At The End of the Day
~ Chapter Thirty-Seven
January 10, AC214
- Four Seasons Hotel L3, Colony L3-X18999
Trowa came as soon as he heard. He was surprised more than anything. It had only been a week since he last saw him. A week was all it took for Quatre to break down and from the sound of Heero's voice, it was serious. Trowa was told to go immediately to the Four Seasons Hotel in L3, a couple of blocks from where he lived, where Wufei would be waiting to send him up to the suites.
Quatre being away from L4 was not uncommon as he traveled frequently for meetings and conferences, but being in their sector of L3 was a rare occurrence since there was not much business going on in the area. What Quatre was doing there was a mystery to him and what was happening as he rushed out of his barely parked car, he could only imagine.
Well-polished bellboys greeted him as he entered, but he did not take notice of their courteous greetings when he ran past them to the suite elevators at the end of the lobby. Wufei was waiting there, his body blocking the elevator buttons to the special floors as if making sure that nobody dared cross the threshold without asking his permission first.
"What happened?" he asked, coming to a running stop in front of him.
Wufei did not waste time explaining. He immediately pushed the button to the topmost floor and instructed him to hurry.
"I'll take care of things down here," he said as the doors closed. "I'll stall the paramedics as long as I can."
'Paramedics' was not the word Trowa wanted to hear because paramedics coupled with breakdown meant that Quatre would end up in a hospital and again under L4's jurisdiction while he was not in his right mind. He'd just gotten him out of a mental facility on Earth and without the influence of Dorothy, that had not been easy. He was hoping that he would not have to deal with L4's shenanigans again.
Several thoughts passed Trowa's mind in an attempt to figure out the best way to get L4's politicians out of the picture when the almost imperceptible 'ding' of the elevator informed him that he was at the top floor. Martin was the first thing he saw when the doors opened, standing guard over the massive double doors behind him. Quatre's bodyguard looked serious as he resolutely watched over the territory.
Trowa did not have to ask the bodyguard to step aside. Before he could ask, Martin was already sliding his key through the pad to open the door for him.
What greeted Trowa as soon as he entered was a horrifying sound. Quatre's hysterical screams could be heard throughout the entire two floors of the opulent suite. On the other hand, there was a musician in the living room before him, snorting white powder from the table top as if nothing was happening around him. He looked out of it as he delicately divided and lined up fine, white particles into rows before snorting and savoring them one row at a time.
"Where is he?" Trowa questioned. He had no time to deal with Quatre's current boyfriend. Questioning him on his illegal pastime, at that point, was a waste of time. He could deal with all of it later. At the moment, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
"The lad is insane," the singer said with a laugh. Trowa dearly hoped Quatre was not doing these kinds of drugs because his pill popping was bad enough already.
"I know, but where is he," Trowa repeated, hoping to get a more sensible response out of him.
"We were having such a jolly night and he ends it with this," Aldridge continued his rambling. "Nobody warned me I'd have to deal with this in exchange for that smoking hot sex drive."
Trowa did not want to hear all this. In fact, he really didn't need to, but there it was, being blasted into his ears along with Quatre's screams.
"Where is he?" Trowa repeated for the third time while checking every room on the first floor.
"We were out having some fun. He's fun when he's crazy then all of a sudden reads this one note and gets a screw lose."
"Heero," Trowa decided to scream instead since he was getting nowhere with this guy.
"Second floor, third room from the right staircase," Heero responded.
Trowa entered into a scene that was nothing less than gruesome. A broken, bloody violin was on the floor with only its handle atop the mattress where Quatre and Heero were. Quatre was sitting in the middle of the bed with Heero behind him, holding his arms down. Quatre's shirt was soaked in blood, his stomach apparently punctured by the serrated handle of the broken violin. Last time, they'd assumed that he might have been trying to kill himself. This time, it looked like he really was.
"Why," was all Trowa could get out of his mouth. Had things gotten that bad over the years without him noticing? Quatre looked like he desperately wanted to stab himself again.
He continued to scream, struggling violently in Heero's hold. At least they were both confident that Heero could easily hold him down.
"I'm not sure how many times he managed to stab himself before I got here," Heero said.
"How did you-"
"Guy downstairs called," Heero responded. "He didn't call the paramedics, but Wufei gave me exactly fifteen minutes warning that he was going to after seeing this. That was ten minutes ago. There's no arguing with him, so they'll be here soon enough and when they see him like this, it's straight to another mental facility for him."
"We can't let them have him," Trowa said immediately. He really didn't know what to do given the situation, but L4 was not having Quatre like this if they could help it. "And there are illegal drugs downstairs. Can't you do something?"
"If you hand me a needle and his blood type then maybe I could work something out," Heero said, a bit irritated. "But that's not what I need right now. What I need for you to do is calm him down so he doesn't tear the wounds more open than he already has. We also need him reasonably sane when they come."
"How are you expecting me to achieve that?" Trowa said with a bit of panic. That's all he was there to do? Talk him back to sanity?
"You've done it once before. Take a crack at it now."
Trowa honestly did not like getting shot with Wing Zero's gattling gun and he doubted that he was going to get hit again, but they were almost the same circumstance.
"This is not the time to lose your confidence."
"You need to tell me what I'm dealing with here," Trowa said. He stood stock still where he was. He couldn't believe this was happening - again. Seeing Quatre stabbed in the stomach the first time was hard enough, but this time, not only was it the same wound done repeatedly, he'd done it to himself too.
"Croc's gotten out," Heero explained. "And left him a note."
Trowa's blood ran cold. This was his mistake from years ago. Whatever happened was so severe that Quatre would rather die than deal with it again. He didn't know enough - never knew enough, but he would try.
"Let me take over," Trowa suggested. "And leave me alone with him for a bit."
"He's all yours," Heero said as he motioned for him to come closer since they still had to hold him down somehow. "I'm going to trust you with this, so you better not make it worse."
Heero gradually let go only when Trowa had gotten a proper position to accept the transfer. It had been more difficult than expected though Quatre should have already been weakened by the blood loss. It must have been his adrenaline, a near endless amount of adrenaline as he's witnessed during the war, which kept him violently struggling. Trowa was well aware that he could keep fighting even with a stab wound.
"I'll figure something out with Wufei," Heero said before he closed the door as somewhat of a reassurance that he would just be out the door if Trowa needed him.
"Thanks," Trowa said and then adjusted his tight hold on Quatre.
Entwining his fingers with the others', he crossed their connected hands across Quatre's chest to make sure he was prevented from grabbing anything dangerous within his grasp.
"Quatre," he said in the calmest voice he could muster given the situation and given his own fears of seeing his oldest friend the way he was. "I won't let him have you. Not again."
Quatre settled the tiniest bit in his struggle but remained relentless in his fight to break free. He let out a whimper followed by incoherent words.
"You've always been worth more to me than anything - even the innocents in that building that day I gave you away. I'm sorry I let him have you."
And that was the truth, the truth he'd kept all these years in hopes that Quatre would somehow be spared from his curse. He'd lost everything that he had since he was a child and only giving those things he cherished away guaranteed they would come to no harm. Everything he'd selfishly kept to himself, he'd lost, including his wife.
"I'm scared," were the first intelligible words out of Quatre's mouth. They came out in a whisper as if a secret he didn't want anyone to know.
Trowa had no idea how to alleviate that problem. Quatre had never admitted to being scared, not of the press and not of the insurmountable task presented before him when he first took over his father's company.
"I know, but you've got to calm down," he said.
Words did not come to Trowa easy. They never did and with Quatre, since they'd been kids, it always came out wrong. Faulty words were something he could not rely on just when his momentary captive was starting to settle down, so he simply tightened his hold and prayed that whatever he'd said thus far has worked.
"Trowa, time's up," Heero interrupted, bursting through the door too quickly. "Wufei's close to knocking some people down and getting arrested. Did it work?"
Trowa did not answer, simply held on, burying his head in the nook of Quatre's neck. Such a familiar position was soothing to him despite the smell of the blood permeating the room. He'd fallen asleep like this more than once before.
"I'll go," Quatre said suddenly, probably coming to his senses when he heard that Wufei was in trouble. His protective streak, he should have realized, was what they should have relied on. "No need to send them upstairs. I'll be at the lobby. I want you to stay here, Heero. I'll go with Martin."
Trowa jerked in surprise, but held on.
"I'm not letting you down there," he said.
It took about half a minute before Heero responded and when he did, Trowa was irritated that he did at all.
"Okay," was all he said.
Trowa was just about to start arguing with him when Quatre instructed his best friend to do the one thing he expected.
"Knock him out for me, Heero," Quatre said.
"Affirmative."
Trowa immediately went on the defensive. With a look that promised death, he warned Heero to remain where he was, but there was little he could do with his hands occupied.
"Either you let him go or I'm slugging him along with you," Heero warned.
Trowa doubted Heero would hit Quatre, but one could never really tell with him. He did what he was instructed to do without hesitation, one of the traits that earned him the nickname perfect solider.
Having no choice, Trowa let go and stood with arms up in a defensive position but still ready to strike. He was not going to be convinced that easily and he was not going to take a beating from Heero either. This was not the reason why he'd come to the hotel in the ungodly hours of the morning.
"Think about it, Trowa," Heero said, also on the defensive. "It's the best course of action. We can't treat him here. Let them have him for now. I know we've come far since the last time, but we'll start again from scratch."
"No," Trowa said with emphasis. He was not doing it, especially after he'd just told Quatre that the first time he'd done it was a mistake. He just couldn't keep on giving him away and expect him to trust him again.
Heero cracked his neck and then his knuckles.
"This is going to hurt then. Don't tell me I didn't warn you."
Before Trowa could react, Heero had already reached for the juncture between his shoulder and neck. In the brief moment before he realized that he was going to lose consciousness, he distinctly remembered Quatre pulling the same move on him once before. So Heero was the bastard that taught him that move after all.
.
January 13, AC214
- Leia Barton Memorial Hospital, Colony L3-X18999
If he was her client, she'd be charging him until he was bankrupt just because he could afford it. Not to mention he was an impossible case, almost too impossible that she'd have to change the entire political system of a colony to get him out of trouble. Keeping him in line wasn't her job. He had a publicist for that, a particularly efficient, highly paid publicist. Despite that, there were some things that could not be controlled such as what had recently transpired.
Annette walked out of her ex-husband's ICU room like she'd been running all day, which essentially was the case after arguing her point with politicians, getting official documents reviewed, stamped and signed and traveling back and forth between L4 and L3. While all this was happening, Quatre had been photographed exiting a hotel in a gurney with blood all over his hands and clothes. The paparazzi had followed him all the way to the hospital. Within minutes he was all over the internet. People had blogged about him, discussed his condition, diagnosed him and criticized him. They didn't know the situation - not really. They were not the mother of his children. They were not going to be the ones explaining to his children what happened to their father.
She was tired. She'd always been tired when she was married to him and sometimes, she thought, even more so now that they were divorced. He didn't tell her what it was about - not the reason for him going to L3 that day when he was supposed to be at their daughter's play or the reason why he had multiple, self-inflicted stab wounds on his stomach. He didn't keep much from her, so she was at a loss on why he wanted to start now. She conceded but only for the time being because she saw that he was exhausted and no amount of relentless questioning would give her the answers she wanted. At least she was able to do what she needed to do - get him out of L4's grasp for at least a few days until she figured out her next move.
Quatre had always had good foresight and as such he always calculated his moves and planned his next course of action. Today had been another off day in a string of seemingly impulsive, imprudent and faulty decision making. A quick, painful death she could understand, but for him to take the slow, painful death route by stabbing himself in the stomach meant that he wasn't thinking when he did it. Her own diagnosis was desperation, but desperation from what, she did not know.
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she realized that she too was coming apart from managing the crisis he currently couldn't. Then there were the members of the press. For now, they knew she was his lawyer, not the former Mrs. Winner. The rumor mills still spread the idea that Mrs. Winner didn't exist and that all his children were born from surrogate mothers. It was thanks to Quatre that she and their children had kept their privacy for so long. None of their pictures have ever been published. Now it was her turn to pay him back and payback, she thought, really was a bitch. She almost tore her hair out of her head trying to deal with the endless questions the media threw at her whilst keeping his publicist also occupied.
Annette quickly left the chaotic, security-infested floor where Quatre was in through the stairwell a few floors down and entered the ladies' washroom for a little breather away from everything. She was intrigued, however, when she noticed a familiar face before she closed the door. From Quatre's pictures he looked younger, skinnier and with more hair falling over his face, but she never forgot a face so once she saw him, she was sure it was the same one. Not one to look sloppy as long as she could help it, Annette touched up her make-up and hair, exited, and then decided she would observe her prey before approaching.
Annette watched him - in and out without a fuss and in record time. The guy goes in the changing room in street clothes and comes out in scrubs without anyone asking if he worked there or if he was new. Amazing, really - he blended in with zero suspicion. A few even conversed with him as if he'd been there for years. She almost laughed but only because she knew the truth.
Annette let him do a few rounds, watched him as he actually performed, quite successfully, the tasks in his job description - drawing blood, talking to the patients, checking on their status. It was very legitimate. Despite that, he was far away from his goal. This wing wasn't even close to the intensive care unit where he wanted to be.
Deciding that she'd stalked enough, Annette approached the fake nurse, wordlessly grabbing his towering shoulder and shoving him into the staircase fire escape. He could have easily resisted but he didn't and remained quiet while practically being manhandled.
"I'm sorry for the unnecessary roughness," Annette started. "I had to get you somewhere private so I wouldn't blow your cover."
He did not answer, just nodded. What a serene guy; such a perfect answer to her tempestuous ex.
"Now that I've actually seen you closely, I've got to admit that he has excellent taste."
She looked at him. He was very handsome and had the most amazing set of eyes. He exuded calm, felt reliable and not too bad on the overall eye candy either.
"Forgive me," she said. "I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm the former Mrs. Winner. Nice to meet you."
She held her hand out in greeting.
"Trowa Barton," the man responded, shaking her hand.
He was formal and direct but not necessarily unapproachable. Had it been Quatre, he would have brought her hand to his lips sprouting charm in every corner. They were completely different, but they would surely complement each other. He certainly looked like he could balance out Quatre's erratic behavior and totalitarian approach.
"I got you clearance, Mr. Barton. No need to go around in that outfit more than necessary. The patients might grow too attached to you."
She held out a folded piece of paper. Trowa was grabbing for his ticket to see her ex-husband, but she retracted her hand the last second.
"Not so fast, hotshot," she said, evaluating him in a way she did potential clients. "This wasn't the easiest thing in the world to get. And he told me that he didn't want to see you."
If he was hurt, it wasn't evident in his expression or his movements. He, perhaps, expected it in that always calm persona of his. The truth was that, other than the children, they were the only two non-hospital civilians who had clearance. She'd originally intended to give the clearance to Heero but he declined in favor of Trowa. Heero had told her that he was the better choice. Annette didn't ask why. How convenient that Mr. Barton showed up in the hospital like Heero predicted.
"May I ask how you got the clearance?" Trowa simply questioned, stepping back to allow her some private space.
Annette held out and showed Trowa the bracelet L4 had Quatre wear to keep track of him. She'd finally gotten that ridiculous thing out of his wrist and that thing alone cost three hours of senate deliberation.
"I don't make the same mistake twice," Annette responded.
Indeed, she didn't. The first time they found Quatre unconscious and almost dead in his hotel room on Earth, she had gone through great lengths to retrieve him with less than desirable results. She'd argued that his sisters were legally responsible for him because she knew she wouldn't have any rights to him given that they were divorced. Their children were too young to be given such responsibility. All she could do after exhausting all possible legal routes was to watch as they turned her ex-husband into a very profitable political issue. Not this time. Alex would throw a rarely seen tantrum if he didn't get to see his father again.
"I was a bit late, though," she conceded. It took too much time to get through the red tape. "They did emergency ECT on him before he could give his own consent."
"ECT? He has fresh wounds," Trowa questioned as he leaned back against the stairway railings behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. Annette could see Mr. Barton's appointed bodyguard, Quatre's latest hire, discreetly hidden in the steps below. If Trowa noticed, he did not mention it.
"He was in his right mind when I last saw him. He should have been able to give his own consent."
"Whatever the case may be, they didn't evaluate him to be mentally fit. Electroconvulsive therapy was probably their desperate attempt at treating him," she explained. "It was risky, but I'm sure the doctors of this hospital took the wounds into consideration lest they face questioning by L4."
Trowa frowned, that pretty eyes of his swirling with hints of concern. She realized that it was the first reaction she had gotten out of him and that he wasn't agreeing with any of this. She, too, was skeptical about consent and about the procedure, but she didn't want Trowa to be too suspicious that he ended up doing something foolish.
"He doesn't remember what happened to land him here, but he's at least more stable than I've seen him in a while," she continued as sort of a warning when he saw Quatre.
He nodded but did not seem inclined to discuss further.
"Before I give you the clearance, Mr. Barton, will you tell me why he's so disinclined to see you?"
"I abandoned him the last time," Trowa responded with a straight face. "I took him out of that facility on Earth with promises and left him at my sister's place without a word as soon as he'd fallen asleep."
Annette's first reaction was to judge him, but she held back. There was a background to everything. Her work involved checking the back story before coming to conclusions. However, his admission sounded so heartless to her in his mostly monotone way of speaking. If it was a crime and he presented himself this way to the jury, he'd be in jail right now.
"Why?" she asked because she needed to know. According to Heero this wasn't a one-way street. It wasn't just Quatre. It was mutual.
"Everything I've ever had, I'd lost if I hadn't given it away first."
"That's what a coward would say," Annette said immediately. She was unapologetic at the accusation. She didn't want to judge him, but here it was.
"I've already lost a wife."
"And now you want him?" she asked with disbelief. Why now of all times? He had so many chances. She'd divorced Quatre a long time ago. "If you believe you'll lose him anyway then why fight to have him now?"
"I've held back for too long for my peace of mind and for the sake of the colonies, but the colonies keep on betraying him and I keep on hurting him. There's only so much he can handle. I'd like to finally be there for him, so I'm taking my chances."
"You're willing to tell me all this?" Annette asked a little too late. "You've just met me."
"You were married to him for nine years," Trowa responded. "He trusts you more than he trusts me and if he never speaks to me again, I would like it if at least you knew my story. Whether you tell him or not is up to you."
"You're a coward, Mr. Barton," Annette concluded, crossing her arms over her chest as he had earlier. It's like he wanted her to tell Quatre to save from doing it himself. She somewhat understood because when Quatre was angry, he was intimidating, frightening even that you would have to take a step back. The usually charming persona of his could switch to the unassailable Winner trait he inherited from his ancestors, the same trait that continually kept L4 at the top. It was probably the same reason why the colonies wanted a means to control him.
"The only sensible thing to do is to fight for him," Annette continued. After all, even the most powerful man in the colonies needed someone to protect him. "I'm giving you the chance with this piece of paper. It's good for a week or until the next deliberation. I will be using mine to fight for him for my children's sake. You may do what you want with yours."
Trowa was quiet when he accepted the piece of paper. He unfolded it, looked at it and then looked back at her.
"I know. The wording is nothing less than preposterous, but trust me, wording is everything. I can't guarantee I'll find another loophole like that again."
"Thank you," Trowa said, suddenly encircling her in an embrace. Annette had never been the touchy-feely type and neither had the only husband she ever had so she felt a bit awkward at the sudden, too-friendly show of gratitude.
"You're welcome," she responded, awkwardly patting his back in return.
The moment would not last a second more when Trowa's bodyguard suddenly made his presence known.
"Sorry to interrupt whatever the hell this is, but I'm picking up a transmission. Winner's being held hostage. Some guy's electrocuting him."
Annette cursed. It was one thing to be popular but to attract trouble the way he did was almost unheard of. There was so much security around his room that it was supposed to be impossible to get anywhere near him. As Annette thought of how security was so easily circumvented, a thought came to her mind. Security itself was the culprit.
"Snap out of it," Trowa said suddenly, grabbing her arm rather forcefully. It was so different from his earlier calm. "Tell me how to get to him."
"Right," she said. She too needed to get into action. After leading Trowa where she should, she would immediately head to her mother's place to check on the kids. Whatever this was, it was something bigger than she imagined. She only hoped Heero kept his promise to protect their children no matter what.