Pairings: Heero x Duo
Genre: AU, action/adventure
Warnings: Duo's potty mouth, a little bit of violence, some angst, shounen ai
Summary: After successfully uncovering the Never-Ending Circle, Duo Maxwell is back in business. This time, his help is needed to find a mythical sword that is related to eternal youth...and an object of many people's desire.

Author's note: Sequel to "Duo Maxwell and the Never-Ending Circle", following the same Tomb Raider concept (not a cross-over!), but can be read as a stand-alone story. Some references to events/characters from the Tomb Raider comics, movies, and/or games. Entry to the Moments of Rapture Contest "Everything Old is New Again" 2010. Beta-ed by my lovely Apollymi. All mistakes left are mine to make.

Duo Maxwell and the Sword of the Khan 
by Daimeryan Rei

He was carrying a breakfast tray consisting of a small bowl of miso soup, a bowl of steamed rice and several side dishes: pickles, tamagoyaki and seasoned nori. Hillary had never thought he'd be making those dishes again, but young Master Maxwell and young Master Yuy had...reconciled.

He was happy for the both of them, he really was, but he wondered if their relationship was meant to last. Their love for each other was undeniable strong and passionate, but still... So many things had happened, so many ghosts were still surrounding them, things that hadn't been spoken of in a long time... Were they ever going to be able to smooth out the mistakes in the past?

Hillary straightened his back and increased his pace, just a little. It wasn't his job to worry about that. He was just the butler -- and a fine one at that.

Since the arrival of master Yuy at Maxwell Manor, the daily grind had changed just a little. Heero Yuy was an early riser, and preferred to have his breakfast in the dining room in the north wing. It was the same wing where Duo Maxwell had his private quarters of course, and it also housed the gym, the pool and several offices.

Compared to the rest of the manor, the north wing was the least beautiful one; the other wings were showcasing the magnificent and rich history of Maxwell Manor: woven tapestries representing ancient myths and legends, original paintings varying from Monet to Matisse and van Gogh, the infamous mannequins dressed in authentic uniforms from several eras of war.

Hillary knocked on the door before entering. Anything about the north wing was practical, and the dining room was no exception. The only furniture was the large table with chairs, and one of those chairs was occupied by Heero Yuy himself. He didn't acknowledge the butler but stared at the screen of his laptop, no doubt scrolling through the many RSS-feeds to get up-to-date with the daily news. Hillary ignored modern technology for the most part.

Next to the dishes and silverware on the breakfast tray was The Times, a very early tradition started by Duo's grandfather who had wanted to read the newspaper before anything else. Hillary had folded the latest issue of Current Archaeology underneath it and put the tray down on the table.

"Good morning, Master Yuy," he said and arranged all the dishes neatly on the table, saving the newspaper and the magazine for last. "Another article on the Never-Ending Circle."

Heero looked up from his laptop screen, his blue eyes fixating on Hillary. The butler continued to work, and Heero's eyes shifted to the magazine.

"Thank you" was all he said. Hillary simply nodded and left the room. He inhaled the scent of the hot miso, wondering how the butler had picked up on his Japanese ancestry. Heero himself had never requested for this type of food; Hillary had taken it upon himself to serve him this way. For that, Heero was grateful; he didn't know much of his roots, and this was a careful yet gentle reminder of who he was.

He picked up the magazine and immediately leafed through it to the article Hillary mentioned. It was fairly in-depth, and the author had published a picture of Duo next to it. Heero studied it meticulously. The picture had been taken two years ago, and it showed how carefree and happy Duo had been at that time. He showed a bright smile, his eyes warm and open, and love all over his heart-shaped face; their relationship had just taken off.

In two years, Duo hadn't changed physically, but there was a depth to his eyes now that wasn't there before. In two years, Solo Maxwell had died tragically, and Duo had a brief stint with too much alcohol, life-consuming guilt, and sadness before Quatre Raberba Winner commissioned him.

The search for the Never-Ending Circle had brought them back together. The circle of life and death had been broken, mended and broken again. Would Shinigami ever find his beloved Inochigami again? If he did, the world would change into a true paradise, where no one would have ever to be afraid of death again, where life would be celebrated, instead of trampled...

Heero looked outside the window. Maxwell Manor was surrounded by acres and acres of green grassland, and all he could see was nature, blessed peaceful nature. Shinigami would never find his love, he thought ruefully, not until people had learned to abandon violence. He heaved a sigh. It was silent in the dining room, and he pulled the bowl of miso towards him.

One hour or so of more blessed silence, then Duo would wake up and start his exercises...as always, accompanied by loud, blaring hard rock music of the deafening kind.

'Infernal racket', as Hillary loved to call it, but he would never chastise his master for blasting the music in the gym, thunderous sound with heavy drumbeats and bass as Duo worked through his exercises. Both Hillary and Heero would be alarmed if Duo would be silent; silence and Duo Maxwell didn't go well together.

Heero finished his breakfast, studied the article a little while longer (not of much news value, though) and checked his e-mail and several other Internet sites out of interest. He could hear the music vaguely, happy to not be in the same room with Duo as hard rock wasn't his choice of music either.

After another hour, Duo waltzed into the dining room, freshly showered, his long hair still wet but already braided, and he walked around the table to give Heero a hug.

"Good morning, dearest," he greeted and ruffled Heero's hair, much to the other's annoyance. Duo liked to add more spikes to Heero's already unruly hair, and he laughed at him when Heero put up a grimace. "All right, all right, don't touch the hair, I know."

"So, what's for breakfast?" he asked while sitting down. He had barely finished his sentence when Hillary, perfect timing as always, entered the room with a more American-style breakfast: pancakes, scrambled eggs, and two slices of French toast. Unlike his forefathers, Duo took more after the ancient American roots in his family than the British ones. He despised tea and was more than content with his mug of coffee to start up the morning. Wolfing down his breakfast, he asked Heero if there was anything interesting in the news.

"Romefeller has disbanded, just as Winner predicted," he answered. "They severed connections with Khushrenada, but it was too late. They lost all their status within the archaeological world, and choose to disband rather to rebuild."

"Khushrenada has really taken the fall," Duo said, his mouth full with scrambled eggs. "I wonder what he's doing now."

"Probably sweet-talk his way into another organization," Heero said monotonously. He wasn't interested in whatever happened to Treize Khushrenada. The man had done enough damage as it was.

He looked over his laptop screen at Duo. It seemed that he had recovered pretty well from their adventure in the Sanq Kingdom. Being possessed by a God of Death was not something you did on a daily basis. Shinigami had brought no harm to Duo except for a few memory gaps. He had lost every recollection of things between pulling the second scythe from the statue until the moment he woke up at Quatre's estate.

On their way home, Heero had filled in the details, but he hadn't told Duo everything. He never wanted to revive that memory again, of seeing the man he loved possessed, wielding a scythe no mortal ever could and talking about death as if it was his second nature. Every now and then bits and pieces of distorted memories surfaced in Duo's sleep, but he thought they were nightmares, unaware that they were actually memories.

"What are we going to do today?" Duo had finished his breakfast and cradled his cup of coffee to his chest. Heero turned his laptop around so Duo could look at the e-mail program.

"Several requests for interviews, speeches and lectures, and your presence would be highly appreciated at certain fundraising events and dinners. New requests for group visits to Maxwell Manor, as well as individual requests to study the Maxwell Collection."

"Wow, I hit it big time, didn't I?" Duo said, without sounding bitter. Heero just grinned.

"Everyone knows you're back in business, Duo. And you have to admit: you bring much more life into the archaeological world than all those boring professors who can drone on about a single fragment of bone found in a shallow grave."

Duo checked his own e-mail in his office. He reclined comfortably into his chair, scrolling through all the requests and other mails he had received. It was tempting to honour a few of those requests. He didn't have much cash; all his assets were stuck into funds meant to upkeep and maintain the Maxwell Collection. It would be a waste to draw funds away from the magnificent collection, and Duo hated to disappoint his father. Besides, he was too fond of the collection himself to allow it to be endangered...even if it meant he had barely any pounds left in his wallet. He could ask a nice compensation for the lectures, or a few interviews, that would solve his cash flow at the moment.

The doorbell rang far away; Duo didn't pay attention to it. Hillary doubled as a tour guide if there were any people coming to visit the collection. He stared at his screen, fingers absent-mindedly combing through his braid. His other hand was on the mouse, scrolling through the mails. Heero sat in front of him, printing out leads to other interesting artefacts. They both heard the footsteps at the same time; someone was approaching the door. The knock was expected; after Duo's "Come in!" Hillary opened the door.

"Master Maxwell, may I present your visitors: Miss Sylvia Noventa and her grandfather, the honourable Marshal Noventa," Hillary said. The respect and awe in his voice were completely justified. Duo jumped to his feet, along with Heero, like two soldiers ready to greet their superior officer.

Sylvia Noventa entered the office first. She was a young, pretty girl with strawberry blond hair that was kept out of her face with two small crystal hair clips. She wore an average office suit: black skirt with black shoes, a white blouse with a black, charcoal striped blazer on top. She carried a brief case and smiled shyly, stepping aside to make way for her grandfather.

Marshal Noventa was dressed in a dark grey suit, slightly darker than his hair, combed sleekly back to reveal his high forehead. The decorations for his contribution to peace treaties during the Gundam Wars were pinned on the left lapel of his jacket.

"Miss Noventa, Marshal Noventa, what an honour," Duo said. "Please, take a seat. Hillary, coffee for our esteemed guests."

"Ah, tea please," Sylvia said, her bright smile disarming all the men in the room. Hillary nodded and made a bow before retreating. The young girl waited until her grandfather had chosen a seat and took the seat next to him, smoothing out her skirt and putting the briefcase next to her on the floor. Heero waited until Duo was seated until he sat down himself; his eyes went over the young girl and her grandfather for a moment, curiously.

The Gundam Wars couldn't have been ended without Noventa's intervention. As a good friend of Vice-Minister Darlian, Relena Peacecraft's father, they had both advocated peace and pacifism, stressing the importance of negotiations instead of outright violence. Noventa had negotiated with Gundam pilots, rebel factions and leaders of nations to lay down the base of what was going to be the Earth Sphere United Nations, the current governing body for the Earth and the Colonies, build on mutual respect and the universal wish for peace.

Heero was impressed; what would this man, an icon of modern balance between the nations, want of him and Duo?

"Marshal, what can I do for you?" Duo asked, his voice softer than usual.

Noventa leaned on his cane. He didn't look fragile, but age was catching up to him. He wrapped his fingers around the tip of his cane and leaned a little forward.

"Mister Maxwell, Mister Yuy..."

"Duo," Duo said, "Duo and Heero, please."

Noventa nodded. "Duo and Heero," he said, "what I am going to tell you is something that remains to be confidential."

"I can guarantee you that no word will leave this office without your consent," Duo said confidently. "Heero has personally proofed and secured this room."

"I am aware of Mister Y... Heero's proficiency with computers," Noventa smiled. Sylvia sat still, as quiet as a mouse, but her kind eyes were on her grandfather only, watching his every move.

There was a brief interruption as Hillary entered the room again to provide everyone with their drink of choice, and he also left a large tray with scones, cake and cookies for the guests.

"I have seen two wars," Noventa started off, stirring his tea. Sylvia added cream and sugar to hers and retreated into herself again. "I have seen horrors and I have seen bravery and courage. I've seen inexplicable things."

Everyone in the office was hanging onto his every word. "War brings out the bad side of people. In times of despair, we become selfish and egocentric. We want to save our own hides and not help others out of fear of being caught. Resistance is difficult, yet there have always been people wanting to take that risk, to take that chance, to oppose to all that was wrong in the world. Violence is everywhere, and sometimes peace is spoken of as the last resort of cowards, of betrayers. People don't want to see how precious it is, how easily it can slip away between your fingers..."

He sipped his tea. "I doubt you want to hear me rambling on about war and peace," Noventa continued, apologetically. "Like I said, I've seen war, and I've seen both good and bad sides of people. What I have come to you about... No, let me rephrase it... Why I have decided to visit you is to tell you about an artefact that has also seen wars -- and was the origin of wars for a long time, back in the earliest days of mankind."

Turning towards Sylvia, his granddaughter nodded and picked up the briefcase from the floor. She opened it and handed paperwork to Noventa, who gently laid it down in his lap.

"You might not believe it, but I was quite the explorer myself when I was young," he said. "Before the wars... demanded my attention, I travelled all over the world. My family was quite rich, so I found myself in the privileged position to travel instead of searching immediately for a job after I graduated. It was a chance that I'm still grateful for, and I dare to say that my travels have shaped me into who I am, have taught me about different civilizations and cultures and to embrace them, instead of shun them."

Noventa flipped the top picture of the small bundle of paperwork in his lap over.

"A sword," Heero said, after glancing at the picture. While studying archaeology, Heero had always been fascinated by ancient swords and had even considered collecting them, if it weren't for it being such a pricey hobby. It still had maintained his interest, even after all the years he graduated -- and his keen eye told him this was a Mongol weapon, a curved sabre, with a blade of steel and a handle made of ox horn and rosewood. The sheath was extremely intricate, made from exquisite silver, engraved with dragon, tiger and several other animal heads, enveloped by a cloud pattern.

"This, gentlemen, is the sword of Kolanuhm," Noventa said. Duo stood up to take the picture from Noventa, and scrutinized it.

"Kolanuhm, or Kol An Anuum as his legend goes," Noventa continued. "He would've been as powerful and dominating Alexander the Great if the Gods didn't stop him. A khan of the Mongol Empire, rumoured to be a descendant of Ghengis Khan, and obsessed with conquering China and the rest of Eurasia."

Duo whistled. "Interesting. What do you mean by 'if the Gods didn't stop him'?"

"Kolanuhm lived an extraordinary long life," Sylvia surprisingly picked up the story, her voice clear and bright. "He was already over a hundred and twenty years old when he assumed the throne. Perhaps he was poisoned, or stabbed. Who knows? But what is extraordinary is that in history he's described as appearing very young for a great part of his life, only appearing middle-aged at the time of his death."

"He ruled for over hundred and fifty years," Noventa said, "making him two hundred and seventy years old. Unfortunately, the dates of his birth and death, as well the exact time when he ruled, are shady in history. No one has ever succeeded to pinpoint exactly when he lived or died."

"Two hundred and seventy years, hm?" Duo handed the picture of the sword back to Noventa.

"As long as Kol An Anuum had his sword, he was youthful and strong." Sylvia picked up another picture from her grandfather's lap, showing a middle-aged man with strong Mongolian features, a small nose, a modest, light-grey moustache and beard and high eyebrows.

"So he owed his vitality and longevity to the sword?" Heero asked.

"More than probably." Noventa nodded. "He was never seen without it. However, this is the only picture that remains of it. I take it that Kolanuhm didn't want his own sword depicted, making it easier recognizable for his enemies. After so many years, people were bound to ask how it could be that he lived for so long."

"Even if his cause of death is unknown, I guess it has to do something with the sword," Duo said. "The moment he lost it, its... effect was over. No sword, no youth."

"I would like you to find this sword," Noventa said. His slightly trembling fingers took up the rest of the papers in his lap. Heero got up and took the weight from him, transferring the small stack to Duo's desk. "I have no illusions that it really exists or that it can actually be found. It's just that..."

Sylvia suddenly started to cough. In just a few seconds, she had paled, and she quickly took a tissue from her briefcase, dabbing her face.

"Miss Noventa? Are you all right?" Duo asked.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "It will pass. I'm sorry..." But the last words of her sentence got lost in another coughing fit.

"Sylvia drove all the way to the Manor," Noventa said, shaking his head. "It was too much exertion for her. Sylvia, maybe we should..." His voice died away just as well. He didn't want to leave yet.

"Just a moment," Duo said and pressed a button on his phone. Sylvia pressed another tissue to her mouth as to smother the coughing. Hillary was at the door within moments.

"Hillary, will you show Miss Noventa to one of the guest rooms?" Duo asked. "And call for a doctor."

"Certainly, Master Maxwell." Hillary was already at Sylvia's side, but she frantically shook her head.

"No, no, I'm fine! Just give me a moment..."

"Sylvia, please lie down for a moment," Noventa said. He had put his hand on his granddaughter's knee, and his voice was soothing, the voice of a negotiator who knew what was best for her. "You need to rest up for our trip back. I can talk to Duo and Heero about the sword."

"But, Grandfather..."

He patted her knee. "It's all right."

She heaved a sigh and gave in, standing up from her chair. She lost her balance immediately, and Hillary was just quick enough to hold her steady by taking her at the elbow.

"This way, Miss Noventa," he said and led her out the door. Noventa watched her leave, and when the door closed behind them, he heaved a soft sigh. He suddenly looked even older.

"My apologies," he said. "My granddaughter... Sylvia... We don't know what's wrong with her. We've visited many specialists, but so far we don't have any results to work with. She tires quickly, she coughs and gets dizzy spells..."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Marshal," Duo said. "Hillary will call our family doctor, who will take good care of your granddaughter."

"I will reimburse any costs," Noventa immediately said, but Duo made a gesture that he didn't want to hear about it. A silence fell in the office, not awkward, but not too comfortable either. Finally, Noventa resumed talking.

"You probably wonder why I'm talking to you about some sword when my granddaughter is sick," he said. He folded his hands together. "Sylvia was the one who found my diaries and notes about my travels. I had dumped everything in a big chest and stashed it in the attic of our house. She stumbled upon it, I don't know why, but one evening she showed me the diaries and wanted to hear everything about it. It made her so alive. I was so happy to see that spark in her eyes again, and a few stories revived her spirit after being mangled inside out by hospital tests." He paused for a moment. "I told her about the sword and that I was looking for it as I travelled through China and Tibet. It was the most detailed journey I ever chronicled... Who knew my granddaughter would get... sort of obsessed by it?"

"It distracts her from her illness," Duo said. "It gives her something to focus on, not on what's going on with her body."

"I guess you're right," Noventa nodded. "I hadn't seen it that way. I was just... taken aback by her enthusiasm, and I wouldn't be surprised if she suggested we would resume searching for it. But both of our physical states don't allow for it. She's sick, and well, I... I am old."

"Marshal Noventa..."

"I haven't told her everything about the sword either," Noventa interrupted Duo brusquely. "But I'm going to tell you about it."

"Sir?"

"I wasn't alone when I travelled through Tibet." He leaned on his cane, but his eyes looked far away in the distance. He wasn't in the office anymore; he was back in Tibet, crossing the Himalayas, fighting the cold and the snow. "I was crossing the border together with an Italian," he said. "I met him in at a bar in Chengdu, a traveller just like me. He was drinking hot tea and had just ordered something to eat. He asked me to share his meal, and we both spend the evening chatting and drinking, like old friends.

"This was before China closed the borders," Noventa's voice had a distinct melancholy to it, "but we were young and stupid, so we decided to act like tough guys, and take the difficult route through the Himalayas, instead of hitchhiking to Lhasa. Gianni...that was his name... Gianni loved to do things the hard way. No pain, no gain, he always said, and I, I was young and just as reckless as him. We went on our way with too little provisions, too little clothing, too little preparations."

Heero exchanged a look with Duo. He was listening attentively, occasionally stroking a chestnut bang out of his face.

"We got stuck on a mountain pass. It was so cold... We didn't have the right footwear. We were trekking out of sheer stubbornness, and we encouraged each other to go on. Such fools we were, young, stupid fools... There was no one else in that pass, no Sherpa, no guide to be found. I was praying to myself, praying that we found shelter, a convent, a monastery, a farm, anything... but we were hopelessly lost, and Gianni... he was dying."

Noventa looked up, his voice hitching. "I could see it in his eyes. Those dark eyes of his were...blank, staring into the distance, blinded by the white snow and yellow sun. He couldn't feel his feet anymore; he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. We found a cave, and we decided to rest a little and warm up." He shook his head. "I couldn't find any wood in the mountain pass, but I did find a few signs; there was a monastery up ahead, just a few more miles. We could get warm there, ask for shelter, recover and admit our stupid mistake. I went back to the cave to tell Gianni the good news."

Duo shifted in his seat. Heero was listening just as attentively, his gut feeling already telling him what would be coming next.

"He was dead." The marshal clenched his fingers so hard that every knuckle cracked. "I should never have left him alone. He couldn't even get his blanket out of his backpack. In the short time I was away to find some wood, he had frozen to death. I was devastated.

"I don't want Sylvia to find out about this. What can I say? 'Your grandfather was so stupid as to abandon his friend? To have him freeze to death?'"

"You didn't abandon him," Duo immediately said. "You were young, you both were inexperienced..."

"It's not an excuse," Noventa said. His hands had started shaking. "I shouldn't have gone along with his plan. He was bragging over beer that he could climb the Mount Everest barehanded. He said that no mountain pass was difficult enough for him. He wanted to see Lhasa, and he would get there, one way or another. He wanted to be able to tell his children that he single-handedly crossed the mountain paths to visit Tibet. He was a fool, and I was even a greater fool."

He heaved another sigh and took a few minutes to collect his bearings. "I took his body with me and carried him all the way to the monastery," he said. "It was so hard, and I was crying and yelling out loud, apologizing, begging God for forgiveness. Even though I didn't know Gianni very long, he was my friend, and his death made me swear to always respect human life and to never lift up my hand in violence.

"The monks buried him and gave his wallet to me, so I could inform his family. When I left Tibet, I travelled to Italy to find his parents and tell them the bad news. I couldn't find them, but I found his wife and his young son."

"That must've been really hard," Duo said.

"It was. I had to tell them what happened, and his wife was in tears... yet she thanked me, that I hadn't left him in the cave, that I was there to take care of him. She said that she always knew his recklessness would get him into trouble, but she hadn't expected this... just like I never expected him to be married and have a young son. He was travelling like he had no care in the world, no family to say goodbye to. But he had a wife. He had a son...Marco. Marco Bartoli."

"So this is the sword of Kolanuhm." Howard brought the picture of the sword close to his sunglasses. He used a magnifying glass to study the picture; nobody mentioned that he should take his sunglasses off.

Hilde Schbeiker sat cross-legged on a chair, keeping herself and the stack of papers in her lap in balance. She preferred holding paper in her hands instead of staring herself blind at a computer screen. Heero had scanned all the paperwork Noventa left behind; he and Duo were using the computers, while Howard and Hilde had copies.

Howard mumbled something under his moustache. "It looks far more intricate than I ever imagined," he said. "Are you sure it's Mongolian craftwork? The dragon and tiger heads on the sheath are magnificent, but those other animals don't seem like they belong in the Mongolian fauna."

"They're birds?" Heero asked.

"Eagles, I guess."

"There are vultures in Tibet. It's a natural tradition to feed corpses to the vultures."

"Gross." Hilde shivered in her chair.

"They believe in giving their bodies back to the Earth," Duo said. "The body is simply a hollow vessel for the spirit and recycling the flesh back to nature is, well, only natural."

"Tibetan Sky Burial," Howard said. "Jhator."

"I think it's gross," Hilde repeated and quickly leafed through the paper work.

"It's better than what the people do who can't afford a Sky Burial," Heero said.

Hilde's eyes showed a little trepidation."What's that?"

"They place the deceased on a high rock, leaving the body to rot."

Hilde heaved a sigh. "Noventa's notes are extremely detailed," she changed the subject. "He managed to track the last whereabouts of the sword back to Tibet; Nyingtri, to be exact."

"He was about to cross the border from Chengdu into Tibet," Heero mentioned.

"That's where he runs out of notes," Hilde said. "Or did he give up by that point?"

Duo exchanged a quick look with Heero. They both had decided earlier upon not revealing Noventa's involvement with the death of Gianni Bartoli.

"He got into trouble," Duo said, his voice perfectly neutral. "Too little preparation, young and reckless, you know." He got treated to Hilde and Howard both snorting. "Anyway, he had to seek refuge at a monastery, and from there he returned to his homeland."

"Too bad, I guess he was pretty close." Howard shifted the magnifying glass. "Eagles or vultures... it's amazing craftwork, really magnificent."

Duo nodded. "Once we pick up his trail, we can track the sword down and retrieve it."

"Don't think too lightly about it, Duo," Howard said. "The Himalayas aren't a fun walk in the park."

"You're talking to the one who was this close to discovering Atlantis." Duo held his thumb and index finger just a millimeter apart from each other.

"True." Howard shoved his sunglasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. "But not even deep-diving comes close to the bitter and hard nature of the Himalayas. You'll have to deal with the Dhaulagiri, the Annapurna or the Manaslu -- the three highest mountains, and Tibet is already on an elevated plateau itself. You'll get high-altitude sickness if you're not careful..."

"Relax, old man." Duo patted his shoulder. "Heero and I have been there before."

Howard wasn't about to be swayed. "You were in China to retrieve the dagger of Xian, and you spend two, three days perhaps in Tibet. Finding a sword belonging to a ruler like Kolanuhm isn't going to be easy, Duo."

"I know."

"You'll have to start in Lhasa for sure and make your way to the Nyingtri prefecture. You'll need the proper permits; you can't get into Tibet and travel around freely without them."

"I'm sure you can take care of everything," Duo batted his eyelashes at Howard and made a cooing sound, "everything and anything indeed." He ducked to avoid getting hit by Howard's coffee mug.

"I'll make a special costume for you." Hilde already started sketching on a blank piece of paper. "You need something to wear the cold off, thermo stuff... to endure high altitudes..."

Duo left her to her creations as he turned to Howard. The older man saw him hesitate.

"Spit it out, Duo."

"I was just wondering, Howard. You were in the salvaging business, right?"

"True." Howard nudged his head just a little. "I considered going into shipwrecking business too, but I had more than enough space materials for me and my group to recover."

"You rather wanted to salvage Gundams," Duo said with a wink. Everyone knew of Howard's contribution to the resistance, even though he had declined any medal decorations for it, claiming that he was 'just doing his job'. As soon as he heard from Noventa and the sword, he'd been at Duo's doorstep in the early morning.

Heero had an inkling as to where Duo was going. "Have you ever heard of the Bartoli family, by chance?" He asked. Howard took a long time answering.

"Can't say I do," he finally said. "I met a lot of people in the salvaging business. Everybody wanted a piece of it. There could've been a Bartoli amongst them, but I'm not sure. Why do you ask?"

"It might be another lead," Duo said and pretended to write something on his paperwork. "Thanks, Howard. If you can arrange everything? The permits, and so on?"

"Sure thing, Duo."

"I'll get started right away on your costume, Duo. You too, Heero?" Hilde winked as she spoke, as Heero had always politely declined her somewhat eccentric designs.

"I'll be just fine, Hilde," he answered stiffly and shut down his laptop.

"Thank you for the invitation, Quatre." Duo lifted up his coffee mug, showing off the large amount of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top, his favourite. Le Gavroche was happy to serve the friends of Quatre Raberba Winner at his usual table, even if it were beverages outside of the menu.

"I'm glad you like it," Quatre said, as always accompanied by his cup of tea -- and Trowa Barton, of course. His silent partner sat beside him, enjoying his own cup of tea, and mimicking Heero in stoic behaviour. Quatre had commissioned Duo for the Never-Ending Circle, and since then, they had build up a friendly relationship. Even though the artefact was buried under tons of rubble, Quatre had appreciated everything Duo had done for him, as it was in memory of his father, Winner Sr., the man who made so many mistakes and was murdered, ending a hard life in tragedy.

"So, what's your next expedition, Duo?" Quatre asked.

"We have a lead on the sword of Kolanuhm," Duo said. The restaurant was crowded for lunch, and the guests were all occupied with their own delicious food. He did tone his voice a little down, however.

"The descendant of Genghis Khan?" Trowa might be silent, but he always listened. Duo nodded.

"The very same. True, the family tree is a bit hazy at some points, but it has been established that he was a descendant. I just don't know in which degree."

"A sword, hm." Quatre looked pensive. "What's so special about it?"

"Kol An Anuum ruled for over a century, and when he died, he was rumoured to be close to two hundred and seventy years."

Trowa whistled softly. "There has to be something mysterious involved."

"The sword itself," Heero provided. "He kept it close to him at all times, and it was supposedly his source of longevity."

"But what's even stranger," Duo loved building up suspense, "is that after his death, the sword wasn't taken by the one who defeated him. There are no records of the sword after Kolanuhm... its whereabouts, that is. There's speculation enough floating around, but the truth is that no one physically saw the sword ever again."

"Strange indeed." Trowa laced his fingers together. "If I were the one to conquer such an artefact, I'd be sure to use it."

"Perhaps the sword granted longevity only to Kolanuhm," Quatre suggested. "If it lost its power when separated from its rightful owner, it wouldn't be of any value to others."

"True, true." Duo sipped from his coffee again and got a whipped cream moustache. He licked along his lips to remove it, eliciting a grin from Quatre. The CEO was glad to have Duo among his circle of friends; he sure made things a lot livelier than all his fellow businessmen.

"You're going to search for it yourself, or have you been commissioned? I'm sure that everyone's standing in line to use your unique services."

"It's a sort of commission," Duo said. "You know I only hunt for sport. This was an opportunity I couldn't refuse. It appealed to me, this sword..."

"And the extremity of the expedition itself," Heero said deadpan. "We're going to have to search for it in the Himalayas. Tibet."

"That's incredibly rough, Duo." Quatre sounded worried, and he forgot all about his tea. "The climate, the mountains..."

Duo raised his hand. "Enough already," he said. "I've been scrubbed by Howard, and for your information, I know all about the Himalayas and how to conquer them."

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"None taken," Duo winked and reclined into his chair. "Considering we're going to Tibet, it would be nice if we had a Chinese contact who could guarantee passage for us," he continued. "How's Wufei doing?"

Quatre had no trouble with the change of subject. "The last thing I heard from him was his arrival at his clan," he said. "It's a bit of a mess. Their independency isn't recognized by any government, and their habitat is being preyed upon."

"By who?"

"The soil is extremely rich," Trowa took over from Quatre. "In the mountainous area where Wufei lives are copper and silver mines as well. It belonged to the Chang clan for centuries, but with the current government..." He nodded brusquely. "I'll contact him and see what he can do for you."

"Give him my regards." Duo blew a kiss at Trowa.

"Who's your commissioner, if you're willing to share?" Quatre ignored the kiss, knowing that Duo didn't mean more with it than just a friendly gesture.

"No one else but Marshal Noventa."

"Noventa?" Quatre looked pensive.

"What about him?"

"I don't want to be a bother or to meddle in affairs that are not mine," Quatre said. "Did you agree on some kind of payment?"

"I don't search and retrieve artefacts for money. You should know that."

"I know, I commissioned you before, remember?" Quatre winked. 'However, you could've agreed on something else with Noventa. That information is private, and it's not up to me to inquire about it. In any case, I know for reliable sources that Noventa is as good as bankrupt."

"The man is a highly decorated peace negotiator!"

"You can't buy bread with medals, Duo," Heero said.

"That's an outrage! How come he's bankrupt?"

"He might want to sell the sword and live off of the proceedings as a retirement plan," Trowa suggested.

"He knows that whatever I retrieve goes straight to a museum or to the Maxwell Collection," Duo said. "Nobody commissions me to get the artefact in their own hands."

"I know, Duo. Just be careful."

"Awww," Duo said and cradled his cup of coffee closer. "Don't worry, guys. Nothing happens to me as long as Heero is here."

Quatre smiled and lifted his teacup. "At least there's love to be found in your business."

Maxwell Manor was large enough to house its own hedge maze, a quad bike court, and a large assault course. As part of his exercise regime, Duo made it a habit of taking the course at least once a day. Unlike Heero's regime, that was more focused on martial arts, Duo had a love for gymnastics and liked to jump, run, somersault and climb, traits that had bailed him out more than once and had proven to be very handy during his expeditions. Since Heero had moved back in with him again, he took the assault course with Duo, and they both made it a sport to beat each other to the finish. The record was still in Duo's hands; Heero had sworn he would break it one day.

"Are you ready?" Duo jogged in place, stretching and flexing his muscles. For the exercise, Heero had changed into spandex biker shorts and a loose green t-shirt, showing off his muscles. Duo stuck out his tongue to him, just teasing.

"That's mean. You want to distract me with your tight ass! Where did you get that spandex thing anyway?"

"You've seen it before," Heero said dryly. "You made the same comment back then too, just seconds before you pulled it off of me."

"Let's say that the winner gets to pull the loser's pants down," Duo grinned. "I love peeling you out of your clothes."

"You don't look hot at all with that... that what you're wearing," Heero said mockingly. He disliked Duo's formless, large sweat pants and a long, black t-shirt with a skull on it, which was covered with maggots, torn bits of flesh, and a few blowflies. The name of the hard rock band tied to the shirt was also covered with insects and Heero didn't care to try to read it.

"But you love pulling my pants off," Duo said confidently. He winked at Heero and then turned, like a flick of a switch, completely serious. "All right, on my count!"

Heero took his position and focused on the course in front of him. He heard Duo's voice count down, and as soon as he said "Go!" both men all but flew forward, taking immediately the first obstacle, lifting up their legs high to pass the hurdle. The assault course had been designed and built by Duo's father who wanted to stimulate his sons. Before Solo got a taste of the archaeological expeditions, he'd been a stereotypical bookworm without any life experience. He couldn't get past the first obstacle without falling, spraining his ankles or any other injure; Solo had hated being physically weak all his life, and his younger brother Duo had always outclassed it when it came to physical strength and endurance.

Duo was already climbing the steep wooden scaffold with the minimalist help of a large piece of rope, his gloved hands (another design of Hilde) easy gripping the course material. Heero cursed softly under his breath; he knew the assault course just as well as Duo, but he was just faster. Heero groaned; he didn't like ending up as the loser, even if it did mean that Duo would touch him. He had this extremely sensual way of removing clothes... but getting hot and bothered certainly wasn't helping him beat the assault course, so Heero concentrated and ran behind Duo, his long braid tucked into his shirt.

It didn't take long for Duo to get close to the finish. His personal record was under ninety seconds, which was impressive with the amount of obstacles on the course. His shins burned from the steep hill he had climbed, his shoulder muscles protested from the iron bars he had hung from, and his breathing was going fast. He could smell victory and pumped all of his remaining energy into one burst, to sprint to the finish line. That he didn't make it wasn't his fault; Heero jumped at him, wrapping his arms around his waist and tackling him just before the finish line, and they rolled into the grass, dust and sand from the assault course washing over them.

"That's not fair!" Duo pushed at Heero. "You cheated!"

"This was a tactical move," Heero shushed him and put his lips on his, "a strategic move, if you will. Defeat the enemy with everything you've got."

"So now I'm an enemy?" Duo was mock-hurt. His hands were still on Heero's chest. "Then you're fraternizing with the enemy, mister."

Heero didn't answer and lowered his lips onto Duo's once more, enjoying the taste of his lips; a little salty, he'd been sweating from the exertion and had licked his lips over and over while concentrating on the assault course. Gently, he cupped Duo's face, enjoying how the other responded: warm and full with love. Nothing else felt as good as this, and not a day went by that Heero was grateful that they had picked up their relationship again. He didn't want to think back about the times they were separated; but there was something else he was thinking about.

"Something is bothering me about the upcoming expedition," he said, meanwhile his lips brushing Duo's cheek.

Duo was used to Heero changing subjects and talking about 'business' while they were...sort of intimate. It didn't bother him. Instead, he raked a hand through Heero's hair, ruffling the stubborn strands, tilting Heero's head toward him so he could look him straight in his deep, blue eyes. "What's bothering you about it?"

"Noventa," Heero answered. He shrugged brusquely. "I guess it's because of what Quatre said about him."

"It's not our business to get worked up over his bank account," Duo reacted a little irritated, "though I think it's an outright shame that the ESUN hasn't taken care of him! They could've provided him with a war pension in the very least!"

"I know." Heero heaved a small sigh. "That's not... exactly what I meant. It felt like he was... giving off the wrong kind of vibrations, if you catch my drift."

"No, I don't catch it." Duo pursed his lips. "This man is a highly decorated, well-renowned peace negotiator who has been horribly maltreated by the ESUN and spends his last days in the presence of his ill granddaughter, who also takes care of him. It's maddening sad how a war hero has to depend on the last member of his family, forgotten by everyone. Why don't people remember him? Do they think this peace came falling out of the air?"

"They look to Relena for peace," Heero said. "Noventa made it possible, no doubt about that, but Relena took it from there, assuring peace and stabilizing the nations."

"Noventa passed up the position because he was already in his sixties, Heero. No wonder he didn't think he'd be fit enough to take on such gigantic responsibilities! Relena was too young at the time, but she had the good fortune that Noventa stayed on as an advisor and that she was raised by Darlian. He taught her everything she knew, and with his legacy, Noventa's advice and her own talent, Relena made it to Queen of the World. But..."

"You're getting all worked up, love." Heero noticed Duo tensing up under him and it wasn't his intention to get Duo upset. "I agree with you and we can talk to Relena or representatives of the ESUN ourselves to see if we can improve Noventa's situation, financially and... emotionally."

"But...?" Duo said.

"But it's just bothering me that there's something about him, the expedition and Sylvia, and I can't put my finger on it."

Duo nodded. He knew well to listen to Heero's instincts, and if he couldn't put a finger on it, something really had to be astray.

"I admit: the thing with Sylvia was very strange."

"Did the family physician tell you something about it?"

Duo couldn't help but smile fondly. The Maxwell family physician was a professor in cell biology and was involved in several fields pertaining to his degree, particularly molecular biology and immunology. Professor G had always been in the service of the family, Duo didn't know how his father knew him, but the man was far more than 'just' a physician. Still, he enjoyed working for the family and despite his eccentricity, Duo got along with him quite well. He was an elderly man with grey, mushroom shaped hair, a gravely voice, and a hooked nose the size of a battleship, as Duo usually described it.

"G told me that she said she didn't need anything. The dizzy spell, the coughing, they were all 'normal' to her, she said."

"Noventa mentioned something that doctors couldn't find what was wrong with her."

"Heero, you saw his hands shake. Her hands shook as well when she grabbed the tissue."

"Early Parkinson's?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't allow G to take any blood samples, and the only thing he could do was listen to her heart rate and measure her blood pressure."

"And?"

Duo puffed up his cheeks. "Her blood pressure was too high and her heart rate irregular, but that can be caused by so many other factors. G didn't know what exactly is going on with her, so he couldn't do a thing but to prescribe her bed rest."

"He didn't see Noventa's hands shaking. How could he know what's going on with her if she gives such brief information?"

"Hillary told me she drank a glass of orange juice and a glass of water, but she didn't want something to eat."

"Strange."

"Is that what's bothering you?"

"Hmm-mmm."

"That's not an answer. I know you're worried just before every expedition, but I've seen you snow-proofing your laptop, am I right?"

"Snow-proofing?" Heero chuckled.

"Yes, snow-proofing. Sometimes I don't know what or who you love more: that thing or me."

"No laptop will ever give me this," Heero deadpanned and moved his hand to lower regions, brushing his fingers past a particular sensitive area. Duo barely refrained from moaning out loud.

"Don't, don't," he said but his eyes belied his words. "What if Hillary sees us..."

"The butler doesn't come out to the assault course." Heero moved his fingers to the waistband of Duo's sweat pants, keeping his eyes firmly from the hideous t-shirt. "And he's probably way used to our... activities."

"You didn't win," Duo protested.

"Neither did you."

"You tackled me!"

"I told you, it was a tactical movement..."

"Oh, all right, you devilish sexy man, you..."

"Now you're talking." Heero leaned into Duo and slipped his hand inside his pants, touching and fondling, and the ensuing sounds had nothing to do with taking an assault course.

"Will you be needing me for the night, Master Maxwell, Master Yuy?"

"No, thank you Hillary. It's all right. You may leave."

The butler nodded and closed the door behind him. The only sound was the ticking of the ancient grandfather's clock and the rustling of papers. Duo had studied Noventa's notes for the rest of the day and done more research on the mighty Kol An Anuum. They were in the library of the Maxwell Manor, one of Duo's least favourite places. It reminded him too much of all the time Solo had spend here, and while doing his own research, he often stumbled upon books with Solo's notes in it, his neat handwriting in the margins, a few words underlined or question marks on a page. Solo had loved to bring out stacks of books and sit in front of the massive lit fireplace, leafing through text after text. He loved the smell of paper, of ancient ink, and most of all the knowledge hidden between the words. Duo hated libraries.

Heero looked at his watch. "It's getting late," he said. "We have a lot to do tomorrow to prepare for our trip. I suggest we go to bed."

"Yeah," Duo mumbled. He moved to put all of Noventa's notes back together again, shoving the papers between plastic sheets to preserve them. "Did you find anything?"

"There's enough on Genghis Khan and his descendants, but Kol An Anuum apparently wasn't one of the favourites. There's hardly any text or picture about him."

"It's a typical name, though." Duo started to muse. "From Genghis to Kol An Anuum. Maybe it's not as Mongolian as we thought it is."

"It's about his sword, not the man itself," Heero said.

"Yes, but the man will lead us to the sword, I guess." He rubbed his nose.

"You're tired." Heero closed his own book. "Let's go to bed."

Duo let out an impressive yawn and stretched his arms over his head. He pushed his chair back with his feet and got up with one fluid movement. "Yeah, it's time for bed. It's past midnight, and tomorrow we have a lot to do indeed..."

"When will Howard have the permits?" Heero asked as they left the library. Duo let out another yawn, and he mock-sleepily leaned against Heero, enjoying his close proximity.

"According to his last e-mail, it's going to take a few more days."

"Days? I thought it was difficult to obtain those permits?"

"Wufei's helping out a lot," Duo said. "We owe him big time. Without his help, we wouldn't be able to leave for weeks."

"We have to think of a way to thank him properly," Heero answered. He didn't like owing anyone anything. It gave him the feeling of being dependent.

Without another word, they walked towards Duo's private quarters in the north wing. Duo never wanted to sleep anywhere else, even though the large manor housed plenty of comfortable bedrooms. He just didn't feel at ease sleeping in one of those large, ancient styled bedrooms, each one of them representing a different era or period in world history. Instead, he had rearranged the north wing so, that it was the most modern wing of the manor, including a bedroom suitable to his own wishes: a large bed, an adjacent bathroom, a walk-in closet and very little furniture, leaving the room spacious and open. With the large curtains open, the ceiling-high windows provided a breathtaking vision of the garden, the assault course in the far east corner.

After a few goodnight kisses, Duo was the first one to fall asleep, as usual. Heero relaxed in the bed, his arm around Duo's shoulders. His other hand toyed absent-mindedly with one of Duo's chestnut bangs, and he listened to his regular breathing. Heero closed his eyes. He wasn't that tired, but rest was important for his body. He couldn't go without sleep, that was for sure.

There had been nights when he had felt so alone... When his adoptive father had abandoned him, never returning from the errand he had to run... When he had broken up with Duo, the nights had even been lonelier. He had forsaken sleep, thinking he didn't need it, but he'd been afraid of the loneliness in his sleep. Those dark hours, after midnight until sunrise, had been horrible. Heero Yuy was afraid of nothing except those brutal hours when he felt like there was no one in the world who cared for him and that there was nothing in the world he cared for.

Finding Duo again and rekindling their relationship had been the best things to happen in his life. Heero smiled, feeling the sweet bliss of healthy sleep just in his grasp. His body relaxed, sharing warmth with Duo's naked body, enjoying the trust his lover showed him every minute of the day. Yes, he was blessed, and those dark days were behind him, behind Duo, and...

He opened his eyes again. Something was off. Heero pursed his lips, his eyes slowly adjusting themselves to the dark. Was it just a noise? He tilted his head a little. Next to the bathroom door was a small side table with a few decorative ornaments on it. Under it, just out of sight, Heero had installed a control panel of the alarm system that protected Maxwell Manor. He could see from the corner of his eyes that a light was blinking. It could be anything -- a wild hare in the garden, setting off an alarm, a rodent gnawing on one of the cables... but Heero wasn't that naive. He had installed this system himself, so it was flawless. There were no animal intruders; there was a human intruder.

Gently, Heero slid out of the bed, careful to not awake Duo just yet. In case of an error, he didn't want to wake him just because minimal danger had been detected. He knelt down by the side table and peeked under it, his fingers moving to press the buttons. A small display blinked with a short text: 14 D-3.

Heero grimaced. 14 was the code for burglars, and D-3 was the zone they were operating: the south wing. Now he frowned. The south wing? That's where he'd been with Duo just a few hours ago, the large library and the archive, holding every document and record of the Maxwell Collection. He was about to get up again, when the display started showing much more locations where movement had been detected. Heero didn't hesitate any longer and moved back to the bed, pushing at Duo's shoulder.

"Duo. Wake up, Duo. Now."

"Whatsamatter?" Duo blinked, his eyes clouded with sleep.

"Get up, Duo. We have intruders."

"What?" Heero's stern voice woke him up immediately. Then he realized that Heero had used the word 'intruders', not 'burglars'.

Due to the appeal of the internationally renowned Maxwell Collection, Duo was no stranger to dealing with burglars, but intruders were a whole different kind. Awake, he rolled out of the bed and dressed himself quickly. He followed Heero to the cupboard next to the walk-in closet; he had this cupboard installed at the same moment the detailed alarm system had started to operate.

Heero opened the doors, revealing immediately the vast control panel of the alarm system: he flicked the switches for the cameras as he wanted a visual of the situation. The cameras showed men in black, hurrying through the open gate, trashing the beautifully sculpted grass and flower beddings of the front yard.

"Fuck," Duo said.

"Later," Heero couldn't resist to quip.

"They're all over the place!" Duo's eyes flew over the several screens. "Coming from the north, east, south..." He noticed a large black van standing in front of the main entrance. "How the hell did they get past the gate?"

His question went unanswered. Heero saw something else that was even more terrifying as the alarm lights started to blink. "Guns," he said, "and not the whimsical kind. The system detects electro-magnetic guns, plasma rifles and shotguns. They're moving to the east wing!"

"Fuck! Hilary!"

"Go," Heero said.

"What?" Duo looked up at him.

"Go! Go help him! He stands no chance against these professionals!"

"What about you? You can't take them on all by yourself!"

"Duo..." There was no time to get into a fight. Heero knew Duo could take care of himself, but his deep-rooted protectiveness towards Duo had been an issue between them previously, as Duo interpreted Heero's urge to protect him as disrespect to his own skills.

"They're not inside the house yet," Duo said. "What if we sound the alarm to let them know they've been noticed? Scare them off?"

"I don't think we can scare these guys off by any alarm system," Heero said. "Besides, it'll go off automatically as soon as they're within ten yards. All right, you make sure Hillary is unharmed, I'll check up on..."

"Don't be such a fucking hero!" Duo slammed the palm of his hand against Heero's chest. "They're ten to twelve men, wielding guns..!"

"They're going after Hillary first, making sure that no one will be alive to call for help! We have to split up and keep the element of surprise."

"All right." Duo's face was set in grim determination. Moving away from Heero, he punched in a code on the control panel. A soft click and a secret cabinet in the bedroom opened, showing a wide array of weapons. Duo pressed his fingers against the glass separating him from the weapons, as his prints were quickly checked.

Another soft click, and the glass doors opened. Duo immediately took out his Uzi's and cocked them. He grabbed the short-barrelled shotgun Heero preferred, a Remington 870, and handed it over to him. They worked in silence to equip themselves with the weapons and ammunition. Duo strapped the Uzi holsters around his waist, clicking spare clips into the designated pockets. Heero slung the Remington over his shoulder and picked up an extra sling with ammunition. The shotgun had a devastating impact when fired, but Duo preferred the wide spray of the Uzis, which were faster to reload than the Remington.

He was about to say something when the alarm went off. Duo turned to the monitors, the cameras displaying a horde of men running forward and jumping through the windows.

"Fuckers," Duo said out loud. "It's a goddamn guerrilla attack! If I get my hands on them..!"

"Hillary first," Heero repeated, and Duo looked angrily at him.

"I know," he said, voice low. "Quit treating me like a baby, Heero."

"Now's not the time," Heero said, taken aback by Duo's vehemence. He adjusted the sling with the extra ammunition around his shoulder and grabbed the Remington with both hands.

Even with the loud, shrill noises of the alarm, the sound of iron gates rattling down was audible. The Manor disposed over an impressive collection of safety measures and back-up systems in case of burglary or any other illegal way of entering the house. The iron gates shut off parts of hallways and wings that were extra vulnerable, sealing off the entry to the rooms hosting the valuable collection. Anxious, Duo asked himself what it was those men were after. They had chosen a veritable guerrilla technique, approaching the Manor from all angles.

Not a second later, he and Heero ducked instinctively as a thunderstorm of glass shattering and splintering all over tiled floors rattled them.

"Fuck! They're coming through the atrium!"

"We need to go there," Heero hissed. The main hall with its glass-in-lead atrium was one of the main treasures of Maxwell Manor. He could see the pain in Duo's eyes briefly from the loss of such a family heirloom before he steeled himself again, anger clouding his violet eyes, darkened by the night time.

"Shoes," he said and quickly went into the walk-in closet. He emerged seconds later with two sturdy pairs of shoes, both with thick rubber soles and steeled toes. It didn't take much than a few seconds more to put the shoes on, and Heero straightened himself, the Remington close to his side.

"Duo, we..." He was talking to empty air. Duo sprinted past him, out of the bedroom. He went to the right, to the east wing. Heero followed him, still amazed how graceful and how silent Duo could move with the large boots. He had already escaped into the darkness; the intruders had cut the electricity.

The back-up system wasn't working at usual capacity; Heero suspected the intruders to have destroyed the generators completely. Only a small, dim strip of light was visible, outlining the hallway. Heero recognized the lighting; it was usually on to call the visitors' attention to the ancient floor tiles and carpentry. Now it provided him barely enough light to find his way through the Manor. Heero's grip on the Remington tightened as he went in the opposite direction, to the west wing.

When Duo turned eighteen, his father gave him the most bizarre gift for his birthday ever: a private military commando training. He was taught several survival techniques, along with an intense weapon training that had made Duo's mother shake her head with disapproval.

Years later, Duo came to realize how precious this gift had been to him; not only had it helped him to get out of some tough situations, it had also taught him to keep a rational, collected mind during moments of intense stress -- like his own Manor being under siege by strange, unknown men.

Who in the world would wage such an attack on the Manor? The guns, cutting the electricity, breaking and entering into several wings at the same time: that wasn't the work of a common burglar. Duo slid the Uzis out of their holster. Someone was going to answer all these questions sooner or later, but for now he had another urgent matter to attend to.

He was halfway through the hallway with the mannequins, displaying their uniforms as if they could come alive any moment. As only the floor lights were on, the mannequins were eerily lit from below, casting creepy shadows on the expressionless faces. The alarm had tripped the extra heavy-duty iron cages to protect the authentic and valuable garments as well as the weapons on the mannequins.

Duo gritted his teeth. No one was going to touch his collection!

He spotted a crouched figure between the two glass and iron cages of the samurai mannequins from the Kofun era, the gilt bronze decoration of the armour glowing faintly. Duo wasn't the kind of person to shoot someone from behind, so he sprinted forward, jumped and landed his boot in the man's back. Grunting out loud, the man rolled over, his face hidden behind a mask and night vision goggles. Duo was quick to hit him again, the steel toed boots connecting with his jaw. A sickening crack was followed by a muffled, deep groan of pain, and the intruder moved his hands to his face, curling into a ball.

"Who are you?" Duo demanded, pointing both Uzis at the man. "Who do you work for? Why are you here?"

The man rolled from his left to his right side, hands clutching at his jaw, moaning in pain.

Duo poked him once more with his foot, brushing his ribs. "Who are you?" he repeated. "I'm not known for my patience! What are you..."

It was the smallest of movements, but he caught it. Duo had just enough time to curse himself mentally for not checking his surroundings -- and he threw himself to the left, away from the man on the floor. The gunshot almost tore his eardrums, and the bullet from a Gatling shotgun blew a hole in the wall, right between the mannequin display cases.

Rolling over the floor, Duo moved his Uzis and searched out his target: another man dressed in black, face hidden, and a camera mounted on his helmet. Duo's eyes went wide. What was this kind of equipment? He stared at the Gatling shotgun, the huge weapon slowly turning around. It was massive, and one shot would blow half his body away...but it was also slow, and Duo had his fast, bullet-spewing Uzis.

He didn't hesitate for a second, aimed and fired. Another grunt, and the man sank to his knees -- all that equipment and apparently no one was wearing a bulletproof vest. Duo got up on both feet and went back to the first man, who was lying very still between the debris of the wall. A large splinter of the 16th century wainscoting had come loose due to the bullet impact and pierced his jugular vein. Blood seeped along his neck and into his clothes. Duo sighed. What a mess.

He was about to continue his way when he noticed something on the floor, next to the dead body of the first man. Duo scooped it up, carefully; it was a black bag and he flipped it open, staring at its contents.

This time, he grimaced. Everything needed to set up a bomb was inside the bag, including the C-4; this was getting worse by the moment. He slung the bag over his shoulder and broke out in a jog, keeping his breathing under control and his mind focused as he went deeper into the east wing, to Hillary's quarters.

The door of his butler's bedroom was open. Duo refrained from cursing. A sickening feeling came over him. If he was going to find Hillary dead... Duo moved forward, his hand reaching for the door to push it further open. The Uzi in his hand made a faint 'clunk' sound as he pushed against the mahogany wood.

Step by step, disturbed at the thought of what he was going to find, Duo slid through the door opening and into the room, both guns at the ready. He didn't need more than one second to take in the situation. Empty. No one was here. Where was Hillary?

Duo's eyes darted through the room, sweeping over the furniture. Nothing seemed out of place, only the bed linen was tousled. No blood, no signs of a struggle... had Hillary been abducted? The adrenaline was pumping in his ears. He took a few steps to the right. Think. What would Hillary's first concern be when he heard the alarm? Duo's gaze halted at the slender silver framed picture next to Hillary's bed.

Of course, his father. Jeeves. Duo left the room and went down the hallway. No bad guys here, but he wasn't about to drop his guard just like before. Jeeves Wilson's bedroom was close to his son's, and Duo could see light coming from the door. He wondered what the light source was. Hillary was pretty inventive despite his stoic and stiff upper lip personality, and his father was very important to him. The Wilsons had been in the service of the Maxwell family for generations, and the thought of something happening to them was a heart wrenching one. If any of the bad guys had done something to them...

Careful, Duo gave one knock on the door before swinging it open. Hillary jumped to his feet in a preposterous pose of fighting him: his chest heaving, the bewildered look on his face comical in any other circumstances.

"It's all right, it's me," Duo said, holstering his Uzis.

"Master Maxwell, please help us," Hillary said, relieved to see him. He dropped his fighting stance and knelt down quickly beside his father, who was struggling to breathe. "He's having a heart attack," he said, his own face pale as a ghost. "He went out of bed when he heard the alarm, and he tripped over the carpet..."

Duo knelt down as well, his senses warned at the signs of the heart attack; Jeeves had broken out in cold sweat, he could barely breathe, and he struggled to stay conscious. There wasn't a lot of time.

"Did you give him aspirin? To prevent blood clotting?" Duo asked. Hillary nodded.

"I got one down into him, but he needs to get to a hospital. What's going on?" The butler asked, lowering his voice at the last question. Duo lowered his voice as well.

"Intruders in the Manor. We don't know what they're after, but they're not getting away with anything. Don't worry."

Hillary shook his head, frazzled. "I heard gunshots..."

"We have to get your father to the music room," Duo said, interrupting him. Hillary looked confused for a moment, but then he nodded. The music room had a secret passage to a hallway that lead out of the Manor without being spotted. There was no telling how many of these intruders were crawling around the premises; Duo had counted at least twelve men before he left his bedroom, but there could be many, many more. "I'll help you," he said. "We're going to move you, Mister Wilson."

"M-Master Maxwell..." the elderly man spoke with a faint voice.

"Easy, easy, we'll do the work," Duo said.

"Wh-what's going on?"

"Don't worry about it, Father," Hillary said, a slight tremble in his voice. "We're going to get you into safety."

Too fatigued to answer, Jeeves Wilson rolled with his head and didn't protest when both Duo and Hillary helped him up, slowly getting him on his feet. He leaned heavily on the both of them. The music room wasn't that far, and Duo made sure he supported Jeeves with his left side, to keep his right side unblocked. He was quicker to shoot with his right than his left, and who knew who they could come across to in the hallway?

He hoped Heero was faring better.

The south wing was the 'intellectual' wing, as Duo loved to call it. It housed the library and the impressive, massive records archive of the Maxwell Collection. Every piece was neatly catalogued and described into detail.

Heero wasn't particularly worried about the library, knowing that it had been sealed with iron bars. The archive was even better guarded than the library itself, with a double iron gate and bullet proof glass; still it bothered Heero that he heard the most activity coming from there. He recognized the distinctive sound of a welding torch; it had to be multiple torches, as he could hear the sound swell in volume the more he approached the staircase leading up to the library.

The Remington a comfortable weight at his side, Heero moved forward slowly, grateful for taking the time to put on shoes. The glass of the broken atrium was spread all over the floor, cold wind blowing through the open roof. He couldn't make his way through without making a sound, the glass grinding under his soles, but the blaring alarm drowned out everything else. All he had to do was to make sure no one approached him from his blind side.

Hiding behind a pillar, he tried to gauge the man guarding the staircase. Dressed in black, a mask hiding his eyes and his night vision goggles conveniently hanging around his neck, Heero decided to make use of the man's sloppiness. He turned on the bright light from the Remington, blinding the guard instantly, and he covered the distance between them by sprinting towards him, whacking him with the butt of the Remington.

The guard fell on the floor without much protest. Heero grabbed him at the collar of his black vest, quickly looking around him if someone had noticed. No movement.

"Is this about Duo Maxwell? Duo Maxwell?" He hissed at the man.

"Che cosa?"

"Duo Maxwell," Heero hissed again, shaking him. The guard tried to move his arm, but Heero drove his knee into his stomach, eliciting a deep grunt. "Why are you here? Is this about Duo Maxwell?"

"Ottengami le vostre mani fuori, voi bastardo ripugnante!" The man squirmed and writhed in a futile attempt to break free. Heero pressed his knee in further.

"You're Italian?" If he didn't know any better, the man just told him to keep his dirty hands off of him, calling him a bastard to boot. What were Italians doing here?

"Bastardo," the man said again.

"Yeah yeah." Heero wasn't impressed. "You better talk, signore, or you'll be meeting a very nice friend of mine." He shifted around to show the intruder his Remington, and cocked it for good measure. He expected the man to be afraid, staring straight into the barrel, but instead, he started to smile. "What the..."

A foamy substance dribbled over the man's lips. The drool-like suds slid over his chin and his eyes glazed over in mere seconds. Staring in disbelief, Heero let go of him and the intruder's body relaxed, head falling on the floor, immediately rolling to the side. As if to annoy him, the last expression on the man's face was one of smugness; the smile on his face was a wide grin of someone knowing a deep, hideous secret and whose life was worth nothing in order to keep that secret.

Heero got up, discarding the body. He went up the stairs, his focus on the library. He took care of two more guards, the Remington proving its worth. It was daunting, however, to see the professional equipment the intruders had, including their weapons. Heero started to believe that he might be in over his head.

The majority of the activity seemed to be concentrated around the library for whatever reason, but there were others in the Manor, spread over the several wings, and Duo... What if Duo encountered too many of these assholes?

Heero could hear mumbling. Ignoring the alarm, he could hear the welding torches and increasing voices. The mumbling quickly became talking at louder volume, and he strained his ears to overhear them. He picked up on something familiar, a name, and just as Heero was about to recall where he had heard that name before, his entire world exploded.

"I hate you, Duo Maxwell!" Hilde Schbeiker stamped with her foot on the tiled floor, her 5" heel no match for the ancient, sturdy stone. "I hate you so much!"

Tears were streaming down her face, her cheeks colored with a furious red. She still stamped on the floor, grinding the glass shards into unrecognizable splinters.

"Do you know what you're doing to me, huh? Do you know how difficult it is for me to not beat you senseless? You scared the shit out of me! You scared the ever-living shit out of me!"

"Hilde, please," Duo said, exhausted. "It's a good thing Heero can't hear you, even though I wouldn't be surprised if he did, as your voice has reached an impressive, new and unknown volume."

"I'm sorry," she said, downtrodden. "It's just that... Well, goodness me, Duo, I saw two ambulances and at least three coroner's vans outside!"

"I know, it's okay." Duo smiled softly, looking down at Heero as he stroke his hair, ruffling the unruly strands. One of the paramedics was checking his ears with a scope, clicking with his tongue as soon as he was done.

"You have a very lucky friend," he said. "Both his ear drums are perforated, but he's lucky not to have his entire head blown off."

"Heero is indestructible," Duo said, patting him on the shoulder. Heero looked up at him, not understanding what he said, and Duo gave him a quick cuddle. The paramedic continued treating Heero's injuries, consisting of cuts and scrapes and some first-degree burns. Duo didn't leave his side but looked up at Hilde.

"Can you tell me what exactly happened?" she asked.

"The Manor was attacked by these guys," Duo said. "Heero said they were Italian."

"Mafia?" Hilde's eyes went wide.

"We don't know for sure, but they fucking blew a hole in my library," Duo grunted. "Anyway, they attacked it in military style, so someone has to be behind this all, organizing it into perfection. They had everything with them to blow up the entire Manor if they wanted to, and we retrieved guns and equipment from the...bodies that shows that there's a well-operating, well-financed team behind it all."

"Did they take something?"

"You never guess what," Duo said, patting Heero on the head as he got visibly annoyed by the paramedic poking and prodding at him.

"Tell me."

"Noventa's notes," Duo answered sourly. "All this devastation and violence for a few goddamn notes."

Hilde remained silent. "I...I just came by to bring you your clothes," she said. "For your... expedition to the Himalayas, if you're still... going to continue."

"We're going, oh yes," Duo stated. "But Heero has to recover first, and I can't leave the Manor with one big hole in the south wing and the roof over my head in pieces."

Hilde stared at the glass remnants on the floor. "What a waste." She looked like she could cry.

"It's all right," Duo answered, a little too lightly. He was devastated by the loss of the atrium and the destruction of the library. Whoever the intruders were, they had simply blown a hole in the wall to escape from the Manor. Even though the majority of the library had been sealed off, the damages were devastating. It was going to take a lot of time and effort to reconstruct it again, and those were only the material damages. Heero could've been killed by the explosion; the force of the blast had flung him over the balustrade, fortunately saving him from severe injuries. "We're not going to leave for a while, it seems."

"I know." Hilde's voice was affectionate, she knew exactly what Duo was thinking. They had been friends for so long that they could read each other perfectly. That was why she wasn't pressing him for more details. "I'll go get the clothes from my car," she said. "I'll have them brought to your bedroom, okay?"

Duo shook his head. "Hillary isn't around. His father suffered a heart attack due to all the commotion. He's in the hospital with him."

"How awful." Hilde shivered. "If this is all because of that sword, I'm already starting to despise it."

Heero pushed the paramedic away and yelled at him to stop. Duo motioned at the paramedic to leave him be. The man packed his medical equipment and gave some last instructions on how to treat Heero's injuries. Heero glared at him, but Duo thanked him for his efforts and showed him out the door, leaving Hilde and Heero alone.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him, exaggerating her pronunciation. As she expected, he read her lips without much trouble.

"I hate the ringing sound in my ears," he answered. "I hear nothing else, which is really annoying. I guess I've been lucky, yes. If they had detonated the library I probably had been killed."

"They were after Noventa's notes," Hilde said. Heero nodded and plucked at the bandages around his wrist.

"Stupid," he said. "I have every piece of Noventa's notes scanned, so it's not a big loss to us. I just wonder why they used all this violence to get the original."

"I'm just wondering how they knew where to look," Hilde said. She looked up at the broken atrium, staring at the overcast sky. "All this violence and devastation, people getting killed..." She realized that she had been talking while not looking at Heero, so she quickly repeated her words to his face.

"People wanting to kill themselves," Heero corrected her.

"What?"

"When I encountered that guard, he was very happy to kill himself instead of talking to me." He scoffed at the memory. "Someone very powerful must be behind all of this..."

"Or someone very scary, if they're willing to give up their lives..."

"Hey, look at who I found," Duo interrupted them, dragging Howard with him. The elderly man took in the damages rather stoically, but everyone knew he had to be upset, just like Hilde.

"It's really astounding," he said, lips pursed. "In my entire life, I've never seen such destruction in the Manor before. Whoever did this..."

"Was professional and organized," Duo finished the sentence. "We'll tell you about everything that has happened, Howard, Hilde. First I have to take care of some business, sign some papers and all that fun stuff. Why don't you go to my office, and I'll catch up to you?"

At least twenty-five minutes later, Duo opened the door of his office, visibly exhausted. He had to give statements about the three men killed on his premises, and the technical crew was still busy collecting evidence and other materials. The paramedics had left, and the coroners would soon follow after they had wrapped up their business and filled out more paperwork. Sighing, Duo dropped in his chair, looking at Heero, who shared the exhausted expression with him.

"I'll keep it brief," Howard said. "You've both gone through a hectic night, and that's keeping it simple. Heero already told me what happened, Duo, so don't bother rehashing it." Howard also made sure to pronounce his words in an exaggerated manner, so Heero could read his lips without much effort. "You mentioned someone named Bartoli previously, and Heero told me he overheard the name Bartoli before the explosion went off." He went with his large hand in one of the many pockets of his Hawaiian shirt, pulling out a small picture. He handed it to Duo.

"This is a ship," Duo said after studying the picture. "A sunken ship."

"May I introduce you to the Maria Doria," Howard said. "A cruise liner that sank in the North Atlantic Ocean decades ago, even before the Gundam wars."

"This wreck is from even before I was born," Duo marveled. "Why are you showing it to me?"

"Take another look at it," was all that Howard said. Duo opened the top drawer of his desk and retrieved a magnifying glass. It was a copy of an ancient picture, all gritty and spotted, but as Duo moved the glass over it, he suddenly let out a gasp.

"Exactly," Howard grinned.

"What's going on?" Heero said, almost yelling because he couldn't hear the volume of his own voice.

"Here," Duo handed him the picture and the magnifying glass, "look at the name of the ship."

"Maria Doria," Heero said and held the picture close, "what...Impresa Bartoli," he exclaimed, baffled.

"Yes, the Maria Doria was built and operated by the Bartoli Company." Howard tapped on the picture. "It was quite the family business too. Gianni was slated to become the next CEO after his traveling around the world."

"Where he met Noventa in Chengdu," Duo added. "But that's not possible, Howard. The Maria Doria sank before Gianni could assume any position in the company!"

"True, very true -- but ask yourself why it sank."

"Ow man, you're not telling me... Mafia?"

"The Bartolis have a very large criminal background, Duo. They don't belong to the mafia though. They are above the mafia; that's how much power and influence they have. The entire family is into the shipping business: salvaging, building, outfitting, and operating. According to the information I was able to acquire, the Maria Doria was their first cruise liner, and it was doomed to fail from the first splash into the water."

"So they sank it," Duo said. "And hustled the insurance company for the money?"

"It got them millions." Howard checked if Heero was following the conversation and saw that nothing escaped him. "It was the start of their wealth. They had invested everything in the Maria Doria, so when it 'sank'," he coughed, "the entire family made great profit from the insurance money."

"So where does that leave Gianni?" Hilde asked.

"In the Himalayas, frozen to death," Duo said deadpan. "I guess the family allowed him to travel around before assuming his responsibilities as head of the Bartoli Company. They couldn't know that he would die."

"It left the family in ruins," Howard took the picture back from Heero. "Gianni's son, Marco, was just a toddler. There was no one else to lead the family, and they fell apart faster than their own cruise liner sank. All that's left of the Bartoli family is Marco, and no one knows where he is or what he's doing..."

"...but for breaking and entering Manors in order to retrieve notes on historical swords," Heero said. He looked frustrated, as he couldn't hear the intonation in the others' voices.

"He might very well be behind this." Howard put the picture back into one of his pockets. "So I suggest once more that you should be very, very careful."

"Suggestion duly noted," Duo yawned right in his face, "but I think we're first going to catch up on some sleep. Like you said, the night's been hectic. I have a lot to take care of, but right now Bartoli can kiss my sweet ass."

"Don't you think about it," Hilde said quickly when she saw Heero open his mouth. "You'll both catch up on some sleep, and Howard and I will stay here to take care of business."

"Oh, before you go, Duo," Howard adjusted his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, "I arranged for your friend Wufei to pick you up at Chengdu. He'll have all the necessary permits for you to travel to and through Tibet."

"Thank you," Duo said. "I appreciate it."

"All right, get yourself to bed. I'll see if I can find some reliable repairmen to start the reconstruction on the Manor, and if I hear something from Hillary and Jeeves, I'll let you know."

"Thank you for everything," Duo repeated. "It means a lot to me. Com'on Heero, let's go."

When Heero woke up, Duo's side of the bed was empty. Confused, he propped himself up on one elbow and scanned the room.

"Duo?" He asked out loud. The ringing in his ears was still present, and according to the paramedic it was going to take a while before his eardrums had recovered from the blast. Heero had rather broken an arm or a leg; he hated not being able to hear Duo's breathing, the steady breathing of his lover that lulled him to sleep, feeling safe and secure. "Duo!"

Heero realized that even if Duo was hollering back, he couldn't hear him. Annoyed, he slid out of the bed and grabbed a bathrobe. His stomach churned a little. Where was Duo? It wasn't like he had left the Manor; he probably thought that Heero was still asleep.

He decided to check Duo's office first. It had been such a crazy night and day, perhaps Duo had gone to the gym for his usual workout, or he could be in the swimming pool... but his intuition proved right, as he saw Duo sitting behind his large desk, his laptop opened. Duo frowned at the screen, face contorted in very deep concentration. The moment Heero moved behind him and put his hands on his shoulders, Duo put his hands over his, squeezing. He craned his neck to look at Heero before he started to talk.

"How do you feel?"

"A lot better," Heero answered. "Except for the ears, of course. What are you doing? You should be in bed, resting."

"I couldn't sleep. I just couldn't think of why they wanted Noventa's notes. What does that sword mean to the Bartoli family?"

Heero gazed at the laptop screen, recognizing his very own scans of the Marshall's notes. "You went over them again?"

"To the smallest detail," Duo grumbled. "With this information, they could start up their own expedition to retrieve the sword."

"I wouldn't know why Bartoli is interested either."

"It could be revenge." Duo heaved a sigh. "Gianni died on his trip in Tibet. Maybe his son feels like that, as soon as he retrieves the sword, his father didn't die in vain."

"Nonsense." Heero raked with his hands through Duo's slightly damp hair. He smelled like a faint breeze, summer-y yet with a hint of winter, a scent that was unique to Duo, and he buried his fingers in the thick chestnut strands. "Bartoli traveled with Noventa together to Lhasa. Did Noventa mention the sword to him? How would Bartoli know what Noventa's purpose was?"

"I can't recall if Noventa mentioned the sword to Bartoli," Duo craned his neck and Heero showed a wistful smile.

"You're talking too fast."

Duo repeated his words, articulating them slightly exaggerated. "Even if we assume Noventa told Bartoli about the sword, why would he search for it? Gianni died in a cave on a mountain pass, and Noventa went to the family to tell them about his death."

"Revenge, perhaps," Heero murmured. "Like you said. Perhaps he learned about Noventa commissioning us, and he wants to find the sword first, just to piss Noventa off."

"Noventa gave us his notes in good trust. We decided to pursue his lead. The Marshall kept his notes for over forty years. Why decide to retrieve them now, in a well-protected Manor?"

"Possibly because he wanted to show off is power? Why don't we give Bartoli a rest for now? We assume and we assume, but we don't know a thing for sure. We keep saying we were attacked by Bartoli's men, but we don't know for sure."

"That's my Heero," Duo said, smiling. "You don't stop until you know every detail, do you? But you're right. We have nothing to accuse Bartoli of. Why don't we concentrate on the men and see if we can find any leads?"

"You're still talking too fast. Must be your Yankee genes..."

"Hey! Since when do you know Americans who talk fast? Besides, I'm part British, from the mother's side, you know."

"Duo, I can't make heads or heels out of what you're saying. Talk slower."

"Maybe we should just quit talking and start kissing..."

Heero couldn't help but grin. If there was anything he admired the most about Duo Maxwell, it was his strength to stay on his feet, no matter what happened. He knew how Duo was upset from the destruction of the atrium and the library, yet Duo refused to dwell upon it, refused to feel defeated.

His lips met Duo's immediately, as he could read 'kissing' no matter how fast Duo spoke. Their arms slid around each other, a warm and loving embrace.

"We've never done it in my office before," Duo whispered, emphasizing the word 'office'. Heero's blue eyes expressed slight confusion, and then he got the message from Duo's wide, devilish grin.

"There's got to be a first time for everything..."

"Oh, shut up."

The next morning saw Howard once more at the manor, but to Duo's question if he was going to replace Hillary, the elderly man threw his newspaper at him. The atrium and the hole in the library's wall had been covered with building material to keep the rain out; it was a provisional solution and Howard had taken it upon himself to find the correct building materials and the craftsmen to restore the Manor in its previous glory. As the atrium was covered with dark, stainless steel plates, the magnificent hallway with its double winged staircases looked like a graveyard with all its dark ebony wood that used to shine from the filtered daylight.

For once, Heero had been grateful for his loss of hearing; the construction workers had been drilling and hammering all night and day to get the plates into place. Duo had been terribly annoyed and had spend most of his time at the gym, his iPod blasting his usual kind of death metal as he worked his way through his gymnastic routines.

Good news arrived in the afternoon; Jeeves Wilson had pulled through the night satisfactory. Hillary, who had spent night and day at his father's bedside, called Duo personally on his cell phone to tell the good news. Duo told both Wilsons to take it easy, as Hillary wanted to come to the Manor to resume his work. He was, however, relieved to have Duo's permission to stay at his father's side; it was going to take a lot of rest and extra care before Jeeves could return home.

Hilde visited the Manor as well, to make slight modifications to the costume she had designed for Duo. Heero watched when Duo was fitting the garment, and he whistled. White looked extremely good on Duo, and Hilde had the habit to make the fabric as form-fitting as possible. She worked magic on her clothes; as with the other costumes she designed for Duo, this white fabric was thermal, insulated, moisture-controlled, and a barrier for gunshots. It wasn't bulletproof, but it was sturdy enough to slow the impact of a bullet, rendering injuries much less severe. She had offered to make a costume for Heero as well, but he had declined.

Equipment was extremely important to the expedition. Heero was glad he could concentrate on testing everything, making sure all the equipment was in perfect working order. A faulty oxygen tank was the last thing they needed while trekking through the Himalayas. He downloaded maps and obtained satellite images of the Himalayas, printing them on the best quality paper he could find.

Using one of the massively large tables in a dining room, Heero spread out the maps to determine a route, studying the various options and possibilities. Wufei had confirmed to meet them in Chengdu, and he knew a couple of Sherpa who could guide them into the mountains. Much more preparation than young, naive Marshall Noventa, but Heero wanted to know beforehand where he was going, not enjoying the idea to be dependent on others to find his way.

He didn't notice Duo entering the room until his shadow fell over the huge satellite images, which startled him.

"Sorry," Duo said. "I didn't know how to approach you. I didn't think tapping on the shoulder would be the best."

"Never mind," Heero said. "It's not your fault that I still can't hear anything."

"Nothing at all?" Duo asked, and Heero shook his head. "Well, it's not that surprising. You were so close to the blast; it would be astounding if you recovered your hearing already."

"It's extremely annoying." Heero didn't like to complain, but he preferred a broken arm or leg to loss of hearing. Duo turned towards the maps and images, gazing over them briefly.

"What do you think?"

"This is the most possible route to pass the mountains, following Noventa's path," Heero pointed at the small, red needle pins he had marked the route with. "It's going to be physically challenging. We have to scale the Annapurna and pick up the Kora La pass at 15.072 feet. We're going to need oxygen for that."

"That's close to the border of Nepal," Duo commented. Heero moved his fingers, pointing to another needle pin.

"Here's where the Annapurna is separated from the Dhaulagiri. We need to go straight between the mountains to get into Tibet: the Kali Gandaki Gorge."

Duo looked worried. "That's the deepest gorge in the world!"

"It used to be a part of an ancient trade route," Heero said. "If we trek around it, it's going to take us three weeks to get into the country. And...according to his notes, Noventa would have used the Kali Gandaki Gorge if the...accident with Bartoli didn't happen."

"So there must be the monastery where he went to for help," Duo pointed at the satellite image. Hidden between the snowy rocks and mountain sides, an elevated roof of a monastery was visible, just barely. Duo used a magnifying glass to study the exceptional pagoda style of the monastery. Leaning over the large table, he could hear Heero typing at the keyboard of his laptop.

"Here it is, Burqug Lamaling Monastery. It's open to visitors, and there's a route straight from Lhasa. An excellent starting point, I'd say."

"All right. Hopefully someone there remembers Noventa and Bartoli and can give us some more information."

"You look a little tense," Heero said suddenly.

"Hm?"

"A little tense," Heero repeated. He watched Duo closely, the way he leaned over the table. Usually Duo would slouch a little and lean, completely comfortable, on the tabletop. Now he held his body strained and tensed, as if he wanted to avoid touching the table at all costs.

"I just have a lot on my mind, with the Manor and all," Duo answered and showed Heero a brilliant smile, but he didn't fall for it.

"If this is about the expedition..."

"I want to do this," Duo cut him off. "Come on Heero, there's nothing I'm afraid of. I've paraglided from a pyramid, I've dived into every ocean in the world, and I've rappelled from helicopters. A trek through the Himalayas isn't scaring me."

"Then what is?" Heero asked simply. Duo remained silent for a few moments, his smile slightly forced. He moved his hands to cup Heero's face, and teasingly touched his earlobes.

"I've called G to come over this afternoon," he said, "to check up on you."

"What?"

"I want to know if you're fit enough to go on the expedition."

"I'm fit enough! I don't need a doctor!"

"Your ears," Duo moved Heero's earlobes back and forth, "what if such heights as in the Himalayas are disastrous for your ears?"

"Nonsense. That's just bullshit, Duo."

"I love it when you talk dirty, love. But you're going to have G look at your ears, or else you're going to sleep on the couch tonight."

Duo was barely finished when his cell phone started to ring. Heero stepped away from him so Duo could take out his cell phone, but his annoyed glare didn't elude him. Duo knew that Heero wasn't fond of G, but the Maxwell family physician had strangely enough a soft spot for both him and Duo.

"Hey, Quatre," Duo exclaimed happily. Few people had his private number; only the ones he regarded as his closest friends had the privilege of calling him. He laughed out loud. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't hear the doorbell! We're out of a butler at the moment. Just stay put, and I'll open the door for you."

He cut the connection, still laughing. "What do you know: Quatre is at our front door and I didn't hear the bell. I don't know how Hillary hears it wherever he is, but I sure miss him!"

"What's Winner doing on our doorstep?" Heero asked, a little sourly. Duo gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I asked him if he might have information on Impresa Bartoli. Apparently, he wants to tell me in person, or he was just in the neighborhood and decided to drop by."

"Yeah, right," Heero snorted. Quatre Raberba Winner was the CEO of Winner Industries and had business contacts all over the world; he was sure to have some information on the mysterious Bartoli family. He waited for Duo to return with his guests, not surprised to see Quatre's companion Trowa Barton walking along with him but irritated to see Professor G., who had arrived at the same time.

"I'll take a look at your boyfriend's ears first, Duo," the professor said, grinning. Coupled with his crooked nose and eccentric hairstyle, he looked like a criminal about to commit the heist of his life. Heero sighed and acquiesced; no couch was comfortable enough to sleep on. Quatre and Trowa greeted him before the professor whisked Heero away to a room to have some privacy for the medical examination.

"What happened here?" Quatre's sharp eyes had noticed the darkness in the large hall, and as soon as he looked up, he gasped at the metal plates covering what once was the atrium. "I saw construction work from the outside, the south wing. What's going on?"

"I'll tell you all about it," Duo said. "Let's just wait until Heero gets back, okay?"

"What's with his ears?" Trowa wanted to know. Duo showed a tired smile.

"I'll tell you everything," he said, "but now I have to take care of coffee and tea."

"You said you were out of a butler," Quatre said, worriedly. "I can lend you some personnel, if you're really in a bind?"

"The Wilsons have taken care of my family for generations," Duo said. "It would feel like treason to hire anyone else for the moment, thank you. Don't worry, it's temporary. It all has to do with what happened here."

"I can't wait to hear it," Quatre rubbed his hands as if excited. "I'll tell you about what I could find on Bartoli after you're done."

"Deal," Duo said and left his guests alone to go to the kitchen.

The teacups were filled, Duo's coffee mug was topped with a scandalous amount of whipped cream and sprinkles, and he had even found a large box with luxury cookies. He simply ripped off the lid and put the box on the table, munching on his first choice: a double chocolate chip cookie with macadamia nuts.

Trowa stirred his tea, passing on the sweets, and Quatre took his time to search out a treat. He had all the time, as Duo was busy telling the entire story, starting with his research on the sword to the attack on the manor, finishing with their most recent preparations, planning the route through the Himalayas.

Duo greedily drank from his coffee, dipping his nose into the whipped cream, as his throat had run dry from all the talking. Quatre and Trowa had listened attentively, not interrupting him once, but they were obviously brimming with questions.

"Do you really think it was all about the sword?"

"It has to be. They went straight for Noventa's notes," Duo answered. To accommodate Heero, everyone was talking slower and well articulated. "It holds all the information we have; I'm sure Bartoli is going to start in Nyingtri prefecture just like us."

"Concerning Bartoli," Trowa took over, "we have found some information on him. It appears that Winner Sr. has been in contact with Bartoli Sr., Gianni's father, but the business deals were cancelled."

"Cancelled?"

"The impresa went bankrupt, all of the sudden."

Duo looked at Heero. "The sinking of the Maria Doria."

"I see you did some research yourself already," Quatre smiled. "I won't ask you for your sources, Duo. But when I was trying to gather some more information about Bartoli, I stumbled upon these unfriendly types. Probably the same types who broke into the Manor."

Trowa produced a mauve file from the briefcase he'd been carrying and put it on the table, flipping it open. He picked the top of a bundle of pictures and turned it over. Duo and Heero leaned forward to take a look, frowning simultaneously.

Three men, all clad in black and carrying heavy weapons, posed in front of the camera as if they were having the greatest fun. The smiles on their faces were nothing but forced grimaces, and cruelty was visible in their eyes. All three of them had a crew cut, no beards or moustaches, and were bulked up like a bodybuilder. On the shoulder pads of the jackets was an insigne with a red circle, crossed with a squiggly line ending in an arrow head, a dot in the upper right corner and a thick line in the middle of the circle.

Heero's eyes went wide. "I've seen that insignia before," he said.

"The intruders?"

"Yes. The guard I subdued, just before he killed himself, he moved his arms, and I saw that red circle. I didn't think much of it, I thought it was just something that belonged to the jacket."

"I was afraid of this." Quatre heaved a dramatic sigh. "You're in deep trouble, my friends. This is the Fiamma Nera, the Black Flame. A cult headed by Marco Bartoli."

A silence followed. Trowa turned the second picture over, showing a middle-aged man, also dressed in black, a black and red scarf draped around his shoulders, wearing sunglasses. His hair was also dark with a widow's peak, and his complexion looked ghastly pale, deep lines etched around the corners of his mouth.

"The Impresa wagered all her money on the Maria Doria," Quatre continued. "After it sank, the family suffered a considerable loss of confidence in their business. The insurance's money established their wealth, but with no new business, their fate was set. Rather than to try anew in the shipping business, they invested their money, buying shares and the majority of stocks in other companies."

"Let me guess, mafia-owned companies?" Duo asked sarcastically.

"You're not far from the truth. The family was close to the Fiamma Nera cult, even before Marco was born. Apparently, the previous heads of the family were interested in pursuing legends and uncovering artifacts just like you, Duo. They even had their eyes set on the Dagger of Xian."

"Too bad," Duo said. "I got there first."

"Please take this seriously," Quatre said, voice low. "It's hard to make a distinction where the Bartoli family ends and the Fiamma Nera begins. Some family members might be working for them, the cult might be totally financed by the Bartolis. After the Maria Doria sank, the capital of the family went downhill, even after receiving the money from the insurance."

"It's undeniable that the Fiamma Nera is well-financed," Heero interjected. "Submachine guns, explosives, night vision goggles, Duo even encountered a gatling shotgun! That's not easy obtainable, let alone affordable."

"Agreed." Quatre nodded. "But don't forget that the family business was left without a leader, after Gianni's death. The business stagnated and ran dry -- which leaves us the question, where does he get his money from now? It's possible that they're using anonymous Swiss bank accounts to park whatever money they have left..."

"I'm not interested in their finances," Duo said brusquely. He picked up Bartoli's picture. "I want to know where I can find him, now that we have a link that it was his men who attacked my precious Manor."

"We've got only this last known address," Trowa said, flipping over the third picture. "His Palazzo at Via Caravelli, Venice."

Duo's lips curled in a menacing grin. "Got you now, you bastard."

"I wouldn't count on it," Heero said. "Look at how dilapidated it is. No one lives there anymore. A dead end."

"I'm not so sure about that. Besides, G didn't think it was wise to trawl around in the Himalayas in your condition. The pressure and air in the mountains might be harmful to your ears."

"I can wear ear plugs," Heero suggested. "We can't postpone our expedition much longer. The weather's now still in our favor. If we wait much longer..."

"We can spend a day or two at Venice," Duo cut him off, his grin turning into a wicked smile. "It only takes us a few hours to look up the palazzo, and snoop around. Who knows what we might be able to find!"

"Do be careful," Quatre said as Trowa gathered the pictures and closed the mauve file, leaving it on the table for Duo and Heero. "I don't like the idea of a cult chasing you."

"I think their attention is now on the sword of the Khan," Duo answered. "And we'll find Kolanuhm first, pry the sword from his cold fingers and chop Bartoli's head off."

"You should write a book," Trowa deadpanned. "'How to defeat evil in the world with just one hew of a blade'."

"Don't give him any ideas," Heero groaned as Duo promptly jumped up and started yelling enthusiastic titles and more suggestions for his book, soon enough dissolving into great laughs about his new, prospective career as a writer.

It was getting late and Duo invited everybody to stay for dinner. He wasn't a good cook and he wasn't planning on cooking for at least seven people: Hilde, Howard, Heero, Professor G, Quatre, Trowa and himself. The problem was quickly resolved by calling a few take-out restaurants, and soon enough, a myriad of dishes were served on a seventeenth century lace tablecloth, in one of the many dining rooms of the Manor.

Duo had the time of his life, eating with this many friends, and talked the loudest at the table, with everyone joining him except for Heero, who had trouble following the conversations and finally gave up, retreating into himself and eating silently.

Strangely enough, he was developing a headache, and he wanted to go to bed and rest his weary head. Duo looked confused and surprised when Heero told him he was leaving the dining table, just before dessert was served: several tubs of ice cream. Hilde had gone to the kitchen to retrieve them, and the rest of the guests were still conversing amiably.

"Are you sure you want to leave this soon, love?" Duo asked. He cupped Heero's face, looking at him quizzically. "Are you upset? Something the matter?"

"No, no, I just have a headache," Heero said. "Nothing's the matter, you just stay here."

"If you're really sure," Duo said hesitantly, but Heero gave him a kiss on the cheek and patted his shoulder.

"Just join me later."

"I will." His attention was already caught by Howard, who was telling an urban legend about one of his own expeditions on the North Pole, and by the looks of it, Quatre was falling for it hard. Heero didn't bother to interrupt them to bid them goodnight; he snuck out of the dining room and almost bumped into Hilde, carrying various tubs of ice cream.

"Heero! Are you leaving?"

"Headache," he muttered.

"You want some aspirin? Ibuprofen?"

"No, it's fine."

Hilde was about to walk past him into the dining room, when he reached for her, halting her mid-step.

"Yes?" she asked, looking a little bewildered.

"I wanted to ask you," he said, lowering his voice as much as he could, he didn't want the others to overhear him, "you know Duo best, right?"

"We've known each other for quite a while, yes," Hilde answered.

"What makes him so tense when it comes to the expedition? The Himalayas? I noticed that he tensed up when we studied the maps, but when he talks about the artifact, he seems all relaxed and at ease."

Hilde tilted her head a little, her eyes expressing disbelief and sorrow. "He never told you?"

"Told me what?" Heero felt slightly nauseous.

"Duo's parents," she whispered, the cold ice cream in her arms forgotten.

"They died in a plane crash," Heero added. He didn't like the expression on Hilde's face. Now she looked like she was... pitying him.

"Their plane crashed over the Himalayas, Heero." It didn't matter if she whispered or not, when reading her lips it felt like giant church bells resonated in Heero's head. "I'm so sorry."

The Piazza San Marco, St. Mark's square, Venice, was the tourist attraction by default. The Patriarchal Cathedral Basilica of Saint Mark was only one of the many buildings to visit, bordering to the Doge's Palace, and a fine example of Byzantine architecture. Even Heero was impressed with the wealth and power it radiated, and so he didn't object to standing in line to get tickets. Duo was as excited as a kid on a school trip, walking in and out of the line, chasing a few pigeons on the large square, harassing a carabinieri into taking pictures of him and Heero with the cathedral church in the background, holding up a V-sign.

Heero was glad that they hadn't traveled immediately to Chengdu. He didn't particularly agree with Professor G, but he didn't want to run the risk of permanent damage to his ears either. The ringing sound was just slowly ebbing away, and he picked up more and more sounds every day, the bass tones at first. It was a huge relief; in the deepest hours of the night, when Duo was curled up against him, his warm body comforting his, he'd been afraid he'd lost his hearing already.

Duo had taken the decision to travel to Venice first; he wanted to take a look at Bartoli's palazzo. It was of no use to object; if Duo had set his mind on something, he wasn't easy to be swayed. Heero considered the possibility of more Fiamma Nera cult members showing up; both were carrying light weapons, not visible to regular civilians.

"Duo, get back here," he said, his voice still loud as he couldn't hear himself well yet. "We're almost at the entrance!"

"Coming," Duo hollered back, and quickly made his way over to Heero, grabbing him at the arm and pumping it enthusiastically. "It's been so long since I've been in Italy," he said, "it's wonderful to be here again!"

"You're just excited about the pizza you're going to eat tonight," Heero said.

"Oh, don't be such a..."

"Two tickets please," Heero said and handed over the right amount of lire to the cashier. A tour was about to start and they joined the group, listening to the guide.

While they visited the cathedral, Duo was in awe, enjoying the beauty of the huge, red marble columns and bright mosaics. Heero couldn't follow the broken English of the tour guide, and instead read a booklet on the interior of the cathedral. At the end, Duo lit a few candles and following his example, Heero lit one too. Duo stared into the small, peaceful dancing flames, the light casting a warm glow on his chestnut bangs. He was sunken in thoughts, and Heero wondered if he was thinking of his parents.

It was strange actually, that they had never talked about their parents. Heero had never told Duo much about his adoptive father, not knowing his real parents at all, and Duo had only told that his parents died at a plane crash. To comfort the man he loved, Heero moved his arm up around him, and Duo immediately buried his head in the crook of his neck. After a few moments of standing still, he asked as softly as he could: "Why don't we go outside, Duo. Just for a little bit?"

"Sure." Duo's voice was smothered so Heero couldn't hear him right, but used his best judgment and slowly started to guide Duo outside. Once the sun hit their faces, Duo lit up just like the candles at the church and he started smiling again, a genuine loving smile.

"How about lunch, and then go to Via Caravelli?"

"Excellent idea," Heero agreed. "But all the lunchrooms around here are far too tourist-y. Let's get to the center of the city."

"By gondola?" Duo's eyes brimmed with hope and even more enthusiasm. How could he deny him anything? His knees got weak just from the smile on Duo's face, and he knew that Duo knew exactly how to get what he wanted.

"Gondola it is," he sighed and enjoyed the bear hug before Duo raced off to find a fitting gondola.

The hearty lunch replenished their energy. Duo tried a few dishes, skipping over the traditional fegato alla Veneziana, thinly-sliced liver sauteed with onions. Instead, he munched half a garlic salami sausage, laughing at Heero's facial expression of disgust.

"You'll have to kiss me somewhere else but the mouth," Duo waved the salami in front of his face so he could smell the specific, strong garlic, and a little miffed, Heero turned his attention to his own vegetable dish, the fresh asparagus garnished with radicchio and olive oil. Accompanied with garlic bread, Heero made a mental note to buy strong breath mints for himself, but mostly for Duo. They finished off the superfluous lunch with a bowl of tiramisu, and Duo reclined in his seat, blowing a few wayward strands out of his face.

"Phew! If it goes on like this, I won't fit my costume! Hilde's going to tear me a new one!"

"Don't worry, it's quite a walk to Via Caravelli," Heero said, licking off the last bit of his dessert. "We can't take a gondola to there."

"Awww," Duo was disappointed. "Fine, then, we'll walk. Or a taxi, perhaps?"

"Perhaps." Heero whipped out the route description to the street. "I estimate it's about half an hour from here."

Duo nodded. "Give me five minutes: I have to stomach this first." He hid a burp behind his hand.

Via Caravelli was a narrow, long street far away from any tourist spots, so Duo slid his hand into Heero's. They were very careful about public display, but in this virtually deserted suburb, no one was looking and probably no one cared.

"What a shame," Duo sighed, Heero almost missing his words. Architecture was a hobby of his, and Duo wished he had more time to spend on designing himself. He had a knack for buildings, layouts, and architecture in general, the only thing he had really had in common with Solo. When their father had been away on a business trip, they had holed themselves up in a corner of the large attic to build their own house, cathedral or school with anything they could get their hands on: matches, lollipop sticks, cardboard rolls...

After Solo's death, architecture had been buried beneath Duo's sorrow, only to pop up now and then, especially when buildings were neglected. It brought out sadness and melancholy in him, as if the empty windows, flaky paint, and half-rotten doors were somehow testimonies of the gap that Solo had left in his life.

And emptiness was what he felt in Via Caravelli. The ghost of splendor past was tangible, especially when the Via fanned out into a large square with a fountain, bronze with sculpted Gods to provide water for the thirsty visitors; even Pluto and Mars joined pouring their jugs into the large basin. There was no water. The bronze had eroded, the green color of algae a tale-telling sign of neglect. Heero noticed the mosaic pattern of the square, as well as the weeds growing between the cracks. The several palazzos all breathed an eerie silence, a barely audible sigh of defeat, as nature was slowly taking back what once was hers.

The Bartoli palazzo wasn't any different. Duo walked up to the iron gate, touching the lock. It was rusted, but still holding a couple of chains together. Heero came to stand next to Duo, examining the lock.

"I can pick it," he said. "I'm surprised it didn't crumble to pieces when I touched it. No one has been here in a long, long time."

"Do you want to check out the premises?" Heero asked.

"Yeah. I just want to take a look."

"All right, then."

Duo picked the lock and opened the gate just as far as to get himself through. Now they were at Bartoli's territory; the palazzo loomed in front of them, dilapidated and...aggressive. There was no splendor here, just cold harsh shadows, broken windows, weeds overgrowing the porch and walls. The dark stone of the palazzo radiated a cold, distant atmosphere, contrary to the neighboring buildings.

"Brrr, talk about a ghost house," Duo said. He had worked his way through the garden to the windows and was leaning against a dirty window pane, holding his hands above his eyes as he tried to peek through the crusted dust and cobwebs. "It's empty, just like the outside."

"No furniture," Heero stated. "Not even a couch or a chair left."

"Tiles are broken. There's a huge crack in that pillar supporting the stair case...I'd almost say there has been a fight. See that?" He tapped against the glass.

"Shells," Heero was quick to recognize the small, cylinder-shaped objects on the floor. "Gun fight."

Duo started to walk around the house, peeking through several other windows. Heero thought he might climb through one of them to enter the palazzo, but Duo stayed outside, shaking his head at the obvious decay of the building.

"This has been going on for years," Duo finally said. "Decades, is more like it. I doubt we'd find anything recent to lead us to Marco."

"At least we checked it out," Heero tried to offer some consolation. He had the feeling that they would come across Marco Bartoli sooner or later anyway. The palazzo had just been a temporary stop.

"Yeah. Oh hey, take a look at this?"

"What is it?" Heero closed the distance between them and stared next to Duo through the window. It was a different view of the hall, with the shells on the floor. "Why..."

Duo elbowed him in the stomach, not too hard, and held up three fingers. Heero changed his position immediately, turning his head as he kept his eyes on the window. There, reflected by the glass, was a man hiding in the shadow of a wilted tree. He was dressed in black.

"What are you carrying?" Duo mumbled. As he held his head down, Heero couldn't make out his words and guessed that he was asking about his weapons. All that he was carrying was a small Beretta 8000, a gun perfect for civilian self-defense, but if this member of the Fiamma Nera was carrying heavy arms, the Beretta could prove to be bad match.

"Blegh, I've only got my HK on me," Duo said, referring to his Heckler & Koch P7. He couldn't carry his Uzis in public for obvious reasons, and besides, their usual weapons, including Heero's Remington, were packed and stacked in the Cessna they were going to fly to Tibet with, all on Duo's personal account. Their guns and equipment weren't suitable for a commercial flight, and Duo hated being cooped up with two hundred other people in an airplane. "What are we going to do now?"

"So far, he thinks we haven't noticed him yet. Keep moving around the palazzo."

Duo nodded and moved to the right. The man in the shadows stayed put, but as soon as Heero followed Duo, he moved as well.

"Damn. We need a way to split up."

"How about this?" Duo murmured, and he grabbed the wooden window casing to hoist himself up. Kicking the remainders of the window out of the way so he wouldn't cut himself on the glass, Duo jumped inside, coughing as his action stirred up a huge cloud of dust.

"What are you doing!" Heero hissed.

"I'm splitting up," Duo winked. "See you on the flip side!"

He disappeared out of sight. Heero could just see the tip of his braid being swallowed by the darkness in the palazzo, and then he was completely gone. Their enemy made handy use of the shadows of the huge bushes and large trees in the garden, hiding behind the thick, leafy branches.

He knew this territory, that was for sure. Heero remained standing still, wondering if the other man was going to approach him now, killing them off one by one, or if he was going to wait for Duo to return, so he could kill two birds with one stone.

The Beretta was stuck in his waistband at his back. Any move he would make to retrieve it would call the other's attention. Heero knew he was quick, but was he quick enough to grab his gun, turn around, aim, and shoot?

He took a deep breath. It looked like the decision was taken out of his hands. The man stepped out of the shadows, gun in hand, aimed at Heero's back. Heero's own hand slid towards his waistband, a movement so familiar that he couldn't stop it. He wasn't going to be shot in the back here in an overgrown garden of a dilapidated palazzo in Venice.

"Stop. Don't move." The voice of the man was harsh, his accent heavy. Heero held his hands still.

"You have to speak up," he said. "I can't hear you very well. Slight accident during your attack on the Manor."

The man didn't respond and approached Heero until he was just three meters away from him.

"Turn around. Slowly. Hands up. Up!"

Heero obliged. He stuck his hands up in the air and faced the cult member. The red insigne in his right shoulder told Heero more than enough.

"Where's the other one?" the man asked.

"I can't hear you very well," Heero said. "I told you, slight accident during your attack on the Manor."

The thug showed a crooked grin. "You killed Marcello. Too bad you didn't get killed in the blast."

Having a hard time to read his lips, the thug's heavy accent not making things any easier, Heero tried to piece the words he could understand quickly together. He needed to stall for time, but he didn't know how long; Duo had disappeared into the palazzo a few minutes ago, and he probably hadn't had time enough to sneak up on the thug from behind.

"Why are you looking for the sword?" Heero asked.

"I'm not going to answer any questions from you. I'm not stupid. Where's the other one? Call for him."

"He went inside," Heero said. "Where's Marco Bartoli?"

"Don't you dare call his name, bastardo."

"You have an awful big mouth," Heero said coolly. "I don't like being called a bastard. I don't like being blown up. I don't like you."

"Too bad. You can call for the other and die together, or I'll just kill you right here and kill your friend later."

"You wouldn't survive." Heero mimicked the thug's grin. "He's Death Incarnate, you know."

"Don't fuck with me," the thug growled and stepped closer, cocking his gun and pointing it at Heero's head, right between his eyes. Before he could pull the trigger, he felt a weight being pressed to his head, followed by an unmistakable sound: another gun cocked and ready to fire, right at his ear.

"Don't worry," a suave voice wrapped itself around his ear, "you're not his type. You're not his type at all. Now drop your fucking gun."

"I don't care." The thug didn't move, but didn't shoot either. "I'm ready to die for our cause."

"You're a cheap mercenary," Duo said. "A nameless, faceless goon who wants to die for some asshole who doesn't give a fuck? Who sleeps well at night even knowing that people die for him?"

"You don't know who we are," the thug bristled, "Marco Bartoli is our leader! For centuries, the Fiamma Nera has reconstructed and dominated history..."

"Funny that we've never even heard of you before the search for the sword of the Khan started," Duo said, deadpan.

The thug snorted. "Fiamma Nera will rise again as soon as we have the sword!"

"Where's Marco Bartoli?" Duo asked, pressing the muzzle of the gun harder against the other man's head. "I have a bill I'd like him to pay."

"Your manor means nothing to him. Your gun means nothing to me. Shoot. Just shoot! In the reflex I'll pull my own trigger, killing your friend. And there will be many more of my friends, wanting to kill you!"

"You're insane," Duo hissed. "You're all insane! Why does Bartoli want the sword?"

A chortled laugh. "Don't you think the question is: Why does Noventa want the sword?"

"What?" Duo was distracted and for a fraction of a second, loosened his grip on the trigger. The thug didn't hesitate and fired at Heero, who had started to move as soon as Duo had sneaked up from behind. The bullet missed him, drilling a hole in the cement of the abandoned palazzo.

Before the thug could fire again, Heero had already yelled, "Duo, get away from him!" as he pulled out his Beretta with one swift movement and pulled the trigger himself.

"For honor and glory of Marco Bartoli!" The man's words were cut off brusquely when the bullet hit him right in the chest. One brief moment of surprise, another brief moment of realization dawning on him, and then it was over. He sagged to the ground, limp, and with a soft sigh, his life escaped him.

Duo stared at the body, lifeless in front of him, his own Heckler and Koch in hand. His eyes were wide, and Heero couldn't read his expression very well. Was it shock, fear, anxiety? He quickly covered the distance between them, grabbing Duo at his free wrist.

"Duo. Duo! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Duo immediately replied, pulling his hand away from Heero's. "I can handle it, Heero."

"Of course you can. I was just worried about you."

"I know. I'm sorry." Sighing, Duo tucked his Heckler & Koch away, shoulders drooping. "This is so crazy. These people don't care if they get killed, all for an artifact?"

"Are we sure they're only after the artifact? What he said about the Fiamma Nera..."

"I'll contact Howard and ask him if he can find out more about them. If it's an ancient cult, perhaps then there's more to find than what Quatre knew about it."

Heero cupped Duo's face, looking at him, examining him. There was harshness on Duo's face that he didn't like, but he refrained from asking again if he was all right. He heaved a sigh of relief when Duo moved towards him, slipping his arms around him for a brief hug.

"We have to be at the airport early tomorrow for our flight to Chengdu," Heero finally said, briefly stroking Duo's hair. "We'll go back to the hotel and rest up for the expedition ahead of us."

"You're right. What about him?"

Heero didn't care for the thug. "We'll make an anonymous phone call to the polizia about the body. Let's get out of here."

Rome Fiumicino Airport was crowded and hectic, but the taxi skipped the regular terminals serving the 'regular' passengers -- tourist and business travelers -- and drove straight to the pier destined for 'private' passengers -- exclusive business flights and private jets. Howard had arranged for a Cessna Citation X in Duo's name; the prospect of flying a plane himself again had Duo all excited, wriggling in the back seat of the taxi.

Heero took out their luggage (one suitcase only) as the rest of their equipment had been previously loaded on the plane. He carried his own laptop with him all the time; no one else, save for Duo, got to touch it. After paying the driver, Duo all but danced to the hangar, its giant doors already open, and he laughed and whistled out loud when seeing the Cessna.

"It's a beauty!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Howard sure knows how to get the best!"

"How long has it been since you've flown?" Heero asked stoically. Duo jabbed at his shoulder.

"Don't be afraid, you wimp! I have more flight hours clocked than you, my dear!"

That was the undeniable truth: Heero hadn't been as often in the position to fly like Duo, and he trusted him to handle the plane well. He trusted Duo with his life, and that was mutual, so he boarded the plane with utmost confidence. Waiting for Duo to deal with last-minute paperwork, Heero sat down in the cockpit and took out the metallic clipboard with the flight plan.

They weren't going to make it to Chengdu in one flight; they had to refuel at Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi, India. Howard had also arranged for accommodation in India; spending a night at the airport hotel would give the both of them well-needed rest after such a long flight. Heero checked the itinerary and had to admit that Howard had done his work thoroughly.

"All right, Copilot Yuy, why don't you contact the tower while I start her up," Duo said, glowing and smiling like a kid unwrapping his Christmas present. Heero hadn't heard him boarding the plane, let alone entering the cockpit; one of Duo's many specialties was to move without a sound. Not even Heero himself could be as silent as Duo if he wanted to be. He grabbed his headphones just like Duo.

"Wingflaps up," Duo said, flicking the switch. "Carburetor heat in cold position. Full throttle. Air speed indicator at 75 knots." His fingers danced over the control panel, switching and shifting buttons. Heero reached the control tower, reciting their registration number and itinerary.

"We're moving into position for departure," he said, quickly reading off their position on the control panel. "Northeast," he rattled off the coordinates. Duo moved the plane forwards, starting to taxi to the correct runway for take-off. The engines increased in power, the humming sound boosting to an intense, thrumming noise.

The plane taxied forward to the center line of the runway, where Duo positioned the Cessna meticulously before coming to a full stop. He did a quick double-check to see if all the instruments were working properly while Heero waited for confirmation from the control tower.

"Are we clear yet?" Duo asked impatiently. Heero shushed him and listened into his headphones.

"Yes, we're clear!" He motioned at Duo, and he replied by increasing the speed. Engines roaring again, the plane moved forward, faster and faster, and the end of the runway came quickly in sight. Duo pulled up the nose of the plane, and the Cessna came loose from the ground, leaving the airport behind.

"Ciao, Italia," Duo grinned. "I'll miss your wonderful pizza but not your crazy Mafiosi!"

"Duo, we don't know if the Fiamma Nera is tied to the mob," Heero answered. He checked the data on his clipboard while Duo had the plane climb higher, adjusting the instruments as he went.

"Aw, come on, I was just joking. Seriously though, that thug claimed that the Fiamma Nera was an ancient cult. Why couldn't they have connections to the mob? We know that they're well-funded and well-equipped, so there has to be some big money going around."

"It might be Bartoli himself."

"I'm not sure. The Maria Doria sank so long ago, and even though he got quite the nice sum from the insurance company, Bartoli himself was a young lad when it happened. What about the rest of his family? His mother, the widow? They would need money too."

"Whatever they did with it, they didn't spend it on the palazzo," Heero said, the memories of the dilapidated building fresh in his mind. "It looked like no one lived there for decades."

"Bullshit," Duo said. "About the cult, I mean. Solo had intensive records on all cults in the world. Cults like to think they're secret, but they're not. People have one, big weakness: they blab."

"Just like you," Heero quipped.

"I blab and blather all the time," Duo was in an excellent mood. "You really wouldn't like me when I'm not blabbing! It's a fun word, actually: 'blab'. Who made that up anyway?"

"Just pay attention to your control panel," Heero answered, "and when we're back on solid ground, I'll use my laptop to give you the answer."

"Nerd," was all that Duo said.

The steady hum of the engines and the smooth, uninterrupted flight made Heero a little drowsy. Duo still had a firm smile on his face, looking outside as if he could stare straight into heaven. The silence was warm and comfortable; Duo only spoke if he changed something, to let Heero know what he was doing. For the rest, they spend hours in peaceful silence, even when the plane was set to auto-pilot. Before they left, Heero had asked the hotel's kitchen to prepare food for them, and they had kindly provided enough to stock the entire fridge with sandwiches and bottled water.

"If you're tired, you can go sleep in the plane," Duo motioned with his thumb to the inside of the plan, where there was room enough for at least eight passengers. "Snoozing in a chair can get you cramped all over."

"No, I'm fine," Heero said and took the clipboard again. "Besides, you're doing all the hard work around here. Don't you want to take a nap?"

"Later, perhaps. I'm not working that hard, thanks to our friend the autopilot."

"Have some more water. You'll dry out easily at this altitude."

"All right, hand me a bottle."

Heero went out of his seat to walk towards the small galley to retrieve another bottle. Taking two out of the fridge, one bottle for himself as well, he walked back, marveling at the luxury of the interior. He had never asked if Howard had leased this plane or if it was property of the Maxwell family. He assumed the first; Duo didn't like to talk about finances, and Heero knew that his money wasn't in any liquid funds but in the infamous collection.

"Here you are."

"Thanks, dear." Duo unscrewed the cap of the bottle and sipped some water. "Ah, delicious."

Heero sat down and buckled up again. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Duo sat comfortably reclined in his seat, he was buckled but kept quite the leeway instead of being strapped in tightly. "Hey, do you remember what that tug said, back at Bartoli's palazzo?"

"Something about the sword?"

"That I was asking myself the wrong question. Not what Bartoli wanted to do with the sword, but Noventa."

Heero snorted. "Don't worry about that. He probably said it just to rile you."

"I'm not sure." Duo frowned. "That afternoon, with Trowa and Quatre coming over, G was also there, remember?"

"How could I forget? He poked so hard in my ears that I thought I would turn deaf permanently!"

"I'm glad your hearing is improving by the day," Duo grinned nonetheless. "Anyway, you know G is a leading authority on immunology and cell biology, right?"

Heero nodded. "I know."

"Guess who his new case study is?"

"Sylvia Noventa." It popped right up in his mind.

"Exactly. There's doctor-patient confidentiality of course, so he couldn't tell me that much -- but it boils down to Sylvia's system attacking her own cells, degenerating her from the inside."

"That's why she tired so easily," Heero said. "Her body has to fight off the attacks it creates itself. No wonder her hands were shaking."

"It's awful," Duo said. "Can you imagine living with a body that's its own worst nightmare? G is going to study her case, but he doesn't know if he can develop a treatment soon enough to save her."

"That is, if a treatment is possible," Heero said. "I don't want to be too negative, but..."

"I know." Duo shifted in his seat. "Poor girl. However, the sword..."

Heero was doodling on the papers on the clipboard. "The Sword of Kolanuhm gave him longevity."

"No," Duo said sternly. "I think it gave him eternal youth."

"Nuh-uh. Sylvia showed us a picture of him, middle-aged."

"Yeah, middle-aged when he supposedly had ruled over a hundred years by then."

"Fine. Any way you look at it, the sword prolonged his life, aging him much, much slower than usual life would. Satisfied?"

"Satisfied." Duo chuckled softly. "But we agree on one thing: the sword influences the lifespan of the wielder."

"Exactly. Do you think..." Heero got an inkling as to what Duo was implying, "...that Noventa wants to use the sword to help his granddaughter?"

"When Sylvia wields the sword, her lifespan will be extended, provided that the sword grants its power to any wielder." Duo drummed with his fingers on the control panel. "That would mean that doctors have more time to develop a cure for her."

"Ah, but there's the catch," Heero tapped in rhythm with Duo's drumming. "We don't know if the sword grants its power to 'any wielder'. I think it speaks for itself that the sword never is mentioned again, in any document, story, legend, or whatever, after Kolanuhm's death. And if I had just killed a mighty ruler, I'd be sure to rob him of any artifact that made him so powerful."

"It's probably just an old man's hope," Duo said. He turned his head towards Heero and stopped drumming as he moved up his hand to touch Heero's hair. "Hope is for the living."

"Hope is for the living," Heero repeated and leaned into his touch.

It was close to midnight at the Taj Palace Hotel. Sitting behind his laptop, a damp towel around his waist, Heero dried his hair with another towel, rubbing the unruly strands vicariously.

After dinner, Duo had gone straight to bed, tired as he was. Heero could feel the strain of jet lag on his own body, and he yawned. He checked up on the refueling status of the Cessna and was pleased to discover that Indian efficiency had taken care of the plane already; they could leave tomorrow exactly according their timetable.

Heero checked if there were any online reports about the thug's body in Venice. No message or news article showed up about him, either the polizia didn't care or the Fiamma Nera took care of their dead without any officials involved. A quick Google search on the cult resulted in no hits at all; whatever they did, it wasn't hanging out on the Internet. Heero didn't feel like digging around right now and decided to quit.

He logged off and switched off the light above the desk. Yawning, he walked to the king size bed in the middle of the hotel room, with Duo fast asleep in it. He had pushed off all the blankets and sheets despite the perfect air conditioning, and Heero gathered the blankets for himself, nuzzling up to Duo. He murmured in his sleep, searching out his lover's warmth.

Heero moved his arms around him, and Duo, despite being asleep, shifted his arm around him as well. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Heero wasn't wondering about the words the thug had said about Noventa and the sword. He could still hear the man's heavy accent, muted by his own damaged ears, but he could read the message off of his lips perfectly. ... And there will be many more of my friends, wanting to kill you!

The cult was more widespread and fanatic than they had assumed. The attack on the Manor, the confrontation at Bartoli's palazzo... Somehow Heero had the feeling they would see and hear more of the cult, and he wasn't really happy about it. Gently stroking Duo's hair, he lowered his face so his lips could touch his ear, nipping at the lobe. Duo made an 'mmmn' sound and hugged himself closer to Heero.

"I love you," he whispered. There was no answer from Duo, but the corners of his lips turned up in a soft smile. Heero switched off the light on his nightstand, enveloping the room in darkness. The traffic noises outside didn't hinder him at all, and he fell quickly asleep.

Duo was still munching on a piece of naan as the shuttle bus drove them back to the airport. He was well-rested and looking forward to fly again; the second part of their trip wouldn't take more than three, four hours tops. Before leaving the hotel, he had quickly used Heero's laptop to confirm their arrival time at Chengdu to Wufei; he'd be waiting for them at the airport.

Duo had changed into the costume Hilde had made for him and he gathered a lot of attention with his white outfit. Heero was glad they were so early at the airport; he was going mad with jealousy noticing all the people staring at his Duo.

Swallowing the last piece of his flatbread, Duo climbed on board the Cessna Citation X, all refueled and ready for take off. It didn't take long for the control tower to give the permission to take off, and the Cessna was up in the air, resuming its course.

"I love it when things go smoothly like this," Duo said while adjusting some of the instruments. "In a few hours, we'll meet up with Wufei again. I can't wait to see him!"

"I thought you didn't get along with him," Heero said, monitoring some of the other instruments and keeping track of their progress on the clipboard. "Well, it's not like I get along with him either."

"Ah, what's happened has happened," Duo made a dismissive gesture, "and I guess he has no hard feelings either. Otherwise, he wouldn't have agreed to meet us! We'll have some nice tea together, like best friends."

Heero chuckled behind his clipboard. "I love your optimism."

"I love yours too!" Duo looked over his shoulder. "What are you doing with that clipboard all the time? Are you checking up on my performance?"

"I like to check up on a certain other performance of yours," Heero said and turned the clipboard around. "You know how I like to keep up with graphs and figures."

"I'll say it again and again: neeeee~eerd," Duo sang out loud when he was suddenly interrupted by a loud beep. "Hey, what the..."

"The TCAS is blinking." Heero blinked himself.

The Traffic Collision Avoiding System was warning them that a plane was near, on a collision course with the Cessna.

Duo looked out the windows, sitting almost backwards in his chair. "I don't see a fucking plane! What's going on?"

Unbuckling himself, Heero got out of his chair.

"What the hell are you doing? Get into touch with air traffic control!" Duo yelled at him.

"You contact them," Heero hollered back as he went out of the cockpit into the bulk of the plane, checking the windows left and right.

He could barely hear Duo's voice, drowned out by the sound of the thrumming engines. He stared out the window, wishing they were flying a military plane so he could see the incoming plane on radar. What was going on? Who was following them in the air? He leaned closer to the window, noticing a big, black spot on his left side and...

"Incoming missile!" He yelled.

"Jezus fucking Christ!" Duo immediately swerved the Cessna, but it was too late. The missile pierced through the aluminum alloy and ripped it apart. Due to the steep angle it was coming in, the missile shot through the other side of the plane, failing to explode. Heero was standing so close to the entry of the missile that the heat and smoke almost scorched his face. Throwing himself on one of the seats, he could feel the weapon pass over him, exiting on the other side, immediately followed by the decompression.

"Heero! Heero! Where the fuck are you!"

"Stay in your seat! Stay in your seat, goddamnit!" Heero cursed his bad hearing, still not up to par, and Duo's voice was high-pitched in his panic. He could see the emergency lights on the control panel flicker, but couldn't hear the accompanying alerts.

With uncanny strength, Heero worked himself upright, fighting against the decompression and the icy wind blowing through the plane. Was it a heat-seeking missile? Would it return? He didn't have much time.

Step by step, Heero forced himself to walk, making his way over to the small galley. The first aid kit, extra pillows, blankets, parachutes were stashed in a compartment next to it. Cursing wildly as the plane swerved, he knew that Duo was doing his best as to avoid getting hit again. From the corner of his eyes, Heero noticed a metallic, dark grey airplane, no obvious markers or numbers visible, and he gasped. A Lockheed Martin, an advanced prototype of a Joint Strike Fighter jet... Who in the world could afford and fly such a plane?

He had no time to think; he had to act quickly. He had noticed something else to boot, something that almost literally froze his heart. High mountain peaks, covered with eternal snow, like jagged teeth with a deceptively soft white cover -- the first signs of the world's highest mountain range: the Himalayas. There was no way Duo could land the plane here, and they were descending gradually, still swerving to escape their enemy.

Where had the fighter yet gone? Heero opened the compartment with the parachutes and pulled them both out, clutching them to his chest. Keeping one hand free, he fought his way back to the cockpit, where Duo was constantly looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on him. He had calmed down, the panic dissolving into an unmistakable adrenaline rush, and he kept the plane as steady as he could. Any lesser pilot would've already crashed, but not Duo; his hands were firm around the controls. Now that Heero was close to him again, he could hear the alerts shrieking; the entire control panel was lit with red lights.

"Put this on." Heero handed him a parachute and helped him to strap it around his body. "Can you still control the plane?"

"Barely," Duo gritted his teeth, not letting go of the controls and using his right arm first, then his left arm to hoist the parachute around his shoulders. Heero leaned into him to close the belts and buckles around his chest. "I can't land around here, if we can make it just to..."

His sentence was curt short by another missile ripping the Cessna in two, blowing away the Rolls Royce engines with astounding ease, the explosion maiming the plane, the titanium and aluminum alloys shredding like paper. Both Duo and Heero were smacked forward, Heero raising his arms to protect himself, but Duo hit his head on the control panel, cutting his skin. Blood immediately flowed over his nose, dripping beside his nostrils.

"Duo!" Heero couldn't believe his own eyes -- that the other half of the plane was missing, that they were spinning around wildly, that the control over the plane totally lost, and that Duo's face was a bloody mess.

"No time!" He was out of his chair, his braid flapping wildly in the freezing, biting wind. The Cessna took a nosedive, and Duo almost lost his footing, the cockpit shaking. Heero backed him up, pulling at his clothes to get him back up on his feet again. "We have to jump!"

"Our equipment!" Heero yelled.

"No time!" Duo repeated. "Most of it is already gone anyway!" His eyes locked with Heero's. It was going to be a very tough jump, and Duo was in the advantage, already wearing his special designed costume. Heero hadn't dressed too warmly; he had expected to exit at the airport, not in mid-air.

There was no time indeed, but Heero hesitated for a few precious seconds; not that he feared the jump, but instead to pry his laptop from its restraints where he had put it, safe and sound. The loss of their equipment was bad enough; the loss of his laptop would be devastating.

"Heero!" Duo's voice reached him with an undertone of annoyance. In the middle of a freefall, their plane blasted in half and with the fighter jet still hovering around, he couldn't believe that Heero had still made time to save his laptop. He grabbed him at the elbow, pulling him with him. "Let's go! Come on!"

The chilly wind hit them hard, like a punch to the stomach; Heero felt the cold in his bones, chilling him to his very core. Duo's injury froze solid, the blood caking to his face with a thin film of ice. The plane was lost; it plummeted down out of control. Holding each other at the elbows, Duo and Heero were at the gap, hair tousled by the scolding wind.

"Wait," Heero said and moved his hands up to Duo's shoulders, pulling him closer for a quick but intense kiss.

"We're below thirteen thousand feet," Duo said after the kiss, the blood disfiguring his face. "God, Heero..."

"We're going to make it," Heero said, briefly touching Duo's cheek. "We're going to make it."

Duo grabbed Heero's wrist with astounding strength, but when they jumped out of the plan, the blasting wind immediately separated them. Duo was hardly visible with his white clothing against the snow-covered mountain peaks, and Heero's eyes started to water immediately from the biting cold. It felt like his entire face was attacked by fine needles, and he gasped for air. The best way to survive was to land on a frozen lake. There was no way to know what was hidden under all that snow, and if one of them broke a leg...

Heero was disorientated but concentrated on landing first. Duo had a compass, and even without it, they had enough knowledge to determine their direction. At the right altitude, he deployed his parachute and Heero heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the canopy unfold itself. It caught the wind and gave a fierce tug, his body tensing up. Jumping out of an airplane wasn't one of his favorite pastimes, and certainly not when under fire.

The strange thing was that the fighter jet seemed to have disappeared; had the pilot not seen them jump? The moment had just crossed his mind when an explosion resonated through the mountains, echoing eerily. Snapping his head in the direction of the dark smoke clouds, Heero could see silver and metallic grey debris against the pristine white snow, the last remnants of the Cessna.

Shivering from the cold, Heero tried to cover his hands with his sleeves, pressing the bag with his laptop against his body. He searched the sky for Duo, unable to find him, his heart turning heavy. He refused to believe that Duo wouldn't make it. He just couldn't see him, the wind and bright sun making his eyes water. Duo was all right. He'd better be more concerned about himself, now that the cold was hitting him hard and the ground was approaching fast.

Concentrating and preparing himself for the impact, Heero landed next to a path, his feet scraping the rocky soil and shredding his clothes as he rolled, snow sticking to his body. He rolled over the ground to a full stop, breathing heavily. He was bleeding from several cuts and scrapes, but it was nothing compared to the cold. Besides, Heero was glad and relieved that he had landed without breaking anything.

The path looked fairly traveled, but judging from all the animal prints, it was probably used by herders, semi-nomads moving from place to place, taking care of their animals. That meant they were probably in Tibet already, Heero thought.

He gathered the canopy and wrapped it around himself, the cloth not providing enough protection against the cold, but it was better than nothing. Now he had to find Duo... and a wide smile spread on his face when he saw red smoke, not too far from him, behind a hill. He broke out in a jog, his body feeling stiff and strained, and slowly his blood circulation started running again, along with the adrenalin.

Scaling the hill, Heero saw Duo standing, neatly folding his canopy next to the red smoke bomb. "Duo!"

He looked up, mirroring Heero's smile. "Thank God! I couldn't see you anymore! Are you all right?"

"Could be better." Heero didn't lie to him. Duo noticed the cuts and scrapes, whereas his own costume only suffered some stains.

"You're injured," he said.

"It's nothing."

"Goddamnit, Heero, you risk your life for that stupid laptop of yours. God forbid that something might happen to it..."

"It's a vital piece of equipment," Heero said. "And we're going to need it, now we've lost everything else."

"I know." Duo sighed. He was shaking, not from fear of anxiety but of the adrenaline still pumping through his system. He looked over at Heero. "Perhaps you should wear my parachute as well," he said, voice serious. "You're not dressed for the...occasion."

"What's our position?"

"I have to turn my GPS on, one moment. I hope we can find a monastery close by, so we can warm up." Duo checked his watch and clacked with his tongue. "Fuck. It's broken."

"Do you remember our position before the plane was shot?"

"Heero, I'm fairly sure we're on the Tibetan side of the Himalayas. It's of no use to trek through the mountains to Chengdu. We have to find a monastery and get our bearings."

Heero nodded in agreement, shivering. The three basic survival rules -- Water, Food, Shelter -- were into effect now, and without their equipment and supplies, they were vulnerable. They didn't even have any weapons. They were all destroyed when the missiles hit the Citation.

"Do you have any idea how far it is?" he asked.

"There are monasteries littered all over the place," Duo answered confidently.

"A lot have been destroyed during the Chinese occupation, Duo. What if..."

"We can at least find some shelter." Duo refused to see the hopelessness of their situation. "Come on, Heero. We better get moving."

Heero could hear the slight strain in Duo's voice, but he appreciated his lover's optimism. He was right about one thing, though: it was of no use to linger around, where cold and frostbite was catching up to them.

He started to walk, the gravely path hard to tread; nature was working against them as well. It was overwhelming, the vast greatness of the mountains evoked awe and admiration, the snow beautiful white and deadly cold, the roughness of the environment, the frail air...

Heero could see the beauty of it all, and Duo's eyes were taking in every millimeter of the landscape. It was joy and horror at the same time, and he wrestled one of his hands free from his make-shift parachute garment, to grab Duo's hand. He was wearing gloves, and Heero rubbed his cold skin against the fabric. Silently, they kept walking.

Hours went by. Heero's shivering became more violent, and Duo, despite his optimism, was frowning in despair, looking for any place to shelter. He was torn between taking refuge in a mountain cave, though without supplies they wouldn't last long, and driving them both to exhaustion while trying to reach a monastery, a border, anything that held a sign of human life...

Hearing the flow of water nearby, Duo tried to orientate himself. This had to be the Yarlung Tsangpo or the Yarlung River, commonly known as the Tsangpo; Duo's heart faltered. In the best case scenario possible, they were still at 65 kilometers southwest of Lhasa. In the worst case scenario, they were at the point where the Tsangpo entered India and was called the Brahmaputra, meaning they were farther of any border they could ever imagine.

Squeezing Heero's hand, Duo suppressed his growing worries. 65 kilometers was a lot, even for him. How would they ever make it out of here? He had to find a way to send a distress signal; he had a few flares left, and perhaps Heero's laptop would be able to power up... but then what? It wasn't like there was any Internet out here in the mountains, and even though Heero's laptop was powerful, could it have a program to reach people, no matter in what condition? And more important...would rescue be in time?

"Heero," he said, ignoring his own light-headedness, "can we use your laptop to get out of here?"

"I'm not sure," Heero answered. "I think it was damaged during the attack on the plane, and I don't see any electricity lines..."

"What about the battery?"

"I charged it myself, it should be running..."

"Why don't we find a place to sit down and get the laptop going?"

"We'd better keep moving," Heero said, his voice a little sluggish. He pressed the laptop case harder against his chest in a desperate search for warmth. "If we slow down..."

"I can make a fire," Duo suggested and tapped on his chest. "I have my flint with me. We have to get to lower ground, where we can find firs. I'll burn my own hair if I need to."

Heero didn't respond, his brain having trouble to process Duo's words. He recognized the signs of hypothermia and knew that Duo knew. If he had a mirror with him, he could see his lips coloring blue and the sickly paleness of his complexion, and already his usual sharp, rational mind was affected by the altitude and the frail air. He couldn't get enough oxygen, his lungs were struggling, and his thoughts were slowing down. Heero didn't like to lose control and frantically searched for a solution. Perhaps sitting down to send at least a signal wasn't a bad idea after all.

"Here." The small cave was hard to spot in the shadows of a looming mountain, but Duo had seen it anyway. He went in first to make sure there were no unwelcome visitors, and after a thorough check he gave the 'safe' signal to Heero. He stumbled inside, the canopy sliding off of his shoulders. "Sit down, Heero," Duo said and he took him by the elbow. The cave fortunately was out of the harsh wind, but the temperature inside was just as chilly as outside. "I'm going to take a look around to see if I can find something, all right? You boot up the laptop and see if you can find a signal and send a message for help."

"All right, all right," Heero batted at him. "Damn headache," he muttered.

Duo watched for a few minutes more as Heero slowly opened the laptop case, struggling to get the equipment out. He finally left after Heero was busy clicking the keys; Duo sucked in a cold gust of breath as soon as he was outside, and broke out in a jog to recon the surroundings.

It didn't take him longer than fifteen minutes to return. He had found a path down to the river, but it was steep and rough. Following the river downstream was their biggest chance at meeting people, native Tibetans, to help them. They weren't going to make it if they had to hike all the way to Lhasa.

Duo shivered as he entered the cave. He was starting to feel the cold through the special fabric of his costume, and he could only imagine how it was affecting Heero.

"How are you doing, love?"

Heero was sitting right where he left him, the laptop on his lap, his fingers resting on the keyboard.

"Heero?"

"Hn," was all Duo got in return. He went to Heero to drape the parachutes around him in a feeble attempt to keep him warm.

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know the password," Heero said as he stared at the laptop screen. Duo tousled his hair a little, like usual. He tried to ignore his own pounding headache as much as possible.

"Heero, it's the altitude sickness. You're hypothermic. We need you to get to a warm place. We better follow the path I found to the river. There's bound to be trees there."

He didn't move. Duo could see the frustration on Heero's face, now that one of his most common knowledge was inaccessible. His mind wasn't cooperating; it couldn't make the right connections between thought and action anymore. The cold was affecting him faster than Duo had estimated. Gently, Duo picked up Heero's hand and started stroking the pale, cold skin.

"Think, love," he said. He had only used the infamous laptop when it had already booted, so he didn't know the password. "Does it have something to do with me?"

"What?" Heero asked.

"The password, dear."

"I know the damn password!" Heero snarled, and the next second blood started to drip from his nose.

"God, Heero!" Duo grabbed a slip of the canopy and pressed it against Heero's nose, tilting his head back. The cloth colored a rusty red quickly. "Hold on, love, please... Let's get out of here. We're going down the river and find help there. Come on, get up, Heero. Get up!"

He pulled the laptop away from Heero and put it back into its case, flinging it over his shoulder.

"Get up, Heero. We're leaving..."

Heero slipped away from him, literally, blood dripping past his lips and trailing down his chin. His knees hit the hard, rocky ground and the darkness of the cave enveloped him in a chilly embrace. It was so cold, so cold, that he was almost happy that he lost consciousness.

"Heero."

"Yes?" His voice echoed. It sounded strangely hollow, even to his ears. His eyes were wide open, and he couldn't see anything but white all around him. It wasn't a cold white, it felt warm, cozy even, peaceful. "Where am I?"

"You're in bed, silly."

How could he be in bed? Wasn't he standing just a moment before? Tilting his head, Heero could see the frame of the bed, as white as his entire surroundings; it was minimal, as if someone had drawn a fine line with a soft pencil. He didn't understand it. The warmth he was feeling... blankets? Covers? He felt more like he was bathing, enveloped in warm, soothing water.

A light caught his gaze. A sparkling light, captivating, reflecting all kinds of light: soft purple, lilac, magenta, warm yellow, a little bit of green and blue... It was so beautiful and intense at the same time, that he wanted to cry. How could it be possible to see so much beauty and be unmoved? He wanted to touch it.

"Not yet, my love."

He looked up. Duo was standing at the foot end of his bed. He looked ethereal, his hair loose and the long strands gently flowing in a warm gust of wind. Dressed in all white, he was an angel, his violet eyes staring at him with love, passion and care. Longingly, Heero reached for him. The smile on Duo's face faltered, turning into a bittersweet expression and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Duo?" He never wore his hair loose like this. Even in Heero's presence he always kept it braided or pulled back. His mother had taught him how to braid it. Helen Maxwell... strange that he remembered Duo's mother's name, right now, at this moment. Heero turned his head a little, looking at the strange light. It had taken a shape of a crescent moon. What was it? Why couldn't he keep his eyes off of it?

"How I wished you were mine," a soft sigh, a whispered gust of breath that reached him, caressing his ears. He could hear him perfectly even though Duo's lips hadn't moved. "But you're not mine at all. You're not my Inochigami."

Heero's body convulsed. The warmth and the peaceful state of his surroundings rippled with sudden fear. Shinigami? Now he understood what the crescent moon shape was, and the next second he saw the carved, wooden handle adorned with the mythical signs. It was a scythe.

"Please," he whispered.

"Don't be afraid." His eyes were violet, but the love in it wasn't meant for him. The black outline of his pupils was an endless dark, a primal force, existing since the birth of the Earth. "I'm not sorry, Heero Yuy. There's no place for you in my realm yet."

A voice like Duo, so familiar, so warm, yet so creature-like and otherworldly. Heero was reaching for him, his arms were moving on their own, reaching for death as it promised warmth and happiness, not cold and hopelessness.

"You're safe."

"I'm safe," he repeated, the fear completely gone and replaced by bliss.

"Safe. You is safe." Shinigami's voice changed, suddenly adorning a heavy accent. "You is safe, sir."

Heero shook his head, eyes closed, a frown marring his face. Something was wrong. That voice wasn't like anything he heard before and he opened his eyes, gasping loudly. He was staring at a dark ceiling with wooden support beams.

Right next to him was an old, bald man, his wrinkles visible in the light of many oil lamps and candles. He was sitting cross-legged at Heero's bedside, holding a mug of hot tea in his hands. He was wearing a chuba, a warm, ankle-length robe bound around the waist by a long sash.

The old man smiled a toothless smile at him. "You is safe," he repeated.

"Safe... Where's Duo?" His voice came out raspy.

"Duo are safe," the monk said. "He not suffer. Good clothes, good stamina. Not like you. Sickness," the man pointed a bony finger to the ceiling. "Height. Cold."

"I..."

"You rest." The man's voice didn't leave any room for protest. He held the mug of tea close to Heero's lips. "Here. Drink."

The liquid was scorching hot and extremely salty to the taste; as soon as Heero sipped, he spat it back out again. The elderly man calmly pulled a piece of cloth out of his chuba and whipped Heero's mouth clean. Before he put it back again, Heero was lost in unconsciousness, but this time it was a warm, comforting and healing sleep.

"You is awake."

Heero blinked. The old man was still sitting beside his bed, cross-legged. He seemed to be amused, the smile firmly dancing on his lips.

"You is strong."

"I... Thank you." Heero didn't know what else to say. The scented candles gave off a strange perfume that he couldn't identify. He blinked again, his eyes not used to dim light.

"Feel better?"

"I want to see Duo."

"Of course, of course." With surprising ease, the man unfolded his legs and got up quick, reaching out his hand to help Heero up. The woolly blankets slid off of his body, and he realized with a shock that he was naked. Not disturbed in the least, the elderly man picked up a stack of clothes and handed it to Heero. It was a chuba just like the man's, who had to be a monk, or so Heero presumed. His bald shaven head was an indication, but he didn't dare to bring it up as he was afraid to offend the man.

The monk had no trouble helping Heero with the traditional garment, leaving the right shoulder and arm free. He finished tightening the belt, and after Heero donned sheepskin high boots, he noticed that the monk was barefoot. The room they were in was empty, except for the bed and a small table with some pottery on it.

Heero still felt a little light-headed, but it wasn't from the altitude sickness; he was confused about everything: where he was, where Duo was, what had happened since he had jumped out of the Cessna, where his laptop was... The monk stood still in the door opening, his hands folded, and he bowed slightly to Heero.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry about what?" Heero asked, not-understanding.

"Heero Yuy, come with me." Another monk motioned for him, but the contrast between him and his fellow monk couldn't be greater. This wasn't a monk dedicated to prayer and studies. He was tall, bald shaven, and muscular. He didn't wear the traditional chuba, but a white, cotton shirt and dark red pants along with leather high boots. A few long knives stuck in the belt of his pants, and from the look on his face, he knew exactly how to use them.

"It's not our usual way to wear weapons in public, Heero Yuy," he said. "My name is Tsering Wangdu. Please follow me. You can walk?"

"I'm okay," Heero said, though his knees buckled just a little. "How long was I out?"

"Three days. You're lucky to have survived, but Duo already told us that you were a tough one. Nature is unforgiving, especially when you tread her without permission."

"Excuse me?"

Tsering didn't smile or jest. He only jerked his head into the direction of a large hallway. "How well-versed are you in Buddishm?"

"Not very well."

"I'm not going to explain it to you all. But we believe that everything has a meaning, and everything has a heart and a presence. Mother Nature is a strict mistress. You should've asked her permission before treading upon her."

"We were shot out of the sky," Heero answered irritably.

"I know. Your friend is praying for forgiveness. We'll find him in the Great Hall."

Duo, praying? Heero decided against commenting and focused instead on keeping up with the monk's firm pace. He had quite the difficulty to think of this man as a monk. Didn't Buddhism revolve around peace and forgiveness? Why was he wearing those knives so obviously in sight? It would be a big mistake to assume he was 'just' a monk; he had to be a formidable fighter.

Heero was on his guard, taking in his new surroundings. The floor was covered with tiles that had the color of the Himalayas; dark blue, with snowy white and sky blue speckles. The walls were wainscoted, much to Heero's surprise; he wondered what kind of wood the monks had used. The butter lamps provided dim light, enough to make out mandalas on the sparsely decorated walls; the art was breathtaking, the vibrant colors not being done justice by the light. Interspersed with the mandalas were large prayer wheels mounted on the walls, available for every monk to take and use them. The reverence of this monastery was audible, visible and tangible; Heero slowed down as he didn't want to surpass Tsering's pace.

"We respect the silence," Tsering suddenly spoke. "Respect the silence as well, Heero Yuy."

"You talk a lot about respect while carrying weapons," Heero shot back before he could help himself. The monk wasn't offended; more so, he showed a smile.

"You have the right to speak your mind, and I will answer as I see fit. Like I said before, it's not our usual way to wear weapons in public. If you pay attention, you will see many of my brothers scorn me just because I wear these knives on me. However, it has been proven through history that it has become necessary to defend ourselves."

"Defend from what?" Heero's curiosity was piqued.

"Your friend will answer," Tsering said, halting in front of a carved door. Lowering his voice, he continued: "Any friend of Duo Maxwell is my friend. Now be silent, and just watch."

Some way or the other, Tsering managed to open the door soundlessly. It was dark inside the room, and Heero had to get used to the ocean of candle light that lit up in front of him. Soft humming, as in a chant, was the only sound to be heard -- as if shocked, Heero touched his own ears. He could hear at least fifteen different voices, no matter how harmonious the chant. Om mani padme hum, over and over again, in a beautiful yet strange hypnotizing rhythm, and it wasn't until Tsering moved to the right that Heero's trance was broken.

Just as silent as the monk, he followed him to the corner of the room, and then saw what the men were revering. A sitting bodhisattva, a statue of a nameless man on his way to enlightenment, was with its back to the wall, dressed in traditional clothing and jewelry -- Heero saw two strings of beads around the statue's neck, but perhaps they could be pearls -- and holding up two large prayer wheels in his hands. The statue was completely carved from gold: an astounding piece of craftsmanship.

He sat down just like Tsering, and mimicked his position; hands held up, the palms pressed together in front of his chest. The monk didn't participate in the chanting, though. Could that be because of his violent nature?

Heero peeked through his lashes to search out Duo. It wasn't hard to miss him, if only for the tell-taling chestnut braid; all the other monks were bald. Five rows of five men, and Duo was exactly in the middle. He participated in the chant, concentrating on the correct pronunciation. Heero was glad to see he was all right and couldn't wait to hold him in his arms again.

The chant was over, but not every monk stood up and left. Duo rose to his feet as well, every movement controlled and gentle. Respect the silence. The monks probably wouldn't appreciate it if Duo waltzed all over them to run towards the man he loved most. He left his position in the middle and walked over to Heero, opening his arms. They hugged briefly, and Duo used the opportunity to whisper in his ear.

"You look damn sexy in a chuba."

"I can hear you perfectly," Heero responded, a smirk on his face. He was delighted to see that the cut on Duo's face, when he had smacked into the control panel of the Cessna, had healed completely, without leaving a scar.

"I know." He kept his voice low. "They used ancient rituals and the sacred knowledge of old Tibetan medicine. I don't know how they did it, but I'm forever grateful; your lips were purple, your hands and feet were swelling, and you were lethargic. As soon as your nose started to bleed, I knew it was very bad."

"How did they find us? How did we get here?" Heero asked.

"Not here," Tsering interrupted them. "Come, my friends. I know a place where you can sit and talk without being interrupted... or overheard."

"This is our library," Tsering announced as he opened the door. He allowed Duo and Heero to enter, then he made a slight bow and said: "I'll be back shortly with some tea."

No sooner than the door had closed, they grabbed each other in a tight hug, pressing their bodies against each other, hands pawing all over to check if all the injuries had healed. The kiss was searing, intense, burning heat that made them both gasp for breath, and they simultaneously cupped each other's faces.

"I was so scared," Duo said. "I was so afraid that you had such severe hypothermia that..."

"I know," Heero shivered. The possible loss of limbs wasn't very appealing to him, and he could still feel the cold, as a fiend watching over his shoulder to strike when he least expected it. "I knew I wasn't doing well, but I couldn't do anything about it. I... My body didn't want to move, I couldn't think straight..."

"Next time, I'm going to force you to wear Hilde's clothes," Duo said sternly. "I had no symptoms at all."

"I'm glad." Heero stroked his thumb over Duo's forehead. "The cut is gone."

"Yes, and your skin has healed too."

"My skin?"

"Remember the missiles? You were so close to the impact that its heat scorched your face. If I ever get my hands on Marco Bartoli..." Duo's voice became menacingly low, like a growling caged tiger. Heero brought up his own hand to his face, only to find normal, unscarred tissue.

"I do remember the missile, but.."

"It's okay." Duo kissed him on the cheek. "It all went so fast. Besides, Howard is going to kill me for ruining the Citation."

"What's the damage?"

"Twenty-two million dollars," Duo answered deadpan.

"Ouch." Heero groaned.

"It's times like this that I'm glad material assets don't mean a thing to me." Tsering had re-entered the library and put a tray on the table in the middle of the room. "I can't feel for your loss."

Heero wanted to break up their intimate hug, but Duo stopped him. "He knows" was all that he said. "It's okay."

"Please, sit down." Tsering calmly distributed the tea mugs and two bowls filled with boiled yak meat and tsampa, the Tibetan staple food made of roasted barley flour. He shoved the salted tea towards Heero and, obviously knowing Duo's sweet tooth, the butter tea towards him. Duo accepted his mug gracefully, imagining it was a double cappuccino with lots of chocolate sprinkles and shaved almonds on top. Heero prepared himself mentally for the taste of the salted tea; in his place, he imagined a simple cup of strong, very strong coffee.

"This is Barkhang Monastery," Tsering explained. "One of the very few to have survived, due to our remote location. We're close to the Annapurna, but our exact location is unknown except to those who are friends or inaugurated into the deep secrets of our ways."

"Secrets?" Heero parroted.

"As I mentioned before, history has proven that it's necessary to defend ourselves." Tsering's accent was light, almost pleasant. "We are the fighters guild of our group, so to say. I hesitate to say 'cult' or 'movement', as that would be an offense to the Buddhist religion as a whole. Barkhang has a rich history, as we've always taken a stand against oppression and aggression, and where words fail, we resort to our own tactics of dealing with adversaries, not because we like to answer violence with violence but because sometimes there's no other answer possible."

"You should talk to Relena Peacecraft," Duo said. Tsering laughed.

"The woman you call Queen of the World would make a great Rinpoche," he said. "She has the compassion, the strength and the courage to lead a nation into peace. We don't accept female monks, though."

"Don't tell Relena that she'd make a great reincarnated Tibetan lama," Duo whispered to Heero. "She'd come down here and take over the entire monastery."

Heero choked on his salted tea and would've almost spat it out, covering his predicament with coughing into his hand. Tsering didn't notice or didn't think it was important, as he ignored it and continued.

"We help those who are in need, who are poor, who are sick. But we also help those who want to fight, who will take up arms to protect those what's dear to them, even if they have to suffer from the discontent they're receiving."

Heero nodded. He'd seen some of the other monks avoid Tsering, not looking directly at him or stepping pontifically out of his way. The monks wearing the same clothes and weaponry as Tsering, however, had greeted him with a distinctive bow.

"Our ancestors fought against Genghis Khan himself." Tsering stared into his tea. He hadn't touched the tsampa, though Duo was chewing on a dollop of the stuff. "We helped Dalai Lamas to survive, and we helped them to escape. We know seven ways to cross the Himalayas without alerting the border patrol. We know how to take out our adversaries with the least amount of force or violence... but that doesn't mean that the violence against us is equally merciful."

"I didn't know there was any... force of organized fighter monks," Heero commented.

"Not many people know," Tsering shook his head, "and you saw the reaction of our own people. Nonetheless, it needs to be done. Without our interventions, the world might've been totally different from what it is today."

"Which interventions might that be?" Heero asked, jaw slightly clenched. Duo searched out his hand and squeezed it gently.

"That's not our place to ask, Heero."

"You may ask questions," Tsering said, "but I might not be able or willing to answer them. Rest assured, Heero Yuy, that I don't lie and don't deceive. My task here is sacred, even with blood on my hands. For now, you can eat and rest; leave the pressure and strain behind you. Allow your mind to recover, and prepare for what is yet to come."

Heero watched Tsering leave, his hand still caught in Duo's. The door closed, and he looked at Duo again.

"You know, I think he's hiding something from us."

Duo couldn't help but smile. "These people do not answer questions like we're used to, love. He has probably answered you a thousand times over; you just have to search between his words."

"I'm not sure if I want to do that," Heero pouted. Duo chuckled.

"You're so sweet when you're pouting. Eat something. You still need to recover your strength."

"All right." Heero served himself some of the boiled meat and the tsampa, but neither dish was specifically tasty to him. Duo told him that dinner was usually noodle soup or stew with potatoes. Heero was still marveling at the salted tea, but apparently it was a Tibetan custom to put salt, never sugar, in their tea.

They ate in silence, rolling the tsampa through the last bit of Duo's butter tea to knead the food into dumplings that were easier to digest. After finishing the last of the boiled yak -- tender, beef-like meat -- Duo moved away the dirty dishes and hopped onto Heero's lap, wrapping his arms around him. Returning the embrace, Heero moved his right hand onto Duo's braid, wrapping the large amount of hair around his fingers as he scratched his neck.

"How did they find us?" He asked softly, as they gently kissed and patted each other. Duo pressed a kiss on top of Heero's head.

"The monks don't have any technology," Duo kissed Heero's ears and eyelids, "and Nyingchi Airport, Lhasa Gonggar, and Bamda airport are too far removed from this location. They are smart enough to realize that a conspicuous black fighter jet and an explosion means that there are people in trouble. I didn't know what to do, Heero. You had fainted, you were bleeding, and the hypothermia was... killing you. You can't imagine my relief when Tsering found me. He's a smart man, a good man."

"How well do you know him?" A little jealousy seeped into Heero's voice, and he didn't imagine the tighter grip Duo held him in.

"The dagger of Xian" was all that he said.

He had retrieved that particular artifact years ago, right after he broke up with Heero. It had been his first expedition with Solo, his brother who would drown in their quest to discover Atlantis. The turbulent time had left Duo heartbroken and grieving, and he was well on his way to alcoholism and worse when Heero crossed his path again. They had never spoken in-depth about the break-up nor about their reunion; they seamlessly resumed their relationship, as if nothing had happened in-between. Heero had seen the dagger on display at the national museum and knew what he was talking about. He decided to leave it up to Duo what he wanted to tell; he didn't want to sound like a jealous boyfriend.

"I never knew monks could fight -- or rather, that they wanted to fight," Heero said, nuzzling Duo. He was rewarded with a kiss.

"Even though Tsering make it look otherwise, it's not as much about choice as it is about tradition," Duo said. "From father to son, a vow from generation to generation. There are very few monks searching to join the fighters, and those like Tsering have taken these duties upon themselves because of the vow they took from their fathers."

"That's... pretty intense. So he had no choice in the matter?"

"Practically not." Duo kissed him again. "He wasn't kidding when he said that his ancestors fought against Genghis Khan. And if you thought that Maxwell Manor was a fort, Barkhang is a Fort Knox inside a Fort Knox."

"Why? What's their secret history? What have they been fighting for?"

"They're not only fighters but guardians as well, Heero." Duo looked tired all of the sudden. "They guard the holy tomb of Kol An Anuum and his sword."

The pure, fresh taste of the mountain water was vitalizing and energizing. He preferred the taste of the water to the typical salted tea, but he was taking a shine to the hot drink.

He wasn't drinking now but bathing; Heero used a wooden bucket filled with icy-cold water to wash his body, shivering from the temperature, rubbing soap all over him. Using a large body brush he scrubbed all over, feeling a lot better than yesterday morning when he had awoken so dizzily and confused.

The air was still thin at this height and his body couldn't get used to the less oxygen in his blood, but he dealt with it as well as he could. Their stay at Barkhang was temporary; soon enough they'd be able to breathe normally. He reached for the second bucket of water to rinse himself off, but someone else was first, picking up the bucket effortlessly and tilting it, pouring its content over Heero's back and shoulders.

"Don't think I'm going to wash you every day," Duo said, carefully rinsing off the suds. "How do you feel?"

"I would recover much, much faster with a personal assistant like you," Heero quipped. "Especially when bathing."

"Asshole," Duo said laughingly and emptied the last of the bucket right on top of Heero's head, so he almost shrieked from the cold water.

"Hey!"

"Don't be such a wimp," Duo said and teased Heero's nose with the tuft of his braid. "Well? Finish bathing already! I want some breakfast!"

"Fine, fine..." He whacked Duo on the ass when he walked away and got a rough towel thrown over him in return. "I didn't hear you bathe."

"I went swimming," Duo said and laughed at Heero's surprised expression. "The monastery has a swimming pool. Isn't it great?"

"Heated?" Heero almost didn't dare to ask. Duo shook his head.

"Ice cold. It's all natural melting water, straight from the Himalayas itself. I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I dipped my toe in, but I really wanted to swim some laps... and I couldn't get bested by all those old monks swimming like they were going for the Olympic record!" Duo shivered melodramatically.

"This really is a fascinating place," Heero said as he dried himself off. His skin started to tingle from the roughness of the cloth. He didn't feel cold despite the bath, and the chuba was warm to wear, even with the right half of his torso bare. "It feels like a world of its own."

"In a way, it is a world of its own, yes," Duo said. "A harsh, sad world. Tsering and his fellow fighters aren't accepted and they aren't on the path to Enlightenment like the others. Still, if they hadn't been there when the monastery was in trouble, there would be no Barkhang today."

"You said they are guardians of the tomb of Kol An Anuum and his sword," Heero commented, a slight reproach seeping into his words. "Why didn't you say so from the beginning, when we started planning the expedition?"

Duo shook his head. "I didn't know until two days ago, when Tsering told me. We were talking as we were keeping watch over you."

"He kept watch over me too?" Heero couldn't help his voice reaching a higher pitch.

"There's nothing to get upset about, Heero." Duo leaned into him and placed a modest kiss right between his eyes. "We had to work hard to keep you alive. I couldn't have done it alone."

"I'm sorry," Heero said and lowered his head just a little. Duo ruffled his damp hair.

"We have to work together if we want to find the sword."

Heero finished drying himself off. "Well, if they are guardians of the tomb, they'll sure know where the sword is?"

"I wish it was as easy as that," Duo answered.

"I was afraid you might say something like that." He hung the towel to dry over a wooden rack and moved on to getting dressed. "What are the complications?"

"We'll talk about it after breakfast," Duo said. "Tsering will tell us about the sword and how it can be reached -- or not. There was also something else he wanted to talk to us about, but I don't know what. He wouldn't tell me yet."

Heero put on his boots. Tsering didn't seem like the kind of guy to be easily pressed into talking. Heero had seen his face and his eyes; this man had seen death and war, he probably could withstand torture for a long time. He had respect for the warrior-monk, and his jealousy was unreasonable and a little embarrassing, but his protective streak towards Duo was stronger than himself. Somehow he was sure that something bad was lying in wait for them, something terrible, and he didn't know why he knew.

"Finished?" Duo always got impatient when he was hungry; he was hopping from one foot to the other.

"Finished," Heero said and grabbed Duo's hand.

The ever-present tsampa was served for breakfast, along with tea, balep korkun -- a type of flatbread -- and chhurpi, cheese made from yak milk. The dining hall was large, but empty except for Duo, Heero and a few monks in a corning, discussing quietly.

Dunking his tsampa in the butter tea, Duo was munching on a piece of bread. "We'll have to let our friends know that we're alive and well," he said.

"My laptop." Heero put his mug of tea down. "Did it survive..?"

"Yes, it's right here, at the library. I didn't want to show it to you yesterday yet, because you were still a little dizzy and confused. I'm not sure if it works, though; you dropped it the moment you got that nosebleed and fainted. I could see a crack in the screen, but I just closed it and put it back in its case."

"Well, I don't think I should be complaining about that," Heero said. "After we've talked to Tsering, I'll try to boot it up. Wufei will be wondering where we are."

"Yeah." Duo heaved a sigh. "What a mess. And all because of one person."

"Are you referring to Kolanuhm or Bartoli?"

"Bartoli. It's not about the Khan at all, just his sword. Just think of it, Heero. There are no documents about Kolanuhm, not even here, and the Barkhang library is any Tibetologist's wet dream come true. They keep records here that'll blow your mind: the only official declaration of the location of Genghis Khan's grave, hand-written epistles of several Dalai Lamas... I could go on for hours! Yet, there's nothing to be found of a ruler who grew over two hundred years old. It's all about his sword, not the man himself."

"Agreed," Heero said. "Our goal is the sword, not the Khan. But how come there are no records of earlier attempts to retrieve the artifact? Or are there?"

"I'm not sure. I never asked Tsering directly about it." Duo hesitated. "It's not like you start a conversation with him about the sword easily. They are his guardians, but I don't think the Khan himself was loved. It's like burden transcending through time, getting heavier with every new generation, automatically installing loathing and resentment for a fate that's been trusted upon you."

"And as a Buddhist, you're not... eh, allowed... to feel resentment at all," Heero said. "The weapons make it even worse. It's hard to justify that to the Path of Enlightenment."

Duo looked over his shoulder, to the thangka on the wall, a silk painting with embroidery, depicting the Siddhartha Gautama, the Supreme Buddha. "How would you feel if you have been tasked with something that put you at odds with the gods you want to worship?"

"Tsering didn't strike me as someone who was loathing his fate," Heero commented. He finished the last piece of the typical cheese and downed it with the salty tea. "But then again, I take it he's difficult to read to anyone."

"Let's go to the library" was all that Duo said and he took up the dirty, empty plates and mugs to bring them to the kitchen.

"Good morning." Tsering sat on the same chair as yesterday. A mug of butter tea was in front of him, piping hot. "I have good news for you."

"Wonderful," Duo said as he sat down, shoving his chair closer to the table. He narrowed his eyes a little, just like Heero still not used to the dim lights of the many candles and butter lamps; it was quite a difference from regular, Western bulb light. "What is it?"

"My brother from Burqug Lamaling has arrived," Tsering announced as if Buddha himself had been revealed to him. Heero looked a little confused, even though the name rang a bell.

"The monastery where Noventa recovered from his expedition," Duo said quickly.

"We know of this Noventa," Tsering said. He pulled out a small, wooden lacquered chest so fast that neither Duo nor Heero could see where he actually pulled it out from. "Marshall Noventa, the great peace negotiator with a dark past. My brother brought something very interesting."

"That's the good news?" Duo asked, dumbfounded.

"Any news is good news," Tsering smiled, "unless the words bring great tragedy with them."

A silence. Heero's eyes were glued to the small chest, carved with symbols. Tsering all but stroked the wood and popped the lid open.

"They stumbled upon the cave Noventa had taken shelter when he was traveling with his friend," the warrior-monk went on. "This is what they found."

He turned the open chest towards Duo and Heero, and curiously they leaned over the table top to see its contents.

"It looks like glass," Duo said, his voice obviously disappointed. Heero took a closer look. The glass was a little deformed, and the shards were dark at the edges. There was something amidst the broken glass: a small, incandescent light bulb and a few fragments of black plastic.

"It's a broken flashlight," he said. "A torch."

"So what?" Duo looked from Tsering to Heero and back again. "What does this all mean? Noventa dropped his flashlight in the cave. Give the man a break! He was panicking because his friend was succumbing to hypothermia, the same thing that happened to Heero!"

"Look closer, Duo Maxwell," Tsering commanded him. Duo pouted but obeyed.

"What's that darker stuff?"

"I think... I can guess what it is." Heero wished there was better light, but he had the sinking feeling he didn't need it after all to figure out what the strange substance on the glass was. "I think you can guess it too, Duo."

"Well, I'm all out of ideas," Duo immediately retorted.

"It's blood." Heero pointed at the glass. "I'm positive that it's blood."

"That's not good news at all," Duo said, grumping, and he stuck his hands into his chuba, lips pursed in an annoyed frown. Tsering closed the chest with a gentle movement.

"This is the dark past of Marshall Noventa," he said. "My brother still remembers the day when he arrived at the monastery, panicked and dehydrated, disorientated, completely out of his mind. During his fever, he spoke of the sword and Kol An Anuum, and my brother immediately understood what Noventa was after. Still, my brother didn't discourage him, and didn't take his notes away from him. If it was Noventa's fate to find the sword, so be it. But after the Marshall had recovered, he left Tibet, without any recollection of his feverish words. He did, however, mention that his traveling companion had died and that he had buried him in a cave. There are many mountain caves, and there's nothing we can do for the dead but to pray for their return in a better next life."

"This is insane." Duo waved with his hand as if batting at a fly. "He could've dropped the flashlight and the glass broke, and when he went to pick it up, he cut his fingers. Are you seriously telling me that Noventa killed Gianni Bartoli?"

"You won't hear such accusation from me," Tsering said as he put the small chest away. "It could be like you said, a simple cut of his fingers, but it could also be like you said, used to kill. We don't know the circumstances, but we do know that many more people have sought for the sword."

"Not much is known about it," Heero said. "Before Noventa came to us, I had never heard of it."

"Many treasures are hidden on this planet, Heero Yuy." Tsering brusquely stood up from his chair. "Some even in plain sight. And yes, I know that today's methods of communication are fast and well-developed, but this is Tibet under occupation, and more so, this is Barkhang. No news will leave this place unless we really want to."

Duo kept sulking after Tsering left, so Heero started to look for his laptop. He found the case next to a few ancient scrolls, amused at the contrast between old and new technology; carefully, he pulled the case from the shelf and removed the laptop inside. He opened it up and was horrified by the crack in the screen. Booting up the laptop didn't take long, and soon enough, it was up and running.

"I'm going to try to make a connection to a satellite," Heero said out loud even though Duo wasn't far away from him, sitting at the table with his head on his crossed arms, sulking like a toddler. Noventa was his hero. Heero knew that Duo didn't like the insinuation about the Marshall killing Bartoli at all. He didn't like the idea either.

Noventa had told them about Bartoli's death, and how he traveled to Italy to give his family the bad news. Had he put up an act, shedding fake tears to Gianni's widow and his son? Did Marco know about all of this? Was that his reason to obstruct them from finding the sword?

Watching the programs working hard to make a connection, Heero leaned back, stealing an occasional glance at Duo. "Duo..." he softly said.

"I don't want to hear about it." Duo blew a few bangs out of his face. "How's the connection coming along?"

"It's hard to get contact. I guess the battery is slightly damaged as well; I don't get full power here. I can reroute all the auxiliary power to the webcam program, and see who's home."

"That would be awesome," Duo said, lighting up. "Try it, please?"

"I can make the videochat work, but we won't have more than three minutes," Heero said gravely. "If I had any tools here..."

"Call the manor," Duo encouraged him. "Howard's there; he's supervising the reconstruction work! Just trip the alarm in my study, and he'll notice it!"

"Hopefully he's fast," Heero said as his fingers rapidly clicked the keys.

They both stared at the screen, Duo with his fingers crossed. A little anxious, he leaned over Heero's shoulder, his braid sliding along with the movement. Out of habit, Heero took the braid in his right hand and wrapped it around his fingers.

"There he is! Howard! Thank God! Howard!" Duo's loud yelling made Heero cringe.

"Duo! Where in the seven hells are you! You had me worried sick!" Howard's face was distorted and grainy; Heero tried to reroute more power to the video chat, but his laptop was protesting as it was. "See this?" Howard pointed to his grey hair. "This is all because of you!"

"Howard, you were already grey when I met you," Duo said.

"You are most responsible for this." Howard wasn't easy to sway, pointing at his receding hairline.

"We don't have much time," Heero interrupted him.

"That's right. Howard, please contact Wufei and tell him we're all right," Duo spoke quickly. "We're at Barkhang Monastery, and everything's okay. Sorry about the Cessna, though. We're on the right track --"

"Chinese authorities mentioned a plane being shot down over the Himalayas," Howard said. "What happened?"

"Fiamma Nera. Sorry, Howard, not much time. We're going after the sword. Locate Bartoli, and investigate the details of Gianni's Bartoli's death, all right? Send everything you know or find to Wufei and tell him to wait in Chengdu; we'll find a way to contact him. It's much safer for him to stay there. I wouldn't want the Fiamma Nera to go after him."

"Done and done," Howard said. "Oh, by the way, I have something to tell you from G, concerning Sylvia Noven --"

The connection was cut off. "That was all the time we had." Heero adjusted a few buttons and tapped the keys, up until the screen went suddenly black. "I guess we should be grateful for that time anyway."

"At least we gave him the message that we were fine," Duo said. "Did you hear what he said about the authorities? He must've been worrying sick, the poor guy. I hope he can contact Wufei again."

"I'm sure he can." Heero was positive as Howard was extremely cunning. "He'll be able to convey the message to him. Now we have to worry about ourselves." He stared downtrodden at his laptop.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your laptop," Duo ruffled Heero's hair and kissed him on the cheek. "I guess it doesn't survive missile attacks and cold temperatures as much as you thought it would."

"I equipped it myself with extra power to withstand these kind of circumstances." Now Heero was the one pouting.

"Really? You equipped your laptop in preparation for being in the middle of a missile attack?"

"Don't mock me."

"I'm not mocking you, silly." Duo tilted his head a little, but not too much as his braid was still caught in Heero's hand. His own fingers raked through Heero's tousled strands and gently stroked the hair. "We have to be practical."

"You're right. We need equipment and supplies, but where are we going to get them? Everything was stashed in the Cessna."

The look on Duo's face was... unreadable. Misery mixed with melancholy and fear, and Heero didn't know how to interpret his lover's sudden silence.

"I know where we can get equipment," Duo said and disentangled his braid gently from Heero's fingers. "Come with me; I'll show you."

"Duo..."

"Come on," Duo beckoned him with his hand. Heero followed him, trusting Duo with his life and more; if Duo said he knew where to find equipment, he believed him.

He was thinking about what they were going to need for their expedition: everything to combat the thin air and cold, the snow and the harsh conditions of the mountains. If the warrior-monks knew where the tomb of the Khan was... It was a long shot, but if he was buried with his sword...

Heero's thoughts moved on to Bartoli. The Italian was still a dangerous factor in this entire expedition. He hadn't hesitated to send a fighter jet after them, what more would he have up his sleeve?

"I wonder what Howard wanted to say about Sylvia Noventa," Duo broke the silence. The hallways in the monastery were so alike that Heero had difficulties orientating. Duo, on the other hand, seemed to feel at home and know exactly where he was going.

"I don't know what's there to say about her. She hasn't passed away, or Howard would've mentioned it."

"He said that he had something from G to tell me." Duo looked pensive. "It must have something to do with her illness."

"Where are we going?" Heero asked. He hadn't been in this part of the monastery before. He could hear water nearby; they were close to the swimming pool. Duo took a turn to the right and halted, knocking on a wooden door.

"It's us," he said out loud. The door was crafted from sturdy oak, and Heero could hear metallic sounds: a key turned in a lock. He should've known that it was Tsering behind the door; he stared at the warrior-monk stoically, only to be met with a similar stare.

"What do you need?" he asked, not unfriendly.

"I want to see the vault," Duo said, and his voice exposed his unease. Heero's curiosity quickly won over his own adversity towards the monk, and when the door was further opened, he almost stepped inside greedily.

"These are our quarters," Tsering said, stressing the 'our'. Heero couldn't see much difference with the regular hallways of Barkhang, if it weren't for the weapon racks and a burning smithy, located in a corner where it could be conveniently covered up for other monks so they wouldn't see the instruments of violence.

The warrior-monks, dressed like Tsering, eyed the visitors with great weariness and suspicion. After they saw that Tsering was with the guests, they relaxed -- barely. The monk working as a smith had his chuba rolled down at the waist, showing off an impressive torso. It felt so strange to see someone so close to a peaceful religion and environment busy working on a sharp sword, that Heero could understand the apprehension of the other Barkhang monks.

Tsering guided them past the smithy and through a large room with crudely shaped dining tables and chairs. The usual mandalas and thangkas hung on the wall, illuminated by the typical butter lamps; still, the reverence Heero felt in the usual monastery wasn't tangible here. It was hostility that reigned in this room, not reverence. He shivered lightly.

"Are you cold?" Duo whispered.

"A little."

"Be careful." Duo hugged him briefly while they walked behind Tsering. A little guilt went through Heero's mind; Duo was still worried that the aftereffects of the hypothermia were plaguing him, even though Heero had never felt better before, thanks to Thubten, the monk who had helped nursing him back to health, along with Duo and Tsering.

"We're almost there," Tsering announced. He opened another door and fresh, bright daylight washed all over them. Heero squinted his eyes. He hadn't expected they'd go outside. The chilly air blew in his face and he hugged himself, just like Duo. Tsering was unaffected by the climate, but he sped up a little, guiding the others to a small, stone building. It was closed with the same sturdy, oak wood doors as the warrior-monks' quarters, and two eyes were painted above it. Tsering opened it and hurried them inside, closing the door behind him.

"Is this the vault?" Heero couldn't keep from asking.

"Sort of," Duo answered. There was nothing inside; the small building was completely empty. He stepped forward and knelt down, his hands sifting through the sand on the floor. Muttering under his breath, Duo exclaimed an "A-ha!" and pulled a chain to open a hole in the floor. Tsering helped to remove the piece of stone covering it, and sand fell into the opening: a square black hole.

"It's tight," Duo said and jumped inside. "Watch your head!"

Heero waited to follow him until Tsering had lit a butter lamp and handed it over to him to hold. It looked like the warrior-monk wanted to say something but decided against it at the last moment. Taking the lamp from him, Heero made a careful jump into the hole.

"Watch your head!" Duo repeated. "This used to be the monks' fridge. We won't stay long; it's pretty cold down here -- but we can take what we need."

"What the..." Heero said, flabbergasted, when he saw boxes and crates stacked in the small space. He noticed that Tsering hadn't followed them, but Heero was too busy processing what he saw: Duo opening crates, removing dusty cloths and unfolding boxes.

"Solo liked to plan ahead." There was no doubt about the sadness in Duo's voice. His lips turned into a grimace. "He thought keeping some... materials here was a good idea. He always wanted to return to Tibet to start searching for yetis. Yetis, goddamnit," Duo mumbled, and Heero choose to ignore his last words.

One of the crates he opened contained a stack of guns. Duo pulled out a pair of Uzis and cocked them. From the minor distance, Heero could see the ammunition clips in the crate; with a familiar gesture, Duo loaded the guns and put them aside to take out extra clips. The strange expression had returned on his face, and in the light of the butter lamp he looked eerie sad and defeated, much older than he was.

"I'm sorry," Heero said.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Heero repeated. "I should've been there for you."

It spoke volumes about their relationship that Duo immediately knew what Heero was talking about. He put the clips next to the guns, his fingers resting on the crate.

"It's all right. You had your obligations."

"It's not like that." Heero took a step closer, reaching for Duo. He didn't respond to Heero's touch, staring at the crate in front of him. "It's... your parents. Your brother. You never told me much about your parents, and I know... Well, Hilde told me that..."

"How come you ask about my parents, Heero? Just because of Hilde?" There was no animosity in Duo's voice, just that typical strain in his usual melodious timbre that Heero recognized for what it was: a slight crack in Duo's composure. No secrets were kept between them, but that didn't mean there weren't any delicate topics; his family was one of Duo's delicate topics. If he didn't want to talk about it, there was no way anyone could open him up; only to Heero had he shown his true emotions.

"It's because of this place." Heero put his hand on Duo's shoulder. "The monastery. It's a place of reflection and introspection."

"That's true." Duo's fingers slipped from the crate and he laced them together, thumbs rubbing past each other. "What is it that you wanted to know about it, Heero?"

"Not 'it'," Heero shook his head. "I'm not interested in the accident itself, Duo. I want to learn about your parents, because I love their son so very much. I'm sorry I didn't get to meet them. And Solo... I miss him too."

"I know." Duo turned around, and to Heero's relief, slipped his arms around him. He immediately mimicked the gesture, pressing Duo close. Duo nuzzled his neck, keeping a tight grip on Heero. "I wish you had met my parents as well. I'm sure you'd have liked them. My father knew so much about history and archaeology, and he could talk all day and all night long about it, in a way that made you want to get yourself a large tub of popcorn and a gallon of coke, just because he was such a great storyteller. My mother... She was kindness incarnated, soft and gentle, and she had the sweetest smile ever."

"Then you are the perfect combination of both their best traits," Heero said. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Duo said and chuckled briefly. "Don't you think this is an awkward place to say it, though?"

"It's the only place where no monks are around us," Heero answered honestly. Barkhang was far from being crowded, but there was always someone near, in some way or another. Duo had to suppress a grin.

"I admit, except for the bedroom, we're never alone around here. Let's just get our stuff and get out of here, okay? It's really cold..."

"I can take inventory of all the things here if you like," Heero offered. Duo shook his head and reached past Heero to show him a small notebook. He recognized Solo Maxwell's painstakingly perfect handwriting in an instant.

"He wrote everything down," Duo said. "Adjust it... however you would like." Grabbing the two Uzis and the stash of clips, he hurried out of the strange cellar, leaving Heero behind with the butter lamp and a baffled expression on his face.

He decided not to follow him, not yet. Heero turned his attention towards the inventory list, feeling his own pain again when he saw that familiar handwriting. Solo wrote small letters, everything fitting perfectly onto one page, whereas Duo wrote with an incredibly large hand, his letters often encompassing two lines in a notebook. It wasn't the largest difference between the brothers, but it didn't matter: here in Tibet, close to the Roof of the World, Duo's pain about his deceased family was more tangible and rawer than anywhere else.

In the Maxwell Manor, he was surrounded with mementos of his family, the work of his father and the designs of his mother, and Solo's bedroom was exactly the same the day he left it for the last time... and Duo lived between it all, without any difficulties, but the actual confrontation with the people he lost in his lives came here, in this country that had already suffered so much on its own.

Heero didn't know what to say. He didn't want to leave Duo alone in his sadness, yet words failed him to describe what he was feeling himself. Duo's parents had died a little over a year before Heero met him. Their relationship had been intense and fierce; it had literally consumed the both of them with a passion that distracted them from everything else. Solo had still been alive, and he had accepted Heero into the 'family' immediately.

It dawned on Heero that not even Solo had spoken of his parents much -- and certainly not about the conditions in which they had met their death. He stalled a few moments trying to figure it out, only to realize that he hadn't spoken much of his own adoptive father. It was like... they'd rather not talk about it because it hurt too much.

Taking a deep breath, Heero continued to gather supplies. Solo had been efficient; beside guns and ammunition, he had stored backpacks, climbing gear, flashlights, batteries, food rations (energy bars, canned meals easy to heat over an open fire, astronaut food), and bottled water. He selected a few more handguns and stashed everything in the backpacks.

In the corner of the cellar he found a backpacker shotgun, a short barrel less than 36 inches. The brand of the gun was hard to read, and it looked like a model that hadn't been on the market for a long time. Heero picked it up anyway; either Solo had had some creepy foresight or someone else had put it here and forgotten all about it. He made a mental note to check it thoroughly for rusty components.

As he was about to leave the place, a hand reached out for him to help him out of the hole; Tsering had been waiting for him the whole time. Heero took his hand and was hoisted up. Tsering took one of the heavy backpacks and slung it over his shoulder.

"Do you have everything you want?" he asked. Heero nodded. The warrior-monk proceeded to cover the secret room, even brushing the sand back into place. "We will leave here," he said.

"Did you see Duo leave?" Heero had to ask.

"He went back to the monastery. Don't worry, I'm sure he's going to be all right."

"Don't you tell me anything about Duo!" Heero grabbed the other backpack, ready to storm out of the building. A look flashed over Tsering's face, anger perhaps, or offense; it passed by too quickly for Heero to analyze, and at this moment he didn't care. He wanted to go find Duo and talk things over.

"You know he'll go to hell and back for you, right?" Tsering's voice was calm, as usual. It wasn't like Heero to lose his composure, but something about the monk ticked him off. He didn't need a lecture, not about anything -- and certainly not about his Duo.

"Of course I know," Heero snarled, "and he knows I'd do the very same for him!"

"Have you ever asked," Tsering continued, voice unchanged, "how we found you in the mountains?"

"What do you mean?"

"You lost consciousness in a cave." Tsering gazed at him. "You regained consciousness in a monastery. Have you never wondered what happened in between?"

"I would appreciate it if you just told me what you want to tell me," Heero said. The warrior-monk shifted the large backpack on his shoulder.

"What I want to tell you, Heero Yuy," he said sternly, "is that we found Duo Maxwell on his way to the Tsangpo, with you and your precious laptop on his shoulders. He was plowing through the snow of the Himalayas to carry you to safety."

The frame of the large bed was made from the same wood as the small table and chair. A colorful rug was on the floor, and the impressive thangka on the wall depicted a sitting bodhisattva, his arms outstretched as if begging. This guest room was luxurious compared to the other bedrooms, where the monks spend their nights; few of them had a bed as they preferred to sleep on the solid, cold floor.

Duo had taken a wool blanket off the bed and hugged the fabric close around his body. Seeing Solo's handwriting had struck him harder than he thought. Then again, he had never thought he would ever be at Barkhang again, not even when Noventa had entered his office with his story about the sword of the Khan.

He didn't believe in self-pity, but right now he felt miserable and sorry for himself. The Maxwell family had suffered great losses, and a lot of family members kept dwelling over the loss, as if they could bring them back by mourning enough. Heero was the first to accept that Duo's parents were gone; he had never met them, but he had never insisted that Duo should tell about them.

Why, suddenly now, in Tibet, had Heero brought up the subject? Duo had felt so safe with him, just being Duo Maxwell, not the son of the famous Richard and Helen Maxwell; he could be Duo and entirely himself. And why was it hitting him so hard? It had been almost five years ago. But there was still the pain, suddenly torn open like an old wound, and it confused him.

His costume, designed by Hilde, laid neatly folded up on the chair. It had protected him from the hypothermia Heero had suffered, and he was going to wear it again as soon as they were going to find the sword. After that, it was time to leave Tibet behind... and probably the ghost of his family, lurking everywhere he went.

"I'd make a lousy Buddhist," Duo muttered under his breath.

He felt restless, not at ease, and the pent-up frustration in his body was screaming for a release. He wanted to calm down and considered participating in another meditation session. None of the monks judged him or Heero for not following the same path as they did -- and the way Duo was feeling now, he was convinced that The Noble Eightfold Path wasn't the right answer for him, not now -- not with the last image of his parents on his mind, not with the last moment that Solo drifted away from him, his face pale and eyes staring into nothingness.

How could anyone embrace suffering and accept that it existed? How could anyone respond with peace to an obvious threat? These monks and people like Relena Peacecraft had that strength, to acknowledge pain and suffering in the world, and not lifting up their own arm to strike back. Revenge wasn't part of Duo's nature, and who could he exact revenge upon? The plane had malfunctioned, and no investigation had pointed out that there had been foul play... as far as it was possible to investigate a plain crash in the Himalayas.

Duo looked outside the window, to the Annapurna. The mountain range was unforgiving, with a fatality to summit ratio of more than 40%. One of the 14 "eight-thousanders": more than 8,000 meters above sea level. It had killed his parents, and...

He shivered. Grabbing the Uzis, an older model than he was used to, he checked the safety once more. The clips would fit into his belt, and he picked it up to store them, dropping it again as the door suddenly flew open.

Duo turned around, half in a fighting stance, half surprised. His eyes went even wider when he saw Heero standing there, his face radiating raw and vulnerable power.

"What... Heero? Everything all right?"

Heero entered the room and throwing the door close, the sound echoing through the hallway. "I know what you did," he said, voice strangely stern and choking at the same time.

"I did what?"

"You carried me to the Tsangpo," Heero said. "My weight, and the laptop, you were carrying me all the way."

"I would've carried you home if I'd had to," Duo answered simply.

"I know." He rushed towards Duo, grabbing him, taking him in his arms and holding him as he pressed an intense kiss to his lips. The hungry need and fierce protectiveness washed all over Duo, and he reveled in it: he wanted to be needed, he wanted to be protected even though he could take care of himself very well...

This power, strong and tender at the same time, was what he was looking for. The strength of his father and the kindness of his mother came together in Heero, the reason why he was so attracted to him. He found Solo's stability in him and Heero's own loyalty, undisputed love and care; he wanted to give all he had to him, he wanted to allow Heero to take everything from him, and he would still love him until the Earth stopped moving.

"I love you so much," Heero said. "I won't ever let go of you."

"You're not supposed to let go of me," Duo said in return. He showed a loving smile. "Because if you do, I'm going to hunt you down and haunt your life forever."

"You'd make one sexy poltergeist."

"You wouldn't like me if I was one," Duo teased.

"I wouldn't like it, no," Heero admitted, "because I wouldn't be able to touch you then."

Duo moved his arms around Heero's waist. "I don't think we... ever lived so intensely in our relationship," he murmured. "Is it because of this place?"

"I'm not sure. I just don't...want to live on auto-pilot, if you know what I mean. I realized, perhaps because of being here, that I didn't know certain aspects of your life that I do want to know about. There's only so much in a relationship...but the most important things are love and friendship. I want to be your lover and friend and everything else until the day I die. I don't want to love a ghost. I want to love you, Duo Maxwell, with your past, present, and future."

"I understand, I really do." Duo sealed his words with a kiss, and traced Heero's lips with his finger, only to put his index finger against them, lightly pressing. "My parents' accident isn't a secret, my love. But I do ask of you to not force me to tell you about it. I've never felt it so... raw and painful like this moment, and it's difficult for me as well."

"I understand." Now it was Heero's turn to show the same understanding he got from Duo. "I'll tell you about my adoptive father when you want me to. We can only grow and learn more from each other if we talk."

"Now you sound like a monk." Duo poked him in the chest. "Have you been attending meditation sessions lately?"

"I've tried the swimming pool," Heero deadpanned. "I guess the cold water flushed out any impure, distracting thought."

"Then allow me to bring some impurity back," Duo said mischievously. "I know of a few, certain ways to defile a strong, taut, hot body like yours..."

"I'd die for your impurity." Heero nibbled at Duo's earlobe. "You're just like a little demon."

"And you're my guardian angel," Duo said while he licked at Heero's lips. "And now I'm sick of all that sappy, fluffy, kissy talk. Undress, now! Get your ass on the bed! I want to sink my teeth into it!"

The heavy prayer wheel was a nuisance to hold up, but if much older men could hold two of them, one in each hand, Heero didn't want to show any weakness. Dressed in his chuba, leaving his right shoulder and right arm bare, he sat cross-legged next to Duo, as they participated in a praying session that was held especially for them.

Earlier in the morning, Tsering had told them that all of the Barkhang monks had agreed to give permission to search for the tomb of the Khan. Kol An Anuum, the descendant of the ferocious Genghis Khan, was buried deep below the monastery itself, instead of following the customs of his tribe: to be buried without markings.

"We buried Genghis Khan under a river, but Kol An Anuum under a mountain," he had stated. "It had to do with his sword. Why we have been fighting, why we have been following in our ancestors' footsteps and deviating from our own path of Enlightenment, is because of the sword."

It had been the last evening they spend together in the library. The butter lamps had cast their usual dancing dim light on the dark wooden walls, and a bowl of momos, steamed dumplings made of tsampa, had accompanied the sweet yak butter and milk tea (for Duo) and salted, strong green tea (for Heero and Tsering). The warrior-monk looked tired; he even had dark circles under his eyes. This was the only moment Heero saw him without his weapons; there were no knives on his body, and he looked like he was about to give up.

"The k'an-po has given you his blessing," he spoke, articulating every word separately. Lama Chodrak was the k'an-po, the abbot, of Barkhang Monastery -- and older than any monk Duo and Heero had ever met. They had seen the holy leader at some of the meditation ceremonies, and once in the dining hall; Heero had wondered about the vitality of the man, who looked like one hard sneeze could blow him out of the window. "The sword of the Khan is too great a distraction to the monastery and our lives. He has condoned our way, the way separated from his own, in order to protect life and the monastery itself -- but the sword is a dark place, a dark taint on our past and present, and our future as well. If we, as the fighting order we are, want to return to the Path of Enlightenment and not harm those who want to harm us, we have to get rid of that one object that attracts the pain and the violence."

Tsering had handed them a hand-embroidered binder, holding all the documents of previous attempts to rob the sword, attacking the monastery in process. "Maybe it's time for us to leave certain things behind as well. Maybe it's time for us to abandon certain traditions and find peace for us all once more," he said. "Through violence, you may 'solve' one problem, but you sow the seeds for another. We've been sowing the seeds for violence for many generations, only to protect a worldly possession."

"But it's the sword of the Khan," Heero said. "Not just 'a' possession."

"A possession is a possession, whether it's from a Khan or not," Tsering responded. "It's indeed the properties attributed to the sword that made people search for it. But it's still a possession, and it's tainting us and the world."

The warrior-monk had told them that the k'an-po only had agreed to remove the sword if it was going to be without a possessor. Tsering had explained to the lama that a museum was a good place for it; theoretically, no one would be the possessor of the sword but the museum itself, and their intentions weren't malicious.

"We don't wish to unleash war on this world," Tsering continued gravely. "No war for a sword of a man who has deserved no mention in our own history."

"We will take the sword with us and make sure it won't bother you again," Duo said in all sincerity.

"Will it be shown to this Noventa person?"

"Yes," Duo said. "I promised him."

"Keep your promise," Tsering nodded. "Honor the monastery, Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy. Take this shame from us, and walk the Way we all search to walk."

The recited prayers were like a warm embrace. These men were counting on them to remove something from their history and return Barkhang to what it once was: a place of peace and enlightenment, not burdened by what was buried deep beneath them.

The sword of the Khan, be it a magical instrument or the fountain of youth or a mysterious device for longevity, had weighed down on the monks' minds far too much. Duo couldn't speak Tibetan but tried to recite the prayers by sound. It was the last warm 'bath' they would receive, a preparation of their soul of what they were going to find. The tomb hadn't been visited by any of the monks in ages; what was left of the Khan, or his sword, was unknown.

Heero listened to the words being chanted, enveloping himself in the strange calmness that went out of the repeated prayers. Barkhang was a good place, and he could figure out his adversary to Tsering better; he had looked into a mirror, and he hadn't liked his reflection. It wasn't about faults or mistakes. It wasn't about who was bad or good; it was about how they were to each other. Love wasn't enough for a relationship alone. It was about their bond: friendship, compassion, protection, comfort and warmth... and being who they wanted to be, in full trust and companionship.

The prayer session was over. The k'an-po himself rose silently from his sitting position, holding something in his hands. Heero couldn't make out what it was, yet he remained seated next to Duo, looking up at the elderly man approaching them.

"Tashi Delek," he spoke softly, as he gifted them with khatas, a silk white scarf symbolizing purity, goodwill, auspiciousness and compassion.

Duo tied it immediately around his neck, thanking the lama. They were going to need all the luck they could get, but Duo was confident that he would retrieve the artifact. He had recovered quite the artifacts with Heero in mind-blowing situations, and the Khan's sword was going to be a tremendous feat... He couldn't wait to get going. Heero felt Duo's eagerness, and put his hand on his, as if he wanted to tell him to calm down. Duo nodded quickly, taking the hint.

After saying goodbye to the monks, Tsering and the other warrior-monks accompanied them outside of the monastery. They kindly had provided Heero with warm clothing that didn't limit his movements, and Duo was wearing his white costume, both carrying a backpack and visible guns. The shotgun stuck a little out of Heero's backpack, but none of the monks commented on it. They were used to weapons, having fought just like their ancestors, and Heero couldn't tell if they were all prepared to turn back to the Path of Enlightenment.

That was for their heart and mind to make up, he presumed. Barkhang was a rough place, just like the wild nature of Tibet; the wind was already freezing off his nose, and the thin air made breathing difficult, yet the monks walked outside with their white shirts. Heero stuck his gloved hands in his woolen coat and quickly increased his pace to stay warm.

"This is as far as we can get you," Tsering spoke when they had arrived at a small shed, similar to the one that held the secret stash of weapons, Solo and Duo's private stock. "This used to be the common entrance to the Khan's tomb. Nature has overtaken it; the mountains have a will of their own, and the tomb probably has sunken deeper than we can imagine. It's up to you now, my friends."

"Thank you for everything," Duo said, grabbing Tsering's hand and pumping it enthusiastically. It seemed to embarrass the warrior-monk a little, but he didn't let go of Duo's hand.

"I'm sorry I don't have any news for you anymore," he said. "We could've sent a messenger to Chengdu to find your friend there, but he wouldn't have made it back in time."

"I expect my contact to have reached him," Duo said. "I'm sure everything is all right. Thank you once again. We'll set things right."

Tsering opened the door of the shed, allowing Duo to be the first to enter. They heard a "Sheesh, it's dark in here!" and the sound of a lighter. Heero waited until Duo had made a light, then he faced the monk.

"Thank you," he said, and he meant it.

"Sometimes one creates a dynamic impression by saying something, and sometimes one creates as significant an impression by remaining silent." Tsering bowed to him.

"One torch can dissipate the accumulated darkness of a thousand eons." Heero returned the bow. Tsering suddenly broke out in laughter.

"You're a quick student," he said, voice filled with mirth. "I can see why Duo is so fond of you. Go, my friend -- and know that you will always be welcome here."

"Thank you," Heero said, suppressing a grin himself, and he all but jumped through the door opening. Tsering almost immediately closed the door behind him, and it would be pitch dark if it weren't for Duo having lit an oil lamp.

"Did I miss some kind of joke?" he asked.

"Nah, just men's talk," Heero answered.

"If it has something to do with 'me being fond of you', then you should know that I think you can be a gigantic asshole sometimes," Duo retorted airily. "Well, we're inside the entrance to the Khan's tomb. We better make some effort to see what's really here, hmmm?"

"Yes, oh exalted leader." Heero took out a slender flashlight from his backpack and turned it on. There was nothing else to see in the shed but the large crack, leading directly into the mountain range of the Annapurna.

"Well, I guess it's quite obviously where we need to go to." Duo turned a little to see if he could move through the crack sideways. He was wearing some of the ropes and anchors of the climbing gear, making his backpack twice its size. The temperature in the shed was even lower than outside, and it felt even colder so close at the crack. He rubbed his gloved hands and moved sideways, like a crab, into the crack. Heero followed him, shining in front of him with the flashlight.

"Man, it's cold," Duo said superfluously. "How are you doing?"

"I can take it so far," Heero answered. It was impossible to turn back now, not without the sword.

The cold was expected -- it was a breathtaking cold, destructive in its nature, yet beautiful in all its danger. They were surrounded by the forces of nature that mankind hadn't bested yet, and more than probably never would. How could one contain this force, dominate it or bend it to his will? It was impossible; this mountain seemed to be alive, breathing on its own, sending its cold breath to paralyze unwanted visitors, using the darkness to blind those dwelling within, preparing traps and death at every step of the way.

Heero's new clothes, also blessed by the k'an-po, were a vast improvement on what he wore earlier. It still stung Heero that all their supplies had been lost, because he had prepared himself extensively on this expedition; it was a sour thought that everything he had done had been for naught.

He wondered if they were ever going to meet Marco Bartoli in person. So far, he had sent his cult to do his dirty work; the Fiamma Nera had done everything in their power to stop them. He couldn't wait to meet the man himself and wring his neck for what he had done.

"This looks like a staircase to me," Duo said, jerking Heero out of his thoughts. "Send a little light my way, will you?"

"I'll go first," Heero said. Duo had a flashlight as well, but held a pack of flares to illuminate their way, and to find their way back. He lit one and put it on top of the stairs he had just found; Heero shone down with his light to see the carved steps. "It looks firm," he said. "Do you think the monks have carved it?"

"I doubt it," Duo said. He knelt and took off his glove just for a moment to touch the ground with his bare fingers. "Kolanuhm was a Mongol and an aggressor; just like his great-great-great-granddaddy Genghis, he expanded the Empire, and participated in the large-scale slaughter of the local population."

"We don't know that." Heero wasn't taking a side; he just looked at the facts. "Even Tsering had no documentation about him, remember? He might've been a bad Khan or a good Khan; we simply don't know."

"True, true." Duo's voice behind him was like a comfortable reassurance of his presence; Heero could hear him light a flare every now and then to mark their way. The stairs were well-kept; no cracks, no gaps, no moisture to make them slippery and dangerous.

"Who would've carved these steps, then?" Heero wondered out loud.

"Perhaps those who gave Kolanuhm his burial?" Duo was marveling at the fact that there was no moisture at all, not even on the walls. It was a good thing neither one of them was claustrophobic; the stairs narrowed instead of expanded, and more than once, the backpacks chafed against the rock wall. The only sounds were their voices, echoing hollowly, and the clattering of the climbing gear in Duo's backpack.

"His servants or a group of people he trusted enough to take care of his body after his death." Heero's voice sounded casual even though he concentrated firmly on the steps ahead of him. "Think about it; no one has taken the sword for himself. What would you do, if you could get your hands on an artifact that prolonged your life indefinitely?"

"I'm not sure if I'd take it," Duo said. The greed in his voice wasn't because of the value of the artifact; he didn't recover them for monetary gain. It was a different greed, a hunger for the recovery of a mysterious object. It was the rush of the discovery itself that echoed in Heero's heart; he could feel the adrenaline building. Venturing on unknown territory, digging up objects that mankind hadn't seen for ages, finding something that could change history as they knew it... and the sword of the Khan was the most intense challenge they've met so far. "Do I want to live forever? Not without you. I do like to live long, though. I want to see much more of the world, I want to learn more foreign languages, I want to eat much filthier, greasy food, and I want to have sex with you for the longest time possible!"

"Why thank you," Heero answered dryly. He moved his flashlight from left to right, revealing the steps one by one. "I can totally agree with that, yes. But wasn't it as much about longevity as Tsering said, as about eternal youth?"

"I'm not sure. The Khan aged, remember? Only much, much slower than natural. I guess that's why the sword holds so much appeal. People strive for immortality."

"There can be only one," Heero quipped, referring to one of Duo's favorite action movies. He got a slap on the back for it and grinned.

Concentrating on the steps took a lot out of Heero, and the bad air increased the chances of a migraine. Every now and then, they rested to catch their breath. Descending the stairs wasn't that much exerting: it was the air, the darkness, and the tight, confined space that worked on their state of mind. Even Duo had to admit that this mountain range was one of the toughest locations he'd ever been. Not even the dark jungle of Sanq Kingdom had taken so much out of them.

During one of their breaks, Duo poured hot butter tea from a thermos into the cap and handed it to Heero. It was a different taste from the salted tea, and Heero scrunched up his face.

"I think I prefer salt to sweet," he said.

"It's yak butter." Duo treated himself to a little sip. "It takes quite a bit of... training to get used to it."

"I still can't believe how cold the climate here is in general," Heero sighed as he ate a piece of balep korkun. The flatbread had been fresh this morning, but it seemed like the environment had sucked everything out of it; Heero could crumble it in his fingers. "The Tibetans are marvelous to have adapted to these harsh circumstances."

"I have read an article about how they're being able to survive here." Duo frowned as he tried to recall. "It's because of their lung capacities... No, that's not true. Their bodies are much better able to get oxygen from their blood at higher altitudes, due to evolution. They lived for generations at this altitude and have developed a better body for it. It was quite an interesting article."

"I think any Tibetan will be in shock when they meet another culture." Heero munched on the bread, swallowing it with another sip of tea. "They're nomads, focused on survival on a daily base. How would they respond to a supermarket filled with meat and vegetables?"

"I don't think they would care much for the supermarkets." Duo had finished eating from the stock of tsampa the monks had prepared for them. His voice carried a soft tone of melancholy. "I think they would miss their mountains. It's beautiful, Heero. So harsh and unforgiving, yet beautiful... I'd miss the mountains too."

"You're probably right." Heero fell into silence as he was eating the rest of the balep korkun, using the last of his tea to wash it down. As soon as they'd return to Maxwell Manor, he was going to ask Hillary to make him such a large okonomiyaki that he could eat himself silly for at least three days.

"Do you want me to go first now? It's tiring on the eyes," Duo said.

"All right. Give me your flares, then."

They switched positions and Duo went first, leading the way down. The temperature went down along the way and Heero noticed his breath coming out in small puffs; it was getting close to below zero. Duo halted and shone the light on the walls. There was now definitely ice on the rocks.

"We must be...I don't even know. Do we have a depth gauge with us?"

"I didn't see one in Solo's inventory," Heero said. He doubted whether he could use a laptop down here, even if it was his own. "We haven't been descending that long, though."

"This is Tibet," Duo muttered. "It's snow and ice all the way. But ice inside a mountain?"

"Be careful."

"I'm glad that there's no ice on the stairs."

Heero left another flare on the steps and they descended deeper into the mountain. To save strength and conserve their stamina, they didn't say more than was necessary. The ice on the rocky walls increased in thickness, and huge icicles hung from the ceiling.

Not a gust of wind, not a sound, not one sign of life... Only them, the two adventurers, and a chilly feeling that kept crawling between Heero's shoulders. He realized that he was scared. It was a tight knot in his stomach that was warning him for danger. Strange that he responded so intuitively, so strongly to natural forces around him, even though he had as much experience as Duo under his belt when it came to extreme circumstances. This was also a part of the excitement, fear and adrenaline fighting over control of his body, the thrill of the chase, the alluring taste of a new discovery...

"Hey, it's solid ground here," Duo's voice suddenly broke the silence.

"Finally," Heero said. He put another flare at the end of the stairs and looked around, following the flashlight. Nothing but icicles, ice, and rocks.

"Wow. How could anyone have survived here?" Duo said. "I mean... whoever carved those steps, they had to work here in these circumstances, with nothing more than sheepskin and wool clothes and the pickaxes in their hands. It's... astounding."

"I wish I knew," Heero answered truthfully. "It's fascinating. Too bad there are no documents of Kolanuhm's reign and the people in his service."

"Still, the sword... It's all that remains of him and his name."

"And fame."

"Well, whatever you want to call it. Do you want to rest some?"

Duo's energy had unlimited levels or so it seemed. Heero had to smile. No way was he going to slow him down when he was getting the same energy surges; they were getting closer with each and every step.

"Go on," Heero motioned him. "Be careful not to slip though. The ice is also on the ground."

"I see it. Hey, maybe there are some yetis living underground..."

"Duo, just continue..."

"Yes, master commander."

It took just another five minutes for Duo to halt again. Heero came standing close to him, one hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter?"

"Give me one of your flares," Duo said. Without questioning him, Heero handed him a flare. Duo lit it and threw it in front of him; it bounced off the ground, sliding smoothly along the surface of ice.

"Amazing..."

Duo shone the flashlight around once more. "It's a frozen lake," he said. The flare had ended up in the middle, giving off enough light to illuminate the surroundings. "Look at that! A frozen lake in the middle of the mountain!"

"This is incredible." Heero was impressed. "Any scientist would kill to research this. How did water get into the mountain here?"

"Nature. This had to have been a process of eons." Duo tried to estimate the size of the lake. "Rain, melting water from the glaciers... it has been seeping for millennia into the rock. This is a natural phenomenon I've never seen before."

"I don't have a camera with me. This is astounding."

"I'm not sure how you could get a picture of this," Duo said. "It's so dark..."

"A video camera, then, just to document this wonderful place."

"We should contact National Geographic Channel as soon as we get home."

"You'd make a lovely presenter of the Duo Maxwell in Tibet show."

"Ha ha..."

"Anyway, how are we going to get across?"

"Across to where?" Duo moved the flashlight from left to right. "I don't see any exit here, Heero. No crack or opening on the other side."

"Do you think... the tomb is under the lake?"

Duo heaved a sigh. "If that's so, we're never going to be able to reach it. Tsering didn't tell us about this."

"He didn't know." Heero put his backpack on the ground and started digging through it, even though he didn't know himself what he was looking for. "He said that he and his brothers defended the place, but he hadn't seen it himself... or any of his ancestors in ages."

"Thubten has cured your ears very, very thoroughly," Duo said. "You pick up everything!"

"Your thoughts wander off too fast." It wasn't a reproach; Heero's voice was light. He was getting the hang of how to even out his breathing in this atmosphere, and he had no doubt Duo had picked up on it as well.

"What are you searching for?"

"I don't know. I must've packed something to solve this..."

"I think I have the answer this time." Duo shrugged the backpack off of his shoulders, heaving an audible sigh. Putting the heavy climbing ropes aside, he opened the flap of the backpack and pulled out a device that Heero didn't recognize.

"What's that?"

"It's an ancient depth meter, especially for ice and snow," Duo said. "Howard had built this the first time Solo and I went to Tibet. If we had to cross frozen lakes or rivers or large fields covered in snow, we could use this little gadget to measure its depth, so we wouldn't be surprised."

"Sounds just like Howard to invent a thing like that. How does it work?"

"Let me see..." Duo banged with his hand against the small device, and a light suddenly lit up. "Ah, that's more like it." He went to the edge of the frozen lake, placed the device on the ice and shone his flashlight on the display. "I guess it has to... Wait! It says that it's at least five meters thick."

"That's more than safe enough," Heero said, satisfied. "But if we really can't find a way out..."

"Then we have to turn back. We haven't come this far to go home empty-handed. There must be another way in."

"Or they have taken extra precautions that the sword wouldn't be stolen."

"Why? No one tried to take it when the Khan was alive. No one took it when the Khan was buried. Why the precautions? Why bury it so deep?"

"You know, I love to chat about this with you over a cup of good, strong coffee..."

"Tempting. Let me get to the other side of the lake." Duo hoisted his backpack over his shoulders again and took the depth device with him, placing it on the ice at intervals to check its depth. "Four meters. Three meters. The ice is getting thinner here. How strange..."

"I don't want you to go any further," Heero called out.

"Heero, I can skate the Dutch Elfstedentocht all over the place. Did you know that that skating tour requires fifteen centimeters of thickness? It's two hundred and fifty centimeters here. I can dance with a hippo and still not worry to crack through it!"

Heero uttered a sound that could mean anything, and he stepped on the ice as well. It was strangely gorgeous, and the extra weight he put on it didn't seem to cause any strain on it. Duo was still moving around, checking the thickness of the ice occasionally. Heero studied the walls for cracks, hidden entrances, anything that could give a hint to proceed from here; the possibility that the tomb was under the ice, became stronger and stronger as he couldn't find anything.

"It's no use." Heero said out loud. "I can't find anything."

"Wait a sec," Duo answered, "I'm coming. Let me finish..." His sentence was cut short when a nasty, loud cracking sound interrupted him. Heero snapped his head around.

"Duo, what?"

"I..." In the light of the flare in the exact middle of the frozen lake, Heero could see Duo's incredulous expression. He held Howard's depth measuring device in his hands.

"How thick is the ice there?"

"One hundred and twenty-seven centimeters." Duo held up the device as if Heero could see the display from the distance. "There should be no problem..."

The next second, the ice cracked so loud that they both instantly ducked for cover, the noises resembling gunshots, echoing all around them. Heero was the closest to the point where they had entered the lake and started moving back.

"Get back," he said.

"Yeah." Duo laughed a little nervously and moved his leg, only to flinch when another sound, cracking like a whip, echoed. This time, the ice was visibly tearing. A large fissure was rapidly created, the ice moving and bulging like tectonic plates shifting. Duo was rooted to his spot, unable to process the rapidity with which the ice was breaking.

"Duo, move!" Heero took a step towards him, only to notice a spider web-like pattern under his feet. Water was pressed through the thin cracks, wetting the surface and making it slippery. "Move, goddamnit!"

Duo moved to the side, tracing his steps back to the entrance. The ice was cracking and tearing like a sick imitation of popcorn being popped; the sounds came in rapid succession, with every crack throwing up water, wetting the surface, cracks shifting under such pressure that they broke in large chunks of ice. It got torn so fast that Duo couldn't stay ahead of it, and to Heero's horror, he fell on his right knee, his foot getting caught in a crack splitting open.

"Duo!" Heero threw off his backpack and slid towards him. "Grab my hand!"

"No! Stay back!" Duo tried to get his leg free, placing his hands on the ice and keeping his body low to the ground. "I don't want you to sink through it!"

"Don't be stupid!" Heero hugged the wall as he approached Duo. "Your hand! Now!"

He twisted his own torso, trying to reach Duo. He saw him lift up his hand, shaky, afraid to lose his precarious balance. The ice seemed to have stopped moving and Duo got up, his soaked leg freed from its scary position.

"Easy, easy," Heero said, even though Duo was careful, and he reached for him some more, his fingers outstretching to grab Duo's hand.

He was just about to say that Duo should throw off his heavy backpack when the unimaginable happened: a large crack spread out in front of Duo, a gaping black hole that opened right up and swallowed him. In the blink of an eye, Duo fell forward, slipping on the ice, his hand away from Heero's. In another millisecond, their eyes crossed looks: both mirroring surprise and fear, as in the next second, he was gone.

He was simply gone.

Heero didn't know who cried out louder: Duo in surprise as the ice gave way or Heero himself, crying out like a fatally wounded animal. The sound echoed wildly, howling inside the mountain as if demons were gnawing on his very soul, torturing his body as the one he loved, the one he would die for, his one and only Duo, vanished in front of his eyes, nature relentlessly claiming another victim.

He didn't hesitate for one moment, not even with the ice crackling and shifting under him. Heero threw off his backpack and shot forward, only to be held back by a force. He wrestled, his arms flailing as if trying to swim on dry land, yelling, screaming and crying out Duo's name. He was pulled back, and he kept crying and yelling, emitting nonsensical noises, as he was pulled back further, away from the ice.

"Let me go!" He yelled even though he didn't know he was yelling to. Whoever or whatever was holding him, it was strong, and Heero started punching, driving his elbow backwards to hit whatever was behind him, protesting and snarling, but his feet slipped on the ice, and he was dragged surely but slowly away from the place where Duo had sunk through the ice.

"Let me go! Motherfucker!" Finally, Heero turned around, but before he could throw another punch, he was slapped so hard in his face that he promptly fell, his knees landing on solid ground.

"You won't bring Maxwell back by screaming his name," a stern voice reached his ears. "Get up on your feet, Yuy. This is not becoming of you."

A strong, physical pain prevented him from getting up. He wasn't feeling paralyzed so much as intensely hurting and his body simply wouldn't obey him.

"Motherfucker!" he called out. "Fucking asshole! What do you know about it?"

Another slap to his face made him see stars in the darkness. The cold came crashing down on him, the pain and the sorrow, the hurting so strong that his body spasmed and convulsed, and he threw up.

"Pathetic. Just really pathetic, Yuy." A strong light shone directly into Heero's eyes and he squinted. A cloth was pressed roughly to his chin and mouth, wiping off the last residue of his vomit. "Get up. Get up, before you dishonor yourself even more."

Finally, he rose. Aching, his joints protesting, his head heavy, his heart... his heart broken. It took ages, a lifetime, to get up into a standing position again, and Heero's breath came in harsh, irregular pants. Shaking and trembling, he turned his head towards the one who had spoken.

"Chang," was all he said.

"At least you have the decency to recognize me." Chang Wufei looked sternly at him, ebony eyes unfathomed deep and dark. He had a hand on Heero's shoulder, but he didn't register the touch; he didn't notice it until Wufei withdrew his hand. Behind him, just at the bottom of the stairs, were two other men standing. Sherpas. "I won't offer you any apologies, Yuy. Your behavior, though understandable, was shameful."

"Well, I'm sorry," Heero took a step away from him, "we're not all unemotional, unmoving robots like you. I just saw the one I loved crashing through ice, falling to his dea--"

"Spare me your cheap sympathies," Wufei said and adjusted the straps of his backpack. "I saw my wife die in front of my eyes. Don't talk easily about pain you don't know others have suffered, Yuy."

The silence was deafening. "I didn't know that," Heero finally said.

"Exactly." Wufei heaved a sigh and when he looked up at Heero again, he showed compassion for the first time. "I do offer you my apologies for not making it in time. I saw... or rather heard Maxwell going through the ice."

"I..." Heero felt his knees buckle; it took all of his willpower to remain standing.

"Sit down," Wufei said, not unfriendly. "You're not showing weakness now, Yuy. Sit down before you keel over."

Heero sat down on his backpack, avoiding the icy, cold ground. He looked at his hands, his fingers shaking, his entire body trembling. Wufei sat down next to him, imitating his position on the backpack. He didn't say a word, leaving it to Heero to gather his bearing and allowing him the time to do so.

"What are you doing here?" Heero's voice was soft, not reflecting the violent shaking of his body; he just wanted to hear the other talk, to concentrate on something else but the rapid beating of his heart, that awful repetitive thought in his mind: Duo can't be dead, Duo can't be dead, Duo can't be dead...

"I got a few messages," Wufei answered. He kept a close eye on Heero. "I was at Chengdu to meet up with you according to plan. When you didn't show up, I contacted Howard, but he hadn't received any news from you yet." He shifted his position and made a hand sign to the Sherpas, who huddled together at the bottom of the stairs with a typical tea churn to drink their beloved beverage. They obediently turned their backs and started talking softly to each other, but Heero doubted they could overhear him and Wufei talking anyway. Wufei didn't pay attention to the Sherpas and stared at Heero again. "Then I saw a Chinese broadcast that an unidentified enemy plane had been taken down above the Himalayas."

"God," Heero sighed, "so that's how they brought the news?"

"They didn't know." Wufei shook his head. "I'm not proud to say it, but especially at the borders, Chinese officials can be bought. Even if you had tried to ask permission to enter Tibetan airspace, they would've denied it if the Fiamma Nera had waved enough bills around."

"You know about the Fiamma Nera?"

"Howard was very thorough in his briefing, and after you both didn't show up, I took the freedom to investigate the whole matter myself. I'll get to the Bartoli family later. I tried to get more information when I saw the newscast, as it was mentioned that it was a small, private plane with 'tourists deviating from their course'. Local authorities reported that they had tried to establish contact with the plane, blah blah, but decided to take it down when no answer was received."

Heero could remember how he had tried to contact traffic control, just before the first missile had ruptured the Cessna. He shivered violently. The trembling slowly ebbed away, but he wasn't calming down yet. His mind was racing. He didn't have time to listen to Wufei's story. Duo. Oh God, Duo.

"My private investigation was successful, of course," Wufei continued. "I found someone willing to cooperate, and the paperwork was easy to find. A jet registered to Bartoli had been given full permission to enter Tibetan and Chinese airspace, and wasn't entered into the grid. It was a huge risk they took, but apparently the presence of the Fiamma Nera plane has been masked well. Your flight plan was easy to find as well, as you had filed it to obtain permits. A Cessna Citation X, tagged and all, they followed you all the way, every mile after another."

"What about Bartoli himself?"

Wufei nodded. "He was in Chengdu when I investigated. I met some of his men." He tapped on the handle of his katana, stuck safely in his backpack. "However, I was unable to keep track of him." He looked sour. "Bartoli vanished from one moment to another, and I had no idea where he went to, so I decided to travel after you. One call to Winner, and he provided me with all the equipment I needed. I had already hired the Sherpas."

It had been their original plan to meet up in Chengdu and travel together, guided by the Sherpas, to the Nyingchi prefecture where Noventa's trail had ended. Now everything had changed -- for the worse.

"Duo," Heero could only say his name, voice broken.

"I'll spare you my hasty trek through the Himalayas," Wufei said dryly. "Nor will I bother you with the Barkhang monk I encountered, who was willing to speak of you after I mentioned your names."

"Tsering?"

"The old man wouldn't give me his name," Wufei said grumpily. "Chinese and Tibetans don't mix well. He mentioned something about your ears, though. What happened to them?"

"Thubten," Heero answered.

"What?"

"That was his name. Thubten. He nursed me back to health after the accident with the Cessna..."

"I won't pry for details yet. We've got work to do." Wufei got up, jogging briskly in place to get his blood circulation going again. "Get up, Yuy, you're going to get frozen stuck if you sit any longer."

"What work? Didn't you see Duo crash down, all through the ice?"

"That's why I said we've got work to do." Wufei kicked at his backpack, and Heero could see the strong ropes on top. "I told you that Winner provided me with everything I needed. We have all the materials we need to rescue Maxwell."

"That's too much optimism, even for you," Heero snorted, but deep down in his heart, he wanted nothing more to believe that Duo was still alive. It just couldn't be that the only person in his life that meant so much to him was lying down, breathlessly, eyes glazed... even the mental image was too cruel to bear.

"I'm not saying otherwise until I've seen his corpse with my own eyes." Wufei said something to the Sherpas, who quickly finished their tea and got up. "We've got the manpower and the material. We go after Maxwell."

"And the sword?"

"If both the sword and Maxwell are down there, he's going to get his hands faster on it than us." Wufei wasn't to be deterred. "I don't like to give anyone false hope, Yuy. But I've seen him getting possessed by Shinigami and survive it. That's why I only will believe he's dead when I see his corpse. And whatever is down there, Khans, swords, tombs -- it won't be a dead Duo Maxwell. Let's go."

Warmth, oh heavenly warmth. He moaned a little, trying to feel and experience more of that warmth. It had to be an open fire place. He adored the fireplace in the living room at Maxwell Manor, the one that was most used by his family. His mother would knit fluffy, woolen scarves for her sons who thought they were too big and ugly and refused to wear them in public, but hugged them close at home if only to sniff the scent of their mother's tender perfume. His father would sit in his armchair, talking about whatever that interested him, his topics usually lingering around historical events and their reflection into the past, and if the boys weren't listening, his wife would -- her "Yes, my dear" would interrupt his monologue every now and then.

Jeeves Wilson, Hillary's father, would keep an eye on the open fire so that it would be nice and comfortable in the living room, and enter every now and then to provide the family with coffee or tea. He would pretend not to notice the rowdy youngest Maxwell son, who tried to trip him, or scare him, or make funny faces at him, and he would pretend not to notice the awkward, bookish, eldest Maxwell son though he send him a warm smile, acknowledging the boy.

Paintings on the wall, soft cello music in the background, the clacking of the knitting needles, the warm, baritone voice of his father, calling his name whenever he was mischievous... Duo, he would say, Duo, stop what you're doing and listen to me... listen to me... listen to me... Can you hear my voice? Please Duo, just listen to me. I'm so sorry...

His eyes went wide open and Duo gasped so loudly for breath that he choked, his body unable to process the sudden movement. Looking to his left, he saw his father's face, that kind, yet stern face filled with love for his son. The lines in his face were of age, not of worries or concerns; the receding dark brown hair, slightly graying, was so familiar that Duo wanted to reach for it and stroke the strands, just to feel his father again and smell his spicy cognac and cinnamon scent.

The first detail that confused him was the color of his father's eyes. They were supposed to be brown, but he was staring right into sad, light blue eyes, with such a melancholic, downtrodden expression that the sadness was almost tangible. Duo gasped again, his mind trying to piece the puzzle together. The grey, almost white hair... the smaller lips, the pronounced cheekbones. This wasn't his father. This was...

"Marshall Noventa," Duo said -- and then pain hit him. With all his might, he suppressed a loud roar of pain, and he lunged forward, locating his right leg, coated in blood.

"I'm afraid you have broken it," Noventa spoke, his voice just as sad as the expression on his face. "But concerning the incredible damage you could've sustained, you should praise yourself fortunate."

"You... How did you get here?" Duo was appalled. The elder man put the washcloth, stained crimson red, in a bowl with lukewarm water. He rinsed it, his movements slow, his lips drawn into a tight line.

"I brought him here." The voice was unfamiliar, and with a sharp movement, while hissing in pain, Duo turned towards the source of the sound.

A man stood a few meters away from him, all dressed in black. His overcoat was long enough to reach past the knees, and he was wearing a black fascia with a blood red edge, sporting the insignia of the Fiamma Nera near the bottom. His face was a ghostly white, showing all the marks of a man in his mid-fifties, lines and wrinkles harsh and sharp. The shadows cast by the dim light didn't favor his face, carving his features with straight edges that almost made a caricature of himself.

"Bartoli," Duo said.

The man didn't confirm or deny, but the smirk on his face told Duo more than enough. "Duo Maxwell," he retorted. "You have the very nasty habit of not dying when I want you to. You even defy high altitudes and jumping out of a shredded airplane on a collision course. I must bow to such survival skills, such will to live, but you'll understand why I won't."

"Is this the moment that you'll hold an hour long speech about how you want to take revenge on Noventa for your father's death, that you grew up all alone, that you feel incredibly justified by bringing him here and holding me and him prisoner, and do whatever the hell you're planning, just because you're a sniveling asshole with too much money and time on his hands?"

Bartoli barked a short laugh. "I'll leave it to Noventa to catch up with you," he said. "If he wants to talk, that is. I believe my friend is feeling rather ashamed."

"Friend?" Duo's voice dropped, just like the temperature, to below zero. Noventa had flinched as both had spoken, but he refused to say something.

"I'm only interested in the sword." Bartoli spoke with an accent, but he was easy to follow. "It's a fascinating artifact."

"You want eternal youth," Duo said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. "And rule the Earth while you're at it?"

"So sad that you're so blase at such a young age." Bartoli shook his head. "It's not up to me, Signore Maxwell, to explain any of my intentions. I suggest you'd spend some quality time with il mio amico, my friend Noventa."

He turned on his heels abruptly, leaving the scene and all but dissolving into the shadows so fast that Duo had to blink. Angry, he focused his attention on Noventa who was still rinsing the cloth in the now cold water.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You're injured." Noventa didn't look at him. "I'm not a doctor, Duo."

"That's Mister Maxwell to you," Duo said, shifting his position and gritting his teeth. Yeah, his right leg was pretty much broken, but he was alive. The pants leg was shredded, the white fabric had turned red, but the rest of his clothing was damp, yet intact. "What are you doing with Bartoli? Are you in cahoots?"

"I never wished it would end like this," Noventa said, voice grim.

"End? End?"

"Do you think Bartoli is going to keep us alive?"

"What is going on?" Duo repeated. "Tell me, Noventa. Don't lie to me!"

"I never wanted to lie!" Noventa said, bristling. Just as fast as his anger flared up, it was gone again. "I...didn't know how to tell you the entire story."

Duo calmed down as well. His energy was low, and his right leg wasn't the only limb hurting. It was hard to keep himself up, propped on both his elbows. He felt slightly dizzy, and he was cold; it dawned to him that Noventa wasn't wearing any protective clothes. "Marshall..."

Silence. The man pushed the dish with water and the cloth to the side and stared into nothingness. He was sitting on a camping stool, and in front of him was a foldable table. Apart from the dish, it held an oil lamp, a book with torn and smudgy pages, a pen, and a piece of paper.

"Gianni didn't die from hypothermia, right?" Duo didn't need to check his holsters to know that his Uzis and all the ammunition were gone. He had nothing to fear from Noventa, and he didn't feel threatened. "He didn't freeze to death. You killed him, didn't you?"

"I... I suppose I did," Noventa said. He put his hands, folded together, in his lap. His cane was leaning against the small stool, the only visible sign of physical frailty. "I suppose I did, Mister Maxwell. How did you... manage to find out?"

"Look, it wasn't my intention to attack you like that," Duo apologized. "I was just taken aback by Bartoli and all." He rubbed over the bridge of his nose. "You told me that the monks of the monastery you encountered had buried Gianni. But according to my source, you claimed to have buried Gianni in the cave where he died." A wry grin. "Or it could be those blood covered remnants of a flashlight he showed me." Duo heaved a sigh. "I'm not feeling well, and to see the man who caused such grief..."

"You're looking at the wrong man," Noventa interrupted him. "I am the man who caused such grief. You have it all wrong, Duo. I'm the murderer. I'm the thief. I'm the criminal here."

"Marshall..."

"I will kill myself," Noventa said, feverishly, "if that will help her survive."

It dawned to Duo. "Sylvia," he said. Noventa looked up at him, tears in his eyes.

"I saw the love between you two," the elder man breathed, voice hitching. "So I knew you would understand. You know how far you would go to protect the one you love."

"Endlessly far," Duo whispered.

"So did I." Noventa was barely audible. "I went so far I went over the abyss and ended up straight in hell." He narrowed his eyes, face determined. "I would do it all over again in a heartbeat."

"Remarkable."

"What do you see?"

Wufei shivered from the cold, but crawled a little forward, to shine even deeper with his flashlight. "I don't think it was a natural trigger. Something must've been done to make sure that every unwanted visitor would fall through."

"You mean, a trap?" Heero kept his hands firmly on the line. They were all secured together: Wufei, the lightest, examining the gaping hole that Duo had fallen through; Heero behind him, carrying the backpack with supplies, and the two sherpas at the end, securing the line.

"It's a deep crevasse," Wufei ignored Heero's question for now, "but I think we can descend. It's going to be a tight fit; it looks narrower down there."

"Rappelling?"

"Yes. We can't anchor ourselves in this ice, even though it seemed to have stabilized now. I doubt it would carry all our weight."

"Do the Sherpas need to come?" Heero asked.

"I wish you would've thought to take a few with you," Wufei answered. He didn't say out loud that the whole accident could've been prevented, but he was convinced that the Sherpas were a great help; they were mountain people, and knew exactly how to move and how to (re)act. Heero didn't answer to that comment and tugged at the rope, eliciting an annoyed grunt from Wufei, getting dragged over the ice.

"I want to descend as soon as possible," Heero said. He pointed at his own backpack. "If we need more space, we can shoot holes through the ice, or blow it up. I have C-4 with me."

"Try to use your common sense, Yuy." Wufei took the time to instruct the Sherpas before talking to his friend again. "We don't know what an explosion would do to the mountain range, and we don't want an entire mountain to come crashing down on us, do we? Besides, if Maxwell is down there -- and he is -- he's going to get a few tons of ice on top of him. That would defy the nature of our rescue, don't you think?"

"Stop patronizing me," Heero snarled.

"Then stop being unrealistic and start using your brain!" The last word echoed loudly and the two Sherpas looked up in surprise, not recognizing the sound at all. Wufei motioned at them to continue and heaved a sigh.

"You're right. I'm sorry." Heero raked his hand through his hair. Usually Duo would tousle the strands... "I have to focus. I won't be able to help Duo unless I get myself together again."

"That's more like it." Wufei pressed climbing gear in Heero's hands. "Let's anchor ourselves. We don't want someone else to fall through the ice again."

"What happened to your wife?" Heero asked as they worked on the anchors. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

Wufei didn't look up, but checked if the rope was secured tight. "She was killed during a revolt of our tribe against certain authorities," he said. "It was a bullet that killed her."

"I'm sorry."

Another click, and the rope was as strong and tight in its position as it could be. Wufei went to the next anchor, checking it thoroughly. "Prepare for our descent. We don't know what we'll encounter down there. Keep a straight mind, Yuy."

Descending the staircase had been a walk in the park compared to rappelling in a crevasse of ice. Nothing was as claustrophobic as huge walls of ice surrounding you, the cold seeping through your skin and bones, the vastness of impenetrable matter blocking your vision, your breath, your hearing... Even though the ropes were secured into the mountain rock, Heero couldn't help but feel extremely vulnerable.

The ice was moving and shifting, slowly, but something had set off to make Duo fall through it. Wufei thought it was a trap, and Heero was inclined to think the same; as they were rappelling, they passed meters and meters of thick, massive ice. Heero ignored the strain on his body as he descended. He was hoping to hear something, any kind of sound that Duo would make -- his breathing, a soft groan, anything -- to let him know he was still alive.

One of the Sherpas suddenly hollered.

"What's he saying? What's he saying?"

"He's through the ice," Wufei translated. "He's going to drop a flare to measure the distance to the ground."

Heero tried to look over his shoulder, but all he could see was ice, that seemed to creep closer by the millimeter by the second. He just wanted to leave these walls of ice behind and feel solid ground again. He couldn't even see the light of the flare, but he heard the Sherpa hollering again.

"It's five meters to the ground," Wufei said, relief audible. "We have more than enough rope."

Duo had fallen at least over ten meters, Heero calculated. That was... not really a comforting thought. He knew of people who survived a fall from greater heights, but he'd also known people who died from falling from not as great heights...

It all depended on how Duo had made his impact. On his back? On his front? Would he have hit his head first, obliterating his skull? Heero quickly ended that train of thoughts. He heaved a deep sigh, concentrated and continued climbing down.

The disappointment was great when he reached solid ground again. Wufei walked around to gage the dimensions of the hollow cavern they were now, and the Sherpas stared at the icy ceiling.

"Footsteps," Wufei announced out of the dark corner he was in. Heero followed the sound of his voice to join him, noticing how his friend had crouched down to spot the footsteps in a thin layer of powdered snow.

"It's not the pattern of Duo's boots," Heero said immediately. Wufei didn't mind that he shone his flashlight on it as well.

"It looks more like a workman's shoe," Wufei said. "I take it Maxwell's boots are still steel-toed? The impression should've been a lot heavier here."

Heero was well aware of Wufei's sharp intelligence and ability to remember precise details from just the smallest encounters. He was glad the other was able to join him; he knew that he would've thrown himself in head over heels, with Duo involved. Wufei provided the calm, rational part of the balance -- which didn't mean he didn't care about Duo at all. But something in Chang Wufei kept him in balance, and even though he barely let on what went on in his mind, Heero trusted him unconditionally.

"Duo isn't here," he said. "These footsteps prove that other people are here." The print of the shoe was far too modern for any monk who had helped build the tomb for the Khan. Wufei brushed off the ice on his knees and straightened himself again.

"The question is: who's here? The footprint seemed rather fresh to me. This is the Annapurna mountain range; the sherpas didn't know any way in but this one."

"Did you come through Barkhang Monastery?" Heero was curious. Wufei shook his head.

"The Sherpas knew about the small shed that hid the entrance. They had to pray extensively before entering, though. It has something to do with the eyes painted on the outside."

"I guess the eyes of an ever watchful... deity or something," Heero murmured.

"I have not joined any religion or any philosophy, so I wouldn't know. I haven't seen any monk, let alone that place you named." Wufei asked something of the Sherpas, and translated the answer to Heero. "They wouldn't know how anyone else could be down here either. The only way to get in is the way we traveled."

"I don't trust this." Heero reached back and pulled out the short-barreled shotgun. Wufei narrowed his eyes and mimicked Heero's gesture, pulling out his katana.

"There should be no one down here but Maxwell."

The two Sherpas picked up on the change in atmosphere and looked a little fearful at the drawn weapons. Wufei told them to calm down and stay in the back of the small group; the only 'weapon' they carried was a hunter's knife for their usual, daily work. Wufei searched around for more footsteps and discovered a trail not long thereafter.

"Here," he said. "It goes to the east. Whoever it was, he was probably carrying Maxwell; I don't see any drag marks."

Heero's heart flared up with hope. "He must be alive," he said.

"Let's continue the trail," Wufei suggested. "Wherever it's leading us to, it's bound to be something interesting."

"All I care about is Duo," Heero said.

"I know." Wufei was holding his flashlight and his katana, and he made no move to store his weapon back into his backpack. Instinctively, the Sherpas were at their guard as well: something had changed, shifted, and it wasn't for the better. Their hands were close to their knives, their bodies a little hunched. "We'll go this way. Be on your guard."

The mountain was dark and silent. The Sherpas moved unnaturally like ghosts, being in an environment they knew well, sliding along the mountain walls and merging with the shadows. Wufei and Heero needed light to see where they were going, even though they only used one flashlight to be as stealthy as possible. The rubble on the ground made it difficult to remain completely silent; Heero could hear himself and Wufei muttering curses under their breath when another small rock rolled away under their feet, the sound echoed immediately.

Up front, Wufei kept a firm pace, able to keep up with the trail. Heero followed him with the Sherpas in the back, everybody fit and strong enough to maintain the jogging. Heero ignored his protesting muscles. All he cared about was Duo; that had been the complete truth. He would walk on blistered, calloused and injured feet if that would take him to his beloved; he didn't care for anything about the moment but Duo. That moment that he sunk through the ice was going to be a nightmare, hunting him forever.... and they still hadn't found him. Where are you?

He halted. Wufei had crouched down in front of him, holding up his hand with the katana.

"Quiet," he hissed before Heero could say anything. The Sherpas joined the little group; they had noticed before even Wufei did. The rumbling sound they had picked up on a few minutes ago hadn't been the mountain itself. Heero had thought it might be an earthquake or worse, and Wufei hadn't mentioned it at all.

How many meters had they traveled inside this mountain range? It was easy to get distracted and disorientated. Duo, Duo, Duo was the mantra running in his mind, and Heero couldn't care less about his precise position as long as he got to find Duo.

Forcing himself not to think of Duo at the moment -- no matter how difficult it was -- and crouching next to Wufei, Heero concentrated on what was in front of him. A multitude of footsteps, prints perfectly conserved by the thin layer of snow, all coming together. The trail was leading around the corner, where the rumbling sound was coming from, increasing in volume. Wufei turned off his flashlight and stored it in a pocket of his pants. A faint light also came from around the corner, accompanied by voices. Heero moved a little closer.

"Attento, voi idiota! Attento! E fragile!"

"Chiuda la scopata in su, uomo anziano!"

"Italian," Heero whispered. "They're speaking Italian."

"Bartoli?" Wufei unsheathed his katana, the razor sharp blade catching a flicker of the faint light.

"I haven't heard his voice before. Someone said 'old man', but I doubt..."

"They would call their leader that," Wufei finished his sentence. He looked grim. "We have no choice but to go around the corner and confront whoever is there."

"They know where Duo is," Heero hissed.

"Do you really think I'm going to kill them all?" Wufei almost sounded amused, if Heero didn't know any better. He hesitated, though. "The Fiamma Nera had no qualms about killing you."

"I want Marco Bartoli alive," Heero said. The entire cult and its cronies were cannon fodder to him, as far as he was concerned. The leader, the man who had given the orders, that was the one who knew where Duo was and who was responsible for all of this. A huge crashing sound startled them both, followed by loud screams and someone howling in pain.

"What the hell is going on there?" Impatiently, Wufei started to crouch around the corner, using the shadows to his advantage.

To move lightly, Wufei had left his backpack with the Sherpas, who would stay out of the fight. Hugging the wall, katana in hand, he motioned to Heero to follow him. The short-barreled shotgun hadn't been Heero's first choice of weapons -- he preferred his customized Remington -- but it would have to do. It was loaded and ready to fire when need be; Heero recognized his anxiety in his need to find Duo. He had to keep cool; he had to keep himself calm and collected. This was a mission, a mission to rescue Duo, and Duo couldn't be rescued if Heero went in recklessly and unprepared.

He took the other side, hugging the rock wall. The thin film of ice on the wall pressed against his clothes, but Heero ignored all discomfort at the moment. In front of him was an artificial cavern, a large part of the mountain hollowed out mechanically to provide enough standing room for humans. Heero could see the machinery, huge digging machines and forklift trucks to remove the rubble.

Taking in the scenery, Heero counted at least fifteen men; among them workers in the easy recognizable black clothes with the Fiamma Nera insignia, two men with clipboards, hard-hats and white laboratory coats, and two men with Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns. They were laughing, talking rapid Italian with each other and smoking, blowing the smoke up in the air.

Huge air processors were pumping fresh, filtered air into the massive cavern to facilitate breathing; no one could do this kind of physical labor in the natural thin, oxygen lacking air. Next to the air processors were huge professional lamps, mounted on tall poles to create a sea of light, focusing on an object at the back of the cavern. A man was sitting next to the object, wailing and screaming, as his foot was caught under a huge slab of stone. His coworkers weren't really helping him out; they walked at ease around the slab to refasten the straps of the cable that was supposed to lift the object.

Heero made eye contact with Wufei. The other nodded. The two men with the submachine guns were pointing and laughing at the poor sap with his foot caught. Wufei smirked. They were so busy laughing and smoking that their hands were nowhere close to the triggers of their guns. He flexed his muscles, tightening his grip on his katana. Heero raised the shotgun a little and moved forward.

"Hands up!" he hollered. "Mani in su! Mani in su!"

Wufei was much faster than the two men with the submachine guns; before they could point their weapons in Heero's direction, he had cut off the barrels, his katana slicing through the metal as a hot knife through butter, leaving the Heckler & Kochs useless.

"Hands up!" Heero repeated. The two scientists had dropped their clipboards immediately, cowering in fear, while the workers growled and balled their hands into fists. "No no no, don't bunch up. Apart! Move away from each other! Show me your hands! Move! Rapidamente!"

"Duo Maxwell," Wufei snarled at the two men in front of him, sliced weapons on the ground, between their feet. "Where is he? Duo Maxwell!"

"I dun speak Engleesh," the taller of the two said, grinning like a loon. He didn't seem all too bothered with the tip of a katana close to his throat. "I dun understan."

Heero pointed his shotgun at him. "Do you understand this?"

The expression on the burly guy's face changed, just a little, and his eyes darted from the katana to the shotgun and back again. "I dun't know."

"Bartoli," Wufei tried again. "Where's Marco Bartoli?"

"What do you want from him?" One of the scientists had spoken, hands still raised in the air. "Who are you people?"

"Duo Maxwell," Heero repeated Wufei's words. "Have you seen him? Long, chestnut braid, dressed in white, carrying a green backpack?"

The two scientists looked at each other, confusion clearly visible on their faces. "Look, we are speleologists," he explained. "We work for Mister Bartoli to study the specifics of this system of caves he has found."

"'He has found'?" Wufei didn't move his katana. "Including what you're trying to break open now?"

"It's an archaeological find," the second scientist spoke, his voice much lighter than his colleague's. "We didn't know it was here. Mister Bartoli wants to preserve this place so he can reveal its existence to the public later..."

"Bullshit," Heero interrupted him rudely. "He used you to find the tomb of a Khan and is now trying to break it open to retrieve a sword that was buried with him. Get the hell out of here while we finish our business."

"The good doctors are going nowhere."

Heero swung his shotgun around. "Finally."

Marco Bartoli raised his hands obediently, but he addressed the two speleologists first. "My apologies for not warning you," he said. "We saw Signore Yuy and his friends arrive, and we wanted him to think he had the element of surprise. You fulfilled your roles perfectly, gentlemen. Now, be as kind as to leave if you please. This is a matter between him and me."

"I have no business with you but to ask you where Duo is," Heero said as the two scientists quickly removed themselves. He watched their retreating backs, if only to locate the exit. Bartoli stepped aside to allow the men to pass; behind him were six other Fiamma Nera cultists, each as strong and bulky as Schwarzenegger on super steroids.

"He's right here," Bartoli said as if stating the weather was cold outside. "You'll get to see him soon enough. He's a tough one; he only sustained one broken leg from the fall."

"You rigged the ice," Heero kept his shotgun pointed at the Italian. The picture hadn't done him justice; the man's features were much sharper and pointier, as if someone had taken a knife and cut his face crudely into the shape he wanted. "You made sure it collapsed."

"It was just a precaution. I'm about to make a discovery of an ancient, mysterious artifact, Mister Yuy. You'll understand that I had to take precautions to preserve this moment. I don't like being pushed out of the spotlight. Your friend was supposed to die, of course."

"Don't talk about Duo like that." Heero's eyes darted back and forth. The silence was suffocating him. Apparently everyone was waiting for Bartoli to give orders, because no one was moving on his own. Heero could feel the threat coming from the workers. He had not enough ammunition to kill them all, and he hadn't come down here to kill in cold blood. "I'm not interested in the sword. You can have it, and enjoy your longevity for the moment. Guys like you don't grow old, magical and mysterious swords or not."

"Put your weapons down," Bartoli demanded. "Now."

"No way." Heero took a step forward. "Give me Duo first, then we'll talk."

"Fine." Bartoli was unimpressed. He snapped with his fingers. "Give him what he wants."

The six cultists behind Bartoli moved apart like a sea being separated, revealing Marshall Noventa and Duo, leaning onto the old man. Heero didn't need more than a second to notice the blood all over his right leg, the fabric of his costume torn and soaked with blood.

"Duo!"

"Wait," Bartoli barked as he saw Heero coming towards him. "I will give Duo to you, if you do something for me first."

"What? What the fuck are you getting at, Bartoli?"

The two cultists closest to Duo and Noventa pulled sai-like weapons out of their robes, pointing at their hostages. Heero grunted in frustration. His body had started trembling again; he felt powerless against Bartoli, and Duo hadn't responded to his name. He wasn't surprised to see Noventa, but in his state of mind nothing would register properly.

His anger was directed at Bartoli, who calmly stood there, relaxed and smiling as if he was organizing a tea party. Heero was so caught up in his anger for the man and his worries for Duo that he didn't see the sad, unhappy look on Noventa's face.

"Put your weapons down, right now."

Heero lowered the shotgun. He had his back turned to Wufei, holding up his katana to the two previously armed cultists. He didn't know what his friend was doing, but Wufei wasn't the one to give up as quickly as he did. But still... seeing those nasty knives being pointed at Duo...

"Don't..."

"Duo?"

"Don't give into him." Duo's voice was raspy. He leaned heavily on Noventa due to his broken leg, but the older man seemed to be able to support him well. His arms were shifting with every movement, limp and slow. "He's a criminal..."

Heero's heart ached, but it was very obvious what he was going to do. He already made a movement to put the shotgun down, and as he lowered the weapon, he looked at Duo, trying to figure out his injuries. Duo looked at him, violet eyes locking on his, and a smirk tugging at his lips. Heero's movement slowed down, his finger curling around the trigger. Bartoli, who watched him closely, seemed to be confused by Heero's slow reaction. Just as he was about to spur Heero on, Duo took matters into his own hands.

With the cultists' attention focused on Heero, Duo shed his helpless, broken attitude in just a second and punched the cultist to his left in the stomach. He immediately turned around, like a whirlwind, the pain of his broken leg not interrupting his swing at the cultist to the right.

Using the distraction, Heero straightened himself, aimed the shotgun and fired. Bartoli was fast for a man his age, and the cultist behind him was hit full in the chest as the Italian rolled to the side. Heero swung to the right to take a shot at the other cultists, who broke up and ran away, except for the one who had blocked Duo's punch and was trying to work him on the ground.

In his attempt to create confusion and a distraction, Duo had forgotten about the other Fiamma Nera workers in the cavern, and as quickly as his riot had started, it was over again. The cultist kicked at his broken leg so he fell to the ground, crying out in pain, and the workers surrounded both Heero and Wufei, ready to fight and overpower them despite their weapons.

"All right, all right," Heero said, knowing when the odds were against him. He put the shotgun on the floor, which was taken away by one of the cultists and pointed at him. Wufei let out a string of Chinese expletives when his katana was taken from him.

The cultists advanced on them, fists raised. Bartoli was standing to the side, dusting off his black suit, unaffected. The dead cultist was already forgotten by his fellow men; everyone was gazing at the indisputable leader, Marco Bartoli.

"You don't disappoint me, Mister Maxwell, Mister Yuy," he said. "I have been told countless times of your determination and resilience. It's unbelievable how you bounce back, no matter how grim the outlook of your situation. Too bad I don't have any need for you in my organization."

"Who told you? What do you know about us?" Heero demanded to know. Bartoli snorted.

"I have a network of my own, Mister Yuy, and you've seen how far it can reach. You were supposed to die at my hands several times over, and though my men lacked the competence" -- a wry smile -- "they certainly didn't lack the material. I have interests in everything. Ships, cars, stock exchanges, even canned food and olive oil. My starting capital came from the insurance for our sunken ship, the Maria Doria. But whenever I had trouble, I knew who I could always ask for help: my good friend, Marshall Noventa."

Noventa had tried to make himself as invisible as possible but saw how everyone was looking at him right now. He turned his head away, his shoulders hunched.

Heero wondered why the former peace negotiator wasn't responding, but his attention went to Duo, lying on the ground with his hands around his broken leg, muttering crude expletives under his breath. The two cultists with the stabbing weapons were close to his side, ready to strike when given the order.

So far, Bartoli seemed to enjoy the attention just like any other textbook villain. Heero quickly absorbed the information as his mind was working out escape routes and alternative plans to get out of this predicament.

"As I said, I have my own network and my own resources. I have the men and the material to get the sword of the Khan. That's his tomb, by the way. That idiot Enrico managed to snap the cable so he got the cover stone on his foot. A stupidity that is rewarded with death."

"What the fuck are you..." Duo said, but Bartoli had whipped out a gun from his jacket, a small Beretta-type handgun that fired twice. The man in question, Enrico, gasped for breath just once more and collapsed against the tomb.

"I deal with stupidity the only way stupidity should be dealt with." Bartoli held the gun visibly in his hand. "Everyone who failed to kill you has met the same fate. There's only room for success and victory in my life, and with this discovery, the Bartoli family will regain their former fame and fortune."

"Nonsense." His voice was soft, but Noventa actually spoke. "There's hardly anyone of your family left, Marco. You don't do this for your family; you only do this for your own gain."

Bartoli didn't hesitate to point the gun at Noventa. "Of course I do this for my own gain," he said. "The sword will help me to achieve my goal. The family I have now is old and washed up. I will create a new, strong family, with me as their patriarch! The name Bartoli will be restored to its former glory, and we'll rise to power!"

"It's always the same goddamn thing," Duo said from his position on the ground. "Do you really think one fucking artifact will 'help you to achieve your goal'? What are you going to do: hold the sword to your side all the time? Kiss and hug it before you go to bed?"

"I'll show you exactly what I'm going to do with that sword." Bartoli's breathing became a little erratic. "Unlike you, I know the entire story. Unlike you, I know what to do when I have the sword in my hands." He moved the gun away from Noventa and made a sharp, jerking gesture with his head towards the cultists. "Nicola, Antonio, continue the work! Remove that slab and open the tomb!"

"Bartoli!" Heero took a step forward.

"Ah, si, I forgot all about your friend here." Bartoli made another head gesture to the two cultists guarding Duo, and they took a step to the side. Immediately Heero rushed over, sliding to his knees next to Duo and he grabbed and hugged him so tightly that Duo couldn't get any breath.

"Let go of me, Heero," he wheezed, "or at least hold me just not so tight, okay?"

"I was so worried about you." Heero ignored any stares or looks. "I thought you had died..."

"I thought so too." Duo tried to smile, but the pain was too intense. Noventa had tried to make a splint, but he hadn't had the right materials to do so. The fracture was covered and wrapped tightly with Duo's khata, the gift of the monks of Barkhang Monastery; the symbol of compassion was already soaked with blood.

"You need medical attention," Heero said. "We have to get you out of here."

"Do explain how you want to do that?" Duo was amused. His eyes shone with the same deviousness as always. He wasn't about to give up -- but his body was giving out on him, fatigue and pain sucking up all of his energy.

"I'll find a way," Heero whispered, bringing his lips close to Duo's. "I'll find a way. Through hell and back, my love."

"There's another exit to the southeast." Noventa had joined their little moment of intimacy, and Heero glared daggers at him, as he'd been about to kiss Duo. The elderly man ignored him, focusing on Duo's face instead. "I can lead you there, but not without all these... people watching us."

The cultists, minus their dead colleague, had surrounded them, keeping a little distance. It was going to be tough breaking through their circle, and Heero didn't think he could handle all five of them single-handedly. Noventa was no match for any of them, and Duo's weak spot was his leg, obviously...

Without Duo in his usual fit state, he couldn't fight these guys. He tried to make eye contact with Wufei, guarded by the two men whose guns he had destroyed.

"What is this place?" Heero asked Noventa, even though he knew the answer.

"This is the final resting place of Kol An Anuum," Noventa said. "I haven't been straight with you from the beginning. I haven't told you everything I knew. I have killed Gianni Bartoli," he continued before Heero could say something. "I'm the one who's responsible for all of this."

"The Marshall's conscience is too hard on him," Duo said.

"You lied to us?" Heero narrowed his eyes.

"The... The story is true, up until Gianni started to show the first signs of hypothermia," Noventa said hesitantly.

"Why should I believe anything you're saying right now?" Heero made a dismissive gesture. "You endangered us all!"

"Heero, our job isn't without danger in the first place," Duo reminded him. Heero was furious.

"How can you say that? We can prepare for dangerous circumstances -- but not for lies! What is it that you didn't tell us?"

Noventa looked around shyly, as if afraid to be overheard, even now. "I didn't tell you exactly how Gianni died." He heaved a sigh, looking way older than his actual age. "We traveled through these mountain ranges, as I told you, unprepared in our youthful foolishness. That part I didn't lie about... that part I didn't leave out. What I left out, were Gianni's last hours.

"When I brought him into the cave, knowing that he wasn't going to live for much longer, I held him company. He was afraid to die, of course, and I was afraid of what I was witnessing: a dying man, a man dying because of simple... stupidity. We should've hired Sherpas. We should've brought a map, a flint, anything for basic survival, but in our backpacks were souvenirs for our families and a clean change of underwear."

Noventa shook his head. "As we sat there, in the cave, Gianni asked me the real reason why I was trekking through the country. When I met him, at that bar in Chengdu, I simply told him that I was just enjoying some time off and traveling around. I figured that it didn't really matter, so I told Gianni everything about the sword.

"It sounds even stupid to my ears now," he continued. "Before I could get any help, Gianni wanted to know why I was trekking around. He didn't let me go before he knew the real reason. When I told him, he just smiled and said "I thought so"."

"Why?" Heero asked brusquely.

"I don't know. Really, I don't." Noventa put up his hands in self-defense, but he couldn't defend himself from Heero's angry, prying eyes. "I guess he didn't hold me for a typical tourist like I pretended to be. He knew I had some kind of goal, and...perhaps he was just curious. He didn't laugh at me; he didn't call me weird for believing there was such an artifact in the first place. I showed him my notes and he was convinced that the sword existed. He was begging me, begging me to find it right away. If the sword was the container of eternal youth, perhaps it could save him, save him from dying."

"A dying man's delusional last words." Heero heard himself say the words, clipping them harshly as he spoke. He despised liars, and he didn't pay attention to Duo tugging at his sleeve. He didn't want to hear any good-natured words from Duo now. He couldn't believe that Duo could still be defending this man, this... old man who didn't deserve the respect and honor he was showered with?

"Perhaps," Noventa said. "But Gianni Bartoli was my friend, and I killed him. We had words about the sword. I kept protesting that I couldn't find it in those few hours that he had left, and he got upset, it was... It was awful. The tension rose so high that I... I hit him with my flashlight."

"The broken shards Tsering showed us," Duo reminded Heero. He tried to get up, grimacing as the pain shot through his body. Subconsciously, Heero tightened his grip on Duo again, but this time he didn't protest.

"So you're a liar and a murderer," Heero said mercilessly. "Is that why you went into politics? Is that why you swore you would defend peace and Earth, and is that why you strived for total disarmament?"

"I was a peaceful man to begin with, Heero Yuy," Noventa said, tiredly. "I made a terrible mistake when I was young and yes, it propelled me to fight in my own way for a peaceful world, that one day people would throw down their arms and lived together without violence. I didn't dare to tell you this, afraid of how you would be judging me. It seemed that I was right."

"Do you expect us to feel pity for you?"

"Heero!" Duo elbowed him in the stomach, lacking his usual strength. "How dare you? Noventa has..."

"Lied to us, yes, and made this whole expedition a lot more difficult!"

"He's not responsible for what Bartoli did," Duo said. "Stop condemning him, Heero. I was mad too when he told me -- but he's not the bad guy here. It was Marco Bartoli who decided to seek revenge. He tortured and forced Noventa into telling him about his father, and when he heard about the sword, he took it upon himself to find it."

"I didn't know he would actually follow up on it," Noventa said. "He read my notes but didn't keep them. I thought he didn't care for the sword at all, until he attacked your manor to retrieve the notes. I don't know how he found this entrance, but the truth is... I think it's close to the cave where his father died. We were close to the sword, and perhaps... perhaps if I had done something, I could've saved Gianni's life instead of ruining it."

"That's all water under the bridge." Duo tugged at Heero again, impatiently. "Help me up. It's cold on the ground. We better think of a way to stop Bartoli before he gets his hands on the sword."

"I guess it's too late for that," Heero said grimly when he heard a triumphant laugh echoing through the cavern.

"Bring them over here." Bartoli's voice was calm, yet still slightly vibrating with excitement. He was standing in front of the tomb of Kol An Anuum, the descendant of Genghis Khan, buried together with his mythical sword. Defended for ages by monks, searched out by those who longed for a glimpse of the object that would make them live forever...

Live forever yes, that was a good start of his own empire. He couldn't do everything he wanted to do in his current lifespan. Marco Bartoli wished he had known about this sword sooner, but his mother had told him about the death of his father when she had died, well in her seventies.

He had never known for his father and never cared. Why would he care about someone he didn't know? His mother had never remarried, and the picture of her husband was just a picture of a strange man to Marco. The only thing he had witnessed was the crumbling fortune of the family, as well as their palazzo wilting and dilapidating until they had to move to a damp, cramped apartment with wallpaper curling in the corners, and worn-through carpet and tapestries on the floor.

Noventa's mistake had been a godsend to Bartoli. After extorting and blackmailing the peaceful Marshall for a long time and with the last of the insurance money, Bartoli had finally been able to invest and see his money grow. His attempts to restore the family name had been fruitful but not really rewarding yet. The sword would take care of that, and he wanted his captives to be the first witnesses to the unfolding apotheosis.

He had brought life to the Fiamma Nera again, who were in his eyes nothing but idiots who thought they were entitled to ruling the world, even though they were too stupid to tell time; they had proven to be very handy assets to him, however. Except for when it came to killing off Maxwell and Yuy.

It didn't matter. He would use a few bullets to kill them, after they witnessed what he wanted them to witness: their ultimate failure, Noventa's last chance for help, claimed in front of their eyes by Marco Bartoli, the head and patriarch of a new family who was going to upturn the society!

Caressing his fascia, he studied the Fiamma Nera insignia while his henchmen gathered the captives. Bartoli used the time to reflect on all the work he had done to find and uncover the tomb. Noventa's notes had proven to be a great source, and the monks at Burqug Lamaling had been very helpful when faced with a few submachine guns.

Too bad one monk had been missing from the assembly; he had taken the shards with his father's blood to another monastery and no matter how much Bartoli had threatened, they wouldn't share to where the other monk had gone. It didn't matter.

Their library and knowledge held enough information for Bartoli to start digging close to the Annapurna, in this mountain range that was cold and harsh, but the Italian himself hadn't dug one meter, of course: it had all been the cultists, feverish by his spurring them on, in search for something that promised immortality. Pathetic, how mortals could be manipulated just with the promise of living a little bit longer... and even he had fallen for it.

"Signore," one of the cultists approached him carefully, "everything is ready."

"I know." Bartoli looked over his shoulder and turned around slowly. His captives were forced to stand in a line with a burly cultist right behind each one of them, weapons in hand. "I'm sure you're thinking of some way to escape," he said. "Do be gentlemen, though, and wait until I finish this? It won't take long."

"You're an asshole," Duo said out loud. "The sword is not for you!"

"It's not?" Bartoli coughed. "For who is it, then?"

"It's for Sylvia," Noventa spoke up. "My granddaughter."

Duo, Heero and Wufei shared the same baffled expression as Bartoli.

"Your granddaughter?" The Italian started to laugh. Noventa flinched, but forced himself to stand up straight. "You want to sell the sword so she can have the money?"

"What about Sylvia?" Duo asked, ignoring Bartoli's comment. Noventa's lips quivered, and a small tear was sliding over his cheek. He brought up his hands, showing how much they trembled, in front of the others.

"This... disease is hereditary," Noventa said, voice hitching. "I was over sixty when it started. I thought it was old age when it began... but after I went to see a doctor, he told me that there was nothing he could do for me. I retired from politics and focused on raising my granddaughter. I never expected to live to this day, seeing from how aggressive it was in the beginning. But recently, I've seen all the signs. I recognize the pain, the awkwardness, the discomfort. My life is over; her life is just about to begin... I don't want her to suffer."

"We can help her," Duo insisted. "My family physician, Professor G, is an authority in the field of immunology and biology..."

"I know," Noventa whispered, not bothering to wipe away the tear. "But there's no time left. Her health is rapidly deteriorating. If the sword... A cure wouldn't be found in time. If she would live long enough with the help of the sword, there would be hope..."

"Disgusting," Bartoli interrupted him. "You're right about one thing though: your life is over."

"You have no honor," Wufei spoke up for the first time since his captivity, "threatening an elderly man like that. What's next, Bartoli: taking candy from youngsters with a big sword in your hand?"

"You have no right to speak at all, Chang Wufei," Bartoli snarled. Heero could just hear Wufei's eyebrows being arched. "My network had information on you as well. I had to disappear quickly because you came too close with your investigation; it will be my pleasure to add you to the list of victims as soon as I'm done."

"Then get it over with," Wufei said, as calm as if nothing important was going on. "You're boring me with all your despotic, megalomaniac lectures."

Bartoli made a sound that could mean anything. Then he shrugged and walked to the large tomb. For a khan, Kol An Anuum was buried with very little decoration: his tomb was a simple, rectangular stone coffin with some markings close to the bottom. The huge stone slab, properly removed, revealed the same markings, carved without any additional decoration. It was a simple coffin for someone who had reigned over an entire empire; Bartoli looked over the edge and reached inside.

Duo, Heero and Wufei couldn't help but to watch and lean a little forward, as if they could look into the coffin from this distance. Duo was trembling with excitement, despite the gravity of the situation. Heero was standing up straight, just like Wufei, back rigid as a ruler, but still curious. Duo leaned forward some more, the pain in his leg forgotten.

Bartoli rummaged around for a moment, until he abruptly halted. The remaining cultists started to whisper excitedly among each other. Slowly, Bartoli pulled the sword from the tomb, the intense lights immediately catching the silver artwork on the sheath.

"Magnificent," Bartoli spoke in awe and for a moment everyone stared at the curved sabre, with a blade of steel and a handle made of ox horn and rosewood. Gaping at the intricate silver sheath, the engravings with dragon, tiger and several other animal heads were visible, enveloped by a cloud pattern. It was truly magnificent like Bartoli said, and the silence in the cavern was a reverent one, an admiring one.

"Truly becoming of a Khan." Bartoli marveled at the object, a greedy grin spreading all over his face. "Truly becoming of me."

"So now you have your goddamn sword," Duo said, and his expletive crudely interrupted the trance. The cultists growled, and the one behind Duo even poked him in the back with the shotgun he had confiscated from Heero.

"I have my goddamn sword, yes," Bartoli answered. "You don't know half of it, do you? You don't know how it works. That's why you can only be crude and yelling like every other loud-mouthed, boorish American I've met."

"For your information, I'm half British," Duo said.

"Pity." Bartoli unsheathed the sword. The blade of steel glowed in the light. An entire prism of colors was visible, ranging from green to purple, to orange and yellow. The handle was just as lavishly encrusted with jewels as the sheath; it was clearly a sword purely for decoration, not for war. Bartoli tested the tip, and it cut his skin. He chuckled shortly, like a cat coughing up a hairball. A tiny drop of blood slithered over his finger. "Excellent."

"Please, give the sword to me," Noventa pleaded. "For my granddaughter..."

"If you speak another word, I'll have you shot on the spot," Bartoli growled. "I don't care about you or your granddaughter. Your life is over -- and hers as well. Two sniveling wimps dying shortly after another. Perfect."

"Asshole," Duo said.

"You're getting repetitive." Heero couldn't resist his remark. Wufei tilted his head, his ebony eyes narrowed to mere slits.

"Will you be as kind as to focus your attention to the gravity of the situation?"

"It doesn't matter." Bartoli spoke out loud, his voice echoing. "Just a few moments, then I'll order my friends over there to kill you. Not with this sword of course," another hollow laugh; "I'm just going to use that for myself."

"What?" Duo's eyes widened.

Bartoli lifted up the sword with a sweeping, dramatic gesture, pointing the tip to his heart. Before anyone could react, Bartoli plunged the sword right into his chest, into his heart. Even Wufei's jaw dropped. Blood welled up on Bartoli's suit, staining his shirt.

The Italian's face was contorted with pain, and he made low, growling sounds in the back of his throat, refusing to yell out loud. He had pressed the sword so hard that the blade had gone through him, the tip extending from his back. Shaking violently, he fell to his knees, his hands tightly gripping the handle of the sword. The cultists broke out in a chant, their eyes closed in worship of their leader.

"This can't be happening," Duo said.

"Why would he impale himself on the sword?" Heero couldn't believe his eyes. "Did we miss something about it? Something we don't know about it?"

"Look," Wufei pointed at Bartoli. "Look at what it's doing!"

Bartoli's face was changing. The harsh edges and lines in his face were mellowing, softening. His thin lips became youthful plump, his dark eyes shining brighter, his hair darker and voluminous. Age was fading from him, it literally melted off of him.

"He's... getting younger..." Duo was leaning on Heero now, and he had forgotten about any pain himself, just watching at Bartoli and the sword. The cultists chanted louder, stamping their feet along with the words they repeated over and over again. Wufei looked over his shoulder, but the cultists behind them weren't participating in the chanting, even though their attention had definitely waned, focusing on the regressing Bartoli.

"If we act now..." Wufei started, keeping his voice low, but the decision was taken out of his hands. Noventa broke out of the line, taking a surprising fast sprint towards Bartoli.

"Marshall!" Duo exclaimed. Noventa was faster than he thought. The elderly man ran past Bartoli, turned around, took a deep breath and threw himself onto the protruding blade.

"Marshall!" Duo's voice rang out. He was drowned out by the startled cry from Marco Bartoli, who fell upon his hands due to the sudden weight on his back. He hollered a deep, growling "No! Get away from me!" -- but the rejuvenating effect of the sword was somehow immediately cancelled due to Noventa's action.

Instead, it started to reverse the process, and Bartoli aged in seconds, his skin becoming as white as alabaster, with blue, thin veins running like spider webs all over his body, his hair graying and falling out, his eyes turning a milky blue and finally glazing over. Sputtering, his saliva dribbled all over his chin, followed by his teeth rotting and clattering on the ground.

One more sigh and it was over. Bartoli was lying on the ground, with Noventa on top of him. The cultists had stopped their chant, looking aghast at their aged leader... or what remained of him. He had been instantly mummified, all bodily liquids drained from him, and his hand was turned upright, claw-like, in a futile attempt to throw Noventa off. It had happened so fast that the last line of cultists was still chanting, unaware of what had happened, until they were roughly elbowed and motioned to stop.

Heero wasn't going to wait until the cultists would project their anger of their leader's death on the three of them. He whispered to Duo to stand on his own for a while, and let go of him; he was going to need both his hands. Heero immediately attacked the cultist behind Duo, the one who held his shotgun. Thanks to the man's shock, Heero had the element of surprise and yanked the weapon out of his hands, using the butt of the shotgun to punch the cultist in the face. Wufei wrestled his katana free from the grip of another cultist and cut through skin and bone to incapacitate him, not to kill him.

The shotgun went off. Heero had fired in the air. The cultists froze in mid-movement; not only Heero had a weapon, Duo had his Uzis back as well. Heero only had to look at a smirking Wufei with his bloodied katana; the cultist who had Duo's weapons was rolling on the floor, nursing a large cut in both his upper arms.

"I have no intention to kill you," Heero said, not bothering to speak Italian. From the look on their faces, they understood him all too well. "But be warned that I can and will kill you all if you try to attack us. For what you've done to us, you deserve to die. For what you stand for, you deserve to die. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for you, it's not up to me to dispense such divine judgment. Be gone, all of you; and try to find another hobby than to be a member of some cult. Get lost!"

"I love it when you're so commanding," Duo said as he hopped from one leg to the other. "You should do that more often."

"Only if you give me a chance to," Heero answered. Duo choose not to answer, but his smile turned devilish as he watched the cultists leave, a few of them throwing a murderous look over their shoulder, but the majority left without putting up a fight.

Wufei had walked over to the stone coffin and Bartoli and Noventa in front of it. He put down his katana and pulled Noventa at the shoulders, gently, away from Bartoli. As he saw Heero approaching with a limping Duo, he held up his hand.

"It's an ugly sight," he said. "The same thing happened to both of them."

"Dear God," Duo said. Noventa had been instantly mummified just like Bartoli, a grotesque caricature of the man he once used to be. Duo shivered. "Poor soul."

Heero pried Bartoli's fingers free from the handle of the sword and, very carefully, pulled the blade out of the man's body. Wufei turned both Noventa and Bartoli on their backs, the two corpses cramped in their last position: Bartoli fetus-like, hands and knees drawn together, and Noventa angel-like, his arms wide open as he had wrapped them around Bartoli in his final moment. Heero sheathed the sword again, only to turn around abruptly when he heard the sound of footsteps. Had the cultists returned..?

It was the two Sherpas, shuffling closer, eyes wide open and confusedly looking around. They saw the stone coffin and read the markings on it, starting to pray as they didn't know what else to do.

"We should better leave," Wufei said. "And make sure both entrances are sealed forever."

"We might not know everything about the Khan," Duo said as he leaned against the coffin, peeking inside, "but we do know how he died." He held up a part of Kol An Anuum's skull, fractured. "Someone bashed his head in."

"No immortality for him," Heero said. The adrenaline had worn off, and fatigue was claiming his body. He knew the others felt the same way, and Duo was in need of medical attention. Heero couldn't imagine what he had to feel with that broken leg of his, but he was more worried about possible infections than the fracture itself. "We should leave, yes, and allow the Khan to rest in peace."

"Maybe he can find some peace as well," Duo said, looking at Noventa's body.

"Maybe." Heero reached for his lover and pulled him into an embrace.

"You're still holding the sword," Duo said.

"I don't need it." Heero dropped it. "I don't need for immortality. I just want to be with you forever."

"Be careful with that," Duo said as the sword clattered on the ground. "The museum won't be happy if their priceless artifact is damaged." He tilted his head. "How did Bartoli know about the sword? I mean, to stab himself with it?"

"I have no idea," Heero had to admit. "Perhaps he had his own sources, next to Noventa's notes..."

"We'll probably never know." Duo avoided to look at the man's remains. "At least the Fiamma Nera will be without a leader, so we don't have to fear anything from them. For now."

"All right, that's enough." Heero heaved a small sigh. "We'll have to find a way to bring the sword and the bodies back with us..."

"Oh," Duo suddenly said. "What about your laptop?"

"What about it?"

"It's still at Barkhang..."

Heero looked sourly. "It was damaged anyway. It can make a good coaster for all the candles at the monastery."

Duo tightened his embrace just a little. "As soon as we get home, I'll buy you a new one, my love."

"Would you? If it's not too much trouble..."

"No, no, it's not... I know how much you like to have a laptop, sweetheart."

"Agh," Wufei said. "I'm on my way to the exit. When you're done here, let me know."

"Watch out for any cultists," Duo hollered after him. "Oh, and could you send some champagne and smoked salmon this way? I'm famished and thirsty!"

Duo Maxwell looked from a distance at the group of people gathered around the white coffin, covered with flowers and wreaths. Every official and representative of Earth and colonial politics was attending the funeral of one of the world's most prolific peace activist. Relena Peacecraft was delivering his eulogy, her voice clear and calm, reminiscing of Marshall Noventa as a tutor, a friend, and a wonderful example for all.

Duo leaned against a white limousine in which they had followed the hearse. Noventa was buried with full honor and regalia, almost fitting for a king. Both Duo and Heero had chosen not to go public with any of Noventa's mistakes. Wufei, who had remained in China after saying goodbye to his friends, wouldn't talk about it either; he wasn't the kind of person to defame the dead. In his eyes, Noventa had restored a lot of his honor by sacrificing his life, and that was all there was to it.

As he loathed funerals, Duo had chosen not to attend the service and just watch from a distance as the coffin was brought to its final resting place. Relena's voice was clearly audible, and he listened to her talking about Noventa and his activism for peace and how much she had learned from both him and her father, Foreign Vice-Minister Darlian, who had also given his life for peace.

"Are you all right?" Heero had stayed with Duo, claiming that he needed help with his crutches. Duo didn't need the help, but he was a perfect excuse for Heero not to attend the funeral either. He wasn't angry or mad with Noventa; the man was dead, the sword was safely at the museum, and the Khan's coffin had been covered, end of story.

All that Heero was looking forward to was some peace and quiet himself; after returning to England, he had been busy with Duo and his surgery and physiotherapy for his leg. The media had bombarded Maxwell Manor with questions about the discovery of the sword and the sequential donation of it to the museum.

The service was over and the family, friends and guests who were attending slowly dispersed over the graveyard, back to their cars or to the auditorium, where they could mourn in the way they saw fit. Two people had detached themselves from the crowd and came over to where Duo and Heero were standing. The man on the right was easily identifiable due to his gray, mushroom shaped hair, and the girl on the left was none other than Sylvia Noventa, dressed in a black dress that reached past her knees. Her black hat covered her hair, neatly combed and spread over her shoulders. Her face was a little pale, contrasting starkly with the dark color of her hat, but her eyes brimmed with determination.

She looked over her shoulder, at the grave of her grandfather, and Duo was surprised by the bright, wide smile on her face.

"Thank you for all your hard work," she said. "I'm very grateful for what you did."

"There wasn't much what we did," Duo mumbled. Sylvia shook her head. Her thin fingers rested in Professor G's hand.

"It wasn't about the sword at all," she said. "It was about peace of mind. I have peace of mind now. I have accepted it. My grandfather died as a hero. He was willing to take a risk, any risk for me. He was human and made mistakes. I won't forget how far he was willing to go for me, and I have peace now. It's all right."

"Your grandfather was a wonderful man," Duo agreed. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed very lightly. Heero bowed to her, impressed with the girl's strength.

Even though her eyes were red from crying, she was smiling now, despite knowing the truth. She even had seen her grandfather's body when it was repatriated, and she knew about everything that had happened, down to the very last detail.

To the press, there had been a communique issued that Marshall Noventa had died from old age after a short, but intense illness. The press didn't need to know about the sword or Gianni or Marco Bartoli. The Fiamma Nera was silent, and no one had been seen dwelling around the Annapurna in search for an entrance to the tomb of the Khan.

Sylvia pulled out a tiny handkerchief from her purse and betted her eyes. "Quatre Winner offered me a job in his research department," she said. "He also offered me full reimbursement on any medical costs in the future."

"That's Quatre Winner for you," Duo beamed. "That's great to hear, Sylvia. And what about you, G?"

"Miss Noventa has agreed to allow me to publish my studies of her cell patterns and the development of the disease," G said. "With her generous offer of cooperation, I'm sure I can find a medication to ease the discomfort of her condition and lengthen her quality of life."

"That's amazing." Duo was truly excited for Sylvia. With Quatre's help, she wouldn't need to worry about any finances, and with G's help, the prognosis of her disease wasn't looking as bleak and grim as it used to do. He was genuinely happy, glad that everything had taken a good turn in the end.

"Thank you for everything," she repeated. Duo moved away from the door of the limousine and opened it for her, so she could get in.

"Be well, Sylvia."

She stepped into the car, followed by G. Duo closed the door behind them and the limousine drove off slowly, the gravel grinding under the wheels of the vehicle.

"That's one strong girl." Duo squeezed Heero's hand.

"She's going to make it. She has the genes of her grandfather."

Duo looked up at Heero, trying to juggle holding his hand and the crutches for support. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I know you didn't like Noventa much..."

"I do feel sorry for his granddaughter," Heero said. "All that pain and suffering..."

"Maybe we should send her to Barkhang for more peace of mind," Duo said and dropped one of his crutches. "Aw, damn."

Heero picked it up and waved with it in Duo's face. "Concerning you, no more traveling, no more cold or exotic adventures until you're fully recovered, mister!"

"Now I don't like you commanding me," Duo pouted. "We should go home, though. Howard's keeping an eye on the reconstruction, and I don't want him to add another wing to the manor. Give the man a few fingers, and he'll gnaw your hand off..."

"I love the way you exaggerate." Heero gave the crutch back to Duo and waited until he was in balance before he started to walk. "And I can't wait to get a decent cup of tea."

"I'm so glad Hillary and his father are back at the manor again," Duo said. "He's the only one who knows how to perfectly prepare my cup of coffee."

"With sprinkles on top."

"Lots of sprinkles."

"You know, I really hate graveyards."

"Me too. I love you, Heero."

"I love you too. Let's go home."