Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ When U Really Love Someone ( Chapter 30 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The two evil-doers succeed---but the effect isn't what they wanted.
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.4K | Visits: 213 | Status: Completed
The two evil-doers succeed---but the effect isn't what they wanted.
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.4K | Visits: 213 | Status: Completed
Chapter Thirty:
“When U Really Love Someone” Alicia Keys
At Apollo Prestigious, Quatre shifted his game bag over his shoulder. The gym was slowly crowding with loyal fans of both teams, and the media bench was full. Felicia suddenly hissed in a catlike way, glaring at someone across the way. He leaned in close to see who she was making faces at, and saw that one section of the gym was crowded with a bunch of guys in black. He paused in place as she hissed again, and scurried off to join Mariemaia into the girls’ locker room. He snorted, shaking his head as he took in the men in black once more, then followed the rest of his team into the locker rooms. Game time wasn’t until twenty minutes, so he took his time changing.
As he was pulling off his socks and putting on new ones, he noticed a film of powder that dusted onto the floor with the action. Curious, he poked at the film with one finger, then sniffed his socks. Maybe he’d missed a pair when he did laundry, and it still had his foot powder in it...
Whichever, they smelled clean, and he shrugged and resumed the action. He had fully dressed out in his uniform and warm-ups when he felt a pair of hands on his ass, squeezing with a familiar action. He turned to elbow Triton when the senior pressed him against the row of lockers, whispering, “I really had fun that night. Maybe a repeat later on?”
“Get off!” Quatre growled, using his whole body to shove the senior away. Triton laughed as he walked off to join the others. Feeling more than disgusted with himself for ever giving in to that ass, he shuddered and made sure his laces were tied tight. He still felt so damn–rushed. And a little detached from things. Was he really getting sick, or what?
Then, he followed after the others, stretching his arms. The gym was crowded, and Apollo was already out on the court. He had to repress a sneer at the team–they were good, but they weren’t good enough to match their team in terms of reciprocal talent. The girls were already standing at the mouth of the hallway, laughing at something. Ramos was busily instructing the taller centers that they had to watch out for the faster forwards of Apollo, so Quatre felt momentarily safe from Triton’s sticky fingers. He shuddered again, feeling utterly low that he’d slept with him, and stretched his hamstring.
Finally came the moment when the team ran out onto the court in a traditional show-off, and they took the court near the back of the gym. Quatre was shooting lazily, getting his mind focused on the game when he heard his name being uttered. Curious, he looked around, wiping his hands on his warm-ups when he saw that loyal Darken fans were cheering for him.
He felt a little uneasy having a loyal band of followers that loved his talent on the court, but hated his guts off. He shrugged and returned to shooting the ball. He saw that his female friend was pointedly keeping her back to the group of mib’s, and he wandered over, curious.
“They friends of yours?” he asked. “Feds?”
“NO. They’re Uncle’s competition,” she muttered, glaring at them from over her shoulder. “See the guy with the cranky goatee? That’s Uncle’s major competitor. If he tries talking to you, just remember this–he likes young boys. He’d kidnap you, have his way with you, and pay you off like Michael J like it ain’t nothin’.”
“Gross,” Quatre muttered with a snicker. “He doesn’t look that old.”
“He’s alien, shit-eater. He’s actually eighty years old in human years. But he looks thirty. Personally, he’s fuckin’ stupid, and you don’t talk to him,” she warned, shoving him. “He’ll just dump his alien sperm into you and leave ya to dry.”
“Gross!”
“I’m serious!”
“Whatever,” Quatre chuckled, walking off. Sometimes, Felicia and her ideas cracked him up. Really. Alien sperm...what did that say about her and Hautta? Wasn’t Hautta from outer space?
He looked back up into the stands, looking for Trowa. In a way, he hoped he was here. He’d been at every other game...despite the troubles they had together, he just hoped that Trowa could continue to support him the way he had been doing lately. It felt good to play, knowing he was up there, watching...
Then he had to perform a double take, because he swore he just saw–yes, there was Max, sitting in the bleachers, dressed casually, and looking rather excited at being there.
When the gorgeous boy caught him looking at him, he lifted his hand in a wave, one that Quatre returned with automatic reaction. Then he turned, shooting with a sort of detached air. Knowing that Max was there made him feel funny inside...almost nervous. He hoped he played good tonight to show the boy that he knew what he was doing out here.
Meanwhile, Felicia had caught sight of the guy and grew flustered with her actions. Damn it, he really made her flustered! He looked at her, and waved at her with a wide grin. She scowled at him instead, and walked back to the bench that was designated for them. She took off her warm-ups and retied her shoe laces, squirming uncomfortably in knowing that Max was there, watching her. She glanced at him again, and he smiled at her, totally unconcerned with her earlier scowl. She flushed red and looked back down at her shoes.
Damn him and his gorgeous ways...he’d better not mess her up when she was playing.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre’s shoes squeaked as he came to a sudden stop, dribbling the ball continuously with his left hand as he scouted for a way out. Two of Apollo’s players had him trapped at the far upper corner of the court, and the time was running out for the first half. Seeing that Duo was wide open, but he had no way to pass to him, Quatre resigned himself to playing a little dirty. He ducked his head, and used an elbow to shove his way past the two players, one of them crying for a foul. Quatre quickly passed the ball off his end to Duo before the ref could call back count, and crossed the half-court line as he made himself easily accessible for the pass.
Duo passed it back to him, cutting through the middle of Apollo’s players, and Quatre made a quick over the back to Paul, who made a jump shot from free throw. At the easy sink, Quatre called for a full court press, signaling for every player to man up against the opposite team’s.
When all starting five set themselves into position–Duo on #37, Felicia on #12, Triton on #76, Paul on #23 and Quatre himself on #29–the game began anew. #20 pointed out for #12 to switch with #76, and the two players did so quickly, shaking up Felicia and Triton because of the sudden height difference. Quatre reached for the ball, earning him a call, and an inbounds pass from Apollo.
Gritting his teeth at the mistake, Quatre set himself before #20, waving and hollering as the player tried to look for an opportunity to pass in. As the ref gave him an impatient expression, #20 settled on bouncing the ball off Quatre’s shoe to make it another inbounds. But Quatre caught the ball before it could leave the boundary line, and turned to race down court with the ball, seeing Duo there as his back up. He made the easy bank, and Duo caught the ball with a smirk.
“You trying to steal my points?” he asked as he tossed the ref the ball.
“Hey, you weren’t there.”
“Fuck that! I was behind you!”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t get stupid on us, Winner,” Duo uttered in disgust, giving his point a clear expression as he took up position with #37. Quatre looked at him in annoyance, wondering where the attitude was coming from. When the ball was passed in, he made a clean interception and put the ball back up on the board. The crowd cheering, and an easy sixteen points already on hand, Quatre lifted an eyebrow and gave Duo a pointed expression.
Duo merely scowled at him, and reset their positions, but Apollo’s coach called for a time out. With less than five on the clock, Darken returned to their coach.
“Excellent going, team,” Ramos said happily, smiling at them all. “I don’t have anything to complain about. Winner, you could calm down a little. You’re playing like a mad man.”
“I feel like it,” Quatre muttered, feeling his heart racing with the pace of a speeding car. If felt as if his entire system was on fire, and he couldn’t seem to slow himself down.
“Stop scoring all my points,” Duo muttered at him.
“Will you just shut up?” Quatre asked, glaring at him. “Fuck off with that shit talk.”
“Hey. What the fuck–? I was just joking with you!” Duo snarled.
The ref signaled for a return to the game, and the two boys glared at each other as they walked back on court. Bent at the waist, hands on her knees, Felicia gave Quatre a worried look.
“You okay, man?” she asked as he walked by. Then she sniffed in his direction, something vaguely familiar catching her. Despite the fact that he was sweating as he normally did, there was something funny about his scent. It wasn’t the usual smell she was used to.
This picked at her brain as she walked over to cover #76 as Apollo positioned themselves in a line facing away from #20, the inbounds passer. At the start of the clock, the point shouted for them to move, and all four players darted in different direction: #23 made a shield for #76, causing Felicia to bounce off him and lose her man. #76 took the ball, dribbling madly down the court toward his basket. Triton was there to block him, the taller center’s frame stopping him like a brick wall. The ball went sailing, and Quatre had the rebound, breathing heavily as he eyed his end of the court. He could make it–easily. Running toward the basket with Apollo on his ass, he registered that Duo was already underneath the hoop, signaling for the ball.
But he made the shot on his own, and it felt as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath. His heart was racing too damn fast. He paused as the ball fell into the ref’s hands, and Duo cursed him over being open. Things went out of focus for a couple of seconds, and the buzzer sounded. Quatre started to make his way off court, his teammates looking curiously after him. Paul stopped him, signaling that they still had four minutes to play. Quatre looked at the clock, realized his error, and turned back to focus on the game.
“You okay, man?” Paul asked as he walked away.
Why couldn’t he catch his breath? And on that note, he had too much oxygen....why couldn’t his heart just stop beating so fast? It felt as if his blood was rushing through his veins with the intensity of an Amtrak, and he felt as if his muscles were locking up. He moved his legs about, trying to shake some feeling into them as the inbounds pass was made. His vision was blurring as he started forward, his chest clenching with the abnormal efforts his body was making to cope with this sudden rush. He dropped his arms as the player moved around him easily, shouts coming from the bleachers and from Ramos. Quatre turned to watch them make a three, much to the consternation of his teammates.
He couldn’t catch his breath. And things didn’t feel so right. He felt like he was going to...his body jerked, and he hurriedly turned, and raced off court, surprised shouts following him. He ran into the nearest locker room, startling the girls that were readying themselves for a dance number during halftime, and barely made it to the toilet to puke.
The girls ‘ew-ed’ and crowded around his stall curiously as he dry-heaved. Someone called for a nurse, and someone asked if he were okay. Ignoring them, he clutched the toilet, wondering what was wrong with him. His heart was beating much too fast–it felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest. His muscles felt weak, and things were blurring in and out...he was aware that Ramos was looming over him, trying to speak to him, but he had to concentrate on keeping himself on ground. He felt as if he were going to float away at any second.
Ramos was yanking him from the floor, amid a rush of words and actions, and he puked again, the floor splattered by his multi-colored vomit. The girls escaped the spectacle, and a man in black was there with a med-kit, demanding to know what was going on.
Things were starting to fade out, then, his eyes unable to focus on things. It felt as if his stomach were trying to crawl out his throat. Everything was too much stimulus, and his heart was just racing much too fast–! He heard Ramos exclaim over something, and the man with the med-kit was looking a mite astonished as something liquidy pooled into his mouth. Quatre didn’t know what was going on, and couldn’t even move to wipe at his mouth. And then suddenly–everything just went black, and sound just faded away, as if someone turned a knob.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The game continued with Quatre’s and Ramos’ sudden absence, and the starting four plus Hiiro played the remaining three minutes with no trouble. One of the assistant coaches had taken over Ramos’ spot. When the buzzer rang for the start of halftime, Felicia veered away from the team and raced toward the girls’ locker room. She was wholly surprised when a group of adults, some of them school security and some of them off-duty paramedics, were swarming in the room. Panicked and worried, she shoved her way through the crowd, ignoring the warnings to stay out.
She saw that a couple of men were rapidly performing CPR on her friend. She held her cheeks in shock, her eyes going wide with disbelief as she stared at the sight. Ramos, covered in puke and looking obscenely shell-shocked, looked at her, then angrily waved at her to leave. She refused to do so, shakily watching as someone brought in an Automated External Defibrillator, and she stepped to the side as someone rushed to flag down the incoming ambulance. She saw the vomit on the floor, and the frothy substance at her friend’s slack mouth, and wondered, bewilderedly, when he started drugging.
She was so sure he was in the throes of overdose that she was numbly trying to recall any instance in which she’d know he’d taken something. Someone pushed her out of the way as they hurried in, and she vaguely recognized the uniformed paramedics as they began helping. The shocks were delivered, and Quatre was revived for a shaky moment, vomiting a little more, but still unconscious. As the paramedics began working on him, Ramos left the scene, grabbing her arm and yanking her forcefully out.
“You knew of his use?!” he growled low, so no one could hear her.
She shook her head wildly. “No...no! He’s not the type! He’s not the type to use! He wouldn’t do that!”
“He lost a lot of weight–!”
“That was because his ex was on his ass about it!” she cried. “He wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t! It had to be somethin’ else!”
“He’s in there, half dead with an overdose, Goddamn it!” Ramos spit, angrily gripping her arms. She shakily curled her arms in front of her as he shook her. “Was he using?”
“NO! God, I fuckin’ swear, he wasn’t! He wasn’t! He hates it!”
“Then why is he in there, like that?” Ramos cried, then let go of her, running an agitated hand through his hair. He stalked away from her, trying to recover. Then he jerked his cellphone from his belt loop, and began rummaging for numbers.
Felicia turned away from him, and squirmed her way back in. They had gotten him breathing again, and were loading him up into a stretcher. She didn’t want to believe that her buddy had taken anything to warrant this critical reaction...she just didn’t think that Quatre did that sort of thing. He couldn’t! He hated drugs, especially when Trowa began using–!
She watched as they hurried him out of there, taking a side door rather than taking the gym. But a crowd of people had gathered to watch with curiosity, so they knew they were carting off one of Darken’s best players away. Whispers and gasps began as rumors began spreading, and she looked helplessly at them, wanting to scream that he didn’t do anything. She saw that Ramos was trying to get contact with Quatre’s relatives, and she saw her friend being wheeled out the door. Without thinking, she raced after them, ignoring Ramos’ shouts for her to come back.
She raced after the paramedics, and leapt into the back, jerking off her armbands when the medic demanded that she leave.
“Make me!” she growled, but the ambulance began moving, sirens and lights ablaze.
The medic then ignored her, working on stabilizing Quatre’s vitals and condition before they reached the hospital. She crammed herself on the single bench seat that stretched on one wall of the ambulance, and watched with a sort of detached feeling as she stared at her friend.
It felt unreal as she took in the flexible tube that had been shoved into his right nostril to administer oxygen, the mask held in position over his face so that if he vomited, it wouldn’t touch the clear plastic. When his body jerked, the medic quickly checked the pulse reading on the smaller device above his head, and used a suctioning device to filter out the watery content that spilled from his slack lips.
Felicia was just numb as she sat there, shaking with disbelief and unease as she watched the medic work. How could this have happened?
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Trowa suddenly had a very bad feeling as he looked up from his painting, which was another half-assed attempt at normality. The art studio was dark and empty, with only his area lit and bothered with activity. This bad feeling persisted in his gut, making him a little uncomfortable as he lowered his paintbrush, frowning. Rubbing the back of his neck, he decided to call it a night, and began putting things away. He wanted to go to the game tonight, but Sylvia had threatened that if he did, it only proved that he still had feelings for his ex, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.
Thus...Trowa had to step back and do some thinking. While on one hand, he felt exasperated that Sylvia was a very controlling person, despite her earlier indications, he also had to admit that his actions were hurting her. This continued racing and stalking after Quatre was bothering this relationship he had with her. And it had to stop.
So, he’d made a trip to the art studio to do some serious thinking. While he definitely had to admit that his continued jealousy and other accompanying feelings for Quatre caused him to stalk the other boy in his FTAFS (Free Time Away From Sylvia), this was hurting the relationship he had with Sylvia. From earlier indications with his conversations with Quatre, it was obvious that the blond didn’t feel the same way toward him, so he had to stop this. He had to stop following after Quatre like a lost puppy...but how could he when he kept getting mixed messages from the baller?
Anyway, this bad feeling persisted as he headed back to the dorm. He rubbed his stomach, and looked worriedly toward New Park City. Maybe...just maybe...he was feeling Quatre’s feelings as a result of some fantastical thing happening in Grand Junction...or he was catching the same bug the blond had. With a shrug, he continued on his way to the dorm. Sylvia was spending some time with her friends, and he decided that in order to take his mind off of Quatre, he was going to try and coax her into bed.
Maybe he just needed sex. Yeah...that was it. Plus, his experience with a woman that knew everything there was about pleasure and sex gave him a little confidence in that area. He’d have Sylvia singing in no time, and have her forget all about this trouble. Plus, he’d be satisfied, and would be content to leave Quatre alone. Yes...yes, that was it. Sex was the answer to everything...
He walked into the dormitory when a couple of freshmen boys, obviously upset, ran past him. He stared after him with a slow blink, recognizing them as the two that had followed Quatre into watching Spurs games in the entertainment room. One of them doubled back and ran over to him.
“How is he?” he cried, blinking away tears.
“What?” Trowa asked, pushing him away. “What?”
“You don’t know? Quatre–he–someone said he overdosed!”
Trowa stared at him in mute silence, and the boy had enough of his silence, and ran off. He watched the boy talk rapidly with the other, and heard them making plans on getting a ride down to Grand Junction Memorial, the hospital. Trowa was entirely confused, wondering if they were talking about the same person he knew, or if this was some stupid rumor–!
He turned and wandered a little more slowly toward the stairway leading up to the rooms. This feeling intensified. He looked back at the boys, who dashed out the doors.
“Huh,” he said, frowning as he pondered this new things. Quatre? On drugs? Yeah...that’ll be the day. His mind clicked on the envelope he’d found, and shifted uncomfortably.
He shook his head, and continued up the stairway, even as he felt heavier and heavier with each step. Just as he made it to his room, through, he heard sobs coming from the hall. A couple of girls were comforting each other outside their room, one of them armed with a cellphone. He watched them curiously as one sobbed quite hysterically into the other, the other leaking tears as she spoke into the cell. This girl’s eyes then widened at the sight of him, and she lowered the phone to ask, “Are you going to see him?”
“What the fuck?” he asked, fully irritated at everyone’s odd behavior. “Quatre doesn’t use drugs! You might be hearing things...”
“What? No, I’m talking to his ex...he said that he doesn’t use...” The girl then frowned after a rapid conference on her cell, and glared at him. “Then why the hell is he in the hospital, then, from an overdose?”
Trowa stared numbly at her, then shook his head in exasperation.
“God. You stupid people and your fuckin’ rumors,” he muttered, walking past her.
“He ignored me! He doesn’t believe me! You’ll tell me, right...?” the girl continued into her phone, comforting her friend and talking at the same time.
Trowa glanced back at them, then shook his head again. But despite his feelings, this bad one persisted, and he kept thinking about that envelope.
He’s probably just sick with something, that’s all, he thought in a reassuring way to himself as he walked into his room. There, he saw Jared curled up on his bed, shaking. When he heard Trowa come in, he burst into tears, sobbing hysterically.
Trowa stepped back, giving him a disgusted stare. Oh, this is new...he thought.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked with a fully exasperated tone.
“I’m so sorry!!! I didn’t want to kill him! I just wanted him to pay!” Jared sobbed.
Trowa stared at him in uneasy silence. This had just gotten much more weird...
A rapid knock at his door, and he turned away from the sobbing artsy boy and opened it. Sylvia looked up at him, a pale expression on her face.
“Did you hear...?”
And Trowa knew right then that the rumors were right, for once.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Felicia chewed numbly on her nails, listening to the ever continuous activity of the emergency room, waiting for word on her friend. Nobody had arrived yet, but she was sure they were coming. Ramos was down the hall, talking with Quatre’s uncle about his condition, and she knew that the pair were making arrangements to come to New Park. She felt entirely awful about the entire thing, blaming herself. She knew that he’d been feeling sick, and he’d complained of feeling ‘funny’–but she’d totally disregarded it as nothing. She sat on a chair, with her knees under her chin as she waited for something.
Ramos was entirely pissed that his player was using–that he was on something that sent his system sky rocketing on a high too dangerous for a first time user. The doctor assigned to Quatre had said that it was a case of Double G overdose, and that with some neutralizing reactors, his system would flush out the drug and he’d be fine.
Unfortunately, the question of how much he’d used and how recently had come up. From the amount detected, the boy had either ingested the drug through liquid means, or absorbed it slowly within a short amount of time. This, of course, had Felicia wondering where Quatre had known to obtain such things. She desperately wanted to see him, to make sure that he was all right, but the doctor wasn’t going to let any visitors in that weren’t related. While she knew she could sneak in on the claim that she was there for someone else (a Hispanic family had come in just recently, and she could use their name in the guise of getting back there to find him), she knew Ramos wasn’t letting her out of his sight. He had suspicions that she was involved, and, eager to prove that they were both innocent, she was going to cooperate with him and his questions.
The police were involved, of course–she looked over at the plainclothes that was waiting patiently nearby, having questioned her earlier about her relationship with him and other such things. Picking at a scab on her knee, Felicia then looked over at Ramos, who simply looked down and defeated as he leaned against the wall. She bet he smelled something awful–for such a tall, thin guy, Quatre had puked up an obscene amount of the drug in liquid form. She knew, from paying attention from time to time in her science classes, that Double G, once assimilated into the body, returned to liquid form after the initial high and was expelled through the body by that release. Class was quite interesting when one paid attention...
But then again, she’d seen her friend two years ago, dead drunk and vomiting up a storm. What was with the guy and vomiting? Well...at least he wasn’t shitting it like she’d seen some people do. At least vomiting was a little more dignified.
She rose from her seat when she recognized his doctor walk out from the emergency care hall. He located Ramos, and she strained her hearing to catch that they’d done all they could–all they had to do was wait for the neutralizers to kick in. Everything was currently stable, but he’d have to be kept overnight. Meanwhile, an investigation should be admitted, as the removal of his clothes had revealed some of the substance in his socks.
Felicia narrowed her eyes, thinking hard. Who would want to do this to Quatre? Granted, he had a lot of enemies, and someone kept trying to threaten and poison him earlier in the season–she realized Ramos was thinking along the same things when the older man’s face scrunched thoughtfully. The plainclothes got up from his chair and moseyed on over. Seeing that they were all distracted, Felicia left her seat, cursing her uniform’s bright colors. She told the nurse that she was here to see Gonzales, and the nurse waved her through without really looking up from her clipboard. Felicia scurried through the doors quickly, in case the woman decided to look at her.
She moved through the crowded hall, ignoring the rabid screams of a man undergoing hurried surgery; or a woman screaming for treatment over a cut finger; over a child puking charcoal while her parents sobbed and cursed themselves for being careless; she found Quatre’s room, and hurried in, pulling the curtain behind her. The heart monitor told her that his heartbeat was still irregular, and he looked so different lying there...all helpless and quiet....she couldn’t help it. She started to cry.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
By the time Trowa and Sylvia arrived, half of the team had taken up the waiting room area, as well as some of their classmates and friends. Trowa was surprised at some of them–some of these guys were people that really didn’t like Quatre at all. Yet...there were the Changs...a couple of dance team members...a girl from their third period that commonly cursed and yelled at Quatre over every little thing...Max, of course... Justin, Jake, some guys he knew vaguely from random parties...he was just surprised that so many people were here.
Drake was even there, sitting with Go, the pair of them whispering amongst each other. When the goateed boy saw Trowa, he waved him over.
“What do ya know?” he asked immediately as Trowa sat down beside him, Sylvia uncomfortably nodding at the two blue haired boys.
“I...I didn’t really think...”
“From what I got, he did overdose. Unintentionally,” Drake said with an uncomfortable shift. “Said it was all in his socks. They don’t know how long he’d been doin’ it, so, it ain’t exactly sure how much shit he got in there.”
Trowa stared at him in silence, feeling utterly cold despite the fact he was dressed warmly. He shivered violently, recalling Jared’s hysterics. He felt so empty and heavy, yet vengeful as the more he thought about Jared, the more he realized his roommate was in on something. Unfortunately, he hadn’t stuck around to find out what.
He then looked around, noticed that the room was lacking in someone’s presence. “Where’s....where’s Felicia?”
“With ‘im. She was the one who told me what she’d heard. She’s in there, sneaking around cuz they don’t want no non-relatives in there,” Drake reported, looking a little guilty. “She’s under suspicion, your friend over there’s under suspicion...frankly, we all are. Quatre ain’t awake to really talk about it.”
Trowa stared at the others in the room. There were some loyal adult fans, a couple of people sniffing, his teammates looking down and exhausted, everyone so miserably upset. He felt a tightness in his throat, looking at Sylvia. She looked at him, then sat down by his knee, squeezing it with a friendly manner. Ramos walked out from the emergency care room, still covered in vomit. He looked at everyone that stared up at him in expecting stares, and sighed.
“He’s stabilized, now,”’ he said, his voice grim and yet slightly hitched. “Uh...well...they won’t admit any visitors quite yet, and they won’t be transferring him to...to another room until they are sure it’s out of his system. So...uh...I’m sure he’ll be very happy that he has all of your support, and...and I’ll be sure to let him know you were all here for him...”
“Is he in trouble, coach?” Duo asked from his seat, looking guilty and glum. No one could see that he and Hiiro were holding fingers between their seats, the gesture hidden underneath their warm-up jackets. “I mean...it ain’t like he was using, right?”
“That’s...that’s up the investigation...I can’t...I can’t talk about that right now,” Ramos finished, a little sharply as he looked down at his leather shoes.
“But he don’t use anything,” Justin muttered from his seat, shifting uncomfortably. “He’s not into that.”
“He doesn’t even smoke!” Earl exclaimed, and Trowa had to perform a double take. For once...the guy was without a cup of Cruiser in his hand, but he still was blinged out with diamonds and gold. “He’s the cleanest fuck I know!”
“Besides the alky,” someone chuckled.
“Yeah, but...”
“You can go home, now,” Ramos repeated. “I’m sure they’ll admit visitors sometime tomorrow, and...and you can visit him, then.”
People began talking then, but no one really made the effort to move. Trowa looked around at the people that were seated there, and stared at Max, who seemed wholly uncomfortable here. He was the only person that really didn’t know Quatre–well, discounting the adult fans that admired the blond’s actions on court. And Trowa recognized a few rival players that looked rushed in their efforts to get here, including a couple of military guys decked out in street uniforms, but, hell–! Just the response the blond received was just...amazing. Trowa had no idea that so many people cared for the guy.
They were all concerned, all upset that this had happened...he wondered what Quatre would think once he knew that this whole crowd of people had come to make sure he was all right. He looked at Ramos as the guy tiredly rubbed his eyes, talking quietly with the players that were seated in their warm-ups. He looked over at the military guys, who were tuning out their communication devices, heavy weaponry clinking together with their movements. He looked at the rival players, who were dressed in casual clothing and lettermen’s jackets, expressing their sorrow and concern that they might lose a good opponent...he looked at the partiers, and at Justin, all of whom were sorrowfully expressions their own concerns in losing a good friend. He looked at the single father, who looked simply exhausted and lacking in sleep. He looked at the classmates, devoted Quatre fan and admirers that were crying and comforting each other...at everyone else that had dropped everything once hearing the news and had driven all this way to check on his ex.
It was just...amazing...there were no other words to describe his feelings upon seeing the room crowded with these people. Of course, he disregarded the paparazzi who’d been drawn to this drama from the gym and for the fact that one of their favorite subjects was close friends with the guy...and the reporter that was trying to get interviews with several people...
Trowa shook his head. He couldn’t leave...did someone contact Rashid and Lana? Were they on their way here? He looked at Sylvia, who was quietly smoothing circles over his knee. Her presence was soothing, if not...comforting. Yes. In a way, he was glad she was here. And how understanding she was...she knew his feelings, knew that it threatened their somewhat relationship, and yet...she drove him here. She wasn’t complaining, she knew that he needed to be here...and here she was, sitting on the floor, silently offering him support.
He really had to treat her better, but his feelings on the entire subject matter was mixed.
He watched as the military guys finally had to leave, and one of them talked to Justin, if not briefly. The Sageville character left with him; some of the adult fans left; the rivals, after much talking with their rival team, left; Ramos was herding his players out the door (Trowa caught the hand-holding between two of the players, and was very surprised about that); the single father left; the admirers got up and reluctantly left; the photogs grew bored at the lack of interest and left; the reporter and her cameraman left; and finally, the partiers. When only he, Sylvia, Drake, Go, and Max were left, they all stared uncomfortably with each other, unsure of what to say or do. Silence reigned between them, and nobody really moved. Finally, an hour later, Go and Drake left; Trowa looked over at Max with unease, the boy hunched down in his seat, looking very uncomfortable but determined...Sylvia quietly murmured that she was going to find a restroom, so she left.
When those two were left behind, Trowa gave the other guy an uneasy glance. Max caught him glancing, and frowned, shifting uncomfortably. The two didn’t know what to say to each other–but Trowa felt threatened by the guy. For what? He didn’t know. Just that he did.
The room filled with various people for various things; the clock silently ticked away with time; and, finally, after four, Trowa awoke with a crick in his neck and the sound of voices. He looked up to see a couple of nurses and a doctor wheeling Quatre out of the emergency care room, Felicia trailing along behind it. She caught sight of them, and walked over. It was apparent that she’d been crying–wow. She was human after all.
“Hey, ya’ll,” she greeted, her voice stiff and thick. “They’re moving him to level five, room 4066. They won’t let visitors in ‘til ten this mornin’...so...just go home.”
“Were you there all this time?” Sylvia asked curiously, where she’d been using Trowa’s shoulder as a pillow.
Felicia gave her a snotty look, then relaxed, fiddling with her jersey. The outfit was obscenely bright for the time and place, and Trowa had to squint just to focus on her. “Yeah. How long were you guys here?”
“Since nine.”
“Last night? Damn...” She trailed off, looking at all of them in turn. She then shrugged a shoulder, and walked off, hurrying after the nurses.
Sylvia sighed, working her neck as she looked at Trowa. “Do you want to leave? Or do you want to stay here and wait? I can go back to the school, and get you something...like a change of clothes, or something...”
Trowa looked at her, and didn’t want to breathe his surely monstrous morning breath on her, so he shrugged. He saw that Max wasn’t moving, despite the fact that he looked awkward, and looked back at her. “All right. Um...in the meantime, I’ll...I’m going to stay here until...until he leaves. I mean...in Grand Junction. I want to...uh...”
Sylvia lifted an eyebrow, but she smiled sadly, nodding. “I understand, Trowa. It’s....I mean...I...but...okay. I’ll bring you some clothes...enough for the weekend. And...I’ll call you. I understand. Just...rent a hotel room, or something. You can’t stay here twenty-four/seven unless you’re family, okay?”
“Are you...are you okay with this? I mean...It’s really...complicated.”
“No. I–to be honest, Trowa, I’ve never had what you had. I can’t even start to understand what it is you guys had...and have. I can’t be angry with something I don’t understand, you know? And....just to let you know...I’ll always be here. To support you. All right?”
Such declarations made him very uncomfortable in that she felt so obviously, but Trowa shrugged and nodded, unable to meet her eyes. She bent to kiss his forehead, then left with a small goodbye to Max. Trowa looked over at him with a slight scowl, shifting in his seat.
“You can go, you know,” he said.
“I know. But...I can’t. Not yet.”
Trowa stared at him with disbelief. “You don’t even fuckin’ know him! You don’t need to prove some fucking bullshit like this just because this happened!”
Max stared evenly at him, lifting his eyebrow. “Yes...true...but you might want to recall that there’s two people here. And I want to support both of them. Yes, Quatre is obviously in good hands, and the hospital’s staff will ensure that he’s well taken care of. But there’s a girl standing by him, and she needs support, too. So...in a way...I guess I can say that I’m here for both of them.”
Trowa gave him in incredulous expression, shifting in his seat.
“What the fuck are you trying to play at?” he snarled, startling several of the people that were waiting in there for others. “Is it one? Or the other?”
“It’s both.”
“YOU CAN’T HAVE BOTH!” Trowa heard himself yell.
A nurse hurried around the corner, shushing him with a furious expression. He lowered his voice, but didn’t take his murderous expression from the new kid, who stared at him stubbornly.
“That is just fucking ridiculous. Where the fuck do you come from that allows this sort of bullshit behavior?” Trowa continued in a hiss.
“I already told you where I came from. And...I’m not playing around. I truly like them both,” Max confessed, reddening slightly. Trowa was also irritated that despite the fact he spent the night here in the same place and position as he and Sylvia, he was just as gorgeous as ever. “I would like to help her...while she’s trying to be with him...of course, I realize how complicated this is.”
“Let’s go outside, motherfucker. I want to talk to you face to face.”
Wow. Max heard those words before. He recognized Trowa’s furious expression as the taller boy got out of his chair, and gestured at him. With a deep breath, Max rose from the seat and followed him out, knowing what was going to happen next.
“When U Really Love Someone” Alicia Keys
At Apollo Prestigious, Quatre shifted his game bag over his shoulder. The gym was slowly crowding with loyal fans of both teams, and the media bench was full. Felicia suddenly hissed in a catlike way, glaring at someone across the way. He leaned in close to see who she was making faces at, and saw that one section of the gym was crowded with a bunch of guys in black. He paused in place as she hissed again, and scurried off to join Mariemaia into the girls’ locker room. He snorted, shaking his head as he took in the men in black once more, then followed the rest of his team into the locker rooms. Game time wasn’t until twenty minutes, so he took his time changing.
As he was pulling off his socks and putting on new ones, he noticed a film of powder that dusted onto the floor with the action. Curious, he poked at the film with one finger, then sniffed his socks. Maybe he’d missed a pair when he did laundry, and it still had his foot powder in it...
Whichever, they smelled clean, and he shrugged and resumed the action. He had fully dressed out in his uniform and warm-ups when he felt a pair of hands on his ass, squeezing with a familiar action. He turned to elbow Triton when the senior pressed him against the row of lockers, whispering, “I really had fun that night. Maybe a repeat later on?”
“Get off!” Quatre growled, using his whole body to shove the senior away. Triton laughed as he walked off to join the others. Feeling more than disgusted with himself for ever giving in to that ass, he shuddered and made sure his laces were tied tight. He still felt so damn–rushed. And a little detached from things. Was he really getting sick, or what?
Then, he followed after the others, stretching his arms. The gym was crowded, and Apollo was already out on the court. He had to repress a sneer at the team–they were good, but they weren’t good enough to match their team in terms of reciprocal talent. The girls were already standing at the mouth of the hallway, laughing at something. Ramos was busily instructing the taller centers that they had to watch out for the faster forwards of Apollo, so Quatre felt momentarily safe from Triton’s sticky fingers. He shuddered again, feeling utterly low that he’d slept with him, and stretched his hamstring.
Finally came the moment when the team ran out onto the court in a traditional show-off, and they took the court near the back of the gym. Quatre was shooting lazily, getting his mind focused on the game when he heard his name being uttered. Curious, he looked around, wiping his hands on his warm-ups when he saw that loyal Darken fans were cheering for him.
He felt a little uneasy having a loyal band of followers that loved his talent on the court, but hated his guts off. He shrugged and returned to shooting the ball. He saw that his female friend was pointedly keeping her back to the group of mib’s, and he wandered over, curious.
“They friends of yours?” he asked. “Feds?”
“NO. They’re Uncle’s competition,” she muttered, glaring at them from over her shoulder. “See the guy with the cranky goatee? That’s Uncle’s major competitor. If he tries talking to you, just remember this–he likes young boys. He’d kidnap you, have his way with you, and pay you off like Michael J like it ain’t nothin’.”
“Gross,” Quatre muttered with a snicker. “He doesn’t look that old.”
“He’s alien, shit-eater. He’s actually eighty years old in human years. But he looks thirty. Personally, he’s fuckin’ stupid, and you don’t talk to him,” she warned, shoving him. “He’ll just dump his alien sperm into you and leave ya to dry.”
“Gross!”
“I’m serious!”
“Whatever,” Quatre chuckled, walking off. Sometimes, Felicia and her ideas cracked him up. Really. Alien sperm...what did that say about her and Hautta? Wasn’t Hautta from outer space?
He looked back up into the stands, looking for Trowa. In a way, he hoped he was here. He’d been at every other game...despite the troubles they had together, he just hoped that Trowa could continue to support him the way he had been doing lately. It felt good to play, knowing he was up there, watching...
Then he had to perform a double take, because he swore he just saw–yes, there was Max, sitting in the bleachers, dressed casually, and looking rather excited at being there.
When the gorgeous boy caught him looking at him, he lifted his hand in a wave, one that Quatre returned with automatic reaction. Then he turned, shooting with a sort of detached air. Knowing that Max was there made him feel funny inside...almost nervous. He hoped he played good tonight to show the boy that he knew what he was doing out here.
Meanwhile, Felicia had caught sight of the guy and grew flustered with her actions. Damn it, he really made her flustered! He looked at her, and waved at her with a wide grin. She scowled at him instead, and walked back to the bench that was designated for them. She took off her warm-ups and retied her shoe laces, squirming uncomfortably in knowing that Max was there, watching her. She glanced at him again, and he smiled at her, totally unconcerned with her earlier scowl. She flushed red and looked back down at her shoes.
Damn him and his gorgeous ways...he’d better not mess her up when she was playing.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre’s shoes squeaked as he came to a sudden stop, dribbling the ball continuously with his left hand as he scouted for a way out. Two of Apollo’s players had him trapped at the far upper corner of the court, and the time was running out for the first half. Seeing that Duo was wide open, but he had no way to pass to him, Quatre resigned himself to playing a little dirty. He ducked his head, and used an elbow to shove his way past the two players, one of them crying for a foul. Quatre quickly passed the ball off his end to Duo before the ref could call back count, and crossed the half-court line as he made himself easily accessible for the pass.
Duo passed it back to him, cutting through the middle of Apollo’s players, and Quatre made a quick over the back to Paul, who made a jump shot from free throw. At the easy sink, Quatre called for a full court press, signaling for every player to man up against the opposite team’s.
When all starting five set themselves into position–Duo on #37, Felicia on #12, Triton on #76, Paul on #23 and Quatre himself on #29–the game began anew. #20 pointed out for #12 to switch with #76, and the two players did so quickly, shaking up Felicia and Triton because of the sudden height difference. Quatre reached for the ball, earning him a call, and an inbounds pass from Apollo.
Gritting his teeth at the mistake, Quatre set himself before #20, waving and hollering as the player tried to look for an opportunity to pass in. As the ref gave him an impatient expression, #20 settled on bouncing the ball off Quatre’s shoe to make it another inbounds. But Quatre caught the ball before it could leave the boundary line, and turned to race down court with the ball, seeing Duo there as his back up. He made the easy bank, and Duo caught the ball with a smirk.
“You trying to steal my points?” he asked as he tossed the ref the ball.
“Hey, you weren’t there.”
“Fuck that! I was behind you!”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t get stupid on us, Winner,” Duo uttered in disgust, giving his point a clear expression as he took up position with #37. Quatre looked at him in annoyance, wondering where the attitude was coming from. When the ball was passed in, he made a clean interception and put the ball back up on the board. The crowd cheering, and an easy sixteen points already on hand, Quatre lifted an eyebrow and gave Duo a pointed expression.
Duo merely scowled at him, and reset their positions, but Apollo’s coach called for a time out. With less than five on the clock, Darken returned to their coach.
“Excellent going, team,” Ramos said happily, smiling at them all. “I don’t have anything to complain about. Winner, you could calm down a little. You’re playing like a mad man.”
“I feel like it,” Quatre muttered, feeling his heart racing with the pace of a speeding car. If felt as if his entire system was on fire, and he couldn’t seem to slow himself down.
“Stop scoring all my points,” Duo muttered at him.
“Will you just shut up?” Quatre asked, glaring at him. “Fuck off with that shit talk.”
“Hey. What the fuck–? I was just joking with you!” Duo snarled.
The ref signaled for a return to the game, and the two boys glared at each other as they walked back on court. Bent at the waist, hands on her knees, Felicia gave Quatre a worried look.
“You okay, man?” she asked as he walked by. Then she sniffed in his direction, something vaguely familiar catching her. Despite the fact that he was sweating as he normally did, there was something funny about his scent. It wasn’t the usual smell she was used to.
This picked at her brain as she walked over to cover #76 as Apollo positioned themselves in a line facing away from #20, the inbounds passer. At the start of the clock, the point shouted for them to move, and all four players darted in different direction: #23 made a shield for #76, causing Felicia to bounce off him and lose her man. #76 took the ball, dribbling madly down the court toward his basket. Triton was there to block him, the taller center’s frame stopping him like a brick wall. The ball went sailing, and Quatre had the rebound, breathing heavily as he eyed his end of the court. He could make it–easily. Running toward the basket with Apollo on his ass, he registered that Duo was already underneath the hoop, signaling for the ball.
But he made the shot on his own, and it felt as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath. His heart was racing too damn fast. He paused as the ball fell into the ref’s hands, and Duo cursed him over being open. Things went out of focus for a couple of seconds, and the buzzer sounded. Quatre started to make his way off court, his teammates looking curiously after him. Paul stopped him, signaling that they still had four minutes to play. Quatre looked at the clock, realized his error, and turned back to focus on the game.
“You okay, man?” Paul asked as he walked away.
Why couldn’t he catch his breath? And on that note, he had too much oxygen....why couldn’t his heart just stop beating so fast? It felt as if his blood was rushing through his veins with the intensity of an Amtrak, and he felt as if his muscles were locking up. He moved his legs about, trying to shake some feeling into them as the inbounds pass was made. His vision was blurring as he started forward, his chest clenching with the abnormal efforts his body was making to cope with this sudden rush. He dropped his arms as the player moved around him easily, shouts coming from the bleachers and from Ramos. Quatre turned to watch them make a three, much to the consternation of his teammates.
He couldn’t catch his breath. And things didn’t feel so right. He felt like he was going to...his body jerked, and he hurriedly turned, and raced off court, surprised shouts following him. He ran into the nearest locker room, startling the girls that were readying themselves for a dance number during halftime, and barely made it to the toilet to puke.
The girls ‘ew-ed’ and crowded around his stall curiously as he dry-heaved. Someone called for a nurse, and someone asked if he were okay. Ignoring them, he clutched the toilet, wondering what was wrong with him. His heart was beating much too fast–it felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest. His muscles felt weak, and things were blurring in and out...he was aware that Ramos was looming over him, trying to speak to him, but he had to concentrate on keeping himself on ground. He felt as if he were going to float away at any second.
Ramos was yanking him from the floor, amid a rush of words and actions, and he puked again, the floor splattered by his multi-colored vomit. The girls escaped the spectacle, and a man in black was there with a med-kit, demanding to know what was going on.
Things were starting to fade out, then, his eyes unable to focus on things. It felt as if his stomach were trying to crawl out his throat. Everything was too much stimulus, and his heart was just racing much too fast–! He heard Ramos exclaim over something, and the man with the med-kit was looking a mite astonished as something liquidy pooled into his mouth. Quatre didn’t know what was going on, and couldn’t even move to wipe at his mouth. And then suddenly–everything just went black, and sound just faded away, as if someone turned a knob.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The game continued with Quatre’s and Ramos’ sudden absence, and the starting four plus Hiiro played the remaining three minutes with no trouble. One of the assistant coaches had taken over Ramos’ spot. When the buzzer rang for the start of halftime, Felicia veered away from the team and raced toward the girls’ locker room. She was wholly surprised when a group of adults, some of them school security and some of them off-duty paramedics, were swarming in the room. Panicked and worried, she shoved her way through the crowd, ignoring the warnings to stay out.
She saw that a couple of men were rapidly performing CPR on her friend. She held her cheeks in shock, her eyes going wide with disbelief as she stared at the sight. Ramos, covered in puke and looking obscenely shell-shocked, looked at her, then angrily waved at her to leave. She refused to do so, shakily watching as someone brought in an Automated External Defibrillator, and she stepped to the side as someone rushed to flag down the incoming ambulance. She saw the vomit on the floor, and the frothy substance at her friend’s slack mouth, and wondered, bewilderedly, when he started drugging.
She was so sure he was in the throes of overdose that she was numbly trying to recall any instance in which she’d know he’d taken something. Someone pushed her out of the way as they hurried in, and she vaguely recognized the uniformed paramedics as they began helping. The shocks were delivered, and Quatre was revived for a shaky moment, vomiting a little more, but still unconscious. As the paramedics began working on him, Ramos left the scene, grabbing her arm and yanking her forcefully out.
“You knew of his use?!” he growled low, so no one could hear her.
She shook her head wildly. “No...no! He’s not the type! He’s not the type to use! He wouldn’t do that!”
“He lost a lot of weight–!”
“That was because his ex was on his ass about it!” she cried. “He wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t! It had to be somethin’ else!”
“He’s in there, half dead with an overdose, Goddamn it!” Ramos spit, angrily gripping her arms. She shakily curled her arms in front of her as he shook her. “Was he using?”
“NO! God, I fuckin’ swear, he wasn’t! He wasn’t! He hates it!”
“Then why is he in there, like that?” Ramos cried, then let go of her, running an agitated hand through his hair. He stalked away from her, trying to recover. Then he jerked his cellphone from his belt loop, and began rummaging for numbers.
Felicia turned away from him, and squirmed her way back in. They had gotten him breathing again, and were loading him up into a stretcher. She didn’t want to believe that her buddy had taken anything to warrant this critical reaction...she just didn’t think that Quatre did that sort of thing. He couldn’t! He hated drugs, especially when Trowa began using–!
She watched as they hurried him out of there, taking a side door rather than taking the gym. But a crowd of people had gathered to watch with curiosity, so they knew they were carting off one of Darken’s best players away. Whispers and gasps began as rumors began spreading, and she looked helplessly at them, wanting to scream that he didn’t do anything. She saw that Ramos was trying to get contact with Quatre’s relatives, and she saw her friend being wheeled out the door. Without thinking, she raced after them, ignoring Ramos’ shouts for her to come back.
She raced after the paramedics, and leapt into the back, jerking off her armbands when the medic demanded that she leave.
“Make me!” she growled, but the ambulance began moving, sirens and lights ablaze.
The medic then ignored her, working on stabilizing Quatre’s vitals and condition before they reached the hospital. She crammed herself on the single bench seat that stretched on one wall of the ambulance, and watched with a sort of detached feeling as she stared at her friend.
It felt unreal as she took in the flexible tube that had been shoved into his right nostril to administer oxygen, the mask held in position over his face so that if he vomited, it wouldn’t touch the clear plastic. When his body jerked, the medic quickly checked the pulse reading on the smaller device above his head, and used a suctioning device to filter out the watery content that spilled from his slack lips.
Felicia was just numb as she sat there, shaking with disbelief and unease as she watched the medic work. How could this have happened?
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Trowa suddenly had a very bad feeling as he looked up from his painting, which was another half-assed attempt at normality. The art studio was dark and empty, with only his area lit and bothered with activity. This bad feeling persisted in his gut, making him a little uncomfortable as he lowered his paintbrush, frowning. Rubbing the back of his neck, he decided to call it a night, and began putting things away. He wanted to go to the game tonight, but Sylvia had threatened that if he did, it only proved that he still had feelings for his ex, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.
Thus...Trowa had to step back and do some thinking. While on one hand, he felt exasperated that Sylvia was a very controlling person, despite her earlier indications, he also had to admit that his actions were hurting her. This continued racing and stalking after Quatre was bothering this relationship he had with her. And it had to stop.
So, he’d made a trip to the art studio to do some serious thinking. While he definitely had to admit that his continued jealousy and other accompanying feelings for Quatre caused him to stalk the other boy in his FTAFS (Free Time Away From Sylvia), this was hurting the relationship he had with Sylvia. From earlier indications with his conversations with Quatre, it was obvious that the blond didn’t feel the same way toward him, so he had to stop this. He had to stop following after Quatre like a lost puppy...but how could he when he kept getting mixed messages from the baller?
Anyway, this bad feeling persisted as he headed back to the dorm. He rubbed his stomach, and looked worriedly toward New Park City. Maybe...just maybe...he was feeling Quatre’s feelings as a result of some fantastical thing happening in Grand Junction...or he was catching the same bug the blond had. With a shrug, he continued on his way to the dorm. Sylvia was spending some time with her friends, and he decided that in order to take his mind off of Quatre, he was going to try and coax her into bed.
Maybe he just needed sex. Yeah...that was it. Plus, his experience with a woman that knew everything there was about pleasure and sex gave him a little confidence in that area. He’d have Sylvia singing in no time, and have her forget all about this trouble. Plus, he’d be satisfied, and would be content to leave Quatre alone. Yes...yes, that was it. Sex was the answer to everything...
He walked into the dormitory when a couple of freshmen boys, obviously upset, ran past him. He stared after him with a slow blink, recognizing them as the two that had followed Quatre into watching Spurs games in the entertainment room. One of them doubled back and ran over to him.
“How is he?” he cried, blinking away tears.
“What?” Trowa asked, pushing him away. “What?”
“You don’t know? Quatre–he–someone said he overdosed!”
Trowa stared at him in mute silence, and the boy had enough of his silence, and ran off. He watched the boy talk rapidly with the other, and heard them making plans on getting a ride down to Grand Junction Memorial, the hospital. Trowa was entirely confused, wondering if they were talking about the same person he knew, or if this was some stupid rumor–!
He turned and wandered a little more slowly toward the stairway leading up to the rooms. This feeling intensified. He looked back at the boys, who dashed out the doors.
“Huh,” he said, frowning as he pondered this new things. Quatre? On drugs? Yeah...that’ll be the day. His mind clicked on the envelope he’d found, and shifted uncomfortably.
He shook his head, and continued up the stairway, even as he felt heavier and heavier with each step. Just as he made it to his room, through, he heard sobs coming from the hall. A couple of girls were comforting each other outside their room, one of them armed with a cellphone. He watched them curiously as one sobbed quite hysterically into the other, the other leaking tears as she spoke into the cell. This girl’s eyes then widened at the sight of him, and she lowered the phone to ask, “Are you going to see him?”
“What the fuck?” he asked, fully irritated at everyone’s odd behavior. “Quatre doesn’t use drugs! You might be hearing things...”
“What? No, I’m talking to his ex...he said that he doesn’t use...” The girl then frowned after a rapid conference on her cell, and glared at him. “Then why the hell is he in the hospital, then, from an overdose?”
Trowa stared numbly at her, then shook his head in exasperation.
“God. You stupid people and your fuckin’ rumors,” he muttered, walking past her.
“He ignored me! He doesn’t believe me! You’ll tell me, right...?” the girl continued into her phone, comforting her friend and talking at the same time.
Trowa glanced back at them, then shook his head again. But despite his feelings, this bad one persisted, and he kept thinking about that envelope.
He’s probably just sick with something, that’s all, he thought in a reassuring way to himself as he walked into his room. There, he saw Jared curled up on his bed, shaking. When he heard Trowa come in, he burst into tears, sobbing hysterically.
Trowa stepped back, giving him a disgusted stare. Oh, this is new...he thought.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked with a fully exasperated tone.
“I’m so sorry!!! I didn’t want to kill him! I just wanted him to pay!” Jared sobbed.
Trowa stared at him in uneasy silence. This had just gotten much more weird...
A rapid knock at his door, and he turned away from the sobbing artsy boy and opened it. Sylvia looked up at him, a pale expression on her face.
“Did you hear...?”
And Trowa knew right then that the rumors were right, for once.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Felicia chewed numbly on her nails, listening to the ever continuous activity of the emergency room, waiting for word on her friend. Nobody had arrived yet, but she was sure they were coming. Ramos was down the hall, talking with Quatre’s uncle about his condition, and she knew that the pair were making arrangements to come to New Park. She felt entirely awful about the entire thing, blaming herself. She knew that he’d been feeling sick, and he’d complained of feeling ‘funny’–but she’d totally disregarded it as nothing. She sat on a chair, with her knees under her chin as she waited for something.
Ramos was entirely pissed that his player was using–that he was on something that sent his system sky rocketing on a high too dangerous for a first time user. The doctor assigned to Quatre had said that it was a case of Double G overdose, and that with some neutralizing reactors, his system would flush out the drug and he’d be fine.
Unfortunately, the question of how much he’d used and how recently had come up. From the amount detected, the boy had either ingested the drug through liquid means, or absorbed it slowly within a short amount of time. This, of course, had Felicia wondering where Quatre had known to obtain such things. She desperately wanted to see him, to make sure that he was all right, but the doctor wasn’t going to let any visitors in that weren’t related. While she knew she could sneak in on the claim that she was there for someone else (a Hispanic family had come in just recently, and she could use their name in the guise of getting back there to find him), she knew Ramos wasn’t letting her out of his sight. He had suspicions that she was involved, and, eager to prove that they were both innocent, she was going to cooperate with him and his questions.
The police were involved, of course–she looked over at the plainclothes that was waiting patiently nearby, having questioned her earlier about her relationship with him and other such things. Picking at a scab on her knee, Felicia then looked over at Ramos, who simply looked down and defeated as he leaned against the wall. She bet he smelled something awful–for such a tall, thin guy, Quatre had puked up an obscene amount of the drug in liquid form. She knew, from paying attention from time to time in her science classes, that Double G, once assimilated into the body, returned to liquid form after the initial high and was expelled through the body by that release. Class was quite interesting when one paid attention...
But then again, she’d seen her friend two years ago, dead drunk and vomiting up a storm. What was with the guy and vomiting? Well...at least he wasn’t shitting it like she’d seen some people do. At least vomiting was a little more dignified.
She rose from her seat when she recognized his doctor walk out from the emergency care hall. He located Ramos, and she strained her hearing to catch that they’d done all they could–all they had to do was wait for the neutralizers to kick in. Everything was currently stable, but he’d have to be kept overnight. Meanwhile, an investigation should be admitted, as the removal of his clothes had revealed some of the substance in his socks.
Felicia narrowed her eyes, thinking hard. Who would want to do this to Quatre? Granted, he had a lot of enemies, and someone kept trying to threaten and poison him earlier in the season–she realized Ramos was thinking along the same things when the older man’s face scrunched thoughtfully. The plainclothes got up from his chair and moseyed on over. Seeing that they were all distracted, Felicia left her seat, cursing her uniform’s bright colors. She told the nurse that she was here to see Gonzales, and the nurse waved her through without really looking up from her clipboard. Felicia scurried through the doors quickly, in case the woman decided to look at her.
She moved through the crowded hall, ignoring the rabid screams of a man undergoing hurried surgery; or a woman screaming for treatment over a cut finger; over a child puking charcoal while her parents sobbed and cursed themselves for being careless; she found Quatre’s room, and hurried in, pulling the curtain behind her. The heart monitor told her that his heartbeat was still irregular, and he looked so different lying there...all helpless and quiet....she couldn’t help it. She started to cry.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
By the time Trowa and Sylvia arrived, half of the team had taken up the waiting room area, as well as some of their classmates and friends. Trowa was surprised at some of them–some of these guys were people that really didn’t like Quatre at all. Yet...there were the Changs...a couple of dance team members...a girl from their third period that commonly cursed and yelled at Quatre over every little thing...Max, of course... Justin, Jake, some guys he knew vaguely from random parties...he was just surprised that so many people were here.
Drake was even there, sitting with Go, the pair of them whispering amongst each other. When the goateed boy saw Trowa, he waved him over.
“What do ya know?” he asked immediately as Trowa sat down beside him, Sylvia uncomfortably nodding at the two blue haired boys.
“I...I didn’t really think...”
“From what I got, he did overdose. Unintentionally,” Drake said with an uncomfortable shift. “Said it was all in his socks. They don’t know how long he’d been doin’ it, so, it ain’t exactly sure how much shit he got in there.”
Trowa stared at him in silence, feeling utterly cold despite the fact he was dressed warmly. He shivered violently, recalling Jared’s hysterics. He felt so empty and heavy, yet vengeful as the more he thought about Jared, the more he realized his roommate was in on something. Unfortunately, he hadn’t stuck around to find out what.
He then looked around, noticed that the room was lacking in someone’s presence. “Where’s....where’s Felicia?”
“With ‘im. She was the one who told me what she’d heard. She’s in there, sneaking around cuz they don’t want no non-relatives in there,” Drake reported, looking a little guilty. “She’s under suspicion, your friend over there’s under suspicion...frankly, we all are. Quatre ain’t awake to really talk about it.”
Trowa stared at the others in the room. There were some loyal adult fans, a couple of people sniffing, his teammates looking down and exhausted, everyone so miserably upset. He felt a tightness in his throat, looking at Sylvia. She looked at him, then sat down by his knee, squeezing it with a friendly manner. Ramos walked out from the emergency care room, still covered in vomit. He looked at everyone that stared up at him in expecting stares, and sighed.
“He’s stabilized, now,”’ he said, his voice grim and yet slightly hitched. “Uh...well...they won’t admit any visitors quite yet, and they won’t be transferring him to...to another room until they are sure it’s out of his system. So...uh...I’m sure he’ll be very happy that he has all of your support, and...and I’ll be sure to let him know you were all here for him...”
“Is he in trouble, coach?” Duo asked from his seat, looking guilty and glum. No one could see that he and Hiiro were holding fingers between their seats, the gesture hidden underneath their warm-up jackets. “I mean...it ain’t like he was using, right?”
“That’s...that’s up the investigation...I can’t...I can’t talk about that right now,” Ramos finished, a little sharply as he looked down at his leather shoes.
“But he don’t use anything,” Justin muttered from his seat, shifting uncomfortably. “He’s not into that.”
“He doesn’t even smoke!” Earl exclaimed, and Trowa had to perform a double take. For once...the guy was without a cup of Cruiser in his hand, but he still was blinged out with diamonds and gold. “He’s the cleanest fuck I know!”
“Besides the alky,” someone chuckled.
“Yeah, but...”
“You can go home, now,” Ramos repeated. “I’m sure they’ll admit visitors sometime tomorrow, and...and you can visit him, then.”
People began talking then, but no one really made the effort to move. Trowa looked around at the people that were seated there, and stared at Max, who seemed wholly uncomfortable here. He was the only person that really didn’t know Quatre–well, discounting the adult fans that admired the blond’s actions on court. And Trowa recognized a few rival players that looked rushed in their efforts to get here, including a couple of military guys decked out in street uniforms, but, hell–! Just the response the blond received was just...amazing. Trowa had no idea that so many people cared for the guy.
They were all concerned, all upset that this had happened...he wondered what Quatre would think once he knew that this whole crowd of people had come to make sure he was all right. He looked at Ramos as the guy tiredly rubbed his eyes, talking quietly with the players that were seated in their warm-ups. He looked over at the military guys, who were tuning out their communication devices, heavy weaponry clinking together with their movements. He looked at the rival players, who were dressed in casual clothing and lettermen’s jackets, expressing their sorrow and concern that they might lose a good opponent...he looked at the partiers, and at Justin, all of whom were sorrowfully expressions their own concerns in losing a good friend. He looked at the single father, who looked simply exhausted and lacking in sleep. He looked at the classmates, devoted Quatre fan and admirers that were crying and comforting each other...at everyone else that had dropped everything once hearing the news and had driven all this way to check on his ex.
It was just...amazing...there were no other words to describe his feelings upon seeing the room crowded with these people. Of course, he disregarded the paparazzi who’d been drawn to this drama from the gym and for the fact that one of their favorite subjects was close friends with the guy...and the reporter that was trying to get interviews with several people...
Trowa shook his head. He couldn’t leave...did someone contact Rashid and Lana? Were they on their way here? He looked at Sylvia, who was quietly smoothing circles over his knee. Her presence was soothing, if not...comforting. Yes. In a way, he was glad she was here. And how understanding she was...she knew his feelings, knew that it threatened their somewhat relationship, and yet...she drove him here. She wasn’t complaining, she knew that he needed to be here...and here she was, sitting on the floor, silently offering him support.
He really had to treat her better, but his feelings on the entire subject matter was mixed.
He watched as the military guys finally had to leave, and one of them talked to Justin, if not briefly. The Sageville character left with him; some of the adult fans left; the rivals, after much talking with their rival team, left; Ramos was herding his players out the door (Trowa caught the hand-holding between two of the players, and was very surprised about that); the single father left; the admirers got up and reluctantly left; the photogs grew bored at the lack of interest and left; the reporter and her cameraman left; and finally, the partiers. When only he, Sylvia, Drake, Go, and Max were left, they all stared uncomfortably with each other, unsure of what to say or do. Silence reigned between them, and nobody really moved. Finally, an hour later, Go and Drake left; Trowa looked over at Max with unease, the boy hunched down in his seat, looking very uncomfortable but determined...Sylvia quietly murmured that she was going to find a restroom, so she left.
When those two were left behind, Trowa gave the other guy an uneasy glance. Max caught him glancing, and frowned, shifting uncomfortably. The two didn’t know what to say to each other–but Trowa felt threatened by the guy. For what? He didn’t know. Just that he did.
The room filled with various people for various things; the clock silently ticked away with time; and, finally, after four, Trowa awoke with a crick in his neck and the sound of voices. He looked up to see a couple of nurses and a doctor wheeling Quatre out of the emergency care room, Felicia trailing along behind it. She caught sight of them, and walked over. It was apparent that she’d been crying–wow. She was human after all.
“Hey, ya’ll,” she greeted, her voice stiff and thick. “They’re moving him to level five, room 4066. They won’t let visitors in ‘til ten this mornin’...so...just go home.”
“Were you there all this time?” Sylvia asked curiously, where she’d been using Trowa’s shoulder as a pillow.
Felicia gave her a snotty look, then relaxed, fiddling with her jersey. The outfit was obscenely bright for the time and place, and Trowa had to squint just to focus on her. “Yeah. How long were you guys here?”
“Since nine.”
“Last night? Damn...” She trailed off, looking at all of them in turn. She then shrugged a shoulder, and walked off, hurrying after the nurses.
Sylvia sighed, working her neck as she looked at Trowa. “Do you want to leave? Or do you want to stay here and wait? I can go back to the school, and get you something...like a change of clothes, or something...”
Trowa looked at her, and didn’t want to breathe his surely monstrous morning breath on her, so he shrugged. He saw that Max wasn’t moving, despite the fact that he looked awkward, and looked back at her. “All right. Um...in the meantime, I’ll...I’m going to stay here until...until he leaves. I mean...in Grand Junction. I want to...uh...”
Sylvia lifted an eyebrow, but she smiled sadly, nodding. “I understand, Trowa. It’s....I mean...I...but...okay. I’ll bring you some clothes...enough for the weekend. And...I’ll call you. I understand. Just...rent a hotel room, or something. You can’t stay here twenty-four/seven unless you’re family, okay?”
“Are you...are you okay with this? I mean...It’s really...complicated.”
“No. I–to be honest, Trowa, I’ve never had what you had. I can’t even start to understand what it is you guys had...and have. I can’t be angry with something I don’t understand, you know? And....just to let you know...I’ll always be here. To support you. All right?”
Such declarations made him very uncomfortable in that she felt so obviously, but Trowa shrugged and nodded, unable to meet her eyes. She bent to kiss his forehead, then left with a small goodbye to Max. Trowa looked over at him with a slight scowl, shifting in his seat.
“You can go, you know,” he said.
“I know. But...I can’t. Not yet.”
Trowa stared at him with disbelief. “You don’t even fuckin’ know him! You don’t need to prove some fucking bullshit like this just because this happened!”
Max stared evenly at him, lifting his eyebrow. “Yes...true...but you might want to recall that there’s two people here. And I want to support both of them. Yes, Quatre is obviously in good hands, and the hospital’s staff will ensure that he’s well taken care of. But there’s a girl standing by him, and she needs support, too. So...in a way...I guess I can say that I’m here for both of them.”
Trowa gave him in incredulous expression, shifting in his seat.
“What the fuck are you trying to play at?” he snarled, startling several of the people that were waiting in there for others. “Is it one? Or the other?”
“It’s both.”
“YOU CAN’T HAVE BOTH!” Trowa heard himself yell.
A nurse hurried around the corner, shushing him with a furious expression. He lowered his voice, but didn’t take his murderous expression from the new kid, who stared at him stubbornly.
“That is just fucking ridiculous. Where the fuck do you come from that allows this sort of bullshit behavior?” Trowa continued in a hiss.
“I already told you where I came from. And...I’m not playing around. I truly like them both,” Max confessed, reddening slightly. Trowa was also irritated that despite the fact he spent the night here in the same place and position as he and Sylvia, he was just as gorgeous as ever. “I would like to help her...while she’s trying to be with him...of course, I realize how complicated this is.”
“Let’s go outside, motherfucker. I want to talk to you face to face.”
Wow. Max heard those words before. He recognized Trowa’s furious expression as the taller boy got out of his chair, and gestured at him. With a deep breath, Max rose from the seat and followed him out, knowing what was going to happen next.