"He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an interest in the preservation of the enemys' life."
--- Neitzsche
"Hate and bitterness are the only weapons wielded by the blade."
--- Thomas Gregory
Requiem for the Sinners Part 27
Unwilling Hearts
"Duo, we're under attack!"
Duo shot up where he was sleeping in a cocoon of blankets on the floor, eyes alert and bleary. "What?!" He listened with his whole body, all his senses primed to sense danger.
There was no smoke in the air-none that he could see or smell, anyway-and the base was completely quiet. No sound of screams or alarms. No vibrations of ships taking off in a counterstrike. Everyone was still asleep. He relaxed.
A little.
He leaned over the side of the bed and squinted over at the digital clock lying on the floor. 4:31AM, in green neon that was too bright to be legal before six in the morning.
"Just making sure you're on your toes, Maxwell, and making up for the three months in AC195 I had to endure your charming wake-up calls," a smug voice sounded from the corner of the room. Duo looked over near the door to see Wufei sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed, a small smile on his face.
Duo groaned loudly and fell back onto the floor, pulling his pillow over his face. His voice was muffled when he spoke again.
"Must be the apocalypse if you've developed a sense of humor, Wuffers. If not, it's going to be in about three seconds."
"You're a lazy ass, Maxwell."
"Better than just being an ass."
Wufei stood up gracefully and walked over, ripping the covers off the still-clothed L2 general before turning the lights on. "Get up, Maxwell, and look sharp. You told me you'd show me why you're fighting, and I'm holding you to it. I also want to be there when you free my men."
Duo hissed like a scalded vampire and threw an arm over his dazzled eyes, trying to reach blindly for his blankets with one arm. He finally snatched a handful of sheets and pulled them over his head, sitting up a little once his eyes were protected from the light. "Who said I'm letting them go?" he growled irritably, a hung-over lump under the covers.
"I did. You want my help, and that's one of my conditions."
"Who said I need your help?"
Wufei rolled his eyes. "Anyone with half a brain could see you need my help, Maxwell. Besides, at this point, I don't really have a choice. Now get up, and stop whining like a child. You're not fifteen anymore, and it's demeaning."
Duo snorted under the covers.
"I'm going to take a shower. Get up and take one of your own." Wufei stalked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
After a few minutes, when his eyes adjusted to the light, Duo pulled the sheets down, grunting a little as he stood up, shaking himself off.
"I'm not a kid," he muttered, yawning.
He grabbed some hotel shampoo and conditioner packets from the basket he kept them in under his bed, along with his toothbrush and a sample tube of toothpaste. On second thought, he grabbed a bottle of aspirin, too, shaking three out into his hand before chewing them, the bitter taste making his stomach lurch. His head felt as if it was filled with razorblades and splintered glass.
Never again, he thought, ruefully. Not stepping into that damned bar again, not ever. It's not fucking worth it.
"Yeah," he muttered, stumbling to the bathrooms. "Like I haven't said that a million times already."
He pushed open the door to the communal shower and locker rooms, grabbing a dry towel from the rack. He could hear the water running, and saw Wufei already taking his shower, face turned to the wall, black hair plastered almost all the way to the middle of his shoulder-blades. His clothes were lying in a rumpled heap on the other side of the shower.
"Maxwell?"
Duo felt a blush rise up in neck and into his cheeks, and he turned to the opposite side of the shower, turning the faucet to cold water; there was no hot water, anyway. Although cold showers had always been Heero's favorite way of getting up in the morning, it was Duo's personal belief that they were the bane of existence, right above mosquitoes and door-to-door evangelists.
"Yeah, it's me."
"See you finally dragged your ass out of bed."
"See you haven't stopped riding it since I got up." Duo stuck his head under the freezing water, a harsh exhalation forced from him as the shock hit him like a blow. He shivered as the icy water snapped him awake, feeling the chill seep into his muscles and bones, soaking his hair. He opened his mouth under the spray, swallowing the cold water, trying to wash away the bitter taste of aspirin and vodka in his mouth.
Wufei's voice was strangely hard when he spoke again. "Where's your little boy?"
Duo laughed softly. "He's sleepin' in Harper's room. I didn't want him in mine, drunk off my ass like I was. Embarrassing."
"You're embarrassed by a child?"
Duo tore open a few of the packets of shampoo, squeezing them out into his palm before tossing the little sheathes of foil on the tiles. He spread it across his head and scrubbed hard, as if he could never be clean enough. "...He isn't stupid or anything. You'd be embarrassed, too."
"Hmph."
There was silence for a few moments, except for the sound of pounding cold water. It was only beginning to become uncomfortable before finally, Wufei spoke again.
"... Why is there no hot water here?"
Duo laughed, and the sound was refreshingly genuine. "Spoiled much, Wuff? ...We're lucky to get water at all, you know. The colony's oxygen generators and climate control need all the energy they can get; we can't afford to waste energy trying to heat up bathwater."
"Why haven't they been fixed?"
"You see a couple of extra hundred thousand dollars lying around this place, bud? Whenever you do, you let me know," Duo replied, a slightly bitter tinge to his voice. "This ain't exactly the land of opportunity, no matter what the stories say, and we aren't the March of Fuckin' Dimes." He smoothed conditioner into his hair, running it through with his fingers.
"Aa."
"There you go again with that 'aa' thing, man, I swear, you and Heero are just alike."
"No, we're not. From what you told me, Yuy won't even talk to you. At least I can tolerate you up to that point."
"Bully for you."
Wufei shut off the water, wringing the water out of his hair before wrapping a towel around his waist. He started to walk out of the shower, his clothes under one arm, before turning back to glance at Duo, raising one eyebrow slightly.
"Although I must admit, you make it difficult even for me to put up with you."
When Duo didn't reply, Wufei turned away and opened the door to leave.
"... You're both being stupid."
The Chinese man walked out, leaving Duo alone with his thoughts.
~*~
"You called us, sir?"
Noventa looked up as Sally and Noin walked in, falling into perfect formal ease in front of his desk. Noin noticed that for an executive officer, civilian or not, he didn't look very presentable. But she supposed she couldn't blame him.
The civilian commander of the Preventers sat at his desk with a cup of coffee, looking up at the two of them with a distracted irritation, as if he didn't realize why they were there. He had a three o'clock shadow of pale blonde stubble, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
"Swokoski was killed, and his unit on L2 is MIA," Noventa said finally, addressing them. "I didn't know the amateur snipers on L2 were such good shots," he added, his tone strangely light and conversational.
Sally shook her head, slowly.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
A young man walked in, his uniform immaculate and shining. His hair had grown longer, pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck (as was the current trend among Preventer pilots; Noin blamed it on Wufei Chang). But it was still the same challenging brown eyes, the same strong face. He stood between the two female commanders, glancing at each of them with a smirk.
Noin rolled her eyes, then glanced at Sally. Great. Grant Septem. Give us Maser, Walker, anyone. But not him.
Noventa smiled slightly as he saw the man come in. "Ah, Septem. Just the barnstormer I wanted to see."
"Sir." He looked at Noin and Sally, smiling a little. "... Ladies."
Noventa ignored him, gaze moving to Noin. "We've had confrontations in the past, have we not, Commander Noin?"
"I wouldn't say-"
"No, I know you wouldn't, and I wouldn't expect you to. But we both know about the tragedies of the past, as you well know. When two people are on opposite sides of a conflict, conflicts are sure to occur. But we're past it now, the Alliance and OZ." His eyes narrowed, and he gazed at both of them critically. "We have to be past all that, because I am operative-in-command and you three are my seconds, and we've got a job to finish. Can I rely on your loyalty to complete those objectives?"
"Sir," Septem said; the pilot's smirk had disappeared, leaving his angular face serious and thoughtful.
"Yes, sir," Noin snapped a salute, but Sally only nodded once, her expression closed and troubled.
"Quit that, soldier. I'm not His Excellency."
Faint color rose in Noin's cheeks. "Yes, sir."
Noventa took a sip of his coffee, then spoke. "Our primary objective is to find a solution to our... situation... with the L2 colony cluster. Our second objective is to eliminate the rogue councillor Duo Maxwell."
Your solution, is it? Sally thought, her scowl deepening, even as she paid close attention to what he was saying. God, I hate him.
Instead, she said, "Then we won't be bringing him to World Court, sir?"
"No," Noventa said, meeting her eyes coldly. "I want him taken care of in the field. Is that understood?"
"Clearly, sir. And what of the civilians?"
"The civilians are as bloodthirsty as their leader; most of the Preventer deaths on L2 colonies can be attributed to them." Noventa's voice was almost a snarl.
The young executive met their eyes unflinchingly. "We are going to blockade the councillor's home colony until its resources are exhausted, and then we will invade, where you will take care of him as soon as he comes into your custody. The blockade will prevent food or trade from leaving or entering the colony. The upside, however, is that we will be protecting the Earth from those who would eventually attempt our subjugation."
He smiled slightly. "Not an inconsiderable upside, wouldn't you agree?"
"Stalin would have appreciated the justifications, sir," Sally said, her voice soft. Noventa either ignored the comment or didn't understand the reference. He was looking at Noin.
"Yes, sir," Noin replied. But her expression was guarded. "And Maxwell?"
Noventa silently raised one hand, made a gun of thumb and forefinger, and dropped his thumb twice. His eyes never left Noin's as he did.
Both commanders understood perfectly well.
Kill him.
"Not just him," Noventa said, his voice soft. "I want Yuy, too. The Wing pilot."
Sally and Noin exchanged a glance. Yuy... Heero Yuy? Heero's joined L2?
"What about the civilians?" Sally asked.
Noventa looked surprised, but Sally thought that his disbelief was about as fake as you could get. "We aren't Nazis, Po. If they're cooperative in every manner and they stay out of our way when we invade-two things that are highly unlikely-then we'll leave them be. Simple as that. The orphans out there are about two generations from swinging in the trees with bones in their noses. Real animals. And that's how they're to be worked with."
"You're saying this is a shoot first and ask questions later kind of situation, sir?" asked Noin, eyes narrowing slightly.
Noventa leaned back in his chair. "They have Preventer hostages, and Maxwell has threatened to kill one every twenty-four hours. He's already killed one on top of the other thirty-something civilians he's murdered, so I'm liable to believe him. So yes, that's the way it's going down."
So that's it, Sally thought. We watch out for our own. We're merciless killers if we have to be, peacekeepers with a deadly new coat of paint, but even Noventa watches out for his greencoats. Civilians, on the other hand-especially colony civilians-are just civilians. Expendable.
In her mind's eye, Noin saw Preventers breaking into houses, heard the megaphones summoning all L2 citizens to the streets. She had been involved in similar operations under OZ, but this was different. She knew how this would go.
Massacre.
And then another thought crossed Sally's mind. Septem shouldn't be here... Where is Wufei?
"Septem will lead the blockade and the invasion," Noventa continued, his voice calm. "Po and Noin, you will lead your fleets at either flank. Surround and destroy."
Noin glanced at Septem, then scowled. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Of course."
"I don't think Commander Septem should lead the attack. Commander Po and I have more repertoire with the enemy. We're more prepared to face him head-on."
"Oh, come on." Septem turned to her, glaring. "Look here, Lucy, don't treat me like a damned greenhorn. I've been at the Academy almost as long as you have, remember? My brother was a commander in the Alliance, and so was my father. Don't patronize me."
Noventa spoke again. "With all due respect, Septem, shut up."
The young commander did, a defiant set to his jaw.
Noin ignored him; her eyes were still on Noventa, who gazed at her steadily. "Your objection has been duly noted, but my decision stands."
"... Yes sir."
All three commanders were silent.
"Ladies, I don't have to be telepathic to know how you feel about this operation, and let me be very clear in telling you that I frankly don't give a shit. All I can tell you is that I need your support on this one. Do I have it?"
"Yes sir," Noin replied, softly.
Septem nodded. "Understood."
Sally was silent.
"Commander Po?"
"... Sir."
"Good. Dismissed."
~*~
One.
...Two.
Heero had been doing sit-ups and crunches on the floor of Paradise's hospital ward for two hours, with little time off to rest. After all, when he rested there was no pain, and he wanted the pain because it tested him. When he trained, he didn't have to think, either.
His breathing was violent and metronomical. The length of time he had been training was indeterminable in the pre-dawn darkness, and judging by his almost soundless cries of pain, which echoed through the quiet ward, the exertion too much for him.
Nevertheless, he continued without pause. If it didn't hurt and test him, it wouldn't have been worthwhile. His strenuous efforts distilled alcohol-clear drops of sweat from him; perspiration streamed down his slick torso, dripped off his earlobes, nose, chin, elbows, and fingertips. He wore only a pair of clean cotton hospital pants left for him by Marge, and his lithe, powerful body gleamed under the fluorescent lighting.
The inactivity of lying in a hospital bed made him nervous.
He ripped a strip of cloth from his old pants, and tied it around his head like a bandanna, to keep his damp bangs out of his eyes.
Heero was lying on the hard, cold cement floor, imitating a machine, grimly working through yet another set push-ups. He pressed his entire weight up, up, up again, through a haze of pain that engulfed him like a fog. Out of shape, he reminded himself, with annoyance rather than distress.
However, he was determined to make it through the set of ten repetitions, just as he had endured tens of thousands of other sets over the years.
Three.
All the way up into the top of the push-up, balancing on his fingertips. Hold it at any cost. Four. Bring it down. Rest. Take it up. Hold. Five. Lungs burning. Bring it down. Machine-like.
Up again. Hold. Arms quivering. Back spasming. Neck bulging. Pain. Bring it down.
Heero did four more push-ups, and when at last he dropped onto the floor, he was quivering with exhaustion.
Seeking pain at the limits of his endurance, he began crunches again.
One.
Heero laid flat, hesitated only a second, and rose up to his knees again. His stomach and chest seemed to be on fire. He was gasping. His muscles bulged like steel cables beneath his skin. While he counted in his head, Heero laid down, rose, laid down, rose, laid down, and rose again, and the pain was at first a flame and then a burning blaze.
Heero hadn't been the only Cinq guard that worked out regularly. The other guards did it as well. Some did it to gain improved strength for martial arts, some merely to prove their perseverance.
But none could match Heero Yuy.
To him, it was just training, a habit that, like a drug, he had never been able to give up. The rest were just secondary reasons, of no importance to him. Of no importance to the Soldier.
Heero endured the torture because he had to maintain the physical part of the Soldier, even though the mental part of it had faded after the wars, to a certain extent. Relena Peacecraft had assiduously trained it out of him as much as she could.
But she couldn't train this out of him.
"Seven."
He groaned, striving to ignore the pain. And the memories.
Goddammit, Heero, you're a colonial soldier! You're a killer! It's what you were made to do, so do what you were made to do!
Fuck you, Duo.
"Eight."
He enjoyed the control of it. Ever since he had become a young soldier, he had held no control over anything. Even as the pilot 01, he was only a weapon to carry out the plans of someone else.
He had never had a moment in his years as a Potential when he didn't feel fear. The enemy was dangerous, his Superiors equally dangerous.
He remembered the way it felt, walking through the ruins of his bombed Colony tenant building at the tender age of four, his parents and sister dead, his child's feet padding through glass and their blood in the rubble. He had no control over that, either.
Then the fights he was pitted in against the other Potentials by the rebel scientists, kill or be killed matches to the death that eventually caused him to rise among his peers as the ultimate warrior. Pain and fear were always there.
A voice in the dark, a face with mirrored goggles and a long gray beard, saw him one day after he had recently turned five, asked him if he was clever. Asked him if he wanted to take revenge on OZ for the death of his family. Oh, yes. He wanted revenge, he was clever. He was clever, and he was dangerous. Very dangerous, and he caught on quickly. Operation Meteor.
Danger around, at all times. No friends, no allies, only the rules that govern a Potential and his superiors to protect him. Teach him. But he was gifted; the Doctor forgave small trespasses from one who showed such deadly promise.
"Ten," he said aloud.
He laid on the cold floor, his breath coming in harsh gasps.
"Sufficient," he murmured to no one in particular. No, he thought.
"Great," he said, his voice a forceful whisper. The older I get, the harder it becomes. Only nineteen, but it still gets harder.
"That's stupid," he said softly. Not good enough.
"Getting better and better." Never good enough. Not as good as I was.
Obsolete.
He sighed.
...It was a good description for a weapon.
TBC...
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