greasy foods, and pissed off girls, but one day, he swears, he will be able to sit back and just enjoy a meal again!

After Dinner Nightmares

Even though H. Windover lives in Pittsburgh and works close to Liberty Avenue, his name has never been mentioned in the stories about the people of the area. He's a friend to a number of our favorite people around there, and without him Brian Kinney wouldn't be the queer he is.

One night H. Windover's partner has trouble waking him up, and the next day, a perfect dinner turns into a nightmare. It takes more than just those two incidences to make the stubborn man admit, even to himself, that something might be wrong. Of course, he won't admit to needing help either. His path out of the trouble forces him to face such scary things as gay people, evil twins, greasy foods, and pissed off girls, but he has the courage needed for such a journey. One day, he swears, he will be able to sit back and just enjoy a meal again!

xxxxx

Someone was screaming, and the sound startled Cordy Jessop awake from deep sleep. She turned to look at the person sleeping next to her even though she found it unlikely that the screaming person was her partner. He suffered in silence even during his worst nightmares.

The unlikely sight hit Cordy as soon as she laid her eyes on the man, though. He was sitting on the bed, a pillow squeezed tightly against his chest. His eyes were wide open, but the staring gaze didn't seem to focus on anything. His mouth was open, too, and the scream that woke Cordy up was still pouring out of his throat.

"Wind?" Cordy said quietly, not wanting to startle him, but Wind didn't show any signs of hearing her voice. She repeated the call a little louder but still got no response from the man. Cordy tried to shake him awake, to no avail. The scream just went on and on. Cordy didn't know what to do.

Soon after, things went even further south. To Cordy's utter horror, tears started pouring from Wind's unseeing eyes. The next moment, he started to shake violently, and then, with a little whimpery moan, he collapsed on the mattress.

Again, Cordy tried to shake Wind out of the dream he apparently was having, but all she got for her troubles was a wet hand. The sleeping man was covered with cold sweat. For the rest of the night, Cordy didn't sleep. She could but listen to Wind's unsteady breathing and fret.

The next morning, Wind woke up just like any other morning. He rose up at the alarm of the clock, took care of his business in the bathroom and the shower, and appeared at the breakfast table dressed like the successful tailor he was. He drank his mug of sugar and cream free coffee and was about to leave the loft when Cordy decided to bring up the events of the night.

"You had a nightmare last night," Cordy said, in carefully uncommitted tones. "I tried, but I couldn't wake you up."

Wind gave Cordy a warning glare. "So? I've had nightmares before. Why are you bothering me with such a trivial thing right at the time I'm about to leave? I have to go; I don't have time for prattle."

But Wind's glare didn't have any effect on Cordy who went on with, "It seemed like a bad one."

"A bad one? A bad nightmare." Wind rolled his eyes. "Is there any other kind?"

"Lame, pardner, lame. But maybe I should've said that it seemed to be worse than just bad: you were screaming."

"I did not."

"Really?"

"My throat is a bit sore," Wind admitted wincing a bit.

"You also...well, you cried."

"I did not."

"Did."

"You dreamed it. Of course, I didn't cry."

"Yeah, right," Cordy smirked. "And you were covered in cold sweat."

To that Wind didn't say anything.

"Your sheets were still wet when you woke up, weren't they?"

Still, Wind had nothing to say.

"Do you remember the dream?"

"No."

Without another word, Wind walked out the door. Cordy stomped a foot, frustrated. Her expletives were answered only by the faint echoes of the cavernous space of the loft.

xxxxx

At lunch time, as many times before, Wind was too busy to take a break. He asked an employee to get him some salad and went on with creating a jacket. The salad appeared on the side table, but it was close to 2 PM before he even opened the box. Four hours later when he was calling it a day, he had eaten barely a half of his meal. Actually, he had survived the day on coffee.

So, Wind was hungry. He knew that Cordy wasn't coming home until late that night; therefore, he decided to go to a nearby diner. The place was favored by the gay people of Pittsburgh, but that didn't scare Wind away. Quite a number of his customers were gay and frequented the greasy spoon, and besides, he liked the relaxed atmosphere of the place. That night he would indulge in greasy and unhealthy food. It wasn't seven, yet.

"Hi, Debbie!" Wind greeted his favorite waitress with a kiss on the cheek. In return, the waitress smacked him on the back of his head. A smile tried to sneak onto Wind's lips. At Liberty Diner, everything was in place for his cozy and relaxing meal.

"What are you doing here? I thought Carl had persuaded you to stop working evenings." Wind was concerned; his friend wasn't a young woman, and lately she had had problems with her knees.

"He did, but when he's working at night why should I stay at home?"

"How 'bout cooking a meal for your beloved instead of yelling at all these fags?" Wind suggested his tongue firmly in cheek.

"For a straight guy, you certainly remind me of the gayest of them all!"

"Naturally. I'm the guy that makes him the gay he is, after all."

"True. Without your suits he wouldn't be the man he is, not by half. Oddly enough, the suits made by you are his gayest. Why is that, Wind?"

"In Armani's and other fashion collections, a label queen can find a suit that fits perfectly and is of top quality. What a label queen cannot find in those collections is the perfect match for his individual personality. I can provide that, if wanted. Our mutual friend wants. He wants to show his true colors. It's my pleasure to show them in perfect shape. On his perfect shape, of course."

"Are you sure that you're straight, Wind?" Debbie laughed. "Is that the way a straight guy talks about another guy's body?"

"How would I know?"

"How indeed? Poor Cordelia. You're still partners, aren't you?"

"Yes, she still lives in my loft so I guess we're still, uh, partners."

Wind shuddered, and Debbie rolled her eyes. "Still having troubles with that word, are we?"

"It' such a thorny word, you know." Wind practically whined. "It gets stuck in my throat, like a fish bone."

"Another one of your too many similarities. You give me the creeps, you two."

"But there's that one huge difference between us. If you ever are in doubt, all you need to do to tell us apart is to find out whether it's a woman or a man that one of us is bestowing our charms upon and you'll know for sure."

"But that doesn't tell me how you, a straight guy, can bring out his gayness in such a perfect way in his clothes. In order to manage that, you have to know intimately what it is to be gay. How could you possibly know that?"

"I may not be gay, but in other ways, who knows what I am? I might be his evil twin."

"You sure are every bit as bad as he is, Mr. H. Windover!" Debbie harrumphed.

"And every bit as good, too; ask any woman," Wind purred back. "But good or bad, I still think that you should've stayed home tonight and cooked your man a tasty meal."

"Carl will have some leftovers from the kitchen, so I'll kill two flies at one stroke." Debbie flashed a toothy grin.

"Who are you filling in for?" Wind laughed.

"Warren. He's caught a cold." Debbie laughed, too. "What can I bring you? Your usual tasteless whole wheat, hold the mayo?"

"Actually, no. I'm in the mood for a burger and fries." Wind rolled his eyes to the ceiling as Debbie faked a faint. "Is it against the law now, to be hungry?"

"Who are you, and what did you do with the real H. Windover?" Debbie carried on joking, as Wind knew she would.

"Just place the order, Deb! Go harass someone else."

With a shake of her red wig, Debbie was gone. Wind concentrated on the newspaper that during the day he had no time to read.

When his food finally arrived, Wind had reached the end of the paper. The young man that brought the plate was thanked by a little friendly smile, no more. The hungry man dug into the gigantic burger and the mountain of fries with gusto. A rare glint could have been seen in his eyes if anyone had been keeping him company. With great pleasure, Wind emptied his plate.

Everything was perfect. The satisfying fullness lulled Wind into near stupor. Well, as near a stupor as one could get in a busy diner. For the first time that day, Wind was in no hurry. He didn't need to go anywhere; he didn't even feel the urge to have sex. He had a moment to stop. He was satisfied just to sit there, to watch the hubbub. He was feeling relaxed enough not to get angry with the guy that splattered beer on his shoulder. He was gentle turning down the offers of a few clueless guys that approached him. He didn't even yell at Debbie who, as usual, wasn't too quick with his after meal coffee. Wind was at peace.

The coffee was perfect. The diner served nothing fancy, but the coffee was always fresh, and Wind liked the fullness of the brew. The taste put a smile on his face. But even a perfect cup only contains so much of the stuff, and so soon Wind's cup was empty. The cozy meal would soon be over. But not just yet. Wind ordered another cup of coffee.

As she often did, Debbie brought a lemon square with Wind's second helping of coffee. She knew that they were among Wind's guilty pleasures, and since a few minutes were left until seven, she thought to spoil the man a little. This time, however, as soon as she placed the pastry in front of Wind all color was drained from his face.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Debbie touched a hand on Wind's brow. "You're looking awful, pale as a corpse, but at least you don't seem to have a fever."

"I feel awful," Wind admitted, making Debbie really worried. It wasn't like Wind to admit to any weaknesses, and even less to sound frightened. "It feels like my heart is trying to escape through my throat," the man went on, "and it's beating way too fast. I'm getting sweaty all over, but at the same time, I'm cold, freezing, actually." While Wind spoke his eyes didn't leave the lemon square in front of him. Trying to make himself feel better, he leaned back on his seat, as far back as he could, but it didn't help. "I'm not getting enough air," he gasped. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"I'm calling 911," Debbie said determinedly. "You just sit there and wait!"

Wind tried to talk Debbie out of it, but it was a halfhearted attempt at best. If truth is to be told, Wind welcomed her concern and the call for professional help. Soon medics were at the scene, and ten minutes later, Wind was in an ambulance, on his way to hospital.

It wasn't a long drive, but still, Wind's spell with illness was over before they reached the hospital. As quickly as they had come, all his symptoms were gone. As frightened as Wind was a moment earlier, he still calmed down very quickly. The whole thing left him feeling like a complete idiot.

I should've stopped Debbie, he thought. Why did I let her call the ambulance? People will laugh at me: A little indigestion problem and Wind thinks he's going to die. What a princess! Damn!

As he was hurried into the emergency room, Wind was mad and embarrassed.

The nurse that took the first look at Wind was even less impressed than Debbie with his assurance that there was nothing wrong with him. She told him that since the paramedics that had first assessed his physical condition had thought it best to bring him into hospital there was a reason to worry, or at least there had been. A doctor would take a look at him, and would he be so kind as to wait patiently as the doctor was busy at the moment. Wind seethed, but stayed put: the nurse had taken his clothes with her.

At last, the doctor appeared, examined him, and ordered some tests to be taken. While Wind was waiting for the results and the doctor to check on him again, Cordy rushed into his partition.

"Wind! Debbie from the diner had left a message that you were taken to hospital, but that's all she said. What's happened to you?" Cordy was out of breath. "Are you sick or were you in an accident or what? How are you feeling?"

"Calm down! I'm in perfect health." Despite the situation that pointed to the contrary, Wind wasn't going to admit to being sick. He didn't feel sick, for fuck's sake! It was over, whatever it was. "I just ate something that disagreed with me."

"Actually, Mr. Windover, there was nothing wrong with the food you ate," Wind's doctor chimed in as he parted the curtains. "There's no evidence of any reaction to anything you have eaten. However, there was a reaction to something. Based on the test results, it's apparent that you suffered a panic attack. I take it that this was the first time for you?"

"But..." Wind wanted to tell the doctor that it was impossible, but on which argument could he base such a claim? "It doesn't seem likely to me," he ended up saying.

"But, last night, Wind..."

Cordy's words were cut off by Wind's much stronger voice. "How could I get a panic attack in the diner that I visit at least once every week? There's nothing about the place or the people that would even startle me, let alone make me panic. I've seen it all."

"Mr. Windover, at the moment it's impossible to know what induced the attack. In order to find that out I've made you an appointment with our resident psychiatrist."

"I don't need a shrink!"

"Your symptoms are reactions to something in your mental state; that's why I recommend you to seek a specialist in that field to help you."

"I don't need help! There's nothing wrong with my mental state."

"But, Wind?" Cordy chimed in. "Don't you think that the nightmare you had last night might be related to the panic attack?"

"Of course not! I don't even remember it. You shouldn't keep thinking about it either. It was nothing."

Cordy tried to get a word in edgeways between Wind's loud words, but he didn't want to listen. "Forget it, Cordy!" was his only response.

Frustrated, Cordy sat down on the foot of Wind's bed. She combed her fingers through her hair. "Look, Wind..."

"Mr. Windover," the doctor interrupted the quarreling couple. "You can go home for the night, but we expect you back in the morning. Your appointment with the psychiatrist, Dr. Edward Spillane, is at 9.00 AM."

"Cancel it!" Wind commanded, but the doctor just shook his head. Wind's voice rose with his level of frustration as he repeated, "I don't need a shrink!"

"But, Wind..."

"At the moment we don't know whether you do or do not need Dr. Spillane." The doctor handed a document to Wind. "Most of the problems that might occur during the night are addressed in that paper. Don't play with your health, Mr. Windover. Come at the appointed time to see Dr. Spillane."

Wind thought about pointing out that he had better things to do with his time but couldn't think of a way of saying that and not sounding like a spoiled brat. Instead, he decided to end the pointless argument. "Cordy. Let's get out of here. Where are my clothes?"

"Someone will bring them to you shortly." The doctor walked away, his thoughts already turning to the next case on his list.

xxxxx

The next morning, against his will and only to placate Cordy, Wind appeared at the hospital for his appointment with the psychiatrist. Dr. Spillane confirmed the diagnosis of panic attack and tried to persuade Wind to agree to the therapy that was supposed to detect the cause of the attack and help him cope with the problem. Wind was not interested and, in not so flowery words, told the doctor where he could stuff his therapy. The appointment ended with the mutual wish of never seeing the other party again.

Wind decided that the panic attack, if it was one, had been a freak anomaly that would never happen again. As far as Wind was concerned, his life returned to normal, but Cordy didn't agree. On the very next Saturday night, Wind had another nightmare from which Cordy couldn't wake him up. Same as the last time, the next morning Wind couldn't remember the dream.

The next nightmare startled Cordy awake only two days later, and from that night on the dreams came every night. A few days later, in order to get a whole night of sleep, Cordy moved to another room.

Since the nightmares didn't have any effect on Wind's life, he belittled the problem. Cordy's worries he shook off as womanly hysteria. He carried on with his life, returning to his routines. Everything went well until the night he got another panic attack. As the previous one, it took place at the Liberty Diner. At that point, Wind was ready to admit that something might not be quite all right.

Still, Wind wasn't ready to admit to being in need of a shrink. Instead of a doctor, he sought help from a friend: his twin in everything but blood. He called Brian Kinney. In spare words, Wind told him about the panic attacks, and the men decided to meet as soon as possible.

"Debbie told me that you had another attack yesterday," Kinney told Wind the next evening as they settled down in a secluded table in a restaurant. "Again at the diner, she said."

"Yes," Wind grimaced. "It was the third in just two weeks. I'm a bit worried."

"That doesn't surprise me," Kinney drawled and in dry tones went on with, "but I'm surprised that you seek my help. In some alternate universe I may be a superhero with mind powers, but in this one I'm an adman, you know: not a shrink."

"If it were you sitting in my pants, would you go to a shrink?" Wind's tone of voice was every bit as dry as Kinney's.

"Touché." Kinney let out a brief laugh. "Still, why me?"

Since Wind didn't want to talk about the whole thing, instead, he waved a waiter to their table and fussed with his order. When the waiter left, Kinney had had enough of Wind's stalling techniques and, in no uncertain words, told the man to explain himself.

"Since I'm getting these attacks at Liberty Diner, a place favored by your team, I think that the attacks must have something to do with your kind," Wind said reluctance evident on his face. "That's why I wanted your input."

Wind's low voice had a hint of apology in it. Even if Kinney and he were friends and often joked about sex-related things, they never talked about their differing sexual orientations; their friendship wasn't on that level of intimacy. What he was about to ask Kinney would stretch the boundaries quite a bit.

"Are you finally admitting to being at least gay curious?" Kinney smirked. Wind wasn't surprised by such a sudden step back from the topic. With Kinney, such things happened. He had learned to expect them and to value them, too.

"Don't get your hopes up, dear." He smirked right back at the grinning man. "I'm still not interested in cock: in yours or in any other guy's."

"Excepting your own."

"Naturally."

Following the often trotted path, the banter went on for a moment. Wind appreciated Kinney's keen sense of consideration that made the man start with the joking: it gave him time to gather his wits. It's likely that such a honed skill in reading the moods of people is very useful in business,Wind mused. No wonder that Kinney's firm is such a success. But, it's time to take the bull by the horns.

"I don't think that my cock has any real effect on these fucking attacks, Kinney," Wind snapped, ending the banter. "I have to admit that the most probable cause can be found wedged somewhere in here," Wind tapped a finger on his forehead, "right between my ears. But, mind you, I'm not going nuts. I don't need a fucking shrink to figure this out."

"Of course you aren't going nuts; you just think that an adman is the person to talk to when you're having trouble with your head," Kinney commented, tongue in cheek.

"Well, only a particularly troublesome head could come up with the ideas that sell, say, meds for constipation or bio-fertilizers." Wind grinned back, his words recalling some of Kinney's recent ad-campaigns. "Of all my friends, you indeed are the person to go to with my troublesome mind."

"There's a kernel of truth there; indeed, from time to time my mind makes me wonder what's going on in there. But, let's go on with your problem. With what, exactly, do you think I can help you?"

"If I'm getting panic attacks there has to be a reason for them, and it has to be something in the diner." Wind shot a quick look at Kinney, who nodded his head. Assured, Wind felt a little less ridiculous as he went on. "The shrink I was forced to see told me that panic attacks are a symptom typical for anxious people. So, according to him, I'm getting anxious at the diner even if I don't feel it on any conscious level. That's why I have no idea what about the place might be the cause. I'm hoping that you could help me figure it out."

"I assume that you've got some idea of where to start," Kinney said without a hint of joking.

"I'm wondering if I might be misreading the signals..." Wind's hesitant voice faded off in the middle of the sentence.

"Ah. Communication and cultural signals. Interesting. Go on. What makes you think that?"

Kinney's smile was encouraging, and Wind felt himself relax. Again the man demonstrated his skills in reading the opponent. Thanks, pal, the neutral language of science is exactly what I need to get through this conversation.

"First, the fact that, in the diner, I'm an outsider, the other, if you like. I'm like an advanced student of a foreign language: I get the basic meaning of messages quite easily, but I might miss the subtler hints and never know about it."

"Yeah, I can see you in that light. Compared to me, a native tongue user, your grasp of 'gay semiotics' is remarkably good, but still, it's incomplete."

"That's it, exactly: my first reason in a nutshell. The second one follows from the first. I might have given some people reason to resent me."

"What do you mean? Can you give me an example?"

"Hmm, how can I... Well, from my point of view, the most obvious cause for resentment might be my disinterest. Quite often while I'm at the diner, I get offers for sex from males which, of course, I turn down."

Kinney flashed a devilish smile. "Of course." His eyes were dancing with mirth.

"Absofuckinglutely!" Seemingly irritated, Wind shook his head at Kinney's innuendo, but inwardly he was smiling. "No fag will get into my pants."

"Should I be offended now? You just turned me down, you know. Or maybe I won't take no for an answer."

"Shut up, asshole! You didn't hit on me, so I didn't turn you down." Wind couldn't help laughing. "And, even if I ever had to do that, I know exactly what your reaction would be: you would tell me that it was my loss, not yours."

"Of course. But that's me. I guess you can't expect other fags to react like me."

"Definitely not. There couldn't be another man that would feel pity for the hapless dude that turns him down. Your self-assurance is unique." Wind chuckled, but deep down, he was anything but amused. He dreaded Kinney's reaction to what he was about to say. "Yes, I would know the meaning of your reaction, but when I turn the men down at the diner, regardless of what I say, I never really know if the man takes it well or not. As I said, I can't read the signals, not well anyway."

"You're uncertain about the reaction because...?"

Contrary to Wind's expectations, Kinney didn't react with sarcasm. He thanked the powers above for the little kindness: the man was infamous for his sarcastic wit and brutal honesty. Currently, Wind couldn't have coped well with either.

"Even if I say exactly the same thing, exactly the same way, one man may react by walking away, the other calls me an asshole, and the third may try again. I can't figure out their reasons for such differing reactions."

"I think that, in fact, you aren't used to being hit on. In the straight world, you're the hunter, not the hunted, right?"

"I guess so. Women do hunt, too, but it's different: they tend to be far less blatant. Often, a hunting woman lets me know that she wants me to hunt her. And in that game I know exactly what reaction I'll get when I'm showing my disinterest."

"In fact, gay men do that, too: make the hunted do the hunting. But, I wouldn't be an adept in your game, so it's not surprising that you aren't an adept in mine. I suppose that, unintentionally and unknowingly, you could let out the vibe that you want to be hunted by some hunky top. Then, if you turn such a guy down, he might be annoyed with you. Call you an asshole or a cock-tease."

"Fuck! That possibility has never even crossed my mind. I really hope that I've never let out such a vibe." Wind shuddered, and the man on the other side of the table chuckled. "Wait a minute, Kinney! You're just pulling my leg, aren't you, asshole? Fuck you!"

"You're so easy, Windy. But, that could happen, too."

Wind wanted to tell Kinney where he could hide his sense of humor, but since that wouldn't help him solve his problem, he took a deep breath and gave it up.

"I was thinking about the fact that men that hit on me know that I'm straight, and still they come on to me. I'm afraid that their reasons are more complex than desire and need." Wind stopped again.

"Go on. I'm listening."

"No joking?"

"No joking. I promise."

"I'm a bit worried that they might hit on me just because they know that I'm not interested."

"You think that gay men want to fuck straight guys? That we are interested in fucking men that don't want us?" Kinney cocked an eyebrow. He wasn't smiling.

"No," Wind hurried to say. "That's not what I meant. I think that the men in question might want to tell me that if I come to your territory I should follow your rules. I'm a bit worried that I'm being provoked. If I can't even tell whether I'm being provoked or not, I'm walking on pretty thin ice, am I not?"

"Certainly, but I think that you're reading the signs quite well, Wind. That's one of the messages that gay men are sending by hitting on straight men. It's not the only message, and of course, it's not every fag that wants you to hear that, but sometimes that is the message you're meant to get."

Wind took another deep breath. It was time to put all his cards on the table. "Am I doing something wrong, Kinney? Am I unwelcome in the diner?"

"Has that really been worrying you?" Wind nodded his head, admitting the fact. "You don't need to worry, Wind. The gay community may be a bit closed one, but believe me, you've been accepted in. As much as a straight guy can be one of us, you are. Excepting the few that don't know you, the guys that hit on you aren't serious about it. You know what it's like between guys: a friendly tussle between pals every now and then is a part of who we are."

"Gay or straight, boys will be boys? They're just making me the butt of their jokes."

"Exactly. Tough love."

"Almost rough." Wind gave Brian a crooked smile.

Kinney emptied his beer. "What about a new round here, in this place? Have we put your worries to rest or is there some other thing that bothers you and might be the cause of your anxiety? If we're just going to have a few more drinks, we could find a better place for that."

Since Wind found it likely that Kinney had succeeded in snuffing out his worries, he was more than ready to close the matter of his anxiety. For the rest of the night, Kinney and Wind ended up going to a gay bar. Regardless of the men hitting on him, Wind didn't suffer a panic attack. I'm sure that the next time I go to the diner, everything will be well again, he thought.

xxxxx

Four days later, at the diner, Wind had another panic attack.

"It didn't help, after all," he complained to Kinney the next day as they met at the same restaurant as before. "I don't know what to do any more."

"Do you think that the gay people were the cause?"

"No. I don't think so. Since we talked, I haven't felt that particular worry; you cured me of that one. Thanks, by the way. I guess I never thanked you for your support."

"It was nothing, I just confirmed what you already knew," Kinney said, and hurried to go on with, "I hope you aren't seeking my help again. I really have no idea how I could help you."

"Actually, I am hoping that you can help me." Wind heard Kinney groan. "Don't get your pants in knots, pal. I know that you can't fix me."

"I could fix you quite well if you'd let me..." Kinney said in a singsong tone of voice.

"Shut up, idiot," Wind growled. "Quit joking; I'm not in the mood! But, as I said, I think that you can help me with something. So, listen."

"OK. I'll be good."

"I hope that you could help me come up with some fresh idea. You're good at ferreting out ideas, aren't you?"

"Okay, I can help you with that. What have you already tried to do?"

"I had that session with the shrink, and don't even think about persuading me to go back; it did me no good, and since I never went back, Cordy has been nagging at me about it." Wind grimaced.

"A nagging partner? Sounds familiar..." Kinney chimed in with a lopsided little smile.

"You too? I should've guessed," Wind laughed. "Well, in addition to the shrink, I tried out some relaxing techniques that I found on the Internet. They didn't help either. And then I had that conversation with you."

"Not too many things on that list." Kinney's tone of voice was serious, at last. The man was quiet for a moment, in thought. "It seems to me that you haven't examined the situation in which you get these attacks deeply enough. Am I right assuming that you've had all the attacks at the diner?" Wind confirmed the assumption. "What about the situation there? Are there similarities beyond the place?"

Wind took a minute to recall the events leading to the attacks.

"Fuck." Wind sported a rather odd expression. "I never thought about something. I come to the diner only when I haven't had time to eat during the day. No, that's not quite right. I visit the place at other times, too, but only on such occasions I eat there. It's a special treat after a challenging day at work."

"Another one of our too many similarities." Kinney grinned, shaking his head a little.

Wind grinned, too, but very soon the grin turned into a thoughtful little frown. "I might be anxious because of work." Wind cast a wistful glance at his friend. "It might have nothing to do with the gay people at the diner."

"Business can be a strain. Do you have some particular reason to jump to that conclusion?"

"Oh, shit. I really did jump at that chance." Wind snorted. "Actually, no; I haven't. My business is running as smoothly as I could hope. There's always something to worry about, but nothing serious at the moment. The cause must be something else." Kinney nodded his head in agreement.

Neither of the men had any idea to share with the other. For some time, the men sat in their thoughts, silent, sipping their drinks.

"There's still the food," Kinney suggested hesitantly. "Is there any common factor there? Did you eat the same foods each time?"

"Hmm. Let me..." Wind was silent for a minute. "I can't think about anything else...well, it's always something unhealthy, something fattening." Wind blushed.

"You aren't suggesting..." Kinney couldn't keep a straight face. "Are you afraid of getting fat?"

"Don't laugh at me," Wind growled. "Is it so ridiculous, Kinney? If it is then you should laugh at yourself, too. You're even more anal about your food than I am."

"Not possible," Kinney laughed. "I may be as anal as you but not more. We're as afraid of gaining weight, you and I. If I was the one putting on weight who knows what kind of attacks I would suffer?"

"Are you saying that I've gained weight?" Wind couldn't help taking a glance at his mid-section. Then he groaned. "You're evil."

"You're so easy." Kinney's evil grin blossomed once again. "But back to the matter at hand; I doubt it's something as simple as fear of gaining weight bothering you. You've been living with that particular fear for a very long time, and you know perfectly well how to control that fear.

"It might be something else than the excess energy of the foods, though. You mentioned unhealthy foods, too. Maybe, on those occasions, you order some special treat that you know isn't good for you."

"Well, I always take peas as a side order. That's about the only thing that never changes when I eat at the diner. But, I can't think how peas could be the cause: the diner isn't the only place in which I order them."

"Finish your peas, son, before leaving the table?" Kinney said in mock seriousness. "Are you still hearing the sound of your mother's voice in your ears?"

"I like peas." Wind cast a warning glare at his friend. "Stop being a pain in the ass, Kinney."

"Never!"

Kinney, of course, couldn't help pointing out the double entendre. Wind growled. "Asshole."

The asshole smirked. "I am and always will be."

Wind took a deep breath to calm down. "My eating peas has nothing to do with the attacks," he decided. "It's gotta be something else."

xxxxx

Wind and Kinney kept talking and drinking deep into the night, but the cause of Wind's panic attacks proved to be too elusive for them. Regardless, deep in their cups, they came up with a plan of action.

Two days later, at the early hours of the evening, Wind and Kinney met at the diner. They ordered an unhealthy, fattening meal for both of them. Debbie who happened to witness this double peculiarity suggested that maybe she should call an ambulance at once. "One of you indulging in your guilty pleasures I can take, but you both at the same time? What's the probability of that? One in a million, billion? If you don't need the ambulance, I might!"

"Come on, Deb!" Kinney said in his best little boy's voice. "Are you never satisfied? You always want us to eat more. Here we are, taking your advice and you just make fun of us." That earned him a smack on the back of his head, of course.

"Shut up, asshole." The read-headed madam stared at the two men, her arms crossed, with suspicious eyes. "What are you two really up to?"

"Don't get your panties in knots, Deb," Kinney said. "We're here because of Wind's panic attacks."

"We thought that it might be possible to sort of lure one out of me here," Wind went on with the explanation. "You see, I've had all my attacks in this place. Kinney and I have been able to pin it down to my habit of coming here after a hard day at work, such as I had today. As you've noticed, in the evenings like this, I order something unhealthy and greasy. But, I always eat these meals alone, and I can't remember very well what happens just before an attack. Maybe I have forgotten something important. So, maybe at the end of this meal I'll have an attack under the watchful eyes of Kinney. I hope he will spot something I have overlooked."

"Aha. So, you want everything to be like it was those evenings you had an attack? As close as possible?" The boys nodded their heads in agreement. "Good, I can help you with that. You, Wind, come here usually around this time of the evening. Usually we have the TV on, showing a certain show. I'll change the channel. Even that might be of essence."

"Thanks, Deb!" Wind called at her receding back. "One can always count on Debbie!"

"True. She is always there for her lost boys." Kinney's eyes had taken the warmest shade of hazel Wind had ever seen.

"She's a good woman."

It didn't take long before the meals were delivered to the two hungry wolves at the back table.

"You really like peas," Kinney laughed. "That's a huge amount. But your glass is empty. Let me buy you another beer."

"Actually, I would prefer a coke instead."

"A coke? Even my son has better taste, and he's just nine."

"Can it, Kinney."

"Is that one of your guilty pleasures, too?"

"Actually, yes. With greasy food, I like to drink a coke. It may be uncool, but I like it."

Wind got his coke, and the men dug into their food. The platters were soon empty, but Wind seemed fine. He didn't feel any of the symptoms.

"Don't tell me, Wind, that I ate all that food for nothing," Kinney growled. "It will take me hours on the treadmill to burn all the calories. Or some other activity."

Wind laughed. "Yeah, me too. But, I don't think that I got any of the attacks while I was eating; they seem to come afterwards."

"But soon enough that you haven't left the diner," Kinney said in thought. "What happens before you take your leave?"

"I order a coffee as a dessert."

"Of course you do; I should've known," Kinney chuckled.

"You too?" Wind laughed, too.

The guys ordered the coffees which Debbie, following her own rules, didn't bring too soon.

"Is that because of me?" Wind asked while they waited. "She always keeps me waiting."

"Me too. I think that she'll use the delay as an excuse to bring us something extra with the second helping, but don't tell her I said so. She has done that before."

"I also often get something extra with the second cup. You might well be right about the excuse thing. That sounds like something she would do. And, I always take the second cup of coffee, too," Wind grinned knowingly.

"I wouldn't want to let her down either..." Kinney said in serious tones. The effect was ruined by his twinkling eyes, though.

In time, the coffees were poured and the first cups emptied. As predicted, with the second cups Debbie brought them something they hadn't asked for.

"Sweets for my sweets," she joked as she put lemon squares in front of her boys. Then she cried out, "Wind! God in Heaven! Here he goes again!"

Wind was turning pale, and an odd expression spread on his face. He seemed to be out of breath, too. "It's an attack, yes," he gasped.

xxxxx

"Lemon squares?" Wind asked, perplexed.

"That's right, lemon squares."

Kinney repeated the words for the fifth time. He and Wind were at Wind's loft where Kinney had taken his ailing friend as soon as he was well enough to be moved. Cordy wasn't in the loft when they arrived there, and Kinney told Wind that he wasn't going to leave a sick man alone. They expected Cordy home any minute now.

"I'm getting panic attacks because of lemon squares?" Wind forced the ill-tasting words out.

"According to Debbie, she brought you a lemon square before you got your first attack. She asked the waiters that served you the other times. Every time a lemon square was put in front of you, you got an attack. It certainly seems like we have found our culprit. What do you think?"

"But that's ridiculous!"

"Kinda."

"Asshole."

"Lemon square."

"..."

Out of words, Wind cast heavy fisted glances at his friend.

"Hello, Brian," a new voice joined the adult conversation. "Hi, Wind. What's happening here?" Cordy bent to kiss her man. "Do I need to be concerned? Are you, Brian, bringing out the worst of him, or is it the other way around?" She smiled at the unexpected quest in her home.

"Hi, Cordy. Unfortunately, no. You've got nothing to worry about, if you're referring to Wind's sexual interests. I haven't been able to weed out his bad case of straightness," Kinney said in mock regret. "On the other hand, if you're referring to his state of mind, there's a reason for concern."

"Asshole," Wind growled.

"Wind? Did you have another attack?" But Wind just kept sending fist-shaped glances at Kinney who sported his most evil smirk. "Brian?"

"Yes, he did."

"And?"

"Now he's mad because he doesn't want to contemplate the possible cause for his attacks: lemon squares!"

"Lemon squares!"

"Asshole!"

xxxxx

Kinney left, leaving Wind in the capable hands of Cordy. She knew that Wind was too stubborn to admit that the attack had drained him as well physically as mentally. She didn't try to get him into bed, she didn't even try to get him settled in front of the TV. Instead, she told Wind that she was going to take a bath.

As soon as she was settled into the warm, scented water she called, "Wind, could you bring me a glass of juice, please?" with a knowing little smile.

"Sure," the gullible man answered. "We've got orange and guava; which one would you like?"

"You know: orange for me, guava for you. And the man serving the drinks should be in his birth suit," Cordy purred.

It took Cordy less than thirty minutes to get Wind completely relaxed.

Later that evening, Cordy squeezed the story out of Wind.

"So, you and Brian think that lemon squares that you sneak to eat at the diner are at the bottom of your panic attacks?"

"The asshole thinks so. It can't be. How could I get anxious because of lemon squares? That's just one of his ridiculous ideas." The last words Wind practically growled.

"Calm down! It may seem ridiculous, but obviously lemon squares have something to do with your symptoms." Cordy stopped to think. "What if it's not lemon squares as such but as a symbol of something else? Could that explain it?"

"As...if I have attached some event or experience or something with lemon squares?"

"Yeah. It could happen, I think. Something traumatic has happened to you, and for some reason, lemon squares remind you of it."

"But I don't get any images or memories or whatever you'd get if that were the case." In frustration, Wind raked his fingers through his already disheveled hair. "Well, afterwards I can't remember what actually was in my mind when the attack was beginning. So, maybe there was a flashback to something."

"And there are still your nightmares..."

"Don't start with that again!"

"But Wind, there could be a link there."

"I don't think so." Wind turned away, refusing to look Cordy in the eyes.

"Blasted hell, man!" Cordy exploded. "That's gone too far. You've been impossible ever since the first nightmare, and let me remind you: the first nightmare came before the first panic attack. For weeks now, you've seen nightmares every single night. That's not normal. Whatever you think, you're going to get help. If I have to knock you unconscious, I will, but you're going to see a doctor or a psychiatrist or a therapist or someone!"

Cordy was screaming at the top of her lungs. Wind listened without a word. Fuck! She's magnificent when she's riled. Scary, too, but what a woman! A smile tried to spread on his face, a wide one, but Wind knew better and didn't let it escape his control. Inwardly, he was chuckling. It seems that I'm headed to an appointment with either her fist or a doctor!

xxxxx

Fortunately, Wind's appointment wasn't with Cordy's fist. With some help from his friends, he found a psychiatrist with whom he felt comfortable to set up a meeting. The first thing the doctor wanted to know was when and where and in which kinds of situations the panic attacks had occurred. Thanks to his discussions with Kinney, Wind could tell him all that without a hitch. The next item that was discussed was Wind's eating habits.

"What does it matter, what I've been eating or drinking?" Wind wanted to know. His tone of voice was almost hostile, but inside the man knew that it was just him being defensive. The discussion was heading to the direction of the looming lemon squares, and he was beginning to feel anxious. "I mean, I've heard that if one ate a lot before going to bed one would see nightmares. But, I never eat a lot before my bed time, and isn't that just a superstitious belief?"

"I haven't seen any study that confirms that belief but I haven't seen one that would prove it false, either. But you mention nightmares. Have you been seeing them, too?"

Damn!

"Uh...yeah," Wind muttered remembering Cordy's reactions; then, trying to put more confidence into his tone of voice, he said, "But, that has nothing to do with the attacks."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! A man can see some nightmares without something being wrong, right?" Wind demanded.

"Certainly, but is that the case with you? You seem to avoid the topic quite aggressively."

Wind felt wind disappearing from under his wings. Damn. It seems that I'm digging myself into a hole...

"Let's take a look at those dreams, shall we? What are they about?"

"I don't remember..." Wind claimed, but by the doctor's expression, he didn't fool the doctor. He couldn't fool even himself. He blushed. "OK, I do, but I don't want to talk about them."

"I think you should. They seem to bother you quite a deal. Do they keep you awake at night?"

"No, I don't wake up because of them."

"Let's get back to that a little later. What about going to bed: do you stay up later because of the dreams?"

"You mean if I'm afraid of dreaming and therefore stay awake?" The doctor affirmed the assumption with a nod of his head. "No, I've always stayed up very late. I don't need much sleep."

"How late is very late?"

"Between two and three in the morning," Wind said defensively.

"And when do you wake up?"

"At seven-thirty," Wind snapped. "Look..."

"Hmm," the doctor said on top of Wind's words. "You sleep just about five hours during the work days. How 'bout weekends? Do you get more sleep then?"

"I wake up later: at eleven or so." Wind twisted on his seat, resenting the questions about his sleeping patterns. "What does that have...?"

Instead of listening to Wind's question, the doctor hurried to go on with, "Well, it seems that you can sleep more than five hours then. Fortunately, you haven't got a bad case of insomnia."

"Insomnia? No, of course not."

"And during those five hours, you don't wake up. But, you know that you have nightmares. You're sure?"

"Fuck!" Wind stood up and started to pace around the little room. "Cordy, my...uh...my girlfriend wakes up when I see them. Or did. She moved to another room..."

"You don't wake up but she does?"

"Yeah."

The doctor waited, giving Wind a chance to tell him more, but Wind didn't want to share his dreams with the doctor. I didn't tell Cordy; why would I tell you?

"What happens? What exactly disturbs her sleep?"

"According to her, I'm a noisy sleeping partner." Wind stopped by the door. "Look, I didn't come here to talk about my dreams. If you have no interest in my panic attacks I can go elsewhere."

"I am interested in your attacks; rest assured about that," the doctor said quickly. "I'm just trying to get the bigger picture. It would do you no good if I were to concentrate only on the attacks themselves. That wouldn't yield the cause. With these questions I try to find out whether your nightmares have a connection to your attacks or not. Mr. Windover, be patient with me for a little while longer. Please, sit down."

Wind stood at the door, his back to the room, a hand on the handle. He was still for a moment; then, reluctantly, he turned back and returned to his seat. "Ask," he just said.

"What do you mean by a noisy sleeping partner?"

"She says that I cry out, and thrash, even sit up." Wind swallowed the rest of the words that tried to escape.

The doctor cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

"She claims that I cry," Wind said in defensive tones.

"Sometimes, dreams do that to a person," the doctor commented mildly. "How often do you have these dreams?"

"Every night," Wind muttered. He could see where it was going. He wanted to say something, anything that would've steered the doctor away from that vein of thought, but he couldn't find the words.

"And how long has that been going on?"

Oh, fuck. Here it is. Is there any way...? If I tell him that, he'll find the connection that he has been looking for. I can't tell him. Or could I just...? Fuck!

Wind took a shaky breath and admitted that he had the first of the dreams a few days prior to the first attack. "But that's just a coincidence, right?"

"I'm afraid it isn't, quite the contrary. It seems likely that your dreams are linked to the attacks you suffer while awake. In some way the two symptoms are linked."

Wind was not happy being right. The doctor told him exactly the thing he didn't want to hear.

"Tell me about the dreams," the doctor went on. "What do you remember?"

"I don't want to talk about them," Wind grumbled.

"Why not? They are just dreams."

Just dreams they are, Wind admitted silently. Why do I react like this? They aren't real. I shouldn't feel like this. What about these dreams bothers me so much?

"I don't know," Wind said staring at the table top in front of him. "I don't feel comfortable speaking about them."

"What kind of uncomfortable feeling is it?"

"Uh..." Restless, Wind stood up again and walked to the window. "I know that my reluctance to talk about the dreams is irrational. The feelings are irrational!"

"It's okay. Dreams aren't exactly rational, you know. I don't expect that yours would make any sense. I just think that a clue or two might be lurking in them."

"I understand that, but it doesn't make this any easier." Still looking out of the window, Wind drummed his fingers against the window. "It's just so stupid," he sighed. "At the beginning, the dreams are different, but the end is always the same. In these dreams, I am doing something important, and I'm being busy with it. As the events unfold, I get more and more anxious because I'm running out of time. But, I always get the thing done just in time. That's when the dream turns into a nightmare. From the waking perspective, it isn't much of a nightmare, but all the same, at night it makes me feel awful."

His head drooping low, Wind stopped again, and the doctor had to encourage him to go on. His inner struggle evident as well in the timbre of his voice as in the tension of his shoulders, Wind continued with his report. "Wherever the first part of the dream takes place, there's always a door. I exit the place and find myself on a country road. It's dark and windy outside, very cold. I can't see much, but I know that it's an empty field all around me. Nothing grows there, there's no livestock, no farmhouses, nothing. I walk down the road, and with every step, it gets harder and harder to move on. I get heavier as I walk further. I try, but I can't stop, and I can't turn back. I struggle on until I see something coming towards me. That's the horror. I stop then, I try to turn away, but I can't."

"What is it? What do you see?"

Once again, Wind fell silent. "I can't say it. I can't! It's too..." stupid, Wind admitted in the privacy of his mind.

"Take your time."

"You'll laugh," Wind muttered.

"I promise; I won't. You can tell me anything." After awhile, into the silence, the doctor said again, "Anything. Tell me what comes towards you."

Swallowing hard, Wind got out one word, "A pastry."

"A pastry?" The doctor didn't comment. He just asked.

"Yeah. It comes towards me, and I start falling apart. That's ridiculous."

"What happens?"

"It just comes closer and closer, and I get more and more frightened. I'm sure that as soon as it reaches me, I'm gone."

"Does it reach you?"

"Always. It always falls upon me, like a blanket. Then it turns into liquid that drowns me. I keep drowning. For eternity." Wind's voice broke.

"A pastry that turns into liquid," the doctor said quietly scribbling something on his notebook, letting Wind decide when he was ready to continue.

"They're called lemon squares," Wind said, his voice almost too quiet to hear, his back still to the room.

"The pastries exist in the real world?"

"Yes." Wind knew that he was telling the doctor too much.

"Are they good?" The doctor's voice held a mild interest, nothing more.

"Yeah."

"Do you like them?"

"Yeah..." Wind leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

"Do you eat them often?"

"No! Not often. After a hard day at work, sometimes..."

"Like the meals at the diner?"

Wind nodded his head slightly. "Like the meals at the diner. I eat lemon squares just at that place." Wind took a deep breath. Almost there...

"And?"

I can say it. I must. Now or never. Gathering what was left of his courage, Wind told the doctor the truth. "Every time I've got an attack, I've just been given one..."

Finally...I said it. I admitted it to him...to myself.

"You're right, doc. There is a connection," Wind said with a sigh, turning to face the doctor. "I can't deny it any longer."

"So, what made it so hard for you, to admit to it? Do you know?"

"Sort of," Wind mumbled. "Well, it just feels wrong."

"Wrong? How?"

"Ridiculous."

"Is that all?"

"I guess not. I feel ridiculous because of it, but that's not all. I mean, even though it's a ridiculous fear that possesses me in the dream, somehow it seems right. Which feels out of place. I don't make any sense, do I?"

"I wouldn't say you do, but that's nothing to worry about. I think that your words just reflect the turmoil in your mind. You haven't had the time to put your thoughts in order."

"You think that there's something to put in order, then?" Wind said in an embarrassingly hopeful voice. He blushed.

"Definitely." The doctor smiled encouragingly at Wind. "Actually, I think that your dreams may be the very key that opens the lock."

"What should I do?" Wind sounded lost. "How do I turn the key?"

"First you need to find the lock. You said that something about your fear of lemon squares feels right. I suggest that you concentrate on that."

Wind stopped to think. He kept silent for some time. The expression on his face turned gradually from bewilderment to thoughtfulness and to wonder. "I remember something. It might be relevant; I think it is," he said then. "Sitting there, in the diner, after the meal, waiting for the coffee, I always feel restless and a bit uncomfortable."

"Restless?" The doctor wrote something down, but didn't dig deeper on that issue. "You order a lemon square with your after meal coffee?" he asked instead.

"Actually, no." Wind smiled; the new direction of their conversation was harmless. "Lemon squares are a gift from a friend that works there. Such evenings, she always spoils me a little. She brings the pastry with the second helping of the coffee. Following her lead, the other waiters have taken up the habit of spoiling me, too. They are fine people."

"You drink two cups of coffee after these big meals?"

"If you can call them cups, yes." Wind grinned. "At Liberty Diner they serve coffee in mugs, large ones. And their coffee is really good, too."

Hearing Wind prattling about the coffee mugs, the doctor seemed to prick up his ears. "Apparently, you like coffee," the man said with a little frown. Wind didn't notice the fleeting expression.

"I couldn't survive without coffee. On days like those, I practically live on the stuff. It keeps me going when there's no time for proper meals."

The doctor was on full alert now. "So, whenever you eat one of these meals at the diner you've got a busy day behind you, a day during which you drank a lot of coffee, and after the meal, you drink two huge mugs more of the stuff. Am I getting that right?"

"Yeah," Wind confirmed with a befuddled expression on his face. "Why?"

"I've got an idea, but in order to tell whether it's a good one or does it lead to a dead end I need to know more about your habits and preferences. Okay?"

"Okay," Wind said, but he was getting rather bored. This was going nowhere. "What do you need to know?"

"Your breakfast. Am I right assuming that you begin your day with coffee?"

"My partner tells anyone that cares to listen that until I've got my morning coffee I'm some regressed creature from a lower level of evolution."

"Addicted to your morning cup?" A little smile tugged at the corner of the doctor's mouth.

"I admit to that," Wind said, a brief smile touching his lips, too. "As Cordy puts it: coffee is the drug that makes me human."

"Okay." Something about that was interesting enough to write on the notebook. His observation stored, the doctor went on with his questions. "At meals, what's your choice of a drink?"

"In general or at those occasions at the diner?"

"In general."

"At most meals, I drink a light coke. Water, too. During the day, I never drink alcohol, if that's the point of your question."

Wind was getting exasperated again. What is he getting at? Why is he asking these stupid questions? He makes no sense.

"Your alcohol consumption isn't the point of my questions. Bear with me a little bit longer: I've got just a couple of questions left. First: what do you drink at breaks? Or do I need to ask?"

"I think you guessed right. Most likely, I'd take a coffee."

"And if you get thirsty while you're working; what would you drink then?"

"A coke, most likely, or water if I run out of coke."

"Oh, dear." The doctor looked like he had just tasted something vile. "Mr. Windover, I'm afraid that, by my colleague at the hospital, you've been misdiagnosed. In the light of what you just told me, it's unlikely that what you've suffered through would've been panic attacks!"

xxxxx

The session with the doctor was over soon after the revelation of the wrong diagnosis. Getting home, Wind didn't tell anything about his meeting with the man to Cordy. He told her that he needed some time to wrap his mind around the things he had learned about himself. Graciously, Cordy consented and gave Wind the time and space he needed.

The next night was no different from the previous ones. Wind had one more restless night: the dream returned, and at dawn, he woke up drenched in sweat, his throat sore. All the same, at breakfast one thing was different from the previous morning. Cordy didn't comment on it. During the day, an observer could have spotted other changes in Wind's routines, but there wasn't such an observer. He could make the little adjustments to his life that the doctor had recommended without unwelcome interest from anybody.

At five-thirty that evening, Wind arrived at Liberty Diner. Cordy and Debbie were waiting for him in a booth at the back; Kinney whom he also had invited was late with a client. They ordered drinks while waiting for him.

Thirty minutes later, Kinney arrived and walked through the diner like he owned the place.

Wind chuckled. "Kinney might not be the hottest young stud on Liberty Avenue anymore, but he still turns heads, doesn't he?"

"There might be new studs, but the old King still rules," Debbie laughed. "Please, your Majesty, take a seat among your people," she then said in mock submission to the man who just reached the table, offering him the vacant seat at her side.

"What the fuck are you on, Debbie? Some personality altering drug? Whatever it is, never give that shit to me. If it turns you into a humble subject I don't want to know what it would turn me into."

"A change into the opposite personality?" Cordy chimed in. "If I gave that to Wind maybe he would finally make me a decent woman."

"You want to get married?" Wind said in a strangled voice, glancing at Kinney. His almost-twin bore an identical expression of sickly horror.

Debbie cackled, the most unattractive sound, and turned all the others into giggling idiots.

"So, Wind," Kinney opened as soon as the cheer dwindled down. "You invited us here in order to tell us something. Are you going to do so anytime soon? I've got places to be, things to do, you know."

"Of course you do, but not right now. And yes, I'm going to tell you, just now." Wind took his glass and held it high for everyone to see. "According to the doctor I went to see yesterday, this glass contains the cause of the spells of ailment that I've suffered here lately."

"What is it?" three startled voices inquired as one.

"Coca Cola Light, I think." Wind cast a questioning glance at Debbie who affirmed his guess.

"A coke? What are you talking about, Wind?" she blurted out.

"Actually, the culprit is contained in the coke. A little amount of the stuff is in it. The other portion of it is in here." With his free hand Wind lifted his coffee mug. "Caffeine, folks. That's the cause."

"Coffee and coke?" Cordy wondered aloud. "Your favorite drinks?"

"Yes. My favorite drinks, indeed. The doctor told me that it seems that there are a number of people that after a long-term overuse of caffeine get symptoms quite similar to panic attacks. Apparently, I'm one of them. A caffeine addict that has caffeine poisoning on top of that. He called my condition caffeinism."

"Good Heavens!" Debbie cried out. "Is that possible?"

"In my case I think it's likely, yes. I do like coffee and coke. I've been drinking huge amounts of each every day for decades. According to the doctor, that qualifies as overusing the stuff."

"Your attacks were...kind of caffeine overdoses? Like drug overdose?" Cordy wondered aloud, trying to figure it out.

"Exactly." Pondering the things he learned, Wind had come to think of the attacks in the exact same term.

"And the cure?" Kinney asked.

"That's the worst part." Wind murmured.

"No more coffee, no more coke?"

"Spot on, Kinney."

Kinney cocked his head on one side, looking at Wind with a mischievous little smile. "So, Windover. Why are you afraid of Debbie's lemon squares?"

A glassful of Coca Cola Light splashed on Kinney's grinning face.

"Shit, man!" Kinney rushed up from his seat. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to look in their direction. "You've ruined my suit!"

"I'm sorry, Brian, but you really have to shoulder most of the blame yourself." Regardless of the apology, Wind didn't seem to be sorry. His eyes were flashing as he stared at Kinney.

"I see that lemon squares are still a sore spot." Regardless of the wet suit, Kinney didn't seem to be angry. His eyes were devilish as he stared back.

Wind growled and lifted the coffee mug higher.

"At least you know exactly the cost of the ruined suit and shirt: you made them both," Kinney said, shaking his head. "You'll replace them, of course."

"Damn, you!"

"What's this talk about my lemon squares," Debbie demanded to know. "If you don't want them why haven't you said so?"

Cordy, a wise woman, listened to the others without saying a word.

"Shut up, Kinney!" Wind silenced the man that had started telling Debbie. "I'll tell them, and you too, if you promise to keep your big mouth shut."

Debbie covered Kinney's mouth with one strong hand, promising to keep the man quiet. "Explain," she said to Wind.

"The last time I was here, I was with him." Wind nodded towards the man in Debbie's stranglehold. "You remember that we found out that I got the attacks right at the time a lemon square was put in front of me. Kinney got into his head the crazy notion that I was getting the attacks because of lemon squares. Which, by the way, was a wrong assumption, asshole." The last Wind said snidely to Kinney, taking advantage of the fact that currently the man was unable to make a peep in his defense.

"Yeah, I remember that night," Cordy jumped in, smiling. "You really were out of sorts with Brian. And with me, too, later when I brought up the topic of your nightmares."

"And you got riled with me." Wind smiled at the fond memory. "You were scary. Magnificent, but scary."

"Nightmares?" Kinney struggled to say from the confines of Debbie's palm. His muffled voice didn't carry far as he pointed out that Wind never mentioned any dreams to him. Debbie repeated his words to Cordy and Wind, still keeping the man quiet.

Wind took Cordy's hand and kissed the palm of it. "Sorry, Cordy, I was being an ass about those nightmares. You were right: they were linked to the attacks. If I had listened to you, the connection would have been found in much less time." To the other two he told about his recurring dream.

Afterwards, they sat in silent thoughts for a moment. The lull in the conversation was cut by Kinney who, in his customary non-apologetic way of apologizing, addressed Wind with, "So, you've been having nightmares about lemon squares. No wonder you got defensive when I joked about your fright of them."

"Why are you seeing lemon squares instead of coffee?" Debbie wondered.

Wind smiled at her. "I've been wondering about that, too. I think that, on some subconscious level, I am aware of an attack before I notice it on the conscious level. In the dreams, those precursory feelings seem to be represented in the form of a lemon square."

"In a weird, dreamlike way that makes sense to me," Kinney said. "Like the real life lemon squares...they appear at the same time as your attacks begin. The pastries bring with them the cause of the attacks, the coffee. The enemy, so to speak. In your dreams lemon squares appear, too, as a precursor. Seeing them you know that the time is up. Your enemy is close. The lemon squares turn your attention to the cause for anxiety and fear. Even if you don't know what the cause is you know that it exists."

Debbie stared at Kinney like he had just grown another head.

"My dreams are, as the doc said, the key I needed to understand my experiences. It's all there: the busy work schedule, the relief of getting the work done, the door to the murky waters of coffee and coke induced anxiety, the inability to stop consuming the drinks, the consequences. As you said, Cordy, a lemon square in my dream is a symbol: it's a harbinger of trouble."

"Well, now we just need to find an answer to one more unanswered question," Kinney said.

"Which question?" Wind wondered.

"How will Cordy make you a human being without your morning cup of coffee?"

The End

Author's notes:

According to some of the professionals in the field of medical sciences, "the long-term overuse of caffeine can elicit a number of psychiatric disturbances in adults. Two such disorders are caffeine-induced sleep disorder and caffeine-induced anxiety disorder. In some individuals, large (500mg or more) amounts of caffeine can induce anxiety severe enough to necessitate clinical attention. The symptoms of caffeine intoxication can take many forms, among them generalized anxiety, panic attacks, obsessive-compulsive symptoms, and phobic symptoms. A number of medical professionals believe that caffeine-intoxicated people (caffeinism) are routinely misdiagnosed as panic disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and thus unnecessarily medicated."

While the story After Dinner Nightmares is inspired by these opinions and beliefs, the story isn't meant to give an accurate description of caffeinism. It's fiction and should be read as such.