Silence

Title: Silence

Authors: Ryoko 03 & Enigma

Written: December, 2001

Rating: NC-17

Pairings: (OCx3)NCS (5+3)

Category: Extreme Angst, Graphic NCS, OC, Violence, Blood, Torture, Mutilation, Yaoi, AU-OOC

Enigma Story Category: Gundam Nightmares

Archive: GW Addiction, Sweet&Sweet, fanfiction.net [authors: "Ryoko, Enigma's Kitten" and "E-sama the Llama", respectively]

Warnings: Extreme angst, graphic rape, original character, violence, blood, torture, mutilation, bondage, yaoi, sap, implied evil for Duo's past, tiny touch of waff, AU-OOC

Disclaimers: We, of course, don't own Gundam Wing. If we did, there would have been obvious yaoi implications all the way around. The character Jager is Enigma's demented creation and may not be used without permission.

Summary: Trowa was captured by OZ and fell into the hands of a sadistic bastard. After having been made permanently mute, his life has become a living hell and he is dying. Can Wufei and the others save him in time or is his soul as lost as his voice?

Addendum from Ryoko: This was written in the course of one long chat session between the authors. Ryoko was highly pissed over the firing of her favorite professor earlier in the day and Karanya swept in to take advantage of the situation. Melpomene, of course, decided to join in the 'fun', and thus began the first collaborated kitten/llama piece in a while. This is NOT a happy fic, the only bright spot appearing towards thry ery end and lasting through the epilogue.

Addendum from Enigma: As noted above, this was an exercise in catharsis for Ryoko and I provided both the torture and the rescue. She did the original editing on this piece as it appeared at the Tro-Fei lists and I've touched up my own parts since I can't keep sentences short to save my life without editing everything to death. If it reads well, let her know at EKitten3@aol.com. If it reads poorly, let me know at SFSDincher@aol.com not that I can do much about it now, but at least you know who to blame.

// Trowa's thoughts //

*****

The tears wouldn't come.

He wanted to cry, to scream, to deny this horrific existence that had become his world, but was helpless to do any of it. He was reminded on a daily basis that he was a prisoner of war, a helpless child who had been dragged into this conflict against his will. And when those reminders came he could not scream for OZ had seen fit to silence The Silencer.

The pilot who had once been called Trowa Barton tensed as he heard the door to the room open. Most would not have heard the near-silent sweep, but the now-fragile young man could, quite clearly.

It always meant more pain was to come.

In the open doorway stood the man that had become the world to the poor, nearly broken boy who sprawled half naked on the filthy floor. Striding imperiously into the room, Captain Michael Jager glared down at the sad creature before him and asked rhetorically, "So, my little pathetic Gundam-boy, did you miss me?" Even now he refused to give his victim a name, it might give him hope he didn't need.

Trowa blinked, his eyes too dry since his tears had dried up long ago, and scurried backwards as much as he was able to. Fear and loathing were the only things to flicker through the once-brilliant green orbs as his breathing quickened.

He hated this man with all his heart, and that hate was the only pure emotion left to him. Had he voice, he would have told the man exactly what he thought of him before screaming for help and damning all of OZ. But his voice was gone forever, his larynx removed by the organization's scientists in an effort to weaken his desire for escape; after all, how could a mute pilot possibly communicate with his comrades?

But even that had failed to break him... until Jager had stepped into the picture.

Closing the door behind him, the tall, dark-haired OZ officer reached for his belt, slipping it free with practiced ease to Trowa's utter horror. Jager was an expert at breaking people and, as most torturers do, he truly loved his work.

Holding the long strip of leather in one hand, he regarded the boy and thought aloud, "Hm, what should I do with you this afternoon, boy? This morning was quite pleasant, don't you think? You seemed to enjoy being beaten." He smiled darkly at the bruises that covered almost all of the exposed skin, the once flawless surface of which now told a patchwork tale of sorrow and suffering the likes of which would have killed a lesser man by that point. Trowa had received no medical attention whatsoever beyond having his vocal chords destroyed and infection was setting in at numerous points.

Trowa backed up a bit more, eyes widening with fright. He was still weak from hunger and the beating that morning, or he would have given in to his fears and tried to run for the door. It wasn't locked; there was no need with his torturer in here with him. It was hardly locked when Jager *wasn't* around, that was how weak the once-graceful pilot of HeavyArms had become.

A low whimper escaped him as the soldier strode closer; there was no way he could possibly survive another beating like the one the OZzie had delivered earlier. At that point he was certain that the man had finally grown weary of toying with him and was going to kill him outright.

He wished he *had* killed him now. The only time Jager 'visited' him twice in the same day was when--

Jager's sickening smile twisted further as he approached the trembling figure leather belt now in both hands.

Trowa was too far gone from all that he had been subjected to and it wasn't really necessary, but he was in the mood to tie him up before raping him yet again. Jager's intention was to force as much pain and sorrow as possible upon him before the inevitable day that he walked into the room and found a cold, yet still lovely, corpse on the floor.

Unbuttoning his uniform jacket, something that caused the boy to quake with fear since it meant yet another act of rape was about to be forced upon him, Jager moved towards the trembling youth with obviously evil intentions and growled, "Put your hands behind your back, boy."

The too-thin pilot shook his head and pulled himself backward until he was cornered, escape completely blocked from him. He would not submit, even in the least, for fear that his tormentor would think that he was completely broken. A tiny scrap of pride remained, the only thing keeping him alive, but it grew smaller by the day.

In a few more days, he would surely be dead.

But until then he would never submit to any part of his torture willingly. Again he shook his head, fear as well as defiance in his faded emerald gaze.

Snorting angrily at the boy who he had thought was well and truly destroyed emotionally, Jager found no reason to curb an overwhelming desire to backhand him and did so viciously.

"You stupid little brat! Don't you *ever* think you can say 'no' to me!" Fire flared in cruel brown eyes and he grabbed Trowa by the hair, totally heedless of the blood flowing from the youth's shattered lip and yanking him bodily to his feet.

Growling as he spun the boy around before slamming him against a wall, Jager added in a tone as dark as death itself, "And don't think for even a *minute* that you will ever see daylight again, either, you fucking little piece of shit! You belong to *me* and only *me* and I will see you dead before you will ever see the sun again!"

Trowa felt tears stinging at his eyes and mentally swore, wishing they had come when he was alone. He hated Jager, hated his own weakness, and absolutely despised crying in the man's presence.

His mouth opened in a silent cry of pain as his arms were jerked roughly behind his back and tied tightly with the belt, his hands already beginning to tingle from the interrupted flow of blood. He tried to pull away, knowing what was coming next, but instead found himself thrown into the center of the room. The trembling youth landed roughly on the floor, a gasp of pain escaping him even as he tried to pull himself up to a less-vulnerable position.

Furious at the small yet undeniable show of resistance, Jager threw what tiny amount of compassion he still had in an already hard heart aside entirely. Heavy boots rang against the filth-covered floor as he approached the injured boy from behind before grabbing the tattered jeans, Trowa's only remaining clothing, in two strong hands. With strength granted by rage, he yanked at the worn denim and tore it asunder, leaving the trembling boy face down, naked, and helpless.

After quickly removing his own clothes and tossing them aside carelessly, Jager grabbed Trowa by the hips, forcing his dow down into the dirt and snarled, "Now, boy, I will take what is mine and if you don't do a better job of obeying, there's always *this* for a solution!" He placed the barrel of his service revolver against the entrance of the European youth's body and pressed it in cruelly, intentionally tearing the abused tissues as he did so.

The auburn-haired pilot froze entirely, pain and fear vying for the upper hand in his mind. He'd caught sight of the gun when Jager had entered, but had hoped that this would mean his death was coming quickly. He'd never expected that it would be the instrument of yet another rape. The cold metal cylinder was roughly shoved deeper into his already torn hole, and a soft sob of pain and humiliation escaped before he could muffle it.

One large hand was pressed unkindly into Trowa's lower back even as the other fucked him with the fully loaded sidearm.

Jager's cruelty knew no bounds, though, as he asked in a gloating voice, "So, boy, will you behave now? I can take *this* out,"--he emphasized his words by twisting the gun in a harsh turn that tore Trowa in a whole new way, red blood oozing down the steel barrel--"and replace it with something less painful if you're gonna be good now."

His answer was a nod so weak and hopeless that Jager laughed outright, pleased that he was once more fully in control of not only whether or not the Gundam pilot died but also whether or not the boy had the will to choose. He had pulled the gun when he had with only moderate hesitation, the boy could've easily leaned back onto it and been shot to death for his trouble, but apparently his victim was too far gone to even realize the opportunity he just missed.

Tears slid from Trowa's eyes freely now, his body trembling as the gun was removed from his once-more bleeding opening. Trowa kept his face to the ground, never looking up although he knew his submissive attitude was probably causing his tormentor to gloat at how much power he wielded. The only movement he made was to clench and unclench his hands, attempting to renew circulation to his fingers but failing.

His voiceless sobbing became more ise ase as he felt Jager press against him again, the man's thick erection pressing insistently at his torn entrance, and he knew not only that his torture would begin anew shortly but that his own blood would be the only lubricant.

Relishing the act of claiming the undoubtedly dying boy, the dark-haired torturer braced himself with vicious fingers digging into too-thin hips then forced his heavy cock deep inside with a single, horrible, tearing jab. He stabbed the boy with his body as easily as he would with a knife and laughed again as red blood oozed from the increasingly damaged hole that no one had ever touched before he himself had delved into Trowa's depths not so long ago.

With a groan of pleasure at the sorrow he was inflicting as well as the sheer delight he felt from controlling someone as fragile and near the brink as Trowa now was, Jager withdrew entirely, practically tearing himself free in his eager quest to witness the blood he knew would rush out as he evacuated the pitiful youth's body. He wasn't disappointed as a virtual flood of gore poured forth to trail down slender ivory thighs in a red dance of impending death and already present disease. Satisfied, he rammed his bloodied cock back into Trowa and continued to violently rape him.

Trowa sobbed silently, the tiny scrap of pride shrinking moreso as he felt his lifeblood once more slipping down his legs. Another pained gasp escaped him as Jager continued to slam into him, rocking him into the floor and staining his skin with the filth and dried semen that remained from the first time his rapist visited this room. That time Jager had beaten him until he almost passed out and then forced him to perform fellatio on him. The then-defiant pilot had done so unwillingly--he'd engaged in oral play a time or two with one of his fellow pilots but had been too frightened to go further--and then spit the bitter seed onto the floor.

That was also the first time he'd received a second visit.

Silent cries of pain escaped him as the OZ soldier slammed into him again and again, tearing his fragile body and making him bleed.

Even as Jager continued his violent conquest of the teenager's tattered body, a noise could be heard from the other side of the door.

"What the fuck was that?" The rapist, who continued to slam into the once tight opening and splash blood onto himself as well, was startled by the sounds of battle.

Gunfire erupted nearby and the screams of the dying were loud in the torturer's ears as was the shouts of a certain young warrior hell-bent on getting where he wanted to go and not allowing anyone to deny him what he had come for.

Screaming shrilly as his katana flashed in the light, Chang Wufei gladly dispensed his own brand of justice to the soldiers in his way even as he heard Duo Maxwell cry out, "That door there, Wu! He's in there according to the records I hacked from their computers!"

Nodding as he pulled the blood-covered sword from a dead man's body, the ShenLong pilot threw the door open onto a vision straight from hell.

Trowa felt his tormentor pause, then whimpered as Jager pulled out of him roughly with a muttered curse. Without what support the OZzie had given him, his body fell limply to the floor and twisted slightly. Tears still streamed down his face as he felt himself bleeding. Somehow managing to turn his dirt-stained face towards the door, he blinked faded emerald eyes at the figure standing in the doorway, not quite registering for a moment that it was Wufei.

When he did, it was all he could do to not cry harder. He'd held onto the hope that the Chinese boy he silently adored would be the first to claim his body, but now he was used goods. Why would anyone want him now? Hell, he couldn't even *speak*, how was he to function?!

Brown eyes flashed with anger as Jager turned towards Wufei and growled, "Who the fuck are you, asshole?! This is a *restricted area*! You've got no business--"

The blustering fool's words, however, went ignored as anguished coffee-dark eyes took in the crushingly devastating sight of the boy Wufei had come to love so horribly defiled on the floor in front of him. There was some type of hideous untreated wound on the slender ivory neck that he had once kissed tenderly and his mind quailed at his attempts to quantify it. Scabs of uncleansed stripes resulting from the many beatings that Trowa had been subjected to were seemingly everywhere, yet it was one injured area alone that hurt his soul the most.

A part of the slender youth's body that he hadn't had the strength to claim for himself had been ravaged, possibly beyond repair, and with that realization, Wufei's mind snapped back to awareness of the situation.

Raising the sacred katana of the dragon clan with both hands high into the air, Wufei shouted, "DIE!!!" Razor sharp steel flashed in the light as it slashed down and across in a powerful severing slice, sending the loathsome beast to eternal damnation in two pieces as Jager's head rolled towards the doorway and his body collapsed to bleed ignored and disdained at his feet.

The too-thin boy on the floor never even noticed. He had turned his face from the door the moment he recognized Wufei, turning to the floor and sobbing into the filth there. He couldn't tell the Chinese pilot to just leave him to die anymore than he could confess that he'd grown to love him or that he was unworthy of being in his very presence anymore.

//Damn OZ for taking even that from me,// he thought, body wracked from his silent sobs. //If they'd left my voice, I could ask him to take the blade to me now and end this misery of mine before I die from what *he* did to me.//

He suddenly stiffened as he heard footsteps crossing the room, then dissolved into tears once more. He had hoped to die here without the others ever finding out what had happened, but that hope was gone now. Perhaps Wufei would end his life after all...?

After setting the bloodied blade aside, the Oriental boy crouched low beside the auburn-haired one and reached out very gently, touching him with an unsteady hand, and asking, "Tro? Can you hear me, Trowa?"

A tear-streaked face turned towards him then refused to look as emerald eyes dropped down and away in shame.

Wufei, however, would not allow that and said more firmly, "Tro? We came to get you out of here and that's what I'm going to do." He grabbed the uniform jacket that Jager carelessly dropped earlier and wrapped it around the trembling boy before Trowa was allowed to react much and easily swung the undernourished boy into his arms. The ShenLong pilot cradled him close, fighting tears of his own as he reaffirmed to himself at least, "You're going to be okay, Tro, just hang on."

The pale teen shook his head, wanting to say that *nothing* would be okay again until his miserable life ended but only able to whimper slightly. He wrung his still-bound hands in an effort to get circulation started again, but his fingers remained cool. He gave up on that and wearily rested his head on Wufei's shoulder, closing his dim green eyes as his friend and secret love stepped into the hallway once more and one of the other pilots came into view.

//They'll all know shortly,// he mused. //Perhaps Yuy will grant me the death I deserve, a bullet to the head can't be any less dignified than being decapitated.//

Duo delivered the coup de grace to a dying OZ soldier before stepping towards Wufei and Trowa rapidly, worried by the obviously injured state that the HeavyArms pilot was in. Looking at both of them he asked simply, "How is he? Were we in time?"

Choking back a sob that he would not allow himself to utter, the Chinese boy shook his head and then said, "He's hurt badly, Duo, and he can't speak. I think those bastards tried to slit his throat at one point or another, it's all messed up." Feeling Trowa's efforts to move his hands, he stepped towards the American youth and added, "His hands are tied behind his back, Duo. Can you get him free?"

Trowa lifted his head a bit and opened his eyes, fear shining in the once-bright depths. Shivering, he shrank back into the raven-haired teen's arms, not wanting anyone else to see how badly damaged he was.

//No, please don't!// he cried mentally. //I don't want anyone else to see what he did to me!//

His lips moved in an approximation of the mental plea, but, as he'd known would be the case, no sound came out.

Frowning at the sight of blood dropping onto the floor beneath Trowa, Duo nodded and slipped a switchblade out of a pocket of his jodhpurs before moving the jacket out of the way. If Trowa was expecting gasps of horror and disgust, though, he was sadly mistaken as Duo quietly murmured words of reassurance and sliced the leather apart easily before rubbing the circulation back into tortured wrists.

Sad violet eyes gazed at Wufei and the Oriental youth merely nodded, Duo's own tales of abuse at the hands of OZ when Deathscythe was shot down still in both of their minds. Carefully pulling the jacket back into place to give Trowa as much dignity as possible, the braided boy said quietly, "I can't hear any more rifle fire, Wu. I guess that means Heero's done his job."

"Hai," Wufei answered then turned his attention to the injured boy in his arms. "Tro? We're getting out of here now. Quatre's outside with a truck and we'll get Sally and Iria to meet us. Hang on, you *will* survive this!" As they began to move away from the charnel house they'd created, he added softly without realizing it, "you've got to live now, tro, i haven't had a chance to tell you that i love you!" Tears that could not be denied any longer streamed down bronze cheeks as he rushed after Duo and Heero, unaware of the reaction from the boy in his arms.

The auburn-tressed boy lifted his head slightly, peering up at Wufei with curious eyes. The words had been almost too soft for him to hear, but he'd caught them easily. After all, when he'd had a voice it had been as soft as his friend's was now.

Still weak from all he'd endured, Trowa lowered his head once more, his sad eyes closing as he pondered his unspoken love's words. He also wondered why Duo didn't react in the same manner as Wufei had, but his weakened body soon won out over his musings and he dropped off into a very deep sleep at almost the exact moment they arrived at the truck.

The hallway beneath his feet had seemed to vanish into nothingness for Wufei. He had the boy he adored in his arms again and he intended to see to it that they weren't separated again, especially by anything as unforgiving as death.

Within moments, they had arrived at the truck where Quatre was panicky as he tried to hurry them to get in so they could leave, but the moment he saw the copious amounts of blood trailing down Trowa's legs, he nearly gagged and looked faint.

Heero caught the blond Arabian as he faltered and said angrily, "Pull it together, Winner! We've still got a chance to save him, but only if we hurry!"

Quatre nodded, regret and weakness in his eyes as he asked in a shaken tone, "Can you drive, Heero? I don't think that I should at this point."

"Hn!" the Wing pilot snorted, then took the keys and drove them to freedom.

Wufei cradled Trowa's body in his lap and whispered to the sleeping youth, "now and forever, tro, that's what i'll give you, just please, don't leave me behind now."

*****

During the course of the next few days, Sally and Iria treated the injured pilot and discovered the full extent of his torture. The women had decided that Iria should reveal the results, and she had done so with a heavy heart.

The incision on Trowa's neck that Wufei had noticed was not the result of someone trying to slit his throat, but a deliberate incision that had not been given proper time to heal. His larynx had been removed for reasons the women did not know nor understand, possibly to break him or keep him silent during his torture at Jager's hands.

They had managed to suture all the tears that the multiple rapes had caused to the boy, and had tested for sexually transmitted diseases, pleased that the wounds would heal given enough time and that there was no trace of STDs in his system

It was a small miracle, but the one that mattered most was the loyalty of his friends. That and the love of his dearest friend would pull him through and help him to overcome his new handicap.

*****

Epilogue: One Year Later

Emerald eyes lifted as the door opened, a smile lighting them up as the one who held his heart walked into the safehouse. Trowa had been waiting for Wufei to return for days now, sad that he hadn't been able to see his beloved off because he'd been at yet another appointment with Sally. The woman had finally conceded that he was fully recovered physically, and he'd been playing a waiting game since to tell Wufei the news.

Standing, he walked over to the boy who was currently shrugging off his jacket. When the Chinese pilot turned to face him once more, Trowa smiled and signed, 'Welcome home. I missed you.'

Wufei tossed his dirty jacket aside, not caring where it went as he moved to wrap his arms around Trowa.

The Oriental pilot, now nearly as tall as the European former pilot, smiled helplessly at the boy who had held his heart for so very long and answered aloud, "It's good to be home, love. I missed you, too." Gently, carefully, he placed a sweet, chaste kiss to those well-loved lips and he sighed contentedly, unawares that the "chastity" between them was about to end to his great delight.

Trowa sighed silently at the brief kiss, a warm smile crossing his lips as he leaned back enough to sign once more. True, Wufei and the others could read lips, but he'd taught himself sign language--in American, Japanese, Arabic, Spanish and Chinese--to communicate on a more intimate level at times. This was definitely one of those times.

'I thought you might want to know what Sally had to say on my last visit, dragon,' he signed, mouthing the words as well. 'She said that I have fully recovered as far as she can see and that, should I wish, I will be able to pursue a normal healthy sex life.' He blushed slightly as he signed the last part, and wondered if he should include the part about Duo leering and commenting loudly that it was a good thing Wufei had already left or his mission would *never* have gotten completed.

Wufei stood completely speechless for a moment as the meaning of the words sank in fully. Then he asked, "Are you sure?"

The astounded Asian youth received a very enthusiastic nod of the head which was rewarded by Trowa being gathered into a warm hug for a moment before he was swept up in strong bronze arms to be carried to their bedroom in haste.

With a last smile for the world outside the realm of the bed they had shared with t cat care and no sexual activity until that day, Wufei said, "Well, then, my angel, allow me to grant that wish, won't you?"

Laughter overtook the only member of the couple that could still make the merry sound and the two young men soon finally became what their hearts had labeled them long before a twisted monster named Jager interfered with their lives.

Lovers.

Heart, soul, and beyond, Trowa and Wufei were lovers of the most definitive type and all was as well as it could be hoped to be.

~owari~

Authors' Notes:

[1] Most of the background information is in the two addenda located above, however, Enigma wishes to add a couple things post-fic. First, this was written in a modified role playing format and Ryoko wrote Trowa and Enigma wrote everybody else, so if you think Jager is too over the top, blame the llama since he gets a little carried away when torturing G-Boys. Second, our styles are fundamentally different, hers is concise and mine is wordy, gomenasai if it's hard to read because of stylistics.

[2] To put it mildly, this is damned dark. There's a happy ending, yes, but for the most part, this is basically a Trowa-torture story with as much hellishness as we could throw at him without killing him or leaving him more mutilated than the loss of his voice. If you like this level of pain and suffering, read "ResCUe mE!" by Enigma sometime and get *really* depressed.

[3] Regarding the epilogue, due to the fact that the original AIM session when this was written ended near 4am, both authors neglected to spell out in detail the amount of therapy and treatment that Trowa had received. Kindly assume that it was more than sufficient for him to have recovered fully emotionally as well as physically.

[4] Muse credit was already given and they don't need encouragement to do this again.

[5] There is an alert system when something of Enigma's is available regardless of the fandom it is written for. If you'd care to sign up, send a message to EnigmaFanficUpdates-subscribe@yahoogroups.com!

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Final Note: I just wanted to take the time to point out that this was written back in late 2001/early 2002. In that time span I've changed my writing style as well as switched fandoms. There may be things in there that are less than accurate, and I realize that. However, I'm leaving the story as-is and making no changes; it's rather like a time capsule that way. I appreciate the helpful reviews regarding doing more research for things mentioned in the story, but again, I'm leaving the fic as-is since I've long since left the fandom and have no intention of writing for it again... and that includes edits on old stories.