"Because it was!" Duo said with venom dripping from his voice.

"Duo..." Heero warned in a no-nonsense kind of voice. He hated it when Duo got like this, so stubborn and angry and... beautiful.

"Heero." Duo shot back, "if you don't let go of my wrist in ten seconds, I will hit you."

Replying with only a faint twitch of his lips, Heero waited.

Exactly ten seconds later, Duo's other fist came flying with lightening speed towards Heero's face, yet he calmly reached out and caught it with his other hand.

Duo strained against Heero's hand, which felt more like solid gundanium than human flesh, but still couldn't budge it. With a curse and a sad thought of what this would do to his wounds, he rocked back for momentum, then threw his whole body forward.

Heero, not expecting the move, tumbled onto the floor with Duo on top. Duo instantly wrenched his hands free from Heero's limp ones, and fled the room, slamming the door shut on his flight out.

Panting, Heero stood up. That hadn't been what he was expecting; not at all. He didn't think Duo would be so reticent to discuss what had happened... He lightly traced fingers across his forehead, where Duo's hand had rested willingly only minutes ago.

Duo sobbed for air as he ran farther from the pilot's residence, cursing himself for overreacting so badly. Now, Heero obviously knew something was wrong. If he'd played it cool, maybe he could have gotten away with... He shook his head, coming to a halt before an immense, dingy warehouse.

Breathing in, he winced. He was breathing much too hard for the mere one mile run it had been. Coughing, he bent down, and gasped like a beached fish.

Once recovered, Duo pulled out an ID card and slid it in the dilapidated card slot by the door. Appearances didn't matter, he thought with a gleeful grin as the thick iron door smoothly slid open then shut behind him with a slight hiss of pressurized air. This was the only place where the gundams could safely be stored without notice, in a city this big.

He walked across the empty room, black boots clicking on the concrete. When he reached the small, dusty office room, he slid the same card into an inconspicuous slot in the desk. A humming sound foretold the jarring descent, and he gritted his teeth.

After the small platform, with the desk resting on it, finally made it's way down to the floor of the underground room, Duo immediately jumped off.

He needed to finish repairs on Deathscythe, he thought calmly, completely blocking any further thoughts of his ...encounter with Heero. Deathscythe had to be operational, he had a feeling he'd be ordered out on a mission, and soon.

Whistling cheerfully, he walked around the large room, giving the other's gundams a once over. They all looked fine...

He then clambered over to Deathscythe's side - as it was laying horizontally - and slipped into the open hatch.

Three hours later, completely exhausted and drained, he staggered out of the cockpit, stretching, trying to get the feeling back into the lower half of his legs.

He'd almost completely reformatted Deathscythe's internal components, ranging from the computer mainframe to the simplest bolt. He needed to make sure his baby was running at 110% efficiency, after all...

Deciding to stay another few hours, he worked on the other's gundams, making absolutely sure that they wouldn't fail in battle or have a critical error.

Sighing, he checked his watch as he hopped out of the last gundam he'd 'made over'. He sweatdropped, as it was two o'clock.

"Shit..." He said ruefully, rubbing his forehead and smearing the grease on there even further, "I didn't mean to stay that long... I'll bet I have a mission waiting for me!"

Jogging away from the gundams, and back to the platform, he slid his ID card in a different slot, this one on the underside of the second left drawer.

The platform moved up, albeit jerkily, and Duo tapped his foot impatiently.


<C'mon...> He thought, angrily, considering what might happen if he wasn't there when a mission came in for him. Either he'd greatly decrease the time he'd have to complete it, or, his worst nightmare: one of the other pilots might take it.

They might think he was an irresponsible brat, worth shit to no one, but fuck, they were gundam pilots, and he couldn't allow them to be hurt... He...he was barely even a pilot, and after all, he'd stolen his gundam from G on his urging...

No, if something went wrong, he certainly wouldn't be missed. But the
remaining pilots...

He broke out of his philosophy, soundly cursing himself for the time he'd wasted thoughtlessly musing. <Another score against you, Maxwell> He thought bitterly as he broke into a run out of the old office and across the stark, concrete floor.

Pulling in gasps of air, and grabbing at side, as he slid the card through yet another slot, this one in the iron door, he thought bemusedly <I hope I heal soon, because I can't take much more of this>

As soon as the door opened, he streaked out of it, willing himself to ignore the pain and keep on moving. When he stopped, a mere block away from the safehouse, he could barely stand. "Oh...God..." He said, hanging his head, walking slowly with one arm pressed to his side, "That hurt..."

As he made his inching way up to the house, he was met by the sound of Quatre's cheery voice saying, "See you after the mission, Trowa!"

Panicking, Duo lurched ahead. "Quatre..." He said, holding his good arm out to stop him from leaving, "where are you going?"

"D-duo?" Quatre asked in concern, glancing at him. Duo almost took the time to laugh at Quat's fake 'concern'. God, how pitiful. Well, he had to keep his kind image up somehow, even if it was as low as pretending to be worried about someone like - him.

"Where ya going?" Duo replied, in a more easy voice, straightening up.

"Oh. A mission." Quatre answered coldly now that his apparent care had been noted by Duo.

"What mission?" Duo asked, feeling like a much less threatening version of Heero.

"What are you, my mother?" Quatre said with a small laugh, then, "Maa, Duo, I have to go! This mission is very important!" Quatre impatiently replied, obviously anxious to get away from him.

"Gomen," Duo apologized profusely, then wished him luck. Feeling despair overwhelm him, he trudged inside the house to meet Trowa's stare as he sat on the living room couch, tuning Quatre's violin.

Pointedly ignoring the sullen gaze, he walked past the kitchen, once again into the tiny hallway.

Pausing before opening his and Heero's room, he wondered. Should he go in there and face Heero? Or should he just leave again? Maybe it would be better if... Before he could finish his train of thought, the door was unceremoniously yanked open, and an extremely irate Heero Yui stood framed in it.

<Holy fucking shit...> Duo's inner voice whined, scared shitless of Heero's pissed off countenance.

"Duo." Heero's nasal voice was dangerously low and angry. "Come in," he invited, in what was so obviously not an invitation, but a command. He could see Heero's jaw ticking in anger, and he gulped. Shit, this was so not looking good...

He walked in slowly, feeling like he was sentencing himself, which, in a way, he was. He sat down gingerly on the edge of his bed, looking at Heero's profile, who was still standing by the door. His muscled form was shaking with suppressed anger, and he whirled around to face Duo, slamming the door behind him in an uncharacteristic fit of pique.

"Eh...Heero?" Duo asked, a little impressed despite himself. He'd never seen Heero this pissed off before. <Maybe it was because I surprised him...> Duo thought, then laughed internally, thinking, <No fucking shit, Sherlock. I bet nobody's ever fucking gotten away from him before, much less totally escaped his deathlock.>

"Duo." Heero growled again, advancing on him, stopping a short distance away.

"Heero." Duo said again, racking his mind for something to say. "Heero," He tried once more, desperately thinking of a way to save himself.

Heero gripped Duo's shoulders, conveniently forgetting Duo's wound. He shook him, roughly, snarling, "Don't do that - *ever* again. I was... I was..." He broke off, finally noticing Duo's pain-stricken expression. Instead of apologizing, he glared at Duo, and stalked out of the room.

Duo sighed in profuse relief.

<Why the hell does he do that?> Heero thought angrily, as he jerkily walked down the hallway leading to the living room.

He saw Trowa working on Quatre's violin, and he nodded to him before sitting down on the couch beside him.

Fidgeting in an un-Heero-like gesture, he looked at Trowa silently, trying decide how to begin.

"Quatre's worried about Duo." Trowa's cool voice broke the stalemate, and he stealthily glanced at Heero from the corner of his eye.

"Aa." Heero replied slowly, then began, "He's different."

Trowa put the oiled violin down on the coffee table and turned to face him. "Yes... Quatre's not sure... But he tells me he can feel Duo's pain radiating..." He fell silent, waiting for Heero's response.

"Sou." Was Heero'd only reply as he got up off the couch and wandered back into his room, ready to face Duo again.

When he got there, however, Duo wasn't there. The window was open, though, and the light curtains swayed briefly in the breeze. He stared at the window, as if willing Duo to materialize. It didn't happen. He sighed reluctantly, then sat down at his laptop, willing himself not to care. It didn't matter... Right?

Duo laughed bitterly to himself as he walked down the street of the dying city, forcing himself look at the diseased bums, the cracked sidewalks, the ruined buildings and the crack dealers.

<You woulda turned out like this, buddy,> He told himself, <if you hadn't taken G's offer...> He crammed his hands in his pockets, hung his head and slouched over, walking quickly and purposefully.

He didn't know where he was going... A bar, perhaps, anywhere but that confined space with Heero... He couldn't stand feeling the other pilot's disdain of him, like a shroud, oppressive and gloomy.

A jagged grin tugged at his lips and he allowed it to come forth, yet it wasn't the same insanely cheerful grin his teammates were used to seeing. It was a terrifying smile, and it spoke volumes of his shattered past and dying present, even of his nonexistent future.

It was too hard for him to keep up his mask, he thought in utter despair, it was getting too hard and he might have to lose it...

But what did he have left, after it was gone? He was a crying ten-year-old, on the inside, there was no way...

He had to stay cheerful and stupid, he had to, otherwise he might start remembering things, details he didn't want to remember, things that were best left buried... /his dying scream choked off in a muffled spray of blood as the machine gun wielded by Duo cut him in half.../ /a once beautiful woman lying in an alleyway, dark hair matted with red...eyes open, staring.../ He shook his head sharply, dispelling the vivid images.

<No.> He thought harshly. <No. This will never happen. Your control is too good.>

He allowed himself one last desperate, fleeting thought...<God it has to be...>

He quit thinking and just focused on running, past the cracked streets and ultimately faceless people, past the bars full of fifteen-year-old prostitutes dying from disease, past the church, abandoned for years since they'd all sought consolation from a bottle, not the word of God, he passed it all and kept on running, reveling in the feel of the harsh air on his cracked lips, the pain in his lungs as they struggled to breathe, the feel of his legs pounding furiously on the pavement, muscles screaming in protest, he kept running...

Throwing himself down on the couch in the living room, he glanced at the clock on the wall as he did so. 1:30. He smiled, wistfully, practicing.

He'd stayed out late, stayed out much too late - but what did it matter anymore?

His disguise was peeling... He had to keep it. He had to. Letting his weary eyelids close, he fell into the waiting arms of sleep.

tbc