Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Trowa Smiled ❯ Quatre Smiled ( Chapter 1 )

Trowa Smiled

By Tygerlilee

*I do not own any Gundam Wing or any part therein. Also, Veida is my creation, so if you want to use her, please ask me first.

/ denotes thought

Part 1: Quatre Smiled

"Will you please file this for me, Ms. Yates?" Quatre asked with his usual impeccable manners, sweeping loose bangs out of his eyes. He was standing amidst a crowded room sectioned off into cubicles, each housing one of his employees. Once Quatre had turned twenty-one, he took over his father's company and ran it with surprising skill and understanding. The company was already equal to the economic and political influence that it had had previous to the Eve Wars ten years earlier.

"Mr. Winner," a man's voice stated.

Quatre turned to greet the man behind him when he met with the wrong-end of a capable looking handgun at point-blank range. He had just enough time to shift when the gun went off.

Quatre fell to the cold tile beneath. At first he felt nothing, just a faint burning sensation. Then the pain hit.

He contorted into the fetal position, lying in a pool of his own blood. He couldn't breath. His sight began to gray and then fade. He could hear another gunshot amongst the background noise of shrieks and sirens. A sharp twang of pain riveted down his spine. Then, he remembered no more.

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"Veida!! Veida get your LAZY BUTT over here right now!! And Veida, bring my stethoscope with you!!"

"Oh, the beauty and wonder of our most valued and respected of the medical profession," Veida muttered under her breath as she irritably grabbed the stethoscope and meandered down the hall, going extra slow on purpose because she knew it would drive him nuts. "Here you are, your highness." Her voice literally dripping with sarcasm.

"Veida, don't take that tone with me! I'm your boss and one of the most highly respected critical care physicians..." Veida tuned him out as she turned to the patient to bandage his new stitches, while silently mimicking his ranting. "The disrespect and honor," she caught.

"Doctor Lamphear, shall I go make my rounds now?" she asked with false sweetness.

"NO, I still need you. Hand me the needle."

An hour later, when Veida had finished acting as gopher and what was probably the first human blood-clotter, the temperamental doctor had finished stapling wounds up and left her to clean the mess. "That Arrogant, self-righteous PIG! I wish that one time, just ONE time he would be kind to me, just say 'Thanks Veida,' or 'Veida you are probably the most over qualified nurse that I have ever met,' mind you that I am WAY over qualified for this job..." she continued to rant to her unconscious patient while violently shaking her index finger.

Veida Scott left the room spick and span as usual and walked into the bathroom to wash her hands, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Veida was of average height, about 5'6" or 5'7" and slender. Her springing, curly, chestnut hair was tied into a tight knot in the back of her head. She had high cheekbones, lightly tanned skin with freckles sprinkling her face, and large deep brown eyes. It was a friendly face, a nice face, and a very pretty one, not beautiful, but pretty. But Veida didn't see it that way today, "Ugg, Veida, you look like and old lady, not twenty-two!! Look at those dark circles," she whined as she held her face next to mirror, pulling her lower lids down. "Well, I won't have to worry about any patients hitting on me today."

Veida worked in a private hospital on the southern-most end of the colony L-4. It was specially designed to keep the press and unwanted, persistent visitors away. In other words, it was for 'celebrities'. Any time a sports figure was injured and he or she didn't want it to ruin his trading value, this is where he went. If some big time lawyer got shot, he went here. It was highly confidential and she had had to sign fifty contracts saying that she would never speak of who came here and what their condition had been. That was also to protect reputations since once in a while they had to perform abortions and drug clean-outs. Not that Veida ever helped with that. She was of the opinion that if someone got their self pregnant, they should be mature enough to deal with the consequences; however, she did also understand the exceptions.

Drugs, on the other hand, she would not tolerate. It was more than likely because her brother had been a drug addict and she had had to watch as he slowly killed himself. She had tried to help him, but he wouldn't let her. One day he was just gone, dead, nothing. She had cried for him and swore an oath against all drugs and the like. That was why she had gone to work in a rehab facility and tried to help people there. When she graduated from high school she went to nursing school and got her R.N., but that had been a breeze considering her occupation during the war. She had only been thirteen or so, but she had helped in the hospitals.

She had always loved taking care of people and wanted to do something to help the cause as she watched all of the men, and some boys, go off to battle. She had learned everything she could from the doctors and nurses there at her local hospital. If Veida wanted, she could go to med.-school and become a doctor with relative ease, but she didn't like having that much responsibility. All the mal-practice suits and such, that wasn't for her. She just wanted to enjoy her work. She had specialized in the ER because of her experience and that she also kept a cool head in panicky situations, which made her very valuable. Then, the head director to the hospital recognized her value and sent her to this private branch of it, where only the 'best of the best' work, as Dr. Lamphear would say.

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Veida picked up the folder of the next patient down the hall as she made her rounds, checking on everyone. "Well, another pacifist shot. Why is that the pacifists always get hurt the most? Well, Mr. Winner, let's see how you are today."

Veida walked into the multi-billionaire's room and sighed. /Sometimes this job is so depressing/ Veida thought.

Quatre Winner was hooked up to a breathing machine, and looked very small underneath all of the tubes and wires. Five days ago, a nut case had burst into his office and shot him. The would-be assassin had missed his target slightly because Quatre and managed to move slightly before the bullet hit him and punctured his left lung. They had told the papers that he was fine, but right now he was in a coma. His hair looked clotted and greasy, having been confined amongst the tubes for five days. Normally, Ashleigh took this end of the hall, but she was on vacation, which was why this was the first time Veida had ever seen the billionaire. His breath and pulse were slow but steady, and, according to his chart, he was getting better.

Veida pulled up his hospital gown up to his chest, leaving the blanket and sheets to cover him for modesty's sake and carefully removed the large bandage that was stretched across the left side of his chest cavity. She then pulled out a large wad of gauze and hospital tape to remake a bandage. It was healing nicely.

/He must be a fast healer./ He shifted slightly in his all too peaceful sleep. Veida sighed inwardly, wishing that she could sleep that well, and got up to leave.

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The next day, Veida silently walked into Mr. Winner's room, repeating the previous day's procedure. All during the activity, she felt as if something wasn't right. It was barely perceptible, but there. /What is it that's bugging me./ Then it hit her, the breathing monitor was a little faster than yesterday, and the pulse and brainwave monitor was too. /Hmm. That can only mean one thing/ she realized.

Veida went into the miniscule bathroom adjoined to the hospital room and moistened a paper towel with cold water. She gently patted his forehead with the towel and then sat back to watch. Quatre's eyes slowly fluttered open and began to take the room in.

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"Dorothy, come back! Let me help you!" Quatre shamelessly screamed to her slowly fading figure.

She stopped and turned to him for a moment. "Farewell, Mr. Winner. May you find happiness." She replied, and continued to walk away.

"Dorothy, NOOO!!! Please!" Quatre cried out to her, pleading to her. He needed her so badly. He needed her presence and love, her kindness that he had helped her to rediscover. A cold tear trickled down his cheek.

Quatre stopped and realized that tears aren't cold.

He licked one off of his face. They are also supposed to be salty.

He stared up into the cloudy haze that was sky above him to search for rain. Then the clouds parted and a blinding white light rushed around him and consumed him.

He looked around. There were tubes hooked to his mouth and nose. Another to his arm, and many others whose sources he could not see. His eyes slowly circled the room.

"Hey, sleeping beauty's awake!! Did you have a good sleep? If you can hear and understand me, turn those baby blues toward me and blink very slowly, okay," he heard a cheerful woman's voice instruct.

Quatre looked right at her and blinked slowly. She was very pretty with curly hair coming loose from her knot, and her eyes were kind...like hers. /Wasn't she just here?/ Quatre thought.

"Great!! Okay, listen carefully. You are at St. Catherine's private hospital. You're left lung was punctured and it is healing rapidly. You have been here six days now and are under the best medical care!" she chirped. "Now, I'll go get the doc and tell him that you're awake, okay." She winked at him and swiftly left the room.

/That's right/ Quatre thought. /I remember now. The man, the gun, the pain, the screams. And her. But she was only a dream/ he realized now. /Only a dream. She left for real a long time ago. Dorothy, I miss you so much. Please come back/ he silently pleaded.

The entrance of the doctor and the cheerful nurse interrupted his thoughts.

"Veida, get over here. I want you to unhook the breathing machine. If he has trouble, put him back on it pronto. Clean his wound again and make him comfortable. Got that, go, now get moving!" Dr. Lamphear yelled as he stormed out of the room.

Quatre watched the nurse, apparently called Veida, roll her eyes as the doctor left. "If you have any trouble at all, or feel any unnatural pain, tell me immediately and I'll put you back on this thing okay?" Quatre blinked to show his understanding. He watched as she fiddled with some switches and carefully pulled the large plastic thing out of his mouth and nose. "There, is that better?"

"Mhm. It feels all right. Thank you." Quatre said massaging his chin and mouth area.

He watched a wave of shock run over her face. /She must not be used to people telling her that/ he speculated. "Your welcome," she said softly as she changed the bandage.

"Is he always like that?" Quatre asked.

"Is who always like what?" Veida returned.

"The Doctor, is he always that rude and demanding?"

He saw her shocked expression again. /What did I say this time?/ he wondered.

"Oh, it's alright, I'm used to it," Veida said.

"But you shouldn't have to be used to it or tolerate it," he retorted.

"You know, I think that you and I will get along very well Mr. Winner. How does that wound feel?"

"It burns a little," Quatre admitted, while thinking to himself that that wasn't what was really hurting him, but she could never heal that.

"Okay, I'll get some iodine." Veida swiftly left the room and returned in a flash. "This might sting a little," she warned.

Quatre didn't even flinch. He had felt MUCH worse pain. Getting stabbed with a fencing foil being at the top of the list. "Okey-dockey, are you comfortable, anything you need?"

"Not really, thank you."

Veida turned to leave but stopped, as if remembering something important. "If a red-head with an overzealous attitude comes in your room-BEWARE!! She's a nurse, and a good one too, but she's also husband hunting."

"Husband hunting?" Quatre inquired.

"Yup. Especially the rich, famous, and cute!"

"Wait, you didn't tell me your name," Quatre stopped her. He may have figured out her first name, but it was still polite to ask her for it.

"Oh, sorry!! I'm Veida. Veida Scott." And with that she turned and left, spiral curls bouncing.

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"Well, Mr. Winner, thanks to good behavior and the immune system like living disinfectant, you get to go home!!" Veida happily reported.

"Yes, the doctor told me already. I've called someone to get me." He had called Trowa earlier. Trowa wasn't usually around, but the circus was in town.

"Good. I was just going to suggest that you do that. Anyway, I have places to go and people to see," she said slightly sarcastic.

"Really busy?" Quatre asked timidly. He had really started to like this girl. She reminded him of HER, and he wasn't leaving without a phone number. /If Dorothy wants to come back, well then tough, I'm over her/ he tried to convince himself.

Quatre turned back to reality.

"Yup. And in high demand. There isn't anything I can't do. Heck, I'm even a gundam pilot!" Veida joked.

"Well, that may be, but I'm not leaving the hospital without your number," Quatre told her.

Veida did a triple take and bluntly pointed out, "I'm not a groupie, Mr. Winner, nor a slut."

"I know. I wouldn't have asked for your number if I thought that you were."

Veida looked at him intently for a moment, then said, "alright."

Quatre's heart jumped. He hadn't felt this good around anyone in a long time. Maybe she was the one who would heal his ravished heart. Maybe she could make him happy once more. Maybe...

And Quatre smiled.

**Author's notes: Please be patient! This IS about Trowa, but he comes in during part 2. Also, if you disagree with how I interpret the characters, remember, it is MY interpretation and therefore only an opinion. You have yours and I have mine. Please review, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading =) Tygerlilee

e-mail me at tygerlilee84@hotmail.com