30-Oct-2003
Title: Last Resort
Authors: CleverYoungThief and Arithion
Rating: NC-17, for later chapters
Warnings: Language, violence, yaoi, angst, death, gore
Archive: GWA
Pairing: Eventual 1x2x5, 3x4
Genre: AU/Angst/Action
Timeline: TWT
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't sue. College kids are like L2 kids; we got nothin'.
Feedback: Please? ^_^
Notes: This is our first co-authored fic. *heh*
"I know where I marked the signs
Suffer the dreams of a world gone mad
I like it like that and I know itI know it well, ugly and sweet
A tempered man who said believe in his dream."
--- REM, Leave
"The strategy of coercing children to rewire themselves is the concept he is most proud of, for he believes it places troubled teenagers' redemption in their own hands. The choice is theirs."
--- Quote on the Tranquility reformatory, from the article Last Resort
"What we were after now was the old surprise visit. That was a real kick and good for laughs and lashings of the old ultraviolence."
--- Alex DeLarge, A Clockwork Orange
Angry footsteps echoed down the hall, halting briefly as a door was slammed open, before continuing and stopping dead.
Quatre Raberba Winner, heir to Winner Enterprises, stood in front of his father's desk, hands on his hips. He glared furiously.
Mr. Winner looked up from his paperwork. "Yes, Quatre?" He didn't look too pleased to see his somewhat wayward son.
"Don't pretend you don't know why I'm here, father." The disdain dripping from Quatre's voice spoke volumes. He crossed his arms and continued. "You can't just give them away. They're not objects, they're your daughters "
"I have 30 children, Quatre. I need strategic alli-... "
The blond boy cut him off. "Don't even get me started on your ethics concerning children. Despite your best efforts, we have brains and feelings of our own!"
Mr. Winner stood. "Quatre – that is enough! You've said your fill!"
"Turquoise eyes flashed. "I beg to differ, father. I haven't even started yet!"
"Enough!" His father took a breath, levelling a glare at his son. "You are finished here."
"Don't threaten me. You have no idea who I am or what I am capable of." Quatre's eyes glinted dangerously, his face scornful.
"You won't have a chance to show me where you're going." His father's voice was weary.
"Where I'm going?" There was genuine curiosity in Quatre's voice.
"Yes, Quatre." The retort was snapped, irritated. "I've had enough of your attitude towards me, your lack of respect and your outbursts. I want the caring sweet child I know is in there. I want my heir."
Quatre laughed. "You're the only one who doesn't get to see me like that. You've never earned my respect."
"I said enough, Quatre!" Two guards stepped into the room–each seizing one of Quatre's arms. His father continued the conversation. "You will be taught your proper place."
The glower Quatre directed at his father was enough to make the older man shiver. "Just where are you sending me, if I may ask of my prison?"
His father smiled at him. It was a cold smile. "You may not."
Quatre's face blanched a little, momentarily stealing away some of that determination. But something else replaced it. Something more... calculating.
"As you wish... father."
~~~Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate.~~~
A pebble landed in Wufei's book with a thwapping noise, and he gritted his teeth as he felt his temper flare, concentrating on the text with all the force of his will. He refused to respond. Response was only to reward your enemy.
He breathed more deeply as he settled again, focusing on his book.
~~~Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.~~~
Another rock hit the very center of his book, falling to a rest in the crease between the pages, and his brow furrowed dangerously.
I will not respond. I will not retaliate. I will not.
~~~The best victory is when the opponent surrenders of its own accord before there are any actual hostilities...It is best to win without fighting.~~~
Another small pebble flicked against the pages, richocheting up to bounce off his chest. He slammed the book shut furiously and leapt to his feet, glaring at the girl who was sitting cross-legged across from him, bo dai resting across her knee. She got to his feet as soon as he did, glaring back at him.
"What do you want?!"
"All you do is sit there with your books, Wufei. And you call yourself a member of our clan? Can you even fight?"
Wufei did not draw his eyes away from the sparkling black eyes of Meiran Shirin, his soon-to-be bride. His words were clipped and angry. "I do not fight women."
Meiran threw something at him that flew through the air in a streak, and he reached up and caught it without thinking.
Another bo.
"Then pretend that I am a man."
Wufei looked up at her, spreading his legs into a ready stance, bow balanced across his body. He looked into the eyes of the girl who would be his wife.
" ...Remember you said that."
Duo scowled. He wished he had just one hand free to grab a lock pick out of his hair, but as his wrists were cuffed behind his back, he knew it was futile.
So he chose to scowl instead.
The director of his current detention centre looked at him and sighed. "You just use up chances like they're going out of style, don't you Duo?" Not waiting for an answer, she continued. "Well, I'm afraid you just used up your last one."
Duo's eyes narrowed, but he laughed. "Oooo, what you going to do to me? Set me out on the streets and make me fend for myself?" The idea made Duo smile. It was what he'd been aiming for.
But the next words cut his thoughts short.
"No, Duo. That would be irresponsible of us. We're sending you somewhere they'll be... better equipped... to deal with you."
Filled with suspicion now, Duo spoke. "And just where might that be?"
"Last Resort, Duo. You've left us no other choice."
Shock registered briefly on Duo's face, before a grin replaced it. "You're shitting me."
"I shit you not, Duo."
Duo blinked and turned, only to have a heavy hands restrain him.
The director shook her head. "No running this time, thief."
Panic spread through the violet-eyed youth and he did his best to push it down. Run and hide... it was something he always did so well. Chains were slapped around his ankles and he barely suppressed a snarl. His eyes darkened before he spoke.
"You'll regret this."
It wasn't his fault.
With cold detachment he reacted. He whirled on his would-be assailant, gripping the arm of his attacker with ease. Moving so quickly it was hard to see, he shoved the kid around, jerking the boy's arm up behind his back. There was a low, hollow popping noise as it dislocated, and the boy began to shriek.
Fierce green eyes narrowed impassively as he let his victim drop from his grasp. A complete lack of emotion was evident on his face.
The others should have known better than to surprise him.
He shook himself out of his reverie and waited, leaning against the fence of the exercise yard, hands in the pockets of the jumper they so quaintly called a "uniform".The only thing missing were the bars.
Trowa Barton had been in Last Resort for almost a year.
He was good at waiting.
"Hey, Barton."
Trowa didn't lift his head, but he raised his eyes, looking up at the boy speaking to him with an alien glance full of such cold speculation it could send a shiver like a trickle of ice water down someone's spine.
There was no remorse in those eyes. No sign of suffering at all. He was one of the few delinquents who had never been broken by their punishments, not the beatings, not the humiliations. He bore it all with chilling, unbreakable forbearance.
" ...What?"
"Where's Yuy?"
" ...Solitary."
"Ah." The boy walked off, knowing small talk would be useless. Trowa definitely wasn't the guy to go to for stuff like that.
But that's just because he didn't have anything to say. Harsh words flew all around him in this terrible place, curses and taunts and sobs and cries. He didn't have to talk to make himself seem important or to bluff out anyone who would attack him. His quiet nature was a two-edged sword. It kept him invisible, forgotten when he wanted to be forgotten.
Also, when he did have something to say, people listened to him.
If he waited to speak until he had something important to say...
...even his enemies would listen.
"Jesus, Yuy, you'd think you'd learn, you idiot," one of the guards said disgustedly. "Back to solitary with you, punk. Maybe one of these days you'll get the fucking picture."
Heero did a lot of time in solitary.
He had once been kept in one of the lesser security wards, the ones who kept boys at six to a "bunkhouse"....but when one of Heero Yuy's bunkmates was found with three broken ribs, a badly broken nose, and a shattered jaw, he was moved into maximum security. That was two bunkmates per cell, bunkmates that either had to learn to live with each other or die in the process.
Heero was drugged, his boneless feet dragging the ground as the pulled him along, but he growled a slurred, explicit curse as he was thrown into the solitary cell again. Right next to Treize's offices. Treize sometimes came and just looked at him through the window in the door.
Watching Heero watch him.
Heero hit the far wall with a thump that vibrated through the steel walls, feeling his shoulder go numb. He slumped to the floor, although his instinct was to jump to his feet and go after the guards exiting his room.
His legs wouldn't cooperate. They were like tingling rubber folded beneath him; useless.
With an effort, Heero brought up a deadened hand to wipe ineffectively at the message that had been scrawled across his forehead with a Sharpie marker.
I'VE BEEN HERE 18 MONTHS
AND I'M STILL PULLING SHIT.
Sighing softly, Heero leaned up against the cold steel wall and thought. Thinking was pretty much the only thing you could do in solitary. Besides go crazy.
Last Resort, huh? I'll give you a fucking last resort...
End Part 1
(:./cyt/last1)
