by Alleyprowler
December 23, AC 199
Duo Maxwell is insufferable when he's had a massive dose of sugar, caffeine, and holiday cheer. He started out the day with coffee, then he proceeded to devour the cookies he had forced Trowa to help him bake, then he bounded off to decorate the poor fir tree. I could not bear to watch.
Instead, I got into my car and prepared to speed off to the hospital. Even a suicidally depressed Gundam pilot would be a relief after that. Before I could take off, though, the passenger door opened and Trowa slipped into the shotgun seat. He had a duffel bag in his hand and he appeared to be grinding his teeth.
"Are you sure, Tro?" I asked.
"I just want to see if his rash has cleared up," he said in that low, cool voice that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I could not suppress a chuckle. "I'm sure that Heero has intimidated enough nurses to ensure that Quatre is under the best of care."
"...and I can't stand another minute in that house with Duo." He snapped his shoulder harness into place with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.
"Understood."
As soon as we arrived at the hospital, Trowa draped himself over the small sofa in Quatre's room and proceeded to catnap. Quatre, who was sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed reading a tattered paperback, threw me a questioning look.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "Duo. Coffee. Sweets. Christmas tree." I said, putting a forced note of weariness into my voice. Quatre reacted to my theatrics by letting the corners of his mouth twitch up for a moment in the barest hint of a smile. I took that as a sign that he was willing to let his guard down a bit, and I took his chin in my hand. "Let me see your head."
I'd like to think that Quatre trusts me at this time because he senses that I am an honorable man, but that would be flattering myself. It's because, of the four of us, Quatre has had the least emotional involvement from me. Trowa, Duo, and Heero had all, at one point or another, made friends with him during the war, and had maintained that friendship in the years afterward, but I, ever the solitary one, had always kept myself at a slight distance from him. I believed it was necessary. My personality can be a bit, well, abrasive at times ("you're a goddamn grouch, Wufei," I hear the echo of Trowa's voice in my head), and I'd always been afraid I would somehow hurt Quatre if I tried to get close to him. It had never occurred to me that I was hurting him even more by keeping my distance.
"It's still red," I said after I'd examined the irritated patch of skin over his ear. "Does it hurt? Itch? Anything?"
"No, it's not like that," he said, and his voice trailed off as if he was hunting for words. "It bothers me, which is why I keep scratching at it, but it's not a physical thing."
"I don't understand."
"There's something there, Wufei. Something weird."
I looked at the rash closely, combing through his pale hair with my fingers. I saw a faint white line on his skin. "Winner, how did you get that scar there?" I asked.
"Scar?"
"Right here." I traced the neat line with a finger. "It looks like a surgical scar. Have you ever had a head injury that required surgery?"
"No, not that I'm aware of."
I didn't like that scar. There was something sinister about it. I'm not really given to premonitions; I'm just suspicious about head injuries in general. "I think someone needs to take a look at this," I said. "Where do you suppose that idiot doctor of yours is?"
I didn't wait for an answer.
December 23, AC 199
My stomach hurts. Wufei has absolutely no sympathy for me and will only give me his 'I told you so' smirk when I complain. Some lover he is. We'll see if he gets any for the next week.
It's all Duo's fault. He's gotten over being angry with Quatre and insisted that I take him a big tin of cookies when Wufei and I went to visit him this morning. His reasoning was that Quatre needed to gain a bit of weight in order to be released and that Christmas cookies were the most sure-fire way of accomplishing that goal, and I didn't have the presence of mind to argue with him. Duo had slurped down all the coffee and I'm afraid my brain wasn't firing on all cylinders.
When we got to the hospital, Wufei immediately went about intimidating the medical staff about his test results and I was left alone with Quatre in his bare, sterile room. I felt a bit uncomfortable. Quatre was silent and stiff on his bed, and he refused to look at me. He held his black-braced wrist to his chest as if he was in pain--and he probably was--but he didn't let his face slip out of its neutral mask.
I opened the tin of cookies and used the lid to waft the scent of baked goodies into his nose. He didn't flinch. I selected a cookie. "Hm, cherry-coconut bar." I said before I bit into the gooey thing. He just closed his eyes. "Pecan snowball." I narrated as I continued to eat. "Gingersnap. Oatmeal butterscotch chip. Anatomically correct gingerbread man." For the record, that was Duo's idea, not mine. "Lemon shortbread. Peanut butter. Rum balls. Jam thumbprint."
He had started to crack at the oatmeal butterscotch chip stage, and by the time I got to the rum balls, he was practically drooling on the pillow. Finally he held out his uninjured hand in an unspoken plea and I dumped the tin in his lap and undid the top button of my jeans. I don't know how Duo does it. All that sugar was already beginning to make its unwelcome presence known in my stomach, and I only hoped I wouldn't puke all over Quatre's bed.
Quatre had barely gotten through half of a gingersnap before Wufei came barreling in, fresh from his daily harassment of the nurses. He's so cute when he's mad. "Trowa, why are you letting him eat that crap?" He demanded when he saw the cookie in Quatre's hand.
"Because he needs to eat something, and the stuff they are trying to feed him hardly qualifies as food." I still remembered the mystery meat, soggy vegetables, and fluorescent green jell-o that Quatre had quite wisely refused to touch when if was offered him for lunch.
Wufei rolled his eyes and took the cookie tin away from Quatre. "You can have these after you've eaten something decent, Winner."
Quatre held the half-eaten gingersnap to his chest as if he was afraid that Wufei would take that away too. "Well, Trowa's not too far off the mark about the food," he said sullenly. Yeah, he'll talk to Wufei but not to me. I won't pretend it doesn't hurt. "And I'm not allowed to leave the ward, so I can't even go to the cafeteria."
"You may not be allowed to leave, but we are. What can we get you?"
"Something edible."
Wufei just rolled his eyes at that remark. Quatre is the absolute master of non-answers. I don't know if it's a technique he picked up from his father or from Instructor H, but woe be unto the poor sucker who ever tried to get information out of him when he didn't want to give it.
"There's a pretty decent Indian restaurant across the street, 'Fei," I said, hoping to bail him out. "As I recall, Quatre is partial to saag paneer and garlic naan."
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Then why don't you go fetch him some?" He whisked his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it into my lap. "I have a certain doctor to find and possibly throttle. Oh, and get me an order of lamb vindaloo, if you don't mind," he said, and strode out of the room.
There was no use arguing, so I got up and stuffed the wallet into my jacket. The things I do for loved ones!
December 23, AC 199
I finally got that idiot doctor to agree to examine Quatre's head thoroughly--today. Not after Christmas, not tomorrow morning, but Right. Fucking. Now. There are times that I really wish that I hadn't had to destroy Nataku.
Trowa drove us home. He said I was way too wound up to drive, and perhaps he was right, but dammit! I fought too hard and gave up too much to let anyone jeopardize the family that I now have with my fellow warriors.
This is possibly the strangest battle I have ever taken on, but I will win it.