Author: Sita Seraph
Genre: Dark Angst
Pairing: 1x2, 2x2, 3x2, 2x4/4x2, 5x2
Rated: R
Summary: The war can do damage. But friends can do worse. And Duo has found out the hard way. After giving up his very body to the soldiers of the Gundams, Duo is left with only one choice: Revenge. Cold-blooded revenge.
Warning: Bastardized Duo since part Eight, willing rape, lemons, swearing, abused Duo.

Abuse This + Part 9

The scuffle started without me before I stepped out of the bedroom, glancing down the hallway lazily towards the fighting pair. My shoulder fell against the doorframe, clasping my hands in front of me. Heero was gripping onto one of Wufei's arms, the skin turning white under his fingertips and Wufei's hand was curled around Heero's nightshirt, shoving the nuzzle right against the Japanese's stiff neck. They were cursing back and forth now, shoving each other against the walls, and against the bedroom doors where surely Quatre and Trowa resided. They weren't even listening to what the other was saying; their voices just continued to get louder, trying to override the other with their force. I delicately touched my throbbing leg with remoteness, rubbing at a tired eye. I couldn't help the yawn seeping past my lips.

And that's when Heero and Wufei tumbled down the stairs, fighting for the gun.

"And Jack and Jill fell down the hill, the gun tumbling after," I said quietly to myself, walking down the hall to the top of the staircase, staring down at the quarreling two. I dug then played with the special item in my pocket. They wrestled each other, the gun squashed between their fingers as they tried to wretnch it out of the other's grip and still they were yelling, breathless now. I waited, rolling and cracking my shoulder and then my neck. They didn't notice me.

It was when Quatre was roused from his room that the gun was in the perfect position. It was when Trowa walked through the front door that I pushed the trigger in my pocket.

I looked at Quatre when the gun went off.

I heard someone screaming.

Maybe it was me.


I winced again as I rolled slowly over onto my side, facing the window shielding the setting sun outside. Three days now. Three days since the rush to the hospital in a van with Quatre's building temper quickening over my groggy and drugged head and towards the three, but most specifically, to the two men on the other side of the van. The seats had been pulled down under the floor, and I had laid in the middle of the flat ‘bed', a red hand clutching over my own ribcage, and finding it so terribly hard to breathe. My vision swirled and I couldn't think correctly. It didn't help with Wufei's desperate and crazed driving at the front. We would take turns too sharp and stops too fast, jerking my shuddering body all over the floor. I remember the nerves in my leg kept twitching from time to time and Quatre kept me from going into shock with a blanket and a warm voice. But it was always so hard to breathe, so hard to think. I thought about wanting to shut down. Just close my eyes and give up ­ maybe even push my fingers harder against my wound and perhaps slip a finger inside my pulsing flesh. The vision it gave me did not disgust me.

"How could this have happened?" Quatre whispered. He was furious but he did not raise his voice like he usually did. Perhaps it was for my benefit. I opened my mouth and puffed out the air I was holding, the world fading at the corner of my eyes.

We came to a halt too fast and I slid a bit on the rough surface, a groan slipping past my lips. I tilted my head back, ready to give Wufei a piece of my mind.

What stopped me was what I found on Wufei and Heero's faces.

I saw horror, the revulsion I mirrored every single time I locked myself up in the bathroom and I took a look at my bare skin. It was littered with bruises that never really faded and with scars that came from battles inside the bedroom and out. I saw nothing but the repulsivenesson of my own skin and of the hands that had caused it. I wondered what they saw when they looked at me ­ if they were horrified with themselves or with just another wound they had caused. Were they in shock? Were they disgusted with themselves?

They better be.

I saw guilt. They pitied me. They were sorry. But they never said anything to me. They didn't apologize. Heero just kept staring at me and Wufei kept his eyes on the road, rubbing his forehead constantly. I wanted them to feel bad. I wanted them to wish for forgiveness, to hate themselves. I wish I could have laughed.

I saw tears. Most of all were the tears. And they were silent too. Heero had twisted his seat around so that it was facing towards us, his fingers in his mouth as he bit at his nails. His eyes were distant, so fantastically lost, and brimming with tears that fell ever so slowly that the trek they made had dried by the time another fell. Wufei cried little too, his tears short and quick, and few fell in the hour I laid there. I nearly missed it, though when I looked back, I did see the dewy drop sliding down his cheekbone.

Last time I saw them was when I was wheeled into the hospital. They hadn't come to see me yet. Only Quatre did. He was all I needed anyways.

"Careful now," he said on the other side of me, helpfully pulling up the blanket that had gotten twisted with my body. I sighed mournfully, rubbing my eyes.

"They haven't come to see me at all," I pouted though my face did not show it. No need to act when he couldn't see it.

"Do you want to see them?" He asked quietly and I heard the creak of the hospital chair as he leaned back against it.

"It would be friggin' nice if I got an apology note," I sulked, drawing my legs closer to me in a futile position. "Not a word. I mean I don't imagine Trowa to arrive with flowers any time soon-."

A snort from his general direction. I smiled. Still angry.

"-Actually, all of them owe me an apology. One of them beats me up and the other two shoot me. Next thing I know you'll be trying to strangle me in my sleep, Quatre."

The humor was lost on him, because I heard an uncomfortable shift.

I didn't continue and I returned to my own thoughts, fingers rubbing the silk lining of the hospital blanket over and over again. I wanted to leave this place. I was tired of being subdued into a bed surrounded by strangers. I was sick of laying here and waiting for Quatre every single day just so I had something to do. Talking to myself stopped helping years ago and we all knew that my mind isn't the best cookie in the box. Thinking too much made me angry and I had nothing to vent my fury on. Being patient was the hardest thing to do, as I planted ideas and thoughts into my visitor's head, and I knew I couldn't last much longer ­ I had to proceed with my plan now.

Distantly, I thought of Trowa, the next step. There had been no word from him and I suspected greatly that he knew I set this wall between him and his lover up. He probably knew I was lying and that I got beat up by some over-sensitive drunks. But did he know about the gun? Could he? And what of Heero and Wufei? If they talked to each other, could they figure out the set up? Or were they too angry, too filled with guilt to speak to the other? It was just a circle of questions Quatre never answered.

"God," I whispered into my pillow, my shoulders growing lax with the drain of my humor. "Who knew, huh, Quatre?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, subdued.

"Just... who knew? How... ugly all of them can be," I stared out the window impassively. I paused for effect and when I knew Quatre was going to break the silence, I spoke again. "Do you know about Trowa?"

"Trowa?" He repeated. "What about him?"

"How his fists feel," my voice was strained and I closed my eyes. "How he can yell, even louder than you."

"Duo... " he warned.

But I couldn't stop, and I don't why. I imagined Trowa as I always did ­ hiding in the darkness, his hand firmly around my wrist. He was yelling at me again and he was making my bruise return on my arm. He was hurting me, striking me, holding my hair as he whispered in my ear. He wanted me responsible for all his mistakes. He thought I had begged for him to hit me, to abuse me like he did. Somebody's perspective was surely out of whack. I couldn't count how many times I had told him to stop, to leave me the fuck alone. To stop hurting me. He never hurt Quatre though. I don't know why either. Why was I hit around so much and Quatre only received a caress? What was so special about Quatre that I couldn't receive the same treatment?

"Were you ever afraid to speak up against him, Quatre?" I whispered, sniffling softly. "Ever?"

He didn't answer me.

I covered my closed eyes, tensing against the tears that I could feel coming. My voice shuddered as I breathed out tightly.

"I never really tried to stop him," my voice sounded so tiny. "Though I wanted to. But I was afraid. Do you know what I was afraid of, Quatre?"

Blissful silence.

"No? No idea?" I whispered with a hoarse chuckle that lacked of any true emotion. "You'll never have any idea, Quatre. You never have. Because everyone loves you. They'd never hurt you. You will never know how hard Trowa can throw his fist. You'll never know what its like to be shot by your best friends."

I heard him take a shaky breath and I felt his hand snake across the blanket towards my form. It landed softly on my arm and I let it rest there. I let Quatre try to comfort me. But I knew he never could. What was there to comfort? I didn't feel the remorse anymore. I didn't feel the agony. That's how it was now. I could feel my suffering with each tear that fell down my cheek. I could touch all of my hate when I threw something across the room. I could feel the need, the passion, the god-damn WANT to tell them everything so I could just slap them across the face, shove them against the wall, throw them on the bed, tie them to the floor and fuck them with each breathless word. I could feel all of this with each half-truth I told them. But when I was done ­ when I was finished ­ I couldn't feel it anymore.

"I'm so sorry, Duo," he said softly, though clearly. "This whole idea of mine was so stupid... We're hurting you and... "

"I want to see Trowa," I said. I heard him freeze behind me, hand jerking away.


"I want to see him," I repeated.

"But... " he whispered breathless. My eyebrows fell heavier.

"You forbid all of them to see me, didn't you?" I asked.

He sighed shakily, "Yes."


"I thought it would be for the best... "

"When have you ever know what was best for me, Quatre?" I accused quietly. "Was this trip supposed to be for the best for my condition? I'm an adult now. I think I can start making my own decisions."

"Please don't be mad-."

"I've been angry ever since you left me," I cursed, grinding my teeth. I heard him breathe sharply.

"D-Duo," he whispered.

"Don't," I ordered and squared my shoulders again, tensing against the conversation.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Yeah, me too," I replied stiffly. "But you got Trowa now, huh? He seems like a real fucking winner to me."

He didn't say anything, and I wondered if he was angry at all. Or even thinking about what I said. I needed him to. I needed him to see Trowa just the way I do ­ a cold asshole who's selfish and arrogant. All he thought about was himself. He always did. He stole away my trust, my perfect skin, my hair, and my first love. He never cared about me. But now it was my turn to be selfish. To get back at him for all the bruises and bloody lips ­ by attacking his heart.

By gaining Quatre's trust.

"Did you ever like me that way?" I asked. He jerked in his chair, seeming to be taken off guard by my blunt question. I waited, wondering if I even truly cared what the answer was.

"I think so," he said. "Once. But you changed a lot, and then I didn't know who I fell in love with."

I frowned, not liking the answer. "War does that to people." It was true.

"I know," Quatre said, pausing, before continuing. "Sometimes, I wonder what person you are. Who was the man that I befriended."

"He's still here." You just can't talk to him. He died. See these eyes, Quatre? Do you see how dead they are?


"It's better than nothing." You caused it. You helped stab them to death.

We stopped talking then, though I know Quatre wished to continue.

I didn't care. The person who would was dead.


I didn't turn around when I heard him enter; instead I leaned forward more in my wheelchair, looking down at the slowly moving patients five stories down as they walked along the hospital nature trail. I heard him take a seat behind me, on my bed, and I curled my fingers around the spokes on the wheels, leaning back slowly. It was a nice day and I thought about opening the window. Tossing Trowa out crossed my mind and I smirked at my reflection.

"Did you bring any beer?" I asked, turning my head to look at him from the corner of my eye.

"Very funny," he muttered gruffly.

"I'll take that as a no then," I said, looking back out the window again before reaching out and closing the blinds. Lowering my hands back to the wheels, I twisted my chair back around and faced Trowa, tossing my bangs out of my face with a flick of my head.

"Hi," I greeted. He stared right through me. "How are you and Quatre?" His eyes narrowed some more, finally training on me.

"What do you want?" He asked curtly. "Heero and Wufei were disappointed that you didn't ask them to come visit you. Why didn't you call your lovers over?"

My hand closed tighter around the wheel's spokes, the rigidity of my grip somehow restraining my face from reacting. This was one thing that I hated most about Trowa; he was so fucking observant. He always knew what was going on. Well. Sometimes always. He was always pretty fucking stupid when it came to me. He was blind and dull back in the war. He never guessed about my relationships with the others during the war. At least, he led on as if he had no idea. But what if he did? What if he did suspect or know back then? He never acted like he cared. And now that knowledge could very well be my downfall.

"I have to deal with you first," I said calmly, (my words meaning in more ways than one) congratulating myself for not reacting at all to his words. I watched him, but he didn't react either. "I wanted to apologize."

"Bullshit," he snapped immediately, twisting his face away from me. I looked away as well, down at my bare feet. "Last time you apologized, you accused me of trying to kill you."

"No," I said softly. "I told everyone that you were beating the living shit out of me."

"And you are full of shit, Duo," he said crossly. I didn't reply and he said no more. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, glancing over at the one other patient in the room who was asleep behind the pulled blinds. He snored softly on the other side, a little meter beating every other minute or so. The only other sound in the room was the clock that ticked next to the door, counting down the seconds of our silence. Finally, he spoke.

"What are you apologizing for?" He asked quietly, obviously under control again. I looked at him again.

"For you and Quatre," I replied. "I want to help. Obviously, this whole thing has really gotten in-between you two-."

"Its just what you wanted, Duo," he accused, standing up quickly. Immediately, my back was rigid, tensing up, and staring at him cautiously. He looked ready to attack me. Obviously, I was the only one in real control of his emotions right now. I wondered briefly if he would hit me. Did I have the strength to fight back? Probably not. I never did, even when I was in top shape. I gripped my chair a little tighter, thinking of a quick escape route if Trowa lost his temper completely. Not talking to a loved one can do that to you, I guess. He sighed then and tried to relax his tense shoulders.

"N-No," I said shakily. "Trowa... you did attack me. I didn't know you couldn't hold your liquor... "

"I can," Trowa argued, taking a threatening step forward. I wheeled my chair back instantly and bounced off the wall. He stopped, not taking a step farther, and stared at me with slightly wider eyes as I lifted my shaking hands to my falling face. I breathed deeply into the palms of my hands, trying to calm my racing heart. Flashes of a familiar scenario passed through my eyes, of a stormy night. I had lain crumpled in the corner of the room, backpedaling my legs against the wall and knowing that I could go no further as Trowa advanced towards me. I screamed at him to leave me alone, to stop, but he had just picked me up and dragged me back...

"Please," I said unsteadily. "Please... just sit down."

I heard the bed creek as he immediately did so. I didn't look at him again, keeping my face covered for a few more minutes, before dropping them and staring at the floor. My hands shook in my lap.

"You're scared of me," he said, almost incredulously.

"Yes," I replied without hesitation.

He paused, as if thinking of something, and then suddenly all the anger from before drained from his voice, "How long?"

I closed my eyes, eyebrows falling against the tears that responded abruptly to his words. My head fell further. God, how dare he? How long? Why, Trowa, ever since you lost your temper and hit me. Ever since you dragged me to the ground, ripped off my clothes, and took me like some paying whore! How long ago was that, Trowa? Or did you forgot about all our great times? When I bled and I cried but you just kept going. How long? Do you want me to remind you? I happen to remember with perfect clarity how your fists _do_ feel. I know how your tongue could sting sharper than any of the pain you caused me physically! Yes, yes, I remember. I remember careless words tossed my way. I remember the way you had treated me. The same way you treat me now. And you ask how long? How obvious can it be?

"A very long time," I replied strongly even though my shoulders were shaking. How could he be so blind? "But-."

"Duo... " He stood up again and I heard him coming towards me. I jerked up my head immediately, eyes snapping open and throwing my hands in front of me to fend him off.

"No!" I shouted. "Stay away from me. Don't. Don't touch me."

Trowa froze just a few feet from me, hands slowly falling back to his sides with a silent defeat. His body seemed to wither as well.

"You'll never trust me again?" He asked softly.

"I never trusted you," I replied, eyes filled with teary resolve. I held back the hate in my eyes and the anger from my voice. "Not unless you were in your Gundam."

He stared at me, disbelief shaking in the only eye I could see. He looked crushed and I think he knew that it was his fault this time. That the distrust in my eyes... he had put it there, and he would probably never receive any forgiveness from this body. Maybe he wasn't so blind after all. He nodded slowly, sudden sadness wilting off of him. I slowly dropped my hands and he backed a few more feet away from me, his eyes falling to the ground in apparent understanding.

"Now," I said slowly. "Back to you and Quatre... "

"Why?" He interrupted again. "Why do you want to help us?"

"Believe it or not, Trowa," I said, "Quatre does mean a lot to me. And he loves you."

He looked up at me slowly, "What do I have to do?"

"Come here tomorrow," I said. "I'll be walking with Quatre down at the hospital trail. I'll talk to him about you. And then you can come in on your shining white horse." I looked away again, hands falling on the wheels, and turning myself away from him.

"That's all?" He asked slowly.

"That's all."