Acts of Contrition (6/20)
The sound of metal clinking wakes him from a restless sleep, a barely noticeable tug at his arm before the hard edge of the cuff gives way. He lets his eyes open to slits, heart thrumming in his chest when he seems Yoochun standing over him, features inscrutable. For a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, as Changmin knows him to, it’s wholly unsettling.
“Get up,” comes the quiet order, a gun at the other man’s hip and Changmin swallows hard, gaze sliding to Jaejoong’s still, sleeping form.
He moves from the bed, his pulse loud in his ears, sliding into the boots Yoochun has shoved at him.
Walking with him, without protest or attempt of escape, Changmin keeps silent. Who would hear him call? Who would care? Yoochun leads him into a dark hangar, to an ancient landspeeder in bad need of repair, the muzzle of the gun pressed into his back.
“Climb in,” he mutters, and Changmin hesitates, obeying when the cold metal digs into his spine.
It is early dawn, the thick foliage that surrounds the base slick with dew, the rock’s three moons low in the sky. The air is still thick with humidity, making his breathing laboured. It seems to have no effect on Yoochun, and Changmin wonders idly how long the man has been here. Whether he was born here. Whether he’ll die here.
Like Changmin is about to.
What else can this be? Changmin has no doubt Jaejoong convinced Yoochun to spare him the first time. The other man pities him, thinks of him as a child. This man…he’s soulless, he’s taking him out to murder him in cold blood.
“I hate this place,” he says suddenly, hotly, seeing no reason to hold his tongue. Silence won’t save him, he’s already damned. “Disgusting, horrid heap of rocks and trees. Perfect for filth like yourselves.”
The words are laced in poison, and for a moment, he almost hopes that’s enough. Enough for the man to just kill him now and spare him this damnable wait.
There is no reaction, no response.
“Nothing like my homeworld,” he continues more sedately, the words lost to the rushing air, whipping tears from his eyes. “Annwn. Have you heard of it?” He doesn’t wait for a response, knows none is coming. “We have five moons and a single, distant sun. We’re in perpetual twilight.”
He misses his home, desperately so. Cool, quiet; rolling oceans and navy skies. He feels the weakness creep into him, the childish wistfulness. His parents will never know what happened to him. They’ll receive the holograph the one that commends his service, acknowledges the loss, pre-recorded and sent en masse.
Lt. Shim Changmin, casualty of the continuing struggle for progress and unity.
Faintly, he hopes that Junsu will contact them. Maybe hearing it from his friend will ease the blow. Junsu has that way about him.
He falls silent, fingers tangling in his harness, feeling desperately young and hating it. If he’s going to die, he can die with dignity. It occurs to him this is the third time he’s had to face his mortality in less than a week. The thought almost startles a laugh out of him.
The speeder finally stops at the edge of a grove of trees, the brush becoming thicker, impossible to pass in the large vehicle.
“Out,” Yoochun mutters, and Changmin wonders, half-hysterically, if the man’s had courses in monosyllabic.
He does as he’s told, the gun trained on him once more
It takes seeing the smoking wreck of his craft to realize where they are, the forest one endless maze to his eyes. Swallowing hard, he lifts his chin, hands at his sides. Waiting for the shot.
“This is it.”
Yoochun’s voice breaks the silence, the gun lowering from its place between Changmin’s shoulder blades, the sound of metal against leather signifying it’s been holstered.
“This is what?” he asks involuntarily, confused, watching as the man walks towards his ship.
“This is all that’s left of who you used to be.” The words are quiet, even, the man’s dark eyes training on him even in the faint light. “The solider. The Guard. It’s all right here and it’s a fucking ruin.”
Changmin seethes, hands in fists by his sides. “Shut up.”
Yoochun sneers at him, picking up a piece of scrap, hurling it at him. He dodges just in time, shaking with anger and uncertainty. “This fucking pile of metal is all your life amounted to. You were a drone, a mindless robot that served interests you didn’t even understand. Because you’re a fucking kid.”
Ignoring Changmin’s look of utter hatred, Yoochun moves toward him, curling a hand around the nape of his neck, pulling him until they are eye to eye, and Changmin relishes what small victory there is in looking down to the other man.
“You don’t have your squadron. You don’t have your tags, your rank, your ship. You have nothing. Except a choice.”
Shaking with the weight of the words, with the weight of the terrible truth, Changmin meets his eyes, jaw set.
“What choice?”
Ink black eyes bore into his own. “You can choose to die here with what remains of that life, without honour or purpose. Or you can start again. You can have a life of meaning.”
He sneers. “As one of you? What meaning do your lives have?”
The dark look is met with a mocking one, scorn in the other man’s eyes. “I have a purpose. I have a dream to work towards, a cause I believe in. I have a lover, comrades, family.”
Yoochun tugs the collar of Changmin’s shirt to the side, revealing the bruised remnants of a bite mark.
“You have twisted metal and a fuck buddy that left you for dead.”
Changmin chokes, pushing him away almost violently, head lowered. The silence is too heavy, too accusing.
Yoochun’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle when he hears it again, little more than a whisper in the still, suffocating air. It reminds him of murmured words, the fleeting glimpse of soft features and gentle touches he wasn’t meant to see.
“You don’t have to be a puppet in a greater plan or a goddamn forgotten corpse. You can change things, you can be someone worth remembering, someone worth honouring. What’s your choice?”
Changmin is silent, a thousand and one thoughts running through his mind. Broken tatters of a life, but the only life he’s known. No matter how he looks at it, no matter how much he wishes to go back, he can’t change one simple fact.
Lieutenant Shim Changmin is dead.
He looks up, meeting Yoochun’s eyes.
***
The door to their quarters-cum-cell opens and closes with a soft clinking sound. It’s like coins jingling in a gypsy’s hair as she dances, though not as melodious a sound. Nothing here is as before. The gypsy women on the Dionysus have nothing to do with the woman on the Cerberus. Where they were beautiful and pliant, Captain Jiexi is anything but. She’s dangerous because she’s unpredictable in her command of a heavily armed crew.
But that’s not all she is.
Whoever walks into the room doesn’t want to be heard; whoever walks into the room must be high enough the food chain to deserve the access codes. Guests, as the Captain called them, are apparently locked in on the Cerberus.
Junsu is sleeping. His snore rumbles from deep within his chest, like thunder in the distance. Yunho finds the sound comforting even as he sits up, alert and waiting. It’s his watch, he’s in charge. He’s responsible.
Bootheels barely break the stillness, but he’s sure he feels footsteps approaching. Damn them for taking his gun. Damn them for leaving them so utterly defenceless. For now, at least.
Squinting in the darkness, Yunho steadies his breathing, fists his hands. He’s disoriented and has no idea of the size of their visitor. Or whether it’s a man or a woman. Or whether they’re armed. He can tell there’s only one, though, and that puts him at an advantage. Even with Junsu asleep for now, he can count on back-up sooner rather than later.
“I hope you don’t mind the dark,” a female voice coos breathily.
He can’t see its owner in the dark, but the accent is unmistakeable. Glancing upwards, he inhales sharply as the bed above his own creaks lightly. Junsu’s sleep seems undisturbed, but the snore fades into silence. His lack of response only makes the moment heavier to bear.
The same doesn’t hold true for the Captain.
“Cat got your tongue?” she presses and he can feel her closer, closer, until--he’s not mistaken, that’s her hair bushing against his face.
Yunho jerks back, hitting his head on the top bunk and falling against his pillow, unnerved, uneasy. He swears but it’s too soft to wake the man sleeping above him. He’s almost glad, until something strong and covered in cloth slides against his thigh. It happens again and it’s too late for him to recoil. Jiexi straddles his waist with smirk he can feel even though he can’t see.
Interestingly enough, Academy basic training failed to cover this part.
“Nervous?” the Captain giggles again and he’s reminded of his little sister, all pigtails and squeaky shoes. That kind of innocence has no place in this time and place. All doubts to that effect are erased when he feels her breath on his ear. He shivers involuntarily.
“You don’t have to be. I’m here because I like you.”
“Get off of me,” he grits out, fighting a losing war with his conscience. A woman, treating him like this. A woman, taking such liberties. The thought infuriates him, even as he’s well aware of the ways people change in a time of war.
The Captain’s hand around his throat is his punishment. “I’ll be very disappointed if you don’t like me too.”
It’s like something from a bad dream, except Yunho is unafraid. On the contrary, he’s merely disgusted as she takes his hand and presses it to her neck. In the dark, he doesn’t realise that’s what he’s touching until he feels the silky smooth texture of her scar under his thumb.
Her voice is as inviting as the warmth of her skin. “Do you know what this is?”
Yunho doesn’t answer. What does the manual say about dealing with pesky little animals who demand to be noticed? To ignore them is the best strategy, no matter how curious he may be. It’s no help to know that whatever secret is buried in her skin is shared by another man on her crew.
“This is what the Guard does to deserters,” Jiexi chuckles so low the sound is closer to a sob. “You know that’s what I am: a deserter.”
It’s not a question so he doesn’t deem it necessary to answer, even though ignoring her seems impossible. Jerking his hand out of her grasp as if tainted by the contact, Yunho makes to shove her off of him. Enough of this madness. The Captain doesn’t relent. Her own fist closes around his airways.
She’s stronger than she looks.
Gasping for air, he claws at her thin female wrists, trying to catch his breath. If it’s a game to her, she’s pushing it too far. If she thinks she can hold him captive, she’s insane. He doesn’t know if that’s such a comforting thought anymore.
“I like you,” she sighs, shifting back onto her haunches and releasing his neck when she’s satisfied he won’t shove her off. “I don’t think I’m going to let you leave.”
That phrase alone makes liquid fire burn through him. Abandoning care and training in favour of pride, he rolls them over until she crashes against the wall and he can jump to his feet, lose himself in the darkened cell.
Jiexi gives a small startled laugh, as if this is all a good joke.
Is she just a damned psychopath who got thrown out of the Guard for her excesses? Or is she a rebel hell-bent on sailing through life and space like she’s her in her own private little empire? The latter would make him and Junsu her subjects and he nearly spits at the thought. Guns or not, the woman has a screw loose.
“Do you commandeer every vessel with a fuel reserve that comes your way?” he snaps, unable to hold back his tongue.
“How else do you expect us to fly?” she snorts derisively, making no effort to speak low. Yunho imagines she wants Junsu to be awake while she taunts him. There’s nothing like humiliation to destroy the bonds of brotherhood among men.
But at least she’s talking instead of touching him. And from what little he can determine, she hasn’t moved any closer. “Aren’t you a transport starcraft?” he presses; folding his arms over his chest.
“We’re smugglers,” she retorts, her voice carrying with an echo. “We steal and we smuggle bits of nothing from one border moon to another. Not exactly the best place to get rich.”
Not an excuse, he thinks.
“Should have thought of that before you left the Guard,” he whispers, almost praying she won’t hear him. “A life of freedom on a beggar’s pay…”
The bed creaks abruptly.
“You mean like you did?” comes the angry reminder, the baring of all cards. She knows. She’s known from the start. Or maybe she’s just guessing.
Irregardless, she can turn them in at the first port, on a suspicion.
Yunho is thankful for the lack of illumination. He can feel his brows crease into a frown but she can’t see it. There’s little to give him away except his tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Silence greets that reply before the sound of footsteps drowns out the sound of blood rushing in his ears. The same sound of coins jingles in the door and then it locks shut again. No light from the hallway either-why are they being so economical, Yunho wonders with half a mind. The rest of him feels intoxicated by the whole event.
Adrenaline rushing through his blood, he returns to his bunk and kicks the one above it. It’s Junsu’s turn and he could use a reprieve from consciousness.
All through his efforts of sleep, he feels the smooth surface of the Captain’s scar embedded beneath his fingertips; the mark of Cain.