Anathema
Chapter 1 of 3: The Hospital
A/N: Hi, everyone! So, it's Friday and here's a fic! This is a little something I write as a warm up or palette cleanser. No betas, at least not yet.
If you enjoy it, please comment. Comments make my days better!
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When Trowa entered the room, all conversation stopped. He'd expected that, but it didn't make it any less tense. Of course, tension was probably a normal reaction when someone barged into your hospital room after two years of strict non-response to any form of communication. He couldn't really blame them. The sterile fluorescent light and sharp tang of antiseptic was doing nothing to ease the situation, either. Hospitals had always put him on edge; an added sense of dread didn't help. The headcount was three, not including himself: one disgruntled Preventer at the foot of the bed, one sleep deprived mechanic in the visitor's chair, and one battered blond propped up in the bed. He swept the room, empty second bed and all, then settled his hard gaze on Quatre.
"Trowa," Quatre blurted with a slight blush, like a child caught out of bounds. Something tightened in Trowa's chest with that look.
"We weren't expecting you, Barton," Wufei interceded. One glance told that the Chinese ex-pilot was here in a more official capacity, as well as fatigued, concerned, and not in the mood for idiocy at the moment.
He bit back all the snide comments that leapt to mind and cut to the chase, "Heero?"
"Surgery," Wufei grunted.
He didn't let his surprise show, "Again?"
"Still," the Preventer corrected, crisp pronunciation a clear sign of displeasure.
He found himself nodding. That made it close to ten and a half hours. Not a good sign. He filed that away before shifting his gaze to Quatre once again.
The blond blinked back at him for a few long moments before realizing what he was waiting for, "I- I'm fine."
"No, you're not," Duo growled, finally joining the conversation, though keeping bloodshot eyes on the floor. "Broken ribs, a collapsed lung, shattered ankle. I'd say you're pretty fucking far from 'fine'."
Quatre sighed, "A little rest and I'll be fine."
"Right, Q," the braided man drawled, finally shifting a venomous glare to the blond, "And I'm sure 'Ro'll be doing back flips in no time. If you two-"
"Don't even start that," Quatre sliced in effortlessly.
Wufei sighed, "Both of you stop. I need to finish taking your statement, Winner."
"Screw you, Fei," the American shot back, apparently sinking into a fouler mood, "This is as much your fault as mine. I told you where to find me if you absolutely needed to and you forked it over to team blue eyes faster than a two dollar whore drops trou."
Wufei gnashed his teeth, but apart from some concentrated seething, reacted rather well to the allusion, a fact to which Trowa couldn't help arching an eyebrow. Apparently, law enforcement, or something else, had mellowed Chang, who would've guessed. The Chinese man even managed to grind out a reply, "Yuy works for Preventer's also, Maxwell."
"Worked. Past tense. As in: Yuy worked for Preventer's when he was alive," Duo snarled back, "And don't give me that shit. You knew exactly what those two would do with that information, hence why I gave it to you. Guess I overestimated that stick up your ass."
"Perhaps if you hadn't run out on your partner like some idiotic little girl, I would have respected your wishes," Wufei scowled in distaste.
Duo bolted out of his chair, "I left because I had to! If you'd respected my fucking wishes, Heero wouldn't be dying on some god damned L2 operating table right now!"
Quatre cleared his throat, "Heero is not dead. Wufei was not wrong to give us your location. And it was not your fault the shuttle malfunctioned."
"Yes, it was," Trowa's soft tone swept in, pouncing on his chance. All eyes were on him and he was relatively satisfied with the various levels of shock. Duo was most extreme, though Quatre's rapid blinks were possibly the most amusing.
Wufei, as usual, was the most pragmatic, "Come again?"
"It was Duo's fault," Trowa clarified, though only just barely. Reactions this telling were too good to waste, after all. Duo had just stopped, frozen as though he'd been hit by something heavy and invisible. Wufei was eying him, willing to hear him out, but equally willing to kill him afterward if he didn't like what was said.
Pure, simple indignation was rolling off Quatre, "W- what? How- how could...? What is wrong with you, Trowa! By Allah, you can't be serious! You cannot be standing there, after two years, and saying-"
"Lay back, Winner," Wufei, who had stepped around the bedside, pushed the red faced blond back by his good shoulder when he started to wheeze. Bells on monitors had been going off. A nurse bustled in, shooting apprehensive glares between the two standing men. Duo had sunk slowly back into his chair, apparently stunned, unfocused. Trowa waited, hatches battened, for the inevitable calm. Once Quatre was breathing regularly once more, Wufei turned sharp obsidian eyes on the taller man, "Perhaps we should get some coffee."
They ducked out of the room, but not before Trowa received one more accusing stare from Quatre. In the relative openness of the hospital hallway, he sighed internally and let his heart untwist a bit before facing Wufei.
The Chinese Preventer had placed himself directly in front of the hospital room door and was busy breaking him down, bit by bit. Weighing, judging. Wufei never had made much of a secret of his judgmental nature. Flaunted it, some might say, actually. And it had served him well, with some few key exceptions. Dark eyes gauged the two years difference in him, extrapolated and made allowances. Yet once again, Trowa found himself noting a thaw in the Preventer. A subtle smoothing. Wufei cocked his head slightly to the side and actually spoke, "Alright, Barton. You have five minutes. Explain and make it good."
He took a very deep breath. "This is going to sound strange, just let me say it."
"Four forty-five," Wufei replied mildly.
"Duo's always been on his own. Distrustful, self-sufficient. Always something in the back of his head. But he falls in with a crowd, or ends up somewhere for a while. They take him in because he's not a bad guy and he takes care of himself. It's fine. Until he starts to get comfortable. Until he gets attached, really attached. Then they die. All of them die, except him. Happens each time. He's young, so probably less than four. More than once. And that thing in the back of his head becomes a thought, a word. Gains power."
Wufei was frowning at him, "What are you saying? Where are you getting this? Did Maxwell tell you about his past?"
"No. It's the standard pattern. It's something that he bears. He is." Trowa licked his lips, eyes darting briefly back into the room.
"Well," Wufei huffed in flat impatience, "What is he?"
"A curse." A husky voice growled lowly from the room behind him. Wufei pivoted to find a ghoulish Duo leaning against the door frame, tired, defeated. Glaring, daring with hopeless eyes. "I'm cursed and that's why they all die. I don't, they do."
"Cursed?" The Preventer snorted, unconvinced. From his periphery, Trowa could see Wufei glancing back and forth between them, but he was immediately focused on blue eyes with swirling violet undertones. A shiver shot up his spine to which he denied any reaction. He maintained an even, steady gaze and a strict neutrality, just like with the lions. Only more so.
"It's true, isn't it," Duo pressed, "I've always felt it, but it's really true."
Finally, Trowa allowed himself a single slow nod. He watched something shatter in large blue eyes, which he figured for either the last vestiges of hope or sanity. Didn't really matter which. The braided man silently wandered back into the room, offering Quatre a beaming smile and no mirth.
Wufei still had him pinned under a look he hadn't seen in a while, vintage early war Wufei, "How could you possibly know?"
The taller ex-pilot was surprised that it had been his Chinese comrade who questioned his sources instead of simply laughing it off. He'd taken Wufei as more of a skeptic. He noted this duly while answering, "I'm Roma. A Chovihano, a healer. I can see it."