(no subject)
Title: Acts of Contrition (4/20)
Authors: butterflyweb and
nemesis_cry
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Warning(s): Violence, language, graphic m/m sex
Pairing(s): (currently) HoMin, JaeChun (eventually) HoSu, JaeChunMin, HoSuMin, JaeSuChun, OT5
Summary: The Imperial Guard is the elite combative force of the Empire. Changmin Shim was lucky to even get recruited. But when a mission goes wrong and he finds himself stranded behind enemy lines, it's up to his former Captain to get him back. No matter the cost.
A/N: Banner made by the talented
luvmeanddespair
Prologue One Two Three
Chapter Four
The door slides open once again, for the third time, for the hundredth time, he can’t be sure, with the harsh grate of metal on metal, a further assault on his already abused ears.
He straightens as much as he can manage, pride and contempt warring with fatigue, and is surprised when the man entering is inexplicably without his shadow. Or perhaps it is that Jaejoong is the shadow without its caster. Either way, the presence of only one is disconcerting. Even if Changmin welcomes the reprieve from Yoochun’s…persuasion.
Jaejoong moves in front of him, and Changmin wishes he knew a rank, a last name. The man’s given name sounds too intimate in his mind, doesn’t carry the dersion he wishes it would. Flinching back instinctively as a hand raises, he is again surprised by the press of a cool, wet cloth against his face.
Dried blood flakes away under the soft swipes, Changmin’s eyes staying focused on the man, gaze unwavering and silently accusing. “What are you doing?” he croaks, throat raw from his screams and thirst.
“It’ll be easier on you if you stay still,” a smooth voice tells him in lilting accent, dark eyes scanning his wounds critically.
“I thought you wanted me to talk,” he retorts, breaking into a round of hacking coughs, the hiss too much on his crippled vocals.
“Are you finished?” comes the quiet question, Jaejoong halting in his actions. A glare is his only response, and with that same disapproving sigh, he resumes the task.
After a moment, he turns his attention to the mottled, purple bruising around the socket of Changmin’s shoulder, fingers probing gently.
“Admiring his work?” he gets out on a breath, knowing he should just shut up, that he’s only going to incur more wrath, but unable to stop himself. Needing to cling to some type of attack, even if it is only with words and even if it ends up hurting him more.
A salve is rubbed into place, the touch soothing on the injury, despite its owner. “If you would just tell him what you know, it would be over. Yoochun is simply doing what needs to be done. He doesn’t enjoy it, but that doesn’t mean he won’t carry it out.”
Jaejoong raises a cup to his lips, letting him drink the cool water greedily, soothing his much-abused throat.
When he can speak more easily, he responds, lip curled in a snarl. Like a puppy showing teeth, Junsu used to say. “And if I don’t know? What then?”
He doesn’t receive an answer, just another appraising glance before the other man leaves the rooms, plunging him once more into darkness.
It’s its own brand of torture, he knows, interrogation tactics a part of basic training, still fresh enough in his mind that he recognizes it for what it is. Sensory deprivation. Leave him disoriented, dehydrated, lock him in the dark only to blind him with light, forget about him for hours on end, possibliy even days. They’re trying to break him.
He won’t give them the satisfaction. He’s a Lieutenant in the Imperial Guard. He won’t be swayed from his purpose and his pride so easily.
He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep in that godforsaken metal chair until he’s woken, ice-cold water pouring over his head and shocking him into consciousness. Changmin gasps, blinking the water out of his eyes to reveal Yoochun standing before him, Jaejoong hovering in the background.
“Get up,” Yoochun orders, pulling him to his feet when he doesn’t comply, pushing him out of the room and into the light.
It blinds him, momentarily, scorching his retinas and leaving his eyes squeezed shut, watering until they begin to adjust. When at last they do, he can see enough around him to realize they’re taking him back to his cell.
But they didn’t get what they wanted, he thinks uneasily. He doubts they’re going to commend his stubbornness and set him free. Which leaves…execution.
Changmin feels sickness threaten to rebel in his stomach, the childish cry of ‘not fair’ echoing through his thoughts. And it isn’t, not at all. Nineteen years is no time to die, not alone and at enemy hands.
Against the panic, he forces up the familiar shield of pride and duty. He is bound to serve the Imperial Guard, and he will do so until death, no matter how soon or how late it comes. He will die honorably.
The resignation is heavy in his mind as they turn the corner, Yoochun instructing Jaejoong to wait with him there in Basic, switching again to their own tongue before heading back the direction they’d just come, shoulders set.
Changmin looks to his captor, widening his eyes and allowing a tremor to come into his voice. An honorable death, yes, but not one easily accepted.
“What are you going to do with me?” he whispers, fearful and innocent. As much a façade as any other he’s worn.
For a moment, it almost seems that he’s unnerved the other man, when up ahead of them in the corridor, there is a sudden chorus of shouts and a violent explosion rocks the hall, sending them both stumbling but still on their feet. Changmin’s gaze darts around them, a more immediate fear sparking at the groan and buckle of the walls around them.
Jaejoong looks dazed and for a moment, Changmin wonders if something hit him when his attention was diverted, the rain of debris growing steadily thicker. It doesn’t matter regardless-this is as good an opportunity as any to make a run for it, even if he doesn’t get far.
A portion of the ceiling cuts off his escape route before he can take bare steps. Frustration and panic welling up in his chest in equal parts, Changmin whirls to face Jaejoong, who is clearly disoriented, stumbling forward instead of back, and it is now that he can see the bloody gash marring the man’s doll-like features.
Like any good pilot, Changmin is unhesitant to change his plans as soon as the situation varies, this being no exception. Steeling himself, he moves after the other man, shifting in front of him to push him back with his shoulder, insistently and they’re making progress when the ceiling gives a final, dying protest and begins to fall.
Throwing himself on Jaejoong like one would the mercy of the court, he knocks the slighter man to the floor, covering him with his own frame until the destruction has ceased.
***
They steal a transport craft, the likes of which were used for recon in the old days when rebels were just pests in mountain ranges of one or two planets. Nowadays, ships like this one are antiquated relics, gathering dust in depots far out of sight and use. For all Junsu’s complaints, Yunho refuses to consider taking anything else.
“Deserting is one thing, theft is another.” And he won’t be responsible for draining valuable resources in a time of war. If nothing else, he’ll always be an Imperial Guard at heart, even if the uniform is stowed inside his locker, never to be worn again. Besides, at least like this there’s less of a chance that they’ll stand out in a spaceport. No radar, no weapons of any kind. They’re harmless.
“Harmless or dead,” Junsu snorts from his seat, flipping a switch back and forth. Nothing happens, whatever control it leads to must be dead. The thought makes Yunho vaguely uneasy, but dying in a stolen craft is the least of his worries.
There’s a world of trouble waiting for them, even if they go back now. His family will be notified once an investigation into his disappearance has been completed. And then his face will circulate on all popular news channels, on all public broadcasts, in all publications. At least for a month or so. Media forgets sooner than the military, even under martial law. Some things cannot be helped.
Darting a look at his companion, he wonders if Junsu is prepared for this. He doesn’t know if he himself really is, so he looks away just as quickly, tinkering away at the star chart instead. The Acheron has carried them far from M-617 and in their little shuttle, it’ll take the better part of a day to cover that distance. Perhaps longer, without radar to find the commercial routes outside asteroid belts and oncoming traffic.
“Is there any food?” Junsu interrupts his calculations, manual because they can’t waste fuel on powering up the non-vital parts of the craft. Navigation, apparently, is one of those.
Yunho smirks. They’ve been gone less than three hours.
“I’m hungry,” the younger man shrugs in response, unbuckling his harness in favour of searching the storage units at the back. “Med kit, blankets, guns, ammo…” He sighs. “We should’ve thought this through before we left.”
“You want to go back?” comes the absent remark as Yunho scribbles details on his screen, the transparent glass map showing a universe undisturbed by their small craft. “Any more thought-through,” he adds, frowning at the clarity of his own opinion, “and we wouldn’t have left at all.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Junsu doesn’t dignify his first question with a response. Nor does he show any particular feeling about the life he’s abandoned. Yunho almost regrets it. Having someone with their head screwed on right and their priorities straightened out would help. They’re chasing a ghost and he knows it. He just can’t help himself.
The star chart shows them ten hours out of M-617’s orbit at their current speed. It’s doable but tedious. Yunho groans and checks the fuel gauge. If he could be sure there will be no surprises on this trip to hell, he’d risk it. Captain or not, he’s a flyboy at heart. He always will be, no doubt.
With Junsu’s smirk at his back, he raises their speed levels, the engine coming to life in their capsule. In response, he receives a literal pat on the back. Shaking it off, Yunho turns to his unlikely companion. Then again, perhaps he’s not that unlikely. Who better than Changmin’s best friend in the Guard to help bring Changmin’s remains back home?
“We can be executed for this, you know,” he comments lightly, arching an eyebrow when the other man perks up with a grin. “What’s funny?”
Some reminder of their previous position still lingers. Junsu’s expression recovers some gravity.
“I’m not an idiot,” he replies, as if that was ever under question. “I know what I’m doing.”
“That makes one of us at least.” But Yunho lets the matter drop, chair spinning as he moves to stretch his legs. Ten hours of this is a long time and he wishes for Command’s monotonous voice to hum in his ear. It’s just force of habit. He can discipline himself to deal without its unyielding counsel.
Junsu pretends to watch the stars for a few, short moments.
“Did you know what you were doing when you brought those fighters into the Acheron’s line of fire?” he murmurs and it’s so soft Yunho barely hears it. His expression turns sour when he does.
“My controls jammed, I couldn’t rely on my guns to take out the enemy…” He shrugs, hating himself for lying, hating Junsu for asking. It had been a moment of weakness, nothing more; nothing that needs discussing. “What did it look like I was doing?”
He doesn’t get the privilege of the other man’s expression to see if he’s convinced him, but Junsu’s shoulders shake lightly. He’s chuckling.
“It looked like you were going to take yourself out with them.”
Snorting derisively, Yunho returns to his seat, knocks Junsu’s foot off the control panel. It’s enough of a waste of metal without him pushing it off the deep end. “Poor pitiful you. Stuck on a boat with a suicidal ex-captain, looking for the bones of an ex-pilot.”
Junsu’s glare cuts right through him. “Careful,” he warns. “Now that you’re not my captain anymore, I might end up with my fist in your face. Accidentally, of course.”
Yunho doesn’t back down, though he is impressed. Junsu Kim was never a problem soldier, but he wasn’t a star either. Good for recon, good for cutting down on enemy numbers. He might’ve made Captain one day.
“I’d like to see you try,” he retorts, holding firm. His hands clench around the shift, manoeuvring the craft a few degrees north. It’s hard to do without computers to guide him, without anyone to guarantee he’s on the right track.
“Later. If you don’t fly us into the Sun first,” Junsu relents, voice softening as if he remembers what they’re doing, who they’re doing it for.
Yunho feels like hitting him, like shaking him. He’s too young to be giving up his life for a dead man’s friendship. But then, isn’t that his own excuse?
“The Sun should always be at our six,” he sighs, as if explaining himself to a child. “Didn’t the Academy teach you the basics in star-nav?”
“They scraped that course in the Middle Ages. Turns out there’s no need to load us up with information that computers can process just as well.” In other words, Yunho takes the grin and the reply to mean: bite me, old man. True enough, by rookie standards, he’s practically ancient.
“Well, surprise,” he grins back, falsely, and tosses him the black-tipped pen. “You’re stuck on a boat without enough power to run navigational systems.”
Junsu stares between him and the map on the illuminated panel. “You’re kidding, right?”
“We’ve got ten hours and nothing to do,” Yunho observes steadily, amazed at his own calm. “Consider this a crash course in…” He doesn’t get the chance to finish his self-satisfied retort, God or karma silencing his arrogance.
Or better yet, since he believes in none of the above, a bigger ship that suddenly shows up beside them.
“Unidentified vessel class P-52, state your purpose and destination.”
The voice pouring into their com-sys is obviously male, even distorted as it is by static. Junsu takes no heed of the request it makes as he moves to get a better look through the windshield. “Shit, is that an Imperial craft?”
Yunho’s heart skips a beat. Not yet. Not this easily. They can’t be caught already.
“Never mind,” Junsu amends quickly, his body blocking Yunho’s vision. “They’re not flying any colours. The hull isn’t marked.”
“Unidentified vessel class P-52, please respond.”
“Unmarked,” Yunho repeats, reducing their speed to a halt and cutting off the engines. If they’re going to want to make an escape, they’ll need all their power. “What else?” he asks, all business, all Imperial Guard training shining through.
There’s a beat of silence in which the message is repeated, slightly different, slightly more impatient, before Junsu replies. “I’m guessing it’s an H-5, but I could be wrong. Looks customized from tip to tail.”
“Unidentified vessel class P-52, our scanners have picked up low…fuel reserves. We offer our assistance.”
Unnerved, Yunho glances up only to find his former lieutenant gazing down at him. He shakes his head. An unmarked vessel this far out into the border planets? It’s either a harmless transport or smugglers. In the worst case, maybe rebels.
It’s a coin toss.
“Unidentified vessel class P-52, lack of response will be constituted an invitation for boarding, please standby.”
That, if nothing else, rouses Yunho to act. “We hear you loud and clear. Thanks for the offer but we’re fine where we are.”
Static meets his response. Unsurprisingly, the other ship moves in for the kill, like some great spider moving to engulf its prey.
So much for thinking it could be a transport.
And so much for a close call-the engine sputters without starting. They’re sitting ducks.