'Exercise One' for the Community
Title: Exercise One
Recipient: Community
Rating: Hard PG-13
Warnings: Torture, Language
Summary: On the Lunar Base, there is a new captive Gundam Pilot and OZ wants answers.
Author's Notes: Wow, this was a challenge. I normally don't write Trowa, because it is incredibly hard to get into his head space. I'm not entirely happy with the "finished product" so to speak; so I apologize in advance to whomever gave this prompt in the first place. But thanks to my amazing girlfriend for a kick in the right direction after several very unsuccessful starts. :)
Also, I really hope I'm not on some creepy government watch list now, with all the research I did on actual torture and interrogation methods...while I feel I could have been much more creative, I decided to stick with tried and true methods, rather than what my twisted brain could scheme up. So, sorry to anyone expecting over-the-top torment; I just really feel that OZ would be above a lot of that.
Virtual cookies to anyone who knows where the title came from. ^_~
Author: chester_no_miko
“Barton.” The summons wasn't anything short of an order and Trowa turned to look at the older man who was watching him carefully. “You have an assignment.”
“Of course,” he replied evenly. Nichol had been on him since the beginning, his instincts more correct than the green-eyed boy would have liked. “What are your orders, Sir?”
“We've got another Gundam pilot,” the brown-haired man told him, watching closely for any reaction out of him. “You'll be assisting with the interrogation.”
Trowa nodded and followed Nichol; he was curious as to who had been captured. Was it Duo or Quatre? He was certain he wouldn’t be able to follow through if it were the blond, but there was something about the L-2 pilot that irked Trowa. He hadn't felt that bad about destroying Deathscythe a month before...not the way he would have if it had been one of the others. It was a curious reaction, to be honest. If he really thought about it, it should have bothered him more to destroy a weapon from his own side. It really should have bothered him more to destroy another pilot from the colonies that way.
The fact that it didn't was something that should have bothered him.
Over the last five months, he discovered the need to care for others; Quatre and his ready smile after the call for surrender that first meeting...Heero after his death attempt, where the L-1 pilot had to depend on someone else...WuFei after losing his battle with Trieze and the heartache that it brought the Chinese boy, knowing that he had failed his own, personal battle. They needed him in one way or the other. Trowa was content with that, knowing that he was needed, wanted. Of course, Duo Maxwell was something else entirely.
Maxwell didn't need his sympathy or his guilt. So perhaps that is why he just didn't feel any. The American didn't need someone to care for him the way the others did; Trowa just knew this about the other teen. There was something in Maxwell's eyes that told him everything he needed to know. He had the eyes of a survivor in the way the others would never be able to touch. He had the eyes that should have been just as dead as his own, but instead, they were still full of emotion and life. Trowa hated those eyes.
Thankfully, those eyes were closed when Trowa got to the room where two other guards were hauling the L-2 pilot's flight suit and clothing off the lithe frame. Just as they had finished stripping Duo down, the American's eyes flew open and he became a trapped animal, fighting hard enough to startle the two older men and he landed a few blows before Trowa strode up and punched the other teen square in the jaw. Duo's head snapped to one side and then, Trowa's calm gaze was met by a pair of baleful cobalt orbs.
It wasn't going to be hard, trying to wring information from Deathscythe's pilot, not for him. But he wondered at what it might cost him in return with the others, if they knew how much he was actually looking forward to hurting the other pilot. He wanted to hurt Duo so badly he could taste it. He wanted to take the lively fire out of those blue eyes and make them exactly how they should be, just like his.
Duo put up a token struggle as they continued to prepare him for his stay in the chilly cell. The large, clunky magnetized shackles were secured to his wrists and the smaller but no less solid rings were clipped onto his ankles, the chain leading between them fastened onto an eye bolt on the bare metal floor. The wrist shackles afforded the boy some modesty, but the rest of the setup made it impossible to move more than a few inches at all. Trowa could see the beginning of a nasty bruise appearing on Duo's stomach and ribs; he wondered when that had happened, since it was obvious they hadn't started in on the pilot yet. The cold was likely already seeping into the bottoms of Duo's feet, numbing the flesh and creeping upward into his legs.
Trowa was observing the setup when another soldier appeared with a bucket and set it down beside him, where Nichol seemed to materialize out of thin air. He glanced over at the man, who nodded downward, indicating the bucket at their feet. “Barton. Do it.”
Trowa looked into the bucket and saw the water shimmering in the brilliant light. He knew right away that it would be cold. The very real possibility of hypothermia combined with the inability to sit down and the stabbing lights making sleep impossible would be a lethal combination for anyone's state of mental health. Maybe even a Gundam pilot's. He didn't think too much about it and instead picked up the bucket and tossed the contents on the other boy.
“You motherfucker!” Duo spat through chattering teeth before he could stop himself.
“What's your name, you brat?” the older man in the room demanded, striking Duo across the face when he didn't get an immediate answer.
“Princess Anastasia,” Duo chuckled, spitting out a gob of fresh blood onto the floor.
“Do you think you're funny?” Nichol demanded.
“Not all the time, but right now, I feel pretty fucking funny, actually,” the brunet told him. “Seriously...you don't remember the guy you tried executing already?”
“What is your objective here?” Trowa asked calmly.
“Just wanted to see my Grandpappy and his friends,” Duo replied cheekily, batting his eyelashes at both men left in the room. It was obvious that he was freezing and was trying desperately to hide his shaking, but it wasn't working as well as he'd hoped.
Nichol looked duo over once and shook his head. “What is your name?” he repeated. “What is your objective?”
Duo's eyes took on the dangerous glint that most people never survived seeing. “I am Shinigami,” he told them. “And I'm here to blow this bitch.”
Nichol took an almost languid step around behind Duo and delivered a quick, precise blow to the boy's kidneys, making Duo's body arch instinctively. To his credit, the pilot didn't cry out from the punch. Trowa watched the pain flash through Duo's eyes and felt a sick sort of satisfaction flow through him for that brief moment. Anything that caused Duo pain seemed to calm his rising temper over the situation. He knew that the other pilot would never give up his name and objective any more than he would himself, but he was on edge from Nichol's constant suspicion. He would make certain after they were done with the L-2 pilot that Nichol would not have any reason to question where his “loyalties” lay.
“Come on,” the older man told Trowa suddenly. “He can stay here and think for a bit. We'll be back soon enough.”
Curious, Trowa had kept the bucket in his hands and followed Nichol out of the chilly room, waiting for his next orders. Nichol indicated that Trowa should put the bucket down when they were outside in the hallway and then motioned for Trowa to walk with him. Trowa admitted to himself that he was curious; there was no reason for Nichol to suddenly be so...what? Trusting? He wasn't certain, but he didn't like it.
“We'll have the doctor check on him periodically,” the brunet told him as they strode along the length of the hall toward one of the meeting rooms. “We don't want him dead and unable to talk. Eventually, he'll break. I just know it about this one. I have a feeling.” His brown eyes trained on the teen beside him, letting the meaning of the statement sink in. Trowa nodded, but said nothing. He was certain that this would be a long, drawn out process and he had to wonder who would win the situation: Nichol or Maxwell. “You'll water him down again in an hour and a half.”
“Understood.” It would go like clockwork, he knew. The cold water, combined with the temperature of the room and the inability to rest would wear on anyone. He had no idea when Duo had last slept or really rested, but that would be something that would elude him for a while to come. The physical and emotional strain would be enough to break anyone given enough time. Now it was only a matter of how long the doctor would allow for the torture to continue before it became too dangerous. It would be interesting to see how the game played itself out.
The next twelve hours went without much event. Duo continued to stand in the fifty degree room, most of the time soaking wet and shaking from the strain of his body. He didn't have the body fat to put up with the temperature for long and every time Dr. Honeycut examined Duo, he seemed more and more surprised about how much damage the boy's body seemed able to take. Mentally, he showed no signs of slowing down, either.
“State your name and objective.”
“I'm Heero Yuy,” Duo giggled, his eyes becoming slightly unfocussed. So far, he had also been Jimmy Hoffa, Peter Pan and Amelia Earhart. His objectives had been stated as organizing a union meeting for the soldiers, getting to the third star and flying around the world. “I'm here to save the colonies form your self-important bullshit excuse of assfucking us into submission.”
Trowa had to admit he was impressed. He had no idea that Duo had any idea who some of those people were. He'd even gone and looked them up, just to test the other pilot's trivia and found that he was spot on each time. He had to wonder where the hell Duo had found out this information and when he'd had the chance to learn it. It wasn't as though any of them had a lot of down time and when they did, it wasn't likely that they were studying pre-colony American Earth history. Using Heero's name nearly gave Trowa a start, though.
Duo's cobalt eyes caught Trowa's forest green ones and he smirked, just a little at the auburn-haired teen. He knew that he had shaken him somehow and Trowa felt the gore rise in his throat. He strode forward and grabbed Duo by the braid forcing his head back painfully. He felt Nichol's eyes on them and he stated calmly, “I need a pitcher of water.”
***
“Who are you?”
“D.B. Cooper,” the long-haired teen choked. He'd managed to keep most of the water Trowa had poured over his face out of his lungs, so it didn't take him long to answer. “I want my fucking money.”
Trowa slapped him across the face hard enough that Duo's teeth cut into his lip and tinged them an ugly orange-pink within moments. “What is your name?”
“I gotta piss,” Duo complained. “Get me a bucket or something, would ya?”
“If you have to go, then go,” Trowa told him. “I'm not stopping you.”
“What, you want me to piss on myself?” Duo snapped. “What kinda sicko are you? C'mon, get me something to go in.”
“You obviously don't have to go that badly,” the L-3 pilot told him calmly. He saw the truth of the matter dawning on Duo's face, but said nothing. He hadn't been kidding when he told Duo to just go.
“Fine,” the teen with the braid snapped. “Hope it gets on your fucking shoes...” His face screwed up into something akin to concentration and after a few seconds, he sighed. “Get out.”
“I need a chair,” Trowa stated to the older man. Nichol's eyebrows raised slightly.
***
“State your name and objective,” Nichol demanded, peering onto Duo's bloodshot eyes.
“I am Treize Kushrenada,” Duo told him, drawing his barely over five foot frame as tall as possible, looking down his nose at the taller man. “I demand you release me immediately and take me to my quarters. I expect a steak dinner waiting for me when I get out of the shower. Now be a good boy and fetch me my uniform...”
“That's enough.” The two of them watched Duo's face change to an ugly smirk and they turned to see Lady Une standing behind them at the door, her face white and contorted with rage.
She strode up to the pilot, pulling out her service pistol and aimed it between the boy's blue eyes. Her arm was nearly shaking and she steadied it by placing the barrel against Duo's forehead.
“Hey,” Duo drawled, looking up at her around the gun. “Back for more?”
He was immediately silenced by the gun cracking him across the jaw, his head turning to the side before it carefully came back to rest at the front. Une's breathing had picked up slightly and she glared daggers at him with her lovely brown eyes through the lenses of her glasses. “You...”
“What? I already told you I could strap you on like a feed bag and you could let me eat my way to your heart...” Duo said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“You disgusting little toad,” Nichol roared. “You will never speak to her that way again in my presence...”
“Aw, you're just pissed 'cause she won't let you do it,” Duo mocked, picking up steam. “What are you on the Moon for anyway? Couldn't hack it on Earth?” His grin showed blood on this teeth again and fire sparkled in his cobalt eyes.
***
Trowa found himself somewhat amused when he watched the other soldiers pull Duo's usual black and white clothing back onto his lithe frame. In the end, much to his surprise, the Deathscythe pilot had not broken. He'd taken quite a beating from Nichol until Une had ordered the man to stop; it wasn't going to work.
Once the pilot was pulled from the room between two guards to be tossed in the communal cell with Heero and WuFei, Trowa felt himself let out the breath he'd been holding. It was disappointing to know they had failed; that the fire still burned in the L-2 pilot's eyes just as strongly as before. It might take a while, but Trowa was certain there was something out there that would be Duo Maxwell's undoing.
And he would stop at nothing to find it.
Recipient: Community
Rating: Hard PG-13
Warnings: Torture, Language
Summary: On the Lunar Base, there is a new captive Gundam Pilot and OZ wants answers.
Author's Notes: Wow, this was a challenge. I normally don't write Trowa, because it is incredibly hard to get into his head space. I'm not entirely happy with the "finished product" so to speak; so I apologize in advance to whomever gave this prompt in the first place. But thanks to my amazing girlfriend for a kick in the right direction after several very unsuccessful starts. :)
Also, I really hope I'm not on some creepy government watch list now, with all the research I did on actual torture and interrogation methods...while I feel I could have been much more creative, I decided to stick with tried and true methods, rather than what my twisted brain could scheme up. So, sorry to anyone expecting over-the-top torment; I just really feel that OZ would be above a lot of that.
Virtual cookies to anyone who knows where the title came from. ^_~
Author: chester_no_miko
“Barton.” The summons wasn't anything short of an order and Trowa turned to look at the older man who was watching him carefully. “You have an assignment.”
“Of course,” he replied evenly. Nichol had been on him since the beginning, his instincts more correct than the green-eyed boy would have liked. “What are your orders, Sir?”
“We've got another Gundam pilot,” the brown-haired man told him, watching closely for any reaction out of him. “You'll be assisting with the interrogation.”
Trowa nodded and followed Nichol; he was curious as to who had been captured. Was it Duo or Quatre? He was certain he wouldn’t be able to follow through if it were the blond, but there was something about the L-2 pilot that irked Trowa. He hadn't felt that bad about destroying Deathscythe a month before...not the way he would have if it had been one of the others. It was a curious reaction, to be honest. If he really thought about it, it should have bothered him more to destroy a weapon from his own side. It really should have bothered him more to destroy another pilot from the colonies that way.
The fact that it didn't was something that should have bothered him.
Over the last five months, he discovered the need to care for others; Quatre and his ready smile after the call for surrender that first meeting...Heero after his death attempt, where the L-1 pilot had to depend on someone else...WuFei after losing his battle with Trieze and the heartache that it brought the Chinese boy, knowing that he had failed his own, personal battle. They needed him in one way or the other. Trowa was content with that, knowing that he was needed, wanted. Of course, Duo Maxwell was something else entirely.
Maxwell didn't need his sympathy or his guilt. So perhaps that is why he just didn't feel any. The American didn't need someone to care for him the way the others did; Trowa just knew this about the other teen. There was something in Maxwell's eyes that told him everything he needed to know. He had the eyes of a survivor in the way the others would never be able to touch. He had the eyes that should have been just as dead as his own, but instead, they were still full of emotion and life. Trowa hated those eyes.
Thankfully, those eyes were closed when Trowa got to the room where two other guards were hauling the L-2 pilot's flight suit and clothing off the lithe frame. Just as they had finished stripping Duo down, the American's eyes flew open and he became a trapped animal, fighting hard enough to startle the two older men and he landed a few blows before Trowa strode up and punched the other teen square in the jaw. Duo's head snapped to one side and then, Trowa's calm gaze was met by a pair of baleful cobalt orbs.
It wasn't going to be hard, trying to wring information from Deathscythe's pilot, not for him. But he wondered at what it might cost him in return with the others, if they knew how much he was actually looking forward to hurting the other pilot. He wanted to hurt Duo so badly he could taste it. He wanted to take the lively fire out of those blue eyes and make them exactly how they should be, just like his.
Duo put up a token struggle as they continued to prepare him for his stay in the chilly cell. The large, clunky magnetized shackles were secured to his wrists and the smaller but no less solid rings were clipped onto his ankles, the chain leading between them fastened onto an eye bolt on the bare metal floor. The wrist shackles afforded the boy some modesty, but the rest of the setup made it impossible to move more than a few inches at all. Trowa could see the beginning of a nasty bruise appearing on Duo's stomach and ribs; he wondered when that had happened, since it was obvious they hadn't started in on the pilot yet. The cold was likely already seeping into the bottoms of Duo's feet, numbing the flesh and creeping upward into his legs.
Trowa was observing the setup when another soldier appeared with a bucket and set it down beside him, where Nichol seemed to materialize out of thin air. He glanced over at the man, who nodded downward, indicating the bucket at their feet. “Barton. Do it.”
Trowa looked into the bucket and saw the water shimmering in the brilliant light. He knew right away that it would be cold. The very real possibility of hypothermia combined with the inability to sit down and the stabbing lights making sleep impossible would be a lethal combination for anyone's state of mental health. Maybe even a Gundam pilot's. He didn't think too much about it and instead picked up the bucket and tossed the contents on the other boy.
“You motherfucker!” Duo spat through chattering teeth before he could stop himself.
“What's your name, you brat?” the older man in the room demanded, striking Duo across the face when he didn't get an immediate answer.
“Princess Anastasia,” Duo chuckled, spitting out a gob of fresh blood onto the floor.
“Do you think you're funny?” Nichol demanded.
“Not all the time, but right now, I feel pretty fucking funny, actually,” the brunet told him. “Seriously...you don't remember the guy you tried executing already?”
“What is your objective here?” Trowa asked calmly.
“Just wanted to see my Grandpappy and his friends,” Duo replied cheekily, batting his eyelashes at both men left in the room. It was obvious that he was freezing and was trying desperately to hide his shaking, but it wasn't working as well as he'd hoped.
Nichol looked duo over once and shook his head. “What is your name?” he repeated. “What is your objective?”
Duo's eyes took on the dangerous glint that most people never survived seeing. “I am Shinigami,” he told them. “And I'm here to blow this bitch.”
Nichol took an almost languid step around behind Duo and delivered a quick, precise blow to the boy's kidneys, making Duo's body arch instinctively. To his credit, the pilot didn't cry out from the punch. Trowa watched the pain flash through Duo's eyes and felt a sick sort of satisfaction flow through him for that brief moment. Anything that caused Duo pain seemed to calm his rising temper over the situation. He knew that the other pilot would never give up his name and objective any more than he would himself, but he was on edge from Nichol's constant suspicion. He would make certain after they were done with the L-2 pilot that Nichol would not have any reason to question where his “loyalties” lay.
“Come on,” the older man told Trowa suddenly. “He can stay here and think for a bit. We'll be back soon enough.”
Curious, Trowa had kept the bucket in his hands and followed Nichol out of the chilly room, waiting for his next orders. Nichol indicated that Trowa should put the bucket down when they were outside in the hallway and then motioned for Trowa to walk with him. Trowa admitted to himself that he was curious; there was no reason for Nichol to suddenly be so...what? Trusting? He wasn't certain, but he didn't like it.
“We'll have the doctor check on him periodically,” the brunet told him as they strode along the length of the hall toward one of the meeting rooms. “We don't want him dead and unable to talk. Eventually, he'll break. I just know it about this one. I have a feeling.” His brown eyes trained on the teen beside him, letting the meaning of the statement sink in. Trowa nodded, but said nothing. He was certain that this would be a long, drawn out process and he had to wonder who would win the situation: Nichol or Maxwell. “You'll water him down again in an hour and a half.”
“Understood.” It would go like clockwork, he knew. The cold water, combined with the temperature of the room and the inability to rest would wear on anyone. He had no idea when Duo had last slept or really rested, but that would be something that would elude him for a while to come. The physical and emotional strain would be enough to break anyone given enough time. Now it was only a matter of how long the doctor would allow for the torture to continue before it became too dangerous. It would be interesting to see how the game played itself out.
The next twelve hours went without much event. Duo continued to stand in the fifty degree room, most of the time soaking wet and shaking from the strain of his body. He didn't have the body fat to put up with the temperature for long and every time Dr. Honeycut examined Duo, he seemed more and more surprised about how much damage the boy's body seemed able to take. Mentally, he showed no signs of slowing down, either.
“State your name and objective.”
“I'm Heero Yuy,” Duo giggled, his eyes becoming slightly unfocussed. So far, he had also been Jimmy Hoffa, Peter Pan and Amelia Earhart. His objectives had been stated as organizing a union meeting for the soldiers, getting to the third star and flying around the world. “I'm here to save the colonies form your self-important bullshit excuse of assfucking us into submission.”
Trowa had to admit he was impressed. He had no idea that Duo had any idea who some of those people were. He'd even gone and looked them up, just to test the other pilot's trivia and found that he was spot on each time. He had to wonder where the hell Duo had found out this information and when he'd had the chance to learn it. It wasn't as though any of them had a lot of down time and when they did, it wasn't likely that they were studying pre-colony American Earth history. Using Heero's name nearly gave Trowa a start, though.
Duo's cobalt eyes caught Trowa's forest green ones and he smirked, just a little at the auburn-haired teen. He knew that he had shaken him somehow and Trowa felt the gore rise in his throat. He strode forward and grabbed Duo by the braid forcing his head back painfully. He felt Nichol's eyes on them and he stated calmly, “I need a pitcher of water.”
***
“Who are you?”
“D.B. Cooper,” the long-haired teen choked. He'd managed to keep most of the water Trowa had poured over his face out of his lungs, so it didn't take him long to answer. “I want my fucking money.”
Trowa slapped him across the face hard enough that Duo's teeth cut into his lip and tinged them an ugly orange-pink within moments. “What is your name?”
“I gotta piss,” Duo complained. “Get me a bucket or something, would ya?”
“If you have to go, then go,” Trowa told him. “I'm not stopping you.”
“What, you want me to piss on myself?” Duo snapped. “What kinda sicko are you? C'mon, get me something to go in.”
“You obviously don't have to go that badly,” the L-3 pilot told him calmly. He saw the truth of the matter dawning on Duo's face, but said nothing. He hadn't been kidding when he told Duo to just go.
“Fine,” the teen with the braid snapped. “Hope it gets on your fucking shoes...” His face screwed up into something akin to concentration and after a few seconds, he sighed. “Get out.”
“I need a chair,” Trowa stated to the older man. Nichol's eyebrows raised slightly.
***
“State your name and objective,” Nichol demanded, peering onto Duo's bloodshot eyes.
“I am Treize Kushrenada,” Duo told him, drawing his barely over five foot frame as tall as possible, looking down his nose at the taller man. “I demand you release me immediately and take me to my quarters. I expect a steak dinner waiting for me when I get out of the shower. Now be a good boy and fetch me my uniform...”
“That's enough.” The two of them watched Duo's face change to an ugly smirk and they turned to see Lady Une standing behind them at the door, her face white and contorted with rage.
She strode up to the pilot, pulling out her service pistol and aimed it between the boy's blue eyes. Her arm was nearly shaking and she steadied it by placing the barrel against Duo's forehead.
“Hey,” Duo drawled, looking up at her around the gun. “Back for more?”
He was immediately silenced by the gun cracking him across the jaw, his head turning to the side before it carefully came back to rest at the front. Une's breathing had picked up slightly and she glared daggers at him with her lovely brown eyes through the lenses of her glasses. “You...”
“What? I already told you I could strap you on like a feed bag and you could let me eat my way to your heart...” Duo said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“You disgusting little toad,” Nichol roared. “You will never speak to her that way again in my presence...”
“Aw, you're just pissed 'cause she won't let you do it,” Duo mocked, picking up steam. “What are you on the Moon for anyway? Couldn't hack it on Earth?” His grin showed blood on this teeth again and fire sparkled in his cobalt eyes.
***
Trowa found himself somewhat amused when he watched the other soldiers pull Duo's usual black and white clothing back onto his lithe frame. In the end, much to his surprise, the Deathscythe pilot had not broken. He'd taken quite a beating from Nichol until Une had ordered the man to stop; it wasn't going to work.
Once the pilot was pulled from the room between two guards to be tossed in the communal cell with Heero and WuFei, Trowa felt himself let out the breath he'd been holding. It was disappointing to know they had failed; that the fire still burned in the L-2 pilot's eyes just as strongly as before. It might take a while, but Trowa was certain there was something out there that would be Duo Maxwell's undoing.
And he would stop at nothing to find it.