Chapter Text
~*~
Oz had won the war.
The peace agreement process took less than four hours. Surprisingly, the treaty of unconditional surrender didn't cause quite as much of an uproar as Treize's single, personal demand from the rebellion forces. A token prize; a show of good faith. A Gundam pilot . . . for life. His Gundam pilot.
~*~
Chang Wufei stared blankly out the window, his eyes glazed over. He was too exhausted to be afraid.
What the fuck did they expect him to do here at OZ headquarters? Why? Why would Krushrenada want him? Torture? It didn’t faze him. Hardly anything did anymore. He was quiet, resolute, and detached. The war had taken too much from him.
The war . . .
The blood, the struggle, the sacrifices . . . even losing, that he could wrap his mind around. But to live as Krushrenada's slave . . . Was that a warrior’s end?
It didn't make any sense. Wars were about politics, land rights, religious grudges . . . Why didn’t they just kill all the Gundam pilots, trump up some charges for war crimes?
Well, obviously, because Treize wanted to humiliate them. Treize wanted to humiliate him. There was no honor in this surrender.
Wufei went because if he didn't, Treize could call it a breach of the peace treaty and start bombing the colonies again. The bastard probably would, too. Wufei went because he just didn't care if he lived or died anymore. Wufei went because he was curious.
"You may go in now. The general wants to see you," a young officer growled at him.
Wufei stood, feeling a little awkward in his new outfit, and followed the guard into Treize's study. He didn't really need to be led . . . How many times had he visited that office? Exactly how many duels did Wufei lose to this man?
One too many, it seemed.
~*~
Treize turned as the huge oak door to his office opened. An officer clicked his heels, saluting, and awaited instructions. Instructions he didn't get, because Treize was completely focused on the small boy who knelt on the floor, face covered with soft strands of black hair, eyes lowered, arms trembling slightly. The boy shook; he wore an elaborate tunic of white silk with an emerald dragon winding up the shoulder and neck.
Treize sucked in a breath, and moved to pour himself a glass of wine. Wufei might have noticed the shaking of his hands, had his eyes ever lifted from the floor.
"You may go," Treize murmured.
The guard clicked his heels again and practically ran out of the room.
Treize surveyed his captive critically. The boy knelt, no doubt having been given orders to; he looked well groomed enough, and even calm. But Treize knew better. His arms trembled—from hunger or from fear? And there were circles under his eyes. And not even an ounce of resistance. That was not like his dragon.
"Wufei."
Wufei looked up at Treize, but those black eyes did not travel higher than his cravat. "Yes, Master?"
Treize had not been prepared. Not at all. He tried to breathe. He tried again.
"I'll show you to your room."