14-Feb-2006
Title: Launch 9/?
Author: TB
Archive: GWA and
http://www.geocities.com/brother_maxwell/TB_home_page.html
Category: yaoi
Pairing: 3x4, 2
Disclaimer: The plot and characters of Gundam Wing are used without
permission and without profit.
Notes: Same for Part 1.
Summary: Part 9: As Quatre recovers, Duo attempts to beat some sense
into one Trowa Barton, without notable success. Also, sisterly love.
The room was dark when he woke. Somewhere there was a soft, relentless beeping. He felt fuzzy and warm, content for a long time to stare through half-opened eyes at what was probably a wall. But eventually the persistent beeping translated to a niggling ache in his chest, and when he finally admitted to the need to shift to ease it, he woke up enough to realise there was something in his hand.
A finger. He was holding a finger.
A finger connected to a hand, with a thumb resting on his thumb and three other fingers spread awkwardly over his. He rolled his head to get a muzzy look at the whole affair, and then spent what seemed like forever worming his elbow under him so he could shift off a curiously insensate backside.
Sudden pressure pressing him back to his pillows made him gasp out something alarmed. A blurry shape leaned over him and said, 'You're in the ICU, Quatre. It's okay. I'm still here.'
Quatre blinked rapidly, and discovered he was clutching the finger in his fist. His mouth was deathly dry, and he couldn't seem to swallow, but he managed to say, 'Whaff? Doo?'
The blur resolved into a head, the flash of white into a smile. Duo reached up to stroke his hair, and Quatre relaxed instantly into the warm palm brushing his cheek. 'Are you thirsty?' Duo asked him. 'Here.' A straw bumped his lips, and Quatre opened his mouth. It was hard to remember at first what to do, but when the first rush of cool water hit his tongue, he shook off the worst of his daze, and drank thirstily. Duo stopped him far too soon, but caressed his face in sympathy.
He was in a private ward, small and grey. A woman slept on a chair at the foot of his bed, covered all the way to her long, light hair. He wondered which of his sisters it was.
'Iraia,' Duo told him, anticipating him. 'She got here last night. It's about three in the morning.'
He swallowed again and rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth until he thought he might speak coherently. 'How'did go?' he tried.
Duo's smile slipped, and his hand, still covering Quatre's, tightened its awkward grip. 'It was a success,' he hedged. 'Your new valve is working fine. They think you'll be on your feet in a few days.'
'Sommthing wrong though?' Duo's face looked haggard. His eyes were too dim, not like Duo's eyes at all. It was hard to feel overly concerned about it, but some rational part of himself attributed his apathy to sedatives. That part of him knew Duo's answer was important.
Duo sank back into his own chair, pulled so close to the bed that Quatre realised his housemate must have been sleeping with his head on the mattress. 'You came out from the anaesthesia,' he said softly. 'We're not sure for how long. Do you remember?'
At first it meant nothing to him. Then a feeling of distant pain, terrible fear. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. Duo's finger pulled out of his fist, and then both Duo's hands surrounded his.
'I'm so sorry, Quatre,' Duo whispered. 'I should have noticed sooner. I was supposed to be there for you.'
The sedatives were not done with their work, and he let the unnatural calm spread over him again. There would be time later to remember, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. He was glad for Duo's solid hold on his hand, keeping him anchored.
'Not your fault,' he whispered back.
There was a long silence. He hoped it was a good silence, but the odds weren't high. Duo said finally, 'I saw you sweating. Then I saw you crying. I should have- I should have known. I should have warned them.'
'No way for you to know.'
'You're a Gundam pilot,' Duo said bitterly. 'I've seen my own file. I can guess what's in yours.'
I should have guessed, Quatre thought, dimly surprised. Dismayed. It had never even crossed his mind to warn anyone about his enhanced tolerance for drugs. Gundam pilot indeed.
'Not your fault,' he repeated, as forcefully as he could. 'Duo.'
There was another long silence. Then Duo leaned over him, to kiss his forehead again, as if he were a little child. He felt like one. 'You need about thirty hours more sleep,' Duo told him. 'Think you can manage?'
He could have slept a year. Weariness slammed him like an ocean wave. 'You'll be here?'
Another kiss, this time on his cheek. 'I swear.'
He sighed, and turned his face into the clean-smelling pillow. 'That's good.'
'Surgery?' Trowa stared at Duo's image in very sharp dismay. 'What surgery?'
'Heart valve replacement.' Duo ran a hand through his limp hair, then down over his face, rubbing at a day's growth of stubble. 'It was a distinctly unpleasant experience, and I've been on both ends of torture.'
Heart valve replacement. Quatre's real pills still sat in his desk. A gnawing feeling began to form in the pit of his gut. 'Is he all right?' he made himself ask levelly. 'Those are pretty routine.'
'No, he's not all right,' Duo snapped at him. 'And you could fucking be here. This is a shitty relationship you two have.' Startled, Trowa found himself staring again. He was saved the need to reply when contrition crept into Duo's face. 'I'm sorry,' Deathscythe's pilot added grudgingly. 'Just- I think he'd really appreciate having you here. I think you should be here.'
'Are you going to explain what happened or do I need to make a flight before I'll get any information?'
'He woke up during the surgery. He says he doesn't really remember it, but *now* they're going to great lengths to keep him drugged.'
The gnawing feeling was probably guilt. Guilt wasn't something he'd had much traffic with, before Quatre, but he was getting a thorough education in it these days. 'How serious,' he managed to ask, though his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.
Oddly, though, it mollified Duo. 'It looked serious from where I was sitting. The hospital has gone into don't-sue mode. The surgeon won't admit it happened and his primary is up in arms. His sisters have already called together a legal team.'
'I can't be there right now,' Trowa told him. 'I'm working with a big-time client.'
Duo's face went red, a bad sign. 'You've got a big-time boyfriend who's one step from big-time-trauma. And a friend who's about to be big-time convinced you're a big-time schmuck and a half, Barton!'
'You said yourself he doesn't remember it.'
'I said he *said* he doesn't remember it!'
'I'll call him when he's out of ICU,' he said flatly. 'Thanks for the news. Good-bye, Duo.' He disconnected before Duo could get out more than a strangled snarl, and gazed dumbly at the blank screen.
It was a long time before he thought to try eating something to ease his stomach. It didn't help noticeably.
Iraia returned to the large oak conference table carrying a pewter tray of tea things. Duo, playing restlessly with his enormous leather swivel chair, spun about to whisk a pecan biscuit from the tray before Iraia set it down.
'Tea?' she asked Quatre.
'Double cream,' he answered absently, tugging at his stiff collar. Iraia swatted his hand away, and presented him with a saucer and cup. Quatre ran a fingertip around the golden rim of the cup, watching the cream billow upward into the leaf-brown tea. It steamed gently.
Duo finished off his biscuit, and nudged Quatre in the shoulder. 'You sure you want to do this?'
'Mostly I want to get out of Dodge,' Quatre told him, summoning a little smile. 'You make those reservations?'
'This morning.' Duo returned his grin. 'They must like you there. You're getting the room you had before. And they're bringing on a nurse for you.'
Quatre groaned, but Iraia was nodding her approval. 'Suck it up,' she teased him gently. 'I'd much rather you have someone nearby than not.' The light faded quickly from her round face. 'I wish it was me,' she added. 'I don't like the idea of you being there by yourself.' Her eyes, the same shade of blue as his, flickered to his chest, then away, to the briefcase that sat on his lap.
He pressed her hand gently with his. 'I know,' he told her, accepting her implicit apology and making his own. 'But- I was thinking about that.' He glanced at Duo, including him in the moment. 'Think maybe you could take a break from the Preventers?' he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. 'I know you're probably stretching your leave as it is, but Dorada is beautiful. I'd love for you to see it.' Duo's face had gone strangely blank, and Quatre looked at him nervously. 'Maybe just for a few days,' he temporised. 'Take a little holiday. Have you ever been to Spain? You wouldn't be responsible for me, I mean, I'm on my feet, and I'm not even bringing any work with me, it's pure rest for two weeks...' He trailed off uncertainly. When he'd first thought of proposing that Duo join him at the hotel where he intended to finish his recovery, it had seemed like a good idea. But Duo wasn't answering, not even to say he couldn't do it or had to go back to work.
Finally Duo spoke. 'Don't take this the wrong way,' he said slowly. 'But are you sure you want to invite me? Not- someone else?'
Quatre blinked at him, confused. 'Who else would I invite? You mean one of my sisters?'
They were prevented from pursuing their odd inability to communicate by a rap at the door. It opened a moment later, as Iraia eased her hand out from under his and Duo retreated back into silence, his eyes cold on the men and women entering the room. Quatre, safe between them, drew as deep a breath as he could with a sore chest, and snapped the locks on his briefcase.
The opposite side of the table filled quickly- two of the top hospital administrators and three of their lawyers, Dr Pitik and two of the nurses who had been present during his surgery, and two people he couldn't identify at all, but who were old enough and dressed well enough to be trustees. Looking at them taking their seats in the hospital's fine conference room, Quatre let himself slip into business mode. The air was tense, a little hostile, but he sensed nervousness and resentment, especially from the doctor and his staff. The lawyers he couldn't read at all.
'Thank you for coming,' he said, and reached for his tea. It was a little cooler than he liked, having sat for too long in the chilly room, but he sipped it without hurry, and set it back on its ceramic saucer with a tiny clink, sliding it away towards Iraia. 'I hope I won't keep you long.'
One of the lawyers, a thin woman in her fifties with an impressive chignon of steely grey hair, folded her hands on the table. 'Mr Winner, I am Joyce Appleton, a partner with Lambert & Saxony.' They exchanged grave nods. 'I've read your statement and those of the hospital staff,' she said, and beside her, one of the other lawyers produced several documents, presumably those under discussion. Quatre didn't bother to look at them. 'St Thomas's is not prepared at this time to admit culpability to any negligence, and frankly, I see very little by way of proof.'
'I'll tell you what I don't see,' Duo interrupted, leaning forward suddenly.
'I don't see Nurse Carr. You know- the woman who corroborated our statements?' He planted his chin on his hand. 'Maybe you lost her?' he added, oozing innocence.
'You may not be willing to admit to negligence,' Iraia said smoothly, exactly the right beat after Duo's flippant but significant question. 'But I'm willing to bet that you've got an offer on the table anyway.'
There was a little, prickly silence. The two old men Quatre thought were the trustees were watching him with hooded eyes. Quatre returned the looks politely.
Appleton said, 'We can give you something toward pain and mental anguish,' she said briskly, as if she weren't conceding a thing. 'In exchange for a non-disclosure agreement.'
Quatre glanced away from the trustees, and sighed. 'No,' he answered.
Appleton turned a sharp expression his way. 'We are prepared to be more than fair, Mr Winner,' she said.
'I have plenty of money,' he told her. 'I don't need more of it.' He lifted the lid of his briefcase, and removed a packet of documents from inside it. He tossed it to the table, watching it slide in her direction.
'I have an offer for you. I'm making a directed grant to St Thomas's. Enough to cover the purchase of brain activity monitors for each surgical theatre, and to hire or train technicians to operate them.'
'Monitors?' It was Pitik who threw in that incredulous question. Quatre looked, and saw interest in that sullen face. They had not seen each other since the surgery that had gone awry, and Quatre wondered what Pitik had thought Quatre would do. Accuse him of wielding a weapon and inflicting torture, probably. Quatre smiled slightly, and inclined his head. Pitik glanced up the table, at the lawyers, at the administrators. 'I've been arguing for brain wave monitoring for years,' he added.
'Double-blind tests have shown that brain wave monitors are more than eighty percent more effective than bispectral index monitors in determining anaesthesia awareness,' Iraia filled in. 'That's very high odds that if my brother had been given access to that technology, we wouldn't be sitting here right now.'
'There is a study to prove every point of view,' Appleton said dismissively.
'You're hardly equipped to make demands of the hospital based on information from the internet-'
'I'm a neurologist,' Iraia corrected her icily. 'And I serve on the board of Omdurman Teaching Hospital in Sudan.'
Quatre took back control of the dialogue quietly, but firmly. 'The grant, as I said, covers the expense of the initial purchase and the disposition of staff. I've designated a period of five weeks for the hospital to provide me with a receipt and progress report. St Thomas will be subject to inspection by an independent watch organisation without prior notice for eighteen months, during which time I will personally return to see the monitors for myself. Assuming we reach the end of that time without violation of the terms, I will then consider our business concluded.' He nodded the papers, which Appleton reluctantly picked up and examined. 'As for the non-disclosure agreement, I took the liberty of having one drawn up. Dependent, of course, on satisfactory fulfilment of the terms outlined in my grant.'
One of the administrators, a middle-aged man with prematurely white hair and a faint L1 accent, caught Quatre's eyes. 'I'm not sure I understand where this is coming from,' he said, and he certainly sounded puzzled.
Quatre, on the other hand, discovered he had a headache, and was hit with a desire to lie down in a dark room. He tried to keep his sudden discomfort from his voice when he answered courteously. 'Sir,' he said, 'a settlement does not benefit anyone. Not me, and hardly St Thomas's. As I understand it, a settlement only results in higher insurance premiums, which passes increased costs on to the consumer. I'd rather you be able to offer improved service than have to charge more for what you've already got.' He looked back at Appleton. 'Tell them it's a good deal,' he murmured wearily.
The austere woman lowered his contract, and consulted in whispers with her colleagues. Quatre watched them tiredly, while Duo rubbed a soothing little circle on his right knee. Perhaps three minutes later, the lawyers came up for air, and Appleton turned to the trustees.
'It is a good deal,' she confirmed reluctantly. 'I am at a loss to explain it, and I want time to examine the documents more closely... but I'm tentatively recommending you accept.'
Quatre, watching for it, got his nod a moment later. He gripped the handle of his briefcase, and rose to his feet. He presented Appleton with a card. 'The local branch of my law firm,' he said. 'They'll handle the paperwork after your more thorough examination. You'll have the cheque immediately.' Duo and Iraia joined him, and suddenly everyone at the table was hastily rising. The noise of it was a little jolting, but Duo stayed close to his side, slipping an unobtrusive hand under his elbow. They moved toward the door, and no-one bothered to stop them. Quatre hesitated only as he passed by Pitik; he took care to meet the surgeon's eyes, and show his respect with an inclination of his head. He got a surprised expression, and a quick little bow in return.
And then, finally, they were out in the hallway, and Iraia punched the call button for the lift. She was grinning, obviously excited by what had been, Quatre knew, an easy win.
'They should all be that good,' he told her, and smiled when she impulsively kissed his cheek. He caught her hand, and drew her down for a firmer kiss on the brow. Iraia was his favourite sibling, not just for the connection they shared from having witnessed their father's death together. There was sorrow between them, but a much deeper love and lightness. He just wished she didn't tower over him quite so much.
The lift arrived, and the three of them piled into it. Duo took Quatre's briefcase, and leaned against the mirrored wall facing him.
'Were you serious about me going with you to Spain?' he demanded suddenly.
Quatre nodded, as Iraia settled her arm about his shoulders. 'Absolutely,' he answered. 'If you can,' he added hastily. 'I really think you'd love it. It would be like one of our mini-breaks, only without death-defying stunts or V-8 motors.'
'Well- I'm- ' Duo frowned down at Quatre's briefcase as he fiddled with the brass snap-locks. 'I'm really glad you asked me,' he finished finally, sounding a little embarrassed. 'I'd really like to go. Yeah.'
'Excellent,' Iraia proclaimed, just as they arrived at the first floor. 'I expect you both to come back brown as walnuts and with a little extra meat on your bones,' she ordered, assuming a matronly tone that brooked no argument. 'I'll give you the list for looking after Quatre,' she added, ignoring her brother's loud groan and Duo's crooked grin.
End Part 9
(:./erin/launch9)
