Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ In the Arms of the Angel ❯ Quatre - 2 ( Chapter 4 )

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Part IV

Trowa parked the car. He leaned his head back, rubbing his hands over the back of his neck. He cast a quick glance over at Quatre, who sat silently with his hands folded in his lap, staring out of the passenger window. He turned off the car, pulling the keys from the ignition and pocketing them. He reached behind him into the backseat and pulled out his duffel bag, hoisting it onto his lap. He opened the car door and slowly climbed out, pulling the shoulder strap over his head. He turned back to the car as he closed the door, suddenly needing something to hold him up. He bent his head, chin touching his chest, as he supported himself with one hand on the top of the car. He struggled to compose himself before pushing off the car and moving to the passenger side. He opened the door and held out a hand for Quatre to take. At first Quatre didn't seem to see him, and he felt as though he wasn't even there. But after a few silent moments, Quatre slowly took his hand. The soft fingers slipped over his palm and settled gently around his wrist. He pulled, helping Quatre to stand. Leaning down he locked the car and quickly shut the door. He looked up at Quatre who was once again staring solemnly into space. He laid his hand on Quatre's shoulder gaining his attention. Without saying anything, Quatre pushed himself away from the car and walked unsteadily toward his apartment building. Trowa slipped his arm around Quatre's thin shoulders to help guide and steady. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the building door, leading Quatre toward the elevators.

They hadn't said one word to each other since Quatre had toldâ€"no, shoutedâ€"for him to leave. He had found Becky and asked her adviceâ€Â¦

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"First of all, you need to listen. And I mean listen well. Don't say anything other than to encourage him to talk. A lot of people who take drugs do it as an escape from life. They need someone who won't judge them and who will listen. And drugs can give you that sense of security everybody needs. That's why my sister took drugs. She couldn't handle her life, and no one would listen to her. They constantly told her that she was overreacting, or being too sensitive. Everyone is different from everyone else, so there really isn't such thing as 'too sensitive'. No one can claim that they know what's best.

"Secondly, you cannot judge him. You cannot preach to him, or he'll fall right back into the rut he was in. I'm assuming that you're here because you did judge him and he didn't react the way you wanted him too." Trowa nodded, wincing at the tone in Quatre's voice as he yelled at him to leave. He never thought that Quatre wouldn't want him around. "I know its hard, I've been there myself. I never thought that my sister would resort to drugs, and when I found out, I thought that she was the stupidest person to walk these Colony floors. I almost lost her because I couldn't look past her weaknessâ€"her sickness. That's all this is, is just a sickness. Like the flu, he has to get over it, only this sickness lasts a long time." Trowa looked down at his hands as they entwined with each other.

"But how could he have gotten involved with something that he knew was wrong?" He looked up at Becky.

"That, you'll have to ask him. I can only tell you why my sister fell into that trap.

"Our mother was one of those mothers who believed that unless a woman was married, they were nothing. She harped on us all the time to get married, to save our money for the wedding ceremony. She was always asking us if we had found a 'nice young man' yet and when she would get to meet him. It was irritating, to say the least, and I just let it roll off my back. I had other things to attend to, and I could've cared less if I appeased my mother. My sister was different. She felt as though she owed our parents for raising her, and she didn't have a busy schedule like I had. I was in Med. School; she was working retail. I didn't have time to do anything outside of school and work; she had every evening and weekends free. Mom preyed on that and was harsher with Elsie than with me. And Elsie couldn't handle it anymore.

"As far as I know, Elsie was looking for a release, and one of her co-workers gave her a couple hits of Acid to try. She didn't realize what it was, and her co-worker lied and told Elsie that they were stress-relieving pills. So, Elsie went home that night and tried them. Eventually, Elsie couldn't live unless she had a few tabs of LSD a day. Her weekends were spent under the influence of visions and hallucinations as she wasted away through the Acid.

"All she needed was a shoulder to lean on and someone to listen. She needed to be able to bitch about Mom and work without being judged or ridiculed. Today, she sees a Counselor when she starts feeling the pull downwards. On average, I'd say she sees the Counselor once a year, maybe twice. Its only when she feels like she can't go on, that she's stuck and can't get out. Otherwise, talking to me is all she needs. I don't feel like I have to take her problems on my shoulders and bear her through life. It's like a conversation. She tells me what's happening in her life and I encourage her to keep talking. Eventually, what is really bothering her will come out, and if she wants advice, she'll ask. Most of the time, she just needed to get it off her chest."

"So I just need to listen."

"Yes. You won't be able to help him if you don't know what's going on. And don't take what he says the first few times at face value either. If you really think that he knows better than to do drugs, then he probably does. I bet you that right now, he's wallowing in shame. He probably hates himself and can't understand why he did it. Believe me, self-loathing can be fatal. If you add to his self-loathing, he'll only get worse."

"I fucked everything up, then." Becky put a hand on his knee.

"No, you just need to realize how much he's hurting, and then show him that you know. And show him that you care." Trowa shook his head.

"But I called him stupid, and Iâ€Â¦Iâ€Â¦" He dropped his head in his hands. Becky's hand rubbed his back.

"Hasn't someone ever said something to you in anger, that they didn't mean? Haven't you forgiven them?"

"Yes and yes. So?"

"You were upset, and angry and scared. He'll understand. If, you apologize." She stood up, brushing her slacks free from invisible dust. "You're walking on thin ice, here, it's tough, but the ice will harden and thicken. You just have to move with caution." She turned and left, throwing a goodbye over her shoulder. Trowa sat in the lounge, alone.

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He had eventually made his way back to Quatre's room, but when he entered, Quatre was asleep. He had made himself as comfortable as possible on the lone chair and waited for Quatre to wake up. He had fallen asleep at some point, and when he had awakened, Quatre was sitting up and glaring at him. Quatre had ignored him since then, occasionally throwing glares at him, but never kicking him out. That was the only thing holding him together at this point.

He led Quatre to the couch, returning from his memories. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and moved to the kitchen. He pulled out two glasses from the cupboards and filled them with water. He peered out into the living room at Quatre. He studied Quatre's profile. The down turned lips, definitely a new addition, one that he didn't like. Gone was the living sparkle in Quatre's eyes, replaced with a glassy haze. His hair was limp, hanging as though it matched Quatre's mood. Trowa closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before returning to the couch with the glasses of water.

He watched Quatre absently take a sip of water and then seemingly forgetting about the glass eventhough it was clutched tightly in his hand. Quatre gazed about the room, lost in thought. Trowa set his glass down on the glass coffee table. He turned to face Quatre.

"What are you thinking about?" Quatre didn't seem to hear him, so he opened his mouth to repeat the question when he heard Quatre's quiet voice.

"Why you're here." Trowa reached over and gently turned Quatre's chin, so he was looking at him.

"Because I want to help you. I care about you, Quatre, and I was so scared when I found you." Quatre jerked his chin from Trowa's gentle grasp.

"Help me, huh? Are you going to tell me I'm stupid again?" Quatre's eyes narrowed, and Trowa shook his head, looking down at the cushions before raising his eyes to look at Quatre's.

"I was so scared, Quatre. I'm sorry. I don't think you're stupid. I shouldn't have yelled at you." Trowa turned around and sank into the cushions, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I didn't know what to do. I still don't know what to do, but I'm calmer, now." He rolled his head to the side so he could look at Quatre again. "I really want to help you, Quatre." Quatre shook his head.

"I don't need you, Trowa. I don't need anyone." Quatre stood up. "All I need is to be left alone." Trowa sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together.

"I'm not going anywhere, Quatre." He pointed to his duffel bag. "See that? I'm staying right here." Quatre's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

"No." Quatre turned to walk to his bedroom. He moved a couple steps before turning back around to face Trowa. "No. I'm not going to let you run my life and hover over me like some common criminal. I'm not on parole here." Trowa spread his arms in a disarming gesture.

"I've never said you were."

"Go to Hell, Trowa Barton. I'm sure we'll see each other there soon enough." Trowa jumped to his feet, attempting to keep his voice from sounding like a snarl.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that I don't plan on living here long."

"Are you going to kill yourself, Quatre? Is that what the drugs were for?" Quatre's lips pulled back as he hissed.

"Don't assume you know anything about me. You chose not to know." Trowa stepped toward Quatre.

"I know, I stayed away when I should have kept in contact. I'm sorry, Quatre, I truly am. I want to know, though. I want you to tell me, I want to learn." Quatre threw his hands up, screaming.

"I'm not some fucking textbook for you to study, Trowa." Trowa flinched as his words were twisted. "I'm a human being. I at least warrant being treated like one."

"Are you not?" Trowa spoke softly.

"No. I'm Mr. Winner, CEO of Winner Enterprises." Trowa shook his head, and moved in front of Quatre.

"No you're not. You're Quatre."

"Fuck you." Quatre turned, but stumbled and fell to the floor. Trowa reached out to catch him and they both tumbled to the floor. Trowa looked down at Quatre from his hands and knees. Trowa reached out a hand for Quatre to grasp. Quatre batted it away angrily. "I don't need a babysitter." Trowa smiled.

"No, but I think you need an ear and a shoulder." Quatre gazed up at him, analyzing his words. Trowa sat back on his heels, hand still held out for Quatre to take. Quatre pushed himself to a sitting position, his eyes never leaving Trowa's.

"No. I don't need someone telling me that what I feel isn't right. I don't need to be told I'm stupid."

"I'm not going to tell you anything, Quatre. I only said that I would listen, and give you a shoulder to cry on. Who am I to judge you?" Quatre opened his mouth to answer, but instead he broke into tears. Trowa scooted forward and gathered Quatre in his arms, holding him tightly to his chest. "It's okay, Quatre, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." He stroked Quatre's back and his shirt soaked up Quatre's tears. Quatre clutched at him desperately and he slowly rocked back and forth.

"I can't do this anymore, Trowa." Quatre sobbed. "I'm not strong enough."

"You are, you just need someone to steady you."

"I'm sorry." Trowa continued to whisper words of encouragement in Quatre's ear as Quatre's repeated apology tore through his heart.