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]

Trowa was feeling very glad that he had gone along with the impulse to accompany Heero; he practically had to keep his friend from tearing the prisoner apart with his bare hands. It was fortunate that Trowa’s mere presence acted as a restraining influence, given how much stronger the soldier was; Trowa certainly was not looking forward to the prospect of standing against Heero in his rage. Fortunately, Heero had gotten himself under control; the only external sign of his fury was his deadly, cold-stone expression, and although his hands twitched with the need for violence, they remained by his side. For now.

The prisoner they were questioning had given his name as Muller. To Trowa, the man’s coarse lowborn accent was a breath of childhood, and the quiet green-eyed boy had quickly identified the man as one of the a low-end mercenaries that Oz hired to fill up its ranks, derisively referred to as the ‘Virgos.’ Oz had enough resources to burn that many of the troops needed but a few basic skills: follow orders, thirst for blood, and die when the moment was right. Muller was no exception, especially to the second of the requirements, and Trowa got the distinct impression that this was not the first time some of their own soldiers had approached the Oz prisoners about that which had been pillaged from the Oz encampment. The scraggly-haired soldier had been sullen and untalkative -- until Heero had asked if he knew a certain long-haired, violet-eyed prisoner of war.

Except, the word that Muller had used was “toy.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Yeah, I remember him,” Muller was saying, seemingly oblivious to Heero’s near-explosive temper. “Sweetest little piece of ass that ever came our way, man, woman, or sheep. Nobody really wanted him after the time he bit Jem’s balls off, though, no matter how good a fuck he was. Nothing’s worth that, no da. He was still fun to play with, though. More fun than betting on the dogfights.”

Trowa stepped in, quickly, before someone started losing important pieces. “How long was he in your camp for?” he demanded, eyes intently on his friend.

“I dunno,” the prisoner shrugged, then tilted his head back and thought for a minute. “Before last year. Year and a half ago was when I joined back up with the General, and he was already used goods first time I had him. Can’t have been much before that, though, ‘cause Khushrenada left the main force with a group of followers about eight months before that -- so I heard -- and didn’t leave the toy behind then. So I guess a little under two years, more or less...”

Trowa caught the look on Heero’s face, and decided now might be a good time to fade back out of his friend’s line of sight. Blood lurked and coiled in Heero’s eyes, as in a barely human voice he snarled, “Used goods? You. Raped. Him?”

Somehow, Muller failed to register the danger in Heero’s tone as he glibly replied, “Oh yeah. Every now and then the General would pass him around the company, just as long as nobody gave him the plague or took off any pieces. Possessive bastard.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Yeah, I remember him,” Muller was saying, seemingly oblivious to Heero’s near-explosive temper. “Sweetest little piece of ass that ever came our way, man, woman, or sheep. Nobody really wanted him after the time he bit Jem’s balls off, though, no matter how good a fuck he was. Nothing’s worth that, no da. He was still fun to play with, though. More fun than betting on the dogfights.”

Trowa stepped in, quickly, before someone started losing important pieces. “How long was he in your camp for?” he demanded, eyes intently on his friend.

“I dunno,” the prisoner shrugged, then tilted his head back and thought for a minute. “Before last year. Year and a half ago was when I joined back up with the General, and he was already used goods first time I had him. Can’t have been much before that, though, ‘cause Khushrenada left the main force with a group of followers about eight months before that -- so I heard -- and didn’t leave the toy behind then. So I guess a little under two years, more or less...”

Trowa caught the look on Heero’s face, and decided now might be a good time to fade back out of his friend’s line of sight. Blood lurked and coiled in Heero’s eyes, as in a barely human voice he snarled, “Used goods? You. Raped. Him?”

Somehow, Muller failed to register the danger in Heero’s tone as he glibly replied, “Oh yeah. Every now and then the General would pass him around the company, just as long as nobody gave him the plague or took off any pieces. Possessive bastard.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“He’s MINE, now,” Heero growled, in a voice that chilled Trowa’s blood.

“Zat so?” Muller leaned forward; a dark lustful hunger showed plainly on his face, a chilling reflection of the murderous fury in Heero’s eyes. “Then let me give you a tip; when you tie him up, don’t use rope. He’s like a damned monkey, the way he gets around knots and locks. The only thing that’ll hold him for long is wire -- just make sure it’s tight enough --”

An inhuman snarl ripped through the mercenary’s words, cutting him off as swiftly and surely as a blade across the neck. As Muller stared, mouth gaping open and eyes blank, Heero exploded into frenzy fueled by rage. In the blink of an eye he had crossed the distance to the prisoner and slammed him to the ground, the older man taking the brunt of the momentum. The wind blasted out of him, leaving him stunned, but he never had time to recover as Heero’s hands closed around his head in a steel-bending grip. For a split instant his grip tightened, as though he would crush the man’s skull with his bare hands, but then he savagely twisted his arms to the side. A vicious snap echoed through the space, and the sudden bonelessness of the prisoner’s limbs could leave not a sliver of doubt that his neck was shattered.

His face still contorted with disgust and rage, Heero rose and tossed the man’s body to the side like a broken doll. Without giving a glance to Trowa or to the ashen-faced unfortunate that had been assigned to guard the prisoner, he tore from the tent and did not look back.

Trowa’s still green eyes went from the dead body on the ground, to the sickened-looking soldier, to the empty space where Heero had left. After a moment, he gave the guard a respectful nod and ducked from the tent himself. The sound of retching chased him as he followed in his friend’s wake.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“He’s MINE, now,” Heero growled, in a voice that chilled Trowa’s blood.

“Zat so?” Muller leaned forward; a dark lustful hunger showed plainly on his face, a chilling reflection of the murderous fury in Heero’s eyes. “Then let me give you a tip; when you tie him up, don’t use rope. He’s like a damned monkey, the way he gets around knots and locks. The only thing that’ll hold him for long is wire -- just make sure it’s tight enough --”

An inhuman snarl ripped through the mercenary’s words, cutting him off as swiftly and surely as a blade across the neck. As Muller stared, mouth gaping open and eyes blank, Heero exploded into frenzy fueled by rage. In the blink of an eye he had crossed the distance to the prisoner and slammed him to the ground, the older man taking the brunt of the momentum. The wind blasted out of him, leaving him stunned, but he never had time to recover as Heero’s hands closed around his head in a steel-bending grip. For a split instant his grip tightened, as though he would crush the man’s skull with his bare hands, but then he savagely twisted his arms to the side. A vicious snap echoed through the space, and the sudden bonelessness of the prisoner’s limbs could leave not a sliver of doubt that his neck was shattered.

His face still contorted with disgust and rage, Heero rose and tossed the man’s body to the side like a broken doll. Without giving a glance to Trowa or to the ashen-faced unfortunate that had been assigned to guard the prisoner, he tore from the tent and did not look back.

Trowa’s still green eyes went from the dead body on the ground, to the sickened-looking soldier, to the empty space where Heero had left. After a moment, he gave the guard a respectful nod and ducked from the tent himself. The sound of retching chased him as he followed in his friend’s wake.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

People scrambled to get out of Heero’s path as he stalked through the encampment; he had no eyes for any of them. He was utterly consumed by the feelings running through him; though he had experienced anger before, and hatred, never had he felt the emotions in such force, that they threatened to burn his flesh from the inside. The memory of the man’s leering face filled his mind with sickened loathing; the naked hunger had been disgusting enough, but that such lust could be inspired by another’s pain...!

Duo’s pain. The image of Duo, his Duo, screaming and writhing under that creature’s sordid hands, was too much to endure. The muffled crunch of bone under his hands had done nothing to mollify his fury; he only regretted that most of the men responsible for these inhuman actions were already dead or out of reach. He would not rest easy until he had leveled his fury on every animal who had ever dared to set hands on his...

His? Since when did he think of Duo as his own?

Confusion penetrated the turmoil of rage and hate, and slowed him enough for him to recognize Trowa’s presence. There was no-one else around; everyone who had witnessed Heero’s fury had fled. Even though he knew Trowa was there, he still nearly jumped out of his skin at a touch on his shoulder. His arms came up automatically inside Trowa’s and shoved the other man away; they stumbled back from each other and stared in silence for a long moment before Trowa spoke.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Heero.”

An echo of his previous fury crashed over him at the reminder. “That creature did not deserve to live,” he growled.

“That doesn’t matter!” Trowa exclaimed, tension winding tighter and tighter through his lanky frame. “He was an captive; you can’t just kill him on a whim. It violates the war prisoner strictures...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Hell with that!” Heero sliced across his words. “He voluntarily confessed that he himself had broken every damned POW rule ever put into existence! What right has he to be protected by those same laws?”

A breath hissed out from between Trowa’s teeth. “Then there should have been a trial, Colonel Yuy, and a conviction, and an execution. If he truly committed a crime, then justice must be served; but you just can’t go around killing prisoners out of personal wrath, however justified. If you do not keep the laws, then you are no better than they are --”

Heero’s half-diminished anger suddenly flared back into existence. “How dare you?” he roared, taking a menacing step towards Trowa. “How dare you compare me to those motherless, slime-drinking, barbarian excuses for men?”

Fear of his friend hovered at the edges of Trowa’s mind, but it was absolutely eclipsed by a slowly boiling anger -- a scalding rage that had been simmering in the dark places of his heart for too many years. His face remained unmoved, deathly still, as the newly-awakened darkness clawed its way up and out of his throat. “How can I not, when I see the same blood-thirst on your face as on theirs?”

Heero’s hand spasmed into a fist; exerting all his control, he barely managed to divert the punch into a nearby wooden support beam instead of his friend’s face. “Don’t you dare. Don’t... dare. They’re not human; they’re animals. No human being could do anything that cruel. There’s nothing more disgusting -- more abominable -- than what they did --”

“Nothing?” Trowa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You can think of no worse thing?”

“No,” Heero snarled. “To take a young boy -- barely more than a child -- and --”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“You don’t know anything.” Trowa’s voice was winter-cold. “You don’t know anything worse? What if it wasn’t a fifteen-year-old soldier they raped and tortured? What if it were a six-year-old girl that they stole away from her family, and fucked her until all her bones were broken and she bleeds to death impaled on their cock? You don’t know anything, Heero Yuy. You’ve never seen. You didn’t see a group of soldiers throw a living man into a pot of boiling water and then ate him after he stopped screaming. You didn’t see them peel a man’s skin away from his flesh, and leave him out in the sun to burn --”

“Shut up,” Heero whispered, dizzied and sick. “Shut up, Trowa!”

But the words didn’t stop spilling from Trowa’s lips. “Did you know, Heero, in some army encampments they have terrible infestations of rats? There are so many, that they eat more rats than anything else. They catch rats, and keep them in pits until they’re hungry. But the rats get hungry, too, so sometimes they will take a man and drop him into the pits and when the rats have eaten their fill of skin and eyes and hair they are slow and easy to catch --”

“STOP IT!” Heero screamed, and staggered into motion. He turned on Trowa, like an injured animal, and his knife leapt into his hand almost of his own will. The vision of his friend, his tormentor, wavered in his sight, as though through heat waves, or the reflection on water. Trowa didn’t stop.

“Do you know what happens when you tie a rope to a man’s ankle, and throw him out of a building? How it breaks every bone in his body, and crushes his insides until he vomits out the bloody remains of his guts?”

“God damn you, Trowa, stop it or I will make you stop!” he roared, advancing on Trowa with the knife drawn. Trowa never moved a muscle except to speak, his own eyes locked with Heero’s.

“You’ve never seen a man, tied all four limbs to four different horses, and made them run. You’ve never seen the bones splinter and shatter out of their sockets, skin pulling apart from bone, you never heard the sound of a body shredding into pieces. You never smelled --”

“STOP IT!” A strangled noise burst out of Heero’s throat, and the dagger wavered and dropped from his grasp as Heero fell to his knees with both hands over his ears.

“I CAN’T!” Trowa shouted back.

Dead silence.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“You don’t know anything.” Trowa’s voice was winter-cold. “You don’t know anything worse? What if it wasn’t a fifteen-year-old soldier they raped and tortured? What if it were a six-year-old girl that they stole away from her family, and fucked her until all her bones were broken and she bleeds to death impaled on their cock? You don’t know anything, Heero Yuy. You’ve never seen. You didn’t see a group of soldiers throw a living man into a pot of boiling water and then ate him after he stopped screaming. You didn’t see them peel a man’s skin away from his flesh, and leave him out in the sun to burn --”

“Shut up,” Heero whispered, dizzied and sick. “Shut up, Trowa!”

But the words didn’t stop spilling from Trowa’s lips. “Did you know, Heero, in some army encampments they have terrible infestations of rats? There are so many, that they eat more rats than anything else. They catch rats, and keep them in pits until they’re hungry. But the rats get hungry, too, so sometimes they will take a man and drop him into the pits and when the rats have eaten their fill of skin and eyes and hair they are slow and easy to catch --”

“STOP IT!” Heero screamed, and staggered into motion. He turned on Trowa, like an injured animal, and his knife leapt into his hand almost of his own will. The vision of his friend, his tormentor, wavered in his sight, as though through heat waves, or the reflection on water. Trowa didn’t stop.

“Do you know what happens when you tie a rope to a man’s ankle, and throw him out of a building? How it breaks every bone in his body, and crushes his insides until he vomits out the bloody remains of his guts?”

“God damn you, Trowa, stop it or I will make you stop!” he roared, advancing on Trowa with the knife drawn. Trowa never moved a muscle except to speak, his own eyes locked with Heero’s.

“You’ve never seen a man, tied all four limbs to four different horses, and made them run. You’ve never seen the bones splinter and shatter out of their sockets, skin pulling apart from bone, you never heard the sound of a body shredding into pieces. You never smelled --”

“STOP IT!” A strangled noise burst out of Heero’s throat, and the dagger wavered and dropped from his grasp as Heero fell to his knees with both hands over his ears.

“I CAN’T!” Trowa shouted back.

Dead silence.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“I couldn’t stop it,” he repeated, more softly. “I can’t make it stop. You can’t either, no matter how much you want to.”

“No,” Heero shook his head, eyes tightly closed. He wasn’t even sure what he was denying; the endless litany of atrocities, or the dead certainty that they could never be ended. “No.” His boiling anger was gone, purged from his body, and he was shamed by the weight of everything that Trowa had been forced to witness, and bear in silence -- until now.

Trowa finally broke the silence, with words that were almost a plea. “It happens, Heero. A soldier has to know.”

He stirred, off his knees, and opened his eyes; a steel-hard glint of determination lay behind them. “It’s not part of being a soldier,” he whispered, fierce in his certainty.

“Soldiers kill, Heero, it’s what they do -- not all of them are skilled enough to kill cleanly, easily. They get used to it, the blood-shedding, and then they kill civilians, too. It’s a part of war.” Trowa drew his arms about himself, as though chilled. “They might be animals, Heero, but they were soldiers first.”

“It’s not,” Heero denied, quietly, but firmly. “Soldiers have power, and some of them abuse that power -- but that isn’t the way it should be. Isn’t the way things are, not in my army. Not so long as I can stop it.”

“You can’t stop it, Heero,” Trowa told him, dead-certain.

“How do you know?” Heero challenged sharply. “Have you ever tried?”

He hadn’t meant it to come out like an accusation, but the words flew and cut as certainly as an arrow. Finally, Trowa whispered, defensively, “It was enough of a job just staying alive --”

“I know,” Heero cut him off, with his apology and his own forgiveness wrapped behind those words. “But you’re here. Now. And we have to try.”

Another moment of breathless silence passed, before at last Trowa gave a tiny, hesitant nod. Heero didn’t smile -- he never smiled much -- but he couldn’t completely hide his relief that this particular ordeal was over. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly before he found his balance, and returned Trowa’s nod. In unspoken accord, the two left the little yard, glad enough to leave the malaise behind.

They walked in silence for a while, before Heero said, “I hope Duo’s been all right -- I didn’t explain why I left.”

Trowa gave him a reproachful look. “Of course he’s all right. Quatre’s staying with him, and he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“I didn’t think he would,” Heero replied. “I just meant that... never mind,” he sighed. He looked askance at Trowa, replaying his last words in his mind and sifting through their meaning. Slowly, he asked, “What you told me -- you’ve never told Quatre, have you?”

Trowa shook his head. “He doesn’t know,” he said quietly. “I would sell my soul to every demon in Hell to keep him from ever knowing.”

“You must... love him very much,” Heero muttered, experimenting with the word.

Trowa nodded, but responded only obliquely. “You know, killing Muller isn’t going to help Duo heal.”

Heero scowled, and glanced away; he’d hoped this particular topic would be buried underneath the others. “It still needed to be done,” he retorted, and brushed the bangs out of his face to give his friend a sideways glance. “Besides,” he added, half-defensively -- “It made me feel better.”

For the first time since Heero had known him, Trowa actually laughed. It was a spooky sound, all the more so because he sounded genuinely amused by Heero’s morbid pronouncement. Heero stopped and stared at his friend, a trifle disturbed; the taller boy halted too, and swung around to favor Heero with a strange little smile. It took a moment for Heero to identify the almost visible relief that was bubbling through Trowa, relief at having finally expelled the poisonous memories. He had to fight the smile that kept threatening to appear on his own face; shaking his head slightly, Heero turned away and continued on the trek back to his tent.

All desire to smile vanished as Heero caught sight of the commotion ahead. Raised voices drifted back where they were standing, and a cook-helper scurried back around the corner, shooting nervous glances at whatever was behind him. Heero frowned. They were almost back to his tent. What was causing the turmoil?

He quickened his pace; Trowa had to stretch his longer legs to keep up, but needed no urging when Quatre’s voice rose above the hubbub.

“I already told you -- he can’t be moved! You can just wait until --”

Heero and Trowa rounded the corner and saw that the disturbance, in fact, was centered in front of Heero’s own tent. Quatre stood resolutely in the doorway, arms spread slightly to bar anyone else from entering; the tiny doctor looked almost ridiculous in comparison to the half-dozen men standing in a loose semi-circle around him. One of them, wearing the rank tabs of a sergeant, stepped forward and made an impatient gesture. “Come on, kid, we have our orders.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Trowa’s foot scraped over a discarded scrap of metal as he moved, and immediately all eyes shot to the two newcomers. A dark sense of foreboding crept over him, as he saw the unhappiness flit across the sergeant’s face; he obviously did not want them there. That was enough to raise his defenses even without the look of pure relief that washed over Quatre’s face, the difference reflecting his barely suppressed panic. “Heero! Trowa! Thank God you’re here...”

It did not escape Trowa’s notice that Quatre had unconsciously reverted to the divine address from his childhood, instead of the more local expressions he had been so careful to adopt. He was at his lover’s side in a moment, shouldering aside the soldiers that gave way to him easily. “What is it, Quatre?”

“These men... they...” He looked back and forth between Heero and the soldiers, and swallowed before forging on. “They’re trying to take Duo away...”

“What?” Heero growled, and turned on the nervous-looking soldier. “What’s going on here, Sergeant?”

“Sir...” the man started, and then trailed off unhappily. He glanced around, at his men, and seemed to draw encouragement. “Sir, I have orders from General Chang. He wants to talk to the...” The soldier hesitated, obviously deleting the word he was about to say, and searching in his vocabulary for a replacement. “To your... guest,” he finally stumbled out.

Heero’s scowl deepened, before he replaced it with a cool expressionless mask. I can just imagine Wufei wants to talk to him, he thought; he wanted to talk to him enough that he waited until I was out of the way before sending men to come get him. Quatre intervened just then. “I told them,” he said a bit breathlessly, “Duo’s not ready to be moved yet, he can’t walk...”

“We were sent to... carry him, if necessary,” the soldier countered, looking more than a little flustered.

Drag, was probably the original wording, Heero supplied for him. He could easily hear Wufei’s voice giving those orders. His eyes narrowed, and he turned from Quatre back to the soldier. “I’m sure you’ve done admirably, Sergeant. However, I think there are some things General Chang misunderstands about the situation. It will not be necessary for you to take this man to see the General. You may disperse.”

“Sir --” was all the man got out, before he stopped short, helplessly torn between two conflicting authority figures. “I have my orders, Colonel, straight from General Chang.”

“I’m aware of that, soldier,” Heero grated out. “You’re also getting them straight from me.”

The five enlisted soldiers were beginning to look a bit uneasy, shooting each other nervous glances; the ones closest to Heero began to inch warily backwards. Tension sang through the air, winding tighter and tighter, until Trowa broke it with a disgusted sigh. “You stay here,” he told Heero. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Trowa’s foot scraped over a discarded scrap of metal as he moved, and immediately all eyes shot to the two newcomers. A dark sense of foreboding crept over him, as he saw the unhappiness flit across the sergeant’s face; he obviously did not want them there. That was enough to raise his defenses even without the look of pure relief that washed over Quatre’s face, the difference reflecting his barely suppressed panic. “Heero! Trowa! Thank God you’re here...”

It did not escape Trowa’s notice that Quatre had unconsciously reverted to the divine address from his childhood, instead of the more local expressions he had been so careful to adopt. He was at his lover’s side in a moment, shouldering aside the soldiers that gave way to him easily. “What is it, Quatre?”

“These men... they...” He looked back and forth between Heero and the soldiers, and swallowed before forging on. “They’re trying to take Duo away...”

“What?” Heero growled, and turned on the nervous-looking soldier. “What’s going on here, Sergeant?”

“Sir...” the man started, and then trailed off unhappily. He glanced around, at his men, and seemed to draw encouragement. “Sir, I have orders from General Chang. He wants to talk to the...” The soldier hesitated, obviously deleting the word he was about to say, and searching in his vocabulary for a replacement. “To your... guest,” he finally stumbled out.

Heero’s scowl deepened, before he replaced it with a cool expressionless mask. I can just imagine Wufei wants to talk to him, he thought; he wanted to talk to him enough that he waited until I was out of the way before sending men to come get him. Quatre intervened just then. “I told them,” he said a bit breathlessly, “Duo’s not ready to be moved yet, he can’t walk...”

“We were sent to... carry him, if necessary,” the soldier countered, looking more than a little flustered.

Drag, was probably the original wording, Heero supplied for him. He could easily hear Wufei’s voice giving those orders. His eyes narrowed, and he turned from Quatre back to the soldier. “I’m sure you’ve done admirably, Sergeant. However, I think there are some things General Chang misunderstands about the situation. It will not be necessary for you to take this man to see the General. You may disperse.”

“Sir --” was all the man got out, before he stopped short, helplessly torn between two conflicting authority figures. “I have my orders, Colonel, straight from General Chang.”

“I’m aware of that, soldier,” Heero grated out. “You’re also getting them straight from me.”

The five enlisted soldiers were beginning to look a bit uneasy, shooting each other nervous glances; the ones closest to Heero began to inch warily backwards. Tension sang through the air, winding tighter and tighter, until Trowa broke it with a disgusted sigh. “You stay here,” he told Heero. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“What?” The soldier looked confused, darting glances between Trowa and Heero. “What do you...”

Trowa faced him cooly. “General Chang wishes to know more about Colonel Yuy’s ‘guest,’ doesn’t he? I’ll be happy to give him the information he wants. Lead the way, Sergeant.”

The soldier hesitated for a moment, but Trowa’s offer had provided him with a way out of his dilemma; whether to obey General Chang’s orders, or Colonel Yuy’s. The General might be the man ultimately in charge, but the Colonel was the one right in front of him with blood in his eyes... “All right,” he said finally, with a mixture of relief and misgivings. “Let’s go...”

With the immediate threat resolved, Heero promptly dropped the soldiers from his interest, turned, and strode past Quatre into the tent. Quatre hesitated for a moment, torn between his lover and his patient, before finally ducking under the tent flap behind Heero. The soldier ignored him, intent on something else; all of this arguing and excitement couldn’t be good for --

Duo sat curled into a terrified knot on the bed, head buried in his knees and hands covering his ears. Heero froze in his tracks at the sight, and turned to shoot a glare at Quatre, -- how could you let this happen! -- who returned a frustrated and harassed look of his own -- what could I do?

Hesitant, Heero approached the bed, and reached out to carefully grasp Duo’s shoulder. “Duo, are you all right?” he asked softly, all hints of steel and ice banished from his voice.

Duo unwound from his huddle with a gasp, and his fear-huge eyes shot up to meet Heero’s. Instantly, Heero found his arms full of trembling, bone-thin boy as Duo launched himself at Heero and clung to his shirt like a death-grip. He froze for a moment, fighting down the urge to push Duo away, before tentatively he put his arms around Duo’s back, steadying the boy. “Easy, Duo,” he said, suppressed worry in his voice. “Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He felt Duo shudder, and saw his mouth and throat work, but no words came out, only a muffled choking noise. The sudden loss of speech thoroughly alarmed Heero, who sought and captured Quatre’s gaze across Duo’s shoulder. Calm him down, the healer mouthed clearly, but made no move to approach the injured boy. Not particularly reassured, Heero returned his attention to Duo, one hand going up almost unconsciously to stroke the long brown hair as he spoke soft reassurances. “It’s all right, Duo,” he murmured, “they’re gone. Nothing’s going to hurt you, I promise...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“What?” The soldier looked confused, darting glances between Trowa and Heero. “What do you...”

Trowa faced him cooly. “General Chang wishes to know more about Colonel Yuy’s ‘guest,’ doesn’t he? I’ll be happy to give him the information he wants. Lead the way, Sergeant.”

The soldier hesitated for a moment, but Trowa’s offer had provided him with a way out of his dilemma; whether to obey General Chang’s orders, or Colonel Yuy’s. The General might be the man ultimately in charge, but the Colonel was the one right in front of him with blood in his eyes... “All right,” he said finally, with a mixture of relief and misgivings. “Let’s go...”

With the immediate threat resolved, Heero promptly dropped the soldiers from his interest, turned, and strode past Quatre into the tent. Quatre hesitated for a moment, torn between his lover and his patient, before finally ducking under the tent flap behind Heero. The soldier ignored him, intent on something else; all of this arguing and excitement couldn’t be good for --

Duo sat curled into a terrified knot on the bed, head buried in his knees and hands covering his ears. Heero froze in his tracks at the sight, and turned to shoot a glare at Quatre, -- how could you let this happen! -- who returned a frustrated and harassed look of his own -- what could I do?

Hesitant, Heero approached the bed, and reached out to carefully grasp Duo’s shoulder. “Duo, are you all right?” he asked softly, all hints of steel and ice banished from his voice.

Duo unwound from his huddle with a gasp, and his fear-huge eyes shot up to meet Heero’s. Instantly, Heero found his arms full of trembling, bone-thin boy as Duo launched himself at Heero and clung to his shirt like a death-grip. He froze for a moment, fighting down the urge to push Duo away, before tentatively he put his arms around Duo’s back, steadying the boy. “Easy, Duo,” he said, suppressed worry in his voice. “Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He felt Duo shudder, and saw his mouth and throat work, but no words came out, only a muffled choking noise. The sudden loss of speech thoroughly alarmed Heero, who sought and captured Quatre’s gaze across Duo’s shoulder. Calm him down, the healer mouthed clearly, but made no move to approach the injured boy. Not particularly reassured, Heero returned his attention to Duo, one hand going up almost unconsciously to stroke the long brown hair as he spoke soft reassurances. “It’s all right, Duo,” he murmured, “they’re gone. Nothing’s going to hurt you, I promise...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

A soft exclamation behind him made him snatch his head around, just in time to see someone vanish from sight out of the tent flap. Any other time, Heero would have immediately gone after the snoop, but he had his hands rather full. Instead, he caught Quatre’s eyes and indicated the departed eavesdropper with a jerk of his chin. Quatre nodded and hurried from the tent, glancing around from the entrance before dropping the flap closed and leaving Heero with Duo.

After several long minutes, Duo’s terrified shudders and his deathly grip on Heero’s shirtfront eased, and he pulled back a bit from Heero, although did not meet his eyes.

“Are you feeling better now?” Heero asked quietly, and was rewarded with a jerky nod.

“A little,” he muttered, and though his voice was hoarse, Heero was glad to hear it. He’d been momentarily afraid that Duo had lost speech again, all his careful recovery undone by Wufei’s meddling. Anger tightened his features; now was not the time, but he and Wufei needed to have a little talk. It was one thing for Wufei to disapprove of his actions; it was quite something else to go behind his executive officer’s back in this manner.

Unfortunately, Duo saw the anger on Heero’s face and misinterpreted it. “I’m s-sorry, Heero,” he stuttered, pulling away. “I tried not to... but I heard the soldiers shouting... and you weren’t here...”

“Don’t apologize,” Heero said swiftly. “I shouldn’t have left you with Quatre; I ought to have known Wufei would try something like this. I’m not angry at you, I’m just glad you’re all right. Are you?”

Duo nodded again, and twitched a hesitant smile. “Quatre’s a good guy,” he offered. “We were talking, before the -- before the soldiers showed up.”

“Yes, he is,” Heero agreed. “So is Trowa.”

“Trowa,” Duo took a breath, “startled me before, but Quatre told me about him. He sounds -- really nice.”

“He’s my friend.” Heero absently wound one lock of brown hair around his hand, and frowned at it. Duo’s fit had tangled it once again; the sheer mass of it kept getting in the way. “Right now, he’s talking to General Chang for me. For you. I don’t plan to let anyone take you out of here until you’re better.”

Duo smiled his thanks, and sighed as he laid his forehead back against Heero’s collar. “I don’t know how to thank him,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry about it.” Heero dropped the tangle and reached up to touch Duo’s shoulder reassuringly, marveling at how strangely right it felt, to have Duo in his arms. It seemed so much easier to protect him this way; for the moment, at least, he made no move to break it.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

A soft exclamation behind him made him snatch his head around, just in time to see someone vanish from sight out of the tent flap. Any other time, Heero would have immediately gone after the snoop, but he had his hands rather full. Instead, he caught Quatre’s eyes and indicated the departed eavesdropper with a jerk of his chin. Quatre nodded and hurried from the tent, glancing around from the entrance before dropping the flap closed and leaving Heero with Duo.

After several long minutes, Duo’s terrified shudders and his deathly grip on Heero’s shirtfront eased, and he pulled back a bit from Heero, although did not meet his eyes.

“Are you feeling better now?” Heero asked quietly, and was rewarded with a jerky nod.

“A little,” he muttered, and though his voice was hoarse, Heero was glad to hear it. He’d been momentarily afraid that Duo had lost speech again, all his careful recovery undone by Wufei’s meddling. Anger tightened his features; now was not the time, but he and Wufei needed to have a little talk. It was one thing for Wufei to disapprove of his actions; it was quite something else to go behind his executive officer’s back in this manner.

Unfortunately, Duo saw the anger on Heero’s face and misinterpreted it. “I’m s-sorry, Heero,” he stuttered, pulling away. “I tried not to... but I heard the soldiers shouting... and you weren’t here...”

“Don’t apologize,” Heero said swiftly. “I shouldn’t have left you with Quatre; I ought to have known Wufei would try something like this. I’m not angry at you, I’m just glad you’re all right. Are you?”

Duo nodded again, and twitched a hesitant smile. “Quatre’s a good guy,” he offered. “We were talking, before the -- before the soldiers showed up.”

“Yes, he is,” Heero agreed. “So is Trowa.”

“Trowa,” Duo took a breath, “startled me before, but Quatre told me about him. He sounds -- really nice.”

“He’s my friend.” Heero absently wound one lock of brown hair around his hand, and frowned at it. Duo’s fit had tangled it once again; the sheer mass of it kept getting in the way. “Right now, he’s talking to General Chang for me. For you. I don’t plan to let anyone take you out of here until you’re better.”

Duo smiled his thanks, and sighed as he laid his forehead back against Heero’s collar. “I don’t know how to thank him,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry about it.” Heero dropped the tangle and reached up to touch Duo’s shoulder reassuringly, marveling at how strangely right it felt, to have Duo in his arms. It seemed so much easier to protect him this way; for the moment, at least, he made no move to break it.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Maxwell?” General Chang frowned, deepening the look of profound irritation on his face. “Don’t be ridiculous. Duo Maxwell has been dead for years.”

“No, sir,” Trowa corrected the older man, “he’s been missing for two years. But he isn’t missing any more.”

Wufei slapped the stylus on his desk and turned to glare at Trowa. “So a bedraggled chattel from nowhere turns up, and claims to be the God of Death, and you believe him?”

“He made no such claim,” Trowa denied, effectively suppressing his own defensive reaction. “He only said his name was Duo. I recognized him as Duo Maxwell myself.

“Colonel Yuy and I -- ” Trowa did not miss the flicker of annoyed resentment that crossed Wufei’s face when he spoke Heero’s name “ -- interrogated one of the Oz prisoners of war, who told us that Duo had been with them for two years. That’s the same amount of time that Duo Maxwell has been missing.”

Wufei frowned thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Can this... prisoner that you questioned substantiate your story?”

Trowa sent dark thoughts towards Heero. “No, sir. I’m afraid he’s no longer available for questioning.”

One of Wufei’s eyebrows went up, and defensively Trowa added, “But the man guarding the prisoner at the time can repeat what he told us, I’m sure.”

Wufei still did not look entirely convinced. “If, by some chance, this does happen to be Duo Maxwell, that doesn’t change matters. If anything, I need to speak with him more urgently, not less.”

Trowa fought down the urge to growl; that was not the point, and both he and Chang knew it. “That may be so, but right now he doesn’t even remember who he is. He would not be able to answer your questions yet.”

“How convenient,” Wufei said sarcastically, but then gave a weary, resigned sigh. “Fine, then. When will he be able to?”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Maxwell?” General Chang frowned, deepening the look of profound irritation on his face. “Don’t be ridiculous. Duo Maxwell has been dead for years.”

“No, sir,” Trowa corrected the older man, “he’s been missing for two years. But he isn’t missing any more.”

Wufei slapped the stylus on his desk and turned to glare at Trowa. “So a bedraggled chattel from nowhere turns up, and claims to be the God of Death, and you believe him?”

“He made no such claim,” Trowa denied, effectively suppressing his own defensive reaction. “He only said his name was Duo. I recognized him as Duo Maxwell myself.

“Colonel Yuy and I -- ” Trowa did not miss the flicker of annoyed resentment that crossed Wufei’s face when he spoke Heero’s name “ -- interrogated one of the Oz prisoners of war, who told us that Duo had been with them for two years. That’s the same amount of time that Duo Maxwell has been missing.”

Wufei frowned thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Can this... prisoner that you questioned substantiate your story?”

Trowa sent dark thoughts towards Heero. “No, sir. I’m afraid he’s no longer available for questioning.”

One of Wufei’s eyebrows went up, and defensively Trowa added, “But the man guarding the prisoner at the time can repeat what he told us, I’m sure.”

Wufei still did not look entirely convinced. “If, by some chance, this does happen to be Duo Maxwell, that doesn’t change matters. If anything, I need to speak with him more urgently, not less.”

Trowa fought down the urge to growl; that was not the point, and both he and Chang knew it. “That may be so, but right now he doesn’t even remember who he is. He would not be able to answer your questions yet.”

“How convenient,” Wufei said sarcastically, but then gave a weary, resigned sigh. “Fine, then. When will he be able to?”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“He’s still recovering from his injuries,” Trowa repeated. “Not for another week at the very least -- preferably two.”

“A week!” Wufei stared. “That long? We have injured of our own, who don’t --”

“Not. Like. This,” Trowa bit out, and Wufei halted in mid-sentence, staring at the quiet, green-eyed man in astonishment.

Trowa shifted uncomfortably, aware that he had overstepped his own bounds. “I apologize, sir,” he muttered. “But I have been working among the healers for several years now, and --” He stopped when the General made an irritated gesture, cutting him off.

“Very well, you’ve made your point,” Wufei grumbled. “I will wait until Maxwell -- assuming this boy is Duo Maxwell -- regains his memories before speaking with him.”

Trowa let out a silent breath of relief. “Will that be all, sir?” he asked hopefully.

Wufei glanced over Trowa’s shoulder; a travel-stained man was standing in the tent entrance, getting his breath back as he waited for the General to be finished his conversation. “Yes, dismissed.”

Trowa beat a hasty retreat, feeling that it was best to quit while he was ahead.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“He’s still recovering from his injuries,” Trowa repeated. “Not for another week at the very least -- preferably two.”

“A week!” Wufei stared. “That long? We have injured of our own, who don’t --”

“Not. Like. This,” Trowa bit out, and Wufei halted in mid-sentence, staring at the quiet, green-eyed man in astonishment.

Trowa shifted uncomfortably, aware that he had overstepped his own bounds. “I apologize, sir,” he muttered. “But I have been working among the healers for several years now, and --” He stopped when the General made an irritated gesture, cutting him off.

“Very well, you’ve made your point,” Wufei grumbled. “I will wait until Maxwell -- assuming this boy is Duo Maxwell -- regains his memories before speaking with him.”

Trowa let out a silent breath of relief. “Will that be all, sir?” he asked hopefully.

Wufei glanced over Trowa’s shoulder; a travel-stained man was standing in the tent entrance, getting his breath back as he waited for the General to be finished his conversation. “Yes, dismissed.”

Trowa beat a hasty retreat, feeling that it was best to quit while he was ahead.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Trowa stopped by Heero’s tent, on his way back to his own quarters. Like the first night, Heero remained awake by Duo’s bedside by candlelight; this time wary of threats coming from outside, not inside. He rose to his feet at the sound outside; weary as he was, his muscles were tense and ready for action. But it was only Trowa, and though he did not smile, Heero’s relief was obvious as he nodded his friend a greeting.

“How did it go?” he asked, quietly.

Trowa shrugged, and stifled a yawn. “He listened, which surprised me, but I don’t think he believed me, which didn’t.”

Heero nodded, himself unsurprised. “That’s more than he would have done for me; he always has more patience with people he doesn’t know. How did he react?”

“It’s fairly obvious that he’s not happy with you,” Trowa warned him.

Heero growled slightly. “I could have told you that,” he muttered. Many of the duties that Heero had previously performed were properly those of the army’s commander, not the second-in-command; Wufei was now stuck with carrying them out. He knew he had no right to object, since it was not technically Heero’s job, but no doubt the older man felt resentful and put-upon. Well, that was just Wufei’s problem; he would just have to learn to deal with it without sulking.

Unfortunately, Heero realized bleakly, it wasn’t just Wufei’s problem -- he was in a position to make it Heero and Duo’s problem, as well. Heero realized that Trowa was saying something; he blinked back into focus in time to hear him say, “He agreed to wait until Duo’s memories return, but he wasn’t happy about it -- and the longer he has to wait, the less happy he’ll be.”

Heero sighed. “I suppose that’s the best I could hope for; thank you, Trowa...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“It was no particular trouble,” Trowa denied, and glanced over Heero’s shoulder at the sleeping form barely illuminated by the candlelight. Almost automatically, Heero shifted position, to block Trowa’s view. Trowa stared for a moment, before a slight smirk worked its way onto his face.

“What?” Heero demanded in a surly tone, but Trowa just shook his head.

“Nothing,” he replied; without warning, he took his friend’s hand, placed something in the palm, and closed Heero’s fingers around it. “I’m going back to Quatre now, Heero; I’ll see you around.” With that, he dropped the canvas tent flap and turned away into the gloom, leaving Heero standing in the doorway.

With a slight frown, Heero opened his hand to the object Trowa had given him, turning back into the candlelight to see it clearly. It was a piece of string -- or rather, three thin strands of rope, tied together at their ends, and braided to halfway down the length. Heero puzzled over it for a moment, pulling the pieces of thread apart, but could see nothing special about it, so why had Trowa given it to him?

It was a mystery. Heero gave up on it for a moment, putting the half-braided string back in his pocket, and turning back to his vigil.