Rub Me the Right Way
Written By: HellQuat
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any GW characters. I am but a simple GW addict with a passion for writing fictional stories. Please don't sue me. I cannot afford to be broke. Thank you.
Pairing: 3x4 eventually
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: This is for anyone who reads my fic. I reposted this chapter because I realized that I made a really stupid spelling error. Next times I right that Trowa is "spaying" the dishes, please tell me 'cause that's just wrong.
Chapter Ten
Life and Death
Work was the same as usual. Trowa first sprayed the dishes, then loaded the dishes, then shoved the dishes into the industrial sized washer. God it was boring and just when he thought he was done, another bus cart would mysteriously appear. Trowa groaned and removed one of the dish-filled tubs from the cart to begin the whole process over again. He filled another rack with dishes before lifting the handle on the washer. He shoved the rack of dirty dishes in, forcing the clean dishes out the other side. He then pulled the handle back down starting the machine yet again.
It was after lunch at this point, about one o'clock, and there weren't many residents left in the dinning room. Only the stragglers stayed behind now. Unfortunately, a lack of residents did not mean a lack of dishes. It was a grueling task but it paid more than a server's position. Trowa had gone into one of his zones again in order to block out his boring surroundings. He would be off at two thirty and that would give him just enough time to pick up Andy for his doctor's appointment.
At least he wouldn't have to worry about his cousin being molested by the doctor since he was the boy's legal guardian and could be present during the visit. It was Andy's choice of course but Trowa had never had a problem convincing Andy to let him come into the doctor's office with him. He would never tell him why all he would say was, "If you don't mind, I'm going to go in with you so I can hear what the doctor has to say also." That usually worked well. This time, though, Trowa was certain he would be able to join his cousin given the circumstances. This was no common cold after all; the boy would probably want someone to be there with him simply because he could barely hold his own head up. In a case like this one, Andy would probable want his cousin there simply for comfort.
"I wonder how he's doing right now," he mumbled to himself.
"Trowa!"
Trowa snapped out of his trance and looked to see the new girl, Heather standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking slightly pale. "Yeah?"
"Trowa, is Treiz in here?" she asked.
"N- no. Why?"
"Is the cook in here?"
"No. I'm the only one here right now. What's the matter?"
She hesitated then looked out into the dinning room at one of the residents sitting next to the window by himself. He was a well known old fellow named Georgey. He was a hundred and five but still had quite a bit of hair and all of his wits about him. Nothing like the folks behind the doors of the memory care unit. Most of them were three sheets to the wind.
Trowa smiled. "Did he rope you into one of his riveting tails of love, marriage, and masturbation again? You can't hold it against him. It's been decades since he's had any action, he's gotta tell somebody about his trysts with some of the thirties' finest broads."
"What? No, Trowa look at him!"
Trowa glanced one more time at the lone old timer. His slumped position did look unusual for Georgey. Trowa stepped out of the kitchen quietly. Something wasn't right. There were a couple old ladies sitting at a six top on the other side of the room a two servers cleaning up dishes at a table not far from them; the only commotion in the dinning room. Trowa continued his way across the room toward the stooped over Georgey, careful not to draw attention to the situation. He knelt down next to the shriveled old man and looked toward the profile of his drooping face. He seemed to have dozed off.
"Georgey?" He asked calmly but not too softly. If the man was asleep he wanted to wake him up carefully. Georgey didn't move at all. His head stayed facing down and his eyes closed. Trowa hesitated then shook his shoulder gently. "Georgey?" he repeated. The man still did not answer.
"Trowa…" Heather whispered shakily.
Trowa felt the man's cheek which was tepid but not warm. He placed his hand in front of his mouth and nose and waited to feel a warm breath of air on his palm. After about a minute, however; it was apparent that the man wasn't breathing. Trowa hesitated once more before placing his index and middle finger against his neck trying to find a pulse. He waited an eternity trying different spots but couldn't feel even the slightest throbbing.
Trowa gave up. He turned away to look toward the girl. He shook his head slightly at her. She placed her hand in front of her mouth. She was saddened and slightly shocked but careful not to make a scene. Trowa backed away from the lifeless Georgey and stood in front of Heather.
"What should we do?" she asked him.
He wasn't quick to respond though. He had to consider the circumstances before drawing any conclusion. He looked across the room at the other two servers and the old ladies at the six top.
"Heather, go to the receptionist and ask her to call two nurses to remove the stragglers from the dinning room then explain to her the situation and have her call 911," He said calmly.
The girl nodded frantically and dashed off toward the front desk. Trowa didn't move for a long time he just stood and stared at the deceased old timer contemplating the situation. It was indeed sad but unfortunately it was part of his job. He was well aware that the residents were people who were on their last legs. Their children dumped them in care facilities to take the burden off themselves, they brought them there to die, they brought them there because they just couldn't be there for them every waking moment, and they put them there because they couldn't stand them, hated them, and just didn't care. There were many reasons why the residents came to live there and some came of their own accord. They came to make friends, they came to rid themselves of their responsibilities, and they came because they had nobody else to turn to. That was Georgey's case. He was an old man who couldn't take care of himself anymore and had absolutely no one else to look after him. But the man was filthy rich, he could afford it.
Trowa felt like he should have seen it coming though. After hearing about Georgey's cancer everyone expected he would keel over within the next few weeks but to their surprise he hung around for the next six months or so. Trowa had heard that Georgey ponyed up seventy thousand dollars for the employee Christmas fund so everyone got a huge bonus in December. It seemed strange that anyone with that kind of money would just donate it but it made since now. Georgey must have known that his time was short and having no wife, no children, and no living relatives, he decided he would give it to the people who took care of him during his last years of life. It all made perfect sense. Why hadn't he realized this before?
Trowa looked over to see two nurses escorting the last two residents out of the dinning room and felt relieved that they wouldn't have to see Georgey get wheeled out on a stretcher. It wasn't long before the faint sound of sirens could be heard in the background. They got louder and louder with each passing moment until they were right outside the front doors. He decided it would probably be better if he backed away from the lifeless Georgey; the paramedics would be in the building soon and he would only be in their way if stayed where he was. He went to lean against the wall outside the kitchen. Heather soon came back and stood next to him. They both watched quietly as three paramedics walked past with the stretcher.
Trowa stood with a vacant stare as he watched. Heather blinked back a few tears. Trowa looked over at her feeling bad. He was no seasoned veteran to this sort of thing but he was well away of the negative aspects of working at a retirement home. Heather, on the other hand, was more or less a rookie. Not to mention that being female, she was much more sensitive in these tender situations. He wanted to be a gentleman and comfort her but was not sure if that was an appropriate thing to do in the workplace. He had work to do anyway. He needed to hurry and finish up so that he could leave in time to take Andy to the doctor's.
With a soft sigh Trowa turned around and went back into the kitchen. Heather looked after him as the door closed behind him. Trowa began to spray off the dishes again when Heather once more appeared next to him.
"You're just gonna go back to work now?" she asked.
He stopped and looked at her for a moment not sure why she had asked that. "What else would I do at work?"
"Trowa, that man just died. Don't you feel even the slightest bit sympathetic?"
"Yeah, it upsets me. I liked Georgey. I can't sit there all day and mourn though."
"You sure don't seem to care very much right now."
"What?"
"You just left and went back to work like nothing even happened."
"Yeah well I have some place I need to be today which means I have to leave on time. I can't stay in there and be sad, I have work to do. I'm upset but that's no excuse for me to stop doing my job."
"So washing the dishes is more important than Georgey, is that what you're saying."
"Georgey is dead," Trowa snapped.
There was silence for a moment as they stared at one another. Trowa took the sprayer and began rinsing a plate. "There's nothing we can do about that," he finished.
"Have you seen people die here before Trowa?" Heather asked softly.
Trowa paused then said, "Yeah, once." He sent more dishes through the machine. "Her name was Mary. She was really sweet. She was legally blind and needed somebody to escort her to the salad bar at lunch. She always ordered peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches. I was fond of her 'cause she always told me how much she appreciated my work. She said that to everybody. Just little thing like that that kinda make you feel good about yourself and brighten you day. Everybody loved her here so we were all really sad when she passed away. But that didn't stop us from working. We need to keep working because we still have other residents to care for. Their quality of life depends on us. The dead don't need to be cared for they're dead."
Heather lowered her head. "So we just go on with our lives then?"
"Yup. It's all part of our job unfortunately."
There was silence again and this time the conversation was ended. Heather wandered off somewhere, she probably went to watch the paramedics. Trowa finished up at two fifteen and decided to leave early. He wanted to get home as soon as he possibly could to take Andy to his doctor's appointment. Andy would be sad when he heard what happened to old Georgey. The two had only met once but the boy clung to the old man like glue and loved to hear him go on about the dust bowl, the great depression, and presidential scandals of the early nineteen hundreds. The man was after all a walking history book only a hundred times more entertaining as history books aren't biased and definitely don't exhibit information of sexy dancing girls and old cathouses, nor do they speak for themselves. Georgey would be missed dreadfully.
Trowa pulled up in front of the house and turned the car off. He had expected to see his cousin on the couch watching cartoon when he entered the house but instead saw nobody. "Andy? Quatre?"
Suddenly the slight genie appeared from behind Andy's bedroom door. He said nothing only motioned with his hand for the man to come upstairs. Trowa did so and when he reached the landing he asked softly, "How is he?"
"He's sleeping," replied the genie.
Trowa peaked into the room to see the boy sprawled out on his stomach on top of the covers.
"Is he any better than this morning?" Trowa whispered.
Quatre shook his head and frowned. Trowa groaned on behalf of the sleeping boy. The two of them entered the room, walking toward the bed. Trowa knelt down and gently wiped away the sweat from Andy's brow. The boy blinked a couple of times as he regained consciousness.
"Andy, are you ready to go to the doctor's?" Trowa asked.
The boy nodded and whimpered something similar to "Uh-huh." He sat up slowly and groaned. His head drooped and his shoulders slumped forward. "I'm dizzy," he rasped.
Trowa sat down on the edge of the bed and put one hand against his back and the other under his knees then lifted him up. Andy relaxed setting his head against his cousin's shoulder as he was carried out of his room and down the stairs. When they reached the driveway Quatre opened the car door so Trowa could lay Andy along the back seat.
Quatre watched while the car backed onto the street and drove away. For a moment, he stood, just watching then he closed his eyes and lowered his head as if praying for the recovery of his young master.
Trowa drove at a fast pace but not with reckless ambition. With Andy unbuckled and strewed out across the back seat, he had to be extremely careful. Being so cautious and alert during the drive made him sigh with relief when he finally reached the hospital parking lot. Andy sat up with a faint groan and looked out the window. Trowa had already gotten out and opened the back door for him. It seemed to happen in the blink of an eye; in fact the whole drive seemed like a perplexing blur to the debilitated boy. Suddenly the back door was open and his cousin was staring down at him.
"Andy? Can you walk? Do I need to carry you again?"
The boy shook his head. "No. It's okay. I'm not dizzy anymore."
They walked in together, apparently. Unfortunately that too was a blur. Andy's hazy mind skipped the waiting process all together and the next thing he knew he was sitting on a sterile table with his cousin sitting in a chair next to him. The boy wasn't wearing his shirt. Had the nurse already weighed him and taken his blood pressure? Was he even awake during all this? Maybe he had dozed off. In any case, he felt like he was about to dose off for real when he heard the office door open then shut again. When he looked up again he saw the doctor and Trowa shaking hands.
"Hello, I'm Doctor Murch. You must be Trowa."
"Yes, and this is my cousin, Andy."
The doctor turned his attention to the pale boy.
"Ah yes, Andy. Looks as though we're feeling a little under the weather today. What seems to be the problem?"
Andy stared blankly at the man in the white lab coat as if he had forgotten his voice.
"He woke up feeling really sick this morning. He complained of being dizzy, having aches and pains, sore throat, and he's also been wheezing and coughing a lot," Trowa answered for him.
"Ah. That sounds like you may have an upper respiratory infection. Do you mind if I take a listen?"
Again, Andy didn't answer, he could barely keep his head up. He felt like he had been sedated; he was feeling extremely lethargic and tired. He also felt dizzy again. As the doctor reached out with his stethoscope Andy simply fell sideways on the table and passed out. For a few brief moments he could hear panicked shuffles and his cousin's voice urgently calling out to him. His eyelids fluttered a couple times and he could vaguely see Trowa looking down at him shouting. Why did he sound so far away? His eyes closed once again and he listened to the two men talking for only a few more seconds.
"Andy!"
"Mr. Barton, please stand back."
"Oh God. Don't do this to me Andy!"
"Mr. Ba….Please…...alm."
"…t's my cousin!"
Andy wanted so badly to say "Trowa, it's okay. Don't worry," But he couldn't. The voices got quieter and quieter until finally they could be heard no longer. Andy completely blacked out then. He couldn't hear, feel or understand anything any longer and he thought, Is this death?
After what seemed like only a few seconds Andy's eyes reopened. He was laying on his back staring up at a ceiling. He moved his head to from side to side trying to figure out where he was. To his left was a floral curtain held to a rod by metal rings. To his right was a table, a wall, and a small window. Andy groaned as he pulled himself up. He stopped suddenly; something was weighing down his leg. He looked down to see Trowa leaning over the bed with his head in his arms on top of Andy's knee. It took him a moment to remember what had happened. That's right, he had passed out and now he was in a hospital bed recovering. At least he felt better than he had when he passed out.
"Master Andy," came a soft voice.
The boy looked to the far end of the small area to see Quatre getting out of a wooden chair and coming over to his side.
"Thank goodness, we were so worried about you. How are you feeling?"
"Oh, okay I guess."
The genie looked away frowning. "This is my fault. Because I didn't feed you anything, you had no energy and fainted."
"It's not your fault. You asked me and I told you I wasn't hungry."
"I know but…"
"Quatre, don't worry about it, okay? I'm fine now. There's nothing to worry about."
"Mmmmph…"
Andy looked down and saw Trowa stir and lift his head. "Andy?"
The boy smiled as Trowa looked up at him. Trowa stood up and hugged his cousin tight. "You scared the hell out of me," Trowa almost whimpered.
"I'm sorry," Andy said softly.
Trowa let go. "How do you feel?"
"Okay."
"The doctor said you had pneumonia again and treated you with antibiotics. You should be all better in about a week and since you're awake we can go home today."
"That's great ha Quat—re?" Andy said as he looked over to Quatre, surprised to find that he had disappeared. He turned back to Trowa. "Where'd he go? He was here a minute ago."
Trowa frowned. "Quatre's not here Andy."
"He was just before you woke up."
"Sometimes when you come out of a fainting spell, your mind plays trick on you."
Andy looked once more at the spot where Quatre was standing. He pouted. "I guess it was just my imagination."
Trowa looked down. He glared at the bed then looked back at Andy and smiled.
The automatic doors to the hospital lobby slid open as a slight blonde male walked out into the parking lot, his head held low. He looked into the window at the far end of the building and saw Trowa sitting with Andy talking and smiling. He turned away feeling tears swell in his large blue eyes. A small drop of salt water slipped out and splashed on the pavement.
"Mr. Barton, it seems a lack of sustenance is the reason Andy fainted. We treated his pneumonia but he will need to eat soon after he regains consciousness."
"Thank you," Trowa whispered.
The doctor left the room. Trowa entered behind the curtain to where Quatre was sitting next to Andy.
"Quatre, didn't you feed Andy?"
"No, I tried to but…"
Trowa smiled wryly and shook his head at the situation. "Great. That's just great. I trust you to take care of him and this is what happens. I knew I should have stayed home from work and taken care of him myself."
"Master, I tried to…"
"What do you mean you tried? It's simple, just feed him. If you had just done that, this never would have happened. He's sick Quatre, he has pneumonia. Do you realize he could die from that alone? What were you thinking!"
Quatre looked away guiltily. "I'm so sorry."
"You're sorry. Do you think that's enough? Why don't you tell him that? It's your fault he's like this!"
Quatre tried his best not to cry but he didn't know what else to do. Trowa was right. This was all his fault. He felt terrible. It wasn't that he didn't care for Andy, that definitely wasn't the case. He cared more about both his masters than anything else but unfortunately, being a genie, he couldn't force anything upon either of them. Even if their desires didn't fit their needs. All the genie could think about was that Andy might have died and it would be all his fault. How would he be able to live knowing that?
It was nine o' clock in the evening by now. Trowa leaned over the boy on the bed with his arms folded to form a pillow for his head. He lowered his head down to rest his forehead on his hands. "I'm going to get some rest. I don't want to see you here when I wake up." He paused.
Quatre nodded as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"We'll discuss this more later."
Trowa turned his head the other way as a sign that the discussion was now closed.
Quatre wiped his eyes on his sleeve then shoved his hands in his pockets. He began to walk. He could have just evaporated and drifted back to the house but he felt more like walking. He needed to do a lot of thinking besides that, he felt he needed to punish himself for being so irresponsible. He lowered his head hoping passersby wouldn't notice that he was crying. He walked slowly dragging his feet. He began to wonder what would happen when Trowa got home. Would he even let him stay? Would Quatre end up alone and homeless? Would Trowa beat him black and blue? Would he put him back in the lamp and never let him out again? That last possibility seemed like the worst punishment he could receive. He could hardly imagine not seeing his two masters ever again. Despite the hurtful things Trowa had said the night before, Quatre didn't think badly of the man; he was just concerned for his cousin's well being. He had every right to be angry and Quatre vowed that he would do whatever it took to atone for his reckless deed.