Part One
The chase that followed their flight from the OZ compound had been nothing to write home about. The end result had been that the two boys had gotten away. Duo had landed the gundam safely beyond a small settlement. He had stayed in the mecha while Heero went into town, intent on contacting the others. The cold chill that had come over Shinigami had lingered for a very long time, even after his partner had returned, eyes shining with triumph in that impassive face. It wasn’t something he could explain even if he thought the other boy would understand. Instead he had plastered a big smile on his face and together they had headed for one of Quatre’s holdings.
The other had greeted them as soon as Deathscythe was safely ensconced in the underground hangar. But one look at Duo and they had bundled him off into a bed. The ordeal had left him so exhausted that he had passed out before his head even hit the pillow.
When he had woken the next afternoon he discovered that Heero and Trowa had gone out on a mission. That had been three days ago.
Three...very...long...days...
Duo felt the absence of the Japanese pilot acutely though he couldn’t explain why. There had just been something very comforting in having him near by. Perhaps it was directly linked to the feelings of gratitude he had for the other boy who had freed him.
Also, he missed having the boy’s silent company in the room with him. Always before, whether they were at a safe house or a boarding school or wherever, they had shared sleeping quarters. Things just seemed unnatural without him there typing away on his laptop.
A small part of his mind reasoned that it was nothing to worry about. After all there had been plenty of times when they were separated. But...still.
That first day, in talking to the others, he realized just how little they knew about his incarceration. They seemed to be under the impression that he had been interrogated and tortured, but nothing more. That was fine. So for their benefit he plastered on a large grin and joked idly about this or that, doing his best to seem as if everything was back to normal.
Yet, for him, nothing was normal. This first became evident the following night when he had sought his bed. At first, the dark had bothered him but when sleep had claimed him, he found his dreams were invaded by snarling, hideous creatures with far too familiar voices. Clawed hands grabbed at him and...his mind balked at recalling what had come next.
Duo shook his head as he sat up in the midst of the large queen sized bed. He shivered violently despite that warm sun that was streaming through the window. A feeling of filth seemed to cover him like a thick ooze.
Tossing of the dense down comforter he headed towards the en-suite bathroom. Stripping out of his impossibly cheerful smily face boxers, he stepped into the shower stall and started the water running. He set the temperature so that it was scaldingly hot, letting the stream of water wash over him as he closed his eyes. Fervently he prayed that the torrent would scour the filth that seemed to be so much a part of him.
Though he knew there was no one in the bathroom with him, it felt as though eyes were on him. Without really meaning to, he glanced at the frosted glass of the shower door. The image of a leering man superimposed itself on the glass. The image mouthed the words You’re mine, slut.
Duo inhaled sharply. K’so! He was safe, surrounded by his friends and still that bastard had his hooks in him! Rage and fury build within him, both emotions centered on his own helplessness. Weak!
With a guttural cry he slammed his coiled fist through the bubbled glass. Pain lanced through his hand as the glass came crashing down with a satisfying clatter. He stood there a moment with his hand extended through the remains of the shower door, breathing hard. Wild eyes were set in a face contorted with agony and hysteria.
Then everything seemed to slowly come back into focus. He blinked once..twice...ah, no. Licking his dry lips he looked at the mess he had created. Warm water escaped through the empty space, pattering on the glass shards that littered the floor.
Gathering his wits about him, he turned to the faucet and stopped the flow of water. Then, without bothering to worry about the fragments of glass on the floor he stepped out of the shower stall. The glass bit sharply into his exposed feet, but he welcomed the suffering he was causing himself. He used it to remind him where he was, to shake free of the hold his memories had on him.
Free...I’ll never be free. The defeat in his thoughts was palpable. But...he was Shinigami! He was death incarnate, not a victim!
Yes you are! Weak!
As his mind quickly descended in a downward spiral, he took himself back into the bedroom. He reached under the bed and pulled out the first aid kit that was kept there. Methodically he began tending his abused feet, mindful of the blood and slivers of glass. While he worked, he fought a savage battle with himself.
He was a victim, he realized. He had been made so by others. But as a soldier he couldn’t accept that, couldn’t deal with the loss of control. And the problem worsened, because there was nothing for him to fight back against now. All he had were the painful, far too real memories. The shower stall had been a poor substitute for what he had really wanted to...do...
That was it. He needed closure. It wasn’t enough that Heero had managed to get him out of the OZ facility. It wasn’t enough that the boy’s sabotage had created an undeniable havoc that had facilitated their escape. He, Duo, hadn’t done anything. He had hidden while the other boy did it all.
But that’s what I do, isn’t it? I run and I hide...
That would have to change. If he wanted to truly be free.
His lacerated feet and hands cared for, he stood up form the bed and quickly dressed himself in his accustomed black attire. With his mask of gaiety plastered on his face he left the room and walked down stairs to the kitchen. He wasn’t hungry but he knew that was were he would find Quatre. He had to talk to the Arab.
The blonde boy was standing by the counter, mixing something in a bowl. He was wearing an apron and looked like the picture of domestic life. The Sandrock pilot seemed to be concentrating on the task to the exclusion of all else. "Morning!" Duo called out jauntily from the door.
Quatre looked up and graced him with a welcoming smile. "Barely," he replied. "It’s almost time for lunch. How do you feel?"
It was an guileless question but it set Duo’s nerves on edge. He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t let any of them know...most of all innocent little Quatre. Hiding behind a ridiculously wide grin he said, "Fine." The single word was so bright and cheery, the other thought nothing of the response.
"Say, Quatre, do ya got a computer terminal in this place?" He lowered himself in to one of the chairs at the little table.
"Sure. What do you need it for?"
Duo thought fast. He couldn’t tell him the real reason. But...well...sometimes the truth was the best lie of all. "Gotta do some research. Ran into some interesting things back at the that OZ base, ya know." Never mind that the two statements had nothing to do with each other.
"Oh...well maybe you should use Heero’s laptop if your going to be snooping around in OZ stuff," the Arab suggested and he continued to mix the contents of the bowl. "That computer of his has better defenses then what I have."
Duo couldn’t help himself, he just stared slack jawed at the other boy. Was Quatre serious? "Dude! I am many things, but I am not suicidal. There’s no way I’m touching anything of Heero’s without his okay! Oi! If he found out I was messing with his laptop, being captured by OZ would look like a church picnic." Maybe.
The Sandrock pilot sighed his agreement with that statement. Heero could be some damn territorial. "There’s a terminal in the study. It’s got an outside connection."
"Arigato!" With that he bounced out of his chair and left the kitchen. Quatre just shook his head wondering were he got his energy from.
As promised there was a computer in the study. But, despite Quatre’s protests, a quick systems check showed that the system was a secure one.
While he wasn’t a hacker to the same degree that Heero and Wufei were but he wasn’t half bad either. Before long he had found a way into the OZ personnel files for the facility where he had been held. And from there it was just a matter of matching the record photos to his memory...the memory of a tall, leering uniformed man. The worst of many...so many...
Going through the files, he systematically weeded out those who had been there...had tortured...tormented...ra-he couldn’t say it, not even to himself. His mind skipped over the thought as he look at the passive expression on the image before him. He didn’t even take note of the man’s name, his attention was riveted on a single word at the end of the file: Deceased.
The date of death made it four days ago...the time of Heero’s appearance and Duo’s subsequent escape. Leaving that file he began to go through the rest. But each time he came to one he recognized the word "Deceased" was appended to it. Of course Duo’s tormenters were not the only ones to have suffered that night, but it was only them that he was interested in.
Finally he came an image that was all too familiar. That’s him. Duo’s eyes became very wide and a shiver ran up his spine at the sight of those dead grey eyes.
Of all those who had used him, this one, the first and most persistent of his abusers, was still alive. Violet eyes burned with a cold fire. Memory painted a mocking sneer on that indifferent face. The self loathing that had been a part of him since...the first time...even after the escape, now gave way to a different kind of hatred. A hatred that now had a focus. The Shinigami pilot’s lips curled up into a disgusted snarl.
Carefully he read the file. It listed the man as being on leave currently. Closing down the file and the connection to the OZ mainframe, he sat back in the chair. This could work, he decided.
Focusing on the key board once more he began to type furiously. It was time to call in some favors.
Heero pulled the jeep up into the drive in front of the Winner Manor House. He was exhausted. The mission had been a long drawn out affair where sleep was not a luxury he could afford. Right then all he wanted was he bed. Dusk was falling and he could barely keep his eyes open. Actually he was rather surprised he had not crashed the jeep on his way here. Only his own iron will had kept him from nodding off behind the wheel.
Hopping out of the vehicle, he walked languidly to the front door. His fingers felt quite ungainly as he tried to work the latch. It seemed to take all his concentration to get the thing to work properly. Finally the door eased open silently and he let himself in.
The foyer was brightly lit, making the opulent architecture glisten. Slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, he walked over to the spiral stair case. He didn’t want to deal with the others just then. The need for sleep was the only thing on his mind.
Fate wasn’t about to cooperate.
"Ah...You’re back, Heero." Quatre came walking in from the living room. His expression was bright and cheerful as always. "Did you want some dinner? I can heat up something for you."
"No--"
Anything else the Japanese pilot might have said was cut off by a sudden blur of motion moving through the hall and bursting out the front door. Both Heero and Quatre stared at the door, stunned of the other’s silent, cold passage.
Duo?
Heero hadn’t missed the murderous expression on the otherwise angelic face. Something was wrong...really wrong. Suddenly sleep didn’t seem all that important. Leaving behind a confused Quatre, Heero also left the manor house.
Part Two
In was in what was possibly the seediest part of town that a boy stood, hidden by the thick shadows. Violet eyes swept the area. They missed nothing.
On the side of the street, bathed in the wain light of a street lamp a young man stood, languishing artfully. This coal rimmed eyes and painted lips proclaimed what he was.
A middle aged man approached the young hooker. Hand movements punctuated the exchange. The fellow ogled the younger man hungrily. A satisfied, but cold, smile spread across the hooker’s face. Slowly he lead his newest john around the corner.
Duo glowered at their passing.
It wasn’t him.
For two hours now, he had waited in the depths of the shadows. Now he was beginning to wonder if the intelligence he had been given was wrong. But this particular contact had never let him down before. He could be patient.
That patience was rewarded some fifteen minutes latter. He came sauntering down the street as though he owned it. One had was clutching possessively at the barely pubescent boy that was trailing in his wake. The child looked both frightened and resigned. Something twisted in Duo’s gut.
Not again. Not that child!
Fury clouded his vision and he almost missed it when the man, pulling the boy along behind him, turned into the entrance of one of many cheap motels in the area. One silent feet the Deathscythe pilot ran across the deserted street and slipped into the motel. But his quarry had already moved on. Behind the admissions desk a balding man sat, staring fixedly at the steamy scenes playing across the screen of his TV.
Duo cleared his throat. The man barely made a move, doing little more then glancing at the newcomer before setting his attention back on the TV. Duo fished something out of his pocket and slid it across the counter top. "A man and a boy," he stated flatly.
The balding man glanced at what the young man partially canceled beneath his hand. The man licked his lips. A gnarled hand reached out and took the fifty dollar bill. Slipping his prize into the back pocket of his pants he gazed blankly and Duo.
"Third floor, room 316," was the response.
Leaving the man to his porn flick Duo took himself over to the stairs. With inaudible steps he ascended the filthy flight of stairs. His nose winkled at odors best left undefined.
On the third floor he had to find his way by feel. The bare bulb that should have illuminated the hallway was nowhere to be found, having been smashed or stolen long ago. Snippets of sound flowed to his ears. It was quite obvious what was going on behind those closed doors. It was just as obvious that much of it would not be classified as consensual.
Squinting at the fourth door he found he read the cheap gold numbers: 316. This was it.
Unsurprisingly it was locked. Not that that presented a problem. Picking locks was an old trick for him. Nothing to it. There was a barely audible click and the knob turned for him. He slipped into the room. He might as well have been a ghost for all the noise he made.
A pained whimpering sound came from within the room. There, on the far side of the room. The man was hunched over the bed. Duo could only see the legs that were hanging off the side of the bed, that and those hideous sounds were the only clues of where the boy was.
Pulling the hand gun out of the waist band of his pants he pushed the door closed behind him. The motion was unnoticed. Chambering a round into the hand gun, he leveled it at the man.
Hearing the load action behind him, the OZ soldier stiffened. Turning to look over his shoulder, fury at having been interrupted in his murderous eye, he was shocked speechless. A boy was holding a gun on him!?
"Get up," the boy rasped.
Though the soldier showed no sign of fear, he slowly complied with the order. When he was on his feet Duo shifted his position so that he no longer blocked the door. Keeping the gun trained on the man, his eyes never leaving him, he spoke to the trembling boy who was still on the bed.
"Go. Get out."
The boy didn’t seem to know what to do. He turned frightened eyes on the man and then the stranger holding the gun. Slowly he sat up and began to pull on the disheveled clothing that had been all but ripped from him. With his head bowed and his eyes careful not to look at either of them, he scuttled out of the room like a frightened rabbit.
Bastard! How many?! How many have you used?!
At the soft click of the door Duo began advancing on the man. Before the OZ soldier knew what he was about the American pilot brought the butt of the pistol down hard against the side of the man’s head. He crumpled to the floor soundlessly.
When he came to, the soldier felt horribly out of sorts. At first he couldn’t put his finger on it. But when he tried to shift his position and couldn’t, he understood. Someone had trussed him up. Eyes flew open as memory flooded back. The boy.
Turning his head, for that was all he could manage, he tried to locate his attacker in the dimly lit room. There. The boy was sitting in a wooden chair that had been pushed up against the wall. The soldier had had plans for that chair...
The boy saw him and their gazes met. Those violet eyes were cold and hard. An intense hatred burned behind those cool depths. The boy was no longer holding the gun, and the soldier noted a suspicious bulge in the waist of his slacks. Rising to his feet, to boy padded across the floor soundlessly. Somehow, that was worse than when he stalked over angrily.
As he twisted his wrists in the make shift restraints, he demanded, "Who the fuck are you?!"
The hate filled expression on the boy’s face was cracked by a wide, cold smile that did nothing to touch his eyes. "You don’t remember me," that deep voice rasped. "I’m hurt."
The man’s eyes narrowed. He did remember. It was that arrogant smile that brought it back to him. He leered appreciatively at a memory of wiping that smile off the boy’s face. The man laughed to himself. "My little slut."
That was when Duo lost it. Before, he had known that his sanity was questionable. But with those three words whatever was left of his rational self quickly departed. Raising his arm he backhanded the soldier’s face with the knuckles of his curled fist. That square jaw snapped satisfyingly to the side. However, while the OZ man did wince, he refused to make a sound. As he rolled his head back up right to stare at the young pilot, Duo was struck by a strong feeling of Deja Vu but something was off about it...
Reaching into his pocket, the Shinigami pilot pulled out something long, smooth and dark. Snick! A gleeful grin spread itself across his face as he saw hi prisoner for ridged against the restraints. The man tried to move as far away from him and the switchblade he held as the bindings would allow.
"Do you know what you do to those you use?" The violet deeps of Duo’s eyes glinted dangerously. "Do you know what you did to me?"
The man, who had been keeping a careful watch on the knife the boy held, looked at Duo. The fear and the worry vanished from his pinched features as the customary leer took it’s place. "I made you mine! My little slut. And you loved it!"
An inarticulate cry ripped it’s way free from Duo’s throat. Without really thinking about it he brought the blade down in a swinging arch. The man cried out, more from shock then from pain, as a thin line of red appeared at a slight angle across his chest. Duo gazed at his handiwork as the man whimpered before him, fascinated by the thick red liquid that was beading there.
Galvanized by the man’s reaction, the boy lashed out with the knife again, angling it so that it cut more deeply. This time he was rewarded by a true howl of pain. Something within him snapped and he lost control. He was no longer aware of his arm moving; of his victim's shouts. All his mind could focus on was: freedom. Now he had the power, he was the one who was in control. And he wasn’t going to stop there.
When the OZ soldier was nothing but a writhing lace work of red slashes. Duo stepped back to admire his handiwork. His blood surged white hot through his body as a heady feeling of power swept over him. Oh yes...he would make this man pay...
With cruel force he grabbed the man’s limp member. Red rimmed eyes cracked open and focused on the young pilot. The fear in those cold grey orbs was palpable as he watched the boy raise the knife yet again.
An hoarse, wordless cry of agony echoed through the room and out into the hall beyond.
Duo’s eyes were glued to the sight of the bloody stump even as he tossed aside the offending piece of flesh. Soon the sounds the man was making died down in amplitude, most likely because his throat had become ripped. A part of him was quite gratified that his tormenter had been reduced to pathetic mewls of pain filled misery. An other part of the Shinigami pilot was disgusted that he could do this to another human being, regardless of the provocation. But that little voice of reason was quickly conquered as the boy remembered...oh yes, how he remembered. The leering face from that horrid time superimposed itself on the form that lay on the bed.
A guttural snarl ripped it’s way from Duo’s throat as he dropped the knife and instead began pounding the other with biting knuckles of his fists.
No more! I’m not your VICTIM!
When he finally stopped he noted that the OZ soldier was breathing shallowly. Had he managed to break his ribs, and perhaps puncture a lung? Or maybe there was internal bleeding? Not that it really mattered. The bastard wouldn’t have to stay alive much longer anyhow. There was just one more thing...
Leaving the bed and its occupant behind, the young man walked over to the night stand where a half empty bottle of cheap whisky sat. He put the bottle to his lips a took a large swallow. The harsh liquid burned it way down his throat and he gagged. But it served the purpose. Duo was able to focus a little more on the here and now.
Taking the bottle with him, he walked back over to the bed. Standing there he looked at the result of his vengeance. But it wasn’t complete, not yet. Nor would it ever be as long as that man was allowed to live. In a painfully deliberate move he extended his arm about the mortally injured man. Slowly he up ended the bottle. With vicious movements he began to slop the contents of the bottle about, making sure that some got on the OZ soldier as well as the bed sheets and carpeting.
When it was empty he threw it away, not caring where it landed. His hand disappeared into his pants pocket once more. What he pulled out this time was no knife. Instead it held something small, its golden surface reflecting the dim light form beyond the window. Flipping the top of the little container, violet eyes watched as a mini flame sprang to life. The corners of his mouth twitched. Long fingers went lax and the little lighter tumbled to the floor.
Heero had been sitting outside the little hotel for almost three hours now. He was doing his best not to fidget as he sat in the jeep. His instincts were telling him that something was very wrong. The first sign that something was happening was the pungent smell in the air.
Smoke?
Then, before he could think of anything else the main door to t he hotel exploded outwards. Orange flames licked at the building’s facing, stretching out from the interior. K’so Duo! What have you done?!
Hastily he started up the jeep and sent it lurching forward. Cranking on the steering wheel hard, he pulled it around in a tight u-turn. He was ready to rush into the building and pull out that lame-brained American when it became unnecessary. As the jeep came to a screeching halt before the building's entrance, a dark shadow appeared in the doorway. Back lit by the flames, it was hard to tell who or what was there. The thin figure lurched forward like a puppet beginning to move.
Though the person had his head down, Heero caught a glimpse of a familiar chestnut braid swaying dejectedly in the slight wind.
Duo. The Wing pilot let out the breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. Popping the passager side door Heero leaned out. "Need a ride," he asked the other pilot as he neared the jeep.
Duo nodded solemnly. He didn’t look up. Instead he simply climbed in and sat back in the seat as though he as trying to become part of the cheap upholstery. Heero raised one eyebrow but said nothing. With the raging fire behind them they drove back to the estate in silence.
End Part 3
(:./aiyoku/soul3)
