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]

“And then, and then,” Quatre continued, working up to a good rant, “she had the nerve, the absolute gall, to accuse Heero of being the one who hurt him! Hurt him? Heero saved him! She doesn’t like pain? Well then by God she should have seen him when we first found him! See how much of her precious little fantasy she could restore then!”

“Quatre, Quatre!” Trowa had to raise his voice to cut across his lover’s tirade. He didn’t raise his voice often, and the unexpectedness of it was enough to bring Quatre out of his fury. “You’re making a scene,” Trowa admonished, quiet once more. “Do you want the whole camp to know what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Quatre sighed, and reluctantly returned to his spot on the couch. “But even thinking about it makes me want to give that shrew a piece of my mind...”

“You already did,” Trowa pointed out. “Several, in fact. Vocally. Explicitly.”

A slight flush of blood tinted Quatre’s cheeks, as his fading ire gave way to embarrassment. “I know,” he grumbled. He stewed in silence for a few more minutes, but then burst out, “Someone had to! Did you see the look on his face?”

“Whose?” Trowa returned. “Heero’s or Duo’s?”

“Either,” Quatre said bitterly. “It was pretty much the same expression, except that Duo didn’t look deadly like Heero did.”

Trowa held his silence, stroking Quatre’s hair lightly. Quatre sighed, unhappiness twisting his features. “He just looked... dead...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Murder floated in Heero’s wake as he paced a circle in the earthen floor of his tent. There had always been rumors that the young Colonel had dealings with some devil, and looking at the blood seething in his eyes, no living man could have denied his claim. His muscles knotted with the need for violence, and a cold impassive expression did not betray his burning desire to leave the tent and seek vengeance on the one who had degraded, reviled, outraged him so. The only time in his young, too-long life he had felt such anger, he had broken the neck of a coarse Oz mercenary with his bare hands. Now, instead, his hands ached for Hilde Maxwell, called Hilde Scheiker. He was only glad that Trowa had managed to drag the girl away, because if she had thrown one more wild accusation in his face, he would have lost control, and gone for her blood.

He wanted to, he wanted to... but he could not do that. She was a soldier under his command, not an enemy. She was a seventeen-year-old girl, not a monster that killed and spoiled. She was Duo’s childhood friend, his foster sister, and his one-time fiancee; she was not one of the ones that had hurt Duo...

Duo. The reason he could not harm Hilde, and the reason he most wanted to. Attacks on himself he could brush off, with no more damage than the rumors of changelings that always followed him. But she had hurt Duo, flung at him the slurs and scorn that would tear the worst into his damaged, fragile psyche. Knowing that she had once loved him, that he had always trusted her, magnified the hurt a thousandfold. Without her ever touching him -- without ever needing to -- Heero knew that she could cut him so deeply that the blood would never show.

A fresh wave of dizzying fury swirled up in him, accompanied by a wash of concern, of anxiety. The potent combination nearly overwhelmed the boy so unaccustomed to feeling, and he had to stop his restless pacing as his vision grayed around the edges, swaying on his feet. He forced himself to inhale slow, deep breaths, and fought the unfamiliar battle of forcing his newborn feelings down into the box of his subconscious. What did his own feelings matter, when Duo needed him? He had sworn to heal Duo and now he was hurt and Heero needed to help him. But...

...he wasn’t sure how.

He turned his head almost unwillingly to gaze across the room, at his fascination. The longhaired boy sat quite still on the bed, and the expressive features that warmed Heero’s heart to watch were frozen into a portrait of stunned betrayal. Muted agony bled from his eyes as he stared into nothing and down, looking at his own hands as though he had never seen them before. As if this, which had always been a part of him as natural as breathing, had suddenly turned and struck him across the face. As Heero watched, helplessly, his hands flexed and turned over, stretching out into empty air and trembling. His hands were scarred too, of course. Like the rest of him.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Murder floated in Heero’s wake as he paced a circle in the earthen floor of his tent. There had always been rumors that the young Colonel had dealings with some devil, and looking at the blood seething in his eyes, no living man could have denied his claim. His muscles knotted with the need for violence, and a cold impassive expression did not betray his burning desire to leave the tent and seek vengeance on the one who had degraded, reviled, outraged him so. The only time in his young, too-long life he had felt such anger, he had broken the neck of a coarse Oz mercenary with his bare hands. Now, instead, his hands ached for Hilde Maxwell, called Hilde Scheiker. He was only glad that Trowa had managed to drag the girl away, because if she had thrown one more wild accusation in his face, he would have lost control, and gone for her blood.

He wanted to, he wanted to... but he could not do that. She was a soldier under his command, not an enemy. She was a seventeen-year-old girl, not a monster that killed and spoiled. She was Duo’s childhood friend, his foster sister, and his one-time fiancee; she was not one of the ones that had hurt Duo...

Duo. The reason he could not harm Hilde, and the reason he most wanted to. Attacks on himself he could brush off, with no more damage than the rumors of changelings that always followed him. But she had hurt Duo, flung at him the slurs and scorn that would tear the worst into his damaged, fragile psyche. Knowing that she had once loved him, that he had always trusted her, magnified the hurt a thousandfold. Without her ever touching him -- without ever needing to -- Heero knew that she could cut him so deeply that the blood would never show.

A fresh wave of dizzying fury swirled up in him, accompanied by a wash of concern, of anxiety. The potent combination nearly overwhelmed the boy so unaccustomed to feeling, and he had to stop his restless pacing as his vision grayed around the edges, swaying on his feet. He forced himself to inhale slow, deep breaths, and fought the unfamiliar battle of forcing his newborn feelings down into the box of his subconscious. What did his own feelings matter, when Duo needed him? He had sworn to heal Duo and now he was hurt and Heero needed to help him. But...

...he wasn’t sure how.

He turned his head almost unwillingly to gaze across the room, at his fascination. The longhaired boy sat quite still on the bed, and the expressive features that warmed Heero’s heart to watch were frozen into a portrait of stunned betrayal. Muted agony bled from his eyes as he stared into nothing and down, looking at his own hands as though he had never seen them before. As if this, which had always been a part of him as natural as breathing, had suddenly turned and struck him across the face. As Heero watched, helplessly, his hands flexed and turned over, stretching out into empty air and trembling. His hands were scarred too, of course. Like the rest of him.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Why did she say those things?” he whispered, the breathless dread in his voice tracing a path across the room to Heero. “Am I really that hideous?”

No! Heero wanted to shout, and barely managed to bite his tongue in time. No, you’re not, not at all! Beautiful, beautiful, how can I tell you how beautiful you are... If he tried to reach Duo with words, Duo who was still reeling from the venom in Hilde’s voice, would the other boy listen, or even hear him? Heero was no kind of poet; he could never hope to explain the glow that seemed to come from within Duo himself, that shone out through his skin like a lantern through paper; the darkness of scar tissue that crossed and interlaced his body only made the light seem that much brighter.

Heero crossed the sudden distance between them, and hovered before Duo, not quite sure of what to do. Duo’s focus came back from nowhere, it seemed, and focused on Heero with frightening intensity. “I need a mirror,” he said abruptly, his voice hollow with apprehension.

Heero blanched. The way Duo was thinking right now, he would see only what he wanted to see. “No,” he growled, much more fiercely than he’d meant to. Not a chance. All you would see is lies.

“I need to,” Duo insisted, a quiet desperation steadily growing in his voice. “Please, Heero, I need to see it -- I need to know what --”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Why did she say those things?” he whispered, the breathless dread in his voice tracing a path across the room to Heero. “Am I really that hideous?”

No! Heero wanted to shout, and barely managed to bite his tongue in time. No, you’re not, not at all! Beautiful, beautiful, how can I tell you how beautiful you are... If he tried to reach Duo with words, Duo who was still reeling from the venom in Hilde’s voice, would the other boy listen, or even hear him? Heero was no kind of poet; he could never hope to explain the glow that seemed to come from within Duo himself, that shone out through his skin like a lantern through paper; the darkness of scar tissue that crossed and interlaced his body only made the light seem that much brighter.

Heero crossed the sudden distance between them, and hovered before Duo, not quite sure of what to do. Duo’s focus came back from nowhere, it seemed, and focused on Heero with frightening intensity. “I need a mirror,” he said abruptly, his voice hollow with apprehension.

Heero blanched. The way Duo was thinking right now, he would see only what he wanted to see. “No,” he growled, much more fiercely than he’d meant to. Not a chance. All you would see is lies.

“I need to,” Duo insisted, a quiet desperation steadily growing in his voice. “Please, Heero, I need to see it -- I need to know what --”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“I said no!” Heero snarled, turning abruptly to slam his fist into the desk. “Don’t you dare argue with me! It isn’t important!” He held himself for a moment quivering with tension, eyes narrowed and breathing fast, hands clenched with the need for more immediate violence. Damn Hilde anyway, for putting ideas in his head! Bad enough that she deliver such a low blow to Duo’s fragile mind, to say nothing of accusing Heero of -- of --

It took a minute for the reality of what he had just done to sink in, and a pang of cold dread seized him as he slowly, unwillingly turned away from the site of his violence. The sinking feeling increased when he saw Duo, hunched defensively over his legs in the bed, hands curled protectively at his throat. He could feel his heart beating in his own throat as he met Duo’s huge, violet eyes, wide with shock and -- and with fear.

Never. He’d never wanted to see that look of terror again, and here it was his own stupid outburst of violence that had put it there! Heero’s face abruptly fell into the blank mask as he reached, desperately, for the cool unconcern of the soldier he used to be. Still was. “Don’t argue with me,” he repeated, softly this time. Soft. Controlled. Surely there was no threat in that...

But the cold of his fear leaked into the words, and with ever-increasing horror Heero saw the tremor that gripped Duo’s frame in response. He didn’t say another word, instead bit at his lip to hold the words back. The silence echoed excruciatingly in Heero’s ears. He licked suddenly dry lips, and tried to explain himself. “Hilde had no right to say those things,” he got out. “Don’t speak of them again in my presence.” It sounded too much like a command. It was so easy to command.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“I said no!” Heero snarled, turning abruptly to slam his fist into the desk. “Don’t you dare argue with me! It isn’t important!” He held himself for a moment quivering with tension, eyes narrowed and breathing fast, hands clenched with the need for more immediate violence. Damn Hilde anyway, for putting ideas in his head! Bad enough that she deliver such a low blow to Duo’s fragile mind, to say nothing of accusing Heero of -- of --

It took a minute for the reality of what he had just done to sink in, and a pang of cold dread seized him as he slowly, unwillingly turned away from the site of his violence. The sinking feeling increased when he saw Duo, hunched defensively over his legs in the bed, hands curled protectively at his throat. He could feel his heart beating in his own throat as he met Duo’s huge, violet eyes, wide with shock and -- and with fear.

Never. He’d never wanted to see that look of terror again, and here it was his own stupid outburst of violence that had put it there! Heero’s face abruptly fell into the blank mask as he reached, desperately, for the cool unconcern of the soldier he used to be. Still was. “Don’t argue with me,” he repeated, softly this time. Soft. Controlled. Surely there was no threat in that...

But the cold of his fear leaked into the words, and with ever-increasing horror Heero saw the tremor that gripped Duo’s frame in response. He didn’t say another word, instead bit at his lip to hold the words back. The silence echoed excruciatingly in Heero’s ears. He licked suddenly dry lips, and tried to explain himself. “Hilde had no right to say those things,” he got out. “Don’t speak of them again in my presence.” It sounded too much like a command. It was so easy to command.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Duo ducked his head in a hurried nod. “I won’t, Heero,” he said, his voice humble and still a little fearful.

Dammit, what was wrong with him? His clumsy attempts to make things better only made them worse. He could not undo his foolish outburst, and now every time he tried he was only... frightening Duo more.

This wasn’t working. The situation was rapidly becoming unsalvageable. Any soldier knew that this was the time to retreat, to reassess the enemy before engaging again. Abruptly, Heero turned and marched out of his tent, leaving Duo alone.



Summer was winding down, and the threatening hint of winter was starting to creep into the air. There would be a few weeks of the leaves falling before the frost came, and unless the mild weather held out, snow would follow. There would be no battles after that, no movement of armies. Not as far north as the five kingdom’s army. If Oz was going to make any moves before the year’s end, then it would have to be soon. Soon. Before the ice locked them all down.

The cold air struck Heero’s heated skin, and the fresh wind cooled his anger as he strode through the camp. With the addition of the new recruits, the quiet routine of soldiers familiar with each other disturbed and raucous. The turmoil of Heero’s command echoed in the turmoil of his mind. Just weeks ago, everything had been so simple.

Then they had won a battle. And Heero --

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He’d won... he’d won something. A prize. A gift. Something that crawled inside his chest and constantly whispered near the back of his mind. Something that made Heero glad when he was happy, made him hurt when he was hurt...

Or maybe he’d lost something, after all.

“No,” he growled aloud, and shook his head sharply. How had that boy come to invade his thoughts so thoroughly -- to ruin his focus? Being around Duo made him want things, think things, feel things that he didn’t understand. Things that he couldn’t control.

Just look, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his head. Look what happens when you lose control. You frighten him. You could hurt him. You might become like Treize.

Never! His steps faltered and stopped, and he leaned against a pole in the shadow of a tent corner, letting the darkness shield him as he fought to regain control of his recalcitrant breathing. I’m not like him! I don’t even understand him...

...but, he said you would... He said you would learn to be like him.

Is this what he meant? Is this what he felt? Did Duo get under his skin as badly as he’s gotten under mine? Did he start out... just wanting to claim him?

The thought terrified him.

There was no question about it -- he had to put Duo out of his mind. He had to focus on what was important; on being a soldier, and fighting. More than anything, he could not let Duo make him lose control.

A flash out the corner of Heero’s vision caught his eye, drawing him out of his thoughts, and his feet automatically turned towards it. A flash of familiar color against gray and black and white... it took him a moment to identify the attraction.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He’d won... he’d won something. A prize. A gift. Something that crawled inside his chest and constantly whispered near the back of his mind. Something that made Heero glad when he was happy, made him hurt when he was hurt...

Or maybe he’d lost something, after all.

“No,” he growled aloud, and shook his head sharply. How had that boy come to invade his thoughts so thoroughly -- to ruin his focus? Being around Duo made him want things, think things, feel things that he didn’t understand. Things that he couldn’t control.

Just look, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his head. Look what happens when you lose control. You frighten him. You could hurt him. You might become like Treize.

Never! His steps faltered and stopped, and he leaned against a pole in the shadow of a tent corner, letting the darkness shield him as he fought to regain control of his recalcitrant breathing. I’m not like him! I don’t even understand him...

...but, he said you would... He said you would learn to be like him.

Is this what he meant? Is this what he felt? Did Duo get under his skin as badly as he’s gotten under mine? Did he start out... just wanting to claim him?

The thought terrified him.

There was no question about it -- he had to put Duo out of his mind. He had to focus on what was important; on being a soldier, and fighting. More than anything, he could not let Duo make him lose control.

A flash out the corner of Heero’s vision caught his eye, drawing him out of his thoughts, and his feet automatically turned towards it. A flash of familiar color against gray and black and white... it took him a moment to identify the attraction.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Four soldiers gathered around one of the outdoor fires, seated on low benches and talking in quiet, easy tones. Heero recognized two of them, the older ones, all though he could not have said their names. Their clothes were the color of ashes. The youngest had a short shock of chestnut hair -- almost the same shade as Duo’s, maybe a little sandier -- and he gestured excitedly as he talked. He talked about the little village nowhere that he came from, about his mother and father and six older brothers. He painted the picture of a girl, the square-framed plain-faced country girl that was the most beautiful girl in the world. To him. His eyes --brown eyes -- sparkled with excitement as he outlined his grand plans for the future; fantastic battles where he would cover himself with glory, the riches he would amass as he climbed in the ranks, of the fantastic places he could go and see in the army.

Heero looked at him, and felt something cold behind his eyes judging the boy up and down and right to the back of his mettle. He might survive one battle. With the luck of the gods, maybe two.

The other three, older men sat and listened, with slightly wistful expressions on their faces. One man sighed wearily, palming the locket hanging around his neck. The others laughed, and slapped the young man on the back, shaking their head. Dreams of the young, they said. Just you wait, kid.

I’m not a kid, the bright-eyed one said indignantly. I’m eighteen.

Eighteen.

Mother, father, brothers, home, love, dreams -- things that Heero never had known.

He was seventeen.

Just like Duo.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Trowa moved easily through the scattered flocks of soldiers, his form and manner so natural and unobtrusive that no-one truly saw him. The reverse was certainly not true; his narrowed eyes moved quickly from shadow to light to shadow, missing nothing, gathering images. It didn’t take him long to find the one he was looking for; a wren among the hawks, she stood out to any with eyes to see. Hilde was in the mess hall, hunched over her food as she listened warily to the boastful stories of a company of old comrades; new to the army, but old to fighting. She did not hear nor see the silent mercenary’s approach until his hand wrapped around her upper arm and pulled her away from the bench, hauling her swiftly into a more dark and private corner.

Her dark eyes widened as she felt herself being so roughly manhandled, Hilde jerked her arm out of Trowa’s grasp and turned to face her assailant with a snarl on her face. The angry words died on her throat, though, as she recognized the half-shadowed face near to hers.

“You!” she exclaimed, jerking backwards somewhat. “Colonel Yuy’s lackey! What errand are you running for him now?”

“I am not anyone’s lackey,” Trowa said quietly, dangerously. “I do not do chores. But Heero Yuy is my friend. So is Duo Maxwell. They are the reason that I am here.”

“You? Duo’s friend? That’s a laugh!” Hilde snarled, one hand groping for the standard-issue dagger at her belt. “What have you done with Duo? If you’ve hurt him, I swear --”

“I have not,” Trowa growled softly, “hurt Duo nearly so much as you have. But you used to care about him, and he still cares about you. Otherwise I would not take the trouble to straighten your stubborn head out.”

“I don’t need your help!” Hilde’s temper flared, and she started to back away from him, back into the lighter portions of the tent. “You don’t know anything about me, or about --”

“Don’t I --” Trowa took a breath “ -- know anything about you -- Poppet?”

Hilde gasped sharply, and froze as if she’d been struck. “Where did you -- how did you --” She stared at Trowa as if seeing him for the first time. “I know you!”

Trowa grabbed hold of her arm again, dragging her back out of sight. “Now listen... while I explain some things...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Trowa moved easily through the scattered flocks of soldiers, his form and manner so natural and unobtrusive that no-one truly saw him. The reverse was certainly not true; his narrowed eyes moved quickly from shadow to light to shadow, missing nothing, gathering images. It didn’t take him long to find the one he was looking for; a wren among the hawks, she stood out to any with eyes to see. Hilde was in the mess hall, hunched over her food as she listened warily to the boastful stories of a company of old comrades; new to the army, but old to fighting. She did not hear nor see the silent mercenary’s approach until his hand wrapped around her upper arm and pulled her away from the bench, hauling her swiftly into a more dark and private corner.

Her dark eyes widened as she felt herself being so roughly manhandled, Hilde jerked her arm out of Trowa’s grasp and turned to face her assailant with a snarl on her face. The angry words died on her throat, though, as she recognized the half-shadowed face near to hers.

“You!” she exclaimed, jerking backwards somewhat. “Colonel Yuy’s lackey! What errand are you running for him now?”

“I am not anyone’s lackey,” Trowa said quietly, dangerously. “I do not do chores. But Heero Yuy is my friend. So is Duo Maxwell. They are the reason that I am here.”

“You? Duo’s friend? That’s a laugh!” Hilde snarled, one hand groping for the standard-issue dagger at her belt. “What have you done with Duo? If you’ve hurt him, I swear --”

“I have not,” Trowa growled softly, “hurt Duo nearly so much as you have. But you used to care about him, and he still cares about you. Otherwise I would not take the trouble to straighten your stubborn head out.”

“I don’t need your help!” Hilde’s temper flared, and she started to back away from him, back into the lighter portions of the tent. “You don’t know anything about me, or about --”

“Don’t I --” Trowa took a breath “ -- know anything about you -- Poppet?”

Hilde gasped sharply, and froze as if she’d been struck. “Where did you -- how did you --” She stared at Trowa as if seeing him for the first time. “I know you!”

Trowa grabbed hold of her arm again, dragging her back out of sight. “Now listen... while I explain some things...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

There was a kind of language that didn’t use words, that spoke of an understanding deeper than language itself. Words, at their best, tangled and fumbled around images, and the images strove to contain feelings -- but there was a way of expression that went straight from heart to heart.

But for all the strength of its simplicity, it was an understanding too easily torn apart, and Duo was left heartsick and alone when everything he thought he knew suddenly turned upside down on him. He had been sure -- so sure -- without ever needing to be told, that Heero was a kind and gentle person... that Heero would never hurt him. Never abandon him. Now, inexplicably, something had changed, and all surety was gone.

Confused and miserable, all Duo could think of was that he had done something wrong. He had to have made some kind of mistake, that made Heero angry and drove him away. He curled up on the bed, trying to block out the world around him to concentrate on the pain inside, but even that was too much of a reminder. It was not his bed. It was Heero’s bed, Heero’s tent, Heero’s camp that kept him safe. Everything he had, Heero had given to him. The dark-haired boy had been so kind... so kind. “Idiot,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

He knew that this had to happen -- sooner or later. Sometime Heero had to wake up to the realization of just how worthless Duo was. You don’t deserve his kindness, whispered a malicious little voice in the back of his head. You don’t deserve him.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The little voice was familiar, too familiar... Duo choked back a whimper of fear. No... no! “You’re dead,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone! Heero killed you... oh Gods!”

But the voice persisted. If he knew about you, it tormented him, if he knew how disgusting you really are, everything you’ve done... he would have turned you out a long time ago.

“I didn’t want to do those things!” He brought his hands up to cover his ears, but the voice was lodged deep inside of him and he could not shut it out. “I didn’t want to -- I had to. You made me do them -- I had no choice!”

There’s always a choice, the voice said smoothly. You could have chosen to die honorably, a long time ago. Instead, you chose to cling to your pathetic pride, and look where it’s gotten you now! Heero hates you, he’ll throw you away, and you’ll be right back where you started...

The sound of crying fit so perfectly in with his despair that he did not even hear it at first. But then he heard someone calling his name, over and over again, and the familiarity of the voice ran deep enough that he slowly surfaced from the pit of self-loathing he had fallen into. Finally he relaxed enough to take his hands away from his ears, uncurling enough that he could hear the one calling to him, from somewhere nearby.

“Duo?” the voice came again, punctuated by a sniffle. “Duo, are you there?”

...Hilde. “Hilde?” he said softly, blinking towards the rear wall of the tent -- the back entrance, the way the servants would use.

She crept into the tent then, her eyes red and tear-swollen, her face full of misery. “Duo! Duo, I’m so sorry!”

He looked at her, stilled by a kind of bemused shock. “...Sorry?” he echoed.

She took it as an invitation to fling her arms around him. “I’m sorry for... everything I said! You could never be ugly to me, Duo! I’m so sorry!”

He stiffened, paralyzed by her touch. He didn’t like to be touched, by anyone other than Heero -- he still had to fight himself to allow Quatre close enough to do his job. But... but, this was Hilde, almost his sister, and despite everything that had passed between them, part of him still remembered her. And so, after some hesitation, he let his hands rest against her shoulders, accepting if not encouraging her embrace.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“That’s all right,” he finally managed to say. “There’s nothing for you to apologize to me for.” After all, everything she’d said was true. “But you shouldn’t have said those things to Heero. You made him mad.”

Hilde pulled back suddenly, and grabbed his arms to look him straight in the face. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he? Because of what I said?”

“No!” Duo protested immediately, shocked that she could think so. She said she understood -- didn’t she understand that Heero would never, ever hurt him?

But something in the quickness of his answer only deepened Hilde’s suspicions. She peered more closely into his eyes. “Duo -- he wasn’t angry at you, for what I said, was he?”

He opened his mouth for another automatic denial, but it died in his throat. He didn’t lie. Instead, after a couple seconds of silence, he finally said, “He didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t hurt me. He was just upset... that’s all.” He heard the defensiveness creeping into his tone... ridiculous. Heero didn’t need protection from him.

“But from everything I’ve heard, he’s terribly moody,” Hilde said fretfully. “Duo, you know that if anything happens, you can come to me, right? I’ll tell you where I’m staying. I want you to come and see me, if he gets angry again.”

“Hilde, he didn’t...” Duo gave up. He didn’t want to argue with her, with anyone. “All right, Hilde. I’ll come to see you... if you want. Just let Heero be.”

“All right. All right. I’m glad. Oh, Gods, Duo,” Hilde choked, her eyes tearing up again. She grabbed him into another hug, rocking them both slightly off balance. “I missed you so much, so much! I still can’t believe that you’re alive!”

I don’t always believe it. “Hilde...” He pushed her away, and tried to mask the action by taking hold of her shoulders, as she had done to him. “What are you doing here? I don’t understand. I told you to leave so that you could get away from Oz... so you could get away from war. Why are you here?”

“But you taught me something else first, Duo,” Hilde said softly, her eyes shining with the light of fervor. “You told me to always stand up for what I believed in, to defend the things that needed defending. You taught me to fight for what was important. And after you -- after I thought you had died, I realized that the most important thing was revenge.”

He just looked at her. Her eyes were empty.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The wrongness was still there later that evening, when Heero finally returned to his tent, carrying dinner and a brooding silence. Heero felt guilty about leaving Duo alone for so long; Duo was afraid to say a word out of turn. Anything to keep him from being angry. Anything.

Heero tried to recall the ease he had felt around Duo, but it faltered and slipped from his hands. Even the rituals they had developed over time failed him then. Instead of feeding Duo his dinner, he placed it beside the bed and went to the other side of the room to eat.

They watched each other, through the unnatural silence, neither wanting the other to feel their glance. Duo should have been talking, Heero should have been listening; but Duo had no words and Heero could not hear them.

Duo didn’t eat all of his food. He was hungry, very hungry from having skipped lunch that day, but he tried so hard not to be greedy, not to be a burden. He set down the bread uneaten.

Heero saw, and the sight struck him through with dismay. Duo had to eat, had to regain his strength! “You didn’t finish off your food,” he said, and his rough voice jarred the silence. “Don’t waste it.” Once again, words had failed him -- the words he said were true, but not right...

Duo startled, and his eyes darted up to Heero's face -- his narrowed eyes, the tightness in his jaw -- before dropping back to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, confused and nervous. Again, he had made a mistake -- everything he tried to do was wrong. He picked up the bread and forced it down. It tasted like ashes, passing the lump in his throat.

After dinner -- after dinner was the time for Heero to brush Duo’s hair. He loved the tranquility he felt, bringing order to that shining chaos. He loved the feel of the soft strands slipping through his fingers, and the slowly dawning feeling of joy about what he protected. Heero stayed at his desk. Duo said nothing.

Neither boy quite knew what to do, until at last Heero could not bear the light and blew out the candles at his desk. In the dark, though they did not know it, each boy’s thoughts mirrored the other’s.

He’s still angry.

He’s still frightened.

...What did I do wrong?

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The wrongness was still there later that evening, when Heero finally returned to his tent, carrying dinner and a brooding silence. Heero felt guilty about leaving Duo alone for so long; Duo was afraid to say a word out of turn. Anything to keep him from being angry. Anything.

Heero tried to recall the ease he had felt around Duo, but it faltered and slipped from his hands. Even the rituals they had developed over time failed him then. Instead of feeding Duo his dinner, he placed it beside the bed and went to the other side of the room to eat.

They watched each other, through the unnatural silence, neither wanting the other to feel their glance. Duo should have been talking, Heero should have been listening; but Duo had no words and Heero could not hear them.

Duo didn’t eat all of his food. He was hungry, very hungry from having skipped lunch that day, but he tried so hard not to be greedy, not to be a burden. He set down the bread uneaten.

Heero saw, and the sight struck him through with dismay. Duo had to eat, had to regain his strength! “You didn’t finish off your food,” he said, and his rough voice jarred the silence. “Don’t waste it.” Once again, words had failed him -- the words he said were true, but not right...

Duo startled, and his eyes darted up to Heero's face -- his narrowed eyes, the tightness in his jaw -- before dropping back to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, confused and nervous. Again, he had made a mistake -- everything he tried to do was wrong. He picked up the bread and forced it down. It tasted like ashes, passing the lump in his throat.

After dinner -- after dinner was the time for Heero to brush Duo’s hair. He loved the tranquility he felt, bringing order to that shining chaos. He loved the feel of the soft strands slipping through his fingers, and the slowly dawning feeling of joy about what he protected. Heero stayed at his desk. Duo said nothing.

Neither boy quite knew what to do, until at last Heero could not bear the light and blew out the candles at his desk. In the dark, though they did not know it, each boy’s thoughts mirrored the other’s.

He’s still angry.

He’s still frightened.

...What did I do wrong?

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“We can expect one more offensive before winter sets in for good,” Wufei stated briskly, hands busy untying a ribbon-sealed folder of documents. “Of course, you already knew that.” He looked up at Heero, across the desk.

Heero nodded. “They suffered substantial defeats in the last battle,” he replied. “They need a clear victory before combat is forced to a halt. If we have the last word in the seasons’ skirmishes, then they will have trouble convincing the neutrals to support them during the winter. On the other hand, if they should finish off with a win...”

“Then time would shift the balance against us.” Wufei nodded, spreading the papers out over his desk. “And if they already have an ally in Duke Barton --”

“--or whoever it is --” Heero said under his breath. Wufei ignored him,

“-- then we do not dare allow them a season to consolidate their alliance,” the General concluded. “Therefore, they will attack us again. The only question is where.”

Two dark heads bent over the map of the Five Allied Kingdoms, with too many areas along the border marked in red. “Most of the forces are nearby to this location,” Heero pointed out. “If they wish to move far enough along the border to avoid our army, then winter might catch them on the move.”

Wufei nodded agreement, frowning. “Unless, of course, they move far enough south to leave winter behind, for a time.”

“It would be a stretch...” Heero said slowly, processing the distances and times in his head. “...but not impossible. If they go as far south as Soissac, then the mountains would shield them from winter storms... for a while.”

“A while would be all that they need,” Wufei said decisively. “It would be well beyond our reach. We would not reach the country in time to stop them. ”We will have to send a garrison there. It is not likely to be necessary, but we can’t take the chance.”

Heero frowned. “I don’t like to split the army again,” he objected. “Not so soon after we gathered all the soldiers here. And there is not”

“I don’t think we have any choice, Colonel,” Wufei said reluctantly. “We don’t need to send a full wing, however. If Oz throws its whole might against Soissac, then it would take the entire army to defend. If, however, the only purpose of the soldiers would be to slow the invaders until our main force reached them, then we hardly need send more than two or three hundred soldiers.”

“You’re right,” Heero conceded. “I only pray it won’t be necessary to sacrifice those soldiers, but... it’s a risk we have to take.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“It’s decided, then,” Wufei announced. “We’ll send... five platoons, then. Sergeant Kline, Sergeant Damen, Major Lars, Sergeant Rafe --” He scratched each name out on a fresh leaf.

“Not Rafe,” Heero interrupted, blue eyes intense. “Sergeant Ven.”

“Ven?” Wufei questioned, pausing in his work to glance up at his friend. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? His command is mostly made up of raw recruits.”

“As you said, this force is mostly for show,” Heero said quickly. “I would rather keep Rafe’s more experienced units with me, if they attack farther north. Ven will go.”

Wufei heard the note of decisive finality in Heero’s voice, and his agile mind searched for any ulterior motive behind the unexpected change in plans. It wasn’t likely that Heero had some hidden dislike for the sergeant; they hardly interacted at all. Perhaps he was developing some friendships among Rafe’s men, instead. It was never something Wufei would have suspected of Heero, but the younger man had been pulling some unexpected deeds lately. If he was paying closer attention to the men under his command, that could only be for the best. “All right.” Wufei scratched out the last name in the list, and wrote the new name over it.



That night, the next night, the night after -- things were as empty at night as they had been, but now Heero clung to hope. It had taken hours of feverish, sleepless thought, but finally Heero had come to a logical conclusion. Hilde was his problem. Hilde. Whether or not she had done something to Duo that changed him wasn’t what mattered. But before Hilde came, Heero had been happy. All he had to do was send her away, and he could be happy again. He and Duo would be happy again together...

Would be. Had to be.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“It’s decided, then,” Wufei announced. “We’ll send... five platoons, then. Sergeant Kline, Sergeant Damen, Major Lars, Sergeant Rafe --” He scratched each name out on a fresh leaf.

“Not Rafe,” Heero interrupted, blue eyes intense. “Sergeant Ven.”

“Ven?” Wufei questioned, pausing in his work to glance up at his friend. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? His command is mostly made up of raw recruits.”

“As you said, this force is mostly for show,” Heero said quickly. “I would rather keep Rafe’s more experienced units with me, if they attack farther north. Ven will go.”

Wufei heard the note of decisive finality in Heero’s voice, and his agile mind searched for any ulterior motive behind the unexpected change in plans. It wasn’t likely that Heero had some hidden dislike for the sergeant; they hardly interacted at all. Perhaps he was developing some friendships among Rafe’s men, instead. It was never something Wufei would have suspected of Heero, but the younger man had been pulling some unexpected deeds lately. If he was paying closer attention to the men under his command, that could only be for the best. “All right.” Wufei scratched out the last name in the list, and wrote the new name over it.



That night, the next night, the night after -- things were as empty at night as they had been, but now Heero clung to hope. It had taken hours of feverish, sleepless thought, but finally Heero had come to a logical conclusion. Hilde was his problem. Hilde. Whether or not she had done something to Duo that changed him wasn’t what mattered. But before Hilde came, Heero had been happy. All he had to do was send her away, and he could be happy again. He and Duo would be happy again together...

Would be. Had to be.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

So he waited, fast in the faith that everything would be all right. At night he kept silent, limiting the searing touch as much as he could. In daytime he stayed away, throwing himself into the business of the camp as much as his lifeless persona once had. And one day when he could not stand it any more -- the blind, frightened obedience of the soldiers, Quatre’s gentle, confused questions, Wufei’s constant silent scrutiny -- he left the camp alone for the silence and solitude of the autumn forest.

Some leaves were left, black and shriveled hanging off the sharply angled branches. The lines slices across the white-gray sky above, cutting it into tiny pieces. Damp and cold hung thickly in the air, in a barely-seen fog that clung close to the low rocks and leaf blanket of the forest floor. Heero reveled in the silence, the simplicity of the wildness unspoiled by war or human interest.

His footsteps were muted by the damp leaves underfoot, so he heard the two voices talking long before they could have heard his approached. Soldier’s caution kicked in, and Heero drew his sword half out of its sheath as he crept up towards the source of the noise. His dark clothing blended in with the black, wet tree-trunks, but their backs were to him and they never would have seen him even if he had been decked out like the morning sun. A man and a woman sat together on a dry log in the clearing, a place more exposed to the sun that most. There was still a little greenery, here, and if Heero had cared at all about living things he supposed he could see why they would come here when everything else was dead.

The male figure turned slightly towards his companion, and the braid swung away from his back at the same time his profile jolted a shock of recognition through Heero. Duo! Why was the injured boy here? It was cold -- damp -- he couldn’t have hiked through the woods on his own, not even this short distance! Who would take him out?

As Heero sat frozen, Duo spoke. His soft words could only be heard by the one sitting next to him, or by Heero whose senses were unparalleled. “I’m glad to hear that Howard made it,” he remarked quietly. “I miss him. He was always so... steady, even after Solo died.”

His companion tossed her head, the black locks tumbling, and the sight of Hilde’s face nearly sent Heero into a blind rage. She was smiling. “Do you remember that time when we were both nine, and we snuck into Howard’s tent and stole the bows he was making?”

Duo laughed -- the first time that Heero had ever heard him laugh. The sound froze him to the spot, and quickened the beating of his heart. “Do I ever!” He was smiling, too, the smile that Heero had thought was for him -- just for him. “We took them out into the woods --”

“And got lost,” Hilde interrupted.

“--I was so sure that we could use them to shoot a deer,” Duo continued. “We didn’t know that they weren’t finished.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

So he waited, fast in the faith that everything would be all right. At night he kept silent, limiting the searing touch as much as he could. In daytime he stayed away, throwing himself into the business of the camp as much as his lifeless persona once had. And one day when he could not stand it any more -- the blind, frightened obedience of the soldiers, Quatre’s gentle, confused questions, Wufei’s constant silent scrutiny -- he left the camp alone for the silence and solitude of the autumn forest.

Some leaves were left, black and shriveled hanging off the sharply angled branches. The lines slices across the white-gray sky above, cutting it into tiny pieces. Damp and cold hung thickly in the air, in a barely-seen fog that clung close to the low rocks and leaf blanket of the forest floor. Heero reveled in the silence, the simplicity of the wildness unspoiled by war or human interest.

His footsteps were muted by the damp leaves underfoot, so he heard the two voices talking long before they could have heard his approached. Soldier’s caution kicked in, and Heero drew his sword half out of its sheath as he crept up towards the source of the noise. His dark clothing blended in with the black, wet tree-trunks, but their backs were to him and they never would have seen him even if he had been decked out like the morning sun. A man and a woman sat together on a dry log in the clearing, a place more exposed to the sun that most. There was still a little greenery, here, and if Heero had cared at all about living things he supposed he could see why they would come here when everything else was dead.

The male figure turned slightly towards his companion, and the braid swung away from his back at the same time his profile jolted a shock of recognition through Heero. Duo! Why was the injured boy here? It was cold -- damp -- he couldn’t have hiked through the woods on his own, not even this short distance! Who would take him out?

As Heero sat frozen, Duo spoke. His soft words could only be heard by the one sitting next to him, or by Heero whose senses were unparalleled. “I’m glad to hear that Howard made it,” he remarked quietly. “I miss him. He was always so... steady, even after Solo died.”

His companion tossed her head, the black locks tumbling, and the sight of Hilde’s face nearly sent Heero into a blind rage. She was smiling. “Do you remember that time when we were both nine, and we snuck into Howard’s tent and stole the bows he was making?”

Duo laughed -- the first time that Heero had ever heard him laugh. The sound froze him to the spot, and quickened the beating of his heart. “Do I ever!” He was smiling, too, the smile that Heero had thought was for him -- just for him. “We took them out into the woods --”

“And got lost,” Hilde interrupted.

“--I was so sure that we could use them to shoot a deer,” Duo continued. “We didn’t know that they weren’t finished.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“They broke,” Hilde reminded him.

Duo’s eyes were distant. “We got in so much trouble.”

Hilde laughed. “Do you remember, you tried to convince Solo that Oz soldiers had crept into the camp at night and ruined Howard’s new weapons?”

“I thought it was the kind of thing that Oz would do.” Duo shook his head, smiling. Heero’s breath came harder as he imagined Duo, as he must have been eight years ago. Wild, reckless, impudent child. Two years ago. Carefree and happy...

“You tried to take all the blame,” Hilde said quietly.

“Yeah,” Duo admitted. “But they didn’t believe me.”

“Mama gave me such a scolding...” Hilde sighed. “After that, I was too scared to get anywhere near a weapon.”

Duo quirked a sad half-smile. “I guess it’s funny how things work out. You always wanted to hear stories of the battles I fought against Oz. And now you’re the soldier, and I’m the one left behind when the men go fighting.” The shadow of youth fell away from him, leaving him again what his life had made him -- hurt, drawn, haunted seventeen.

“But being a soldier in an army isn’t the same as what you used to do,” Hilde said slowly, unhappily. “The officers just give orders, and they don’t have to explain why. Listen, Duo --” Abruptly, she reached over and grabbed Duo’s hand. “Sergeant Ven’s been transferred. I’m being sent south, Duo -- to Soissac. Away from the fighting!”

Heero couldn’t see Duo’s face, but he saw the stiffening in his posture. “They’re sending you away?” he said, almost inaudibly.

“Yes. It isn’t fair, Duo. All I wanted was to fight Oz! And they’re sending me away, to a place that will never see a battle!” She took Duo’s other hand now, and pulled him around to face her fully. “But maybe wanting to fight is wrong. Maybe what I really need is to get away from war, to try and live with peace for a change. I want you to come with me, Duo. Come south with me.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

In the shadows, Heero choked back a cry. No!

“I can’t,” Duo said, but his voice was uncertain, fearful.

“Why not?” Hilde demanded, frustrated. “What’s keeping you here?”

“I...” Duo began and paused. “I... I don’t think I’m strong enough to travel. Not yet.”

“You’ll heal better in the south,” Hilde said persuasively. “Out of this damned gray camp, back where it’s warm. You’ll be back to normal in no time, I know. You’ve had too much of war. You deserve peace, you need quiet...”

Duo didn’t answer. Say no, Heero begged him silently. Say you’ll stay -- say you’re staying because of me! Tell her I’ll take care of you, because I will, I will!

“I don’t know,” he said at last.

Hilde leaned forward, bringing her face close to his. He kept his own eyes cast down. “I thought you were dead, Duo,” she half-whispered. “Now it’s like I have a second chance. We were going to be married, Duo -- we still can. We can build a life together, away from the fighting. Please. Duo, you know... don’t you know...”

He finally looked up at her. “Hilde?” he muttered.

She held his eyes to hers, deep expressive brown. Then, slowly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his

Heero’s world stopped -- all feeling stopped.

“Don’t you know, Duo? I love you,” she murmured, against his skin. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she kissed him again, more deeply.