Welcome back from intermission! Congratulations to the cast of the school production on a great opening night, you were awesome. So now, please have your tickets ready and your programs handy, make sure to turn off all cell phones and pagers, and please, no flash photography. Enjoy the rest of the show!
Quatre woke with a start, cadaverous and gasping for breath. He was sprawled out on a huge mattress, surrounded by enough pillows and silk throw blankets to sink an ocean liner. And there, sitting at the foot of the bed, toying with a crucifix about his neck was Trowa, watching the Ozzie intently.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Quatre gasped, wincing as pain shot through his body.
"I'm Trowa…don't you remember me? I saved your life."
"You better get out of here before I call the guards," he threatened, trying valiantly to prop himself up to a more commanding position.
Trowa shook his head. "You're still very ill. And you don't remember all I've done for you, either. How I pulled you from your crushed car, how I took care of you, bathed your wounds. You're still burning with fever, aren't you?"
"You…you're crazy. Just some crazy peasant that I'm making up. This is a dream."
"No, it's not. I've seen the scar on your chest, there. The gods have sent me to make you well, please let me stay, Quatre."
The boy's pale lips pursed. "So…it was you then. You're very young…"
"Not really. I'm the same age as you, actually. Maybe a little older."
"…And very handsome."
Trowa blushed. "Thanks. I've traveled a very long way to be here, so I could heal you."
Quatre sighed, shifting slightly. "Good, because my leg won't heal right. If you and your peasant superstitions think that you can do better than modern medicines, then by all means, stay the night, and we can see what powers you may possess."
Trowa fell asleep at the foot of the bed, guarding the young aristocrat from any evils that could befall him. Quatre smiled, dragging himself across the mattress and laying down beside Trowa, falling asleep spooned beside him.
"My, isn't that a pretty picture?" Relena mused, hovering over the bed, wand in hand. "The courage of the dreamer, the innocence of youth, the failures and the foolishness that lead us to the truth. The hopes that make us happy, the hopes that don't come true, and all the love there ever was, I see this all in you. You are part…"
Wufei materialized beside her, hands clasped firmly over his ears. "Onna! I don't think there is such a key in music! You sound like you're strangling a cat!"
"Shut up, Wufei! Nobody commented on your singing!"
"My singing was perfectly fine. Maxwell! Get over here!"
Duo slipped into the room from the shadows, a menacing grin on his face. "You rang?"
"Take the onna's costume. You can at least sing in a key that someone other than dogs can hear," the god of water commanded. Relena tried to run off, but Wufei grabbed her collar and the two gods temporarily switched costumes, Duo now sporting the flowing pink garb of the love goddess, his wild chestnut locks turned loose from their elastic.
"Where was she? Oh, okay. You are part, part of the human heart. Of all who took the journey and managed to endure, the ones who knew such tenderness, the ones who felt so sure. The ones that came before you, and others yet to come, and those who you will teach it to, and those you learned it from. You are part, part of the human heart. This is the gift I give, through your love you'll live forever. Part of the human heart…wait, should I really be singing this if I want Trowa to die? I mean, it's kind of hypocritical of me to be saying that he'll live forever if I want him to lose and take the big dirt nap, ya know?"
"Kisama, Maxwell, just go. The song's over anyways."
And the night became a day, and still Quatre kept the gentle Trowa beside him. And the day became a week, and still he slept in his room. And after two weeks, a buzzing began spreading through the halls of the hotel Merquise, even into the city, until everybody had heard the news, that the ailing Quatre Winner Merquise had taken a peasant for a lover and that, little by little, he was "healing" him.
"Now what can he want with a peasant like him? Handsome yes, but low as dirt," a merchant scoffed.
"He can have the world and takes a peasant? Perhaps his brain was hurt," another mocked, twirling her index finger in the universal 'crazy' gesture.
"Look how he holds him, and touches and attends him," a maid gasped to her companions.
"The boy believes he can make him well, and he has him in a spell," another maid said disapprovingly, folding a towel.
Trowa and Quatre walked past the cluster of gossipers, the latter supported by the taller man as he hobbled along.
"I have a gift for you," Trowa murmured. Quatre smiled.
"What is it?"
Trowa unclasped his crucifix, fastening around the blonde's slender neck. "A charm. If you wear it close to your heart, it can make you whole again."
"But you're my charm, Trowa. Without you I could never be whole."
"I'll never leave you, Quatre."
The eavesdropping servants all cackled cruelly as soon as the two lovers were out of earshot.
"Now what do you make of a peasant like him?" a fishmonger said, nodding at Trowa as he and Quatre walked by.
"Putting on airs without a doubt," the cooper in the next stall over replied.
"When the boy is well and does not need him, how soon he'll throw him out," the jeweler added, arms folded across her ample chest.
"Soon, I'll be dancing!" Quatre said excitedly, testing his bad leg.
Trowa chuckled. "Right, but for now, walk slowly."
Quatre pouted, staring up at him through long lashes. "Then you'll have to walk even more slowly, Trowa."
"Why is that?"
"So I can catch you!"
"Quatre!" Zechs Merquise hollered, stomping down the street in his shiny black boots, pulling his wayward son aside. "How long do you think you can play this game?"
"This is no game, Father," Quatre replied sternly.
"Surely you can't believe it's real," Zechs reproached scornfully.
Quatre clenched his fists. "I'm in love with Trowa!"
"You are not the first to want a peasant, I too know their appeal," he glanced at Trowa, whipped out a picture of Noin, glanced at that, and stuck it back in his pocket. "But you are my son, you'll do what must be done…no matter what you feel!"
He stormed off, Quatre glaring thunderously at his retreating form before shaking it off and returning to Trowa's side.
"I know what he sees in a peasant like him, probably makes him rise like yeast," Abdul said to Auda, nudging him with his elbow, eyebrows hitching suggestively over his glasses.
"The kid may think he's very clever, Master Quatre can keep him here forever, but I can tell you this, they'll never stand before a priest."
///-
Trowa sat on the edge of Quatre's bed, watching him dress. Quatre was standing in front of his closet, shirtless, contemplating his attire for the evening's grand ball.
"The powder blue one that brings out your eyes," Trowa suggested. "What do you think? A small house, a pretty one, not pink and blue like my sister Catherine wants, and a tree in the garden like the one that sheltered me as a child. We'll lie in the shade of the tree while our children play in the yard."
"Sounds lovely," Quatre agreed, shrugging on the cumbrous shirt with its thirty pounds of lace. "Trowa, you're wonderful, did you know that? Some loves take hours to paint every perfect nail, fragrant as flowers or powdered, prim and pale. But you are as wild as the wind-blown tree, as dark and as deep as the midnight sea. While they're busy dressing, you lie here warm and bold. Some loves you picture…some you hold."
In the room next door, a wealthy blonde Ozzie with steely blue eyes and oddly forked eyebrows flirted with her reflection, pouting and kissing as she dressed.
"Some loves take courses at all the best schools in France, riding their horses and learning their modern dance. They're clever and cultured and worldly wise, but you see the world through a child's wide eyes. While their dreams are grand ones, you want what's just in reach. Some loves you learn from, some you teach."
From their lofty perch, Sally and Relena nodded approvingly, holding out upturned palms to their fellow deities. Wufei and Duo cursed, reluctantly fishing their wallets from their robes. The girls had bet that Quatre, already a skilled pianist and violinist, could sing as well. The two pilots had negated that thought, replying that Quatre would be too shy to actually sing.
"You are not small talk or shiny cars, or mirrors or French cologne. You are the river, the moon, the stars…you're no one else I've known. Some loves take pleasure in buying a fine trousseau, counting each treasure and tying each tiny bow. They fold up their futures with perfumed hands, while you face the future with no demands. Some loves expect things others think nothing of. Some loves you marry, some you love."
Sally Po sighed. "That song really doesn't work in a shounen-ai connotation."
"It was the best I could do, shut up," Relena answered, pouting.
///-
Some time later, down in the ballroom, the Ozzies at the hotel Merquise were dancing to their own little tune, waiting to see Trowa. Quatre stood around idly, hovering about the punchbowl and nodding respectfully to his guests. Zechs paraded about in full Milliardo Peacecraft regalia, looking about as wealthy as he actually was. The wealthy girl with the eyebrows ran over to Quatre, gracefully, taking him by the hands and forcing him to waltz with her.
"Some girls are saying he's simple as any child," she remarked.
"Please, Dorothy," Quatre replied, trying to loosen her grip on his wrists.
The blonde woman spun about. "Barefoot and praying and running the halls quite wild."
"Dorothy…" Quatre repeated, wondering if there was a way he could dance her into the punchbowl.
"And is he as handsome as we've all heard? You've already…well, what's the word?"
A hush fell over the ballroom as Trowa descended the staircase, looking about self-consciously. He was wearing formals stolen from one of the taller Maguanac personnel about the building, form-fitting black that made his green eyes sparkle in the chandelier light.
"Quatre!" he sighed in relief, catching sight of him from across the floor and cautiously moving to meet him. The guests buzzed, pointing and staring at the boy, the peasant Gundam pilot from across the island.
"So this is your Trowa, how handsome he is," Dorothy stated, extending her hand.
Quatre stepped back slightly. "Trowa, may I present Dorothy Catalonia."
Trowa kissed the back of her hand gently. "Hello."
"I'm so happy to meet you, my dear, I hear you're a healer and a dancer as well."
Trowa raised an eyebrow, mouthing "dancer?" to Quatre, who shrugged.
"Won't you dance for us now? Won't you give us a show? Please, Master Trowa, don't say no."
The brunette glanced helplessly at Quatre. "But I'm afraid I don't…"
"You'll be fine, Trowa. Don't worry about it," Quatre said gently.
Trowa muttered a curse to the gods under his breath, glancing about the dance floor at all of the guests, who glared at him expectantly. He had no real idea how to dance; it wasn't something one had to worry about when trying to survive. Dorothy found a box of cutlery, and, grinning wickedly, started winging the knives at the peasant in the center of the ballroom floor. Trowa jumped, narrowly dodging a knife, leaping and spinning to avoid the projectiles. The audience had no idea that the genteel Dorothy was chucking flatware, watching the lithe peasant flip and whirl as silver flew about his body. Presently, the aristocratic woman ran out of knives, and Trowa realized he could stop. The applause was thunderous, the ball continuing without incident, although some complained about missing knives.
///-
"Well, it's very clear," Dorothy said to Quatre, the two standing alone in the ballroom that evening, long after the guests had retired for the evening. "He's in love with you. Quatre, if you care, if you care at all, you will tell him…"
"Quatre!" Trowa called, running into the room, face flushed. "What did you think? The ambassador said I was incredible, and everyone else is so happy that…I'm…here…Quatre, is something wrong? What is it?"
The blonde looked pained, shoulders hitching with dry sobs. Dorothy stepped forward.
"My dear, I believe I have something to say, something I fear was left unsaid…"
She shot a dark look at the cringing Quatre. "Many thanks for all you've given Quatre, but do not be mislead."
Trowa looked at Quatre quizzically, but his lover would not meet his gaze.
"My dear, I can tell, you dance so very well. I pray you'll dance for Quatre and for me, when we are wed. Trowa, Quatre and I…"
Quatre gripped Dorothy's shoulder, shaking his head slightly. The woman pouted, walking off in a huff.
"Trowa, Dorothy and I have been promised to each other since we were children. Our fathers really can't stand each other, and I don't like Dorothy that much either, especially considering I'm gay…but that's beside the point."
"But Quatre…"
He looked away. "This is how things are done, Trowa. This is what is expected."
"Quatre, please."
"We'll race away in a car…"
"I can't change who I am or where I'm from, as much as I want to."
Trowa felt his eyes burning with tears, but continued valiantly. "…As silver as the moon…"
"I wish we could, Trowa, I really do."
"We will live beside the sea…we'll have children, a garden, and a tree…"
Quatre started to cry, quietly. "I'm sorry, Trowa, I thought you understood. You and I could never marry."
He walked off, hand on his cheek, shoulders shaking terribly as he did. Trowa stood there in shock, eyes wide, mouth dry, knees weak.
"Oh gods…oh gods…" he said in disbelief, tears stuck in his throat. "Are you there? Are you there?"
He fell to his knees, the voices of all who had scorned him echoing in his ears.
"There could never be anything between a peasant and an Ozzie!"
"Marry you? You are mad!"
"You're not supposed to be in here!"
"Now what would he want with a peasant like him?
"Handsome, yes, but low as dirt."
"The boy has the will of the devil himself!"
"He'll soon throw him out!"
"What could a peasant do for an Ozzie but shine his shoes?"
"He will not want you, Trowa!"
"Just think how angry the gods will be!"
"Some you marry, some you love."
"Oh Trowa, what has this boy done to you?"
"The boy will have the gods to repay…the gods to repay…the gods to repay…"
Duo's hollow, evil cackle rang loudest above all, Trowa pressing his hands to his ears and hoping beyond hope that the awful sound would just go away. But it didn't. Duo stepped down from the thunderclouds looming outside, scythe in hand.
"There were promises made in the darkness, promises made in your sleep. Promises the gods demand you keep!"
He wheeled menacingly, long sleeves fluttering like black wings as he swept down towards Trowa.
"You gave him love, love that he'd soon betray. You gave him life; I am the price you pay. Sure as the grave, you must accept what is. Now your life is forever mine!"
He lifted the scythe and Trowa cried out. "Please don't!"
"Trade yours for his," Duo said simply, lowering the weapon.
Trowa glanced up at the dark demon. "What?"
"You saved him, you loved him, and he betrayed you. Why should you die for him now? Kill him, Trowa! Kill the love you have for him, prove that death is stronger than love and you can have your own life again, just as if you never loved at all."
He handed Trowa a knife, and the distraught young man walked, trancelike, towards Quatre's room. Duo followed in the shadows, and Relena as well.
"I am the road, leading to no return..."
"The courage of the dreamer…"
Trowa slid the door open, walking soundlessly to the bedside. Quatre was sprawled across the mattress, asleep, vulnerable.
"Secret of life finally his to learn…"
"You are part…"
He raised the knife, withdrew his hand, trembling, and raised it again.
"I am the car racing towards distant shores…"
"Part of the human heart…"
His hand went down one more time, heart torn between losing his own life and taking that of the man he loved. The knife went up into the air again, Trowa's grip on the handle white-knuckle.
"Now his life is forever mine…"
"Forever!" Relena pleaded.
Trowa dropped the knife with a sob. "I can't!"
Quatre woke, staring at Trowa wide eyed as the green-eyed peasant sobbed, the knife glinting coldly on the floor. The young Ozzie shook his head sadly, quickly exiting. Trowa held out a hand.
"Wait, Quatre! I…I love you!"
And Trowa was cast out of the hotel Merquise, and the gates slammed shut behind him.
Rashid, Abdul, and Auda glared at him coldly, guarding the entrance. Trowa stood, hands gripping the bars, looking them pleadingly.
"I…I am Trowa Barton Khushrenada. I am the lover of Quatre Winner Merquise. I was the one who danced at the ball. The people applauded. All eyes were on me. The gods sent me; they want me to be with him. Quatre loves me, he needs me. Without me, he'll die, surely you can see that. There's been a terrible mistake, he must be wondering where I am. Tell him, tell him I'm here, tell him Trowa is waiting for him at the gate. Trowa is waiting for him…"
"And for two weeks, Trowa did wait at the gate, not eating, not sleeping, only waiting and watching as the grounds of the hotel Merquise were made even more lovely in preparation for the wedding. And at last, Quatre and Dorothy were married, and as superstition dictated, they came to the gates to throw coins to the peasants so that their own fortune would multiply. But Quatre did not even recognize Trowa," Hilde said to Mariemaia, pulling out a box of tissues. "And Trowa wasted away, pining for his love, and there, outside the gate of the hotel, he died."
"HOLD IT!"
Everyone stopped as Relena stormed into view, fuchsia robes fluttering about her, a wild, desperate look in her eyes. "This story is all wrong!"
Duo slinked out of the shadows, hands on his hips, braid swinging. "What are you talking about? No it's not! Trowa dies, that's how the story ends. He dies and the gods bless him and turn him into a tree."
Relena stamped her foot. "But it's wrong! Trowa won, I won! Love is stronger than death, we proved that, so since love is the most powerful thing there is, Trowa should end up with Quatre!"
"But that's not how it goes, Relena. It's a nice sentiment, but that's not the message the story is sending to the kids. There is no happy Disney fairytale ending here, Trowa dies."
"But he can't! It just isn't right!"
Duo sighed, knowing that there would be no chance of dissuading the vehement Relena.
"Okay, how about we do this? How about we get an impartial third party to decide for us, and whatever that person says goes? Does that sound okay to you, o high and mighty Vice Foreign Minister Darlian?"
Relena nodded. "As long as they're completely impartial."
"Right. HEERO!" Duo hollered. The Japanese pilot sauntered over, tugging at the garishly colored and flowing outfit he was wearing, the bright garb of the storyteller (or whoreyteller, as some of us like to thing of them).
"That's so not fair, Duo! He's your boyfriend, he's going to agree with you!"
Heero shrugged. "Not necessarily. Duo has a tendency to be wrong about things."
"That was mean, Hee-koi. So here's the deal: Relena's holding up the story because she thinks that the ending, that we're pulling straight from the musical, is wrong."
"What's the ending?" Heero asked nonchalantly.
Relena frowned. "Quatre marries that slut Dorothy, Trowa dies, and then he turns into a tree that watches over the progeny of Quatre and Dorothy."
Heero shrugged. "Don't know what the problem is with that."
"It's wrong!" Relena wailed. "I proved him wrong, that love was stronger than death. So, I'd get my way, and my way is that Quatre and Trowa break down the racial barriers and marry each other anyway."
Heero frowned, starting to pace a little. "Hn. Duo is right, the story has to be the same…"
"Ha! In your face, Darlian!"
"…However, I'm going with Relena on this one."
Duo's face fell. "What?!"
"Quatre would kill us all if we let anything happen to Trowa. You didn't have to put up with him after the Wing Zero incident. Right?"
Relena and Noin nodded, shuddering. "That was scary beyond reason."
Hilde sighed. "All right, I'll back it up. Hey, Mariemaia, forget what I just said, kay?"
"What?" the girl asked. "Forget what?"
"Exactly. And for two weeks, Trowa did wait at the gate, not eating, not sleeping, only waiting and watching as the grounds of the hotel Merquise became even more lovely in preparation for the wedding…"
The morning of the wedding came, but Quatre's heart felt heavy. He stood in front of the mirror, repulsed by his own reflection, the face of someone who'd rejected the only true love he'd ever known. He unbuttoned the top of his silk pajamas and let it fall, the gold crucifix glinting in the hollow of his throat.
"Oh Trowa…you will always be a part of me…" he sighed, putting on his wedding clothes. He tried to think of being with Dorothy, pleasing his father and her family, but all he could see was the charming peasant who'd won his heart.
"Gods of this island, whoever it is that Trowa prays to, please help me."
Relena touched him on the shoulder and led him to the gate, where Sally Po, Wufei, and Duo all stood around Trowa. He was leaning against the iron gateposts, an inch from death and still waiting.
"You will always be a part of me, Quatre…"
And the gods began to cry, tears of compassion for the orphaned Trowa, who proved that love could withstand the storm, and cross the earth, and survive even in the face of death.
"Trowa! Trowa, you can't die!" Quatre shouted, ordering Rashid to unlock the gates. He fell to his knees, tears rolling down his pale cheeks. Trowa glanced up at him weakly.
"Go marry Dorothy, it's what you want, isn't it?"
"Of course it isn't! I see that now. You are in my blood, and I am in yours. There is no difference between Gundam pilot and Ozzie, rich or poor, black or white. We are all the same. And it's you I want, Trowa. Please, please don't die. Take my life if you must, I would gladly give it for you."
The four gods looked at each other and nodded solemnly, Sally sniffling a little.
"Trowa has already given his soul, his time has come," Duo stated. "What will you do, Quatre?"
The cerulean-eyed boy held Trowa in his arms as his life petered out of him. "Take mine as well. I don't want to live if Trowa isn't going to either."
"Very well."
Quatre began to sob, clinging tighter to his love as his body went cold. "I love you."
Relena took them by the hand, and led them to the sea, where Wufei wrapped them in a wave and laid them to their rest. And Duo was gentle as he carried them to shore, where Sally Po accepted them and held them to her breast.
And the gods blessed them, and transformed the two lovers into a tree! A tree that sprang up and cracked the walls of the hotel Merquise, so that its gates could never be closed again. A tree that lived forever, sheltering peasants and Ozzies alike, a tree that watched over the people throughout their lives, a tree in which children played. And one day, as Catherine's young son sat in the shade of the tree, he noticed the two handsome lovers high in the branches, looking out at the world, and the spirits of Trowa and Quatre touched their hearts and set them free to love.
"And they stand against the lightning and the thunder, and they shelter and protect us from above, and they fill us with the power and the wonder of their love. And this is why we tell the story," Hilde explained.
"If you listen very hard you'll hear them call us, to come share with them our laughter and our tears, and as mysteries and miracles befall us through the years, we tell the story!" Sylvia exclaimed.
"Life is why we tell the story, pain is why we tell the story, love is why we tell the story, grief is why we tell the story," Noin added.
"Hope is why we tell the story, faith is why we tell the story," Heero continued.
"You are why," they said. "Why we tell the story. So I hope that you will tell this tale tomorrow, it will help your heart remember and relive. It will help you feel the anger and the sorrow, and forgive. For out of what we live, and we believe, our lives become the stories that we weave."
"There is an island where rivers run deep, where the sea sparkling in the sun earns it the name Jewel of the Colonies. An island where the poorest of Gundam pilots labor, and the wealthiest of Ozzies play. And on this island, we tell the story," Mariemaia narrated.
Outside, the storm had cleared, and the villagers all made their way home, elders and storytellers, mothers and children. Hilde blew out the fire and stepped out of the hut into the cool night air. Two forms, one very tall and lithe, the other smaller but slender, stood leaning against the doorframe.
"Nice story, Hilde. You had us going for a little while," the taller one said, stepping out of the shadows.
"Hmph, turned into a tree. You were better off just telling the poor girl we ran off together, booked the first flight off of the island and got married by an Amish man in the middle of Vermont," the second one said.
Hilde grinned mischievously. "But where would the fun be in that? I thought the ending was rather nice, the poor pilot and the wealthy Ozzie forever joined as one. You two just have no imagination."
Trowa shrugged. "Sure we do. We could've gone to Vegas."
"At least Dorothy never found out. She still thinks the tree in the yard is the two of us, still locked in our final embrace," Quatre remarked casually.
Hilde snickered. "Some say she sits out there and yells at the poor plant because you jilted her. And some say she became a dendrophiliac afterwards."
Trowa slung an arm around his partner's waist. "Come on, I think we've had enough stories for one night, you."
///-
"For out of what we live, and what we believe, our lives become the stories that we weave."
Thus ends my little version of Once On This Island. I apologize for putting Trowa so out of character, but I didn't want to go messing with Ti Moune anymore than I already had. In the real version, Ti Moune (or Trowa) really does die and turn into a tree, while Daniel and Andrea (Quatre and Dorothy) marry. I thought it would be more touching to let Trowa get what he wants, besides, I didn't want the 3x4 advocates throwing mangos at my head. Once again, great job to the real-life cast, Matt, Nicki, you guys were awesome.