Drawing It In - The Police
The police. Quatre took a larger gulp of air in, gritting his teeth.
The hospital, whirring through the night, changing shifts, the beeps of the life support machines, the rush and ebb of the people, crowding him. Quatre exhaled, closing his eyes, willing to centre himself. Briefly, he thanked Wufei for teaching him this particular meditation method.
"Mr Quatre Winner?" A brusque male voice asked, "We've been looking for you. You were in a car crash earlier?" A copper, he remembered Duo calling one, back one night, and they had both been drunk.
Though he knew he was under no suspicion, Quatre couldn't help the shiver run down his spine. It brought back vivid memories of the War, and the months he spent being tracked and watched. Always having to be aware, always having your eyes open. Quatre trusted and relied upon the Maganacs but he didn't want them becoming too involved, being killed and wounded. They weren't just fighting men, there were the civilians to think of. With those lives of his shoulders, Quatre had been ready to burden his own troubles and fight his own battles.
"Y-Yes, that's me. That is - I am Quatre Winner," Quatre unsteadily replied, stammering slightly.
The man nodded, taking down some notes in his blue, spiral bound notebook. It was mundane, and Quatre felt at itch at the back of his neck. He desperately wanted a shower, the washing up before hadn't done nearly enough to soothe his nerves. He needed - needed it.
"What do you recall seeing, Mr Winner? I understand that your vehicle was not part of the initial accident but was later involved," the man spoke slowly and seriously, steady and controlled.
"It happened ahead of me," Quatre started, going back just a few hours. It happened just a short time ago, and yet in some ways Quatre felt like days and weeks had passed. "I lost control."
He hated that. The feel of his car, the power and steering and speed, being taken away from him. A Gundam hadn't been like this. Weren't they supposed to be safer? The wheels skidding on the road. Were there going to be marks? A slam and the awful feeling of being trapped. Where was his car? Staying there, unable to leave and having no will to save himself. Was it destroyed? Waiting for others to save him, hearing the sirens and screams and remembering the War. Should he contact his insurance company?
"Is that all?" The police officer asked.
Quatre starts. "Uh, yes." An small awkward silence ensures. Quatre wonders if he should say something.
"If you do recall anything more, Mr Winner, please contact the police on this number." The police officer hands him a card. Quatre takes it stiffly and mumbles his thanks. "And, Mr Winner?"
Raising his head, Quatre murmurs duly, "Yes?"
"A word of warning, the media seems to have discovered that you were among the injured. They are outside of the hospital, at the main entrance." The police officer nods, and moves on. Quatre doesn't have time to say anything. He wasn't sure of what to say anyway.
"Yes, I should leave…"