Pairings: 1=2, with mentions/insinuations of others, including unrequited H+2 and unrequited Solo +1 and +2
Warnings: various POVs, post EW, possibly OoC, language and angst like whoa, sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll
Disclaimer: GW is copyright Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency; 'American Idiot' is the creative property of Green Day.

Stuff: Even if you're already familiar with 'American Idiot' and its story (and other rock opera classics), I hope you still enjoy this GW interpretation. Written for the 'Seven Deadly Sins' Moments of Rapture contest, 2007.

Also, I want to make a note in advance that this has a lot of potential to be very offensive. The language warning is not a mild one here. I strongly advise against any thus related drinking games. And please be wary of the fact that some of the characters condone some rather... unpleasant activities. They're meant to be uncomfortable, but in case that's not your cup of tea, here's warning well in advance.

Big thanks to BadMomma, danse and Natea for helping me organize my thoughts and acting as the lead quality testers. Also, thanks to anybody who helped me find direction with their thoughts, feelings and opinions during the writing process.

Heart Like a Hand Grenade
by Link Worshiper

-- William Shakespeare

Letter dated 02 / 23 / AC207
From D.M to the 'L2 Daily Bugle'
[returned to sender]

To Whom It May Concern:

If I sound pissed off to you, you better know that I damn well am. And this is me speaking to you not as a former Gundam pilot, but as a citizen of L2 and the greater ESUN when I say that whoever is responsible for the articles regarding the recent Ministry elections should be fired on the spot for writing some of the most propagandist shit I've seen since Kushrenada was riding high. I don't know why I continue to be shocked that just when it seems like things are starting to roll towards a more open and understanding existence for everyone, there still seem to be assholes with inexplicably visible places in society who have to continue to fuck things up.

The suggestions you made about Relena Darlian protecting war criminals is more than a goddamn personal insult, I'll have you know. Just because she supports those who stood up for her ideals when no one else did doesn't mean she's responsible for every misguided atrocity that's attributed to us. If anything, she should be commended for helping us come to terms with our wrongdoings before we became proprietors of war right along with OZ. Even if we had different ways of fighting for it, we all believed in peace. I want to know what the fuck's your excuse?

In idiot's terms, she's hardly deserving of your smear campaign, if you need me to spell it out for you in plain fucking Standard. Under her guidance, you could see things starting to head for the better -- at least a hell of a lot fucking better than they were back when I was ten and sucking maggots out of rotten apples to get through a day. She may be a tender 26 years old, but she knows her shit. Wisdom definitely doesn't come with age, despite what you argued on behalf of her competitors; if anything, I think you get even more retarded the older you get, if that says anything to you. I think it sometimes takes the observations of someone a little less jaded to see the way we should be going. So she dares to ask why we can't just drop weapons and be friends. You ask why, and I ask why not. Just because she knows the power of a question, you run scared. I'm reiterating here how goddamn deplorable you are.

And now look at the dominos you knocked over. Part of me doesn't blame Director Une for resigning her position as Chief of the Preventers Department with all the louts that are crawling out of the woodwork to replace Relena's people, but Jesus Christ, talk about scaring the last pivotal person out of the government webbing. You show me someone who can run that regiment as shipshape as she did, and I'll show you her goddamn daughter -- Kushrenada's brat, for godsakes. That new guy you scared the public into electing with the hysterics you were plastering your headlines with is hardly fit for the job -- a gnarly little monkey with beady eyes and big ears. 'To make peace is to prepare for war'? Are you serious? That's who you want running the only remotely militant regime left on the planet? Fucking awesome decision, L2 Bugle.

Isn't this where we came in?

Sincerely,
Duo Maxwell
Former Pilot 02

Entry dated 03 / 03 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

Rock 'n' roll is gonna do me in, I just know it. Funny how your best friends turn out. Rock 'n' roll, that is -- not the guys. Well, maybe them too, though I'm not so sure, since it's been a while and the only one I see anymore is Hilde and then Quatre, sometimes. It's hard to tell if they've changed -- even Hilde, and I fucking share a business with her. At least the music doesn't change, no matter how many times you play the damn stuff. Is it bad I talk more to old recordings than the few people I actually associate with on a day-to-day basis? Maybe it's just the box of blues I've been popping lately. I can't fucking handle Hilde and her ticking biological clock without them, I swear to God.

She's like really into this family thing and it sort of creeps me out. I can't tell if it's a new thing or something she ditched and came back to once the war got off her plate. I mean, that's all great and everything, but I wish she'd stop staring after me like she expects me to help her out with it or something. It's ridiculous, too, because she knows -- better than anybody, I bet -- just exactly how I feel about Heero, even if she sometimes pretends like she has no idea who he is when he comes up in conversation. I don't know what her problem with him is, but it's been putting a damper on our business operation.

Maybe that's what's been getting to me about going into work lately, speaking of. It's just this giant void of boring while I'm there. Our desks face each other, but we don't really talk anymore -- not like we used to, and not without aggravating each other. She does the accounts with this really stern brow and I throw darts at the back of the door when I've got nothing else to do. I think she's got this opinion that I'm a slacker or that I don't pull my weight or something like that, but I blame it on her getting cozy with this normal life thing. Like I mentioned, she keeps going on like the most important thing in the world is having goddamned kids and all that crap, and it's like she's completely oblivious to all the problems that are starting to rot through the fruit basket. There's so much more to goddamn life than Max & Hilde's Scrap, Inc., for chrissakes.

You know, considering, I suppose rock 'n' roll isn't such a bad companion to keep around when you haven't got anybody else who sees the real you. Sometimes, that's okay, because at least the music does. Still, the rest of the time, it's like you're shouting, 'Is anybody out there!?' out over the wall and no one hears you but your own echo. Not that it matters; it doesn't seem like she'll be letting me hang around for too much longer with the way things are going.

All I can say is, thank God for headphones that drown out everything from Hilde to the apocalypse. Though I don't suppose I'll ever know if Heero would still make me think of 'Learning to Fly' if I ever saw him again. But when the only thing fit to do with my life was ignore it, I kind of like to think he would.

-- D.M.

Entry dated 03 / 10 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

Hilde sent me out to buy some stuff for the office fridge, but I think she was really just trying to get rid of me for a little bit. She had me way strung out before I left, though, and I wasn't really sure if even the promise of hitting the Bellboy up for a few blues was going to help any. Though I still kind of hoped he was hanging around the Jinglemart lot; the Bellboy always knew what was what. He sang you help better than any shrink could.

The Bellboy was bored, so I waited for him to finish his cig so he could help me do the shopping. He said he'd make a deal in exchange for a new pack of lights and some malted milk balls. The Bellboy was just mellow like that, though. I thought he kind of looked like some sort of mod relic with the zoot suit, this kind of shaggy, Beatles-looking haircut and fishhooks sewed under his lapels. I guess that was just sort of his way. No one really knows where the hell he came from or where he lived, but he was kind of a back alley legend -- sort of like how Solo used to be, but nowhere near as punk ass. He liked to call me Jesus because of my long hair, and that suited me fine. Though sometimes I got this feeling like he knew more about me than he let on.

He sympathized with my problems concerning Hilde -- said something about dealing with something like it with his parents way back before the war. Gesturing with a baguette, he said you couldn't help it if They all don't get it... if They all can't see the real you. "The motto's a lie," he said, bread still in hand. "You know, the one that says 'Home is where the heart is.' Because not everyone's heart beats the same, you know?"

I told him I didn't think my heart was beating at all.

He didn't say anything else about it, though, and despite the intention, his comments left me wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I'd always supposed that I was exactly how I was supposed to be, but maybe I was wrong. I thought back to the war days and how I used to feel, trying to decide if it had always been like this, and it dawned on me that all this time since, maybe I hadn't been home at all.

The Bellboy traded me for about a week's worth of blues for the stuff I'd bought him; I even tossed in a new Zippo for the two-cent advice -- it had given me a lot to think about, anyway. I didn't know what I'd say to Hilde, though, or if I should say anything at all. She might have been kind of grating on my nerves, but I think it was probably because I was just jealous she was better at coping than I was -- that she had a life and I didn't. Maybe I'll stay shut up, then.

I took the long way back, more than willing to take my time on the way back to Gethsemane. Milk didn't rot if it was out of the fridge for an extra twenty goddamn minutes, anyway, I figured. Walking down a quiet side street, I skipped the cracks in the pavement and wondered how the fuck I'd come back to this place -- and why. It was a fucking dead end, full of one-way signs that didn't lead anywhere. I used to feel like I was going places, like getting up every morning made a goddamn difference, and it made me wonder how the hell I'd managed to let myself get so turned around. I felt like I was a mockup of my old self, hardly the cocky sonuvabitch I was when I was fifteen or the superhero I thought I was when I was ten.

Along the way, I slowed down in front of an electronics store, momentarily captivated by the televised image of Relena on a few of the screens behind the grating covering the display window. She'd started organizing peace rallies since she'd lost her official bid in ESUN politics. "Are we the Waiting?" she'd scream, and her disciples would all shout back, "We are!" I wondered what it felt like to still have something to fight for. The media was still trashing her like a bad plague that wouldn't go away, but that didn't tie her down. (Why isn't Hilde like her?) I feel like it probably pissed me off more than it did her, but I still I wished I could help her give those suits the finger. It's something Heero would have wanted, anyway.

And of course, the bottom just had to drop on both the shit bags they'd packed the food in at the Jinglemart. I remember swearing loud enough for the other side of the street to hear and kicking a can of baked beans nearly half a block. What a bumfuck, damned city. No one here even cares that it hardly even exists.

Not that I give a shit, either.

-- D.M.

Unfinished letter dated 03 / 12 / AC207
Unsent from D.M. to H.Y.

Dearly Beloved,

Thought I ran into you down on the street, but when I went and ran a search on your whereabouts and came up blank, it turned out I must have been dreaming. I mean, I don't think I have any photographs of you or anything, but I'm sure I could never forget your face -- especially your eyes. Do you even know how blue they are? But I'd been so sure it was you.

You know, after the whole Dekim Barton fiasco, you disappeared without a trace. I'd thought you'd have at least wanted to stick around with Relena or something, but I guess even you know when someone can take care of themselves. But when you went away, I don't think you realized what you left behind you. Maybe I just saw things falling together a different way once the dust settled, saw my life taking a different path. Did yours turn out the way you envisioned? I hope so.

I sometimes feel like I've walked down this same line like a million and one fucking times. Do you feel like that too? Alive, but not breathing, speaking, but not saying anything? I don't understand how my life used to be such a hurricane, but all the confusion is outside the maelstrom. Maybe it's some instinct I have to keep running the second I land on my feet. Maybe you know where I'm trying to go. Or where I'm trying to escape from.

I know you'd say the regrets are useless, but you're in my head. You always are -- always have been. I don't feel any shame, and I won't apologize for asking, but do you ever wonder about me? And did you ever really believe in me? Do you still?

[the rest of the page is torn out]

Letter dated 03 / 23 / AC207
From H.S. to S.P.

Dear Sally,

You've got to help me. I've just about gotten to the end of the tracks and I don't know what to do anymore. Business is slipping and I'd started to notice that Duo has been a little bit off kilter lately. But now, I think he's just outright lost his mind. And I'm not talking in relative terms, like what we used to jokingly refer to as 'Maxwell Shenanigans', but like that he's actually not well. The few times I'd tried to bring it up to him, he'd deny it and then get angry at me, say I didn't know what in God's name I was talking about, which just made me wonder even more about what happened to the old Duo Maxwell. The other day, he tried to throw a dart at me when we started rowing with each other. I don't know if it's a good or a bad sign that he missed entirely.

You should have heard it, Sally. It was out of control. I knew Duo always had a temper, but it was never so volatile before. Now, even the littlest thing will send him over the edge and there's no telling what will cause the next blowout. Though this last time, I let it slip that I'd found this little bottle of blue pills on his desk -- something I'd initially told myself I wouldn't confront him on. God, he went off the deep end about it. Thank heaven OZ hadn't been slacking on the self-defense courses, because his first reaction was to vault off the lounge sofa and run at me like he meant to swing that mean right hook of his right into my jaw. I managed to knock him back onto his ass, and he just slumped down there like he'd wilted on the cushions. I started shouting at him -- said a lot of things I probably shouldn't have. Said he had to get the fuck over himself -- said, "Do you think you're Jesus nailed to that couch, suffering for my sins? And you think I'm the loser?"

He didn't respond -- just stared blankly at absolutely nothing -- and I wasn't really thinking about the words that were coming out of my mouth anymore... was just unloading any and everything that ever came to mind regarding my troubles with him lately. I told him he needed to accept the fact that peace was here to stay and that he had to unpack his goddamn wartime baggage for good -- baggage just like him -- you know... like H.Y. If I'd been merely trying to get him to notice me, then that certainly did the goddamn trick. He was on his feet, yelling again, and he had his flick knife out in one hand.

"I don't care if you don't care!" he was roaring at the top of his lungs like a bull on parade. "You're so full of SHIT -- a total hypocrite! And I don't even give a damn anymore!" I was too scared to move or do anything about it, but I honestly didn't know what he was going to do next. I probably should have called the blue boys or something, but in this neighborhood, who knows when they would have shown up.

He flew out of there and locked himself in the bathroom for at least three hours after that. Just this morning, I finished cleaning up all the graffiti he'd left in there with a Sharpie and a tube of my lipstick. His head is a mess, if the stuff he'd written on the walls was any hint. Things like 'I'm the son of RAGE and LOVE' and 'Faith and Misery' -- stuff like that. And a crusted, red handprint that has me a little concerned. I can't make any sense of it -- just like a bunch of poetic nothing, like what you'd find in that old rock music he won't stop listening to. He's shouting the words, but I don't hear a thing.

Best wishes,
Hilde

PS
Please let me know what you make of the enclosed photos ASAP.

Entry dated 03 / 25 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

Why do I inevitably ruin every fucking home I become a part of? Without fail, it happens every goddamn time, like when a gambler is finally shit outta luck. If Hilde doesn't throw me out after what happened, I'm just gonna fucking walk out on my own. I can't stand to be around this dump anymore. It's not her fault, really -- just can't find the answers I'm looking for around here, is all, I guess. I don't know where I ever got the impression that getting with the fucking program after the wars would be easy, because it's definitely not. Maybe it's something in the water, I don't know. It's like I'm living in this weird strata between going nuts or maybe just a lot of fucking self-loathing.

It's just the way she fucking stares at me, you know? And I can't tell if she's the demented one or if I really am disturbed. I mean, I'm not goddamn perfect or nothing, so I don't know what she's expecting here. I'm not trying to make any excuses, but seriously, I don't see why she's accusing me of being the harbinger of every goddamn issue she's got in her life. It's not my fault our shit business sucks and that I'm too fucking fag for her and that life is just one big, sucking void. Everyone wants it to mean something, but lately, I can't help but feel like mine's been fucking wasted. Thanks for your time, Mr. Maxwell -- in and out, next please. They pat you on the back and then shove you out into the rain and you sit there on the goddamn street waiting for it to stop, but it doesn't.

I think I'm gonna try outrunning the storm clouds tonight. I used to know everything once, but now I feel like all I've got left is to run away the fuck away so I can find what I ought to believe. The other day, when Hilde had been screaming at me and insulting everything I ever thought was fucking important, I was thinking about what the Bellboy said and how I never really realized just how right he was until then. Here, all this time, I'd been thinking that it would be up to someone like Hilde, who'd had a normal childhood with normal parents and a normal home, to show me how to live, but it's becoming clearer she's definitely not the one for the job. You get to this point where you realize that if you just keep letting Them fuck you, the only one you've got to blame is yourself, and if you keep it up, you ought to be really fucking ashamed for allowing yourself to get screwed again and again. Well, I was fed up with it. If I fuck me, I'll fuck me in my own goddamn way. That was one of the most liberating things I'd ever come to realize.

I think the secret is letting it all the fuck go. And I don't mean letting go of the things that define you, but just the things that keep you goddamn stuck in one place. Maybe I don't know what defines me, and that's what the entire fucking problem is. Though in the end, the only thing you can bring is yourself anyway. I think there's something really wonderful in that feeling when it all falls apart and you have that break down. I suppose that's what they call Nirvana -- not Kurt's, but like the real kind. You just forget all that fucking shit and jump right in, and even if it's not the easiest thing, there's no one holding you the fuck back. It was like the first time I went free falling through zero gravity.

So I think I've made up my mind. It might take me a while, but I'm going to go to Earth and I'm going to find Relena and I'm going to help with her peace rallies. Maybe she'll know where the others are and how I could try and find Heero. This isolation is wearing me so fucking thin, I think. I miss feeling like I belong somewhere. That is, if I ever even fucking belonged anywhere at all.

My stupid palm still stings where I sliced it in the bathroom, and even though it's scarred over, it still kind of hurts to write. I'm just hoping that goddamn nail hadn't been rusty or something and I've got gangrene or something equally disgusting.

It's been raining a really long fucking time.

-- D.M.

Entry dated 03 / 27 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

I thought leaving a note for Hilde in the kitchen would be more than enough. I wrote, "Going to find something to take me from this heartache. If no one is going to save me, I'm gonna save myself." I thought that was a good note: good and to the point, not pulling punches, not pretending or any of that phony shit I hate. Didn't expect her to be actually sitting in there when I went to leave it behind, though.

She had to have been on her tenth cup of coffee or something, just sitting at the table and staring at the little vid screen on the counter. The light from the screen was the only illumination there -- she was otherwise like this big, gaping shadow. I think she was watching Spike TV or something stupid like that. Or, at least giving the impression she was. Her eyes were so dark, it looked like she'd punched herself in the face. I felt a little twitch inside of me, like maybe I should have felt sorry for her, but I didn't. Wasn't a big deal that she didn't even really notice me come in, either. So I just did what came in to -- put the paper on the table and turned around to leave without a second thought.

I barely took a step when I felt something tight around my wrist. At first I thought I'd just snagged my watchband on something, so I just pulled, but it didn't let up. So I glared down my arm, and sure enough, there's goddamn Hilde still staring at nothing, but with her hand clamped around my wrist like she was holding me on a leash. I told her to let the fuck go -- I didn't have time for this kind of shit. Not now, not ever.

"You're leaving," she said in this really weird monotone.

I told her, "No shit."

She still didn't release me, even when I started jerking my arm a lot harder. "I said, let the fuck go!" I commanded her -- I was really starting to lose my goddamn patience. "You're not my mother. I don't have to listen to a goddamn word you say, Hilde!" I twisted around and started physically prying her fingers off my wrist with my other hand. I wanted to push her or smack her or something. She was pissing me off.

She said some mopey thing about not wanting me to go, admitting all this phony shit, like that she didn't mean all the things she said and that she should've been more receptive to my outcries and all that bullshit. I told her it was a little fucking late for apologies and then tried to get her to let me go for what seemed like the hundredth fucking time. I blamed her for all of it, outright told it was all her fucking fault. "You can't go forcing something if it's just not right, for God's sake!" I snapped.

"Oh, and what you're doing is?" she said, sounding really condescending. I didn't like her tone one single bit. I hated how she treated me like someone who was incapable of making good choices anymore.

I said, "I may be all mixed up, but at least I know what's right." I told her exactly what I thought, figuring there was no sense in pretending any other way at this point. I mean, I know we were the same age and that both of us hadn't really had all that much life experience, despite what we'd all been through, but that shouldn't have made a difference. It was like she'd forgotten what it had once been like to fight, you know? I think that's what disgusted me the most.

Out of nowhere, she gave my arm this surprisingly strong jerk and reeled me into this pseudo-hug. She had her arms around my waist and her face buried into my stomach. I distracted myself with the flickering pictures on the vid screen, waiting for her to let up. I eventually had to push her off, though. She made my goddamn shirt wet with her stupid crying.

I can't tell if it was good or bad how little I fucking cared about her stupid feelings. I asked if she was done yet and she asked why I was doing this. I sighed the biggest sigh a person could and rolled my eyes. I said, "If you have to ask, then you really don't deserve to fucking know."

Up and down -- but in the end, it's only 'round and 'round. That's what was in my head as I walked off without even looking back. I picked up my small duffel bag, kicked open the front door and disappeared into the night, still thinking...

-- D.M.

Entry dated 03 / 30 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

I guess I'd forgotten how long it took to get from L2 to Earth, especially in one of these goddamn economy shuttles. This flight is dull and the seats are too fucking cramped, especially when you're almost all fucking legs.

I'd also love nothing more than to lock the wailing baby two rows back in one of the overhead compartments. Not because I can't stand hearing it cry, but because I feel bad for it. You're born knowing everything, you know? It's sad how you lose it the older you get. I'd want to try and force everything that's probably seeping out of the kid right back in -- keeping it in a small space should help, right? I kind of wanted to cry along with it.

They turned off the cabin lights about three hours ago, but it's been kind of hard falling asleep. Not really because I'm too fucking tall for these tiny rows, but more because I keep imagining that Heero is doing his best to fill the empty seat next to mine. I missed that comforting feeling that he was somewhere around, watching my back, like way back in the day. I bet he'd zonk the hell out with his arms around the crap pillow they provide for you on these things and he'd drool a little. Heero was good at making the world seem like it didn't matter. It got me thinking about what kind of things he dreamt about -- if Heero was the sort to dream at all. I wonder if his screamed as loud as mine did.

I think I forgot the blues back in my office desk.

-- D.M.

Article dated 03 / 29 / AC207
Report by Chang W.
For the 'ESUN International Herald'

BRUXELLES, BELGIUM -- Without a doubt, whether in office or on the streets, Relena Darlian continues to be one of the most influential people of our modern era. Today, in the center of the Grand-Place, Miss Darlian led a peaceful demonstration of about 5,000 strong, decrying the legislation being passed by the newly elected officials of the ESUN. As was always her way, she spoke eloquently and passionately about the importance of international relations, especially in the cradle of our new nation's existence.

Her devotees stood solemnly in the damp spring weather beneath a canopy of multicoloured umbrellas and ponchos, feeding on her every word. A few picket signs could be seen breaking the sea of heads, reading things like 'Down with the Neo Earth Alliance!' and 'Reinstate Queen Relena!' In a way, the fruits of her work during the war years could be seen among these people -- those who no longer wished to be divided with thick walls between the borders of their homelands.

"Our cities will burn if we are not careful with this new flame we have kindled for our future," she declared over loudspeakers from a stage set up in front of the Hôtel de Ville. "It is the responsibility of ours and later generations to ensure that the world we have sacrificed so much for remains as it is now! We cannot allow the cycle to rotate back to the beginning again. Our nation is only as good as the people we elect to preside over it. If our government is no longer upholding the peace cherished so much by all of here today, then it is our first duty as citizens of the ESUN to make it right again!"

Her words were met with a chorus of cheers and applause. Her purpose in life was more than evident here, always a shining beacon of hope for the people and one who would not go away so easily. It was certainly comforting to know that Darlian has found a place in our world where she felt she needed to be, even if it meant putting herself on the line for the sake of others. Having once been an ally of hers, I was fortunate to be able to have a personal chat with her after the demonstration's main event.

"What motivated you to take such a stand again?" I asked her, catching her just to the side of the main throng of protesters. I found it a real nod to her character that, when not giving a public address, Darlian took her place among her followers as a fellow citizen of the ESUN.

"You should probably understand it better than anyone else, Wufei," she replied with a sunny cheer that definitely offset the gloomy skies overhead. "I could ask you why you left the Preventers to take up a career in journalism."

Certainly the turn of phrase one would expect from a skilled diplomat. With a divisional tactic of my own, I proceeded to ask her for her to expand on her position about the legislation being passed by the government today.

"I find that the bills being passed benefit only a select group of elite citizens and they are only setting the scene for a new kind of division among the people," Darlian said, her expression becoming grim. "The common citizen and the greater good are not being considered. If no one with any decision-making power is going to stand up for the rights of the people, then it's something we'll have to do ourselves, just as we've done in the past."

She proceeded to mark a few examples of such delegations, such as the troubles war veterans were having claiming benefits for their service and the careless expenditure of the national budget. "I maintain faith that at least there isn't anything fraudulent going on behind closed doors," Darlian insisted, a hand resting gingerly over her chest. "I can only hope that our new leaders will be receptive to the urges of the people they are writing laws for."

In response to my question about the importance of communication between government and citizen, Darlian was firm. "A government that does not take on the responsibility of caring for its people when they are in need is nothing less than a dictatorship in my eyes. The best government is the sort that teaches us to govern ourselves."

In conclusion, I asked, "Do you think you're upholding the ideals of Heero Yuy with your actions today?"

She hesitated for a moment before requesting that I clarify which Heero Yuy I was referring to. Then she shook her head and answered anyway, regardless of my intention. "I think both of them would be a part of this crowd if they could be with us right now."

She then took her leave to stand behind the large banner being held at the forefront of the crowd, her hands fisted around the ends of the cloth with determination. The ends Darlian and her followers are doggedly working for are clear, and her persisted fight for her beliefs proved that, even in this day and age, there is still an acute need for soldiers of peace.

Entry dated 04 / 01 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

It's been a long time since I last came to Earth, but I wasn't stupid about knowing how to take care of myself down here. It really wasn't all that different from being up there, except for here, the air wasn't fake, and the plants weren't dying from lack of real sunlight.

I knew Relena was based in Brussels, but the cheapest flight I could find off L2 to Earth landed me in the middle of bumfuck America -- Chicago to be exact. I'd never been there before, and admittedly, when I left the spaceport, I found myself just standing on the curb like an idiot tourist who'd never seen a goddamn city before, just trying to figure out where the fuck I ought to go. I didn't have the dough to get me from Chicago to Europe just yet, so I had to hang for a bit, anyway. Figured I might as well go and try and make myself as much at home as I could, since God knew when I was gonna have enough to get me where I wanted to go.

I figured it would be okay if I was a little bit looser with my change if I was going to be around for a bit. It was late and I was kind of hungry, so I went trolling for a place to eat. The area around the spaceport was a bit more on the residential side, which was a score as far as finding somewhere on the cheaper end of things went. I ended up on the far barstool of some hole in the wall pub with a big fucking cheeseburger and a pint glass that seemed incapable of ever being empty. After living with Hilde and her goddamn diet foods for what seemed like forever, a real piece of goddamn meat and a beer was just what the doctor ordered.

The bartender was a bit too nosy for my liking though. Maybe that's why he kept making a point to refill my glass or something. I think he was staring at my hair. I fucking hate it when people do that. It's not like it's dyed goddamn green or something, for chrissakes. When he finally made a comment about me being new in town, I told him to take a fucking hike. Then I paid for my food and skated on the tip. I was starting to take on a massive headache and I didn't need him egging the stupid thing on.

The sun had gone down by the time I left the bar, but I think I was too drunk to make out the exact time on my watch. I think I forgot where I was, too, because I kept wandering around trying to find Iscariot Street, which was the name of the dump alleyway where me and Solo used to hang out back in the day. So I kept wandering aimlessly around the neighbourhood, swearing at street signs I didn't recognize and drunkenly asking the occasional passerby if they could point me in the right direction. I got offended when they'd look at me and sneer. Didn't understand why everyone in the goddamn world seemed so hellbent on making my life harder than it needed to be. Heero wouldn't have done that, three sheets to the wind or otherwise. At least, not to me, I like to think.

I guess I eventually stumbled around the right corner, because I finally came across some potheads who were at least willing to be more helpful than the other jackasses I'd been trying to suck up to for the past two and a half hours. I'm not sure if it should have meant anything that they made more sense to me than most everyone else, even though they were definitely high as shit. I know I pressed them about Iscariot and much to the relief of my mounting annoyance with the fruitless quest, they said they knew it. Said that's where they were going and that I should follow -- said there were a lot of people planning to hook up there and it would be a good time. So I went with them.

They took me down all sorts of alien-looking streets, which my inebriated brain justified as acceptably strange because of how long it had been since I'd last gone seeking the place out. I did start to get a little annoyed with their haphazard wandering and the way they stank like they'd been passing joints all fucking day, and I would have ditched if they didn't keep insisting they knew the way. I don't know why I trusted them. I guess it's because I didn't have anyone else to.

Eventually, nestled in the middle of some rundown apartment buildings, we came to this scraggly patch of grass, enclosed by a rusty old fence that maybe was someone's backyard or a little churchyard once. It was a weird spot -- kinda looked like it was paved with all this random junk lying all over the place. You know, old sofas with the springs popping out, deflated basketballs and crunched soda cans and shit all making it hard for all that crabgrass to grow properly. There was a dried up, half-crumbled fountain in the middle with a statue so beaten up by the weather, God knew what it was supposed to be. Surprisingly, the potheads hadn't been too fucked up that they'd made up the little gathering they said would be there -- probably a bunch of bums all planning to spend the night using together. My two escorts were quick to forget me when they caught up with their other pals and it left me feeling out of place again. I didn't really care at that point. The mega headache was still bothering me, anyway, so I staggered over towards the two mismatched gravestones hiding in the corner of the plot to keep them company instead.

I think I was dozing in and out because I couldn't tell you how long I sat there watching the junkies before the booze started to wear off. I jumped when the first few sober thoughts entered my brain because I'd forgotten where I was all over again and was a little shocked to realize I wasn't back at Iscariot after all. That freaked me out a little. I idly started scratching an itchy chunk of skin on my arm.

It took me a few moments, but I then realized the junkies were talking about me. They were calling me Pink, I guess because of my shirt, and it kind of pissed me off, though I wasn't really sure why. Probably just didn't like the idea that they were talking about me like I wasn't fucking sitting ten feet away. What the fuck did they know about me anyway? The itch on my arm got worse right along with the desire to knock them all onto their asses.

"Who brought him over here anyway?" I heard one of them speak up. I couldn't tell which one it was, though. I didn't really give a crap; the itch was a little bit more pressing. Spreading and driving me out of my mind, actually.

Then, suddenly, when I looked up again, there was a pair of pinstriped legs obstructing my view of the fountain. I glanced higher and found myself staring at the most godforsaken mug I'd ever fucking seen in my goddamn life. Craggy cheeks, stringy hair and red-ringed eyes -- the whole nine yards. "What're you goddamn staring at?" I asked the ugly sonuvabitch. I scrambled to my feet. Didn't like feeling small next to a fucker like him.

He puffed his chest and glared at me with that look that said he didn't like a stranger parading around on his turf. He snidely asked me what I was doing around there and I told him that it was none of his goddamn business, which he didn't like one single bit. He turned to give his cronies this look like I didn't know what the fuck I was getting into. I decided I didn't particularly care for it, so I broke his nose. That sure put the fucker in his spot.

The other guys were all staring at me with these stupid, fly-catching expressions on their faces -- kind of like they couldn't decide if they ought to be pissed or impressed by some random wandering in and punching the boss in the face. Didn't matter to me; asshole deserved it for making my headache about a million times worse than it already was. I wanted to beat the whole lot of them up until they hurt just as bad as I did. I didn't let the threat sit idly, either, giving my knuckles a nice crack while I told them what's what.

It was a completely Solo thing to do, and I knew it too. I just wasn't sure if it bothered me or not.

-- D.M.

Entry dated 04 / 02 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

I got lucky with that stunt I pulled with the kids by the fountain. Maybe it's just knowing the value of a little street cred or something, but they stopped being so exclusive after I walloped their ringleader something fierce. They even let me tag along when they went running that night. We trashed a convenience store and then had fun doing up some graffiti on the side of some high school. I think I earned a few more points with them for my handiwork, too. "Never seen nobody tag a wall like you, Pink," they said.

The ride ended when we tried to break into a little music shop and accidentally set off an alarm or something. The sirens sent us all scattering in about a hundred different directions and I got split up from the rest of them. The second I bolted, I just kept running until I couldn't run anymore -- until everybody was gone. Then I was all by myself again.

I was out of breath and super jittery, but I kept walking. I had that strung out feeling again, like I was somewhere between fucked up and okay, but I couldn't decide. It was like there was someone in my head who was keeping me on the line and it wasn't me. I remember bringing that damn headache back by bashing the side of my head with the heel of my hand like I was trying to shake whoever it was out my ear or something. I just ended up having to sit the hell down.

There was a lot of white noise filling my ears, and for a few seconds, I thought I could hear a voice in my head. But it was just me and my shadow there -- no one else for miles and miles -- and it depressed me to think it was the only real companion that had been with me through it all. If I'd been my shadow, I'd have run the fuck away from me a long time ago. I kept expecting to close my eyes and then find it had taken off every time I blinked.

I patted the sidewalk my shadow had darkened beside me, silently thanking it for its loyalty. In an effort to cheer me up, it did its best to impersonate Heero, and for a moment, I actually thought he'd come by to lend me his shape.

Then I remembered how much I missed him.

-- D.M.

Entry dated 04 / 04 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

I eventually navigated my way back to the place I now thought of as Iscariot to find my duffel bag again but found it had been completely looted by the time I got there. I wasn't surprised, really, but I was pissed off anyway. Especially because they took everything but Mellon Collie, which was lying facedown next to my tube of toothpaste -- the only other thing they didn't steal.

Still, I'm more or less stuck here until something better flies my way. I guess I took my job security up on L2 for granted, because landing some work in this fucking town has been like trying to squeeze water out of a goddamn rock. Did manage to find a little closet flat to squat in for a while, at least. Landlady lets me stay in exchange for doing maintenance on the joint -- and let me tell you, the stinking dump needs it. But hey, it's a roof over my head, a bed and, you know, your basic this and that. It's a goddamn palace compared to some of the shit I've put up with before. It had a little shit TV with those old bunny ear antennae so I could at least watch the news. And it was mine -- that was key.

At first, when I'd see some of the kids from that gang I'd run into on my first night, they'd always pretend like they didn't recognize me when I tried to approach them. I think their boss probably scared them into avoiding me after I fixed his face. I guess I don't blame him, really. I don't know why it bothered me, since I wasn't really running with them or nothing, but I let it get to me anyway.

So, instead of thinking too much about it, I took my frustrations out on another brick wall with some spray paint I jacked from the hardware store. I painted Us and Them. Painted it just for you, Heero. The other day, I passed by and saw some of those kids staring at it and they noticed me then, but I got the laugh when I chose to ignore them. They didn't understand what the fuck they were looking at, anyway.

I've kept tagging spots in this neighbourhood when stuff starts getting shitty and all. It's a good way to pretend like the world doesn't exist, covering all the bricks with those bright colours -- bold, just how I like it. I kind of liked the rush, doing something illicit that I knew was right, anyway -- you know, kind of like when we were five and a princess versus everybody else. I think I was starting to work up a little notoriety with it, too, but it started getting obnoxious when I had to start cracking down on all these goddamn phony copycats. But it was nice, for once, to feel like someone was at least paying attention. About fucking time, at any rate. Not that they really get it, though. At this point, I figure there's really only one person who would, and I'm pretty sure it's you.

I only wish I could get a decent night's sleep once in a while, but I get too twitchy to keep my eyes closed for too long and it's like there's a million alarm clocks going off in my skull. Maybe it's all the sugar I've been itching for lately. At this rate, I'm gonna fall off a ladder doing something lame like screwing in a bulb for Old Lady Waters. Maybe I'll do some more doodling; I want to tag the old brick warehouse a few blocks over before they knock it down.

-- D.M.

Entry dated 04 / 07 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

I know they've been talking about me ever since I crash-landed around here, but even I have to admit I'm kind of wowed by what they've been saying. They still call me Pink and they still kind of keep me at arm's length, but they've been speculating -- trying to figure out what my deal is and all that kind of shit. Like what kind of guy would show up and graffiti the sort of shit I did all over the place? I mean, that charred up teddy bear of yours, and your field of yellow flowers -- you lying there in the middle of it all -- that shit wasn't typical, right? Especially not for wall art like mine, nevermind how the fuck I was swinging it. I mean, they seriously talk about my tags like I'm doing a public service or something, that's the thing. Not that I really blame them too much. I mean, it doesn't hurt anybody to talk or nothing. I mean, hey, at least it gets them asking questions. Important ones. You know, the ones people weren't asking as much as they should be.

Like the other day, the headlines had Relena's picture plastered all over the place with her latest push to regulate how much power the Preventers really ought to have in society. She was getting all this shit for being like a treehugger or something, but I still think she's the only body around trying to make a difference in the way shit works, you know? None of this, 'Well that's just the way it is' for a girl like her. So anyway, I went and reproduced the front page just how it was in all the papers real big on the side of some tenant house, but made it so like the whole goddamn thing was burning up except for the photo of her. And I swear to God, I heard more about the whole thing in regards to my tag than the goddamn propaganda pages.

I sometimes got to wondering what the hell I was even bothering for, though. I mean, I'm still not entirely sure this is all that better than it was back on L2. Maybe it was just another waste of time -- another dull moment to make up another dull day of my dull, dull life. I felt empty and stretched all the time, and much as I hated to admit it, I knew I was missing the blues bad. Am I just hanging on in some quiet desperation until I finally slip? Maybe I'm just offhand wasting time, while I wait to kick the can. Or maybe for something or someone -- for you! -- to come around and show me the way. Because otherwise, it's all just a lot of standing around in a line that's not even fucking going anywhere.

It's weird when I think about it too hard. Like, when I was a teenager, it was like I couldn't wait to fucking die. It was like you had this whole, long life in front of you that you'd never get to enjoy because if you weren't lucky back then, you were fucking dead. And now it's all out of the way, and I'm still here, and it seems like all I do anymore is chase after something I'm never gonna catch. Everyone else I know didn't seem to have any trouble scattering off in their own directions, and it just leaves me wondering why the fuck I got dusted. Did I miss the starting gun or what?

I just don't get it. Here I am trying so goddamn hard to be a part of the world -- to make a difference -- and I feel just about as real as a goddamn ghost.

I just don't want to be alone.

-- D.M.

Entry dated Easter Sunday, AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

You know, when you bury your dead, you expect them to stay fucking put, you know? But then again, the past has a creepy way of catching up with you. Maybe because it never really goes away, even if you think it's all behind you. It's like having a time bomb ticking away in your shadows. I didn't expect to ever have to deal with any of that until it blew up in my fucking face.

I guess I just wasn't listening hard enough. This morning I was lying in, trying hard to ignore the goddamn church bell that was tolling at the world's most obnoxious hour. All I wanted to do was go back to the dream I'd been having while I was safe and asleep, but apparently God hates me enough that he has to boot my ass out of bed way before it's good and fucking ready. I could barely stand the fuck up.

It was like a thousand fucking degrees outside, too, which sucked because I was supposed to clean out the old lady's goddamn storm gutters. I ended up just spending most of the morning basking on the roof and letting the stupid sun go on and burn my bare chest to its greedy heart's content. Couldn't focus on the job right, anyway. I think I must've fallen asleep up there or something, because I remember one minute I was lying there and thinking about how the circling sky reminded me of Heero and it was wonderful and quiet, and then the next, there's suddenly all this fucking commotion down on the street. I kinda crept over to the edge of the roof and look down to see what the hell is going on before I decided to get involved. This was the sort of neighborhood where you take care of your own muck, and if you didn't have anything to do with it, you stay the fuck out for the sake of everybody involved.

So there was this pickup truck parked nearby one of the first tags I did and these two guys in white jumpsuits standing there with paint buckets and stuff. One of them was yelling at this crowd who didn't look too fucking happy to see those painters there. They were all demanding to know who the fuck paid for them to be there and shouting shit like, "You stay the fuck away from Pink's wall." I had no idea they'd go to the mats like that for that shit. I still felt like I was struggling to fit in around here.

Guess I wasn't the only one who noticed shit going down. Two more guys jumped out of the truck and some passersby were slowing down to see what the hell was going on. It was like watching a bunch of big thunderheads come rolling in over the sky and just waiting for them pop on you. Me...? I felt conflicted.

I dunno who threw the first punch, but when they started rioting, I felt this twinge inside like I ought to be down there in the middle of it -- that other voice in my head urging me to go and fight my own goddamn fights. Or maybe I was just so sick of feeling so fucking helpless and frustrated and angry and all I wanted to do was make someone fucking bleed for it.

Before I knew it, I was down there and diving into that mob scene like a moth to the proverbial flame. By this point, there were probably about nine brothers on this little paint crew. Some other shitheads had shown up and jumped in there just to be part of the mess, which more or less evened out the brawl, but that didn't stop me from cutting loose. I grabbed, kicked and punched anything I could get my goddamn hands on. When someone tried to pull my hair, I instinctively grabbed his hand and bent his fingers back until they cracked. And it was the most satisfying fucking sound I'd ever heard.

The second time I felt someone go for the braid, I was like a goddamn madman. I whirled around, grabbed the bastard by the collar and reeled back my fist, ready to smash it into his jaw until I got a good look at his face. That wavy blond hair, that Cheshire-cat grin -- Solo. I dropped him like a sack of fucking potatoes. Well, I'd be goddamned.

He vanished into back into the fray, and for a second, I thought maybe I'd only imagined he'd come back for a moment or something. But not even I believed that load of crap for all too long, and I went diving in after him. The fighting was kind of dying down -- everyone was getting tired or too beat up to even know who the fuck they were supposed to hit anymore. I pushed through the bodies until I caught sight of that fucking blonde head of his. Just reached out and grabbed his shirt -- dragged the fucker to the street, fist up again and ready to pummel my way to some fucking answers. "When you fucking die, you fucking stay that way, you bastard!" I shouted down at him.

I suddenly felt something tightening around my wrist and someone behind me shouting, "Pink, Pink! What are you doing?"

I glared over my shoulder to get a look at whoever the fuck was getting in the way of my business and found myself staring at a guy I vaguely recognized from the Iscariot gang. I told him to stay the fuck out of my way, but he just gave my arm a yank and twisted it back. He started going on about some fucker I didn't know and I snapped at him to tell me what the fuck should I care about it.

He told me to take a goddamn look at what I was doing, so I did. And then I was mortified to realize that the asshole I had by the throat wasn't Solo at all, but some other blonde from the Iscariot gang. Even fucking worse was how everyone had stopped beating the shit out of each other and was now kinda circled around us like we were a fucking circus act. I slowly released him with a mumbled apology. The other guy let me the fuck go when I did, and I stumbled away from them, scared I'd just royally fucked myself over even more. I could feel them all fucking staring at me and it burned. I fucking hated it. I wanted to run away, to disappear. I tried to slowly back the fuck out of the circle, but there wasn't anywhere to go.

Then I heard someone shout out, "What the fuck is your problem, Pink?"

My temper lit up like a fucking match in a gasoline tank. I wanted to yell at them, let them all know how they weren't any better than anyone else in the goddamn world, and then get back to the fist throwing. "What the fuck is yours?" I snapped back, not at all about to step down. "You assholes don't even know what the fuck you're fighting for." I gestured to the tag that had started the whole fucking thing and finished bitterly: "To you idiots, it's just something that looks good. It doesn't mean shit to you -- not like it does to me!"

"Oh yeah?" some other jackass shouted back from somewhere in the crowd -- I don't know where. "Then why don't you fucking explain it to us?" There was a low murmur of all these assholes muttering some word of agreement -- just stupid sheep, I say, just being run through the meat grinder. The whole fucking lot of them!

I was about to open my mouth and let them all have it too, consequences be damned, until a sharp hiss in my ear nearly scared me shitless. "Tell them what they want to hear, D," I heard an all too familiar voice advise in a low whisper, just when I was beginning to think I'd made it up it after all.

I sucked in a deep breath first, not sure which problem I should deal with first: Solo or all these poor, ignorant fucktards. Both seemed pretty damn immediate to me, anyway. I think the potential panic attack from the way all those goddamn people were still staring at me was what ended up making the decision for me, though. "Fine," I snarled to no one in particular. Then I raised my voice real fucking loud and told them about it -- about the tag and what it meant. "For two fucking years, I smeared my fucking blood into the cracks of a shattered world, and for what? Fucking shit," I said, just letting it all come out like I'd dug my beating heart right out of my chest for all of them to see. "You're lucky that after all that goddamn fighting, you can still feel it fucking spinning, because I sure as hell can't. I don't know what the fuck you people are going to do when it slows the fuck up again, because at the moment, it sure as hell seems like you don't even know the goddamn difference!"

I heard an exasperated sigh puff next to my ear before I was unexpectedly shoved aside. Well, that sure as hell was different, was all I could think as I watched him assert himself in front of the crowd like he was their goddamn patron saint or something. Goddamn Solo, for chrissakes, back from grave and off like a zip gun on parade. I needed to find me the blues or something like 'em if I was ever going to handle this new twist with any ounce of sanity to spare. If I weren't broke, I'd have hit the fucking pub.

Still, I had to hand it to the fucker. Old Solo always did have this certain way of talking like he was shoving a needle into your veins and pumping himself in. You just couldn't get rid of him or give him up once he got to you, I swear. I'd grown up dealing with it. Fuck, he did it to me, for chrissakes!

He called out the crowd with a lot of pointing and all these madman arm movements. "You guys might not realize it, but just because the wars are over don't mean the fighting's done with," he said assertively. "It's like you all got memories that got erased or burned or something! They got you trading in your history for that simulated life they sell you through the vid-screen! Got your eyes off the real killers, here!" One arm flew out, gesturing wildly to the Chicago streets they called home: "You think you got some kind of safe haven here, but you all gotta wake up and see that the frontline is everywhere! We're fucked up, but we're not the ones to blame!"

I stared at the old shitfuck while he was going at it, still just as floored by that amazing fucking charisma of his as I was back when I was a brat. I don't know how the fuck he did it or why the fuck I had trouble getting the hang of it. I used to think at one time that maybe I'd learned a thing or two from my experiences with stupid old Solo, but I guess not.

The whole fucking time, I stood next to him like one of those goddamn mannequins you see in the store windows, deaf, dumb and stupid as ever. And you know, after listening to that whole spiel of his and seeing the way those fuckers licked it up like goddamn honey, I remembered what it was about Solo that confused me for about half my fucking life. Let me tell you, if there was one fucking thing about Solo, it was how he could make you feel like you were fucking going places without actually ever going anywhere at all.

-- D.M.

Entry dated 4/14/AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

Solo followed me back to my flat, even though I kept insisting I didn't have any goddamn room in my life for him anymore. He kept saying some shit about how it didn't look that way to him from what he'd seen, which unnerved me a whole fucking lot, since that meant the creep had probably been lurking in the shadows without me even goddamn noticing. Said he saw a photo of my tags in some newspaper and knew right off they were mine -- that I was lighting a goddamn beacon or something and he came sailing in for it. I thought it was a load of crap, to be 100% honest.

And yet, there he was, all sprawled out on my sofa like he goddamn owned it and probably ruining the nice imprint my body had started molding into the cushions. It was just too fucking weird to look at him for too long. I mean, when I was a kid and he was like my big bro, I looked up to the fucker like nothing in the world could ever topple him. Back then, it was like he was the king of the forty thieves -- the resident leader of the lost and found -- and I was his number one guy. God, then, I'd been so goddamn proud to be that kid everyone's ma warned their precious fucking babies about, and now look at it.

Staring at him like this, though, I couldn't help but feel kind of disappointed -- let down, almost. I thought he'd grown up kind of unimpressively: his full height rose to about my jaw line, and was stout in a way that couldn't be excused for baby fat so much anymore. At the same time, I mean, he did still have that same angel face and those blond curls and all, even if he did kind of sport this punk rocker leather and tight jeans sort of thing. And also these really startling, purple eyes -- but I couldn't remember if they'd always been that way or if he'd just shoved in some contacts or something.

And he still hadn't told me why the fuck he was here. I mean, he had, but his piddling little excuse wasn't even half the kind of answer I wanted to hear -- not even remotely close! He seemed to have trouble understanding that this stunt of his was such a big fucking deal. I mean, the bastard actually seemed to think that I'd just up and accept him with open arms like it was the most normal fucking thing in the universe for shit like this to happen. And I wasn't about to let him think that I was just gonna roll the fuck over before he started telling me what the hell I wanted to hear.

So I said his name in this really no-shit tone, but it took me like four tries before he even kind of glanced my way, and by then, I was really fucking pissed off. "Solo," I intoned real seriously, "fucking listen to me, for God's fucking sake."

He stared at me sideways and then this sort of understanding look crossed his face, like he'd just remembered to tell me something. "No one calls me that anymore," he said, still lounging on my sofa with his muddy fucking boots crapping up the upholstery. "I'm Jimmy now."

I glared at him like he was fucking stupid. Well, I mean, it could have been true; Solo was the exact same as me, with no parents or anything to attach himself to. After all, fifteen years was a pretty long fucking time. I sure as hell knew I'd changed a lot since I saw him last, so who am I to say that he hadn't either? Maybe he'd figured out who the fuck he was in all that time -- I don't know. Anyway, I didn't want to make it my problem and I fucking told him so. I said, "Look, Solo was good enough when we were brats and it's good enough now." Said I wasn't changing what I call him because of some personal vogue of his -- that he was always Solo, and that I ain't through wearing it out just yet.

"Fine, whatever you say, Chief," he shrugged with much less of a fight than I'd expected. It just made me edgier, really.

"Just what the fuck are you playing me for? Your little lapdog or some shit? I'm not fucking ten anymore, you jackass. I learned to think for my goddamn self," I went on from my spot next to the couch. The uneven floorboards were jutting into my ass and it hurt like a bitch, even kicked up against the thing as I was. "You come blazing in here from way outside and embarrassed me in front of the whole goddamn neighborhood! Any street cred I maybe had is probably being laughed all up and down town, no thanks to you."

For the first time since he'd reappeared, I saw a little fluctuation in his attitude at that. Guess it was starting to sink in that any freeloading joyride he might have had in mind was going to fall through if he didn't change his battle plan anytime soon.

"Typical," he snorted in this way that really dug under my skin. He went on to accuse me of being narrow minded and without vision -- unable to see grandness even when it was paraded right the fuck in front of me.

I told him that I'd done my fair share of grand things for one lifetime, thanks so much.

"Then stop pretending like you've got all this big fucking stuff to say!" he shot back almost immediately, actually sitting up a little.

I was taken aback and stunned into a moment or two of stuttering like a goddamn retard. When I finally managed to gather my thoughts, Solo had this fucking cocksure look on his face like he'd already won or some shit. I glared at him with a dissatisfied expression Heero would have been proud of. "It's not always about a goddamn statement, you know," I said flatly, not wanting to give him even a bit of satisfaction.

He just shrugged and leaned back like it didn't make a damn difference to him, though. "Well, you know me," he said simply, fiddling with one of the studs on his fingerless leather gloves. He unsnapped it at the wrist and started pulling it off in this really obnoxiously casual manner that made me want to shove the damned thing down his fucking throat. While he was doing that, he said with this annoying fucking tone that matched his annoying fucking attitude: "So if it's not about that, then why else would you go around doing like you been?"

I rolled my eyes and made this gurgling sort of noise in the back of my throat like the answer was already obvious -- which I pretty much thought it was. Or, at least, should have been. I went and told him in as abbreviated a manner as I could, not really in the fucking mood to go into much detail with him. Not that he really would have cared much. Old Solo was never one to waste time on what he saw as a triviality.

Then the bastard did something I didn't expect at first. He started laughing. Fucking laughing! He got this really kind of demonic glint in those weird fucking eyes of his as he twisted around and grinned at me in this really sly, sort of Cheshire way. "Man, I thought I'd taught you better than that, D," he said with the rattle of chains accenting his words. "It's not about finding your place -- it's about fucking taking it!" He jabbed the air in my direction, still with that disturbingly assertive charisma of his. It scared me that I had to work hard to even resist falling for it even a little. "You just keep that in mind next time you want to tell me I don't know my shit."

Then he went to roll over so his back was facing me and fell the fuck asleep. I guess I'm a little burned at being brushed off like that, but at least it leaves me a few moments to myself so I can figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do. I mean, I guess I might as well come to terms with the fact that even if I don't fucking want him here, he ain't pushing off anytime soon. That was sure as hell certain.

I'm breathing heavy, trying to calm down, but when the rage goes, all I got left is this melancholy. I could hear it in my ears and feel this restless emptiness that always overwhelmed me like I was beneath the pull of a thousand stars. Maybe they'd throw me up so high, I could just float away to wherever. Maybe to wherever you are, Heero. We'd meet on some nameless street and we'd keep walking down it, but together this time, and we could keep going until everything else was gone. We'd have no idea just where our bones would end up. Just to dust, I guess. But we'd be going faster than we ever thought we'd go -- faster than the speed of sound! -- and we'd never have to apologize for anything we ever thought we were ever again.

But the fucking afternoon sun was burning through the window and heating the urgency of the moment. Filled my ears with that damn, heavy sound again. I plummeted from my fantasy and crashed back to the floor of my flat with an astounding speed. It took me a few moments to reorient myself and figure out why the fuck I couldn't hear the sound of Hope anymore and just Solo's goddamn snoring instead. But it's plain to see there's no one else around.

-- D.M.

Letter dated 04 / 20 / AC207
From H.Y. to Chang W.

Wufei:

To my understanding, you have recently abandoned your post at the Preventers Department in lieu of reporting for the ESUN International Herald. I cannot imagine a better convenience, which is why I am writing to you today. I apologize in advance if I come off as abrupt or out of place, especially considering my lack of correspondence with any of you in the past seven years. I will not take offense if you harbor any ill attachment regarding that and should you wish to disregard this request, I will understand.

My specific reason for addressing this to you concerns a recent article the Herald ran, which is of particular interest to me. It was a column written by a Ms. Clarice Hunter in last Friday's world news section in regards to what seems to be a small, developing subculture in southern Chicago.

While I know that Relena's political forwardness of late has been spreading to a number of sub-factions across the ESUN, this Chicago-bred one is of particular interest to me. To be exact, I find the graffiti that seems to unify this group noteworthy. Perhaps you, yourself, have also noticed how striking -- and how familiar -- some of the imagery is. I am interested in pursuing this topic further.

If you could be so good as to put me in contact with either Ms. Hunter or her staff photographer, I would be much obliged to consider it a favour. I have included instructions for your reply on the reverse side of this page. Your discretion is expected.

Sincerely,
H. Yuy

PS
Please forward my congratulations to Trowa and Quatre. It is unlikely I will be able to make the ceremony, but I wish them the best.

Entry dated 05 / 07 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

Much as I hate to admit it, if it hadn't been for Solo, I still might have been flopping around this place like a goddamn fish on the beach. I guess I shouldn't find it as fucking weird as I do that everyone around here's suddenly on Relena's bandwagon ever since Solo had given that first little spiel of his. I mean, part of me is thinking how these people are such a fucking pack of sheep, but then again, I guess it's alright if they're getting herded in the right direction. And if anybody's good at doing that -- herding, that is -- it's fucking Solo. Still not sure they really get it, though. Sometimes, I'm not even sure if Solo does.

Maybe all I have to blame is my own goddamn self. I mean, it's not like I really do anything to stop it. Maybe I don't want it to. Usually whenever anybody comes around asking about anything that even remotely has to do with Relena and her rallies, I just let Solo take all that mess over. Not that I don't care or something. I just think Solo's better at all that shit than me, and I can admit that. I guess.

Imagine a doorstep preacher or some fucker on a soapbox, and maybe that's about what we were, but at least we were really getting somewhere. I mean, we really had something to fucking say, you know? Nothing empty or fake or sleazy or was just fucking silent even though it fills the air with noises -- just a mad boy with a shit microphone and a goddamn fistful of steel!

Like, the other day, the big news was this statement the new Minister of Foreign Affairs made about Relena being a hypocrite because she stood so fiercely by us Gundam pilots -- Heero in particular, since they were out to make him into the poster boy for wartime terror. That was their favourite fucking low blow they liked to take at her, I'd noticed, and it pissed me the fuck off like you'd never believe. I was explaining it to Solo, and damn if Solo knew how to make it come off in a way that the rest of them would get. He was out there like a fucking rock star or some shit. And believe it or not, it actually doesn't piss me off being the behind the scenes guy, really; the familiarity was nice, even if it stank of some of the shittier spots in my godforsaken existence.

But for the first time in a long time, it finally felt like I was making a goddamn difference, and for once, there were people who actually gave a fuck. Maybe it's because I finally feel like I'm getting a little goddamn respect -- starting to feel like people don't just fucking tolerate me because I happen to be standing right there. I mean, it's starting to really turn into this... this thing, though. You'd think nobody around here had anything else to fucking do with the way they just start flocking together the second Solo starts going. Kind of reminds me of when me and him were running with gangs of our own back up on old L2.

Though I think it was little shit that really stood out with this whole thing that really made it fucking clear. Like, you go to the hardware store, and instead of hearing the fucking hit list channel all the time, you hear the news. Or you head to the spot where the Iscariot guys hang out, and you hear them fighting about politics instead of who was going to win the goddamn pennant this year. Even seeing kids reading the national section of the paper instead of the stupid comics was like a pat on the back for me. Didn't feel like I was a fucking one-man army so much anymore. We were gonna help Relena's message get out, and shit if it didn't feel like it did back during the war years. It feels pretty fucking amazing, even if it's not quite the same as it used to be.

-- D.M.

Entry dated 05 / 15 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

[written in another hand]

I know you ain't been feeling so hot lately, D, and since I see you scribbling in this fucking diary of yours all the fucking time, I figured doing the same thing would be the best way to get your attention for when you're up on your fucking feet again. I told the 'hood that you were too fucked up to come out and paint anything new, but they fucking miss ya, D. Ever since you had me telling them all about the Gundam pilots and all, they've been fucking drooling for more like mutts, but I need ya to fill in the blanks for me, man, 'cause I wasn't fucking there for all that and I don't know one fucking Heero Yuy from the next. Your story and all that shit. Not that they know that or anything, it don't feel. I mean, you got a few nosey jackasses who keep wanting to know where the fuck your source on all this info is, but I don't bet the general lot of them give a shit so long as they're getting the facts.

They're starting to really wake the fuck up, though. It's a different fucking world from when we were brats, anyway. Like, before all this, I bet half these fuckers wouldn't have given two shits about Relena Darlian, and now see how they've got a grip on the power they got. If your war stories got any impact, it's making it clear to those fuckers how everyday people are the ones who change the way our future rolls, not these fuckers in the suits. You got your own philosophy, and you got it all, man.

And while we're on it, I really owe you a hell of a lot, D. I wasn't doin' so hot there for a bit, but you brought me back and helped me a lot by letting me stay around. And I know this whole thing is really fucking important to you, so I'm gonna do my fucking best to make sure nothing gets dicked up. You can fucking trust me, just like you always did, that's for fucking sure. And I'm gonna try and help you too. I see the way you been shaking and all lately. You on something, bro? I got a guy who can hook you up.

-- Solo

Letter dated 05 / 18 / AC207
From C.H. to H.Y., c/o Chang W.

Sir,

My senior editor came to me with your request regarding the column I wrote on the Chicago graffiti cult. Since I'm not sure what exactly it is about this topic that intrigues you so, or why you might be interested, I took the liberty of compiling all my notes and research on the subject, which you will find enclosed in this envelope. Much of it is trivial information that didn't make it into the article, but perhaps you will find some of it useful for whatever your purposes may be.

The group seems to have grown substantially since we were actually in Chicago, but indications are that it started with the residents of one particular neighborhood, where a newly popular graffiti artist known simply as 'Pink' gained prominence. In addition to technical skill, perhaps what helped Pink stand out was his (and I attribute gender based on the popular opinion that Pink is a male) unique subject matter: unlike most of the previous graffiti in the area, Pink's work revolves almost solely around the toils of the war with OZ and the Mariemaia coup, as well as the various outcomes of each.

I am unsure if Pink, himself, is the person leading the recent peace rallies in this neighborhood, though if he is not, I would imagine the two are somehow connected. Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity to see this person in action, much less meet him.

Still, based on his subject matter, I would speculate that whoever Pink is, he had some sort of personal involvement with the war. I hesitate to align him with any one particular faction from that era, but judging from his focus on antiwar sentiments and the way his cult has spawned into a Relena Darlian sect, I would imagine he was not with OZ or the EA -- or at least not a ranking officer.

I would also venture to guess that he is an immigrated colonist, since many of his other works center around space and the view of earth from orbit. It causes me to wonder if he might have had some kind of involvement in Operation M, specifically. There are details in some of his murals, what seem to be very personal, mechanical knowledge of mobile suits, which might indicate this to be true. I offer this speculation in the event that the subject interests you.

Another point of interest you may wish to make note of is his seemingly personal relationship with some of the Gundam pilots -- the one known as 'Heero Yuy' in particular. Perhaps that is what's at the heart of his campaign to align himself with Darlian, as she has been the most prominent figure to speak out against the war criminal allegations he was charged with before he disappeared. Pink may even know his current whereabouts, if that is the case.

In the end, however, there was not enough concrete proof to support my speculations. I hope you have better luck with it than I did.

For your convenience, I have also included the contact sheet for all the photographs my partner took while we were in Chicago. I hope you will find it of use as well.

Regards,
Clarice Hunter
Staff Writer
The ESUN International Herald

Entry dated 06 / 15 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

Should have figured Solo would notice I was hurting bad without the blues. It was like this almost bittersweet migraine in my head, but it was getting to feel like a fucking toothache of the mind every goddamn day I let it go without doing something about it. It was fucking overwhelming, and I was starting to get a little fricking desperate after I figured out popping that shit from the drug store wasn't working anymore. So whatever Solo could find, I would fucking take.

Needles kind of freaked me out, but Solo insisted I wouldn't feel a thing, so I rolled with it. At first, I wasn't so sure: that first hit left me just short of being fucking dead on the floor, but it was just that one time. But then, after that, Solo showed me how to chase the dragon instead, and everything was alright. It drained the pressure from the swelling and kinda mellowed me the fuck out -- gave this sweet, comfortably numb thing that was just short of fucking bliss. Helped make all that other shit in my head go away -- nothing to stop me from imagining what it'd be like to have you lying there next to me, Heero. If it was good, I could actually delude myself into thinking you really were. Once, I even got off dreaming you were riding my hips, doll, and I have yet to fantasize something better.

Hilde would be completely fucking disgusted if she saw me now, but that wouldn't have been a fucking surprise. I know you'd look at it different, though. Wouldn't see me like the sick fuck Hilde would, I know that. You ain't like the boring norm with all the boring drills and boring chores that mean absolutely jack shit. You'd open your mind to it, I bet, and you'd see I ain't so bad. Bet if you asked Hilde if she was fucking happy, you'd just get a load of how fucking empty and bare her whole goddamn life's gotten to be. Me? I'm okay. I finally know what it feels like to be fucking free, and it rocks.

Even my art's gotten off the hook lately since I got back to taking care of myself, and the 'hood fucking sweats it hardcore. Doesn't feel like someone drove a fucking stake into the creative section of my brain anymore, anyway. And with Solo's help, I feel like I've tapped into this whole new shit and it's real fucking dope. You should come by and see some of my new shit, man. I think you'd like it best -- think you could really appreciate it for what it means. You always used to say you thought I should channel this kinda shit somehow, anyway.

But sometimes, if I think about it too hard and it's been a while, I get kind of depressed and then the hate eats me up again. I get really fucking frustrated when it feels like I'm still by my goddamn self, even with all these other fuckers around me all the time. There's only one thing that'll fill me up, though, and it's you -- the better half of me! Without you, I can't even tell if I'm fucking inside myself, if you know what I mean. Kinda just feels like I'm miles beside myself instead -- or behind or below or some shit like that. And then I remember that loneliness is not a phase.

Black is all I feel.

-- D.M.

Article dated 06 / 19 / AC207
Report by Chang W.
For the 'ESUN International Herald'

HELSINKI, FINLAND -- Today marked another rally in the name of peace and freedom, organized by former Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs, Relena Darlian, though the demonstration did not proceed without incident. It would seem there are individuals who find Darlian's nonviolent words dangerous nonetheless.

Traveling to northern Europe, Darlian began what she refers to as her unification campaign. Though the nations of the world have joined together under the central banner of the ESUN, Darlian still feels there is a lot of work to be done to reach the idealized world she envisions. Ignoring accusations of being naive and inexperienced, Darlian trudges onward with her supporters following her every step of the way, even in the farthest, orbital reaches of the Nation.

"Despite the drastic changes in world politics since the end of the wars, the animosity still lingers," she said to open her address to those gathered in the city's largest public square. "Our borders may be gone, but our attitudes still separate us. In my opinion, it's as if nothing has changed, especially when those who govern us still seek to prey on those divisions for their own controlling purposes."

Her speech then segued into some of the most politically concise commentary Darlian has yet made. For the first time, she made a direct strike against those who have sought to detract from her image by labeling her as a hypocrite, drawing from her personal experiences during the two wars to illustrate her statements. "I resent the accusations that I am aiming to somehow play on the delicate balance between peace and war for my own personal gains. I would never jeopardize something so fragile," she declared passionately. "My staunch defense of the Gundam pilot Heero Yuy [commonly referred to as 01] goes beyond the personal. He should neither be held accountable for the deaths of the Alliance doves near the start of the war, nor should he be made the scapegoat for the hatred fuelled by OZ's war engine."

It was here that things became chaotic. As Darlian was about to continue with her address, a gunshot rang out from the depths of the crowd, its aim missing Darlian's head by scant millimeters. Pandemonium ensued soon after, quickly bringing an end to what was meant to be a peaceful gathering. Moments later, the lone gunman could be seen trying to scramble onto the platform where Darlian stood, but was quickly detained by security officers. As he was being dragged away by Preventer agents, he could be heard shouting, "Burn the red soldier! Bleed the freak!"

The individual was later identified as one Michael Barry, though the authorities have made no further statements about their investigation regarding him. Though clearly an overzealous extremist, it is likely that Barry is one of the many earthborn citizens who still regard the actions of the colonies during OZ's Regime as terrorism and do not feel the subsequent events of the wars absolve them from any wrongdoing. Barry's wartime political ties are unknown.

It is common knowledge that Darlian was friends with all five of the Gundam pilots, as well as being related to the two leading members of the colonial terrorist cell, White Fang. However, Darlian does not like to talk about those private relationships in a public forum, feeling that it's "irrelevant" to the matters at hand. She prefers to focus on the future, and whether those connections she shared in the past are to factor into that remains yet to be seen. "I try not to be mired by things I can't change," she said in a comment after the incident. "My brother and his wife, Lu, just had their first child, and I'm planning to attend the wedding ceremony for Quatre Winner and Trowa Barton. That's what's important to me now."

However, she did hesitate to elaborate on what that meant for herself. Perhaps that is another chapter in the saga of Darlian's life that has yet to be turned open -- one she's saving for a more peaceful day.

Entry dated 06 / 29 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

I got some real buzz for the last tag I did after that fucker tried to shoot the princess. For God's fucking sake, it's not like there was any way I was about to sit back and let Relena martyr herself like that. I'd throw my own goddamn neck down on the chopping block first, if I could help it.

But to me, what that fucker did was kind of like that infamous 'shot heard 'round the world' thing. I mean, not that it wasn't serious before, but the second that idiot fired his fucking gun, things changed. And no matter who the hell you were, everybody fucking knew it too. If anything, it just proved Relena fucking right that all this peace the new suits keep trying to insist is so goddamn stable is really just a big, fucking pretense. I mean, come on: if Ms. Total Fucking Pacifism can fucking recognize that we still got eons to go on this shit, then that should be a goddamn clue, right?

But the good thing is that around here, it's turned into this 'What can we do?' sort of thing. All the fuckers in the 'hood are wanting to make sure they're heard -- to make sure it's clear that not everybody in the world is gonna sit their asses on top of their hands with this one. Solo's been good for getting them all together on it, too. Not sure what we're gonna do yet, but we're gonna do something and it's gonna be big -- so fucking big, Relena herself will know she's got the whole lot of us watching her back. I mean, if Heero ain't there to keep an eye out for her, then someone's got to, and it may as well be me. It's respect for her, and I owe it to him. The last thing I want is to go to bed thinking that he fucking gave it his all and it still wasn't fucking enough. But then again, sometimes I get the feeling nothing ever is.

Though you know what the worst part of the whole goddamn thing is? It's how like every goddamn paper but the Herald is running all these lies like, 'Oops, misprint!' The popular quote of the moment is to go on about how this wheedling little fuckshit, Barry, is the goddamn oppressed one! Are they fucking kidding me? It makes me want to stick my hand down all their throats until they puke up all their fucking lies. Maybe it's just something to do with the earthbound circulations -- they're all taking the side of this fucker because our precious little wannabe assassin claims Wing razed his house. It's got nothing to do with not understanding media buzz or public opinion or any of that crap. It's all bullshit.

Just thank God Wufei's the fucker in charge of the Herald is all I got to say. It's nice to know at least one of the media bigwigs has any sense of decency at all. Go on, call me biased -- I fucking dare somebody. I'll let Solo beat the shit out of anyone who does.

-- D.M.

Letter drafted 07 / 01 / AC207
From H.Y. to H.S.

Hilde,

I apologize for writing to you again, since you made it no secret in your last reply that my correspondence offended you very much. There's nothing anyone other than yourself can do to dictate how you feel about the situation, though I suppose I can't quite relate to your frustration in the same way. On the other hand, I was somewhat wounded to learn that you think so much of this is my fault. I can't exactly say you're wrong about it, and that's what stings the most, I think. It was never my intention to hurt you or Duo, and the accusation that I was the difference in your friendship is truly upsetting. No matter my relationship with Duo, it shouldn't affect the one he shares with you. Though I guess that's easy for me to say now.

I know you mentioned that you were trying to forget what happened between you two so you could just move on, but I refuse to believe you would abandon one of your best friends so easily, which is why I decided to ignore your request that I never contact you again. I just think you're too quick to shut out things that may not be exactly to your liking. It's not quite the way Relena used to view the world, but I think the same understanding that things are never perfect is the best thing to always keep in mind. Over the years, I've personally come to find that the more I see, the less I know. No longer pretending to be in control has given me more peace of mind than I'd have ever imagined.

You can ignore my two-cent advice if you'd prefer. It's not my place to tell you how to think or, as I mentioned before, how to feel. Still, I thought you would like to know that I seem to have found our wayward friend. I know that even after all this time, I could never forget him; I don't see how you could want to, either.

Regards,
Heero Yuy

Entry dated 07 / 04 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

[written in another hand]

D, I can't tell you how fucking excited I am. I mean, I hate to sound bad or some shit, but that crazy fuck with the gun is almost one of the best things that could've happened. We got the 'hood so fucking rallied around your princess, it's almost disgusting. But shit, I think we finally managed to convince them that there ain't no one else worth going to war for. We'll crawl into tomorrow or get dragged to the grave and damn, what an invigorating feeling! Is this what you felt back when you were old 02? I can fucking see why you get your rocks off to this shit. All hell can't stop us now!

Just keep an eye out. I been noticing this one out-of-place fucker hanging out on the fringes and I think you should keep a watch on him. He keeps goddamn eyeing me.

-- Solo

PS
Let's go out and get fucked up tonight.

Entry dated 07 / 07 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

Relena said it best in the speech she made a few days ago, which me and Solo and a few other fuckers were watching down at the pub around the corner. Said that the problems we're facing today go way the hell beyond government and administration -- it's the whole goddamn system. I mean, these new jackass officials are just drawn to all this fucking power and privilege and not a lick to reform or the exchange of ideas or any of that shit. As far as I'm concerned, they're just a new replacement for the fucking EA that razed Maxwell Church to the goddamned ground. Like this, democracy ends up just being a fucking tool for choosing new goddamn set of autocratic leaders.

Anyway, me and Solo hadn't been drinking too much 'cause we'd been doing lines in the men's bathroom before these other fuckers showed up, but that didn't stop old Solo from taking the fuck over from there. He stood on the rungs of his barstool like he was on a goddamn pedestal and pointed at the TV and said real loud, "See, that's what the fuck I'm talking about! She wants us to goddamn stand up for ourselves, so what better place than here? What better time than now?"

And unsurprisingly, that got the wasted fuckers all riled up and they were talking and getting really fucking excited. Solo was, too. I only half paid attention, partly because I was still fucking trying to hear Relena's speech, but mostly because I was coming off my high and it made me feel like shit -- felt floaty, but in a bad way. They were throwing out all kinds of ideas -- any goddamn thing that came to mind, from doing something to get Relena to campaign here to kidnapping the new Ministry officials and executing them in a back alley. I was a little iffy on both, to be frank.

Solo eventually kind of ducked out and let them all debate about it, saying some shit about having done his part. The bar was mostly empty except for us, but that wasn't surprising since it was such a fucking dive. This shit joint had peeling paint and goddamn roaches crawling out of the holes that had been punched into the walls, but at least they had some halfway fucking decent brew that they were giving away just this side of free. Typical neon beer lights, too, and a pool table that probably came with the fuckers always cuing up on it every goddamn time I came here. But at least it gave the place a little fucking personality -- a little goddamn life -- even if it was really fucking dreary.

And then Solo muttered in this really low tone under his breath, "It's that fucker again." I wanted to know who he meant, and he went on real grouchy-like: "This asshole who's been watching the 'hood. Bet he's up to no good."

So I looked up to see what the hell Solo was glaring at and I nearly fell off my barstool. There, sitting at this little fucking table in the corner with a plate of onion rings and an untouched mug of beer, was you -- you with your dark, steely blue eyes and your shaggy brown hair that was just as damn tousled as it ever was.

There you were, sitting all by your goddamn self, staring right through Solo -- staring right at me.

-- D.M.

Letter drafted 07 / 12 /AC207
From H.Y. to H.S.

Hilde,

After following through on a few leads, I found that my hunch about Duo's whereabouts was right after all, and after seeing him, I think I owe you an apology. I had no idea how deep his woun he could ever fall apart so hopelessly. The Duo I was fond of I remember from the wars always had direction for himself -- always had this cocksure self-confidence I must admit I secretly envied and admired. And you tell me it's my fault -- and God, it is -- and all I can do is beat myself up over it. I would say you could hate me more than anyone, if you wanted -- if I didn't already hate myself more.

I know he's in a strange place, trying to figure a few things out and all that. I understand, as I've been there myself for the past seven years of exile. But from what I saw the few days I spent just lying low to get a feel for this new life of his, he doesn't seem to be gaining anything from the whole situation. A classic case of taking one step forward and five steps back, it would seem. It was enough to raise a few concerns with me -- enough to even admit to you that it frightens me a little. You can't imagine how skittish he seemed when I ran into him face-to-face for the first time. The second he realized who I was, he tore off like he'd seen a ghost, and I couldn't hope to catch up him once he got running. Almost like a bitten animal that had been caged for way too long -- nervous, darting eyes... How did I not reali Was he like that before he even left?

I'm not sure what I should do next. It's not a position I'm used to being in, and it's frustrating as all hell. I know I probably don't have a right to ask for your help, but anything you could suggest would mean so much, and you're the only one I think I can go to about it. Don't even think of it as something for me, but for Duo, instead. Goddammit, he needs someone, Hilde! Who can he turn to if not his friends? His I just want to be there for him. To make up for the time we lost.

To show him I still care.

Most sincerely,
Heero Yuy

Entry dated 07 / 14 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

You know, all this time, I'd been waiting for everybody to finally be ready to grab reality by the goddamn balls, but now that they had, I wondered where I was in my head -- how I could have been so far removed when it happened, I hardly even noticed? Or cared.

It's really goddamn unsettling, because before, I didn't think that there was a fucking thing that could have measured up with that need to make a difference. I thought that's what the gap was -- what was missing in my goddamn, pitiful existence. Now I'm thinking, maybe it was just a diversion from the heart of it -- something to keep me avoiding whatever I really ought to have been trying to find for myself.

Or maybe I just didn't know how to fucking deal when that something came out to find me, instead.

I have no idea where this revelation fucking came from, either. Nowhere, I guess -- just like he did. I mean, this morning, me and Solo went out to talk to some fuckers about this demonstration we all wanted to do, and that was pretty damn routine, except for this time, we were getting it on for real. Anybody who gave a shit was supposed to meet at the pub around noon, and a half hour later, we were all gonna march uptown to the business district and do one of those goddamn hippie sit-ins across from city hall. We were gonna go the whole fucking nine yards, too -- got the pickets and the war paint and some brother drumming on a bucket to get us all chanting in time. It was exactly what I'd been wanting the entire goddamn time -- from the second Relena lost her spot in the Ministry, something like this was what I thought was needed.

And at the end of it? I wasn't there. Hell, I didn't even fucking go. Didn't even try! And it wasn't because I just lost track of time or some stupid shit. I outright ignored the whole fucking thing, even as I heard them all shouting and carrying on right outside my fucking window! It just didn't feel like my own anymore, and I was at this point where I was thinking I'd probably be better off dead, anyway.

It just felt like no matter how much of myself I fucking gave, it didn't mean shit. And no matter what -- no matter who was fucking there -- I just didn't have anybody to cry to and nowhere to even call home. I was starting to really see that this was my own goddamn battle -- one I had to fight all on my fucking own.

Even if I had no idea what exactly I was fighting for anymore, anyway.

-- D.M.

Headline dated 07 / 15 / AC207
For the 'Chicago Daily Tribune'

Which One's Pink?

CHICAGO, IL. -- A faction of Chicago citizens marched on City Hall today and settled themselves in front of the federal building for the better part of the afternoon until police sought to break them up around 4PM, when none other than the wanted war criminal, Heero Yuy, AKA Gundam pilot 01, was spotted among the crowd's foremost ranks. Though the officers managed to prevent any mishaps by disbanding the rather large group, Yuy was not detained, somehow managing to slink away amid the scattering crowd.

It is uncertain if Yuy is the now infamous mastermind known as Pink, who is most likely the one behind this onslaught of hooligans, but regardless, his involvement in such a movement made their intentions clear. The group was mostly comprised of residents from a generally impoverished neighborhood towards the south side of the city and who have embraced Relena Darlian's questionably socialist ideals as their own doctrine. Considering that Darlian had a noteworthy friendship with Yuy, identifying him as Pink would not only make sense of the mysterious link between the protesters here and Darlian's mostly European-based movement, but would also bring a conclusion to the disputes over his role during the wars.

But Yuy's sudden reappearance on the scene makes for some confusion, considering that he has been AWOL for so long. It is likely that he is using such shock-value to make his seriousness on his position evident -- a direct threat not to be taken idly -- or if he has some other, unseen motive. Perhaps it is a call to arms for his followers that remains to be seen. A reward is being offered by the Chicago Police Department for anyone willing to come forward with information regarding this the whereabouts of Heero Yuy. It is apparent that nothing less than the most intense investigation will soon be -- if not already -- underway.

Continued on page A-11; see YUY

Entry dated 07 / 18 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

I always knew Heero was a goddamn idiot. He always was fucking like this... being so goddamn careful and meticulous in every way until some ridiculous impulse overtook him and he went and did something so goddamn stupid! What the fuck was he thinking, following all those idiots on that goddamn rally? Did he think just showing the fuck up like that would actually do any goddamn good for anybody? I mean, unless he just really likes getting royally fucked up the ass, anyway.

I couldn't confront him on it right away, though. I guess he was still trying to get an exact pinpoint on where I was, since the word on the street's that he was pushing his way through the crowd looking for my sorry ass. Not sure if it's good or bad that none of the local papers thought to add that particular detail to all their stupid ass reports on the whole goddamn fiasco. But everybody's always got to have someone to hate, right? Heero fucking knows he's the scapegoat of the hour, and he still went out there like a fucking moron. For the hundred-millionth time: what the fuck? I just don't fucking get it. Why the fuck is he here? Why now? Why me? The whole thing smacks like disaster, I'll tell ya. It scares the goddamn shit out of me, really.

So I figured it would be better for me to find him before the wrong person did and really fucked shit up. I mean, I know Heero was a big boy -- knew how to get the job done and all that -- but he stood out like a fucking green Martian on Easter. And if anyone knew how easily this fucking neighborhood gelled to strangers, it was me. For the record, no, I don't think they were going to help him out all too much either.

Around midnight found me out on the beat, drumming up any Iscariot guys I could find for a tip-off. Dunno what it was about that particular lot -- kind of felt they were a cut above the rest of the jackasses around here, I guess, or I just found them somehow more trustworthy for whatever reason. Maybe it was a gang instinct thing, even if they weren't really my own or any shit like that.

Most of them had seen Heero around, but they couldn't tell me more than that. Said he didn't matter -- was just some confused soldier who wandered in and would eventually wander out, and it took me about two goddamn hours before I actually got anywhere with anybody. Was around this old community church everyone just called Saint's, where you could always count on the neighborhood hawks to have plenty of dope and plenty of info -- for a price anyway, the cheap fucking bastards. I suppose I was lucky that Solo had me an in with these fuckers.

I didn't say why I was looking for him or nothin' -- didn't hint I knew who he was, neither -- but I let them know it would be worth their while if they cooperated. Pulled out the big guns and snapped out the last of my emergency stash to sweeten the pot. Did the trick, and they said they sometimes saw him hanging around this seedy motel on the outskirts of the area. Not that there was really much more to stay in, but the thought of Heero staying in a shit hole like that didn't sit too fucking well with me. I ran all the way over there. Maybe I just had some fucking delusion that it was up to me to save him after he'd gotten shit for saving everybody else. Or maybe I just couldn't admit I only really wanted to see him -- to be together and talk with him again... to maybe hold him like I did in my imagination.

So I went inside and came up to the chick sitting behind the desk to ask about Heero. Wasn't sure if he was using some alias or something, so I just kind of described him to the bitch, but the whole time, she kept looking at me with this twitchy eye like I was fucking insane.

"There ain't nobody like that staying here," she said. She was smacking this big, fucking wad of gum between her lips real loud. If there's one thing I can't fucking stand, it's bitches who smack their goddamn gum.

I told her to stop bullshitting me and was actually just short of pulling the 'Do you know who I fucking am?' card on her ass, just like Solo would've done. "I heard it true my boy was here, bitch. I don't like it when people dick around with me," I growled, all the while tearing into my goddamn wrists with my fingernails. I needed to hurry this fucking errand up fast.

But the ho kept insisting no one like Heero was staying there, even when I started dropping like every goddamn name I could think of that Heero had every used -- or even thought of using -- as a cover. I got fed up and figured that the hawks by Saint's had given me some fucked up info, which pissed me the hell off, and I started thinking of nine hundred million ways I could skin those fuckers alive and what I could use their ugly, bleeding skins for. Guess I'd gotten too hopped up to really notice what the hell was going on, because before I knew it, some big fucker the bitch had called out of nowhere had shown up and was trying to start some shit with me and his big, stupid fists.

Anybody who knows me well knows not to fuck with me in a fight, but Jesus Christ, I must have been distracted as all hell or some shit, because I was having the hardest fucking time keeping up with this jackass. He eventually hauled me off and tossed me out some side door into this dark, stinking courtyard behind the motel. I landed on my goddamn nose and busted my fucking lip, but I was too pissed off to care. Not only was I still without Heero, but this spot had to be one of the most piss-stinking places I'd ever been in my life. Just when I thought that goddamn motel was the pits, too. I got dog shit all over my boots, too. And they still fucking stink.

I figured I was done for the night and hauled myself up onto my goddamn feet, schlepping out to the side alley with those same violent thoughts about those fucking hawks repeating in my head. A nice fantasy about cutting out a few vital organs while they were still alive to watch it entertained me for the time being.

As I was heading down the pitch fucking black alleyway, I heard a soft noise that made stand still. Sounded like someone was saying my name or some shit. At first, I figured I was probably just paranoid and making shit up in my head, but then I kept hearing it and I figured maybe I wasn't so crazy. I stopped to look around and I nearly choked when I realized just what in the hell I was looking at.

Heero.

Guess I wouldn't have to slaughter the hawks after all.

It was a kind of muggy night, but he was still huddled up with this piece of shit duffel bag like it was the only possession he had left in the goddamn world to guard. His clothes looked like they'd seen better days, and his face and hair were dirtier than I'd ever seen before. I couldn't tell if he was actually sleeping or not, but knowing him, he was capable of anything if you crept up on him when he wasn't goddamn expecting you to, so I made sure I was real careful. I wondered what he was doing out here instead of inside the motel. Place might have been crappy, but at least it had a roof, running water and beds.

I stooped down next to him and made sure he could see me before I tried to touch him, though I was pretty surprised I was able to get my hand onto his shoulder without it being twisted off first. I took a good, long look while I could -- best goddamn view I'd had in a fucking long time! Didn't look unhealthy or malnourished or anything, but God, I could sure as fuck tell he'd seen better days.

About a bajillion questions were floating through my head, but none of them seemed to mean a goddamn thing to me, despite my stupid fuck urge to blurt out most of them right away. I knew him well enough to know he don't do shit for nothing, but still, this ain't even close to what I'd been expecting. Though maybe more importantly than why he was sleeping on the streets or why he was even goddamn here at all, was figuring out if he was okay. I was starting to make myself a little delirious when I'd shake him and he'd only kind of mumble at me. Not even I was dumb enough to think that even after so many years, Heero fucking Yuy would become such a sound sleeper that some fucker all up in his space wouldn't wake him the fuck up right away. Not if he were in top form, anyway.

But he kept mumbling my name! That was what was confusing the holy hell out of me. I eventually figured this was shit I'd have to figure out somewhere other than this crap hole. Somehow, I managed to shoulder the bag and get him onto my back in one of those fireman's carry things, all the while still freaking out internally about how goddamn surreal the whole fucking thing was. Maybe he'd gotten hurt or maybe I'd been too late and the wrong set of eyes had noticed his ass -- I don't know. It was really fucking hard, but I tried not to think about it too much on the way back here. I can't say I exactly did a stellar job at that, but listening to the sound of his breathing in my ear was a weirdly reassuring thing when I started to get too fucking carried away with making up all these crazy fucking scenarios that might have gone down.

I dumped his shit by the door when I got back and immediately made for the bedroom to lay his ass down. Heero wasn't some kind of giant fat fuck, that's for sure, but he wasn't any goddamn string bean either. God, and am I a bad person for thinking about all the other ways I'd always imagined bedding his pretty ass while he was just short of unconscious there? Maybe at least just some pervy lecher, anyway, but how could I help it when even just daydreaming about his face was enough to make me hard? God, and it was even worse actually looking at him in the flesh, which had me thanking heaven he was sleeping. I didn't even want to think about what touching would do, so I kept reminding myself that only a sick fuck would take advantage of someone in Heero's current state.

Of course, no sooner had I gotten Heero settled on the bed, did Solo decide to pop in to see what the fuck was up. He kept giving Heero these long, appraising looks that made me really fucking uncomfortable on Heero's behalf, and maybe even a little bit on mine, too. The fucker didn't waste any time voicing his thoughts, either. He was just short of licking his lips as he said, "God, D, he looks completely fuckable, don't he? D'ya know if he likes cock?"

If it wouldn't have made me a hypocrite to punch him in the face for what he said, I would have done it in a goddamn second. Much as I hated to admit it, my mind was pretty much washed down the same stinking gutter, so I pretended like I wasn't listening to anything Solo was saying, even if every word was going right to my goddamn dick.

But you know, enough was enough, too. I know I shouldn't have expected much more out of a fucker like Solo, but I couldn't stand listening to him talk about Heero like he was some whore I'd picked up for a fast one. Still, I was amazed how quick Solo let it drop when I told him to shut the fuck up. I probably should have taken the time to be a little suspicious of a move like that, but the fucker had already moved on to talking about getting together some junk to drop A-bombs, and I was too fucking strung out to think twice about it before jumping on the fucking bandwagon.

Anyway, I hope Solo won't take too much objection when he figures out Heero's gonna be around for a while. I'm pretty sure he doesn't care for him after showing up out of the clear blue fucking sky, despite the way he'd been talking. Solo's not too big on competition he can't crush. He can be pretty goddamn domineering. Really, I think what I hated most about him was how much I really couldn't hate him at all, even if I really wanted to.

-- D.M.

Entry dated 07 / 19 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

[written in a different hand]

I love how raw you are when you're trippin', D -- outright wild! I bet the whole 'hood heard the great gig in the sky when you leaned out the window and screamed like that. Let them all know you're not afraid to die. And why should you be, anyway? There's no reason for it: I mean, we all go to go sometime, right? It's fucking beautiful.

-- Solo

Letter drafted 07 / 22 / AC207
From H.Y. to H.S.

Hilde,

I'm not sure if Duo knows that I've been keeping you informed about his current whereabouts, and I'm not exactly sure it's something I ought to reveal just yet, so I apologize in advance if I sound abrupt.

I suppose that introduction deserves a little bit of explanation, though. Yes, I'm with Duo; I've been staying with him for the past few days. I'm not exactly sure the details, but he said he'd found me out in the neighborhood and had brought me back to his apartment out of concern. I was tempted to I'm sure it's no secret to you what my current situation is, and I'd been afraid to check into any kind of housing in case someone gets a little too wary of my presence. Besides, it's not like I'm unused to living on the streets. Once an orphan, always an orphan, I guess; it's nothing new.

Then again, maybe I'd gotten lucky that Duo found me when he did. I think this place is starting to get to me, though I'm not quite sure why. It must be something in the air or the water. It's like you can smell the despair everywhere you go, and you can't help but let it consume you. I know that's a poor excuse, really. Maybe it's just a way for me to express my growing frustration with the way things are between Du. I know I'm one for screwing things up -- I can freely admit that -- but I did always like to think I could take care of a job that needed to be done. Maybe I've lost my touch... I'm not sure. But I feel very incapable. It's like I'm reaching and reaching but only grasping at shadows.

Though if we're speaking in terms of luck, then it was my turn to return such a favour to Duo when I finally woke up. It was the smoke that really did it, I think, but a better part of me knows that my subconscious could pick out that there was something wrong. God, Hilde, the way I found him was possibly more horrifying than anything I'd experienced during the wars. I always knew he had the sort of addictive personality that made it easy for him to throw himself headfirst into anything with fervor and passion, but I thought I felt myself die a little inside when I realized that this was what the cocky, unconquerable Duo Maxwell had been consumed by.

He was passed out by the bed I woke up in, spread out on the floor and breathing very slowly and very erratically, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what was wrong. He wasn't really unconscious or anything, but he was definitely not himself. Or rather, he wasn't in control of himself, anyway. Tried asking him his name, where he was -- what colour my eyes were. All he said was, "Any colour you like -- as long as it's black."

It would be no exaggeration to say I panicked. I didn't know! I seriously thought he was dead at first, really. "Speak to me -- breathe, Duo!" I kept saying. "Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me!" There are no words to quite describe the overwhelming sense of relief I felt when I realized he wasn't dead, but that didn't stop me from worrying and taking all the right precautions. This had to stop -- for both him and for me. I don't know if I could live knowing he was doing this to himself.

How could he have so much hate, even for the ones he lo- He realizes how much he matters, doesn't he? Does he even realize how much it hurts to see him like this? The pain is worse than every bullet I've ever had lodged in my flesh -- even the two he fired. There's something that's wounded him, spreading like a poison inside. God knows how long it's been there and what sort of damage it's done. It's like he's trying to get up on the highest wave so that when he loses his balance, he'll fall headfirst into an early grave.

For the past years, I can't tell you how empty my life has been, but even the mere thought of having to continue in a world where there was no more Duo Maxwell is hardly bearable. I guess I'd always been able to carry on thinking that he was doing alright for himself, even if his life was no longer to be a part of mine. I can't believe I deluded myself for so long with such foolishness, but I was young and life is long, and it seemed like there was only time to kill every day.

And then one day, like there were a thousand alarm clocks that suddenly went off all around me, I woke up to find that all these years had gone behind, and I was never getting them back -- that every year was getting shorter and soon, I wouldn't have the time to live anymore. It was just suddenly so clear to me that I was just ticking away the moments that made up every dull day of my life and it had to stop. I mean, every day, you wake up the same in a relative way, but you're older and one day closer to death, you know?

I'd let him slip away -- let him slip away the same way I was letting my life tumble right through my fingers. It was like I'd taken my entire existence and just dropped it into some dark pit to be forgotten before locking myself away. I'd fought so long and hard for the right to live -- to be happy! -- and there I was, unable to do even that. Maybe it's all stupid pride, or maybe some kind of cowardice, but I had to unearth and retrieve it, even if it meant stepping back out into the harsh light. Because all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be.

I'm not even sure how to properly express how I feel anymore, though I must thank you for your continued correspondence. It has been an unmatched outlet for this seemingly constant outpouring of despondence. But the time is gone, and my words have ended. I thought I'd something more to say.

-- Heero Yuy

Article dated 07 / 24 / AC207
Report by Chang W.
For the 'ESUN International Herald'

LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND -- Despite those who have sought to rally against her, Relena Darlian and her supporters still stand strong with their message of world peace as she continues her unification tour of Europe. Since the attempt on her life and the startling Chicago rally conducted in her name, Darlian has made no indication that she means to back down, despite the growing disputes about her and her movement. Today, during a press conference held after her main appearance to the public this afternoon, she addressed a wide range of topics, from her recovery from the incident in Helsinki, to the continued plans for peace.

"The very essence of progress is change," she told the small gathering of reporters. "And change begins when we decide it will."

She was immediately met with a flourish of questions regarding the Chicago march on city hall, but she staunchly defended the actions of the controversial individual known as Pink. "To conventional society, which is usually mired in routine and accepting things as they are, people like this Pink are frightening. However, what happened in Chicago is akin to what happened in the space colonies so many years ago. Nothing stays the same; there will always be renegades."

It is clear Darlian is not afraid of the future and what it might hold. She has faith that people will take her message to heart as its momentum grows, though she is wary of those who seek to override the ideals the ESUN was founded upon. "I'm not saying anything different from the things I did during the wars," she asserted. "Pink and his people are proof that the future is ours to shape as we will, and no one has the right to withhold that from us. The fact that factions of Chicago-based Preventers -- an organization whose sole purpose is to represent peace in the ESUN -- were deployed to break up a non-violent rally is abhorrent, and is a perfect illustration of how quickly we've started to regress into the patterns that led to the wars in the first place. Only this time, I fear there will be no one to stand up to such a calamity as the Gundam pilots and the resistance did in the past."

The continued discussion about the Chicago incident and rebellion, without fail, segued into talk of Heero Yuy and his alleged presence at the rally. Darlian admitted that though she was pleased to see him there, she had not personally heard from him in years, thus leaving her unable to answer direct questions about what his reappearance meant.

"The Heero I knew during the wars always had a sense of where he was needed," was all she said. "Perhaps he felt his place was there at that rally, for Pink or otherwise. Something called him to that place, I know it, though I can't say that I ever understood Heero well enough to be able to tell you what that might be. Perhaps he has some kind of greater purpose, but then again, perhaps it's something that no one but he, himself, is meant to understand."

It certainly wasn't the kind of answer most of the reporters at the press conference wanted to hear. Darlian was rather succinct about the matter of Heero Yuy, and it is unsurprising that there has been much speculation regarding why that might be. In private, after the press conference, Darlian scoffs at such meaninglessness. "It's all just gossip," she said derisively, her tone indicating clearly how she felt about such things. "They're so desperate for a story, if there isn't one, they'll just make it up. That's half the problem these days."

And to the question about whether or not she thinks Pink is a detriment to her cause: "I believe that one word that brings peace is better than a thousand words that are hollow. If Pink knows this word, then who am I to silence him? After all, together we stand, divided we fall."

Entry dated 07 / 26 / AC207
Notebook journal of D.M.

[written in a different hand]

I don't like the way your friend is always hanging around, D. You've got to tell him to move the fuck on, because he's seriously cramping our style, in case you've been too fucking busy staring at his goddamn ass to notice. And don't think I'm dumb, neither, buddy; I see the way you fucking look at him. You gotta put the brakes on that shit, man; you're losing your grip on the game and it's gonna fuck us up. We've come along too damn far to trip at the goddamn finish.

What's this fucker's deal, anyway? I know I seen you beating off with that name of his all stuck in your throat, but come on. You let yourself get too goddamn distracted by one fucker who's got shit to do with you anymore, so just leave it alone. You know it's better for everybody that way! I'm right -- you know I am! And if, for whatever reason, you're fucking questioning it, just remember how I always fucking am.

I mean, where has he been for the past how many years, anyway? Sure as hell not giving two shits about you, D, that's for goddamn sure. And here he is, just showing up and waltzing in here because he knows he can take advantage of you and this twisted little fantasy thing you got going for him. Don't have to be hanging out with forever to know that, anyway. You ever stop jerking off long enough to think why the fuck he's even here? How much do you really know about the fucker, seriously?

He don't really get it, anyway. He's just gonna go and dump all his problems right back on you, like that bitch you were hanging with for so long after the war. Goddamn, how long did it take you to split from that shit, D? And here, you're gonna let this fucktard just do you the same way? What's the difference if it's him or her? They're all out to get you, D -- all out to use and abuse you and then leave you in the dirt when you're all broken up and no good anymore. She did it, and he'll do it too -- I can see it. He don't mean you well -- gonna upset everything it took you so goddamn long to win for yourself. Don't toss it on a whim for this fucker, man, I'm telling you. They don't care for you, D -- not the way I do.

-- Solo.

Letter dated 08 / 01 / AC207
From H.S. to H.Y.

Heero,

I must admit to you, I haven't been able to decide if your letters have been a relief or a burden. Maybe I never did have the kind of strength Duo needs, much as I liked to think otherwise. I thought I knew him so well, but I can see now that I really didn't have a clue, did I? I think I've at least come to accept that, now, anyway. Maybe there's some kind of innocence that's measured out in years -- I don't know.

I think I've managed to see beyond myself, though, and I've found a lot of peace of mind that way. I never wanted to accept it -- never wanted to accept what it might mean -- but I realize now that if anyone is going to be able to reach Duo, especially now, it's going to be you, Heero. Maybe it wasn't really a secret how I felt about Duo, but I never wanted to think that I was wasting my time on him -- couldn't stand the thought! I tried to pretend like the things that didn't fit just right didn't exist, and God, if I haven't destroyed so much with that kind of mentality.... I just wish I knew the best way to make it right again, you know? Don't want to carry these sins on my back anymore. I wish there was some way I could just... cleanse myself of my mistakes, but even I'm not so naive as to think anything is quite that simple.

But what could I do? You were gone for so long, and he couldn't move on. I thought it would be better if he could just learn to accept the way things had changed, but there was no telling him that -- not that he would listen, anyway. He'd still talk about you and wonder about you and lament how unfairly life had dealt the cards. I guess it wasn't my place to tell him how to feel; it's not like I ever knew what he was like when he was with you -- or how you really were when you were alone with him. Or maybe I just didn't want to think about it -- didn't