Goodbye LJ...

[windandwater]

This 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!

♥

Comments

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He pushed back his chair, and helped Duo up from his own; he still wouldn’t be able to walk without help, not for a while. Heero settled Duo into his bed, hand brushing absently over Duo’s still-damp hair before he slid to his feet. The long-haired boy sighed almost inaudibly and closed his eyes, but opened them again quickly as Heero’s footsteps traced away from the bed. “Where are you going?” he asked softly.

Heero paused, looking back at Duo, trying to decipher from the tone if he wanted Heero to stay nearby or to leave while he slept. He decided that there was no way he was leaving Duo’s side now that he was finally talking... not unless Duo asked him to. “Not far,” he answered. “Just to pour out the water. Then I’ll be back.”

Duo nodded, and closed his eyes again. He didn’t smile, but his face relaxed slightly as he slipped into sleep.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He couldn’t feel the pain any more.

It was that absence, that nagging loss, that eventually drew him out of the merciful oblivion and opened his eyes in spite of himself. Blank gray canvas greeted his vision, broken by a dark gray line of a seam running from the center of the ceiling to a corner.

A tent.

It was familiar, but he couldn’t say what was familiar about it. Nothing was waiting inside the recognition to tell him: here, this is where you are, this is how long you’ve been there. It was as if he’d never known any other sky than the gray fabric. He lay in place unmoving, staring at the ceiling and gingerly feeling around in his memories, for some point of reference.

Like the tent ceiling that shut out the sky, something was blocking his view of the past. Memories of days just like this one, of this bed and this roof faded backwards in progression until they vanished into a dark mist; even trying to think farther back than that filled him with such cold dread that he began to shake. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as the involuntary movement of his body reawakened the pain

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He couldn’t feel the pain any more.

It was that absence, that nagging loss, that eventually drew him out of the merciful oblivion and opened his eyes in spite of himself. Blank gray canvas greeted his vision, broken by a dark gray line of a seam running from the center of the ceiling to a corner.

A tent.

It was familiar, but he couldn’t say what was familiar about it. Nothing was waiting inside the recognition to tell him: here, this is where you are, this is how long you’ve been there. It was as if he’d never known any other sky than the gray fabric. He lay in place unmoving, staring at the ceiling and gingerly feeling around in his memories, for some point of reference.

Like the tent ceiling that shut out the sky, something was blocking his view of the past. Memories of days just like this one, of this bed and this roof faded backwards in progression until they vanished into a dark mist; even trying to think farther back than that filled him with such cold dread that he began to shake. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as the involuntary movement of his body reawakened the pain

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

that he had missed at first. Something told him that this was normal, that this was the way it should be, that his body was always wracked with agony, for as long as he could...

But he couldn’t remember. And even now the crushing pain was somehow muted, distant, faint. Other sensations began to make themselves known to him; the feeling of the soft blankets underneath him, and the quiet sounds of someone moving about the room. He opened his eyes again as the noise formed a picture in his mind’s eye, and brought with it a sense of ultimate security that eased the shaking of his battered flesh. If he could hear those sounds, he was safe; it meant that the maker of the sounds, the one with the blazing eyes and strong gentle hands, was nearby.

Heero was here.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He didn’t notice at first when Duo first woke up; he turned around suddenly to find the boy still unmoving in the bed, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. It startled him more than a little, and he wondered how long Duo had been lying still and awake gazing at nothing. He quickly dropped the map he’d been looking over, and paced over to the bed; after a moment’s hesitation, he sat on the edge carefully, trying not to disturb it too much. Unexpectedly, Heero found that his heart was racing, with the memory of last night’s events and with a strange anticipation. Last night, watching Duo sleep, Heero had been forced into another moment of introspection. The satisfaction of a mission accomplished, of a victorious battle, he was familiar with. He knew where it came from; he knew how to deal with it. The delirious joy that gripped him, when he heard Duo speak for the first time, and the flush of victory that thrilled through him at the thought that Trowa had been wrong, and Duo was getting better, after all -- inexplicable.

Now, listening to the silence and watching the motion of Duo’s chest as he breathed, Heero wondered if maybe last night hadn’t been a hallucination, a side-effect of the new and unfamiliar emotional stresses of the past week. Perhaps he had wanted to break the silence so badly, longed for the company of another voice so much, that he had imagined the boy speaking to him.

But... he had a name. He clung to that like a talisman, proof of the miracle he had witnessed. Duo. The boy’s name was Duo. He had a name, and a voice that spoke it.

Finally, Heero cleared his throat into the silence and spoke. “You’re awake,” he said at last, feeling slightly uncomfortable and foolish for such an obvious statement.

The purple eyes blinked shut, for a moment, and a faint sigh escaped his lips before he opened them again and turned to look at Heero, exerting himself to sit up in the bed. Heero watched his efforts, reaching out towards him for a moment as if to assist him before he let his hands drop, without touching.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Do you know who I am?” he asked quietly, not quite knowing what to say. He just wanted Duo to say something, anything, to reassure Heero that he could talk again. That last night had been real.

Duo nodded. “Of course,” he murmured, and Heero was overcome with relief to hear the words. “You’re Heero.”

Heero fought to stop the smile that threatened to conquer his face, at the way that Duo had said that. He recognized Heero immediately, and expected him there. But his elation was short-lived, because Duo spoke again without his prompting.

“Who... am I?”

Any thoughts of smiling were banished instantly by the helpless disorientation on Duo’s face. That’s what I want to know, don’t you understand? he railed silently, though none of the words made it out of his closed throat. It’s best that you don’t remember, Gods know it can only be a mercy, but I want to know who you are, what you are, how it is you make me feel... “Last night, you told me your name, Duo,” he offered at last. “Didn’t you?”

“I... yes.” Duo lifted one hand to his head, and then stared at it, bewildered, as though he had never seen it before. “I remember... that, but... not...” He trailed off, watching his hand slowly open and close. Abruptly, his eyes snapped back into focus and he looked around, almost panicked. “Where is -- where are my...”

“Your what?” Heero repeated intently.

“I don’t -- know.” Duo’s hand closed into a fist around one of the blankets. The moment of clarity, of fear, dissolved slowly back into safe uncertainty. “I don’t know...”

Silence fell, and left Heero at a loss. “I think it’s time for breakfast,” he finally said, knowing even as he spoke how inane it must sound. “I’ll only be gone for a few minutes... is there anything in particular you want to eat?” Duo stared at him for so long that Heero began to be worried for him, before finally the words seemed to register. After a moment’s hesitation, he shook his head, and looked down. Heero waited a minute more, for Duo to say something, before slowly rising from the edge of the bed and exiting from the tent.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Duo stared at the flap for long minutes, even after the fabric stopped swinging and the sound of Heero’s footsteps had faded. He knew, consciously, that Heero would be back soon -- he had said he would, and it was his tent, after all -- but before long he found himself shivering again. Every noise that filtered through the canvas walls made him start, driving in the realization that he was completely defenseless. In seeking to answer the questions who am I -- where am I -- the realization that he did not know the answers had taken him to the very fringes of the darkness that even now threatened to engulf him. He wanted to know where he was, who he was, why he was so afraid -- but he feared what would happen to him if he looked in his memories where the answers had to be. He was stranded between the two extremes; the danger outside, the danger within... somehow he had to find a balance. It was like walking a tightrope. It was like holding his breath...

He pulled himself into a defensive ball on the tangled blankets, and buried his face in his knees.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Duo stared at the flap for long minutes, even after the fabric stopped swinging and the sound of Heero’s footsteps had faded. He knew, consciously, that Heero would be back soon -- he had said he would, and it was his tent, after all -- but before long he found himself shivering again. Every noise that filtered through the canvas walls made him start, driving in the realization that he was completely defenseless. In seeking to answer the questions who am I -- where am I -- the realization that he did not know the answers had taken him to the very fringes of the darkness that even now threatened to engulf him. He wanted to know where he was, who he was, why he was so afraid -- but he feared what would happen to him if he looked in his memories where the answers had to be. He was stranded between the two extremes; the danger outside, the danger within... somehow he had to find a balance. It was like walking a tightrope. It was like holding his breath...

He pulled himself into a defensive ball on the tangled blankets, and buried his face in his knees.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

People tried not to stare at the sight of Colonel Yuy carrying a tray in his hands as though it were made of glass. The cooks were used to him by now, and usually greeted him with familiarity when he came in the morning and evening; he never answered in words, or to their unspoken query as to why he always took enough food for two people, but they saw enough of him to realize that there was more to him than the Perfect Soldier that was all most people knew. This, though, was a different area of the camp, and people who were not so used to him stared as he picked his way among the grimy tents and worn mud paths, searching for one place in particular. He ignored them; normally Quatre and Trowa came to visit him, instead of him looking for them, but this morning he couldn’t sit still and wait.

“Trowa?” he called, hesitating as he approached the entrance to the tent. “Quatre? Is anyone here?”

“Oh, Heero? That you?” came Quatre’s voice from within the tent, shortly followed by the petit healer himself. “Trowa’s not here just now, he’s gone off to argue with some engineers about the placement of the stables. Did you want to talk to him?”

“Actually, I suppose I wanted to see you more,” Heero replied.

Quatre stopped, concerned. “Is it about the boy?” he asked anxiously. “Did something happen?”

“No. Well, yes, but nothing bad,” Heero corrected himself, feeling an inexplicable glow of pleasure as he remembered. “In fact, he’s doing much better. He actually spoke to me last night, and again this morning...”

“He’s talking? This is wonderful news!” Quatre cried enthusiastically, echoing Heero’s own thoughts, but much more vocally. “I was beginning to think that the injury on his throat might have damaged the voicebox. It cut deep enough that I couldn’t be sure.”

A flash of dismay ran through Heero at the thought; he’d never even contemplated the possibility. “Why didn’t you warn me that that might happen?” he growled.

Quatre looked slightly guilty, but made the attempt to justify himself nonetheless. “I didn’t really think you needed all the gory details, Heero.”

“That was not what I would consider a trivial detail,” Heero snapped.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

People tried not to stare at the sight of Colonel Yuy carrying a tray in his hands as though it were made of glass. The cooks were used to him by now, and usually greeted him with familiarity when he came in the morning and evening; he never answered in words, or to their unspoken query as to why he always took enough food for two people, but they saw enough of him to realize that there was more to him than the Perfect Soldier that was all most people knew. This, though, was a different area of the camp, and people who were not so used to him stared as he picked his way among the grimy tents and worn mud paths, searching for one place in particular. He ignored them; normally Quatre and Trowa came to visit him, instead of him looking for them, but this morning he couldn’t sit still and wait.

“Trowa?” he called, hesitating as he approached the entrance to the tent. “Quatre? Is anyone here?”

“Oh, Heero? That you?” came Quatre’s voice from within the tent, shortly followed by the petit healer himself. “Trowa’s not here just now, he’s gone off to argue with some engineers about the placement of the stables. Did you want to talk to him?”

“Actually, I suppose I wanted to see you more,” Heero replied.

Quatre stopped, concerned. “Is it about the boy?” he asked anxiously. “Did something happen?”

“No. Well, yes, but nothing bad,” Heero corrected himself, feeling an inexplicable glow of pleasure as he remembered. “In fact, he’s doing much better. He actually spoke to me last night, and again this morning...”

“He’s talking? This is wonderful news!” Quatre cried enthusiastically, echoing Heero’s own thoughts, but much more vocally. “I was beginning to think that the injury on his throat might have damaged the voicebox. It cut deep enough that I couldn’t be sure.”

A flash of dismay ran through Heero at the thought; he’d never even contemplated the possibility. “Why didn’t you warn me that that might happen?” he growled.

Quatre looked slightly guilty, but made the attempt to justify himself nonetheless. “I didn’t really think you needed all the gory details, Heero.”

“That was not what I would consider a trivial detail,” Heero snapped.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“What would you have done about it even if I did tell you?” Quatre said defensively. “Besides, Trowa said he might not talk anytime soon anyway...”

“Well, Trowa was wrong,” Heero said flatly, the menace in his tone hinting that he might want to let the subject rest there. Quatre hastily gathered together some tools of his trade, and the two of them walked in silence back towards Heero’s tent. Quatre’s natural ebullience couldn’t be suppressed long, though, and he was soon chattering to a largely unresponsive Heero.

“It’s nice to have a break from constantly fighting,” the young doctor was saying. “And we actually won a skirmish, for a change. There’s a real difference in mood among the soldiers, you can feel it in the camp. Everyone’s readying themselves up to fight again, with a victory on our side, but people are taking the time to catch their breaths, too. How much longer do you suppose it will last?”

“I can’t say,” Heero’s answered tersely, discouraging further questioning along that line. Even if he had been at liberty to tell his plans so casually, Heero was not quite sure himself what to do next. Having won the long-coveted defensive position at Baruji’s Ford, he was loathe to move the army until they got some more substantial information as to the movements of the Oz army. The silence from their enemies was worrisome; though Oz’s defeat had been decisive, it was by no means enough to scatter their larger forces or even set them back to this extent. Not even the death of General Khushrenada should have...

The sound of Quatre’s voice brought him out of his familiar musings; Quatre had asked some sort of question, and was waiting for a response. Heero’s first impulse was to ignore it, but he found himself thinking of how uncomfortable he had found himself over the past week, trying to make conversation with someone who would not or could not answer back. “What did you just say?” he asked absently, trying to cover for his lapse of attention.

“I said, did you ever find out his name,” Quatre repeated patiently. “The boy, that is. You said he spoke with you last night, and I assume you thought to ask what --”

“Of course I did,” Heero interrupted, and then paused. “...Duo. He said his name was Duo.”

“Duo,” Quatre repeated. “I like that name. It has a nice sound to it.”

Silently, Heero found himself agreeing. But he would never say so aloud.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Duo was startled out of a half-doze, half-trance by the sound of footsteps outside of the door. Within a heartbeat his body coiled tightly as a spring, preparing to run or fight; not that he was much capable of doing either one at the moment. He started to relax when he saw Heero step into the entrance, but tensed again at the sight of the person following him.

“Duo,” Heero began, motioning to the blond man behind and beside him. “Do you know who this is?”

The newcomer ducked around Heero and smiled brightly at Duo, who stared at him for a moment of intense concentration before he shook his head. “Should I?” he asked quietly.

“I suppose not,” the blond man put in. “Most of the time I came to see you, you were unconscious. Your name is Duo, right? Mine’s Quatre, Quatre Raberba Winner.”

Duo blinked at him, then shot an appealing glance towards Heero. Heero looked slightly exasperated as he answered, “Quatre’s a doctor. He’s the one who’s been treating you for the past week.”

Quatre moved over to the side of the bed, and quickly pulled the snarled blankets away from Duo. The long-haired boy clutched at them for a moment, looking back at Heero for reassurance, but then forced himself to relax. Heero wouldn’t have brought this Quatre here if he didn’t trust him. “Why’s he here now?” he said, still miserably nervous.

The doctor looked a little startled by the question. “Well... you’re still injured, Duo,” he explained. “And it’s a lot easier for me to help you now that you can answer my questions. But don’t worry! Unlike most of the con-men and shamans trying to pass themselves off as doctors in this country, I actually know what I’m doing. I learned from the best, Moorish surgeons since I was young.” Even as he continued to chatter in a friendly, absent manner, his hands and expression assumed a detached, clinical air as he began checking Duo over; heartbeat, breathing, eyes.

As Quatre put his hand over one of Duo’s eyes, then the other, Duo quietly remarked, “Raberba? You don’t look like a Saracen.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Quatre shrugged slightly, as if embarrassed. “Well... my father is. He’s a well-respected merchant, and he was the one who saw to my education. But my mother was a westerner, and everyone always said I looked like her. Straighten your arm, please. Can you move the fingers on that hand at all?” Quatre closely examined Duo’s wrist as he performed the requested actions, and then smiled. “Good! It looks like this cut didn’t go all the way into the tendons after all.”

“You said was,” Duo observed, curious almost in spite of himself. Quatre nodded.

“She died when I was just a baby. I don’t remember her at all. But I have twenty-nine older sisters, so it wasn’t like I lacked for mothering, growing up.”

“Twenty-nine older sisters?” Duo echoed, disbelieving. He flinched backwards involuntarily as Quatre’s hands brushed over the still-raw patch on his throat, but the doctor either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the reaction.

“Uh-huh. My father was a busy man,” he replied absently as he ran one hand over Duo’s still painfully thin shoulder. “Spread out over six wives, of course. Duo, you need to eat more. You’ve put on some weight, but your body still has a lot of healing to do and it needs food for that.” He turned around to glare at Heero, making himself small in the corner so that he could hear the unfolding conversation unobserved.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

A tiny smile twitched the corner of Duo’s mouth; the first to grace his expression in a long time. “It’s not his fault that army food is always so lousy.”

Quatre stared at him in amazement for a moment before he burst out laughing. “Well, I didn’t join the army for the food!” he exclaimed when he could control his own chuckles.

Duo watched him carefully, head titled to one side in consideration. “Then why did you join?” he asked softly.

Almost immediately, Quatre’s humor faded into pensive quiet. He placed both hands on Duo’s back and leaned in slightly to hear better. “Deep breaths, Duo,” he instructed; he listened carefully as Duo tried to comply, and frowned at the coughs that seized the boy when he did. Moving around to Duo’s front, he pushed open the loose robe to expose the boy’s chest. Duo cringed slightly away, his hands twitching on the blankets as though to pull them up, to cover the exposed flesh, but forced himself to be still as Quatre prodded at his ribcage. “Sorry, did that hurt?” he asked, although Duo had made no sign of it. “It’s a good thing these are only cracked, not broken. But they aren’t healing as fast as they should. Try not to move around too much until they’ve mended.”

Now Duo’s curiosity was roused, and his eyes followed Quatre closely as the doctor abandoned the bedside and began rifling through the bag he’d brought. Heero watched the pair of them, too, almost afraid to move lest he break the communication between the healer and his patient. Quatre had actually gotten a joke out of Duo -- at least, he thought it had been a joke -- and in the past five minutes of conversation, he had found out more about Quatre’s past and life than in the eight months previous of their acquaintance.

Quatre returned to the bedside, breaking the wax seal on a jar. “This goes on the cuts, Duo. It’s strong, so it will sting a little at first, but it will clean out infection and help them to heal. Is that all right?”

Duo nodded, but as Quatre dipped a small rag into the liquid and took hold of Duo’s arm with his other hand, Duo repeated his earlier question. “Why did you join this army?”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Quatre paused for a moment, staring into space, before slowly resuming his work. “I guess... because I couldn’t stay away,” he said finally. “Well, I -- that is -- that really didn’t come out right. I... My father always said that a businessman should stick to business, and not get involved in the endless wars of the Westerners. But I saw towns being destroyed, and people being slaughtered, and homeless, and starving... and all I could think was that these were my people, too. I couldn’t just sit back and watch all this suffering, without doing anything to help.”

He sighed, and gave a resigned shrug, dipping the rag once again in the antiseptic solution and turning one of Duo’s arms over, to expose the welts on the underside. “My father wouldn’t allow me to participate in the war at all, so in the end, I ran away. I would never have made it as a soldier -- do I look like a fighter to you? -- so I joined the army as a doctor, instead. And even though a lot of people don’t trust me, they think I’m too young to be any good, or that I can’t be trusted because I’m half Arab, I never really regretted my choice. I don’t know how I could have lived with myself, if I had taken my father’s advice and remained uninvolved.” He paused, and a brilliant smile overtook his face. “After all, if I hadn’t joined the army, I would never have met Trowa!”

“That must be hard,” Duo remarked quietly. “If so many people distrust you, without even knowing you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Quatre smiled, as he fastened down the lid on the jar of antiseptic and tied a waxed string around it. Setting the vial down on the desk, he moved back to the side of the bed and took hold of the blankets Duo still clutched about his legs. “Lie back and spread your legs, Duo,” the blond man instructed, “so I can examine you.”

Duo’s entire body spasmed, and the color drained from his face abruptly. “No... no. You can’t,” he muttered, reaching desperately for the concealing blankets.

Quatre looked slightly taken aback by Duo’s refusal, which visibly upset him. “I need to, Duo.”

“No, you don’t!” Duo exclaimed emphatically, shaking his head in denial as his voice began to rise. “No way!”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The distress evident in Duo’s voice, and the flustered anxiety on Quatre’s face, was enough to bring Heero out of his corner. He crossed quickly to the bedside opposite Quatre, and leveled a glare at the blond doctor. Flustered, Quatre tried to reason with his patient. “Look, Duo, I’ve been treating you for a week. It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before. And you’re still feeling pain there. Let me help you!”

The long-haired boy was visibly shaking, and shot Heero a look of pure desperation. Heero looked up across the bed at Quatre, and frowned. He didn’t like to think that Duo was still suffering pain from his captivity and abuse, not if there was anything that could be done to ease it, but Duo’s distress and terror were painfully evident. He took the doctor’s upper arm and pulled him aside, pitching his voice low enough that Duo couldn’t hear. “Is that really necessary? If it bothers him so much, can’t you leave it alone for now? Until he’s had longer to recover?”

“Well,” Quatre couldn’t quite meet Heero’s eyes. “I really shouldn’t, Heero. There’s so much damage in that area, I don’t want to risk neglecting any treatment or it might not heal as well as it could otherwise. And besides which...” He trailed off, gaze downcast and to one side.

“Besides which?” Heero prompted him, tension beginning to grip him in anticipation of whatever Quatre was reluctant to speak of.

Lowering his voice even more, Quatre shot a glance back at the form huddled on the bed before he said, “It’s fairly obvious that he was raped, often, and probably not just by one person. We -- I don’t know who it was that forced him, but I think it’s a safe assumption that they didn’t have his health in mind. Although there isn’t really much of it in our army, I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of Oz soldiers have... syphilis, or the wasting disease, or... or any other of a dozen diseases that can be transmitted sexually.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The distress evident in Duo’s voice, and the flustered anxiety on Quatre’s face, was enough to bring Heero out of his corner. He crossed quickly to the bedside opposite Quatre, and leveled a glare at the blond doctor. Flustered, Quatre tried to reason with his patient. “Look, Duo, I’ve been treating you for a week. It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before. And you’re still feeling pain there. Let me help you!”

The long-haired boy was visibly shaking, and shot Heero a look of pure desperation. Heero looked up across the bed at Quatre, and frowned. He didn’t like to think that Duo was still suffering pain from his captivity and abuse, not if there was anything that could be done to ease it, but Duo’s distress and terror were painfully evident. He took the doctor’s upper arm and pulled him aside, pitching his voice low enough that Duo couldn’t hear. “Is that really necessary? If it bothers him so much, can’t you leave it alone for now? Until he’s had longer to recover?”

“Well,” Quatre couldn’t quite meet Heero’s eyes. “I really shouldn’t, Heero. There’s so much damage in that area, I don’t want to risk neglecting any treatment or it might not heal as well as it could otherwise. And besides which...” He trailed off, gaze downcast and to one side.

“Besides which?” Heero prompted him, tension beginning to grip him in anticipation of whatever Quatre was reluctant to speak of.

Lowering his voice even more, Quatre shot a glance back at the form huddled on the bed before he said, “It’s fairly obvious that he was raped, often, and probably not just by one person. We -- I don’t know who it was that forced him, but I think it’s a safe assumption that they didn’t have his health in mind. Although there isn’t really much of it in our army, I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of Oz soldiers have... syphilis, or the wasting disease, or... or any other of a dozen diseases that can be transmitted sexually.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Heero’s eyes widened in disbelief and horror as the doctor’s meaning sank in. “You mean Duo might be infected?”

“I mean it’s possible,” Quatre sighed miserably. “I’ve watched out for warning signs every time I checked on him, and so far he seems to be all right, but sometimes they don’t manifest for weeks or even months after infection. Don’t worry about it, Heero,” Quatre almost begged. “I can treat the diseases, if I catch the symptoms early enough, and there isn’t any chance of you becoming infected...”

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Heero growled, looking back over to Duo. He’d never seen a person infected with the wasting disease, but he’d heard descriptions, and imagining Duo contaminated with the poison, rotting... just the thought of it made him sick. “Merciful gods... You can’t tell him about this, Quatre...”

“I hadn’t planned to,” Quatre assured him. “Not unless symptoms do show up. But you can see why I want to...”

“You’re right,” Heero interrupted. “I don’t like that it upsets him so much, but... you’re right.”

He turned abruptly away from Quatre, and hastened back to the bedside. “Duo.” The longhaired boy looked up at the sound of Heero’s voice, eyes wide and face drawn. “Duo, you have to do what Quatre says.”

“I can’t,” Duo whispered, his thin form shaking. “Don’t make me, please.”

Something twisted in Heero’s chest, at the hopeless begging tone in Duo’s voice, but long experience as a soldier put a snap of steely command into his reply. “It’s for your own good, Duo. Don’t argue.”

Fear flashed in his eyes, but after a moment of struggle Duo nodded in submission. Slowly, he lowered his hands to the tie that held together the dark blue robe, and pulled at it until it came loose. He inched backwards on the bed before leaning back, eyes tightly closed and head turned to one side away from the doctor. Quatre shared a quick look with Heero, before nodding and moving down to the foot of the bed. A shudder snapped through Duo’s frame as Quatre’s slender, gentle hands closed on his knees and pushed them apart. “I’ll be as quick as I can, Duo,” Quatre assured him, “and I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Duo nodded jerkily, not opening his eyes, but his entire body flinched every time Quatre touched him. His hands clenched at the bedding, muscles rigid as he struggled to control the reflex to fight -- or flee -- the unwanted touch. His teeth closed on his lower lip, and bit down until blood pooled in his mouth.

This was the last straw for Heero, who had been hovering anxiously near the head of the bed, acutely aware of the effort Duo was exerting to submit to the doctor’s examination. The sight of fresh blood leaking from his lip was too much, and he hesitantly reached down and laid his hand on Duo’s, hoping the additional touch wouldn’t distress him even further. Duo’s eyes shot open, and his hand fastened on Heero’s like a clamp, hanging onto his arm like a lifeline. Heero had to work to control his wince even as he carefully returned some reassuring pressure; the boy had a grip like steel, even if the tendons and bones stood out sharply on a hand and arm still painfully thin.

By the time Quatre was finished, a thin sheen of sweat stood out over Duo’s body, and his breathing came in painful gulps. He still clung to Heero’s hand, and Heero found himself strangely unable to tear his eyes away from Duo’s face and form. The image of Duo’s hands moving to the front of his robe kept flashing in his mind, and he couldn’t figure out why; over the past week of caring for Duo, he’d become almost as familiar with his body as he was with his own, so what was bothering him now? As he puzzled over the question, he barely noticed Quatre gathering his supplies and saying something to him. He replied distractedly, much more intent on the lock of chestnut hair his free hand was absently stroking than with the blond doctor. Quatre left, and the movement was barely seen out of the corner of his eye.

Duo noticed, though; as soon as the room was empty once again except for himself and Heero, the distressed tension drained from his body, and he relaxed against the blanket. His eyes opened once more, and a puzzled frown appeared on his face as his gaze traveled down to settle on Heero’s hand, still entangled with his own.

Heero saw him looking, and hastily pulled his hand away. He somehow felt as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and felt Duo’s eyes boring into his back as he turned away and walked across the room, putting some distance between himself and the violet-eyed boy. He heard the rustle of fabric behind him, as Duo pulled up the blankets and robe about him once more. Absently, his hand drifted to the comb resting on top of the cabinet; almost without conscious choice, he picked it up and turned back to Duo.

He found himself almost in the same position as the night before; sitting behind Duo, pulling the comb through his tangled hair. Somehow, he thought, he was waiting for a repetition of the previous night’s miracle; it was almost a relief when Duo finally spoke again.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Duo nodded jerkily, not opening his eyes, but his entire body flinched every time Quatre touched him. His hands clenched at the bedding, muscles rigid as he struggled to control the reflex to fight -- or flee -- the unwanted touch. His teeth closed on his lower lip, and bit down until blood pooled in his mouth.

This was the last straw for Heero, who had been hovering anxiously near the head of the bed, acutely aware of the effort Duo was exerting to submit to the doctor’s examination. The sight of fresh blood leaking from his lip was too much, and he hesitantly reached down and laid his hand on Duo’s, hoping the additional touch wouldn’t distress him even further. Duo’s eyes shot open, and his hand fastened on Heero’s like a clamp, hanging onto his arm like a lifeline. Heero had to work to control his wince even as he carefully returned some reassuring pressure; the boy had a grip like steel, even if the tendons and bones stood out sharply on a hand and arm still painfully thin.

By the time Quatre was finished, a thin sheen of sweat stood out over Duo’s body, and his breathing came in painful gulps. He still clung to Heero’s hand, and Heero found himself strangely unable to tear his eyes away from Duo’s face and form. The image of Duo’s hands moving to the front of his robe kept flashing in his mind, and he couldn’t figure out why; over the past week of caring for Duo, he’d become almost as familiar with his body as he was with his own, so what was bothering him now? As he puzzled over the question, he barely noticed Quatre gathering his supplies and saying something to him. He replied distractedly, much more intent on the lock of chestnut hair his free hand was absently stroking than with the blond doctor. Quatre left, and the movement was barely seen out of the corner of his eye.

Duo noticed, though; as soon as the room was empty once again except for himself and Heero, the distressed tension drained from his body, and he relaxed against the blanket. His eyes opened once more, and a puzzled frown appeared on his face as his gaze traveled down to settle on Heero’s hand, still entangled with his own.

Heero saw him looking, and hastily pulled his hand away. He somehow felt as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and felt Duo’s eyes boring into his back as he turned away and walked across the room, putting some distance between himself and the violet-eyed boy. He heard the rustle of fabric behind him, as Duo pulled up the blankets and robe about him once more. Absently, his hand drifted to the comb resting on top of the cabinet; almost without conscious choice, he picked it up and turned back to Duo.

He found himself almost in the same position as the night before; sitting behind Duo, pulling the comb through his tangled hair. Somehow, he thought, he was waiting for a repetition of the previous night’s miracle; it was almost a relief when Duo finally spoke again.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

Heero didn’t answer right away; more than a week of careful thought had brought him no closer to an answer than when Trowa had asked him the same question. He had told Trowa the absolute truth; somehow he didn’t think that Duo would take ‘I don’t know,’ for an answer. Instead, he chose to sidestep the question, avoiding it entirely. “Because it’s tangled,” he answered, “and it needs brushing.”

A thin hand reached up and wrapped around the comb, halting its path; somehow, the wasted fingers avoided coming in contact with Heero’s own steel-calloused hands. Without releasing the comb, Duo struggled to turn on the bed so that he could look at Heero. Fear glimmered in his eyes. “What do you want from me?” he demanded hoarsely.

Heero easily pulled the comb out of his grasp, then stopped to think about the question, studying the battered, beautiful figure in front of him. What did he want? Duo had nothing in the world that Heero didn’t choose to give to him; he had nothing to give, except himself. The image of pale thin hands against dark fabric flashed through his mind, accompanied by the rich soft cascade of mahogany hair. Was that what he wanted? To touch Duo? And have him shrink away, feel him flinch under his hands? No. He remembered the joy he had felt last night when Duo broke his silence, and again this morning when Duo said his name. But that voice could scream as easily as whisper in that soft, beautiful timbre. No.

He remembered Duo’s smile.

Somehow that smile, the voice, his eyes, added up to something more. He didn’t have a name for it, not yet, but a glimpse of it had showed itself to him the first time he had seen Duo crouching in the mud. Heero felt a rare smile creeping across his face, no more than a tiny smirk by anyone’s standards. His left hand reached up and cupped Duo’s chin, thumb brushing across his cheek. “I want you to be well,” he answered finally, absolute certainty in his voice.

Duo stared, and disbelief crept into his eyes; he shook his head, just a tiny shake, against Heero’s touch. Heero kept his smile, though, as he reached up and took hold of Duo’s shoulders, turning him so that he had access to the wealth of Duo’s hair. It was too soon, yet, for Duo to trust in promises. But Heero would show him, just how serious he was.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

Heero didn’t answer right away; more than a week of careful thought had brought him no closer to an answer than when Trowa had asked him the same question. He had told Trowa the absolute truth; somehow he didn’t think that Duo would take ‘I don’t know,’ for an answer. Instead, he chose to sidestep the question, avoiding it entirely. “Because it’s tangled,” he answered, “and it needs brushing.”

A thin hand reached up and wrapped around the comb, halting its path; somehow, the wasted fingers avoided coming in contact with Heero’s own steel-calloused hands. Without releasing the comb, Duo struggled to turn on the bed so that he could look at Heero. Fear glimmered in his eyes. “What do you want from me?” he demanded hoarsely.

Heero easily pulled the comb out of his grasp, then stopped to think about the question, studying the battered, beautiful figure in front of him. What did he want? Duo had nothing in the world that Heero didn’t choose to give to him; he had nothing to give, except himself. The image of pale thin hands against dark fabric flashed through his mind, accompanied by the rich soft cascade of mahogany hair. Was that what he wanted? To touch Duo? And have him shrink away, feel him flinch under his hands? No. He remembered the joy he had felt last night when Duo broke his silence, and again this morning when Duo said his name. But that voice could scream as easily as whisper in that soft, beautiful timbre. No.

He remembered Duo’s smile.

Somehow that smile, the voice, his eyes, added up to something more. He didn’t have a name for it, not yet, but a glimpse of it had showed itself to him the first time he had seen Duo crouching in the mud. Heero felt a rare smile creeping across his face, no more than a tiny smirk by anyone’s standards. His left hand reached up and cupped Duo’s chin, thumb brushing across his cheek. “I want you to be well,” he answered finally, absolute certainty in his voice.

Duo stared, and disbelief crept into his eyes; he shook his head, just a tiny shake, against Heero’s touch. Heero kept his smile, though, as he reached up and took hold of Duo’s shoulders, turning him so that he had access to the wealth of Duo’s hair. It was too soon, yet, for Duo to trust in promises. But Heero would show him, just how serious he was.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Quatre?” Trowa called out as the healer approached their tent. “That you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Quatre replied, ducking under the flap and dropping his bag in an uncluttered spot. Trowa emerged from behind the partition, an angry frown creasing his face.

“Where have you been?” Trowa demanded. “I spend all day arguing with the bunch of idiots that try to pass themselves off as engineers and come home to find you gone.”

“Sorry, Trowa,” Quatre apologized, slipping into Trowa’s arms to share a brief kiss. “Heero came by, and I went with him back to his quarters.”

Trowa accepted the kiss, but didn’t return it, and snorted as he released his lover and went to the table to pick up a skin of wine. “I should have known. Sometimes I think that boy he’s taken in sees more of you than I do.”

“Trowa,” Quatre remonstrated, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “You know better by now than to begrudge time I spend with my patients. I feel sort of honored, actually. Heero doesn’t trust many people.”

Before answering, Trowa poured a drink into a handy cup, and sighed as he dropped the container of wine back onto the table. “I’m sorry, Quatre. You’re right, I should know better.”

“That’s all right.” Quatre settled himself into a chair with a relieved sigh, and studied his lover with knowing eyes. “He makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t he? Just by being around.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Quatre?” Trowa called out as the healer approached their tent. “That you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Quatre replied, ducking under the flap and dropping his bag in an uncluttered spot. Trowa emerged from behind the partition, an angry frown creasing his face.

“Where have you been?” Trowa demanded. “I spend all day arguing with the bunch of idiots that try to pass themselves off as engineers and come home to find you gone.”

“Sorry, Trowa,” Quatre apologized, slipping into Trowa’s arms to share a brief kiss. “Heero came by, and I went with him back to his quarters.”

Trowa accepted the kiss, but didn’t return it, and snorted as he released his lover and went to the table to pick up a skin of wine. “I should have known. Sometimes I think that boy he’s taken in sees more of you than I do.”

“Trowa,” Quatre remonstrated, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “You know better by now than to begrudge time I spend with my patients. I feel sort of honored, actually. Heero doesn’t trust many people.”

Before answering, Trowa poured a drink into a handy cup, and sighed as he dropped the container of wine back onto the table. “I’m sorry, Quatre. You’re right, I should know better.”

“That’s all right.” Quatre settled himself into a chair with a relieved sigh, and studied his lover with knowing eyes. “He makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t he? Just by being around.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“I can’t keep anything from you, can I, Little One?” Trowa sighed. He stared at the red liquid in his cup for a long moment, rocking the cup so that the wine swirled, before answering. “...You’re right. It’s not the boy’s fault, but he brings up memories I’d rather leave buried. It never got that bad for me -- as it must have for him -- but I saw those things happen to friends, people I cared about...” He trailed off, and without needing to be asked, Quatre inched closer to him and leaned against him.

“But at the same time, I don’t know... It’s almost like he’s a second chance. I feel like if I can help him, heal him, then somehow I’ll be helping all of the people I lost years ago.” He glanced up at Quatre from beneath his bangs, and his mouth twitched in a wry half-smile. “Foolish, I know.”

“No, not at all,” Quatre reassured him. “I know what you mean with the last part, though. About wanting to help him in any way I can. I think that Duo had to have been a wonderful person before this terrible thing happened to him, and --”

Trowa had started to take a drink, but when Quatre’s words hit him, he inhaled sharply at the wrong time and nearly took in a lungful of wine. “What did you just say?” he managed to gasp after several minutes of coughing.

Quatre stared, shocked, and slowly repeated his earlier words. “I said... I get the feeling that Duo must have been --”

“Duo!” Trowa exclaimed, as the associations fell into place in his mind one by one. “As in Duo MAXWELL?”

“I don’t know,” Quatre said, confused. “He didn’t say his last name. Just Duo.”

“I knew it. I knew it! I KNEW I knew him from somewhere!” Trowa jumped to his feet and began to pace back and forth, a frenzied energy building within his lanky frame. “How could I not recognize him before -- there couldn’t be two men with his face, his hair, those eyes! Duo Maxwell, by the gods!”

“Trowa, what are you babbling about?” Quatre demanded. “Who’s Duo Maxwell? Are you saying you knew him from before? Trowa! What are you doing?”

His questions fell on empty space as Trowa bolted from the tent.