Psychosomatic Agency: Part 16
a shounen ai gundam wing fanfiction
by tan

Warnings: AU, shounen ai, 3x4, 1x2, 5xH, 13x6, sap, drama, etc. , and a stalker Dorothy...? More developments pending... Please forgive misspellings, grammatical errors, and any excessive use of commas in previous chapters...

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any characters therein. I do sort of own the alternate universe plot. Sort of...

Summary: Quatre Winner is released from Arcadia Asylum.

italics thoughts, or dreams, or memories...

Added: 10/4/07

PART 16

Quatre didn't fall asleep so much as he collapsed and faded out of consciousness. He didn't feel the pillow under his head, or the blanket bunched up under him. He didn't notice when tears collected in his eyes and slowly slid down the side of his face, soaking into the fabric. The worst part was that he wasn't crying. He didn't feel anything-- anything at all. It was just another side effect of the Epyon, apparently. He wondered later if his eyes actualy closed, or if his vision just slowly dimmed. His heart thumped once, painfully, and he knew no more.

"...shallow. I think he's freakin' drugged."

"Right," someone snorted.

"No, I'm serious. His pulse is erratic, his eyes are dilated and he hasn't moved since we've been in here. What else could be wrong?"

Quatre could hear voices, and he recognized them. He could hear movement around the room, and he felt someone sit down on the edge of the bed. The light scent of cologne wafted over him. His physical senses were fully functional and accurate, providing him with the necessary information to process the presence of visitors in his room.

But he couldn't feel them.

I'm so... empty. Quatre took a deep breath, buyoing his strength and trying-- desperately trying-- to pull together what sense he did have left. He opened his eyes and squinted; they were dry and scratchy, and everything in the room was a blur. The vague shape of Duo's head came into view and moved in close to Quatre's face.

"What are you on??" He demanded. Without warning or due process, Duo's head was smashed into the mattress, muffling his pained shout into the sheets.

"WHY must your mouth move faster than your brain?!" Heero growled, his reprimand translating itself through the grinding of Duo's head into Quatre's bed. Duo flailed and grappled at Heero's hands, desparate to be let up to breathe. Quatre sat up to watch the pair struggle and finally fall to the floor when Heero let go. If everything wasn't so muddled, so gray and empty, Quatre might have laughed. Instead he concentrated on taking another breath and focusing his eyes. There was someone else in the room... Trowa. Trowa was standing by the door. Quatre waiting for his heart to flutter in excitement, just a little, like it usually did when he saw the tall, intriguing man...

Nothing.

Quatre swallowed hard. There was a tangible hole in his person. Something had been ripped cruelly away and replaced by a gaping, bleeding wound. It was awful. It made him feel sick-- or it should have, but he was having a hard time feeling anything. He opened his mouth to try and speak, try to ask why they had come and most of all to explain--

Explain what? He stopped himself. Explain that I'm on medication for my psychotic episodes? The ones that tell me I can feel others' emotions? Quatre felt his chin quiver, threatening to let loose a choked sob that he didn't even notice boiling up in his throat. His thoughts were echoes of what they had instructed in Arcadia. The lectures, the hypnosis sessions, the hours of therapy telling him that it was all just his imagnination. Just a disease.

It's not my imagination. He knew that. He was more sure of that fact than of anything else in his world. Quatre did not doubt his heart or what he felt-- when he could feel it, anyway...

But... would they understand? Would Duo, Heero ...and Trowa... believe him, when almost no one else did?

"Quatre?"

He jumped. Trowa had called his name. No, not called; merely whispered, as he had moved from his sentry-like station at the door and was perched on the other side of Quatre's bed. Trowa glanced over to where Heero continued to chastise Duo for his utter lack of respect or tact, then turned back to face Quatre. One visible eye caught and held Quatre's gaze, glittering in the dim light peeking through the curtains. It was evening; he had slept the day away...

Trowa didn't continue, and Quatre struggled in the silence. He held his breath and concentrated, pushed at the far reaches of his mind for something-- some semblance of that preternatural sense he had come to hate and just as quickly grown to love. It was a part of him (how many times had he said this to Iria? To the doctors?). Without it he could not be what he should.

I can't live without it, he amended, still straining-- not even knowing what for--

"Whatever it is..." Trowa started, his voice barely rising enough to be intelligible. "We're here for you." Quatre froze, his breath coming in shallow gasps not caused by any medicated stupor. Duo and Heero's argument came to an abrupt halt, treating the room to silence once again. Trowa placed one steady, warm hand on Quatre's, emphasizing his words and what they offered.

...Worry... Confusion... And steadily fading threads of hurt coming from Duo. Quatre felt as if he had woken up again; filtering in the sights sounds and emotions all around him. The sun set, almost as if mocking his newly returned 'vision.' It plunged the room into a murky darkness... But Quatre smiled. He could see just fine.

Notes: oO... Hm.