The second half
May. 3rd, 2005 10:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misanagiShattered Glass
Rating: R/M
Pairing: None, 4+5 (friendship)
Summary: The world is not always a nice place, and sometimes bad things happen to good people. Prequel to Masterminds (fic to be written soon).
Warnings: AU. ANGST: Violence, death (secondary characters), language. Quatre-centric.
Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta reading.
Part One
___
Part Two
Iria Winner had managed to sleep at most a couple of hours. It was around three in the morning when her father sent her to bed. She had argued that she couldn't sleep, but he had said that it was important for her to get at least some rest. In other circumstances she would have probably argued more but his father was already under enough stress, and she wanted to help, even if the only way she could do it was by going to her room for a couple of hours.
At first, she had laid in bed with her eyes open, starting at the glowing star stickers on the ceiling. Bit by bit her eyes had closed and she had managed to drift into an unsettling sleep, filled with images she couldn't remember when she woke, but that she knew were disturbing. When she decided that she had had enough, it was barely five in the morning.
She headed for the bathroom, deciding to take a quick shower before going to the kitchen to make sure her father got something to eat. There was no doubt in Iria's mind that he had been up all night.
Standing under the warm water, Iria closed her eyes, trying to relax. She was exhausted, both physical and mentally. When her mother had died someone had told Iria that it was important to cry, because crying cleaned the troubled soul. She didn't remember who had said the words; Iria had been very little at the time, and she didn't even understand what the person had tried to say. Now, she could. However, as much as she wanted to cry, Iria seemed to had spent all her tears, when Yuan had come to get her at school to tell her that her little brother had been kidnapped.
She had cried all the way back home. Yuan had taken her, since he didn't think she was in any state to drive, and had promised that someone would get her car from the school later. When she had turned sixteen, his father had giving her permission to drive one of the cars to school. It wasn't technically hers but she was the only one who used it.
It would have been a lot easier to take her. She drove alone to school every day, but the kidnappers had still targeted Quatre. Why? If they had taken her, Quatre would be fine and Daniel would still be alive. She shuddered despite the hot water falling on her body.
Iria got out of the shower and dressed quickly. The sun was rising. Briefly she wondered if Quatre could see the sunrise from wherever he was.
The staff was up. When Iria walked into the kitchen she found that Clarita had already fed her father and the cops staying at the house, and had a plate ready for her. Everyone in the Winner house was upset. They were mourning for Daniel and worried for Quatre. It was a sad Saturday for everyone.
The food was as good as always, but Iria found that she had lost her appetite. She forced herself to eat a couple of slices of toast and drink a little juice. She thanked Clarita and went to the living room, where she had left her father and the policemen a few hours before.
Everyone looked tired. Her father was sitting on one of the chairs, with his computer in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand. The two detectives were sitting on the sofa, going over some data, and talking quietly.
A hand was placed on Iria's shoulder. "You look tired. You should sleep a bit longer."
She turned and gave Yuan a small smile. "I can't sleep anymore. How's Wufei?" she asked, trying to change the subject.
Yuan gave her a tired look. "He's locked himself in his room. He wanted to come here, but I told him that there was nothing he could to. I promised to call if we have any news."
Iria nodded. "He must be fri—"
"I think I got a mail from them." Her father's voice filled the room interrupting all the conversations. It was firm and steady; his business voice.
The detectives got up from the sofa, and Yuan and Iria walked towards her father too. He was staring at his inbox, the mouse hovering over the last received mail. It hadn't been opened yet.
When Iria's father saw that the detectives were behind him, he clicked on the link. The page was blank for a moment and then a picture started to download. The first thing that could be seen was a dirty white wall. Iria held her breath. She wanted to look away but she couldn't move her eyes away from the screen. She blinked, and when she fixed her eyes on the screen again the picture had finished downloading.
Her hands flew to her mouth to stop the scream from getting out. Quatre was sitting against the wall, his hands behind his back and a newspaper on his lap. Someone was holding a gun against his head. His face was covered with dry blood, and more stains could be seen on his blazer and pants. He was looking straight at the camera; his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes wide open. There was a note below the picture but Iria couldn't read it. Her vision had blurred. She was crying.
Taking a couple of steps away from the computer, she turned her eyes to the carpet. She didn't want to see that horrible picture anymore.
"All that blood..." her father whispered. His voice wasn't firm anymore.
"I don't think it's his," said one of the detectives. "It's probably the driver's."
"That's yesterday's paper," said the other detective. "May I?" He gestured to the computer. Iria's father nodded and step away, letting the detective do his job.
Iria sat on the sofa and waited. Her father joined her a few moments later. They didn't talk. They just waited, and comforted each other, silently. She leaned her head on her father's shoulder and fell asleep.
Later, she was awakened by the detective's voice.
"I think I've found him."
* * *
Zechs Marquise looked at his watch for what seemed the tenth time in the last hour. The sun had already gone down but they were supposed to wait until it was a quarter plus ten to move, and there were still a few minutes left.
Everything had been planned minutes after Zechs had managed to triangulate the location from where the mail had been sent. The kidnappers were probably amateurs. They hadn't encrypted the information well enough and Zechs had been able to trace the mail. Besides, their ransom demands had been sloppy at best: do not contact the police, ten million or your kid dies, we'll contact you in the morning with the drop off information.
Thankfully, the kidnapers had decided to give the family a day to gather the large amount of money, giving the police enough time to stage a rescue operation. They had decided to wait until nightfall to take the kidnappers by surprise and use the cover of the night to their advantage.
The police had sent a small team ahead to gather some intel. There were five kidnappers, all armed. They had the boy held in a small cottage a few minutes outside the city. The cottage had a kitchen, two rooms and two bathrooms. The boy was held in the main room, while the kidnappers stayed in the kitchen and the living room.
The plan was simple. Surround the house, cut the electricity, and take the enemy by surprise. Then a small team would get the boy to the vehicles waiting a few feet away while the rest secured the kidnappers. Standard procedure.
Only five minutes to go.
Zechs took a deep breath and put on his mask and night vision glasses. He was dressed completely in black, and now with the mask covering his face and hair he was practically invisible in the dark moonless night.
He took his gun out of his holster and grasped it with both hands. The command to move came softly in his earpiece, and Zechs moved closer to the cottage, slowly and stealthy. He stood beside the door; three men in front of him and three men beside him. Another team would be entering though the backdoor. Zechs kept his eyes on the small light that could be seen from under the door. As soon as it went off it would be time to move.
Zechs kicked the door open and pointed his gun forward. The room was dark, and the kidnappers probably could only see the red point of the lasers in the policemen's guns, aiming at them.
"Police! Freeze!" yelled every policeman, stopping any movement the kidnappers might want to make.
"You are surrounded." Zechs stated simply. "Don't move."
He waited for the kidnappers to raise their hands in the air before moving inside the room, and allowing more agents to enter. "Slowly put your guns on the floor."
The kidnappers kept moving their heads from side to side, clearly disoriented by the lack of light. However, they seemed to understand that they were outnumbered and slowly put their guns in the floor.
"Put your hands behind your head, and kick the guns away from you."
As soon as the kidnappers obeyed the order, the lights in the cottage came back on. The kidnappers blinked, trying to get used to the light, and then, suddenly, one of them dashed through the side door.
Someone fired but the man was already gone. Zechs gave chase and walked through the door just in time to see the redheaded man holding a knife at the hostage's throat. He fired.
The bullet hit the man in the head. He didn't have time to gasp or scream. The body collapsed on top of the hostage.
"The target is down."
Zechs' voice sounded cold, even to himself. He had just taken a life. Why wasn't he more disturbed? His hands didn't shake when he pushed the body away from the hostage.
The boy looked at him. There wasn't any fear in his eyes. They seemed dull, absent, almost dead. Zechs crouched in front of the boy and helped him to his feet. "Can you walk?" he asked.
A nod was his only reply. Zechs held the boy by the arm, steadying him, and guided him out. When they reached the living room a couple of policemen walked towards them. Zechs shook his head. "I've got him," and he repeated "I've got him."
They both walked silently towards the cars. The boy stumbled a couple of times but Zechs was there to steady him. He helped the boy into the car. He realized that he still had his mask on, so he took it off and gave the boy a small smile. Zechs then called for someone to drive them to the hospital.
"Let me take care of these," Zechs said, motioning to the handcuffs. He got the lock picks out of his pocket and in a few moments he had managed to get the cuffs open.
"Thank you," the boy whispered, not looking at Zechs.
That's when Zechs noticed that the boy was bleeding. Apparently the man had managed to cut him after all. Gently, Zechs wiped the blood with a cotton ball he took out of the med kid in the car, and inspected the wound. Thankfully it wasn't deep.
Tyler, their driver, arrived at that moment to take them to the hospital.
Zechs handed the boy a blanket. "Here, you must be cold."
The boy took the blanket slowly and wrapped it around himself. He thanked Zechs again and then turned to look at the window with those hollowed eyes. The boy's reactions weren't normal. Zechs had been doing this work for a while and the victims were always overwhelmed by emotions when they were rescued. They were afraid at first since they didn't feel like they could trust anyone, but when they realized that they could, they held on to their rescuers. Many men had broken down in tears after being rescued, and yet here was this boy, staring outside with emotionless eyes; a boy who hadn't as much as gasped when Zechs had killed that man right in front of him.
Zechs had to suppress the urge to swear when he realized what had happened. The boy was in shock. He had seen too much and his emotions had decided to shut down, numbing him as a mechanism of protection.
"You killed him." The boy spoke the words without much inflection in his voice, but this time he was looking at Zechs.
"Yes," replied Zechs, keeping eye contact.
"He was going to kill me."
"Yes," repeated Zechs.
"How's Daniel?"
Zechs remained quiet for a moment until he realized that Daniel was the boy's driver. "He died. I'm sorry."
"They killed him," said the boy, still with that emotionless voice.
"Yes."
"Like you killed him." There was no accusation in the tone.
"Yes."
The boy again turned to the window and there was silence for a moment. "They both died because of me. They killed Daniel to hurt me, just like you killed that man to save me. Two lives. I'm not worth it."
Zechs could feel a knot on his throat. He didn't know what to say, but from the way the boy kept looking at the window Zechs knew that he wasn't expecting an answer.
The rest of the drive to the hospital was silent.
Tyler parked beside an ambulance. A couple of orderlies were in front of the car, with a wheelchair, waiting to take the boy inside. Zechs went into the hospital with them. He wasn't going to leave the boy alone. Not just yet.
Apparently someone had taken the time to call the family. Mr. Winner and his daughter were sitting in the waiting room of the E.R. As soon as they saw the boy they got up quickly and ran towards him. The girl was crying and Zechs could swear that the father was trying hard to contain the tears. They both hugged and kissed the boy, telling him many things that Zechs didn't pay attention to. The boy, however, remained impassive, mumbling a word or two but with the same dead tone.
The doctors soon took the boy to examine him and the family went to sit in the waiting room again. Zechs remained standing, leaning on a wall. He had decided to wait until he knew the boy's condition before going back to the station. The paperwork could wait a bit.
Twenty minutes later the doctors came back. They informed them that the boy was fine. His injuries were superficial, a few scrapes and bruises probably from the car crash, and the cut on his throat hadn't been deep enough to be serious, but would probably scar. They were keeping the boy on observation for a day or two because he was dehydrated. The kidnappers apparently hadn't bothered for feed him or even give him any water during the forty hours they had held him. One thing was clear; they hadn't planned on keeping the boy alive for much longer.
The boy would be fine. That was all Zechs needed to know. His wounds would heal, and with time, his mind would too.
Zechs left the hospital, thinking of maybe visiting the boy in a couple of days. It had been a long day and there was still paperwork to be done.
* * *
The room was quiet. Quatre could hear muffled voices outside, probably the nurses or doctors. His father had gone to the police station, to sort some things out. The kidnappers had been all caught, except for the man that policeman, Zechs Marquise, had killed. His father had said that the kidnappers had been following him for some time. New security would need to be arranged. Quatre didn't want to think about it.
Iria was reading quietly beside him. They hadn't talked much. She had tried to make conversation, but Quatre wasn't in the mood for it, and after a while, his short answers discouraged her.
He had spent the time looking at the window. From his bed he could only see the sky and some trees, but anything was better than talking or sleeping. They had given him something when he had arrived at the hospital the night before. The nurse had said it was something to make him relax. It wasn't true. Quatre had fallen into a troubled sleep and couldn't wake up. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat.
Quatre's thoughts seemed to be dispersed since last night. He couldn't focus on anything for too long, not even on the images he had tried so hard to banish before. It was weird. He felt that everything had happened to someone else, and he was just a spectator, watching from behind a shattered glass.
When he had arrived to the hospital, and his father and Iria had rushed to him, Quatre hadn't been able to do anything but stare. Some part of him told him that he should be doing something, smiling, hugging them, crying... but he couldn't. He had just stared, unable to do all the things he should.
He hadn't cried. Not when the man had come with the knife to kill him or when they had told him that Daniel was dead. He was sad, but why couldn't he cry?
In the last couple of days Quatre had seen things he would rather forget, and he knew that everything after that point would be different. Then why wasn't he more upset? It was as if his own mind had betrayed him. Nothing felt real anymore.
"Quatre, I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want me to get you something?" Iria was smiling slightly but her eyes still showed how worried she was.
"No, thank you."
Her smile got a little wider. It was a fake smile. She closed the book and laid it on the chair before getting up and heading for the door. She gave Quatre one last look before leaving.
During the time he had been held, Quatre had wanted nothing more than to go back home, and see his family. However, he felt more comfortable with Iria out of the room. He didn't want to be alone, but yet he didn't want her with him either. Things were so confusing.
Quatre could hear the door opening, but he didn't turn. His moment of solitude had been way too short.
"Quatre?" The voice was hesitant, and that made Quatre turn around quickly. He had never heard Wufei hesitate.
"You look terrible," Wufei said. The tone was sincere.
Wufei slowly walked closer to Quatre until he was just beside him, his knees touching the mattress.
Quatre looked at him. Wufei didn't look good either. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under them. He looked pale, and his hair, while not messy, wasn't as neatly combed as usually. Quatre wanted to say something; give Wufei a smile and assure him that everything was fine, but he couldn't. He couldn't lie to his best friend.
"I..." Wufei was looking down at his feet. He was holding his hands together, and he was silent for a moment. "Fuck, Quatre. I was scared."
Wufei didn't swear. Something had to be very wrong for him to do that. Quatre tried to look at him but Wufei's head was still bowed. "I was scared too," Quatre admitted.
There was no reply.
"Wufei?" Quatre put a hand on Wufei's arm. That's when he noticed that Wufei was shaking slightly, and that he was hiding his face because he was crying. But Wufei never cried.
"Look at me, 'Fei." Quatre could feel his eyes watering. "I'm here now."
Slowly, Wufei raised his head. There were tears running down his face.
Quatre closed his eyes and let the tears fall. He held on to Wufei's arm, and moments later Wufei sat in the bed next to him. Whatever emotions Quatre had been hiding from came back to him in a rush. He closed his eyes and let himself cry, all the time holding his best friend's hand.
Yes, what happened had changed everything, and nothing would ever be the same. However, Quatre wouldn't let it define him. He was done hiding, and it was time to face his demons and start fighting back. It would take time but he was going to be fine. After all, life stopped for no one, and Quatre's wasn't about to be left behind.
* * *
- The End -
I'm working on the main fic, but it might take a while. The drabbles are up next *works on them*
Rating: R/M
Pairing: None, 4+5 (friendship)
Summary: The world is not always a nice place, and sometimes bad things happen to good people. Prequel to Masterminds (fic to be written soon).
Warnings: AU. ANGST: Violence, death (secondary characters), language. Quatre-centric.
Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta reading.
Part One
___
Part Two
Iria Winner had managed to sleep at most a couple of hours. It was around three in the morning when her father sent her to bed. She had argued that she couldn't sleep, but he had said that it was important for her to get at least some rest. In other circumstances she would have probably argued more but his father was already under enough stress, and she wanted to help, even if the only way she could do it was by going to her room for a couple of hours.
At first, she had laid in bed with her eyes open, starting at the glowing star stickers on the ceiling. Bit by bit her eyes had closed and she had managed to drift into an unsettling sleep, filled with images she couldn't remember when she woke, but that she knew were disturbing. When she decided that she had had enough, it was barely five in the morning.
She headed for the bathroom, deciding to take a quick shower before going to the kitchen to make sure her father got something to eat. There was no doubt in Iria's mind that he had been up all night.
Standing under the warm water, Iria closed her eyes, trying to relax. She was exhausted, both physical and mentally. When her mother had died someone had told Iria that it was important to cry, because crying cleaned the troubled soul. She didn't remember who had said the words; Iria had been very little at the time, and she didn't even understand what the person had tried to say. Now, she could. However, as much as she wanted to cry, Iria seemed to had spent all her tears, when Yuan had come to get her at school to tell her that her little brother had been kidnapped.
She had cried all the way back home. Yuan had taken her, since he didn't think she was in any state to drive, and had promised that someone would get her car from the school later. When she had turned sixteen, his father had giving her permission to drive one of the cars to school. It wasn't technically hers but she was the only one who used it.
It would have been a lot easier to take her. She drove alone to school every day, but the kidnappers had still targeted Quatre. Why? If they had taken her, Quatre would be fine and Daniel would still be alive. She shuddered despite the hot water falling on her body.
Iria got out of the shower and dressed quickly. The sun was rising. Briefly she wondered if Quatre could see the sunrise from wherever he was.
The staff was up. When Iria walked into the kitchen she found that Clarita had already fed her father and the cops staying at the house, and had a plate ready for her. Everyone in the Winner house was upset. They were mourning for Daniel and worried for Quatre. It was a sad Saturday for everyone.
The food was as good as always, but Iria found that she had lost her appetite. She forced herself to eat a couple of slices of toast and drink a little juice. She thanked Clarita and went to the living room, where she had left her father and the policemen a few hours before.
Everyone looked tired. Her father was sitting on one of the chairs, with his computer in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand. The two detectives were sitting on the sofa, going over some data, and talking quietly.
A hand was placed on Iria's shoulder. "You look tired. You should sleep a bit longer."
She turned and gave Yuan a small smile. "I can't sleep anymore. How's Wufei?" she asked, trying to change the subject.
Yuan gave her a tired look. "He's locked himself in his room. He wanted to come here, but I told him that there was nothing he could to. I promised to call if we have any news."
Iria nodded. "He must be fri—"
"I think I got a mail from them." Her father's voice filled the room interrupting all the conversations. It was firm and steady; his business voice.
The detectives got up from the sofa, and Yuan and Iria walked towards her father too. He was staring at his inbox, the mouse hovering over the last received mail. It hadn't been opened yet.
When Iria's father saw that the detectives were behind him, he clicked on the link. The page was blank for a moment and then a picture started to download. The first thing that could be seen was a dirty white wall. Iria held her breath. She wanted to look away but she couldn't move her eyes away from the screen. She blinked, and when she fixed her eyes on the screen again the picture had finished downloading.
Her hands flew to her mouth to stop the scream from getting out. Quatre was sitting against the wall, his hands behind his back and a newspaper on his lap. Someone was holding a gun against his head. His face was covered with dry blood, and more stains could be seen on his blazer and pants. He was looking straight at the camera; his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes wide open. There was a note below the picture but Iria couldn't read it. Her vision had blurred. She was crying.
Taking a couple of steps away from the computer, she turned her eyes to the carpet. She didn't want to see that horrible picture anymore.
"All that blood..." her father whispered. His voice wasn't firm anymore.
"I don't think it's his," said one of the detectives. "It's probably the driver's."
"That's yesterday's paper," said the other detective. "May I?" He gestured to the computer. Iria's father nodded and step away, letting the detective do his job.
Iria sat on the sofa and waited. Her father joined her a few moments later. They didn't talk. They just waited, and comforted each other, silently. She leaned her head on her father's shoulder and fell asleep.
Later, she was awakened by the detective's voice.
"I think I've found him."
* * *
Zechs Marquise looked at his watch for what seemed the tenth time in the last hour. The sun had already gone down but they were supposed to wait until it was a quarter plus ten to move, and there were still a few minutes left.
Everything had been planned minutes after Zechs had managed to triangulate the location from where the mail had been sent. The kidnappers were probably amateurs. They hadn't encrypted the information well enough and Zechs had been able to trace the mail. Besides, their ransom demands had been sloppy at best: do not contact the police, ten million or your kid dies, we'll contact you in the morning with the drop off information.
Thankfully, the kidnapers had decided to give the family a day to gather the large amount of money, giving the police enough time to stage a rescue operation. They had decided to wait until nightfall to take the kidnappers by surprise and use the cover of the night to their advantage.
The police had sent a small team ahead to gather some intel. There were five kidnappers, all armed. They had the boy held in a small cottage a few minutes outside the city. The cottage had a kitchen, two rooms and two bathrooms. The boy was held in the main room, while the kidnappers stayed in the kitchen and the living room.
The plan was simple. Surround the house, cut the electricity, and take the enemy by surprise. Then a small team would get the boy to the vehicles waiting a few feet away while the rest secured the kidnappers. Standard procedure.
Only five minutes to go.
Zechs took a deep breath and put on his mask and night vision glasses. He was dressed completely in black, and now with the mask covering his face and hair he was practically invisible in the dark moonless night.
He took his gun out of his holster and grasped it with both hands. The command to move came softly in his earpiece, and Zechs moved closer to the cottage, slowly and stealthy. He stood beside the door; three men in front of him and three men beside him. Another team would be entering though the backdoor. Zechs kept his eyes on the small light that could be seen from under the door. As soon as it went off it would be time to move.
Zechs kicked the door open and pointed his gun forward. The room was dark, and the kidnappers probably could only see the red point of the lasers in the policemen's guns, aiming at them.
"Police! Freeze!" yelled every policeman, stopping any movement the kidnappers might want to make.
"You are surrounded." Zechs stated simply. "Don't move."
He waited for the kidnappers to raise their hands in the air before moving inside the room, and allowing more agents to enter. "Slowly put your guns on the floor."
The kidnappers kept moving their heads from side to side, clearly disoriented by the lack of light. However, they seemed to understand that they were outnumbered and slowly put their guns in the floor.
"Put your hands behind your head, and kick the guns away from you."
As soon as the kidnappers obeyed the order, the lights in the cottage came back on. The kidnappers blinked, trying to get used to the light, and then, suddenly, one of them dashed through the side door.
Someone fired but the man was already gone. Zechs gave chase and walked through the door just in time to see the redheaded man holding a knife at the hostage's throat. He fired.
The bullet hit the man in the head. He didn't have time to gasp or scream. The body collapsed on top of the hostage.
"The target is down."
Zechs' voice sounded cold, even to himself. He had just taken a life. Why wasn't he more disturbed? His hands didn't shake when he pushed the body away from the hostage.
The boy looked at him. There wasn't any fear in his eyes. They seemed dull, absent, almost dead. Zechs crouched in front of the boy and helped him to his feet. "Can you walk?" he asked.
A nod was his only reply. Zechs held the boy by the arm, steadying him, and guided him out. When they reached the living room a couple of policemen walked towards them. Zechs shook his head. "I've got him," and he repeated "I've got him."
They both walked silently towards the cars. The boy stumbled a couple of times but Zechs was there to steady him. He helped the boy into the car. He realized that he still had his mask on, so he took it off and gave the boy a small smile. Zechs then called for someone to drive them to the hospital.
"Let me take care of these," Zechs said, motioning to the handcuffs. He got the lock picks out of his pocket and in a few moments he had managed to get the cuffs open.
"Thank you," the boy whispered, not looking at Zechs.
That's when Zechs noticed that the boy was bleeding. Apparently the man had managed to cut him after all. Gently, Zechs wiped the blood with a cotton ball he took out of the med kid in the car, and inspected the wound. Thankfully it wasn't deep.
Tyler, their driver, arrived at that moment to take them to the hospital.
Zechs handed the boy a blanket. "Here, you must be cold."
The boy took the blanket slowly and wrapped it around himself. He thanked Zechs again and then turned to look at the window with those hollowed eyes. The boy's reactions weren't normal. Zechs had been doing this work for a while and the victims were always overwhelmed by emotions when they were rescued. They were afraid at first since they didn't feel like they could trust anyone, but when they realized that they could, they held on to their rescuers. Many men had broken down in tears after being rescued, and yet here was this boy, staring outside with emotionless eyes; a boy who hadn't as much as gasped when Zechs had killed that man right in front of him.
Zechs had to suppress the urge to swear when he realized what had happened. The boy was in shock. He had seen too much and his emotions had decided to shut down, numbing him as a mechanism of protection.
"You killed him." The boy spoke the words without much inflection in his voice, but this time he was looking at Zechs.
"Yes," replied Zechs, keeping eye contact.
"He was going to kill me."
"Yes," repeated Zechs.
"How's Daniel?"
Zechs remained quiet for a moment until he realized that Daniel was the boy's driver. "He died. I'm sorry."
"They killed him," said the boy, still with that emotionless voice.
"Yes."
"Like you killed him." There was no accusation in the tone.
"Yes."
The boy again turned to the window and there was silence for a moment. "They both died because of me. They killed Daniel to hurt me, just like you killed that man to save me. Two lives. I'm not worth it."
Zechs could feel a knot on his throat. He didn't know what to say, but from the way the boy kept looking at the window Zechs knew that he wasn't expecting an answer.
The rest of the drive to the hospital was silent.
Tyler parked beside an ambulance. A couple of orderlies were in front of the car, with a wheelchair, waiting to take the boy inside. Zechs went into the hospital with them. He wasn't going to leave the boy alone. Not just yet.
Apparently someone had taken the time to call the family. Mr. Winner and his daughter were sitting in the waiting room of the E.R. As soon as they saw the boy they got up quickly and ran towards him. The girl was crying and Zechs could swear that the father was trying hard to contain the tears. They both hugged and kissed the boy, telling him many things that Zechs didn't pay attention to. The boy, however, remained impassive, mumbling a word or two but with the same dead tone.
The doctors soon took the boy to examine him and the family went to sit in the waiting room again. Zechs remained standing, leaning on a wall. He had decided to wait until he knew the boy's condition before going back to the station. The paperwork could wait a bit.
Twenty minutes later the doctors came back. They informed them that the boy was fine. His injuries were superficial, a few scrapes and bruises probably from the car crash, and the cut on his throat hadn't been deep enough to be serious, but would probably scar. They were keeping the boy on observation for a day or two because he was dehydrated. The kidnappers apparently hadn't bothered for feed him or even give him any water during the forty hours they had held him. One thing was clear; they hadn't planned on keeping the boy alive for much longer.
The boy would be fine. That was all Zechs needed to know. His wounds would heal, and with time, his mind would too.
Zechs left the hospital, thinking of maybe visiting the boy in a couple of days. It had been a long day and there was still paperwork to be done.
* * *
The room was quiet. Quatre could hear muffled voices outside, probably the nurses or doctors. His father had gone to the police station, to sort some things out. The kidnappers had been all caught, except for the man that policeman, Zechs Marquise, had killed. His father had said that the kidnappers had been following him for some time. New security would need to be arranged. Quatre didn't want to think about it.
Iria was reading quietly beside him. They hadn't talked much. She had tried to make conversation, but Quatre wasn't in the mood for it, and after a while, his short answers discouraged her.
He had spent the time looking at the window. From his bed he could only see the sky and some trees, but anything was better than talking or sleeping. They had given him something when he had arrived at the hospital the night before. The nurse had said it was something to make him relax. It wasn't true. Quatre had fallen into a troubled sleep and couldn't wake up. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat.
Quatre's thoughts seemed to be dispersed since last night. He couldn't focus on anything for too long, not even on the images he had tried so hard to banish before. It was weird. He felt that everything had happened to someone else, and he was just a spectator, watching from behind a shattered glass.
When he had arrived to the hospital, and his father and Iria had rushed to him, Quatre hadn't been able to do anything but stare. Some part of him told him that he should be doing something, smiling, hugging them, crying... but he couldn't. He had just stared, unable to do all the things he should.
He hadn't cried. Not when the man had come with the knife to kill him or when they had told him that Daniel was dead. He was sad, but why couldn't he cry?
In the last couple of days Quatre had seen things he would rather forget, and he knew that everything after that point would be different. Then why wasn't he more upset? It was as if his own mind had betrayed him. Nothing felt real anymore.
"Quatre, I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want me to get you something?" Iria was smiling slightly but her eyes still showed how worried she was.
"No, thank you."
Her smile got a little wider. It was a fake smile. She closed the book and laid it on the chair before getting up and heading for the door. She gave Quatre one last look before leaving.
During the time he had been held, Quatre had wanted nothing more than to go back home, and see his family. However, he felt more comfortable with Iria out of the room. He didn't want to be alone, but yet he didn't want her with him either. Things were so confusing.
Quatre could hear the door opening, but he didn't turn. His moment of solitude had been way too short.
"Quatre?" The voice was hesitant, and that made Quatre turn around quickly. He had never heard Wufei hesitate.
"You look terrible," Wufei said. The tone was sincere.
Wufei slowly walked closer to Quatre until he was just beside him, his knees touching the mattress.
Quatre looked at him. Wufei didn't look good either. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under them. He looked pale, and his hair, while not messy, wasn't as neatly combed as usually. Quatre wanted to say something; give Wufei a smile and assure him that everything was fine, but he couldn't. He couldn't lie to his best friend.
"I..." Wufei was looking down at his feet. He was holding his hands together, and he was silent for a moment. "Fuck, Quatre. I was scared."
Wufei didn't swear. Something had to be very wrong for him to do that. Quatre tried to look at him but Wufei's head was still bowed. "I was scared too," Quatre admitted.
There was no reply.
"Wufei?" Quatre put a hand on Wufei's arm. That's when he noticed that Wufei was shaking slightly, and that he was hiding his face because he was crying. But Wufei never cried.
"Look at me, 'Fei." Quatre could feel his eyes watering. "I'm here now."
Slowly, Wufei raised his head. There were tears running down his face.
Quatre closed his eyes and let the tears fall. He held on to Wufei's arm, and moments later Wufei sat in the bed next to him. Whatever emotions Quatre had been hiding from came back to him in a rush. He closed his eyes and let himself cry, all the time holding his best friend's hand.
Yes, what happened had changed everything, and nothing would ever be the same. However, Quatre wouldn't let it define him. He was done hiding, and it was time to face his demons and start fighting back. It would take time but he was going to be fine. After all, life stopped for no one, and Quatre's wasn't about to be left behind.
* * *
- The End -
I'm working on the main fic, but it might take a while. The drabbles are up next *works on them*
