I.
Duettino –
Dolore.
Dolore
Are we to blame for nightmarish Dreams
In which all things are just as they seem?
Why can't the sleep-haze smother man's scream?
And all that awake-time. . .life matters not without
Dreaming.
His bedroom was charming.
It was pristine and cool- full of pale blues and yellows with hardwood floors and a silk-spun area rug. His queen-sized bed was an antique oak canopy and his sheets were bleach-white. Since the wooden, Venetian blinds had been opened, healthy, natural light streamed in through the big bay windows. The sunlight hit the paintings- the classical English portraiture- in a delightful way, but it was unnaturally cruel to the waking eye.
His bedroom was charming. . .and this was where he awoke.
He rose his sleepy head- tousled hair hanging in his goo-filled eyes.
'It was a dream. . .How dreadful. I have the cruelest imagination. . .'
He rose his hand to his eye and painfully-for both his hand and his eye- wiped the corner crust on the gauzy binding.
Pulling his hand from his face slowly, he turned it back and forth and watched the movement curiously.
'Perhaps it wasn't. . .But. . .'
His eyes searched his room- it was completely intact; nothing had been taken or destroyed. But, after a quick glance at his sweaty and bloodied apparel, he knew that the incident in the basement had, indeed, occurred.
Taking in a deep breath, he directed his attention back to his wound, which had been cleaned and bound beautifully. He stroked the bandages and winced as his own touch caused him pain. Realizing that his exploration would only lead to more pain, he instead studied it with his eyes and tried to analyze the state of his appendage.
It was in one piece and it still resembled a hand. He wiggled his fingers. They were stiff and every movement shot tiny darts of pain up his forearm, but they'd be fine.
He sighed in relief.
"Are you admiring my handiwork, little brother?"
Raising his head toward the door, Quatre was greeted with a truly lovely sight. Hair the color of burned gold and a smile that immediately thrust his heart into a song. His smile spread far and wide.
"No pun intended, of course. . ." She winked.
"Oh, Irea. . ." He whispered and flung his arms around his sister as she sat herself beside him on his bed.
He wanted to weep. Both with joy and with the fear that he'd been suppressing.
"How are you feeling?" She asked in her lyrical soubrette tone, stroking his hair from his face. He forced a smile.
". . .Dirty and bloody and. . .hurt. .. –y." She wiped a dirty smudge from his pale cheek.
"I'll get a bath going when you're ready for it. But you'll have to keep that hand from submerging. . ." She warned. "It'll take awhile for that sucker to heal. . ."
Glancing at his poor hand, Quatre bit his lip.
"I. . .I was shot, wasn't I?" His tearful question garnered a delicate shimmer of a laugh and a small hug.
"Oh, Quatre. I'm sorry- yes, you were shot. The bullet grazed your wrist and hand and took off a good hunk of skin. Don't worry- it'll scar, but there's no serious, permanent damage. It was a gushing wound, though, so you lost quite a bit of blood by the time that Ozzie brought you into the conservatory."
"I. . ."He frowned and stared at the floor. "How long was I unconscious for?"
"Forty-eight hours. You were in shock. . .with good reason." She murmurred.
He bit his lip- Quatre didn't want to seem weak to his sister. He wanted to hold it all back- it still hadn't really sunk in yet. But he was on the verge of erupting. "I. . .thought I was going to die." Tears took form in his eyes Irea brushed back his bangs fondly. "I thought they were going to kill me. . .I thought they'd killed you!" He cried, navy eyes wide and luminous as he submitted to the impending sforzando. Irea wrapped her arms around her brother's small waist as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He let out a quiet mew. "Irea. . .say it was just a nightmare. . .please, say. . ."
"Quatre. . .I'm sorry. But. . . you know we don't lie in this family." Her words were their father's, which caused them both to choke up. Slightly overcome, Irea stroked her little Quatre's downy head and tried desperately to keep herself strong. "Oh, Quatre. . .I'm sorry. . ."
". . .Father is dead." His voice was haunted and frigid.
"Don't say it like that. . ."She gasped. He pulled away to stare at his white face.
"But. . .they killed him, right?" He whispered tearfully. "Was that a dream? Please. . .say" He knew the answer.
'My father. . .died. . .trying to save his empire. . .no, to save us. . .'
"It. . .was a nightmare. But it was no dream." Irea intoned, holding Quatre painfully close. She'd had been there-right beside him-close enough to be splattered with their father's blood as he was shot in the head close range. . .
"Mr. Winner- The United Earth-Colony Sphere alliance has decided that your monopoly on the L4 natural resources needs to be terminated. The earth-colony alliance will be strengthened by your retirement- L4 no longer needs your dictatorship. . ."
"My dictatorship? Excuse me, gentlemen, but I fail to see how your fascist regime could possibly bring peace to the colonies. . ."
"'Fascist Regime'? How dare you! The Alliance has come to end your tyranny, Mr. Winner. With the Winner Foundation dismantled, we will finally be able to properly construct a healthy relationship between the earth and the colonies."
"Which includes the dictators of the earth subjugating the people of the colonies. . ."
"Father- stop. . .!"
"No, Quatre. I will not allow them to take this from us. How dare you! All of you Oz officers are the same- spouting clichéd promises of hope and peace when, in reality, you're just blood-thirsty parasites. You have stormed my house and purposefully frightened my staff and, most tragically, my children. Get off the premises now. I will sign no contract with the Alliance or the Specials. . ."
"Mr. Winner- Our superior was prepared for this response, so I would like to present to you a warrant for your arrest, signed by the head officials of the Alliance Organiza. . ."
"Damned Alliance! Do you think their jurisdiction matters to me? Get off my property. If you don't leave I'll force you. . ."
"He's got a gun. Mr. Winner, don't do anything rash. . ."
"Leave my family alone. . ."
"Sir. .. "
"Leave. . ."
The shot.
And then the death.
Quatre shuddered.
His father had been so righteous. Like the patriarch he was, he protected them to the end of his life. His life had ended so early, simply because a trigger finger had slipped in a moment of weakness.
'Father. . .'
"Oh Quatre. . .don't. . don't think about it." Irea whispered soothingly in his ear. He curled up against her and unconsciously wiped his tears on her cream sweater. "It'll be all right, my little Quatre. . .We'll. . .we'll get through it. . ."
"What's going to happen to us now?" He sniffled, but spoke with a steady voice and a clarion tone.
He wanted to be strong for his sisters.
"The Alliance military is occupying L4, just like most of the other colonies. Their commander has ensured our safety and has assured us that we still own all of our property and will continue to do so." She paused and sighed. "I don't think they came here to hurt us. . .that soldier was. . .stupid and overzealous." Irea glanced down at his hand. "Just like the one who did this to you. . ."
"Irea. . they hurt all of you too. . I heard you screaming. . ." He murmured guiltily. "After I. . .freaked out. . .I ran down to the attack shelter. I thought you would follow me but you didn't. . .but I heard them chasing me, so I had to keep running. I stopped in the tunnel and heard shooting and screaming from the conservatory and I thought. . ."He choked and blinked back his tears. "I thought. . .
"No, Quatre- they didn't hurt us. We're all still here." She stroked his head and wiped his face. "After Papa was shot someone radioed into their main force and the Special's commander came in to. . .clean up. . ." Her words were full of venom. " After the "incident" was reported, the Oz commander just. . . shot the bastard." Quatre stared at her, astounded. "He didn't say anything at first. But walked up to that soldier and stared him in the eye and pointed his gun. 'You know why I have to do this.' The commander's voice was like ice. And then he just shot him!" She gasped. "That's probably when you heard us screaming and the shot being fired. It ricocheted off the man's ribcage and hit the piano. It made us all jump." She shook her head angrily. "I. . suppose I should've felt a little avenged. But I didn't- I just started to hate Oz even more. It was unnecessary. . .It made father's death seem like an inconvenience rather. . .rather. . ."
It was Quatre's turn to be the strong one, as he held his grieving sister.
Then they held each other and grieved together in mutual silence.
One can only give the world so many tears before the well runs dry. After their combined oasis had desiccated, Irea ran Quatre a bath. Knowing exactly how her little brother liked it, she filled the tub with water just hot enough to turn his porcelain-like skin a ruddy red. After she'd helped him remove his shirt, Irea let him be.
The little space prince (a name his sisters had dubbed him) sank deep in the tub, all the while taking extra care of his bound, right hand. With his left, he lathered himself up as best he could and struggled to wash his blood-matted hair. He scrubbed his nose,cheeks and chin raw with an itchy white facecloth, suddenly feeling extremely violated by the clinging drops of blood that were speckled across his button nose. When he finally felt more clean than dirty, he leaned his head back and rested it on the floating, plastic pillow that Irea left for him. He inhaled deeply and tried to block the raging memories from invading his consciousness.
He would hear that clashing symphony for the rest of his life.
The shot would resound like the final gong in the back of his mind and his sister's screams. . .they were as Verdi's Dies Irae and he knew they would plague him endlessly.
'I. . .will never forgive the Alliance. They have brought so much suffering. . . How can they not see that what they are doing is wrong? How can they not notice the pain and trauma they inflict? All father ever did was help people- we financially supported the entire colony! Our family helped build the colony and has sustained it, acting as a perpetual caregiver. The colonies were fine without Oz- we've been peaceful from the start. . .There. . .was no reason for them to come. We were defenseless. . .We were. . .weak.'
His last thought came out of nowhere and shamed him.
A crisp knock on the door brought him back to reality.
"Hey, kid- are you in there?" The voice was that of an uncouth, extremely disrespectful Alliance soldier. Quatre glared at the closed door. "Kid. . is anyone. . .?"
"My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, and I am presently bathing. I will be finished shortly. . ."
"Kid, his excellency wants to talk to you. So get your little space cadet ass out here now."
The nerve.
"Would you please inform his Excellency that I shall be down momentarily. I wouldn't want to present myself in a less that clean, or less than modest, state." Quatre replied earnestly. 'You think this man would catch my drift. . .'
"Look, kid, his excellency doesn't care what you look like. In fact, he'd probably prefer it if you. . ."
"Excuse me? Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" The man's crass reply was greeted with one of Irea's pseudo-tantrums. Quatre could hear his sputtering through the door- his sister was a mean combination of beauty, brains and backbone.
"He is injured." She continued. "He can't get out of the tub without assistance. And here you are- insulting him after one of your comrades shot him when he was simply trying to protect himself after you murdered his father! You are the most ignorant, pompous ass I've ever met! Get out of here and tell 'His Excellency' that Quatre and I will meet with him when Quatre feels strong enough to do so!"
Still huffing, Irea entered the bathroom and, rolling her eyes, handed him a warm bath sheet. He couldn't help but giggle.
"Irea, that was brilliant!" He exclaimed as she helped him out of the tub and into the warm towel.
"That man was intolerable." She burst out. "I can't believe he would address you in such a manner! They are OUR guests. . .in a way. . ."She trailed off painfully. Obviously struggling with it mentally, Irea forced a grin and pinched his nose.
They would be strong for each other.
'If we don't smile, it will be disrespectful to father's sacrifice.'
Quatre beamed outwardly, even though it pained him inside.
"I brought you some clean clothes." Irea presented them to him. They were still warm. "I'll leave you to get dressed and I'll bring you up some dinner. Then-and only then-will Quatre Raberba Winner grace Oz with his presence."
He dressed himself in the handsome navy vest and trouser combination that Irea had brought along with a new linen dress shirt. He loved the feeling of newly pressed clothing-the lingering warmth of the iron translated to feelings of affection. He attempted to comb his hair back, but his bangs were temperamental, and always rebelled against his brush. They flipped back over his forehead and flickered in his line of view.
"You need a haircut, little brother." Irea murmured as she entered with a particularly mouth-watering dinner plate. They sat down together on the floor and had a picnic on the rug. Every opportunity for jest that presented itself was seized- from mock fights over the dumplings to Irea's wine-glass singing to Quatre's milk mustache. They stretched the dinner out as long as they possibly could, laughing gaily and mimicking possibly scenarios involving 'His excellency', most of which involved a grumpy old man fainting upon witnessing Irea's (and in some instance's Quatre's) beautiful face.
Around nine-thirty- three hours after the initial beckon- the Oz officer returned to Quatre's room and knocked on the open door politely. Irea rose to meet him. The arrogant specials lieutenant glanced at her, then turned his hard black eyes on Quatre.
"Mr. Winner- His excellency was wondering if you would join him for a nightcap. . .sir." The officer's bushy eyebrows furrowed as he bowed respectfully before the Winner heir. Quatre noticed his sister's smirk in his peripheral vision, but he acted as courteously as possibly. Extending a hand, he presented a charming smile.
"You may call me Quatre, Lieutenant. . ."
"uh. .. Nichol. Thank you Mister. . .Quatre, sir." He saluted. Quatre withdrew his hand and saluted back as best he could. "Now. . .Quatre. .. if you would just follow me to the parlor. . ."
"Lieutenant Nichol, this is Quatre's house- he knows where the parlor is." Irea reminded the Oz soldier. The Lieutenant glared in Irea's general direction. Quatre decided it was time for him to exhibit his uncanny diplomacy ability.
"Lieutenant, I would very much appreciate it if you would escort me to the parlor- I'm weak from my injury and I may need your assistance if the blood loss starts to catch up with me."
Nichol smirked and bowed. Irea simply rolled her eyes and mimicked him.
'Irea can be so immature sometimes- it's really quite refreshing. . .'
"My pleasure. Please, follow me." Lieutenant Nichol announced, presenting the door with an outstretched arm. With a wistful glance back at his sister, Quatre allowed himself to be escorted through his own house-to his own parlor- by an enemy, to meet with the man who was responsible for his father's death.
Quatre made sure to smile as he found himself in the parlor doorway.
Because if he didn't. . .he would most likely kill someone.