Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, never was and never will be…
AN: Sorry this is taking so long!! *Certain* people (*ahem* ::looks at Wufei sitting on top of her loft::) are not cooperating.
Walking The Dividing Line
Part 13
"Hurry up and eat."
I raised my eyes to meet Wufei's angry onyx gaze as he sat in Quatre's usual chair, arms crossed over his chest and his usual scowl marring his features. I briefly wondered if he was capable of looking any way other than immensely angry or bothered. Probably not.
It was early afternoon; the sun's rays cast bright golden patches about my floor from the open window, and yet Wufei still managed to bring about an air of darkness and anger, even in this broad daylight. Quatre had been called out by Trowa, only to be replaced fifteen minutes later with the scowling Chinese boy before me and a bowl of ever-familiar soup.
I wasn't very hungry, and had been eating rather slowly. The spoon had only traveled to my mouth perhaps three times in the past five minutes. I supposed I could see why he would be getting annoyed.
There was a loud sigh from beside me; yes, he was most certainly annoyed.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, setting the bowl aside with bandaged and still slightly-shaking hands. "I'm not hungry."
He looked at me for a moment. "I don't care. Eat."
I blinked at him. What?
He picked up the bowl from the bedside table and shoved it back into my hands. "Eat," he commanded again, his tone flat but firm.
"What – why?"
"Because," he replied, "I said so."
I slowly picked up the spoon, sipping another spoonful of soup and looking at him, curious as to his actions. He didn't like me – his previous conduct and current expression showed that clearly enough. I was sure he thought I was a traitor and that I deserved nothing less than death. So… so why…?
"Why are you -?" I began again, but he sat up straighter and cut me off.
"Because that *baka* Winner *insists* that you are not the enemy. Because he *insists* that I come up here and give you your damned food, and that I stay here and make sure you eat it. Because he *insists* that you are worth saving. So stop asking stupid questions and eat your soup."
I stared at him; his sharp words resonating throughout my head as he looked at me with the same annoyed look that he'd had since I'd woken up here to find I wasn't dead.
"Oh."
He sighed again – another loud, annoyed sigh – and sat back in his chair, watching me force the soup down with narrowed eyes. I eventually managed to finish the meal and handed the empty bowl and spoon back to him, his cream-colored hands grabbing them out of mine.
He set the bowl down on the floor, showing no signs of getting up or leaving. I looked at him, again curious but this time as to why he was staying.
"I know what you're going to ask," he said sharply, and I blinked in surprise. "Don't think for a second that I actually care about your condition; I don't give a damn whether you live or die. In fact, I am sick of being stuck with watch duty, sick of cleaning up after Maxwell's messes, sick of dealing with that insane OZ 'soldier' –"
"You talked to Giniko?" I asked, interrupting him despite his harsh tone and angry words. Then I suddenly mentally slapped myself – I remember Quatre telling me that Wufei and Heero had spoken with her.
"Yes," he replied, the word angry and his tone of voice told me he didn't want to be bothered, didn't want to talk to me. Well, I already knew that.
"What… did she say?"
His eyes narrowed even more. "That is not your concern."
"Yes it is," I said, voice flat and firm, my tone matching his and I saw something flash through his eyes that told me he hadn't expected me to talk back. But there was something else in his eyes that was making me angry, riling me up and I wanted answers from him, anything more than annoyance. "It *is* my concern because she killed Duo and she –"
"Maxwell is not dead," he said, with the tone of someone who couldn't believe they had to tell me this.
"Yes he is! He's dead and I don't know who's left but… but it's not… I don't…" I could hear tears beneath my voice even though none were welling up in my eyes, and wanted to slap myself for it. Suddenly when I thought of Duo, of that grinning face staring up at me and those slender fingers holding any one of a dozen blades, scraping its edge across my skin – when I thought of him, all I felt was empty. And afraid.
"Don't be so weak."
Wufei's voice cut into my thoughts and I looked up; I was met with his blank face, his expression suddenly reminding me of Heero's tightly-reigned gaze. His words had been hollow and empty, suddenly, no longer even filled with anger. Just… empty. Like me.
Something in that gaze made my stomach drop, as he quickly stood and scooped up the bowl and spoon.
"You are obviously done, and you don't need watching," he said shortly, and turned on his heel to leave.
My stomach was already churning with fear and confusion – I didn't understand him, didn't understand Giniko or what she had done, didn't understand why I was still alive. All of Quatre's words, all his reassurances cracked and fell away when Wufei had looked at me with that empty gaze, when his curt and emotionless words told me he didn't care if I lived or died and that he didn't want to be bothered with any of this. When those syllables that fell out of his mouth told me what I already knew –that I was weak.
I didn't blame him. More often than not I was left drifting in apathy, confused and lost and *I* didn't know why I was still alive.
But that wasn't true. I did know why I was still alive – I was still alive because someone – because *Wufei* – had carried me out of that hell and brought me here. Somehow I didn't know if it was any better in this bed than it had been shackled to that wall. But then –
"Hey!"
He stopped, almost as surprised by my voice as I was. When he turned, his narrowed eyes showed anger once more. It was better than that hollow look.
"What."
I didn't want to be weak. I didn't want to be broken and I didn't want Giniko or Duo to loom over me like the hissing, dark shadows that they were. I suddenly wanted to prove that there was a reason I was alive, that I wasn't just here out of Quatre's kindness. That I was *worth* something. Because I couldn't live like this anymore – I couldn't lie here and swim in that sea of cold memories and doubts and silver blades because it was eating me alive from the inside out.
"I am *not* weak." I was startled by my words, but more so by the forceful tone of my voice. And then, suddenly, by the scraping pain in my throat that followed my insistence, leaving me coughing.
Over that, I could hear something else –
Wufei was laughing. He was laughing at me. Not loudly, not amusedly, but a cold, self-confident sort of chuckle that grated against my ears and mind.
*Now* I was angry.
"Yes you are," he pointed out flatly. "Look at you, onna, you can't even get out of bed to put your own dishes away."
And he held up the soup spoon and bowl, eyes glinting darkly and daring me to get up and take them from him. To put them away for myself.
I was *not* weak.
His expression didn't change in the least as I stiffly threw my covers off – God, I clenched my teeth, how that action alone had hurt so damn much – but despite the stinging tears in my eyes that the pain of my slightest movement brought, I only clenched my teeth harder and slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed.
I could see now the bandages wrapped around them as well, and the slightly-large pair of boxers I was wearing. Where there wasn't crisp white tape, my skin was mottled brown and blue and black and red with bruises.
I gasped as my bare feet touched the cold metal floor. Then I stood up, and nearly bit my tongue through to keep from crying out.
My skin felt too-tight and painful, my legs felt like they were too weak to support my weight and my chest and midsection throbbed so painfully that I had to convince myself that I wasn't really seeing red spots before my eyes.
Wufei just stood there and watched, his eyes unreadable as I turned and took a step forward.
It hurt. Oh God, I hadn't thought I could hurt more but I most certainly did. But all I could think about was that look on his face and that note in his voice, that daring tone and how angry it made me.
How badly I wanted to be *worth* something.
I took another step.
And another. And another, until – my entire body howling in pain beyond belief – I reached Wufei, standing in front of the door, one hand on his hip and the other holding my bowl and spoon.
Routing all my strength towards looking like I wasn't in the intense, screaming pain that I was, I reached out and took the bowl from him and took another step towards the door.
I was going to show him. I was going to show him that I wasn't weak.
I couldn't even look up at him, to see what his face looked like, to see if he was angry or something else. I only knew that if I thought about anything but reaching the door and then the hallway, one step at a time, then I was going to –
I lost it. One step before the door I went crashing to the ground, trying to keep the cry reverberating throughout my mind silent. I felt the bowl and spoon slip out of my grasp and clatter on the floor, I felt my hands reach out to take the brunt of my fall and I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing the pain it would bring.
Damn it.
But it never came. Instead there was a different kind of pain – the pain associated with someone grabbing me beneath the arms and stopping my fall, and the pain associated with them then slinging my legs up with one arm and walking with me held against their chest.
My eyes flew open and suddenly I was staring at that blue fabric again, the same warmth beneath me and the same heartbeat steady beside my ear. There were memories screaming at the backdoor of my mind to be let in, the sensations of this touch and this position so familiar that I felt like I was dreaming or falling or being swept away in a sea of… something…
I caught a glimpse of a reflection in the window –
All I could see were his cream-colored arms around me, my body startlingly thin and pale and small compared to his chest. Bandages did indeed cover nearly all my exposed skin, and even peeked out from beneath the t-shirt and boxers. My face was also a mess – the skin swollen and red and bruised, my lower left cheek and jaw bandaged, my lip cut and swollen, and the traces of a blade could still be seen slanting down over my mouth. My hair was indeed all gone, reduced to nearly a boys' cut, cropped closely to my scalp and a bit matted from sleep, not even long enough to curl like it always had.
I blinked, and he set me down on the bed.
I suddenly looked up into his face, which was unreadable save the familiar hint of annoyance coloring his features. But somehow it wasn't as harsh as it was before.
"I'm not weak," I insisted, but my voice was much softer and less forceful than before.
"You sure are stupid," he remarked, and then he turned and strode away, picking up my bowl and spoon and shutting the door behind him.
