Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ In the Arms of the Angel ❯ Fidelity - 3 ( Chapter 24 )

Part XXIV

Quatre waved a hovering Trowa away, scowling in impatience.

"Please!" He begged. "I'm fine. Go away." Truth be told, he was not all right. He was tired, groggy, irritable and cold. All he wanted was to be left alone. To go one step further, he was afraid. He had nearly died, he had been told. He hadn't seen the so-called light at the end of the tunnel. He hadn't had the feeling of lifting away from his body. None of the descriptions of dying had come to him. He had simply felt nothing.

He had been awake for a day--well, he should say out of his coma for a day. Honestly, he had slept through much of the day, waking up occasionally to Trowa hovering over him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Trowa's concern, but he just wanted to sleep! He wanted to curl up on his side, clutching a pillow tightly to him and bawl uncontrollably. It was something he did not want anyone else to witness.

He noticed suddenly that his teeth were clenched tightly together, grinding slightly as they slipped from pressure. He relaxed his jaw.

"Please, Trowa. I just want to be alone for a while." He watched as Trowa obviously struggled with intense emotions. They played over his face like a movie. Quatre watched, fascinated with the display. He still felt detached, as though he weren't fully housed within his own body. "I love you, I appreciate what you are doing, but I want to be alone." At this, Trowa finally nodded, looking obviously relieved. Trowa leaned over Quatre and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"I'll be back later then." He smiled at Trowa, grateful for his understanding, or at least willingness.

"Thank you." He watched as Trowa retreated to the world beyond his hospital door. Once the door clicked shut, he turned onto his side, pulling his knees up and hugging his pillow. He didn't know what to think about anything right now. His best friend had forced heroin into his system, even after he had begged him to stop. In a way, Quatre supposed, it was similar to being raped. It was an invasion. An invasion that he hadn't wanted and had struggled to prevent. But in the end, he had been invaded, and he had been hurt by that invasion.

What was he supposed to do, he wondered. How was he supposed to move forward? What was he supposed to think? He had struggled long and hard in order to get over his own addiction; to finally get his life into some semblance of happiness. Why did this have to happen? Why did everything he worked so hard for, sacrificed so much for, have to crumble violently down around his feet? Was there something wrong with him? Was he not allowed to be happy and free?

No, that couldn't be true. How many times had he heard lately that he was deserving of happiness? How many times had he watched others be happy? How many times had he achieved happiness?

To be honest with himself, not many. At least until recently. He had just recently allowed himself to indulge in the wonderful state of happiness--true happiness, not that fake shit that the drugs he had lived for gave him.

Pusedohappiness. Not a good place to be in.

The IV needle pulled slightly as he shifted in the tiny hospital bed. He stared along its length, wondering what was in that clear fluid slowly dripping drop by drop into his bloodstream. He remembered saline. It was a saline solution. But there had been something else in it. Something to counteract the drug that had been in his system. But, wouldn't that drug have been purged by now? He tried to remember what the doctors had told him earlier. Something about withdrawal.

He understood withdrawal. That was something he didn't need to be reminded off. Too bad, he mused that there couldn't have been something to gently step you down from a PCP addiction. Apparently, if you were going to get hooked, you needed to get hooked on opiates, at least then you didn't need to necessarily deal with withdrawal. You could have Methadone.

That was it! There was another drug swimming through his system called Methadone. He couldn't remember the details about it, but at least he remembered. His short-lived celebration died off, leaving him with an uneasy feeling.

He rewound his thoughts, returning to those about addiction. You couldn't get hooked on anything, he decided. Getting addicted only meant that you lost control over your own life. It meant that you became nothing more than a slave. Who wanted to be that?

His thoughts inevitably turned to Duo. What was he supposed to do about Duo? How was he supposed to handle the apparent betrayal? Was he supposed to be furious? Perhaps forgiving, perhaps he was supposed to walk away without ever looking back.

His heart constricted with that thought. How could he ever leave his best friend? But anger began to bubble at the surface of his confusion like boiling water. And he realized that he was furious. He felt angry and betrayed. He felt raped in spirit, if not in body. And he could see no one else at fault other than Duo. His supposed friend.

Duo was not a friend. Duo could not possibly be a friend if he could do something like that. How could Duo have given him the unwanted heroin? How? Quatre raked his brain, trying futilely to come up with an answer. But the truth was, he didn't know how Duo had been able to force the heroin on him--in him.

What kind of monster did that make Duo, and what kind of weakling did that make Quatre?

He pulled the pillow closer to him, burying his face into its softness, and succumbed to his tears.

______________________________

Trowa dragged his feet to the cafeteria, his nerves frayed. The last…how long? Had been incredibly stressful and wearing. He was exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to pack Quatre up, take him home and curl up together in their bed and sleep and sleep and sleep. He wasn't entirely sure if he really wanted to ever wake up again.

He sat down at one of the tables and buried his head in his arms. Maybe he would take a nap right here. Maybe he would gather up his waning energies and go over to the shop and buy some desperately needed food. Maybe he would just go home.

He snorted at himself. Of course he wouldn't go home. Not without Quatre. He wasn't going to leave Quatre alone in the hospital for long no matter how much Quatre wanted to be alone. He was going to be here for Quatre. He was going to support Quatre. He was going to go to sleep on Quatre…

Okay, now his thoughts were starting to mix up with one another. He was beginning to confuse himself, and he wasn't in the mood to go any further with his merging thoughts than needed. If he could just get the energy together, he could go get some food. His stomach growled loudly, his abdomen vibrating with the protest. Yes, yes, I'll go get some damned food. But first, just let me rest. Just for a moment…

"You look like you need this." Trowa glanced up in surprise at Heero's voice. Heero sat down across from him, shoving a tray full of food in his direction. Heero picked up an apple from the tray and began to munch on it. Trowa stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"What are you doing here?" Heero pushed the tray closer, nudging against Trowa's crossed arms.

"You need this. You look like shit." He took another bite of his apple, chewing calmly. Trowa picked up a fork from the tray and picked at his food. It smelled delicious. "I just dropped Duo off at the rehab center. I thought that you could use someone to look after you, and I really don't know what I should do with myself." Heero played with the half-eaten apple before deciding he wanted to take another bite. He brought it to his lips.

"Thank you." Trowa simply said. There was nothing else he could say while still being truthful and sincere. Anything else would have sounded ostentatious. Heero shrugged, taking a devoted interest in his apple. They ate in silence. Each lost to their own thoughts. Trowa didn't press Heero, and Heero didn't press Trowa.

After he finished his food, he pushed the tray away from him and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his stomach. Heero had long since deposited his apple core on the tray and was now gazing solemnly around the cafeteria. They continued their silence.

"How's Quatre?" Heero broke the silence. Trowa sighed.

"The doctors say that he'll be okay. They're putting him on something called a Methadone Treatment. Just in case." Heero nodded. "They just want to make sure that he doesn't start to crave heroin." Trowa snorted. "Like he could after the shit he's been through." Heero shrugged one shoulder.

"Its possible." Heero raked a hand through his hair. "I don't want to play Devil's Advocate here, but it seems as though anything is possible with opioids. I've been doing some research; asking questions." Trowa crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

"Why?" Trowa snapped. He wasn't asking about the opioids.

"I don't know. But I do know that 'why' is the wrong question." Trowa snorted.

"And why is it the wrong question?" Heero sighed defeatedly.

"Because we cannot rewrite the past. We can only take what the consequences of our actions are and make the best of what we have. If there is one thing that I have learned through all of this, it's that you cannot live in the past. You have to move forward. You have to live for today and tomorrow--not yesterday." Trowa sighed, seeing the logic in Heero's assertion. He felt vaguely uncomfortable, though, so he changed the subject.

"How's Duo?" Heero chuckled.

"Are you sure you want to know? Or are you just trying to make me feel better."

"Both." Trowa answered honestly.

"He will probably never be able to get completely off of drugs…ever." Heero stressed the ever, bitterness coloring his words. Trowa wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

"What do you mean. I thought that places like that aimed to get people drug-free."

"They do, but I guess the opioids are different. I don't really understand, they just explained this to Duo and I earlier." Heero paused, gazing off into the distance. "People develop a dependence to heroin, opium and morphine to the point where they can never live normally again. Their bodies need it, they crave it, they can't seem to function without it."

"Isn't heroin withdrawal fatal?" Trowa asked.

"No. It seems to be, but its not. The person going through withdrawal feels like they are going to die, but they won't. However, the effects of heroin are so potent that they continue to crave it long after withdrawal. Or something like that." He waved his hand in dismissal. "The important part is that they are going to try to relieve Duo of the harshest parts of withdrawal by giving him Methadone. It's a softer opiate. If I remember right, it takes longer for the body to absorb, so it doesn't give people the high that heroin gives. However, it functions similar enough to heroin, that it keeps the withdrawal symptoms away. However, the doctors at the treatment center told me that it's entirely possible that Duo will need to remain on the--they call it methadone maintenance--forever. They said that it was because if he gets off of the maintenance, he might experience withdrawal as though he had been taking heroin the whole time." Heero stopped. "Does any of this make sense?"

"Yes and no." Trowa smiled sadly. "What do you think will happen?" Heero shrugged, reaching out to play with the apple core that was already beginning to brown from exposure to the air.

"I think that it will be a long and tough road that we will have to travel. I'm willing to leave Duo on this methadone maintenance--it sounds like the best thing for him. But I don't know what will happen between Quatre and Duo. That's a door that no one but Quatre can open."

"What does Duo think." Heero sighed heavily, pain moistening his eyes. Trowa felt sympathy for Heero.

"I think that Duo is trying hard to not think." There was a pregnant pause. "He's afraid." Heero continued in a softer voice. "He's deathly afraid that Quatre will never forgive him, that he lost his best friend for something as stupid as drugs." Trowa nodded in understanding.

"I think Duo has a very good reason to be afraid." Heero continued to play with the core.

"Yeah." Heero breathed. Trowa reached across the table, placing his hand on Heero's, stilling the apple.

"I hope that Duo's fears go unfounded." Heero nodded, swallowing noticeably.

"Me too."

"But?"

"But I'm afraid, too." Heero confessed.

"I know." Trowa leaned back, crossing his arms once again across his chest. He stared at a random spot on a wall on the other side of the cafeteria. Heero resumed playing with the apple core. The silence settled over them thickly.