Rough hands reverently sketched whorls upon his skin in the burning shower, fingers slowly traced the outline of him, as if to imprint his form in memory. Eyes shut; he could not remember anything that had ever meant less. The water poured down, scalding him, so that the effect of the other's touch was diminished. The same gentle hands continued their errant path, as if searching for something. They traced a smooth trail ever upward, to his collarbones, where they laid a touch, feather-light. Moving down again with suddenness, they drew a line of wetness down the center of his chest, gently caressing. He sucked in a breath, feeling a tiny something inside him spark, the tiniest bit of life left...

Opening his eyes, slowly, with an unidentifiable ache in his heart, he gazed at his counterpart. Amethyst met azure, two pairs of eyes both calculating and passionless. 

After a crushing silence, he left; hot water still pressing the skimpy tank to his muscled form, normally tousled hair now plastered to him. 

Duo was glad, in a way, if the emotions he had left could be called glad. He felt relief, certainly, but he didn't know if he had any semblance of genuine happiness inside him anymore. 

Calling on all his resources, he rose from the floor of the porcelain shower, legs trembling from the sudden feel of blood rushing to them. He gripped the black towel-rack, leaning heavily on the wall. He then exhaled suddenly, a long and tiring effort. The water was just too damned hot.

He exited the shower as well, savagely yanking the knobs to turn the constant flow of water off. Grabbing a towel, he quickly and efficiently rubbed every part of his body dry. Then, with slow and deliberate care, he wrung out his hair several times, till it was only reasonably damp, not dripping wet.

Pausing before the small mirror, he wondered absentmindedly why it wasn't fogged up with steam. He laughed then, quietly, bitterly and self-deprecatingly. Anything to take your mind off Heero, ne? He asked himself sarcastically. 

Angry with himself and everyone else, he snatched his clothes off of the offending floor and threw them on in haste, once again pausing before the mirror to observe his outward appearance. His bangs were almost dry, yet they hung in front of his face, obscuring it from view. His normally expressive violet eyes were clouded over with - something, and he wrenched himself away from the sight. He closed his eyes, slowly, and bowed his head.

It was so stupid, so ridiculous, to think he and Heero were emotionally attached to each other in any way. They were utterly clichéd opposites, black and white, dark and light, and they were on the other side of the spectrum from each other. Opposites didn't attract; it was just all so incredibly stupid of him, so insane, to think that Heero felt anything for him, other than lust, which was a given. 

He glared once more at the mirror, weighing his thoughts, then stalked out of the tiny bathroom, into the rustic, wood-paneled hallway. 

Trowa was waiting there, his one visible eye, for once, vibrantly alive instead of cool and frigid. Duo wondered briefly what could stir a man like him, who he could have sworn had ice flowing through his veins. 

Eyes narrowing suddenly, he knew the answer: Quatre. They were so together, so with it, so understanding, so...one. He wanted to take it all away from them. As if sensing his vague thoughts, Trowa shot a glance of barely veiled contempt towards him, and Duo stiffened in shock as he brushed past the taller man. So it was like that, was it? Well, he could deal with it. It didn't matter much anyway. It wasn't like there was that much that could hurt him anymore.

Quickly reaching the door to his and Heero's room, Duo opened it and stepped in confidently, anxious to leave Trowa's scornful gaze. It didn't matter, and as Duo repeated the mindless litany to himself, after a while, he found that it really didn't. Fuck Trowa.

Leaning against the cool wood of the door, Duo heard Heero's endless typing - Was it a miracle? - stop. He swayed alarmingly for a second, but then steadied himself, chiding himself internally, so that next time he wouldn't use such hot water - Oh, but God, how he'd wanted to burn all his feelings away, burn everything into a gray field of plain nothingness. So it wouldn't hurt anymore - how could Heero hurt him so much?

Heero's voice sounded quietly, as if from a great distance, "I have a mission." He got up, neatly pushing his chair in, leaving the room quietly, brushing past Duo, who was dumbfounded. God, I knew it was stupid of me, so fucking stupid. Who was I to believe in feeling - anything - again? He thought disgustedly.

He sank onto his rumpled bed, rife with mangas, socks and God-knows-what else. He buried his head in his hands briefly, frankly amazed at his incredible idiocy. Heero Yuy would never change; Heero Yuy had been set on a certain path since he was born - no, before - and he sure as hell would not be leaving it now, especially not for some godamned scrawny street shit by the name of Duo Maxwell. 

But that didn't make it hurt any less.

Their meaningless relationship had been going on for quite some time now, but recently Duo had been growing tired of it all. He couldn't stand doing this to himself, spending time with Heero, feeling good and almost - alive - again, and then despairing when his stony partner left - which was often. But he couldn't pull himself away, either. He had a fascination with Heero, a deadly fascination, to be sure, since it would probably get him killed in the end, yet...

He couldn't take it; it was driving him crazy. He knew, with a certainty in his heart, that Heero absolutely did not love *him*. He often wondered if Heero had it in his heart to love anyone at all. Yet he had always stuck around, hoping for some small scrap of affection to be thrown his way.

He scowled thunderously. Just like a dog, he thought in utter contempt of himself, lip curling upwards at the thought. It's no wonder that Trowa gave me that look.


It's late, he thought, bemusedly, as he tugged on the sheets tucked around his body. It's late and I don't know what I'm doing anymore. 

It was true, he thought with a shudder, he didn't know anymore. He'd started out, hopeful... Maybe, to save the world - Yes, that was right. Such a childish dream, almost worthy of a manga. 

He rolled over onto his back, violet eyes staring at the dark ceiling. There --- there wasn't anything important enough to him anymore, there wasn't --- there wasn't... He made a small, keening noise in the back of his throat, and held his knees, now turned to his side. 

Nothing was worth it anymore --- holding up the sad charade was ---despicable... He couldn't keep it up anymore, he couldn't be the relentlessly cheerful one... 

With a flash of realization, he realized that all the other gundam pilots were in contempt of him, and most of all... Heero. 

He quickly looked over to the other side of their room, where the aforementioned pilot lay, sleeping. He'd gotten back from his mission early, and he'd just walked in and went to bed. 

Yes, the other pilots all despised him for what he was: the biggest liar of them all. They were all true to themselves, they'd all revealed their secrets, their pains... Wufei, everyone knew he fought for Meiran, for justice, in this vile world... Trowa fought for his sister, for the sake of his sanity, for the simple fact that there was no one else to do it... Quatre, the most innocent of them all, fought for his father, for the other innocents out there, he fought because of the goodness in his heart... Heero, he fought because he was conditioned to, because it had been what he was born for...

For a second, Duo went off track, eyes glazing as he thought about what it must be like to be born for a specific task, and to die for it... Glorious, it had to be glorious - just like Heero. 

He thought about crying, then almost laughed at his foolishness. That would only earn him further contempt, in his own eyes. 

It hurt, he thought dully, it hurt to be happy and stupid, careless and constantly amused, it hurt him so. Yet if he showed his true face - the scared, angry, cynical Duo Maxwell - he would be despised even more, for his utter weakness. 

Crawling out of bed, he went to the door and opened it softly, careful not to wake Heero. Duo rather doubted it would make a difference, yet he did it anyway, for the sake of caution. 

He walked on tiptoe towards the kitchen area, where the backdoor to the house was. He was already dressed; he'd gone to sleep in his customary ragged jeans and thick hoodie, all he had to do was find his shoes, where he'd left them; in the kitchen. 

Drawing a quick breath through his teeth in shock, as his sensitive, warm feet hit the cold surface of the kitchen tiles, he searched for his shoes in the dark. 

He'd left them right beside the door... His trusty sneakers... Snatching them up, he sat down heavily on the warmth-leeching floor, hurriedly lacing them up onto his otherwise bare feet. Pushing up off of the floor, he quietly opened the door - so far, so good. No one would miss him tonight, at least not until Heero woke up. And probably not even then - after all, who would ever admit to missing the weakest component of the team? 

Closing the door after him, he silently started off on the cracked sidewalk, littered with weeds. He jogged through pools of streetlight, neon lights, and quiet houses, all inhabitants sleeping. He didn't know what he was doing this for - he just needed - something to get his mind off of it all... Something to do, for once, so he wouldn't feel the endless weight of his 'teammates' scorn. 

Desperate cries came from an alley right in his path, and he tried to ignore them. But, he just couldn't. He remembered too well what it was like to be used, to be abused, to be... He came to a sudden halt before the dark alley, and he groaned internally. No, he didn't need this... He should pass right on by, it wasn't his business what went on... Another muffled cry went out, he gave in, and jogged toward the source. 

A small group of men were apparently enjoying themselves at the expense of a woman, one that didn't look like a street prostitute. 

He growled ferally, drawing their attention to himself. 

"Well... Look what we have here, boys," The leader of the gang sauntered over to Duo, eyeing him greedily. 

"Another little whore's come to join in our fun," The man finished, and a few sinister chuckles were heard. One of the nameless men threw the petite woman aside, and Duo heard the sound that her head made against the wall - a dull thud - he clenched his jaw. The blood was pounding in his ears, rage sang through his blood, yet he externally remained calm and still. 

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he slowly pulled out a butterfly knife, holding it before him in a street stance.

"Not going to say anything, eh?" The leader said, as he slowly came closer to Duo. "Well, that's ok, I'm sure you'll be saying plenty when I take-" The man's sentence was cut off as Duo lunged toward him, knife flashing in his hands, aiming for his crotch. 

The man quickly stumbled back, but was no longer amused. "Get him," He snarled, his face a mask of utter rage. 

Duo laughed quietly, unnerving most of the men there. He counted five, including the leader, yet there could be more hiding in the shadows. "Step right up," He hissed at them, weaving his knife in and out in front of him in an intricate pattern. 

The first one was big, bulky - he probably lifted weights, Duo's mind calmly analyzed - and bald, a bad combination if Duo ever saw one. Baldie went to disarm him, mistakenly thinking that he would be intimidated by his sheer muscle mass. Duo cackled with wild abandon as the man stepped closer, analyzing Duo's stance. 

With a wild screech, Duo leapt forward, slicing a bloody gash down the side of the thug's - bald - head. However, the man was undaunted. He jumped back a bit, then continued circling Duo, searching for an opening, and occasionally wiping the pouring blood away. Baldie threw a punch, and Duo ducked, but it was too late. It hit him a little lower than the man expected, on his collarbone. He threw himself up against the wall, wheezing, pretending that the punch had done him in - which it almost had, if it had just been a little higher. 

Baldie took the bait, lunging forward to finish him off, and Duo moved to the side at the last possible second. Baldie hit the wall with an appalling smack. 

As the man sagged, Duo caught him under the chin with a bloody uppercut, and simultaneously kneed him in the groin. 

As he threw the muscular man to the ground, Duo turned to face the remaining members. "Care to try a little more...?" He invited mockingly. 

Three men rushed him at once with bellows of rage for their fallen comrade, and he waited in a suitable stance for the right moment... He violently thrust his elbows into the two men who were flanking him. They both let loose nearly identical grunts of pain, but one snatched at him. Duo was already past, however, and he gripped his butterfly knife tightly before plunging it into the chest of the third unfortunate. The man's green eyes were wide, and his mouth formed a shocked 'o' as he fell to the ground, already coughing blood. Duo coldly wondered if he'd have much longer to live...

The two remaining others shouted in anger at seeing their friend stabbed, and charged him once again, this time with broken bottles they'd grabbed off of the street. 

Duo swore quietly, because the dying green-eyed man had his knife - he'd have to do this hand-to-hand. 

He held his forearms up in front of his face, guarding against the inevitable. He knew they thought that he would fold as soon as they attacked, but if he didn't, he could take them by surprise...

The first bottle came smashing down on his left shoulder with immense force, and he internally shrieked, feeling the muscle tear. A meaty fist imbedded itself in the sensitive spot just under his ribs, and he wheezed in pain. However, he was all motion, and he quickly spun around, knocking his first attacker onto the ground. He stepped on his trachea, cutting off the air. As the man gurgled, Duo smiled evilly. "No mercy," He whispered, remembering the terrible screams the woman had made.

The second bottle hurtled through the air, breaking on his ribs, and Duo started in shock. <Oh shit, oh shit, I didn't think...> He threw an arm blindly out, hitting his attacker and momentarily stunning him. He pivoted and grabbed the man, then wrenched his neck to the side quickly and business-like. Cringing as he heard the vertebra snap, he let the man fall bonelessly to the ground. 

He hung his head, panting, feeling warm blood drip from his ribs - God, his shoulder didn't even bear thinking about - there was glass still in there, oh God... 

The leader stepped forward, sniveling, "We didn't mean any harm, honest, we were only testing you, we..." Duo slowly opened his eyes, snarling furiously, "Get out of here! Just get the hell out of here before I kill you too!" The coward quickly edged past him and ran full out.

Sighing, Duo leaned against a cool wall. It hurt, oh God, how it hurt, but at least, at least it was physical, he could deal with the physical....

Pushing himself off of the wall, he called out, "Miss?" as he approached the discarded woman who lay on the ground, "Miss, are you alright?" He asked again, slightly more frantically. Receiving no answer, he reached down and touched the side of her neck, hoping, even though he'd heard that sickening crunch when her head hit the wall, that maybe, maybe she might just make it...

She was dead. He half-sobbed, stuffing a bloody hand in his mouth. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. 

He was too late, God, if only he'd been a little faster... He felt a cold tear run own his cheek, and he wiped it away, leaving a bloody smear on his face. "I'm sorry." He whispered quietly, to her, "I'm so sorry... I tried, you know, but at least you've been avenged," He said sadly. 

Before he got up again, he straightened her clothes out, pulling her torn slacks back up to her waist, and closing her ripped blouse. Her beautiful, blue, unseeing eyes stared up to the heavens, and he asked her slowly, "What do you see? Was it all worth it? Was it worth all you suffered?" 

He then closed her eyes, gently, pretending that she was only sleeping. Smoothing her dark, curly hair he gulped audibly as he felt the sticky blood permeating it. "I'm sorry," He whispered again, eyes tearing. 

He pulled himself to his feet, slowly, God everything hurt so bad... He closed his eyes as another wave of sadness shook him, and he whispered, to himself, "Why am I always the avenger? Why can't I ever be in time? Why is it that I'm always too late? Why...?"

He walked slowly out of the alley, back to the safehouse, railing against himself every single painfilled step of the way. How could he have been so callous as to try to ignore the poor woman's screams? If he'd just gotten there just a little bit earlier... She might've lived. 

He heard sirens wail in the distance, coming ever closer, and he swore angrily as he stepped up the pace, running the last few remaining blocks. He was in agony when he finally reached the safehouse, and he could barely see through the haze of red that clouded over his vision. 

He ran in through the same door that he'd exited, entering as quietly as he could. He turned to look in the kitchen - there was no one there. Good, he thought with satisfaction, and a sad twist of his lips, there was no one there to witness yet another Maxwell failure. 

Taking slow steps, careful not to jar his shoulder any further, he walked out of the kitchen, back into the small, wood-paneled hallway that contained four rooms: his and Heero's, Quatre and Trowa's, Wufei's, what he was searching for, the tiny bathroom.

Realizing suddenly that he might be trailing blood throughout the small house, he grimaced, but accepted it as a fact of life. He would have to deal with it later. 

At last, reaching the same door he'd exited so bitterly earlier that evening, he turned the handle, and let himself in. He flipped the lights on, squinting at the sudden brightness, and looked into the mirror as he did so. Shit. He looked like absolute shit. He giggled, finding it funny for some odd reason. A small portion of his mind told him that he was going into shock, but yet another portion reminded him that this was a good thing, as he would be able to cope with it all infinitely better.

First of all, he thought grimly, the shoulder. <First is worst...> He leaned forward and snagged the medical kit off of the shelf above the toilet, and opened it up. Inside... tweezers, <Second is best...> Shit, he hoped he didn't need those... and gauze, <Third is the treasure chest!> his new best friend. 

He tugged off his hoodie with an internal scream of agony, feeling the small glass shards dig their way deeper into muscle. Shit. It looked like he was going to need those tweezers after all. 

Bare chested, he observed the wound in the mirror. It was a rather small, ugly thing, yet there were large, bloody red pieces of glass sticking out -. He swallowed, suddenly. I can do this, he thought. Hell, you failed that woman, this is the smallest price to pay. 

Grabbing the tweezers out of the kit with his other hand, he reached up to pluck the first piece out. There were about four pieces in all, good sized, and he felt like retching. Hand shaking, he approached the first piece, and latched onto it with the tweezers. He knew that this was going to hurt like hell. Closing his eyes and trying to loosen his muscles, he took a tighter grip on the tweezers and - yanked. He shouted, hoarsely, unable to stop himself. 

Blood gushed from the wound, and he clamped a hand over it, dropping the tweezers, and knowing it was only a temporary solution - he wouldn't be able to wrap it until he pulled the other three pieces out.

He bent down, jarring his shoulder, feeling like white hot metal had seared it, and picked up the tweezers. Once more, he braced himself, picking out the second piece. Then the third piece. And the fourth. 

Feeling faint from blood loss and pain, he managed to sigh in relief, as the hardest part was done. He managed to maneuver his shoulder under the faucet, and he he nearly screamed again as the cold water washed the blood away. Both hands shaking, he reached over to the gauze and wrapped his shoulder quickly, before the welling blood could fount again. 

Seeing to his ribs was simple, as that cut hadn't been quite so forceful, and there was no glass still in the wound. He rinsed and wrapped his chest. 

Since the two major injuries were cleared up, he just needed to change clothes, as these were covered in blood - his and the thugs'. He could wake up early and clean the bathroom floor - right now he was just too damned tired to do anything.

Heading back to his and Heero's room, carrying his hoodie, he shuddered as he thought of the woman's face, her black hair sodden with blood, her blue eyes clouded over in death... He trembled, hoping he wouldn't have nightmares, knowing he would. 

He opened the door quietly, pleasantly surprised to see Heero still in bed, quietly sleeping. He dropped the bloodstained hoodie under his bed, and also yanked off his also bloodsoaked jeans, tossing them in the same place. 

He shivered in revulsion as he felt the air on his bare legs, still sticky with blood. But he was too tired to do anything about it now...

There was a pair of relatively clean sweatpants on the floor, as well as a wifebeater, so Duo pulled those on, and dropped onto his bed, too tired to even clear away the mangas or socks. He pulled himself under the covers, trying to think about anything - anything other than that woman, the woman who simply had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, oh God... He groaned. 

Too late... He'd always been too fucking late... He closed his eyes, seeing her small, pretty face, and curly black hair in his mind again.

No. It had to stop. He turned over onto his stomach, burying his head under the pillow, trying his damndest not to think at all. Sleep... Just sleep. 

As Duo's breath evened out in sleep, Heero watched from the sanctuary of his own bed. Something had happened tonight. Something bad enough to make Duo leave the house, and come back smelling like blood. He would find out what it was.

Duo woke early, just as dawn announced its presence with a slight change in color in the sky. He stretched fitfully, then closed his eyes again, relaxed. He never did like getting up early... Especially not when he'd been out late last - oh God. 

He instantly sat up in bed, remembering everything that had taken place the night before. Oh shit... 

Untangling himself from his sheets, he practically leapt out of bed. He had to clean the floors, he'd left blood all over them, Quatre would freak... 

Rushing out into the hallway, he encountered no one, as it was still too early. 

First, he went over the tiled kitchen floor, searching for any trace of blood. To his immense relief, there were only a few drops here and there, and he cleaned these up quickly. Moving on to the bathroom, he heaved a huge sigh of disappointment. There was a gigantic puddle, right in the middle of the floor; the medkit was still out; the mirror had bloody spots all over it... He groaned. 

Shutting the door to the small bathroom, he got to work. Pulling a mop and bucket from the closet, he filled the latter up with soapy water. He dipped the mop in, and set to scrubbing. Fifteen minutes later, shoulder screaming in protest, the floor was sparkling clean. He'd also neatly put the medkit back into its customary position, and had cleaned the mirror as well. Everything was perfectly clean - except him. 

There was still dried blood all over him. Yet he didn't want to take a shower, because he'd have to redo his bandages and get the medkit out again. He paused, thinking. He couldn't NOT clean himself up, though, and Quatre might be a *tad* bit curious as to why he was covered in blood. 

Giving in, he stepped into the shower, turning it to a reasonable temperature. He scrubbed his skin until it felt like it would fall off, and kept scrubbing until even the memory of the feel of it had worn away. He let water run through his braid, but didn't undo his hair. Once undone, he wouldn't be able to re-braid it without jarring his shoulder really badly. 

Getting out of the shower quickly, he headed straight for the medkit. He re-wrapped his shoulder and ribs firmly in gauze, and sighed in relief once he was done. He felt so much better, being clean, and having his cuts all bandaged... He pulled the remarkably clean sweatpants and wifebeater on, feeling unaccountably cheerful, considering what had happened last night. 

Survival mechanism, he thought morbidly. No matter what happens to him on the inside, Duo Maxwell's always got to be happy on the outside. 

He exited the narrow hallway, and went through the kitchen to the adjoining living room. He noted the first rosy pink streaks of sunlight racing across the sullen sky, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. He went outside the front door, through the living room, to sit on the porch. 

The sun was already rising, and he watched it slowly, in rapt fascination as it broke through the clouds and shone across the sky, highlighting it with purples, pinks, oranges, reds, and every other color in between. He sighed in contentment. The sun would always rise, he observed thoughtfully, even if everyone on the entire planet died, the sun would still rise and the Earth would still turn. It was comforting, in a way, yet also despairing in another. It meant that nothing he did mattered, that the woman didn't matter... He clenched his fists tight to his sides and muttered to himself, "It did matter. It does matter!" 

"What matters?" Heero's cold voice asked, from seemingly right over his shoulder. "AHH!" Duo screamed, skittering sideways, over the edge of the porch. 

"Dammit, Heero, don't do that!" He said, from his position on the ground. 

"Why?" Heero innocently asked. "Because the ground is damned wet!" Duo whined, pushing off of it. Damn Heero! He'd just caused all his wounds to protest loudly again. He winced in pain, hoping Heero hadn't noticed. 

Actually, he didn't really mind. Being with Heero would distract from... other thoughts. 

He sat back onto the edge of the porch, beside Heero. Duo's eyes were shadowed, and he couldn't seem to muster the energy to fill his mask today. He supposed Heero would only hold him in further contempt, but he didn't really give a shit right now. 

"What matters?" Heero asked again, shooting him an unreadable glance. 

Duo racked his brain tiredly for something stupid and inane to say, and managed to come up with a pathetic, "My hair. It really matters to me!" He chirped at Heero. 

Heero just looked at him stonily. 

"What, Heero? Don't you think my hair matters?" Once he got into it, he could go from there, Duo thought sadly. His baka routine had become such an integral part of him, it was like a program he could run on autopilot. 

"Well, I think it does. It matters more than Quatre's tea or Wufei's katana or your laptop. Well, I guess it would, actually, 'cause all that stuff is you guys', and my hair is my thing, so I guess it really would matter more. To me anyway." He rattled off, barely even listening to himself speak. 

"Duo." Heero's rumbling voice spoke again, and he looked over at Heero. 

"What?" He blinked his eyes innocently, trying to play that way. 

"Where did you go last night?" Heero's cold voice stated, and Duo shot a lightening quick glance over at his impassive features. <Shit, shit, shit, oh shit, you got yourself in deep Maxwell, fuck, why'd you ever have to-> Duo shook off the voice, then replied honestly, "Jogging." 

"Aa." Heero said, but he didn't seem to be finished.