Summary: Praxis' past continues to haunt him, but what sort of past is he running from? And why is Deimos so keen on helping him out? Just what does Deimos want from him?

Pairings: Praxis x Deimos!

Preview Line: He listened for another moment, heard even more moans, and then Cain said, "Now, be a good boy and tell me."

Wounded Blades

Chapter One

The Trap

Praxis drifted in and out of sleep: sweaty, confused, and hurt. He wanted to wake up, but something gripped at his consciousness, pulling him deeper into the dream.

A voice called out to him. "Don't leave me!"

His heart beat fiercely as he recognized that strained voiced. He looked around desperately in the endless darkness, hopelessly searching for him. Where was he? Where had he gone?

Again, the voice echoed in the darkness. This time it came from beside his ear as if from thin air, and he spun, staring into the nothingness of the dark. Yet, those words continued to resonate within the stilled silence, gutting him from the inside.

"How could you?! You failed me!"



With a start, Praxis' eye bolted open. No! That's not what happened! It wasn't like that…it wasn't—

His heavy dream-induced thoughts instantly vanished as some foreign noise grabbed his attention. His eye throbbed with aches of the past, and it took a moment before he could take in his surroundings of the dimly lit infirmary.

Praxis lay on his back, secluded by the white curtains drawn all the way around his small cot. The sound repeated, but this time, it was slightly different than the first. He listened to a muffled voice mixed with the distinct shifting of cloth upon the cot to the left of him. Alarmed, he slowly and quietly raised his body up into a sitting position. No one else was supposed to be in the infirmary. Doctor Galen had locked the door when he'd left Praxis inside.

The doctor knew about Praxis' "condition" and was willing to keep the older fighter's secret, as well as provide him with pain medication for his missing left eye. At first, the pain had been but a dull throb and Praxis had managed to ignore it. However, his eye seemed to constantly want to remind him of his past mistakes. It chained him down and tried to drown him.

When his "condition" became so blindingly severe that he feared he would become a hazard if he were assigned another mission, or worse, another navigator, he'd finally decided to do something about it. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice. He'd gone to the infirmary and met Doctor Galen. The doctor knew if other fighters or if Commander Bering discovered Praxis' weakness, he would be expelled, deemed weak, and sent back to Earth.

So the kind doctor had done everything to help reduce his pain, and for a while, the pills seemed to work. However, the pills' effectiveness eventually decreased, and he was left with zero alternatives.

Still, Galen's little blue miracle never failed to knock him out. He could at least count on the drug to dim the pain momentarily and put him to sleep for a few hours. That was why he'd come to the infirmary this time; to escape his damn aching eye and drug himself into a comatose-like state.

But after taking three of those pills, he realized his immunity to them was stronger than he'd originally thought. He'd had that damn dream again. The dream that made his eye twitch even more.

No, wait. That wasn't why he'd woken up. Not this time. This time he'd heard a sound.

As soon as he thought that, a harsh and rumbling voice echoed throughout the tiny infirmary.

"So what the hell did you drag me here for?"

The voice was crude with a distinct accent and edginess that said he was continually in a foul mood. Praxis would've recognized that arrogant bastard's voice if even all he'd done was grunt.

Damn it. What the hell was Cain doing here? And who the hell was he talking to? Praxis listened closely for another person to respond, but then wondered if Cain was talking to Galen. What if the doctor was planning to tell Cain about his "condition"?

Praxis' mind roamed over the possibilities as he heard hushed murmurs. He stared at the drawn curtain and realized he could just scarcely make out the silhouettes of two figures sitting down on the cot.

A low primal growl rang out, startling the fighter. "What the fuck! I hate it when you do this, Deimos! What is it, goddamnit? Just fucking spit it out already!" Cain shouted.

Praxis clenched his fists at the sudden rage that coursed through his body. That voice grated on his nerves. He bit his lip, fighting against the urge to rush out from his hiding spot and pound Cain into the floor. He didn't really have a reason. He just flat out hated the smug bastard.

But then he heard a small whimper and realized it must have come from Deimos. He didn't personally know the young fighter and had never even uttered a word to the boy, but he knew of him. And what he'd learned about Deimos, he couldn't imagine the fighter ever being the type who'd whimper.

Deimos was small in frame, and many other fighters thought he looked similar to a navigator. Because of his lithe body, they thought they could have a go at him, but Deimos wasn't easily taken down. He was an excellent fighter. But mostly, Praxis had heard about Deimos' speed. The boy might be small, but even the strongest man couldn't knock him down if they couldn't catch him.

Praxis was so busy with his internal thoughts that he almost missed Deimos' barely audible mutter to Cain.

"Don't trust Abel," he whispered.  

For a moment, there was only silence. Then the Russian chuckled and said, "What? As if I'd ever trust that boy anyway!"

He ended with a snort, but again, an uncomfortable silence seemed to fill the air. A loud bang followed, and Praxis almost jumped off his cot, reaching for one of his knives safely concealed within the tight suit's lining at his wrist.

But as he heard more cloth shifting and the soft crooning of Deimos, he realized Cain had somehow gotten on top of the boy and was now aggressively holding him down on the cot. Yet, the way Deimos moaned, Praxis didn't think the young fighter seemed to mind at all.

"Now, I'm only asking this strictly out of curiosity, so don't you fucking repeat it. But why exactly shouldn't I trust Abel?" Cain asked, and Praxis heard Deimos groan in response, as if Cain had done something he liked.

He listened for another moment, heard even more moans, and then Cain said, "Now, be a good boy and tell me."

Deimos' heavy pants filled the silent room, but in between those gasps, he managed to answer the fighter. "B-because … Abel's just a pawn. He's Commander Cook's tool to use against you and Commander Bering," he said as his breathing steadied.

Cain snarled, and the sound of scuffling followed.

"Cain?" Deimos cried, and Praxis could practically hear the boy's heart break.

"What?" Cain yelled, nothing short of menacing.
  
Instead of responding to Cain, the young fighter only sniffled. Praxis wanted to beat the shit out of that asshole for Deimos and Abel, but he was too distracted by Deimos' words. Had he really heard him correctly? Abel was working for Commander Cook against Cain and Bering? Where on Earth did this kid get his information? And if that was really true, why were both commanders at war with one another? Weren't they supposed to be focused on fighting the Colterons? Just what the hell was going on?

His brain was overloaded with questions, and apparently, Deimos held the key to the answers. Was that why Cain kept Deimos to himself and even mistreated him, purposefully keeping him on a short leash?

As if on cue, he heard a loud squeak, which was unmistakably the vinyl from the spacesuits, as it resounded throughout the room. He wondered who had grabbed whom, but as he looked at the outlines behind the curtain, he could see a taller, broader figure leaning down over the cot and over a motionless figure. The figure on the cot was obviously Deimos, and one of Cain's hands appeared to wrap around his throat, while the other seemed to disappear somewhere near his thigh.

"Listen Deimos, the plan has always been the same. I get rid of them, you are my informant, and Bering tells us what to do from there. We don't question it. Abel is just another thorn. I'll handle him, okay? Just like the last one," Cain said, releasing Deimos with another loud squeak of the vinyl.  

"Stay the fuck out of my way. That's the only warning I'll give you," the Russian said, and Praxis watched Cain's silhouette walk toward the door.

"C-Cain…" Deimos mumbled under his breath, but the older fighter was sure Cain hadn't heard him.

Praxis heard the swish as the airtight sealed door opened and closed automatically. However, it remained unlocked now that the code—which only Doctor Galen had access to—had not been re-entered.

Still, his mind was troubled by that bastard's words. What had the fighter meant by he'd get rid of them and he'd handle Abel? Just what was going on? What were Commander Bering, Cain, and Deimos up to? He had a million questions and he wanted to hurl all of them at the young fighter who'd been left in the cot next to him. But if he did that, he'd expose himself, and Deimos would question why he was even in the infirmary. He didn't want anyone else to know about his "condition," especially since they could use it as leverage against him.

So, he stayed absolutely still, hoping Deimos would get up from his cot soon and leave. He couldn't really see the young fighter's outline since Deimos was still lying down on the cot, so he tried relying on his ears but he only heard silence. It was unnerving, and he feared to make even the slightest move.

"I know you are there, Praxis," the boy said from behind the curtains. His voice sounded assured, amused, and somewhat playful.

Immediately, Praxis realized the little devil had set this trap from the very beginning.