Days and nights had lost all meaning by that point. Days filled with
children playing in parks, laughing, smiling, enjoying their young lives.
Nights of young boys and girls stealing soft butterfly kisses under the
pseudo-moons of the colonies. The worlds turned all around them, and they
didn't even notice.
Quatre's mind, though viciously wrapped around Trowa, was also focused on Duo's bloody nose. There was nothing for them to treat it with or clean up. It was quite obviously broken, and resetting it was a big gamble. No matter what, Duo's nose wouldn't ever be the same.
"We won't be able to tell really till the swelling goes down." Quatre sighed, the bruising had gotten pretty bad, Duo now had a purple nose to match his purple eyes.
"Great, there go my girlish good looks," Duo snickered, smiling through his pain. It was a talent and a gift he had, no matter how bad things got he always saw the glass half full. Quatre smiled quietly in admiration. "When do you think Captain Jerkass is coming back?"
"I don't know," Quatre mumbled, "I don't really care to see him again." The blonde dreaded seeing that pale face again. He had a feeling the next time he saw him, Trowa would be dead, and it'd be one of their heads next on the chopping block.
There was no effort to sleep, neither one was really tired after the brutality. Duo was still rather upset with his nose and the lack of Wufei/Herro rescue efforts. Quatre was sick with worry. Trowa could be alone somewhere, abandoned and afraid. He could be in pain, dying, or even already dead. Quatre felt a sharp pain in his chest at that thought. What if I never see him again? What if I never get to see into those deep forest green eyes again?
The silence was quickly broken by the thunderous sound of the steel door against the wall. Both the pilots turned their tired eyes to the darkened hole in the wall to a strange soldier they'd never seen before. There was nothing really remarkable about him, except his eyes. They narrowed in on Quatre, emerald green, shimmering in the blinding light. Quatre felt something inside him twinge when those eyes bore into him. They were so much like Trowa's, yet, yet...
"You, little blonde whore. Get your ass up!" They lacked warmth and heart. They were dead, dead as the man that carried them.
"Don't you talk to him like that!" Duo cried.
"Want me to pop you another one beautiful?" The guard raised his gun.
"Duo please," Quatre begged quietly, "one of us needs to make it through this."
"Don't say that man, it's going to be ok," Duo watched despairingly as the soldier handcuffed Quatre. He seemed to enjoy it a little too much.
"Come on, Captain Renshaw is waiting with your little friend." The guard twisted Quatre's arm violently, making Quatre squirm a bit. The sound of the cell door slamming was heard. The deadbolts moved into place. "We are going to have lots of fun we are, little one." Quatre felt ill hearing those words. Turning he looked into the guards hollow green eyes, the cruelty of his words echoing in the Arab's ears. The guard was almost a mockery of the friend that OZ, that Renshaw had stolen away from him. In a mix of anger and sadness, Quatre spit at the guard, but his insurrection was met with a slap across the face. Quatre fell to the ground dazed and tasting his own sweet metallic blood.
"Little shit, you ought to learn respect for those who control your life."
The hallways seemed to go on forever. They were bright like the cell, and bustled with the thousands of workings of the ship. Soon, the world turned dark, the halls narrowed and echoed the sound of footsteps and chain rattling rather uncomfortably. The smell of gasoline was strong, Quatre assumed he was pretty far down in the bowels of the ship. If this was the place to kill someone this was it.
An unmarked door was opened, and the two stepped inside. Quatre felt his handcuffs come undone, and the strength of the soldier pulling him into the room.
It was a typical mechanical room: a large but poorly lit space littered with the blackened workings of the ship. In the center of it all stood at least six or seven men, the soldier included and discarded mass of human life lying on the floor.
"Trowa!" Quatre tried to cry out, but his voice was suddenly weak from emotion. He couldn't tell if the boy was dead or still with them.
"I thought there was a girl?" One of the soldiers said.
"No," another replied, "just an pretty little boy. Wonder why Renshaw didn't ask for him?"
"This one is awful pretty! Closest thing I've seen to a girl in a while." The men all broke out in laughter and Quatre blushed, clenching his fist.
"You know what they say," came a familiar voice, "gentlemen prefer blondes." Quatre turned to see the silhouette of a tall, lean man in the doorway. He was immediately identified by one of his men.
"But you sure as hell ain't no gentleman Aidan." Another round of laughter followed.
Renshaw's appearance was quite different now. He was still wearing his olive green riding pants, the mark of his status, but he was not just wearing a simple white button downed top with short sleeves. He was also barefoot, parading around in a pair of black socks. Quatre watched him rather carefully, the man was obviously drunk by the way he walked and smelled, but he tried to pull off a sober act.
"Boys, boys, we have business to attend to. This pretty little thing we've got here came all the way out of hiding just to see his friend." Renshaw motioned to Trowa. "Well, why don't you say hello, pretty little thing." Quatre felt himself being pushed to the ground on top of Trowa. The taller boy let out a sudden gasp of air as his eyes opened. Quatre felt relieved that his friend was at least alive.
"Trowa," he whispered, "it's me, Quatre. God, are you all right?"
"So touching," Renshaw mocked, wiping away a false tear, "two friends reunited again. How long will it last though?" Quatre turned and gave Renshaw the damn cruelest look he could muster. His whole body ached with hatred for the older boy. Renshaw just smiled at him. "No seriously, I'm taking bets, how long will it all last. Cause forever can end in seconds." The last part was said grimly, and Quatre knew that it was meant not only for only him, but for poor Trowa as well.
The blonde suddenly felt his body being lift and held up against a wall by one of the other nameless soldiers. He watched as a another lifted up Trowa like a rag doll, his arms and legs hung lifelessly from his body.
"This is your last chance," Renshaw said, pacing back and forth in front of Trowa, "tell me all I want to know. You know the questions, I've asked you thousands of times, and you know the answers as well. So, what will it be?" Trowa naturally didn't move, he just looked sad, sad and tired. "I figure I can make you talk if I ease up on your punishments and.."
Renshaw suddenly turned and faced Quatre.
"I can turn the punishment on your friend." Trowa made an audible gasp and twitched a bit in the soldier's arms, but Renshaw paid no attention, his golden honey eyes were fixed on Quatre's.
"What do you want from me?" Quatre asked viciously.
"I simply want you to look beautiful." That was the last thing he said before he forced his tongue into the blonde's mouth. Quatre gagged as he felt the warmth pushing itself down his throat. The soldier laughed at him and gripped tighter as Renshaw became more forceful. Quatre again tasted his own blood as Renshaw's teeth bit violently into his lips, pulling and tearing at them. He again heard Trowa's wordless moaning, but was quickly silenced by a fist in his gut. Trowa fell to the floor, and made no other noise.
"Got off me," Quatre yelled, muffled by another man's lips. Renshaw did not relent, only became more persistent. Quatre yelped as he felt himself being fondled by the young captain's long and nimble hands. Quatre's body could not help but to react to it, though he truly loathed being touched by the man. He felt himself on the brink of tears, Trowa was just a few a feet away from him in agony, and he was trapped between a soldier and a sex hungry captain.
"I knew this is the type of person you were," Renshaw mumbled, both hands now playing roughly with Quatre's erection.
"Get off!" he screamed again.
"Oh, he'll get off!" One of the soldiers joked. Again they all broke out into laughter, falling over them selves drunk and stupid. Renshaw pulled back, and laughed a bit himself.
"All right, that's all I wanted," he said coolly, "a little this and that, that's about all your worth physically. After all, I am no gentleman." He gave one last peck on Quatre's cheek, then backed away.
"You're quite passionate, and quite verbal as well. If anyone will be talking, it'll be you, won't it?" Quatre bit his lip, not wanting to answer. "Oh please," Renshaw sighed, "don't hide it now. I know you'd do anything for your little friend, I could get you to jump through a number of hoops I'm sure if I promised not to hurt him."
"Is that what you're hoping?" Quatre asked, feeling weak.
"I don't have to hope, I know you will. Now," he said, advancing towards Trowa's fallen form, "tell me, where are the others?" Quatre didn't answer. Renshaw bent down and lifted Trowa up by his hair. "Again, where are they?" Trowa's eyes were dewy, but he remained expressionless.
"I'll never tell you." Quatre whispered. The soldiers talked quietly amongst themselves, then suddenly, Renshaw slammed his fist right into Trowa's face. The soldiers cheered, Quatre felt his knees give. God, he's going to kill Trowa, I have to do something!
"I don't know how many times I've asked your friend this question, but it's enough times to make me quite ill of it. Don't try me, pretty thing. I'm not in the mood." Renshaw reached back down and pulled Trowa up again by his hair. He was clearly bruised now, with one eye shut and his mouth open breathing heavily. "I don't care if he lives or dies you know, it's all in your hands now. Tell me, where are the others." Quatre now felt tears streaming from his eyes. He couldn't give up his loyalties to the others, he couldn't. They'd never turn on him. But Trowa, his friend, his closest friend was in trouble and needed him. If he told, they're all just die anyway, or worse. And if he told, Trowa's suffering would have been for nothing. They all would just end up being captured anyway.
Quatre suddenly felt ill enough to vomit. His only choice was to watch the brutality and pray that it'd end soon.
"I'm not saying anything," Quatre said, his bottom lip quivering.
"Fine," Renshaw said with a disgusting smile, "now the real fun can begin." The soldiers all cheered on their leader as he began to unzip his pants. Quatre felt as though his breath had been knocked out of his lungs. Renshaw now stood half-naked with Trowa tight in his grip.
"Now tell me, tell me if you want your friend to be safe, where are they?"
Quatre's mind, though viciously wrapped around Trowa, was also focused on Duo's bloody nose. There was nothing for them to treat it with or clean up. It was quite obviously broken, and resetting it was a big gamble. No matter what, Duo's nose wouldn't ever be the same.
"We won't be able to tell really till the swelling goes down." Quatre sighed, the bruising had gotten pretty bad, Duo now had a purple nose to match his purple eyes.
"Great, there go my girlish good looks," Duo snickered, smiling through his pain. It was a talent and a gift he had, no matter how bad things got he always saw the glass half full. Quatre smiled quietly in admiration. "When do you think Captain Jerkass is coming back?"
"I don't know," Quatre mumbled, "I don't really care to see him again." The blonde dreaded seeing that pale face again. He had a feeling the next time he saw him, Trowa would be dead, and it'd be one of their heads next on the chopping block.
There was no effort to sleep, neither one was really tired after the brutality. Duo was still rather upset with his nose and the lack of Wufei/Herro rescue efforts. Quatre was sick with worry. Trowa could be alone somewhere, abandoned and afraid. He could be in pain, dying, or even already dead. Quatre felt a sharp pain in his chest at that thought. What if I never see him again? What if I never get to see into those deep forest green eyes again?
The silence was quickly broken by the thunderous sound of the steel door against the wall. Both the pilots turned their tired eyes to the darkened hole in the wall to a strange soldier they'd never seen before. There was nothing really remarkable about him, except his eyes. They narrowed in on Quatre, emerald green, shimmering in the blinding light. Quatre felt something inside him twinge when those eyes bore into him. They were so much like Trowa's, yet, yet...
"You, little blonde whore. Get your ass up!" They lacked warmth and heart. They were dead, dead as the man that carried them.
"Don't you talk to him like that!" Duo cried.
"Want me to pop you another one beautiful?" The guard raised his gun.
"Duo please," Quatre begged quietly, "one of us needs to make it through this."
"Don't say that man, it's going to be ok," Duo watched despairingly as the soldier handcuffed Quatre. He seemed to enjoy it a little too much.
"Come on, Captain Renshaw is waiting with your little friend." The guard twisted Quatre's arm violently, making Quatre squirm a bit. The sound of the cell door slamming was heard. The deadbolts moved into place. "We are going to have lots of fun we are, little one." Quatre felt ill hearing those words. Turning he looked into the guards hollow green eyes, the cruelty of his words echoing in the Arab's ears. The guard was almost a mockery of the friend that OZ, that Renshaw had stolen away from him. In a mix of anger and sadness, Quatre spit at the guard, but his insurrection was met with a slap across the face. Quatre fell to the ground dazed and tasting his own sweet metallic blood.
"Little shit, you ought to learn respect for those who control your life."
The hallways seemed to go on forever. They were bright like the cell, and bustled with the thousands of workings of the ship. Soon, the world turned dark, the halls narrowed and echoed the sound of footsteps and chain rattling rather uncomfortably. The smell of gasoline was strong, Quatre assumed he was pretty far down in the bowels of the ship. If this was the place to kill someone this was it.
An unmarked door was opened, and the two stepped inside. Quatre felt his handcuffs come undone, and the strength of the soldier pulling him into the room.
It was a typical mechanical room: a large but poorly lit space littered with the blackened workings of the ship. In the center of it all stood at least six or seven men, the soldier included and discarded mass of human life lying on the floor.
"Trowa!" Quatre tried to cry out, but his voice was suddenly weak from emotion. He couldn't tell if the boy was dead or still with them.
"I thought there was a girl?" One of the soldiers said.
"No," another replied, "just an pretty little boy. Wonder why Renshaw didn't ask for him?"
"This one is awful pretty! Closest thing I've seen to a girl in a while." The men all broke out in laughter and Quatre blushed, clenching his fist.
"You know what they say," came a familiar voice, "gentlemen prefer blondes." Quatre turned to see the silhouette of a tall, lean man in the doorway. He was immediately identified by one of his men.
"But you sure as hell ain't no gentleman Aidan." Another round of laughter followed.
Renshaw's appearance was quite different now. He was still wearing his olive green riding pants, the mark of his status, but he was not just wearing a simple white button downed top with short sleeves. He was also barefoot, parading around in a pair of black socks. Quatre watched him rather carefully, the man was obviously drunk by the way he walked and smelled, but he tried to pull off a sober act.
"Boys, boys, we have business to attend to. This pretty little thing we've got here came all the way out of hiding just to see his friend." Renshaw motioned to Trowa. "Well, why don't you say hello, pretty little thing." Quatre felt himself being pushed to the ground on top of Trowa. The taller boy let out a sudden gasp of air as his eyes opened. Quatre felt relieved that his friend was at least alive.
"Trowa," he whispered, "it's me, Quatre. God, are you all right?"
"So touching," Renshaw mocked, wiping away a false tear, "two friends reunited again. How long will it last though?" Quatre turned and gave Renshaw the damn cruelest look he could muster. His whole body ached with hatred for the older boy. Renshaw just smiled at him. "No seriously, I'm taking bets, how long will it all last. Cause forever can end in seconds." The last part was said grimly, and Quatre knew that it was meant not only for only him, but for poor Trowa as well.
The blonde suddenly felt his body being lift and held up against a wall by one of the other nameless soldiers. He watched as a another lifted up Trowa like a rag doll, his arms and legs hung lifelessly from his body.
"This is your last chance," Renshaw said, pacing back and forth in front of Trowa, "tell me all I want to know. You know the questions, I've asked you thousands of times, and you know the answers as well. So, what will it be?" Trowa naturally didn't move, he just looked sad, sad and tired. "I figure I can make you talk if I ease up on your punishments and.."
Renshaw suddenly turned and faced Quatre.
"I can turn the punishment on your friend." Trowa made an audible gasp and twitched a bit in the soldier's arms, but Renshaw paid no attention, his golden honey eyes were fixed on Quatre's.
"What do you want from me?" Quatre asked viciously.
"I simply want you to look beautiful." That was the last thing he said before he forced his tongue into the blonde's mouth. Quatre gagged as he felt the warmth pushing itself down his throat. The soldier laughed at him and gripped tighter as Renshaw became more forceful. Quatre again tasted his own blood as Renshaw's teeth bit violently into his lips, pulling and tearing at them. He again heard Trowa's wordless moaning, but was quickly silenced by a fist in his gut. Trowa fell to the floor, and made no other noise.
"Got off me," Quatre yelled, muffled by another man's lips. Renshaw did not relent, only became more persistent. Quatre yelped as he felt himself being fondled by the young captain's long and nimble hands. Quatre's body could not help but to react to it, though he truly loathed being touched by the man. He felt himself on the brink of tears, Trowa was just a few a feet away from him in agony, and he was trapped between a soldier and a sex hungry captain.
"I knew this is the type of person you were," Renshaw mumbled, both hands now playing roughly with Quatre's erection.
"Get off!" he screamed again.
"Oh, he'll get off!" One of the soldiers joked. Again they all broke out into laughter, falling over them selves drunk and stupid. Renshaw pulled back, and laughed a bit himself.
"All right, that's all I wanted," he said coolly, "a little this and that, that's about all your worth physically. After all, I am no gentleman." He gave one last peck on Quatre's cheek, then backed away.
"You're quite passionate, and quite verbal as well. If anyone will be talking, it'll be you, won't it?" Quatre bit his lip, not wanting to answer. "Oh please," Renshaw sighed, "don't hide it now. I know you'd do anything for your little friend, I could get you to jump through a number of hoops I'm sure if I promised not to hurt him."
"Is that what you're hoping?" Quatre asked, feeling weak.
"I don't have to hope, I know you will. Now," he said, advancing towards Trowa's fallen form, "tell me, where are the others?" Quatre didn't answer. Renshaw bent down and lifted Trowa up by his hair. "Again, where are they?" Trowa's eyes were dewy, but he remained expressionless.
"I'll never tell you." Quatre whispered. The soldiers talked quietly amongst themselves, then suddenly, Renshaw slammed his fist right into Trowa's face. The soldiers cheered, Quatre felt his knees give. God, he's going to kill Trowa, I have to do something!
"I don't know how many times I've asked your friend this question, but it's enough times to make me quite ill of it. Don't try me, pretty thing. I'm not in the mood." Renshaw reached back down and pulled Trowa up again by his hair. He was clearly bruised now, with one eye shut and his mouth open breathing heavily. "I don't care if he lives or dies you know, it's all in your hands now. Tell me, where are the others." Quatre now felt tears streaming from his eyes. He couldn't give up his loyalties to the others, he couldn't. They'd never turn on him. But Trowa, his friend, his closest friend was in trouble and needed him. If he told, they're all just die anyway, or worse. And if he told, Trowa's suffering would have been for nothing. They all would just end up being captured anyway.
Quatre suddenly felt ill enough to vomit. His only choice was to watch the brutality and pray that it'd end soon.
"I'm not saying anything," Quatre said, his bottom lip quivering.
"Fine," Renshaw said with a disgusting smile, "now the real fun can begin." The soldiers all cheered on their leader as he began to unzip his pants. Quatre felt as though his breath had been knocked out of his lungs. Renshaw now stood half-naked with Trowa tight in his grip.
"Now tell me, tell me if you want your friend to be safe, where are they?"
