SWEET DARKNESS
Part 11
"Don't worry about me." Zechs stood at the glass wall of the spaceport building, stuffing his hands deeper in the pockets. His eyes were squinted against the sun. "I'll be okay."
A little absent smile appeared on his lips, so naive that it made Trowa's heart clench painfully.
They landed on Adrianopolis right after the dawn but the spaceport of Bajazet, the biggest city of the planet, was never quiet. As they stopped in the hall on the first level, near to cash machines, people swarmed around them in a steady fluctuating crowd. Not only people - various species - and Trowa thought that Zechs didn't stand out against other humans at all, no more than he and Quatre did.
"I'm sorry I can't get more money," Trowa said. He'd paid for the landing permission, since he hadn't had a place reserved - and, doing that, he entered his Misque code. He felt a bit nervous; all Misques had accounts they could use when necessary - of course, it went without saying that the money would be used only for the needs of the Order. What Trowa apprehended was that they thought him dead and cancelled the access. But they didn't - and it filled him with a warm feeling. So, they believed in him, they waited for him... they knew he would come.
He took off the rest of the money from the account in cash and split it, leaving a part for him and Quatre for a taxi and giving the rest to Zechs. It was hardly for the needs of the Order but Trowa decided he would work it off later. He couldn't leave Zechs just like that, without any connections, without money... One could found it strange, almost incredible that he was concerned about the man he'd feared and despised nearly hysterically just a short while ago. But Trowa couldn't help it - it was how he felt.
"You have other things to think about," Zechs added in a soft voice.
Trowa nodded and held Quatre's hand tighter. The boy was so quiet; exhaustion made him apathetic. His curved eyelashes blinked tiredly over misted eyes.
In the beginning Trowa had worried how Quatre would feel about Zechs being on the same ship with them. He even thought about not telling anything, because Quatre was ill, he might've never even known. But he did tell, and Quatre went very still - and then just said Trowa should give Zechs the ointment for his hands - the one Doctor J had given them to make scars heal faster.
But Quatre must've been bothered more than he let out because once, in half-delirious state, he just walked into Zechs' room when Trowa brought food there. Trowa had to admit he was not nice to the boy at the moment, snapped at him quite harshly. The situation was potentially dangerous - even if he almost trusted Zechs by then.
Yet Zechs didn't try to do anything, just looked at Quatre intently.
"He's your former cellmate," he said to Trowa later, some surprise in his voice.
"I know he is."
"I didn't think you and him... Oh well, I understand."
What the hell did he understand? It irritated Trowa because the closer they were to Adrianopolis, the less he understood himself. And now, when he was in Bajazet, there was no time left to ponder at all.
It'll be over soon, he thought. Quatre would give the vaccine away and be well again. But what was he, Trowa, going to do?
There was no other answer to this, actually. He was returning to the Order, was giving up everything else. His life and his soul belonged to Misques - and all the rest was just a folly, a temporary distraction.
But how would he live without Quatre? How would he live without ever touching the boy again? There was just too little, they just had sex only twice: that first time - and then after the exchange of vaccine - and later Quatre was willing but too weak to really participate, and Trowa didn't want to burden him. They'd never do it again, would they?
"Good luck to you both," Zechs said, and Trowa thought it was him who should've wished good luck to the morph.
"Bye, Zechs," Quatre said quietly.
"Bye, Quatre," Zechs smiled. "Bye, Trowa Barton."
He turned away, and Trowa found himself gazing at the tall narrow figure walking away from them. The silhouette was somewhat huddled because of Zechs' hands hidden in the pockets. The long sheet of smooth hair distinguished Zechs from the crowd for a while and then he merged with others. Trowa led Quatre to the taxis.
As the air-car glided between shimmering towers of Glass City, another name of Bajazet, he couldn't resist, pulled Quatre against his chest, kissed soft tangled hair and burning forehead.
"He doesn't want you to leave him," Trowa recalled Doctor J's words. He and Quatre never talked about it - a topic that seemed to be under a secret prohibition; and Trowa already knew Quatre was good at keeping silent on the topics he didn't want to talk about. But now, as he met the boy's eyes, so dark-blue they looked black, he suddenly knew that Quatre didn't talk about it exactly because he understood everything.
Trowa kept himself from tightening his arms around Quatre, not to hurt the boy. He realized he was biting his lip until feeling the taste of blood; but it didn't help much to sober him. There were words he wanted to say but Trowa knew he couldn't, didn't have the right to say them. Nothing could be changed any more.
I love you...
The car stopped at a tall lancet-like building; House Tervingi, the hotel where Misques rented a floor. Over the reception desk, among others, Trowa saw a small silver tab with joined lion heads - the symbol Trowa hadn't seen since his insignia was torn off his jacket in Ismail prison. The symbol he remembered as long as he remembered himself. Home; he was at home.
He felt weak, almost lightheaded when he introduced himself. Would they accept him? Did they wait for him?
They did; they expected him and were ready. The elevator took him and Quatre up - and as the doors slid apart, Trowa saw familiar burgundy-red uniform and knew it was for real. His long way was finally over.
The General on Adrianopolis was a woman; a rather young one, with delicate pale face and long almond eyes behind metal-rimmed glasses. She didn't smile, as regulations demanded from her, but there was some softness in her gaze that Trowa had never seen in Raymond Dien's or in any other Misque occupying a high position.
"Lieutenant Barton? We hoped you'd come. Every branch office was informed that you could appear. It's very convenient that you got here, to Adrianopolis."
Her words did for Trowa what he couldn't reach during all the time before, mustering himself into necessary emotions, into satisfaction with fulfilled mission. Her words made him relieved, as if he knew for sure now everything was going to be all right - Trowa didn't know which way but all right.
"I'm General Une," she said, "or Une, as my people call me and you can call as well." Such a thing wouldn't be possible on Nevis - but here it somehow seemed just right, and Trowa nodded, strangely pleased with the sound of her name. Her longish eyes behind the glasses looked at him attentively. "We kept sending inquiries to Marotania about you but all they answered was that they had no idea of your whereabouts. Looks like for once these monsters said the truth, didn't they?"
"I..." he started. "There was no way to return faster."
"Unfortunately." Une's voice had a small note of disappointment in it. "So, as far as I understand, the vaccine is lost."
"Oh no," he broke in heatedly, suddenly flushed with the importance of what he was going to say, of bringing good news. "It's not lost! Quatre... he's carrying it..."
He turned to Quatre and realized he still held the boy's hand. Une didn't refer to it in any way but, of course, she noticed. Quatre's small palm slipped out of Trowa's hand. The boy seemed to feel so bad he hardly even noticed where he was; his eyes, wide open, had a wild, unseeing look in them - and Trowa felt a pang of pain at the wish to support him. But it would be inappropriate; even touching another person was inappropriate.
"Oh." A brief flicker of joy on Une's face was as much as she could afford showing. But her voice expressed more, filled with warmth. "You're a true member of the Order, Lieutenant Barton. I'm sure your determination won't be left without an award. Or a promotion. I think you well deserve it."
He didn't care for an award - or rather he had his - being back with Misques again, being accepted...
"It's not my credit," he said hastily, "I hardly did anything, it's Quatre who took it on himself. And the flyer - I came in a flyer, we'll need to return money for it..."
"By all means," Une said firmly, interrupting him. Two men at her side moved when she made a sign to them. "We'll take care of everything."
Trowa saw the men walk up, and one of them caught Quatre just a moment before the boy seemed to be about to slip on the floor.
"Trowa," Quatre's voice was very weak - and somewhat panicked. He didn't like when someone unfamiliar touched him, Trowa recalled and turned to say that he'd take care of everything himself, but Une stopped him with a short gesture.
"Stay here, Lieutenant. Your participation is not needed. We have everything ready to remove the vaccine - as I said, we expected you might come here."
He stayed - and the door shut after Quatre. It was going to be all right, Trowa told himself, they'd take the vaccine out and Quatre would recover. Une looked at him patiently, almost kindly.
"You can rest now, Lieutenant Barton - or I can call you Trowa, I presume? You look exhausted. And you're probably hungry - I'll send you some food here. Your uniform and your room will be ready shortly."
She and her people walked out, leaving him alone in a spacious, nearly empty room. Strange - Misque rooms never seemed empty to Trowa before, and this one, with its simple furniture and a lone decoration of lion heads was equipped exactly in compliance with regulations.
To divert himself - and not to think about Quatre, Trowa looked through the window. The sight was really spectacular - tall fragile spires, half-transparent, and green-blue, blinding sky over it. It almost made you feel as if there was no solid ground under the feet, feel floating.
The door opened and a robot-servant brought a tray with food. The taste was as bland and the mixture apparently as nutritious as Misques' food usually was but Trowa hardly could feel any taste anyway.
He wished so much he could be with Quatre. There was nothing he could do for the boy at the moment, and Trowa told himself this wish was unreasonable, egoistic. He paced around the room nervously, unable to snap out of the mood. The robot gathered the plates and left the room.
Suddenly a thought came to him, and panic flooded him with choking wave. Trowa stopped still, unable to take a breath for a moment. Misques... Misques didn't consider anesthesia, all minor surgeries were carried out without it. A real Misque should be invulnerable to pain... or should be able to handle it.
They would think it 'a minor surgery'. But Quatre was not a Misque! Oh no... Trowa rushed to the door, to call for someone, to warn them - and his hands stumbled against a smooth surface, immobile under his attempts.
Was he locked? He couldn't believe it, it must've been some mistake. Sick feeling overwhelmed him, making him feel for a moment as if he was again in morph prison, anxious to get out, unsure if he'd be able to do it, to fulfil his task, make Raymond and others' death worthy.
Of course, it was an illusion, he was at home, was with the Order. He just wished they didn't lock him... or leave him some way to communicate. There was an intercom on the table and Trowa picked the receiver. No tone came.
He looked at the stupid machine, frowning, unable to figure out what it was all about. He had to stop them, to let them know they should've used anesthesia, not to hurt Quatre. Suddenly the room swayed in front of his eyes, the floor going unsteady. He only felt like this when he was very ill... He grabbed the corner of the table, trying to stay on his feet - but his hands grew feeble as well, so, it didn't help and Trowa felt hard floor hit against his knees.
The food was spiked, he understood clearly. But why was it done and what could he do about it - he didn't have time to think about it because blackness took him and he gave in.
* * *
He came round in a different room and it was dark. His head pounded with heavy, black pain and the feeling of sickness returned as soon as he moved. Trowa scrambled out of the bed, shivering at the sensation of cold floor under his bare feet. Starry sky and rich night illumination of Bajazet was behind the window. He looked at it and barely had time to rush to the bathroom before his stomach turned inside out.
The drug must've been a crude, utilitarian thing, used for its purpose without regard of aftereffects. Trowa felt weak and cold and his brain still refused to function properly.
What was it all about? Were they angry with him for something, considered that he neglected his duties? But he'd done his best, hadn't he? His uniform lay on a chair, just as Une promised him. Trowa touched it with the tips of his fingers, recognizing familiar textile and feeling faintly queasy for some reason instead of usual and appropriate pride. He didn't have much choice, though, his own clothes were gone, so, he put it on.
The door was closed. He chided himself for being paranoid but couldn't help it, struggled in vain to open it. The room was soundproof, they all were, so, there was no sense in calling.
"What is it I've done?" he muttered instead, slipping on the floor sullenly, drawing his bare feet closer; he wasn't given boots. "What is it for?"
Didn't they trust him?
He realized suddenly that even two weeks before now this thought would make him agonize with its bitterness; but at the moment he worried about other things more.
He wanted to see Quatre, to make sure the boy was all right. The surgery must've been over by now, Quatre probably already felt well. Wrapping his arms around himself, Trowa closed his eyes and imagined the hot thin-armed embrace of the boy, strength bordering on despair in it. He remembered those times when he held Quatre, naked, against his own naked body, their nipples and their groins touching...
Was he crazy? A member of the Order shouldn't have thought about these things. But at that moment Trowa realized he didn't care for regulations. He wouldn't give these memories away for anything.
The floor was icy but he didn't want to go back to the bed, in case if the door opened while he was asleep and he would miss it. He did doze off after a while, after his frozen body went so numb he didn't feel cold any more. He hadn't dreamed about Raymond for a while - but now he saw the bony hard face again, heard the voice he already started forgetting.
"It's for your own good, Trowa. You know where you belong."
The door clicked open after the dawn. There was a robot with a food tray behind it but Trowa didn't feel hungry enough. Especially for another portion of drug, he thought acidly and got scared with fury of his own thought. He'd probably spent too much time surrounded by enemies that he kept expecting the worst even now, when he was at home, with his own folks.
He passed the robot and walked along the corridor. His bare feet made a slapping sound on the floor. The corridors had the usual feeling of a Misque office: dark-red-clad men and women hurrying on their business, their expressions almost identical in their withdrawn seriousness. Trowa wasn't quite sure what he was looking for until he saw a small tab with Une's name on it. He knocked and, when no one answered, he walked in.
The General was here - and a few more people - and as they looked at him, Trowa felt embarrassed and chagrined at his forwardness. He hadn't been allowed to enter, after all. A part of his mind told him to step away, to leave and wait - but he didn't think he could wait any more.
"Trowa?" Une's voice was slightly concerned and quite mild - milder than any other General's voice Trowa had ever heard. "Something happened?"
No, you just put me to sleep for God knows how many hours and kept me in a locked room even longer, he wanted to say but said carefully instead:
"Did the surgery pass all right? Did you remove the vaccine?"
"Yes, sure," Une answered impassively, as if it was something that went without saying, almost didn't need her attention. "One of our disciples is just of the right age, she can carry it without any harm for herself as long as it's necessary - as long as it takes to sort out the things with the Coalition of Northern Region."
She turned away from him after saying that, indicating that the conversation was over, tilted her beautiful head with flower-shaped coiffure towards another men, said something quietly about the document in her hands.
"And Quatre?" Trowa found his voice gone suddenly. "Can I see him?"
He saw a frown of displeasure between Une's delicate eyebrows; she paused as if hesitating whether to answer - and this pause was enough to make terror and grief flood him. He jerked forward, almost touched her.
"He died? Is he dead?"
"No, Lieutenant Barton, not at all." The passing to this form of address must've been significant but Trowa didn't notice it. Relief, as immediate as shock had been, made him tremble. "He was completely alive and feeling well when he left our office."
The horrible meaning of her words took a little while to descend on him; for a few seconds he looked at Une not quite able to process it.
"What... what did you say?"
Trowa heard disapproving noise of other Misques around him; he'd spoken too loud, with an edge in his voice. An elderly man said sharply:
"You forget yourself, Lieutenant."
Une raised her thin-fingered hand to quiet him.
"It's all right. I just said that your companion walked away, Trowa."
A sudden seizure of grief took his heart, feeling like steel vices. Quatre was gone; he wouldn't see him again.
Of course, Trowa knew they'd have to part - no matter how he denied it; but he told himself there still was time - if not for touching - then for talking, for greedy looking at the boy's big-eyed face. He wasn't prepared to know that Quatre just wasn't here.
And then another thought came, much more bitter and terrifying.
"How could he go? He's just had the surgery..."
"We have qualified doctors, don't you know?" Une's voice turned freezing cold, all mildness gone from it. "He was taken care of, so, there must be no any trouble."
The thought sickened him, of the scalpel cutting through Quatre's skin, of the needle sewing the cut. It must've hurt... they would think that if a Misque girl could take it without anesthesia, then Quatre surely could.
The thought was so agonizing that Trowa couldn't talk for a moment. Yet he knew he had to talk.
"Why..." His voice badly obeyed him. "Why did you throw him out? How... could you?"
"He doesn't want you to leave him..."
"Of course, we didn't throw him out," Une said calmly, her slender finger readjusting the glasses on her nose. "He was properly thanked and paid for his assistance to the Order. Speaking about payment, didn't you say that you should reimburse the flyer you were using? If you tell us the account number, we'll transfer money promptly."
He barely heard it; blood pounded in his ears deafeningly. His anger was so strong he almost couldn't breathe. His voice came out tight, with a broken note in it:
"He saved my life."
"Very possibly," Une said. "But you didn't expect him to stay here, did you?"
He did; it was a secret dream, almost too naive to dwell on it - but the truth was that in some ideal case Trowa thought it was possible. Of course, Quatre couldn't become a Misque - he wasn't from Nevis and he wouldn't be considered pure enough. But, maybe, he just could stay, in some way, to work for the Order, to make it possible for Trowa to see him. Or to know he was all right, at least.
"It's not a brothel to keep here your lovers, Lieutenant," the same man said.
The mention of a brothel sounded outrageously rude - and Une winced at it, but this time she didn't chide the man.
"Away on a mission, as you were, in extreme conditions," she continued in her rich, sweet voice, "one can easily understand that you could allow a kind of indiscretion. We're reasonable people, we don't punish you for it. But you're a part of the Order now, Lieutenant. You're expected to follow certain rules. And I'm afraid the presence of your young fellow traveler doesn't comply with the rules."
"What if something happens to him..."
"It's not your concern any more, Lieutenant. Your concern should be what else you can do for the Order. Did you forget whom your life belongs? The Order saved you when you were supposed to be sent to processing, after your mother gave you away. We brought you up. You gave the vows to serve Misques and people of Nevis. Did you forget it?"
"I didn't," he whispered, his head lowered.
The words had a strange power over him, affecting him on subconscious level. These were the words he'd heard from early childhood, that he remembered nearly better than his own name. Yes, the Order had the right on him: he would be dead - processed - if Misques hadn't taken him - and his duty was to serve them without any regard at his own life and interests. He didn't have any interests apart from the ones of the Order.
But Quatre was not a Misque; how could they do it to him?
"When did he go?" Trowa found himself asking. "I have to find him."
"No, you don't. And you won't, Lieutenant. If necessary, we'll limit your freedom again - up until you part with your illusions."
Trowa looked at her in horror. So, that's why they locked him. Like a criminal...
"Lieutenant, it's difficult to overestimate the value of the vaccine you brought us. We already started negotiations with the Northern Region. When the assignation itself happens, you'll have the right to be present there. It's a big honor for someone so young as you. Don't endanger your good standing." Une's lips curved in a smile briefly.
He understood everything she said and didn't say. Don't resist, be a good boy - and you'll be awarded. And Trowa's reason told him the same. Be good, don't give them an occasion to lock you up. He would try to find Quatre... just to make sure the boy was all right, no harm was done to him...
Trowa nodded. The room was swirling in front of his eyes - but he did the right thing, demonstrated his readiness to obey.
"Daniel, Alexander, show Lieutenant the way to his room," Une said. Two men from behind her walked forward; they probably were the same ones who had taken Quatre away yesterday. Trowa couldn't help feeling a kind of animosity towards them, even knowing they were not to blame.
And then he understood. She didn't believe him, she still wanted him to be locked up.
Trowa stepped away, his hand seeking the handle of his saber instinctively. How weird... he wasn't given boots but the saber was there.
"Lieutenant, no need to be violent." Une's voice was perfectly composed. "We don't like to apply force but we might be compelled to do so if you resist."
No, he wanted to say, no. He thought about Quatre, recalled the gentle face with so serious and yet so vulnerable eyes. It was so easy to hurt Quatre. He recalled the thin voice calling his name - the last word he heard from Quatre was his name; this time Trowa failed to help him.
He couldn't unclasp his hand; it was spasmed on the handle of the saber. The men looked at him without anger, just with tried patience. Was he going to fight them? It was absurd, they were his folks.
But as it happened, the choice was taken from him, because one of the men raised his hand with a small black box in it, and a second later the paralyzer was activated. Trowa felt every muscle in his body turn into nothing, his feet give up, as he slumped on the floor.
Lying crumpled, he saw fine boots of Une walk up to him, stop at his face.
"It's for your own good, Trowa," she said in a soft, almost sweet voice. "The Order will protect you from your own mistakes."
***********************************************************
"We appreciate your assistance. Misque Order won't forget your help. Please accept this small sign of our gratitude."
The female voice was melodic and calm. It flooded and ebbed somewhere behind on the edge of my consciousness. There was blackness in front of my eyes; now and then some objects floated out of it, colored in blinding light, and disappeared again. I felt a grip on my wrist - and then something cool lay in my palm. Money. They probably realized I was not holding it well, so, the same hand put the plastic cards in my pocket.
I felt so weak. The pain was so harsh and continued for so long; it'd taken me too much strength not to scream. I remembered lying on a surgical table and them talking above me.
"Better fasten him down so that he won't thrash."
Then I didn't know yet why they needed it. They were a man and a woman in lab coats and masks. Straps tightened on my wrists and ankles. I was about to panic and try to fight but at the next moment met cherry-black eyes looking at me from the next table.
A child; a girl, pretty like a doll, staring at me from under a fringe of sleek dark hair with quiet seriousness. I think I smiled at her. I knew she was going to take over the vaccine - and she was so young, she probably was afraid. Her long curved eyelashes fell and rose but her expression didn't change.
A hand probed my belly, against the scar that almost healed. J had stitched it very neatly, I hoped they would re-stitch it so that there would be no bad trace. Like on Zechs' hands... his scars were really bad...
What was I thinking about? My mind wandered. J, Zechs, Trowa... If Trowa only could be with me now; I remembered that time at the infirmary - then it all seemed so easy because I could look in Trowa's eyes, so dark-green - like leaves in dusk. And hold his hand...
"Here, I think," the man said - and suddenly pain splashed like scalding water over my side. I hadn't realized they hadn't done an injection or something, like J had done. For a moment I almost thought they just forgot.
It hurt; I didn't want to scream, bit my lips fiercely but the pain went on and I didn't know how I would bear it.
"Hold him down," the man said, "he's trembling too much."
It was when I understood that they didn't forget but wanted it this way for some reason.
I hoped it would end soon; then I prayed for it to end - but it didn't, the pain continued as the fingers went inside me, searching for the capsule. I felt sick with blood that filled my mouth and I couldn't swallow it all, so, it trickled from the corner of my mouth.
There must've been some sense in it, I told myself; maybe, it was things like this that made Trowa as he was, made him that strong. Maybe, if I could bear it, I would be at least in a way up to him, I would deserve him. For him, there was nothing I wouldn't do.
They took out the capsule but pain didn't stop; it was tearing, like claws cutting my insides.
"We'll stitch him later," the man said. "Now let's take care of Susanne."
I saw a scalpel in his hand and saw a cut he made on the girl's belly. They cut her without anesthesia as well! I felt terror and felt shame for my weakness. It surely was not so bad, if such a little one could endure it. Her face wrinkled in pain, as if she was going to cry - but no tears appeared in her eyes. She opened her small pink mouth and hissed - a sound like a kitten makes when scared. They slid the capsule inside her and the woman got a stitching machine in her hands.
Then the world started losing clearness for me. I barely felt how the stitches were put on my cut. It hurt not there but deeper, as if I could still feel fingers digging inside me. The girl was taken away - I wasn't sure when. The darkness was pulsing slowly around me.
It was okay, it would pass soon, I told myself. I just had to bear it for a little while. Then Trowa would come and everything would be okay. I just needed a little rest.
Someone came; my vision was so bad for some reason that I couldn't even say clearly if it was a doctor or one of dark-red-clad people - Misques. He pulled me from the table.
"Come on, dress up."
Pain slammed so hard I almost fell on my knees, would do if he didn't hold me. He shook me in annoyance and started helping me with my clothes.
"Trowa," I said. I thought they wanted me to meet Trowa. The man didn't answer. He walked me somewhere, the grip of his hand on my upper arm hard and steady. Then the female voice came.
"You can go now. We don't stop you."
I seemed to be in the elevator, go down - and then the door opened and I felt cool draft of fresh air on my face.
* * *
It was when I understood I wouldn't see Trowa. I turned back, wanting to protest even though I didn't quite know what I could say - and the man stepped forward, caught my shoulder and said looking down at me:
"Leave Trowa Barton alone. He doesn't want you."
He pushed me away and I stumbled - and the door slammed shut.
I hovered on the front steps; pain made me weak and dumb. It took a little while for the meaning of the man's words to settle. I felt shell-shocked - so slow in taking in what happened, what I was supposed to do. Trowa didn't want me... he wanted me to leave.
"It isn't true," I whispered. It was a bright day; the sun blazed in the sky; but it was also cold - or it seemed so to me. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to get warmer. Under my touch, pain pulsed in my left side, burning hot. The sun was turning black now and then.
Wasn't it true? I never expected to stay with Trowa after he got back to his Order. I knew it was not possible - his whole life was with Misques; and in this life I didn't have place. I just didn't want him to die - wanted him to have what he wanted, couldn't see him so unhappy. I just wanted to stay with him a little longer - at least as long as it took to get here.
Now he was with his people - and what did I expect? What did I want, what kind of award? Trowa never made any promises to me. So, everything was as it had to be.
I just wanted to see him. Just one more time; just to see his beautiful face half-hidden under the long bangs, meet serious gaze of his dark-green eyes. Even if he didn't touch me ever again... if I only could see him, it would be so different. I knew it would stop hurting then.
But he didn't want me - so, I had to go.
The first steps brought waves of agonizing pain through my belly. I held my side, feeling tender stitched gash under my hands. It didn't stop throbbing but I kept walking, just one step after another. And when, after I don't know how long, I looked back, I couldn't see the building of the hotel, lost among other glass towers of the city.
I had to start my life on my own; without Trowa. It surely was possible - I had lived no problem before knowing him - so, I would be able to do it again. Maybe, I just needed some time; some time to heal - some time for the thoughts of Trowa to lose their excruciating freshness. But, maybe, I didn't want to heal; I didn't want to forget.
I stopped on a quiet corner and counted the money I had. It was enough to get a room in a place where no one would ask questions - and stay there... until the pain passed. It was a good idea and I tried to will my body into moving. I would manage it if thoughts of Trowa, Trowa's face and voice didn't haunt me. I couldn't stand it; pain broke me down on my knees and I crouched, suppressing whimpers.
Time seemed to get funny. I didn't know how long I stayed like this. It got even colder; maybe, evening was approaching. After a while I made myself get up - and nearly fell again. Pain in my side was so bad I would throw up if I had something in my stomach.
There was a curious feeling on my skin and I looked down. The left side of my shirt was soaked in blood.
It wasn't supposed to be like that, I knew it; something was wrong. I prodded myself in making a few more steps and then thought I wouldn't be able to find a room, just wouldn't be able to walk that long. And anyway, they would hardly take me, bleeding like this.
Blackness threatened to surround me again and I thought panicky that if I fell in the street, they would take me into processing - a person without documents as I was. I didn't know why I cared but the thought of being deconstructed into organs somehow made me sick.
It was what made me move, after all. I hobbled to the taxi box and pushed a button. An air-car appeared almost immediately; the driver gave me a look as I got on the back seat.
"I have money," I mumbled, desperate for my words to sound clear. "Take me to a hospital, please."
He still kept casting suspicious looks at me; I hung on the remnants of consciousness desperately. If I passed out, nothing prevented him to take the money and dump me again - and then processing... But there was a moment when I knew I wouldn't hold on - and, anyway, what did it matter what happened to me. So, I closed my eyes and let it go.
I didn't expect to wake up. But as it happened, I did. The room was white and warm and seemed a bit fuzzy - but pain was gone. I wanted to turn and didn't know why I couldn't; I grew so weak.
"Shh, don't move." A woman with kind aged face bent to me; her soft hand brushed over my forehead. "You don't need to go anywhere."
"Don't I?" I couldn't hear my own voice but it didn't matter. Her words sounded so good; it was so nice not to have to go. She smiled and patted me again.
"It was a close call, you know. You're lucky the doctor got you, child. Someone had done a butcher's job on you, your spleen was all shredded. But you'll be okay now, you'll be okay..."
To be continued
Special thanks to Skippis Cat, Rogue11, Kasra, ash, Tri, Sheiakurei, Lady Priscilla, Kai Willow, Silver Dragon, crystal, jefcat, SilverShinigami and everyone else for the the most wonderful reviews!!! You are the best! Well, there are three more chapters left before everyone finds their place... but not before a lot of bad things happen :-)