Koji ma Oshi

Title: Koji ma Oshi
author: Sol 1056
rating: NC-17 for sex, violence, and dirty mouths
warning: BDSM, psychological issues, post-post-EW
pairings: 2x1, 3x5x3, 4xR

Hilde once said that when all else fails, scream like a girl. Every time I blinked — my eyelids were possibly the sole activity in the entire bay — it seemed like the nineteen-whatever gun-holding hands suddenly became thirty-eight, then seventy-six, and snapped back again. Other than that, no one was moving, and I was giving the entire girl-screaming concept some serious thought. Quick thought, okay, but still serious.

So I was a little preoccupied when a once-familiar sound echoed across the shuttle bay. Maybe to the untrained ear it was just a click, but that tiniest pause of a click-whirr followed by a kaCHUNK straight on its heels was definitely the sound of an AR-15 being flipped over to fully automatic. Except... none of the men had moved. I blinked again. Had they? Not that I was that keen on someone putting a whole round of four-fifty-eights in my belly, being rather attached to my gut as it is, thanks, but if I'm about to deal with unfriendly fire, I want it where I can see it, and shoot right back.

"Gentlemen," a man's voice said, firm and polite, but clear and unamplified. Sounded like it was coming from above me, actually. A few of the men glanced at each other, their boss; I could see heads twitching as some of the men tried to keep an eye on me while scoping the bay at the same time. I didn't move, hands half-raised, expression startled, like I'd been about to surrender but wasn't sure why. Problem: I couldn't see much past the frame of the shuttle's docking doors. Hadn't looked, really. Åll those dark barrels were rather demanding on the attention-neurons, but when even the ones with all the firepower start looking confused, that's saying something.

"I suggest you put down those weapons."

The shock sent my stomach leaping from its usual perch to bounce against my kneecaps and slam somewhere around my ankles. Quatre? What the fuck was Quatre doing there? I hadn't heard him use that tone of voice since—

"Yo," a voice said from behind me, quietly. Jack. "What's going on?"

"I think—" I muttered it, not moving my mouth, entire body cold from the effort of hoping my guess was totally wrong— "You need to get back—"

"This is," Quatre said, still the consumate diplomat, smooth, charming, but with a hint of steel—

"Inside," I spat, waiting for the moment, there had to be one, please space, let there be one.

"—Your only chance," Quatre finished.

There. The men's curious and irritated reactions had them taking their sight off me. One instant and I took it, backpedaling like all fuck. I slammed into Jack, grunted, kicked off with my feet, and the force sent us both tumbling backwards.

"What are you—" Jack's words, and breath, got knocked right out of him.

"No ti—" I caught the shuttle door's edge with my shoulder, but good enough. Twist my body, catch Jack by the arm, and threw us around the corner. "Move, move, move," I was chanting. How many seconds? How much of a last chance? I hit the deck with Jack beside me. He gave me a stunned look, and I said, "trust me, you don't want to be out there in the next ten—"

And lo, did Quatre open fire.

Jack's eyes went wider than I thought humanly possible, and he reached up to slam the controls for the shuttle's rear door right as a bullet winged itself through the open door and buried itself in the metal wall opposite. Jack hit the floor alongside me. I had my gun out, trained on the open door to the loading trunk, covering Jack as he bolted for the kitchen. I followed in the next second, locking the doors behind me, just in case.

The bullet's scar taunted me when I spun, and I cursed myself. Ship'd be out of commission for three months on repairs if anything got through the ship's external tiling, that'd be a fortune to repair. And what the fuck was I doing worrying about some smuggler's ship? I had more important things to fuss over, like what the bloody fucking hell was Quatre doing here?

The crew was free from the kitchen, and I had to admit a moment of being impressed with their professionalism. Hard to remember war hadn't been so long ago, but hard to forget when seeing a crew react so coolly and knowing it all battlefront experience. No hysterical cries, only succinct, if hollered updates. Jack made the call, and I made no protest when he sent me to the cockpit with two others. We were locked into the bay, but if the third mate couldn't hack us out, the electrical pair in the ship's belly could short out the contacts. Then it'd be up to the copilot and myself to get the ship out of the firestorm.

We could seal the ship against most things, anything short of Quatre, really. But we also had an unarmed crew of twenty who'd just been doing their jobs. In the chaos, getting them out made perfect sense.

I'd just reached the pilot's seat when a massive explosion shook the starboard engines. The entire shuttle rocked right off its secondary mooring-lock and slammed down again with a crunch of metal that made my ears ring. Next thing I knew, I was face-first on the floor. Might've broken my nose, but slamming my head against the pilot's console must've slowed the abrupt face-to-floor introduction. Damn it, how much I wanted to close my eyes and pass out, but I couldn't. It'd be hell getting us out of here, now, but someone had to.

I scrambled to my feet, wiping away the blood pouring from my forehead, and held myself up by the console. The shuttle's readouts were going haywire. The co-pilot joined me a second later; the third mate lay on the floor, unmoving.

"Fire, lower starboard deck! Hull damage!" The yell echoed through the ship's tunnels. "Sealing C-2! C-3!"

"Got it," Jack yelled. "Everyone okay?"

Several voices called back, mine among them.

"Juice dropping!" Another voice reported, from closer. I scanned the displays, sensors lit up like a colony glowing blue at night, and in a flash of wartime memory knew what they meant. I grabbed the copilot, spinning us away from the console, eyes closed against the light flaring, burning into my retinas through my eyelids. A split-second too long, I swore, what fucking pathetic reaction time—

Just barely, so close — we hit the deck as another jolt rattled the entire shuttle. The consoles exploded around us, overloaded. The air smelled heavy of ozone. My entire braid had to be standing on end from the electricity dispersing. Little pieces of melted plastic and bright sparks sprinkled down; I rolled off the guy with a groan. He was okay, but when I landed on my back, I realized a chunk or two of circuit board must've made for a nice projectile.

I really, really wished I hadn't gotten out of bed that morning. Or the morning before, or seventy-two hours before. I couldn't remember. I rolled over again, only my stomach, and forced myself up. Another explosion, a second right on its heels. Jack was yelling himself hoarse, repeating the reports coming in from the six stations around the shuttle. No electricity. Away from the pilot's seats, the docking bay's weak light didn't reach farther than the doorway, and beyond that was pitch black. I groaned, not liking the notion of heading in there amongst guys that I might be able to trust, maybe, if I didn't let down my guard.

Then I spun at the co-pilot's yell to see a man in Preventer uniform standing on the nose of the shuttle, assault rifle tucked under his arm. Beta c-mag hooked in place and fuck, that was one greeting party that I didn't want to meet. The lights overhead flickered and lit, backup generators coming online just as I shoved the co-pilot towards the cockpit door. I grabbed the third mate under the armpits, shouting something incoherent but hopefully encouraging.

I was halfway to the door when I saw the Preventer raise the assault rifle, brace himself, and began firing. The space-glass held... mostly. Then I realized he wasn't shooting it, but the bolts holding it in. The co-pilot joined me, and between us we got the damned heavy third mate almost to the door when the space-glass exploded, sending shards of four-inch thick acrylic in every direction. I shielded my face with my arm, but didn't let go of the third mate.

The co-pilot's shouts were now just soft cries, but he held up and gamely helped me make it to the door. That's when the assault rifle really began its work, on the inside of the cockpit. We dragged the third mate out into the hallway with nothing to spare and the co-pilot hit the reinforced cockpit doors to shut and seal them. Too bad the third mate had been among the destroyed, as well. Nothing from the middle of his thighs down, but shattered bones and some bits of flesh. Blood seeped through the metal grate and dripped into the ship's belly. The man was dead.

Well, fuck.

The co-pilot, to his credit, didn't throw up.

The explosions in the cockpit continued, and the co-pilot flinched with every report, echoing through the shuttle down the main hallway. Sound beat against the metal like a million hands pounding on a tin drum — with us stuck inside. It brought me back to reality. I pushed the body to across the doorway. If they got the door open, at least they might trip over the poor bastard.

"He's taken out the seals," I yelled, sending Jack the report, then caught the co-pilot by the elbow and with an abrupt yank, sent him flying into the forward storage room. "Stay put." I kicked him back again when he started to get up, and hit the doorlock mechanism. "When the good guys show up, they'll let you out."

"What? Which ones are the good guys?" He bolted upright, but I slammed him back down again.

"The ones that don't try to shoot you," I replied, in the last second before the door shut. I locked it. I found Jack in the portside weapons room, just forward of the kitchen. He nodded and held up a magazine.

"Need ammo?" He asked.

"Got plenty." I shrugged. "Doubt I'd ever have enough to hold off all of them outside."

"Yeah."

The shuttle's internal sounds were gone. I frowned. "The crew?"

"Two dead."

"Make that three."

"Rest are in the kitchen." He flashed a grin, and I knew that expression might be on my face, as well: the look of the survivor who smiles because it's that, or go mad. "They can finish off the pizza." He tucked a last magazine into his belt. "Shall we?"

"Sounds fine to me." He could've been suggesting we storm the Alamo one last time for kicks and I would've gone along. Some part of me was just beginning to register that I'd voluntarily walked out onto the loading trunk of a shuttle and opened the door with absolutely no thought as to scoping out the area. I hadn't lost my touch, I knew that. There were a shitload of dead bodies back on L3 that proved otherwise — but I'd lost something. Wits. Oh, and way too much sleep.

If I'd ever wanted proof I wasn't fifteen anymore... I probably had it, right then. The devil's own luck had run out, I guessed, so I stood with Jack, shoulder-to-shoulder, at the entrance to the shuttle loading tank. If there was a weak spot on the ship, that'd be it, assault rifle versus shuttle cockpit notwithstanding.

"Hold in there," Jack whispered, placing a light hand on my shoulder.

"I'm good," I said, through gritted teeth. At least my gun-hand was steady, trained on the door.

The doors blew inward and I didn't start firing immediately, too busy shielding my face. By the time I lowered my arm to squint, the shuttle trunk was filled with hissing steam and sparks from ventilation pipes shunting on busted cable. A figure moved, and I still didn't fire. Or maybe I did, and I couldn't tell any difference, with the ringing in my ears, but if I had, I don't think I would've missed. Not at that range.

"Lay down your guns," Trowa said, and there wasn't a single hint that he had a bad knee, or a bum shoulder. He moved with a panther's grace, gun in each hand, and both trained on us with a steadiness that wouldn't require even a heartbeat to check the sights. He could shoot blind and hit his target with only instinct. I glanced at Jack, who had an expectant look on his face, and I nodded.

Cautiously, not taking my eyes off Trowa, I set my gun on the metal decking. Jack set his beside mine, and we stood up. The motion of leaning over and back up again made me dizzy, but when I put my head down, I could tell my shirt was soaked in blood. My own blood. From my goddamn forehead, how fucking pathetic. I stared past my chest at the gun at my feet, and tried to focus. Hilde hadn't been their best friend. She'd been mine, and this wasn't their—

"Kitchen," Jack said, and it dawned on me that there'd been talking and I'd not noticed. I tried to focus my eyes again. Jack said something to me, then again. "Pilot?"

"The co-pilot," I replied, and fought to keep my words from sounding slurred. "Locked in the... in the storage room. Locker...storage." I shrugged, wanted to glare. A last explosion outside the shuttle, but this time we weren't the target. The shuttle merely shifted in place, last cries of metal as it slid the final few inches free of the mooring rack to land on its side on the shuttle workfloor. A quick thump, and the shuttle was still. Somehow I managed to keep my feet, but it was an iffy thing, still, even once the shuttle was still. I realized all the fighting outside had gone silent.

Trowa nodded, lips moving, but I just stared past him, at the shower of sparks coming off the main power cable every time the ventilation system kicked in, trying to stabilize against the blown rear doors. Someone else was moving around out there, various shapes, but the sparks were awfully pretty. Coming down, gold and red, like fireworks...

I took a breath, and steeled myself for the last bit. This was probably where they'd sort out the bad from good, rescue the not-in-danger crew — at least, I hoped not quite in danger — and then... well, I had no idea. I couldn't even think of the next minute, to be honest. One minute there was one Trowa, then three; two Jacks, then four. And then abruptly, there was one Heero, and I started, instinctively squinting, shutting my eyes hard, opening them to see the reality and not four Trowas because if I wanted hell, that would be it.

A grunt of effort got me focusing again, and just in time to see Heero's quick step forward and an unexpected maneuver, but one I've never forgotten. A fist backed with bone and metal-bending muscle, and a world of hurt in the curl of his lips, all of it moving faster than I could follow. The blow landed in my gut and sent me straight to my knees.

All the air went right out of my lungs. I bet my eyes bugged out or something — I could feel them go wide, but everything had gone black in the sudden removal of me from the oxygen-breathing part of the world. I think I gasped, choked, or maybe I just gracefully slid from consciousness, but I never did shit gracefully, I'm the wrong pilot if that's what you want. The metal grating dug into the palms of my hands, and I struggled to keep some dignity and not fall over.

A hand landed on my shoulder. I choked again, and I was dragged up and thrown over a bony shoulder. Other things filtered in, as I slid over the person's ribs, falling into place in the uncomfortable position: footsteps storming off, clink of metal, someone else approaching. Trowa spoke and Jack murmured, my wrists felt ringed in cold. My cheek came to rest against the black of a Preventer's jacket.

All I could think was... nothing, and no one, ever really changes.

- # - # - # -

I woke with the hangover from fucking hell a view of stained ceiling tiles, with a soundtrack of beeping madness around me. Sounded like one or two were alarms, and sure enough, a burly-looking man in white rushed in, hit a few of the machines over my head, gave me a knowing glance, and rushed out again. Well, damn it, guess I should expect the welcoming crew soon.

Y'know, someday, I'm going to be seventy — hey, a man can dream — and I'm going to be stuck in a hospital bed much like this one. I'll confess it right up: I won't be thinking about catching nurse-action, I'll still be wondering how the fuck Heero could fake out an entire room full of machines. I sure as hell can't. I wish I knew his secret. I wished it even more when a doctor's wizened face appeared in my view. That was when I realized I was restrained, wrists and ankles. That's just how fast they registered me waking up and reacted, or maybe just how slow my own reaction times were. I could feel throbbing in plenty of muscles and none of the good ones, so I couldn't even blame the wooziness on good drugs. Damn it.

"Hey," I coughed out. I wanted to play it cool, but it's been a helluva long time since I've closed my eyes on one sight and opened them to something else completely, and waking up to find I've got a mouthful of Hilde's sofa pillows doesn't count. At least all she ever took off me were my boots, and she sure as fuck didn't make me wear a paper napkin with string. I felt fifteen again. Worse.

"Mister Maxwell," the doctor said, and frowned when I gave him a blank look. "Don't play coy with me. Anyone, down to the janitor, would know your face."

I was about to make some crack about the size of my fan club, and then I saw the two Preventers standing behind the doctor.

The doctor was pretty sharp; he must've caught my quick glance. "These are your current babysitters." He looked quite pleased. I glared at him, but only half-heartedly. He had nurses as backup, after all. "This is the Preventer's detention center clinic. You were suffering from blood loss and a number of minor injuries, not counting severe dehydration and sleep deprivation. I'm half-surprised you weren't speaking in tongues."

"Hunh?"

He half-smiled. "Point is, a few more hours of rest, and then we'll drop you into the system with the rest of your mates."

I blinked at him. My mouth sure felt like I'd spent a few hours eating one of those sofa pillows. Maybe this was all a massive hangover hallucination, because I could've sworn he meant... I closed my eyes, took a breath, opened my eyes. Nothing changed.

The doctor noted something on his stylus pad, and tucked it back into his coat pocket. He glanced around, as if making sure he'd not forgotten anything. Me, I wanted to tell him, me, remember, I'm one of the good guys, haven't the other pilots told you that?

Except I wasn't, not anymore. I sighed and relaxed into the bed. Well. There it was. I might've busted up the ring, and I could at least be proud that I'd taken out as many as I could, but in the end, I guess it was those so-called friends busting me. Hunh, just like the war all over again, with the quiet ones always the flashiest, and the joke always being on me. I spared a half-second to wonder why I was the only loud one in the group, but then, don't that just figure.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," the doctor muttered, brows lowered. "A man of your stature, sunk to these levels." He nearly hissed the word, revulsion written across his patrician features. "Ashamed, Mister Maxwell."

I nodded, slowly. Yeah. Ashamed. Right. Only that I'd ever agreed to work with those bastards in the first place. I closed my eyes again, refusing to let him see any more of me — granted, a thin cotton blanket and a large piece of paper masquerading as a nightgown aren't exactly sterling defenses, but it'd have to do. I could fake the rest, for at least a little while.

When I opened my eyes again, one of the Preventers was by the bed. The other stood by the door, gun out and focused on me. That view was getting old, but I didn't have the energy anymore to snark about taking a vacation from close-ups with police-issue gun barrels.

"Maxwell," the first said. "If you want to take a shower before we transfer you to the regular holding cells, I'm sure your future roommates would appreciate it."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Hard to do when I'm pinned in place."

"Don't make any sudden moves," the Preventer warned. "We'd be more than happy to have one less of your kind in the solar system."

Nothing like a little officer ambiguity to make one really want a shower. At least they had the decency to not come in with me, though the lack of shower curtain, towels, shampoo, hell, even toilet tissue or even a toilet seat was rather annoying. What did they think I was gonna do, hang myself with sixteen feet of one-ply tissue? A bar of soap's not the best for hair, but I've had worse, and I tried to ignore the sensation of dripping water down my backside, soaking through the paper gown. I refused to look at myself in the mirror, after a quick glimpse of my split lip and a massive purple bruise on one cheek. That was enough.

Don't know how much later, but they did at least give me something less paper-like to wear: old khakis that were two sizes two large in the waist but at least long enough, and a beat-up gray sweatshirt. The sleeves were two inches shy of my wrists; I folded them over and pushed them up and told myself it could be worse.

I wasn't sure how, but I didn't want to find out. Not like I had a choice, but at least I could still turn heads. Not quite being dragged this time, though, but still, the handcuffs and ankle manacles felt almost like old times. The one difference? No one had to crane their necks to see around the Ozzies dragging me to my execution. This time I was at least four inches taller than the tallest of the two Preventers.

Plus, not being out cold made for a better impression — I could smile politely at nurses, and do my best to ignore that I was being led like a dog on a leash, with a second Preventer training his gun on me. What the hell did they think I was gonna do, charm my way free? Besides, my stomach had started grumbling, and by the time we reached the elevator, it was hitting thunderous levels. The two Preventers frowned at me. I didn't even bother trying to grin and shrug it off. I was ready to eat my handcuffs.

Not that I had a chance. After all, before you get a roof over your head and three squares a day, first you must pass through booking. What was it Quatre once said, back on Peacemillion? Right. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. This is me, hopping with joy, buddy. Look, look, I've lived to see another day.

Yay.

- # - # - # -

Considering how neatly everything in the jail cell had been stripped of all potential weapons, I was half-surprised they didn't demand my hair-tie. I was expecting it, and even braced for a witty jest when my lockpicks would fall like sterling manna from a thieves' heaven. But they didn't even ask, they didn't even bother. Which was possibly a case of the joke being on me, once I got a gander of their jail's lock systems. No pick was going to undo that. Maybe they had learned a thing or two from the idiot Alliance. That, and they kept the lights on.

All the time.

Made it hard to tell whether it was day or night, which was probably the same intention the Alliance had when keeping me in that dark cell for a week, but I'd rather have the darkness. At least then I could sleep. Now it was mostly dull awakeness, mixed with random hours of lying on my back on a too-short too-thin cot, with one arm over my eyes, and believe me, that's not a comfortable way to sleep. Not when you're coming awake with a twitch at every little sound down the hallway.

Then again, this time, there wouldn't be a Heero come to shoot me or rescue me. Okay, shoot me, maybe, but don't know if I could talk him out of it, and sometimes when my eyes started to cross from the banks of bright lights over my head, I wasn't sure I would even try. Some hours, I wasn't sure I even cared, and then my hand would fall down to lie across my gut, and the abrupt wince of the garish bruise on my stomach would remind me of him. What a great parting gift. He always had been one for give and take, in his obsessive way of keeping score, never wanting to be in debt to anyone. And this time, he'd not even offered to let me punch him first. Unless, some cynical part of me whispered, me leaving was — for him — an equally damaging punch.

Well, I wanted to announce to the walls: it wasn't like leaving that bed was so easy.

It could've been once a day, or once an hour. I didn't care enough to pay attention. But along would come some Preventer, always a different one, delivering a tray of food that never changed to tell me whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner. A starch, a vegetable, and a meat, or at least what passes for meat on a colony. A square meal and I had no interest in eating. I felt like I was eight again, pushing the food around on the plate; my childish logic, even then, sensed that to willingly sit at a table with Sister Helen and the rest of the orphans was, somehow, to accept my lot in that unfamiliar, unwelcome, entrapment. Twenty years later, see how far I've come: to a room eight feet by five feet, white concrete walls unmarred even by the stereotypical scratching of former guests. The orphanage was an entire city compared to this small hell.

So there I sat. And in a half-hour, or hour, or less or more, the bolt would turn in the door. One guard would enter, another standing watch, and the first would take my mostly-untouched tray. He'd pick it up, then pause, saying casually, "did you want to call anyone?"

I'd shrug.

He'd say, "didn't eat much. No visitors, either?"

I'd give him a look like, what do you care?

That was his cue to leave. Didn't matter which guard it was, it was the same with each of them. I wondered idly if someone stood down the hall with a big cue card. No, I'd had no visitors, and since I'm expecting you had to walk right past the reception desk to get in here, and seen the check-in pad lying right there, wouldn't you know to look? Why fucking ask me? Hell, he'd even know if I had visitors who hadn't been allowed back, not that I could think of any. Except maybe Howard, and if Howard did show up, I'd strangle him, anyway.

See, I'd figured it out. It had to have been Howard, messaging Heero through the lines to let him know I'd headed on ahead of him. I can't recall telling Howard not to, was the thing. Though if I had, Howard probably would've any way, just to make a point; not saying a thing was supposed to leave Howard with the impression that Heero and the rest of those bastards were making their own way to our mutual destination.

Not that I could much of anything about it from where I sat, and not like I really much cared, other than a sometimes amused contemplation of trying to get an idea how long they'd held me. ESUN laws still followed the pre-colony standard, of a seventy-two hour period before a lawyer could bring motion of habeas corpus; until then, they could hold me without cause. After that point, they'd have to charge me or let me go. I doubted any of the few folks who might — maybe — hire a lawyer on my behalf even had an idea where I was, or even if I was alive. That meant the chances of the door opening to see some suited ninny waving papers was about as good as the chances of seeing the door blow open and there be Heero, with gun in hand, looking like vengeance personified.

Except he wasn't. Never had been. That was me.

He was just some kid trying hard to do what he'd been told was right, even if the means used to teach him that 'right' was so very, terribly, wrong. I was the one who didn't give a damn, who'd lost it all long before I'd had it, and I kept losing, over and over again.

I lay on that too-short jail cot with my feet hanging off the ends, one hand behind my head as an uncomfortable but passable pillow, the other hand across my bare stomach, and my shirt pulled up over my head to shield me from the worst of the light. Eventually my stomach stopped growling, or I just got used to ignoring it; the peculiar aches in my body all faded into one droning background hum, the lights filtered through the dull gray of the shirt. I knew there were cameras in each corner, watching me sleep, scratch my nose, take a piss, poke at the food. But they sure weren't gonna have the pleasure of seeing me wake from dreams, shaking and miserable. Knowing I'd always lose didn't mean I had to enjoy it, alright? And it sure didn't mean I had to lose with prying eyes right there.

I'd say it was days of this, but maybe it was just really long hours, or maybe a week. It was somewhere around meal sixteen — so maybe five or six days, total? — before I finally broke the guards' ritual. When he asked if I wanted to call anyone, I gave him a sideways smile and said, "it's been a lot longer than seventy-two hours, officer."

He shrugged, and studied my tray with a frown. "We weren't prepared to be dealing with over fifty arrests at one time. We've been working our way through the cases, so the judge gave us an extension on the arraignment period."

"Hunh."

Yeah, that's about all I could manage. You were expecting some kind of Maxwellian witticism, perhaps? Yeah, I got your witticism right fucking here.

Eight more meals passed before another break in the daily grind. That time, the guard looked at the tray, and looked at me, and said, "you keep this up, we'll haul you back to the clinic again."

I didn't even shrug. I didn't even bother to look at him. The wall was quite interesting by that point, but the guard didn't move, waiting. I don't know how long. I just glanced his way, not even looking, just a quick turn of my head and back again. He didn't even ask if I'd had visitors, and then was gone. I guess he might've thought that was a kindness on his part. I didn't care. I did my part.

Go on, go tell Heero to get ready for his close-up, because I'm ready for someone to roll the credits.

- # - # - # -

I wasn't even counting anymore, the time a guard arrived with his hands empty. He stood by the door and I stared up at him. It was the same Preventer who'd explained about the arraignments. Didn't seem like half the hard-ass as some of the others. I stood, stretched, and somewhere in the back of my head noted that I'd not showered nor changed since leaving the clinic. Whatever. I dug down in my last assorted smiles, dragged out an abashed one for him — he'd been a good guy, despite the circumstances, really. He proved it again by speaking with me in a low tone, as he escorted me down the hallway.

"Truth is, Mister Maxwell, normally we don't keep folks in these one-room setups. Isolation techniques aren't legal these days, but we were overflowing."

I grunted, not really sure what he needed me to say, or even what I wanted to say. I could remember, vaguely, stalking through a club with Heero at my side, feeling dangerous and powerful. I wondered where that me had gone.

"Just so you know, not that I'd think you're all that attached to that cell, but after you meet with the investigating officers, your arraignment will be scheduled. Then you'll be moved to a four-person cell." The guard looked me over as we stopped in front of one more metal door in a long row of them. I wondered if he had to count ceiling tiles to remember which was which. "Our usual bank of cells are not as—" He grinned, ruefully. "Well, not as far away from the showers."

I nodded, wishing he'd get on with it. I was saving up my snark for whatever unlucky bastards had drawn the short straws.

The guard pushed open the door, moving in such a way that I had no view of the room until halfway through, and then he was gone and shutting the door behind me. I might have been tired, worn down, and reeking like I'd slept in 'Scythe for two weeks, but that was nothing new. A long time in the past doesn't mean never, so it didn't even take a split second to suss up my opponents and greet them like they'd interrupted my Sunday afternoon nap. Bored, easy, but not annoyed, just... unimpressed.

We stared each other down. Wufei practically bristled, but didn't look me in the eyes. Trowa leaned against the wall, arms crossed, head down, and if he weren't six-three, I'd have thought he was fifteen again for all he moved or looked my way. Quatre sat at the table, clasped hands half-propping his chin, half-pressed against his mouth, forever his posture of careful contemplation, but those sky-blue eyes bored into me, as if memorizing me. I felt like my line should be something about finding them on my porch, or maybe that was Hilde's line.

I did not let my expression change, and I kept my muscles at the same tension they'd been down the sixty-foot walk of the hallway; maybe I couldn't fake out hospital machines but I could fake out almost anything short of that. So I stood there, silence reigned.

Until Quatre finally moved his hands from his mouth, enough to reveal a sad smile. "Duo," he said, and for a moment I could see his plaintive fifteen-year-old self overlaid. A stark reminder of the hours before the final battle, miles above earth. He didn't unclasp his hands, but watched me over them. His voice was pitched low, but carried easily, tinged with regret, and it was almost like he wasn't even speaking to me. "How did it come to this?"

There are days in my life that I'd like to do over. Entire months, come to think of it. Contrary to what some journalists might speculate, plummeting to earth in a big honkin' mecha ain't one of them. That's, just maybe, one of the few things I'm truly proud of -- making sure those bastards' original plan didn't go quite as they'd wanted. And I sure wouldn't redo the twenty-four hours after getting Hilde's distress signal, when once and for all, I got to pilot circles around the Heero-based and Trowa-based piloting programs. I don't got a lot to prove, never saw the reason, but that one time, it felt like vindication.

That one time had to work overtime to make up for so many other times in my life. Like discovering that the antidotes imported by the oh-so-caring Alliance doctors and nurses weren't actually antidotes, but particularly virulent strains of the virus. I'd carried frustrated anger for years, after stealing the drugs and accessories -- the boxes of needles and plungers, the rows of little bottles labeled 'antibiotic' -- only to watch my entire gang die within twenty-four hours. All that effort for nothing, and it was G, years afterwards, who told me all I'd done was speed the process planned by the Alliance, of distributing those drugs free of charge to the indigent population. They'd apparently planned to up the speed, because a plague will burn itself out if it kills a host before it can be transmitted to the next host. I've never figured out whether I should feel guilty for murdering my own friends, or furious with people long out of my reach.

Or the time I was promised that if I just stole one last thing, one big thing, my new family would be safe -- and I did, and I did it damn well, too, considering I was maybe nine or ten... and those asshole rebels killed every single one of the orphans, the sisters, Father Maxwell. I did what they wanted, I played my role, and I got kicked in the teeth for it.

Or the time I was the last Gundam pilot through the door -- not counting Trowa, safely undercover -- and it was nothing but shit, shit, shit, on me, even though I was the only one who'd found the scientists, discovered their plans to rebuild our Gundams right under the nose of OZ.

Maybe the reason I said nothing but just took it, by then, was because it was just the way things would always go. Of course I must be incompetent. Of course I might blow the doors off the place and be the first one through the door, but of course I would never get the glory. Of course I would always be one of the ones taken down in flames, too. I was illiterate until the age of thirteen. I didn't have the foggiest about chemistry, physics, calculus, aeronautics, or ballistics, but I could take apart and put together just about any damn security system you threw at me. I just didn't know why, nor could I explain it. I went purely on instinct. Until I turned eighteen, I had two doctor's appointments and one dentist's appointment, in my entire life. Until the war, I'd never bought groceries or driven a civilian vehicle; until peacetime, I'd never paid rent, had a bank account, or opened a post office box. There was just no reason in the entire darkness of space that I should have succeeded at crap, let alone survived, so sometimes my momentary irritation would surprise me, to find anyone else equally surprised.

Oh, well, never said I was the brightest. Just the stubbornest.

Tangents aside -- though all this did flash through my brain as I warily took the seat Quatre waved to, even if I did take my time until Wufei turned with a clear threat in the shift of his weight -- the fact was, I knew the guys had gotten word. How was this any different from the lunar base, really? Other than Quatre and Heero trading places, otherwise it was the same set-up, seemed to me: I was the one who'd found the real dirt, I was the one who really made the progress, I was the one... and now, I was the one who was gonna get to eat crow, while they took advantage of my bruises and hard-won news.

Yeah, well, fuck them.

No one said anything for those long minutes, and I didn't give them any help. I settled into the metal chair, stretched out my legs until I had something of a comfortable angle for my tailbone, crossed my arms, and stared at the wall with all the blankness of any other man claiming the title Gundam Pilot. I'd spent twenty-something years with snappy comebacks, and I was finally, at long last, fresh out.

"Duo," Quatre said.

I ignored him. He'd read me my rights, they'd call for one of the maybe five honest Preventers remaining on the entire colony, and I'd be escorted away.

"We understand you believe you have reason to remain silent on this," he continued, quietly.

That was a bizarre way to read the right. Technically he was supposed to go word-for-word... unless they were going to drag this out by actually interrogating me. Fucking sadistic bastards. I was halfway surprised Heero wasn't there. He'd probably enjoy this part. Think of the photo-ops, Wufei, didn't you try to convince him to be here for when you give the statement? You've cleared out one of the biggest drug-smuggling and police-corruption rings in nearly four decades, there ain't no cap big enough to hold the feather Relena and the Parliament's going to be handing you.

"We just want to understand why you chose this path," Quatre finished.

This would be where I exercise my right to remain silent. Once upon a time, I gave Heero enough information to hurt me, but I'm not doing that again. And maybe it was just some kind of misplaced kindness on their part, like the guard, keeping Heero out. He was probably standing in some room next door, watching all this on closed-circuit, instead. Should I be thanking the guys for sparing me that last humliiation of keeping out someone who knew I consider diapers or piss-play a turn-off? Well, fuck them. I didn't let my expression change, I didn't move a muscle, I just kept my eyes sort of unfocused on that spot in mid-air between Quatre's left shoulder and the wall.

It seemed a long time, or right away, when Wufei turned away from me, looking towards the door. "Maybe we should have Yuy hit him again."

I did my best not to bristle. I wouldn't react. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Bastards.

Quatre didn't grace Wufei's comment with a reply, which startled me, once I thought about it. I mean, technically, Quatre was a businessman. He wasn't even a Preventer, he was just best friends with an Associate Director. Trowa, I could see being there on the basis of overseeing a major operation. But Quatre? And he'd also been the one speaking in the shuttle bay. He was just a businessman... right? He wasn't even supposed to know what Heero had been doing... But I'd forgotten how tenacious Quatre could be, even if his presence made no sense.

"If you'd just talk to us, Duo."

And what would that get me? Locked away faster, with my own words used against me? Fat fucking chance.

"We would've helped."

No, you would've taken it over, just like Heero and Wufei and Trowa did before. Each time, they'd nearly fucked it all up. Wufei heading off to L1. That ridiculous universal tour to visit every major undercover operative group, at Trowa's command. Heero and Wufei ready to charge in with guns blazing and no cares for the snitch in their ranks. Had to wonder if it was their help that nearly got me killed in the shuttle bay. Fuck that, it nearly did.

"Why won't you believe that?"

Because your actions have been so goddamn noisy I can't hear a fucking word you say.

"I'd like to say I know what you're thinking." Quatre's voice grew gentler, more pensive, if that was at all possible. He was almost whispering, and I might've thought he'd wanted to avoid being overheard -- if it weren't for the fact that I knew not only were all listening systems designed and installed by WEI, but that between Trowa, Wufei, and Heero, they probably had enough clearance to shut down every audio and video device on the entire L3 quadrant. Trowa alone could take out two rings, minimum. Maybe three on a good day. My thoughts rambled, but in the background, Quatre never shut up. "But I can't, though I hope I have some kind of insight into what you're feeling. You don't need to be, though."

Yes, because everyone was much happier when I laughed as I got kicked in the teeth. Made you feel a lot less guilty about it, didn't it.

"If you'd just--"

That was it. I'd given them ten minutes, and I didn't care if it'd been two or fifteen, I was bored. I stood up.

Halfway to the door, Quatre's words lashed out at me, sharp as Nataku's whip-crack. "Maxwell, you walk out of this room, you have only two options left."

Boy. Can't wait to hear what those might be. I put my hand on the door knob, but I didn't turn it. After a moment's hesitation, he seemed to get the message.

"You will be stripped of your rank, your clearance, and your right to bear arms under the L2 Settlement Agreement with the ESUN. You will be returned to L2, where the authorities there will deal with you as an ex-Preventer."

My fingers clenched on the doorknob, not about to turn it, no, but more to have something to hold onto. That was his idea of a threat? That they'd fire me from Preventers? An organization I joined solely to use its resources to help me crack the Crow-71 ring? So what if L2, like all colonies, had its own peculiar notions of acceptable career choices for men and women trained to take lives, shoot weapons, and be otherwise nasty in uniform. Being a scrap-man wasn't on the list of no-no's. Not saying I wanted it, but I knew Hilde's cousin would hire me back, if I asked. Big deal, and I could do that and not violate the L2 ex-Preventer rule about leaving the colony without written permission. Whatever.

"You will also lose the right to call any of us friends."

I wanted to laugh at that, really laugh. It just wasn't like Quatre to lob empty threats at someone, and if anyone knows you can't threaten the empty, it'd be Quatre. But on the other hand, I was rather curious to hear the alternate, if this was his idea of a bad thing. Unless he was saying it for someone's benefit. Who knew. I didn't.

"Or." His tone deepened in a way I'd heard only in battle. "You can meet with Heero."

Shit. Of all the people, I didn't want to be one more that Quatre -- wait a damned minute. Hold it right there.

What the fuck did he just say?

I blinked, but I'll admit, putting the words together with his tone, suddenly that first option wasn't looking so bad, after all. I studied the flecking paint along the door frame. Looked like it'd been beaten with a metal chair sometime in the past. The doorknob was warm, damp, and a little dented against my palm. There was no window in the door, no way to see what waited for me on the other side. And not even the hint of breathing from the three men behind me. Heero wasn't here... why? What could he have to say that I'd want to hear, and if I did hear what he had to say, what then?

Yeah, curiosity always was my downfall.

"Just meet with him," I said, enunciating carefully. "That's all."

"Right." Quatre didn't sound pleased. Cold, worried, threatening? I couldn't tell, really. With my back to him, I only had his tone of voice, and it wasn't telling me much other than tweaking something based on years of friendship, that told me I'd probably be better off with the first option. In fact -- once I stopped to chew over it -- it almost sounded like he didn't think I could just 'talk' to Heero. Like I wouldn't make it. Like I couldn't do it, like I'd just fuck it up, somehow.

Yeah, well, fuck you, I wanted to say, but instead I put that in different words. "Here? Now?"

"You have the choice to make yourself presentable, first," Quatre offered, still giving little away in his tone except for... a trace of boredom, almost.

I had the strangest sense I was being played, but maybe my brain was too foggy to figure it out. I turned it over, and I couldn't help but go with gut instinct. Either way, they weren't going to throw me back into the slammer with the general population, no matter what the local Preventers had been told. Either way, I walked out of there, whether I did it with dishonorable discharge from an organization I'd never liked much in the first place, or I did it with dishonorable discharge from a friendship that was already wrecked, judging from Heero's last missive. Nothing to lose, really, and I rather like having the right to carry a gun. Plus, I'm no fuckup. I might have been swallowing teeth since the day I was fucking born, but I always did the best I could with what I had, and I'll go down fighting to defend that truth.

"Fine." I took my hand off the door knob. "Gimme a shower and a change of clothes and something to eat that doesn't taste like cardboard and I'll meet with Treize fucking Kushrenada if you want."

I'm not sure, but I think I heard Trowa snort, very softly. Then the door opened, the Preventer stood there, and I was escorted out. I didn't look back.

- # - # - # -

Showered, shaved, and dressed in clean blue jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt, I wasn't going to complain if the shirt was a size too small. Whatever. I sat in that one-person room, staring at the walls, and tried to figure out the catch. Meet with Heero. Yeah, I wasn't looking forward to it, no joking there, but compared to the alternative -- and given that neither were all that horrendous, I mean, compared to what I'd been expecting -- I couldn't see how either amounted to a punishment. Or anything at all.

Meet with Heero.

I didn't even know how I felt about that. Was this supposed to be us, sitting in a room, so he could glare at me? When had he ever spoken freely about anything, except for when the lights were low and we'd just had dinner and he was feeling half-asleep and uncharacteristically vulnerable? He could yell at me, and what difference would that be? Not much change from all the times he griped at me during the war, when we were rooming together. Okay, so now he could do it while knowing my kinks when it came to sex, but he couldn't throw too much at me. I knew plenty about him in return. Maybe I should mention the devil's tail, if his remarks got too personal.

Then I thought about that night, and the night after, and the night after that... and I never wanted to bring that up. I couldn't. It'd be easier just to see it as a temporary madness, like befriending him in the midst of war, staying close if only because he was the only other teenager with the remotest idea of my true self, out of an entire school of privileged fucks. Just something that happened thanks to the days and months of finding and destroying Hilde's killers, and once that was done, so was everything that came with it. A package deal.

Maybe taking the first option might be the better route, after all. It was a glum thought.

Dinner came, and for once it was something halfway appetizing. The guard was especially solemn, and I had the striking thought that it was rather like giving a doomed man his one favorite dish. Indo-garian. Shrimp, even. I love shrimp. It tasted so much like the dish I'd shared with Heero... I almost couldn't choke it down. I'd not eaten more than a few bites in days, come to think of it, I should've been swallowing the dinner whole and the plate along with it, just for something non-bland. It tasted like ashes, though.

Meet with Heero.

I set down the fork, rubbed my eyes, and felt the energy draining from me. I guessed in a little bit they'd come for me, and it'd be back to the interrogation room. Least this time I wouldn't stink the place up, I was nicely shaved and hadn't even nicked myself, braid done just right and all picks stowed away in the crannies. Shirt tucked in, and no shoes or socks but the concrete was almost warm against my feet. Actually, it was quite warm. Almost comfortably so.

Before I knew it, I had shoved the tray to the side, elbows resting on the little table at the end of the cot. My braid felt heavy down my back, and I rubbed my eyes again. Meal was damn good. Too bad they didn't bring me more, maybe seconds, thirds. Stomach wasn't grumbling, and I had that pleasant post-meal euphoria. I put my head down on the table, so bored, a little anxious, how much longer until they showed up for the tray and walked me out of here? Really rather hot in that room, after all. I tried to get comfortable, though the lights didn't seem quite as bright, and the sudden scattershot clatter of plate and tray and fork hitting the floor just made me grumble, not jump. Didn't mean to hit that with my elbow.

Then my eyes closed one more time. I know I had the thought to pick up my head, keep my wits about me, but it was too late. Sleep seemed like just a good thing right then, and it'd just be for a minute... I drifted until the door opened; two Preventers entered. No handcuffs, no ankle cuffs, and I felt too sated and warm to do more than amble out, strolling along and trying to keep my feet from tripping over each other. I just couldn't seem to care. I'd be meeting with Heero, he'd yell a bunch, probably tell me I wasn't worth shit, and then we could call that useless attempt what it was, shit, and be done with it, and Quatre would still be my friend, and I could go back to ignoring Wufei and Trowa and know they'd probably be much happier for a return to the status quo, and life would be fine.

Yeah.

Peachy.

Outside it was colony night, and I thought for a moment over the lack of our stopping at the booking desk. Didn't they have stuff to give back to me? I couldn't recall. I don't think I had anything of value, anyway, and maybe Quatre had picked all that up already. Probably. Bet it was some car he'd rented, or Wufei. Driver didn't introduce himself, and the backseat was that gray comfry flannel-like kind of fabric. Heat was on high, and we seemed to drive forever. Lights outside the window just glazed over, after a bit, and I settled back. Might as well catch some more sleep-eye... save up my energy. Right. Save it up. Meet with Heero...

- # - # - # -

When I woke up, it was like the hospital room all over again. Except this time I really did have a mouthful of pillow, because I was lying on my stomach, braid lying across my face. Damn heavy, that. Only... no, I wasn't. I was balanced on my stomach, and that wasn't my braid... My knees rested on what felt like pillows, something soft and cushy along my knees and down my shins to my bare feet. And my legs were bare, and my ass was...

I was fucking naked?

I jerked upright, wanting to yell but able to do no more than make loud grunting-muffled sounds through the gag. My entire range of motion wasn't much more than an inch, abruptly halted at the pull of bindings around my wrists -- and my upper arms, and my upper thighs, and my ankles, what the fuck? I wriggled, trying to get more than an inch of motion in any direction. No, I didn't wriggle, I had too much dignity. I yanked with everything I had, more like, and nothing moved. The cuffs weren't too tight, I could tell, but they sure as fuck weren't loose, and there was no quick-release mechanism. I blinked, twisting my head to get a look at my arms, hanging straight down to the floor. Big black leather cuffs, well-padded and padlocked. Fucking padlocks! My ass was in the air, my dick hung down free, and I was laying lengthwise across one of those padded sawhorses. I was going to fucking slaughter someone, the instant I got free.

"Duo."

I froze at Heero's voice, and craned my neck, trying to get a line of sight. The voice had come from behind me. This wasn't meeting anyone, this was fucking -- this was -- I didn't know what it was, but I was gonna have some serious words with Quatre afterwards. The room was dark, and I squinted, trying to get my eyes to adjust, but either the light was too low, or the room too large. The light coming from behind me, maybe over me, didn't stretch very far. I made some more angry sounds, giving up on words but figuring the tone would communicate, and jerked a few more times at the bindings. There had to be a bar between my ankles, I couldn't seem to bring them together. Oh, someone was so fucking dead meat.

"I'm glad you agreed to meet."

Like fuck I did! Not what I had in mind!

Heero only chuckled, and then suddenly he was crouching in front of me. He wore those leather pants I remembered, his feet bare, his chest bare. The light caught his hair falling in his face, shading his eyes. With a quick movement he had the gag unsnapped, but he didn't remove it. I shook my head and he rode with the motion, keeping it in place. Only once I quieted, glaring death at him with everything I had -- then he pulled it away.

"Yuy," I spat, "you let me out of this right this instant, this is not--"

He wrapped the gag around my mouth again. "Perhaps it's best if you're civil," he said, calmly, as though it took no effort at all to hold a velvet-lined gag against my mouth despite the way I jerked and struggled against his hold. Fucking bastard. Always was too strong for his own good. "Then," he continued, still in that even, reasonable tone, "we can discuss the situation at hand."

It didn't help when his gaze slid past me, and I knew, I just knew, he was looking down my body. I was fucking naked, pinned to a fucking sawhorse on my hands and knees, and he wanted to what? Reasonable, like fuck, I was gonna show him reasonable. He waited, crouched before me, balanced on the balls of his feet. One knee down, one raised, and I could see the bulge between his legs. He was getting turned on by this -- a sudden thought occured to me. It wasn't one I wanted to entertain. Ever.

I thrashed, panicked. There was no way I was going to do any of this. I'd not agreed to this. He had to let me up, let me put something on, I didn't want him seeing me like this, I didn't want to be like this. I didn't want to have this happen. This wasn't meeting with someone, this was -- no, I wasn't going to, no, no, was all I could think, thoughts tumbling around and that one terrified word like a gunshot, over and over. Vaguely I realized the gag was in place again, snapped shut for all I'd been writhing and yanking at the shackles, and the head-prop was gone, pulled out from under me so now I could bend my head down and see under the sawhorse through to my legs and jerk my head to crane it up but I couldn't make a sound more than muffled yelling, and I wasn't begging, I just wanted to be free of this bullshit, this humiliating moment, I didn't want--

I didn't want--

I just--

A hand kept running up and down my back, in soothing circles. My muscles ached from the effort; I was panting hard through my nose. I thrashed a few more times, just to prove my point, but I needed to get my breath back, and that hand kept running warm fingers gently across my skin. It did feel kinda good... and the flash of anger came back, and I shuddered, trying to flex myself enough to get away from the hand. But it stayed with me, and I dropped my head. I just didn't... I just wanted to be let up. There wasn't any reason to do this. I'd not agreed to this... the anger washed through me again, leaving me exhausted. Not defeated, not yet, but maybe sheer force wouldn't get me out. If I could get him to take off the gag, I could talk my way out, that I could do, that'd always been my best bet...

But the hand kept moving, long sweeping circles, and my skin shivered despite myself. It was Heero doing that, I knew, and I cursed myself when my cock twitched, no, no. Just take a breath, calm down, and then he'd take off the gag. I could talk my way out, and I'd kill him later. Right. I dropped my head, eyesight going dark, and concentrated on getting more air, deep breaths through the nose, I could do this. My fingers relaxed from fists back to palms flat on the floor, and that damned hand never stopped, just kept moving in large circles.

Across my shoulderblades, down my spine, up one side, across my shoulders, down my spine... over and over, in the same pattern. My head swayed, braid sticking to my skin from the sweat on my neck. The end pooled on the carpet below me; I shook my head once to dislodge it, intensely aware of a developing itch on my neck. I flexed my muscles, annoyed that none of the shackles had budged even an iota, at the same time I rubbed my head against my shoulder, trying to relieve that itch. A second later a hand landed on my neck, rubbing, moving the braid, while the first hand continued its sweep. I wasn't sure whether to be glad of the relief, or twist my head to the side just to catch his fingers between jaw and shoulder. Just to make a point.

Before I could, though, the hand was gone, and it was back to that one smooth motion up and down my spine. I hung my head, waiting, trembling from anger, from exhaustion, from confusion. This was what they'd meant by meet with Heero, hunh? How long was I gonna have to put up with this?

"Good, Duo," Heero said, and his hand stopped, coming to rest at the base of my spine. Palm pressed into that one spot, fingers spread, unmoving. No pressure, just resting. "Breathe."

I jerked a few more times. I didn't need the asshole to tell me to breathe, I just needed him to stop this farce and let me out of these --

The hand had begun its motion again, and after a minute, I quieted. Not much else I could do. Had to remember, if I just let him say whatever he wanted, get the humiliation over with, then we'd be done and I could go back to my life. I just needed to hold onto that. I could go home when the meeting -- or this ridiculous shit passing for a meeting -- was over. Hold onto that. Right. I ended up with my head down again, panting calmed into something deeper, oddly in time with the soothing touch running down my spine, in, out, in, out, long slow stretches. I could do this, just play along...

The hand came to a stop again, same place as before. I braced myself, tension spiking in my muscles, but the hand didn't move. The fingers pressed in, a slight massage, but otherwise remained in place.

"I'm glad you chose this option," Heero said. His other hand landed on the back of my head, and I jerked in surprised, then stilled when he did nothing more than smooth down my hair. It felt kinda good, actually, after all so long of not having him near me, not feeling him against me. If it was going to be the last time he'd touch me, as long as this was the most he did, okay, I could handle that. I'd say goodbye, and walk away free. I could do this.

Then his left hand moved farther down my body, to cup my ass. The tips of his fingers ran down the crease between my cheeks, just brushing the sensitive skin, and I jerked in place, trying like mad to get my body away from his fingers, shake his hand free. His hand slid back up to the small of my back, and I yanked at the bindings a few more times, cursing the motion when I realized that every time I tried to dislodge him, it rubbed my half-hard cock against the sawhorse end -- but not entirely. Just brushed it, more like, barely a touch and enough to feel good and piss me off. And I didn't want either.

Again, when I finally stopped moving, the hand moved, and again I cursed him in muffled grunts and tossed my head and tried to shake him off. Again, and again. I was panting hard by the fifth time, and still that was all he'd done. He was going to drive me insane, I swear. How long were we supposed to play this game? He could let me up now, he'd made his point, whatever that was, and I had at itch at the back of my thigh and my nose itched -- though that I could handle by rubbing my face against my shoulder even if it didn't budge the gag one bit -- and okay, done now. Really!

"Relax," Heero coaxed.

I thrashed once or twice just to make a point.

"Shh," he said, and this time, his hand didn't move away from my ass, fingertips moving just a little, brushing along the inside curve. "We have plenty of time. I've no intention of rushing this. We'll be here as long as this takes."

As long as what takes? What the fuck? Rushing what? I craned my neck, trying to see over my shoulder, but I couldn't turn far and I only had a glimpse of Heero's bare chest. The light seemed to be suspended lower, leaving his face in darkness. I shook my head madly, tried to holler through the gag but it wasn't words anymore. I had no idea what I'd say. His hands wouldn't move away, and I just... I didn't want him to do that. Don't touch me, I wanted to say. I shook, and the shaking became a shudder as I sank down, letting my weight rest on the sawhorse again. Just talk, Heero, get it over with. His hands did leave me then, and I braced myself, only to find him kneeling before me one more time.

Swiftly he undid the gag and pulled it away, and this time he didn't keep it in front of me, but dropped it to the floor. I stared at it, then at him, wary. My throat was parched, my lips dry. I licked them, coughed, and wanted to glare at him but didn't know what to say. I needed a hint before I could figure out how best to talk my way free.

He said nothing, just ran fingers down my cheek, across my lips. I wanted to pull my head away, but it felt good, and I needed him to say something. He wouldn't if I pissed him off, so I just looked at him. He seemed... tired, maybe, but I'd seen him worse. Worn, or just older. Maybe a little sad. It didn't look right on him. My chest ached, but I ignored it. He dropped his hand, then, resting his elbows on his knees, arms out, hands loose at the wrists. A relaxed posture I'd rarely seen on him. Maybe ever, outside a few times in my apartment or his... I wouldn't think of that. I needed to stay focused on the now. What the fuck did he want?

"When we're done," he said, and raised his hands to hold my face, gently, no threat with his strength, but delicate lightness that confused me, really. "You can walk out of here, and whatever you decide, I'll accept."

I frowned, and unwillingly found my voice. "Done?"

"In twenty-four hours," he said, and was that-- the fucker, that was a flicker at the corner of his mouth, he was amused -- but before I could get out something to yell, he'd moved forward, pressing his mouth against mine, taking full advantage to stab his tongue deep, twisting.

Oh, fucking space, how I'd missed the taste of him. I angled my head, I tried best I could, I brought my tongue to his, wanted to suck him dry and the sudden pull of a band around my upper arms reminded me, even as my cock grew hard, head tapping up against the underside of the sawhorse. That was enough to bring me down, and I bit down on his tongue then jerked my head away, lips shut fast.

Heero pulled back, eyebrows raised. His lips were pressed in a firm line, but his tone held no rancor as he told me, "I see you're going to be difficult."

"You want difficult, I'll show you fucking difficult, Yuy," I snapped. "This isn't funny. Let me up, goddamnit, undo me--"

"No." He stood up, walked off into the darkness.

"Yuy!" I hollered, listening for echoes. Either the room wasn't as large as I thought, or baffled with drapes and carpet. I twisted my head around, trying to see him, wherever he was. "Heero!" I couldn't hear anything. Nothing more than my harsh breathing. Where had he gone, did he just leave me here, he better not have left me here -- and I couldn't hide the panic, I didn't try to hide it, not then. I couldn't help it. "Come back here! Don't you fucking dare--" I broke off, barely able to force the words to make sense, other than an inarticulate cry. "Don't-- don't leave me," I said. Nothing. "Please," I added, jerking against the bonds. "Don't. Don't leave me."

His hand landed on my back, a solid weight but not a slap, just bearing down a little right between my shoulderblades. For a second I flinched, confused how he'd done that, had he been right there the entire time? But just as fast, I relaxed, strangely glad he'd not just walked away and left me there. I couldn't take that, not tied down and held open and not after a kiss like that, I just... I wanted him to undo me. I didn't want to be there, but if I had to be there, I didn't want to be alone. I whispered to myself, trying to gather my strength, I could handle this, just not alone, and the fingers began moving again, until I finally sighed and settled my weight onto the padded surface again.

"I'm not leaving," he said. "I don't plan to leave. You left me."

"I didn't have a choice," I bit out. "I had to--"

A quick whistling sound warned me, but not enough time before a sudden crack across my ass, a thin line of pain. I jumped, yelping inarticulately.

"Don't," I told him, "stop that, that's not, I didn't say this was okay, you can't--"

Another sound of slicing air, and a second line of pain formed across my ass, this time in the tender skin where thigh meets ass. I jerked forward, slamming my hips against the sawhorse end. It banged my cock against the underside and I groaned, a shiver running through me as I tried to steady myself. Not doing that again. Shit.

"You always have a choice," Heero said.

"Not really giving me much of one now, are you?" I twisted my head to see him, but he was too quick. Past my line of sight, or directly behind me, and I didn't want to think about that. "Not sure what kind of a lesson you think this is gonna teach me, but I'm not going to learn it if you keep--"

Another minute warning and the sharp line cut at an angle across my ass, up to just a bit of the small of my back. No wrap-around, and a fine cutting pain. The cane, I guessed, and I craned my neck in the opposite direction, where the strike had to have come from, but he was gone, or maybe the hint of movement was his bare hip above the jet-black of his pants. I couldn't tell. My eyes crossed from the effort, and I turned to look forward again. I'd only give myself a headache trying to turn my head all the way around on my neck. Damn it.

"Stop that," I ordered. "This isn't--"

Another strike.

"Goddamnit, Heero, that fucking hurts!"

"Not yet, it doesn't."

"What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean, undo me! Why the fuck are you doing this to me?"

This time, there was no warning, because it was his hand that landed on my ass, open-palmed, straight down on the bolts from the cane. I yelled, the sensation too much, and thrashed, but half-heartedly. I couldn't get away. The only thing I'd managed to do in all my movement was prove that to myself, but it was just the principle of the thing. I was tired in soul, if not in body, and I just... it didn't make any sense. I'd had my reasons, and if anyone might respect that, wouldn't Heero?

"When you understand," Heero said, and this time, his hand landed softer, on the underside of my ass to run fingers down my thigh and back up again. "Then we'll be done."

"I don't get it," I told him, panting choking my words into something too much like a sob. I breathed through my nose, forced myself to calm. "I don't understand."

"We're not done yet," he replied.

The cane whistled a fifth time.

"That's five," Heero said. The cane whistled once more. I tensed, but no strike came. Bastard.

"I can count," I retorted, flexing my fingers. I pulled at the bindings for a second, just to underscore my annoyance. "This isn't what I agreed to! Let me out of these, I swear, I'll--"

A hand landed on the back of my head, fingers digging into my scalp. It held me still, facing forward, and then I felt the heat of Heero's skin beside mine. Not touching, but his hot breath hit my ear, and I shivered despite myself. If he cut the braid, so help me, I would never forgive him. Never. I growled, and his fingers tightened. Enough of a message. I shut up, and waited, breathing through gritted teeth.

"I know exactly what you agreed to." Heero stood up, and when he released my head, he did it with just the tiniest bit of a shove. "I know why, too. Ten more, and then--"

"What?" I snapped my neck around, catching just a glimpse of him standing at my side, arms crossed. It set his pecs in sharp relief, and I had to look away from the sight of beaded sweat glistening in the single light. Now was so not the time, and I wasn't seventeen anymore. I had priorities. "You don't know shit about me--"

"What I know, I know from watching. Or..." His fingers settled onto my ass, running along the groove of the last cane-strike. "It was something you told me only because you stood to gain from it. You've always been like that, Duo. All the time I've known you. You talk a great deal, but tell me little."

"If you wanted me to talk, this wasn't the way, I assure you," I spat out, arching my back to sink my hips down, away from his touch. "Get the fuck off me!"

"No." His word covered -- almost -- the warning whistle, and I yelled when the cane sliced another ribbon across my ass. More out of shock than pain, certainly, but it wasn't exactly a walk in the park, either. It was a thin, whittling kind of pain, like a bad splinter under a fingernail. "Six."

"I can count!"

"Then count the rest, and I'll make it twelve, not fifteen."

"Fifteen?" I jerked my head around, then back again. Damn it, my neck ached already, my backside throbbed, and I couldn't seem to get my cock to stop responding to the sound of his voice. Damn it, damn it. "This is bullshit!"

He put a hand to my forehead, turning my head away to look straight ahead. "Breathe," he reminded me, gently, like a teacher to a child. I was about to snap out something witty when the cane came down again. I jerked free of his fingers, glaring at the darkness in front of me. Heero murmured, so patiently, "I didn't hear a count."

"Fuck you."

"Not a number." Another strike. What the fuck -- goddamnit, that one laid right over an earlier one, it had to -- the sting nearly brought tears to my eyes. I blinked hard, and hissed at him. Heero's tone was almost a verbal shrug. "Fifteen, then. These, incidentally, are for not leaving me a note of where you were going."

"I didn't need to leave you jack--ow! Fucker!"

"Nine."

"Stop it!"

"No." Again, and he must've moved to my other side. "Ten." The angle started just above my hip and cut diagonally down to the top of my thigh. I writhed, fighting to get away, to hide myself somehow, to angle away from him. Another right after, no pause, just enough time for him to state, clearly, "Eleven."

"Stop it! Whatever you want, look, you don't have to do this, you trying to prove something to yourself?" I snapped my neck around, and the twinge of muscles down my spine reminded me I really needed to stop that. I groaned, letting my head drop, trying to stretch the muscles out of their cramp. My entire ass felt criss-crossed by fire. "Look, I said I'd meet with--"

"Twelve." The cane came down, licking straight across the back of my thighs.

"Ah!" I wasn't expecting it, and I couldn't help it. I thrashed, wishing I could press against something, maybe that'd help. Purely instinct, but I wanted away from the pain, away from that, why the fuck-- Half what I thought, I said outloud, the other half, buried in my desperate panting. "Stop, stop, goddamnit, this isn't how you're supposed to--"

Another strike. "Thirteen. Two more, Duo, you can do it."

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" I tried to shift my weight onto my knees, bring the sawhorse up, but all I did was pull something in my shoulders. Heero's hand landed on my hip, fingers pressing in gently, thumb smoothing the pain flickering like lightening across my sensitized skin. "Get off, damn it, I didn't agree to--"

"But you did." Another strike. "Fourteen. One more."

"I told you, I can fucking count!" I hollered, not caring who heard me, or how humiliating it'd be to have someone come rushing in to see what was going on and find me tied up like some stupid animal about to be slaughtered. "Why the hell are you--"

The final strike came down with a great deal more force than any of the rest. I felt it through my thighs, into my bones, and shooting through my body.

"Ah--" I choked, shaking, and couldn't even try to get away. I just hung there, legs and arms convulsing against the bindings. "You'd better be done already!" Easier to ride anger, safer to be angry.

"That's fifteen." Heero's hand landed on my head again, and then his other hand, soothing along my back. The same long, slow patient motion as before. "You did well."

"I didn't--" I had to laugh, because that was such a stupid... "Don't fucking patronize me," I panted, "on top of the rest of this shit. Anyone worth a rat's ass wouldn't have--" I bit off my words. I didn't know what I was saying.

"Not everyone has to be perfect," he commented.

I wanted to tell him, one more time, to stop touching me. It felt good, though, and I didn't want it to stop -- and I didn't want to feel that cutting shriek of the cane against me, either. I couldn't even really think of it as Heero who'd been doing it; I couldn't handle that, too. It was some disembodied tool, and then him, and if he'd just let me go then that would stop the cane from coming at me again -- but I just... I just couldn't do anything but pant, so relieved that I didn't have to be braced. So what if he was whispering to me to breathe, yeah, well... I was breathing, okay? Deep breaths, in, out, and I didn't even have the energy to tell him to fuck off, not one more time.

"You're doing good." He smoothed down my braid, pulled it up to lay it down my spine. It fell between my ass-cheeks, but he didn't move it. I twitched, did it again, and then he did move the braid. "Ticklish?"

"No." I didn't want to say it, didn't want to help him, but... "The little hairs, scrape. Like--" I shrugged, then tensed for him to lay the bound hair back across my skin. Next thing I knew, he was undoing it. "Wait, you can't-- don't--"

"Halfway, Duo." He was good to his word, and when he pushed the braid over my shoulder, I could see only the last foot was undone. I didn't get why. Or was he reminding me of the first night I'd tied him up? Why?

"You aren't going to--" I thought twice of wherever that question was going, and instead asked, "is that what this is all about? You getting back at me, some stupid shit like that?"

"No." He moved away, but kept talking. I tilted my head, trying to see where he'd gone. "I don't need to."

"You can't tell me you're--" I halted, unable to hide my suprise when he knelt before me with a glass of water and a straw. "What, you going to drug me again?"

"I didn't drug you."

"Like fuck you did, I was right out after that meal, I know you had those assholes put something--"

"Here." He set the straw to my lips, and ran the tip back and forth. "It's just water."

I opened my mouth, accepted the straw -- suddenly I realized, man, I was majorly thirsty, desert-like, even. I sucked, not sure whether to thank him or glare at him. Then I thought of the drugs, and glared at him, but I drank anyway. Sweet, a little cool, damn, that hit the spot.

He held the cup, watching the level, fingers not touching the straw but poised to take it. "In the past eleven days, you haven't ingested more than 400 calories in a twenty-four hour period. I doubt you had a three-course meal in the seventy-two hours before that, either." He nodded. "That's enough for now." He pulled the straw free of my mouth. "You can have more later."

"If what?" I asked, suspicious, knowing there was more that he'd left off. There had to be. Oh, yeah, and... "You still drugged me."

"No. I didn't. Your body reacted to carbohydrate overload by demanding sleep." Heero stood up, carrying the waterglass with him. "You were overdue."

"I was fine." I stared at the carpet. It looked rather steel-blue in color, now that I thought about it. A fine weave, like a one-color hand-woven rug. I dug my fingers in, and tried not to snarl. "I don't sleep after meals."

"When you eat past a certain threshold, you do. I can name times and places."

Some childish part of me wanted to tell him not to bother, because he snored, when he slept on his stomach. I ignored that part of me, and tried to focus on the here-and-now. Like, the stop-being-naked part. That'd be a good thing to get to. "Are we done?" I didn't care if that came out petulant. Probably the last gasp of the inner eight-year old, before I kicked its ass.

"No." There were his hands on me, again. For a man who could bend metal -- and knock out my entire oxygen supply with one blow -- I'd never realized just how gently he could touch a person. Light, delicate sweeps of calloused fingertips. "Those fifteen. Tell me again what those were for."

"I don't remember."

A single slap, right across my left buttock.

"Hey!" I bit my lip, angry for revealing my surprise.

"I think you do," he replied, as though he'd not paused to leave a Heero-sized handprint on my ass. I knew this was just revenge, it had to be. Okay. I'd given him maybe six, seven spanks with my hand, just teasing, but... I counted up, trying to remember. Maybe a dozen. Okay. So four down? Something like that. Three, maybe. I'd caned him fifteen times, no, twenty? No, that was with the paddle. Shit, that meant I was in for twenty with the paddle. Heero's fingers trailed up my neck and around to cup my chin. "I can start over, if that would assist your memory."

"No!" Crap, fine, be that way. "They were for leaving without writing you a note." I loaded the words with as much sarcasm as I could manage. "Happy now?"

His fingers caressed my chin, and he must've bent over me. His thumb ran along my lower lip, tugging at it, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to lick the tip or tilt my head and bite his thumb off. I stayed still, instead. I had a plan, I knew what he was up to, and I just had to keep him talking. Right.

"You keep asking the wrong questions." Heero leaned closer over me, and I felt his chest brush my back, the hint of his nipples when he shrugged. His hand released my face, and my skin felt cool to the air, as though a reverse image of his fingers remained against me. "Let's continue."

Yeah. Okay. I lowered my head, set my jaw, ready for twenty of the paddle. Who cares what excuse he used for this one. I didn't. Just had to get through it, and I'll tell him later just what I really thought of this waste of time. If he was mad at me, wasn't that punch enough for him? If he hadn't really consented, I wasn't responsible for that. Not if he'd lied and pretended to want me dominating him. Fucking asshole. I needed new insults.

"Twenty, for not waking me."

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding--" My last word became more of a shriek, when something thick, heavy, and flat landed right across my shoulderblades. I coudln't recognize it, I should, I knew all the tools, but my brain didn't seem to want to work. My shoulders kept rolling foward and back, twisting, like flexing the skin could relieve the incredible burning streak across my body. I gasped, choked, heard the slight whoosh, and jerked my body away, trying to angle myself down one side of the sawhorse, if I could just get a wrist free-- I think I was babbling, I'm not sure. "Ow, goddamnit, ow, fuck, please, ow, stop that--"

"Shh." Heero's hand again, soothing the prickled, tortured skin, and I panted, knowing my muscles twitched under his touch. It felt better to have the heat of his palm -- as though he were drawing off the worst of the burn -- but then he'd move his hand, and the pain would come back. He just kept saying, "shhh, shhh," until I wanted to scream.

I didn't, though. I hung my head, shaking, and hoped that counted for two paddle-strikes. I think it might've been a belt. I wasn't sure. Too flexible to be one of the thicker rods. Twenty of these, there wasn't any way, I couldn't--

"Yes, you can. Two down. You can do this."

"No, I fucking can't!" I tried to crane my neck to see him, but everything was too blurry, not enough light, damn it. My eyes couldn't handle it, not after more than a week in nonstop brightness. "I'm not like you, okay? This isn't my idea of fun--"

A hand slid down my thigh, and fingers grazed just a little too close to my balls. I froze, but to my absolute relief, he said nothing. Didn't make a comment about the fact that for some reason my traitorous dick just had to go stiff everytime he touched me. It had absolutely nothing to do with the pain blazing across my skin -- with each strike, I sure as fuck went limp instantly. It was just his touch, his hands, his fingers, that would send me right back to life, and if I didn't want him thinking pain turned me on, I sure as hell didn't want him to realize what he could do to my body. No fucking way. But my mouth just kept right on moving...

"I'm not getting off on this, I think it's-- it's sick! And perverted--"

"Every lie you tell," he said, and that wasn't the sound of a patient, well-humored man, but someone truly pissed-off, if self-controlled about it. "Five, for each lie."

"I'm not lying!"

"That's five."

I refused to look back over my shoulder at him, refused. Instead I said the only thing that came to mind, however unbrilliant it was. "Fuck you!"

"First things first." He took a breath, I heard him, and I guess that was him centering himself, but he didn't need much time-- he'd not even exhaled and the belt came down again, across my back below my shoulder blades. Again I choked back a shout, and again my body seemed to go into its own convulsions, fighting to get away. "Three."

"Fuck, fuck," I said, air catching in the back of my throat. "Stop. Stop."

Another strike.

"Unh!" I threw my head back, yelling outright that time. "Stop! Stop it!"

"Tell me what these are for."

"Leaving--" I wanted to fight him, but maybe if I just told him whatever he wanted, I could-- I could, I didn't know, just stall or something. He'd said twenty-four hours, right? How long had it been? I couldn't see anything, no fucking chance of being so lucky to hear a clock strike or something. "Leaving without waking you--"

The belt came down again, at a greater diagonal, across the middle of my back. Distantly I noted not once had anything remotely touched my spine -- a column of flesh up the middle of my back seemed to be the only place free of pain -- but the rest of the blazing jolt across my skin was plenty, thanks, more than plenty. I shouted, arching my back up, then slamming my chest against the sawhorse. Something, anything, to get away. I said whatever came into my mouth, caught somewhere between wanting to shout and trying to finish what I'd been saying.

"But I didn't have to, there was no reason to wake you up, you were sleeping--"

From a distance, I heard him whisper something, followed by, "six," and another streak of pain, must've laid it down within an inch of the fifth, because now I knew, just knew, half of my back was throbbing red and angry.

"It wasn't your deal, okay?" I twisted in the bindings, trying to see him past the sudden haze of tears. Fuck, I hurt, so bad I think I bit my tongue on that last one, and both his hands were soothing my skin, running back and forth along the strike-line. I shuddered, gasping, caught my breath and kept going. If I could just say the right things, convince him, but I needed to figure out what he wanted, first. "There was no reason to drag you into this--"

"Seven."

"No!" I swung my head away, unable to bear it but the image of his arm raised was almost more painful than the thick slap of leather across my flesh. I screamed, fighting the cuffs, trying to kick my legs, anything, just something. "No, no, no, no, you weren't part of it, it was my--"

"Eight."

"No!" I shook my head, or maybe it was just the shaking running through my entire body, and nothing I did helped.

"Nine."

I wanted to curse him, tell him off, hurt him somehow, but any reason had left, spiraling away by strong fingers on my skin. And oh, fucking space, the burn across my back, it was like if I could just shake it free, it'd fall away. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, so much more than anything I'd ever felt, I didn't get why it hurt, so bad--

"It's supposed to." Heero's hands lifted away from me, and I tensed. "Ten."

"No! Please! No!" To my shock, no strike, just a hand touching down on my upper arm, above the cuff. A warm palm, gripping me, secure. "Please," I said, trying to catch my breath, trying to calm down. "I don't--I just don't get why you're doing this. It was my deal, don't you get that? Hilde was my friend, she was all I had, and she's gone, I was the only one--"

"Breathe, take a deep breath." His fingers tightened on me, and I gasped, nodded, and tried to do as he said. Wouldn't he just listen, if he'd just listen, he'd know I was telling the truth, it wasn't his fight-- then he spoke again, and it took just long enough to filter into my brain, and it was too late. "Ten."

The solid slap across my body seemed to burrow into my bones. I jerked, going nowhere but fighting hard to get there, inarticulate between rage and pain and confusion.

"Shhh. You're halfway there." And then he was crouched before me again, wiping at my eyes with his thumbs, hands cradling my face. He smiled, kissed me lightly on the mouth despite how my lips hung slack, breathing hard. He looked sad, but determined, the tilt of his head a kind of hopefulness. I didn't get it. I wanted to be mad at him, maybe even hate him, but it just didn't make any sense, anymore. All I could do was react, cringing despite myself when he said, "ten more."

"Please," I moaned. "It hurts."

"I know it does."

"I want it to stop hurting." My body sagged, but his hands supported my chin, holding my face up to him.

"It will."

"Not later. Now." I closed my eyes rather than look at him. "You don't have to do this. I'm reasonable, why can't we talk?" I just wanted the pain making a home in my bones to go away. Anger flared up, my oldest and safest defense, and I yanked at my arms, then kicked my legs, thumping my ankles against the cushioned surface. "Just tell me!"

He chuckled. He actually damn well chuckled, a low rolling sound in the base of his throat. I wasn't sure whether to be turned-on again, or shocked, or pissed. I could only stare. His look was downright fond, even, the bastard. "Like that's ever worked for you? Just tell you?"

"Well, yeah." I rallied. "Plenty of times!"

One brow arched, and Heero shook his head, amusement gone. "Two lies, Duo. I don't think you want to keep doing that."

"I'm not lying!" I tried to reach for him, stretch out to catch him. "I'm not!"

"You know the truth as well as I do." Heero dropped his hands, giving me an oddly blank look. "Ten more." He stood up, and I writhed, hands digging into the carpet. I couldn't hold him back, only twist my body in protective protest as he said, so calmly and flatly, "eleven."

The belt came down on my right side, and I arched, no longer making any sense at all. My words jumbled around in my head, tripped over each other and came out as nothing more than abject pain, and he didn't stop, he didn't fucking stop, and I just want it over with--

"Twelve."

I don't get it, I'd left for you, I'd left because it wasn't your fight, Hilde was my best friend, there was no reason to get you involved, you didn't belong there

"Thirteen."

stop, make it stop, why won't you just listen to me, I'm not lying, I'm not lying, if I could, I wouldn't have, I didn't want to leave you there

"Fourteen."

Walking out of there, it was a big gaping hole in my chest, a big fucking hole, don't get pissy at me for doing you first, asshole

A slight hesitation, just the merest, and I was this close to gasping some kind of gratitude, anything, and then: "Fifteen."

goddamn it stop this, I'm not lying, I wanted you so badly, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore, nothing changes

"Sixteen..."

Shit! Don't fucking, ow, goddamnit, look, I had to leave, don't you get that, I had to! I know I'm gonna lose, but for once I wanted to do it on my own terms!

I froze, furious shouts echoing in my ears. No strike had come. Not even a touch on my body. I let my head drop, my chest heaved with every breath, my words were jagged in my throat and I couldn't say anything, only hang there. For even just a second, no more, a reprieve, even if my entire back flamed as sharply as though I'd laid face-up across a hot engine. I shut my eyes and dig my fingers into the carpet and feel the pain shooting through every nerve in my body. All of me vibrated from it, I could feel it, eating through me. I moaned, wishing, hoping, praying that it was over.

"Four more." Still no touch, just the encouragement. "You're almost there."

"I don't want to be there," I managed to say.

"What do you want?"

"For you to--" I almost said, to stop this, but choked on the laughter, verging on hysterical, bubbling up from my gut. Demanding that hadn't gotten me shit. But before, he'd hesitated-- and I went cold inside, trying to piece together what I'd been yelling at him. Had I hit something, found a truth he'd been denying? "Undo me. Please," I said, trying to sound as tired and exhausted and flat -- just plain bored -- as I had that first time we'd been in a moment like this. He had, he'd planned on leaving, eventually. This was one majorly fucked-up way to say goodbye, though.

A long pause, an unconvinced pause, it felt like.

"No, really." I relaxed my shoulders and stared at the floor, trails of hair catching along the sweat on my arm. "I get you put plenty effort into this. But it's not doing anything, okay? We're not getting anywhere. It's not working."

"Four more."

"NO!"

The strike came -- lighter, true, a barely glancing blow. I was halfway through a panicked, angry reaction, and realized the sting was already fading. What? What the hell? That was it? I heard his whispered count, a hollow tone, then another glancing pass and I -- I don't know what I felt right then, too many things at once, but mostly sheer bewilderment. At him, at me.

I twisted around as best I could. He stood beside me, belt hanging loosely from one hand. He stared down at me, that was all I could tell, a glint from the light's reflection in his eyes maybe, or just my imagination. He looked away, raised his arm, but it wasn't nearly the overhead power of before, a slight shrug in the gesture. It felt like... he was mocking me, like he'd turned something off, was just going through the motions. I recalled Quatre's hint of a taunt in his words, that I couldn't take it, and everything else thrown in, I wanted to fucking deck Heero. So Trowa and Wufei could act like they didn't give a damn if I fell off the face of the planet, they only played nice for old times' sake, and if I chose door number one they'd lose no sleep, and Quatre would just carry on playing people and counting his gold, but not Heero, he wasn't allowed to do that, not after everything.

"Don't you fucking dare! Don't you fucking write me off" I lunged in the straps, as best I could, and for the first time, felt the sawhorse shift beneath me. It only made me madder. "You fucking asshole, you can't do that, you can't bloody well fucking do that, I don't need you to take it easy on me, you goddamned bastard, fucking prick, I'm not some fucking pussy civilian, I can take anything you can and don't you fucking treat me like I'm expendable, don't you fucking underestimate me, too! I'll--"

I couldn't see his expression, but I could see his body, tense at my side, arm half-raised. If he was speaking, I drowned it out in mindless indigation, screaming myself hoarse, daring him to strike me again, daring him to give me whatever he had because there wasn't any shit out there that the rest of them could take that I couldn't take, too, just fucking watch me!

Heero seemed to fall back a step, then shifted and forward again, hand raised, as he barked, "twenty!" He brought his arm down with all the force in those muscles, and the blow seared every nerve ending.

I screamed.

One gutteral cry, a release, a freedom to just scream like I hadn't since the depths of space, and my entire body quivered, arched into the pain, and I couldn't even hope to move, recoil, but froze there, trapped. The agony hummed through me, but at the same time a bizarrely smug satisfaction.

I can take it, no matter what you dish out, I can take it and grin and always take more. Don't you underestimate me, don't treat me like I'm nothing, like I'm nobody, I'll make you fucking respect me, I'm not a fucking failure, I'm not a fuck-up, I'm not, I'm not

Hands cradled me, and I wasn't yelling anymore, just... had to explain, somehow. Before he walked away. Before he ever gave me that look again...

Don't even try, I won't take it. I'm sick of it, the way you look, thinking, you're no good, amateur, civilian. Somewhere in there, I was laughing, bitterly, tripping over the words as I fought against the straps, spitting mad even as I laughed and didn't know why. Go away kid, the real soldiers are talking. Well, fuck you! I've put in my time, you can't just dismiss me, not anymore, not again, I'll fucking dismiss you first, you hear me? You got that? You can't hurt me, you can't, you hear me?

A body came down over me, but no weight crushed me. Just a warmth of lean muscles and beating heart, hands slipping under my arms to hold me by the shoulders. My head hung down, chest heaving.

You can't. I won't let you. I know the choices you made, and I know what's most important to you, but that's okay, because I still had this, just this one last thing I needed to do. It was everything, don't you see that? I knew you'd just stop me, you'd tell me I was going to fuck it up, all of you would

"No." He whispered in my ear, and to my astonishment it sounded almost as though he were as broken as I. "You can't--"

I'm not sticking around for that, not one more time, not when it's this important to me. I'm not losing again, never again. Can't you see how much I lost when I lost her? I'm not going through that again, ever

"If you don't ask..." He bent down, and I felt his hair brush the back of my neck, then lips pressing against my spine.

Why? It didn't change anything, anyway, you all did same as always, just like before

His answer was as soft as my bitter whisper, or maybe he said nothing and I only imagined him pressing the words into my skin: when before?

I'm not... I coughed back a whimper at his tongue, tracing along a stripe over my shoulderblades. Belligerence gave my voice strength, finally. "I'm not...an obstacle. Not a fuck-up."

"I've never believed you are."

Like hell! I bucked under him, slammed him as best I could, and got nowhere. Goddamnit. Frustrated, I panted, chin tucked to press against the end of the bench, and glared at the floor. "You were always riding my ass about shit. Always. All of you were. I pulled my weight. I wasn't some fucking weak-ass airhead, chattering on without a thought in my head. Fuck you," I added, just on principle.

"If I rode your ass, it was because I knew you could take it."

I grunted.

"No one ever believed you were..." His voice trailed off, warm kisses were scattered across my shoulders. "A weak-ass airhead."

"You sure acted like it," I grumbled. "All of you did. You always have. Gotta ride in, cavalry come to rescue poor Duo Maxwell, such a fuck-up he can't even self-destruct his own fucking Gundam properly."

Heero froze over me, for a heartbeat, then began moving again, quick tongue flickering out to lick at the back of my neck. "You were one of the only people I knew I could always count on."

"Yeah. To fuck up."

He snorted, then his weight relaxed on top of me. Still not quite crushing, but steady, solid, fully there. "How old are we?"

I mumbled something about being able to count. Stupid-ass question.

"If it takes another fourteen years..." He kissed down my spine, leather and skin slithering across me, catching on the sweat but soothing on the rippling streaks across my back. "Then it does." He kissed at the base of my spine, licked up my tailbone, and then licked down, straight down my ass.

"Don't--" I jerked, flexing instinctively, no, he wasn't going to--

"Shhh," he said, and I could feel him kneeling behind me. His hands massaged my hips, and he pressed his face to that delicate point where skin stretches from tailbone across the ass... and hot breath blew against the skin just above my asshole. I couldn't help it, my asscheeks, hips, thighs, every muscle in the surrounding areas, all convulsed as one, trying to shake him off. I couldn't even articulate, but I wasn't going to-- he wasn't going to-- His tongue flickered at my asshole, running a wet line around it--

"No," I choked out, fingers digging into the carpet. "You can't, you can't--"

"Yes," he said, and his fingernails dug into my skin, forcing a whimper from me. "I can." Then he stabbed his tongue into me, and I bucked again, trying to tear away, but he only pushed deeper, and oh fucking space it felt good, I didn't want it to feel good-- no, no, no--

I kept my head down, eyes squeezed tight. His tongue felt hard, full, wriggling inside me but not far enough, pushing in and withdrawing, flat of his tongue licking up my crack only to dive into me again. Shit, it felt-- I couldn't breathe, and for even the slightest movements I could make, trying to pull away, then push back at him, shake him off, he held on, teasing me. I'd pull away and he'd let me, then follow and if I shoved back at him, how deep could his tongue go, fucking space his tongue felt wet against me and little shivers kept licking up my spine with every stab into me, I pushed my hips at him, and the sounds at the back of my throat turned into words, muttering, chanting in my ears: get off me, get off me, off me, off me, oh, fuck-- get-- oh, space, I can't, I'm--

"Don't," I told him, struggling to keep some last bit of dignity, "I'm not a fucking girl, I'm not a goddamn girl, I'm-- oh fuck!" I shook, twisted, writhed, cursed him with everything I had, poised on the edge of coming, a groan building in my chest with the effort of holding it back. It hadn't crept up on me, it had leapt from out of nowhere but no way was it gonna take me. Bad enough all that other shit, but I drew the line at being humiliated like that. And to think he'd done it all with only his tongue in me, fucking hells, in me! Shit, if he so much as moved, I'd fall right over into it, so close, so fucking close, fucking hells, so close--

His hand grasped my cock, holding it, tight, then too tight.

"Shit!" I cried out at the pressure, startled by his touch and the sharp pinch of his fingers. "Ow, fucker! Watch it!"

"You're not a girl," he said, and kissed the underside of my ass. One of his fingers played at the edge of my asshole, round and round. I couldn't figure out how to get it away, get it to do something, stop teasing me... He just licked up my ass again, along one of the still-flaring streaks from the cane. "Believe me, I've never once been in doubt."

He squeezed my cock again, too much, and I whimpered, half-afraid he was about to use that legendary, too-scary, strength and turn me into a girl right then and there. I might've squeaked, I'm not sure, but his grip did lighten. Curiously, I found the orgasm's edge receding, as well. I stared at the floor, barely able to focus.

"You can't run from this." I thought he might be crawling around me, but then I started to find him lying on the floor beneath me. He'd pushed up between my legs, under the bench. He watched me, eyes hooded. One hand reached up to brush hair from my face. "For once in your life, that alternative is gone."

"You--" I wanted to be angry, really I did, and for some reason it didn't seem to matter anymore just how ignominous a position he had me in. Or that his saliva was cool on my skin, drying slowly in the room's cool air, or that my back had to be a million shades of crimson along with my dignity. "You didn't have to do this," I choked out.

"Did I?" He tapped a finger on my cheek. "You really believe that?"

"Ye--" I started to say, then saw the look in his eyes. He was waiting for me to say yes, and he'd say, five more. I just knew it. "It's not a lie," I protested. "It's not, not if you believe it hard enough..." I must've sounded like I was pleading with him. Maybe I was.

"Do wishes really make it so?" He, in turn, sounded a little sad.

I found one last ounce of fight in me, though it came out half-hearted, I'm sure. "Sometimes that's all you've got."

We stared at each other for what seemed like a lifetime, until Heero closed his eyes, slowly. I wasn't sure if it was defeat, or him marshalling himself to come up with something else to throw me off-balance. How much longer? How much longer until I could walk out that door and not have to go through any more of this? Was he enjoying this? Was this his way of making sure he was the one doing the leaving? Would he just leave me here with a key just out of reach, figure this time I'd be rescuing myself, so much for that last up-close shot, if anyone were gonna kill me, it'd be you, Heero. Wasn't it? Wasn't that the deal? Something like that?

After a long minute, Heero slid the rest of the way out from under the bench, leather sliding easily across the rug. He crouched by my right hand, adjusting the cuff, maybe. I wriggled my fingers at him, just to prove the point that I was tougher than that, didn't need him checking on me. I felt a split-second of give. With a triumphant shout I jerked my hand as hard as I could -- and the shout immediately turned to a yelp as he caught my wrist and slammed it back down, locking it into place again.

"No way, no way," I yelled, but when I tried to move my hand, it came up about two inches, startling me into silence. Until: "what the fuck?" I tested it again, and sure enough, I had like two or three inches of range, but more than that, and something wouldn't let me go further. I craned my neck around, trying to see, and glaring death at him when he just chuckled. He'd moved to my other wrist, was fiddling with it. Again I took the best chance, only to have my arm forced right back down and locked into place again. "What the fuck are you playing at?"

"Hm?" He shook his head. "We're not done."

"Yes, we are. I talked, you did, well, all that other stuff, and we're done. Let me up." I jerked at both wrists, and still couldn't figure out what held me down. I didn't feel pulling anywhere else, but the major tension seemed to be coming from behind me. I craned my neck to see under the bench, and promptly got smacked across the ass. "Hey!" I came up a few inches off the bench, twisting in place. More motion, excellent, a little bit more and I bet I could get out of these things. The arm-cuffs might be a bit of a challenge, but nothing too much, I'd seen worse.

Heero's fingers played along the edges of the arm-cuffs, then, and I angled my head to try and get a line of sight on what he was doing. My hair was in the way; I huffed and tried to get it out of my face. Too late. He moved to the other side, and I couldn't keep up, but I did feel a pull on my arms, something pulling my shoulders back. Not much more range, either.

"I never understood you," he said, conversationally. "I don't spend a lot of time brooding over the war."

"You saying I do? Fuck you." It was almost getting to be a term of endearment, if I kept tossing it out like that. I wrinkled my nose and looked away, pointedly, instead.

"Mulling, perhaps." He finished with the upper cuffs on my right arm, and then placed my hands, spread, on the floor. Next thing I knew, the front half of the bench gave way, unsnapping. I nearly collapsed with it, but caught myself in time, glaring as he took it apart, piece by piece, and removed it out from under me. "I do recall the time we stole that shuttle. You said, you were going home to space, when everything was done."

I frowned. We'd stolen a shuttle... was that going to Lake Victoria? No, wait, New Edwards? All those stupid military bases ran together. No, I stole a shutle with Quatre, wait, that was later... Fuck, it'd been years. I did my best to look like I had a clue what he was talking about. Maybe that was Singapore? No... San Francisco? Shit.

"You made no sense to me, none at all. Trowa, I understood. Quatre made sense to me, because he wanted union and I just wanted..." Heero's shoulder brushed my side, implying a shrug. His fingers ran along the edges of the cuff on my mid-thigh, sending shivers through my skin. "Whatever it was I'd wanted, that day. Usually to just find someone to fight so I'd have reason to get through another twenty-four hours. Wufei and I..." Another shrug, this time beside my other thigh. And then a sudden snap, crack, and whatever held my wrists in place was somehow attached to my knees. I tugged, and felt the pull. "But you were a puzzle, yet a puzzle that I knew beyond any doubt was someone who wouldn't change sides, wouldn't pretend to be what you weren't, would be there, would match me every step of the way."

I wasn't sure whether to thank him for noticing, or... what. I stayed silent, head down, studying what I could see of a steel bar running from one wrist to another, and another bar -- abruptly a blindfold came down over my eyes. I shook my head, twisting, then threw my body to the side. My right wrist caught, refusing to let me go further, and I landed heavily on my left shoulder. But Heero straddled me, legs holding me down, and no matter how I shook my head and cursed him and struggled, the blindfold went on tight and didn't budge.

"Take it off," I ordered. "Off! Take it off me!"

"No." He leaned over, and that most certainly was a distinct grind against my hip. I hissed; he just chuckled. "Don't think I would ever underestimate you. I'm not going to make it easy on you."

"You proved your point, okay?" I tried to kick out at him, but he just settled his goddamn heavy-ass self down more, and I was left pinned, and frustrated at having easily three or four inches on him and still not enough leverage. What the hell, had they replaced all his bones with Gunduniam at some point? Fuck, the man was heavy. "Come on, have a goddamn heart, I've put up with this shit long enough!"

"You really think we've met long enough to come to a satisfactory resolution?"

"Hell yeah." Not sure I would've used 'satisfactory', and maybe conclusion might've fit better, but good enough. All the same, really. He'd untie me, I'd deck him, and then I'd walk out, or he'd walk out and I'd not get to deck him and he'd be walking out anyway. Seemed to be what he'd planned from the start, even if he'd not yet admitted that. I was not going to think about losing whatever mediocre friendship we'd built. It didn't matter, it was history the morning I'd walked out the door. Maybe he didn't realize he planned on walking out, but I wasn't forgetting his slip. Some mistakes I'd made enough in my lifetime. "Everything's just fine. We're fine, now give me back my clothes."

"That's five more."

"Hunh?"

He stood, leather still touching my back and stomach, and then he lifted me up and set me down on all fours just as easily as I'd lift a pencil and drop it into my desk drawer.

"Stop that," I snarled, "I don't need your help getting up."

"No, you don't." His legs trapped my hips; his hands rested on my shoulders, massaging lightly. "But I still would like to, if you let me."

"Not like you're giving me any choice," I grumbled. "I never asked for your help."

"Really."

"Yeah."

"Another five."

"Wait a minute--" I threw my weight to the side, hoping to catch him enough to tumble his leg, throw him off-balance. "Don't you fucking tell me you're going to--"

A hand came down, I heard that sound heralding one of his legendary punches. I bucked, twisted, couldn't get anything more than halfway turned around, couldn't see a thing but feel his leather-encased legs straddling me. No strike had landed. He still straddled me, but I didn't like the idea that he was laughing at seeing me cringe, even for a split-second. I slammed to one side, then the other, trying to throw him off-balance..

"That's far enough, you can stop--"

He bent over, embracing me, and I halted momentarily. Fingers and palm pressed into my chest, pulling me up against him -- then something sharp and fierce bit into my right nipple. I arched my pulled away, arching my back to shove up against him, but it was more important to recoil from the clamp, like in some fucked-up way that'd undo his action. "Get that off me, shit, get it off, not funny, not enjoying this! Go get your jollies somewhere else, I don't need this shit!" I tried to push myself over again, rub my chest against my upper arm. I wasn't sure if that'd work -- depending on the design, you could do that, or you could do it and really hurt yourself, but it didn't matter. "It's too tight!"

Heero caught me under the armpits, ran his fingers over the clamp. I hissed again, freezing at the jolt running down my spine. He took advantage of that hesitation to raise me back to all fours.

"Getting a little sick of that maneuver--" Just to make a point, tried to take out his knees again. Next thing I knew, he was gone.

I froze, waiting, listening, holding perfectly still. Where'd he go? He was right there, he'd better be. Every muscle braced, nipple throbbing painfully, I took a breath. I was just about to call his name, demanding he answer, when slim, quick fingers caught my other nipple, twisted, and then a second tight-toothed instrument clamped around it, too. A tongue licked a wet stripe over my chin. I jerked back a few inches, then lunged to the side when a finger-- wait, too soft, his hair? -- brushed down my ribs. If he'd been there, how'd he get over there, and-- "hey, wait a minute, that's not fair, you can't do that!"

"Hm?" The voice came from behind me.

Something soft ran down my spine diagonally to one hip -- just as I was moving away from it, something wet and warm touched my other hip -- followed by teeth. I jumped and he let go. I bent my head, trying to get the blindfold off. Damn thing, if I could just get it at least loose enough.

Another slap on my ass.

I tried to spin around, and glaring at him through the blindfold. "Would you fucking stop!" Or, at least, glaring at where I thought he was.

Sudden silence, once again. At first, I was rather pleased. He'd stopped, but then nothing. On impulse, I bent my elbows to press my wrists hard aginst the floor, forcing my pulse to throb in my wrists. I didn't have a clock, but I knew my own heartrate. Ten, twenty, forty, eighty, one minute or so, another eighty... two minutes. I moved my head around, trying to angle for better sound. There had to be something. A footstep, the sound of him breathing, those damned leather pants rustling, something. But nothing... another eighty.

Three minutes, give or take, where was he? Did he really leave? He couldn't have, not just leave me there, what if the next person who walked in, holy fuck, I was just tied up and blindfolded and nothing around me to defend myself, he wouldn't have left me, he couldn't have -- panic rose as quickly as bile. I did my best to crouch down, awkwardly, with the upper-thigh bindings linked somehow -- I was guessing, but it felt like -- to the bar between my wrists.

If he'd just walked out, damn it, where'd he go? I pushed and pulled, testing, even as my head jerked around in crazy darts, angling for any hint of sound. Okay, there was a bar holding my wrists spread at shoulder-width, and pushing it away from me put pressure on my ankles, but I couldn't pull it back. It was attached to something else, ahead of me. If the bench-parts were the leverage, that stupid thing had to outweigh me by three times. I'm no slacker in upper-body strength, but still... And where the fuck was he?

I I fought to keep my breathing under control. Damn hard to count the passage of time when your heartbeat's leaping from eighty to a hundred-and-twenty in nothing flat. I couldn't get more than a few inches in any direction, and he'd walked out. Not even left me a knife! Nothing! I was going to--

"I'm right here." Heero's whisper was directly in my right ear.

If I'd not been tied in place, I probably would've leaped straight for the ceiling. "Don't do that to me," I snapped, but I don't think I managed indignant fury so much as strangled fear. Just so long as all he heard was fury, I could handle it.

"You thought I'd left you here."

I did my best attempt at a mocking laugh. Stay cool, it's cool.

"Are you saying you didn't?"

I shrugged, and tried with every ounce of my being to project casual. Well, as casual as you can be when looking like the lobster-red, blindfolded, bare-assed, tied-down moron I'm sure I presented, but hey. I've been in worse... somewhere back there. I'm sure. Or maybe not.

"Do you really want to keep going?"

"No, I don't." I could say that one with plenty of force. Truer words I've never spoken. I was more than ready to quit the evening, this meeting, whatever the fuck this catastrophe was!

A hand ran down my spine, and curled around my ass, fingers prodding at my asshole. Oh, shit, not this again. At least now I could shift my weight forward, but his hand just stayed with me. I whined in my throat, too furious to form words, and with a quick flex of my hips tried to swing free of him. That one hand went away only to be replaced by the other. Goddamnit! And my cock, with nothing in the way, was more than happy to remind me it'd been damn close before and was rather hoping for more. Not now, you little single-minded prick, I warned it, I'll beat you senseless some other time, we'll find something nice and tight to settle into, but--

"Twenty-five is enough, I see."

"What?" I tried to turn, to face the direction of his voice. Most I could do was twist in the bindings, come up a few inches and fall down again. "Twenty-- wait a minute, when did you add five more?"

"I'll add more if you make me repeat them."

"What? What kind of rule is that?" I tried to come upright, didn't get far, but if I sank my hips some and arched my back, I did the closest thing to it. "You can't change the rules halfway through--"

"Why not?" The hand began soothing motions, light circles up and down the back of my thigh.

"Because--because--you can't! And stop distracting me, damn it!"

The hand paused, then ran further up my thigh to cup around the inside of my leg, fingers pressed up against the underside of my balls. "What, this?"

"Yes, I mean--" I snarled and twisted my body abruptly, contorting in a manner that had me almost impressed with myself. Then his hands caught my hips and jerked me back into place, and this time the pressure in his fingers pushed me down, not letting me move. "I'm not lying," I muttered, head sinking down. It was slowly sinking in, as much as I struggled against admitting it, that I wasn't getting out of this fast.

"Mm." The hands remained in place for another long moment, then pulled away. "It seems you often believe yourself the exception to every rule."

"The hunh?" I tried to backtrack. His fingertips had imprinted on my skin, searing me as with a heat as great as the belt. Between that and the stripes on my back and ass, and the quietly persistent stinging in my nipples, I couldn't seem to catch my thoughts, get myself organized. What had I been saying? "Unh. No. Well, fine, yes," I snarled, twisting my head around enough to make my braid fly out, slide across my skin and thump against my right arm. "And just so you don't forget it, neither of those are a lie!"

"Oh?"

"Yea--" A touch of velvet startled me, catching my attention. It ran up my arm, over my elbow, to sweep across my armpit. I shivered, shying back in surprise as a feathery hint -- a lock of hair? -- traced my calf to my ankle, then the undersides of my toes. I kicked one foot, using the leverage from the ankle-bar to get the object-foot out of his reach.

"They're a contradiction."

"Not a--" Fingertips slapped down on across my right shoulder blade, and danced down my arm, that tickling pattern kids use to fool other kids into thinking... wait, is that water? For real? I barely had time to formulate the words -- "Did you just--", and the same sensation landed in a wide pattern across my ass, even as the feeling never stopped on my arm, down my elbows... Fingernails scraped skin across my hip -- which was water? "Stop that!" Which was teasing fingers? Both made my skin itch, crawl, shiver.

"You can't have it both ways."

"I didn't--" A light slap, swish of tiny strands down my spine, but heavy, knotted, tangling as it ran over skin, I could feel it but I had no idea what the fuck it was. I flexed my back, twisted my spine, and the random unexpected touches kept coming. Tiny jots along my side, poke-poke-poke in a rapid motion. I scooted away, and once again was pulled back into place. "Damn it, stop that, stop-- stop--touching me--"

"This bother you?" A sudden slap, across the underside of my thigh, and that wasn't a hand. It was something bristly, a thousand sharp pinpricks and I leaped forward, fighting madly to get my hands free, cover the back of my leg.

"N--" I mangled the automatic denial into a simple groan. "Nngh, the fuck it sure does, you think I'm--"

"You make all the rules." A second strike, to the other thigh, that fragile skin that so rarely gets exposed to sun.

I growl-yelled something incoherent, pushing my hands back to my knees as far as I could. I couldn't get away but I didn't have to just take it. When I got those cuffs off, I was going to deck the man. Fuck him until he screamed... okay, do that first, then deck him. Yeah. A plan. Good to have a--

"Then you change them to suit you."

"No! You don't--" A pinch on my upper arm, just above the cuff. I shied away, suddenly feeling myself in a perverted form of G's favorite battle-simulation. All but one screen fried, mobile suits coming from behind, training pod shaken violently independent of the simulation, overloud recording changing every five seconds. Heero had to have taken lessons from the man.

"I understand now."

Something wet and cold at the small of my back, then gone. A tap on my forehead; I shook my head, twisting to rub my forehead against my shoulder and I swear he bit me on the neck -- right as leather slapped across my ankle. My reaction time was slowing, or maybe it was just getting really fucking obvious that it didn't make any difference what I did or how I shifted away or towards.

"You don't lie about what you see."

"It's about time you--" I panted, unable to form words, too busy twisting away from each touch on my skin. A stinging slice across my ass, no, a line of hot water? A tug on one of the clamps, and I cried out, trying to jerk away, choking at the lancing pain across my skin.

"You just refuse..."

Another strike, a sweep, a prodding chill, sweat ran down my chest, and even the beads of water clinging to the clamps were enough to set my nipples throbbing even worse. My dick was trapped between hard, so hard, and wanting to crawl up inside me.

"To see yourself."

"Exac--no, fuck..." I couldn't even manage more than a feeble protest. If I could just have warning, I could--

"Oh? For someone who insists he doesn't lie..."

"I don't," I insisted, panting, but my tone probably had no more conviction than my slowing reactions. It's embarrassing to admit, but I don't even think I was really flinching at every touch, so much as just flinching and if a touch happened to occur at the same instant, well, there you go. I was just one big fucking ball of flinch, and I couldn't make it stop, make him stop, make anything stop.

"You're especially good..."

"I don't..." I swallowed, and lost the train of thought, sent away by a slim metal point scraping down my kneecap. A quick tap on my shoulder of something hard but warm. Silk drifted across the back of my right hand, or maybe that was my own hair.

"...at doing it to yourself."

I swayed, dropping my head. "I don't... I can't..." I curled forward as best I could, a last futile attempt to hide. Maybe I could just refuse to notice him. I didn't have to play the game. Just ignore him. Right, that's what I'd do. All he ever did to me, when he wasn't insulting me or treating me like I was some two-headed pariah... Yeah. Ignore him. I sighed, and tried to steady myself. New game plan. I'd start as soon as I could stop twitching...

A single warm finger pressed in just above my hipbone, but not too hard. That was it, just a single finger. I tensed, but only by a fraction. Do whatever, I wanted to say, you're going to anyway. The finger pulled away, and in relief, I let my head drop the rest of the way. My braid fell foward, hanging straight down from the base of my neck. Hair pooled everywhere;. I balanced precariously on my knuckles and my kneecaps, waiting.

A long stretch of silence. Heero was right there. He had to be. After all that, there was no way he'd quit his entertainment. It was some small comfort before the eventual abandonment... but nothing broke the silence. My arms shook from the tension seeping out of my muscles. I wanted to be left alone, just for a minute. Catch my breath, get my bearings. I was almost there, I know it -- until a slick finger pressed right up against my asshole, a cool wetness, not even a moment for me to register the sensation and the tip was inside me.

I jolted forward the last inch I could, slammed all my muscles tight again and threw my hips to the side. The motion tipped me off-balance, my elbows gave way, and I twisted, panicked, and came down on my shoulder, cheek against the carpet -- and somehow, my ass high in the air. The finger was gone. Would it stay gone? I waited, heard nothing, and took a long breath before I struggled to center my weight and raise myself back up.

It was just too damned uncomfortable, lying with my upper body weight bearing down on shoulder and cheek, one arm trapped under me at a strange too-straight degree. I won't even get into the sudden scream-inducing experience of feeling a clamp pushed full-bore into my chest. That teeth-gritting position wasn't aided by the bizarre -- and so far from happy picture I can't even begin to describe it -- realization that I had to be trussed up in such a marvelous way... that if I threw myself too far to the side, I'd roll right over. I'd be the proverbial turtle, unable to right myself without help. Not saying I was that crazy to get my ass back in Heero's reach, but it beat the risk of rolling around on my back with my hands flapping in the air.

A hand landed on my hip, fingers tapping me with an abbreviated, or mocking-light, slap. "Hm."

"What."

"You're a virgin."

"What?" Where did he hear that? "No, no, I'm not!"

"Oh? Then this is a common experience for you?" His finger prodded me again.

Immediately I strained as far as the bars would let me, but kept shy of the point of toppling again. His finger pulled out, circled my asshole, ran down the center crack. Then all five fingers were cradling my balls, and goddamn why the fuck did my cock have to go hard at that? Wonderful shivers ran up and down my spine, and I knew what those fingers could do, if he'd just keep going, a little more forward. Almost there, damn it, don't stop now! If you're going to torture, get me off, at least. I grunted, hips pulsing and I didn't care. His fingers pulled away and I cursed him, quite fluently, in three different languages.

He replied -- "you didn't answer the question," -- in five languages.

Show-off.

This time, two hands, grasping my ass, thumbs pressed together at the edges of my asshole, pushing in just a little, pulling me apart. His fingers were slick, sticky, cool but warming, and I groaned. One of his hands loosened long enough, and I took my chance, risking the off-balance sensation to yank myself free. I froze, expecting a slap, a touch, a reminder. Something. He didn't react. What? What was he doing? I waited, fingers clenching and unclenching in the rug's too-rough surface, everything felt -- just felt too much, even the gentle breath of a slight, barely-noticeable draught. My skin prickled with every sensation, half of them imagined, but still he did nothing.

"There's no shame in admitting you've never let someone do this," he said, and I nearly keened at the relief when his finger pushed into me again. I could handle anything but the waiting, as long as he was doing something, then I could handle that. I could. I knew I could. I would. I had been. It was just the waiting...

"I'm not ashamed," I panted, practically balancing on kneecaps and fingertips, and still his finger pushed in, just a little ways, before pulling out, and in again. It didn't... hurt... but it felt... strange. I'd never wanted that, never allowed that, shit, the only people who ever even tried were the ones who wanted me in flowered dresses and to leave my braid out and curl my hair or some crap. His finger kept moving, and I grunted with the effort of keeping the awkward position. Didn't want him thinking I wanted anything other than to be as far away as possible. "Would you stop tha--"

"So you've done it plenty."

"No! Yes!"

"Pick one."

"Fuck off!" The words were almost automatic, and even the deeper thrust of his finger seemed timed with the cadence. I tried twisting my hips, but his other hand caught me, held me up from falling over. And still that finger pushing in, slick sliding out, and I groaned. I knew what it felt like to do to someone else, and yeah, I'd been fingered, I'd done it a few times to myself, too, testing. But this felt different, it was Heero doing it. For some reason that made every nerve -- along with my cock -- want to get up and do a little dance, even as my mind screamed that I should be recoiling, snapping at him, breaking the cuffs from sheer fury. I couldn't figure out how I could want both. All I could do was choke out an even weaker, "get off me."

"That's not an answer."

"It is, too." I took a breath, and managed to sound somewhat convincing -- I hope -- when I snarled, "I'm not playing this game!"

I halfway expected him to insist I was lying again. Instead he said -- oh so casually -- "Perhaps... only three times?"

"Look, I'm not a virgin, would you stop that? I'm not a fucking girl, I'm not a goddamn pansy-ass virgin, I just don't want that, that's not what I--" I nearly shrieked, then, as his finger plunged all the way into me. "Get--" My words strangled in my throat, died, when his finger wriggled around, and I caught my breath. What, he couldn't be -- and then his fingertip pushed across something and my knees nearly gave way at the sudden influx of shivery amazement rippling through every muscle. "What--"

"Once?"

"No! I'm not a complete noob," I insisted, but his finger pulled out and despite myself I almost yelled at him to stop messing with me. His hands gripped my hips, slid down my thighs, massaged my calves. Okay, that, that... I could deal with that. At least he was still touching me. He'd not left in disgust, though for me being inexperienced or because he could tell I did want it, maybe just a tiny bit and found that repulsive... that didn't make sense, but I wasn't much for logic. I just knew what I felt, even as my brain told me I shouldn't.

If he was touching me, he wasn't about to pick up something and have a go just to see me flail about. And when he was touching me... it felt good. Even if his fingers did get awfully close again, so far he'd not really hurt me, not in any way worse than anything I'd ever felt before, even if some of it had me a bit freaked. It had felt good. I didn't want it to. If it felt too good, then it'd just feel worse when he wasn't there anymore. I didn't want to find something new and lose it all over again. Easier to not think about it. Just... wait it out.

"Really. Haven't you had enough of rearranging reality to suit you, Duo?" He sounded... not really amused. Just... tired, almost. Drained, maybe. His hands came out, and this time, I felt the leather of his legs as he guided me back into place, even leaning over me to move my arms for me, back to where I could support myself.

Something scraped across carpet, the sound of something heavy being dragged. He slid a hand around my waist, and lifted me up without even grunting. I almost panicked, but he held me firm against him, and then the bench was under me, but this time sideways, it felt like. Heero pushed me down again, letting my belly rest across the padding. A click, snap of metal, and I didn't even fight him when he moved my arms... only to realize too late that now I lay with my arms stretched out wider, neck and cheek resting on some kind of pillow. When he put a hand between my shoulderblades to keep me pinned, it pushed my chest just down enough that the clamps caught on the carpet and I couldn't hold back a whimper.

"Duo?"

I hate to admit it, I thought twice, then three times, and when he didn't move away... his lips were right near my cheek, I could feel his breath, the tension in his muscles as he held himself over me. Waiting. I turned my head towards him, needing to whisper, as though afraid someone might overhear and laugh. "The clamps," I admitted, "I can't... they hurt so much. Too much."

"Are you sure?" His lips moved against mine, so close, so close...

"I don't know."

Little shards of pain radiated through my chest with every breath. I wanted them gone, but... I didn't know. Did he want them there? Was it fulfilling some purpose of his, or just something he enjoyed, to know they were there? Everything he'd done seemed to be trying to tell me something, show me something, and I couldn't tell anymore what was one or the other. I wanted to relax, but that meant lowering my chest closer to the rug...

"It's so painful," I said, trying not to sound too pathetic, and the words fell out of me before I could call them back, change them in mid-sound. "I want them off, but... if you don't, I can--" I swallowed hard. "I can take it a little more..." That's what all this was. I sighed, realizing suddenly -- however vaguely and instinctively -- why Quatre had doubted I'd be able to do it. Heero was my jailor, my tormentor, my judge. I'd fought all I could. Maybe the only way out was to accept he would define the time of my penance. "I will. If that's what you want."

His arm slid up my chest, fingers spread, circled my nipple, tweaked it once. My back arched as the sensation tore a cry from my throat, then his mouth was on mine, tongue shoving in deep and the clamp was off. I screamed again, not even able to respond to him, tasting me, sucking at my tongue, and then sudden agony a second time, the other clamp and I cried out, gasping. The pain was immense, and so much more for being focused on two spots, like hot pokers rammed heart-deep into my chest. I shook, and he held me, swallowing every cry. I couldn't do anything other than let him, but I'd do anything, anything in that moment, to not feel that again.

Slowly I became aware his weight rested more on me, and both his hands were plastered against my chest. His legs straddled mine, balancing him delicately as he pinched, rolled, tugged at my nipples and each time such incredibly sweet pleasure-pain shot down my spine. I bucked my hips, wanting relief, oh, space, the relief was halfway there, and now I could feel even the whorls of his fingerprints as he rubbed and plucked. I wanted to kiss him back but I could only gasp, whimpering, wishing I couldn't hear myself, how fucking pathetic but oh, he tasted so good, his hands on me felt so amazing, the feel of his erection pressing firm against my ass--

And I came back down to earth, hard. He was going to fuck me. That was his plan. Fuck me, and then walk out that door. I pulled back, steeling myself, reminding myself. Don't get lost. Remember the truth: you spent eleven days in that little bright room, and they never called, they never came for you, they never sent a message. They left me there. Heero left me there.

"Duo?"

I turned my head away, even going so far as to close my eyes under the blindfold. "Get it over with." My voice sounded cracked in my ears, not really defensive, just plaintive. I was officially giving up. "I'm not a virgin. I've--" My throat caught, and I had to swallow hard again. "I've bottomed twice. You can do it. It doesn't matter."

He nodded, chin rubbing against my shoulder, then pulled away. I waited for the sound of a zipper. Instead, I heard him sigh, a sound I knew he made only when thoroughly exhausted. It didn't sound turned on in the least, and something cold rippled through my chest. He'd just wanted me to acquiesce. He'd not actually wanted me.

Never let it be said that I'm not an idiot. I am. I prove it on a regular basis.

Fuck.

Somehow being naked -- a fact that maybe just a minute ago hadn't seemed that important anymore -- became painfully obtrusive. I wanted to crawl inside something, take up the smallest amount of space, a stupid notion when I thought of how much leg length, alone, I'd be trying to hide. I sure couldn't fit in my old 'Scythe, anymore, I took up too much space, spread-out, exposed. Laid out and... well, they should've just left me in that room.

Heero was behind me, doing something, I could hear metal rubbing together, and then a tug on my ankle. The cuff felt away and he massaged the skin for a moment, then released my other ankle. I didn't move, stunned. Wait, he'd said -- I know he'd said -- he'd be giving me five strikes for every lie. Okay, so they weren't lies as far as I was concerned, but maybe some of them were sort of stretching the truth, a little. I suppose for someone like Heero, a technicality might not be good enough... but already he'd freed my legs, and the bands around my upper arms, then my wrists. I just let him. I couldn't even think of what to say, though my brain spun like an old gyro thrown an entire colony's orbit off-whack. A whipping sound and I immediately tensed, but the only result was something cool and soft drifting down over me.

A sheet?

"Close your eyes," he whispered, and unbuckled the blindfold. I blinked at him, at the low light, and he pulled the sheet closer around my chest before I awkwardly climbed backwards from the bench to sit, huddled, in the dark sheet. He sat cross-legged, blindfold in his hands. "In that direction--" He jerked his head, a half-nod towards the darkness to my left -- "is a door. The rest of the hotel suite is there, and your clothes are on the sofa. I brought your boots, and some of your stuff. Your wallet should be in there, and a plane ticket to wherever you want to go." His smile looked twisted and ill-shapen in the shadows. "Courtesy Quatre."

I just stared at him. This had to be a trick. It was a trick, right? He wasn't just...ending it, not like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this... was it?

"Go on." His smile grew, a little, but somehow tinged by something I couldn't, didn't, want to name. "It's what you wanted, right?"

"But..."

"It's okay." He set down the blindfold, waved a hand at all the accoutrements lying about. I caught sight of a peacock feather, a length of ornate fringe, a belt... but those were just things. When I looked back, Heero was on his feet, on the edge of the circle of light. "You said it yourself. It doesn't matter." He half-shrugged, looked away, then back at me but he didn't seem to see me, or he wasn't really looking at me but at something else.

Something I should be.

"I..." He rubbed two fingers together, an odd gesture he made when thinking, when uncertain, then he shrugged again. "I guess... it was good knowing you. I--I liked the time we had." He stepped away, and I squinted at his back, a hint of gold in his skin, but the black leather melding into the darkness and taking him with it. "Wherever you go, I know you'll do well."

And then he stepped away, and I sat there alone.

I couldn't move.

At first, I thought, it's a trick. It's got to be, right? This isn't the way it was supposed to go. I waited for him to come back. He'd come back, right? He'd always come back, he'd come back when he needed me, even if it wasn't the way I'd wanted him to need me, he always came back, even if... I shifted, bringing up one leg and pulling the sheet tighter around myself. Of course he'd be back. He'd always done that, leave, then come back like nothing had happened, and we'd pick up where we left off. Right?

No sound.

No motion.

I was alone in that room.

And he wasn't coming back.

I'd predicted it, hadn't I. Good for you, Maxwell, you called it from the start. He'd get up and walk out, but I'd rather -- if he was going to walk out, he should've been mad. Yelled at me. Let me yell at him. Blow up. Get mad. Get... something. Not so defeated. I'd never heard Heero Yuy do defeated, not really, not like that, not so... hollow.

I stood up, shaky on my feet, and waited some more. A door should open, he should be returning. Put his hand on me, grab hold of me, keep me here. I clung to the sheet wrapped around me, like for a second I could pretend I had clawed my way through his clothes and held him tight, but he wasn't there. He'd left. He'd said goodbye, and left. He'd said goodbye.

He'd left.

Trailing the too-long sheet, I stumbled into the darkness, pausing to let my eyes adjust, away from the light. The room was dark, slung with curtains of some kind, but there was a door. Unlocked, and the sound of the lock turning against the tumbler echoed in my empty chest. I pushed the door open, and stepped into a hotel suite's sitting room. Loveseat, a chair, television, coffee table, such normality. My clothes were neatly folded across the sofa, but all I could do was sink into the chair and stare at them, then let the sheet drop to stare at my hands. After who knows how long, I reached out, picking up my wallet, some spare change... under it, two of my knives, nicely cleaned. A folded piece of paper, and I opened it to find a passcard for credit with one of the major shuttle lines. The little gift card stated it was an airline credit from Quatre R. Winner, and that amount was certainly enough to get me a good distance before I stopped.

Walk away, and lose the friendships, Quatre had said, or meet with Heero.

Yeah, well, look at that, Quatre. I met with Heero. I lost the one friendship that really mattered. Then again, I'd lost that when I walked out the door on Earth, didn't I? I fucked it up. There was no Hilde to help. There wasn't ever going to be a Hilde to do that, never again. She'd died, and then I'd killed those -- or at least a fair number of those -- who'd ran the ring that supplied the dealer that fed the junkie that shoved a machete into my best friend's gut. For four nights and three days, I'd been the God of Death once again. But there was no world celebration of peace, there was no fanfare, there'd only been a small bright room and me, alone. Waiting for whatever happened next.

Where do I go, Hilde? What do I do, now?

Today is the first day of the rest of your life, but what life do I have, now?

I have no idea.

I'd just wanted to get to that one place, and the rest... It'd take care of itself. Well, no. It wasn't supposed to take care of itself, really. Lies and truths aside, underneath it all, I'd never expected to see any small room or large. Anything at all. Take out the last guy, and... the curtain would fall. Somewhere in there, the God of Death himself would die. No phoenix rising from the ashes.

I fingered the passcard. Where do I go?

Where do I want to be?

I have no idea.

I don't even know where to begin.

The last time I sat in a room and felt so adrift, Hilde had come to me soon after, and offered me a job with her family's company. There, there was what I'd do, then, with no other offers on the table, it was as good as any. Now the only offers on a table before me were my own wallet, two knives, a passcard and some spare change.

I set down the card. I couldn't do it. I could leave with Hilde, I knew, I'd always known on some level, because what came before was finished. I couldn't leave now, because it wasn't... finished. But how do I finish it? Heero left. He'd said goodbye, and he walked out. He'd not wanted to stay, he'd not...

I frowned, something in my tired head suddenly -- clearly -- hearing myself.

He'd followed me from Earth. Maybe it was Howard, maybe it was someone else who alerted him, maybe it didn't matter. He'd said, if you don't ask...

I never had. I'd never told him what I planned, I'd never mentioned it, I'd never asked what he thought. Not even the decency to give him the chance to say no. I didn't want him to say it, I didn't want to hear it, I didn't want to see him walking away from me... but he did, anyway.

He walked away after he followed me from Earth, a thousand or more miles, into space.

He walked away after I told him it didn't matter.

Your actions scream so loud I can't hear what you're saying.

I stared at the passcard, the knives, the wallet, and pulled the sheet tighter around me. I had no place to go, no where to be. I only had what I might want, if it were still possible. If it weren't too late. If I could stop and let him... and suddenly, like cold water sheeting down over me, I understood why he'd refused to let me stop, those two months ago that seemed like a lifetime, an entire lifetime's lifetime, when he'd handed me the crop and told me to finish it. I understood why he did that. I understood what he'd needed.

I understood that he'd known then what I needed, too.

I stood up, dragging the sheet with me, and after a moment, thought twice. I pulled it off me, tried to fold it, gave up and left it in a pile on the chair. I was bare-ass naked, hair half out of my braid, every nerve raw. There was a good chance he was gone, after all. He might have walked out, called a cab, and left, and with his skills, if he didn't want me to find him, I wouldn't. But if he'd not left... I had to take the chance.

I pushed open the door, back into that dark room, and listened, using the shaft of light across the room to study the bedroom suite, curtains pulled closed, bed shoved into the corner. Everything else remained. I memorized quickly what was where so I didn't break my own neck once the door shut, and then... I stepped into the room. Halfway across, I trod on something long and thin, and without thought, picked it up, feeling along its length. A crop. Testing the spring out of pure habit, I moved forward, more cautiously, one hand out.

Curtains, feel along them, to wall. Keep going. Doorframe... door... there's the knob. Taking a deep breath and hoping I wasn't about to open the door and try to call Heero out of the suite's linen closet, I paused to gather my nerve... and thought of one more thing. I caught the crop's loop in my teeth to hold it, undid the holder from my braid, and loosened my hair, letting it fall straight down my back. I'd never let it stay undone long enough for anyone, I'd certainly never undone it for anyone. The braid, having it in a braid, that was part of my armor. The scorpion tail on my visage that kept everyone at a distance. I had to smile at my own vanity, because a part of me cringed to be standing there buck-naked. At least with my hair down I felt a little bit more like something covered me.

I took a breath, got a careful hold of the crop, raised my hand, and knocked.

For several heartbeats, I heard nothing. I counted to thirty. Still nothing. I rapped again, three quick taps. I wasn't going to give up right away, not if he'd trailed after me all that distance just to hold me down and try to get it through my head that it had -- it felt like halfway between light breaking in my chest and an impulse to slap myself in the forehead. He'd wanted to show me how much it mattered, and I'd spent the entire time convinced any second he'd be about to tell me it didn't.

Like that's ever worked for you? Just tell you?

No, never did, Heero, did it.

The door swung open. Heero was silohetted in the light, but for the brief instant as he turned to face me, I thought I saw something glittering on his cheeks. I dropped my eyes, uncertain, praying he wouldn't slam the door in my face. My hand shook as I held out the crop. I couldn't raise my eyes from it, astounded at what I was doing but for the first time in days, weeks, maybe, choosing, acting, doing something that didn't leave me baffled or anxious or with a chest that echoed from the emptiness. It felt... right.

"We weren't done," I said softly. "I think... I think you need--" I shook my head, and forced myself to say what the truth, a truth that included me. "I want you to finish."

He said nothing. I didn't move. I wanted to argue, to beg, to throw the crop at him and storm off, but I couldn't move. I wanted those other things, maybe I always would have those instincts, but I wanted him to stay even more.

It almost startled me when his hand laid over mine, lightly. I studied his knuckles, and in the glow from the room's one light behind him, I could see small scars along the back of his hands. I wondered how he'd gotten those, and why I'd never thought to ask. I wanted a chance to ask, but first, I had to make amends. And I had to be ready...

"I want this," I told him, softly. Trying not to plead, just... stating it. Because it was true.

Heero let out a breath, it seemed, though I heard no sound. "Duo," he murmured, and the tension in his fingers faded, leaving the warm weight of his hand over mine. "Okay," he said, and took the crop from me.

Back to Nineteen

Fiction : GW :