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]

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.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Heero was just settling down on the bedside with a tray of dinner in his hands when Trowa burst in on them unannounced. Startled, Heero rose quickly and snatched out his dagger, almost spilling scalding hot soup over himself before he recognized the intruder. “Trowa!” he exclaimed, sheathing the weapon. “What are you doing here?”

Ignoring the soldier entirely, Trowa strode quickly to the bedside, locking gazes with the boy sitting therein. Abruptly, he reached up and took hold of Duo’s hair, pulling it back behind his head in a loose tail, and stared at the effect. “By all the gods,” he repeated to himself. “It wasn’t just my imagination!”

Duo gasped as Trowa loomed over him, and sat in frozen terror as the stranger grabbed Duo’s head in his hands. Heero immediately noticed the building tension in his frame, and clamped his own hand over Trowa’s wrist. “What in all the hells do you think you’re doing, Trowa?” he hissed, shoving Trowa backwards and interposing himself between the bed and his friend. Trowa’s response was to turn his wrist in Heero’s grasp to break free, then grabbed hold of the soldier’s arm and dragged him to the front of the tent.

“Trust me, Heero. I’ve got reason.” Trowa assured him once they were outside, releasing Heero’s arm. Heero glared at him, but kept his voice down.

“You’d better make it good, Trowa,” he snapped.

Trowa took a deep breath, and let it out, trying to calm his obvious excitement. “Heero. You’ve been a soldier all your life, haven’t you?”

“That’s right,” Heero growled, but his immediate ire began to subside. Trowa nodded as if that was to be expected, but continued.

“And you’ve been fighting against Oz for as long as you’ve been an officer, am I right? But you don’t have much idea as to the history of the war against Oz... before the Alliance pulled this army together to fight in it. Tell me, Heero, have you ever heard of a town called Maxwell?”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Heero frowned, trying to remember. “I think so... Wasn’t that the city that was razed by the Oz army nine years ago?”

“That’s the one. The town was sheltering some enemies of Oz, so the army marched in and burned the place to the ground, killing every man, woman and child they could get their hands on. Over twenty-four hundred people were killed. But despite all Oz’s efforts, some people did live. They survived, and banded together, with only one goal in mind; revenge.”

Almost despite himself, Heero found he was being drawn forward, into the story. Trowa never talked much, but when he did, he was surprisingly eloquent. The green-eyed man continued.

“The Maxwell survivors became a thorn in Oz’s side for a long time. They never had very many people, only a few dozen at any one time, and no kind of weapons, so they resorted to guerrilla tactics. They would burn supply trains, stage night raids on barracks, cut communication lines, do whatever they could to fight Oz. They were unmatched in their ability to wreak havoc and then melt into the surrounding countryside, but inevitably, Oz soldiers killed them all off one by one.

“About five years ago, their leader, a man named Solo, was killed. His younger brother took over then; he was only twelve years old, but even trickier than his older brother had been. If anything, he was braver, more daring, and more brilliant than his predecessor, and did a hell of a lot of damage to Oz. Some people called him the God of Death, for the way he could kill dozens of Oz soldiers and vanish from the base without ever showing his face to a single soldier.”

Heero’s blood began to run cold, as unwanted calculations began to run through his head. Five years ago, Heero had been twelve. Five years ago --

“In the end, it was that which doomed him. Oz couldn’t ignore the Maxwell survivors any more; they were simply becoming too great of a threat to be ignored. Three years after Solo Maxwell died, Oz finally organized a full-scale expedition to eradicate the Maxwell survivors, with General Khushrenada at its head. Nine out of every ten men were killed; the rest scattered and were never heard from again. Without a leader, you see, even the fighters who survived had no chance against an entire army; Khushrenada knew that, and it was their leader, Solo Maxwell’s brother, that he wanted most of all.”

Trowa’s gaze drilled into Heero, with the icy finality of his next words. “Two years ago, the entire Maxwell force was destroyed. Everyone assumed that Duo Maxwell died that day... until now.”