Disclaimer: GW and all its related characters are not mine.
Author’s Note: This is my final gift to Chihaya. She really has been wonderful all these years and I think we can all agree. She’s been a great host by letting all of us view and post on her site and I know we’ll miss her. Thank you Chihaya for all you’ve done. Love ya, God Bless you in your journey through life.
I can still hear the loud clamor. I can still hear the screech of the nylon coils and the metal pulleys creating friction. I can still hear the screams of the women and children in the cars around us. I still see the sparks that rained down outside the windows. I can feel my body being thrown against the handle bar and that burning sensation that traveled up my spine. Most of all though, I can see the look on his face, as the door swings open and he goes tumbling out. The look in his eyes as he’s falling… falling… His outstretched hand reaching desperately for mine. And the sound of his head colliding with the rocks on the mountain.
Some honeymoon this turned out to be.
Some husband I turned out to be.
So here we are, or perhaps I should say, here I am. The hospital. I’m in the waiting room, waiting. It’s been about seventy-two hours and I’m ready to tear my hair out. It is my fault after all, he would tell me that it’s not, but I’m pretty sure it is. It was my idea that we visit Sweden for our honeymoon, and it was my idea that we take a lift ride over the mountains for a romantic afternoon. He would say that I couldn’t have known the pulley engine would jam, that I couldn’t have known all the cars would come to violently swinging halts, that I couldn’t have know that any of this would happen. But you know what? It happened anyway.
The doctors said he would need scans, then they said they needed to keep him overnight, they said he would need surgery, then they said they needed to keep him overnight again. I hate that they won’t tell me any details. I’m pretty sure I have a right to know. I am his husband, but since when do doctors care about what you think? My only hope was that if he’s lasted this long, he must not be in any danger of dying. I thought he was going to, I was almost sure of it. There was so much blood, splattered on the rocks, dripping from the trees, soaking into the ground where he lay, staining his clothes, sticking to his hair. The mountain was tainted with the crimson glow of human life that haunts our dreams.
It’s been a painful seventy-two hours and I’m ready to scream, but I see the dark-haired, Japanese, pink-uniformed nurse whose been visiting me on several occasions. I’m tired so all I do is look up at her with a look in my eyes as if to say, “What is it now?”
“I have good news and bad news,” she says to me.
I rub my eyes, “What’s the good news?”
“He can go home today,” she says with a smile.
I jump up in excitement, “Yoshi! Sugoi! That, that is great!”
She lifts her hand, “Demo…”
“Demo? Nani ga demo?” my excitement quickly dies as I remember the bad news she mentioned earlier.
“The doctor will fill you in on this part,” she stands to the side. She has to stay to translate for us.
“Mr. Barton, I’m sure you’re delighted to know that Mr. Winner is in excellent health.”
“Hai. Can he come home or not?”
“It isn’t so much a matter of whether he can, but if you want to take him home.”
She translates and I’m confused. She tries wording it a different way but I stop her mid-sentence. “Of course I want to take him home. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Are you good with children, Mr. Barton?” he asks me looking at his clipboard. I don’t appreciate this, just because I don’t understand his language doesn’t mean he shouldn’t make eye contact.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m afraid this may be a little complicated. Mr. Winner is still the same person, mind you, but he’s different now at the same time. If you’re going to take him home, you’re going to have to have patience, and a lot of it.”
“Teme Baka Yarou! Just what exactly are you getting at?!”
The nurse is quiet for a moment, the doctor looks at her, waiting. She proceeds to only translate the second part of my sentence.
“Mr. Winner has suffered some severe brain damage.” He pulls out a picture from the CAT scan, “You see these dark areas? This is where all the impact was absorbed when he hit the rocks, consequently killing that part of his brain. It no longer functions. Do you understand Mr. Barton?”
“Wakimaeru.”
“He’s lost some parts of his memory, mostly places and names. We’re hoping, and quite sure, that with time he will gain it all back. But he shouldn’t be overwhelmed, so I would suggest you hide any photos that you don’t feel he’s ready to see. Introduce him back into life gradually. You must understand that taking care of him is going to be a big responsibility -”
He spoke as if Quatre were a puppy I was taking home from the shelter, how could he do that? “Can I see him?”
“In a moment. This responsibility is going to last you the rest of your life. Now we can contact some sister organizations and get you some aid -”
I rake my hands through my hair and I just burst out, “Kuso! Just let me see my husband!”
“He is in room F504,” the nurse tells me, knowing the doctor will beat around the bush as long as he can.
That is all I need to hear and I begin walking. “Chotto matte kudasai!” I hear her call from behind me, but I don’t stop. I find Quatre’s room and go in. He is awake, there are bandages wrapped around his head, there are at least five IV’s in him, there is a respirator in the corner, and he is smiling. I can feel my heart break. I walk over to the bed, he’s playing with one of those toys for toddlers; the one with different size and color rings and you stack them over the rod and they make like a little pyramid.
“Why is he playing with that?” I ask the nurse who has been sitting and watching him. She gestures that she cannot understand me. I repeat the question to the Japanese nurse who has now joined me in the room.
“He likes it,” is her simple answer.
“But, that’s a baby toy,” I say in a broken voice. I don’t understand what has happened, or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to accept it.
Gently and comfortingly she held my hand, “The doctor has agreed to let me tell you about Quatre. Trowa, Quatre is very special to you yes?”
“Hai, he’s my husband. I love him more than anything, and I want to do anything I can for him. In sickness and in health right?”
“Hai, that is good news. You see Trowa, Quatre is special, he is now. Do you know what that means?”
I squeeze her hand and shake my head.
“Quatre is- has become incompetent. He’s still the same Quatre, just Quatre at four.”
Still holding her hand, I approached the bedside. Quatre didn’t notice me, he was completely consumed by his toy. I didn’t mind though, I was just so glad he wasn’t dead, and that he wasn’t sad about what had happened to him. But then I wondered, does he even know? Does Quatre know he isn’t as smart as he was just three days ago? Does he understand that he was in an accident?
The nurse reads my face, “We aren’t sure what he knows. We think that the accident will come back to him, just like everything else will. You’ll have to be willing to talk about it if he ever has questions.”
“Does he remember that we’re married?”
“I don’t want to say no. We aren’t sure of anything, Quatre’s brain is constantly busy gathering and piecing together information, both current and past.”
“Can- can he talk to me?” I ask, trying to hold back my tears.
“Of course Trowa,” she rests a hand on my shoulder. She tells the other nurse that I’m ready.
The Swedish nurse slowly takes the toy from Quatre, he seems distraught at first, but then she pats his head and points to me while speaking what sounds like gibberish. Quatre looks up at me and with a big smile he says, “Hi!”
“Quatre, this is your friend Trowa, he came to see you.”
“Towra!” he repeats proudly.
“That’s the best he can do right now,” she says with a smile.
It’s good enough for me, hearing his voice is good enough for me. “Konnichiwa Quatre,” I ruffle my hand through his hair. He grabs my hand and examines my fingers, bending them, pulling them apart, pressing them together, then he studies the lines in my palm. “How long is he going to be like this?” I ask.
“It all varies. He’ll probably make it to ‘age ten,’ but anything beyond that is very unlikely.”
I am silent. I am taking everything in. My husband is now a child. He is going to be completely dependant on me for the rest of his life, but it wasn’t the way we had planned it to be. My only hope is that one day he’ll remember how much we love each other and how we made our vows to be together forever.
“Trowa, you can back out now. You can go back to Japan and Quatre will go to a community home for adults like him and he’ll be well taken care of. No one will blame you for not taking on this kind of task.”
“Iya. He’s my husband. I can’t abandon him when he needs me the most.”
So I brought Quatre home. I called ahead to Wufei, who lived in the neighborhood next to ours, and had him clear out a few photos. Our wedding photos and some others he put in a box and stored it under our bed.
I open the front door, “Okaeri Quatre.” He stands at the threshold for a moment or two, wary about entering. I reassure him, “Daijoubu Quatre. It’s home, we live here. Home.”
“Home,” he says then steps inside.
I let him explore our ranch style house. I find myself taking everything in as well. The house seems emptier with the photos gone, I never realized how many of them were of the two of us. I didn’t have all of them taken down though, just the intimate ones; kissing, hugging, flirtatious moments in time. Quatre is drawn to the large portrait photo that hung above the fireplace, it was all of us; the guys, Relena, Catherine, even Sally was there.
“Friends,” he says pointing to the picture and looking at me.
“Hai, friends. Family.”
“Family, home?” he asks.
“Iie, they all have their own homes. Other homes.”
He looks around, “You home?”
“Our home,” I tell him.
“My you home,” he says.
I smile, “Hai. My you, ours.”
Quatre spends the next few hours just wandering the house, he sits in all the chairs, lays on all the beds, he flicks all the light switches, opens and closes all the doors, he turns the water knobs, and he even turns the television on and off. I find it peculiar how he is fascinated with every little thing about the house, but at the same time I am moved by his innocent curiosity.
It gets closer to evening and my stomach rumbles. “Quatre,” I call out, “Are you hungry?”
“Hungry, yes, hungry!” he runs into the room.
“What do you want to eat?”
“Chikn an’ Noodls!” he says with a smile.
I should have known, that is his favorite after all. Dinner is an adventure in itself, I am having to show Quatre how to eat. “Fork,” I pick it up and show him. He picks his up the same way and repeats my words. “You use your fork to pick up your food and put it into your mouth.” I show him.
He mimics me and when he’s done chewing and swallowing he proclaims, “Yummy!”
“You have food on your face Quatre, use your napkin to wipe it off.”
I’m thinking that if this is how everyday is going to be, it won’t be so bad. Quatre knows how everything works, he just needs to be reminded. I’m still afraid how he’ll react to people though. I’m wondering what the others will say when I tell them, I have to after all. I’m wondering if I will ever be able to tell Quatre that we’re married. Will he understand this concept? Or will I forever be his caretaker whom he only sees as a source of guidance and protection?
After dinner he seems tired, I ask him if he wants to go to bed and he admits it willingly. So I help him get his pajamas on and we get into bed. When I turn out the light he yawns and scoots himself right next to me and takes hold of my hand. He falls asleep just like this, I soon discover that he will go to sleep like this every night. It makes me feel better, it makes me feel that this is all worth while. It gives me a hope, that deep down he knows me and he still loves me.
I wake up the next morning to see Quatre staring at me, obviously he has woken before me and has been waiting for me to get up. “Ohayo gozaimasu,” he says. He smiles and his little nose wrinkles.
“Ohayo gozaimasu.”
“You stink,” he tells me still smiling.
“Oh do I? Well you don’t smell too fresh either. What do you suppose we should do about that?” I ask, not able to hold back a chuckle.
“Bath time!” he bounces out of bed. It’s natural for him to be excited, Quatre always likes to shower in the morning. “Why shower at night when you’re just going to lay in a collection of your own skin cells, hair, and spit all night anyways?” I always found it gross, but he made a good point.
“Quatre why don’t you go ahead and turn the water on and close the drain. Wait for me before you get in though.” I roll out of bed, still weary of the morning hour.
“Okay!”
Eventually I make my way to the bathroom where he is obediently waiting for me, sitting on the edge of the tub. “Okay Quatre, arms up.” He does so and I pull his shirt off. “Legs out.” Again he does so and I pull his pants off.
“Now?” he asks me.
“Hai,” I answer. He sits himself in the tub and amuses himself by swiping his hand under the running water. I undress myself and get in the tub. I’m a little surprised at how comfortable the water is, to be honest I expected it to either be really hot or really cold. Our bath together isn’t as romantic or kinky as one might think, I know I’m not going to get anything out of it. “Quatre, look here.” He turns off the water and looks. “What is this?” I hold up the soap.
“Sekken.”
“Kono?” I then hold up the wash cloth.
“Sentaku suru.”
“And what do we do with them?”
“Arau.”
“That’s right. You’re so smart.”
“Domo.”
I start to wash him, showing him how to do it so that he could do it for himself in the future. When I finish washing him he repeats the whole sequence on me, he wants to show me that he can do it, and I think he wants the chance to do something for me.
After a long time, but not as long as I originally thought it would take, Quatre has graduated to “age seven.” He has rediscovered his love for gardening. He likes to read to me. The aspect of speech continues to evade him however, but that’s alright. His coordination is beautiful. He likes to make me smile above anything else.
It’s raining today, so instead of working in the garden we are going to go buy some more flowers to plant tomorrow. “Tall!” he calls out, he cannot pronounce my name, so he has given me a new one. “Tall! I ready to go now.”
“I *am* ready to go now,” I correct him as I meet him at the front door.
“You have rain coat?” he asks.
“Hai.”
“You have rain hat?”
“Hai.”
“You have ‘brella?”
“Hai.”
“We can go then, right?”
“Hai,” I answer. He smiles and so I smile.
Just as we get to the plant store it begins to pour. We make a mad dash indoors from the car, Quatre can’t help but laugh the whole way. “So wet,” he says when we pass through the sliding doors. He takes his hat off and shakes it to the side.
“Yes very wet. Careful that you don’t slip in your boots.”
“Flowers now Tall, please?”
“Alright, we’ll go look at the flowers and then you can pick which ones you want.”
We make our way to the green house. Quatre stops to look up at the ceiling and watches the rain wash over the glass. “Sore hodo kanashii.”
“What is?”
“The sky crying.”
“The sky doesn’t cry Quatre.”
“Omae suru.”
I stop. I slowly turn to look at him, curiously. “What are you talking about?”
“I hear you cry. At night. You cry a lot, by yourself.”
“Don’t worry about it Quatre. Now come on, let’s go get those flowers.” We soon find someone who works there, “Excuse me,” I ask him, “We’re looking for some flowers. Do you have any suggestions?”
“You’re best bet will be perennials. What did you have in mind?”
“Well …”
“Pansies!” he proclaims proudly.
“Pansies, yes that’s it,” I smile.
“Well we have a wide variety of those,” he leads us to where the pansies have been arranged for selection. “Color is the only thing you really need to decide on now. We just got a large shipment of black ones if you’re interested in that.”
“Iya kuroi,” Quatre scrunches his face and shakes his head.
“What colors do you like Quatre?” I ask.
He paces back and forth, looking all of them over a few times. It’s funny to see him think so deeply about it, but gardening is important to him after all.
“Is he alright?” the man asks, emphasizing the last word.
“He was in an accident, now he’s … incompetent,” I answer him, slowly, quietly, sadly.
“Oh, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s alright. He does very well, he’s getting better.”
“Hey, listen. If you want I can come out and help you with the flowers. I know some great gardening tips.”
“That would be great. I appreciate it.” I write down our address and give it to him. “So Quatre, did you decide?”
“Shiroi, aoi, kiiroi.”
“That will look pretty. Good choice. Pick them up one at a time and put them in the push cart while I go pay. Wait for me here, okay?”
“Hai, one a’ time, I wait.”
The sun is bright and warm today, Quatre is excited about getting to plant his new flowers. He is out by the side of the house right now arranging them. The man from yesterday said he would be by around ten ‘o clock. I hear the doorbell ring and I let him in. Soon all of us are outside digging patches in the ground and putting the flowers in. The hours go by and we all have become very hot, so I go in the get water for us all. It’s quiet, but all too suddenly is the serenity broken.
“Onegai shimasu, yamero!”
“Quatre? Daijoubu?” I turn towards the door, waiting for a reply.
“Itai! Iyana, hanashite! Iyana! Iyana!”
“Quatre!” I run out to the garden.
The man is grabbing viciously at his arm. Quatre’s shirt is open, his face flustered with fear and frustration. “Iyana!” is all he can scream as the sly-faced brute inches closer towards him.
“Get off!” I demand as I give him a hard kick in the side.
“What do you care?” he looks up at me. “He won’t remember by tomorrow any way,” he sneers.
“That’s my husband you jackass!”
“Husband!? You stayed married to a retarded guy?” he begins to laugh, laugh at both of us.
“Shut your face!” I lose myself and suddenly I’m on top of him, beating him up. He fights back though, we’re pretty much even. He tires before I do, so in a desperate attempt he grabs one of the potting shovels and takes a heavy swing at my torso. I pause only for a second as the pain waves through me, the blood makes my shirt heavy, I ram the palm of my hand into his face and I hear his nose crack. I pull my arm back, ready to hit him again.
“Yamero!” Quatre grabs my wrist, “Yamero Tall. Let him go . . .”
“Quatre he ---”
“Iya, let him go Tall.”
Quatre looks so sincere and serene. If he can make the decision to not be angry and hold a grudge, then I suppose I should be the same. “Get off our property now, or I’ll call the police,” I tell him. I look away from him though, and wipe under my nose.
“Whatever man, I’m outta here.” He gets up, runs to his car, and speeds off.
“Kowai,” he says shuffling his feet.
“Gomen,” I apologize. Without thinking about it I begin to slump over, my forehead pressing into the hot dirt.
“Tall!” He kneels down next to me and quickly sees that I’m bleeding, “You hurt. Inside, inside now.”
I try to get up by my stomach hurts too much for me to even get off the ground. “I can’t.”
“I will help.” Quatre takes my arm and puts it behind his neck and uses his hand to support my chest. He counts to three and hoists me up. I groan of course, but I’m glad to be off the ground. We both hobble inside and he lays me on the couch. “Stay,” he commands me and goes into the kitchen. Quatre soon returns with a pair of orange-handle scissors and a plastic box. He uses the scissors to cut me out of the shirt then opens the box and takes out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
I’m grateful that I taught him first aid last month. “Itai!” I cry and clutch the pillow. I should have figured the peroxide would sting, I’m covered in dirt and sweat after all.
Quatre starts to blow gently on the large cut. “Better?” he asks. I nod and smile. He finishes by putting two patches over the cut then wraps my torso in a gauze bandage. He puts the supplies back in the kitchen then returns to the couch.
“You did very well Quatre.”
“I had to. You were hurt. I don’ like you be hurt.”
“That’s a very sweet thing to say Quatre. I’m glad you think that way.”
“Suki da,” he says softly as he lays next to me, resting his head in the cradle between my neck and shoulder.
I can feel my heart skip a beat. I know it isn’t the same, but the words were still said. I gaze down at him, his sleepy little face is like an angel’s. Stroking his hair I whisper back, “Suki da Quatre.”
So time continues on once again. Quatre makes wonderful progress and makes it to “age ten.” I remember the nurse telling me that this is as far as he’ll ever make it, but I still try to push him a little bit now and then.
There is a downside however. I cry more now. Quatre still hasn’t remembered anything about us, and now that he’s reached his pinnacle, I’m afraid that he never will. Yes, I’m grateful that he’s still here with me. I realize that I could be all alone right now, but sometimes I think that if he were in heaven he would still know that he loved me and maybe he would be waiting for me, but here, I have nothing but unrequited love. I feel torn at times, I’m not quite sure what to do.
I guess it’s about two in the morning. I’m on the couch crying, again. I can’t help it anymore. I just cry. It’s different this time though, because suddenly I hear his voice.
“Trowa.”
“Nani?”
“Are- are you mad at me?”
“Quatre, what would make you think I was mad at you?”
“Because, I’m the one who makes you cry,” he said squeezing his arm.
“Oh no Quatre. Don’t think that way. It’s not your fault.”
“But it is my fault!” he proclaims. “It’s my fault because I can’t make you happy like I used to.”
My eyes widen. He’s never said anything like this before.
“I can feel it, in my heart, that there’s something missing. I never knew what it was, but you’ve known all along haven’t you? I’m to blame for your tears because I put an empty spot in your heart. I put it there when I fell out of that thing and hit my head on a rock.”
He remembers. “Quatre … how long-”
“I don’t know. I had bad dreams for a really long time, but then I started to figure it out. I still have dreams. They’re dreams about you, you are so happy.” He comes over to the couch and sits next to me, “You laugh and smile and run. Sometimes I would wonder why you were like that in my dreams, but not in real life. Then I figured that out too, it’s because those were all times you were with me … the old me. I don’t make you do those things anymore. All I do now is make you cry.”
“I’m sorry I made you feel that way Quatre, but it isn’t your fault. Please don’t feel guilty.”
“Worst of all,” he continues, “I can’t remember that we loved each other so much that we got married.”
“Oh, Quatre, you didn’t.”
He takes out a photo he’s been hiding behind his back. It’s from our wedding. We are outside the church, flowers petals and streamers are flying through the air. Quatre is in his white tuxedo smiling so happily as I, in my black tuxedo, am giving him a kiss on the cheek. I never considered the fact that he would ever really find the box, but I should have expected it at the same time. “I- I’m sorry Trowa,” he stutters. “I can’t remember how much you love me, I can’t remember our wedding, I can’t remember anything! I’m sorry! I’m really really sorry!” Quatre starts to cry, his guilt and frustration just too overwhelming for him.
“Sssh.” I enfold Quatre in my lovers embrace. “Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault, understand? None of it is your fault. I don’t care that you don’t remember. But listen Quatre, now that you at least know, maybe we can work on you starting to remember. I’ll put all the photos back up, and we’ll go out more. Just please don’t cry anymore koibito. It’s alright.”
He wipes his eyes and looks up at me. “I would really like that.”
“Good. How would you like to go see everyone? Heero, Duo, and Wufei. Does that sound good?”
“Ashita?” he asks.
“Kyoo,” I answer.
“Honto kyoo?!” he says excitedly.
“Hai. I think it’s about time.” I smile down at him.
Yoshi!: All right! Sugoi: Wonderful
Demo: But… Teme: You (insulting, cursing)
Baka Yarou: A stronger form of ‘baka’ Wakimaeru: I know/understand
Kuso: Damn Chotto matte kudasai: Wait a minute please
Konnichiwa: Hello (during the day) Iie: No (answer to a question)
Okaeri: Welcome home Daijoubu(?): I’m alright, Are you alright?
Ohayo gozaimasu: Good morning Sekken: Soap
Kono: This Sentaku suru: Wash cloth
Arau: Wash Domo: Thanks
Sore hodo: So (to such a degree) Kanashii: Sad
Omae: You (standard) Suru: Do (perform)
Shiroi: White Kuroi: Black
Aoi: Blue Kiiroi: Yellow
Onegai (shimasu): Please (more pleading-ish) Yamero: Stop it (strong)
Itai: Ouch Iya(na): No! (resisting something bad)
Hanashite: Let me go Kowai: Scary
Suki da: I love you (not as serious as ‘aishiteru’) Koibito: Lover, sweetheart
Ashita: Tomorrow Kyoo: Today
Honto?: Really?
Here’s something that is a little more for my fans, and you Chihaya. Since Densetsu was home for my “Despair of the Youkai” fiction, I’ve had to relocate. I actually created my own website that will feature this story along with some art and poetry written by yours truly. There are a few complications with actually getting it launched, but for those of you who wish to remain loyal, go ahead and log this away somewhere. “http://reddragonhunter8.home.comcast.net” I hope to see some hits. Thank you to all my readers. Thank you especially to Chihaya, love ya girl.