Well, it's been a while since I've written Gundam Wing fanfiction.  I still need to check out my TB facts, but these sound bloody enough.  I've got to warn you though, I don't find this fic sad  (in fact, I think it's dancingly happy).  Others might.  So if you e-mail me, and tell what a bitch I am (I'll thank you for the compliment later) for writing this stupid fic, I'll get a good laugh.  Knock yourselves out, readers, keep the flamers coming.
Oh yeah, Gundam Wing isn't mine (though I can still dream), and these characters that I have turned into mindless puppets do not belong to me.

And It Rained

*Quatre*

        Earth sure is beautiful.  The people here ... they just don't know what they have.  Everything about this planet just seems to radiate magnificence.  The oceans and rivers, the flowers and trees, the roses ... and her.  But all of that is gone now, cruelly ripped away like the fragrant rose I hold in my hand -- it's so beautiful, so wonderful, but one careless touch, it is gone forever.  Like she is.

        I remember when I first met her. It was at some mind-numbing party for one of those aristocratic girls.  It seemed that her father, a wealthy politician and businessman, had his eyes set on the Winner fortune.  I was all smiles of course, as anyone with a business or political mind had to be.  My friends, few and far between when I was thirteen, whispered behind my back, "Poor, innocent, naive Quatre," they would say.  Uh-huh, like I was blind to the conniving aristocrat's plans.  I might have been naive, but I was not stupid.

        She was there, at the party.  She was about my age, a little less, a little more;  then again, I've never been all that good with ages.  She was standing in the corner, sipping on some punch, smiling when people greeted her, but scowling when she thought no one was looking.  I smiled at her when I saw her, and left my "friends" to go stand beside her.  Of course, the look on the aristocratic daughter was priceless -- I wonder why I was never invited to any more of her parties.  She had long, blonde hair, with bangs that hung loosely over her forehead and into her eyes; an angelic face of creamy white; strikingly beautiful blue eyes; and a startling clear voice.  "Hello, Mister Winner,"  she greeted me as she would any of the guests.  I smiled at her again, and she gave me a measuring smirk.  I found out that her name was Dorothy Catalonia, she was a relative of Duke Dermail, and was currently living on Earth with him.  Her parents had died when she was very young, and she had been shipped off to a fancy boarding school soon after her father's death.  

        She hadn't seemed very enthusiastic about our conversation, and soon left the party.  I chased after her to the exterior gardens, and gave her a kiss on the hand and a promise to see her again.

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        It was almost two years before I fulfilled my promise.  It was just after I had arrived on Earth with Sandrock -- I hadn't even gone on my first mission yet.  The Maguanacs were in our desert base of operations, probably waiting for me to return.  I was out wandering around a city.  I can't even recall the name of it.  I was walking throughout the city, wanting to see the beautiful Earth, wanting to see the magnificent planet before I started fighting.  I knew that this war would imprint its horrible scars into the Earth -- at least for now.  I walked until early morning, and probably would have walked until sunrise, but I realized that it was raining.  It wasn't a downpour, but the light drizzle that was soft and constant.  With the rain, I realized just what time it was, and started back to the car that would take me to an airport.  And as I turned away, I saw her.  She was standing under the small canopy of a small clothing shop, leaning against the fine glass and not even noticing when the rain splattered onto her black dress.  Her hair was longer than it had been at the party two years prior, and was tied back with a black headband.  She was taller, thinner, and seemed even more graceful than when I had last seen her.  She was staring at me, past me into the foggy mist that formed above the wet road.

        I walked up next to her, remaining silent as I watched the emotions change on her face.  We stared into the drizzling rain that was soon becoming a downpour, and quietly listened to the rain splattering off of the canvas above our heads. We remained like that, lost in our own thoughts, until she broke the companionable silence with a mournful sigh,  "I love war, you must realize."  I nodded, but didn't ask any questions.  She looked up into the blinding rain, and then turned back to me, "You're fighting for them."  It was a statement, not a question.

        "Yes, I want to bring peace,"  I whispered quietly.  She didn't say anything, and I wondered if she even heard me.  She was staring off into the rain, her blue eyes unfocused and cloudy.  I felt myself staring at her, and blushed.  I turned back to the cold rain, but changed my mind as she stepped closer to me.  I don't know why I did it, temporary insanity, maybe.  But, I brought my hands to her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts.  She looked up at me curiously, and then moved even closer so that our bodies were touching.  I moved my hands down to her waist, and she wrapped her arms around my neck, and we kissed.  I guess it was more like I kissed her, but she responded just as passionately.  And it was right.  If I never live to see another righteous truth again, I know I felt one when I was holding Dorothy in my arms that night.

        And then, as quickly as it started, our embrace was over.  I looked into her eyes -- wanting to drown in them, wanting to stay there forever -- and left.  And in the reflection in the shop's glass, I saw Dorothy bring one finger to her lips, and smile.

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        I should have seen it coming, I suppose.  Dorothy had always done almost everything possible to prolong the war.  It seemed so obvious that she would be at the Cinq Kingdom, taunting Relena Peacecraft and waiting for Heero to show up.  And, of course, there she was, enrolled as a student in Relena's school, when we arrived.

        She avoided me at the beginning of my short stay, probably for the best -- all things considered.  It wouldn't be very seemingly for a Gundam pilot to be --.  I stop myself at that point, it doesn't matter now.  But right when I was getting ready to leave for Sandrock, she sought me out in my room.  We talked -- talked about things I wouldn't dare ever repeat.  And we sat on my bed, her head resting against my shoulder, and I just wanted the war to be over.  This time, however, she kissed me before leaving.  And I sat there, in the dark, thinking about everything -- and nothing -- but how I felt about her.  I would fight this war, not for the colonies, not for the Earth, not because it was my mission .... but for her.  I would win this war for Dorothy Catalonia -- or I would die trying.

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        ZERO.  My fear.  My destruction.  Could I use it -- for my friends, for this war -- against her?  No.  I would rather die.  But was that me, or ZERO saying that?  It all blurred together until I didn't know who I was, or was I even me anymore.  Was I just ZERO's puppet?  My heart told me not to fight Dorothy.  My brain and ZERO told me to kill her and do my part to win the war.  Those mobile dolls were going to kill me and my friends, and I was going to do nothing about it.  And that was wrong.

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        The fencing foil was going to melt in my hand, I was sure of it.  Did she even realize what she had done?  Yes.  The look of pain and anguish in her eyes told me that she hadn't planned on stabbing me.  And she knew I was right.  It didn't seem to matter at the moment, though.  This war was out of my hands, my part was over.  Someone else could fight and kill, I had done my part.  It wouldn't affect the outcome of the war if I had died at that very moment.  And yet, I felt as if I must survive.  I needed to live, to help Dorothy live.

        My entire body hurt, it was burning in a fire that only grew hotter with every breath I took.  I could barely see my surroundings anymore, but I knew.  I knew that Trowa was there, I knew that he was saying something to Dorothy -- something I could only hear bits and pieces of.  My body was giving out on me, there was so much that I wanted to say to her, but as I tried to speak, the words seemed to stay glued in my mouth.  I found myself saying something to her, but I don't have a clue what was said.  But most importantly, I knew that Dorothy was going to live -- and that was all that mattered.  

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        "Hello, Miss Dorothy,"  I said so quietly as I watched her in the cemetery.  She was sitting between two tombstones, staring down into the pale, creamy white lilies in her hands.  She was wearing her orange dress, the one with the small white flowers embroidered onto the fabric.  I loved seeing her in that dress.  Her hair was tied back with an orange ribbon, and pooled onto the ground around her.  She had her left hand resting against one tombstone, whispering quiet words that I couldn't hear.  She stopped and stood up when she heard me behind her.  Small droplets of rain splashed onto the soft lily petals as the clouds started to form above our heads.  She solemnly finished arranging the flowers on her parents' -- for only they could be the thing that would make her sit out here and almost cry -- graves, then she walked toward me.  Her steps were slow and hesitant, as if she didn't want to be near me, but had no where else to go.

        She cast a last mournful look in the tombstones' direction.  "I'll be joining them soon," her words were hoarse as she broke out into a coughing fit.  Her delicate hand came up to her mouth, as if that would quiet her cough.

        I stepped forward, placing my hand against her forehead, felt the hot fire consuming her body as it had threatened to do so to mine three years ago on Libra, looked down into her glossy eyes, and I wanted to cry for her.  "... no ..."  I whispered to her -- or perhaps myself --, yet I knew it was true.  Her skin was a sickly pale that I hadn't noticed before, her eyes were glazed over in defeat, her hair was limp and dull.  And yet ... and yet she was beautiful.  She coughed, fell into my arms, and passed out.

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        She had the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.  Why had I not realized it before?  What was I searching for? -- my life was in those milky blue eyes of hers.  Happiness?  Victory?  Peace? -- they were just words that no longer mattered anymore, I was simply content to spend eternity in those beautiful eyes of hers.  We both knew that it was not going to happen.

        After she had collapsed, I took her to one of my estates.  I summoned a physician, but she told me that she could do nothing until Dorothy awoke.  So I took her to my room, stayed by her side as she lay in my bed, and held a wet cloth to her head.  By the third day, her fever had broken, and she had regained much of her strength.  She awoke from her coma on the morning of the fourth day, and I brought her some warm soup which seemed to lighten her mood.

        And she looked up at me with those milky blue eyes, and placed her hands around mine.  The warm and spark that ignited inside me was so unexpected, that I almost jerked back.  Then, we leaned forward at the same time, and I kissed her lips, her neck, all parts of her skin.  And this time, we didn't stop.

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        When I woke up, the sunlight was just starting to fade away.  She was looking down at me with those sad eyes of hers, and I looked away from her face.  Dorothy and I were both lost in thought, and seemed content to stay that way.  Why was it better than talking?  We were like that for some time, our bare skin chilling, despite the warmth of the blankets.  Maybe we should have talked, if only to clear the air between us.  Maybe we should have thought before sleeping together.   Her eyes closed, and she coughed roughly.  And as the blood spattered onto her lips, we knew that it was too late.  Too late for her, too late for me, too late for us. 

        "I'll call for the doctor," I whispered, not wanting to intrude on the welcoming silence.

        "Why bother?"  her words were soft, as if she already knew that there was nothing she could do.  She sank deeper into the pillows, but didn't object as I went to get my clothes and call for the physician.

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        "Tuberculosis," the paramedic looked back to the results of the blood test.  Dorothy was sitting on the bed, dressed in one of my sister's nightgowns.  She didn't seem too surprised, and I wasn't either.  I just held her hand and kissed it lightly.  The doctor gave us an inquiring look, but said nothing.  She bit her lip, as if trying to chose the best possible words.  "There's not much we can do, Miss Catalonia.  We can try to make this as comfortable and painless as possible, but -- I'm sorry."  She looked down and waited for the moment of uncomfortable silence to pass.  Or maybe she was trying to get out of the room as soon as possible, or get a mask to protect her from the germs in the room.  "Mister Winner, if we start treatment now, then your chances for recovery are high --"

        "No,"  my words were just a whisper of the emotions I could feel raging inside my body.  I repeated the phrase more forcefully, "No."  Dorothy gripped my hand, as if trying to say that I should live and be cured, but she said nothing.

        The doctor looked to each one of us, then to our joined hands, and then to the empty spot between us.  She bit her lips to keep from saying something she probably shouldn't have, then left with a melancholy, "Oh."

        I sat back down on the bed, brushed some of the loose hair away from Dorothy's face, and gently pressed my lips to hers, and held her close.  I wasn't going to say something shallow, like "It'll be all right," or "Don't worry,"  because we both knew it wasn't true.  I decided to say the only thing I knew was true at that dark moment, "I love you, Dorothy,"

        She looked up to me and gave a small smile, she started to say something in return, but started a coughing fit.

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        We stayed like that for three months.  I don't know how she managed to find the strength to hold out that long.  She would sit in the rose garden, reading books of poetry.  I knew she hated doing that, but she was too weak to do anything else.  At nights, we would sleep in my bed.  No one knew about our relationship, no one about our illness.  I stopped talking to the other Gundam pilots, even Rashid and the other Magunacs.  They wouldn't understand my decision.  They would try to talk me out of my choice not to be treated.  It was probably too late for me to recover anyway -- not that I wanted to.  We were getting progressively worse, Dorothy more so than me.  She had a few weeks at most, I might have had a few months.  She was so weak then, she could barely get out of bed.  I was coughing noticeably, I kept a tissue in my pocket so that the blood wouldn't show.

        I would bring her yellow roses from the garden, and put them in the blue vase next to the bed.  I don't know why, but she seemed to enjoy those yellow roses the most.  She was dying, I was dying, and yet ... and yet we were happy.  We were in love.

        I signed my company over to my sisters when I started having those coughing fits.  Maybe that was a big enough clue for my friends to notice something was wrong with me.  It didn't matter, though, that they came to my home to see me.  I would barely talk to the servants, much less my friends.  They would blame Dorothy for it, I knew that they would.  And it wasn't her fault.

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        Her struggle was over.  Early morning rays of sunlight were pouring into the room, but I was the only one to see them.  Dorothy lay between the covers, the sparkling sunlight bathing her face in warm colors.  Just the night before, she had kissed me on the cheek, breathed a whispered "I love you," in my ear, and had fallen asleep.  I had awoken in the early morning -- knowing something was wrong.  And she was gone.  Her body was still warm, but was void of life.  I held her limp form in my arms, and silently cried.

        They were downstairs, my friends and the Maguanacs.  They had been there for six days, trying to persuade me to talk to them.  They were worried about me, about why I was giving up all my assets, about why I hadn't seen them when they arrived.  It didn't matter, I didn't want to see them when Dorothy was in her last few days.  And I didn't want to see them on the morning of her death.  My whole body ached, partially with the blissful fire that had consumed Dorothy, but also with the grief and acceptance that she was gone.  I couldn't stay there forever.  Dorothy's body wouldn't stay there for more than a day.  I had to arrange a funeral for her, not that anyone would be there except me.  She had no living family, and I was her only friend.  I dressed into my dark gray suit, and brought a dress for Dorothy to wear.  It was the lilac one she loved to wear in the rose garden.  It was difficult to fit the dress on her corpse, but I eventually got it to work, and then I brushed out her hair.  And as I stared down at her angelic face, I picked her up and opened the door.

        My friends were awake, of course, I couldn't imagine Heero sleeping past dawn.  I knew that they heard my door creak open, and I knew that they heard my heavy footfalls going down the stairs.  So of course, Heero and Relena were waiting at the bottom step.  He didn't seem to surprised that I was carrying the now-dead Dorothy Catalonia in my arms.  Relena did, "Dorothy!  Quatre, what happened to her!?"  Her cry brought the others into the room.  Some of them looked at me strangely, Trowa regarded me with a look that resembled sympathy.  Relena took a step forward, I took a step back.  There was no sense in anyone else having to get sick, too.

        I took a deep breath, and felt the air rasping in my lungs.  I was weak, I couldn't carry her much longer.  I pushed past my friends, and slowly carried her into the main room.  I dropped her onto a chair, and reached for the phone.  My fingers felt too clumsy as I struggled to push the correct numbers.  I was breaking out into a fever, and wouldn't be standing for very long.  Someone answered on the other line, and I could feel the energy leaving my body, "Doctor Santabella, please,"  I whispered, and felt my vision starting to dim. 

        The physician appeared on the other side of the screen.  "Mr. Winner!  Did Dorothy ... ?"

        "Yes," my voice cracked, but then I collapsed onto the floor.  I heard Rashid and some of the others rush to my side, but all I wanted was to be with Dorothy.

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        I awoke to the tlip-tlip-tlip of water striking the hard ceramic of a bowl, and opened my eyes to see Abdul taking the cloth off of my forehead and soaking it in more water.  He didn't notice that I was awake, so I closed my eyes again -- I didn't feel like answering questions.  Besides, from the sound of it, Dr. Santabella was taking care of most of them anyway.  They were talking outside of my door.  Of course, I could hear almost every word.  She could tell them, and I could just close my eyes and listen.

        "... tuberculosis is almost impossible to cure in this stage.  We could start treatment now, but there is a very low risk of recovery.  It's possible that the medication may in fact worsen his condition --"

        "You're not going to treat him, are you?"  Trowa's voice remained emotionally blank.

        "What!?"  That would have to have been Relena, always trying to put others first.  "You have to at least try to treat him!"

        Dr. Santabella seemed to pause.  "I respect Mr. Winner's wishes.  If he wanted to be treated, then I believe that he wouldn't have declined treatment three months ago when I diagnosed both him and Miss Catalonia with the disease.  Miss Catalonia's tuberculosis had already progressed beyond treatment.  I offered to immediately begin treatment for Mr. Winner, but he declined."  She paused again, as if she had no right to speak what she was getting ready to say, "I think that they wanted to die together."

        There was a heavy silence, then someone said something I could barely hear as I started to slip back into unconsciousness, "So that's it?"

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        I awoke again to the pling-ping-plink of rain tapping against my window.  Pling-ping-plink!  Lightning crashed outside my window, and illuminated my room.  I was alone, and not even the Maguanacs were watching over me.  I looked to the calendar on my desk, it had been two weeks since Dorothy had died.  No one had even told me when her funeral was.  Later, I learned that she had been buried near her parent's graves the day after she died.  It wasn't too far from where I was.  I could have taken a taxi, and been there within the hour, but I wanted to walk.  Slowly, I put on a jacket, looked out the widow to the muddy summer garden below, and knew what I had to do. 

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        I don't know how I ever made it to the cemetery.  It was raining so hard that I couldn't even see more than a few feet in front of me.  Her tombstone was a soft gray, cool to the touch, and splashed with mud from her newly dug grave.  Delicately engraved letters were dirty with mud and rain, and there were no flowers on her grave.  I doubted if anyone cared enough to come to her funeral.  I looked down to the freshly cut roses in my hands, and set the precious yellow petals near her name.  The rain was an icy cold, but I was on fire.  My body was burning up, but there was nothing I could do -- nothing I wanted to do.  My skin was freezing, yet the rest of me was intolerably hot.  My eyes just wanted to close and go to sleep, and I wanted to be with Dorothy.  And so I closed my eyes.

        When I opened them again, I was staring down at my cold body.  The world was so dark, so cold.  But then I looked up, saw Dorothy holding out her hands for me in that lilac dress.  And so I took her hand, and kissed her.

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       I would bring her yellow roses from the garden, and put them in the blue vase next to the bed.  I don't know why, but she seemed to enjoy those yellow roses the most.  She was dying, I was dying, and yet ... and yet we were happy.  We were in love.

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C'est fini...

For an epilogue-like conclusion, written in Trowa's POV, continue reading. However, if you like the fic the way it is, don't read the next part.  It's ... weird.  I say that this fic stands better by itself.  it wasn't as long as I hoped it would be, but this is still pretty good for a shorter fic.  Please send your comments my way.

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*Trowa*

        How ironic.  It was raining.  Small droplets fell down upon the Earth, as if the very sky was crying.  Somehow, the rain suited the moment.  We -- myself and the other Gundam pilots, the Maguanac Corp, Relena, Hilde, Catherine, Sally, Zechs, Noin, Une, and Quatre's twenty-nine sisters -- were still standing the cemetery.  Some of the others, namely executives in the Winner business and mild acquaintances, had left soon after the funeral.  Still, despite their absence, the cemetery was unreasonably crowded.  It didn't feel real, any of it.  I wasn't surprised about Quatre's death.  I somehow never thought that he would be the first one of us to go, but I wasn't surprised.  Saddened?  Yes.  Shocked?  No, -- not given the events of the past three weeks.

        The emotions there were heavy in the air.  Sadness was the major overtone of the whole situation, but no one was crying.  Relena looked like she was about to burst into tears, but somehow managed to keep her tears back.  It was a gloomy day, the low-lying storm clouds had moved in in the morning, and were still rumbling in the afternoon.  There was a slight breeze in the air, just enough to send the willow leaves rustling and a chill to everyone's skin.

        And then, as the rain started to get heavier, our large group of mourners started to break up.  I was the first to leave.. Quatre wasn't there, only his body.  There was no point in staying in the cemetery.  And as I walked away, I started to wonder.  I wonder how long Quatre had loved Dorothy.  I do know that Quatre loved her -- I saw it in his eyes while he was carrying her down the steps.  I wonder why Quatre didn't tell any of us about Dorothy -- although I suspect that I already know the reason.  But mostly, I wonder if Quatre knew -- if Dorothy even knew.  After Dorothy's body was taken away, the coroner had called Dr. Santabella.  He had told her that Dorothy was pregnant.  The two month old fetus had died when Dorothy's body quit on her.  I wonder if Dorothy knew, and kept it to herself -- or if she passed off the symptoms as a part of her illness.  It's disturbing, any way that you think of it.  I wonder if her pregnancy affected her death.  But, it's not good to wonder so much.  It doesn't matter now, anyway.  They're not coming back, and there's nothing I can do to help either one of them.  I hope that they're happy now, wherever they are.