Goodbye LJ...
Feb. 20th, 2006 06:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
windandwaterThis is just to make it official for those who don't know, but I'm leaving LJ completely. For the rest of this week at least. Tomorrow is the Bar Exam and it runs for three days, so don't expect to see me about at all until Thursday night. Or even until the weekend since I plan on spending Thursday after the Bar drunk and crying. No online time for me at all. *whines* It will be hard, but I know I can do it.
So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;
Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!
♥
So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;
Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!
♥
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:15 pm (UTC)The prisoner threw his head back with a gasp, wild-staring eyes darting around the area before settling on Heero. The animal terror filled them still, but now there was something more -- something different in the close attention he paid to the soldier. Unlike the first time, he didn’t even react when Heero closed the distance again -- at least, not until Heero spread the stained, ratty blanket and began to wrap the boy in it. At the touch of the fabric the prisoner suddenly startled, and the half-subdued terror and rage flared back into life. He made a noise that was half-snarl, half-scream, and lashed out at Heero, with only his bare hands but the fury of a cornered beast.
Heero didn’t even flinch as one of the boy’s hands slammed into his temple; it would take a lot more than that to damage him, but he dropped the blanket and grabbed the boy’s wrists, in attempt to hold down his flailing limbs. A guttural sound wrung from the prisoner’s abused throat as he found his arms pinned, and his head snapped forward to bury his teeth in Heero’s wrist.
This time, Heero did wince, but it was not so much from pain as from the unhappy realization that there was no way he could get the strange boy to the healer’s quarters if he was going to be this unmanageable. The only way Heero could see to do it would be to knock him unconscious, and that was difficult to do without causing some damage -- and the one thing Heero did not want to do was to hurt the captive any more than he already was.
Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any way of convincing him of that, and Heero let out an displeased “Hn” as he transferred the boy’s wrists to a one-handed grip, freeing his other hand to stretch over the exposed area of the back of the captive’s neck, searching for one of the particular nerve junctures that Wufei had taught him. He found it, and after a moment of carefully applied pressure the body in his arms stiffened, and then slumped bonelessly. Heero carefully extracted his other arm from the boy’s bite, and shook it out as he recalled what the insolent captain had said about rabies. He gave a silent sigh and turned his attention back to the task at hand, namely, securing the now-unconscious boy for transport in the blanket. When he stood, the bundle in his arms wasn’t as awkward as he’d feared; Heero was stronger than any normal human, and even if the other boy was Heero’s age, he was frighteningly light in Heero’s arms.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:15 pm (UTC)On first inspection, Quatre’s tent was empty; no sign of the blond healer. Heero entered anyway, giving the interior a quick inspection before laying his burden out on one of the tables. No sooner had he unwrapped the blanket and checked on the unconscious boy’s condition, though, then a movement from the corner of his eye tore his attention to the shadows of the tent. Heero whirled around, his knife flashing out in an instant, and narrowed his eyes at the unseen intruder. “Who’s there?” he growled.
Shadows shifted, and then a young man stepped out of them, hands raised to show he was weaponless. He was tall -- well, taller than Heero, anyway, not that that took much doing -- but young, with dark green eyes and brown hair that fell oddly to cover one eye. “You must be Heero,” he said. “I’m a friend.”
Heero straightened from his fighting stance, and put away his dagger, but continued to glare distrustfully at the newcomer. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And where’s Quatre?”
“Quatre will be here as soon as he can,” the young man assured him calmly. “He’s finishing up his business now; shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. I’m Quatre’s assistant; you can call me Trowa.”
“Assistant?” Heero frowned skeptically. He didn’t recall Quatre ever being busy enough to need an assistant -- or high-ranking enough to be allowed one.
Trowa gave a slight smile. “I’m Quatre’s special friend.”
“Oh.” Heero dropped his suspicion; assuming that this Trowa was telling the truth -- and there was nothing for him to gain by lying -- then that meant he was a man whom Quatre trusted implicitly. Heero turned his attention back to the injured boy on the table. “Can you help me clean him up, before Quatre arrives?” he asked over his shoulder.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:15 pm (UTC)There was no reply, but the sound of liquid running and soft clinkings was shortly followed by the reappearance of Trowa, carrying a bowl of water and several cloths. Heero nodded approval of the other man’s efficient manner, and, taking one of the cloths and dipping it in water, turned back to the unconscious boy.
Trowa did the same and fetched up on the other side of the table, opposite Heero. No reaction showed on his face when Heero pulled the blanket away and revealed the mangled body, but a slight frown creased his eyebrows as he pushed the mat of hair away from the boy’s face. “He looks familiar somehow,” Trowa muttered to himself, trying to place the feeling in his memory. He looked up at Heero, whose eyes were intent on the unconscious boy as he carefully cleaned away the filth. “Heero, who is this?” he asked.
“No idea,” Heero replied distractedly; he was fighting internally with more of those strange feelings. A sharp pain lanced through his abdomen, tracing up the nerves in his stomach and chest, tightening his throat; completely unfamiliar sensations. You could not be a soldier of Heero’s caliber and remain squeamish for long, but Heero was finding it very difficult to keep his expression calm as the dirt was slowly stripped away, revealing the injuries which lay beneath. Not an inch of skin was unmarred; long slashes crossed and crisscrossed across the ribs and back and legs, bruises discolored every joint, every place where the bone ran close to the skin -- frighteningly too many, on the gaunt body -- and burns competed for space on the remaining flesh, especially on the hands and face. Heero ran the damp cloth along an ugly red welt with a gentleness he hadn’t known he’d possessed, attempting to clean the dirt out of the wound.
The frown stayed on Trowa’s expression as he drew the cloth over the boy’s face, trying to imagine what he’d look like clean and undamaged... It was no use. The niggling feeling of familiarity refused to settle. “Did you even ask his name?” he demanded of the soldier.
“He can’t talk,” Heero said flatly. He brought his head up to lock gazes meaningfully with the taller man, silently willing him to understand the implications of the statement without requiring Heero to explain.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:15 pm (UTC)Trowa’s eyes widened, as his gaze darted down to the boy’s unconscious form, before nodding slowly. He’d seen the phenomenon before; some people, when faced with unbearable pain, retreated inside themselves to seek any kind of refuge they could. “Where did you find him?” he asked, in a much softer voice.
Heero looked back down, rinsing the washcloth in the bowl before wringing it out and returning it to its task. He frowned as he felt how thin the arm under his hand was; he could have easily encircled the boy’s upper arm with his thumb and forefinger. “In the tent of the late Treize Khushrenada.” He heard the hiss of indrawn breath as Trowa recognized the name, and no doubt the reputation associated with it, but didn’t need to look up. “Since I was the one who killed the General, then all his possessions are mine by right.” He’d have to remember that line. It made a good excuse.
Trowa searched Heero’s expression, a question unvoiced on his lips, but before he could ask, the sound of someone rattling at the front flap of the tent stole his attention. “Trowa?” called an anxious, familiar voice from just outside. “Are you there? Is Heero there?” Trowa hastily dropped his washcloth into the darkening water and headed for the entrance as the voice was followed by a slender blond man, overbalancing against the weight of the bag he carried. Immediately Trowa reached out and relieved his lover of some of his burden with a reproachful glare, which the other man acknowledged with a harried nod as his attention was arrested by the two strangers in the center of the room. “He hasn’t been waiting long, has he?” he anxiously asked. “I came as quickly as I could. Who did he bring?”
“Hello, Quatre. Yes, he’s here, and no, not long,” Trowa responded to this string of babble. “Be warned; it’s pretty bad.”
“Well, I sort of figured,” Quatre said with a trace of humor as he headed to the table in the back, closely followed by Trowa. “Heero never comes to me with anything less than arrow shards embedded in his chest. But if -- Gods!” he gasped, as he got his first clear view of the unconscious man. Practiced eyes ran over the filthy, battered form, and widened as he took in the sheer extent of the injuries. His face paled, and Trowa quickly took a step closer to his lover as he swayed on his feet.
One of the things that made Quatre so good at his job was his pronounced talent for empathy;1 he could sense what was wrong with his patients even if they themselves didn’t know -- or, in Heero’s case, wouldn’t admit it. Unfortunately, feeling the pain of others wasn’t always a good thing, useful as it might be as a diagnostic tool. Quatre grabbed onto Trowa for support for a moment, before he managed to reassert a clinical detachment. Still, the look of horror lingered in his eyes as he moved to the side of the table and began to examine his new patient.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:16 pm (UTC)Heero removed the washcloth and started to step backwards, out of the healer’s way, when Quatre’s voice stopped him. “Keep doing that, Heero.” After a moment of hesitation, Heero rinsed the cloth out and returned to the task of cleaning the patient’s body. “Gods! He’s covered in open wounds, and he’s absolutely filthy! I don’t understand how he’s still alive, the condition he’s in...”
“Can you help him?” Heero demanded, cutting across Quatre’s running monologue. The water in the bowl was by now completely black, and Trowa wordlessly took it away and refilled it.
Quatre scowled, the expression out of place on his sweet-featured face. “I’ll do what I can, Heero, but I’m not a miracle-worker, and frankly it’s a miracle he’s not already dead. What in Hell happened to him?”
Heero and Trowa exchanged glances; Hell was a fair enough description, but there was no real need to tell the gentle blond healer that. Instead, Heero changed the subject. “Do what you can, but it would be best if you do it as quickly as possible. He’s going to be very difficult to control once he wakes up, and I don’t know how much longer he’ll stay unconscious.”
“Difficult to control?” Quatre repeated, a puzzled frown on his face. “Anything I do will be painful, I’m afraid, but I only want to help him.”
“I know that,” Heero replied, and hesitated. “But he’s... not in his right mind.” Unconsciously, Heero rubbed at the bite mark on his wrist. “Maybe you should give him something to keep him unconscious.”
Quatre shrugged, looking a little doubtful. “I could -- but not until he does wake up,” he qualified. He began to rummage around in the bag he’d brought, pulling things out and setting them on the table. “I can’t give knockouts to people who are already unconscious; they might not wake up again. Trowa, where did I put my...” he asked absently.
Trowa held out the satchel he’d taken from Quatre when he first arrived; Quatre flushed slightly and took it from him. “Thanks, Trowa. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Dither?” Trowa suggested, absolutely deadpan. Quatre’s blush intensified, and to hide it he turned back to his bag. He tore through it with ruthless speed, pulling out a small jar and a bowl; he emptied some of the contents of the jar into the bowl, and quickly filled the bowl up with water. Finished, he set it decisively down on the table, and glared at Trowa as if daring him to fault his efficiency.
The taller man gave him a slight smile, and then turned away and left Quatre to do his work. Trowa put one hand on Heero’s shoulder, and Heero reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled away, and settled down for an anxious wait. Trowa offered no conversation, and Heero was just as glad; instead, he kept all his attention fixed on the blond healer and his patient. He was more anxious than he could ever
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:16 pm (UTC)Trowa noticed, however, and raised an eyebrow in slight question. Heero scowled at the visible reminder of his own lack of control, and forced himself to relax. Trowa watched him for another moment, before speaking.
“What are you going to do with the boy?”
“Do with him?” Heero narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a...”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Trowa clarified hastily, raising his hand to reject the notion. “I only meant, where is he going to stay while he heals? It’s not something we normally offer, but if there isn’t anywhere for him to go, then Quatre and I can...”
“He stays with me,” Heero cut him off, flat finality in his voice. “I’ll take care of him.”
“That’s an admirable sentiment, but are you sure you can?” Trowa questioned. “You do have your duties, after all, and you’ll have a lot of problems when the army moves again...”
“The army isn’t going to move for quite some time,” Heero said, dismissing the other man’s concern.
Trowa blinked, and leaned back a little in surprise. “Are you sure you should be telling me this?”
Heero gave a derisive snort for the concept of confidentiality. “It’s obvious, considering the circumstances. The army just conquered an important strategic location. The troops aren’t going anywhere until a garrison arrives to fortify the place so the army can move out again. Anyone could see that.”
“Anyone whose job is tactics, anyway,” Trowa corrected dryly. “I, personally, am not a tactician. I am not even technically a soldier. I was a beast handler before I became what I am now.”
“Hn,” was Heero’s only response; he fell into a meditative silence, eyes fixed on the healer and his patient. Trowa watched him for a minute before speaking again.
“I didn’t know anything about you except what I heard from rumors, Heero, but I must admit that you aren’t anything like the man I had envisioned.”
Heero’s frown returned. “What do you mean?”
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:16 pm (UTC)Trowa noticed, however, and raised an eyebrow in slight question. Heero scowled at the visible reminder of his own lack of control, and forced himself to relax. Trowa watched him for another moment, before speaking.
“What are you going to do with the boy?”
“Do with him?” Heero narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a...”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Trowa clarified hastily, raising his hand to reject the notion. “I only meant, where is he going to stay while he heals? It’s not something we normally offer, but if there isn’t anywhere for him to go, then Quatre and I can...”
“He stays with me,” Heero cut him off, flat finality in his voice. “I’ll take care of him.”
“That’s an admirable sentiment, but are you sure you can?” Trowa questioned. “You do have your duties, after all, and you’ll have a lot of problems when the army moves again...”
“The army isn’t going to move for quite some time,” Heero said, dismissing the other man’s concern.
Trowa blinked, and leaned back a little in surprise. “Are you sure you should be telling me this?”
Heero gave a derisive snort for the concept of confidentiality. “It’s obvious, considering the circumstances. The army just conquered an important strategic location. The troops aren’t going anywhere until a garrison arrives to fortify the place so the army can move out again. Anyone could see that.”
“Anyone whose job is tactics, anyway,” Trowa corrected dryly. “I, personally, am not a tactician. I am not even technically a soldier. I was a beast handler before I became what I am now.”
“Hn,” was Heero’s only response; he fell into a meditative silence, eyes fixed on the healer and his patient. Trowa watched him for a minute before speaking again.
“I didn’t know anything about you except what I heard from rumors, Heero, but I must admit that you aren’t anything like the man I had envisioned.”
Heero’s frown returned. “What do you mean?”
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:16 pm (UTC)Trowa shrugged. “I heard that you had all the soul of a snake. Some people said you were a great soldier and a military genius. Other rumors said you had sold your soul to a demon to attain your rank. None, though, suggested that you were in the habit of going around salvaging prisoners of war.”
“I am not,” Heero replied shortly, and stared at his hands.
After waiting a minute, during which Heero volunteered no new information, Trowa prompted, “Then why?”
For a minute, Heero didn’t reply; Trowa was asking the same questions that Heero was demanding of himself, and he didn’t have answers for either one. “I don’t know,” Heero said at last, giving up and resorting to the truth. Trowa just looked at him, the eyebrow going up again, and Heero felt prompted to add, “I had to.”
“Ah.” The word was spoken in a tone of curious satisfaction, and Trowa settled back as though Heero had just said something of great importance. Heero glowered at him, wanting to know what he had said that was so meaningful, but Trowa only gave him a slight smile and shook his head. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” was all he would say.
Heero intensified his glare, and was just about to demand an explanation, when suddenly two noises snapped their attention back to the others in the room. The first was a shocked gasp from Quatre, immediately followed by an inhuman growling. Heero surged to his feet in time to see Quatre stumbling backwards, a red-glittering needle in his hand. The patient had awakened, and a snarl peeled his lips back to show teeth, eyes flashing furiously. Beside him, he felt Trowa start forward, then suddenly freeze in place, but had no attention to spare for him. The boy’s wild gaze swept over the room, over Heero and Trowa, and the growl became almost a whine as the two men advanced on him. He scrabbled back over the table, backing away as quickly as his crippled leg would allow, until he hit the wall; then he hunched as far into the corner as far he could, shaking. His strange violet eyes darted fearfully between the three men in the room, and he flinched every time on of them moved. Trowa looked at him; looked at the terror evident in his body language, and at the tension in Heero’s, and moved instead to his lover’s side. “Are you all right, Quatre?” he asked softly, not wanting to raise his voice.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Quatre replied in a slightly shaken voice. He raised one hand to a rapidly blackening eye. “...For someone as beat up as he is, he sure can hit hard...”
Trowa caught Heero’s eye, and gestured to the sedative still lying on the table. Heero nodded grimly and picked it up, moving towards the injured boy; Trowa guided Quatre a little ways away, so as not to frighten the patient further.
He picked up one of the washcloths, soaked it in cold water, and held it against the growing bruise to try and lessen the swelling. “Quatre,” he said, “is it just me, or is there something familiar about that boy?” Unable to pin it down earlier, Trowa had dismissed the sense of almost-recognition; now that he had seen the boy’s very distinctive eyes, the feeling had returned doubled.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:16 pm (UTC)“That’s what I thought too,” Trowa sighed, then shrugged. “Who knows, maybe Heero will be able to find out more about him. He’s apparently decided to adopt this stray.”
“Really!” Quatre’s eyes brightened. “I’m glad. Heero could use the company, and the boy needs help...”
“Is there anything you can do for him?” Trowa asked gently, and he wasn’t referring only to the stranger’s physical state.
Quatre just sighed. “No. No more than I was already doing. I’m a doctor, dammit, not a lion tamer!” 2 He frowned in profound irritation; the thought that there were injuries he couldn’t heal was a blow to his pride as a healer.
“And a very good doctor,” Trowa reassured him. Quatre just glared at him for the condescending tone, but Trowa was unfazed. “Seriously, Quatre. Heero wouldn’t have brought the boy to you if he didn’t believe that you could help.”
“Hmph,” Quatre muttered sourly. “Goody for Heero.”
“That’s not the Quatre I know,” Trowa admonished mock-sternly, but his tone turned serious. “What’s bothering you?”
Quatre scowled for a moment longer, before bursting out, “How can anyone be so cruel? That boy’s been brutalized! How could any person want to do that to another person? I don’t understand it! What kind of animals are they?”
“They aren’t animals, Quatre,” Trowa said grimly, and the old, deeply-buried pain in his voice made Quatre look up at him, startled; his lover’s sea-green eyes were distant. “Animals are never that cruel. Animals don’t do these things to each other. Only men.”
Quatre shivered, and didn’t object when Trowa drew the gentle healer into a comforting embrace. “I don’t understand it,” he repeated, softly this time. “I just don’t understand.”
“I’m glad you don’t, Quatre,” Trowa murmured to him. “I hope you never do.”
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:17 pm (UTC)Heero didn’t understand it either; of course, at the moment he was having trouble enough comprehending his own actions, much less those of others. The soldier’s sensitive hearing had picked up every word of their conversation, although he hadn’t seen the need to mention that. Instead, he had listened gravely to Quatre’s list of instructions to care for the injured boy -- some of which he already knew, from the little first aid he’d absorbed as a soldier, and the rest of which was carefully noted and filed away for future reference. After the blond healer had finally run out of supplies to give him, and helpful advice to offer, Heero found himself more than a little overburdened; Trowa had helpfully offered to carry some of the supplies back to Heero’s tent. After securing the patient in Heero’s quarters, Trowa had turned to leave. Heero stopped him with a hand on his arm, and Trowa gave the soldier a questioning look as he struggled to verbalize his request.
“You were a beast handler, before you met Quatre?” he finally asked. Trowa nodded, and Heero went on. “How do I... how do I control a wild animal?”
Trowa stared at him for a long moment, his features completely unreadable, before he slowly answered. “If it were a wild animal... that had been hurt and abused by men, and I wanted to get it to trust me... then I would start slowly at first. No sudden movements, no loud noises, and no touching. I would make certain that the animal couldn’t escape, but also that it wouldn’t hurt itself trying. Most of all, I would have to be patient and gentle with the animal, but always let it know that I was in charge.” He pulled his arm away from Heero’s grasp, and walked to the tent flap. Heero watched his stiff posture, confused; the taller man was clearly not pleased about something.
“But... what?” he found himself asking; Trowa paused, halfway through the door, and looked over his shoulder. His eyes flashed with something unidentifiable.
“But, a human being is not a wild animal. Even if he acts like one.”
And with that, he left Heero alone in his quarters with the strange boy.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:17 pm (UTC)Heero crossed his arms, and glared into the darkness beyond the illumination offered by the single candleflame. His night vision could barely pick out the tumbled mess of his bed, and the slender form lying in it, and he wondered what in the Gods’ name he was doing. There was no need to put the boy in his bed, or to worry -- for the first time in his life -- if the blankets were warm enough or soft enough. There was certainly no need to sit, long into the night, watching and waiting for the boy to awaken. No need for any of these, nor was there any reason for the strange crawling sensations in his belly when he envisioned the boy waking alone in a dark unfamiliar place, hurting and afraid...
Trowa was right, of course, and he berated himself fiercely for asking such a foolish question in the first place. Human beings weren’t animals, even if they acted like it sometimes -- he couldn’t help but think of the army scavenging the enemy camp, swarming like a horde of hungry insects -- and you couldn’t treat them like animals. If it had been an animal he claimed, out of Khushrenada’s possessions, then he could have just locked the beast in a cage or leashed it to a post --
No... no. He didn’t know what the prisoner would do when he awoke, so he had no choice but to sit up awake in the dead of night and watch him. It would be dangerous to turn his back on a potential threat. Imprudent. That was the only reason.
He’d have to remember that. It made a good excuse.
The candle burned a little lower; from the shadows, Heero Yuy heard a soft whimper. He cocked his head, listening hard into the silence; the boy was still asleep.
He settled back in his chair, and waited. Even if he didn’t know why.