Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ In the Arms of the Angel ❯ Quatre ( Chapter 2 )

Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. I'm glad that I can give you something good.

Again, I, unfortunately do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters.

Part II

Trowa pulled himself over the balcony railing to land softly on his feet. His eyebrows drew together in worry at the open door; sheer white curtains billowed out into the night. He brushed them aside, moving indoors. The apartment seemed too quiet, almost as if Quatre wasn't home, but he had seen Quatre's car parked outside. The hazy gray blobs of furniture waited in the darkness as Trowa wove his way to the bedroom. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding when he saw Quatre resting on his bed. He moved to the bedside to tuck Quatre under the covers. As he drew closer he saw that Quatre's head tilted at an unusual angle, he seemed to be a rag doll thrown in a heap on the bed. The trickle of blood running from Quatre's nose down his chin caught Trowa's attention, and he shakily reached for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. Movement caught his eye as he leaned over Quatre to listen for breath. His eyes snapped to where he had spotted the movement, and he saw himself. He reached for the mirror, noting the fine dust that fell from its gleaming surface. He licked his finger and stuck it into the white powder, and brought it to his lips. He licked the dust from his finger, eyes widening as the tip of his tongue began tingling and slowly went numb. Drugs. Trowa looked sharply at Quatre with a new anxiety. He lunged for the phone, dialing 911 almost unconsciously. He had to get help. The operator answered.

"I think my friend has OD'd on drugs…No, I don't know which drug…White, powdery, it made my tongue numb when I tasted it." Trowa absently ran his fingers tenderly through Quatre's hair as he answered all of the operator's questions. He felt as if he weren't apart of his body. The shock had split him in two-the frantic Trowa talking to the operator, and the calm, detached Trowa who was caressing Quatre's face. In the back of his split mind, he noticed that his voice was shaken and cracking, almost as though he was about to cry. He brought his hand up to his cheek, and realized that he was crying. It seemed so surreal-Quatre overdosing on drugs. Was this a dream? He could hear the anguished wail of an ambulance in the distance, and he scooped Quatre into his arms. He carried Quatre out of his apartment and into the elevator. He squatted, resting Quatre on his knee, freeing up his hand. He brushed clinging hair from Quatre's face.

"Don't die on me, Quatre. Don't you dare die on me." He met the paramedics in the lobby, laying Quatre on the gurney. He handed a paramedic the plastic bag he had palmed from Quatre's bed.

"Is this what he took?"

"I believe so, I couldn't find anything else." The paramedic turned back to his partner.

"What do you think?" The other paramedic turned over his duties to the first, as he took the bag and fingered the powder. He looked at Trowa.

"How did he act?" Trowa shrugged.

"I found him asleep." Trowa thought of any clue he could give the paramedics. "There was blood. From his nose, there was blood." The paramedic nodded and returned to the ambulance. He watched as the first paramedic readied an IV.

"Do you know if he's allergic to anything?"

"I don't." Trowa flinched as the needle pierced Quatre's pale skin.

"Here. Give him this." The second paramedic thrust a syringe at the first paramedic.

"You know what the drug is?"

"I think its Angel Dust." Trowa sucked bitter air in. Angel Dust? This was getting hardcore. Quatre, just what the fuck did you think you were doing?

"We've got an OD-most likely Angel Dust. We're bringing him in now."

"Roger, Rescue One. Colony General is closest to your location." The radio squawked.

"Roger, dispatch." The paramedic turned to his partner to help load Quatre into the back of the Ambulance. Trowa crawled in after them. "Get ready to move out." They strapped Quatre down and the second paramedic shut the doors and got behind the wheel. The sirens started up and they tore off into the night.

At the hospital, Trowa paced the emergency room floor, looking up from time to time as another doctor hurried through the waiting area. Anger started to well up inside him since his energies were no longer focused on getting Quatre help. He turned to the wall in blind rage, slamming his fist into the shinning plaster. The cracking of his knuckles against the hard wall grounded him, preventing him from flying off the handle. Why the fuck did Quatre do something so incredibly stupid? Did he know any better? Trowa punched the wall again.

"Damnit Quatre! You should know better!" He shouted at the unresponsive wall. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"The walls outside are much better for yelling at, and then you don't disturb the doctors, sir." Trowa glanced at the nurse and mumbled an apology. She shrugged. "I understand. My sister was brought in on drugs three years ago. I know what you're going through." She cocked her head to one side. "If you need to talk, or a shoulder, the name's Becky."

Trowa sagged into a chair, dropping his head into his hands after she left. Maybe he would take her up on that offer, after he found out how Quatre was doing.

"Mr. Barton?" Trowa looked up, choking back a sob. A doctor sat down next to him. "Your friend will be okay-for now. Has he been doing Angel Dust for long?" Trowa stared uncomprehendingly at the doctor.

"Um…I don't know." He turned his gaze to the floor. "I didn't know he did drugs until tonight." The doctor nodded.

"If this is the first time, you don't need to worry. Usually people who have bad first experiences don't continue drug use. However, if he's been using for a while, then he'll have a long road to recovery. I'd suggest talking to him. Get him to tell you what he's done, and how much for how long. If you think he might be addicted, then get him help. You can get some literature from the nurses. He's resting, now." The doctor looked down at his clipboard. "Room 345." Trowa stared after the doctor in shock. Quatre might be addicted? He might have done this more than once? What the fuck happened to innocent Quatre? Trowa walked in a daze to the elevators, pressing the third floor button by instinct. He ghosted along the third floor, not truly noticing anything around him. He only saw Room 345.

The room was darkened, the curtains pulled shut, and Quatre's paleness almost blended in the grayness. He seemed so small, like he had wasted away. Trowa watched Quatre pick at the blanket. With an audible sigh, Quatre dropped his hand and turned his head to stare at the closed curtains. Trowa moved slowly into the room to the chair waiting by Quatre's bed.

"How are you feeling?" Quatre jumped, gaping at Trowa.

"How'd you get here?" Quatre stammered. Trowa leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I found you." Quatre lowered his eyes and turned his head away.

"Oh." Shame dripped from Quatre's dull voice, a voice that had once been musical and soft, was now dry and raspy, dulled from God knows what.

"Why?" It was more of a statement rather than a question, and demand rather than a request, and Quatre closed his eyes as if stung.

"I didn't know what else to do." Trowa strained his ears to pick up the soft whisper. Anger surged in him at the admission.

"Bullshit." He spat, his eyes narrowing in their study of Quatre. "You should know by now what drugs do to you." Quatre flinched at the harshness of Trowa's voice.

"I know." Quatre picked at the blanket again. Trowa stood, leaning over Quatre, a white-knuckled grip on one of the support rails.

"What the fuck was going through your head? How fucking stupid can you be?" Tears trailed down Quatre's cheeks as he turned his head away from Trowa. Part of Trowa cringed at the harshness of his words, but the rest was losing respect for the man he had always admired.

"I'm not stupid."

"No? Then what the fuck are you?" Quatre flinched again, a sob escaping from the back of his throat.

"Desperate." Trowa violently let go of Quatre's bed rails and turned to the wall at the foot of the hospital bed. Gesturing aimlessly and wildly, he turned back to face Quatre. He saw Quatre cower in his bed, clutching the blankets in tight fists.

"How the hell did you take that shit?" Quatre's eyes hardened slightly, and he raised his head.

"By breathing in." Trowa rounded on Quatre, vaguely watching Quatre shrink into the bedding.

"Don't get smart with me, Quatre."

"Yes, mother." Trowa felt his face heat up with uncontrollable rage. First, Quatre gets himself high on drugs, then he overdoses, and then he has the gall to be a smart-ass! Trowa growled.

"Goddamnit, Quatre! What kind of game do you think you're playing?" Quatre sat up, no longer resting against the pillows.

"Get out!" Quatre roared. "Don't you think I have enough problems that I don't need you lecturing me on how to live? I fucked up! Its not like you care anyway, or you would know WHY!" Trowa stayed quiet a moment, taken aback by Quatre's sudden outburst. Quatre thought that he didn't care? Quatre had problems? What kind of problems? He thought that Quatre was happy, but obviously not.

"I do care, Quatre. That's why I'm still here." He spoke, this time, his voice raw from screaming. Quatre crossed his arms over his chest and fell back against the pillows. Trowa moved back to the chair.

"I asked you to leave." Trowa paused, halfway between sitting and standing, his numb mind barely registering Quatre's words. He wanted him to leave. He slowly straightened and turned to the door. He was shutting the door behind him when he heard Quatre's whisper, not meant for him. "I really fucked up, I'm still alive." Trowa's heart broke at those words, hearing that Quatre wanted to die. That Quatre had used drugs to kill himself. Trowa pulled on the door until it clicked shut. Then, and only then, he slid down the door until he was curled into a ball against Quatre's door, bawling.

"I understand what you're going through. If you need to talk…the name's Becky." Trowa wiped his eyes, his resolve strong. He was not going to let Quatre push him away. He had lost too much time anyway. He wasn't going to lose anymore. He stood up, bracing himself against the door, wiped the last of his tears, and set off to find Nurse Becky. He needed someone to talk to. He couldn't do this alone.

"You won't go through this alone, Quatre," he whispered to the closed door, "I promise."