Toy Soldiers

Toy Soldiers

by Ashura

disclaimer: I don't own GW. Surprise, surprise.

pairings: none yet; non-traditional and subject to change

warnings/notes: AU, because playing fast and loose with the timeline and actual events. Yaoi, het, drama, angst, violence, sap--um, how about just "everything"?

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Book I: Sweet Bells Jangled Out of Tune

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Chapter Three

"Establish the ingrained execution of orders in training one's people, and then the people will follow."

--Sun Tzu (The Art of War)

Lady Une stalked down the corridor toward her quarters, seething anger evident even in her gait. Major Troy Stephens had not been pleased when Nichol and Anderson had dragged him out of bed at two-thirty in the morning to drag him down to a holding cell with Tobita. He tried bravado when she confronted him at first--yes, he'd heard the order, but wasn't their job to insure victory at any cost? The boy was only a prisoner, a Gundam pilot of all things.

That, Une had informed him, was precisely why they needed him alive and unharmed. And while victory was an integral part of their occupation, they were soldiers, and they were to follow the orders given them by their commanders. Did he have any further questions? She could arrange for him to have a /long/ time to think over and consider his mistakes. In the end, he cracked. An angry Colonel Une was more than dangerous, she was a force of nature. She left him there with his sadistic interrogator to await court-martial or whatever other consequences she could dream up for him. In the end it would all depend on how Treize took the news of the insubordination.

Une paused at her door, her fingers on the handle, rubbing at her dark-rimmed eyes with her other hand. It had been a long night, and a long morning, and it wasn't likely to get any easier.

She wasn't even surprised to see Nathan Blythe in her room, seated in a chair next to her bed, tending to the prisoner. "How'd it go?" he asked, glancing up at her as she entered. "There's fresh coffee made, I thought we could both use it."

She made a beeline for the pot. "Thanks--has anyone told you you're a saint?"

He grinned at her, almost impishly. "I do try. So what's going to happen Stephens and the rest?"

Une shrugged, stirring several spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee--she didn't really care for the bitter taste of the stuff, but had developed a taste and addiction for the stimulant it contained. "That depends on what His Excellency decides."

"And how much of your head he rips off?" Blythe summarised sympathetically. "Let me make a suggestion, Lady. Wait until he's at least gotten /his/ night's allotment of sleep. Nothing like waking someone up to give them bad news."

Une shot him a rueful look. "I am frightening, aren't I?"

He shrugged. "I'm not afraid of you. The rest of them deserve it."

Une sighed, slumping against the wall of her room, cupping the steaming mug wearily in her hands. "How's our prisoner this morning? He lived through the night, that's something."

Blythe looked up at her, suddenly serious. "He did, and that's a good sign--it was by no means certain, he was walking a tightrope over Death's threshold last night. I've done what I can for the burns, and patched up Bronson's horrible graffiti...I can't do anything for the welts and the rest except keep him pumped full of pensycolene while his body heals itself."

"But he'll live." It was half order, half request for confirmation, and the young doctor nodded.

"Yes, Lady, if we keep him where he is, he'll live."

Une let out a long breath, stirring the surface of the hot coffee with ripples. "At least I have that to tell Treize...Nathan, what time is it in Belgium?"

He glanced at his watch, then at her. "Ten-thirty."

She nodded. "I suppose I'd better make that report. I'll be in my office, let me know before you leave."

He saluted, quickly, reflexively. It was a strange relationship, theirs--he, Une, Zechs, Treize, all childhood friends now thrust into a position of command and subordination to each other. "Yes ma'am."

Une spared a last lingering look for the doctor and the battered pilot and steeled herself for the upcoming confrontation. She closed the office door behind her and sank into her chair, setting the half-finished coffee on the table, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, mentally rehearsing her lines.

She entered Treize' personal code, and a moment later his chiseled, elegant face appeared on her screen. "Good morning, Lady Une," he said pleasantly. "To what do I owe this unexpected call?"

Une wished very, very hard that she could maintain that easy, friendly communication. But she had a report to make. "Bad news, sir," she answered with forced calm. "Some of my soldiers captured the pilot of Gundam 02."

One elegant eyebrow arched delicately above Treize' blue eye. "And that's bad news?" he repeated amusedly.

Une allowed herself the luxury of a long, deep breath before explaining. "Only because they disobeyed a direct order and tortured him," she explained, her eyes downcast and fixed on her hands.

Treize let out a breath like a hiss between his teeth. "Oh," he said.

****

He had definitely had better mornings. Not that this one had started out inauspiciously--he woke up early, enjoyed his breakfast and a bath, and was in the process of getting dressed and ready for a long, dull day full of long, dull meetings when Une's communication had come through. Such was his life. He'd actually been quite pleased to hear her voice, until she'd explained the reason for her report.

How long ago had he issued that order? Three days, he remembered vividly--more than enough time for the directive to trickle down to even the lowest echelons of Oz personnel, so why the /hell/ hadn't they obeyed it?

"Is the pilot alive?" he asked, almost dreading to hear the answer.

To his relief, Une nodded. "Nathan Blythe is tending to him, sir. No-one is allowed contact with him except the two of us."

Treize made no secret of his relief. "Nathan is a quite capable physician, not to mention a good-hearted man." He indulged in a sigh that no-one but himself and his trusted Lady would ever see. "You're salvaging the situation as well as can be expected. I suppose all the interrogation was ineffective, as well?"

Une's face wrinkled sourly. There was a dark glint in her eyes that spoke of inflicted horrors better left unsaid--and Treize wanted no description of anything that could so unnerve stoic Lady Une. "Not a thing. Not a blasted thing. Though by the end I don't think he could have remembered his own name, let alone where the other Gundams are hiding. Tobita had gone over him rather...thoroughly, sir."

Treize cringed inwardly. That was a name that made his skin crawl--he would have prohibited Oz from even letting him sign up, but it would have touched off another political incident. "I can imagine. Does that man realise his methods are obsolete in any case; we've had far more success with interrogation drugs?"

Une sighed. "I don't think he cares," she confessed. "He enjoys it."

"I can tell," Treize grumbled irritably.

"Sir?" Une was nibbling at her bottom lip--an endearing habit, and one he doubted she was even aware of. "What should we do with the offenders..?"

He considered. "Who did you say you detained?"

"Stephens and Tobita. Bronson was the first interrogator, under Stephens' orders, but he botched it badly."

Treize nodded. "Discipline Bronson, but not as heavily. Stephens issued the order, in direct defiance of mine--that's court-martial-worthy, at least. As for Tobita--oh, just get him out of there. I know, transfer him to the lunar base. We'll send him to Tsuberov, where he'll have no-one to play his...games with but mobile dolls."

And, he thought dryly, maybe we'll get lucky and the Gundams will blow up the whole lot of them at once.

Une nodded, relief written plainly across her smooth features. "Yes, sir."

"One more thing, Lady," he added, "and then I have a meeting I unfortunately need to get to. I'd like to discuss the entire situation with you, a bit more...fully. Can you be in Brussels in...say, two days?"

If she was startled, she disguised it well. "Of course, sir. I'll make the arrangements."

"Thank you." He nodded farewell and clicked off the terminal. //Maybe it's not a good idea to take you out of Barge, Lady, but I need a friend here now. Forgive me....//

****

Slowly, tentatively--feeling out with numb senses, trying not to get his hopes up just in case he was wrong--Duo came to the conclusion that he wasn't dead after all.

Amasing.

He was not, however, quite sure where he was. The last he remembered--no, that hurts, don't move like that--he was running away from the Oz soldiers, and he'd been shot in the leg. Then they'd taken him to a cell, and then taken him /out/ of the cell, and--

Oh, right. That.

Gingerly, he flexed the muscles in his left leg--nope, still hurt. In fact, everything hurt, just in a nice vague detached kind of way because he couldn't completely feel his body. That was probably a good thing. In fact, it almost felt like he was lying on a nice soft bed, and if he kept his eyes closed he could imagine that's exactly what it was, not the hard cold cell floor he was undoubtedly actually lying on.

Voices buzzed unintelligibly close by, and he forced unresponsive ears to adjust to their tones. One female, one male, and he had no idea what either of them said. No, wait, that sounded like "good-bye," and then the click of a door closing.

Then he moaned, because trying that hard /hurt/.

"Are you awake?" the female voice asked gently--closer this time, so he didn't have to strain so hard to hear. He forced his cracked lips to make some sound he hoped was affirmative.

"Good," she said. "Are you hungry?"

"Hurts," Duo groaned, trying to convince his muscles to respond again. His stomach growled. Hungry? Why, yes he was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a genuine meal.

The floor shifted under him, like a bed would if someone had been seated on it, and were standing up. Wait--that meant--

"I'm not surprised. We've given you more painkillers, they'll take effect soon. If I help you, can you sit up? We should really get some food into you, otherwise we'll have to set up an IV."

"Nnnn...I c'n eat...." Duo slurred, though he wasn't completely certain that he actually could. He felt an arm slide gingerly around his waist, guiding him upright--his eyes rebelled, sending his brain into dizzying spins, and he hid his face in the woman's shoulder, squinting his eyes closed. "Hurts," he whimpered again.

"I know." The soft voice was sympathetic, a gentle hand touching his hair tentatively before setting him upright at last. "Stay there and get oriented while I grab you some lunch. I warn you it's not great, but unfortunately that's the joy of space food. It's what we all get to eat."

The dizziness finally began to clear, but his eyelids, he found, were still too heavy to force open. The surface under him shifted again--maybe it was a bed, and he wasn't hallucinating; if he was that injured they could have put him in sickbay, right? Assuming he was still with Oz. Anything was possible at this point.

"Open your mouth," the woman directed--a simple matter of dropping his chin, and he felt the solid metallic edge of a spoon pressed against his lips, then through them. He swallowed reflexively. She was right, it wasn't good, but at that first taste of nourishment, Duo's body kicked into survival mode and reminded him it was actually quite hungry, and he hadn't been taking proper care of it.

Not that it hurt any less to sit up, to eat, to move, to breathe....

"Why're you be'n' nice t'me...?" he tried to ask. His unresponsive lips let the words out, but missed a drop of the gruel she was feeding him, and it trickled down his chin. "Thought I's bein' 'terr'gat'd...."

"You were," she answered, dabbing the fugitive drops from his face. "Against a very explicit order." She paused a moment, as if she wanted to say more and couldn't--then, softly, "I am sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen."

Reluctantly, Duo pried open one eye to meet the soft hazel ones so close to his own. Recognition flashed in his mind, tried to escape, circled a few times and finally settled in his shocked brain--//Colonel Une??// One hand pressed experimentally into the floor--it /was/ a bed, and the room, what he could see of it, had the look of someone's personal quarters. //I'm in Colonel Une's room? /She's/ the one taking care of me and feeding me and--are we absolutely SURE I'm not actually dead?//

But he couldn't be dead, because she was prodding at his mouth with the spoon again. "Stop staring. Eat."

He could, he supposed, just be dreaming. Dreams could be pretty real sometimes. There had to be some way to make sure--then again, this could be an elabourate plot, as well, to get him to trust--"'re there drugs in't...?"

She shook her head, still pressing at his lip with the spoon. "No. All the drugs we've been giving you are painkillers, and they were injected."

Duo was definitely confused. "How're you gon' get inf'rmation outta me, th'n...?" he wondered.

The Oz Colonel sighed. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now, just believe you're too weak to risk giving you any mind-control drugs, or anything more than strong painkillers. Now eat."

"Oh." That seemed to make sense, in a convoluted, incoherent sort of way, much like his next question. "Wass your name?"

She gave him a look that bordered on amused frustration. "You must be feeling better, if you're talking. I said eat."

"Sorry...'m not good at follow'n orders..." He willed up a shadow of his customary grin, and felt the skin at the edges of his lips crack with the effort.

He saw the corner of her mouth twitch--not quite a real smile, or even the ghost of one, but it was enough for Duo. For now. "I'm Lady Une," she answered. "Now eat, unless you want to be plugged in to an IV and get your nutrition that way."

"'m Duo Maxwell," he informed her, finally accepting the gruel and swallowing it through his introduction. "An' you din't answer all th' way...tha's like a title, not a name...I ask'd y'r name..."

Her mouth twitched again--he wondered if that was as close as she ever came to smiling. "If I tell you, will you stop talking and eat?"

He nodded, or at least tried to, it made him dizzy and his head drooped against his chest. Une slid her fingers under his chin and tilted his head back up. "Gee, usually Ozzies're tryin' to make me talk...th' only ones who /don't/ wan' me t' shut up...."

"It's Nicole," Une said abruptly, effectively silencing him by shoving the spoon into his mouth. "And nobody knows that, so keep it to yourself."

Duo mumbled agreement, finding himself disturbed by the sudden harsh sorrow in her soft eyes. He ate obediently, but nothing else he tried, by the time the painkillers kicked in again and he lost consciousness in the centre of her bed, could coax even a shadow of a smile to her face.

****