Acts of Contrition (15/20)
The door creaks open with a harsh metallic clang. He spares it a withering glance before shutting it behind him, turning his full attention to the man cuffed to a chair in the center of the room. Or not cuffed. Changmin.
Extra precaution, then.
The scene is almost familiar, except Jaejoong knows this man will not be so easily swayed by pain or heavy-handed persuasion. He's a man of rank in the Guard. Rank brings corruption and disease, true enough, but it also brings pride and experience. Both are difficult shields to combat. But the more arrogant the man, the weaker the mind has proven to be.
It's why he's here, and not Yoochun.
The Captain needs a delicate touch.
Yunho opens his eyes. They are unmarred by sleep or fatigue, though he hasn't rested in better than two days. He hopes Junsu is safe, hopes Changmin has enough sway over these people to keep him alive and unharmed. For his part, he can take care of himself, even with the ghost who'd just entered.
A young man, a pretty man in certain parts of the Empire and he wonders how he ended up here. Did he sell himself or someone else? Depravity is no secret to inhabitants of this moon, he knows that much. So what's his story and why is he looking down at him like that. He doesn't even seem armed.
Yunho arches an eyebrow in question. It's the only acknowledgment he'll give.
"I see our dongsaeng untied you," Jaejoong murmurs after a long silence, sure to keep his voice soft. He wants to be underestimated. It doesn't take much, he knows.
A tilt of the head. "You meet an ally in enemy quarters and so quick to alienate him?" He smiles. "What's your name, Captain?" He knows it. It isn't the point.
Yunho keeps his silence. There's only so much that can be done to an unresponsive prisoner. Starvation would try the patience of scum like these people and torture won't entreat Changmin to believe their lies. Threats are useless if they expect his cooperation.
There's another way, but he refuses to consider it. Instead, Yunho waits.
A shark-edged grin. "They would've taught you silence at the Academy, then. Or maybe you just picked up tricks along the way."
Jaejoong moves until he's behind the other man, pressing at the spot between his shoulder blades.
"Sorry for the rude welcome."
"You're not forgiven," Yunho retorts, the words wrenched from his throat with ill-controlled fury as he stands and moves out of range of those questing fingers. The memory of a gun being pressed to his back is vivid in his mind. "Why am I still alive?"
Jaejoong regards him mildly. "Don't you want to be?" He leans back against the wall, still smiling.
"Do you always answer a question with a question?" Yunho retorts sharply. "You know I won't cooperate, so you might as well shoot me now. You're wasting your time playing games." Unless of course, the little porcelain doll enjoys games. He can't help wonder how fast, how easy it might be to crack that smooth, perfect bone structure.
He raises his chin, pretending to think it over. "And the other? Would you sacrifice him as easily?"
A laugh, looking up at the other man through his eyelashes. "Shame, that. I like him."
Impassive features turn to anger and Yunho steps forward, marching up until he's invading Jaejoong's personal space. Tusk to tusk, they lock gazes.
"Touch him and you die." It's not a warning or a threat, it's an absolute certitude.
A smirk belies darker thoughts. So protective of his little conquests, this man. "Touch him how?"
"You need me to teach you, boy?" Yunho snarls, but there's no joke, no humor in his voice. He means it. He would kill for Junsu, for Changmin. "Lay a hand on him and you'll regret it."
"But Captain," Jaejoong breathes. "I've already done so much more." His tone is light, but there is no joke in his eyes as he leans forward, meeting furious eyes with glittering black.
Yunho sees red. It takes all his willpower to control himself. Distantly, he's aware that to lose his temper now would make Junsu's life forfeit, if it isn't already. Can't help anyone from beyond the grave.
"You're not a savage for nothing," he grits out instead, pushing back with a hand on the wall, distancing himself.
"Is that what you think I am?" Jaejoong murmurs, hiding his own rising hackles behind a layer of ice. "And what would you call the dog that bites its master, Captain? The savage knows no loyalty." A blank look. "What does that make you?"
"It makes me your prisoner," Yunho replies evenly, fists clenched tightly. "For now." A prisoner they can't break. A prisoner they'll never succeed in tempting with their wiles.
***
The day her daughter married a captain in the Imperial Guard should have been a day of gaiety. Instead, it was crowned not by celebration, but by fire and ash and betrayal. As birds swarmed in on the palace, the old Oracle was finally proven right with screams of innocents branded as criminals, with priests and priestesses burned for their devotion by those who’d done away with such reverence.
She ran through the hallowed halls like a child, falling to her knees when her function demanded it, falling to the floor when gunblasts echoed above her head. She tried not to cry as she passed through the once great palace, its columns wavering under the force of impact, paint chipped off the walls by the force of a thousand guns.
The sacrilege of her act seemed small compared to the one perpetrated by the Admiral.
That wretched man, how dare he? Fearful and out of breath, she took one of the secret passages, praying as she went, hoping the Emperor’s family had escaped long before. The thought of her old ruler, the father of the Empire, the vessel of the Gods, at the mercy of the Guard made her blood run cold. There was no greater betrayal than his own men taking arms against him.
Outside, the dawn of a new era rose with the color of blood running into the streams. The guns fell silent. The people rejoiced.
The death of a tyrant; the rise of another.
They caught her many years later, dragged her away from her grandson’s bedside, ignoring the screams of the infant. On her knees in the courtyard, she thought she’d die for a regime long dead, but instead her humiliation went deeper.
Jackals in Imperial Guard garb taunted and spat at her under the self-satisfied eyes of her neighbours. They cut her white hair and ripped her blouse as if an old woman in her shame could give credence to their rule. All it did was hurt her aching limbs and her long deceased pride.
The marks they made into her skull would never vanish, never fade. In them, she found her deepest disgrace. Her daughter never understood, her son-in-law believed it to be a form of penance. She kept her stories for her grandson.
“Tell me the one about the rabbit and the girl,” Changmin would ask her.
She died before he came of age, before his father got his way. She died before she could see him in the bloodstained uniform of the Imperial Guard.
***
Jiexi bled away on that barren wasteland, her hand clutching her sidearm, her feet kicking wildly in the impossible heat. They left her here to die and rot, they left her men with her, as punishment for following a woman. She could barely see them, but she hear their gurgling screams as blood stopped their voices, their breathing.
Blood that she made run with her desertion; blood that bought her this end.
I don’t want to die. Goddess of Mercy, I don’t want to die.
Her prayers went unheard, the Gods’ only reply in the sunlight streaming overhead. She feared their power, felt humbled before their great statues on Attica, but here… here, at the end of her days, they meant nothing.
Father, give me strength. Give me your strength.
Her lineage went far and she could trace its every link. She could recall the names, the stories, the betrayals. She could, in a sense, relieve them now as she lay dying on a barren spot of earth.
Delirious with blood loss and the heat, she saw a face hovering above her own. Her sentence was death; that unforgiving verdict in a trial for desertion. A slow death, too, with her ancestor’s spirits taunting and pulling at her nerves, with pain radiating through her body. With her imagination running wild.
Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“My… name…” Jiexi tried to speak, tried to make herself understood.
“Are you loyal to the Emperor? Speak, woman!”
Bright green eyes bore into her own, willing an answer from her lips. If it was the last thing she said, she could get those words out.
“Yes.” Yes, after a thousand betrayals. Yes, after trying to be someone she was not. Yes, after nearly ending her life at the hand of treacherous pigs.
The face above hers illuminated with joy, with gratitude. “We are friends, then. I will help you.”
***
There was no small amount of pride to be taken in being part of the Delta Phi's. They weren’t just the strongest squadron on the Acheron; they were on their way to topping fleet rankings. And Junsu could easily see why, even after a five day assignment to the battleship.
"Hey, Shim," he called, rolling over in his bunk. "You asleep?"
Back at the Academy, the ground beneath his feet was too fixed. He could practically feel its rotation. This must have been what pilots called spacesickness. It was the opposite of what colonists and tourists understood by the term. It was supposed to be a sign of good instincts, of natural affinity.
"Hey, Changmin," he tried again, throwing a shoe at the sleeping form across from him.
The offending article struck a glancing blow off of Changmin’s shoulder, head rising from the confines of his sheets to glare blearily at the other man. Men now, not boys any longer.
"What?" he growled, tucking his head back down on the pillow. "You're waking me from a nice dream." He didn’t have many, when he dreamt at all, and the pleasant blur of warmth that he recalled was fast fading from his consciousness.
Junsu grinned in the darkness. "You can fantasize about guys in flightsuits later," he chuckled. "What did you think of the Acheron? Do you think I'll get a shot? I mean, I know I know you will... think I should to temple tomorrow?" He was surprisingly awake for three in the morning and yes, he'd probably regret chatting away when he should be resting, but for now, he was too pumped with adrenaline to think of sleep.
Changmin let out an outraged noise at the first comment, muffling it in his pillow and tugging his sheets higher up over his shoulders.
"I think you're hopeless," he shot back, still annoyed at the loss of his dream. "You better hope one of the Captains likes your pretty face."
"I'm a pilot not an object," Junsu laughed in response, chucking his other shoe when it seemed Changmin might be trying to get some sleep. "Oh come on, you can't tell me you're not at least a bit excited at the possibility!"
Changmin sighed, resolutely unwilling to get caught up in Junsu's boyish excitement. They were adults now, dammit. His gaze slid to the other man's, taking in his hopeful expression.
His resolve failed.
Huffing an impatient breath, he pushed himself up onto an elbow. "Of course I'm excited. To be part of an actual squad? Can't come soon enough."
"Did you see the Acheron?" Junsu grinned. "It's fucking amazing. Oh man, imagine... just imagine, we could be on it in a month. If we pass the examinations and we get selected..."
He heaved a breath. "The captain we met? That guy'll go down in the books as a war hero. It's written on his face. It's in his blood."
"Captain Jung," Changmin supplied quickly, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. "He was...he'll be a good leader. If he's our Captain. If we get in."
Too many if's for his tastes, and Changmin slumped back down on the flimsy mattress, sighing. "I might join you at temple."
***
Jaejoong marched at the head of the procession, his head bowed as was customary, the urn heavy in his hands. A procession of villagers who would gladly go through his mother's things followed, their whispers carrying over the sound of crashing waves. He tried not to heed their words, their greed, their veiled remarks.
"Here you go, Mama, you'll get to bathe in the ocean again," he whispered to the wind, trying hard not to trip over his own feet. His mother deserved the dignity of sumptuous last rites.
This was all he could afford.
The sun was bright on the water, the day too beautiful to mourn a death. Yoochun shut his eyes against the glare, telling himself it was that and not the sight of Jaejoong, small and white, that stung his eyes.
The sand was hot under his bare feet, burning him nearly as much as the need to touch the other boy, to comfort him. But he would respect the rites and keep his distance.
Fishing boats bobbed in the distance, the water too still to move them, too tempting to entreat their crews to respect the Gods. Jaejoong didn't care and knew his mother, if she would've been alive, wouldn't have cared either. In those last months of her life, she hadn't cared for much at all.
The priest recited his spiel from the heavy old tome from the temple in the next village--it was the only one they had in the whole region and Jaejoong hadn't been willing to compromise his mother's soul on some old man's memory. No, the rites had to be given properly.
"For she who has sinned shall be judged..."
Jaejoong bit his tongue as he saw the villagers nod in agreement. His mother had been no sinner.
"May the Gods have mercy," the old man finished with a wheeze, his words lost in the break of waves against the shore.
Yoochun watched as Jaejoong opened the urn, ashes drifting over the edge with the light breeze, catching in the air. The soft chant fell from his lips as he stepped forward, water clutching at the hem of his white mourning clothes, pulling his feet into the sad. Yoochun said his own soft prayer, the lump in his throat too thick to give the words voice.
It was a lot of preparation for a very brief and ultimately quiet goodbye.
The urn now empty, Jaejoong stood silent, alone. The procession didn't wait for him. All for the better. He didn't feel like putting up with bigoted old maids and greedy, fat uncles. As far as he was concerned, his family was gone.
Yoochun waited until the assembly began to clear, crossing the hot sand to stand behind the other boy, kissing the nape of his neck, one hand resting on his upper arm.
"She's in the halls of the Gods," he said softly, thumb rubbing small, concentric circles over Jaejoong's skin.
"Yes, she's at peace," Jaejoong agreed, feeling hollow, feeling almost relieved. His mother had been sick for so long, it was better this way. Better for them both. "It will be strange to wake up tomorrow and not have to care for her." Almost unconsciously, he leaned into Yoochun's touch, finding comfort even when they were abominations in the eyes of their little world.
Yoochun moved to wrap his arms around Jaejoong's shoulders, uncaring of the eyes that slid over them. "You'll stay with me," he murmured, looking out into the clear water. "It's your turn to be cared for."
***
Mission briefing went without a hitch. His boys were relaxed, something he didn’t like to see. This might have been just training, but they had to be prepared. It was why he pushed them so hard. As they filed out to their crafts, objective in mind and helmet in hand, Yunho frowned to hear their laughter.
"Shim, wait a moment, will you?"
Biting at his lip unconsciously, itching to get to his craft and take her out, Changmin hung back, trying to keep from fidgeting. The last thing he wanted was to engender his Captain's annoyance.
"Yes, sir?"
They were alone in the room and that in itself was unusual. Yunho didn’t get too close to his squad, tried to keep a level-head. Especially when it came to rooks.
"You're slacking," he stated firmly. "I've seen your records from the Academy, you're better than this."
The criticism was unexpected, and Changmin swallowed back a retort, clenching his jaw. He'd do himself no favors by smarting off to a superior officer, whether he could outfly half of these men or not.
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"Don't be sorry, be advised, soldier," Yunho shot back sharply. "You've got good instincts, but you're hesitant. Why? Is because of Kim? His reputation is not your concern."
"Kim Junsu is an excellent pilot," Changmin returned hotly, trying to keep a lid on his temper. "He doesn't need my help and I'm not giving it."
Yunho arched an eyebrow. "Really? We'll see."
Whatever his pilots do in their free time, in the darkness of their bunks, was none of his business and he saw no reason to make it so.
"Come here, I've got a special mission for you."
Interest perked Changmin’s ears up, even though he was wary after the dressing down he'd received. Glancing back towards his craft, he followed the other man nonetheless, helmet tucked under his arm. Captain Jung's words still bit at him. He was used to being the star, and it wasn’t a title he was so willing to part with.
Yunho kept his voice hard. "Remember these coordinates," he tapped the holoprojector twice. "Once we're there, you are to break formation and shoot me down. Can you do that, soldier?"
His head snapped up to meet his Captain's gaze, startled. "What?"
"I've seen your IQ, Shim, you're not slow so don't try to play on my sympathies by acting like you are." Another tap of his fingers and the coordinates were erased. The boys piling into the fighters outside this room thought this was to be just another formation-attack scenario. "These are your orders. If you can't do it, I suggest you empty your locker and get off my ship."
Tightening his jaw, Changmin straightened, furiously meeting the other man's eyes and snapping off a quick salute, filing the coordinates away. "It'll be done, sir," he got out, turning on his heel and stalking towards his craft.
It would be done, just as the man wanted it. And he'd spend the next couple months as the rat of the squadron in punishment.
"Dammit," he hissed under his breath, climbing the ladder to his cockpit. "Dammit, dammit."
Yunho followed at a more sedate pace. If the rook could pull this one off, he was right to request having him assigned to the Acheron. If not, well, that wouldn’t be his problem.
"Patch me through to Shim," he sighed into his comlink as fighter after fighter made its way into the black. "Mind on the job, soldier. Once I'm down, it's possible you'll come under fire. Don't freeze. Jung out."
Changmin almost wanted to fire on him right then. Great. Just fucking perfect. Taking a deep breath, he shook off his anger, flicking deflector shields into place and focusing on the job ahead. Suicide mission or no, it was his assignment and fuck if he was going to fail. Unconsciously, his eyes sought out Junsu's fighter, feeling marginally more calm once he'd located his friend's position.
They flew formation, fighters exchanging positions behind and above Yunho’s craft in under the required time. Of course his pilots were bored; they were too good for this mind-numbing training. Yunho checked his position on the starchart. A couple more clicks. The weapons system had been rigged along with their radars. What would look like fire would just be smoke signals. Hopefully, they wouldn’t disappoint him.
Bracing himself, Yunho counted down.
***
After the first week, they’ve given him nothing but silence and water. Some food too, but it’s inconsequential. He’s used to rations, so he doesn’t suffer. What eats at him isn’t an ulcer of the body, but one of the mind. His men are outside his reach. He thinks of the worst possible scenarios, then works back, tempering his apprehension.
The rebels are better skilled at interrogation than he’d have anticipated. They don’t threaten violence or pain, though they could. They don’t threaten death, either. The same dark haired man returns time after time, and talks. He goes on at length about the planet, about its history. All signs seem to point to him being a native, but Yunho never put much trust in profiling.
He’s not always alone, though he’s the one whose visits are most regular. He’s always the one who talks and that its own brand of torture. Self-imposed silence is hard on Yunho sometimes. Human contact is not something he’s used to doing without after living for years on a crowded ship like the Acheron. And when even the most accidental form of physical contact occurs, it’s nearly always at his captor’s initiative. He’s absolved of all responsibility, of all advantage.
Stockholm’s Syndrome is something he rejects before it can even take hold. He knows who he is, knows who these people are. And just the simple fact that he hasn’t seen Changmin or Junsu since they put him in this cell cements that. The rebels who visit him are the enemy. It’s that simple.
Three weeks or more into his capture - his count may be off by one or two days, he isn’t sure - Jaejoong leaves blank pages after his visit. Upon closer inspection, he notices the finely drawn sketches. Plans. He doubts there’s any chance Jaejoong is a double agent, so the gift unsettles him. He casts it aside, refusing to partake in whatever game the rebels have in mind. Sleeplessness and long hours of daylight make him reach for them in the end.
The same thing happens and this time, it’s a list of the deployment of rebel strongholds throughout the empire. Jaejoong makes no reference to the tokens he brings and Yunho doesn’t either. To make the first step is to show interest.
After five weeks of this constant push and pull, Jaejoong has a desk moved into his tiny room - and when did he stop considering it a cell? Upon it, he unfolds a map of the complex on Elysia.
“What do you think?” he asks and his expression as frustratingly neutral as ever.
Pushing himself up from the floor, Yunho shakes his head. “It’s wrong.”
“Yes. But why?”
And somehow, that’s all it takes. His resistance collapses, his vow of silence evaporates into thin air. Tactical projections pour out of him unbidden, but fluid and quick. He tries to ignore the knowing smile that slowly curves his captor’s lips.
Extra precaution, then.
The scene is almost familiar, except Jaejoong knows this man will not be so easily swayed by pain or heavy-handed persuasion. He's a man of rank in the Guard. Rank brings corruption and disease, true enough, but it also brings pride and experience. Both are difficult shields to combat. But the more arrogant the man, the weaker the mind has proven to be.
It's why he's here, and not Yoochun.
The Captain needs a delicate touch.
Yunho opens his eyes. They are unmarred by sleep or fatigue, though he hasn't rested in better than two days. He hopes Junsu is safe, hopes Changmin has enough sway over these people to keep him alive and unharmed. For his part, he can take care of himself, even with the ghost who'd just entered.
A young man, a pretty man in certain parts of the Empire and he wonders how he ended up here. Did he sell himself or someone else? Depravity is no secret to inhabitants of this moon, he knows that much. So what's his story and why is he looking down at him like that. He doesn't even seem armed.
Yunho arches an eyebrow in question. It's the only acknowledgment he'll give.
"I see our dongsaeng untied you," Jaejoong murmurs after a long silence, sure to keep his voice soft. He wants to be underestimated. It doesn't take much, he knows.
A tilt of the head. "You meet an ally in enemy quarters and so quick to alienate him?" He smiles. "What's your name, Captain?" He knows it. It isn't the point.
Yunho keeps his silence. There's only so much that can be done to an unresponsive prisoner. Starvation would try the patience of scum like these people and torture won't entreat Changmin to believe their lies. Threats are useless if they expect his cooperation.
There's another way, but he refuses to consider it. Instead, Yunho waits.
A shark-edged grin. "They would've taught you silence at the Academy, then. Or maybe you just picked up tricks along the way."
Jaejoong moves until he's behind the other man, pressing at the spot between his shoulder blades.
"Sorry for the rude welcome."
"You're not forgiven," Yunho retorts, the words wrenched from his throat with ill-controlled fury as he stands and moves out of range of those questing fingers. The memory of a gun being pressed to his back is vivid in his mind. "Why am I still alive?"
Jaejoong regards him mildly. "Don't you want to be?" He leans back against the wall, still smiling.
"Do you always answer a question with a question?" Yunho retorts sharply. "You know I won't cooperate, so you might as well shoot me now. You're wasting your time playing games." Unless of course, the little porcelain doll enjoys games. He can't help wonder how fast, how easy it might be to crack that smooth, perfect bone structure.
He raises his chin, pretending to think it over. "And the other? Would you sacrifice him as easily?"
A laugh, looking up at the other man through his eyelashes. "Shame, that. I like him."
Impassive features turn to anger and Yunho steps forward, marching up until he's invading Jaejoong's personal space. Tusk to tusk, they lock gazes.
"Touch him and you die." It's not a warning or a threat, it's an absolute certitude.
A smirk belies darker thoughts. So protective of his little conquests, this man. "Touch him how?"
"You need me to teach you, boy?" Yunho snarls, but there's no joke, no humor in his voice. He means it. He would kill for Junsu, for Changmin. "Lay a hand on him and you'll regret it."
"But Captain," Jaejoong breathes. "I've already done so much more." His tone is light, but there is no joke in his eyes as he leans forward, meeting furious eyes with glittering black.
Yunho sees red. It takes all his willpower to control himself. Distantly, he's aware that to lose his temper now would make Junsu's life forfeit, if it isn't already. Can't help anyone from beyond the grave.
"You're not a savage for nothing," he grits out instead, pushing back with a hand on the wall, distancing himself.
"Is that what you think I am?" Jaejoong murmurs, hiding his own rising hackles behind a layer of ice. "And what would you call the dog that bites its master, Captain? The savage knows no loyalty." A blank look. "What does that make you?"
"It makes me your prisoner," Yunho replies evenly, fists clenched tightly. "For now." A prisoner they can't break. A prisoner they'll never succeed in tempting with their wiles.
***
The day her daughter married a captain in the Imperial Guard should have been a day of gaiety. Instead, it was crowned not by celebration, but by fire and ash and betrayal. As birds swarmed in on the palace, the old Oracle was finally proven right with screams of innocents branded as criminals, with priests and priestesses burned for their devotion by those who’d done away with such reverence.
She ran through the hallowed halls like a child, falling to her knees when her function demanded it, falling to the floor when gunblasts echoed above her head. She tried not to cry as she passed through the once great palace, its columns wavering under the force of impact, paint chipped off the walls by the force of a thousand guns.
The sacrilege of her act seemed small compared to the one perpetrated by the Admiral.
That wretched man, how dare he? Fearful and out of breath, she took one of the secret passages, praying as she went, hoping the Emperor’s family had escaped long before. The thought of her old ruler, the father of the Empire, the vessel of the Gods, at the mercy of the Guard made her blood run cold. There was no greater betrayal than his own men taking arms against him.
Outside, the dawn of a new era rose with the color of blood running into the streams. The guns fell silent. The people rejoiced.
The death of a tyrant; the rise of another.
They caught her many years later, dragged her away from her grandson’s bedside, ignoring the screams of the infant. On her knees in the courtyard, she thought she’d die for a regime long dead, but instead her humiliation went deeper.
Jackals in Imperial Guard garb taunted and spat at her under the self-satisfied eyes of her neighbours. They cut her white hair and ripped her blouse as if an old woman in her shame could give credence to their rule. All it did was hurt her aching limbs and her long deceased pride.
The marks they made into her skull would never vanish, never fade. In them, she found her deepest disgrace. Her daughter never understood, her son-in-law believed it to be a form of penance. She kept her stories for her grandson.
“Tell me the one about the rabbit and the girl,” Changmin would ask her.
She died before he came of age, before his father got his way. She died before she could see him in the bloodstained uniform of the Imperial Guard.
***
Jiexi bled away on that barren wasteland, her hand clutching her sidearm, her feet kicking wildly in the impossible heat. They left her here to die and rot, they left her men with her, as punishment for following a woman. She could barely see them, but she hear their gurgling screams as blood stopped their voices, their breathing.
Blood that she made run with her desertion; blood that bought her this end.
I don’t want to die. Goddess of Mercy, I don’t want to die.
Her prayers went unheard, the Gods’ only reply in the sunlight streaming overhead. She feared their power, felt humbled before their great statues on Attica, but here… here, at the end of her days, they meant nothing.
Father, give me strength. Give me your strength.
Her lineage went far and she could trace its every link. She could recall the names, the stories, the betrayals. She could, in a sense, relieve them now as she lay dying on a barren spot of earth.
Delirious with blood loss and the heat, she saw a face hovering above her own. Her sentence was death; that unforgiving verdict in a trial for desertion. A slow death, too, with her ancestor’s spirits taunting and pulling at her nerves, with pain radiating through her body. With her imagination running wild.
Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“My… name…” Jiexi tried to speak, tried to make herself understood.
“Are you loyal to the Emperor? Speak, woman!”
Bright green eyes bore into her own, willing an answer from her lips. If it was the last thing she said, she could get those words out.
“Yes.” Yes, after a thousand betrayals. Yes, after trying to be someone she was not. Yes, after nearly ending her life at the hand of treacherous pigs.
The face above hers illuminated with joy, with gratitude. “We are friends, then. I will help you.”
***
There was no small amount of pride to be taken in being part of the Delta Phi's. They weren’t just the strongest squadron on the Acheron; they were on their way to topping fleet rankings. And Junsu could easily see why, even after a five day assignment to the battleship.
"Hey, Shim," he called, rolling over in his bunk. "You asleep?"
Back at the Academy, the ground beneath his feet was too fixed. He could practically feel its rotation. This must have been what pilots called spacesickness. It was the opposite of what colonists and tourists understood by the term. It was supposed to be a sign of good instincts, of natural affinity.
"Hey, Changmin," he tried again, throwing a shoe at the sleeping form across from him.
The offending article struck a glancing blow off of Changmin’s shoulder, head rising from the confines of his sheets to glare blearily at the other man. Men now, not boys any longer.
"What?" he growled, tucking his head back down on the pillow. "You're waking me from a nice dream." He didn’t have many, when he dreamt at all, and the pleasant blur of warmth that he recalled was fast fading from his consciousness.
Junsu grinned in the darkness. "You can fantasize about guys in flightsuits later," he chuckled. "What did you think of the Acheron? Do you think I'll get a shot? I mean, I know I know you will... think I should to temple tomorrow?" He was surprisingly awake for three in the morning and yes, he'd probably regret chatting away when he should be resting, but for now, he was too pumped with adrenaline to think of sleep.
Changmin let out an outraged noise at the first comment, muffling it in his pillow and tugging his sheets higher up over his shoulders.
"I think you're hopeless," he shot back, still annoyed at the loss of his dream. "You better hope one of the Captains likes your pretty face."
"I'm a pilot not an object," Junsu laughed in response, chucking his other shoe when it seemed Changmin might be trying to get some sleep. "Oh come on, you can't tell me you're not at least a bit excited at the possibility!"
Changmin sighed, resolutely unwilling to get caught up in Junsu's boyish excitement. They were adults now, dammit. His gaze slid to the other man's, taking in his hopeful expression.
His resolve failed.
Huffing an impatient breath, he pushed himself up onto an elbow. "Of course I'm excited. To be part of an actual squad? Can't come soon enough."
"Did you see the Acheron?" Junsu grinned. "It's fucking amazing. Oh man, imagine... just imagine, we could be on it in a month. If we pass the examinations and we get selected..."
He heaved a breath. "The captain we met? That guy'll go down in the books as a war hero. It's written on his face. It's in his blood."
"Captain Jung," Changmin supplied quickly, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. "He was...he'll be a good leader. If he's our Captain. If we get in."
Too many if's for his tastes, and Changmin slumped back down on the flimsy mattress, sighing. "I might join you at temple."
***
Jaejoong marched at the head of the procession, his head bowed as was customary, the urn heavy in his hands. A procession of villagers who would gladly go through his mother's things followed, their whispers carrying over the sound of crashing waves. He tried not to heed their words, their greed, their veiled remarks.
"Here you go, Mama, you'll get to bathe in the ocean again," he whispered to the wind, trying hard not to trip over his own feet. His mother deserved the dignity of sumptuous last rites.
This was all he could afford.
The sun was bright on the water, the day too beautiful to mourn a death. Yoochun shut his eyes against the glare, telling himself it was that and not the sight of Jaejoong, small and white, that stung his eyes.
The sand was hot under his bare feet, burning him nearly as much as the need to touch the other boy, to comfort him. But he would respect the rites and keep his distance.
Fishing boats bobbed in the distance, the water too still to move them, too tempting to entreat their crews to respect the Gods. Jaejoong didn't care and knew his mother, if she would've been alive, wouldn't have cared either. In those last months of her life, she hadn't cared for much at all.
The priest recited his spiel from the heavy old tome from the temple in the next village--it was the only one they had in the whole region and Jaejoong hadn't been willing to compromise his mother's soul on some old man's memory. No, the rites had to be given properly.
"For she who has sinned shall be judged..."
Jaejoong bit his tongue as he saw the villagers nod in agreement. His mother had been no sinner.
"May the Gods have mercy," the old man finished with a wheeze, his words lost in the break of waves against the shore.
Yoochun watched as Jaejoong opened the urn, ashes drifting over the edge with the light breeze, catching in the air. The soft chant fell from his lips as he stepped forward, water clutching at the hem of his white mourning clothes, pulling his feet into the sad. Yoochun said his own soft prayer, the lump in his throat too thick to give the words voice.
It was a lot of preparation for a very brief and ultimately quiet goodbye.
The urn now empty, Jaejoong stood silent, alone. The procession didn't wait for him. All for the better. He didn't feel like putting up with bigoted old maids and greedy, fat uncles. As far as he was concerned, his family was gone.
Yoochun waited until the assembly began to clear, crossing the hot sand to stand behind the other boy, kissing the nape of his neck, one hand resting on his upper arm.
"She's in the halls of the Gods," he said softly, thumb rubbing small, concentric circles over Jaejoong's skin.
"Yes, she's at peace," Jaejoong agreed, feeling hollow, feeling almost relieved. His mother had been sick for so long, it was better this way. Better for them both. "It will be strange to wake up tomorrow and not have to care for her." Almost unconsciously, he leaned into Yoochun's touch, finding comfort even when they were abominations in the eyes of their little world.
Yoochun moved to wrap his arms around Jaejoong's shoulders, uncaring of the eyes that slid over them. "You'll stay with me," he murmured, looking out into the clear water. "It's your turn to be cared for."
***
Mission briefing went without a hitch. His boys were relaxed, something he didn’t like to see. This might have been just training, but they had to be prepared. It was why he pushed them so hard. As they filed out to their crafts, objective in mind and helmet in hand, Yunho frowned to hear their laughter.
"Shim, wait a moment, will you?"
Biting at his lip unconsciously, itching to get to his craft and take her out, Changmin hung back, trying to keep from fidgeting. The last thing he wanted was to engender his Captain's annoyance.
"Yes, sir?"
They were alone in the room and that in itself was unusual. Yunho didn’t get too close to his squad, tried to keep a level-head. Especially when it came to rooks.
"You're slacking," he stated firmly. "I've seen your records from the Academy, you're better than this."
The criticism was unexpected, and Changmin swallowed back a retort, clenching his jaw. He'd do himself no favors by smarting off to a superior officer, whether he could outfly half of these men or not.
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"Don't be sorry, be advised, soldier," Yunho shot back sharply. "You've got good instincts, but you're hesitant. Why? Is because of Kim? His reputation is not your concern."
"Kim Junsu is an excellent pilot," Changmin returned hotly, trying to keep a lid on his temper. "He doesn't need my help and I'm not giving it."
Yunho arched an eyebrow. "Really? We'll see."
Whatever his pilots do in their free time, in the darkness of their bunks, was none of his business and he saw no reason to make it so.
"Come here, I've got a special mission for you."
Interest perked Changmin’s ears up, even though he was wary after the dressing down he'd received. Glancing back towards his craft, he followed the other man nonetheless, helmet tucked under his arm. Captain Jung's words still bit at him. He was used to being the star, and it wasn’t a title he was so willing to part with.
Yunho kept his voice hard. "Remember these coordinates," he tapped the holoprojector twice. "Once we're there, you are to break formation and shoot me down. Can you do that, soldier?"
His head snapped up to meet his Captain's gaze, startled. "What?"
"I've seen your IQ, Shim, you're not slow so don't try to play on my sympathies by acting like you are." Another tap of his fingers and the coordinates were erased. The boys piling into the fighters outside this room thought this was to be just another formation-attack scenario. "These are your orders. If you can't do it, I suggest you empty your locker and get off my ship."
Tightening his jaw, Changmin straightened, furiously meeting the other man's eyes and snapping off a quick salute, filing the coordinates away. "It'll be done, sir," he got out, turning on his heel and stalking towards his craft.
It would be done, just as the man wanted it. And he'd spend the next couple months as the rat of the squadron in punishment.
"Dammit," he hissed under his breath, climbing the ladder to his cockpit. "Dammit, dammit."
Yunho followed at a more sedate pace. If the rook could pull this one off, he was right to request having him assigned to the Acheron. If not, well, that wouldn’t be his problem.
"Patch me through to Shim," he sighed into his comlink as fighter after fighter made its way into the black. "Mind on the job, soldier. Once I'm down, it's possible you'll come under fire. Don't freeze. Jung out."
Changmin almost wanted to fire on him right then. Great. Just fucking perfect. Taking a deep breath, he shook off his anger, flicking deflector shields into place and focusing on the job ahead. Suicide mission or no, it was his assignment and fuck if he was going to fail. Unconsciously, his eyes sought out Junsu's fighter, feeling marginally more calm once he'd located his friend's position.
They flew formation, fighters exchanging positions behind and above Yunho’s craft in under the required time. Of course his pilots were bored; they were too good for this mind-numbing training. Yunho checked his position on the starchart. A couple more clicks. The weapons system had been rigged along with their radars. What would look like fire would just be smoke signals. Hopefully, they wouldn’t disappoint him.
Bracing himself, Yunho counted down.
***
After the first week, they’ve given him nothing but silence and water. Some food too, but it’s inconsequential. He’s used to rations, so he doesn’t suffer. What eats at him isn’t an ulcer of the body, but one of the mind. His men are outside his reach. He thinks of the worst possible scenarios, then works back, tempering his apprehension.
The rebels are better skilled at interrogation than he’d have anticipated. They don’t threaten violence or pain, though they could. They don’t threaten death, either. The same dark haired man returns time after time, and talks. He goes on at length about the planet, about its history. All signs seem to point to him being a native, but Yunho never put much trust in profiling.
He’s not always alone, though he’s the one whose visits are most regular. He’s always the one who talks and that its own brand of torture. Self-imposed silence is hard on Yunho sometimes. Human contact is not something he’s used to doing without after living for years on a crowded ship like the Acheron. And when even the most accidental form of physical contact occurs, it’s nearly always at his captor’s initiative. He’s absolved of all responsibility, of all advantage.
Stockholm’s Syndrome is something he rejects before it can even take hold. He knows who he is, knows who these people are. And just the simple fact that he hasn’t seen Changmin or Junsu since they put him in this cell cements that. The rebels who visit him are the enemy. It’s that simple.
Three weeks or more into his capture - his count may be off by one or two days, he isn’t sure - Jaejoong leaves blank pages after his visit. Upon closer inspection, he notices the finely drawn sketches. Plans. He doubts there’s any chance Jaejoong is a double agent, so the gift unsettles him. He casts it aside, refusing to partake in whatever game the rebels have in mind. Sleeplessness and long hours of daylight make him reach for them in the end.
The same thing happens and this time, it’s a list of the deployment of rebel strongholds throughout the empire. Jaejoong makes no reference to the tokens he brings and Yunho doesn’t either. To make the first step is to show interest.
After five weeks of this constant push and pull, Jaejoong has a desk moved into his tiny room - and when did he stop considering it a cell? Upon it, he unfolds a map of the complex on Elysia.
“What do you think?” he asks and his expression as frustratingly neutral as ever.
Pushing himself up from the floor, Yunho shakes his head. “It’s wrong.”
“Yes. But why?”
And somehow, that’s all it takes. His resistance collapses, his vow of silence evaporates into thin air. Tactical projections pour out of him unbidden, but fluid and quick. He tries to ignore the knowing smile that slowly curves his captor’s lips.