The IVs irritated Quatre's hand and he stirred from a dizzy slumber. Dorothy was upright in a chair nearby, asleep. He could remember absolutely nothing about how he'd gotten to the hospital and what happened that was so severe that he needed to be there. Heero strolled in with a bag of fast food. Dorothy heard him come in and woke up.
"Oh, thanks." She muttered. Heero just nodded hi 'your welcome' and sat down next to Quatre. They both suddenly noticed he was conscious.
"Oh, Quat, honey, you're awake!" Dorothy cried, dropping her food and hugging him. Quatre didn't try to hug her back.
"I didn't know those lasers packed such a punch," Heero said quietly, "Sorry about that, Quatre."
Quatre didn't feel like expressing to Heero that he forgave him. There wasn't any need to forgive Heero. Heero didn't do anything. Rashid was the one that injured him, not Heero.
"Quatre, can you hear us?" Dorothy asked, frightened when he didn't respond verbally. Quatre nodded.
"Then why don't you say anything?" she demanded. Quatre shrugged. He sighed.
"You must be tired," Dorothy guessed.
"After a four hour nap? I doubt it." Heero refuted. I've been out for four hours, Quatre thought.
"Quatre, the doctors said that you dislocated a disk of cartilage in your upper spine. They popped it back into place, but they mentioned that there was also some other minor damage to it, damage that could cause a lot of pain. Did Rashid really hurt you?"
Yes, Dorothy, so much. "No."
"Are you sure?"
I seriously thought he was going to kill me, Dot. "Positive."
"You have to wear a neck brace for two months and no work," Heero added.
Quatre sighed. Rashid handled most of the business anyway. Heero gave Dorothy a 'give me a minute' gesture. Dorothy looked offended at first, but stepped out for a soda.
Heero looked hard at Quatre. "Why would Dorothy ask if Rashid hurt you?"
Quatre acted as if he didn't hear. Heero leaned over in his face.
"You still with me?"
Quatre gave an affirmative groan.
"Did Rashid hurt you?"
He did this, didn't he? Quatre thought. Heero walked around to the other side of Quatre's cot and back again. He walked to the end of the bed and looked down at his friend. He pulled the sheets down. Quatre snatched them back up to his neck. Heero stood tall with natural authority. "What are you hiding, Quatre Rababer Winner?"
Quatre still didn't reply. He held the covers tight to his chin, even though it hurt his neck. Heero looked at him harder.
"Don't hold out on me, Winner. You know I know everything."
"Why don't you seem to get the gist I don't want you around if you know so goddamn much?"
"I know you don't want me around, hell, nobody does. I'm just trying to help your ass. Get it together."
"You've got some nerve, showing up here, insisting that there's something wrong when you really just don't know what the hell is going on. Just get out."
"When Quatre Rababer Winner tells a good friend to 'get the hell out', there is definitely something very wrong."
"Well, I've got news for you: the old Quatre Rababer Winner has officially been nuked and the new Quatre Winner reigns supreme."
"With a neck brace?"
"Get out!" Quatre screamed, elevating his upper body. Heero, not the least bit intimidated, said nothing and walked slowly out. Seconds later, Dorothy came in quietly.
"Quatre, why did Heero just storm out?"
"Who gives a hot shit? I don't care if the bastard wants to abandon me."
"Quatre what is wrong with you?"
"I don't know, girl, I'm just having one of those days; you know, get shot down, practically break your neck, and then get totally pissed off by a dear bitch-friend."
"Who the hell are you calling a bitch?" Dorothy demanded, getting angry.
"Not you, foolish woman—"
"Don't talk to me like that! I'm trying to be your friend and help you get through, but if you're going to act like a spoiled brat—"
Quatre jumped out of bed, furious, and hollered at Dorothy. "How dare you call me a spoiled brat! I'm not spoiled! I'll have you know Rashid doesn't do a goddamn thing for me! I cook my food, I buy my clothes, and I do what he says! He's my father! I love him! I respect him! He's the only one that cares about me, and you don't understand!"
"Quatre, what are you talking about?" she screamed back.
He slapped her very hard. "Don't you scream at me bitch or I'll give you something to scream about!" Quatre's eyes filled with tears and he began to cry and cry and cry. He fell to the floor and lay there, bawling.
"I'm hurt! Help! Help! Help me, God, help!"
Heero was comfortable and in his pajamas when Relena alerted him that Quatre had been admitted into the emergency psychiatric ward. He hid his reluctance to go behind a concerned façade and quick actions.
Outside Quatre's room and down the hall, Dorothy sat hunched over, hugging herself. She met Heero and Relena with a crimson face that contrasted against her alabaster neck. There was some sort of purpleness on her cheek. She hugged Relena and cried in her arms. Heero peeked in through a peephole. Quatre was strapped to his bed, passed out from the exhaustion of crying.
"Hello, I'm Doctor Sam Norse." A professional-looking man in a lab coat with thin glasses greeted them, shaking hands with Heero.
"How is he?" Heero asked quietly.
"Well," the doctor said with a sigh, "there's good news and bad news."
All three hearts stopped. "What's the bad news?" Dorothy asked.
"Mr. Winner suffered a mental breakdown."
Dorothy and Relena gasped. "Why?"
"Different things cause problems for different people. In Mr. Winner's case, it was likely the enormous workload."
"No," Dorothy argued, "Quatre was always very careful about stress. I would never believe it was stress."
"In that case, another possible scenario is emotional trauma. I myself believe that Mr. Winner maybe or may have been subject to some pretty severe abuse for an extended period of time."
"Why do you say that?" Relena jumped in.
"To be blunt, Quatre's body is wrecked. When we examined him, we were surprised that he was alive. He has a couple of ribs with slight fractures, irregular heart rhythm, weak immunity, digestive problems, and an ulcer, not to mention dozens upon dozens of lacerations and contusions and bruises on the skull. It's because of these injuries that we think Mr. Winner may be the victim of some violent abuse. Do any of you know who could be doing this?"
