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]

“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.”