Hmm, I wasn't sure if I should put this in my mini series; I guess I'll figure it out later ^^
This snippet is a bit sketchy but I hope you like it anyway *sweats* It relates to the teaser I sent out a whiles back that ended like this:
"Still, life has a funny way of reminding oneself that it isn't perfect as Quatre and Trowa will find out soon enough."
On that note...
When Trowa entered the kitchen he expected to see his lover already at the table reading the morning paper as he usually was inclined to do. He wasn't disappointed exactly, for Quatre was sitting in his usual seat, yet his head was resting on his arms above the table, eyes closed with a bit of a flush over his face.
Eyes opened to reveal tired blue eyes which awakened more fully when they spotted Trowa at the doorway. Quatre smiled, lifting his head off the table and sitting upright. "Trowa, good morning."
Trowa remained where he stood, not answering as he quietly assessed his lover from a distance.
A curious brow rose a little in question. "What's the matter, Trowa?"
Trowa didn't reply, taking note of the way Quatre carried his voice: careful and barely above a whisper. He could almost feel the tiredness seeping from the slight form and could clearly see the sluggishness in which he moved his body.
In response, Trowa crossed the tiled floor, knelt down a bit and brushed back blonde bangs.
Half closed eyes looked back at his, puzzlement evident in their depths as Trowa held his hand over Quatre's forehead. A few seconds past before Trowa removed his hand and ran his fingers through blonde strands.
"You have a fever, Quatre," he said plainly, worry threaded into his voice.
Eyes closed and Quatre leaned into Trowa's touch, lips curving up a bit as he did. "Hm...so that's why it's so hot..."
Trowa caught him as he slumped forward more than a little surprised.
* * * * *
Trowa stood up almost immediately as their bedroom door opened and the familiar face of their doctor appeared in the doorway. Trowa had called him the moment he got Quatre upstairs and John had rushed right over.
Stepping out of the room, the older man removed his glasses, closing the door behind him as he did.
"How is he?"
John took a few steps away from the door before replying. "He's fine at the moment, Trowa," he began, pocketing his glasses before rubbing his temples. "From his symptoms it appears as if he is in the first stages of chicken pox."
Trowa blinked, some of the tension draining away from his body. "Chicken pox?"
The man nodded. "It's actually quite baffling. It's been years--no, decades since I've come across a case like this. Rarely anyone comes down with it anymore."
It was Trowa's turn to nod, but something in the way the aged man phrased his words worried him. "...There's more, isn't there?"
John sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't want to worry you, Trowa..."
Trowa gave him a steady gaze. "I must insist that you do."
A sigh. "Trowa, were you ever aware of how unstable Quatre's childhood was like?"
That caught him a bit off guard and Trowa shook his head slowly, giving his negative.
"I see. I'll have to explain then some of the circumstances of...Quatre's birth. If you weren't aware, when L4 was first constructed, women suffered from abnormalities in their reproductive systems, much so that bearing children became illegal for quite some time. From what I've read of the Winner's history, even after the colony became stable and having children naturally was legal again, their family still suffered from these abnormalities. Quatre's mother as you know past away after giving birth to him and it appears as if the abnormalities from Mrs. Winner was past down to Quatre. His immune system was mainly affected and weakened it considerably." The older man released a soft breath, rubbing his forehead. "Mild colds turned to pneumonia, the flu would leave him in bed for more than two weeks. To tell you the truth, I'm quite surprised at how healthy he's been for the last couple of years, though I'm sure it is most probably due to his part."
Trowa let the information sink in bit by bit. Why wasn't he ever aware of this side of Quatre's life? He had no idea at all and that alone disheartened him, but that wasn't his main concern at the moment, so he'd dwell on it after Quatre was well again. "What should I look for?"
John handed him a sheet of paper and Trowa carefully read through its contents.
"If he begins to develop more than two of those symptoms, contact me immediately. Right now his fever is rather high and I would like you to give him some acetaminophen. Any local drugstore should have it."
Trowa acknowledged him with a slight shake of his head before lifting his eyes off the paper he held. "Thank you, doctor."
"There's no need, Trowa," he said, waving his hand. "Just be sure to call me the moment you have any unease on Quatre's condition."
After showing the doctor out, Trowa quickly returned to the second floor. Hand twisting the doorknob to their bedroom open, a streak of apprehension flashed through his body before he shook it off irritably and entered the room.
He approached the bed almost cautiously not really knowing why he did and sat in a chair that was conveniently placed beside the bed.
Quatre lay in bed, perspiration dotting his brow as little pink bumps did around the rest of his face. He was quite taken aback with how quickly the spots appeared on the pale face, since none were visible this morning. The barest of frowns descended on his countenance.
As if hearing the concerned thought, Quatre's face scrunched up a little before blue eyes slowly opened though a bit disoriented.
Trowa gave him a small smile, brushing matted blonde hair away from his face. "Hi."
Quatre blinked once, before dispelling much energy to return the smile. "Hi." His voice was nothing more than a rasp and the Arabian winced at the sound.
Trowa's hand continued with its strokes as he spoke. "You had me worried for a moment there, Quatre."
His smile disappeared, replaced with guilt. "I--"
Trowa silenced him with a slight shake of his head. "I'm not looking for an apology, Quatre. I just want you to get better."
Quatre closed his eyes, a smile on his lips again. "As do I. I always hating getting sick. It was never fun."
Trowa sat back in his seat, hands resting on his lap. "No, it probably wasn't."
The blonde shifted then, a look of discomfort appearing on his face. "Trowa...I'm feeling rather, how do I put it...itchy?"
Trowa couldn't help but smile. "Aa, that is usually one of the side effects one suffering from chicken pox experiences."
An amused nod. "Chicken pox."
After muttering the two words softly to himself a final time, Quatre sighed. "It would be, wouldn't it?...well...at least I'll have you...taking care of me..."
Trowa saw how the other fought to stay awake and he frowned. "Sleep, Quatre."
Eyes were already closing. "Mm..."
When he was certain that his lover was asleep, Trowa stood from his seat, reaching for the vid-phone. After pressing the first speed dial button, he waited.
Bee--"Hello, Maxwell's hell, how can I help you?"
"Hey! Trowa! How's it going?"
Trowa gave a sideways glance to the bed to his left before turning his attention back to the screen. "...I need a favor."
Duo blinked. "Sure...I guess. What's up?"
"Have you ever had chicken pox before?"
* * * * *
September 29, 2000