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"Open Book"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: R Warnings: Humor, Canon Compliant, Takes Place
Between the End of the Series and Odds and Evens, Trowa's POV, Injured
Quatre, Delirious Quatre, Love Doctor Duo, Iatrophonia - Fear of Doctors
and Hospitals, At Least Sally Has Her Shite Together, Fluff, Friendship Pairings: 3x4, 1xR Summary: One would think being skewered on a rapier
was the worst part, but then Quatre was always full of surprises. "Open Book" Trowa had always known Quatre was a bit of an oddball. He would have to be in order to come flying out of Sandrock’s cockpit, shouting about how they shouldn’t be fighting when Trowa could have easily picked him up between Heavyarms’ thumb and forefinger and crushed his tiny body between them until his blond head popped off like a champagne cork. Not that he was in any position to throw stones. None of them were. It was difficult not to squirm in discomfort when he thought back to how eager he'd been to blow himself to smithereens. It certainly would not have ended the war and there were ways to off himself without destroying a multi billion dollar machine. Then again, Gundam pilots were not well-versed in the art of subtlety which was strange considering their jobs were to blend in as much as possible when they weren’t immersed in battle. He was pretty sure Heero met the legal definition of criminally insane. Duo believed he was the living vessel for a deified grim reaper, and Wufei had such a gargantuan chip on his shoulder, Trowa was surprised the boy didn’t have back problems. Their mentors didn’t exactly excel when it came to the cloak and dagger stuff either. Trowa had a feeling they’d come to the conclusion that they were lost causes years ago. It seemed you could take the man out of the mad scientist, but you could never take the mad scientist out of the man. “No! No, don’t! It’s - I’m fine! I’m okay, really!” And then there was Quatre who - for some inexplicable reason - was having a more difficult time accepting medical treatment for his injury than the injury itself. Three more nurses and four orderlies had been called in to help restrain the blond as he thrashed on top of the gurney like a goldfish whose bowl had been tipped over by a careless child. He may have been the weakest of the five of them physically, but being pinned down so as not to further exacerbate the wound in his side had somehow given him Herculean strength. Thanks to his quick reflexes, Trowa just barely avoided having his nose broken by a wildly swinging leg and stepped back so Rashid could intervene and reclaim the flailing limb. “Let me go! I said I’m fine, goddamn it! I don’t need this!” Quat,” Duo started to lean forward and then thought better of it. “You have a seven centimeter hole straight through your body that didn't get there by the grace of god. It ain’t gonna heal itself, buddy.” The blond’s face was turning an alarming shade of red and Trowa instinctively checked the blood pressure readout to make sure he wasn’t approaching stroke territory. “It’s fine, Trowa,” Sally told him. Her voice was impressively calm in spite of the chaos. “It’s just a little high due to his anxiety. I’d be more concerned if it was too low.” “Can’t you sedate him?” “It would be pointless in the state he’s in right now. His endocrine system would just burn right through it. Better to keep him steady and stable until he poops himself out.” Trowa caught Quatre’s gaze and nearly shrunk back from the blond’s look of utter betrayal. Quatre had heard them loud and clear...and he was pissed. And he’d chosen Trowa to be his metaphorical dart board. His normally warm and inviting eyes were glazed over with pain and delirium. In his feverish mind, he didn’t see friends. He saw enemies and Trowa suppressed a shiver as he wondered if this was how Quatre had looked while under Zero’s influence. Though he certainly didn’t sound the way he had while under Zero’s influence. Back then, his voice had been eerily calm and detached. This Quatre’s voice was shrill with panic and excruciating pain. Trowa rubbed his fingers over his ears to make sure they weren’t bleeding and hoped the glass partitions that surrounded the infirmary didn’t shatter. This time, it wasn’t the absence of Quatre. It was Quatre amplified. The blond was immensely displeased and he was going to make damned sure the entire ship knew about it. “I knew it!” He shrieked, making everyone in the room flinch and pray that their hearing would be spared from his wrath. “You’re all trying to kill me!” He turned ridiculously large, watery eyes on Trowa, reminding the other boy of those animal cruelty ads that featured neglected, emaciated pups staring forlornly into the camera from behind the bars of their filthy cages while sad music played in the background. “How could you?!” Trowa’s chin quivered though he couldn’t tell if he was picking up Quatre’s genuine emotions, or if the blond was just that freaking good at playing the sympathy card. “Quat…” “I always knew you hated me,” Quatre blubbered, shaking his head back and forth. “You all think I’m weak because I play Mozart and - and like to drink my tea out of Royal Copenhagen cups!” Duo glanced up at Trowa from the other side of the gurney. “The hell’s he mumblin’ about?” Trowa helplessly shrugged his shoulders, at a complete loss for words. However, Quatre was more than happy to elaborate. “I get it, okay? I’m the sissy. The girly boy...the fff - the faggot. That’s fine, but why do you want to kill me over it?” Trowa felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. “Quat...no one’s trying to kill you. You’re hurt and we want to help you. And none of us have ever said anything like that about you.” At least he hoped not, or he was going to crack some skulls. “You thought it,” the blond wailed. His rage was beginning to subside. It wouldn’t be long before exhaustion took over. “You thought I couldn’t hack it. No one ever thinks I can hack it.” Trowa opened his mouth to reassure him none of that was true, but Rashid beat him to it. “Quatre, shut up. Stop being such a drama queen. The only one who tried to kill you was the girl who stuck that sword in your side -” “And Zechs,” Duo supplied helpfully. Rashid glowered at him before turning his attention back to Quatre who had finally gone silent, though tears still leaked from the corners of his eyes and slid down his temples. “You’re being ridiculous.” A tiny knot formed between the blond’s brows. He sniffled, but said nothing. “Now, are you going to be a soldier, or a crybaby?” Sniffle. “...Is this a trick question?” “Only in your mind, kiddo, which isn’t exactly running on full power at the moment.” Duo snorted and Quatre tipped his head back long enough to give him a dark look. “Laugh it up, you maniacal, Catholic priest impersonating - mmph!” Trowa looked up at Sally as she stuffed a pristine white cloth into the blond’s mouth. “We need to move you now so you might want to bite down on that. Then I’m going to sedate you and get you prepped for surgery. It’s now, or never and if you want to keep that left kidney of yours, you will cooperate.” Quatre gave her a murderous look and made a few flimsy attempts to spit out the cloth, but it was wedged far enough in that it wasn't going anywhere. “Okay, we need to transfer him to the pre-op gurney right here. I don’t want to jar him too much so the four of you each grab a corner of the sheet. On three, you’re going to lift him just high enough to be able to slide him over. Got it?” Rashid and three of the orderlies nodded and then grabbed firm handfuls of the sheet at their respective corners. When Sally counted down to three, they slid the blond’s body over onto the other gurney with flawless ease while Sally held the IV bag so that the catheter wouldn’t be yanked out of Quatre’s arm. Quatre finally seemed to have burned away most of his energy. His struggles had ceased and now his eyelids appeared to be almost too heavy for him to keep open. Sally took advantage of his complacency to inject the sedative into the IV’s injector site before he had the opportunity to conjure up a second wind. When she plucked the cloth from his mouth, Trowa braced for another barrage of incoherent wailing, but it never came. Actually, the wailing never came. The incoherence hadn’t gone anywhere. “Can you...can you tell my faaaaa - my faaaaa - my dad that it was me - wasn’t me tha’ pushed Trin’y down the st - stairssss? He don’ bewie - believe I didna do it.” Duo snickered into his hand, but luckily Sally had a more professional bedside manner. She stroked tangled locks of flaxen hair away from Quatre’ eyes and humored him instead. “Don’t worry, Quatre. I’ll tell him.” Quatre hummed contentedly, now dopey from the sedative. He speech was slow and slurred as if his tongue was smothered in molasses. “Trooo...wa…” Trowa approached the gurney where the blond lay like a wasted frat boy after a Friday night kegger. “I’m right here, Quat.” Quatre’s head turned towards the sound of his voice, but his eyes were unfocused, staring somewhere above and three feet to the right of Trowa’s shoulder. Trowa didn’t see any point in correcting him. Quatre lifted a kitten-weak hand and he grasped in his own steadier one. “I jush wan’ed to tell you tha’ I wan you to ha - have the inshturmen - inshtruments in my mushic room.” “Quat, I’m not taking the instruments. I don’t need to because you’re going to be just fine.” “Noooooo,” the blond shook his head pitifully. “I’m - I’m dying, Towr - Trowa…” “You’re not dying, you little fool,” Rashid murmured without a trace of venom. “You’re going to be fine.” “He’s right,” Trowa agreed. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time.” “I will?” He smiled and squeezed his fingers around Quatre’s. “I promise. And I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?” Quatre’s eyes fluttered dreamily and then drifted closed. “Yer sho good to me, Trowa...s’why I love you…” Trowa blinked, shocked into silence, though it didn’t matter even if he'd had an entire speech prepared. His words would have fallen on deaf ears. “He’s out,” Sally confirmed. “It’s time. I’ll let you know when he’s in recovery, okay? Don’t worry, he’s going to be just fine.” Duo clamped a hand over his shoulder which helped calm the panic swelling inside his chest. Had Quatre really meant that, or was it just the drugs talking? Duo caught the stunned look on his face and snorted. “I don’t know why you look like a deer in the headlights. Blondie’s crush on you is so painfully obvious, a blind man could see it from space.” Trowa’s eyes were glued to Quatre’s gurney, unable to look away until it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. “I...how?” “You know, for an infiltrator, your powers of observation are for shit.” “Who else knew about this?” “Are you kidding? Even Fei pulled his head out of his butt long enough to notice.” Trowa slapped a hand over his face and groaned. “I feel so stupid.” His friend chuckled and gave his back a hearty slap. “Don’t sweat it, buddy. When it comes to true wuv, we are often oblivious unless someone decides to spell it out for us, preferably with a bullhorn.” “Are you speaking from experience?” “What, me? Hell, no! I am impervious.” Trowa gave him a dubious look, but chose not to dignify that with a response. “It’s not that I didn’t notice. It’s just that...well, I thought I was imagining it.” “You mean like, wishful thinking?” “I...guess. I don’t know, I - for some reason, I thought it was just because he felt sorry for me.” Duo let out a low whistle. “Man, you, Fei, and Heero need to work on your social skills because this is just sad. Hell, I had to tell Heero over a dozen times that Relena was only acting weird because she was hot for his Spandex. The first five, or six times, he just gave me this blank ‘does not compute’ look. I even had to bust out my old Etch A Sketch for a little visual help.” “Please don’t tell me you drew obscene genitalia on that thing.” “Well, he had to get the point somehow.” “Jesus, I’m not that bad, am I?” “Naw,” Duo assured him. “You’re a little thick, but not a complete head case. I have the utmost faith in you.” “Thanks.” “Quat’s one of those people who you never have to guess how he feels about you. The kid’s an open book and that’s hella rare these days. He don’t give a shit. Neither should you.” Trowa glanced over at him and smiled. “You’re right.” “I’m always right,” Duo joked, giving him a playful punch on his arm. “Now, if you’re done having an existential crisis, I’m going to head down to the cafeteria and grab a bite. You want?” “No, but thank you. My stomach can’t really handle food right now. I’m just going to hang around here and wait for news on Quat.” “Suit yourself. Buzz me when you get an update. I can’t let the opportunity to raz Blondie about his meltdown just slip through my fingers.” “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” Duo sighed and turned away. “If only I’d had a cellphone to record it. You know how many hits that would get on MeTube?” Trowa silently thanked the gods that he didn’t have a phone on him, or else he might have had to pry Quatre’s fingers from his neck with a crowbar once he found out. That ‘open book’ shit was a double-edged sword. Pun definitely intended.
End.
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