Trowa slowly opened his eyes. He realized that he was lying in a bed with a small tube attached to his arm and another tube on his face dispensing oxygen for him to breathe. The room was dark and outside Trowa could see the moon shining though.
A movement by the window caused him to turn his gaze. Sitting in a chair, Quatre was asleep, his head resting on the palm of his hand. The light of the moon shone through the boy's hair giving the blonde a glow.
At the feeling of someone watching him, Quatre slowly stirred from his sleep. He gazed at the boy in the bed to see that he was looking back at him.
"Trowa!" The blonde jumped up from his seat to kneel at the side of the bed, taking Trowa's hand in his own tiny hands. "How do you feel? Are you okay?"
Trowa smiled. "I'm fine."
"Do you need anything?" Quatre continued. "Want me to call the nurse? Or your dad? I can leave you alone if that's what you want."
"Quatre," Trowa said a little more forcefully. "I said I'm fine."
The blonde sighed and gave a slight smile. "Relena and Dorothy wanted me to tell you 'hello' when you woke up. Dorothy wanted to stay but she had to go to Yale to meet some kinda deadline. She left a week ago."
Trowa sat up. "A week ago? What's today?"
"July 28 or 29, depending on what time it is." Trowa stared at Quatre in disbelief. "You've been out of it for a month and a half. After you lost consciousness, the ambulance came. I rode with you to the hospital. Your breathing became irregular because of the lack of blood in your system, so they hooked you up to an oxygen tank. They said that your body needed a long time to regenerate…" Quatre paused and bit his lip. He looked at the cotton sheets and felt his tears rise. "My God, Trowa. I'm so sorry…" The tears tumbled over as Quatre dropped Trowa's hand and fell back onto his heels. He covered his face with his hands as he continued to cry.
Trowa raised his hand and placed it on the smaller boy's head. "Quatre, it wasn't your fault. Richie-"
"Richie was supposed to shoot me." Quatre pulled away from Trowa's hand. "That shot was meant for me. I'm the one that's supposed to be in that bed, not you…"
"Quatre, stop it. If you were to take that shot, you might not be alive right now."
"But-"
"But nothing. I would rather get shot a thousand times than see you dead."
Quatre stayed silent. He slowly looked up at Trowa and took his hand in his smaller ones once more. The blonde sighed. "Get some sleep, Trowa. You need to rest up, now."
Trowa gave a slight nod and leaned back into the bed. Quatre's hands were massaging Trowa's as the unibanged boy drifted off to sleep once more.
* * *
"Trowa?"
The boy slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurred and Trowa could barely make out the figure sitting on the edge of the bed.
"That's it, my boy. Wake up." Came the voice, soothingly. The person rested a hand on the boy's cheek.
Trowa rubbed his eyes to see his father smiling down at him.
"How are you?"
Trowa groaned. "Give me another five minutes…"
Mr. Barton slightly chuckled, pulling his hand away. "I think you've slept long enough. But it's nice to see that you still have your sense of humor."
Trowa sat up and looked around. It was well into the morning and his room brightly lit from the lights from above and from the sun as well.
"Where's Quatre?"
"I convinced him to go eat something. He left. Reluctantly of course." He chuckled again. "I swear, you boys must be joined at the hip or something. Quatre has never left your side, except to use the bathroom and eat. He's been really worried about you. It was damn near impossible for me to convince him that you were going to be fine."
"Oh." Trowa mumbled. 'Julliard…' "I thought…what about New York?"
"Hm? Oh." Mr. Barton's eyes sparkled. "He didn't want to leave you in this state. He won't leave until you're up and walking back home. There was no way to convince him to go. And so he stayed." He sighed and shook his head. "It's wonderful…"
"Huh?"
Just then, Quatre came back holding a bag of Cheetos and a half finished bottle of Pepsi.
"Quatre, you're supposed to eat healthy foods in a hospital." Mr. Barton teased.
Quatre looked up and smiled sheepishly. The older man stood and patted Quatre on the back before stepping out. Quatre walked over to the chair by the window and smiled at Trowa who leaned back against his pillows. Though Quatre seemed happy, Trowa could see that his friend was holding something back.
"Hi." Quatre said.
"Hello."
"How are you?"
Trowa sighed. "People ask that a lot when you're in a hospital. Say something else."
Quatre chuckled. "All your gifts are gone now, except for your cards. The balloons deflated and your flowers dried up. Duo thought it would be fun to send you a goldfish, but it died also."
Trowa smiled. "Man…That's Duo. How is he? And the others?"
"They all are very concerned about you. I called Heero and Duo earlier and I think they're gonna come over later."
"How about you?"
Quatre blinked. "Huh?"
"How are you?"
"Uh, fine I guess. A little tired."
"From sleeping in chairs?"
The blonde laughed. "That or pillows on the floor."
"And what about Richie? Where is he now?"
Quatre just stared at Trowa, his mouth agape. The blonde blinked twice before finding his voice again. "You…you don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Richie…" Quatre swallowed. "…Shot himself. Right after he did you."
"Jesus…"
"I saw the whole thing. Dorothy too. She was really shaken up about it."
"I can't imagine what it was like to see that. It must have been horrible…"
"It was…" Quatre looked at the floor and bit his lip.
Trowa noticed this and concern washed over him. "Quatre?"
"He blamed me. For everything…it's all my fault…"
"No, Quatre. It's not. Richie did it to himself. I don't ever want you to blame yourself for what happened."
"If you and Richie were still friends-"
"If Richie kept the attitude he had when he lived here, I still wouldn't have stayed his friend. I would have eventually gotten mad at him causing me to end my friendship with him."
The two sat in silence. Trowa stared at the blonde who seemed to find an interest at staring at his shoes.
Quatre shook his head. "Maybe I shouldn't be your friend anymore." He whispered, more to himself than to the injured boy.
"What?!"
"I mean, this wouldn't have happened if I weren't your friend."
"Quatre, this happened because I was Richie's friend. And Richie's gone now. Nothing like this will ever happen again."
"Even still…" Quatre looked at his hands. "I'll be living with Iria in New York for the next four years. If I knew we weren't friends, it wouldn't…" Quatre trailed off.
Trowa shook his head. "No. I will not end our friendship this easily. This stupid situation isn't worth losing you as my best friend."
Quatre stood and walked to the door, pausing as he reached the handle. "Because of this situation, I almost lost my best friend…" Quatre shut his eyes as they flooded with tears and opened the door.
"No, Quatre, don't go!" Trowa sat up abruptly. "Quatre, you PROMISED!!"
Quatre froze midway out the door. His eyes flew open as the tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Please don't go…you promised…" Trowa whispered.
The blonde took a step back and closed the door quietly. He looked at his friend in the hospital bed. Images of their promise replayed in his head. It had been four years since that day.
"Quatre?"
"Hm?"
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise me that we'll always be best friends, no matter what."
"Hmmm." Quatre purred. "I promise…Trowa?"
"Hm?"
"You promise me?"
"I promise…"
Quatre shook his head in disgust with himself. 'God, I'm such a fool. How could I forget?' The small boy looked at his friend in the bed. He hurried to his side and threw his arms around the green-eyed boy's waist. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. I'll never forget our promise again…I'm sorry…"
Trowa wrapped his arms around Quatre's small form. "Shhh…it's okay. Just don't leave me…you're my best friend, Quatre, and I don't want anything to change that."
"I know. And nothing will. Never again…"
* * *
After two days of recuperation, Trowa finally returned home. Once there, Quatre waited on him hand and foot. Now that Trowa was safe at home, and walking too, Quatre had to go to New York. Iria had sent the blonde his ticket through the mail. A week from Trowa's return, Quatre was scheduled to leave. The day soon arrived so Trowa took Quatre to the airport since Mr. Barton was busy in the hospital.
"So, I guess this is it." Quatre sighed. He was all checked in and all that was left was to board the plane.
"Yeah. Next time I see you, you should be a professional musician."
Quatre laughed. "And the next time I see you, you should be a professional artist." He smiled and straightened his backpack on his shoulders.
Trowa smiled at his friend.
"I'll miss you, Trowa."
"I'll miss you, too."
Quatre threw his arms around Trowa's neck and hugged the taller boy, tears falling down his cheeks. Trowa returned the embrace. Moments later, Quatre broke the embrace, looked his friend in the eye and smiled. "Thank you. For everything."
"Last call for flight 909 to New York. Last call for flight 909 to New York." The announcer said through the overhead system.
Quatre sighed. "That's me. I gotta go. Goodbye Trowa."
"Goodbye Quatre."
Quatre gave Trowa another quick hug before turning towards the gate. He smiled and waved at the taller boy before disappearing behind the gateway.
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: There. You happy now? Trowa didn't die and Richie killed himself. Don't own, don't sue.