Quatre Raberba Winner stood before a mass of movement and confusion. Scientists and doctors were rushing about, hurrying to save the life of Trowa Barton. Strange solutions were being delivered each minute, and soon found their way into Trowa's body. They were putting Trowa into cryostasis, a last stab at keeping his body from shutting down. Quatre remained perfectly calm, despite the fact that the love of his life could die at any second.
The blonde haired teenager looked down, his expression beginning to reveal the true inner feelings of his heart. Trowa meant the world to him, and he would gladly take his place if he could. Unfortunately, he couldn't, but there was one thing he could do. Scientists had been experimenting with cryogenics for years, and they had finally perfected the art. If they could freeze Trowa fast enough, there was a hope that he would survive. This is the one thing he could do, and luckily, he had the means to pay for it.
As Quatre stood alone, watching the doctors try their hardest, a figure came up behind him. A hand reached out and gently laid itself on his shoulder. It caused Quatre to jump viciously, and he whirled around to see who dared to disturb him during such an important procedure.
"Heero!" he cried, his facelighting up.
The famed Heero Yuy stood before him, his hair longer and a bit shaggier, but he was still the same old Heero. His expression was that of indifference, no emotion showing through. Seeing an unchanged Heero caused Quatre to wonder what had happened to him over the past year, to keep him from turning into someone new.
"Heero, what happened to you?" he asked.
"Nothing," replied Heero.
"That's exactly it!" exclaimed Quatre. "You haven't changed! After all that you went through during the Mariemaia incident, you should have come out a different person."
"It takes more than a simple war to transform a soldier," he stated plainly.
"Well at least you're alive and well…"
Quatre's eyes began to fill with tears as he said those words. Heero's expression softened a bit, and he placed his hand back onto Quatre's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Quatre," he said. "I heard about Trowa. That's why I came."
"Yes…" said Quatre. "It was a horrible explosion… just horrible…"
He began to sob uncontrollably, leaving Heero in an uncomfortable position. Not quite sure of what to do, he put his arm around the Arabian. Quatre took full advantage of Heero's kindness, and buried his face into the Japanese pilot's chest. Heero looked around him; no one else seemed to notice Quatre's plight. In an attempt to get Quatre off of him, Heero tried to provide some comforting words.
"It's ok, Quatre," he said. "They're putting him in cryostasis. They'll be able to fix him, you'll see."
Quatre looked up, eyes wet with tears.
"I thought you said you weren't changed," he said, a slight smile on his face.
"So maybe I am. Does it really matter?"
"Maybe not you," replied Quatre, "but it means something to the rest of us."
"Hn," Heero responded.
Quatre gave a laugh.
"That's more like the Heero I know."
There was a short pause. Quatre's eyes grew dark again, and he let go of Heero. He watched as Trowa was moved to another room where the final procedures would be done. As he watched, his arms fell to his side.
"How long do you think it will take them to find out how to save him?" he asked Heero.
"I don't know, Quatre. I just don't know."
"I… I… I want to be there when it happens," said Quatre. "I want to be the first to see him."
"Hmmm…" commented Heero. "Then you should go home."
"What?" asked Quatre, surprised.
"You should go home. No sense in standing here that long. They'll tell you when he's ready to come back."
"But I…"
"Go home!" yelled Heero.
"Alright," said Quatre, "but will you at least come back with me? You can tell me what you've been up to, keep my mind off things…"
"I really should be going," he replied. "This isn't the place for me. Maybe I'll stop by again sometime."
"Ok," said Quatre, disappointed."At least make sure you see Duo and Wufei while you're at it. I'm sure they'd be happy to see you."
"Sure," said Heero, walking away.
"Goodbye, Heero!" called Quatre."See you around."
With that, Quatre headed home.There really wasn't any sense in standing around waiting. Besides, there were many things he had to get to. The doctors would let him know everything, so he'd never be left wondering.
Once home, Quatre sat down with a cup of tea. Tea always relaxed him and brightened his day. He chose a seat near the phone, although he knew it couldn't possibly ring until the next day. Trowa wouldn't be frozen until then. He sipped his tea. It didn't taste very good today, but that was due to the stress he's been under. Quatre set down his teacup and closed his eyes. A vision of Trowa flowed through his head.
"Oh Trowa…" he said to no one. "Why did it have to happen to you? What if you die without knowing how much I love you?"
Quatre quickly fell asleep, his mind tormented by Trowa's memory. The night passed slowly as Quatre had continuous nightmares of Trowa's accident. Finally, the dawn came. By now, his mind had grown quiet, allowing him to rest peacefully. The peace was interrupted as morning reached its end.
RING!
It was the phone. Quatre snapped awake in seconds, his hand reaching out for the old fashioned form of communication. He lifted the receiver to his head.
"Hello?"
"Hello Quatre!"
It was a scientist.
"Yes?" said Quatre impatiently.
"Well, I'm afraid we have some bad news," said the scientist. "Trowa's body was too damaged to be frozen properly."
"So, he's…. dead?"
"No, not his mind at least. We were able to put him in neurosuspension. Basically, all we were able to save was his head. If we can find a suitable body for him, we can revive him. Until then, however, he'll…"
"I understand," said Quatre.
"Alright. Goodbye, then. We'll keep you updated."
"Goodbye," said Quatre.
He hung up the phone, his head hanging low. After a few moments, his head was in his hands, tears streaming from his eyes.
"Oh, God, why?" he yelled. "WHY?"
Quatre never got an answer to that question, and no new news was heard on Trowa for ten years.