Disclaimer: Nope, not even after watching 10 eps in a row, they're still not mine…
AN: Sorry this part is short! I promise, the next part will be longer… and more explanatory. Hm. Is that a word…? ;O
Walking The Dividing Line
Part 10
I didn't know how it was all going to work out, though. I spent days just lying there, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sally had given me something for the pain, but it only dulled the blade with which the sensation raked my skin. Every inch of me was on fire; even the tube down my throat to insure that I would keep breathing was painful.
The only thing that I welcomed was the silence. My head was silent, no longer filled with turmoil or static or frantic screaming. Ever since I had been carried from that hell: the hell that had consisted only of the shadow of Duo and the innumerable ways he'd come up with to tear my body – and what was left of my mind – to shreds, my mind had been blissfully silent.
I knew it was because of what Giniko had done when she had burned my mind with that machine, when she had tied me into Deathscythe and sent me into some kind of dream. She had burned away some integral part of me that I could no longer even remember to miss, and it had silenced the static in my head so that I had nothing left.
Nothing but recognition, and the memories of Duo and –
I didn't want to think about that. If I thought about that I would drive myself crazy. Somehow I knew that.
And it seemed like the only thing that kept me sane even now was Quatre's quiet murmuring; he would sit here with me and keep me company even though I couldn't talk or sit long enough to write more than a few simple sentences. Still he would sit and talk to me – most of the time I couldn't even tell what he was saying, drifting somewhere between waking and dreaming, pain and dull numbness.
And then the tube came out.
The painkillers continued, and Quatre brought me soup and still no one else would talk to me – no one else had come to see me. I began to wonder if the others were even *here*. I was sure he'd told me at some point but in my hazy drifting I couldn't remember. My throat was too sore to talk and the cuts on my mouth and face were still healing – and slowly at that – and so I was still limited to a pen and paper. I didn't have the energy to ask him about the other pilots, and somehow I didn't care. The only world I knew was this room with its various medical monitors and the bed I was confined to and the chair on which Quatre would sit and watch me. And I didn't want to know anything more.
Unfortunately, that existence was shattered one morning when the door opened to reveal not Quatre, but Wufei. He was scowling and carrying a bowl of soup; he brought it curtly over to the bed and handed it to me with the demeanor of one who'd rather throw it in my face than place it in my hands.
I flinched involuntarily as his fingers brushed mine briefly; then I looked up at him, suddenly curious as to why he *hadn't* actually thrown it in my face. Aside from… well, aside from Duo or possibly Giniko, neither of whom I wanted to think about right now, I could scarcely think of another person who hated me with more vehemence than Chang Wufei. Why he was –
I blinked, suddenly remembering strong arms and a heartbeat –
Somehow he was still standing there, just staring at me with a mixture of severe dislike and something that looked almost like awe but couldn't possibly have been. My throat was feeling slightly less painful than had become the norm, and so I attempted words.
"Where's… Quatre?" My voice was soft and scratchy from pain and disuse; Wufei looked almost surprised, as if he hadn't expected me to address him.
He blinked, still scowling. "He's busy. Eat."
And he left.
I sat there for a moment, just staring at the doorway through which he'd disappeared, shutting the metal hatch firmly behind him. There were partially-remembered strings of thought running through my mind and hazy half-sensations dancing across my skin, leaving me lost in a world that I could only remember in bursts – a world that I didn't want to remember, ever.
Wufei had –
I blinked. Wufei *had* been the one to carry –
He'd carried me out of that hell, he'd saved me from –
"You would have bled to death had they left you there," she continued, voice level and quiet.
I ate the soup slowly, wincing as the warm liquid slid down my raw throat and attacked my still-irritated stomach. If it were my choice, despite the pain I would have rather not eaten anything, because eating actually hurt more. But neither Sally nor Quatre would hear of it, and insisted that I ate. Sometimes…
Sometimes I didn't know why they bothered.
