Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ In the Arms of the Angel ❯ Crossing Paths ( Chapter 18 )

Part XVIII

Trowa fell to his knees, collapsing as he saw the sight in the bathroom. He skidded across the linoleum floor, reaching for the shaking form of Quatre. He was screaming, he knew that, and he could hear Duo's inane laughter in the background. But all he could see was Quatre. He gently picked him up, resting Quatre on his lap, turning Quatre's face to the side. He alternated between stroking the fine blonde hair and hugging the unconscious body to him. He would pass a hand over his face periodically.

"Oh God, Quatre. What happened? No!" He rocked Quatre back and forth, trying to digest the moment and react. It wasn't working. He could only scream in a high pitched voice, his voice cracking as he wailed his fear and anguish to the ceiling, cradling the crumpled form of his lover.

He had found Quatre passed out on the floor. His eyes were almost closed, and what little of the eye that could be seen was pussy and glazed over. He was vomiting up blood, and choking on the mixture of blood, bile and acid. He was shaking all over as if he were having a seizure, and his body would constrict periodically as he heaved up more bloodied bile. Trowa turned Quatre's head to let out all of the gathered vomit. It dripped to the floor in congealed lumps. Trowa fought his own urge to gag. Once he could hear throaty gasps, he pulled Quatre to him and rocked him back and forth.

"Oh God, Quatre. Hang on. Stay with me, please, Quatre. Don't go." He kissed Quatre's forehead, brushing back the sweaty bangs so he could rest his cheek against Quatre's clammy skin. He brought a hand to cradle his forehead as if he were trying to ward off a headache. He continued to rock back and forth as Quatre coughed up more blood. Trowa watched with muted horror. He gently laid Quatre down, turning him on his side and his face down so if he vomited more, he wouldn't choke on it. He scrambled to his feet and raced out of the bathroom and to the kitchen where the phone waited. He ran past a still laughing Duo. He didn't spare him a glance. He lunged for the phone, dragging it with him as he stumbled back to Quatre, dialing as he tripped on the cord.

"Please! I need an ambulance. My friend, he's, oh, God . . . " Trowa raked a hand through his hair as he entered the bathroom again. He knelt by Quatre as sobs began racking his body. No, he had to remain calm to help Quatre. Oh God, what was he going to do? What was going to happen?

"Sir, calm down. Where are you at?" Trowa shook his head as he cradled the phone between his chin and shoulder so he could pick Quatre up again. Quatre's head rolled on his neck like a rag doll. Quatre's body constricted again. Trowa unconsciously gave the operator the address. "What has happened?" Trowa tried to bite back his sobs, but he couldn't keep himself under control. His voice cracked as he fought sobs.

"I think he's OD'd on Heroin. He didn't take it. I think another friend forced it on him." He just couldn't believe that Quatre would willingly take drugs again, and judging from Duo's statements and the long bleeding scratches on the inside of Quatre's arm and the bruises that were blossoming in the shape of fingerprints, Quatre had probably fought against the injection.

"Okay, sir? I need you to tell me what is happening to your friend right now."

"He's shaking, he won't stop shaking. Why won't he stop shaking? He's not supposed to be shaking!" Trowa was hysterical, he couldn't think. This was the first time that he had lost all control over his ability to remain calm and collected. He had been the perfect soldier during the war because of his ability to remain calm in the face of chaos and danger. But now . . .

"Sir! What else is happening?"

"Blood. He's throwing up blood. Oh God. Stay with me, please. Help me please!"

"Sir, an ambulance will be there shortly, just remain calm." Trowa broke down into convulsive sobs. He bent over Quatre willing with everything inside of him that he would be okay. Quatre's blood spread on his hands as Quatre coughed and vomited, which in turn was spread to Trowa's temples as he held his forehead in some sort of gesture of comfort that didn't succeed. Trowa's tears rolled down his face and neck, soaking into his shirt collar. Duo had stopped laughing and was now bawling in the bathroom doorway slumped against the doorjamb. Trowa couldn't care. He could hear sirens. He held Quatre closer to him, squeezing him to his chest as if that would make Quatre better. Quatre coughed up more blood.

Hands appeared out of nowhere as paramedics took Quatre from his arms and laid him flat on the bathroom floor. A paramedic gently urged Trowa to move away from the activity and then kneeled in front of Duo. Trowa watched as the paramedics attending to Quatre ripped his shirt open and began performing compressions to his pale chest. Trowa covered his face with his hands. The words and shouted commands fell on deaf ears as he watched Quatre's body continue to shiver through the moving bodies of the paramedics. At least they had stopped CPR and were still continuing to work on Quatre. That must mean that he's still alive.

A gurney was pushed into the small bathroom and Quatre was gently lifted and secured to the rolling bed. One paramedic hopped onto the supporting struts that ran the length of the bed just above the level of the wheels and continued to inject clear fluids into Quatre's already battered arm. The other paramedics pushed the gurney out of the bathroom and presumably out of the apartment building to put Quatre in the ambulance. The paramedic who had been examining Duo helped him to his feet and guided him out of the bathroom, pausing only to tell Trowa to meet them at the emergency room at Colony General. Trowa nodded in vague understanding and stayed where he was until the only thing he could hear was the beating of his own heart and the rushing of blood in his ears.

It wasn't until then that he could trust his legs enough to stand. His throat was sore from shouting and crying, and his knees were throbbing from his kneeling on the cold, hard floor for so long. His head hurt, a migraine was ruthlessly forming from the fear and crying, and he was nauseous. He crawled over to the toilet, slipping on the blood and bile that had been expelled from Quatre's drugged body. He gripped the toilet seat with bloody fingers and vomited until he was dry heaving. His breath rushed in and out of his body in desperate gasps and he rested his cheek against the cold porcelain and cried as he sat in blood and vomit.

He rushed into the emergency room through the sliding glass doors. He turned to the side to squeeze through the doors as they opened too slowly for him. He pushed himself through doors and people as he sprinted to the reception desk.

"Quatre Winner. He was brought in a few moments ago in an ambulance. He had OD'd." The receptionist gazed at him dispassionately.

"I'm sorry, I won't have any information about anyone just brought in for a little while. We have a lot of people come through here and it takes a little bit. If you'll sit down, I'll tell you when I hear anything." Trowa leaned his elbows on the counter, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

"Please, you've got to know something. Is he alright, at least?" Trowa's voice splintered in his anxiety. The receptionist shook her head.

"I'm sorry, sir. Why don't you get cleaned up? There are bathrooms over there." She pointed behind him. He turned back to her. He didn't want to get cleaned up. How could she expect him to get cleaned up when Quatre was on the verge of life or death? How?

"Here's the next guy's information. Oh, hey. Your friend will be okay, the one with the braid." The paramedic who had been examining Duo placed a file on the counter and turned to address Trowa.

"I don't care about him. What about Quatre?" The paramedic smiled sadly.

"I understand how you feel. I don't really know, but it looked as if they were taking him to ICU." The paramedic placed a hand on Trowa's shoulder. That hand held him up. "I think that he'll live, but I can't say anything more than that. He had overdosed on Heroin. That stuff never does anything good. It's the worst shit out there. I'm sorry." Trowa watched numbly as several doctors ran through the lobby in a rushed panic to get to whatever was behind the swinging doors. Trowa shivered with the fingers of icy dread coursing through his veins. "Let's get you cleaned up. You'll be able to function better that way. Okay?" Trowa didn't answer but allowed himself to be led in the direction that the receptionist had pointed.

Nothing mattered anymore.

The paramedic led him to a shower and told him that he would try to find out some information on Quatre while he was in the shower. Trowa stepped into the shower and just stood under the spray until the water turned cold. He couldn't function. He was stuck in a daze that threatened to become permanent should Quatre not survive.

He had just found happiness with Quatre, and now it was being stolen away. Quatre had finally pulled himself together, and now he might not have a chance to live it. Trowa felt like punching the glass of the mirror, but had no energy to do so.

He stared at the mirror as he dried himself off and slowly became aware of a note that was taped there. He pulled it down, noticing that his hand was shaking. He read the note.

It looks like your friend is stable, but still unconscious. I left some scrubs on the counter. Once you're dressed, see the receptionist. She'll be able to direct you to your friend. Be happy, though. They moved him out of ICU! Brian.

Trowa crumpled the paper up as he sagged against the counter. He would never be able to say if it was in relief or not. He blinked back tears as he groped for the green scrubs Brian had left folded up. He slowly pulled them on and trudged out of the bathroom and back down to the emergency room. The receptionist looked up as he leaned on the counter.

"Your friend is in room 132. Just down that hall and to the left. The other man brought in with him is just across the hall in 133." Trowa nodded his weary thanks and moved down the hall she had pointed out. He stopped in middle of the hall between Quatre's room and Duo's room. He could hear Duo's wailing, but choose to ignore it. He turned into Quatre's room.

The room was barely lit and cold. Quatre was hooked up to a heart rate monitor that beeped regularly and a breathing apparatus that hissed and clicked slowly. Trowa tried not to see the tangle of tubes and hoses that spread out from Quatre's body to various machines and monitors. Trowa slid into a chair beside Quatre's bed. Quatre was pale -- too pale. Almost as if he didn't have anymore blood flowing through his veins. That thought scared Trowa after having seen the sheer amount of blood that had been spewed over the bathroom floor as he cradled Quatre's dying body in his arms.

He reached out and stroked Quatre's face. As his fingers touched Quatre's skin, the tears that had threatened to fall earlier finally did, and he wept silently. He wrapped his fingers around Quatre's limp hand and bowed his head, occasionally wiping tears from his cheeks and sniffing futilely.

"Oh Quatre. Don't leave me yet. Not when you've come so far." He heard the door open and he raised his head to see Duo standing in the light from the hall. Duo was sobbing openly, his entire body shaking from the violent weeping.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I couldn't control myself. I'm so sorry." Duo sank to his knees while Trowa watched him dispassionately. "I'm so sorry. Please be okay, Quatre. Please!" Trowa stood up and moved so he was standing directly in front of Duo. He reached under Duo's arms, gently hauling him to a standing position. He ushered Duo out of Quatre's room.

"Get some rest." Trowa didn't have anything left inside of him to be angry at Duo. Duo guided Duo onto his bed and pulled the covers over the sobbing body.

"Forgive me. I didn't know." Trowa gazed intensely into Duo's wet eyes.

"Quatre will have to forgive you later when he's woken up. Maybe I can find it in myself to forgive you then. Now go to sleep." Trowa turned and walked out of Duo's room. He closed the door behind him and stood in middle of the hallway. He looked down toward the receptionist's desk. There would be a phone there. He made his way back down the lengthy hall.

"Can I help you?"

"May I please use a phone?" The receptionist nodded and handed him the receiver. He dialed Heero's cell phone number.

"Hello?"

"Heero. Its Trowa."

"Trowa, have you seen Duo? And what's wrong? You don't sound good." Trowa grimaced and dropped his head in his hand.

"I think you better get up here. Soon. Preferably before I come to my senses and beat the absolute shit out of your boyfriend."

"What happened?" Heero's voice broke.

"I'm not sure, but it looks like he forced Heroin into Quatre. We're all at the hospital." There was a lengthy pause.

"Which hospital?"

"Colony General." Heero's voice came back as a whisper.

"How are they?"

"Duo's going to be fine, but he can't stop crying. Quatre, no one seems to know. He's in stable condition, but he's still asleep."

"Is he in a coma?" Trowa's breath caught. He hadn't thought of that.

"I don't know." His voice was raw with pain. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. He wanted this day to end and everything to be okay. But no matter how hard he wished, it wouldn't come true.

"How are you?" Trowa snorted.

"Ask me that when you get here."

"I'm actually on a shuttle. I think my ETA is about an hour or two. So I should be there soon." Trowa nodded, not realizing that Heero wouldn't be able to see.

"I'll see you then."

"Hang in there, Trowa." Trowa dropped the phone into its cradle and turned back to Quatre's room. Once inside he resumed his vigil, pulling the chair closer to Quatre's left side. He brushed some hair out of Quatre's eyes with his right hand, and finally wrapped his arm around Quatre's head, letting his hand rest on Quatre's right shoulder. He trailed the fingers of his right hand down Quatre's left arm and wound his fingers with Quatre's fingers. Taking deep and calming breaths he laid his head on the bed between Quatre's head and shoulder.

"Don't go." He pleaded into the crisp sheets before weeping silently. It was there that he fell asleep.