Word Count: 81,832
Pairing: established Heero and Duo
Warnings: foul language, mainly on Duo's part, shounen ai, mention of violence.
Category: action/adventure, drama, angst, and a little bit of the supernatural.

Notes: I don't claim any knowledge of the Czech, Italian and Portuguese language, nor having any computer/technical/medical skills or knowledge concerning the missions featured in this fic. Google and artistic license is my best friend.

Summary: (post EW) AC 206. After decades of wars and chaos, Earth and the space colonies finally have agreed to the establishment of one government; the Earth Sphere United Nations. The five Gundam pilots have settled down, keeping a low profile after the latest war, and have agreed to work for the ESUN as peacekeeping agents. However, not everything is peaceful and quiet, and some wars aren't fought with mecha or weapons, but from the inside, where Death is nothing but a slight breath away.

"Kill him now!"

"I... I can't!"

He laughs like it's a good joke. Laughs like it's the best joke he's ever heard. Rich, boisterous laughter. My microphone crackles with interference -- still, he must've overheard Wufei's words, otherwise he wouldn't have laughed. He's standing in front of me, a few meters away, tiptoeing in perfect balance on the large balustrade of the convent of St. Jorges. The historical building provides a marvellous view over the city; it's still searing hot, it's past midnight and the moon shines perfectly on him, sculpting his shadow into a living creature, foreshadowing darkness. Despite the heat, he's dressed in all black; a thick, black scarf woven into his braid, the loose ties lazily dancing in the faint breeze. How I used to run my hands through his hair, how I used to whisper in his ear, how I used to gaze into his eyes.

I'm sweating like a pig; I'm wearing a jacket. God, why do I even think of wearing a jacket in the Portuguese summer? It's smothering me -- I feel the sweat rolling over my back.

"It doesn't have to end like this." My voice is faltering.

"Why yes, yes it does, Heero." His voice... sings. A musical string of words, floating on the air, carried by the wind. I fail to suppress the surprised look on my face.

"No..."

"In denial, aren't we?" He laughs, but it isn't the rambunctious laughter of a moment ago.

"Stop it, Duo..."

"Duo Maxwell isn't here anymore. Shinigami is the only one left."

My aim is perfect, gun steady in my hand. I can take him out with one shot. This is what I'm afraid of. I thought...

"I was dead?" He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, twirling a small, wooden stick between his slender fingers. I follow his every movement with rapt attention -- what's he doing? Whatever he's holding, it seems to unfold itself, thickening, growing in front of my eyes, taking the shape of a large... from the tip, it sprouts some sort of hook, curving, quickly enlarging itself, morphing into a... scythe, the razor sharp silver blade glowing faintly. I didn't know what or who I'd find on top of the convent, and certainly not my lover and friend, Duo Maxwell.

"Oh, my poor Heero. Lost in the dark."

His voice... is still the same. The voice that sang to me, the voice that lifted my spirits, the voice that spoke words of love, friendship, comfort, happiness. The same voice that repeated my name in the heat of passion, whispered promises at the moment of total surrender to emotions so strong, cried out in pleasure at the summit of pure ecstasy.

"Yes, I am lost in the dark. I thought I had a light to guide me."

He snorts. "Poetic little fucker."

The crude words make me cringe. This isn't Duo. This is Shinigami. He's really the only one left. It can't be. It can't be possible, ever, that my Duo has succumbed to the God of Death -- that he believed that he had become the one in whose name he had taken so many lives.

"What is it you want?"

He shrugs. "There is nothing I could wish for. I already have everything." He has the nerve to pat at his chest. "This is all I need."

"Death is not a power, nor a force. It's death -- it has no influence on me! I can't believe that of all people, Duo harboured you!"

"Oh, really now?" The high-pitched sarcasm in Duo's voice hurts me as if he has dealt me a physical blow. "It's the truth, my dear Heero. Mind you, I tested you all before I came to Duo."

"Tested us all?"

"Remember your self-destruction? Trowa's attempt at suicide? Quatre's father being killed in front of his eyes? Wufei's colony blown to bits?" He sounds amused, but the wrong kind of amused -- a little bit of glee, as if he revels in those events and their disastrous consequences. Maybe he really does revel in it. "All perfect situations and I approached you each and every one. You all rejected me, though -- you had something or someone to fall back on. You had Relena, her quest for peace and the strong feelings of protection she awoke in you. Trowa had his nice sister Catherine, who helped him back on the road. Quatre had his private army, his sisters, and the support of the other pilots to help him out. Wufei had his strong honour and visions of justice, and Sally to get him out of the hole he buried himself into. However, Duo... Duo didn't have a thing."

"That's the biggest lie I've ever heard." I snort, not afraid of angering the... creature. The one who has Duo's looks and body, but not his character. "Duo was the liveliest of us all, he was always surrounded by friends, and he didn't -- and doesn't -- need the God of Death to keep him company. You corrupted him, with lies and --"

"The seed of his corruption was sown a long time ago." He interrupts me, cocking his head. "Aww, do not feel bad, Heero. There was nothing you could do about it."

"You can't rile me," I answer, snorting again. "I know everything about Duo. Don't think you can use anything against me. I made mistakes, he made mistakes, I know about his youth, he knows about mine. There is nothing you can say that will make me upset or doubt myself. So why don't you just leave Duo and me in peace?"

He throws his head back, laughing. "Magnificent! Bravo! What a speech, Heero -- and you saw right through my master plan!" The scythe rests in the crook of his arm, the curved silver blade catching some moonlight and shining almost into my face. There are spots on the end of the blade, as if it has been smudged or tainted with paint... the colour of dried blood.

I wait until he has finished laughing; I have nothing more to say to him. I'm starting to feel tired, as if the fatigue that has built up from the past years has finally chosen this moment to drain me. I want this to end.

"Blind, foolish..." I didn't hear him speaking again, and I quickly focus my attention back to him.

"Deaf, arrogant..." He plucks the scythe out of the crook of his elbow, gripping the weapon, hands a few decimetres from each other. Such a strong grip.

"You are lying," I repeat. "You have told Duo lies, and corrupted him. He never would have chosen to become the God of Death, or harbour you willingly. You forced him to. Get out of him and leave us both in peace!"

"I commend you for your bravery, but you are far too late." His voice has lowered a few octaves, sounding almost like he's rumbling. It's too low a voice for Duo. My Duo. My Duo who laughed, talked, joked, cried, and chattered...

"Death holds no power over me." I said that before too. If you have self-destructed once, believe me, death has no surprise in store for you any more.

"I know." He whispers, reverently... respectfully? "Only Duo has, right? So how does it feel, Heero, that he is the one going to kill you?"

"You filthy..." I can't say it. My aim doesn't falter. My arm is as rigid as a blade. Perfect hit.

My thumb moves a little, clicking off the safety pal. It's like a church bell ringing into my ear. He notices my movement and grins, not even tightening the grip on his weapon.

"Let's see what's faster -- your bullet, or my scythe."

I hear my gun fire at the same time as a flash of silver appears in front of my eyes.

Prague, Czech Republic, AC 200

I take a sip from my orange juice, swallowing the watery drink. I'm almost happy that I can taste the oranges; I've been used to synthetic crap for too long. The quality of the fruit may be low -- but they're real; freshly squeezed oranges, right under my nose. The juice presser didn't seem clean -- nothing about this run-down café in the back streets of Prague seems hygienic -- but it suffices. There are more important things than orange juice. Most of the people here are nursing a cup of hot coffee or a steaming mug of tea; but I don't need the caffeine right now. Never needed it, and those stimuli aren't good for my system; not that I need any stimuli for my system anyway. I'm here on a job, on a mission, and I want to end it successfully.

The benefits of a military training? Numerous. The disadvantages? Numerous too, but that's another tangent altogether. I don't have the time to elaborate on this right now; I'm waiting for my partner in this mission to show up. I watch the people present in this café and with one look, I know how to deal with them. The bickering couple in the right corner -- they won't pose a danger, as they are too engrossed in their conversation, totally focused on each other. The elderly, grumpy man in the other, left corner -- he could be a problem; I can't assess his physique and weight very well because of the overly large coat he's wearing. His eyes are darting around the room incessantly; he's either on some kind of drug or he's just paranoid. The two men in the middle, seated at the large, hard plastic table, are pretending to play a card game, but they're bad actors. From first sight alone, it's obvious they're up to something -- they don't yet possess stoic faces, the nerve to pull off a smooth cover act, and they haven't been around in criminal circles long enough to move unnoticed and inconspicuously. I don't need my over-developed sixth sense -- thank you military training, benefit number one -- to determine that they are dealing in something, or are setting up some kind of transaction by the way they're playing their cards. What would the cards stand for: drugs, weapons, illegal medicines?

The doorbell chimes and he enters. Trowa Barton. Punctual as usual. He doesn't need to search through the café, he recognizes me within the second. He walks towards me -- his military training, one of the best, has made everything neutral about him. Trowa Baron can sit next to you for hours on end and you wouldn't have known how to describe him even if he had talked to you. Blending in, fitting in, and collecting information, in and out before you can bat an eye. Trowa sits down at my table, after a short nod of his head. The bored waitress approaches him, wiping her hands off on her smudged apron. He orders a small coffee and then sits down, facing me.

"Dobré odpoledne, Vavrin."

"Dobré odpoledne, Bojan."

Trowa hasn't changed in the few years we haven't seen each other -- after the Eve Wars, we all needed some time to ourselves. Even Duo and I, but we rotated so quickly towards each other that six months after the last war, we were living together. He needs people around him, and I need him around me. It's simple as that. Duo Maxwell is life -- I need him to breathe, to think, to see, to live. I can't imagine my life without him, and the others saw that too -- almost reverently, they left us alone for a while before we renewed our social contacts. Trowa, Quatre, Wufei, Relena, Sally, Hilde... the impact of two consecutive wars is significant, and everyone was affected by the events. I dealt with it like I usually do with similar situations; analyzing and processing. Duo likes to make fun of that, but I know he worries about me 'bottling too many things up'. I can't help it that I'm not that extravert as he is, but that's what it makes so interesting -- a day with Duo is never the same as the day before. Yes, I love him and he loves me. For the moment though, I have to keep my mind clear of him -- there's this mission I have to attend to.

After the War, we kept in touch with vid-mails and phone calls, the times we did talk to each other. Trowa went to L3 with the circus and the woman who turned out to be his sister, Catherine. I was glad for him when he told me officially -- he had his suspicions, but now it was confirmed they were related. Don't we all long for a family bond or a significant other? I never thought I would be all that happy-family either -- but since I have Duo, I have come to think about it otherwise. I know my adoptive father is dead, and I'm sure he didn't have any other children. Duo sometimes mentions that he's going to look for relatives, and he doesn't mean only Sister Helen or Father Maxwell by that. If there are any living relatives of my Duo, he will find them, one way or the other. I'm not that particularly interested in what he calls 'finding my roots'. Many civil records have been destroyed in the war, and it just doesn't bother me that much. Duo is all that I need.

Trowa accepts the coffee the waitress brings him and puts it on the table. His hair is still the same, combed to one side, covering one of his green eyes, the bangs for some reason looking a bit darker than the usual chestnut. He looks at me; calm, composed. Military benefit number two: never let your emotions show too much -- or not at all -- on your face. We have a cover to keep up; I offer him a pack of cigarettes, and he takes two; one to light up immediately, and sticking the other one behind his ear. Taking two cigarettes is the signal that everything is under control.

Trowa taking up smoking is one of the little surprises of life, just as he didn't end up working with Quatre. After the war ended and -- for the time being -- peace was established, I assumed our group would stick together... but I soon learned that peace was fragile, war still imminent and threatening, and people go their own way, no matter what I think or what ties holds them together. Maybe the war didn't bind us as profoundly as I had expected; I wanted to leave it all behind me and do something that didn't involve mecha... dear God, how I loved my Wing Zero, but I didn't cry for one moment when there was nothing left of it to be rebuilt. It was a symbol of death and destruction and of life and growth, all together in one piece of machinery. It was something that formed me into who I was -- and Duo was the one who formed me into who I am.

The café is still quiet, the two men playing cards are awaiting the arrival of their third partner -- the man they know as Gergely, and the man I know as Duo. My Duo. It still makes me feel strange... no, hurt, every time we have to take off our rings when we're going undercover. No, we're not married -- neither of us feels the need to throw a big party or sign a few papers to convince each other that we're really in love, though we did want something to symbolize our bond. Both our rings are rather plain, white gold, engraved with our names and the promise of always and forever. I didn't expect Duo to go for a rather simple ring like this one, but I've also come to learn that his exuberance doesn't have to extend to everything in his life. It irritates me that I'd had to take it off -- but not only would it be strange for Bojan Labó to wear a ring with Heero & Duo engraved on it, but also it would give away too much information about me, and it could be used against me. I know Duo would have been sighing as he took his off, before putting it into the velvet jewel box. We don't share a hotel room during a mission -- we aren't even supposed to know each other for as long as this operation needs to be wrapped up.

Of course, I don't really know what goes on in Duo's head, as he often still surprises me with the way he can think or shows his insight. I know how intelligent he is, and how good he is in his work... Duo agreeing to work for ESUN amazed me, however. I was convinced he wanted to leave everything pertaining to war behind him, closing the chapter that contained... and tainted him with Shinigami, his partner in the battle of life and death, of war and peace. I should've known that instead of that, Duo would chose to continue to fight so that others wouldn't have to, accepting that his life would be entwined with the God of Death for the rest of his days. That's the only thing he doesn't want to talk about -- maybe he got tired of the comparison, as I am getting rather fed up with people calling me the Perfect Soldier -- I never was, and I never will be. I'd rather not lose my humanity, becoming an order --following drone without a personality. I did follow orders during the war, but I always had a great say in my missions as well; military training benefit number three: developing strategic skills and taking responsibility for decisions in effecting that strategy.

The doorbell chimes again, and Duo enters the café. Nobody looks up -- the couple is still occupied with their heated argument, the elderly man still darts his eyes about, not seeing anything apparently, and the two men force themselves to focus on their cards. Officially, Duo -- as well as Quatre -- has had the least military training of us all; but that's only officially. Duo has something else; hardened in life, a tenacious survivor's instinct, an instinct stronger than everybody else's together. I'm proud of him, my Duo... I think his life on the streets taught him more than any official training, but he merely shrugs and smiles when I say so -- he always says that we've all learned from the experiences in our lives, and that his situation wasn't that different from the others. It's talking about his past that makes him sad, sometimes irritated, and very occasionally infuriated. The subject of his past... both our pasts... the time before the wars, is something we don't talk about often. He rather looks forward to the future and I can do nothing but agree with that.

He's about to make contact with the other two. Duo brushes past our table, not showing any sign of recognition, of course. He walks by on our right side, another sign that the situation is still under control. I don't expect anything else of him. Trowa coughs, as if he inhaled too deeply, to show Duo that the signal is understood. Small signs, and maybe exaggerated or superfluous considered our professionalism and experience, but this is our trust system. We're his backup should things go wrong, just like in the 'old' war days. We know we can count on each other.

Duo takes his place at the table, after greeting the two card players cheerfully and jovially. They shove their chairs backwards, allowing room for him to take a seat. He sits down, the epitome of relaxed carelessness; hands folding behind his head, legs wide, slumping in his chair. He has nothing to hide, face radiating a certain smugness and confidence. Those two aren't just card players; if Duo can make a deal, and record it with the equipment on his body, we have enough to arrest them. They may be small fry and not very deep into the organization, judging from their nervousness and non-professional approach, but it's a good start in rolling up a large cell in a smuggling network in Eastern Europe. Inconspicuous, that's the keyword we operate by. This rundown, greasy café on the Stépanská 35 in Prague isn't exactly the most obvious choice of doing a transaction. Duo needs to play the game only once to decipher the structure of their deals and their working methods.

He talks -- I can hear his voice. He has a knack for languages, and he speaks Czech with a barely audible accent. Duo is good at dealing with situations, especially when something unexpected comes up. He's a pretty good infiltrator, and knows how to adapt to changes in a situation very well. I hold a noncommittal conversation with Trowa, not really listening to his voice as he's not really listening to mine. If witnesses were to describe us, it wouldn't be much more than "two young men talking over a cup of coffee".

It's an old fashioned mission... nothing has really changed since the war. We don't use mecha anymore, but the threat and danger are still there. The ESUN was established to maintain peace, both on Earth and the colonies. I could debate to a very deep level why and how there are still people who apparently aren't satisfied with peace and feel the need to trade in weapons, start civil wars, smuggle technology or drugs, but Duo always summarises it with 'There are always rotten apples in the fruit basket.', taking the words right out of my mouth.

We both know we are needed with our skills -- working for the ESUN enables us to keep a low profile, while the media is searching all over the world for those elusive Gundam pilots. None of our friends have ever talked about us to the press, but during the war we have met so many people, so it was inevitable that some information has been divulged. At this moment, the five Gundam pilots are still heroes, but shrouded in mystery, as not everything is known about us. It amuses Duo to no end, and sometimes I suspect him of regretting not being able to cash in on his name, so to speak. I think Duo would like all the interest and the media blitz, as he's a natural centre of attention, but on the other hand, he likes his privacy as well. He sometimes refers to us being heroes or legends, but he never goes on about it... maybe I should ask him if it's really important to him.

This is an under cover mission... no microphones, no wires. I snort softly -- as if we ever needed that. He only wears a small recording device as we need oral proof of the transaction being made, otherwise it won't hold up in court. We don't need a back-up besides ourselves, the ones we can trust. I once suggested to Duo that he should wear wires. He is more of a 'flying by the seat of his pants' person. I have yet to forgive him for not even studying the plans of the Lunar Base before he came to rescue us. He takes great pleasure in telling me time and time again with that goofy smirk on his face that he found out where the cells were by consulting a map on the wall. I don't liked being unprepared, but with or without equipment, Duo always succeeds. His protests against wearing wires were so loudly that it almost looked like I had just broken up with him, and his argument that I obviously doubted his skills had hurt very much. I remember very well that we both went to bed that night very tense -- Duo never throws a tantrum, nor is angry or infuriated that often... but when he is, he's not the Duo everybody knows... not the Duo I know.

The conversation behind me starts to get a bit heated, judging from the raised voices. I suppress my urge to turn around to see what is going on. Trowa has a better view of them, and he'll give me a signal should we need to intervene. I take another sip of my orange juice and continue to hold up our meaningless conversation; I see his lips move in an answer, but I don't register his words. The card players are talking a bit more loudly, the Czech language too difficult and too fast to follow exactly. We were Gundam Pilots, and had been trained to handle every situation thrown towards us. We have all proven to be capable of dealing with stress and strenuous situations and I trust Duo to work his way out of this safe and sound as well. Trowa cocks his head a little and I straighten my back -- with the voices still rising, something is not going smoothly. What are they arguing about? The price, the amount, the quality? Duo's voice still sounds the same -- he needs to establish the transaction, it's in his own interest to keep the conversation going and under control. Trowa puts out his cigarette, which is a sign to me that he's ready to intervene when necessary. Damn, why had I agreed to sit with my face turned to the entrance, with my back to Duo, leaving it to Trowa to have the overview of the situation? I know exactly why -- I would jump in too early and too easily -- something that Duo has reproached me for before. I have to tell myself that he can take care of himself; I don't need to protect him. He's just as adequate as me -- but he's also my lover, and the only person in my life I care so much about that I would die for him. I have been quick and easy to self-detonate during the war, believing that the importance of the mission was far greater than my own life; but Duo taught me that the value of my life was far greater than that. Now he's the only one I want to die for -- no matter what.

The voices dwindle down; apparently the situation is back under control. Trowa doesn't pick up his cigarette again, and I remain seated, a bit cramped from the rigid position I've forced myself into. Within a second, I can intervene and save Duo. I have assessed the two card players before; both their physique and build outweigh mine, but I always have the upper hand when it comes to speed. I don't rely on pure, muscular strength when it comes to a fight; agility and speed are far more important. Duo laughs -- I heave a sigh of relief. Everything is under control.

"Dohodnutá cena," I hear behind me. Trowa nods at me, hardly noticeably -- they have agreed to something, apparently the price. I curse my lack of language skills.

"Přespříliš," the other one says. Trowa lifts an eyebrow. He's not agreeing with the price, he sounds irritated -- he's also the one who raised his voice a little earlier. Duo answers him, voice laced with confidence and charm. He's going to bargain with the man for as long as it takes him to agree. We can't arrest them before they have both agreed to finish the transaction.

From the corner of my eye, I watch the elderly man in the left corner. He's too restless, and he's setting off alarm bells in my head. I can't place him; he doesn't belong with the others, or does he..? I see him reaching inside his coat at the same moment one of the card players yells something loud and indignant, and chairs scrape over the floor. The next second, the waitress starts to scream: "Puška! Puška!" and both the transaction and control are lost. The woman throws herself to the ground, the couple in the corner look up, frightened, and the elderly man starts to fire -- at the two card players and at Duo.

"Get down!" I yell at no one in particular -- an instinct, like so many others I have. Trowa dashes past me, using a free table as leverage for jumping towards the gun-wielding man. I don't even notice my hand reaching inside my waistband for my own gun, my eyes are only focused on Duo -- on the surprised look on his face, dissolving into one of pain and horror as he sees blood spatters in front of him. It's a slow motion in seconds, a lifetime flashing before my eyes. I scream something incomprehensible, as I lunge forward. The card player closest to me is out of commission with a swift blow to the head, and in one movement, I reach for Duo who is falling out of his chair. I've already seen that the other card player is dead, bloodied head face down on the table. Counting on Trowa to subdue the shooter, I rush over to Duo, just a little too late to prevent him from falling to the ground.

"Holy motherfuck!" He grits his teeth, wincing in pain. He holds his hand pressed against his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.

"Sit up," I command him, inwardly rejoicing hearing him swear -- as long as he spouts old fashioned violent American swear words, I know he will be fine. Duo groans, straightening himself into an upward position.

"Fucking hell..."

He looks irritated, not because of the pain, but of the botched mission. Our chances are gone now; he hasn't been able to finish the deal and the transaction, proving the involvement of the two in a smuggling network. I look up, directing my gaze towards the left corner. Trowa stands next to the table, the gun of the shooter harmless on the floor. The elderly man growls, protesting against his hands caught in the cuffs, but his struggle is to no avail. His eyes are still focused on the card dealers, one dead and one unconscious, and I certainly don't imagine his smirk. It'll have to wait for later, though -- Duo's wound is not life threatening, but he needs to go to a hospital. I put my hand over his, pressing against the bullet entry wound, and check on his back for the exit wound. Short distance shots are also the nastiest ones -- even with the close range; I fear the bullet might not have left Duo's body at all. I yank at his shirt to get a better view.

"Hey, not here, silly," he lamely jokes, hissing. I don't answer him, too caught up, and I finally tear his shirt to examine his shoulder.

"You're going to need surgery," I blatantly say. "No exit wound."

"Fuck!"

"Svině!" The shooter yells, sending spit all over the table. "Svině!"

"I have the distinct feeling he's not complimenting us," Duo comments dryly, not even looking in the direction where the swear words come from. Only his eyes show pain; getting a bullet in your shoulder really hurts. I can't really describe it, it feels like either a chunk of ice or a flaming hot iron is rammed into your body when you get shot. I've had my own fair deal of shot wounds; not because I misjudge situations, but often because of the unpredictability of them -- just as this one, a situation can change within a mere second. A bullet in your body is just one of the risks of the trade... minor or major, depending on the way you look at it -- or where you get shot.

Trowa hoists the shooter up, the man still screaming all kinds of obscenities. The people in the café are getting on their feet again; the waitress looking dazed and frightened, the couple in the corner confused, hands clasping together. They'll be all right.

The door opens, and people are starting to pour in. They have heard the gunshots, and not all of them are here to satisfy their curiosity. Two men are approaching us, noticing the blood on Duo's shoulder despite his black clothing. A woman goes over to the trembling waitress, offering solace. The couple looks a bit panicked, uncertain whether to stay or to leave. It won't take long before someone calls the police, and I don't want to deal with them right now. According to their policy, ESUN denies any involvement in missions like this... sometimes we're not even supposed to be wherever we are. I can't blame them -- not everybody in the ESUN knows we exist, let alone the department we're working for. Hastily, I fumble around with my other hand in my back pocket, whipping out my cell phone. Trowa can't leave the shooter unattended, the man is becoming rabid. He continues to shout expletives, literally foaming at the mouth. This must be more than a simple liquidation, and my calculating mind is going over several theories why the elderly man has been involved, but it will have to wait. Duo needs to go to the hospital and I need to get my head clear again -- squashing the fear and the horror that he could have been injured worse. I press the buttons on my cell phone, tapping in a familiar number. Just like in our war days, we have an air tight backup system.

"Labó," I use my cover name when I introduce myself. "I'll be late for dinner." I hang up immediately so the number can't be traced. This code is enough to let the backup know that things have gotten out of hand and that people need to be put at work to clean up the mess -- literally, in this case. Czech police works slowly and is still submerged in bureaucracy; so much for the disappearance of the communist system.

Duo mumbles something inaudible, and I focus my attention back to him. I hover around him, watching him to make sure he isn't losing too much blood, that his eyes aren't rolling back into his head, for any sign of shock or fainting.

"I'm fine," he growls low in his throat, as usual getting irritated with my meddling, as I still keep my hand pressed to his shoulder. He even goes as far as batting my hand away, and I know I've gone too far. "I can take care of myself."

"You're injured," I point out, and I don't imagine the angry look crossing his face.

"I wouldn't have been if you assessed mister Trigger-happy over there right," he bites back, verbally slapping me in the face. It's not like Duo to comment like this, and I chalk it up to the frustration this botched mission causes -- we both have been working very hard and long to establish this contact, only to see it being blown away by some overzealous old guy with a gun.

What do I do -- apologize? Later, perhaps. It is not that I'm infallible and perfect -- I snort -- , but his words have hurt me. I don't like the idea of having failed my Duo. Still, he knows just as well as the others that these kinds of things happen. He even says it so himself, with the expression he's so fond of: "Shit happens."

"Není ti něco?" One man kneels down in front of Duo, eyes darting to his bullet wound.

"Dělám zjemňovat," Duo answers, assuring the man he's feeling fine, and as to prove it, starts to scramble up from the floor. I help him, slightly taken aback when he struggles against my grip, but I let go of him the next second. Carefully, I help him to his feet. He doesn't shrug me off when I still hold my hand on his shoulder; blood trickles through my fingers. Before I can whisper in his ear that we have to leave, the café door opens again and two police officers walk in, immediately hushing everyone with their presence.

Czech officers are hard to deal with; despite radical changes in the system over the last years, the police corps still doesn't have a positive image. After the fall of the communistic ideals and traditions, the transfer to a republic state has proven to be more difficult than envisioned, and even nowadays bribes and bad administration are tainting the police force. Trowa stands close to me, the foulmouthed man suddenly meek and silent -- he has tired out, or Trowa has shut him up with a few well-chosen words. He's very effective when it comes to shutting someone up with barely two or three words. I hear the faint siren of an ambulance, giving me the perfect opportunity to get away from this scene.

The officer to the left starts to bark his questions, not directly aimed at anyone in particular. The waitress is scared out of her wits as she immediately becomes the first target of his so-called interrogation. The man is in his forties, probably still functioning as in the old days, trying to get his authority across by raising his voice and intimidating the witnesses. The other, younger, one looks around, gauging people's reactions. He meets my eye and I refrain from smirking -- he's one of us. The backup has worked efficiently like always -- no wonder, as I have appointed and picked out every one of them myself. This is a luxury I've never had before; in our war days, I had to depend solely on Doctor J and the people he had assigned to me. Nowadays, I am in control of our network of backup people. I pick out our support and colleagues myself; I know where to pay attention to when I hire a new member for our team.

The brief eye contact is all that I get before he acts; demanding harshly what is going on, that he wants a full detailed report of the events. He looks at Trowa, confirming with another second of eye contact again who he is dealing with. I'm glad our backup managed to dispatch someone of our own with a regular police officer; with him on the inside, our gun shooter will end up in our hands eventually, and not in some small cell or thrown back on the streets again because of the slow mills of bureaucracy.

"What is going on here? Sir, you are injured?" He speaks the native language just as fluently as Duo, so I decide to keep myself out of the conversation, not wanting to give away that I am a foreigner and undoubtedly attracting the attention of his colleague. It is pretty apparent that Duo is injured -- I want to have him in doctor's hands as soon as possible. The siren becomes louder, wailing, notifying the arrival of the ambulance.

"You go with him, sir," the younger officer nods to me, scribbling something in a notebook. "Leave everything to us. You will have to give me your name and address and I have to see your identification." His scribbled description of me will probably fit half of the Czech population, so no worries there. I glance at Trowa, who simply nods.

"You too, sir," the officer says, but now his colleague steps in.

"What's going on here, Sedlacek? Have you asked for identification yet?" Looking at Trowa, he adds: "Why are you holding that man?"

"Hruby, sir, everything is under control." He speaks with the right tone, reserved, though with sufficient respect to make the other feel that his authority is being acknowledged. "This man caught a dangerous perpetrator single-handedly."

"He did, didn't he?" Hruby looks again at Trowa, suspicion clear on his face. He doesn't like it that a civilian overpowered another civilian, no matter the danger he represented -- it will probably take more paperwork to fill out, and another missed opportunity to take heroic credit for an arrest. "We don't like people here playing for judge, jury and executioner."

"Officer Hruby," Trowa addresses him officially, "this man has shot and killed another man, endangering the lives of everybody present."

"Do you want a fucking medal?" The elderly officer is obviously insulted. "Do you think that we policista can't take care of criminals? We follow orders and rules here, and if everybody is going to play for judge, our state would be a..."

Before the man can launch into a 'long live the state and the rules we have to obey' rant, Duo decides to interrupt by emitting a loud wail. He startles me, making me think that he's life-threatening injured, when I hear the noise.

"My friend needs medical help," I snarl, not caring about my thick accent. "Where's the ambulance?"

Hruby has the decency to look at Duo and understand that he's in pain, and nods, frowning. "You can go with him," he barks, pointing to me. "The other one stays here for interrogation. Sedlacek, you have taken their identifications and testimonials, right?"

"Yes sir," Sedlacek lies through his teeth without batting an eye. He'll forge and twist our identifications and testimonials exactly the way we want it to be -- nobody will ever be able to connect Gergely Nemecek and Bojan Labó to Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy, nor will they ever make a connection between Vavrin Zelenka and Trowa Barton. The latter has already accepted that Hruby isn't going to let go of him, calmly standing next to the table, the subdued shooter looking as if it's slowly dawning him what's going on.

People are chatting excitedly, asking each other what exactly has happened. The waitress still is the center of attention, and she starts to strangely enjoy it -- this day hasn't been as gray and boring as all the others. When the door opens again, two paramedics enter, hurrying with their large supply kits. I all but shove Duo into their direction, blood coating his fingers and clothing.

One of the two paramedics wants to walk over to the table with the card players, seeing the blood there, and Sedlacek tells them that one is dead and the other doesn't need medical attention. When the man protests, Sedlacek informs him quite curtly that his services aren't needed and that he should focus on the guy with the shot wound...my Duo. Muttering, the paramedic goes to help his colleague, who is examining the patient -- Duo still looks irritated and also tired... it's time to leave.

Finally, they take the decision to return to the hospital, not being able to treat the wound here. He needs surgery because the bullet didn't leave his body, and those two are just discussing if it really is necessary to take him back. Stupid fucking bureaucracy!

"Can we go now?" I ask rather impatient, and they have the nerve to look at me as if I'm asking to grant an impossible wish. One of them is about to start filling out the paperwork for the dead guy, and it takes all my willpower to not start giving them a piece of my own mind.

"Get this man out of here," Sedlacek orders the two, I'm not really sure if he refers to me or to Duo. I suppress my sigh of relief when they motion us to follow them, to the ambulance waiting outside. I do not look back at Trowa -- he's more than capable enough to take care of himself, and I will see him again soon.

The hospital is...bland. Grey. Even the lights are dimmed grey, and the wide, massive structure of the hallways and corridors betray the architectural influence of the former communist state. It has no personality -- not that I expect a hospital to have a personality, but in the ones I have been, there was always something distinct about it. Something familiar. The smell of Lysol, maybe? The starch white sheets, the competent personnel, the hope that you would leave the building with a clean bill of health? This hospital, though up to date with staff and equipment, doesn't seem to promise a prosperous path of healing. The nurses passing by look as if they were dragged out of their beds after two weeks of non-stop work, the doctors won't even ask something remotely socializing, and it's grey, stupid grey. There's no color here, no life. Devoid of anything human. Duo sits next to me, hand still pressed to the wound. It has stopped bleeding thanks to the applied pressure, but he looks a bit pale and hasn't spoken a word since we entered the ambulance. Duo not talking is an ominous sign; this day probably cannot get any worse. I long to take his hand and comfort him, but it is not possible -- not unless we want to blow our cover, and we are both professional enough to not let that happen, no matter how much we want to hold hands and kiss and whisper in each other's ears that everything is going to be all right..

I look around, looking for a competent doctor. While preparing for our mission here, I have also compiled a list of reliable doctors in case we would need them. I rack my brain for the name of the most reliable one -- the one that doesn't ask questions. A nurse brushes past me, and I decide to speak up to her.

"Odpusťte! Ošetřovatel?" Damn the Czech language and their dozens of varieties of words for a simple profession. I can see in her eyes that I didn't use the right word for "nurse", but I don't care. "My friend here needs help. Doctor... Doctor Navratil, please?"

"Navratil?" She almost snorts. "Doctor Navratil is very busy. What is it?"

"Gunshot in the shoulder, no exit wound," I summarize, not breaking eye-contact. The other pilots have taunted me several times with my 'death glare', now it's time to put it to use. She seems intimidated and twitches a little nervously.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Get me doctor Navratil," I snarl, "or I'll fucking make sure you'll only work as a kitchen maid ever again! Tell him Gergely Nemecek needs his help!" Bad, I know... and certainly not an attitude I endorse myself, but the slowness and the contempt of the people here are grating on my nerves. The nurse leaves me, muttering something under her breath; my Czech isn't good enough to make out the words and frankly, I don't care.

"It's all right," Duo whispers, and he sounds a little amused. I am the first to admit that I was in need of some social help after the wars ended, seeing as I have had the best military training in the world, but no training in people's skills. It was surprising to see his patience when he corrected me and showed me where I went wrong -- even until today, it greatly amused him when I slip a little and... well, when my rather unpleasant anti-social side shows up. It's still there, and it flares up every now and then; certainly in situations like these. Now I have spilled Duo's undercover name, the doctor will at least understand that it's urgent.

Navratil doesn't disappoint me -- after fifteen minutes of complete silence, the doctor shows up. "Come with me," he says, not looking me straight in the eye. He probably has cancelled another patient and feels guilty about it. The ESUN pays well for services rendered and no questions asked, adding even more to the 'secret agent' feel most of the recruited employees tend to have. I think people can start doing something in return for a neat, effective organization and administration that is continuously busy dealing with new threats of war and international crime.

I follow him, keeping a close eye on Duo, who is effected by the loss of blood. Not for the first time, I curse the slow and amateur treadmills of Eastern Europe, where only money lubricates the society and most of the natives walk around with a look of being pummeled into the ground, not being able to muster the strength to go up against whatever the government or life enforces on them.

"You're going for some X-rays first," Navratil explains the procedure. Color me a rainbow; I know from experience what is going to happen. "There was no exit wound, so we have to pinpoint the location of the bullet first."

"No shit," Duo grumbles, getting fed up with it all. We enter a small, fortunately hygienic room, again with that grey light. Navratil walks over to a large apparatus --it almost looks like a Gundam command console with all the handles and buttons -- , while I carefully seat Duo on the wooden stool. He groans when I take off his shirt, muttering another coarse word again.

Another nurse walks in to help Navratil set up the equipment, and he sits meekly on the stool, not paying attention. I suppress my urge to whip out my cell phone and ask Trowa how he's doing, and to call a taxi and get us the hell out of here.

As it is clear that Duo needs surgery as the bullet is wedged in his body, the nurse proceeds to take his stats and writes them down on her impeccable clipboard. He has to be prepared for the surgery, and I do hope for her benefit that she gets the anesthesia right. I remind myself that probably no one likes to work in these conditions, but even after the first colonies launched in space, Eastern Europe never managed to catch up with the Western countries. I wonder if it is the communism they were forced to live with for so long, or the general mentality -- it is hard to make that change into a democratic or republic society, and there will always be people opposing... as there will always be people opposing to peace. I still recall my initial shock when Relena sought me out, recruiting me to work for the ESUN, taking me quite by surprise when she, the international symbol of peace, clearly admitted that there were people working against her, forces rising to threat the peace she had worked so hard for. I never thought to refuse, not for one second.

"Finished," the doctor says out loud, jerking me from my thoughts. Duo scurries around in search for his shirt that I am holding in my hands.

I hand it over to him, and he mumbles thanks before putting the garment back on. Navratil wrings his hands a little. "I'll make sure an OR will be prepared as soon as possible so we can take care of it. It won't take long." He throws a stern look at the nurse, who has every piece of information written down. She flushes faintly, but the message is clear -- she leaves the room in a hurry.

The hallway is cold and empty, and I'm really starting to hate those bland colors. When Duo moved in with me, he insisted on repainting and redecorating my apartment -- it didn't take very long to conclude that my three bedroom apartment was preferable over his draft, shoddy loft -- in bright colors, declaring loudly that he despised my chrome and plastic interior. I have never bothered with design, as long as the furniture I bought was functional, serving its purpose. He had a field day moving the furniture around, picking new colors, and painting the walls accordingly his own ideas. I must say that my apartment really looks nice and warm now. I did not have any reason to fear he would turn it into some circus act.

"Labó," I hear a voice behind me. I know it is Trowa, and I slowly turn around. He looks a bit gruff, probably from all the talking he had to do to satisfy the police officers before he was finally allowed to leave.

"Vavrin," I acknowledge his presence. He motions with his head -- there are isolated visitor rooms nearby. Without saying another word, I follow him. The first room is occupied, but the second is empty. I sweep it for bugs -- yes, another instinct -- , but nothing in this room even remotely indicates of being bugged... there is nothing but three plastic chairs and something akin to a coffee table in here. I can imagine how it feels like to be in here, awaiting news -- it is nothing short of a prison cell.

Trowa opens a package of cigarettes, but remembers that he's in a hospital and puts it away, a slight frown of irritation flashing over his face.

"How's he doing?"

"In surgery at the moment," I answer. "Considerable blood loss for such a small bullet wound."

"It was at close range," Trowa reminds me. "Very close range. Duo's lucky he was only hit in the shoulder."

"Luck of the devil," I mumble, before continuing. "Navratil is a competent doctor. After the X-rays he has taken upon himself to do the surgery; the bullet has lodged itself in the shoulder blade."

"Damn," Trowa only says. A minute of silence falls, before he takes up the conversation again. "Sedlacek deserves a medal, though. He was quick to the scene and dealt with the situation professionally."

I'm not in the mood to hear about him -- I know he is good, that is why I selected him.

"Is there any news on the shooter?" I sound grumpy, but Trowa knows me well enough to see right through it.

"Dimitrije Sudzukovic, 56, unemployed Serbian with a gambling problem," he quickly summarizes. "From what I gather, it must've been a simple liquidation by a rivaling organization. Sudzukovic probably only got paid enough to clean his gambling debts and alcohol bills." The disdain is clear in his voice. "Not a professional hit man by far, just an unhappy sod who's been offered some quick money and is close enough to his absolute downfall to see it as his only way out."

"Who has hired him?" I ask. I know this is a relatively common work method; with money used as bait, usually social outcasts or people at the end of their rope are lured into a job, often expected to die without their knowledge... it's cheap, and it stinks.

"I'm looking into it," Trowa says sourly. "I don't know how much it's worth giving it a shot, though -- there are too many organized crime circles with lots of rivalry going on. If they are working on simple contracts, it could take too long to find out who's been hiring him."

"Keep a close eye on Sedlacek and what he finds out." I don't name the other officer -- he's too caught up in the glory and regulations of his idolized bureaucratic country. Hruby is the archetype of a police officer that needs to be purged from the system, and replaced by more men like Sedlacek. Trowa merely nods. "I take it our chances of success are gone now?"

I shrug. The infiltration of the organization seems hardly important now Duo is in surgery. It's a mere bullet wound; we both have had worse injuries, but still... these people are smuggling. Weapons, cigarettes, women, drugs, money... tainting, destroying society and lives. This is the work I'm cut out for -- to protect the innocent, guard the peace, keep the ones I love safe... if only the one I love most had not signed up for this work as well.

"He's one of us," Trowa suddenly says, voice stern. He must have guessed my train of thought, as he certainly is not speaking of Sedlacek or Sudzukovic. "He can take care of himself. You know he can. He doesn't need his hand held."

"I know." I can't help but snap, but Trowa does not take offense. "I am entitled to worry about his condition."

"Of course you are." He snorts a little. "I'm worried as well -- I don't like to see my friends put in the hospital. This is only minor -- we need to keep our heads straight."

It irritates me that Trowa of all people is correcting me. I don't know why, exactly... I've always valued his opinion and his input, and knowing his background, I've always wanted his respect. I know I've earned it and he gives it to me, just as I give him mine. Why does it irritate me? I know Duo can take care of himself. I do not owe him any apology or responsibility. I did not fail him... or did I? Duo's words in the café have not left my mind; instead they are infesting my thoughts. I have really failed him, by not assessing the elderly man, Sudzukovic, right.

"Don't go there," Trowa talks to me again, in the same, stern voice. "None of this is your fault. You know that as well as the others do. We always take variable factors into account when planning the missions. Stop it, right now. I've been there too, remember?"

How could I forget? Haven't we all been there, seeing a friend, a colleague, a teammate, going down from the guilt they burden themselves with? Asking questions nobody has an answer to? It's the job we do -- a dangerous one, and I've known that from the beginning, when I put my signature on the contract. I do not want to go down into that spiral of useless thoughts, asking myself whether what I did was wrong or right, never to find the answer -- and failing Duo even more because of my uncertainty. Trowa knows the right things to say to put me with both feet back to the ground.

"Why don't you two come over to my place when this is all over?" He asks, gauging my reaction. It will take a while before more information is released, if Sedlacek is good enough to trace everything concerning the two card players and Sudzukovic. Our mission is shot, literally -- but this is also another indication that apparently another organization felt threatened, and felt the need to hire someone to do their dirty job.

"Excellent idea," I finally confirm. Duo is going to need some rest after the surgery, and we can discuss our new approach concerning this case. After reporting to Lady Une, that is; retreat and regroup the most basic military strategy. No, we do not lick wounds. We stick our heads together to come up with a new plan, be it infiltrating again or an all-out bust. We work for the ESUN, and we have a mission to deal with. "Where are you living now?"

His lips show a small smile. "I give you the address as soon as it's cleared. The apartment needs redecorating."

The standard code for denoting that his place probably is not safe and I nod, acknowledging the information. This is not the only mission Trowa is working on, and for mine -- and his -- protection, he does not divulge any details.

Our conversation has ended. Trowa excuses himself, claiming he goes to look around for some coffee. I wish him good luck, without sarcasm -- the only vending machine I have seen on our way here, looked like it was run over by a 4x4 truck. I doubt it offers much more than the inevitable cold beverages. I stick my hands in my pockets, awaiting any news from Navratil about Duo. My mind wanders off, thinking about Duo... my Duo. Maxwell's Demon, as some people like to refer to him. He has always hated it when he is referred to as that; it reminds him too much of the church, and how it was destroyed. He still blames himself for that, I just know it -- but I can't help him with it, just as he can't help me with my nightmare about the little girl and that puppy dog and my mission... I shake my head. There are nights when he just crawls in my arms and his eyes stare blank in front of him, almost void of any emotion. I wrap my arms around him, leaving it up to him to speak or not to speak. I'm not the person to pry; I'm not the right person to pry. Whenever he feels strong enough for it, he will tell me... tell me about this church and what exactly happened, just as I will tell him that I caused the death of a little girl and when I first started to understand that a war even demands the life of innocents.

"Bojan Labó?"

I spin around, on the balls of my feet, jerked out of my thoughts. Doctor Navratil stands in the open doorway, sporting a reassuring smile. "The surgery has been successful. The bullet has been removed, and your friend is sleeping off his anesthetic right now."

I feel relief washing over me; I didn't expect anything else but a successful surgery -- still, nothing can take the anxiety and stress away when the one you love is injured.

"Show me his room," I all but bark, adding a "Thank you" far too late. The doctor remains unfazed, motioning for me to follow. Walking behind the man, my mind's already working out the next stage of our plan and the next steps we have to take. Duo's flying-by-the-seat-of-his-pants attitude combined with my analytical mind always work wonders on a mission, even to the surprise of Lady Une. I also make a mental note to talk to her; she demands a briefing after every mission, and no doubt she wants to know why the mission was botched. Botched... I hate the word, especially because our mission wasn't botched... more like sabotaged. I grit my teeth. I'll ask Trowa to find everything out about Sudzukovic and his motives -- and interrogate the man forcibly, if need be.

Trowa soundlessly walks up to me, his mission to find coffee unsuccessful, as he carries a bottle of cola. He offers me the bottle and I'm too thirsty to decline; I usually despise those kinds of soft drinks with a passion. Too sugary, too... bubbly. Duo loves the stuff, something I chalk up to his American roots -- that is; we both think he's American. He doesn't mind being associated with a sugar and bubble gum culture with bad music and even more bad TV shows -- but that's my opinion, and my opinion about TV shows isn't appreciated, most of the time.

Navratil navigates through the wide hallways, leaving room after room behind him. After a five minute walk, he opens the door to a room at the end of a corridor.

"Your friend is in here. Fifteen minutes, no more. He needs to stay overnight, and if there aren't any complications he can leave tomorrow after a check-up."

"Thank you, doctor," I answer him and he opens his mouth to start to lecture me about bullet wounds and how to take care of them after surgery, but my glare is sufficient to shut him up. I brush past him, entering the room, my eyes immediately scanning for Duo.

He lies in the bed, eyes closed, blissfully asleep. I never told Duo that I love to watch him sleep. He looks not only peaceful, but also very attractive -- because his lower lip sags a little, he's practically inviting me to kiss him. There's nothing more I would like to do than to nip his lips, but Trowa's here with me and I doubt he would want to see me kiss my lover. Not that he minds our relationship -- it's just something private.

Trowa and I both check him over for any suspicious procedures, but as far as we can see, everything has gone fine. The only surgery is visible on his shoulder, carefully taped and bandaged.

"He looks fine," Trowa admits. "Navratil did a good job. I think he can come home with us tomorrow."

"Are you sure you can give us a good address?" I haven't forgotten his earlier remark about his apartment. He nods, patting the pocket with his cell phone. "Give me another hour."

"Very well," I answer, not tearing my eyes away from Duo. He looks as if nothing has happened, as if he's just taking a nap out of tiredness.

"You're staying with him?" Even though Trowa makes it sound like a question, it really isn't a question. Navratil gave us only fifteen minutes, but he knows we won't keep to that instruction. This is Duo we're talking about -- for that matter; I wouldn't have left any of my friends unguarded in a hospital.

"It's going to be all right," Trowa comments again, before leaving the hospital room, cell phone in his hand. I acknowledge his exit with a mere nod of my head; we don't need extended goodbyes.

A second after he's through the door, I lean over Duo, brushing chestnut bangs out of his face. "Duo, it's all right, I'm here," I whisper. He can't hear me, of course, but that doesn't matter. I'm feeling tired, and I look around the room, only to see a hard plastic chair in the corner -- that one will have to do. There isn't even an extra blanket to be found; I settle into the chair, gnashing my teeth. It's going to be a long night, but everyone be damned if they try to pry me away from my Duo's side. His breathing is strong and even, nothing to worry about. He's strong, maybe stronger than me. I've taken pride for a long time in the fact that I could cope and deal with everything so well, not understanding that I was really burying everything instead of dealing with it. Duo is open, exuberant -- his way of expressing himself, and I know what lies behind those violet and blue eyes. Sadness, grief, remorse... but he knows how to live with it, even as I'm often found still fumbling around in the dark, looking to find my way of dealing with those feelings in myself. I recall very clearly that I often scorned Duo's gregarious nature, even thinking that he wasn't half as professional as the rest of us -- it took me quite some time to see the extra layer behind Duo's nature, just as it took me quite some time to admit what I felt for him.

A nurse enters the room to check his vitals, clipboard pressed to her chest. I don't even bother answering her when she asks me to leave; I send her a glare and trust upon the look in my eyes to make her reconsider her words and stop harassing me. From the expression on her face, I have succeeded. I watch her like a hawk when she checks up on Duo; nothing out of the ordinary. She glances at me before she leaves the room, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the vinyl floor. I've already dismissed her from my mind. I check my watch and am baffled to notice that another hour has gone by. This isn't good; I'm too tired even to take in my surroundings and keep up my observation. No matter what, the hospital still is 'enemy territory' -- I don't know how long Sedlacek can keep everyone off our back. With a bit of luck, he's put the case on the bottom of a 'to do' pile that will send even the most old fashioned bureaucrat screaming for the hills.

Duo's face is pale and his breathing has changed a little bit; more shallow, less... forceful. He lies unmoving, almost like a wax statue, and I have to suppress my urge to touch his face to feel a little bit of warmth. I whip out my cell phone and call Trowa. If I can't keep my eyes open, I'll be a worthless guard over Duo.

It takes a few rings before I finally hear Trowa's calm voice on the other end of the line.

"Labó here. Gergely's doing fine, but I could use something to eat; soup or a sandwich.."

"I'll bring you some soup myself," he answers and I want to slap myself mentally for voicing a loud, surprised "Oh?" in return.

"See you soon," is his curt response and the line goes dead -- you never know who's listening in, even though our cell phones are the latest models, bug proof, not detectable by satellite and more of that ingenious shit, as Duo likes to call it. He sometimes gets a bit carried away in his vocabulary, but everybody somehow always understands what he means. I must be really slipping, reacting as surprised as I did -- what Trowa said, was just standard code that he's going to visit me in person. Why would he come back to the hospital in person? I merely asked for some backup to keep an eye out for us -- I need sleep, and I can't function properly if I'm sleep-deprived.

It takes an hour for him to arrive, and he brings a large Styrofoam cup of soup with him when he enters the hospital room, looking a bit haggard. The soup's almost cold, but I don't care -- food is food. I only need it to keep my body sustained and for the necessary energy, not because I'm some kind of gourmand. He pulls something wrapped in tinfoil out of the paper bag; soppy sandwiches, hastily prepared. While I munch on the food, he glances at Duo, convincing himself that everything's all right with him, before he addresses me.

"Sudzukovic's dead," he plainly informs me and I almost choke on a slice of tomato.

"What?"

Trowa runs his hand through his hair, a sign of frustration. "The other card player's also dead. Both our contacts are dead. Months of work down the drain. We're not going to get into that scene for a long time to come."

"Damn," I whisper before taking another bite. At almost midnight in a bland hospital, every bit of food tastes fine, even though I wouldn't have given it another look in any other given circumstance. "Cause of death?"

Trowa chuckles, it sounds almost hysterical. "Sudzukovic was decapitated, and they're still busy collecting the other player's limbs."

I take back what I have said about the food. Suddenly it doesn't taste at all anymore.

"Who could...?" I'm trying to process this new information, but I can't grasp the big picture. Trowa and I both know about people like Sudzukovic -- social outcasts who are lured to 'do some business' in exchange for money, not knowing they are used as a pawn --, who just dig their own graves deeper with every move they make.

"Decapitated? That's not... normal liquidation style." I eye the last piece of sandwich. My mind tells me to finish my food and my body asks for the nutrition, but something holds me aback. The last bit of soup is stone cold by now.

He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. "I already spoke to Sedlacek. He doesn't understand it at all, and is panicked. It's his first case like this... he said that Hruby fainted when he saw Sudzukovic in the interrogation room. It was the last room in the hallway, and nobody has seen anybody leave or enter."

"Death has done a dirty job," I murmur. Duo stirs in the bed, emitting a soft groan. I quickly put down my sandwich, and rise from my chair to check up on him. When I look at him, I see that some color has returned to his cheeks, and he lies silent and unmoving again, after heaving a sigh. He must be dreaming.

I sit back in my chair, eyeing Trowa. He's obviously yearning for a cigarette, and he stifles a yawn. He thrusts the paper bag right into my face.

"Here's some fruit," he says, "for Duo."

"Thank you," I answer him, returning his grin. We always look out after each other, and even though Duo does not really need the fruit, it is the gesture that counts.

He picks up on the conversation again. "As soon as all the panic has calmed down, I'll open an investigation. I don't know what to think of it -- and I wouldn't know who'd be willing to take the effort and time to decapitate someone."

"It's much easier to shoot someone in the head," I confirm. "That's the most common liquidation style used by gangs."

Trowa rubs his chin. "I'll see what I can do. I already saw that the station they brought Sudzukovic to, has hardly any camera surveillance, and it was late at night. It's going to be asking for miracles."

I want to ask him if he has already briefed Lady Une, but damned if I can't remember her code name at the moment. I'm really tired; the worries about Duo's injury and the adrenaline wearing off are draining me.

"Don't worry, everything's going to be all right," he assures me. "I forgot to bring a blanket... you'll be all stiff and cold in the morning."

"I can handle it," I answer curtly. We've both been in hospitals often enough to guard over someone else to know how to deal with a night of improper sleep. I only hope it won't add too much to my crankiness.

He laughs a little, before turning around. "I'll pick both of you up tomorrow. I assume he won't need to be held for another night in the hospital."

"Thanks for everything," I say, really grateful for what he has done for me... for the both of us.

"No problem." He knows we would do the same for him.

As he leaves, I settle in the chair, shifting and searching for a comfortable position. I hardly hear the door close, and I know I won't be bothered by nurses -- only for checking Duo's vitals --, and that there's someone around I can count on and trust my life upon. That's enough for me to fall asleep, concentrating on Duo's even breathing.

The sounds that awake me are a bit hard to recognize; my mind's registering the sounds, but is a little bit too foggy to properly tell me what's going on. I crack one eye open, trying to adjust to the shadowy, grey surrounding.

"Good morning, sunshine!"

"Duo..." I immediately receive something against my face and my usually quick reflexes fail me bitterly. I bring my hand up, removing an apple peel from my cheek.

"You've been sleeping in the chair all night, I take it? Someone's going to be sooo cranky today..." He almost singsongs, and I know he's only teasing me. My smile grows wider when my eyes, finally adjusted, take him in. I don't know why he calls me 'sunshine', as he's the only sunshine in the room. The blandness and greyness of the hospital literally pales in comparison to the liveliness that is Duo Maxwell... and even with some stupid hospital gown on, he looks dead sexy. I steer my thoughts carefully away from that.

He sits upright, pillows fluffed and stuffed behind his back, and is peeling apples from the brown bag Trowa brought last night.

He doesn't look as pale as yesterday -- on the contrary, his cheeks are a healthy red and his eyes are glinting with that impish, boyish look that makes him appear much younger than he is. The thick, luscious chestnut braid that I love to run my hands through -- untied, that is -- rests over his shoulder, the end coiling in the blankets of the bed.

I rise from my chair, lean over him and press a kiss on his forehead. "How are you..."

"Is that all I'm going to get?" He interrupts me, throwing his arms around me and dragging me onto the bed, proceeding to kiss me full on the lips.

I don't want to push him away, but I don't want to take the risk of Navratil or a nurse entering the room and seeing us lip-locked either. We're still on a mission. Duo realizes this as well, as he releases me the next second, allowing me to scramble back to my chair. I have to restrain myself until we're somewhere safe, preferably in our own apartment, or our 'bunker', as Duo has christened it. It's nothing like a real bunker of course; it's just secured with the latest technology, installed by yours truly.

"How are you feeling?" I ask him again.

"Pretty good," he answers, putting a piece of apple into his mouth and chewing on it. The small, blunt knife he's holding must have come out of Trowa's shopping bag as well; I certainly didn't bring it. It's a miracle he's been able to peel the apple with it, but yet again, we've both learned how to make the best of even the worst equipment, and Duo's very inventive.

"Have you been awake for long?"

He shakes his head, sending his thick bangs flying. "Fifteen minutes or so? You were still asleep, and I saw the bag and got curious... it's nice fruit. Want some?"

He's interrupted as the door opens and a nurse wanders in. "Good morning," she greets us both, and Duo's awake and cheerful enough to greet her back in the native language. I merely nod my head. I haven't seen her before; she must be from the early morning shift.

She scribbles something down on the chart at the end of Duo's bed and continues to check his vitals. When she lifts the bandage to check up on the wound, the young woman looks baffled.

"Are you sure you're injured?" She makes it sound like a joke, but her voice's quivering with surprise. My interest has piqued and I want to see for myself, but she stands in my way and before I can ask her to move a little to the side, she has already put the bandage back in place.

"One shot wound, yes ma'am," Duo quips while he waves with the blunt knife. The nurse smiles back at him, still with the amazed look on her face.

"Well, you certainly are a fast healer..." her voice trails off. After jotting some more words down on the chart, she leaves the room.

"What was that all about?" I ask, accepting the piece of peeled apple he offers me. I have a bit of a sore throat and I would appreciate a bottle of water far more... but for now, the fruit will have to do. Duo shrugs, and continues to peel another apple. "Apparently, it hardly looks like I've had surgery. I feel fine, like nothing has happened at all."

"I've arranged for some free time," I say, not entirely telling the truth -- it's standard procedure that after an injury, an ESUN agent is allowed some free time to recover, though the organisation keeps a very strict schedule on that. I believe that the allowed free time after a shot wound is only one week, depending on the seriousness of the injury. I'll confirm this with Lady Une as soon as I brief her.

"Great," he exclaims, popping another piece of apple in his mouth. "I can't wait to get out of here."

I know how he hates hospitals; I'm not really fond of them either. "I don't see any problem, if you really are that quick of a healer..."

"I want out," he interrupts me, voice a bit lower than normal. "Out."

"You'll have to have a little bit of patience," I admonish him. "Doctor Navratil is definitely going to be checking up on you, he was the one who did the surgery. It's standard procedure to..."

"Screw the fucking procedures, I want out. Don't you know what happens when you keep me inside?" He speaks loudly, as if he doesn't care if anyone else can hear him. I lift my eyebrow.

"What's the matter with you? I can't push hospital procedures and.."

"Get me out!" He yells at me. "Stop fighting me, Goddamnit!"

"F-fighting you?" My mind races. Is this some weird after effect of his anaesthetics? He has had surgery before; there was that one mission on his home colony, L2...

"Stop fighting me!" He repeats, shaking his head. The apple he's holding is crushed by the pressure of his fingers.

"You're mangling the fruit." I have nothing better to say, as I don't know how to respond to his "Stop fighting me!". I'm not fighting him, I'm sitting here in my chair and I certainly didn't expect this kind of reaction in him to something as simple as standard hospital procedure.

For a moment he looks at me as if I've completely lost my mind, and then the apple is squished to pulp, his hand clenched into a fist.

"What the... eegh!" Duo waves with his hand, chunks of mauled apple flying over the blanket. "Stop that," I say in a tone as if I'm addressing a child, and I don't imagine the irate look on his face either. He hates it when I talk to him like that -- I swear it's not something I do on purpose.

I pull out a clean handkerchief and give it to him. He uses it to wipe his hand clean, looking at the mess he made. "That wasn't my intention."

"What were you talking about anyway? I didn't fight you."

"Fight me?" Duo chuckles. "You're not fighting me at all. You're sitting on your scrumptious ass and you're looking at me! Want some more apples?"

My mouth falls wide open, not really believing my eyes. It must be the stress of the mission and the after-effects of the anaesthetic.

"Yes please," I answer him, carefully observing his movements. He takes an apple out of the bag and winks saucily at me.

"Last one."

"Vavrin will stop by soon and take us to somewhere relaxing," I tell him. Duo looks in front of him, concentrating on the apple. The blunt knife is cutting rather fast... and rather smoothly. We can only keep up a neutral conversation -- briefing and details about the mission will have to wait until we are out of this public environment.

I watch him peel the apple, my eyes glued to his slender fingers for some reason, wielding the knife with a precision of a surgeon, peeling the fruit of its protective skin.

"Nice," he finally answers, after minutes have passed by. He cuts the fruit in equal parts, offering me some. I accept it, letting my eyes rest upon him, but Duo only smiles in return, his face strangely void of the warmth and exuberance he normally radiates. I guess we are both tired.

Trowa arrives late in the afternoon. Navratil has paid us a visit, just as I expected, declaring Duo in good condition to leave, and yakking on about the proper care and that Duo would need to return if he was feeling woozy or nauseous or when he felt pain... I let the good doctor finish his sentences this time, even though Duo looks like he's bored to death.

I help Duo with dressing himself, offering to get him a new shirt or that he could even take mine, but Duo just shrugs it off and takes his blood spattered shirt out of my hands.

"I'll change as soon as we get home," he promises me, and pulls the garment over his head. There are drops of blood on the fabric where the bullet entered his body, some of them smeared all over the garment. It's going in the trash as soon as we get home.

I've been a bit edgy, waiting for Trowa to arrive. Meanwhile Duo finishes the rest of the fruit -- some grapes, one banana and an orange -- , having skipped the tasteless sludge they pass off as breakfast and lunch here. He seems as relaxed as before, being his same old self, fortunately, and the little episode of this morning vanishes into the back of my mind. It wasn't important anyway.

"Good morning, Gergely, Bojan," Trowa greets us accordingly. He has nothing with him; my stomach rumbles in protest. Nobody asked me if I wanted some breakfast.. or lunch.

"Vavrin! Long time no see. Thanks for the fruit, man." Duo grins at him, holding up the empty bag and the knife. Trowa returns the grin, a little bit too smug to my taste. "I knew you would like it. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, get me the hell out of here," Duo growls, jumping off the bed.

"Hey, take it easy," I snap at him, not liking the way he brushes off this incident. A bullet wound in the shoulder doesn't handicap you, but Duo of all people should know how it can affect you.

"I'm taking it as easy as I can, pops," he answers, rolling his eyes. As much as he hates me talking to him patronizingly, I loathe it when he rolls his eyes at me. It always makes me feel rejected, for some reason.

"Let's go... I take it all the paperwork has been filled out?" Trowa's quick to intervene, not feeling up to acting as mediator. Not that we often fight, Duo and me -- but he knows that sometimes Duo's quick retorts don't fall well with me.

"Yes," I confirm, "we can leave whenever we want to." Navratil has settled everything in order for us; he will be rewarded with ESUN money sooner or later. Gergely Nemecek will remain a non-descript, inconspicuous patient at this hospital, checked in with a minor bullet wound and checked out without any additional problems the next day.

Trowa dumps the empty brown bag in the waste basket, adding the blunt knife to it. Duo puts on his jacket and looks at me. I see the longing on his face to kiss me, to hold my hand, to wrap his arms around me, to whisper in my ear -- but it all will have to wait until we're on safer ground. I know I wear a similar expression, and suddenly he winks at me again, a movement so fast that only I can catch it -- it's meant for me and it's his way of saying that everything will be all right.

I put on my own coat, following the other two outside of the room. We leave the hospital, and the first thing I do when walking through the large automatic doors is taking a large gulp of fresh air. Duo does the same, squinting his eyes from the sun; the sky's rather bright, though the temperature isn't that high.

Trowa leads us to his car, an old, blue Skoda with a pair of fuzzy dice on the rear view mirror. Duo, who has never seen the car before, teases him mercilessly about it, and Trowa lets it all wash over him, smiling every now and then. I take the back seat of the car; Duo likes to ride up in front.

"Where are we going?" He asks, curious.

"Somewhere out of Prague," Trowa answers. "You can rest up there from the events."

"I don't need to rest," Duo says, sounding faintly irritated. "I'm feeling fine."

"We need to keep an eye on the wound, in case of infection," I voice out loud. He turns around in his seat, twisting the seat belt. "I'm fine, and you heard the nurse. It has already healed pretty well."

"In any case, you've got some free time to catch up," Trowa says, paying attention to the traffic. It is not that busy, and he waves through the cars without a hitch. We are on the highway before we know it.

"What about the mission?" Duo finally asks. We are perfectly safe in the car, we can talk freely now. "What about the shooter? What..."

Trowa cuts him off. "It was some poor sap who was stupid enough to think he could solve his money problems by agreeing to work temporarily as a hit man."

"Let me guess, he's dead." Duo groans, throwing his head back in the seat. "Damn! Why would he act as a hit man on two lower flunkies of the organisation? So much work down the drain -- it'll take us months and months again to work up our way again -- we're back where we started!"

"We'll have to discuss with Lady Une what our next step's going to be," Trowa glances at Duo, before returning his attention to the road again. "Some... interesting facts have come up in the last 24 hours."

"Like what?"

"The hit man was decapitated."

"Holy fuck, that's gross."

I don't correct him on his use of language -- Duo swears a lot more easily than me, but mostly if he's upset or if he doesn't know how to respond otherwise. He doesn't do it on purpose or to rile people, and I don't really care; it's his way of expressing himself.

"The contacts... the card players..."

"They're both dead. One was shot by the hit man, the other... well; he didn't leave the interrogation room alive either."

"Thorough," Duo mumbles, obviously thinking that both the kills were jobs from the smuggling organisation we were trying to infiltrate. I'm not so sure about that. Drumming with my fingers on my knee, I look outside the window.

"We'll be in Jilín soon," I hear Trowa say. "Another hour or so by highway."

"What's there to see?"

"It's safe and you can take a nap there, even though you obviously don't need it," Trowa jabs at him, all in good humour. Duo nods, showing his well-known grin.

"You know, that not-so-needed nap is sounding better and better to me," he says, stretching in the seat for all he is worth.

"That's fine," Trowa only comments, signalling to Duo that he doesn't mind if he's going to nap in the car. I shift my position on the backseat, closer to Trowa.

"What about the case?"

"I haven't briefed Lady Une, I've been too busy cleaning up the mess, literally," he grumbles, shaking his head lightly. "Sedlacek is a good one, but he needs some more experience. We can't have him blow our cover in his panic."

I mentally make a note to speak to him about that; I selected Sedlacek myself for this mission, and I don't like to be proven wrong. I can't use people who can't keep their heads cool in times of stress.

A road sign indicates that Jilín is only fourteen miles away now. I can't wait for some rest and relaxation myself. I always get jittery and worked up when Duo is injured. I know he's strong enough to overcome everything that is thrown at him -- I just don't want to see him suffer. This time it's only a bullet wound... but in this line of work, there could be so much more done to him. We've had discussions about it before, but Duo keeps on insisting that he can do this work just fine -- which he can, of course, no doubt about it -- and that I shouldn't worry. I do worry... more about what will happen to me when something more... fatal happens to him instead of... I break off that train of thought and remain silent for the rest of the trip. Duo has long since fallen asleep.

Jilín is a city not as large as Prague, but large enough for us to disappear anonymously. Trowa has arranged for an apartment in a suburb, and he parks his Skoda in sight of a large building.

"We're here," he announces, and pokes Duo in the shoulder. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

"Heey, not fair," Duo mutters, sleep drunk. He blinks a few times. "Wow, are we going to stay here?"

"It's nothing fancy," Trowa admits, "but it'll do for now. Get out of the car, you lazy bum."

We all step out of the car, Duo yawning and me taking in our surroundings. It's as inconspicuous as they come; nothing out of the ordinary, no one looking up when three young men arrive.

I walk next to Duo, following Trowa to the entrance of the building. He searches in his pockets for the keys, muttering something under his breath. Duo shivers a little.

"You are going straight to bed, young man," I whisper in his ear. It doesn't really surprise me when he nods; Duo knows when to listen when it's really necessary. I notice him using his arms and shoulders as if nothing has happened, and he's probably overexerting himself. The entrance is clean, and we are waiting for the elevator to arrive. It sounds like an avalanche coming down; great technology here. I put my prejudice aside and stab the button once again; I do not like to wait.

The elevator arrives and we step in. "It's on the third floor. Two bedroom apartment, kitchen and bathroom, the works. I've rented it for a week -- you're free to leave earlier. If you need an extension, just call me and I'll take it up with the landlord."

"Thank you," I say. "I take it the apartment has been thoroughly tidied up?"

"We removed all the spots and stains," Trowa says, indicating that it's been swept for bugs and other equipment, and that our own technology has been installed.

I don't expect anything else from him and refrain from commenting. Duo looks like he's about to keel over, and I frown; he wasn't that tired this morning. He has closed his eyes and wears a grim expression on his face, a mixture between... irritation? and fatigue. I quickly run over our conversations, in the car, this morning... did I say something wrong? Have I angered him somehow? I can't come up with a plausible explanation, so I make a mental note to ask him later, after he has rested properly.

We both follow Trowa like a couple of sheep, allowing him to guide us to the apartment in question. It's sparsely decorated; only the most basic furniture is present -- couches, seats, a large table, and two cupboards. I hear Duo ask where the bedroom is, and while he wanders off after Trowa's directions, I quickly check the kitchen -- plenty of utensils, everything spotlessly clean --, and walk out onto the balcony. The view isn't that marvellous, just a rather average sight of the city. It's getting dark.

"I've got to go," Trowa says, checking his watch. "I'll call you later this evening, okay? I'll probably have more news then."

"Thanks for everything," I say, turning around to face him.

"No problem," he answers, and smiles a little. "The fridge's fully stocked, so Duo can pig out if he wants to."

I laugh. "After that terrible hospital food, I don't blame him for being extremely hungry. With that said, I'd better start dinner."

Trowa shows himself out, and I decide to check up on Duo. The two bedrooms are at the end of the small hallway, and before I reach the door, I hear him thrashing and moaning. I open the door and peek inside.

"Duo?"

He's lying on his back, arm cradled to his chest, fingers buried in his shirt, as if he wants to rip the fabric. "I killed them..." His voice is hoarse, but clear enough; I don't misunderstand his words.

"Duo, you're having a nightmare." I keep my voice neutral and soothing. It's for the better if he wakes up; he can have something to eat and freshen himself up a little; this will only screw up the sleep cycle of his body. "Duo, you're having a nightmare," I repeat.

"I killed them all... wanted to see them dead..."

I haven't really experienced Duo having a nightmare before. Amongst all of us pilots, he's the silent one... when he sleeps. Sometimes when I wake up at night I doubt he's together in the bed with me -- usually he's curled up to the side, hogging a blanket, completely unmoving. I have put my fingers on his neck a few times before, just to check if he was really alive and breathing.

He sounds really disturbed, and beads of sweat have formed on his brow. I put my hand on his shoulder, softly shaking him.

"Duo... Duo, it's me, love. It's Heero... shh... it's a nightmare, everything's going to be okay." How many clichés can one put in one sentence? I don't care, as long as it wakes Duo up or at least consoles him enough to fall into a healthier dream.

"No... no..." There's a hitch in his voice. "No. No!" Now he cries out, louder, sounding aggressive and irritated. This does it. I shake harder.

"Duo, quit it! Wake up!"

He snaps his eyes open, yelling even louder. "I killed them! I killed them all!"

For a moment, he's completely unfocused, blinking with his large eyes, pupils looking into every direction for orientation. "H-Heero?"

"That was some nightmare," I simply say and the next second, he's lying in my arms, clinging onto me tightly.

"Fucking hell! I thought.. man! It was.. it was awful.."

I smooth his hair, sticky from the sweat. He needs a shower, but who am I to tell him that -- at this moment, he needs me more than a shower. I wrap my arms around him securely.

"Talk to me..."

"I dreamt.. that I was back on the battlefield..."

No surprise there -- I have my fair share of Gundam-related dreams. I've dreamt so vividly about being in Wing Zero again -- so vividly that I could smell the inside of the cockpit, the plastics, the material of the pilot seat -- that when I woke up, I was ready to report for duty in the closest hangar I could find, expecting to see my Gundam again.

"I was alone.. everybody was dead.. bodies charred and crippled.. it was horrible.."

Guilt. Has any of us pilots ever dreamt without guilt? Guilt about the lives we've taken, in the name of peace, about the violence we condoned in the name of peace, to bring peace, to establish a fragile idea of security and friendship around the world and the colonies.. only to wake up from another nightmare -- that not everybody wants peace.

"Duo, dreaming about the war isn't uncommon... it's normal that you dream about something that has affected..."

"Don't," he says, voice a low growl. "Don't patronize me, Heero."

I'm so surprised that my hands slide off of him. I pull back, to look him straight in the face. He looks pale, sweat still visible as a thin film, eyes large and still the beautiful mixture between cobalt, blue, purple and violet -- yes, that's my way of describing them --, but his mouth is a tight line, almost disapproving.

"I'm not patronizing you," I say. "You're not the only one to have these dreams. I bet that even Wufei has nightmares about the war. We were soldiers, we followed orders, we killed and we were victims. We had to make sacrifices and we saw sacrifices made for us."

Duo shakes his head, and pulls the sheet from under the blankets, wiping at his brow, making a sound of disgust. He hates sweating.

"You were trained from the beginning. You knew what was trusted upon you, Heero. Not me. I was all for fighting for others.. in the name for others... I had ideals.. I had wishes.. and they didn't come out. I didn't know. I didn't know!"

I bring up my hand again to brush the sweaty bangs out of his face. "My so-called perfect military training didn't prepare me for everything, Duo. What's so good about knowing how to take an AK-47 apart blindfolded and put it together backwards and still make it function, when you don't know how to handle the after-effects of killing people?"

"Sylvia Noventa? You were set up by OZ, Heero. You didn't kill her grandfather intentionally."

"I killed him, just like you've said 'I killed them all'. I have blood on my hands, just like you. I know what you're going through. I'm not patronizing you."

He wrings his hands, the soaked bed sheet protesting against the firm grip. "You're right. I'm sorry. That wasn't... that wasn't what I meant."

"It's okay," I say, trying to sound as confident as possible. I can't help but feel a little disturbed because of his initial reaction; I'm not used to Duo reacting as if he was stung by a bee. "We went through the same. We go through the same. That's why we're together."

Duo finally shows me a smile, but it's a small one.

"I'm glad we are, Heero, really. I love you. I guess it's just a different way of dealing with things, and I deal with it a little bit differently than you."

I tentatively brush my lips against his, and feel relieved when he responds; he parts his lips a little, capturing mine. God, this feels so good.. the sweet, soft, warm taste of his lips. The perfect confirmation of his love for me -- a gentle kiss that speaks volumes. When he kisses me, I feel the most special person in the world -- his kiss, Duo's kiss, is reserved only for me. Only I am the recipient of this wonderful gesture. He breaks for air, lingering with his lips on mine. I notice the shiver running through him.

"That good?" I ask, trying to lift his spirits. I'm in luck; his smile is wider, almost topped off with some dimples in his cheeks. Not a full-blown smile yet, but I'm getting there. He raises his hand, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"It's always that good, handsome," he says. "But my mind was with the nightmare again."

"Why was it so frightening?"

He shrugs, apparently not bothered by his shoulder. I make a mental note to check up on his wound after he's freshened up. It's an uncomfortable gesture; I can read Duo's body language pretty well, and this is an 'I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it' shrug. Still, I can't let it go. Him having a nightmare is bad, him having such a bad nightmare that it frightens him is even worse.

"Tell me," I press the issue.

"It wasn't the dead bodies." He drops his hand again, and I inwardly mourn the loss of his touch. I put my hand over his, pressing it into the covers.

"It wasn't the wailing, the screaming, the pain, the torture, the fire."

They're only words, and they're... unnerving me. I've had violent dreams as well -- I still do, though not that frequently --, and I can't imagine why he's having a nightmare about it right now. The wars ended six years ago, we signed up for working for the ESUN four years ago. We have dealt with peace threats, weapon smuggling, even blowing up a factory about to specialize in Gundanium manufacture, but an all-out war like we'd been fighting in has not reoccurred.

"What was it, then?" My mind races for the possibilities.

He looks at me, and a little smirk tugs at the corner of his lips and for a moment, his eyes seem to darken, but the next second, he sighs with exasperation and rubs at his temples.

"I enjoyed it," he finally whispers. "I enjoyed walking around on the battlefield and seeing people suffer and die. I didn't do a thing to show them mercy or relief from their pain. I was just watching and enjoying myself."

"Duo..." I tilt my head a little, not really sure what to say. The same thing again? Spouting some more clichés?

"I never was a soldier," he says, keeping the same whispering tone in his voice so it makes him hard to hear. I lean a bit forward. "I never had specific training; I only knew I wanted to help... I still want to help. I still want to fight so others don't have to... won't have to risk their lives."

"Your life is precious too, Duo," I say, but he doesn't hear me... or ignores me.

"All that I know I learned in life itself... what life threw at me. What life throws at me. It's not fair.. I never was really prepared. Was I ever prepared? Will I ever be prepared? We can both die at any moment."

"Duo, please," I answer, and I put my hand on his again, caressing his fingers. "Please don't do this to yourself. Where does this come from? Does it have to do with the nightmare?"

This is the first time I've heard him talk this bitterly. I know some wounds run deep, just like mine, but Duo always had -- or seemed to have -- the ability to deal with them in his own way, expressing himself, not burying it and bottling it up like I've always done.

"You're one of the best in your field," I tell him, "I love you and you have wonderful friends. Everybody likes you..."

"Quatre... Quatre didn't have to fight for his survival," Duo suddenly changes topic, looking in front of him as if he's about to burn a whole in the blanket.

"That's not true. Quatre gave up his position in his family -- he got disowned, even, for the path he chose to take!" I'm baffled. Is Duo jealous of one of his best friends?

"You had your training. Trowa had your training. Quatre had his family to bask in and who cared for him. Wufei had his training and his clan. I had to do everything to survive -- and I would do it again."

"I know," I say, squeezing his fingers a little. "You're strong, Duo. You've survived your life on the streets, and even though you never had official training, you knew how to pilot a Gundam extremely well."

He laughs a little. I'm not sure why he's talking about the others -- and me -- having had training. We all would've exchanged it for a normal family life I guess, but there was a war going on and we were put into a situation where we couldn't say exactly 'no' to the things that were happening to us. What's he talking about? Just as I'm about to suggest he takes a shower, freshens up and has dinner with me, he starts to talk.

"I should've known why I liked it so much on that battlefield.. why I didn't even care for the people dying."

The nightmare is really bothering him, and I can understand, though not really relate to it. Whenever I dreamt about the war, it referred mostly to my first failed mission... the girl and her puppy... or to my Gundam.

"Duo, why should you have known? You took the task upon yourself, because you wanted to fight in the name of everybody so they didn't need to fight..."

"I'm Maxwell's Demon," he answers me, lightly chuckling. I lift my eyebrows -- he hates it when people refer to him like that, and the last time he referred to himself like that was ages ago. "A burning church, a burning battlefield. Everything to survive, Shinigami."

His sweat soaked bangs are plastered to his forehead, and his face is still a little pale. The silver crucifix he always wears catches a glimpse of late sunlight -- the last of the dying sun, and it sparkles.

"Don't give me that God of Death crap," I hiss, "you're far above that." I don't know what I see in his eyes -- but I certainly don't imagine the flicker of pure venom. I gasp. "Duo?"

"You're right," he answers me brusquely. "It's nothing but crap."

"I think it's time you took a shower," I retort, completely deadpan. He barks a short laugh and moves his hands to throw the mess of sheets and blankets off. His shirt rides up when he swings his legs out of bed, showing a fair deal of skin.

"Yes dad," he says, pulling at the shirt and taking it off. "I could use one." He flings the garment over the bed, and starts on working off his boxers.

"Towels are in the shower," I tell him, while I watch his hands flying to his braid to untie it. He hesitates. "Do you really believe...?" He looks up at me, expression unreadable. "How many towels would I need?"

"There are plenty," I assure him, noticing very well that he was about to say something different. "I'll start on dinner, and when you're finished, we'll have something to eat. Trowa said that the fridge's been stocked; anything you want in particular?"

"Nah," he shakes his head and leaves the room before untying his braid, the last strands of the mass of hair visible before he's out of the door.

Dinner's ready -- I simply cooked a meal of vegetables, potatoes and some chicken. Even though the fridge's fully stocked, it doesn't hold the necessary ingredients for traditional Japanese food, and I don't feel like calling for take-out. The telephone rings. Duo's still in the shower -- the water has been turned off, but he's undoubtedly busy with drying his hair.

I pick up the phone, announcing myself with my name. The line is absolutely secure -- it's our own equipment.

"Heero, sorry to disturb you. Are you having dinner?"

"I'm waiting for Duo to finish his shower," I answer. "What do you have for me, Trowa?"

"Nothing, really. No more news concerning Sudzukovic and the case... the last thing I heard was that they've finally managed to puzzle the other card player back together. Lady Une has called for a halt on the case."

"Damnit, Duo's not going to like this."

"He has no say in the matter," Trowa says, a little clipped. "We made preparations and efforts as well, and all our work is down the drain because of some rivalry shoot-out in a café."

"Don't take it out on me," I snap back at him. I hate it when a mission is put on hold or is plain botched. It doesn't compute in my system.

"How's he doing?"

I decide not to tell Trowa about the nightmare. Why should I? It's too personal, and if Duo feels up to it, he can talk to Trowa about it himself. It's not my place to divulge this kind of information, and Trowa refers more to the bullet wound than anything else.

"I'll check up on the surgery later," I confirm. "He uses his arm and shoulder without any trouble, so it seems. I think he's more... emotionally damaged than physically, though that sounds far more serious than it really is."

"He certainly seemed a bit off to me today." Trowa sounds a bit surprised, as if the possibility of Duo being 'off' has never crossed his mind before. It's indeed really rare for Duo to act out of his usual character -- I've known him for so long, and I think I know all of his moods and behaviour patterns by now. Still, this Shinigami thing is something that bothers me; I was convinced he left that all behind him, and certainly didn't expect him to start talking about the God of Death today. I can't imagine that his injury and the bloody scene at the café have triggered his former Shinigami mentality -- that certain mood wherein he thinks that he's responsible for every mistake that has been made, and that all the bad things in life were solely directed at him. It's not like Duo to be depressive, to wallow in self-misery or to be so emotional that he can't function -- but we all have our moments that we're up to our limits in our feelings and emotions; tightly bound up in our past, torn by whatever we're feeling, by whatever we've felt.

"I've been too hard on him," I blurt out.

"Excuse me?" Trowa's still on the line, and apparently he's been talking for more than five minutes. I severely apologize and ask him to repeat himself, which he grudgingly does. I file away the information he gives me -- still about the case and how Lady Une has put a hold on it -- and politely listen to him, until I hear the door click. Duo enters the living room, his nose in the ear, sniffing exaggeratedly at the smell of dinner.

"Thank you for the information," I say, ending the discussion still politely, but abruptly. "I'm going to have dinner now.. we'll see each other soon, I guess?"

Trowa answers that he'll be in touch again and hangs up, probably a little irritated by my not so very proper attitude. I'll make it up to him, but first I'm going to have dinner with my Duo. He's already at the table, eating a warm potato, and looks at me at exactly the same moment I look at him. He grins; his impish, boyish, lavish grin. He's only clad in a large shirt and another pair of boxers. The way he stands, his right hip cocked forward, his legs a little spread and his arms half-crossed in front of his chest, his slender fingers trailing his lips which just have tasted the potato. I just know the evening's going to be special and I suppress my own grin.

"All ready for dinner?" I ask him. He nods, eyeing the plates on the table.

"I could eat a whole horse!"

I walk over to him, closing the distance between us and taking him into an embrace. He immediately clings onto me, pressing a kiss on my neck.

"I missed you..."

"I was afraid you..."

"Shhh..."

"No more death..."

"No more pain.."

"It's all right.. we're together.."

He silences me with another kiss. "Heero, I need something to eat otherwise I'll keel over. That couch looks comfy; what'd you say if we tested it for snuggle capacity after we've eaten something, hmmm?"

"You're right," I answer, but not before I inhale a hefty dose of the scent of his hair. It's just a generic shampoo he uses, but for some reason his hair always smells better than mine. Duo moves around the table to take a seat opposite to me, rubbing his hands. I watch him while he serves me, giving me a large helping of potatoes and vegetables, and shoving the largest piece of meat towards me. I don't protest; not that I'm such a great consumer of food, but because it's futile discussing this with Duo. He eats between meals, takes a snack every so often and never passes on an opportunity when food is offered; and he can take it, as his metabolism processes everything at top speed. He wants me to eat as much as possible when I'm eating; he knows I despise sugary snacks and he teases me sometimes that I don't acknowledge the 'emotional value of having dinner together'. I don't mind -- food is food. I've been taught to eat to sustain my body and that is all. Still, seeing Duo eat with such great appetite and obviously enjoying his meal, puts me into motion to eat as well. It tastes even better because I know he likes it as well.

He's not looking pale, the shower has taken care of any dirt and smudges and he looks healthy -- Duo is still eating, not really paying attention to me. He talks about neutral topics, even commenting on the cultural value of Prague. I guess the nightmare was just a temporary fit... even though he talked about Shinigami again. I guess I have never realized before how deeply it runs, while I should've known -- am I not the one still dreaming about the girl and her puppy, and hadn't that been as long ago as Duo's horrible witness to the destruction of his church? I eat the last of my vegetables, vaguely noticing that Duo's on his second helping.

Only after we've done the dishes, tested the couch for its 'snuggle capacity' -- it ranks in the highest category, according to Duo, and I don't disagree with him --, does he fall asleep into my arms, exhausted. It's only then that I suddenly think about his injured shoulder and I slip my fingers between his shirt and skin, prodding around for the bandage. When I lift the pad of gauze up, I suddenly understand why the nurse had been so surprised. There's nothing to see but a small, coloured patch on his skin; as if he's been bitten by an insect instead of being hit by a bullet. I tape the gauze back. Doctor Navratil may be a good doctor, but even he couldn't operate with that kind of precision. It bothers me for half an hour before I fall asleep myself.

Eastbourne, England, AC 202

"Fucking shit! You can't be serious!" Duo laughs, the wonderful rambunctious sound echoes in the small car. He leans with his upper body outside the window, looking extremely amused and amazed at the same time. The landscape is simply stunning in its simplicity; a green meadow, grain fields, flocks of sheep and cows grazing -- as if someone has spread out a patchwork blanket. The hills of Eastbourne are breathing calm and quietness, a welcome change in both landscape and surroundings. The sky is a little clouded but a bright blue nonetheless, and the sun is shining, not too warm.

I drive the car, leaving Duo to hang outside the window, allowing the wind to breeze through his chestnut bangs; the rest of his hair in its customary braid -- a thick, luscious rope of hair that feels soft and captures and amazes me every time. It's Duo who lies next to me, it's Duo who wakes up with me, it's Duo who shares his life with me, and I don't want to have it any other way. He's the one I wish to die for, he's the one I devote my life to.

"I'm quite serious," I admonish him, not seeing the reason to swear, even though it's almost standard in Duo's vocabulary. It's a small annoyance, and I sometimes remind him to not use that kind of language, but he merely shrugs it off; even if he'd give it a try, it always returns into his speech pattern.

"It's great to see Quatre again! I thought he didn't want to be involved?"

"Quatre has as little to do with the ESUN as possible, yes," I acknowledge. Quatre is active in another field as us; he's not really a mission agent anymore like Duo and me. His position in the current political world is far too precarious to risk doing missions. Quatre still has ties with ESUN; he's the strategic mastermind, especially concerning the long-term planning and the political course to take. Relena holds him in extremely high regards for his advice and insight; he's one of the most level headed and honest persons to keep the organization far away from corruption or sinking into conflicts of interest.

"He'll be briefing us as soon as we arrive," I tell Duo again, and he nods his head. I wonder if it's not too warm for him with his choice of outfit; black jeans with a black shirt, embroidered with a modest gold-threaded pattern. He wears his baseball cap, which I haven't seen him wearing in a long time. It's not that cold outside, though not to warm either, as I've already noticed; I'm a bit underdressed for the weather. I can't pull out a vest right now; the bulk of our luggage has been sent ahead. I'm not going to drive with the blanket from the backseat around my shoulders.

"We're almost there." He reads the GPS in the car; I've taught him how to work with the navigation system. It's not that difficult, and certainly someone who piloted a Gundam should be able to read it. Duo didn't disappoint me; he mastered the system within seconds, and he never uses paper maps anymore. I can't imagine that we ever used those; paper maps are so 'passé', to use another popular expression. "Take a right after two hundred meters..."

"We're here." I take the right turn, steering the car onto the driveway, passing through a bronze gate.

"Fancy," Duo whistles when he spots a large tennis court on the right of the driveway. Leave it to Quatre to call us for a mission that takes us into the high society. This is going to be a classy one, literally. I can't wait for the mission details -- he wasn't very specific, only saying something about 'computer skills coming in handy'. A hack job, it's been a while since I had one of those.

"Are we there yet?" Duo grins.

I laugh in response. "This driveway takes forever!"

We both whistled the next second, when the mansion came into plain sight, no longer masked by the huge oak trees.

"Holy crap on a wheat cracker! That's one huuuuge house!"

I do need to blink twice to take in the three-story building showing up in front of us. It's the pinnacle of fine architecture, no doubt about that -- it reminds me of the Louis XVI style; pompous and luxurious. The foundation and the lower stories are erected in a huge bricks, plastered white, with baroque ornaments around every door and window. Too bad it doesn't really fit with the more 'simple' country landscape; someone has obviously spent a lot of money on this... monstrosity of a house. It's not really that esthetic to the eyes, and I know exactly why I like my furniture styled and bare again. I halt the car in front of the mansion; just in time to see two impeccably clad men walking down the -- indeed, marble -- steps to welcome us. I open the door of the car sooner then they can and step out, a bit haughtily.

"Welcome, mister..." The taller of the two starts.

"Yuy and Maxwell," I say, voice clipped. "Personal guests of Mister Winner."

He's good -- not a single change on his face. Quatre's name is usually good for some jaw-dropping and wide eyes. "May I have your invitation please?"

"But of course." I hand him the mauve envelope with Quatre's name in gold script imprinted on it and he accepts it, pulling out the letter and scanning it, briefly but efficiently.

"Welcome, Mister Yuy, Mister Maxwell," he simply declares, shoving the letter back into the envelope and handing it back to me. "Allow me to guide you to the Blue Room. Mister Winner will be with you shortly."

"Excellent."

I motion Duo to follow me, while the second man -- servant, butler, bodyguard?- walks around the car, and opens the door.

"Your car will be parked outside of the estate," the man says, "Mister Masterson doesn't appreciate cars this close to his house."

I nod my head to acknowledge his words, though I'm mentally weighing my options. Without a car directly near, chances of escape are more limited, should that be necessary. It all depends on the mission, and what kind of mission Quatre has for us. It's just my soldier's instinct acting up -- analyzing and processing. Duo admires the large hall; nothing will escape his sharp eyes under his pretense of being interested in the pompous, kitsch artifacts on the various oak wooden side tables, the thick carpets with hunting scenes, the flowery wallpaper, and the crystal chandeliers on the ceiling. Masterson is the owner of the mansion, and Quatre is here, together with a lot of other officials, politicians and governmental representatives, as a guest of the man. I have searched for information on this philanthropist, who's in charge of the upcoming charity ball with the goal to raise ten million or more for war victim funds. Relena must've been invited; maybe I can find a free moment to talk to her again.

The tall man walks in front of us until he takes a turn to the left, opening a large door. "Here we are, the Blue Room. Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable. I'll send a servant to you to take care of your needs."

"When will Mister Winner be able to see us?" I ask, not about to give the man the upper hand. My tone is curt, snippy almost, but I stare him right in the eyes. Nobody overshadows Heero Yuy just by length alone.

"I'll notify him immediately of your arrival," he answers before turning around and leaving, and if I didn't know any better he almost sounds bored.

"Thank you." I turn around, looking at Duo who is checking out the so-called Blue Room. It's just an ordinary waiting room, small, decorated in soft blue and silver colors, offering no more than a sofa, two seats and a uncomfortable looking couch. He plops down onto the sofa, pulling up his legs and winks at me saucily. The room has nothing remotely cozy -- but who cares, when Duo's in the room. I sit next to him, wriggling myself onto the small, Prussian blue sofa and pick up one of the embroidered round cushions.

"Stuffy," he says. "What a bunch of fake, cheap crap shit."

"Fake?" I repeat. "Since when do you know so much about baroque interior?"

He grins, looking at me from under his thick bangs. "I don't. I didn't mean it literally, Heero. Masterson has spent thousands and thousands on his interior; maybe millions, considering the size of the house, but it's all fake, cheap garbage. He's got probably lots to hide."

"He's a very rich man," I shrug, recalling from the documentation I collected about Masterson that his personal hobbies encompassed looking for antiques and memorabilia, preferably from the baroque and rococo time. "He's got the money to afford all this."

"And to hide."

"Hide behind what?"

"This façade. Something's got to be hidden behind this façade."

"Duo, sometimes people like this kind of showing-off."

"I like to show off too."

"That's completely different..."

The door opens and a young girl enters, wearing a silver-gray maiden dress with a white apron. "Good morning, gentlemen. How may I serve you?"

It's too early for lunch and breakfast has been served hours ago, at least for me -- I rise earlier than Duo --, and I feel like eating something. "Can you bring us a selection of sandwiches and some tea?"

"And some fruit juice as well, please?"

I keep forgetting that Duo isn't much of a tea drinker, and I nod at the girl. I half expect her to make a curtsy, but she nods almost unnoticeably in return and leaves the room.

Duo stretches himself on the couch. "How long is it going to take?"

"He has a lot to do, he'll come shortly," I answer him. There is a small glass table in the far left corner of the room, with some glossy magazines on top. Maybe that will interest him. I'm about to reach for the magazines when the door opens again. It's far too soon for the girl to return, so..

"Heero! Duo! So good to see you!" Quatre Raberba Winner opens his arms enthusiastically, and Duo is the first to throw himself onto him.

"Quatre! Long time no see! In person, that is!"

Quatre pats him on the back. "No matter how refined the technology, nothing beats seeing each other in person and being able to hug."

"You got that right. How have you been?"

"Busy, tired, exhausted, but great!" Quatre smiles, and turns towards me. I don't do hugs like Duo does, and he knows that all too well -- still, our handshake is firm and expresses our mutual appreciation and friendship.

"There's so much to do around here. You can go swimming, hiking, play tennis... there's also a golf course close by."

"Masterson sure has got it made," Duo comments, taking in Quatre's expression. He has lost a lot of his 'angel face' since the ending of the wars, shaping him into a good-looking, mature man. Combined with his innate self-confidence and ability to leadership, Quatre makes for a trustworthy, determined political advisor. Despite his young age, he's overwhelmed with applications and requests for his expertise and knowledge, from the business world as well as the political crowd. He looks relaxed, smiling, as I've always known him to smile; blond hair a little ruffled, light blue eyes wise yet searching. Nothing much escapes him -- his mind is even quicker than his eye, and he'll come up with a strategy for any situation at hand sooner than you can pronounce his full name.

"He's a kind man," Quatre picks up on Duo's comment. "He offers to organize the charity ball here -- of course for the public attention and media coverage, but also because he knows that more people will flock together at his mansion than at some community building. This is the first time he has ever opened his house to the press."

I refrain from asking, "How many press?" as my analytical mind is working hard. Media coverage, public attention... many people are going to be walking around the premises. Duo scowls a little bit; he's usually quick to think there's 'something behind it' when people are being so generous. I tend to agree with him most of the time, but this seems more of an action of an eccentric millionaire then if anything else. I think I remember having read about his two daughters who desperately wanted to go into the show business but were lacking severely in the talent department.. maybe the man's hoping for a chance to launch their careers now.

"Come, let me show you around. It's so good to see the both of you." Quatre turns around, but halts in mid-movement. "Did you already order something? I'll have it sent to my quarters instead."

"Sandwiches, tea and fruit juice," Duo answers, grinning slyly. "We're hungry."

"You always had a good appetite," Quatre laughs, holding the door open for the both of us. "I won't let it take too long. Come on, let's go."

I should've known that Quatre is far more and genuinely interested -- or should I say, fascinated -- by Masterson's taste in interior decoration; this wing of the mansion has a far more Oriental touch to it then the Blue Room, reminding him of his homeland. Quatre chats a little bit about the preparations for the ball, which celebrities have arrived and which ones have to yet to arrive, along with the catering, and other arrangements. We answer with the appropriate answers, interested and in awe about the amount of organization, time and labor poured into the upcoming ball. We finally arrive at his quarters and he opens the door.

"Most of the time someone escorts me to my room," he winks, "we're being well guarded here." We both understand what he's talking about -- Masterson sure wants his guests to be safe, notwithstanding the celebrities with all the media around -- he's not exactly looking forward to a scandal. Another reason for all this beefed-up security could be for a whole other reason; he has something to hide. Quatre unlocks the door, holding it wide open to allow us to enter.

"Nice," Duo whistles. The room is decorated in the same Orient theme as the rest of complete wing; carpets all over the floor, draped curtains, sandalwood and cherry tree furniture. If I'm not mistaken, the small desk is completely carved from an ebony piece; the complete furniture is worth more then both our yearly income... multiple yearly income.

Quatre directs us to the sitting corner of the room, which has the same surface as our apartment altogether. Duo sits down on the couch, pulling up his legs and I go to sit next to him, quickly nuzzling his neck before Quatre sits down and looks at us again. Before he can start, someone knocks at the door and it's the servant girl, carrying a large bronze tray.

"Thank you very much." Quatre helps her put the heavy tray down, and she starts putting all the bowls and dishes on the large table; cut sandwiches, fruit, tea, little pastries, a warm dish (I can see the steam coming off it, but from my angle it's hard to see what's on the plate), and the fruit juice at last. How could she ever carry such a heavy tray upstairs and into his room?

Duo thanks her as well and I throw in my appreciation; she smiles a little before wishing us a "Bon appétit" and leaving the room, an empty tray in her hands.

"Some room service," Duo says, rubbing his hands. 'A selection of sandwiches' apparently translates itself into "army-size supply of sandwiches" and I wonder if we could eat at least a little dent into the carefully stacked mountain of food.

"Please, have something to eat," Quatre urges us, lifting up the bronze teapot to serve both him and me. Masterson really wants to serve his guests the best of the best, and who am I to object? I take one of the sandwiches from the pile and taste it; it's deliciously fresh and tasty. The warm dish turns out to be pie, real English chicken and kidney pie; I think I'll leave that alone.

Before we talk about business, Quatre continues his small talk, but more on a personal level. He wants to know how we're doing, what we've been doing, and how we're feeling in general. I know his room is safe to talk freely and we talk amiably, old friends with a bond that just can't be broken, wars be damned. It's immediately as if we haven't been apart, not even for the slightest amount of time, even though I can hardly remember the last time we spoke. We laugh, we reminisce, we fall silent, we smile and we chuckle.

Quatre leans back, porcelain cup in his hand, the tea steaming. "You know, I do miss being active in missions," he says, carefully blowing on the hot liquid. "Sometimes, though. Not always. I don't think I'm really cut out for it anymore."

"That's nonsense, Quatre," Duo objects. He's on his... I've lost count... umpteenth sandwich, eating as if he hadn't had breakfast a few hours before. His metabolism must really be in hyper-drive by now, because it wouldn't surprise me if he'd suggest going out for lunch in an hour or so.

"I'm sure that if you were to do an active mission, you'd be back into your old routine in no time."

"I think so," he says, shrugging uncomfortably. "I haven't really thought about it... I do miss it sometimes, but I think I miss that feeling of camaraderie more.. the feeling that you can trust someone to the core, your friends in war days, your friends who you could count upon, come hell and high water."

"It was a... special time," I say, carefully weighing my words. I'm not really sure how to react to Quatre's sudden bout of melancholy.

He smiles, and takes a sip of his tea. "It's because of the politics... it's a cold and an even harder world than in the days of the war. Back in the war, you knew who your enemies were..." His eyes seem to darken a little. "No, that's not true. Enemies could turn into friends, and friends into enemies. That's the same for the world I'm in now, only they don't use mecha to kill each other. They use words."

"A political murder?" I ask, thinking about the upcoming mission. Duo elbows me in the rubs. "No, Heero, he's talking about how political careers can be killed with words."

"Ah," I blink. Politics has never interested me, but I understand what Quatre is talking about; lately there have been quite a few scandals that's made politicians give up their position in their party or committee to avoid further conflict of interest, or even more shame.

Quatre shakes his head. "That's not the scope of the mission," he says, voice void from any lightheartedness. "But it has a great deal to do with it."

I straighten myself, assuming a rigid position. I notice that Duo softly sighs while eating another sandwich, but he also puts his feet back on the floor, sitting right up.

He puts his tea down on the table and leans a little to the side to take two flat files out of his briefcase. I accept them when he hands them over to me.

"Hugh and Jane Masterson." Quatre reclines into the chair, which really seems uncomfortable to me, still, he doesn't show any sign of discomfort. "To the outside world, a happy couple, he has become vastly rich from inherited money, lucky stock trade and a good nose for buying and selling real estate."

"And she?"

"A good family background, destined for a bright career in the world of medicine," Quatre continues. "Her father holds a Ph.D. in some biological field, her mother a position in a board for representing the national interests of hospitals. Jane has shown good intelligence and a preference for medical studies."

Duo opens the file on the woman, even thinner than the one of the husband. "She dropped out because of the marriage?"

"Indeed. After the wedding vows were exchanged, she changed her life as well. She hasn't pursued any college or study ever since."

"That's been more than 7 years," Duo muses aloud. "She has a record of being involved with all kinds of boards and committees, and she was socially very active."

"She still is." Quatre puts some pictures of the married couple on the table. "She's 'socially show business active", as we call it. Biggest friends with agents, impresarios, producers, directors, you name it."

"Are we here for the wife or the husband?" I ask, a bit brusquely.

"Both."

Duo scans the papers in the woman's file. "I don't see much out of the ordinary, except that she gave up on every activity after becoming the wife of Masterson. Since then, she's been profiling herself as the philanthropist's wife, with the right stylish outfit and the right accessories at the right time."

"So what if they play the media," I snort. "They get their attention; the press gets their pictures, blah blah everybody's happy."

Quatre laughs. "The reason for the upcoming charity ball is of course to raise the money, but also to show off for the media. There are a lot of celebrities and political hot shots here, and the security is gigantic to ensure their safety."

"And why are we here for? You implied as much as a..."

"Look into his file," he interrupts me. Duo puts the file on the woman on the table and puts his chin on my shoulder to peek.

"That's quite another Hugh Masterson," I say dryly.

Quatre narrows his eyes. "He plays by the book, following 'old school rules', Heero, Duo. He has carefully erased his past, and built up his new life thanks to an unexpected inheritance. He was lucky with his stocks indeed -- until his world collapsed thanks to his own mistakes."

"Let me guess, he falls into the wrong hands," Duo mumbles, studying the file. Quatre nods, knowing that we've all seen this before.

"We still haven't found out who's behind the deposits of tens of thousands of dollars on his account. We haven't been able to trace it back -- there's an Italian bank, a Swiss bank and some weird Serbian bank involved; I don't know if it's worth all the time and effort, but we're working on it to find it out."

"So Masterson loans money from shady characters," I summarize.

"... and starts bullying his way into show business," Quatre picks up. "You know the saying: "you've got to spend money to earn money." He literally pays for his way up, building up his reputation as a philanthropist and charitable Don Juan... even though he's happily married."

"What does he have to do in return?" Duo frowns, and his arm snakes around my waist. He's pretty touchy-feely, often looking for some kind of contact, but only with our friends or people we know very well around. He's not one to constantly hold my hand. I don't constantly hold his; in more ways than one. I wouldn't want a very dependant partner anyway. Duo's just perfect.

"That's what you're going to find out," Quatre grins, lifting up his cup of tea again. "We suspect that Masterson abuses his contacts by setting them up in certain situations and using that as either bait or blackmail, in exchange for information. We're not sure what kind of information, and how he gets rich by it. All we know is that he has lots of influential friends, not only celebrities -- and they're all together for a charity ball."

I close the file. "If you want to have information out of Masterson, why doesn't ESUN eh.. invite him for a chat? Surely we're not here to have some kind of torture or interrogation session with him."

"Oh no, no, Masterson is not to be harmed." He sips from his tea, perfectly calm and composed. "His computer is fair game, though. I want you both to check out his office and report to me what kind of information he's gathering and how ESUN can be affected by it. If he gathers dirt on ESUN people, or is buying his way in, I want to know it. His contacts, his methods of payment. Everything. Heero, you're going to check out security -- the bodyguards, the electronics, the computers. Duo, you're going to locate Masterson's office and you're going to break and enter it, and give me a full report of everything you find."

"Excellent," Duo grins. "Sounds like a walk in the park to me."

"No," Quatre firmly states. "We're on a limited amount of time. I have every perfect reason to be here, as I'm a guest speaker, and I'll be attending the charity ball. It was already difficult enough to get invitations for the both of you; the ball is for a limited number of guests. I could obtain the invitations by claiming that you were some of my advisory experts, and that I needed to see you in person. I can only give you one opportunity to hack into the man's computer, depending on what Heero finds out about how it's been set up and protected."

"Don't worry, we'll take care of it," Duo smiles and nods. I have no doubt about him already making plans; we'll discuss them later. Quatre takes another sip of his tea, finishing his cup.

"The charity ball is tomorrow night, so you have less than 48 hours. I want a full report on his files; I want to know if he's bribing himself into ESUN, I want to know if he uses contacts for his own profits. Get cracking, gentlemen."

While Duo's taking a shower, I unpack our suitcases. There's only one way to open those, and me and Duo are the ones to know how. Maybe Quatre, Trowa or Wufei would be able to open them as well; anyone else would be fruitless in their attempts. I click both the handles open, revealing the contents; my own upgraded laptop and its paraphernalia; this is not just any laptop. Duo calls it "The laptop", giving an ominous sound to the "The" every time he pronounces it. He knows darn well what kind of laptop this is; I could hack through the walls of Fort Knox in a blink of an eye with this thing. He respects my laptop, as in "no touching", and I respect his death metal CD collection, as in "no complaining whenever it's played".

I boot it up, hooking several appliances into it, sticking the memory key into the appropriate slot and waiting for the splash screen to show.

The water in the shower is turned off; I don't know why I always grin like a loon when I hear no more sounds out of the shower. Wait, I do know -- it's a chance to see him with his hair down. I never bug him about it, but I'd love to see him more often with his hair down. Whenever I unbraid his hair -- not every single night -- , it's most of the time already dark or he turns out the light. He has no problems with public display, showing his affection, doing a quickie in the bushes in the park, but the lights go out when he has his hair down.

"You've got The laptop out?" He smirks, hair perfectly rolled up into a towel. I refrain from pouting.

"If there's anything on this guy's computer, I will find it."

He nods, walking over to me to stand next to me. He presses a kiss on my neck. "How are you going to break in?"

I rummage through the appliances on the desk and hold up the small modem. "You're going to hook it up to his machine."

"All right. I'll find out where his private offices are." He wraps his arms around me, slightly soaking my shirt. He hasn't dried himself off completely. I don't care. The cinnamon scent coming from his hair -- I can smell it even when it's wrapped up in the towel -- is far too overpowering to care for a wet shirt.

His fingers dig into the fabric, clawing at it, pulling it up. "Heero.." His voice is hoarse, raspy, huskily. The voice I can never resist. I wrap my fingers around his; caressing the bare digits -- our rings are at home, we never wear them during a mission. We can't be used against each other, never... though I know, Duo knows, that we both would sacrifice ourselves for the other. No doubt about that. He turns his hands, fingers entwining with mine, squeezing. He tilts his head a little, capturing my lips. I respond to the kiss, pressing my lips against his, swiping my tongue over his lower lip. He increases the pressure, parting his lips a little to flick out his own tongue. I've already closed my eyes; I love it when he kisses me, his warm lips on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. I'm not allowing him to dominate the kiss that easily -- in a matter of seconds, we're dueling, battling for control. Duo yanks his hands free, immediately digging into my shirt and shoving it up, pressing his slender fingers against my skin. His thumbs are caressing my stomach, pressing lower, dipping in my navel. I jerk a little bit in response, and he uses my temporary distraction to win the control over the kiss, shoving his tongue deeper into my mouth.

I grab the towel around his waist, pulling it off in one swift movement -- I can do whatever he can, and I'm rewarded with a surprised moan. Duo doesn't lose control over the kiss, though -- when he's got what he wants, he won't let go until he decides to. His fingers travel lower, already working on my belt. I hear my own breathing growing erratic, and I barely refrain from moaning.

He brings his hand up, cups my face, forcing me to stay lip locked with him, stealing my breath. I'm getting high from the intoxicating kiss, the horny sensation of him rubbing me through the fabric of my pants while he's stealing my air and pushing my throat back. Not one moment to soon, he breaks up the kiss and before I can gasp loudly for air, he shoves me onto the bed. I fall down on the thick comforter, drawing my legs up. With a tug at the towel around his head, the piece of cloth is discarded and his damp hair flows around his shoulders, the long strands spilling and coiling over his light skin.

"Duo.." I marvel. It's light outside, our room is situated on the sunny south. It's still afternoon and we're supposed to discuss our plans for the mission. I've only managed to pull out my laptop and boot it up and Duo... Duo is distracting me, but dear gods, what a distraction. He places his hands on my knees, forcefully driving them apart.

"Heero." He speaks my name, growling, almost guttural. The glint in his eyes is the promise of what he's going to do to me -- I won't have any say in the matter. I lick my lips in anticipation, not in the least bit nervous; we've been partners for six years now, and the last five ones also sexually. It's all too private to divulge, but let me tell you that I wasn't the one with all the experience. We like to show for each other, but we even more like to pleasure each other. It's not about who's on top or who's down below; as if we we're ever the ones to follow stereotypes or guidelines. It's about passion, lust, desire, love... and devotion, in any way possible. I throw my head back in the mountain of pillows, lifting up my hips a little to help him pull my pants off. The strands of his hair slide over my body and I reach for them, grabbing a hand full and bringing them to my face, smelling the cinnamon scent.

I moan loudly when I feel his warm mouth around me, one of the most intimate pleasures he can give me. My fingers clench around the strands of hair, and my other hand has buried itself in the sheets, knuckles already turning white. He doesn't respond, just hums low in his throat, vibrating into every fiber of my body, mind and soul. "Duo, please..."

I let go of the strands of hair, grabbing him at his shoulder. I don't want to be the sole recipient of this pleasure, and we share, we always share. Equality is the foundation of our relationship, and this.. this pleasure is too intimate, too personal to not to share.

He bats my hand away, signaling me that he wants to do this. My turn will come eventually, and it's of no use arguing about it now. I lower my body back onto the comforter, grabbing hold onto his hair again, enjoying the sensations swirling through me. I can do nothing but helplessly moan when I feel his other hand travel lower and I know I'll be the one crying his name, feeling him inside me, completing me, and sharing his every being with me.

"Knock knock," he jokes and pokes me in the shoulder. I lift up my head, smiling when I see his violet eyes sparkle back at me. He's fully dressed, hair in its braid, looking extremely sharp in his suit -- it's not quite a tuxedo, but classy enough to mingle between the circles of high society. I'm dressed in a similar suit, only the lapels are slightly different. Tonight Masterson's hosting an informal dinner and even though we're not on the official guest list, we both think Quatre can talk us in. It doesn't really matter, as we need to scope out the premises anyway. We're running on a deadline here, and every hour, no every minute, is valuable. Never mind our.. eh.. little interruption. I'm still wearing a smile, my "I-just-had-sex-and-God-was-it-good" smile as Duo once christened it. He's got his own way with words.

"I don't have to ask who's there, I can see you," I answer him teasingly, and he grins. "What's the plan?"

"We go to the informal dinner, where I will look around for the security measures and equipment, and you will work your mouth... only in another way than you've just shown me."

I peck him on the cheek, eliciting a contented "Hmmm" from him. "Hey, you forgot completely to ask Quatre if Relena is around."

"True," I admit, "I'll ask him as soon as I see him. I don't think she wants to miss out on such a gala event."

"Relena isn't the one for this dressed-up travesty of gaudy crap?"

Like I've said, Duo's got his own way with words. I show my most confident smirk and shake my head. "Relena will attend such travesty if she thinks she can get her message across. There aren't nearly enough people convinced that peace is for their benefit, otherwise we would've been without a job."

"I could always work as a paperboy." Duo shrugs, obviously not seeing the problem. "She's right, though, if she doesn't want to attend -- with all those air headed celebrities, she'd probably had to spell out the word 'peace' for them."

"If she were to visit, she would want to talk to the politicians." I turn a little, checking up on my laptop. It's running a string search on the guest list, sifting it into several categories and looking up background information. I have my way with words as well, especially if I want to consult something in a governmental computer system. ESUN's the overall organization, not the all-knowing one.

Duo musses my hair, pressing a little kiss on my earlobe before tying his bow tie and shrugging on his jacket. It's time to get cracking, as Quatre ordered us to. The informal dinner will certainly help us get on our way. The knock on our door is certainly unexpected, and I move in front of the desk. Our room isn't that luxurious that it disposes of a separate study, just like Quatre's.

"One moment!" Duo hollers, flexing his fingers. We normally don't carry weapons around -- our body is our weapon. He prefers knives to guns, and has a wide array of both; but as Quatre was very adamant about this being a computer-related job, we didn't bring anything but our standard gear. I know Duo's brought his bunch of knives with him; his suitcase is just as secured as mine.

"Are you coming?"

It's Quatre, and Duo flings open the door. "Hey man, we didn't expect you to be our personal escort."

"Don't remind me," Quatre makes a face. "I've been busy with rehearsing for the speech tomorrow and they kept following me around."

Duo laughs -- Quatre wouldn't have been Quatre if he couldn't shake some buffoon butlers from his tail.

"Are you hungry?"

"I could do with some food," Duo confirms and loosely wraps his arm around Quatre's shoulders. "Com'on handsome, it's getting cold."

"Coming," I answer dryly. My laptop has just finished the string search; every guest on the list has been neatly sorted. To my relief, the largest part has been sorted into the 'neutral' category; they won't be considered for further investigation. I'm aching to have some camera feed, so I can keep literally a closer look on the guests, and more importantly, on the security.

We walk to the dining room, a large salon decorated with the largest chandeliers I've ever seen, and huge amounts of candles, tastefully lined up, sorted by color and size. I realize that this informal dinner is the general rehearsal for the official dinner and joined charity ball. The same servant -- I don't want to dignify him with the title of 'butler' -- approaches us, showing Quatre an ass-kissing attitude. Quatre's too nice to react bluntly or snootily even though he sees through the man immediately; but well, he's Quatre Raberba Winner, and we are two low-life advisors who weren't even graced with invitations from Masterson himself.

We're led to a table, placing us prominently into view of other politicians, who come over to shake hands and politely ask him how he's been doing. I'm immediately bored, though I observe the faces and postures of the people around me. Duo's making friends left and right; everybody always feels at ease with him, he has a knack for interacting and getting the most information out of someone with the least suspicion possible. He knows how to steer a conversation in the exact direction he wants, making the other spill and divulge and using it for his own benefit.

"Enjoy your dinner," the servant's words go inside my one ear and immediately leave through the other, and even Quatre is irritated by him, turning his back -- an incredible rude gesture considering it's Quatre -- he never, ever turns away from someone.

"He's bad," he mutters, and not only addressing his slimy behavior.

"Is he on the personnel list?" I ask, voice a bit low.

Quatre nods, checking his cutlery. "I'll give you the list this evening."

"Thank you," I merely say and look to my side as Duo's taking his seat, plopping down in a rather not so gallant manner.

"Narrowed it down," is all he says and I know that he has a good lead on where Masterson's personal quarters are, and specifically his study. All it takes are words and a little push in the right direction; everything else is reading between the lines.

"I forgot to ask," I suddenly bring up, "is Relena coming to the charity ball as well?"

Quatre shakes his head. "No, I advised her not to come. Considering what's going on... what could be going on, I don't want her to be brought in to any danger."

"Good," I murmur. I'm genuinely sorry that I'm missing a chance to see her; it's been centuries that we've seen each other in the flesh. I know all about her childhood crush, her infatuation, but I also know all about her determination and kindness. It wasn't for nothing that she sought me out and asked me to join her cause. ESUN needed agents to maintain the peace, and she knew I would do anything to help her, just as she would do anything to help me.

The first course is some salty soup, and I can hardly make out the ingredients. If this is another evening of that so-called 'haute cuisine', then I'm glad I've got some protein bars in my suitcase. Duo eats like he always eats; with taste, as if everything is the most heavenly dish, and a bit too fast. I think that's one of the few things stemming from his youth; the notion that every bit of food could be the last, that no one knew when the next edible thing would be available. You'd think that people in a similar situation would hoard their food and distribute it, but for Duo it's the opposite; eat it, enjoy it, savor it. He always finishes his plate, leaving no crumb behind. I really don't like the soup and leave it be; Quatre is a slow eater, especially because he's talking. Duo's the only one who manages to eat and talk at the same time without making an unmannered idiot out of himself. I have to ask him sometime how he does that.

I've counted sixteen cameras in the dining room alone, and those are the visible ones, the ones in plain sight. Both celebrities and politicians are very fond of their safety, privacy be damned for this occasion. Everything looks pretty normal to me; everybody is enjoying their dinner, talking amiably, maybe even networking. I lose count of the courses we're getting served; it's a bit of this and a bit of that, and I'm getting incredibly bored. Both Duo and I are aching to get to work; there's still a lot we have to do. Quatre holds up the conversation, with the same neutral words as Trowa; we talk, but there's nothing specific we talk about.

"Tomorrow evening the charity ball will be held here," Quatre explains. "They will take out the wall to enlarge the room."

"Looks like a solid wall to me," Duo notices, "are they really going to demolish it?"

Quatre nods. "They'll reconstruct it after the ball's over. Anything for the right entourage."

"Can we use the noise as distraction?" I ask.

"I don't know when they'll start the work, and it'll be in broad daylight."

"True," I simply answer, gritting my teeth. It's looking more difficult than I thought, and we still have to find the camera feed and the exact location of Masterson's study. Talking about Masterson..

"Our exalted host isn't present?"

Quatre smiles and shrugs. "I think he's working up the nerve to host his great charity ball tomorrow. It's his first time that he goes this far as to entertain the industry and having so many people together."

I make a noncommittal sound, and avert my eyes from Duo; he's flirting with the waitress. All in the name of work.. but it still makes me incredibly jealous when I see him use a look in his eyes that's exclusively for me in the bedroom.

It's past midnight. The mansion is quiet, but not so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Duo walks beside me, with two pizza boxes and a six-pack of beer in his hands. I can smell the grilled cheese and tomatoes, and for the umpteenth time I'm asking myself if this plan is ever going to work. I said before that Duo is a 'flying by the seat of his pants' person.. and within a minute, he's going to demonstrate it to me once more.

His knack for mingling with the crowd and asking seemingly superficial questions has given him enough information to work on; especially about Masterson being good to his guests, but not to his personnel.

I don't question Duo's work methods, nor do I ever question how he manages to distillate precious information from simple words -- nor do I ever question him how he manages to walk almost soundlessly next to me. He breathes stealth, and judging from the glitter in his eyes, he knows he's damn good at his job. For the same reason, he never asks me how I manage to hack my way into any high-classed secured computer network, because he knows I'm damn good at that as well. We trust each other blind on a mission; we can't afford mistrust or mishaps.

He stands still in front of a door and knocks. The camera control room is located in the back of the house, close to the kitchen and other personnel rooms -- laundry room, the cloak room, a small break room. I nod at him; I'm ready.

The door swings open and a tall man pokes his nose around it; surprise and a hint of suspicion on his face.

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

"Hey man, it's okay," Duo answers, holding up the pizza boxes and the six pack. "I'm in the business myself, I know how people forget you -- especially when you're the camera monkey.. but if the shit hits the fan, you're the first to blame!"

The man cracks a smile in response, opening the door a little more. "Masterson finally sends us something to eat?"

He reaches forward to take the pizza boxes, but Duo is fast enough to wriggle his way through the door opening, under the man's arms, and he pulls it off as if he's sauntering completely relaxed into a room filled with fluffy happy people. Three men turn around simultaneously in their chairs, hands on large control panels. Duo puts the boxes down on the first chair he sees, placing the six-pack on top of them.

"Hey, do I look like some lackey to you? I know what it's like to sit behind the camera for hours on end, to be totally forgotten and to see how everybody pigs out while you're squinting your eyes."

"True," one of the three others admits. "We're not allowed to leave here, so we couldn't get something."

I stand in the background while Duo socializes with the men, latching onto a topic of various brands of cameras. Nobody pays attention to me; they're digging into the pizza and opening their cans of beer. I know enough already; as far as I'm concerned, Duo can call off this charade of his, but there's something he still needs to do.

"So, you tell me which celebrity you've got an eye on," he jokes, while pointing to a camera showing a blonde vamp. Her dress is just as short as her hair is long; one millimeter less and... well, I doubt anyone could dress herself any more indecently. As everybody's looking in the direction Duo's pointing, he moves with his hands over the console close to him -- his movements even too fast for me to follow. The men laugh and joke a little, thanking Duo profusely for his generosity. When they question which company he's working for, he promises to give them his business card as soon as he gets a new batch. No harm in keeping friendly contacts, is there?

"Keep up the good work!" Duo ends the banter, because we don't have time for the yakking to continue. The men wave at him as if he's their best friend... well, at the moment he is. Even though Duo has a distinct physical feature -- the braid -- , not many seem to remember that after having talked to him. They remember his jovial talk, his exuberant speech, gestures and nothing about him in particular. Duo doesn't have that particular talent for blending into the crowd or staying neutral as Trowa and I do; but even with, or maybe despite, his exuberance, Duo never leaves an impression long enough to get caught on.

Sometimes the simplest distraction is the best distraction, and bringing four men on a tedious, boring graveyard shift some pizza and beer was all we need to do to get what we want.

"Is it in place?" I ask, a completely superfluous question -- still, my organized mind wants to know. Duo whistles low, a little off-key.

"Yes," he answers and winks at me. I grin in return; this is the kind of missions we both like. In all our years for ESUN, we've had a multitude and a variation of missions. Peace-keeping missions, bodyguard duties, missions to eliminate or infiltrate certain elements before they can strike. It's still a wonder that humankind simply manages to survive with so many people out for its destruction.. most of the time, even for their own profit. I simply ignore that train of thought because I have to concentrate on the mission. The next thing we do is to find a camera, preferably an isolated one.

"End of the hallway," Duo whispers to me. I nod again, my hand traveling to my pocket and pulling out a little kit. I open it and walk forward, trusting Duo to watch my back.

I flip out the light in the hallway before the camera in question notices me, and it immediately switches over onto infrared. I turn on my flashlight, shining directly into the camera, blinding the lens. Now it's only a matter of seconds, but that is all I need. I clip the wire to the camera, placing my own little invention between the ends of the cable before connecting them back together. It's a remote controlled sensor and chip in one, and combined with the switch Duo made -- he didn't stand close to that console for nothing -- this will enable me to break into the camera control system... and not only to see through the same cameras, but actually control them as well. I shove a cap over the junction so no one can see it's been clipped; to the untrained eye, it's just a wire to a camera with an extra fastening in the middle. I like to refer to my little invention as a spider, as it allows me to crawl through the wires and get access to every camera on the premises.

Once I'm done, I walk back to Duo, who motions me to come closer. "Either they didn't see it or they're really slow," he murmurs.

"Maybe they're still munching on your pizza," I say, making sure that I stay outside the camera's field as much as possible. Recognizing someone from the back of his head is

a lot more difficult than from the face, of course. They can puzzle on my dark hair as long as they want to. I smirk with that thought in mind and Duo looks at me a little quizzically, before smirking himself and continuing his way. We're back at our room in no time, and the small marks we have planted -- a few hairs between the door styles -- are still in place; apparently Masterson trusts his guest with only a background check, not a room search. No one would've found something suspicious anyway; all our equipment looks like any other common appliances -- my laptop certainly doesn't look different from any other laptop, it's the customized software that distinguishes it. We have a number of background identities we can fall back on; if anyone were to ask us about the equipment we're carrying, I always trust Duo to talk his way out of it. I can certainly use my mouth as well, though I'm not half as convincing. Duo manages to rattle a mass amount of well-articulated, well-used, and well-placed words off and give an explanation that leaves even the most experienced interrogator satisfied -- or baffled, depending on the situation. Duo's tongue has gotten us out of more than one awkward situation.

I wander over to the desk, booting up the laptop again. Duo rummages in his suitcase, preparing for bed. He needs his rest; he's got to do the majority of the work tomorrow night, when the charity ball offers enough distraction for us to do our job.

"Quatre sure is doing well," he says, almost absent-mindedly.

I sit down, keeping an eye on him until the laptop is ready. "What do you mean?"

"He's made for this world," Duo murmurs in return, stripping off his suit. "High society, wealthy people. Talk, talk, talk. Political business.."

"I guess he's more skilled in handling the delicate political strings than we are," is my best reply. I know Duo has spent more time with Quatre than anyone else of us, except for Trowa maybe -- no, Trowa has never been that close in Quatre's company, not as long as Duo. I start clicking at the keyboard; the program is finally loaded.

Duo doesn't bother to stifle a yawn, rummaging through his suitcase again in search of sleepwear. "He always pops up at the most fancy places."

"Different people, different surroundings." I don't know what he's talking about. Sometimes I think Duo envies Quatre, sometimes dropping hints that our friend has had it easier than the rest of us. I don't see why that matters; Quatre is an excellent strategist, an intelligent friend and he has always come through for us. He may have had a solid roof over his head, but he endured hardships in his life -- for instance, the death of his father, right in front of his eyes, with him narrowly escaping.

"He doesn't know what he's missing out on," Duo continues, putting on his favorite sweat pants. I concentrate on the screen of my laptop. My 'spider' is doing great work; I'm already connected to the camera network.

"He did mention that he sometimes wants to participate in active missions again," I answer, trying to place Duo's tone of voice. "He's too high-profiled now to even think about it, though. It would be a waste to quit his career for dangerous work now. And, with him we have a good person on the inside of the ESUN."

"Perfect little Quatre," Duo says, and he snorts right afterwards. I'm too occupied with the camera work to really comment on his remark, but it sends a shiver down my spine. He sounds disdainful, not really like Duo at all -- and certainly not in reference to his friends.

"Duo, I..." My laptop makes a sound, signaling that all the cameras are online.

"What do you got?" He closes the distance between us with a few steps, leaning with his hands on my shoulders and staring intently at the screen. I decide to let it slide -- we've got better things to concentrate on, and frankly... who hasn't been jealous or a little envious before?

The screen shows picture-by-picture of the cameras, and I click on several images. "This one is from the hall... this one.."

He points at the screen. "That one is of Masterson's study."

"I see." I enlarge the image. "You spoke to someone?"

Duo grins, tightening his grip on my shoulders. "I met his interior decorator... he was rather complacent about his invitation, hoping to get some business from the celebrities he was about to meet. I only had to tickle his feathers a little bit to find out that he also designed Masterson's study -- there's a carpet on the floor that's been imported from Egypt, really artisan and stuff."

"That would be this one," I answer dryly, spotting a corner of aforementioned carpet. The image is too fuzzy to make out the pattern, but it's of no importance. I notice his fingers are creeping up to my neck now, gently touching the skin. He slips a finger between the collar of my shirt and my neck, just scratching a little.

"We're lucky. I hadn't expected him to put up a camera in his own study."

"If his computer holds really that much important information, he would be stupid not to put up a camera."

"Agreed."

I switch back to my program, keying the algorithms for it to calculate the coverage of the cameras, their loop, and the movements in sight of camera. As soon as it's finished, I'm able to distinguish if there's someone patrolling certain areas of the house and which rooms are visited most.

"Heero TV is on the air," I joke lamely. "So, this is something to chew on." I finish programming the parameters.

"I know something else Id like to chew on," Duo returns the lame joke with a saucy wink, and laughs at my horror-stricken face. "Cheer up, Heero! I won't bite... too hard." He drags me out of my chair before I can protest, and why should I?

Breakfast is served as a buffet; with my silver plate in my hand, I walk along the large tables, displaying dish after dish. I search in the large basket of fruit for a nice peach; I like my breakfast light and easy digestible. Duo is behind me, apparently enjoying the wide choice in cereals and bread. He has a good appetite, but hardly for fast-food and sugary snacks; I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had fries or a hamburger or something chocolaty. He does have a sweet tooth, though -- he'd choose strawberry over lemons any day.

Today is the day of the charity ball; not a sign of nervousness to see. The personnel serve us efficiently and pleasantly, bustling about like a well-oiled machine. Someone is obviously keeping them on a tight rein, orchestrating them perfectly. I'm finished with my plate and not waiting for Duo, as he obviously needs some more time to make a choice, I walk over to one of the smaller tables. Undoubtedly, people will have breakfast served in their room, or maybe even going out to eat; Masterson has arranged for anything possible. Money is no option -- that much is clear, crystal clear.

"Over here!"

I turn my head around, and I see Quatre waving at me. I curse myself -- I really must stop musing so much. I'm on a mission, I can't afford to lose myself in thoughts. Luckily, this is only a data retrieval mission. I console myself that I will do better next time. Quatre is dressed in an impeccable suit, which makes me want to ask him if he's not incredibly hot -- it looks like it's made out of wool.

"Good morning, Quatre."

"Good morning," he beams at me, nursing a large cup of tea. His empty platter with only traces of consumed fruit shows that he doesn't have a large appetite in the early morning as well. A stack of papers lies next to him; the inevitable cue cards for his speech later this evening.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Excellently," I affirm. It was a good night indeed, and I always sleep very well after.. certain activities. I'm not the person to blush so I look straight at Quatre, who gives me one of his trademark smiles in return.

"It's so nice to see you two together. You're really in unity, two bricks that match perfectly together. Wait, that's not a good comparison.. I know, you're like two puzzle pieces. You click and match without a glitch."

"Thank you," is my slightly baffled answer. Even though we're friends, we rarely discuss personal matters. That we're together is neither secret nor a surprise, of course, and none of them have a problem with it -- still, either in conversation, in person, or by vid-mail the subject is barely touched.

Quatre continues to smile and takes another sip of his tea. Duo joins us at the table, lifting up his mug of chocolate milk. Apparently, he indulged himself today.

"To us," he laughs, and we both lift up our cups.

"To us," Quatre nods.

"To us," I return the gesture and take a sip. Mango and herb tea... classy.

"Heero, did you revise the business proposal yesterday?" Quatre addresses me.

"Yes, I did. I rewrote it completely," I answer him. "It took me only a few seconds to realize that I need to see the bigger picture of it all."

"Duo?"

He quickly swallows. "I found the key problem, and I don't think there'll be any difficulty in changing it into something more appropriate."

"Good morning gentlemen."

I jerk my head to the side, glaring at the one who interrupts us -- it's the sour-faced servant from yesterday. The only thing he could've caught from our encrypted conversation was the talk about Duo finding the key problem, referring to Masterson's room of course.

"I hope you find everything in order?"

"We do, thank you very much," Quatre graces him with an answer. "Is everything set for the rehearsal this afternoon? I won't appreciate any surprises considering the sound and acoustics. I want everybody to hear me in the room."

Typical Quatre Raberba Winner tactics, especially when talking to a bothersome person; fire questions back, and putting them on their mettle. The man knows he's being dismissed, and straightens himself. Duo continues to eat, casting a bored look at him.

"I assure you that everything will be in perfect order, Mister Winner. If you'd like to try out for yourself, the technicians will have everything set up by early afternoon."

"Yes, please," Quatre says, lifting up his cup of tea once again. "I don't think Mister Masterson will appreciate it if hardly anyone can hear me."

"Any chance we'll see the big guy today?" Duo interjects.

The man looks down at him, almost personally offended by hearing Duo's reference to his boss. "Mister Masterson is extremely busy, but he'll be attending the ball tonight, of course."

"Excellent," Duo says and continues eating, ignoring the servant. The man sniffs a little and turns around.

"Nosey little bugger," I mumble. Quatre eyes me, rather puzzled.

"He's just doing his job, Heero."

"Asking around and seeing if anything is out of the ordinary."

"Exactly. I trust the revision to turn out exactly the way I had in mind."

"Don't worry, it will," I answer, taking up the peach I selected earlier. Quatre is talking about the cameras, and from this conversation alone he knows that I have control over them. This morning, my program was finished with the algorithms, and stored several footage of every camera; it'll merely take me a simple 'cut-and-paste' job to make every camera see what I want them to see. I peel the peach, removing the skin meticulously. Tonight Duo will break and enter Masterson's study and hook the modem up to his computer, so I can hack my way through it. If there are any files located on the thing, anywhere, I will find them. A quick search had already proven to be useless -- Masterson's personal computer wasn't hooked up on any network. The cameras neither -- that's why we had to step from the usual process and hook up one of them with a 'spider'. Were the cameras connected to a computer network, I would've controlled them since long; Masterson has coughed up quite some money for this private, separate network. All these guards and security aren't only for the politicians and the celebrities present -- they're also for himself.

Quatre studies his watch. "I have an extremely boring afternoon ahead of me, and I need to rehearse my speech for later."

"Don't you get tired of it?" Duo asks, finished with his breakfast and taking a swig of his chocolate milk.

"Sometimes," he answers, in all honesty. "But sometimes I also wish my father was still alive, and that's impossible. Sometimes... just sometimes, the course of your life just takes another direction, before you can do anything about it."

"You're in control of your own life, aren't you?"

"I don't think so. I chose for certain things in my life.. to fight for peace, literally -- to leave my family behind, to fight for something I thought was good to fight for."

"And now?"

"Now the choice has been taken out of my hands," Quatre sighs. "I do wish I could leave it behind me, but that doesn't take long -- I always realize that I'm good at this work, and that it's gratifying. Making the difference, you know?"

Duo brings the mug to his lips, mumbling. "I don't think I know. It doesn't always make a difference."

"I'm only one man," Quatre answers, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I can make a difference, but only with the help of my friends."

"True," Duo admits, emptying his mug. I have eaten my second piece of fruit -- a few slices of pineapple --, and there's only half of my tea left. I reach for my cup.

"I have to go," Quatre says and rises from the table. "Please continue with your revision and I expect full reports as you progress."

"Of course."

He throws a last look at Duo, who puts up his hand, flashing him a V-sign. He laughs in return, finally walking away, leaving the room.

Duo puts his mug back on the table. "You heard the man, Yuy.. continue with your revision." The boyish glitter in his eyes is exactly the glitter I hope to see.

"As you wish, Maxwell."

Duo takes an afternoon nap while I make sure I'm seen with Quatre once in a while, waving non-important papers around. I hardly need to bother, though -- everybody is too busy and too occupied with the diva attitudes of the celebrities and the whining and boring dissertations of the politicians to spend any second of attention on some assistant to Quatre Raberba Winner. I admire his patience and his seemingly endless will to help others; I would've long turned my back on those who come up talking to me only because they think they'll benefit from it if they're being seen with a very promising politician. Quatre handles the onslaught of people, requests and business with the professionalism I'm used to from him, with that personal touch he pours into everything he does. I think that's why so many people are attaching themselves to him -- because he's human. He's not to be deterred from his goals, yet he listens to every pro and con argument, without judging or condemning. Quatre listens to everyone, and listens genuinely -- he'll never turn his back and go about another way. He's a man of promises, and he fulfills those promises. It's his compassion... his honest compassion, not my skeptical compassion, nor Duo's rather distrusting compassion. Maybe it's also because of his appearance. Quatre just seems to radiate trust. He's easier to approach than most of the other politicians who keep their own agenda. Many people think they can win Quatre for their own goal, but they conveniently forget that a very strong-minded, highly intelligent and strategic genius lies behind the blond, slightly ruffled hair and corn blue eyes. He combines compassion with charisma and common sense... and tea, lots and lots of tea. I grin at the last thought, catching him looking at me, a bit puzzled, but I raise my hand.

"I'm off for the rest of the day. Do you need me for anything else?"

He shakes his head. "I have another meeting soon, but I don't need any more assistance." I nod, knowing that there's nothing left for Quatre to do, concerning this mission -- only to wait for our results.

"I'll make the final revision and make sure you have it before you leave," I answer, keeping our conversation coded, as he's surrounded by several people asking for his attention -- press, lower 'ranked' politicians, anyone who wants to know something.

"I trust everything to go smoothly," is his last answer before he focuses his attention on a reporter who asks him about his latest view on unequal trade between Earth and the colonies. I hear Quatre explaining that the reporter really has to talk to another person about that and his words, soothing and reassuring somehow, slowly die out while I walk away. I always thought that Quatre would end up in the business world, taking over his father's estate after his death, but the course he took really wasn't that surprising. I've never worked up enough nerve to ask him if Relena had convinced him to join ESUN and profile himself as a politician -- or at least an advisor -- , or if that was his own choice. Quatre never talks about his endeavors in high society, just like we never discuss missions with him. We know from each other what kind of work we do and the implications thereof; we help each other along the way, just as the friends, colleagues and co-pilots we are. Co-pilots in the larger field of world.. control? If it weren't for us and the other ESUN agents, the world could turn into an ugly battlefield again. There are still so many strained relationships between the colonies and the Earth, not to mention the mutual tensions between the colonies themselves, and the difficulties between countries on Earth. Peace is as fragile as a splinter of glass. Small, tiny, and you can cut yourself -- as long as there's still need for weapons, still need for defenses, still need for soldiers, we're not without work. Do people really need us as some kind of police officers, to keep them under control? Anarchy is never the answer, but if people are controlled too much they protest, and without control they protest as well. It's about finding a balance, no matter how fragile, between guidance and domination. Quatre is one of those who believe in help and guidance; it's just a shame that he has to fight too many who still believe in oppression and total control -- not that they call it that, of course. Politics equals euphemisms.

I don't feel like I'm making a difference here -- my job is to prevent people from attaining too much power, to keep psychos and weirdoes from trying to start up another war, to push back criminal activities on a larger scale. I'm working behind the scenes, just as Duo -- it's Quatre who speaks up, who confronts the press and the public eye. Maybe that was what Duo was talking about earlier -- that he's jealous of Quatre for being able to expose himself, be in some sort of spotlight? Surely Duo would understand that even for an eloquent and patient person as Quatre, it'd be strenuous and tiresome; and Quatre has to fight 'windmills' and unwillingness, while we can occupy ourselves with the more physical aspect of the job. I shrug, not really feeling in a contemplative mood. We're all different people with different roads, and one is sometimes better cut out for a job than another one. It's how life works -- not always fair, but not always unfair either.

I open the door to our room, finding Duo sound asleep on the bed. It takes me aback a little; usually he jerks awake from the slightest movement in the room. I approach the bed, keeping a close eye on him. He lies as silent as a dead person, and for a second fear strikes my heart.

"Duo?"

No answer, and while sternly reminding myself to stay calm, I reach for him, my fingers touching his skin. The next second, he holds my wrist in a grip that makes me cry out in pain.

"Jesus Christ, Heero!"

He releases me, and an angry bruise is already forming on my skin. "Never fucking wake a sleeping soldier!"

I flinch and wince at the same moment if that's possible, cradling my wrist to my chest. "I.. you were lying so still! I thought you were fucking dead!"

Duo looks at me, knowing that he really has scared me if I'm cursing. He jerks his hand away and rolls out of bed, without uttering another word. I grumble, straighten myself and walk over to the desk to my laptop, feeling oddly hurt. I should've known better of course -- who knows what he could've done to me instead of his grip on my wrist. I rub over the abused skin absent-mindedly. He really has a strong grip.

My specially designed program is already finished with the calculations, and I skim the results, registering the sounds on my left; Duo is dressing himself. All in black -- he has to break in tonight. He rolls up his braid against his neck, pinning it down so the long rope of hair won't bother him in his work. I never suggest to him to have it cut -- I'm positive he'd kill me for the mere suggestion. His hair is not a token of vanity. It's a symbol of everything he lost. I remember that in the first months that I knew him, I actually regarded him as some lightweight clown with a hair fetish. I couldn't believe back then that his hair wouldn't be nothing but a liability. I carefully brushed aside how he managed to save me from the hospital, not only showing quite the nerve, but improvisation and courage as well. Did I love him from the moment I saw him? No, he shot me the very second he laid eyes upon me -- it's still good for some inside jokes between the five of us. When was the first moment I fell in love with him? I don't know. I can't recall the moment I started to love him, if there could ever be a moment where you consciously are aware that you just have fallen in love with someone. I do know the moment that I realized that I cared so much for Duo that I didn't want anything to happen to him. I guess that was my moment of love.. my moment when I didn't want my Shinigami to go. I stare at the screen. It's been a long time since I thought about Duo as Shinigami.. because he doesn't like the reference. Does it remind him too much of the Gundam he sent to the sun to be destroyed, or does it remind him too much of the lives he's taken? Or does it.. remind him too much of the person he could've become?

We're both murderers. We've killed in the name of peace, and we got rid of our instruments to bring peace. We work behind the scenes, on the sidelines. We still are murderers -- because if any one of us gets in danger, we don't hesitate to eliminate the threat. Is that why we do this work? Because we know how to kill, and don't have a problem with it?

I look to my side, watching Duo dress himself. I don't need to catch the faint flicker of the knives to know that he's hiding them on his body. Duo's danger himself -- living danger. The living God of Death, as he once claimed the name Shinigami to be his own, in a war where millions of voices were crying out for him to bring relief.

It's not fair. "Life's a bitch and then you die...", one of Duo's other favorite expressions. He's not pessimistic, my Duo. He'll always see the positive side of things, but he's got this natural, maybe innate, sarcastic and slightly distrusting streak in him. He's concentrating on getting dressed -- his clothes fit snugly, his outfit is clinging to his body.

What is it that made us who we are today? Would we be different without the war? Would we be different growing up without the Gundams? I guess so -- without the war, I probably would have parents like any other normal kid, and I would go to school and make friends and hold a birthday party every year.

If the war made us into the persons we are today, I don't think I can blame it. Wars are started by people, nameless people, and can be ended by other nameless people, as long as the masses are big enough to put a collective halt to it. It's people like me and Duo who are caught in between -- establishing peace, maintaining peace, but killing and eliminating those who are threatening that peace. Are we bad?

"Earth to Heero Yuy," he laughs right in my face.

"Sorry about that," I say and receive a kiss on my nose.

"It's all right," he mumbles. "Is it time yet?"

"Another two hours before the dinner starts," I answer. The program is analyzing the footage from the cameras, processing image after image. More guests are arriving, obtrusive paparazzi are trying to get in, bodyguards and security guards are trying to keep everybody calm and in order.

"Throw a charity ball, perfect distraction," Duo mumbles, brushing his chestnut bangs across my cheek. I faintly smile. "Especially when you invite some celebrities and politicians."

"Aren't they going to hold a debate as well?"

"There are multiple activities, all broadcasted live. Even an auction, I believe. Remember that they want to raise 10 million in one night."

"What did you find out?"

It takes me a second to realize that he's referring to the camera program, and I pull up the list of results. "According to the calculations, the most activity concentrates on here.. the east wing."

"Masterson's study."

"Someone passes the study every fifteen minutes, and Masterson himself was there yesterday evening. The image is too static to see the password he enters in the computer, but that's not important." I hold up the small modem.

He takes it, hiding it on his body in one of the impressive number of pockets. "I need you to hook it up so I can download the information."

"Understood. East wing, top floor."

"Second room on the left at the end," I add. He nods, reaching with his hand behind his head, as if to reassure himself his hair is still tied up. I type commands, my fingers flying over the keyboard. With the earlier taped footage I replace the view of the cameras on the aforementioned location, my program automatically changing the timestamp in the lower right corner to the current time.

"Still in the air?" Duo sounds amused. I point at the screen.

"They see what I want them to see."

"All right, time to go."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He looks at me with a slightly bewildered look on his face. "Forgetting? No, why?"

I hold up a headset. "I'm your eyes and ears, in a manner of speaking. I want to at least warn you when something goes wrong."

There's a slight flicker of irritation on his face. Duo doesn't like to wear wires, headsets or anything similar for that matter; I don't know the exact reason, but he once mentioned that 'it hindered him in doing his work'. I shrugged it off that time, because I really didn't understand how a light-weight, hardly noticeable piece of equipment could've hindered him in his work, while its purpose was invaluable.

He accepts it without further hassling, and I'm thankful for that. Duo's tongue works many ways, and I'd rather not be the recipient of a scathing remark, nor a heated discussion. He puts the transmitter behind his ear, and the small translucent microphone reaches halfway across the cheek; it's strong enough to catch any pronounced sound.

"Test, test, one big fat lady in the woods," he taps on the microphone. I wince at the other end.

"Loud and clear. Don't tap on the microphone, Duo."

The grin I receive is rather mischievous, and I turn my head around, waiting for a kiss on my cheek. He always kisses me before he goes away on a mission. My eyes turn huge when I realize he's already through the window; I don't know whether to feel extremely hurt from not getting a kiss or to feel highly irritated because he demonstrates once again that he's silent and fucking fast like a shadow. I think I know him, my Duo; but he keeps demonstrating me that I really don't.

There's nothing else for me to do but to keep an eye on the cameras. The most vital ones -- on the top floor, close to the study -- are displaying the images I want to see, while I look at the actual footage. The men in the camera room are seeing what I want them to see; I have control over the expensive equipment and what they see. They've been fooled -- and we can do what we want. I watch the surroundings, keeping an eye out for Duo. The mission is on a timer; the clock is ticking. He has to reach the study within twenty minutes; we've calculated that much for his walk over the roof and finding the exact room. I see movement in the upper picture of the screen; the fifteen-minutes patrol, exactly on time. It makes me wonder why Masterson has arranged for such a patrol anyway -- is he really that afraid that his guests are snooping around? Why bother with all this charade -- with high exposure comes much suspicion. Quatre mentioned that the man uses his philanthropic attitude to make contacts, to work his way up; and any man with powerful friends is a dangerous man. If Masterson is abusing his position, if he's blackmailing his celebrity friends or bribing his way into the ESUN, I'll find it. His computer is the key in this mission; if he has any dirty files, I'll find them.

I hear nothing but silence. Contact is limited to the extreme minimum, but Duo knows how I appreciate a "I'm in" or a "I'm there". I want to know if he's already there -- the timer is almost at its twenty minutes.

"I'm in."

I refrain from heaving a relieved sigh; it'll only piss him off, as if I doubt his abilities. Sometimes he can react so... childishly on a perfect natural reaction. I lower my voice.

"Proceed."

My eyes glue to the camera in the study, flicking every nanosecond to the surrounding cameras. Any movement and I'll pick it up. The adrenaline is giving me a boost, even though I'm the spectator now, and not the participant. There's a faint light; Duo is shining his small flashlight around, examining the room.

"No visible alarm system. Switching over to infrared."

Another flicker of light, for only a matter of seconds. "Nothing to see."

I bite back my "Be careful". There's a patrol every fifteen minutes, and no inside security? Duo knows as well as I do that it's a very strange situation, and I see him checking the interior of the study. We don't have all the time in the world and I spur him on.

"Install the modem and get out."

I don't receive an answer, but I see him moving. He's hardly noticeable; black against black, a shadow in an already dim room. The camera loses sight of him as he ducks behind the large desk and with my eyes half on the footage, I pull up another one of my special programs -- it scans telephone calls, from landlines as well as cell phones, and when entering keywords, it'll pick up any conversation containing those keywords. I quickly type the commands. If anyone uses the words "east wing' 'study' 'noise' in the same sentence, I'll know it.

"Rock on," Duo says, his voice crystal clear through the microphone. My laptop beeps at the same time -- connection with the computer established. Excellent, now I can get to work.

"Return," is my simple command and just as I'm about to concentrate on hacking my way into Masterson's computer, I detect movement close to the study. One of the outer cameras is picking up someone approaching the study -- is it the fifteen-minutes patrol? A quick look on the timer tells me otherwise; not even seven minutes have past. Duo has installed the modem and turned on the main computer in under five minutes.

"Get the fuck out of there!" My voice is too loud and he'll probably tear me a new one for it, but now, right now, I want him to get out of there. Duo can take care of himself -- he can take care of himself extremely well --, but I can't help but feeling.. protective, upset that I'm not around, that I'm not by his side. I remind myself firmly to get a grip; I don't need to hold his hand, he doesn't want me to hold his hand. Not in active missions. He knows what to do.

I watch the camera, but I can't see Duo and I feel the fear dying down. He's already out of the window and up on the roof, returning safely to me.

The door from the study is opened, and a man enters. It's not Masterson -- probably too occupied with his fund-raising event -- but a rather burly person. The servant? The image is too unclear to make out his features, and I don't care as Duo is.... I gasp out loud. Duo's still in the study! I want to yell -- what's he doing? Doesn't he see the man? Why is he hiding? Why didn't he go out of the window as soon as I told him to? It doesn't help much that I lose image the next second, and the little picture goes black.

My training -- yes, again with the training -- kicks in the next second. Mission priorities come first, so I work fast to hack Masterson's computer; the password is cracked in a minute and the files roll over my screen, copying every single one to my hard disk. Saving and securing retrieved data is the next priority; I attach the memory cable so the files copy themselves another time. Next step is to get the hell out of here; one of us has to get out of here alive to make sure the mission is successful. My mind works at top speed: pack the most important gear and haul my ass out of here. It's not that I'm expecting the worst; Duo can defend himself and if he's been overpowered, I can always rescue him later, no matter what. I close the suitcase with his equipment, zipping it up. Clothes and toiletries aren't important in the heat of the moment, salvage things belonging to the mission and in support of the mission. My laptop is still copying, almost rattling from all the hard work. It has plenty of memory to do the multiple copying of the files and running the programs I've pulled up. It indicates that there's still some 60% of files remaining to be copied. What kind of shit does that man have on his computer? I slap myself mentally. Stay calm. I close my suitcase, after locking and loading my handgun. The microphone's silent and I don't dare to talk; who knows in what kind of predicament Duo is, and me calling out his name wouldn't be the smartest of ideas. I'm hardly aware that my mind's already working on rescue plans even as I turn around to focus my attention on my laptop, when there's Duo, standing right behind me.

"Jesus Christ!" Now it's my turn to be scared out of my wits; this is an 'excellent' occasion to give someone a heart attack. "Duo!"

I don't know whether to maul or to hug him. "What the fuck happened?"

"Nothing." He stares back at me rather blankly, clearly not understanding my worked-up behavior. "What's the matter?"

"Didn't you see that guy? He was standing in front of you!"

"He was not," Duo makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I saw him, but he didn't see me. You warned me early enough."

I look at my laptop screen, as if expecting the man still to be in the study. "He didn't see you?"

"I took refuge behind the 16^th century divan," Duo snickers. "That thing was massive enough to hide an army behind. I told you I've been talking to his interior decorator -- I knew exactly where to hide."

Before I can say anything in return, he looks around the room, with that amused, smug grin on his face. "Ready to bolt?"

"What are you talking about? Of course! As soon as the laptop's finished, we're out of here!"

"Always the mission first, right?" Duo reaches behind his head, untying his rolled up braid, freeing his hair.

"What?" is my instinctive response.

"If we're leaving now, isn't that more suspicious? Quatre Raberba Winner's trusted assistants, fleeing in the middle of the night?"

"There are plenty of guests arriving and leaving," I point out, not really knowing how to respond to this... vehemence in his voice. "We can always claim we had to catch a late flight. Gatwick is an hour away from here, and it's not that long after midnight.."

"Nothing happened, the guard didn't see me. What's the fucking problem? I'm going to take a shower and then it's naptime for me."

My mouth falls open. "Duo!"

"What?"

"We have to leave," I insist. "That guard came after you touched the computer to install the modem and fire it up. There must've been something installed to alert an extra guard when the computer was touched by someone else but Masterson."

"The guard didn't see me," he repeats, sounding more irritated with every word, "and he certainly did not check the computer. He quickly flashed his flashlight around and left. I'm not leaving. As a matter of fact... scratch going to bed, I want to see the fireworks and see if there's a celebrity I can dance with."

He's in the shower and running the water before I can come up with a retort to that. Me, knowing Duo, and him, showing me everyday that I don't? Now he has just shown me that probably no one will ever know him.

My laptop indicates that all the files have been copied. I close off the program and yank out the memory stick. I'm irritated and bothered by Duo's behavior, and I hardly notice my movements being even brusquer than ever. I close off the laptop, secure it with the necessary passwords before doing so, and I place it back in the suitcase, closing it as well. I still want to leave, but it's not really practicable if I leave and Duo stays behind. He's adamant about the guard not having seen him. I of course want to believe him, I always believe him, but I still want to leave. We've tampered with the camera footage, we've tampered with Masterson's computer that obviously set off some kind of alarm, and we left 'marks' behind; the modem, the little spider in the camera network. I'm not exactly worried about that since I've designed my inventions to become useless after services rendered. They will malfunction after two days. Long enough to do their work, short enough to not give anyone any clue what they've been doing and who would've placed them there. The surface is too smooth to leave imprints on. Lady Une offered me a fulltime job in designing more of those gadgets, but I politely refused. I'm not the one to sit behind a drawing board and think all day about new equipment. When I'm in the field, I think up my own gear, knowing its applications and its uses. The ideas come to me, instead of sitting on my ass and thinking about them.

It's best to go with Duo's plan; I wouldn't be able to get him off this idea anyway. I put on my fancy suit, hiding the memory stick. I originally intended to give Quatre a written report about the files, not to give him the copied ones, but because of the potential involvement of the ESUN, I think it's for the best if he receives the files immediately. Duo wants to go to the charity ball, and if he's really convinced that nothing's the matter... well, let's say we've worked our way out of more difficult situations. I put the gun back in its secured compartment; no reason to cause a commotion.

"I'm in the mood for daaancing!" He sings, his voice not really fitted for it; I cringe, but don't comment. Duo has different ways of reacting to the adrenaline of a mission. He either completely explodes with energy -- like now, as he wants to dance and have fun, even though I don't like to be so close to the source --, or he turns silent. It's those extremes that make up Duo, and his personality. He's not unbalanced; nine out of ten days, Duo is just Duo, doing his job, responding, commenting, laughing, having something to drink, just living. It's just that sometimes his reactions go a little to the extreme, with nothing in between; that's something that defines a lot of his personality, I guess.

He bustles out of the shower, a towel clinging to his hips. He winks at me, full of an outrageous enthusiasm. It's hard to not get caught by his contagious, vibrant way of life. He doesn't need long to dress himself, changing into the suit, making him look even more irresistible. His hair is again in its braid, not exactly dry, and the droplets still in the chestnut mass give it a strange, almost silvery shine.

Our room looks tidy with the suitcases closed and neatly pushed aside; no scattered clothes or personal belongings lying around. We can leave within a matter of seconds. In and out, like moving shadows. We've never been here, and the people who do remember us, won't remember enough to pin us down.

I feel his arms around my shoulders and his warm lips against my cheek. It reminds me of the forgotten kiss before he left for his mission, and I turn my head a little. He uses that to his advantage to kiss the exposed skin, nipping exactly on my jawbone.

"Duo," I grumble.

"Yes?" His voice is nothing but a whisper, a husky, low whisper. A dangerous whisper.

"We should really leave."

"Everything's all right," he answers, lips so close to my ear. "If we leave now, it might arouse suspicion when the two assistants of Quatre Winner leave in the middle of the night."

"Nonsense," I firmly say, not about to budge. "We're finished here, literally -- Quatre's held his speech and there's no reason for us to stay here."

"No reason but to dance and mingle with the guests and have some... fun." He stresses the last word, almost blowing it into my ear. I still don't want to give in. It's just not sitting right with me. His casual behavior concerning that guard in Masterson's study irks me. I can't stand it that he sometimes refuses to see the danger, his own needs or wants more important to him than the mission.

"Com'on, let's see how Quatre's doing," Duo uses his normal, louder voice again and pulls away from me, though not removing his arms around my shoulders. "He's probably dying to be rescued from whining politicians and yakking ass-kissers."

"Fine," I finally submit. "But at the first sign of trouble..."

"There'll be no trouble," Duo interrupts me and slides his hands from my shoulders, over my arms, reaching for my hands. "Give the memory stick to Quatre and then the night is ours."

"Fine," I repeat, not really sure if he hears me; his smile is bright enough to blind me and he launches into an enthusiastic babble about the ball.

We leave the room, with me throwing a last look over my shoulder before closing the door; everything looks perfectly in order. If needs be, we can be out of here within the minute. I shouldn't be so tense. Duo says that everything's all right... so why do I have this strange, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach?

To say that Masterson has outdone himself isn't really an exaggeration. To say that the hypocrisy displayed with this ball is ironic in the bitterest sense of the word isn't an exaggeration either.

Who in his right mind hosts a charity ball that obviously costs millions to organize, to raise funds for war victims? Why even bother with the whole charade, and why not donate to the funds directly? I shake my head while the thick carpet muffles my every footstep. The direction the music is coming from is unmistakable. I don't pay attention to the luxurious flower arrangements and the crystal chandeliers tingling in the soft wind from the gold leaf ceiling fans. Duo looks excited and he doesn't mind exposure, unlike me. He doesn't mind the charade this ball really is either, submerging himself in this night of glitter and glamour regardless -- who am I to deny him this? Two butlers open the large doors to the ballroom for us, and a few other guests walking with us as well. I recognize the male of a couple; he's a prolific politician dealing with environmental issues. He once got into this huge scandal because he had the audacity to call the colonies 'clutter in outer space'. He was promptly demoted, as far as I can recall -- but he's apparently still worthy enough to appear on Masterson's guest list. No one is asking for invitations after this point and we mingle with the crowd. Lots of television cameras, one popular talk show host flailing wildly with his arms, all around happiness and excitement because of the 8.3 million already raised. I tune out his loud talk and encouragements for people to donate more or to bid more on the auctioned celebrity items. Duo tugs at my hand, spotting Quatre's blonde head immediately.

He's surrounded by well-dressed men, their costumes screaming their fancy and expensive designer's names at me. The topic is politics, of course, though the tone of the conversation is amiable and light. These people have come here to network, not to pick a fight. I don't know what they're hoping to attain by bothering Quatre. If it's to 'be seen with him', they sure do a lousy job of getting on his good side.

I push a little, not to be deterred, as Duo clears a path through the crowd. "Quatre! Heey, I thought you already left!"

Quatre looks relieved to see us, more because we're familiar faces and not out to get something from him. We don't have a hidden agenda. I ignore the slightly irritated and frowning faces. Not everybody is on 'first name' terms with Quatre Raberba Winner, one of the most promising politicians and personal friend to Relena Peacecraft.

"I thought you had already left!" He laughs, the strain hardly noticeable but to us. "I missed you this afternoon."

"There was a problem with the report, but we fixed it and everything's all right now. It took us longer than expected," Duo tells him, voice confident and strong. "The laptop crashed and we had troubles recovering the hard disk."

"All the data is gone?" Quatre asks with a horrified look on his face, for a moment thinking that the mission has been unsuccessful. His comment elicits some mumbling from the people surrounding him, quickly picking up on the 'unfortunate mishaps with a computer' subject. I shake my head.

"Everything has been recovered, everything to the last file. I have a back-up."

"Excellent," he answers, the relief very much real. He extends his hand to me. "Thank you very much for your troubles. If it weren't for your fast intervention, a lot of work would've been lost."

"No problem," I answer him, shaking his hand. The memory stick is exchanged in mere seconds, and nobody knows it, even though it takes place under their very noses. He releases my hand, smiling his usual smile. I pull back my hand, empty. Nothing to see, nothing happened -- the security cameras that are bound to pick these images up, will be showing nothing but friends shaking hands, thanking each other for the cooperation.

"Mister Winner," one of the guests tries to get his attention. "About your speech this afternoon..."

"Have fun," Duo grins. He makes eye contact with Quatre, asking soundlessly if he needs to be rescued from the people around him. His reaction is again hardly noticeable, just like we learned in our training. We can hold conversations with merely a blink of our eyes. It all depends how you blink, and we can tell enough from the body language the other displays.

"Enjoy the ball," Quatre says, an extra confirmation that everything is all right. Duo nods, turning around to leave the crowd behind him. The raised funds are now at nine and a half million, and the orchestra's playing the first tones of a tango.

Duo knows I'm not a dancer, so he doesn't ask me to dance. He looks around, spotting the large buffet and walks towards it. I don't mind much. If Duo enjoys the evening, I enjoy the evening. Suddenly, I notice Masterson and his wife; surrounded by as many fake ass kissers as Quatre. They wallow in the attention he receives, hoping to get a crumb from the table of the rich and famous, or in this case the philanthropist with his beautiful young wife. It's like a pack of wolves preying on two deer. Masterson may think he's invulnerable, he may think he's popular and top of the bill right now, but he doesn't know about the axe that's about to be sharpened and dropped on his neck. What would be left of this tall man after it's been decided that he's guilty of bribery and blackmail? He brought it upon himself, my cold conclusion would be. Aren't we all responsible for our own actions... or are we driven by circumstances? No matter what, there's always a choice -- always. But what if the two choices were horrible and even more horrible on their own, what would be left to choose? The lesser of two evils, of course. There's always a price to pay. Always.

We leave the mansion at the crack of dawn, Duo yawning, but wide awake. We wait for the attendant -- it's not the servant who 'welcomed' us before -- to get our car, and it's a little cold outside. Duo wears that typical smile of his; like a child who's been indulged with a beautiful gift for Christmas. He enjoyed the ball very much, even danced with a few celebrities, and ate lobster for the first time in his life. Undoubtedly, the memories of the night are being replayed in his mind. He has an extremely vivid mind -- and a photographic memory. I've a knack for remembering names, facts, and dates -- he's the one who supplies the accompanying picture. Duo wears a black scarf around his neck, his lips are hidden behind it, and the large bangs hide his eyes from view. He's really cold, and he hates the cold. We'll be in a warm car soon. Our flight from Gatwick awaits us.

"Your car, sir," the attendant catches my attention and hands me the keys. I thank him, walking towards the back of the car to open the trunk.

"Did you enjoy the ball, sir?"

"Very much," I answer truthfully. Duo has enjoyed himself, and that was all the entertainment I needed. To see his eyes shine, to see him smile, to see him swing and dance in that suit, just simply enjoying the spur of the moment. I really hadn't needed to worry about last evening; nothing happened, our own calm departure the most evident proof.

"The total came to thirteen million," the attendant tells me, and it takes me a few seconds to realize he's talking about the fundraising.

"That's an excellent grand total," I say, not really in the mood for superficial chitchat. Duo helps me loading the two suitcases, the laptop case and a smaller bag into the trunk, I close it and we both walk to our respective side of the car. I tip the attendant, who thanks me profusely.

Duo snuggles into the passenger's seat, tucking the seatbelt around him as if it's a blanket. It's an hour drive, and nothing complicated.

"What are you thinking of?" I ask.

He snorts, softly. "Do you know what I'm thinking of?"

"That's what I asked."

"I'm thinking of the fucking lobster," he answers me and laughs. "I can't get over the fact that I ate lobster last night."

"Duo... you didn't have it easy," I chide him gently. "And what you witnessed yesterday was the summit of decadence and hypocrisy."

"Fuckers," he mumbles, but I overhear it. He looks out of the window. "I could've fed them for a year from what was on that table alone."

I know to whom he refers -- the gang of kids he was a member of, war orphans on the street of L2. They vowed to look after each other, to take care of each other, forming the base of Duo's need to belong to a group in his early youth: you look after me, I look after you. A terrible plague put an end to their vows and Duo has probably buried more lives in that time than I in my whole life. He doesn't talk about it that much; it's rare references like these that act as pieces of a jigsaw puzzle; little pieces of information that I crave to form the bigger picture of Duo's past. Who am I to ask about it? Who am I to pry? Who am I to judge, me, who doesn't even want to share his own biggest nightmare?

The signs to Gatwick are racing past each other up faster and faster, leaving Eastbourne and its grain fields behind us. Duo doesn't like to drive on the left side of the road, and seeing as how I don't have a problem with it, I do the driving. My mind is already processing a complete schedule; return the rented car, take the flight, work on the reports, brief Lady Une... and if there's time left, check the footage I captured from the camera in Masterson's study. I cast a sideward glance. Duo's not asleep, but yawning nonetheless. We're on standard leave after a mission; at least three days before we can be called in again. He can sleep in the plane and he'll write his part of the mission report as soon as he feels up to it. Duo types faster than I do anyway. He can type as fast as he can talk. Snickering a little, I concentrate on the road. The airport's really close now. Our journey won't hold any surprises or delays for us, and I'm looking forward to the in-flight entertainment program. With a bit of luck, the airline company has an interesting movie to offer.

The strangest thing of life is... daily life. No matter how often we return from a mission, a dangerous one or a simple data retrieval one, there's always a stack of bills and empty cupboards and dirty laundry waiting for us when we get home. It's been hours since Duo crawled over the roof, well, knowing him; he probably just walked before he broke into the study. It's been hours since the time-bomb has been planted that will bring down Masterson, in his disguise as a gallant philanthropist, meanwhile buying and selling information in the shadows of genuine markets, the kind of information that needs to be kept out of the daylight. It's been only hours since I tampered with the cameras, cracked the man's computer, downloaded and copied his files and gave the memory stick to Quatre, who probably has viewed the files by now. I only have to write a summarizing report and another report for Lady Une.

The first time when we returned home after a mission I got into a bit of trouble, finding it hard to deal with the ordinary things of life after I'd just witnessed deaths or a particularly painful event. How could I care about the right box of cereals when I'd run for my life only hours before? Duo could, and he still does. He can pick up the thread of life, doing household chores and going grocery shopping, minutes after the bullets have whistled past his head. It's his survival instinct, the wisdom he learned and picked up during his life on the streets. I'm conditioned to return to a safe place -- my home -- after a mission ends, to cover up any tracks, write my mission reports and patiently await new orders. Ever since I've been with Duo and really have a home, this apartment, it's different. The first thing that I did when I moved in -- Duo came later -- , I secured it from top to bottom with the best equipment I could find, and if I couldn't find it, I built it myself.

This is where I feel at home. We both have our own methods of unwinding after a mission. With every passing hour, the vividness of the memories fades, and how we fall back in to that daily routine simply baffles me. I never comment on Duo starting to leaf through the bulk of mail, even sorting out the advertisement flyers with a certain glee, and he never comments on me checking all my security measurements I took to make sure this apartment, this home, this haven, stays safe.

Duo leaves me with his checkbook in hand, telling me he's going grocery shopping. If there's one thing I despise, it's grocery shopping, and after we went a few times together, he told... no, he ordered me to stay at home. I just hate it, while he likes to check for new products and try every sample he can find... and he likes to use as many coupons as possible. It made me laugh the first time I witnessed it, but he shut me up with the look he threw at me. He absolutely refuses to throw money away, and that's why he gets so upset with throwing food out, or discarding items when they can easily be used at least two or three times. Don't get me wrong -- Duo's not a penny pincher, nor does he go into any preaching mode when he sees something he doesn't agree with. It's just normal to him -- he's not used to luxury, not used to the careless 'throw-away' mentality.

With Duo out of the home doing his grocery shopping business, I fire up my trusty laptop while I bustle about the apartment. I check my default security measurements. Nobody has entered our rooms while we were away. It's hardly possible for a burglar to enter our grounds; I altered the alarm system and I pity the one who thinks he can outsmart me.

There's a glass of cool water on the counter and I take a sip from it. There's really nothing left in the fridge; even though we knew our Eastbourne mission would only take four days, traveling included, we left nothing behind. Efficiency.

The laptop beeps, indicating it's completely booted and I sit behind the large desk. I always like to write my mission reports as soon as possible, as the memories are still fresh. I open the window of my word processing program, when I think back about that night. Do I mention in my report that Duo faced a security guard? And that he wasn't spotted, miraculously? I know the answer before I even finish asking myself. Lady Une always calls my reports 'brutally honest' because she knows I never leave anything out of it, no matter whom I'm working with. I decide to brush over the topic as lightly as possible, leaving it up to Duo to come forward with his side of the story.

Shrugging, I change windows and take a look at the files I copied for Quatre. First things first, and that's his requested summary of those files. I take a quick look at the data rolling over the screen and I whistle. It's going to take me a while to summarize these properly -- huge lists of addresses, names, bank accounts and activities... files on well-known politicians, famous celebrities, meticulously arranged. The name of the environmental politician we saw at the ball appears on the list as well and I wolf-whistle. Apparently, this man has received a whole lot of cash for allowing a well-known oil and gasoline producer to dump his waste in a nature reservation. My eyes grow increasingly wider while I continue to check the list. It's a hornet's nest, that much is for sure, and to my horror I recognize names of ESUN involved coworkers and agents. This man knows about us... not exactly us, the agents I do recognize are lower ranked, not really very experienced desk agents, not working in the field. This means Masterson gets information regarding ESUN-related cases, information he sells to the highest bidder, of course.

I narrow my eyes. If I'm not mistaken, I even see names belonging to the organization we were about to clear out, back in Prague. This man works like an octopus; his tentacles are reaching far and wide, and are duplicating by the day.

I'm still a bit baffled by this discovery when the vid-phone rings loudly. It's more of a foghorn, really -- both Duo and I tend to sink into concentration so much that we don't hear the phone.

Reaching next to me, I press the button for both image and sound. "Yuy," I say, noting that it's a secure line, a line starting with a 4 and a very special code -- Quatre.

"Good afternoon, Heero," he greets me, voice rather clipped. It's not the same voice he uses when he talks about a mission; it's not the same voice as when he just holds a light conversation with us.

"Quatre, what can I do for you?" It must be about the mission -- maybe he wasn't able to read the memory stick, maybe something came up or he's really anxious for the summary report?

"Is Duo there with you?" he asks. "I want to ask this of the both of you."

"No, he isn't, I'm sorry," I answer. "He's out. What's the matter, Quatre? These lines are secured, you can talk freely."

"I know," he responds, and I straighten myself in my chair. It's been a very long time since I heard Quatre Winner talk so agitated -- something's going on.

"Speak up," I all but bark. I press the 'record' button of the vid-phone, for playback later.

"One of the security guards has been found dead," Quatre says, face straight and composed. "I thought I told you both to handle this without killing -- there was no need for killing. This was a simple data retrieval job only, and people were not to be harmed."

"Nobody died," I tell him. "Duo certainly didn't kill anyone, or he would've told me." I drum my fingers on the desk, my mind racing back to his strange encounter with the security guard in Masterson's study. The camera blacked out, for just a matter of seconds -- could he have used that short blackout to kill the man? I shake my head. Duo told me that there would be no problem, and if he'd killed someone, he would've told me... without a doubt.

"Heero, there was some panic this afternoon. First I heard rumors that one of the security guards was found unconscious; they thought he'd been drinking on duty and was sleeping off his hangover."

"Interesting," I murmur, still not seeing the point. "Why are you telling me? Duo's the only one who encountered a guard in the study, but he didn't kill him, wasn't spotted, and made his way out of there undetected." Why is Quatre looking at me like that?

"The situation changed when police officers and the coroner arrived and came running out of the room, throwing up the next second. Some of them fainted at the scene."

"How do you know all this?"

"I was about to leave, after I had a small talk with a colleague of mine," Quatre says. "Packed and everything, I have a schedule to keep up with. After I saw the coroner running screaming out of the room, I gave a quick call to the chief of police, voicing my concerns. He promised to keep me up to date and tried to reassure me that nothing happened. I left the mansion, and did some exploration on my own."

My lips curl into a sly grin. Quatre hasn't forgotten his skills. It's so easy to forget what and who he was even though he's not an active agent like us, he still is one of us -- with the same skills and abilities.

The screen of the vid-phone changes, indicating that a file is being sent.

"I managed to get some pictures," his voice sounds pretty distant. "Pilfered them from the first files of the case. I warn you, Heero, these are extremely nasty."

When the files are downloaded the screen switches automatically back to Quatre again, who looks about to throw up. "Discuss this with Duo, and I await your report. I'm not accusing anyone, I'm not pointing in any direction. But this... this needs to be solved. I'll talk to you soon."

He signs off too fast for me to reply to him, and curiosity gets the better of me. Quatre's not the one to get agitated like this -- these pictures must be pretty nasty indeed. I click on the files, transferring them via the cable to my laptop screen. It only takes a few seconds to show them properly, and picture after picture begins popping up. I wish immediately that I hadn't done that, and I need to suppress my gag reflex with all the energy I can muster.

"I'm hoooome!" Duo slams the door shut, and throws his jacket on a peg. "Heero!"

I hear him approach, he has a pretty fast pace, and he knows where to find me. The first room he visits when looking for me is my own study; the apartment is large enough to offer us separate studies. A bit of personal space that's sometimes direly needed.

He sees me staring at a blank laptop screen, and he enters the room. "Heero? Groceries will be delivered in two hours, so everything will be stocked again. I bought lasagna for tonight... something the matter?"

"No, nothing," I answer and he hears the robotic sound in my voice as much as I do. Duo isn't the person to pry, either. We both respect our mutual personal space, and if we don't want to talk about something, we don't ask further. Self protection? Out of fear? Experience has taught us that eventually we start talking about it anyway. He knows something is wrong, but doesn't ask.

"I'll be in the laundry room," he simply says and turns around. How am I ever going to discuss this with him? What's happening? What's going on?

My hand goes to the right side, picking up a few glossy pictures. I printed them out, for Duo to see. Quatre's call has been recorded, so he can see it whenever he wants to. Later. Not now. Now I need to speak to him myself. I wait another fifteen minutes before I stand up. I have steeled myself enough for now. I hope. I walk over to our laundry room, the smallest room of our apartment. There's barely enough space for the washing machine and the dryer, and Duo has put a large basket with black clothing on top of the dryer, sorting the clothes. He immediately stops his work, looking at me. I see the genuine worry in his eyes, those oceans... those pools of eyes, mirrors as they often are of his much older soul.

"Duo."

"Yes?"

"It's about our Eastbourne mission. Can you tell me again, please, what exactly happened in Masterson's study?"

He frowns, though his body relaxes. Was he expecting worse? What was he expecting anyway? He picks up some clothing from the basket and starts folding it as if we're discussing the weather or dinner tonight.

"A security guard came into the room, right after you warned me. He was about to catch me," Duo says, folding another pair of black trousers. It's one big pile of black clothing -- I can't recall the last time I saw him in his red shirt and grey vest. "I disposed of him, without him seeing me of course."

"You disposed of him? How?"

"Sheesh Heero, what's with all the questions?" Duo turns around, fingers crumpling a black shirt, face a bit distorted when he looks at me. "Do you doubt my work? I chopped him on his neck, hitting the nerves, and he slumped to the ground without as much as a sigh. Swift and easy, not dead, exactly as you taught and told me."

He's obviously irritated and his quick-defense irritates me in turn. He's been quick to defend himself a lot lately, and I don't know why it bugs me. Duo hardly ever needs to defend himself, because he's good at his job.

"Duo, why are you lying?"

That gets an even more irritated reaction out of him. If there's one thing you've got to be very careful with when accusing Duo, it's lying. His eyes show venom, a quick flicker of pure malice when he addresses me.

"What?"

"You hid behind the 16^th century divan, didn't you? That's what you told me."

"I hid behind the fucking ugly divan," Duo snarls, "but the man saw me when he went into the room. What was I supposed to do? He would've removed the modem if he'd spotted it, so I took him out! What's the problem?"

"How were you so sure that night that the guard would be out for the whole night? You told me there was no problem. If you left the guard unconscious, that would've been a liability. Did you kill him?"

"I didn't kill anyone! It was a data retrieval mission! The guard didn't pose any danger!" He folds the piece of clothing I was convinced he was going to rip apart. Why does his voice hold irritation and anger? Duo's not easily provoked to anger, not even when discussing missions. He's not easy to rile, and he accepts criticism with grace. We often talk about finished missions. Comparing each others report, talking about what went wrong and what went well, input and output, sharing the experience.

"Explain this to me," I answer him, refraining from snarling. I throw the pictures on the pile of folded clothes. Duo gives me an odd look, then picks up the pictures, slowly, eyes focused on me. He leafs through them, face turning pale with every one he sees. "Dear God in heaven, Father help us and have mercy on us..."

"I know it wasn't you, Duo," I say, voice soothing. "If you say you didn't kill him, I believe you. But someone has killed him, and I wonder why this man had to suffer."

"He was alive when I left him," Duo answers me, voice hitching, and he stares at the pictures, horror written over his face, leafing through them again. And again. And again. His eyes are almost bugging out. His mouth is nothing but a tight line. It's not everyday that you get to see such pictures. We have both seen a lot; dead people, killed on the battlefield, nasty wounds, ripped off limbs, blood and guts, the whole works. But pictures of a man sliced in two, from head to toe, were new to the both of us.

Florence, Italy, AC 204

It's 6 o'clock in the morning. Funny how I'm always awake before the alarm clock goes off. Second nature... some kind of instinct, or military drilling? I yawn, push the covers away, and swing my legs out of bed. If there's one thing I'm not used to, it's waking up alone. It's so quiet and... empty. I can't recall the exact moment that Duo started to rise earlier than me, only that it surprised me so much that it took me a month to get used to it. Duo was never someone to sleep in to begin with, but he always teased me about my habit of rising early, as early as the sun comes up. He used to have great pleasure in turning around one more time, hogging all the blankets, and making some smart-ass comment about 'not waking up till later'.

I yawn again and stretch myself, arms above my head. Even though it's early in the morning, the traffic outside is already responsible for quite some noise. Italians are hotheads when it comes to driving; not even Duo in any of his classic, self-restored cars is that impatient, ill-tempered or aggressive in regular traffic. Pulling the curtains aside, I take a look at the weather; if anything, it's going to be a sunny day again. I look over the red roofs of the city; the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore with its characteristic bell tower an unmistakable landmark.

There's a knock on the door. I appreciate punctuality, and Hotel Brunelleschi offers exactly what their guests want; if they desire breakfast at five minutes past 6, breakfast is served at five minutes past 6.

"Entrare!"

The door opens and a waiter comes in, pushing the breakfast cart in front of him. I remain standing close to the desk, my standard gun out of sight, yet easy accessible. There's no need for paranoia, really -- but we're in Italy for a reason, and my line of work demands carefulness.

"Buon giorno signore," the waiter greets me, before pulling off the lids of the dishes. The food looks excellent to me, especially the selection of cut fruit. Duo will love the various offered pagnotta and cereals.

"Grazie," I answer, loosening up my rigid posture, but not enough to be completely relaxed. I notice a mauve envelope between the two largest dishes. "Scusare... la compressa?"

The waiter looks a bit quizzically at me, and I curse once again my lack of language skills. I point at the envelope.

"Ah, the envelope!" He smiles. "Special delivery for you. Came this morning with your name!"

I take the envelope, looking at the front and back. Nothing strange.

"Grazie." I thank him again and give him a few Euros. The waiter thanks me in return and leaves the room. I open the envelope, pulling out a simple card. 'Heero Yuy to Lady Une's office.'

I stand with the card in my hands, feeling a bit overwhelmed. It's an unusual request, coming straight from the Lady herself. Duo started referring to her like that, since we've been out of touch with her ever since the end of the war. The last time I spoke to her in person was... 6 years ago, and I doubt Duo's spoken to her in his years since he joined the ESUN. Lady Une occupied herself with the organization of a peacekeeping force, the Preventers, after the Eve Wars were over. After forming and outlining the structure of the Preventers, -- still a major force and generally regarded as the maintainers of the law instead of 'common' police --, she was recruited by the ESUN. I thought she was going to pursue a political career, or maybe even assist Relena when she assumed her late father's office. I wasn't even aware of Une working her way up in the ESUN; that wasn't until Relena came to talk to me and convinced me to sign up for the special job she had to offer me.

Lady Une has ever been the one to report to, and I brief her by sending vid-mails and classified, coded messages. I wonder why she wants to see me in person... and not extending the invitation to Duo. Where is he anyway? The thought hardly flitters through my mind as the door opens again and Duo saunters into the room, a grin on his face.

"Heero, you should really try the pool. It's heavenly!"

I notice his damp hair and close the distance between us, kissing him on the cheek. He puts his hand on my neck and pulls me closer. "I'd love to go skinny-dipping together."

His husky voice so close to my ear always sends a shiver down my spine, and my lips curl; my Duo has so many ways to tempt me. His kiss is delicious, his touch is intoxicating, and his voice is... rousing. I turn my head a little, parting my lips to allow him to kiss me, again and again.

He kisses me, his warm lips against mine. I hardly notice where his hand's going until it's too late; he pulls the mauve envelope from my fingers.

"Is this for me?"

I suddenly feel guilty; his eyes sparkle with their usual life and vitality -- maybe even a very small bit of naivety --, and a hint of curiosity. He has the card out of the envelope within the second, his gaze half directed to me because I don't answer.

"What's this?" He asks, and I don't imagine the hurt in his voice. "Why are you ordered to go alone? We're a team!"

"I don't know, really," I hurriedly say. "I saw the envelope this morning. It arrived with breakfast."

Duo looks to the side, the cart an exquisite example of the best Italian food there's to be found. "I see."

He hardly spares a moment of attention to the pagnotta, his eyes traveling over the food and dismissing it the next second. He's turned into a rather picky eater over the last months; for someone who used to eat everything, with great taste, it's quite some change. I open my mouth to answer.

"Duo, they must've made a mistake. It's probably something trivial."

"Com'on, they don't send you an envelope ordering you to report for something trivial," Duo shoots back, his voice dripping with a rather venomous tone. I almost take a step back.

"You know I'll tell you all about it as soon as I get back."

"Whatever." He pulls a few of the grapes from the fruits basket, and walks towards the large cupboard.

I don't know what to say, and frankly my appetite for breakfast has disappeared. Duo has dropped the invitation on the floor, and I kneel to pick it up from the thick carpet. I straighten myself again, looking at Duo who starts pulling clothes out of the cupboard. I guess he's going to change; he looks like any ordinary tourist, dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and ocean blue shorts.

"I don't like it either, Duo," I say, just to break the silence. Duo's been silent a lot lately; sometimes sunk so deep in his thoughts that it takes him more than a minute to answer.

"It's all right, Heero," he says, taking the large shirt off and flinging it on the bed. I frown when I see him picking up a black shirt and pulling it on. I can't recall the day when I saw him in another color than black, and it starts to irritate me more and more.

"What happened to your red shirt?"

He looks up, gaping a little at me. "Why the fuck are you talking about my red shirt?"

Now it's my turn to gape. He just swore, in a simple conversation!

"Duo!" I don't care if I sound patronizing. "I was just asking you a question. You don't need to swear at me."

He pulls the shorts off, kicking the garment across the floor. "I don't have it anymore."

It strikes me that he doesn't apologize, and for some reason I can't let it go. I take a step closer to him, urging myself to remain calm and composed, as his obvious lack of interest is aggravating me.

"Duo, you didn't need to..."

A knock on the door interrupts us, but Duo doesn't even bother to look up. He puts on his black jeans, working the belt through the belt loops and clasping the buckle.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" He sounds smug, and he doesn't look at me. He knows I hate it when he doesn't look at me, and there's no time for me to wonder why he's so... obstinate suddenly.

With the card in my hand, I turn around, facing the door.

"Entrare!"

It's Chang Wufei -- pilot 05 of the Shenlong Gundam, walking into our room. We haven't seen him in years either, and contact has always been kept to a minimum. We respected his secluded lifestyle -- according to Trowa and Quatre he wasn't much in contact with them either --, but I know it has hurt Duo, not to mention annoyed me a little. That Chang Wufei was a loner was pretty clear to every one of us, but even a holiday or a birthday card isn't too much to ask, now is it?

"Good morning," he greets the both of us, immediately looking at me. "Yuy, you're coming with me."

"Wufei, my man, why am I not invited?" Duo's voice holds some strain, and he doesn't mask it.

"Une has only invited Yuy, and I'm here to escort him to her," is his simple answer. Efficient and right to the core of the matter at hand, that's Chang Wufei. The years haven't changed him much physically; I imagine he's still keeping up with his rigid karate training, or whatever martial arts he has learned. There's not a gram of fat to be found on his rigid body, and he doesn't look older in the slightest; composed and calm, everything under control. The fire in his eyes seemed to have dimmed a little, or I'm no longer able to read between the lines; Wufei looks relaxed, yet able to react within a second.

"Fine. Like I fucking care," is Duo's answer, the last part mumbled, but loud enough for me to hear and I cringe. I'll have to talk to him about it later; I'm honestly really curious to why Lady Une has sent for me.

Wufei eyes the breakfast cart, immediately noting that nothing is out of order. "You haven't finished yet." Not a question, but a reproach. For a slight moment his superior attitude angers me, but I suppress it; it's Wufei and he'll never change, apparently.

"I'm finished. We can go." I walk over to the chair behind the desk and pick up my jacket. I probably won't need it because of the rapidly increasing day temperature, but it'll cover up my gun. I want to say goodbye to Duo, but he has pointedly taken up residence in the bathroom; I can hear him gargling with mouthwash. Without heaving a sigh, I shrug into my jacket and move away from the desk to follow Wufei.

He's dressed in linen, both his pants and jacket in the same sandy colors. His shirt is the same cobalt blue as I remember from the tank top he used to wear; I smirk a little, having expected half and half and embroidered dragon on the front. Wufei doesn't pay attention to me, leaving the room as silently as he arrived. I pocket the key -- Duo has the other one -- and take a few large steps to catch up with Wufei.

He pushes the button for the elevator.

"Do you know what this is all about?"

"Yes I do." He doesn't look at me. "I understand Maxwell being pissed, but it's better he's not present at what Une has to say to you."

I rack my brain for possible things she's going to say to me, my mind rapidly weighing scenarios. Maybe she wants to break us up, team-wise, maybe she wants to promote me and not Duo... nonsense! We deliver great work as a team, we hardly fail a mission and if we do, it's always due to unexpected circumstances, ones we couldn't have possibly any influence on.

I'm not afraid -- if Une wants to argue with me, I'm prepared. I can disprove anything she'll say. I'm the one who documents his reports extensively, I have a very good memory and the mistakes I make, I can explain. Still, something is settling in the pit of my stomach -- nerves, I keep telling myself. If I fear her... why should I fear her?... I'm going to fail. Wufei isn't really helping me with his admission that he knows what it's about, but not divulging anything. Understandable, though; we're out in public. The elevator arrives and takes us down to the lobby, attendants keeping a close eye on us should we need anything.

I know Wufei doesn't appreciate small talk about how much I like the efficiency of the hotel, and I'm certainly not going to tell him that it sometimes feels really good reveling in all the attention and luxury when you live your whole life in an average apartment. We're too often away to get bored by the apartment or even go looking for something else; missions have been frequent lately, and we're not into home decoration anyway. Duo has bought things for the apartment before; a funny lamp, framed paintings, an extra plaid for over the couch. I can't remember the last thing he bought; most of the times we need our free days to catch up with ourselves, and not to busy ourselves with meaningless shopping for our home. Still, it's our home... we really should give it some more attention, to create more the feeling of 'home'.

Strange, those things that run through your mind if you're not really certain what's going to happen.

I step into the car, the door's already opened for me, and Wufei takes the passenger's seat. I have caught myself in rather bizarre thought just before a mission was about to begin, or a particular delicate situation had come up. I need to clear my mind and focus. I want to know why Lady Une has sent for me, and why she's sent Wufei to 'escort' me... and why Duo wasn't invited. That'll be the first question I'm going to ask her.

I look outside the window, the awakening city bathing in the glow of the rising sun. The yellow of the sun mingles with the bright red roof tiles; the orange tints a wonderful sight and challenge for any painter. The traffic is picking up by the second; I hear several horns and yells. It's not my problem; this car is almost soundproof. It's not my world.

We halt in front of a convention center, and Wufei motions for me to follow him. He's been silent all the way, and I'm a little disappointed; I really expected him to say at least more than just those few words to me, even if it was only some small talk. He treats me like we haven't been through all those times together -- I don't want nor expect him to fall in my arms to reminisce about the war days, but we share a past. A past of Gundams and terror, a past of tears and choices. A large sign welcomes us, announcing that a "porcelain and pottery" fair is held on the second floor. The young woman approaching us wants to give us some flyers, but she's dismissed with a sharp movement of Wufei's hand.

The nerves in my stomach have settled at least, giving way for some irritation and curiosity. I follow Wufei through the large hall, our footsteps clearly audible on the tiles. Finally, he turns to the left and descends the stairs. It almost amuses me. It's like something out of a B-movie: the headquarters of an international organization in the basement. I refrain from chuckling, still following Wufei like an obedient dog. Two men are at the foot of the stairs and he shows them some kind of pass. They salute for him and allow us to pass. The same ritual repeats itself thrice before we reach the room at the end of the hallway.

"We're here," Wufei curtly announces and the two men in front of the doors nod, stepping to the side. He opens the doors, revealing the contents of the room to me -- an immensely large table, lined up in a quadrant, surrounded with chairs; with Lady Une in the middle. She rises from her chair as she sees us.

"Heero. Welcome."

I walk towards her, as she's extending her hand to me. I accept her hand, giving it a firm shake before retreating. "Thank you," I answer, voice steady.

Lady Une hasn't changed that much either -- I remind myself that she's not that much older than me or Duo. Her features are far more mature and aged, in a certain aspect, giving her an elderly appearance without the physical characteristics. She shows authority in a non-tyrannical matter; this is a woman to respect and to reckon with, if only for her piercing look. I know she's appraising me; I feel her eyes on me, x-raying me with all her military and executive experience. Her demeanor is so very different from Relena's; where the latter still appears girlishly and slightly naïve, Lady Une shows toughness and a wall built up from real life -- and maybe that's why she didn't pursue a political career. She's perfect for the job as head of the special ESUN forces, the department that doesn't exist with employed agents who don't exist either, but who keep the fragile threads of peace together as spiders in a web, and Lady Une is our Queen.

"Sit down, Heero."

Before the command leaves her mouth, she's sitting down as well, and now I notice the silver gray laptop in front of her. A small pile of glossy paper lies next to the laptop. I'm dying of curiosity, the nerves dying down completely. This is either going to be a really huge mission or she's going to tell me something so important my ears will ring.

"I haven't invited Duo for a reason." Just like Wufei, she's to the point and curt. Her shoulder length hair holds almost the same chestnut tones of Duo's -- why did she have to remind me of him in such a way?

"I would like to know that reason," I answer. There isn't a single trace of nervousness in my voice or on my face. Every word this woman speaks makes me more curious to what is really going to be said.

"You will learn the reason." Her hand moves to the right, picking up the small pile of glossy papers. I notice that Wufei is sitting next to me, face completely neutral. He laces his fingers together, his elbows resting on the table.

"Do you remember these?"

She shoves the pile towards me, and I reach forward to take it. They're pictures -- I don't recognize the first one; it's from a man.. a decapitated man. I turn pale.

"Dimitrije Sudzukovic," Une's voice floats through the room. "Prague, Czech Republic, AC 200. He was arrested during a shooting in a café while Duo was in the middle of making a transaction..."

I nod, the memories surfacing again. "Our officer on duty there... Sedlacek... provided Trowa with some information. I had to go with Duo to the hospital because of his shot wound in the shoulder."

The pictures are morbid, but strangely fascinating. I remember vividly that night when I was holding watch over Duo, and Trowa telling me the man in question was dead. I pull out the one underneath it and suppress my gag reflex. I don't want to show weakness in front of Une, nor in front of Wufei.

"The bin is over there," she says, knowing what these pictures must do to me. "I threw up as well."

'Sudzukovic was decapitated, and they're still busy collecting the other player's limbs.' These are the pictures of how much there was collected of him; I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to remain calm, to not give into the bile that wants to work its way out.

"Why?" I ask, hating myself for sounding like a kitten that's just been beaten with a stick. These pictures work better than any torture method; I'm nauseous. It's a good thing I didn't have breakfast after all.

Une doesn't answer me, but motions with her head: continue. I flip through the pictures, not recognizing any of them. I suddenly stop. The carpet and a piece of furniture on this picture is familiar. A 16^th century divan, to be exact. The security guard.

"Harold Johnson, Eastbourne, AC 202," Une says. "He worked as a security guard at the charity ball held by James Masterson, a well-known philanthropist at that time.."

"... and arrested for larceny, high-treason and blackmail, after it had been exposed that he bought and sold information..." I fill in the blanks.

"It was a narrow escape for the ESUN, as certain agents and coworkers were compromised," she picks up on my words, displeasure clearly visible. "That's not the point, Heero. Continue."

I reach the last one on the bottom, thanking every deity known to me. This is getting on my nerves after all, and the pictures leave a horrid taste in my mouth. These people were murdered -- no, slaughtered, and whatever mistake they made, no one deserves to end like this.

I don't know if I'm to give the pictures to Wufei, so I leave them right in front of me, the bizarre image of a headless body imprinted on my retina. I swallow a few times. Une looks at me, sympathy in her eyes -- but not for long.

"You're wondering why I've called for you, why you're here, and why I've shown you these pictures, and why I haven't sent for Duo as well."

"Exactly," I answer, glad to find my voice in its usual stoic tone again. My mind is already busy filing the horror of the pictures away -- for future reference, however bizarre that may sound. It's information, plain and simple -- I store information like no one else. Thinking back to Eastbourne, I remember my surprise concerning the strange behavior of Duo at the time of the mission. He claimed he hadn't been spotted by the guard, only to change his statement later that he knocked him out -- and Quatre...

"These are different pictures from those that Quatre has shown me."

She smiles, a bit wearily. "These aren't hardcore enough for you, Heero? I've selected the least offensive."

I incline my head a little, offering her my silent apologies for my brash behavior. Either she doesn't notice or doesn't take offence, because she starts talking again.

"I think you'll be interested in hearing about how they met their demise. What did you see, when looking at the pictures?"

"The murder weapon had to be extremely sharp, and the murderer had to be extremely precise and proficient in wielding that weapon. Trowa mentioned to me that Sudzukovic had been decapitated --" I swallow again, "-- in one swift motion."

"Go on."

"The cuts appear to be too smooth to be a mere knife," I say. "Besides, a knife is too short to make such a cut in one swing. I'm thinking of another weapon -- a sword, a katana, a wakazashi?"

Wufei taps on the pictures, his sudden movement almost startling me. "We've investigated these cases, and used several weapons to imitate the swing of the cut. We used dummies, of course."

"Of course," I repeat dryly, wondering why Wufei of all people is involved in this. What are they both going on about?

Une leans back into the chair, her hands placed palm down on the table. The harsh light isn't really flattening her; due to the shadows cast over her face, she suddenly looks predatory and vile. "The murderer didn't use a contemporary weapon."

"A samurai sword?"

"No," she says, her voice taking on a brusque tone. "Like Wufei said, we've investigated these cases, and employed considerable quite some time and effort to find out what the murderer has used."

"Why?"

"The murder weapon is a scythe."

"Duo?"

Her posture doesn't change, she just looks at me. Neutrality at its finest; I can't make out any emotion on her face. Her red lipstick seems to mock me; it's ironically a color that resembles fresh, spilled blood.

I blink. My thoughts are racing with unimaginable speed through my mind.

"Interesting that you call out his name," Une finally speaks. "I haven't named him, nor uttered any suspicion about his involvement."

"But you do believe he's involved," I protest, though not too strongly.

The silence is overwhelming. I look from Wufei to Une and back again, only to be stared back, right in the eye. They're serious. Serious as hell.

"Preposterous!" I slam my fist on the table -- now at least Une has the decency to blink with her eyes. "Only because his Gundam had a scythe, you suspect him of murders apparently committed with a scythe?"

"It's not 'apparently', Heero," Une snaps back, "we've had several teams research this, and they all reached the independent conclusion: it was a scythe, judging from everything -- the swing, the impact, the sharpness of the cut. I didn't give this to quacks or simple research assistants, should you doubt our work."

"I don't doubt the outcome of the tests," I answer. "I don't argue with facts and hard, clear evidence. I just doubt that Duo has anything to do with this. Once again, because his Gundam had a scythe, you suspect he's involved with this?" The horror in my voice increases with every word. "Duo's not capable of doing this to any human being."

"Shinigami is," Wufei mutters under his breath, but I hear him.

"Quit that fucking stupid Shinigami thing!" I raise my voice, repressing my urge to hit him in the face with the pictures. "Duo isn't the God of Death! He never was and he never will be! Don't tell me you believe in what he claimed to be? He was fifteen, he was in the middle of a war, he had blood on his hands like we all did and do, and claiming to be Shinigami was his way of dealing with the horror thrust on him!"

"Duo had difficulties distinguishing his own beliefs and ideals after the war. He wasn't prepared for a time without fighting and started to ask himself what he had done, and if fighting in the name of peace justified the sins he committed." Une's eyes never leave mine, and I know what she's talking about.

"If he told you that in confidence, I'm not the one you should be telling this to," I answer, voice clipped.

"It's in his file, Heero. I'll admit that we waited on purpose to recruit him the last. We of course knew that you would want to work together with him, and we were quite surprised that he was willing to sign on."

"What's the difficulty here? You know what Duo is capable of. Why did you wait?"

"That's where you're wrong, Heero. We don't. We don't know where he's capable of."

My original curiosity is turning into irritation. "Will you please be so kind as to cut the crap? Either accuse Duo of something so I can disprove it, together with him, or tell me what's going on, plain, simple and easy."

I turn my head, looking at Wufei. That he uttered the word "Shinigami" has taken me most by surprise. I don't consider Wufei as being superstitious or believing in the concept of the God of Death for that matter. He and Duo never talked about it -- they never had much interaction to begin with.

"What's going on, plain, simple and easy." Une repeats my words, and I don't miss out on the sarcasm she endorses her voice with. "As you wish, Heero. You have a right to know it, of course. It's as simple as that. Deaths, murders, seem to follow your cases, and the cases tie themselves together. The two card players that died in Prague, part of that smuggling organization you were about to arrest, featured on Masterson's list of people he was busy buying himself into. Some of the cases of the past four years, always cases you and Duo were working on, can be tied to deaths in the same style as you just saw on the pictures -- even months later. Someone is systematically killing people involved with your missions, and though not everyone involved ends up dead, the key figures do -- and always with minimum knowledge, only known by you, Duo, and maybe two or three others who can be simply excluded. Why? Because the murder weapon is a scythe, that yes, automatically links us to Duo Maxwell."

She pauses to take a deep breath. I know my eyes are wide; they're hurting from the way I widen them in amazement, listening to the woman I respected... respected for her ability to deal with everything with dignity and grace, not for her absolutely crazed idea that my Duo is a killer. I forget all about Wufei, though I hear him breathing a bit erratically. Most of this is probably new to him as well, and I refuse to give it a second thought. She tilts her head, a minimum of movement.

"Plain, simple and easy, Heero. We suspect Duo Maxwell of having either lost a grasp on reality, believing that he kills the 'bad people' in name of justice and peace, or having developed another personality as the God of Death, and is killing for the sheer fun of it."

"Listen... just listen to yourself."

My voice is barely audible; but the acoustics in the room are good enough for everybody to hear. "Just listen to yourself," I repeat. "This is Duo Maxwell we're talking about. Gundam pilot, friend, fighter..." I almost choke, as I wanted to say "lover" as well, "... he was standing by us through every ordeal, he came through for any one of us. How could you even consider thinking of him this way?"

Une nods, and just now I realize she's not wearing glasses. What happened to her glasses? Contacts, my mind informs me, and I suppress the urge to shake my head. Now is not the time to focus on such details.

"This isn't something that came to pass over the last few weeks, Heero. This has been a process of years, and still I'm reluctant to believe it. You don't know how much effort it takes me to even pronounce these words, to face what I have explained to you. I don't know Duo as well as you do, and that's maybe for the best, as I can keep an objective..."

"Objective?" I fairly scream. "What do you mean, objective? You accuse Duo of being a murderer! You think he's got a second personality -- what are you talking about?"

"You know very well what I'm talking about, and if we're dealing with a split personality, I certainly am the person to talk about it." Something flickers in her eyes, a flash of sadness and remembrance, immediately replaced by a little anger and grief. I don't care. Whatever she did in the war, in the name of peace, in the name of Treize Khushrenada, I didn't hold anything against her.

People make decisions, and sometimes they're wrong. People make choices, and sometimes they're wrong. We all make mistakes -- no matter how many people will tell me that I've been nothing but the awful "Perfect Soldier", I have made mistakes as well. Marshall Noventa. My less-than-stellar suicide attempts. Rebuking Relena. Thinking that I could do everything on my own, all by myself, only to feel empty, alone, unwanted -- until Duo came along. I close my eyes. Duo didn't exactly 'come along', he was just always there. In the background, patiently waiting for me to see that he was there, all the time, offering his hand, his shoulder, his life, everything. I curse the time it took for my eyes to finally see him; for my mind to finally acknowledge him as so much more, for my heart to finally admit to love him. He moved in with me after I told him that I loved him, and we never looked back. It was a tumultuous time as we needed more adjusting than we originally thought, but there was always something.. that thing there that kept us together. Love? The essence of our very souls? A bond beyond breaking, founded in critical days? Whatever it was, whatever it is, whatever it will be; it holds us together stronger than anything I've ever seen or ever experienced. Duo Maxwell is mine, not Shinigami's, not ESUN's, not Une's, not Wufei's... not anyone else's. Mine.

I ignore Wufei sitting next to me and I stare Une right in the eyes. She meets my glare, unfazed -- like I've noticed before -- this woman is not to be trifled with. I know -- I can see it -- how much she believes in what she said, in the accusations she just flung around the room. I also know that Une isn't the person to lightly accuse someone of something; it has taken a process of years. A process of years that led her to reach this conclusion and think about my Duo as a murderer.

"Innocent until proven guilty."

"Heero."

"I don't believe it."

"Heero. The... what I said, is of course not something to be taken very lightly. We're talking about your significant other, your friend, and our esteemed colleague. Still, you'll have to admit there are certain changes visible in Duo, changes that convince me more and more of the theory I just explained to you."

Changes in Duo? I hear her words, but they don't seem to stick around in my brain. In one ear, out the other. This isn't true. They're just telling lies. My Duo is nothing like they're imagining him. They're not the ones who live with him.

"Maxwell has cut his communications shorter over the last periods of time," Wufei starts talking. "His tone in his vid-mails has changed significantly in the time he's been sending them."

I haven't noticed Wufei putting another small pile of paper on the table; apparently print-outs of the vidmails correspondence. "I've analyzed his speech pattern from these vid-mails, and a harsher and less compassionate tone is clearly noticeable."

"I didn't notice you kept up with vid-mails so well," I snap. "You're not exactly the one to invite for tea and biscuits either, Wufei."

"I'm not the one who goes from "Hey Wufei, how's it hanging" to "Chang, everything well" and leave larger time gaps when maintaining contact," he defends himself. He taps on the paper. "It's just a minor example, but when investigating, I've researched every lead and option possible."

"You've been investigating Duo? Why wasn't I told?"

"Exactly because of the way you're reacting now," Une tells me, voice curt. "Heero, he's your significant order and you're hardly objective when it comes to him. That's understandable, of course, but it clouds your perspective on the case. We also base our actions on the facts, not on the emotions involved."

"The deaths of those people are undeniable," Wufei continues. "They've been killed with a weapon that has been indisputably identified as a scythe. The swing of the weapon, the cleanness of the cut, the impact. No arguments possible."

"It can be someone else. Duo doesn't wield a scythe. He uses knifes when in danger, or guns on a mission, whatever the situation requires at the time."

"The choice of a scythe as murder weapon is indeed a very eccentric one," Une admits, her eyes never leaving mine. I get a bit tired of her scrutinizing gaze. Is she testing me? Does she want to know if I can handle a particularly stressful situation? If so, she certainly has chosen a painful subject: my only weakness, my Duo. No, Duo is not my weakness -- he's my strength. He's the one beside me, in front of me, behind me, next to me. He's everywhere, enveloping me in his exuberance, his warmth, his kindness. Duo isn't a killer -- certainly not a meaningless one. The casualties at his hand were just that -- casualties in war, victims for a greater goal. I swallow. Am I already running in circles, running to his defense?

"We have no reason to suspect Duo if it weren't for the victims," Une continues, her posture still rigid. "Every one of the victims was in some way tied to your cases. The ones you and Duo did together. You are level 8 agents -- information about those cases are top classified, and the contribution of others is restricted to a minimum. Level 8 agents are working solo, without any back-up, without any support of the ESUN should they be apprehended."

"I know my level and Duo's as well." I try to remain as curt as her. I can play the same game, if that's what she wants. "I'm not the one to talk to about this. Have you ever considered talking to Duo? It seems to me that he's the one most involved, and yet we're talking about him without him present."

Wufei shifts in his chair, as if he's feeling uncomfortable. I ignore him yet again. A faint feeling of betrayal is settling into my stomach -- I'd never have expected one of us to work against us. I still consider us five as something different, as a band of brothers, an entity outside of the larger whole, an exclusion to the common rule. Chang Wufei has always been a loner, but he was involved as well in the war, and there's something between us unmistakably; him investigating my Duo feels like a stab to my chest.

Une leaves her hands on the table, fingers a little splayed. The silver laptop matches well with her business suit; efficiency and calmness all around. I narrow my eyes. Something is really off about this; her calm tone of voice, her perfect composure. She's already condemned Duo.

I drum with my fingers on the tabletop. "The accusation is preposterous. A scythe is not Duo's exclusive weapon, there could be many others picking up on that idea, however revolting that may be. I'd rather investigate the ranks and conduct in the ESUN before accusing one of your valued level 8 agents."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Wufei asks, picking up on my growing irritation.

"Exactly what I said. The Masterson's list was crawling with names of ESUN agents and clerks who were willing to blab about missions and policies for the right amount of money."

It's a low shot, but it has its effect; even Une is frowning, inclining her head a little. "The people mentioned on the Masterson's list were low-key, and have all been replaced or reprimanded. The information they sold was from closed or cold cases, and has not harmed any of the running cases at that time. No agent higher than level 4 has been compromised."

"Low key or not, if Duo didn't get that list, Masterson would've worked his way up higher and who knows which high-placed officials he would've bought."

"The list isn't of any importance regarding this," Une cuts me off. "The ESUN has had enough exposure thanks to the Masterson case, and we don't need to rake up all of this. We're talking about Duo here, or at least about a murderer with a scythe. That guard is dead, Heero, and he was killed unnecessarily."

"Duo didn't kill him," I grit my teeth.

"You mentioned in your report about the Masterson case that he gave contradictory explanations, and in his own report he hardly mentions the guard at all. We've monitored Duo's evaluations, and we discovered the same tendency as Wufei did with the vidmail correspondence; he answers more harshly, less compassionately, with a more crude use of language."

I have no answer but to shrug. Every agent, low ranked or not, has to submit himself to an evaluation after every three or four missions, depending on the intensity of the mission. Higher level agents are more often evaluated than anyone else, if only to monitor their psychological development -- after being exposed to particularly radical missions, some people tend to react strangely... sometimes they become numb after seeing too many deaths, or develop 'invincible' feelings after having survived a precarious situation.

I don't hate those evaluations; I know how to deal with the events resulting from missions -- my military training gave me the ability to do so. No matter how much I abhor certain aspects of my training, some things that I learned from it give me the capacity to cope. With Duo by my side, he gives me the strength it takes to cope, always. I never discuss my evaluations with Duo, not does he discuss his with me. I don't know why, we just never talk about it. Psychology isn't Duo's forte, or mine -- what we discuss, is up to ourselves. We respect it if the other doesn't want to talk yet. It always comes out, sooner or later, one way or the other.

"Heero, we're not looking for a scapegoat or someone conveniently around to place the blame on. This is a real problem we have on our hands here. People are killed, and those people are tied to cases you and Duo exclusively work on or have worked on. The pattern has become more visible in the last few months; though some of the deaths can be linked to years back."

"You have to talk to Duo about this," I repeat my words. "I'm not the one to talk to about this. What is it that you want from me -- admit that he's been Shinigami all along and that the God of Death will come for us all?"

Wufei shakes his head. "You know very well how Maxwell reacts to someone referring to him as Shinigami."

"You both know how Duo reacts to accusations," I bark.

"He'll take it very personally and will go to the very limit to prove the accuser wrong. And when Duo goes to the very limit, he..."

"Stop defaming him! You're talking about him as if he's some kind of monster! Listen to you! Listen to yourselves! You've already accused him and condemned him -- do you know already how you're going to execute him?"

"Heero, don't be ridiculous," Une retorts, her eyes spitting fire. "We'll do everything to prove there are reasonable explanations behind this, to solve this matter objectively and efficiently. You're pulling everything out of proportion. We only have the facts to base our investigation on, and you have to admit that some things are not measuring up very well."

"You'll do everything to prove there are reasonable explanations behind this? So far, I've heard nothing else but accusations at Duo's expense, claiming and believing that he's either the God of Death or a scythe-wielding killer, lots of pictures of gruesome deaths, and nothing that you've actually investigated beyond this. You're assuming that he's the killer, not weighing any other option."

"The fact that the majority of the victims are tied to your cases narrows it down." Une doesn't mask the impatience in her voice, her tone like a schoolmaster addressing a stubborn child. "Heero, I want this solved to everyone's satisfaction, and Wufei will tell you how we're going to do that. Disregarding Duo in this matter, you must admit that the killings are very strange."

"I can't believe that you didn't inform me," I answer stiffly, not about to give in. "I understand about the personal involvement... but this was too... bizarre to leave me out of the loop."

"You get another chance. Or rather, Duo gets another chance to redeem himself, without him even knowing that. The mission I'm about to discuss with you is for our ears only -- me, you, Wufei, Duo's. Nothing of this mission has been put to paper or has been recorded in any other way. It's non-existent except to us four."

My ears are pricking up at the word "mission" and the secrecy, adrenaline already running through my body. I don't like Une's tone of voice though, nor the way she talks about getting another chance", implying that I need to shut up about the previously discussed topic. How am I going to keep it a secret from Duo? He immediately knows when I'm not telling him everything, and he's going to ask tons of questions when I return -- even though he pretended not to care, I know he's really hurt that I was the only one to be invited and not him as well.

"You, Duo and Wufei are going to make contact with Salvatore Benedetti, of the Benedetti-Lardanzare steel and iron manufacturers. Their main headquarters and largest factory are just outside of Florence. They produce the larger iron and steel works; train tracks, construction sites, rigs, you name it."

She taps on the keyboard of the laptop and turns it around, showing me the screen with a picture of an Italian who confirms the stereotype of the mafia; small, shady, with a mustache and a cigar, a Stetson hat drawn low over his head so his eyes are hardly visible -- if that were possible from behind the large Ray-Bans -- and jewelry on his fingers. Gold and platinum, as far as I can see.

"Salvatore Benedetti," Wufei repeats, "is being suspected of rebuilding mobile suits without an official ESUN contract and selling it to the highest bidder. The increasing shipments of certain parts were noticed by some of our contacts and everything points to this man."

I snort. "Mobile suit plans and designs aren't public, and engineers capable of constructing them have all been registered. I thought ESUN was keeping an eye on them?"

"We are," Une answers, slightly smiling. "We have them on a very short leash. We want to put a stop to his plans before he can put them into effect. Wufei is going to be in charge of the latest shipment of titanium. A shipment of titanium for a steel and iron factory."

"He's either incredibly stupid or incredibly bold to openly laugh in the face of ESUN," I admit. The man doesn't look exactly bright to me -- maybe he thinks he can get away with massive shipments of steel and titanium for his factory and whilst secretly constructing mobile suits for the highest bidder.

"Does he have bidders already?"

"That's up to you to find out," Une moves the laptop back, knowing that I've had enough time to memorize the man's face. "Mobile Suits are currently used for some peacekeeping missions on the colonies" -- a hint of... melancholy in her voice? -- "and at the moment, not involved in any warfare or disputes."

"What about Duo?" I ask.

"I'm going to pick you up this afternoon," Wufei answers the question, "and we go together to Benedetti. With a bit of luck, we can get a tour of the factory -- where you will use your eyes and ears, of course. You'll return late in the night to fix things."

Explosions -- Duo's going to love this one. I forcefully refrain from showing my sour look -- this mission has another side without him even knowing it; his innocence in a murder case is on the line. I don't know what's happening, but what I do know is that Duo's never going to leave my side.

Never.

I return to the Hotel Brunelleschi as miserably as if I have lead in my shoes. My excitement about the new mission is completely overshadowed by the ominous words of Une, her implied accusations, her whole manner of depicting Duo as some God of Death... and Wufei sitting there and not once, not even once, sticking up for his friend. Is Wufei really that objective? So objective that he can even turn his back on his fellow pilot, who fought right next to his side in two wars?

The porter greets me in a friendly way and it's purely automatic that I return the greeting, my mind occupied with Duo. What am I going to tell him? He'll be glad about the new mission, especially because of the potential of explosions being involved, but he'll see right through me, and asking me what's going on.

I stab the button for the elevator. Damn Une, damn Wufei! How dare he sit right next to me and talk about Duo as if he was some cold-hearted killer? The victims were related to our cases, and our cases were classified... that narrows it down, just like Une said. Why didn't they assume that I could be the killer? Because of the scythe? Is my Duo so associated with something as... repulsive as a scythe that they automatically pinned it on him? I step into the elevator, stabbing the button again to go up. Duo was very proud of his twin scythe of his Gundam; he didn't call his Gundam 'partner' for nothing. I guess we all developed some kind of bond with our Gundam, whether subconsciously or not. I didn't shed a tear when my Wing Zero was destroyed, but if it were to be rebuilt, I'd give my left arm to fly in it again.

The elevator opens and I make my way over to our hotel room, the plastic card functioning as a key already in my hand. When I insert it into the slot, I briefly wonder what's behind the door -- what am I going to find in our room? Shinigami with a scythe in his hands, or my Duo waiting for me, preferably with open arms?

It dawns me that Une has made me doubt him... made me doubt the one I love and care enough for to die for. I don't know who I hate the most at that brief moment; Une for making me doubt, or myself, allowing Une to make me doubt. There's no God of Death behind this door, only my Duo, and he's life incarnate; with his vibrant eyes, his rambunctious laugh, his warmth, his everything.

I open the door and silence greets me. For a split second fear grips my heart -- he has left me. It's never this quiet with Duo in a room; maybe he went for another dive in the pool? My hand reaches for the cell phone in my back pocket while I walk through the large suite. I spot him soon enough; he's asleep on the bed. Something that stems from his war days, a routine I usually adopt as well; when the opportunity presents itself, get some rest. Especially in those hectic days we needed every single bit of rest we could get, even if it was for only fifteen minutes. It allows us right up to today to be able to sleep whenever we want, wherever we want. Duo sleeps as easily for half an hour curled up in a chair as eight hours straight in a king size bed. The quality of the sleep may be a little bit less, but it's sleep and that's what counts. Some habits are hard to unlearn, and in our line of work, it's better to hold on to certain habits instead of abandoning them. This isn't exactly a nine-to-five job.

"Duo," I softly say. Never disturb a sleeping soldier. He's silent as a grave and just when that thought flitters through my mind, I shiver. Shaking my head, I take a few steps forward. "Duo," I repeat his name, louder. He lies so still, so frighteningly still. I can barely see his chest heaving up and down -- he's breathing, isn't he?

"Duo!"

To hell with the 'never disturb a sleeping soldier', if he doesn't respond to another call, I'm going to shake his shoulder, and shake him good. He lies on his side, hands tucked under the pillow -- a soldier is never far away from his weapon --, face uncharacteristically devoid of any emotion. I've watched Duo sleep often enough, and I've been amused pretty much with his facial expressions during his sleep. It's almost like a play -- he scrunches his nose, wriggles his nose, bites his lip, flicks his tongue out, and sometimes moves his hand up to pluck at his ear. He never makes a sound in his sleep, though -- a good soldier is a silent soldier.

"Duo! Wake up!"

He finally moves, rotating his shoulder a little. He draws up his leg, stretching the other. Slowly, he retracts his hands from under the pillow. "Hmm.. Heero?"

"Good afternoon sleepyhead," I say. "I'm back again."

Duo makes a noncommittal sound, not opening his eyes. He lifts his hand, extending it to me. A bit baffled, I accept his hand, only to find me pulled on top of him the next second, his large eyes looking right at me.

"Good," he simply says and captures my lips. I slide my hand into his hair, fingers stroking the thick chestnut bangs.

"Don't you want to know what.."

"No."

"Duo.."

"Shut the fuck up, Yuy." He deepens the kiss immediately, tongue prying at my lips, demanding -- not asking -- entrance. I part my lips for him, but not obediently enough to give him absolute control of the kiss that easily. He growls, hands slipping in my neck and pulling me closer, forcing to meet his fierce lip-lock. I want to protest, my fingers tightening in his hair, my other hand on his shoulder.

"Duo.."

"You can tell me all about it later," he responds, looking up at me again. I stare back, right in to his eyes. Dark purple.

"I..."

"Hmmm? Something wrong?"

"Are you wearing contacts?"

"Why the hell should I wear contacts?"

"I don't know. Your eyes look a lot darker to me."

He laughs in delight and kisses me again, a lot less forcefully, and a lot more attentively. His hands slide from my neck to my shoulders, his fingertips pressing. "You're such an observer, Heero. Such an eye for details."

Duo smiles smugly at me, and moves his head, nipping along my jawbone. I try to keep control over my breathing -- his mere touch, his nips and kisses are always tantalizing, teasing, promising. I want to have more of him, more than I could ever bear; if he would be a liquid, I would drink so much of him that I would drown myself. I want to drown myself in him and never resurface; Duo is Duo, my Duo, and my Duo only.

He nips at my ear, laughing softly. His hands are moving lower down my back, his fingers trailing along my spine. "Such an eye for details, but still you miss the bigger picture."

"What?" I want to loosen the embrace, but he doesn't allow me to straighten myself. "What did you say?"

"Does it matter?" He arches into me, trapping me on top of him with his legs. His grip is firm and a lot more forceful than anyone would give Duo credit for. I gasp out loud. I've never minded him trapping me before, but his grip feels uncomfortable, suffocating. Fucking Une! This is Duo, my Duo! He likes to wraps his legs around me, one way or another, he likes to trap me and hold me down with simple yet gentle force -- he's done it numerous times before and now I'm doubting... weighing... contemplating his every move. That woman dared to call him Shinigami and make me doubt -- and damn me for even allowing her to doubt me -- him, my Duo and my mind is running in circles and -- he kisses me again, right on my cheek.

"You seem troubled? Something the matter?" Duo moves his head again, settling himself comfortably in the pillows.

"We have a mission," is the best I can come up with.

"A mission? Now?"

"Yes, now. Wufei's going to pick us up in the afternoon."

"Wufei? That's great! I haven't seen him in a while."

He stretches himself, stifling a yawn. His hand is still on my back, drawing lazy circles. He hasn't moved his legs.

"Duo, you saw him this morning."

"I did? Bah, I merely caught a glimpse of him. Maybe we can really catch up this afternoon." He shifts a little, holding me close. He puts his hand on my cheek, cupping my face, and kisses me again. "Is that all?"

"At the moment, yes," I answer, feeling... what am I feeling? Doubtful? Regretful? Remorseful? I want to taste his lips and convince myself that his lips still taste the same. He moans slightly when I take control, pressing my lips hard against his, wanting, needing the touch. Craving, dying for his touch. His touch only. He tilts his head, turning it to the side, exposing more of his delicious skin. I latch onto his neck, my hand leaving his hair and tracing the outline of his face. Nothing seems different; his response is still the same, already arching into my touch. Before his eyes flutter shut in delight, I notice the far lighter color. Cobalt blue and violet... swirling colors, the colors I can't get enough of gazing into, for hours and hours on end. It's out of my mind the next second as he starts yanking at my shirt, buttons popping open, and whispering my name in such a way only Duo can whisper.

I don't exactly recall falling asleep, but I'm awakened by a monotonous, repetitive sound. I open my eyes, disoriented for a mere second. The bed is empty and I'm lying on the covers, naked, with a blanket thrown over me. I push it away, sitting up straight. Duo sits behind the desk, his fingers on the keyboard of his own laptop. His one's black, mine's the same silver gray as Une's. Thinking about that woman immediately brings up a headache -- the conversation we had, was a difficult one, and an unbelievable one. Duo's curled up in an impossible fashion; one leg is tucked behind him on the seat of the chair and his other leg is drawn up, and he rests with his chin on his knee, looking fascinated by the laptop screen. He wears nothing but his boxers and his skin shimmers, hair still damp, but firmly braided.

I could use a shower of my own, and I'd better hurry if I want to be in time for Wufei. I roll myself off the bed, not caring for my current naked state; it isn't something Duo's never seen before.

"Benedetti, right?" He calls out to me.

"What?"

"Salvatore Benedetti. I just received his file."

I walk over to him, putting my hands on his shoulders and kissing him on top of his head. Duo smiles, the corners of his lips turned up, his kissable lips widening a little. "Mobile suits manufacturer. Some people will never learn."

I simply nod, leaving my fingers on his shoulders. The picture on the laptop is the same one Wufei showed me. These encrypted and encoded e-mails can't be intercepted due to the special lines we use and in the hardly imaginable case of them being intercepted, I wish the one trying to read them good luck. I was the one to design the encryption.

Duo's slender fingers rest on the keyboard and he leans back with his head, resting against me. I expect him to start asking about my meeting with Lady Une any second, but he remains silent. Changes in my Duo... yes, there are changes in my Duo. My Duo has changed. He's far more silent, that's for sure. Normally he would jump all over the place, demanding to know what's going on, demanding to know what the meeting was about, just demanding to know. Duo's not the kind of person to accept things placidly. He wants a reason, a motivation... and it unnerves me that he doesn't ask and just calmly sits in a chair and takes what's been dealt to him. I kiss him again on the top of his head, because I'm too much of a coward to start talking about it myself, and I don't want this fragile moment to shatter.

Wufei arrives late afternoon, dressed in a pristine light gray business suit, and looks over us appreciatively. "Good to see you," he addresses Duo.

"Good to see you too," is his reply and I keep my eyes on Wufei to gauge his reaction. Nothing is visible on his face, not even the merest flinch. It's the coldest response Duo has ever given Wufei as far as I can recall... and now that I pay attention to it, Duo has been responding pretty curtly to others as well lately. I remind myself that I have to be firm in my resolve and not allow anyone to make me doubt Duo. People change, and as long as Duo doesn't change into some sour, bitter hermit he can be as curt as he wants to.

"Fully briefed?"

"Fully," Duo answers at the same time I do. We both received the emails with the details concerning the mission -- we understand that this is Wufei's show, so to speak; he has set up the contacts, and he has worked on his own on this case for quite some time now. Salvatore Beneditti is the big fish he's going to catch and we're his assistants -- not that I mind. We're here to lend each other a helping hand, right? I notice I do indeed have difficulties keeping an objective opinion about Wufei -- I'm still disappointed that he didn't take Duo's side, as far as the meeting went. Maybe there'll be another opportunity to talk about it, in private, or else I'll create the opportunity. I can't let go of this, not after what has been discussed. It's about my Duo.

Wufei is posing as a representative of a Chinese wholesaler of salvaged titanium; God only knows how much titanium is still left floating around in space or scattered all over Earth after the two wars. We are his assistants; Duo is the PR man, I'm the financial advisor. I doubt we'll be doing a lot of talking to Benedetti, but if he wants to talk to us, we're prepared. We're going with Wufei to keep our eyes and ears open for anything suspicious while he deals with Benedetti; the future course of the mission depends on our findings.

Duo smoothes his braid before following me and Wufei out of the hotel room. I realize I still haven't eaten anything; the breakfast this morning was ruined and I didn't think of having lunch. Has Duo eaten something?

A taxi is waiting for us outside and we take our place on the backseat, while Wufei takes up residence on the passenger's seat. "It's only ten minutes out of Florence." He gives the address to the driver, who mumbles something akin to "Si, signore" and puts the car into motion. Ironically, we pass the convention center where I met Une earlier this morning, which almost seems a lifetime ago. It's been only a few hours... a few hours, and years have been changed. I glance at Duo, who's looking out of the window, hands folded in his lap. He's perfectly relaxed, not a bit of tension to see. He knows how to talk his way out of a situation and to fight as well should it be necessary -- we're both without a gun, at Wufei's request. It would certainly be very strange if we were to carry guns at a simple meeting, and would arouse suspicion immediately. I like to look at his profile; his gazing eye, his slightly curved nose, his warm, full lips, his cheekbone, all framed with the dark chestnut of his hair, displaying so much color -- cinnamon, light brown, honey... strands of hair mixing into one liquid sea of chestnut. His braid is thick and luscious, resting over his shoulder, inviting me to stroke it; but I know better and keep my hands off of him for now. We're on a mission.

I wonder what he's thinking of. The upcoming meeting? He's probably mentally preparing himself for his role as the jovial, easy-talking PR man, assisting his colleague for a large order and delivery of titanium. Salvatore Benedetti won't probably see that he's being fooled; but if there's really a Shinigami deep down in him, then Duo has been fooling me for years as well.

We arrive earlier at Benedetti's factory than I thought, but still 'fashionably late'; Italians aren't that punctual and it's a good thing I don't live here; showing up late for an appointment has never really impressed me.

We're welcomed by a beautiful secretary, dressed according the latest fashion, and she calls upstairs for Benedetti that his foreign guests have arrived. I admire the large hall and a work of art; it's of course a reproduction of the Venus of Milo. It takes Benedetti another half an hour to finally come down from wherever he was to meet and greet us; I refrain from commenting on his tardiness because this is custom and he does get points for at least trying to bow to us, only to be ruined with a fake laugh and an exclamation of "you funny Asian guys!". I don't like him, and that's a civilized thought.

Duo picks up on the comment immediately, introducing himself as "one of those funny American guys" and launching into a marketing speech that leaves me baffled and Wufei a bit less distressed; if anything, he hates it if people mock his cultural background. Thanks to Duo, the kettle is off the stove before it even could boil over and I can't resist throwing a smug look towards Wufei. It hasn't escaped me however, that Duo hasn't exchanged a single word with him during the taxi ride.

Benedetti is impressed with Duo's words. He's talking a little faster than normal speed and riddles his words with so many marketing terms that the man, not that much used to English anyway, can't do anything but nod enthusiastically. By injecting some Italian phrases and words, Duo has won the man over in no time, throwing the ball back in our court when he's finished with his talk. We've settled on English as our main language, as none of us speaks Italian that fluently and Benedetti isn't quite multilingual himself.

"Welcome, welcome," he says, the accent thick enough to send any English speaker running for the hills. "Let's go to the office and discuss, right?"

Wufei nods sternly and after the exchange of business cards and another handshake, we follow the man to his office. The secretary waves after Duo and I'm sure he sends her a saucy wink in return. Changes in Duo? No, no changes at all. Une is wrong and Wufei.. I'll deal with Wufei later. Hard.

The door to Benedetti's office is opened by another man, hardly worth my attention. I know Duo's looking for the same details as I do; extra security, lots of personnel, closed offices, cameras. He's going to ask for a factory tour later and seeing the way he's buttered up Benedetti, I'm sure he'll get his chance. For now, we are seated on three comfortable chairs and the skinny nameless man asks for our preferences in coffee. Wufei declines and asks for tea, I ask for a cappuccino and Duo does the same. Benedetti welcomes us again, talking proudly about his factory and how he worked hard to make it into the producer of steel and iron works as it is now.

Wufei finally finds a way to jump into the monologue, and just as they start to discuss the delivery terms of the titanium, the skinny man returns with a cart full; besides the coffee, he has prepared several antipasti dishes as well. It's not even close to dinner, but I haven't eaten all day and I urge myself not to indulge myself in the delicious looking pasta with seafood. Duo steals an olive and I'm sure I'm the only one in the office who caught his movement; I grin a little.

As Benedetti urges us to taste the antipasti and have as many as we want to, Duo takes his chance to ask for a factory tour. The Italian nods, waving his bruschetti around. "That's an excellent idea! You see more opportunities for us, right? Adalberto, show him the factory and we'll meet again for dinner, yes?"

Duo rises from his chair, thanking Benedetti and assuring him that he's looking forward to dinner together. I want to bang my head into the wall; that means we're stuck to him for a long time to come.

Reclining into my rather comfortable chair, I listen to Wufei discussing business with Benedetti. After a long dissertation about the factory and its rise into the steel and iron world, the man's now back on track with the titanium delivery. I mustn't slip away in any other thoughts; Wufei can ask me any moment to back his story up with some figures and financial talk. I put on an expression as if I'm most interested; fortunately I have eaten plenty of the antipasti so I feel at least a bit better. It crosses my mind that Duo has only eaten that olive.

"We can offer you a larger margin as soon as you start ordering in bulk," Wufei motions towards me. "Mister Yuy here can account for you how much your profit will be if you make use of our offer."

"Very interesting," Benedetti agrees. "I'm going to need more titanium in the future. How am I certain of constant shipments?"

"We hold our customers in high regards," I take over the conversation. "And some customers hold priority over others."

"How do I know I'm one of those customers who hold priority?"

"As soon as you start ordering in bulk from one and a half ton and up," I reply deadpan. "We offer customized prices and discounts, as long as the orders and payments are steady. We can deliver according to a schedule, and payments can also be made according to schedules."

"Sounds good to me."

It's almost like I can see the gears in his head turn around. Titanium is hard to come by, especially in bulk. Wufei has convinced the man that his company is able to deliver titanium in steady shipments; that would mean an uninterrupted chain of producing mobile suits... which we aren't supposed to know. Wufei has probed Benedetti about whether he wants to expand his steel and iron works, and I can't even recall the answer to that; the Italian is as slippery as an eel, changing the subject as fast as he can. I hope Duo can come up with more relevant information; from this discussion alone I can determine that Benedetti is a relentless, greedy little bugger. I'm convinced he only thinks of the profits he's going to make from manufacturing Mobile Suits and selling them to the highest bidder. He's the kind of person that makes me want to puke.

After the long and boring meeting, we still don't have a contract. Benedetti is a master in prolonging and extending; now he wants to await the first shipment of titanium before taking a final decision. Wufei agrees, of course -- that shipment will only arrive after we've verified if the man's intentions are kosher or not. Duo has to rejoin us for dinner; we're waiting downstairs for him. The handsome secretary has already left; I glance at my watch. Wufei heaves a small sigh, out of Benedetti's earshot; he's quite fed up as well. It's because we couldn't get out of the dinner together; apparently the Italian assumed we'd be joining him, no questions asked.

My heart jumps when I hear Duo's voice ringing through the hall, his laugh as contagious as ever. He comes around the corner, accompanied by Adalberto, who seems to have loosened a great part of his stiff composure and laughs with Duo as if they're the best of friends. I put my hand up, waving at Duo.

"Are you finished yet?" He asks when he sees us, taking the hard hat off and mussing his hair a little.

"We're going out for dinner and we were waiting for you to show up," I answer, glad to see him in one piece -- as if anything could've happened in the factory. But you never know...

"Dinner sounds nice!" Duo gives the hard hat to Adalberto with a graceful "Grazie", thanking him once again for the tour. Benedetti asks him if he enjoyed the tour and while Duo is talking to him, the Italian motions for us to walk outside, to the waiting limousine. I walk next to Wufei, and take advantage of the opportunity.

"I want to talk to you in private as soon as possible."

"I'll let you know."

This answer will have to do for now, as Wufei has to arrange for us to meet somewhere, at a location where we're certain not to be overheard. The convention center will be an excellent place; he already knows what I want to talk to him about. I don't want to keep this a secret from Duo; they can't expect me to hide it from him. It has surprised me that Duo didn't pry at all about the mysterious meeting this morning, but I'm sure he knows that something's going on. I don't want to keep that from him, and certainly not these suspicions. He's allowed to have a chance to defend himself. I don't want to close my eyes and be blind to any changes or to the possibility that he could be the killer... but it's all too strange and too coincidental to make any specific accusations. I don't want to accuse him of anything. I want to hear his side of the story, and as far as I can remember, the strange death of the security guard back in Eastbourne is the only thing that just doesn't compute. To hell with Une and her precious theory.

Thanks to Duo, the dinner is tolerable, slightly enjoyable even; he keeps up the conversation, knows how and when to place a joke, not afraid of making fun of himself as well. He involves me and Wufei into the conversation time after time, only falling silent when he eats -- and he eats a large dish of cannelloni, three slices of garlic bread and one or two olives. He eats as fast and thoroughly as I'm used to from him, clearing his plate until there's not even a little crumb left. He compliments the cook and Benedetti for choosing such an excellent restaurant, ordering an espresso with a large smile. I've eaten something called spaghetti caprese, and I could barely eat half of it, the earlier antipasti having filled my stomach pretty much. Wufei isn't much of a pasta eater at all; I don't know what his dish is called, but it's hardly touched. He probably would've offended his host -- and maybe he does anyway -- but Duo knows how to distract Benedetti's attention. If he goes on like this, he could get the access codes to his factory out of the Italian without a hitch, I muse. I use my napkin to wipe my mouth and put it down, awaiting the ordered coffee.

"So, I take it I can work out the plans for the factory?" Duo asks, slipping a mocha bean into his mouth. "The collaboration could be very promising, and very effective. With the right cards in hands, your factory can become the leader on the market."

Benedetti nods enthusiastically, harping on his wish to present himself as the great 'presidente' of his factory. It's actually rather hilarious how the man is swooned by Duo's words; he's nothing but a greedy, egotistical little bugger. He won't get very far with his plans for manufacturing Mobile Suits if he continues to expose himself like that. How is he ever able to keep up his cover if he's apparently that lustful for attention? It amuses me slightly and I glance over at Wufei.

I know he wants nothing but to make an end to the stupid dinner, but he patiently waits until Benedetti calls it quits. From the looks of it, the Italian is having the time of his life and Duo seems to enjoy with some sarcasm the impending fall of the business man. It takes another hour before the man rises to his feet, thanking us for the meeting and looking forward to the envisioned collaboration. We all speak the same words, smiling and nodding in his direction, friendly yet determined to decline his invitation to a drink at his place. I want to get rid of him, figuratively; it's like he's leaving a thin layer of oil behind, that you can't get off your body no matter how many times you wash yourself. We do accept his offer to drive us back to our hotel, and he doesn't look surprised when we name the Brunelleschi, cracking a joke about how it's a 'good home to such great business man like himself'. It doesn't escape me that his goodbye to Duo is more attentive and long-winded than his last words to us; I hope he mistook the irritated look on my face for tiredness, but it's the last thing I care about. Wufei turns to face us after verifying that Benedetti's limousine is really out of sight.

"A nightcap upstairs?"

It's not as much as a question as a command; he wants to discuss what Duo saw in the factory, and what my interpretation is of the meeting and of Benedetti in general.

"Fine with me," I answer and I want to ask Duo what he thinks about it, but he's already walking towards the elevator. He blinks when I come to stand next to him, touching his hand with mine.

"Tired?"

"A little. It's all right."

He falls silent when Wufei walks up to us, and stares intently at the elevator button. If I didn't know any better, I would've held them for two friends who just had an argument and are too stubborn to apologize to each other... but they haven't been in any arguments and still the air is thick enough to cut through with a knife. A knife or a scythe.

Duo opens the mini bar as soon as we're back into our hotel room, and mixes Bacardi and coke for himself, and gin and tonic for Wufei and me. I haven't been aware of Wufei taking a liking to mixed drinks, but judging from the pace of his first sips, he likes them a lot. I take a sip of my drink and free myself of my necktie before sitting down. Duo shrugs off his jacket, loosening his tie as well and opening up the first two buttons of his shirt.

"I thought he was never going to shut up," Wufei sighs. "Excellent work, Yuy, Maxwell. If it were a real business deal, we'd be rich by the end of the year."

Duo lifts up his glass, as if he wants to toast. "No problem, my man. Piece of cake."

"What did you learn from the tour?"

He takes a large swig before answering. "Too much. Everything's just too much. Too much material, stored up to the roof. Too many people walking around. Too many projects at the same time. It's not really fishy -- superficially seen. All you see is a factory filled with steel and iron material and hard working people. Adalberto wasn't tight-lipped, but tight-lipped enough not to divulge that much information. I know where the offices are, so we can always break in and swipe some of the hard drives."

"Hack job?"

"If Duo places a modem I can download all the information you want. I doubt I can learn anything from hacking the company's website. We need human resources files, the accounting files, sales and purchase files."

Wufei looks back at Duo. "Do your findings warrant further investigation?"

"I certainly would create an opportunity to lift those files," he answers, taking another sip of his drink. "Adalberto talked about four projects, which is already pretty much for such a specialized factory. I tried to hear him out about the projects, and as far as I could understand, there was far too much personnel and equipment on the premises."

"Benedetti is purely acting for money," I join in. "He's one of those who will literally sell his mother if it's profitable to him. He doesn't see the consequences of delivering war material and the inevitable casualties involved; it's just the money."

"I'll arrange for a flight over the factory grounds," Wufei says, swirling the ice cubes around in his glass. "With infrared pictures we can see if there's an extra level under the premises. The deal's not made yet and I'll probably be having another lunch with Benedetti before he makes a decision. It doesn't matter in the end, naturally. I want you to visit the factory tomorrow night and lift its data from there. When we have that, we can always decide what measures we're going to take."

I'm finished with my glass and put it back onto the desk. "We'll be at the factory tomorrow night. That leaves us with the day to prepare, but that won't be a problem."

"I don't expect otherwise," Wufei says and for a second, only for a second, it seems that something of our old bond is back. His trust that we can take care of this mission and carry it out without a problem is almost the unconditional trust he's shown us before. It doesn't deter me from having that private talk with him, though. That'll have to wait after our nightly visit, but then I'll have opportunities enough to talk to him.

Wufei leaves after declining a second drink, claiming he needs to do some work before going to bed. It's late, but not that late yet, and Duo isn't about to go to bed. I can see from his face that he's already planning on how to approach the mission tomorrow night; breaking in is his forte, no doubt about that.

I stifle a yawn, rise from my chair and close the distance between us, caressing the outline of his face with my fingers. He looks up, a small smile gracing his lips.

"An Eurocent for your thoughts?"

"Italians sure know how to make great dinner," he retorts, and I laugh.

"You ate well this night."

"I always eat well. All this pasta is going to make me fat."

"Swim another few laps, then."

"Yes mom..." He tilts his head, his invitation to kiss him. I don't hesitate for a second and place my lips on his skin. He brings up his hand immediately, placing it on my neck.

"Heero.."

"Hmmmyeah?"

"What did you talk about with Une this morning?"

Fuck damn! I notice my body tensing, and I know he has felt that as well. I can't do with a simple "It was nothing" now.

"She wasn't satisfied with some of our missions... or at least, the results from them," I answer, hearing my voice not falter for a second. I know how to lie convincingly. I hate to do it.

"Results of our missions? What are you talking about?"

"You remember our mission in Eastbourne?"

"Of course I do. The Masterson list."

"Remember the security guard?"

A slight hesitation. "The man ended up dead, while I knocked him unconscious."

"... while you first claimed he didn't see you at all."

"That was fucking two years ago!"

"Not long enough." I know my voice sounds harsh, but this has been bothering me for a long time. Duo has always shrugged it off whenever we talked about it, telling me that he mixed it up.

"Look, I'm very sorry for what happened to that man. I've seen the pictures as well, and it was horrible. I wouldn't wish such a death upon anyone... but I wasn't the one who killed him. When I was in Masterson's study, I chopped him in the neck. He was unconscious but breathing when I left the room, and that's it. If the Lady isn't satisfied with my answer and my mission report, why is she asking you, and not me? I should be the one called to her. It was my responsibility."

I kiss him on the cheek, not only because I want to kiss him, but also to win some time. Duo's right, of course, but how can I talk my way out of this without giving him the impression that something more is going on, without giving too much away?

"We talked about this mission afterwards," I say, keeping my fingers on his jawbone, gently caressing. "This is highly classified; only you, me, Wufei and Une know about it."

He snorts. "What's so fucking special about some asshole wanting to make gigantic profits from manufacturing Mobile Suits again? He doesn't deserve half the attention he gets."

"Une was very adamant about it," is the only thing I can say in return.

"Fine, fine." His face is distorted, though, but he doesn't want to say out loud that he really doesn't believe me. Duo's never been one to lightly accuse someone of something; and he'll never say out loud that he doesn't believe me. I'm waiting for a "Bullshit!" exclamation, but it never comes.

"We better get some sleep, it's getting late... and we have quite some preparations to do."

"You're right," I say, not showing my disappointment. He puts his hand on my fingers before I can remove them and moves my hand up. He stares at my finger, the finger without the ring. He doesn't wear his one either; the whole 'we're on a mission' thing, remember?

"I so fucking hate this," he mumbles, pressing a light kiss to my finger where the ring's supposed to be. I leave him be. It bothers me as well, but we can't present us as a couple in this line of work.

It's the first time in quite a while that my sleep is disturbed and plagued by nightmares. I wake up around three; it's dark and extremely cold in the room. It takes a precious minute for my eyes to get accustomed at the dark, and I move to head to read the time off from the alarm clock. Duo rests with his head on my chest, his arm draped loosely over my chest as well. I shiver; how can it be so cold in the room when it was such a beautiful day? I want to move my right arm, but Duo lies on top of it, as a cold, immobile statue. I frown. Since when is Duo so cold? I can move my left arm just fine and place my hand on his forehead -- he's as cold as an ice cube, and silent. Once again fear tightens my heart; I'm still not used to Duo lying so still in the bed, so unmoving and with a hardly noticeable breathing pattern.

"Duo," I carefully whisper, even if I don't know why I'd want to wake him. To tell him that he's cold? He doesn't respond anyway and I decide to shove him off, his arm over my chest weighing heavily and the coldness of his body discomforting me.

"Duo." I touch his hair, sifting my hand through the strands. "Duo... what is happening to you? What is happening to us?"

It's so silent, it's so dark and it's so cold, that it makes me feel the loneliest person on Earth, without a sound or a light from the outside world, without the usual warmth of the man I love. There haven't been many situations in which I wanted to cry... but now that I do want to cry, my eyes remain dry and staring at the ceiling in the cold darkness. The darkness that seems to breathe next to me, as silent as he might be.

The bed is empty again when I wake up and I force myself to get up, get dressed and take a shower. After I checked the encoded email -- Wufei has sent us aerial photographs, I will take a look at them later -- , I answer the door for the waiter with the breakfast cart, at exactly five minutes past six again. There's no mauve envelope between the dishes, and I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding.

I swipe a piece of melon and grab a towel before hopping in the shower. I know I've had a nightmare last night, but I can't recall what it was about. It wasn't about the mission or Duo, that much I'm certain of.. it was just a mumble of visions and images flashing through my mind, as if it was short-circuiting or something. I shake my head, sending suds of shampoo all over the shower cabin. I rinse and turn off the hot water tap for good measure. Freezing, I step out of the cabin, drying myself off and dressing quickly before eating breakfast -- more of the delicious melon, a grapefruit, and an orange; topping it off with some tea and honey.

Duo enters the room, returning from his usual swimming routine while I'm sitting behind the desk, studying the aerial pictures. He snags a ciabattini from the breakfast cart and saunters over to me, the smell of chlorine wafting.

"I didn't know they still use chlorine in pools?"

"Bah, it's a horror to my hair, that's what it is," Duo mutters, shoving the tuft of his braid into my face. "Split ends, dry, tangy. It's a good thing we're leaving soon!"

"Not before the mission's over. Look at what Wufei has sent us."

"Infrared and thermographic pictures? What did he use, a satellite?"

Knowing Wufei, he probably did -- the ESUN has access to the most advanced technology, and can act on certain judicial grounds to justify the use of that technology. It's a delicate point of discussion, and every year there's someone asking questions from the political world -- they want to know where ESUN is spending tax payer's money, why ESUN uses certain equipment, blah blah blah... as if they don't trust the organization that tries to maintain the balance between the colonies and Earth, juggling with millions of different interests and relations. Considering that probably 99,9% of the total population doesn't know the ESUN has a certain division that Duo and I are a part of... why would people trust the organization? There's so much more going on behind the scene than the average Joe realizes, and instead of accepting that people are working hard and taking tremendous risks for the sake of peacekeeping, they yak about why mean evil ESUN is spending their money on something different than they want to see it spent on.

I blink my eyes as a pencil dances in my eye field; it's Duo pointing to a red line on the thermographic picture.

"This doesn't match the outline of the factory. Benedetti has a good old cellar under his ass, that's for sure."

I pull up the blueprints of the factory, and match it with the outlines detected by the thermographic device, even though I already know that Duo's right. The laptop calculates the results; there's 75% more mass present than the blueprints show.

"A good, incredibly large old cellar," I mutter.

"Adalberto sure forgot to show me that one," Duo grins, putting the end of the pencil into his mouth and chewing on it. "The sublevel is far larger than the original premises. Benedetti is really anticipating a busy market, isn't he?"

I shrug, focusing my attention on the overlap on the pictures. "As long as people will fight, there will be people manufacturing Mobile Suits."

"The urge to destroy is inherent to mankind," Duo says. "As long as people destroy, they need the Mobile Suits to help them with the destruction."

"Mankind is pretty good in destroying even without Mobile Suits, Duo," I retort, not really liking the direction this conversation is going.

He shrugs as well, pointing again at the pictures. "This sublevel is large enough to house everything needed for the manufacturing of Mobile Suits."

"Agreed. We're going in tonight to see.."

"What do you mean, 'we'?" He interrupts me, looking at me incredulously. "I can place that modem all by myself, and you know that."

"No modem," I shake my head, "I go with you and download the files at the location. We'll decide what to do about the factory that very moment."

"Doesn't Wufei need to study the data first before taking a decision?"

"I'll transfer it to him immediately. He'll be monitoring us."

"What? Monitoring? Fucking hell Heero, he doesn't need to baby-sit us! We can deal with this mission ourselves!"

"It's not like that and you know it," I respond, my voice clipped. "Wufei will be in our vicinity and taking the decision as soon as he's received the documents. He's not monitoring our movements; he's monitoring our method to deliver the data to him and will let us know immediately what course of action we need to take after the assessment of said data."

"So why do you need to come along? I can hack any computer as well as you do, and you don't need to take the risk. Two is riskier than one."

It... hurts. It hurts that he... somehow doesn't want me there. I try to tell myself that Duo is just brainstorming, weighing pros and cons, that he's talking about how he sees the mission, and not to keep me away to change into something without anyone nosy around. I can't tell Duo that Wufei wants me to be close to him, to keep an eye on him. What is Wufei expecting anyway -- that Duo changes into some kind of supernatural being at night? He lies beside me every night, sound asleep; he does rise earlier than me, but I associate the God of Death with late after midnight, not at the rising of the sun. Maybe I'm mistaken... but if I really am, then I've been mistaken my whole life.

"Wufei's orders," I answer him finally, cowardly. It's hiding behind orders of a superior officer; officially Wufei is the same level as us, but he's in command of this mission. He runs this show -- we're here to assist him. Duo moves his lips as if he wants to pout, but he turns them into a disapproving scowl. It makes me feel guilty again, but at this moment I can't do a thing about it. As soon as this mission's over, I'll talk to Wufei and then I'll inform Duo as well. I already know he's going to flip when he hears what Une thinks -- he's probably going to visit her and give her a piece of his own mind. I've been on the receiving end of a piece of his mind before and never want to experience that again; I'm sure Une will feel the same, no matter how unaffected she might pretend herself to be.

"Wufei's orders. I swear, that guy's paranoid," he snorts, and turns away from me. I forgot to look at the color of his eyes; I suddenly want to know if they're dark purple or light violet.

"Duo, look at me if you have to say something to my face," I say out loud. He whips his head around, eyes not visible, hidden behind thick, large bangs.

"I'm not attacking you," Duo answers, sounding slightly baffled. "I was just saying that Wufei's rather paranoid. Does he think we can't handle this mission or something?"

"I know that he's been working on this case for quite a while now and he doesn't want any screw-ups," I answer, my fingers on the keyboard again.

"We don't screw," Duo laughs, "up, that is."

I can't help but grin, and open another few emails. "We better get to work. Wufei wants us out and about at two o'clock after midnight sharp. He's bringing the communication devices, I'm to bring my laptop, and you, Duo, are to bring C-4 and enough detonation material to take the factory down should that be an option."

He laughs harder. "Now you're talking! I thought I was never going to see a good explosion again!"

Because ESUN is paying for our stay in the Brunelleschi hotel, we decide to splurge and call room service to bring us our dinner, consisting of a heavenly prepared fettuccini and maccharoni with seafood. Duo loves seafood, but he never asks for it. He knows how expensive it is, and luxurious food always makes him feel guilty for reasons well-known; I don't need to take a look at his face to see him mentally calculating how many children he could've fed from the delicious food presented on our plates. It's a habit of his that just won't die -- just like some habits of mine. We end our dinner with a shared bowl of tiramisu, a delicious dessert -- though a little too sweet to my taste. I don't want to know the carbs, joules or anything else that's been in that mass of cream cheese, mocha and chocolate filling; tomorrow we'll be having steak and mashed potatoes as usual.

"Man, that was good," Duo moans, licking the last of the tiramisu off the spoon. We're both too stuffed to even think of a cappuccino, and I don't want to go where my mind goes when seeing Duo licking the spoon with his tongue... not yet.

It'll be another few hours before Wufei picks us up for the mission; we've been resting and studying all day on how to approach this particular job. Duo reluctantly agrees with Wufei monitoring us, throwing a small hissy fit when he realises he has to wear a microphone.

"No way in fucking hell I'm going to wear wires! We can do this on our own! We don't need a babysitter!"

"It's not about babysitting, Duo," I remind him. "Wufei needs to decide immediately what to do with the factory if we find suspicious activity. I'll be downloading the data while you're rigging the premises, that's all."

"What's the hurry? Benedetti may be stupid, but he's not fast. That factory isn't going anywhere now he's still in the construction phase of his beautiful new sublevel."

"This is Wufei's call," I answer, "we're here to assist him, remember?"

"Yes I remember," he all but snarls. "You keep fucking reminding me every other second!"

"Only because you seem having trouble accepting his authority," I retort, once again unnerved and aggravated at the same time that he's quick to defend himself, quick to question everything, so much more than he used to.

Duo heaves a sigh, raking with his hand through his bangs. "I have trouble with his distrust, that is all. We've been doing missions for over six years, undercover, deep cover, you name it. The ESUN never holds our hand, and we have successfully executed our missions, to the satisfaction of every party involved. I don't mind working for Wufei, I don't mind following his orders -- but what I do mind, is wearing wires, being monitored -- that all reeks of distrust and paranoia to me. Either this is Wufei's standard work method, and in that case I'll pass the next time he calls us, or the ESUN has made this a new modus operandi."

I rise from my chair, his irritation almost tangible. "Duo, I don't think he distrusts us. Wufei follows his own set of rules, and the ESUN is tolerant towards him."

"Because he's been with them from the beginning. Fucking big deal. We have the same qualifications as him; there shouldn't be any distinction between the five of us."

"We don't have the same qualifications. We're different from each other. I understand what you mean, but our specialities are too diverse and too complicated to be called "the same". You know that too, Duo. Nobody comes even close in matching your stealth skills, as nobody can even be half as fast as me when I hack a computer. That's what makes us so special; we have the same base, we have qualifications in common, but above that, we're diverting from each other, as branches from a tree."

He snorts. "That's quite the metaphor, Heero. I never knew you could be this... preachy."

"I'm not preaching," I protest, feeling hurt again. When was the first time that his words actually started hurting? This rebuking, this rejection.. I can almost taste it in his every word, when he's in this mood. A foul mood, and just after we had such a relaxed dinner, and shared our tasty dessert, feeding each other spoons full. I tilt my head a little, trying to look at his eyes.

"Duo, are you all right?"

It has the desired effect -- he whips his head around, meeting my gaze directly. "Of course I am, why do you ask?"

Large pools of violet. Violet colored with Prussian blue and lavender and filled with light. It's my Duo. I hardly realize I was holding my breath, and I shake my head. Now is not the time to get distracted, despite what Une said. I will never, never doubt my Duo until Shinigami himself -- or itself -- stands in front of me, and even then I will fight him with all that I have. After this mission, my first priority is to get this solved, at all costs.

"T-minus 40 minutes," I answer, and I want to bite my tongue the next second. It feels like I've missed an important opportunity here to ask him what's really bothering him, and of course the mission prevails in my mind. Overrides the need of my significant other who is suspected of murder without him even knowing it. It's too preposterous for words and I really, really want to throw my head back and laugh out loud.

"Acknowledged," Duo simply says, something indefinable flashing in his eyes. His lips curl in a smile -- not a warm smile -- and he averts his head, turning to the side and walking away, towards the cupboard for his 'work clothes'. I know I'd better get changed as well, and while my hands are operating on their own, closing down and zipping up the laptop and its paraphernalia, my mind wanders off into another direction, only to be whistled back because of my soldier's mentality. Get back to the mission. Keep your mind on the mission. Priorities. I know my priorities, I know my parameters. Duo does as well; he's just more vocal about it. I hear the cupboard open and close, and the unmistakable sounds of rustling clothing. It brings a soft smile to my face; this is familiar, as if nothing floats between us, the calm, composed and silent minutes preparing for the mission. We don't talk while we prepare; it's not only a question of equipment and gear, but also of attitude and the state of mind.

I change into black clothing, obviously because that's more difficult to detect and blends perfectly with most of the backgrounds -- pants, belt with holster and gun, shirt, jacket with several tools. I zip up the jacket after checking if everything is still complete and in working order. I trust Duo to check on his own gear; we don't check each other's gear. That's something between the soldier and the gear -- he knows his life is dependent on it, so he'll make sure everything is in perfect order and accounted for.

I straighten myself, stretching for a moment, and automatically look over at Duo. He stands in front of the window, looking outside even though the sun has long since set, and he's braiding his hair. I didn't see him unraveling his hair in the first place; he only does that when taking a shower and sometimes, not even every time, when we... are in the bed. I hardly see him braiding his hair. I know he's a bit sensitive when it comes to it. It has to do with a certain ritual sister Helen taught him when he was still an urchin at the church. The church of Father Maxwell... but I'm not really sure that she also taught him how to weave a black scarf through the large strands of hair. I watch him finishing his hair, the loose ends of the scarf reaching his knees. He always binds his hair up before a mission so it can't get into the way; this long rope of chestnut is a liability when not secured and I'm about to point that out to him, when he just looks at me.

What is there to see? They're still violet. They're still an ocean, a window to his soul, the mirrors to his core... have I ever reached his core? Do I know what really is going on inside him? What goes through his mind? I open my mouth, ready to comment. We communicate often enough. We talk often enough. I know better than to pry, I know better than to push, and it hits me like a brick between the eyes. Maybe I'm the one at fault here. Maybe I should've asked more, pried more, and pushed more. There are so many pieces of the puzzle of Duo Maxwell left, and maybe I haven't done my best enough to collect them all. I doubt that Duo knows everything about me, and perhaps he feels the same despair when it comes to collecting the pieces of the puzzle of Heero Yuy and trying to assemble them, but maybe we got off on the wrong foot from the beginning. I should've asked, he should've asked, but we agreed silently to maintain the pattern that was taught us as soldiers. We don't ask questions, in the name of privacy or in the name of respect, and I want nothing but to shove that out of the window. If only I had asked, if only I had asked what was really bothering him, maybe I could've prevented this all.

"T minus 5 minutes."

He nods, knowing that it's time to leave. We're not going through the front door, by all accounts; we've already checked out where the emergency exits are and how we can get out of the hotel undetected. Duo turns around, his braid dangling behind him, the scarf for some reason immediately striking me. It's not like him. It's not like him at all, and I haven't said a thing about it. I'm the one responsible for allowing Shinigami so much free rein, if he's already there. If creating him is my responsibility, then ending him will be my responsibility as well. Gritting my teeth, I walk behind Duo, assessing him out of routine, and --

"Duo, why aren't you carrying your gun?"

He halts, just in front of the door. "I don't think I'll have to use it. This is a simple data retrieval job, with maybe some explosives."

"Duo, we're ordered to carry guns when executing a mission, that's a basic rule," I bite back. "You're not going on a mission without your weapon!"

"I have my knifes," he says, turning around. "They'll be sufficient enough. I'm not carrying a piece when it's just a simple data retrieval mission."

"So was Eastbourne," I remind him dryly. "You carried a gun there, without much of a protest. You're not invincible, Duo."

I'm rewarded with a chuckle, and Duo moves away from the door, closing the distance between him and the chest of drawers with a few steps. He opens the top drawer and pulls out his gun, hiding it on his body just like I do; invisible to the untrained eye. I'm not even going to ask why he kept the gun in the top drawer. We're running late thanks to this small exchange.

Wufei waits for us in a black car; every characteristic that would identify this car carefully dismantled. He opens the door for us, greeting us with a mere nod of his head, not commenting on the few minutes we're running late. Duo takes the backseat of the car, and his braid is clearly visible. Wufei glances at me, and I look back at him, face devoid of any emotion. I'm not in the mood to deal with questions coming from my fellow Gundam pilot; someone I used to consider a friend. Wufei is still my friend, but something shifted between us the moment he agreed with Une's theory about my Duo. Without further ado, he passes us the wires and the microphones.

He starts the car, slowly driving away while we hide the microphones on our body. Thank God for infrared and wireless equipment; still, we have to conceal the transmitter and I hear Duo muttering something and squirming on the backseat.

I test the receiver. "One big fat lady.."

"Singing do-re-mi," Duo finishes and his voice sounds loud and clear.

"Excellent reception," I say, before putting the equipment back in the bag Wufei has placed in front of me.

"Yeah, how much is ESUN spending on this Benedetti crackpot anyway?" Duo joins in. "Those pictures weren't your regular Kodak photo shoot."

"We've kept a close eye on Benedetti for quite a while now," Wufei answers, paying attention to the road. Italy has a lousy signal system; there are hardly any road signs. "Mobile Suit production and manufacturing is only a next step in his network of criminal activities."

"Let me guess.. started out as drugs dealer?"

"You got it. Switched to weapons quite fast, despite the lower profit margin. That's when we started to keep an extra eye on him; Benedetti is notorious for his greed, and such a man switching to a less profitable trade was suspicious, especially with the drug market still lively and all. My contact found out that he was expanding rapidly, making the right friends in the right circles, among them a certain Czech allegiance... and he was in the race for the Masterson list."

Two of our most prolific cases, it seems. The Czech mission was botched because of the unexpected shooting, and the Masterson list has started to live its own life, but carries a bitter aftertaste for me because of Duo's contradictory statements and the death of that security guard.

"Benedetti wanted to buy the Masterson list?" Duo repeats, shifting his position on the starch backseat. "It's a good thing we have that thing, then. Almost everybody wants to have it."

"That's why we're so glad it's in our hands. ESUN could've been far more compromised than it was; now we are able to cover the most... eh... incriminating parts up."

"Huzzah for ESUN," Duo mutters and falls back on the backseat again. I don't know what to make of his comment, so I refrain from saying anything at all. We're almost at the Benedetti factory anyway. Wufei parks the car and turns off the lights and the engine. I hand him the transmitter and he tests it again, receiving our affirmative answers.

He pulls out his own laptop and boots it up. "You have the passwords. Send the files you think are the most important directly by encrypted mail, so I can read and assess them."

I nod. The laptop looks very sophisticated, with a much more nifty casing than mine; however, judging from the programs on it, it's not half as functional as mine, and I smirk. My self-written programs are still the best.

"Set? Go, then."

We leave the car, closing the doors at normal volume. We break out in a jog immediately; the factory is on top of a small hill and we climb it in a fast pace, bodies conditioned and trained. I have my laptop in its special casing on my back while Duo carries the explosives and other detonation material. He was actually gloating when he was fine-tuning the detonators; he has this weakness for explosions. It's not often we have to deal with them; most of our missions demand a more delicate approach. Gunfire and shootings occur often enough; a 'good explosion' as he likes to call it, not often enough to his liking. Duo is concentrated, face set in determination. His eyes dart around, taking in his surroundings, alert to even the smallest change in the landscape. We avoid the light from the street lanterns, jogging in as much darkness as possible. I can hardly hear his shoes, and that's for the better. We're invisible; in and out, entering and leaving without leaving a trace.

The gates are closed, and we don't have any problem in climbing over them. The barbed wire on top of the gate isn't exactly deterring us; our clothing is comfortable despite its tightness, and it protects us against superficial scratches and injuries. We cross the large distance between the gate and the actual factory where the offices are housed, without exchanging one word. As soon as we reach the outer wall, I stand with my back against it, holding up my entwined fingers to give Duo a boost. He already has the glasscutter in his hand; perfect teamwork, a well-oiled machinery. We don't need words, hardly gestures even -- we know what to do and how to do it. This is why I only want Duo by my side and no one else.

He cuts a round in the glass, disposing of it without a sound, reaching forward and opens the window, all in a matter of seconds, before my hands grow tired or give way to his weight leaning on me. I turn around and jump, grabbing his wrists as he leans out of the window to hoist me up.

"We're in," I whisper, receiving a curt "Proceed" in return. Duo shines in front of me with a small flashlight, using the same calm jog as on the hill to lead me to the alarm cabinet. For all he's worth, Benedetti didn't invest in good security; there aren't guards patrolling, climbing the gate is child's play, and his electronic alarm is something to get really hysteric about... hysteric as in "What was he thinking" hysteric.

I don't even need my laptop -- able to scramble the most perfect state-of-the-art systems -- for this thing: I need a pair of tweezers to cut the wires. Duo hands me a pair, smirking; he has seen this on his factory tour with Adalberto, but hadn't had the opportunity to take a good look. "Piece of cake."

I cut the wires, using a precious minute to check for a silent alarm. As far as I can tell, there's none; but even though Duo has said "Piece of cake", there's still suspicion in his eyes and voice. This is going too easily. Either the sublevel has maximum security or Benedetti is really too stupid for words and despite his blunt greediness, I don't hold him that stupid enough to cut back on all security.

There's not time to philosophize about that now; we make our way over to the offices where records and accountants reports are being kept. Duo will search the paper archives while I set up my laptop; booting and fully operational within the minute. I already turned on the main server and one program on my laptop is also scanning for silent alarms. It finally indicates a bundle of electronic equipment, concentrated in the northeast corner of the factory.

"That'll be the entrance to the sublevel," I say to Duo, who makes pictures of the paper files with his extremely slim digital camera.

"I'm almost done here," he answers. "It isn't much paperwork, unfortunately. Maybe in the other offices."

I log in on the main server, identifying myself with a spoofed key and I'm granted access. "I have set this to run in a few seconds, and then I'll look in the paper archive myself."

"Don't you have to keep an eye on the files you're scanning?"

I grin, smugly. "With the search strings I programmed, it will indicate the most promising and interesting files itself, so I won't have to stare myself blind on figures and graphics."

He laughs, a full-blown Duo laugh. "I should've known! You're too smart for this business, Heero."

Duo closes the paper file he has photographed, putting it exactly back the way he has found it. We don't leave marks, of course -- the gloves we are wearing aren't even identifiable by their fabric, let alone leaving fingerprints with them.

I open the pocket on my chest to whip out my own digital camera, ready to take over when Duo's going to leave me.

"You go search for the sublevel and check it out," I whisper.

"Did you scramble the electronics there?"

"It's safe," I answer.

He grins again. "Hey Heero, how long has it been since we had office sex?"

I should be prepared for such a question; after all, he's Duo, and I already noticed him looking around with that goofy grin of him that promises a good, very satisfying lay later. Everybody has his or her own method of winding down after a mission, remember? Duo has always been a man of extremities, in that way... we have done it on a mission before, but we had to wait for hours on end then, and there wasn't any chance of getting caught. I can't help but find the idea appealing, but my set-in-stone mind bristles and protests.

"Too long, now go find the sublevel," I command, but my voice lacks any conviction. He mock-salutes me, even clicking his heels together, though it misses its effect because of the soft shoes he's wearing, not military boots.

"Yes sir! I'm gone already!"

I resist the temptation to smack him on his butt when he passes me, and turn my attention to the paper files. Duo was right -- there aren't many records present here and from what I see these are ancient as well; nothing of importance related to the mission. I groan, opening another drawer and seeing more files; non of them really connected to what we're searching for. Using my own flashlight, I visit the next office. I pry open some of the cabinets, using my special skeleton key set. When I pick up a few files, I see that they're all about the personnel; this must be the HR office. I'll skim the personnel list as soon as it's downloaded.

"Wufei," I say.

"I'm here. Status."

"All is well."

"You're sending me very interesting things. Any luck on the sublevel?"

"Duo's already placing the detonations. What do you think?"

"As far as I can see it, the place needs to go down, and soon. Go assist Duo as soon as you're finished up in the offices."

"Out."

I close the cabinets, not bothering to make sure that nothing looks out of the ordinary -- this place is going to be blown up anyway, and because Duo is in charge of the explosions, I doubt there will be anything left once this factory goes bye-bye.

"Duo," I tap at the microphone.

"I'm here."

"Did you hear it?"

"Yeah," he answers, not elaborating. I hear a faint click in the background.

"Where are you?" The line crackles.

"Sublevel," his reply resonates, "I disabled the electronics since you scrambled them anyway. It's fucking large here."

"I'm coming to help you in just a bit," I tell him. "As soon as Wufei gives the definitive 'go'..."

"Ugh," Duo suddenly says, followed by a retching noise. "Use a handkerchief or something; it fucking reeks here."

"Gas?" I ask, immediately on my guard.

"No, no gas. Mobile Suit fuel."

"Kerosine? Get the fuck away from there!"

"I'm fine, Heero -- it's just a scent, there isn't something leaking here."

"I'm finishing up here and then I'll come over to help you."

"Sheesh, keep your fucking pants on. For now. Out."

"Duo!" I bark his name, to no avail. He just doesn't answer me and I can scream all I want; the line remains dead. "Fuck!"

"What's going on, Yuy?"

For a moment, I forgot that Wufei is monitoring us and I'm temporarily without an answer; I quickly gather my wits, while I track my steps back to the first office.

"Duo detected a strong scent of Mobile Suit fuel on the sublevel. I want him out of there, but he wants to finish the job first."

Wufei mumbles something. "Did he report any leakages?"

"No," I answer. "He only said it smelled like Mobile Suit fuel..."

"It could mean that Benedetti has either progressed far more with his suit manufacturing than we originally assumed, or that someone has been negligent with the supplies."

"What do you mean?" I round the corner. My laptop is still at work and I quickly sit behind the desk.

"Benedetti has been fined before by the regular steel union and social security organizations for his lack of employee provisions and bad work structure. Maybe some of his employees are as negligent as he is."

"I don't care," I mutter under my breath. Fuel is fuel, and even though there's no open fire, it worries me. I want Duo out of there, as soon as possible, and the thought that he's placing the detonation sets just as calmly as ever really irks me at the moment.

"Duo," I try again, and I'm startled when I'm greeted with his laughter.

"This is rich, this is really rich!"

"Duo, keep your voice down," I urge him.

"There's no one in the factory, Heero," he answers me with that well-known tone of amusement in his voice; he's in his element.

"You never know if there's any recording..."

"It's going to blow, quite literally," he laughs and I could've sworn he's like some kid in a candy store. "Who fucking cares if there are recording devices or camera equipment in the building. When I'm through with this, they won't even find the front door back."

"I know," I sigh, and hardly notice that I'm shaking my head. The laptop is almost finished with downloading the contents of the main server. I try to remember if I've seen a computer in the room where Benedetti received us earlier. Maybe there's some more information on his hard disk -- the data I've downloaded is already incriminating enough for the Italian and Wufei didn't specifically ask for it, but it wouldn't hurt to check it out.

Finished with the program, I close the laptop, data safely and securely stored, and don't bother with shutting the main server off. I use my flashlight to find my way. Duo's silent again after his last comment, and the line is as quiet as ever before. "Duo, I'm on my way to Benedetti's office. Are you finished?"

"Not yet... this place is fucking huge."

"What about the scent?"

He coughs for good measure. "It still reeks here, but I've seen large drums of oil and kerosene stocked against the south wall."

"More?"

"Prototypes and Wing Zero," he answers deadpan.

"What?" Now I'm the one who's talking too loud.

"He's a fucking megalomaniac," Duo retorts, and I hear another click in the background. "Do they really think they can rebuild the Gundams by using titanium?"

"What did you see?" I ask hurriedly, shining with my flashlight into the area around the corner. Benedetti's office is at the end, if I'm not mistaken.

"They're making scale models -- rebuilding the Gundams on a smaller scale than our original ones. I think they're trying to reproduce them by using titanium as alloy rather than Gundanium."

"Logical," Wufei joins in, his voice echoing on the line. "Gundanium can only be manufactured in outer space, and Benedetti doesn't have those contacts yet... he'll probably try to get them rebuilt in titanium first before branching out even further."

"What a fucker," Duo replies dryly, and for a split second I'm not sure if he means Wufei or Benedetti. The line dies again.

The office is closed, and I use one of my skeleton keys to open the oak door. When I push it open, a soft light is shining towards me, and my hand flies immediately to my back, lifting the gun from its holster in a minimum of seconds. I click the safety pal off.

I use my elbow to push the door further open, creating as much overview as possible. If Benedetti or someone else is in the office, I'll... false alarm. The light on his desk is still on, casting the soft glance that I noticed when opening the door. I push the door completely open, checking the office for any presence, but there's no one but me. It could be left on unintentionally... I open the door of a large cupboard, gun ready to fire, prepared for any threat. A large rack of Armani suits and a few pairs of shoes are the only noticeable content of the cupboard, and I close the door again. No one here, the office is secure. I go to sit behind the desk, unpacking my laptop again and glancing at my watch. It's three hours past midnight -- that means we've been here for almost an hour. That's incredibly long for a mission; but if the sublevel is really as large as Duo claims it to be, then he's going to need even more time to set all the detonations. I'm torn between going to help him and trying to hack Benedetti's computer. The charges Duo is placing are enough to take this whole building out, and I won't get another chance of taking a peek into the computer of the man behind all this. I decide to go for the computer, quickly plugging my laptop in and booting both appliances up.

"Coming up," I hear Duo, his voice almost singing.

"Excellent. Almost finished here."

Benedetti's computer isn't half as exciting nor as incriminating as I thought it would be; to be frank, his data is pretty worthless compared to the figures and memos of his other departments. Apparently, he likes to visit porn sites and play Solitaire a lot... and write staccato short notes, for which I almost pity the secretary. I don't know much Italian, but even if it was written in a language I did know, a four-words memo still remains a mystery to me. Hopefully his secretary knows how to handle them; I don't think there's any code worked into it; but to be certain, I copy every file on his hard disk. Wufei will have a field day with researching into this all, and the judges and lawyers can rub in their hands when we arrest Benedetti and charge him for everything we can find; for starters, endangering humanity with his fucking intended Mobile Suit manufacturing.

"Where are you?"

"Benedetti's office," I answer, "not much data here. Retreat. Meet you outside?"

"Outside," Duo repeats. He won't need to place detonations in the factory itself; the charges in the sublevel will take out the whole premises. I smirk, filled with pride. My Duo is the best in what he does, and his enthusiasm in placing explosions amuses... no, endears me. We're soldiers, first and foremost, and sometimes we wonder if we're still humans. I could say I'm pretty human considering I feel amusement and endearment when thinking of Duo placing detonations, but I also know what those detonations will entail. For the sake of keeping the peace, for the sake of keeping people from harming each other, we do everything it takes to do our jobs. With this mission, no people are involved but us; our media department will cover up the blow as an "accident", using the presence of Mobile Suit oils and fuels to their advantage. Benedetti will get the full brunt of it, and no one will be doing business with him anymore; a nice setback in the weapon and suit department, and the world has lost one piece of scum it could do already without.

I close off the monitor and reach forward to unplug my laptop, finished with the data copying. The small desk light crackles and I barely register it, my eyes fixated on the plugs, when the light bulb suddenly pops. A small spark flitters from the plug and I almost drop it, simply out of reaction; the gloves I'm wearing protect me from shock, so I'm safe -- nothing really is the matter. It only takes me a second to realize the consequences of the seemingly innocent spark... of the seemingly innocent popped light. Short-circuiting! But the power is off on the sublevel... why the fuck didn't I question how the light in Benedetti's office could be on while everything else was off? A second. That's all that it takes. Really. Just a second. A second wherein you have time enough to contemplate how fucking stupid you've been in your overconfidence, how fucking stupid you've been, no matter how many missions you've executed, how fucking stupid you've been in assuming you knew what you're doing. A second. That's all that it takes. Just a second. A second wherein you're short on time to tell your loved one that he has to get the fuck out of here or else he'll die in the pandemonium he has created himself when the explosions go off. I don't think the scream that tears itself from my throat is anything human-like. It doesn't matter anyway. It's been drowned out by the incredible overwhelming noise of the explosion. A second. A second in which I realize that.. I'm just going to die, as I'm thrown through the office, smacking against the cupboard and I hear something close to my ear, but I can't tell if it's Wufei or Duo screaming at me.

Pain. Pain is good. I'm alive... if I can feel pain, I'm alive. For how long? Is the pain fatal? I'm calm. My mind is working at top speed, taking in my surroundings, analyzing and processing. Explosion. Short-circuit. Light on the desk. My laptop is on the floor, shoved off from the desk. I'm reaching for it before I even realize it; I'm busy with surviving, and still my mind will put mission parameters first. If I'm to die here in this office, they will find me with the laptop in my arms and they'll have to pry it from my cold fingers. I have to destroy the hard drive, so the data can't fall into the wrong hands. Everything should be in Wufei's possession anyway. I suddenly wail. My arm reaches for it, but something is wrong. Blood is flowing, literally flowing over my arm. It's on pure willpower alone that I'm able to move my arm, though my senses are screaming pain at me. Broken, probably exposed to the bone.

My breathing is labored, and I suppress a cough. Remain silent, at all costs... you never know who's in the room with you. Nonsense! I'm alone, and I'm injured. I force myself to get up, to check myself for further injuries. I'm able to set my own bones, I did it once with my leg, but my arm can't be set just like that. I need professional surgery, if I can make it out of here alive. The explosion... why didn't I die in the explosion? Duo would've probably set it so that nothing would be left of the factory after the charges would go off... too many questions, and no answer.

"Wufei." My voice croaks, hoarse and I can't help it, I need to cough. I almost hack up a lung, dust crawling through every pore of my body. My left arm is fine, and I pick up the laptop, and only now I start looking around. Benedetti's office seems pretty much unaffected by the explosion; the furniture is damaged and the computer monitor is obviously broken, but for the rest it looks pretty much the same.

"Wufei. Are you there?" My broken arm dangles next to my side, and I pointedly ignore it. I can't wait that long, however; blood is pooling on the floor and I need something to tie off the open wound with. Wait... the Armani suits in the cupboard! I turn around, eyeing the large cupboard again. The door's barely on its hinges, creaking as if it can -- or will -- crumble at any moment. I quickly sift through the suits, finding an expensive looking silk shirt, still in its original package. I rip the plastic package with my teeth, grabbing the shirt and shaking it until all the pins are gone, before I wrap it around my arm. It's immediately soaked with blood, and I curse mentally. Awkwardly, I manage to tie it around my arm, not particularly caring when I cry out again as I tie the sleeves of the shirt together. Hopefully it'll stop the bleeding; if I can make it out of here alive, it wouldn't do me any good to bleed to death before I reach the doorstep.

"Wufei, Duo!" It's of no use. The line is dead, and not because of the agreed 'restricted communication'. The door to Benedetti's office has been blown out of its hinges, and lies cracked in two on the floor. Strange that it didn't hit me -- and I was thrown face first into the cupboard. Strange that the door of the cupboard didn't crack my skull. I can't waste my time by asking myself all this now; I have to get out of here, I have to find Duo... oh God, Duo. Where is he? Where was he at the moment the explosion went off?

I force myself to think back to our last conversation, while I struggle to leave the office. I've lost my flashlight, and even if I could've found it, it probably wouldn't work anyway. Police and firemen will arrive shortly, maybe a crisis team to see if they can help... and Wufei will leave the scene in silence, informing the ESUN of the mission gone wrong, and Une will only nod, Relena will cry, and the rest of the world won't care. We don't exist. We hardly exist. Quatre and Trowa would mourn, but if we're supposedly killed by the explosions, where and to whom could they pay respect? We'd disappear out of everyone's sight, to be forgotten, to be honored with a crappy plaque or a few small "In Memoriam" lines in the internal ESUN memos.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. Walk. One foot. Other foot. The laptop weighs a whole fucking lot; I'm not going back for its special case and bag that allows me to carry it comfortably on my back, with every appliance and extra cables and wires fitting in the appropriate pockets. I don't know how long it takes for me to reach the large stairs that lead to the ground floor. When I put my hand on the metal banister it creaks and protests, but it holds. I put my foot once again in front of the other. One step at the time, literally. Dust clouds and cement flakes fall from my hair, and I cough once again. Everything hurts; my ribs are more than probably cracked. It astounds me that I don't have any head injury; it's the first thing that comes to mind when you're flung through a room. It's silent, but not completely dark; it's more dark-gray, and my eyes are perfectly adjusted to it. It's not a faint light with a detectable source, it's an all-surrounding, dark-gray hue... atmosphere. Maybe from all the dust, I don't know. All I want to do is to find the exit and get some fresh air; my lungs are burning, my cracked ribs are protesting against every move, and my laptop seems to increase in weight with every step. I'm awfully tempted to leave the blasted thing just here, and to hell with the consequences if it 'falls in the wrong hands'. Who or what is ESUN anyway to decide whose hands are 'wrong'? They accuse their own employees of having another personality, and not just 'a' personality, no, the fucking God of Death himself. It would be really darn funny if the situation wasn't like this and if I didn't feel like I'm going to collapse on the spot.

I recognize this hall; it's the entrance hall. The desk from the receptionist who welcomed us on the first afternoon we were here is cut in half; bombed by a large chunk out of the ceiling. Glass is strewn everywhere; the soles of my shoes are thick and equipped to absorb the crunching sound of the broken pieces and I slowly, oh so slowly, move towards the exit. The entrance doors are non-existent; they were glass panes and nothing is left of them. I start to laugh hysterically when it dawns on me that I'm moving my hand forward, carrying the laptop and all, to fumble around for the doorknob. Automatism, it'll be my downfall one of these days. The air is thick, smoke clouds are visible in the moonlight and it smells, no, it reeks of kerosene. The kerosene that should've been fatal... I don't get it. I just don't get it. I don't even hear sirens. It's silent, and no sign of Duo.

"Duo..."

I stand still. What am I doing here, carrying my laptop, when the one I love has stayed behind, or has been killed in the explosion? I want to turn around and enter the building again, I want to look for Duo, but my feet pointedly move into the opposite direction; back to the gate. I moan. There's no way I can climb that gate now, with only one arm. I can't feel my right arm; I can't feel the pain anymore. Not good. I need to get out of here... but what about Duo? We're trained soldiers, and during missions we're trained to save ourselves and everything pertaining to the mission. It's Duo who never wants to leave anyone behind, it's Duo who always swims against the current and I just can't believe he died in the explosion. I cross the large terrain, body moving and moving solely because of my training. The umpteenth benefit? In this case, it is... I should really be thankful that I'm alert and adept enough to return on my own strength, that I saved the mission data, that I'm coherent enough to think and analyze about what happened. The other part of my mind is slowly starting to become clouded; fogged with dull pain, the gnawing thoughts of my Duo being dead, the appealing mentality of throwing everything down and collapsing to the ground to die as well.

"Duo..."

The gate is open. Not wide open, but open nonetheless -- I can wriggle myself through. I bump the laptop against the lock. I hiss, mentally scolding myself as my first thought is about the dent it probably leaves in the casing. How can I care for that stupid electronic thing after everything that happens? It's surviving, my mind tells me. Focus on the things that are at hand, don't think yet of the consequences, the possibilities.. don't stray away, stay on your path. Mission parameters. Priorities. I want to cry out loud, I want to scream to the dark sky, it's dark outside, but I don't have any voice left. I want to cough, I want to curl up and die... as if I haven't died enough already.

I'm nothing without my Duo. Without him, I revert to that once "Perfect Soldier", as people liked to refer to me. I've never been a perfect soldier, nor did I ever want to be; but without Duo, it'd be very tempting to become one. Why should I care anymore if the warmth and light in my life is gone? Find another? As if... as if anyone could even come close to him.

The hill. I remember jogging up the hill with Duo next to me, carrying the explosions on his back, jogging in that controlled pace of his, face set in determination, braid dancing behind him, black scarf fluttering with the lose ties in the wind. My mind's playing tricks on me. There was no wind when we jogged up the hill. One foot after another, I'm going down. I know where the car is parked. Return back to base. That's a good boy, Heero Yuy. People will be so proud of me. I've saved the world before, surviving an all-out explosion is just a piece of cake. The one I love died, but hey, that's the risk we take with our jobs, you know?

I don't know if I'm accepting Duo's death already, or if I'm just in denial. It's the shock, plain and simple. I need to lie down, I need to... I need to know if he's alive.

"Heero!"

I don't even respond. This isn't my Duo's voice. I stand still, unable to move another step. My fingers let go of the laptop, and I expect to hear a sound; the sound of it falling to the ground, maybe cracking open the case. I don't expect silence, and I certainly don't expect hands on my body.

Chinese words are spoken, and from their intonation they're probably expletives; Wufei never talks this frantically, never talks this emotionally.

"I thought you were dead! The line... the explosion... how did you get out of there? How did you get here unnoticed?"

"Duo?"

He shakes his head. "I... I haven't seen him, Heero. I'm sorry."

He means it, and suddenly I feel rotten and guilty for ever doubting him as our friend. I can see the regret and remorse on his face; this isn't acting. Yet, it irks me that he's so quick to say Duo's dead -- it just can't be possible. If I were able to survive, then he certainly has survived as well.

I notice Wufei has put my laptop on the ground, and is still pawing at my body, checking for more injuries. "I'm calling an ambulance. Your arm is broken. You're bleeding here... are your ribs hurting?"

"Like a bitch," I answer. "It's okay. We wait here for Duo. We return as soon as he's with us."

Wufei moves his head to look me straight in my eyes. "Heero... have you seen the factory?"

"No." A hitch in my voice. I haven't looked around, not even for a moment. Wufei gazes at me as if I've grown a second head.

"Heero, turn around and look for yourself."

I don't want to turn around. Turning around will only confirm that... that Duo's dead. The factory is in rubble, there's nothing left, I just don't want to see it. I suck in a large deal of breath and with his hands gently on my shoulders, Wufei steers me around.

"Just look," he says, voice softer than a whisper and I look.

Three helicopters are circling the sky, shining with large lights on the rubble and remains of the iron and steel factory, completely leveled to the ground. Ambulances and fire trucks are on the rough terrain, assisted by police officers and other rescue workers. The large, thick smoke clouds make it difficult for them to work, though it's clear they're assuming there are no survivors; the sirens and flashing lights are on, illuminating the light, tearing at the silence. I see people climbing up the hill; curious, wondering out loud what happened. They want to see the spectacle while they're discussing avidly -- to them, it's something exciting. They've survived... they don't even know what they've escaped from.

"The..." I can't say it. How could I miss so many people, how could so many people miss me? When I struggled to cross the terrain, I didn't see anyone, didn't hear those wailing sirens, didn't notice people climbing up the hill. I can do nothing but to look in horror at Wufei, who solemnly bows his head.

"I'm so sorry, Heero."

"We wait for Duo."

"We can't. It's a miracle itself that you made it out alive, Heero. You need medical attention, and we have to get out of here before the police start combing out the area. We're not exactly safe if we keep standing here."

"We wait for Duo."

"Negative, Heero."

"We wait for Duo."

"No."

"Screw the mission."

"Get into the car, soldier!"

I curse my mind for listening to him. I curse my body for obeying him. My training has surpassed me; I've become nothing but that Perfect Soldier I hated so much. My Duo hasn't been gone for a few hours and I'm already this empty shell, this... this bundle of nothingness that breathes and exists, though I don't know why.

Wufei gets into the car as well, muttering in his native language. He's clearly upset, and I calmly watch him from the passenger's seat. He's put the transmitter, the laptop and his other equipment on the back of the car. There wouldn't have been room for Duo even if he had returned. This can't be happening. This is nothing but a surreal dream... no, a nightmare. I smile while closing my eyes. When I open my eyes, a few hours from now, everything will have passed and Duo will be back with me, wrapping his arms around me and laughing. No Shinigami, no death, no despair. Everything will be all right.

The engine runs after a few tries, and Wufei shifts the gear into reverse, then suddenly the back door is yanked open. We both gasp as a flurry of black slips onto the back seat, shoving the equipment out of the way.

"Jesus Christ! Can't you wait for me?"

"Duo!"

"Maxwell!"

"Duo, what the hell!" I scream at him.

"Get the fuck out of here, Chang!" Duo barks, face covered with smudges. The chestnut bangs cling to his forehead, and as far as I can see, his black scarf looks impeccable, woven into the strands. He doesn't wear the microphone, and I see straps on his jacket; he still has his backpack. Wufei hits the gas pedal, steering the car over the road, shifting gears again and finally starts driving in a direction away from the factory. He keeps looking in the rear mirror, almost every second, frantically checking if it's really Duo who sits there on the backseat.

"How did you get out of there? What happened?"

"The bombs went off prematurely," Duo answers, and he shrugs. "I don't know what happened exactly. I plastered the charges all over the sublevel, and went upstairs when I was done. Heero was in the big chief's office and I was out of the factory when everything went off."

"Impossible," Wufei states bluntly, and he takes the words right out of my mouth. I want to agree, but I feel too tired and too shocked to even react. "Duo..." is all I can whisper.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He sounds calm, too calm. I know how Duo reacts after a mission. I've seen his every extremity. This isn't one of his extremities.

"I went outside on Heero's orders. His last words were even "Meet you outside?". I was finished with setting the charges, so I left."

"How could the bombs go off in the first place? I hadn't given any command to you or to Heero to detonate the charges."

"I don't know," Duo repeats. "I had everything in my hands when I got outside. Everything's in my backpack, you can see it for yourself. I had programmed it but I hadn't entered a countdown or the activation code."

"It's... it's my fault," I try to interject, "short-circuit..."

"Don't talk nonsense. You're in shock," Wufei cuts me short. "We go to a hospital first. Do you need to be checked out, Duo? How far were you from the premises when the bombs went off?"

"Far enough. I'm fine. What's wrong with Heero?"

Finally he asks about me. Wufei speaks again, not allowing me to respond. "Broken arm, cracked ribs, blood loss, and shock. I'll take him to the Santa Maria Nueva, there's a doctor fully trusted by ESUN."

Great, they're talking about me if I'm not there. If I wasn't too tired to protest, I certainly would've said something. I hear Duo snort, especially when Wufei adds that he'll get a check up too.

"I don't need a check-up, I'm fine. I was outside, outside the gate, and nothing hurts, everything is just fine."

"Did..." I finally manage to work up enough strength to speak up, "... did you go back for me?"

He turns his head to me, and his voice sounds funny. "Why else do you think I arrived later than you? Fucking hell, Heero, of course I went back for you! Who else would I look for in the fucking pieces of rubble that was left after my charges went off?"

For some reason, his words hurt me harder than any explosion could ever do. It's clear that he's hurt as well; his disbelief of me doubting him is painfully obvious in his words, in the tone of his voice. Wufei concentrates on driving, pretending not to listen to what we say. I recline back into the passenger's seat, wanting nothing but to sleep. I look in the rear mirror, looking at Duo. He sits on the backseat, looking outside as if the landscape is fascinating him even though it's dark and there's nothing to see. I see a glitter in his eyes that I can't really describe -- it's something other than the usual adrenaline rush we all experience. His hands are folded in his lap, only visible in the faint light of the passing street lanterns. He's the epitome of calmness and distinguished, composed behavior; and with a glint in his eyes that's not usually his.

I don't recall much of the drive to the hospital. I don't think it was more than five, seven minutes at most... I vaguely recall people swarming around me, doctors, nurses, Wufei, Duo. They yelled at me, asking me questions where it hurt most, what happened, what I wanted for dinner. I'm not sure if that's what they really asked me, though... I guess blood loss does funny things to you. Maybe I imagined the empty terrain after the explosion as well, and was I just too far gone to notice the police officers and rescue workers.

"Heero... don't leave me, Heero..!" Duo's voice. God, how I want to lean back and bask in the glory of his voice. His words, his timbre, his voice... soothing, bathing, reassuring. The world has gone mad for thinking he could be someone else, for thinking he could be a killer. My Duo isn't any of the things other people are accusing him of -- there's only one thing that he most certainly is and that is he's mine. Mine, mine and mine again. I don't ever want to let him go. My vision starts to blur and I loll with my head, fighting to stay awake.

"Don't leave me... don't you fucking leave me!"

"Language," I want to admonish him, because we're in a public place though I don't mind if he swears in private. My voice has stopped working again and I don't think I could say anything by now. Someone drapes blankets around me, warm fuzzy blankets. I shiver, only noticing by now the cold. Red... black... coffee... tea... I just want to go home. To our tiny apartment with the colorful touches, to our bedroom with the large bed. Duo insisted on buying the largest bed we could find -- "We would need it", as he said, and he was right --, and we ended up buying a gigantic bed that occupies the most of the room. There's hardly any space left for a cupboard and a nightstand, but Duo doesn't mind. I don't either. We're not that often enough at home to get worked up about interior decoration. Besides, what do I know about interior decoration... my idea of 'decoration' is to put a samurai sword on the wall for aesthetic pleasure. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"It's okay. We're safe. You can let go now."

Let go? Am I holding something? "Wha..."

"It's okay." It's Duo, whispering in my ear. It's like a choir singing into my ear -- I'm not exaggerating. I've always loved Duo's voice, even if he raises it. The way Duo expresses himself with his voice has always fascinated me; I can tell his feelings sometimes better from the intonation in his voice than his body language. Even though he's very expressive with his body, he can keep his posture very strict and rigid, blocking it from being approached any further. His voice never lies. Never.

He brushes his lips past my cheek. "We're safe. It's okay."

Duo knows very well how I respond to his voice, and he doesn't fail this time as well. He's reassuring me, voice soothing, lulling me to sleep. I realize we're in a hospital, yet everything passes by me as if I'm not really there. My mind registers the people tugging at my clothing, prodding and poking at me, preparing me for the impending surgery. My arm... I can't feel my arm. I can't feel a thing but Duo's warm lips on my skin. Doesn't death have an ice cold kiss? Duo is life... alive. He made it out of the factory, and he's with me. He's brushing his lips against my skin, not really kissing me, but the touch is intimate and warm enough to let me know he's there, by my side. We're safe. Mission... complete? I don't care anymore. I want to sleep, and I try to bring up my other arm to caress his cheek, but I can't move. I can't move a thing. I just want to sleep.

"It's okay," he repeats, again and again. "You can let go now."

I trust him. I've always trusted my Duo. I know I can trust him. If he says it's okay, then it's okay, and I obediently close my eyes, leaning into his touch, absorbing his warmth. Life. Energy. It's okay.

When I wake up, I'm slightly disorientated; I stare at a light gray ceiling, a bright tube light shining into my face. I blink. Who in his right mind flips on such a bright light?

A certain scent, a familiar scent. Large, corn yellow pieces of fabric... curtains. The same corn yellow colored blankets on me. An IV tube... hospital, no doubt.

"Easy there," Wufei's voice flitters through the air. "It's okay. We're safe."

He uses the same words, because we're soldiers. We know that saying this reassures the other, to let him know that the situation is all right. No imminent threat, no impending danger. I part my lips, wanting to speak, but there's nothing that wants to come out. A wave of disappointment flows through me, seeing that's indeed Wufei who sits next to my bed, and that Duo's nowhere in sight.

Wufei nods before standing up and walking over to the small sink, tucked away in the corner of the room. I hear water running and subconsciously lick my lips. He returns a few seconds later, holding a paper cup in his hand. He holds it against my lips, tilting it slightly. One sip at a time, I know, and I use all my willpower to not guzzle the liquid down.

"You made it perfectly well through surgery," he opens the conversation, concentrating on administering me the water. "Duo stayed with you all the time, making sure nothing happened."

I look up at him, slight confusion visible until it dawns on me. I have this very high natural resistance to everything anesthetic, as well as regular medication. I'm not really sure if it's natural though, as I've never allowed any doctor to research it, or if it's something Doctor J.

"stimulated" in me. The training he gave me was incredibly strict and harsh, but I owe my life and survival to it. Hell, I would've died that the very instant when I self-destructed with my Wing Gundam if it weren't for my well-trained and enhanced body. I'm quite hesitant to say that my body has been 'enhanced' or 'altered' for any reason; still, J. had his reasons and ways in which he operated, and I never quite managed to fathom them. Falling into enemy hands and succumbing to the first drug or truth serum wouldn't do anyone any good. As a result, it leaves me with this bizarrely high resistance to medications, drugs or anesthetic; my system fights them off, and that's why I had so much trouble 'letting it go'. Duo sat through the whole surgery to make sure that I remained calm and quiet; otherwise I would've fought myself from under the narcosis.

"Where's Duo now?" My voice works, finally. I've almost emptied the cup, and I want more. My throat is burning and I lick my chafed lips. Wufei notices it and stand up, going back to the small sink again, movements deliberately slow, as if to earn some time. What's so difficult about the answer?

"Where is he?" Did they take him away from me? If so, heads are going to roll... friends or no friends, I will...

"I committed him to an extensive medical examination," Wufei answers after a minute. "I think he was in shock after the explosion."

"He behaved pretty normal to me," I bite back, feeling an ancient old irritation well up in me.

Wufei turns around so brusquely that water spills from the cup he's holding in his hand. "Heero! Please don't tell me you've forgotten about everything that happened!"

"How can I forget?" My right arm feels like it's as heavy as a ton of lead, the thick white cast rather hard to miss. My whole body aches, and with that slight raise in my voice my lungs act up again, my ribs hurt, I want to sleep for another millennia and Wufei still acts as if Duo's the God of D.. no, the devil in disguise.

"What kind of extensive medical examination are we talking about?"

He heaves a sigh. "Heero, take it easy, please. There's nothing to get all worked up about. I know that Duo seemed uninjured at first sight, but you never know. Your clothes have virtually the same density and specifications as light-weight armor; he could be sporting any wounds under it. Seeing the strange circumstances in which he suddenly showed up at the car, I thought it was for the better if he had at least some medical examination. Strange things could be going on in a man's head after such..."

"What the hell is it that you want, Chang?" I suddenly realize that I haven't proofed my surroundings, that my soldier instincts failed at taking in their surroundings. He told me that everything was safe, but I haven't even convinced myself if it was really safe. For all I know, there could be someone else in the room, as the curtain is closed. Blowing up at Wufei isn't the smartest thing to do, especially when in a hospital, and with a throat that feels like it's been treated with a sawdust machine.

Chang Wufei doesn't get mad. He doesn't 'do' mad. Pissed off maybe, but not mad. From the way he's frowning and slamming the precious cup of water down on the sink, I can tell he's pretty pissed by now. He turns around, facing me, ebony eyes drilling into mine.

"Do you think I do this for fun, Yuy? That I enjoy squirming around those whom I consider my friends, twisting with words, fighting against prejudice and condemnation? Do you really think I enjoy seeing the suffering of those I hold in high regard?"

"You've already condemned us," I fling back at him. "You didn't say one word, one word in Duo's defense when we talked about that whole Shinigami debacle in front of Une!"

"Damn it, Yuy!" Wufei takes a step forward, and for a second the possibility that he's physically going to assault me crosses my mind. "I could do nothing but listen to her, nothing but agree with her at that very point! I'm protecting the both of you, can't you see? If I'd disagreed with her, I would've been taken off this case, or sent away on paid leave. I want to be close to the source, Heero, and if I was to leave the ESUN for fighting too hard against them, I never could've kept this close an eye on them."

I never heard so many words coming from Chang Wufei in such a short amount of time, and the only reaction that comes up in me is to blink with my eyes, rapidly.

"You... protect us? From what?" I know it's a stupid question even before I finish asking it, and judging from his words, I can already guess the answer.

Wufei leans a bit back and picks up the cup again, refills it and walks back to me. His face is eerily calm and composed after his short outburst, and he hands me the cup. I can move my left arm, be it very slowly and awkwardly.

"Officially, we're non-existent. Officially, there's no need and no reason for a department with agents like us. Truth is, that Earth or the colonies would've gone under long before now if it weren't for us, the agents who put their lives on the line to keep up the peace, to guarantee the peace, to keep others from fighting, making mistakes, waging wars again." He sighs, looking at me straight in the eye.

"Une's the head of our department, and the knowledge about this department is restricted, and I'm frankly of the opinion that even one more person knowing about it, is one person too many. Still, there are more operating behind the scenes; there has to be a budget coming from somewhere, there has to be responsibility to be taken and given. In short, people from up high have started asking questions ever since there was a certain pattern was detected from the aftermath of your missions."

"Only from our missions?" I ask, listening intently to him.

Wufei nods, tilting the cup a little more, so I can take another sip. Cool, refreshing water.

"Primarily your missions. The death of the security guard in Eastbourne really was the straw that broke the camel's back. Ever since then, I've been keeping track of any deaths and killings involving cutting weapons, especially large cutting weapons. I concentrated myself on your mission details, and searched and hunted for information from years prior. I've been digging myself into libraries, I've spoken to witnesses -- none from at the actual killings, unfortunately --, and bought information, anything that could help me find this killer. I don't want this killer to be Duo any more than you want it, Heero."

I swallow the last gulp of the water, my mind processing the information. "Why the protection? Why did no one told me this... why wasn't I informed, just why?"

Wufei looks around and spots his plastic chair, pulling it towards him before he sits down. "Nobody believed it at first. No one thought about Duo at first, until we identified the weapon. Originally, ESUN was going to issue missions to each and any of us to find the killer, at all costs. People, never mind them being criminals or on the blacklist seeing what they were involved in, don't deserve to die in this way. ESUN has always been very reluctant in issuing missions wherein the target has to be killed. Only if there really isn't any other way, ESUN will decide to give the execution order."

"I know," I say, resting my left arm on the covers of the bed. The IV is bugging me, but I leave it in, for now. "We wouldn't be any better if we just went around killing everyone who's involved in dirty business, and every criminal has a right to a fair trial, no matter how frustrating it sometimes is."

"No details from the kills ever matched up to any existing ones from psychopaths, serial murderers, opportunity killers... we just didn't understand, and the choice of weapon baffled us for a long time."

"Who is 'us'?" I ask, too late to catch the irritated suspicion in my voice.

"Me and the team who worked on it," Wufei answers. "All selected professionals, and our team has disbanded ever since we determined the murder weapon. They all think they've been working on a test case. Every piece of information has been carefully classified, Heero. No one can ever connect the results of our work to Duo or anyone of us in particular. We used one of your coding scripts."

"Fine," I mumble, leaning back in the massed amount of pillows, feeling strangely flattered. He looks at me with his examining eyes, trying to determine my mood. For all that it's worth, and for all that it matters that he calls us our friends, Wufei isn't exactly close to us. He's always been a loner, and we've respected that, but that also means that we're not going to be buddy-buddy even in the most stressful situation. We've been in a war together, you can't get a situation more stressful than that.

He continues, after a few seconds of silence. "I had -- and still have to -- report my findings to Une, and so I did. Trust me Heero, Duo wasn't the first one she thought of when she read through my report and noticed the word 'scythe'. It's been a process, a process of months, years... until the net started to close itself."

"It just can't be," I shake my head. "Duo can account for everything; where he was, what he did. You have his mission reports. I admit that the Eastbourne mission still doesn't feel right to me, but that's the only thing that I can think of."

"It's not about your missions, but more the aftermath," Wufei objects. "The people in Prague, the guard in Eastbourne. Lots of people you've arrested have ended up dead, and the reason why Masterson's still alive, is probably because of his public exposure."

"The man won charm points even after he's been exposed." I shake my head again, and it's making me feel dizzy. I lean back some more in the pillows; I just can't accept it.

"Why did no one ever ask Duo about this? Or me, only years after?"

"People with Disassociative Identity Disorder are most often not aware of their other personality, Heero. Do you volunteer to walk up to Duo and say "Hey Duo, can I talk to the other one in your head?" I don't think so."

"Don't mock him," I bark.

"I'm not," Wufei shoots back. "I have respect for him, and I don't like what's going on any more than you. If anything, I also want to prove he has nothing to do with it. That's why I'm working on the case and that's why I'm protecting you both. Une wanted to apprehend Duo immediately after another kill."

When I don't answer, he continues. "She knew she'd lose two extremely good agents if she chose that direction, so she left it to me to solve it, so to speak. Because of our past and because of what we survived together."

"This isn't the time for friendship talk," I say dryly. "You chose to be on the sidelines."

"And that's why I can keep a rather objective perspective. You're in love with Duo, and it's quite normal that you're blind to any of his changes. I mentioned how his tone changed in the vid-mails in the course of the years. Quatre and Trowa have reported the same trend to me, and also observed that Duo has become quite different, more fickle in his behavior."

"Duo has always been fickle," I point out. He's starting to bore me. Bore me and irritate me. I don't want to hear the nonsense he's spouting, the lies he's been telling. I don't want to hear him confirm the things I noticed myself, but shoved away under a thick layer of mental rationalization.

"There's a difference between being indecisive, fickle or downright swinging from the left to the right," Wufei answers, and he leans a little to the side, picking up a dark leather bag. For a moment I think he has brought my laptop, but I notice it's his own as soon as he takes it out of the bag. "In short, Duo's becoming more unbalanced, and you're the only one who doesn't want to see it, or just doesn't see it in general. Nobody blames you, Heero. Quatre and Trowa were very reluctant to add their thoughts; they figured that Duo's behavior was a bit off, but not... eh, 'off' enough to really see him in any different light."

"Good for them," I huff, and I'd love to cross my arms in an even more non-verbal gesture, but it's hard to move my right arm with the gigantic cast.

Wufei boots up the laptop, fingers clicking at the keys. "I have written down the basic information on Disassociative Identity Disorder, and summarized..."

"DID is inherent to a very grave and radical event in a person's life, when at that time the second, or even third or fourth, other personality is created by the person in question. We all experienced such events in our lives, and we didn't create other personalities."

"Trauma does different things to different persons," Wufei softly says, something shimmering in his eyes. It's not sadness, it's remembrance. The only thing I can think of is the self-destruction of his colony, with him being the one and only survivor.

"I allowed hate and my thirst for justice and revenge to fuel me," he continues, "to continue fighting. I didn't understand how hard I was fighting against myself, and how I needed others so not to fall into the abyss because of the same mistakes and faults I loathed in any of my opponents. If I were susceptible, or let's say instead, if my mind were susceptible and open, I could well have created another personality myself. It's all a state of mind.. I could've put all that hate and vengeance into another personality. It's also a method of survival, Heero. The other personality is used to distance oneself from the traumatic event."

"A method of survival?" My fingers clutch at the blankets. This Santa Maria Nuova hospital is so very different from the bland, gray Prague hospital, where Duo was brought after having received that shot wound in his shoulder. The corn yellow colors of the blankets, the curtains and the walls are almost hurting my eyes. It breathes an air of comfort, nonetheless; it makes me want to feel relaxed and to get some sleep, if it weren't for Wufei's ominous words.

"Everyone deals differently with what life tosses at him or her. Put four people into one and the same situation and you'll find them all reacting differently. DID is a common tactic for people dealing with traumatic events and it can be treated with medication and counseling."

I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. To laugh at the idea of Duo visiting a psychiatrist or a counselor and taking medication, or to cry at what Wufei thinks is a handy-dandy solution to a problem, as anyone would solve a math problem: Duo + strange behavior = DPD.

"But why... why do you think of Shinigami? I thought you didn't believe in superstition. What makes you think Duo would develop Shinigami as a second personality?"

Duo saw a church burn down in front of his eyes, his second family being killed by the Alliance, the people he cared for and loved being killed at the hand of Mobile Suits and soldiers. That's all that I know and it's too little.

"A god of Death is present in every mythology and every religion, Heero. Where's there life, there's death, and often it represents a change, a transition, another road to be taken, instead of the unavoidable end. Shinigami is nothing but a name, a denotation of a being, mythological or not. Like you've said yourself, Duo associated himself with that being at an impressionable age, under drastic circumstances like the ongoing war, and his fascination with what he calls Shinigami has transcended into something that has consumed his personality. He can't clearly project his own beliefs and opinions anymore, can't see through the fog that this alternate character has clouded his mind with, because he just can't distinguish anymore. We all know that Shinigami was a vast part of him during the war."

"He was fifteen and I object to that 'impressionable age' thing you just said. Duo isn't the one to be affected over something that easily. Maybe he has a little morbid fascination with the God of Death, but Trowa was obsessed with knives and I with self-destruction, remember?"

A small smile cracks Wufei's lips, but he quickly covers it. "You don't know what Duo's been through in his younger years. We were all around fifteen when we met -- do you know what happened to him in his earlier, fourteen years?"

Only the church, as far as traumatic events go, and once again I'm left baffled. Duo talks so much, his voice singing to me, he talks and talks and I still don't know a thing about him. Aren't his words holding any substance, or am I just not listening well enough?

"Seeing the grave nature of his... second personality," he continues, hesitantly, "Une wants him under some sort of special custody until we find out what really is going on. Of course, Duo has every right to speak for himself and every right to defend himself."

"Oh, has he?" I don't bother keeping the sarcasm out of my voice. "You haven't asked him one single thing, Wufei. For all the objectivity you claim to have, you're pretty damn determined to pump him full of medication and deliver him to the very first shrink you see."

He bows his head a little, not to me, but to look at the small computer screen in front of him. "I want the best for everyone involved, and if that involves Duo taking medication and talking to a professional counselor to keep these horrible killings from happening, then so be it. Once again, I'm not enjoying this, Heero. I've been on your side, on both your sides, from the beginning. If the case were in any other's hands but mine, neither you nor Duo would be walking around freely now."

"I don't take kindly to threats," I say. I move my head, focusing my eyes on him. "I really thought you were my friend, our friend, but I guess I was wrong."

He doesn't answer that, as a soft sound distracts us both. Wufei puts his hand in his pocket and retrieves a small buzzer. "I have to call headquarters," he announces after reading the code. I grumble. He can take his precious headquarters to a place where the sun doesn't shine for a few millennia to come. Wufei rises, picking up his jacket from the chair and flinging it over his shoulder.

"I'll leave this here," he says, pointing at the laptop before moving the mobile table to me, so I can look at it without much difficulty. "Information on DID and my report on... the progress of the case. I also have a world map..."-- he taps with his fingers on the keyboard, pulling up an impressive world map, covered with black dots -- "I've systematically entered the data about the killings, and the black dots represent the victims."

My curiosity gets the better of me and I turn my head a little. The world map focuses mostly on Europe, as Wufei has set the zoom factor rather high. The black dots overlap each other, forming a dark blob. Czech Republic, England<, our missions in other countries all over Europe.

"I'll see you shortly, Heero," Wufei tells me, but I don't hear him. My eyes are fixed on the black dots, the blobs on the world map. They're not blobs, they're more like... clouds. Dark clouds. Storm clouds. Storm clouds over Europe. I want to throw up.

I wake up, feeling a weight on my left hand. My mind recoils in horror, asking itself in the few seconds of disorientation if my hand has been injured as well -- the IV? Before I realize it, I groan, rather loudly. My ribs hurt and the few hours of sleep I had -- how many? -- haven't made the large cast magically disappear.

Opening my eyes, I spot Duo lying with his head on my hand. It must be an incredibly uncomfortable position; he's half-sitting half on the hard plastic chair, and also leaning half with his upper body on my bed, with his head on my hand. The large chestnut tresses pool over the corn flower blanket, catching a little sunlight from what's been filtered through the thick curtain. He's breathing, face a little scrunched up, and looks absolutely relaxed. He's so... perfect when he sleeps, as if nothing is bothering him. His lips are parted and I long to kiss them, to capture them with my lips, to taste him and whisper against them how he's mine.

I decide to not wake him up and instead feel content with merely watching him. His right hand lies on the covers, probably slipped from my arm, and his other hand must be dangling between bed and chair, I can't see it from here.

It must be pretty early; there's no clock visible in the room and the curtain is blocking my view from the window, so I can't determine the time from the sun. I shift a little, stifling a yawn. Maybe it's for the best to doze off again, getting as much rest as possible. This cast on my arm isn't going to keep me from any work if I can help it. I don't fancy desk work, especially when Duo's still active in the field. Come to think of it... will they allow him to be an active agent? Wasn't this a test case... the mission? I have to ask Wufei when I see him; he said he would be seeing me soon, and we still have to have that heart-to-heart talk... even though we cleared a lot already yesterday. Was it yesterday?

"I can hear you think, you now."

"One Eurocent for what I'm thinking?" I quip.

He doesn't move, still lying with his head on my hand, smiling at me. "'What time is it?' 'How soon can I leave here?' 'Duo lies in an uncomfortable position.'"

"You should market yourself as a psychic."

"I just know you."

And do I know you? Wufei's laptop is on my left, the world map with the black dots prominently open in the window. I suck in my breath -- did he read it? Did Duo take a look at the laptop when he entered the room? Why didn't I shut it down after Wufei left? I wasn't about to read his summary on the DID thing at all...

"How are you feeling?" He asks, moving his head up and rubbing at his cheek. He turns his head towards me, and his braid slips from his shoulder. There's a black scarf woven into it. Is this Duo or Shinigami? I shiver. No, not again. Wufei isn't going to make me doubt, just as Une has done before. The mission's over now -- with this broken arm I've a right to sick leave, and I will use every minute of free time to put an end to this situation.

"It could be worse," I say, keeping my voice fairly neutral. I refuse to see him with different eyes; he's still my Duo, and no matter how much others think he might've changed, he's still my Duo, and no one, not even Shinigami, can come between us. "I hate being in a hospital."

He pats my hand and smiles. "You don't have to stay here long. They want to keep you a few nights for observation, but that's all. You haven't broken anything but your arm, and your ribs are cracked -- they'll need some time to heal."

I nod, looking at him, searching for anything out of place. Stop it, I tell myself. Duo looks content somehow, like a cat who just had a bowl of cream.

"I'm so glad you're safe. I couldn't find you... I was so afraid..." He shifts closer to me, fingers traipsing over my left arm with the IV. His eyes seem to ask me for permission, as if he's some kind of stranger; some minutes have passed and he still hasn't kissed me.

"I thought the same about you," I answer, meeting his gaze. "The office was in shambles, but I could make my way out of there. I was worried that you died..."

Duo smiles, warmly and charmingly. "I was already safe and sound outside... nothing to worry about."

"What made the explosions go off?"

The expression in his eyes changes rapidly from searching into irritation, and he narrows them to boot, all in a flash of a mere second. "I'd set the charges according to our mission details. I don't know why they went off prematurely, but if the short-circuiting is true, it could've sparked the ignition, literally. There were open cans of Mobile Suit fuel, and if the electronics were set off and blew them sky high, the amount of fuel was enough to take the factory with it -- and with the fuel exploding, it took the rest of the explosives with it."

"The light in Benedetti's office was on," I say.

He shrugs. "Maybe the cleaner left it on, or Benedetti simply forgot to turn it off."

"We cut the power to the alarm system."

"Alarm systems are often connected to a separate circuit from the regular power," Duo says, shrugging again. His eyes are violet, slightly darker tinted, but not that dark enough. Besides, he doesn't change personality with his eyes; he's not some kind of... freak, damn it. "What is it, Heero? Do you doubt my assessment of the mission?"

Again with the quick defense. "I'm not attacking you," I voice out loud. "If anything, I'm the one responsible for the explosion. I was working in Benedetti's office when the desk lamp short-circuited. It could be coincidence, or it could be because I was overcharging the system when plugging my own laptop in to hack his computer."

"Did you find any important data?"

"Nothing that was worth it."

"The factory was to be blown up anyway."

"Yes, with us at a very, very safe distance."

"Heero, we've been through worse."

"I thought you were dead."

"Heero..." Duo moves his hand to my face, and strokes my cheek. His touch is... lukewarm at most. "The line went dead. I yelled and screamed, but I didn't get any response. The same went through my head; I was so worried about you. The building exploded right in front of my eyes, for a moment... I thought I lost everything again."

Finally, his warm lips on mine. Yes, they're warm, still as warm as I remember them. I part my lips, wanting to taste everything, needing his kiss, craving his attention. I want to wrap my arms around him, but I can't reach higher than his shoulder with my left arm. He smiles against my lips.

"Take it easy..." He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss. "I love you..."

"I love you too," I respond, whispering against his lips, sighing into the kiss. How I missed his touch, how I missed his attention. "I was so afraid..."

I don't show this much vulnerability to anyone except for Duo. He knows he holds my heart, he knows he's in control of my mind. I'm blinded; I admit it, by him. I can't fight it. He's the one I would die for -- literally, he's the one I'd do anything for. So be it... I don't rely on facts and figures when it comes to my Duo, I rely on my heart and mind -- but my heart only cares for Duo, and my mind has been clouded... poisoned... overtaken by the man who's kissing me now, prying with his tongue at my lips.

I take great pride in being rational. I depend on my analytical mind during a mission. Because of the speed with which my mind processes information and situations, I've saved my own life and many others. I've always been able to keep that professional distance, that analyzing, objective distance. Not when it comes to Duo. I could do it -- sure, I could approach him with the same distance. That's not love, and love is something I certainly feel for him. It took me precious years to admit it, precious years to find myself and figure out what it was what I was feeling -- about him, about myself. Ever since we're together, ever since the night I made him mine, I knew -- and still know -- that I'd love him, come heaven or hell, come Death or come Life. I don't need a bouquet of roses, I don't need poems or epistles of love, I don't need candy hearts. I only need Duo.

"Will you always love me?" He whispers, before slipping his tongue into my mouth. I can do nothing but nod, parting my lips even further. His fingers press against my cheek, cupping my face -- his touch feels warmer, and I lean into it. God, how I want to ravage him silly, how I want to throw him on the bed and make him scream my name out loud, preferably more than once.

My left arm is more cooperative today and I wrap it around his shoulder, my fingers clenching at his black shirt. Closer, much closer. I want all of him. He wraps his other arm around my shoulders, mimicking the embrace, but he holds me too tight and I gasp. Stupid ribs!

Duo loosens his embrace immediately, but his lips don't leave mine, and I put some more pressure into the kiss. I can smell the scent of his hair as some of his bangs slide over my other cheek; the heavenly scent of sunshine and cinnamon -- how he manages to get that scent, I don't care, but I love it.

Suddenly his body stiffens and he breaks up the kiss. Before I can protest, he takes a step to the side, breaking up the embrace as well. I certainly didn't hear the nurse entering the room. She holds a tray with my breakfast and frowns a little when seeing the movable table already occupied by a laptop. I don't even wonder that the battery is empty; Wufei probably has put one in with atom power or something.

"Let me get that for you," Duo offers, and has lifted up the laptop to place it on the chair in no time; the nurse throws him a thankful look and puts the tray on the movable table, pushing it into my direction. If Duo hasn't seen the information on the screen before, he now has seen it. The black dots on the world map are like an eyesore; sticking out and piquing interest. I see his eyes lingering on it for a few seconds, before he straightens himself and smiles at the nurse.

"Thank you," her pretty voice reaches my ears and she turns around to leave the room. I lift up the cover of the tray; nothing really that much edible, I guess. A few sandwiches, something that passes for cereals, a glass of milk, fruit. I reach automatically for the orange, but Duo is faster.

"You can't peel that," he says, winking at me. He picks up the blunt knife from the tray and cuts into the thick peel of the fruit. "Eat something else first. I'll be finished in a minute."

I don't feel particularly hungry, so I just leave my hands where they are; my left hand on the covers, the right one hanging from the cast.

"You've been examined as well? Nothing wrong?"

Duo makes a noncommittal sound, almost blowing some of his bangs out of his face. "I don't know what's wrong with Wufei, but he insisted on having me checked from top to bottom, so I gave in. It wasn't that much of a bother, though. I now have a very clean bill of health."

Grinning, he starts cutting into the orange, again wielding the blunt knife as if it's no trouble at all; the peel comes off rapidly.

"I also talked to someone who was apparently some kind of crisis expert. He kept on yakking on how difficult it was to have been through traumatic events and he wanted to know how I would hypothetically react to certain situations he explained to me."

"What kind of situations?" I ask, feeling my stomach turning around. Goddamnit Wufei! Duo's eyes darken a little. "Losing a partner. Losing a friend. Being assaulted. Becoming disabled. Watching an explosion."

Duo and psychiatrists don't mix. I mentioned our evaluations before; the people who talk with us during those evaluations are always doctors in some kind of psychology field, so as to assess if we're really fit for the job and if we can still do our work. The mind is a powerful tool... acting with you, or against you. I don't particularly care for those evaluations, but I guess you can discover some personal traits in it. I know mine have been very consistent, but Une claimed Duo's to be very... different. Duo doesn't pose himself to be any different to a psychologist, but I think he sometimes likes to mess with his evaluator a little. I don't know how much of Duo is to be found back in those reports; those are all evaluations from that moment, not from a whole period of time.

"What an idiot," I mutter, not really knowing if I'm referring to the doctor or to Wufei. Duo shrugs again, flicking the braid again over his shoulder and finishes peeling the orange.

"Here you are. Vitamin C in a nice package. Eat it all."

"Thank you." I accept the peeled fruit and start eating. I'm not really hungry, and I never eat much in the morning. Duo's already opening the pre-packaged sandwich, and I let him be.

"So, what did you say to the expert?"

He doesn't look at me, occupying himself with opening the package. "Heero, you know that I love you, right?"

I'm not really sure if he's joking or serious; his voice is too neutral to clearly distinguish. He can turn something into a joke really quick really fast, and then I never know what he was originally intending.

"Of course I do. And I..."

"No matter what happens," he interrupts me, smiling. "I just realize I don't say it often enough."

"You don't have to say it to me," I answer, "I already know and I see it in everything you do.."

"That's sweet of you," Duo grins, and he opens the package, taking out the sandwich. "It crossed my mind this morning. That I've never said it enough, while it's so important."

"You're always next to me and being with me is more important than how many times you say it, Duo."

"I think it's the key to everything. Love, you know? The key to a good relationship. The key to better understanding. I think people don't love enough... if they did, we didn't have any need for wars or rebellions. If they did, there wouldn't be any thirst for power and domination."

"Even the greatest dictators had someone they loved, Duo." I'm not really sure what he wants, or what he's intending with his words. "I'm sure that a lot of problems would be solved if people just loved more, or just talked more... you can take away a lot of prejudice and misunderstandings if people just talked."

"What good will it do," he throws back at me, "when the urge to fight and kill is so innate to humankind that it can't be taken away with all the love and understanding in the world?"

"Like Pandora's box," I answer, "there's always hope left."

"Left on the bottom of the stink pile," Duo retorts and takes a bite from the sandwich. I'm without an answer, so I put another piece of orange into my mouth.

We don't get another opportunity to continue the conversation, as Wufei enters the room, slightly surprised to see Duo, but quick enough to cover it up. He greets us and asks how we're doing.

"I've had a good night," I answer truthfully. "I feel better rested, and I can do without the IV."

Wufei grimaces. "Doctor Catenacci will make his round soon enough, so you can ask him, all right? Leave it to him to decide whether you need the IV or not. What about you, Duo?"

"I've been examined enough," Duo answers, turning around to face him. The black scarf in his braid is something that Wufei surely will notice, and now he's turned around, I can see how far the piece of cloth reaches; down to his knees.

Wufei nods, expressing his appreciation for Duo's cooperation. "It looks like we've come out of this rather unscathed, except for Heero's broken arm. You'll need surgery to remove the pins they had to nail into you to get the bones back together again."

"Hopefully not for a while," I state blankly. He approaches my bed.

"No, not for another six to eight weeks. It was a very complicated fracture."

"Explosions will do that to you," I say without a trace of humor and I catch his sideward glance to his laptop. The map is still plain in sight, and I know he's just dying to ask me if Duo has seen it or not. He keeps his face neutral, looking back at Duo who starts eating the second sandwich.

"Any news?" I ask, to break the rather uncomfortable silence.

"No one will think of rebuilding Gundams or Mobile Suits for a while thanks to the leveling of Benedetti's factory. We've given off a clear signal to criminal syndicates and opportunists in the world that there's still a watchful eye out and that such abominations won't ever be tolerated again. We don't need any more of this threat to bring injustice to this world."

He moves towards the laptop, casually. We can't discuss it now Duo is present, and I stare unmoved at Wufei. No doubt, ever. I have entrusted my life so many times to Duo, and he's never let me down. A good soldier is only as good as his backup; and Duo has proven more than once, more than anything, that I can count on him. I'll solve this on my own. I don't need Wufei to give me all this crap about disassociative personalities.

He decides to drop his little bomb. "Benedetti has disappeared."

His eyes immediately flash to Duo, who stands at the movable table, plundering my breakfast tray. He's eating the cereal, sticking the spoon into the cup. I remain silent, what's there to say anyway?

Duo eats a spoonful of the cereal, not even looking up. "Well, he can't fulfill his orders from his international customers now, and he's sought after by us and probably every other law organization. If I were him, I'd keep a low profile myself for quite some while. If he's really smart, he's already cashed some of the prepayments of the orders, so he has some money to keep his profile low."

It almost seems to amuse him, while he eats another spoonful. It's a perfectly logical explanation to me, and I want to meet Wufei's gaze, I want to see what he thinks. I want to prove him wrong so badly.

"It could be a possibility," Wufei answers, but he doesn't sound like he's convinced. "That Adalberto guy has been arrested for his involvement in it all, and maybe he knows where his boss might run off to."

"Maybe. He seemed pretty loyal to me."

"We'll see how loyal he is when I'm through with him."

Duo smiles while he eats, and he puts down the spoon. "It's been a while since I interrogated someone. Why don't you leave him to me?"

It takes a few seconds for Wufei to register Duo's offer. "Very well. If you really want to... have you finished with my laptop?" He abruptly asks me.

"I haven't read it all," I answer, "it wasn't that interesting."

Wufei scowls at me, taking up his laptop and slamming it shut. He picks up the bag and shoves it inside, as if an angry bee has stung him. I look up at Duo, who just takes a bite out of the apple, the last item on my breakfast tray. I don't mind. Wasting food is a sin anyway.

"Do you want a ride? I can... excuse me." Wufei pulls out his buzzer again, reading the display. He clicks it off, and turns around, facing the both of us. "That was a code 785-11."

"Homicide pertaining to the mission," Duo answers without skipping a beat. "Who was it?"

"I have to make a phone call," Wufei tells him, posture stiffened. "I'll be back soon." He leaves the room, no, he stalks out of the room, carrying the laptop.

"See? Paranoid." Duo throws the core of the apple into the waste bin. I feel rather useless, lying in bed, and I want to be freed from the itching IV. As soon as that doctor visits me, I'll ask him... tell him to remove the stupid thing.

"Since when do you want to do some interrogating? You hardly concern yourself with the arrested suspects."

"I just feel like it. Since my active partner is confined to the bed and has to rest for quite some time to come, I better get used to an office job."

I snort. "I'm not going to lie down for eight weeks."

He ruffles my hair. "It would be better for you. You've been working so hard lately. Mission after mission after mission. A break wouldn't hurt you, you know."

"You don't take a break either," I point out.

"No, because I don't allow you to go on missions with anyone else but me."

I shiver a little from the possessiveness seeping through his words and I'm about to revel in it when Wufei reenters the room.

"And?" Duo asks, tugging a little at my hair before letting go.

"Benedetti has been found," Wufei confirms. "At least, what they think is Benedetti. He was literally sliced and diced. They have to puzzle his face together before they really know it's him."

I think the orange is working its way up again, and quickly I focus on something else; the corn yellow curtain will do. I count the pleats in the fabric as my mind processes the mental image. Again. Again, a death after our mission... but Duo is standing right in front of me, he's not even turning pale. It just can't be. He was in the hospital all day yesterday, being examined... it couldn't be, it just can't be!

"That's laughable," Duo comments dryly. "We live in a DNA age, Wufei. Have them send some blood over to one of our labs; they'll know if it's Benedetti within fifteen minutes. No need for such drama."

"I think it's pretty dramatic how he's been found," Wufei slowly answers, gauging Duo's reactions. "We've seen our portion of dead people during the war days and in our line of work, but don't you think this is a bit too extreme?"

"Overdone, even," Duo merely shrugs. "A bullet would've done perfectly as well, or a simple stab through the heart. Benedetti has lots of enemies and his big mouth certainly contributed to the speed with which he was making enemies."

"Don't you think that..." Wufei starts, but the door to my room opens and doctor Catenatti walks in, clearly surprised to see two people standing next to my bed.

"Che cosa sta accendendo dentro qui?Il paziente ha bisogno del resto, e siete qui fuori delle ore di visita!"

"Scusilo, signore medico..." Hearing Wufei speak Italian is quite funny, and he's looking for something, searching in his pockets. Duo turns around to face the doctor, and smiles at him.

"E tutto il di destra. Abbiamo permesso."

The doctor looks a bit mistrusting, until Wufei presses his identification card into his hand. At least, I guess it's some kind of impressive identification card, because the doctor returns it almost the next second, mumbling something akin to apologies. It irks me, knowing that Wufei has some 'magical' document that allows him to do his bidding and get away with virtually everything -- I hadn't realized it was outside of visiting hours. It only confirms my opinion that Wufei has really a higher level than us or has some special privileges, and I never would've held him for someone who made use of special cards or privileges to get his job done.

Catenatti approaches me, and asks me questions about how I feel. Duo translates for me so we don't have any misunderstandings, and he even asks for me if I can do without the IV. The doctor hesitates slightly, and tells me it would be better if I leave it in for another day. If I feel even better tomorrow, I can leave the hospital after a final check-up. Duo thanks the man profusely and makes some small talk before the doctor finally leaves.

"It's a good thing you have such a knack for languages," Wufei compliments Duo when the doctor is gone. "I usually don't pick up more than 'thank you', 'excuse me' and 'please'."

"It's not that difficult, really, it's just a matter of picking up some kind of pattern," Duo answers, "as soon as I figure out the pattern, I have a grip on the language."

"Convenient." Wufei picks up his laptop again, and bows slightly to the both of us. Duo cuts him short before he can say his goodbyes.

"About the medical examination -- do I get to see the results?"

He looks a bit incredulously at Duo. "They go into your personnel file, but sure, you have every right to see the result. I'm sure they'll be fine, though, as you weren't injured."

Duo frowns a little, but refrains from commenting. Wufei turns towards me, and says: "We'll be in touch concerning this case, and I hope you'll be fully recovered soon."

"Thank you," I answer. "Catenatti said I could leave tomorrow if I feel better, so I take it I'm only in here for another night."

"Excellent. Make use of the standard free time the ESUN grants you after work-related injuries. I think you'll have no problem in finding something to occupy yourself with."

"With this arm I doubt I can be of any use but for programming. Do you want me to design new tools?"

"I'm always interested," Wufei says and he grins slightly. From our group, I'm the best when it comes to programming, and every one of us still uses my programs; we're not exactly talking about common software here.

Carrying the laptop, he says goodbye to Duo and walks over to the door.

"Have fun with my psych evaluation, Wufei," Duo calls after him. He stands still at the door, taking his sweet time to turn around.

"You know that's confidential between doctor and patient, and certain restricted ESUN-related personnel."

"That's what I said," Duo says, deadpan. "Have fun with it, Wufei."

"It's not for my eyes, Duo," Wufei retorts, his voice as neutral as always. "I don't know why you think I have access to your personnel file or evaluation reports."

"It's all right." Duo moves away from the foot of my bed, turning his back to Wufei rather brusquely. "You know, Heero, for every little thing that's supposed to make me American, I've never tried a pizza in the land where they come from! Tell you what, tomorrow night I'll take you out to that nice little restaurant I saw..."

I'm sure Wufei will be offended by the way he's being dismissed, but he's not in the top-five of my priorities list right now. Not even in the top-ten... I look at Duo's gorgeous large violet and cobalt eyes and drown again. I'll promise him the end of the world if he asks that of me. The logical and rational part of my mind shuts down as he nuzzles my neck, pressing his lips against my skin. Maybe I forgot. Maybe I forget too soon. Maybe he's manipulating me. At this moment, I don't care. He takes my pain away, literally, and replaces it with his warmth and his compassion, only destined for me. His eyes, his hair, his lips, his fingers, his hands... they all belong to me, his complete body, his soul, everything belongs to me -- just as everything of me belongs to him.

He owns me. And still, at that very moment, I realize that I have nothing under control. He tastes like chaos, destruction and despair, but his lips, dear Gods, his lips... they are warm and full of life and they capture mine, breathe life into me, confirm me in my every being, tell me that he's mine and that I'm his.

Duo is true to his word, and picks me up from the hospital, as usual dressed in black. This very morning my IV is taken away by the same nurse as yesterday, and after another check-up by Catenatti I'm pronounced 'safe' enough to leave the hospital. I accept the prescription for pain killers he gives me, if only to get rid of the man. Duo, who constantly hovers over me, acts as translator again and asks for fun if I'm allowed to eat pizza. This launches a very livid discussion about the best pizza place in Florence, while I only want to leave, leave! I hate hospitals, and I hate being dependent, even if it is Duo who's going to help me the next few weeks. The broken arm renders me helpless. I can't even get my shirt on.

"Have some patience, dear," Duo laughs and helps me get into the shirt. "If you move your arm like that, you're going to rip the fabric."

I grumble in response, not really charmed. If this is his idea of revenge after all the babying I give him whenever he has an injury, then... well, I guess I have been served ice-cold. There's nothing cooing in Duo's voice, and after he sees the doctor out after promising to follow up on his advice on pizza restaurants, he returns to me to help me finish with dressing.

He picks up my shoes and shoves them on my feet. I feel much better without the IV, though the remaining painkillers will soon wear off. I'm not sure if I want to get that prescription; a little pain has never killed me. My ribs still hurt, a dull, continuous ache, and it irritates me.

"What?" I realise he's been talking to me without me paying attention.

"I said that I was really hungry and could go for a pizza now." He straightens himself and pinches me in the cheek. "What's the matter, Heero? Am I not interesting enough for you anymore? You're so awfully distant and silent lately. What are you brooding about?"

I gape at him, almost feeling in shock about his casual questions. I've been spending so much time thinking about Duo and his behaviour that it never crossed my mind that he was thinking about me and my behaviour as well. That's it, tonight at dinner I'll tell him everything -- the accusations, about Wufei's attitude, the murders and how they're connected to our missions, the scythe thing.

He cocks his head, looking at me, awaiting an answer. "Well?"

"Let's get out of here," I say. "We go eat a pizza and we talk." I slide off the bed and he grabs my arm, a slightly bewildered expression in his eyes.

"Heero?"

I quickly peck him on the cheek. "I'm sorry, Duo. I didn't mean to upset you. There's something we need to talk about, and it pertains a little to our relationship -- but nothing drastic."

"Heero," he says again, tightening his grip on my arm. "Tell me now."

"I love you," I try to assure him, mentally cursing myself for my bad choice of words. "It's too complicated to explain right here now, but it's nothing drastic..." It's a lie and I recognize it the second it slips out of my mouth. What I'm going to tell him is that he's probably hosting another personality, and not just another personality... the God of Death he used to associate himself with. He's going to declare me insane, laugh or get flaming mad. I don't care -- I have to tell him this, or I'll drive myself mad. One way or another, he must know what headquarters is thinking about him, what one of his friends thinks about him, that there are too many coincidences, too many similarities, too much of everything.

I can see from his eyes that he doesn't believe me, and is still bracing himself for words of dread.

"Duo, we're not going to break up. Absolutely not. Never."

Nothing changes in his posture, and his mouth has become a tight line, face placid. I've ruined his good mood, I've ruined the evening, I've ruined everything I could at this very moment and I feel guilty -- but not as guilty as I should be, for not having told Duo what has been going on for so long now. It's a mistake I'm going to rectify, and I'll use tonight to tell him everything. What he will say, that... depends. That depends on whether I'm talking to Duo Maxwell or Shinigami.

"Let's go, then." He sounds hesitant, reluctant. I move my left hand, taking up his braid and gently stroke the thick rope of hair. My fingers touch the black scarf, and it doesn't surprise me that it's made out of silk. I don't even want to ask myself why it doesn't surprise me. He stands still, awaiting my answer, awaiting my decision. His eyes carry a curious, questioning look.

"It's going to be all right," I whisper, "everything's going to be all right."

Duo shows a smile, his usual, self-confident smile and I see the slight twitch behind it; he's on his guard. He didn't expect my sudden announcement that we needed to talk, even though he was the one to question my attitude in the first place. My stomach rumbles; I'm quite hungry too. The hospital food is edible, but I can't recall if I've really eaten anything except some pasta and bread.

"Let's go," I repeat his words, and start walking in front of him. I know he follows me, though I can't hear his footsteps nor hear his breathing; I only hear a soft, swishing sound and it baffles me, until I realize it's the loose ends of his scarf, dancing behind him. "Duo?"

"Yes?"

"Since when do you wear that scarf in your braid?"

"Since when? Oh, not that long. I just tried it out once, and I like it. You don't?"

"It looks good on you," I reassure him, receiving a big grin in return. It looks very good on you... but I don't know if it was yours or Shinigami's idea to put it there. I shake my head vigorously.

"Something the matter?"

"No, I'm okay." I'm not going to drive myself crazy, and I'm not going to follow Wufei's idea about a second personality, and certainly not a Shinigami one! I grit my teeth, mentally preparing myself for the difficult conversation I'm going to have.

We leave the hospital after signing the release papers, and Duo chats a bit with the receptionist, joking about sky-high medical insurance prices while I scrawl my name under the forms. I want to get out of here and get something to eat before my stomach turns itself one more time. How's Duo going to react? What will he say... will his other personality resurface? It's impossible, almost too crazy for words. Duo's not the kind of person to host other personalities but his own, and... the familiar ring of my cell phone interrupts my thoughts.

"It's a good thing you're already out of the hospital," Duo comments amusedly, pointing at a large "No cell phones" sign just a few inches away. I nod and quickly walk further, to the parking lot. I answer the call. "Yuy here."

"Chang," Wufei introduces himself without further ado; I already recognized his number. "Hearing you answer the phone answers my question whether you're already out of the hospital, so I'll continue. I've been ordered to work on the Benedetti case, and the consequences and implications of his death have top priority at the office now. I'll be busy for a while, but I want to keep in touch with you concerning... the case."

"I understand," I answer, wanting to snap a snide comment to him about referring to the situation as "the case". It's the most neutral description, I know, but I hate it -- it's as if he refers to Duo as "a case", and Duo Maxwell isn't a case. He's a person, a real life person, and he's walking next to me.

"We'll keep in touch via e-mail," is Wufei's last sentence before he disconnects me. I close my cell phone and stuff it in my pocket.

"Nothing special?" Duo asks, while pulling car keys out of his pocket. He leads me to a dark blue Fiat 124 Sedan, and opens the door for me.

"Wufei and his paranoia," I try to joke, and I see him grin just as he closes the door after I step in. He saunters over to the other side of the car and slips into the passenger's seat.

"Nice rental," I compliment him.

"The only available one," he says, still wearing his grin. We're still on ESUN's tab here; the hotel, incredibly luxuriously it might be, is also paid by them, so why not rent a more expensive car?

I can't help but snort, as this is a typical Duo-thing to do, and it makes me feel happy. The penny pinchers at the reimbursement department will have a field day with his expenses.

Borgo Antico looks crowded and crammed, but after a few words from Duo the waiter leads us to the back of the place, where it's quieter. With the smell of authentically prepared pizza, the large Chianti bottles on the ceiling and the paintings of the canals of Venice on the wall, the restaurant is the stereotype of all Italian pizzerias: I like it.

"Prego," the waiter says while pulling one of the chairs backwards. He hands us the wine card and the menus and promises to come back in a short while for our order.

Duo opens the menu, eyes scanning the list of offered dishes. I do the same, knowing that it's going to be hard to choose from all the specialties. It doesn't really matter anyway; the food's of minor importance, considering what we're about to discuss.

"I think I'll try the one with seafood. Or the Quattro Stagioni? It sounds all so very delicious."

"You like seafood," I remind him, "but maybe it's even more appealing to try a little bit of everything? The Quattro Stagioni holds a variety of seafood as well, with some extra ingredients; and olives... you like olives, don't you?"

Duo smiles and makes a decision. "You should reconsider your career possibilities, Heero. You'd do excellent in PR and marketing."

I make a noncommittal sound, not responding to his comment. The pizzas look all good to me and I settle for a Campagnola, a pizza with a topping of tomato, mozzarella, mushroom, Brie, and smoked ham. Neither of us bothers looking at the wine card; we're not drinkers -- I can count the times that Duo has had a beer on the fingers of one hand.

He laces his fingers together and leans a bit forward, elbows on the table. "So... tell me."

To the point, my Duo. Just like any of us he's not one to beat around the bush. His eyes tell me to "get it over with and better make it good". There's something really feisty in those large eyes; he's thrown the first card on the table, but I bluffed him, so now it's time to show my hand.

"Just a minute," I say, not because I'm a coward, but because of the waiter approaching us, asking for our order. After he has left, scribbling the order down as he walks, I look at Duo. I want to look him straight in the eye when I tell him. I tell him. I tell him everything. I open my mouth and I don't stop, the words spilling over my lips, pouring it all out over him. I'm talking and talking, only lowering my voice when the waiter puts the pizza in front of me, knowing he won't understand because we don't speak Italian to each other.

I'm not finished telling, not giving him one chance, one opening to interrupt me. He picks up his knife, and starts cutting the pizza. He's listening to me, his facial expression not changing, not even showing disbelief. I pick up my knife as well, only to notice that my pizza has been pre-cut; something Duo must've asked while ordering.

I can't eat. Not yet. I want to tell him, and as I take a deep breath, he immediately jumps on the offered chance.

"Do you believe them?"

He was so awfully quick to defend himself, so quick to kick the ball back in my court when I asked him something, assuming that I was questioning his work. He doesn't even deny... he only asks me if I believe them. I'm confused, and it dawns me that I'm stabbing the slice of pizza with my fork, the motion repeatedly.

"Do you believe them?"

Do I?

"There are some things... some changes in your behaviour that encourages me to believe them. I don't know how I can put this, Duo... but..."

"Yes or no, Heero."

"No."

He swallows carefully the slice of pizza he's munching on, taking up the napkin to dab at his mouth. "Then it's settled."

"Settled what? Duo, I just told you..."

"I heard what you told me. I've listened to every word you said."

"But don't you think... Duo, this is serious."

He looks at me, his violet eyes solely directed at me. "If you think that I think this is some kind of joke, then you're mistaken. ESUN is serious business, and Wufei can be a lot of things, but he's respectful and I trust him to have approached this with his usual objectiveness, integrity and sense of justice."

"We have to do something about this. They're questioning you as employee, as person, as human being. It's obvious they think you have to do something with all of this, and I know we can disprove their every accusation."

"Eat your pizza, Heero," Duo says, a faint smile curling his lips. "You need to regain your strength."

It brings a faint smile to my lips as well and I spear a piece of pizza on my fork, eating it. It's almost cold, and I don't have much appetite left anyway. I put down my fork after eating the bite of food.

"Duo..."

"Hmmm?" He plucks at a piece of focaccia bread, distractedly.

"Don't you... care? What I said..."

"For all I care, they can think I'm Buddha incarnated," he answers, putting a piece of bread into his mouth. "As long as they don't officially charge me with anything, and only have this Disassociative Identity Disorder affection to work with, I don't think I'm in some kind of danger zone. And as long as you believe me, I don't see anything particular to my disadvantage."

I take a sip of my water. "We need to set this right, Duo. They've been spending time and money on this, if only to determine the weapon used. You do realize they associate you with a scythe, don't you? If anything, we have to talk to Une and Wufei in person to show them that they're wrong."

"You won't believe how much I want to yell at them right now," Duo says, narrowing his eyes slightly. "They can destroy whole lives with their accusations and assumptions."

"Still, there are some things that just don't match up right, Duo," I say, choosing my words very carefully. "Remember the whole Eastbourne mission? The Masterson list? The security guard who ended up dead?"

"I remember that mission very well and I hate it that you keep bringing it up," he spits back, hand crumbling the rest of the bread. "Why do you doubt me so? I wasn't very clear in my statement, but I stand by what happened."

"I don't doubt you, but you have to admit that it was strange," I stubbornly continue. "You said that the guard didn't spot you, and the next instance you said you knocked him unconscious."

"The mission was completed to everybody's satisfaction, end of story," he all but growls.

"The man ended up dead and sliced!"

"Heero, quit it! You believe them, don't you? Are you fucking lying to me? Lying to me?"

"I'm not lying! I want this over and done with, and I want the truth to be revealed!"

"Just fucking listen to yourself! "The truth to be revealed"... what are you, some kind of poet? Are the missions more important than your partner? Your partner, who's always watched your back?"

"I don't want any of this," I whisper. "I want nothing but to disprove everything and make sure every misunderstanding is out of the way. This is tarnishing us, discrediting you, and I want this all cleared up. Please Duo, tell me you want this too."

"Of course I do," he answers, "the whole association thing with Shinigami is quite ridiculous, yet all those killings are something that can't be denied. Something strange is going on, and if I'm involved somehow, I'd love to know it. I really wish they'd talked to me."

"I'm not really agreeing with their method either," I shake my head as if I pity Une and everybody else at the ESUN, "but I'm sure we can tell them how many mistakes they've made once we're able to disprove everything."

"I'm sure Une wants to hear what I've got to say. On second thoughts... she didn't actually bother very much with approaching me."

"And Wufei?"

"What about him?"

"Is he still our friend?"

"He still is. I call him my friend, and I don't blame him for what he did. If he thinks he protected us by working on the mission like this, then I believe him. He knows us best, and I'm sure he intended well."

I take another sip of my water, feeling relieved. Duo hardly hold grudges, as far as I can tell -- but then again, maybe he can hold grudges and never tell me... there are so many things unspoken left between us, that's something that has to change. Starting with myself; nothing will remain in shadows or clouds between us, and I will start by telling him my nightmares, the ones he knows I have and is only able to comfort me by telling me everything's going to be all right. Yes, everything is going to be all right.

"Duo..."

"No more talk about work now," he says, showing me a confident smile. "The night's still young and I don't want to ruin it by talking about work and missions and whatever or whoever I'm supposed to be."

"This is serious business," I see the waiter walking up to our table, wanting to know if we care for a dessert and I stop talking. Duo orders a bowl of tiramisu, and I politely decline. He rubs his hands, in anticipation of the dessert.

"I know, but at this moment there's nothing I can do about it." He flicks his braid over his shoulder and looks at me, eyes a bright violet. "Let's enjoy this evening, and pick up on our daily worries tomorrow. You didn't think I only wanted to have dinner with you, did you?"

His smile turns into a grin, a wicked one to boot. There's something in store for me, and I don't need to take a guess. There's only one thing that I must ask.

"Will you take it easy with my arm?"

The words he whispers in my ears are ones of absolute love. His tresses caress my face, my neck, my throat. His eyes look at me, before they close in searing passion, his lips part to grant me access, the portal to his soul. His breathing is erratic, as is mine, and I tilt my head back, trying to steady myself under this onslaught of pleasure, this... this everything he does to me. His hands are everywhere, his hair flows around him, loose, the black scarf loosely tied around my wrist. My broken arm rests on the pillows, and I have him trapped with my legs, my foot sliding across his calf. I want to feel him; I want to welcome him, death and sorrow and joy, heaven and hell, life and passion and lust. Gods, this lust is so overwhelming that I insistently arch my back, wanting to feel more, needing to feel more. I want him, I want all of him, and above all, I want him to be him. Duo Maxwell. The Duo Maxwell who shot me when he first saw me, the one who rescued me against all odds from the hospital. The one who stands beside me, who holds my back, who loves me, who cares for me always and forever and I forget. I forget in that dark night in Florence, when he makes me cry out loud his name, and he laughs softly, a little bit off, and a speck of dark violet is the last thing I see before I fall asleep, exhausted.

Silves, Portugal, AC 206

"All this because of what? All this because of me? That's not true! Duo has me, he's always had me! You aren't much of a survivor, are you?"

I wonder how I can still speak while my bullet travels faster than the speed of light towards him, towards his face, towards his brow... perfect hit. Instant death. Right between the eyes. I only see him smirk when he casually lifts the scythe and describes a perfect arc, ricocheting the bullet, a silver flash in the dark of night. It only takes a fraction of a second for me to realize that the bullet comes back to me, and it hits me straight in the chest. I stagger backwards, feeling the pain ripping through my body -- a fiery hot iron rod, a chunk of piercing ice, stabbing my body, melting together in pain, excruciating pain.

Perfect hit.

I hear screaming in my ear -- Wufei, frantically demanding what's going on. I lost.

"Duo... I can't believe..."

I fall to the ground. My eyes are wide open, taking in everything around me; the dark moonlit sky, the twinkling stars, the vague silhouette of the convent. A tree close to me with its grinding branches, as if there isn't enough wind to make them move. I hear a moaning sound, like a sigh being heaved with the last breath of a dying man... me? I hit the ground, at least I think I hit the ground as I don't feel anything -- but I'm lying down, on my back, staring at the sky. One man down. Paralyzed, immobilized.

What... what was I expecting to find here? This mission, led by Wufei, was supposed to be a step towards the arrest of a certain Pinheiro, suspected to be the leader of a widespread drugs cartel. There was nothing that even remotely indicated that... he would come out. And why would he? Even though I'm constantly keeping a close eye on Duo, I haven't noticed any significant changes, nothing out of the ordinary... unless I've been blinded. Blinded as I've always been when it comes to my Duo. I hear myself taking gulps of breath; short, staccato gulps. I need air...

He walks, no, he saunters over to me and kneels besides me. With the faintest of touches, he renders the transmitter I'm wearing useless -- it immediately breaks, out of order, crackling for the last time.

"Tonight is such a beautiful night, is it not?"

I can't find enough breath to answer him, but I find I can move my head to look at him. He meets my gaze without a flinch, his chestnut bangs framing his face, the thick braid dangling over his shoulder. The black silk scarf braided in it is hardly visible; he's completely dressed in black, but this is a different kind of black. It's almost like someone... has poured it over him, the way it moves around him, dances with him, as if it's liquid. He's dressed in the color of the night, or better yet... the darkness of night has wrapped itself around him and allows him to use the shadows to clothe himself.

Everything is the same about him and yet so very different. This isn't Duo Maxwell, this is Shinigami, and he doesn't bother covering it up anymore. He hovers a little over me, his look almost like one of a curious child, hands wrapped around the thick staff of the scythe. It looks like burned oak wood, and seeing its length as well as the curve and the blade of the scythe, it must be an incredibly heavy weapon. I almost want to choke on my laughter; I'm fucking dying here, and I'm still analyzing his weapon. I'm admiring the instrument of Death, for its precision, for the beautiful silver blade, the golden pattern in the oak wooden staff, for its... ruthlessness. How many people have died at his hands? How many people have seen the scythe coming towards them, maybe even felt the impact, if they hadn't already died from the terror and fear?

"It was you all the time, wasn't it?"

He reaches with his hand for my hair and ruffles it. I want to jerk my head away, but I can't.

"No, it was not," he answers, his voice a few octaves lower than Duo's. It keeps the same melodic intonation, and he sings... his words have always sung to me. It was his words that blinded me, his words that deterred me from seeing what was going on.

"I know you cannot believe it. You never could believe what was happening, even if it was in front of your eyes." Duo -- no, Shinigami -- shakes his head, and there's something -- pity? -- showing on his face. It's only then that I realize I'm not feeling any pain. I've been hit point blank and the bullet must've ripped my heart, yet I feel nothing, and I'm still conscious. Conscious enough to talk and to think.

"Death is not a power, nor a force," I repeat. There's something trickling out of the corner of my mouth. Blood.

"You are right," he answers, expression indescribable. "Death is a passion. And passion for death, my darling Heero, is something that was abundant in your Duo."

"You're lying... you're just fucking lying."

"Tsk tsk, there is no need for such language," he says admonishingly, but sounding amused nonetheless. He likes my despair, my struggle to find words, my fight to extend my life. He looks like a cat about to devour a helpless little bird, the hunter who has caught his prey.

"I advise you not to concern yourself, my dear Heero. You are dead anyway, and you failed to see."

"What... what did I fail to see?"

"Oh Heero, if you even need to ask it now, you certainly have failed. Why don't you put your mind at work, and try to analyze the situation? Assess me? There is probably a solution, even to this. You only need to see, Heero, but you have been so deliciously blind that you gave Death free rein."

"If I'm to blame for all this, then I'll accept it," I speak, hurriedly. I don't know how much time I have left, and I want to see, I want to speak to my Duo before everything's too late.

"Noble, but no. You do not have to accept the blame, Heero. Nobody will know that you were to blame."

"Take my life," I tell him. "Take my life, but give Duo back his! Get out of him... use my body!"

"Is the great Heero Yuy so easily reduced to begging?" He throws his head back and laughs. "Do you not know what it will do to little Duo Maxwell if he learns that his lover and partner has voluntarily offered to become the God of Death, in order to save him?"

"Stop it," I groan, his laughter hurting my ears. It's nothing like Duo's rambunctious laugh; it's a series of short, barked noises, dripping with disdain.

Silence. I'm not dead... yet. He's still kneeling beside me, his hands resting on his upper legs, the scythe in his hands. The end of the staff casually leans on my bloodied chest, but I don't feel the weight. I don't want to know where the end of the blade is. From what little I saw of the curve, it's probably large enough to describe half a circle around my head.

"Why... just why?"

I don't know what he's thinking. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know what I can do. There's someone... something... knelt beside me, talking in riddles, lying in his words, twisting his sentences. He isn't Duo. I just can't believe that this is the God of Death. Has it... has it really been my fault, or is my mind already playing tricks on me, in my last minutes? I can't feel a thing. No pain, nothing. I can only look at him, while he's not looking at me; dark eyes hidden behind his bangs.

"Are you feeling remorse?"

"What?"

"Are you feeling remorse?" He repeats his words, pronouncing them in an exaggerated way, as explaining something to a small child. "Remorse for those who have died? Do you pity them, Heero?"

"I pity them for having to die in such an awful manner," I answer, trying to remain lucid, to keep my thoughts clear. If there's anything of Duo left, I can get it out. I have to get it out -- if only to see his violet, brilliant eyes, and not these pools of... nothingness.

He snorts, shifting the staff in his hands. "Pathetic. Do not tell me it is your humanity that makes you feel that, Heero. The little Perfect Soldier with his emotions locked away, who always follows mission orders, who lives for his fucking precious missions, too blind to see, little naughty boy."

"Is that how you see me, or Duo?" I sneer.

He moves his head, and looks at me, growling low in his throat. "There is no Duo Maxwell left! Only I am here, and I am the last one you will ever see." He chuckles. "Tell me, is it your humanity? Hmmm?"

"Yes," I say, "it's my humanity. I'm no longer the Perfect Soldier. I've never been really, and Duo was the first one to see it and who peeled my shell away. He showed me what I was, what I am, what I can be -- his lover, his partner, his friend."

"Poetic. My heart would weep for joy."

"If you had one."

"If I had one."

His right hand slips from the staff, and touches my chest. His fingers dab at the blood, coating them immediately.

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Why."

"Why? Because I can. They would have died anyway. If not by my hand, then they would die from another cause and no, not when they are 80 years old or living happily ever after. You should be thankful, Heero Yuy, because I took care of the worst scum of the Earth and you have done nothing but to doubt me -- again."

"They had all right to a fair trial, and..."

"Fair?" He all but screams, and presses with his fingers on my chest. I don't feel a thing, so I don't pay attention to what he's doing. "Life is not fair. There is only one thing fair in life and that is death -- unavoidable, inevitable, and indefinite. That what is fair, Heero -- Death does not make any distinction. No discrimination, no favoritism, only equality. Everyone dies."

"But not you," I whisper.

"Not me." It amuses him, as he's grinning again. I can't get any grip on him. I need to know... I want to know everything and I open my mouth again, hesitantly.

"The people you all killed...they weren't all criminals. One man, in Eastbourne..."

"Death waits for you all," he answers, interrupting me, "and Death does not make mistakes. The man had to die, as he was involved in the operation that Masterson had set up. He would have made victims as well, and I spared you a lot of work by taking his life. What do you care, Heero?"

"I care because they were people, not empty shells," I say, my voice still at its usual strength. "Human. Humanity! That's something you will never possess."

"Tough luck." He shrugs and then pats himself on the chest. "I have everything I want, and I possess this body. It has been fun, but now I have to go. I have lots of work to do."

"No!" I gasp and cough loud. "Don't leave me!"

I don't care if he thinks I'm easily reduced to begging. This is about Duo, not about me, and if it takes begging to get him back, then I'll beg.

"I have not left yet. Do you want to continue this conversation?"

"Just tell me why... why Duo?"

He shrugs again, a really irritating gesture. "I needed a new vessel and Duo virtually offered him to me."

"That's a lie," I snarl. "Duo would never do such a thing! You're telling lies!"

"See it however you want to see. But seeing is your problem, is it not? Do not worry, Heero. There is nothing you could do about it, unless you were around when he saw the church burn down and his family die in front of his eyes. That was the start of it all. Such delicious fire and chaos... such tasty tears and despair."

Traumatic event. Create another personality to disassociate from the trauma. "We can help you," I tell him. "Please, Duo..."

"Duo is not here anymore," he answers, patiently. "Spare me the clichés, Heero. They will not work, as I have heard them all over and over again. Do not worry your pretty head about it. It is over anyway."

His hand is on my chest again, lazily drawing circles, fingers covered in the pooling blood.

"What... are you doing to me?"

He looks up. "You are dead, Heero. You should be really grateful that I made sure you are not feeling any pain." He has the gall to smile, and it's an exact copy of Duo's most wonderful, intimate smile. A smile only reserved for me in the most private of all moments.

"Go away!" I hiss at him. "Get away from me!"

He continues to smile, showing his perfect white teeth. Instead of getting away from me, he leans close, as close as if he's going to kiss me, and grabs me by the lapels of my shirt.

"No more begging? No more 'Let go of Duo?' And you dared call me 'not a survivor'?" He laughs, the sound even more painful to my ears. "Death does not need to survive, Heero. It continues to live..." he pauses to chuckle, "because it is indefinite. It will always exist. In you, in Duo, in the Earth, in the very core of every being. I survive without any trouble. The beginning and the end... I will always be there."

I'm tired. I want to fight, but I can't. I'm blind... I have been blind for so long. There's no way I can go back and fix it now. I want to... I want to do so many things in such a short amount of time. Too many questions, too little answers.

Chestnut bangs caress my face; he's so close that our noses touch.

"The most beautiful part is that you will not ever know if it was Duo or me who loved you, Heero Yuy. You have courted Death and you lost."

He kisses me. His lips are no longer warm, but cold, ice cold as the deepest polar seas. These aren't the lips who promised me forever, who called my name, who smiled at me. His kiss is emotionless, cold and orchestrated -- a movement of his lips on mine, nothing more. When he finally finishes his kiss and pulls away from me, he dares once again to smile at me.

"Get lost," I spit at him. His eyes narrow to thick black slits, the pupils are no longer visible. He seems angry and he releases his grip on my shirt -- at the same moment as my head hits the pavement, the pain of the bullet impact flares through my body. I jerk and gasp, biting my tongue from crying out loud in pain.

"Your wish is my command," he mock-salutes me, and he straightens himself. He takes the scythe with him, and I hear the large blade scrape over the pavement before he swings the staff over his shoulder. I want to ask him where he's going to, what's going to happen to me, even though my mind has already accepted that I'm going to die. I can't muster any strength to speak. I still have the vague hope that Wufei will find me, as he probably has alerted our trusty back-up team after our communication line was cut off. With one last indescribable look on his face, Shinigami suddenly turns around and I hear him walk away, with a low laugh, talking to himself. I can't feel a thing anymore. I'm lying there, on the ground. I'm sure it's cold, but my mind won't register it, as it won't recognize the pain. Why am I even still thinking? I should be long dead by now... what is it that keeps me alive, for now? I've always taken great pride in my military training, as it shaped and formed me into who and what I am; the advantages and the disadvantages -- everything. I learned how to deal with situations, I learned how to assess people, I learned how to safely tuck away my emotions and I learned how to build walls. I can take guns apart blindfolded and backwards, I can write computer programs that even the greatest and most intellectual geniuses can't comprehend, only the four others like me. The five of us together, who had always been... allies, comrades. We haven't been always friends, but we understood the need to work together and the benefits of teamwork during the war days. Strong and silent Trowa, gentle and kind Quatre, strict and rigid Wufei, lively and cheerful Duo. We were all deadly, dangerous and professional. We've been through so much, there's something between us that can't be broken, even though we've taken different roads or seem different than we are -- there is something between us that makes us understand.

Maybe I haven't understood Duo after all. I knew about the church, I knew about certain things that have happened to him, but I didn't know everything, just as he doesn't know everything about me. Some things are just too horrible or too intimate to share, and there are some things you just want to forget and bury, bury deep down. I smile, though. I haven't lost completely.

Shinigami wasn't created by disassociation from a traumatic event. He isn't another personality of Duo; he's a separate entity that possessed him. Duo's nothing but a vessel, and that means that Duo's still there, temporary overpowered. He's not responsible for the killings, he didn't wield the scythe. His visions and beliefs after the war weren't altered, and he's always been too strong to let any event change him in a way that another personality could be created. Duo is a survivor, not a quitter. Shinigami choose him for his strength and tenacity, not the other way around. He was a separate identity, not Duo's other personality.

I want to laugh and cry out in joy. How am I going to put this into the mission report? ESUN doesn't believe in supernatural entities... and neither do I. But isn't that my biggest flaw, not being able to see what happens in front of my eyes? I don't even have the time left to write a mission report -- and why am I even thinking of the mission when I'm dying?

It's not a sin to lose to the God of Death. Some powers can't be fought, some passions can't be smothered. I believe you, Duo. My eyelids are drooping. I want to go to sleep.

I want to ask you so many things, Duo. I want to know so much about you and I had the time for so long, yet I didn't ask. I had more than 8 years to ask you, to fathom you, to understand you. I'm sorry that I failed you. I can hardly keep my eyes open, but I'm starting to see. It was never about you, was it? It was about me. How I didn't let you completely in, how I didn't accept you totally, how I kept my reserves and my doubts. I'm so sorry.

I love you, Duo. I allowed Shinigami to have free rein -- you were so busy tearing my walls down, that you didn't notice your own being torn down, from the inside out. I didn't notice them, and that's why I failed you. I understand you now. My eyes are closed, but I'm no longer blind.

I see you, Duo. I see you how you are; my Duo. With your warmth, your life, your smile, your warm lips... with everything you are. Everything you are and everything you wanted to be. How I want to hear your voice, if only for a few seconds, to whisper in my ear... how I want another chance to say that I finally see. My lips curl into a smile. I understand you, Duo. If only... if only I could hold you one more time. If only I could taste your lips one more time.

The stars in the night sky slowly dim, one by one. It's not cold anymore. Has it been cold? Even the pain has worn off. I wish you were here with me, my Duo. I don't mind if you'd only sit next to me and watch me. I don't want to be alone. My Duo, my God of Death, my Shinigami. You are my everything, my life, and my death, literally. I wouldn't want to have it any other way.

There are no more sounds. I can't see anymore. And I smile, because it was you who took my life, and no one else. Only you. I die for you, Duo. Just as I promised.

"Heero.. Heero, can you hear me? Heero!"

Voices. Words. A string of words, uttered so close to my ear, resonating through my head. I can hear, but I can't see. Darkness surrounds me, but I don't feel any pain. If anything, I feel like I'm floating... no, drifting. Drifting towards the words that have been spoken.

"Heero?"

"Senhor, por favor, năo grita na orelha do paciente. Năo pode ouvi-lo."

A female voice, dancing, and if it were possible, wrapping her melodic stream of words around his, two musical waves coming together. I want to smile -- the words dance in front of my eyes, shining a little, casting a weak glance in the darkness.

"Heero! I know you're there... don't give me this coma bullshit, Heero... I know you're there!"

"Senhor! Eu peço que vocĕ preste atençăo a sua lingua. A bala era muito próxima e estĕve na cirurgia extensive por dias que este era tudo que nós poderíamos fazer para ele. Deve ter estado inoperante."

She sounds determined, commanding even. The dance of words fades in front of my eyes, chased away by the strong, powerful intonation. The lights seem to dim, the darkness increasing.

"Don't you think I know that he's supposed to be dead? He's still here, goddamnit, he's still here! Heero! Heero!"

"Senhor, por favor!"

I know this voice. I've heard it before. Strong, lively, and wonderful. The same voice that has whispered words of love, the same voice that has called my name, calls my name, will call my name, always... the only voice I'll listen to, no matter what, and it belongs to my Duo.

Suddenly the darkness doesn't seem that dark anymore, as if realizing his presence has brightened it, like a small candle in an ocean of black, chasing it away to blend into dark grey colors, lighting up my surroundings.

"You're not leaving me. You're not fucking leaving me, Heero Yuy... I need you. I love you. Please come back. Say something, Heero..."

No, I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving at all! I want to be with Duo, I need him just as much, I love him just as much. I love him more than life itself, I love him with all my heart and soul. He knows this, but he wants to hear it. I need to say it out loud. I force myself to open my mouth, and I suck in a large gulp of breath. The fresh air immediately makes me dizzy and it feels like someone is ragging on my throat with sandpaper. It fucking hurts and tears well up in my eyes, frustrated, angry. I want to move my arms and I start choking; gods, it burns, it rips through my body.

Shouts, yells, screams. My ears pick up every word, not identifying the language, and I have trouble distinguishing between the voices. Another male voice, another female voice, and they all interrupt each other, loud and irritated. My mind can't identify my surroundings either, and I still haven't opened my eyes. I know Duo is here, he must be here, so I call out to him.

"Duo!" I manage to speak, without stuttering. It's all I can do before giving up, giving in, as my body jerks one more time and the darkness engulfs me, and for the first time in my life I welcome it. Black is Duo's color. How could I not welcome it? I'm just tired, so very tired.

Fingertips on my face. Calloused fingers, yet they stroke my skin with the utmost tenderness. They trace and trail the outline of my face, starting from my brow to my chin, and back again. The repetitive motion is soothing and I move my head a little, leaning into the touch.

"Open your eyes..." The same voice again. Duo. He sings to me again. "Open your eyes, Heero."

I can't refuse him, and why should I? I want to see him. I want to see how he really is. I know how he is, and now I want to see him. It's a simple command, but it takes all my strength again. I take a deep breath again, expecting the same, previously vicious reaction, but nothing happens save for a small cough. It gives me the confidence to continue; apparently my body's already recuperating.

Death waits for you all. His words, spoken to me in his voice, with his eyes gazing at me, and Death does not make mistakes. Shinigami doesn't make mistakes and still I'm alive, I'm hearing the voice of the man I love, and... I see him. His face is close by, large violet eyes examining me, mouth a thin line, biting on his bottom lip. Chestnut bangs slightly waving in the fresh breeze coming through a window -- from the right.

"Heero... holy Mother of God..."

He brings up his hand again, hesitating before he touches me again. "Say something..."

"Duo," is the first word to escape my lips and the smile I receive in return is astounding.

"Yes, it's me," he answers, still smiling. "I thought I lost you... again."

I want to retort, but my mind has already processed the necessary information. Everything in my eye field is a dead giveaway that I'm in a hospital -- not again --, with the cream colored blankets, starch white sheets, the rather flowery smell of cleansing products, the large curtain on the left side of my bed.

"I've arranged for a private room," Duo informs me, and his hand slips from my cheek to my shoulder, rustling the fabric of the simple shirt I'm wearing. "I'm so glad to see you. I thought you were gone..."

"I'm here," is all I can say, and he smiles again, touching me on the arm. He pulls up the blanket a little and leans forward, kissing me chastely on the lips.

"You need a lot of rest, Heero. This one... was really, really close."

"Perfect hit."

"What?"

"Perfect hit," I repeat. "The bullet hit me right in my heart. This is impossible."

He averts his eyes, moving his head to look away. His braid slides over his shoulder, and there's no black scarf woven into it, not even the tie is black, but a mere chestnut brown, just like his own hair.

"One millimeter," he mumbles. "One millimeter to the left and you would've been dead indeed. You either had a giant guardian angel, Heero, or..." His voice trails off.

"A mistake?" I tilt my head. I'm thirsty, but I don't want to interrupt this moment. He's silent, staring at the blankets and plucking at them. Just as he opens his mouth to answer me, the door opens and a nurse enters, greeting me and I recognize her voice. She handles her job as she speaks; with determination. She checks my vitals and pushes me back into my pillows, lecturing me on taking plenty of rest and that it's a miracle that I'm alive, while Duo translates. It's all déjà vu to me and I smile and nod, until she finally leaves me alone. I want to ask Duo a thousand questions, but my body is already tired from that little exertion.

"Get some rest, Heero," Duo says, not looking at me. "I'm here, so if there's anything you need, you can ask me."

Distance. So much distance. "I..."

His smile is intended for me, but doesn't mask the sadness on his face. "Rest, Heero."

As soon as I open my eyes again, moaning a little, he's standing next to my bed again.

"Good morning," he says, voice low. "How are you feeling?"

"All right, I guess," I mumble, still groggy. I'm not fit at all; my usual instincts haven't kicked in, and everything feels like wading through a swamp with a heavy backpack.

"Breakfast has already been served. Do you want anything? If you feel like it, I can mush something for you."

"Where are we anyway?"

"We're still in Silves," he answers and now I notice his slight tan. Duo has a rather sensitive skin concerning sunlight; him sporting a tan means that he's been quite long out in the sun.

"How long have I been here?"

"Two months. Nobody expected you to pull through, after you had been found with a bullet point blank in your heart," Duo tells me, not sugarcoating the truth, for which I'm thankful. Still, it sends shivers down my spine. I have spoken to the God of Death and he let me live. I wonder if he rejected me, or if he's playing another cruel game with me. Another thought pops up in my mind.

"What about Pinheiro?"

"Heero, the mission is over."

"What about him?"

Duo sighs. "He's dead."

God, no. My fingers clutch the blanket. A cruel, cruel game indeed. Duo moves to sit on my bed, carefully avoiding disturbance of my comfortable position. He puts his hand on my leg, and for a moment I shiver, not from the cold. He notices it, and pulls his hand away; the hurt on his face is sending even more shivers down my spine. That wasn't my intention.

"He was found in his hotel room, decapitated," he continues, eyes not completely visible behind the curtain of chestnut bangs. "He was holding a small scythe, and judging from the scene, it could be either a really bizarre accident or some sort of ritual suicide. ESUN is currently investigating if it's connected to any of the other killings."

"Other killings?" I lower my eyes. If Une has spoken with Duo about her Shinigami theory, what is he doing here? Shouldn't he be incarcerated by now?

"I'm rather pissed at Une," Duo says, dropping another bomb. "You'd been talking earlier to her about those killings, and no one even informed me. Our missions, Heero, our responsibility, and nobody even told me!"

He raises his voice, but lowers it the next second, blushing faintly. "I... it's really not my place to be screaming at you. I'm sorry."

"No, you're right." I'm glad that my voice is at its usual strength again. I feel well enough to lift my arm, hand searching for his. "I should've told you immediately what they were investigating."

"A serial killer with a scythe," Duo snorts. "And because I swung a scythe with my Gundam, they thought I could identify the killer."

I can't hide my surprised look. "They thought what?"

He chuckles, but it's not really his usual chuckle; it sounds bitter. "I really wish they'd stop lying to me. They thought it was me, right? That I killed those people."

His hand rests limply in mine, and I lack the strength at the moment to squeeze reassuringly. Words will have to do.

"Yes, Duo. They thought for a long time that you were behind the killings." I'm convinced that Wufei is busy covering up all the murders, connecting them to Pinheiro one way or another for the public eye and the media, as far as news about the scythe-killings has leaked out. Duo is safe, but not completely suspicion-free. Wufei was the one who worked most intensively with us on the last cases, and I don't know how easily or not he will accept the notion of the separate entity that was part of Duo for so long. I have to know.

"Duo, it is you, right?"

He nods. "It's me."

I'm not referring to the killer, but to Duo as a person. As if he's guessing my thoughts, he moves his head, which causes his braid to slide over his shoulder again. Still no black scarf.

"How much do you know?"

He curls his fingers around mine, his touch is warm. "I know enough, Heero. I was hoping you'd greet me with more enthusiasm, but I understand. It must've been... traumatizing."

"Losing you would be more traumatizing," I answer truthfully. "We've been doing lots of things wrong, Duo, and I don't ever want that to happen again."

"Me neither," he simply says and straightens himself, fingers still on my hand. "There'll be lots of opportunity to talk, Heero. I want you to rest and heal up first. You were as good as dead when they brought you here, and you've been in surgery for hours on end."

I move my head, reclining into the pillows. "I don't want to see a hospital from the inside ever again."

"Me neither," he whispers. "It was nerve wracking... waiting for the doctors until they were finished, waiting for you to pull through... I knew you'd pull through, but dear God, they all but gave up on you."

"I understand," I say, smiling faintly. "I was as good as dead, remember?"

"I know you," Duo retorts immediately, "even death holds no power over you."

His words bring a vivid memory back to me; I said the same to Shinigami, though slightly different. On top of the convent, with me lying on the ground, life slipping away from me. I close my eyes, wanting to banish the memory.

"Heero?"

"How willingly did you harbor him?" I abruptly ask him, wanting to know for sure. I must assure myself that Shinigami is gone, and that Duo is my Duo again. I want to trust him... I can't be blind again, I won't be blind anymore. He looks me straight in the eye, without flinching.

"He didn't invite himself, and I didn't seek him out, if that's what you mean, Heero."

"Invite... he said that you were a vessel."

"Shinigami has the power to twist every human or any vessel to fit his needs. He's the God of Death, he doesn't ask permission. In my case, he didn't need to ask permission. I didn't welcome him, but I didn't reject him either."

Rejection. Walls. "Never again..." I heave a sigh. "Never again will I be blind, and never again will you be silent, Duo."

He cocks his head, looking curiously at me. "What do you mean?"

I feel a headache coming on, but I don't want to be bothered by it. Stubbornly, I continue to speak. "We quit the ESUN. We go looking for regular jobs. We'll talk about what happened, what happens, and what will happen. There will be no more..."

"Heero, listen to yourself," he interrupts me. "Please, don't do this. I wouldn't want to ask you to give up your work, nor do I want to. Your work is your life, and you're damn good at it. You're not cut out for regular working hours and an office job, and frankly, neither am I."

"I don't want this to happen again," I say.

Duo squeezes my hand, gently. "We have a good relationship, but we made some mistakes. You didn't see, I didn't speak. We know our faults and we can work on that, Heero. We don't need drastic or radical changes, because the basis of our relationship is already strong enough. We have an unbreakable bond, and what we build on it, can't be torn down by the mistakes we made."

I squirm, looking for a better position. The pillows are cool to the touch, and my headache needs to be taken care of -- preferably with a massage from Duo. It makes me want to laugh; I've already accepted the situation. My lips curl up in a smile. Duo is right, of course -- I almost went there again, as if I haven't learned anything at all. There still is one thing that has been bothering me.

"Why didn't Shinigami claim my life?"

Duo looks pensive, his brow furrowed in thought. "I really don't know. It's not like I know him, it, however you want to address Shinigami. I sometimes thought I could hear him thinking, and in wartime, it was almost reassuring. Listening to the voice in my head made me forget what I was doing, and later I was afraid that I was becoming insane. When the war was over the voice was virtually gone, and I didn't hear from him ever."

"Instead, he took over your body and used your mental strength to claim his victims," I nod, trying to find an explanation. I can't write a mission report about this of course, but I want to know everything. "Maybe he thought you'd outlived your usefulness to him."

"Or maybe he thought I wasn't worth his trouble."

"I doubt it," my voice is turning into a raspy whisper, "it seemed to me that he..."

"Who knows, maybe the convent was a good influence." Duo interrupts me again, looking at me. "All I know is that he isn't here anymore, Heero. He's gone. The God of Death is gone."

Gone to find himself a new victim, or a new vessel? I bite down on my tongue, immediately cursing myself. I have to accept that there aren't always answers, and that an entity that equals the God of Death can't be understood or comprehended. It's all right -- it's enough. He's gone, that's enough.

One thing before I fall asleep again, my body yearning for the rest, needing it to fully recover. "Kiss me, Duo."

"I thought you'd never ask," he says, not reproachful, enthusiasm ringing through his words. He leans forward and kisses me, lips warm, so incredibly warm and moist, tingling against my lips as if they're electrically charged. It's his kiss, his lips, his presence that tells me everything's going to be all right. Answers will await us, they will await us on the road we're about to take, the new path we've chosen. From what we've built, we continue -- the foundations are strong enough, immovable, and indestructible. Questions? I'm sure I've got a lot of questions, and I know some of them will remain unanswered. I'll see the God of Death once again, hopefully when I'm over eighty and have lived happily ever after, and then I'll ask him. Then I'll ask him why he spared my life on the top of a convent in Portugal, and which face he chooses to wear, it won't have the same effect on me. Because my Duo has been the God of Death, and death holds no power over me -- only Duo, and the way he kisses me, is powerful enough to melt, to submit, to die again.

He breaks from the kiss for air, looking at me expectantly. I give him a smile, as far as I can muster my depleted energy to show him one; I really, really hate being in a hospital.

"Duo," I say, and he brushes strands of hair out of my face.

"Yes, Heero?"

"I want to marry you and when we do, we marry in a convent."

His face shows this deliciously shocked look, before he bursts out into laughter; his own, rambunctious laughter, echoing in the room and probably audible on the next floor, but God, what a sound to hear. This is Duo. My Duo, completely my Duo. He laughs and laughs, squeezing my hand one more time, and it takes him a few minutes to gather his wits. He chuckles, patting my hand.

"Heero, marrying in a convent is an oxymoron."

"So?"

"So? So... it can't be done?"

"Since when do you give "can't be done" a second thought?"

"True," he admits, winking at me. It's the only warning I get before he captures my lips again, life and joy flowing through his every vein, transferring to me when he exchanges his love with me. His fingers curl around the blanket, tucking me in. I close my eyes, savoring the kiss for as long as possible. I don't want to let go, refusing to give in to the rest my body so obviously needs. I'll be soon enough back on my feet again, but now I want to hold on to this moment forever, feeling his lips on mine, his face so close to me that I can smell his cinnamon scent. The same scent that promises me a sunrise, every day again and again, the sun that shines in his heart and mine. My Duo. His Heero. Forever.