Soul Forge - Soul Forge Series Part 1 by Zooie
Standard disclaimers apply

Author’s Aside: My muses have been dead to me for the better part of five years. I haven’t written anything sans term papers since tenth grade. Therefore it came as quite a surprise when I suddenly felt the urge to once more put the pen to paper. Many hours and liters of tea later, I found myself sitting in front of this, completely composed while my consciousness was on hiatus. I suppose my muses have at long last returned and it seems they’ve arrived with a vengeance! Though I pray they take up permanent residence, I know not to push things. I am quite thankful that I finished this before they vacated my mindscape once more. With a bit of luck they will pay me a visit more often, but for now, I hope you enjoy what their fickle attentions have wrought!
Author’s Notes: Duo was about seven when he was first taken to Maxwell orphanage. This fic begins during his ninth year of life and ends right before the Maxwell Church Massacre.

---

"Duo! Come play with us!" The children's voices jolted through the serenity created painstakingly by Sister Helen's ever patient hands. Some days it seemed the walls of the orphanage rang constantly with thin, young voices and this was one of them. After a trying morning spent enduring everything from, "Allie pulled my pigtail!" to, "Joch licked me!" to, "He ate a rock!" the matronly nun had run low on a particular virtue. She'd sent her charges outside for some much needed exercise and then had sat down at the kitchen table, a pair of child's trousers draped across her lap and a needle pinched in her right hand, intending to make a dent in the formidable mending pile. She suspected her efforts were futile. As quickly as I fix them, they tear them up again. And that's assuming they don't outgrow them first. These clothes have been mended so many times, I think my stitches are more abundant than the original fabric. They're positively threadbare. It's no wonder they rip all the time, they're so thin. I don't know what we're going to do when the cold weather cycle begins. They can't wear these clothes and the winter garments are just as bad. Some of the children will have to share coats...

The urge to massage her temples was quite strong. Lately it had seemed that no matter how much she and Father Maxwell scrimped and saved, they just couldn't provide enough for their small dependants. With increasing tensions between the colonies and earth, food prices had been on the rise. Ensuring there was enough to eat for each growing body and a decent amount of water for each thirsty mouth left few funds for anything else, even other necessities. Like coats, shoes, socks, underwear, hats, scarves, mittens... I just pray that Joch doesn't have another growth spurt. That boy grows even faster than Duo runs at bed time. Sighing, she poked her needle half-heartedly at the jagged rent in the pant leg.

"Duuuuuuuu-ooooooooooo!" Fuzzy's whine could shatter glass, his voice inanely high-pitched for someone as husky as he. "I wanna play tag, not hide and go seek! Where are you?!"

Sister Helen hoped Duo had the good sense to stay far away from Fuzzy. She loved all of her orphans, but was not blind to their flaws. She'd be the first to admit that Fuzzy was a touch sadistic or that Molly had a run-away mouth.

"Duo! If you don't come out here right now, I'm gonna tell Sister what you said to teacher!" Allie warned, his tone sounding very serious indeed.

Or that Duo had a tendency to disappear.

The orphanage door slammed abruptly open and six sets of tiny feet came smattering down the front hall, heading directly for the kitchen. With a resigned sigh, she set down her task and stood, just as the barrage of youths arrived.

"Sister! Sister! I know you sent us out to play but Duo didn't come out with us and when we looked for him we couldn't find him and we called and called but he didn't come and we want to play tag but he's our team's captain and we can't start without him and we want to know if you know where he is!" Molly somehow managed to speak a paragraph on a single breath, her frizzy red hair sticking out at odd angles above her sweet face. Her thin hands clutched anxiously at her gray flannel skirt.

She's going to tear a hole, Helen thought desperately.

Allie sidled up next to her before she could chide Molly. Surreptitiously, he pulled on the sleeve of her habit. She bent down slightly, giving him her full attention, for Allie demanded nothing less. "Yesterday at school, Duo told the teacher that he didn't believe in God. When she asked why, he said because he'd never seen God make anything, but he'd seen Shinigami kill an awful lot of stuff. Then the teacher said that you would be mad if you knew how he felt. He told her you knew and weren't mad at all. He said that if anything, you'd be mad at teacher for trying to make us all believe things without questioning. He said that unless we question, we'll never really learn. Then SHE said if he was so good at questioning, why hadn't he learned that God was real yet. And HE said that he couldn't find God until he found the right question. And SHE said-"

"That's enough now, Allie," Sister Helen cut him off. I wish his common sense were as strong as his memory for details, she sighed inwardly. He can remember every bit of this conversation, but can't recall where his shoes are half the time. "I've spoken with your teacher already and the whole matter is cleared up. Don't worry any more about it." She patted him on his little blonde head. Not that you were worried anyway. You just wanted to get poor Duo in trouble, she thought uncharitably, then started. Heaven forgive me... you mustn't judge the children, Helen. They do their best. They've had hard lives. If you don't forgive them and love them, who will? Determined to be more fair-minded, she pasted a smile on her face and took Allie by his hand. "Come," she instructed. "Let's find Duo together." She led the motley crew from the kitchen. "And please don't pull at your skirt, Molly dear."

************

"But Father Maxwell," Duo implored. "I learn squat at that school. Why can't I stay here with you and have you teach me?" He stared up at Father Maxwell's heavily lined face, blue-violet eyes wide with anticipation. They were in the rear of the Maxwell church and Father Maxwell had just finished hearing the daily confessions. He had exited the confessional to find his most rambunctious orphan waiting for him, perched atop a pew back, stick legs swinging carelessly. As Father Maxwell approached him in curiosity, Duo had sprung off the pew and launched into a long dissertation about the evils of public schooling and how his mind was being polluted. Recognizing a long discussion when he saw one, Father Maxwell had seated himself on the hard pew bench, pulling Duo down to sit next to him. He'd listened sympathetically as Duo recounted yet another awful day at school, his attempts to make it humorous only serving to accentuate the aggravation and pain he felt. Before long, Duo had sprung back off the bench and was flitting to and fro up and down the aisle. Father Maxwell watched him, feeling slightly dizzy, as Duo reached the climax of his speech.

He came to a stop at the end of Father Maxwell's pew, pale face scrunched in concentration, bangs flopping in his eyes. His body, forever kept in motion by a combination of nervous tension and ingrained habit, shifted restlessly from side to side, his bony hands cutting through the air in rapid gesticulations. "I promise not to say that God sucks anymore! And just think of all the time you'll save! You won't have to keep apologizing when I kick some sense into those morons in my class! And I can help Sister cook and clean. And I'll help collect the water and I'll even make all the beds in the morning! Well, not Fuzzy's, but everyone else's! I'll learn how to take care of everybody and then you and Sister can have a day off and relax! Just let me learn at home!"

He meant it, too, Father Maxwell knew. The boy might be outspoken, brash even, but he was honest to a fault. That was a big part of his problem at school, he suspected. Duo couldn't tell when silence was the best course to follow. He would say what he felt or do what he wanted without regard for context or appropriateness or consequences. As a result he'd spent much of his school career in disgrace and Sister Helen and he were well acquainted with much of the school's faculty and staff. One day Duo would have to learn that inaction could be as valuable as action itself, but for now...

"Come here, my son," the priest opened his arms and allowed Duo's thin form to crawl up into his lap. Helen is worrying her head off about the children outgrowing their winter clothes, but I think we can discount that option for this one. He almost looks like he's smaller than he was last year. Father Maxwell knew that years of malnourishment and overexertion had stunted the orphan's physical development. He had hoped that with the steady diet and moderate exercise the orphanage provided, Duo would have a bit of a growth spurt, but so far none had been forthcoming. Patience, Father Maxwell. One day he will grow. One day he will be as strong in body as he is in mind, he soothed himself.

As Duo nestled his spare frame in the comfort of his benefactor's warm embrace, Father Maxwell found himself wishing he could heed the boy's request and keep him home from school. The urge to protect the fragile body curled in his lap was nearly overwhelming. I know that school is not the best learning environment. I know he'd learn far more if left to his own devices than he ever will confined in a classroom. But I fear it's just not possible. For one thing, I doubt my small amount of knowledge will come close to satiating his curiousity. He will only grow more discontent.

"As much as I appreciate your offer, Duo," he carefully began, "I fear I cannot allow you to learn with me." He sensed the moment that Duo's defenses snapped into place, despite the boy's attempt to remain relaxed and limp. He prepares himself for rejection. He fears I say no because I find him repulsive or unworthy. "As much as I would adore your company-" (a slight weakening in the defenses) "-this colony requires all children to attend school by law. Pulling you from school without any explanation would raise many questions that we cannot justifiably answer. You would be at risk and thus, so would we."

"So I can't escape that hellhole." Duo sounded resigned, staring at the floor and refusing to meet the priest's eyes. "I can't leave without hurting you and Sister..." He was silent for a long moment, turning choices over in his mind, trying to find a favorable path to follow. Apparently unsuccessful, he hunched his tiny shoulders and tossed his heavy braid, the epitome of bluff and bluster. His young voice gravely spoke out. "I'm warning you now, I ain't going back happily."

Resisting the urge to laugh, Father Maxwell managed to respond civilly. "We'll deal with that when it's time to return, my child. For now, try to enjoy the weekend." As he comfortingly rubbed Duo's narrow back, he wished he couldn't feel the boy's ribs through the fragile cotton of his shirt. Food is getting more and more expensive. I fear all the children are too thin to live long off of diminished rations. Something must be done before the cold sets in. But that could wait. Winter wasn't for another month yet and there were far more pressing problems to be dealt with today. Such as Duo.

Gently, he reached down and lifted Duo's chin with his hand, so that he could meet the boy's eyes. "Remember, my son, this Sunday it is your turn to help me at mass." Duo stubbornly looked away.

"I ain't helpin'. I don't go for that crud and you know it."

Father Maxwell was not above a bit of manipulation himself. Holy man he might be, but even men of the cloth need to have a few tricks up their sleeves. "It would make Sister Helen and I very happy if you helped at mass, Duo. Please say you will. For Sister."

Duo stole a quick look at Father Maxwell's face, peering upward through his unruly bangs. "I-if it would make her happy..."

"It would."

"Okay, then. I'll help. But you're gonna let me drink some wine this time, right?"

Father Maxwell laughed. "We'll see."

********

They'd searched the entire orphanage, the lot of them. They'd explored every nook, cranny, and crevice. They'd found a half-eaten ration bar, nearly a dozen hair ties, plenty of dust bunnies, a few discarded school books, a broken pocketknife, some twine, and a whistle, but no Duo. And if he's not hidden away in a corner daydreaming, Sister Helen deduced, that means he's in the church with Father Maxwell. And THAT means the children are going to have to play sans their friend. Duo was an peculiar child. He always seemed to feel more at ease with adults than with his peers. Odd, given his past, but I suppose I can't blame him. He connects with adults in a way he never does with the other children. He just doesn't understand them and they don't understand him, either. You can't fault him for going where he feels he belongs.

Laughing and teasing, she led the children back to the kitchen. They shuffled discontentedly, shoes scuffing the tile floor, disappointment evident on their faces. "Where'd he get to, Sister?" Joch questioned. "We done looked all over. Where'd he get hisself to?"

"Himself, Joch," she absently corrected. "And I have no idea where he could be. Perhaps he is hiding outside or has gone for a walk." More like a gallop, knowing him. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon. In the meantime, though, you kids scamper back outside. Go on, now. I have lots of mending to do." She chased them to the door amidst many shrieks and much pushing. Internally, she berated herself for lying to the children, but recognized it as a necessary evil. I'll do an extra rosary tonight, she promised herself.

Finally, she thought in relief as the last small form darted out to play. Shutting the door firmly, she returned to the kitchen. She had just sat down when she caught a small movement out of the corner of her eye. Startled, she sprang from her seat, knocking the chair to the floor, hand held to her chest. Equally startled by the loud bang produced by the fallen chair, Fuzzy sprang backwards against the wall, pressing himself against it so he was nearly flat. They stared at one another for the briefest of moments, then each relaxed with a self-depreciating grin.

"Sorry, Sister. Didn't mean ta scare ya," Fuzzy offered insincerely. "I had a question for ya."

"Ask away, Fuzzy," Sister Helen responded, eying the boy reproachfully. She knew he had startled her on purpose, but was reluctant to punish the lad. He was already spiteful and cruel towards the other children. Curdling his temper further with a punishment was not likely to improve matters for anyone.

"How come Duo always get ta do what he want ta do but we all have ta do whatcha say?" Fuzzy spat indignantly, his fury marred by the absurdity of his strange accent. His hands clenched into fists by his sides, his stance solid. He almost looked ready to hit the nun if her answer was not to his liking.

I will NOT fear one of my children, she told herself steadily, although she was currently doing just that. She had seen Fuzzy break a man's nose shortly after he came to the orphanage. Bolstering her courage, she looked Fuzzy in the eye and told him, "Duo doesn't get special treatment, young man. I assure you, once he is found, he will be reprimanded for disappearing without word." Not that he would be punished severely, but she would sit him down for a heart-to-heart. "And you will apologize for taking that tone with me. We brought you up to show respect. You are better than this, Fuzzy. I know you are."

Fuzzy looked down and muttered, " 'orry," before skittering out of the room and back outside, his fury engulfed by shame.

I instill guilt so very well, she winced. I fear my rosary will be even more extended tonight than I thought.

On that note, she picked up the half-repaired pants and began poking the needle in and out of the fabric once more.

************

"Der becomes dem in the accusative case. Likewise, die becomes der and das becomes dem. Plural die is... Duo? Duo! Pay attention, Duo!" the teacher stopped mid-sentence to reprimand her most rebellious student. Seated front row, center -so she could keep her eye on him- the braided child had an annoying tendency to drift off in the middle of a lesson. One minute he'd be diagramming sentences with the rest of the class, the next he was... gone.

"Ja, ja. Es tut mir leid. Brot und butter, Mutter, bitte. Gerade aus,[1]" Duo sputtered, pulled abruptly from his musings. Seeing the teacher's sour expression, he felt his heart sink. Screwed up again. Sister's gonna kill me. "Uh, cave canum?[2]"

"This is German instruction, most certainly NOT Latin,[3]" Ms. Kreuz snapped imperiously. "If you cannot pay attention to me, I fail to see why I should make any effort to educate you." The class tittered.

"Cuz you're paid to?" Duo sweetly ventured without thought. Crud. My mouth shot off *again.* When you going to learn, you idiot? He had barely ceased chastising himself when flashing lights went off in his mind, interrupting his train of thought. Warning! Warning! Rabid female, two o'clock! Before he could blink, Ms. Kreuz was at his desk, yard stick in hand. Awww, crud. "I'm sorry, Ms. Kreuz. I spoke without thought. I was unaware that you were posing a rhetorical question." He spoke his formal best, dredging up his most charming smile, the one he wore when the prospective parents visited the orphanage. People never wanted to adopt a depressed orphan. He'd perfected his smile just for those visits, those brief windows of hope for a normal life...

"Your hand, Duo," Ms. Kreuz sourly instructed. He gaped up at her, blinking his long eyelashes in an apparent lack of understanding. "Please, Duo. We've gone through this too many times for you to play dumb now. Just hold out your hand so we can get on with class." She sounded almost tired.

Well, at least Sister will give me a get-well cookie, Duo thought wistfully, holding out his hand to accept punishment. *WHAM* The yard stick connected sharply with his palm, the slap raising a red welt where it had landed. And there goes any kind of penmanship I had. I hope Ms. Kreuz has a decoder ring. Duo had seen a decoder ring, once, before the plague began. He and So- his partner... had been hiding from a rival gang in an antique shop. A decoder ring had been in the display case, kept safe behind glass. Duo had asked the man behind the counter what it was and he had taken it out and shown them...

"DUO! For goodness sake, you can't even pay attention while I punish you! What am I going to do with you?" she grated in frustration, yard stick brandishing furiously in the air. The class watched the proceeding with morbid fascination.

"Sorry, Ms. Kreuz," Duo offered in a small voice. He really was sorry, too. I hate it when people get upset 'cause of me. I'm not important enough for anyone to get upset over. "I'll try to pay attention now, I promise."

She looked at him sadly. "Let's hope the rest of the day is a better success, shall we?" Returning to the blackboard, she gently placed the yard stick on the chalk ledge before facing the six rows of students. "Class, it is time for lunch. Please be returned to your seats in an hour." She left the room.

"You are so gonna get it when you get home," Fuzzy grinned beside Duo. "I'm gonna tell Sister Helen all 'boutcha!"

Duo looked dully up at the larger boy. "Ms. Kreuz is calling her right now, you moron. You'd just be boring her." Normally he'd accompany his retort with an off-kilter grin or a jaunty shrug, but not today. Today he just felt like curling up in bed, with Sister Helen rubbing his back. He just felt all out of sorts. I *told* Father Maxwell I couldn't stand this place. How am I supposed to learn anything when I'm so bored I could fall asleep? his mind sparked. It wouldn't be so bad if they hadn't stuck me in this god awful baby class. I sure ain't gonna lie and say I've been to school before, but any moron knows the crap they teach in here. I may not come from a fancy home, but I'm not dumb, dammit!

He had never attended school before he came to the orphanage. When Sister Helen had enrolled him in the colony’s education system two years ago, he'd been placed in the lowest level classroom. After a few months of witnessing his daydreaming and inattention, the teacher had decided he was "special needs" and scooted him into a different class. A class where index cards were taped to objects, labeling them "chair" and "door" and "window." A class where half the students didn't have the dexterity to hold a pencil correctly, let alone pick a pocket. A class where naptime was the thrill of the day. Duo hadn't been sure what to do to rectify the situation. He truly didn't know the material they were teaching, even in that slowest of the slow class, but that was because he'd started learning at much more advanced levels. He was, essentially, regressing with each passing day. The teacher knew that he was far past the class' skill level, but there was little she could do. Every time she tried to shift him into an advanced class, he was sent right back for special help, "discipline problems" noted as the driving factor. He was effectively held captive by his own mind and his resulting frustration was the instigator to many a fight. He had been far from a model student.

As that first school year passed, Duo had eventually learned how to fit in with his classmates, but at the compromise of his own character. He learned to play the fool and rather than laugh at his peers' intellectual ineptness, he began to aid them in their lessons. This feat gained him a large group friends and slightly eased his passage through each tedious day. At least then he could help the "morons" instead of ripping his hair out, resentful of his mis-education. His grades gradually improved, even as his attention span became more and more eclectic.

The second year was no better. He had been placed into a normal class, but it was still far below his skill level. Surrounded by students years younger than he, he once more found himself acting moronic and childish, a far cry from the mature leader he had been on the streets. He learned to adapt to different situations, even as his textbooks gathered dust. His grades held steady, the best in his class, but his daydreaming kicked in with a vengeance. He developed two personalities, one he used at school and with the other orphans and one he reserved solely for Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, that being his true self. Yet with each passing month the first mask became cemented more firmly into place, until his inner self was locked neatly away inside.

So far the third year at school was looking no more promising that the previous couple. He'd advanced to the second grade along with the rest of his classmates, despite the fact that he could easily have been handling ninth or tenth grade lessons. Now resigned to his fate, he had easily fallen into the pattern set by the past two years, frustrating yet another teacher with his underachiever attitude.

"Hey! You listenin' ta me?" Fuzzy interrupted his thoughts with a sharp bark. Duo looked up and met the eyes of the younger -yet taller- boy. Damned asshole. Fuzzy seemed to take sadistic pleasure in harassing the smaller youth, never passing up a chance to get a little dig in. Yesterday he stole my roll at dinner. This morning he tripped me on our way to school. At snack time he pulled my braid. What'll it be now? Duo was getting hard-pressed not to kick Fuzzy's stinking behind. All that had stopped him thus far was the imagined disappointment that would surely appear in Sister Helen's eyes when she heard what he'd done. Thank my guilty conscience you still breathe, you jerk. He directed that thought-bullet right between Fuzzy's beady little eyes.

"I was sayin' that you'd best be watchin' yerself. If'n your poor wittle hand gets whacked much more, yer not gunna be able ta help Sister Helen make dinner ta-night. And then I'm guessin' I'm gunna have ta step in and help," Fuzzy sneered. He knew that was Duo's special job, just as his was to assist Father Maxwell in polishing the Communion silver and Allie got to help fold the special priest's robes. I'm not gonna get pissed off. I'm not gonna get pissed off. I'm not gonna get pissed off.

"I guess I'd better be careful then," Duo retorted with a lop-sided grin. Smile. Don't make him angry. Just tell him off with a smile. No one will get mad if you smile. "I wouldn't want to be held responsible for the poisoning of a holy man!"

Fuzzy scoffed, but Duo could tell his hostility was greatly diminished. "Ya only wish." The broad-boned boy turned, heading back to his seat. Duo didn't relax until he heard Fuzzy's chair scrape back under his desk. What, no braid yank? I feel so unloved.

After he stowed his notebook safely away (its pages containing more doodles than notes), Duo pulled a small, handkerchief-wrapped bundle from his desk and set about extracting his lunch. He untied the firm knot holding the parcel together and revealed an apple, half a peanut butter sandwich, and a small slip of paper. Ignoring the food, he eagerly picked up the scrap.

"Thirty minutes of snuggle time," the note read, carefully written in Sister Helen's flowing script. Duo winced. Snuggle time? I do *not* do snuggle time. Not that a nice, long hug is a bad thing... but *snuggle* time?! He sighed. Not that it makes much difference anyway. The deal's only good if I get through the day without getting in trouble. Already blew *that* to hell and back. Ah, well. There's always tomorrow. Although lately it had been getting increasingly harder to stay in the teacher's good graces. She was growing impatient with him much faster than the last two teachers had.

Biting into his sandwich, Duo found that the peanut butter was grossly disproportionate to the bread. In fact, he could hardly taste anything but bread. Food must be gettin' scarce again. I wonder what I can do to help? Not much, since they won't let me steal anything... Polishing off the sandwich, he picked up the scrawny apple and regarded it pensively. If my lunch was small, I'm sure Fuzzy's was, too. And he's a heck of a lot bigger than me. Carefully, he contemplated the state of his stomach. I'm not hungry, but I'm sure Fuzzy still is. I may not be able to get us more food, but I can at least do this much.

Rising from his chair, he walked towards the back of the class and stopped next to Fuzzy's desk. Sure enough, the husky brunette had already devoured his food and was looking rather unsatisfied. He was staring with envy at the lunches of the more fortunate students surrounding him.

"Hey, meat head. Seeing as how you're so smart and all, I thought I'd make you a special offer. I give you my apple and you don't tell Sister that I got in trouble. My apple, your silence. How's that sound?" Duo grinned. I’m not lying, not really. I’m just... tweaking the truth a little. It’s necessary. He'd never trust me if I tried to just *give* him the apple. I have to make him think he's doing me a favor by taking it.

His efforts backfired. He'd over thought the situation, as usual. Would he learn that there was elegance in simplicity?

"Is this a trick?" Fuzzy suspiciously asked, his dull brown, animal eyes narrowed. "Are ya gonna tell Sister I took yer apple or somethin' when we get home? Tryin' ta get me in trouble so she don't get mad at ya?" Wow. Big thought for bozo here. Hope he doesn't give himself a migraine.

"No, siree. How long have we known each other, Fuzz? You know I don't lie! This is a one hundred percent genuine, Duo-certified, deal of the day. Guaranteed free of all tricks and strings. My apple in exchange for the safety of my skin. Take it or leave it," he replied, tossing the apple up and down in the air. Just take the goddamn thing, you jerk. I'm trying to do you a favor here. Don't be a prick. I know you want it. You're practically drooling like the Neanderthal you are.

" 'Duo-certified?' What's that mean? Ya tryin' ta make a fool outta me?" Fuzzy's voice was rising alarmingly fast. The other students, usually content to leave the orphans to their own devices, began to take notice. They looked up collectively from their perfectly constructed meals, lovingly packed by mothers' nurturing hands. Their attention was piqued. A drama was unfolding in the lunchtime forum and it was infinitely more interesting than the usual childish conversations. Duo knew if he cared to look, he'd see expressions ranging from blood-thirsty to embarrassed, with the former significantly outweighing the latter. Oh, shit. Back away slowly now, idiot. Do *not* make this worse than it already is. The last thing you need is for the Priss Patrol to run tattling to teacher.

"Ah, sorry there, Fuzzy, my man," he held his hands up in the classic no-harm-meant position. "I was just saying that you could have my apple. That's all. I don't want it and I bet you're still hungry. But if you don't want it either, that's fine. I'll just take it and-"

As he turned to leave, Fuzzy's beefy hand shot out and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, jerking him to a halt. "Fork it over. Ya offered. I'm takin', deal or no." Well, the means were a bit different than I had envisioned, but the ends are still the same. Silently, he handed said apple over to his glaring companion, watching as it was inhaled in a matter of seconds. His stomach suddenly growled. Guess I was still hungry after all, he ruefully admitted. Too late now.

Fuzzy looked up, licking his lips in satisfaction. "Ya still here? Get goin', squirt!" He raised his thick eyebrows, doing his best to look intimidating. He didn't have to try too hard. Not that Duo was afraid, precisely. He was just... respectful of powers mightier than his. He returned to his desk and sat looking at Sister Helen's note.

Suddenly his hand began to throb.

********

Days passed and winter arrived, snaking its cold, blue fingers around all in its path. The colony’s weather cycles seldom operated properly and fall was practically nonexistent. The citizens would go to sleep one night, comfortable in cotton pajamas, and wake up the next morning able to see their breath. Curses would be spewed, heaters bumped up, and winter clothes dragged from storage. Somehow no one ever could pinpoint the exact date winter commenced and hence all were caught unawares, year after year. It was merely a fact of life.

Sister Helen hated winter. She hated the runny noses, the persistent coughs, the savage wind that would bite through the orphanage’s thin walls. She hated the arguments that would spring up as cabin fever set in, the squabbles that occurred over the “good” coats and mittens, the begging for hot chocolate that the orphanage’s budget could ill afford. She hated the occasional snowstorm that would develop, the wet tracks she would find in the halls, the soaked garments that would drip on the floors. She hated the savage snowball fights that would result in someone sobbing in her arms, the rush to collect as much snow as possible so they could melt it for precious water, the disappointed look on the children’s faces when she was forced to disassemble their snowman for the same purpose. She hated the whining complaints about being cold most of all. Unable to afford the ridiculous prices charged for heat, she kept the thermostat as high as she dared, yet knew it was not nearly warm enough to keep too-thin bodies from becoming chilled. Powerless to do anything about their discomfort, all she could do was bundle her children into ever increasingly layers of clothes as temperatures continued to drop. They’d huddle together in their beds at night, sharing body heat and helping to tame their shivers. It wrenched her heart to see their little faces made pale by the cold. Sometimes it is very hard to believe that you truly exist, my Lord. She hated winter. It made her question her faith.

This winter looked to be no different from the rest. She awoke one morning to find a small body snuggled next to hers, burrowing into her warmth. “Hazel?” she questioned the child gently, sensing that she was awake.

“Yes’m?” came Hazel’s sleepy reply.

“Did winter arrive?”

“Yes’m.” Hazel was one of the youngest orphans, being barely three. With her sweet disposition and adorable face, Sister Helen knew it wouldn’t be long before she was adopted. Though some of her children would likely never find loving homes, for the most part God did smile on them. If God had been feeling particularly benevolent, the adoption would be so successful the parents would return for another child. Unfortunately, upon occasion an adoptive family would return a youngster, blaming irresolvable problems that they did not plan on dealing with. Such as Viola’s inability to love, Fuzzy’s sadistic nature, or Duo’s jarring observations. She knew the failed adoptions were harder on the children than if they had never been chosen at all. They feel as though they are rejected, something broken beyond repair. They feel... lacking. As though they aren’t good enough to be loved or accepted. All she could do, however, was offer her unconditional love and help them struggle through their emotions as best she could. Life truly isn’t fair.

Giving Hazel a generous hug, she managed to climb out of bed with the girl in her arms, the blankets wrapped firmly around them both. The floor chilled her feet quickly through and she tried to remember where she’d stored her slippers. “Let’s see if we can’t find the winter clothes before the others awaken, my dear,” she smiled.

Heading down the hall, she took a small flight of steps down two stories into a tiny basement, flicking the lights on as she passed the switch. The subterranean area was even colder than the upper floors and she was grateful she had brought her bedclothes along for the search. Shifting Hazel onto her right hip, she groped through a pile of boxes one-handedly. Finally locating one labeled “winter garb,” she managed to heft it onto her free hip and began to the journey up to the kitchen. It was a bit of a struggle maneuvering through the doorways, but she and Hazel managed, the small girl helping to keep the blankets wrapped firmly around them both.

Setting Hazel on a chair with the blankets and placing the box on the floor, Sister Helen set about to exhuming the heavy garments. Sorting each article of clothing into piles according to size, the table was soon covered with sweaters, long pants, heavy socks, coats, mittens, hats, scarves, flannel pajamas and nightgowns, even thermal underwear. Some of these are in bad shape. I hope we receive some donations soon. I can’t expect anyone to wear *this,* she thought indignantly as she held up a moth-eaten sweater. Hazel watched her with curiosity in her innocent green eyes.

“Sister Helen? Why is winter cold?” she suddenly asked. The nun paused, contemplating how to answer so that the child could understand.

“Well, darling, on the Earth there are four different times of year. These are called seasons. Each season is different. One is hot, one is warm, one is cold, and one is cool. Each season leads into another one. Here in the colonies we have seasons like the Earth does, only ours are a little broken. We only have two seasons and each comes twice a year. One season is warm and one is cold. Winter is what we call the cold season. Does that help?” she asked, noting Hazel’s furrowed brow.

“What happened to the other seasons?” Hazel questioned. “How did they break?”

Sister Helen chuckled. “If I could tell you that, my child, the colony would be very happy indeed.”

The sound of discontent gasps could suddenly be heard from the large sleeping chamber upstairs. The rest of the children were waking up. Hurriedly, she finished sorting the winter wardrobe and shoved the box to the corner of the room. She had just straightened when a number of blanket-wrapped, tossle-headed young people came charging down the stairs, yelping with each frozen step.

“It’s cold!” “I’m freezing!” “I call the green sweater!” “Ya had it last time! It’s mine turn to wear it!” “Ohhh, red mittens!” “Give me some socks!” “Outta the way, I go first!” “Give that back!” “Stop pushing me!” “I’m hungry.” “Is there anythin’ without holes in it?” “Toss me those pants, will ya?”

As the whirlwind of youths divvied up the clothes and laid claim to what they wanted, Sister Helen supervised and ensured all wound up with a warm set of clothing. She tried to divide the newest items evenly, so that everyone had at least one thing that would keep them warm. She secured decent outfits for the more hesitant children and pried some things away from the more exuberant souls. Shooing everyone back upstairs to get dressed, she set about to getting Hazel out of her pajamas and into a sweater and corduroy pants. She was twitching a miniature pair of socks into place when her ears caught the shuffle of bare feet on the tile floor. Looking up, she saw Duo standing in the doorway, clad in a t-shirt and shorts, examining the table with a practiced eye. He didn’t appear cold at all.

“No new donations, huh, Sister?” he asked flatly. She abstained from answering, knowing he didn’t need to be told that everything was from last year... and the year before... and the year before. “Oh, well. It’s new to most of them, anyway.” He picked through the remaining clothes, expertly examining them all, recognizing which would be of use and which were ready for the rag bag. “Is it okay if I take this sweater?” he asked, holding up a slightly discolored blue affair with a giant snowflake on the front. The other children had rejected it as ugly, but Sister Helen knew its weave was tight and would keep out most of the chill. She nodded and Duo draped it over a chair-back before beginning the search for a pair of pants that would fit. He settled on a worn pair of khakis that had generous cargo pockets on each leg. After snatching up a pair of thick socks, some flannel pajama pants, and fringed scarf, he gathered up his selections and exited the room.

“Duo!” she called after him. He stuck his head through the doorway, braid swinging from side to side.

“Yes, Sister?”

“Aren’t you going to take a coat?” she chided gently. He looked at her blankly, too-large eyes unblinking.

“Don’t need one,” he said shortly and disappeared.

They went through this every year. She would try to force him to wear a coat and he would insist he was used to the cold from his years on the streets. She would tell him not to be foolish, then he would insist and tell her the others needed the coat more than he did. She would give in, he would get sick, and she’d spend the rest of the winter trying to stave off pneumonia or bronchitis or whatever nasty bug was circulating currently. Stubborn boy.

Sighing, she smiled down at Hazel. The blonde child regarded her with a serious expression, chewing on one finger. “I think,” Hazel told her. “It’s breakfast time." As if to punctuate her statement, her stomach rumbled rather loudly. Sister Helen laughed and headed for the stove.

“I do believe you’re correct!”

********

Duo coughed thickly. Sister had warned him to wear a coat, but he had never listened before, why start now? The younger children needed the coat far more than he did, he honestly believed, and didn’t regret his choice in the least... or didn’t until he fell ill. Now he was reaping the consequences of his folly and was starting to rethink his decision. I guess it wouldn’t kill me to give in once in a while. It sure doesn’t make her life any easier, having me sick. Most of the kids are too young to lend her a hand and the rest don't know where to begin helping. ’Til I get better, she’s gonna have to pull all the weight on her own. Normally Father Maxwell would be around to lend the overworked nun some assistance, but there were always more deaths in winter than during the rest of the year. The cold was deadly to the old, ill, and young. His days were filled with Last Rite ceremonies and funerals. Duo didn’t envy him his duties. One of these days I’m gonna admit when I’m being a jerk and do what I’m told. My being stubborn isn’t causing anything but trouble. He shifted restlessly in his bed, peevishly shoving his sweat-soaked bangs from his eyes. ‘Least I’m not in school, he consoled himself.

Wistfully, he looked over at the empty beds lining the room’s walls. All neatly made with matching sheets and woolen blankets, a single flat pillow rested against each metal headboard. The other children wouldn’t be home for hours yet and Hazel, the only child too young to attend school, was ordered to stay away from him, lest she become ill as well. He had already read the few books Sister Helen had left him and knew he was in for hours of boredom. The fever had dulled his imagination, so he wasn’t even offered that form of retreat. All he could do was sleep or stare blankly at the barren walls. Even the windows didn’t offer any entertainment, being boarded up to keep the wind out.

He coughed again and curled into a miserable little ball, huddling under his blankets. I can’t even complain, ‘cause it’s my own fault. Stupid Duo with your stupid ideas and your stupid pride and your stupid stubbornness and your stupid immune system. Can’t even take care of yourself. ‘Least this no one’s gettin’ hurt but me. His mind always filled with images of his street days when he was sick, his ghosts of the past rising to haunt him. Wonder if this is what Solo felt like, ‘fore he died...?

He laughed harshly. Gettin’ a little melodramatic, aren’t you, Duo boy? You ain’t dying. And if you were, it would serve you right. That’d teach you to disobey Sister Helen.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he failed to notice when the door creaked slowly open and a short figure padded towards his bed. Therefore he was quite surprised when a small voice suddenly said, “I’m hungry.” His eyes sprang open and his breath caught in his chest. Several thoughts shot through his head in an instant. What the hell?!! I should have heard an approach! I’m getting soft. He caught a brief glimpse of Hazel’s indignant form before he doubled over coughing, his eyes clouded with tears. When he finally caught his breath again, all he could do was lay limply in bed, muscles wrung out and weak. Slowly he turned his head and focused on the shivering little girl. The younger child looked at him gravely, head cocked to one side. “Sister Helen fell asleep and there’s no one here to feed me. I’m hungry.” She rubbed her belly pathetically.

Duo considered the situation, gauging his sapped strength. Sister Helen told me to stay in bed, but I don’t think she’d mind if I got up for just a minute. What if she’s sick or hurt? What if she needs my help? Besides which, Hazel shouldn’t be left unsupervised and she needs to eat. He knew all too well what it was like to be hungry. I *think* I can make it downstairs. I’ll make her a sandwich and then find out if Sister’s okay.

Gathering himself up, he stiffly swung his legs out of bed and managed to gain his feet. Smiling weakly at Hazel, he took her hand. “Let’s get you fed,” he grinned. She happily skipped beside him as he headed for the stairs, one hand running along the wall for balance.

“Can I have a jelly sandwich?” she begged, letting go of his hand to carefully descend the steps on hands and knees. Duo was tempted to try that method himself, but settled for a two-handed death-grip on the banister.

“Yeah, sure, kiddo. You want some peanut butter with that jelly?” he asked, slightly surprised by the hoarseness of his voice. Maybe I should go put some socks on or something.

“No! No peanut butter! Just jelly!” Hazel sternly instructed, reaching the bottom of the stairs and heading for the kitchen. Jeez. Demanding kid! Mouth’s bigger than mine. Duo followed the imperious young girl, glancing through the rec room door as he passed by. He caught a glimpse of Sister Helen fast asleep on the battered couch, arm curled under her head. She doesn’t look sick, just tired. I guess I should just let her sleep.

“Duooo! Come feed me, please!” Hazel impatiently cried.

“I’m coming, you monster!” he muttered, resigned to playing nursemaid for a few hours despite his ill health. I can sleep later. Right now, Sister Helen needs to nap more than I do.

*******

It was very late. The children had long since been snuggled into their beds and all the evening chores -mopping up the bathroom, wiping down the kitchen counters, washing miscellaneous dirty dishes- had been efficiently completed. The two adults sat in the orphanage’s rec room, exhaustion plainly written across both their faces. Outside the drafty windows, the manmade sky was a dark shroud over the colony. Sister Helen covered her face and cried.

From across the room, engulfed by the overstuffed and sagging armchair in which he sat, Father Maxwell watched her wretchedly. Held immobile through despair, he willed himself to rise and lend the woman some semblance of comfort. He told his legs to carry him across the bare floor, to go bolster his flagging companion with his strength.

He remained seated in the garish chair.

“It isn’t fair! We saved for so long. We went without so much. It isn’t fair,” Helen sobbed, her long brown hair shimmering in the dim lamplight, for once set free from her nun’s cowl. The soft waves made her look younger than her thirty years and Father Maxwell suddenly realized how very heavy her burdens must be. Most women her age find themselves strained caring for two children. She deals with six times that number and still manages to smile. If that is not strength, I’m unsure what is.

“You know we have no choice, Helen,” he uttered gruffly, surprising himself. He had not intended to speak. “If we don’t buy food, there won’t be any children to buy presents for.”

“I.. I know. I’m being silly and impractical. It’s just... every time we dare to hope, to dream a little, we’re yanked so harshly back to the ground,” she whispered. “Of course we will use the money to buy food. That’s so much more important than some silly celebration. The children will understand. After all,” she continued, speaking mostly to herself, “most of them have never celebrated Christmas anyway. What’s one more year without presents...” Her empty words failed to ease the heaviness in her heart. “Yes, we will do what we must. As we always have. But just once, I wish we could give something to the children, something truly beautiful!”

Father Maxwell smiled sadly at her tear-streaked face. “The most beautiful thing we can give them, my dear friend, is love. That is more than most of them have ever known.”

The Maxwell orphanage held no Christmas celebration that year.

*********

Father Maxwell wrapped his arms more firmly around the small form he held to his chest. Loosening his grip, he looked down into the boy‘s eyes and smiled widely. This was a good day, a good day indeed. Seldom was he so pleased to lose one of his wards. This was one adoption that felt completely right.

“Good-bye, Joch. It was a pleasure to have you stay with us. May God go with you and your new family.” He kept his farewell brief but heart-felt, knowing from experience that extended speeches would only produce tears. A well-to-do family had decided to take the lisping boy home with them, their hearts opened by his clumsy mannerisms and open face. Their judgment was not at all at fault; Father Maxwell knew Joch to be one of the gentlest children he’d ever encountered, his way with animals almost awing. He had a calm inner peace that little could shake. It was good that he would finally enjoy a steady home and Father Maxwell was pleased to send him off into such positive circumstances.

“Thank you, Father. Thank you, Sister,” Joch managed, looking a bit afraid but mostly astonished. He’d never imagined that he would actually be adopted, especially by such an obviously wealthy family. It was the stuff of his dreams and now that they were coming true, it was clear he didn’t know what to think.

His new parents exchanged happy smiles and lovingly took Joch by his hands. They led him to their waiting car and helped him climb into the backseat. As the door shut, hiding Joch from view, Father Maxwell heard a sudden scuffle coming from inside the orphanage. Turning, he saw a dozen faces pressed up against the windows, all straining for one last glimpse of their companion. He searched, looking for one face in particular. His search was in vain. Where is he? He and Joch were good friends. I thought he’d want to see him off... As the car pulled away and he and Sister Helen waved, he wondered why Duo had failed to wish his friend well.

“He’s crying in the bathroom,” Sister Helen informed him before he had a chance to ask. Allowing her hand to drop to her side, she turned towards the house, scowling at Fuzzy as she caught him licking the window pane. “He didn’t know how to say good-bye.”

“Didn’t know how? But surely he-” Sister Helen cut him off.

“Friends have left his life in one way and one way only: death. This is a new concept for him, that the people he cares for live on even when out of sight.” With that sobering revelation, she disappeared into the orphanage, leaving him to withstand winter’s cutting winds alone.

Five minutes later found him sitting on the toilet seat, Duo on his lap, holding a tissue to the boy’s nose. The braided youth was still sick and his body emitted a feverish warmth that was almost uncomfortable to hold. He should be in bed, not in this damp air. Tossing the dirty tissue into the trash can, he slipped Duo off his lap and stood. Firmly taking the boy by his hand, he led him to the sleeping quarters, ignoring the child’s protests. After lifting his slight form into bed and tucking the covers around him, Father Maxwell sat down on the mattress and met Duo’s teary eyes. He was taken back by the haunted expression they held. Eyes like that do not belong on a child.

“He’ll be alright, my son. You know that, correct?” He gently brushed flopping bangs off of a pale face. Duo had features that could only be described as delicate, though his cheeks remained babyishly round despite his lack of body fat. Coupled with that cumbersome braid and thickly lashed, purplish eyes, Father Maxwell could understand exactly how prospective parents frequently mistook him for a girl. “He’s been adopted, that’s all.”

“I know that!” Duo spat, rubbing at his eyes in irritation. “I know they ain’t gonna hurt ‘im. But I don’t know, ya know? I don‘t know...”

“Duo,” Father Maxwell began, holding out another tissue. “Calm down. You’re going to make yourself even sicker.” Though Duo usually held his emotions firmly in check, every so often they seemed to spring loose, resisting his tight rein of control. Manifesting in verbal spats, hysterical jesting, or a frenzy of action, it was only when he was alone with his benefactors that he allowed himself to cry. He does so hate to take off that ridiculously happy mask he’s made for himself.

“I never even gotta chance to make it up to ’im!” the youth wailed, drawing his attention firmly to the present.

The befuddled priest drew a blank. “Make what up to him for what?”

“For punchin’ ‘im,” was the sniffled response. Flares went off in the older man’s head. Ah, yes. When Joch first arrived. He and Matt were roughhousing at the top of the stairs and Matt lost his balance and fell. He wasn’t more than bumped and bruised, but when Duo found out about the accident he blamed Joch. I can still see it now. He walked straight up to him, stared right into his face, annunciated, ‘screw you for messing with my family,’ and smacked him hard in the eye. Joch had a black eye for weeks. When Matt defended the new boy‘s innocence, Duo flushed bright red and shamefacedly muttered an apology. Though Joch forgave him and they became friends, Duo always said he would find a way to make it up to the older boy. Now it’s too late.

“Joch forgave you for that a long time ago, little one. He understood. He didn‘t leave bearing you ill will.”

“That’s not what I‘m talkin’ ‘bout!” Duo’s head snapped up, a glare on his face. “I lied! I said I would make it up to ‘im an’ I didn’t! I made him a promise an’ I couldn’ keep it. An’ now I’ll never get a chance to. An’ what if somethin’ ‘appens to ‘im? What if ‘e gets ‘urt or sick or ‘e’s un’appy or gets bullied at ‘is new school? Who’s gonna be there for ‘im? We won’t even know! ‘E could die and we wouldn’ even know!” Duo was fast losing coherency. Father Maxwell had never seen him in such a state. His stomach lurched as he realized that Duo was directing his overwhelming fear and rage not at the priest or Joch, but at himself.

“Oh, child,” Father Maxwell felt suddenly very old. With infinite compassion, he pulled the crying boy onto his lap, gently rubbing the heaving back. “You are far too young to worry about such things.”

“B-but if I don’, who will?” Duo whispered, hiccupping a bit.

Suddenly he found himself on familiar ground. “God will worry, my son. Whenever we find our worries are too much for us to carry, we can hand them to God. He will carry them for us until we feel able to take them on once more.”

“Bullshit!” Duo swore. He pushed away from the protective grip and sat back on his heels, eyes blazing. “ ’E doesn’ care! ’E takes one person’s worries an’ then shoves ‘em on someone else! ‘E’s sneaky! ’E says ‘e’s helpin’ but all ‘e does is make you forget an’ get weak! An’ then bad things ‘appen! I don’ trust ‘im!”

Father Maxwell found himself speechless. He recalled Duo’s words from another occasion: I’ve never seen a miracle, but I’ve sure seen a lot of dead people! The child claimed to believe only in the God of Death. How can I make him understand? How can I give him faith when all he does is make me question my own? “You’re sick, Duo. Why don’t you focus on getting well for now and we’ll continue this discussion later?” He needed time to think, to prepare his arguments. To gather his thoughts. To secure his own faith in God.

He was not to have it. Someone else had different plans.

“I am sick! Sick of bein’ lied to! No one ever tells me the truth! You keep sayin‘, it’ll get better and it’s all in God’s plan. You keep tellin’ me to believe in ‘is power an’ ‘is might. All I see is a mighty powerful pile of crap! Your whole religion’s a lie! A lie that comforts fools!” Duo collapsed sobbing into his pillow, ribs shaking underneath his worn flannel pajamas.

The elderly priest sat silently for a long time, watching as the sobs slowly ceased and the breathing gradually evened out. Patience, Father. Allow him to compose himself. He needs to be calm if he is to understand your words. Then and only then, he slowly spoke, picking his way with the utmost care.

“A lie is only a lie when it’s one sided, Duo. When both sides believe in something, it’s no longer a lie but a created reality. It no longer matters if it’s true or not. If there’s faith, there’s truth. My religion may seem a lie to you, but that’s only because you do not believe. I can’t force you to find faith in God, but I can ask that you show respect for those who do.” He paused.

“Faith is a funny thing, child. It’s difficult to find and very easy to lose. Often times people need physical objects to remind them of their faith. Unless they can touch it, they easily forget it is real.” He loosened his collar and pulled his crucifix from beneath his black shirt.

“That is why I wear this. It is a reminder of my faith, something that I can hold when I feel myself weakening and losing sight of God.” He unfastened the gold chain with steady fingers. “I want you to have it, Duo. I am an old man. If I have not learned faith by now, it is unlikely I ever will. It is time to pass this on to someone who has use for it.” He gently laid the crucifix on the pillow, next to Duo’s fraying braid. “Keep this safe, little one. Faith is a precious gift and I fear there isn’t much left in this world.” He patted Duo’s shoulder gently.

“We can choose to forge our souls any way we please. Some people chose to use bitterness as their hammer. Others choose fear. Still others choose love. And then there are those that choose faith. The first creates nothing but pain. The second causes inaction. The third is empty and unfulfilling. But the last... the last lends the soul hope and dreams, strength and stability. It is the best choice to make, but it is also the hardest to keep. Yet that is the choice I wish for you.” He quietly stood to go, not knowing what else to say. I fear I have failed. Dear God, please lend me strength.

“Wait!” Duo sprang suddenly upright, small hand clutching after his. His face was flushed and splotchy, eyes red-rimmed and nose raw. He looked a mess. He looked disreputable. He looked... repentant. “I... I’m sorry I said that, Father Maxwell. I didn’t mean it.” His voice was low and he refused to look up from the floor. “I want to believe. I really, really do. But it’s so hard.”

The man smiled gently and sat back down, allowing Duo to climb into his lap and lean against his shoulder. Carefully, he lifted the cross from the pillow and fastened it around Duo’s neck. He smiled as the boy looked at it in wonder, bony hand touching it gently. Father Maxwell drew the blankets up around the small body even as he held it close to his heart. “You’ve had a hard life, I know. Harder than most can imagine. Sometimes, though, even the toughest of people need a little help. Wanting to believe is the first step. Who better to turn to than the Ultimate Being? Who can better understand than the Creator himself?”

Duo didn’t respond and he realized that the boy had fallen asleep, completely exhausted by his tantrum.

The small gold cross glittered in the morning light.

******

“You forgot your hat!” Lexie scampered to catch up with him, tiny shoes tapping against the synthetic ground, and thrust the gray cap into his hand. “Sister told me to make sure you wore it. She said she’d give me a cookie if I did a good job. But you have to wear it to and from school. Please wear the hat, Duo! The cookies are chocolate chip this time!” Her anxiety was plainly written in each sparkling brown eye.

“Well, who am I to deprive a cute kid of her cookie?” Shifting his school books [4] to one hand, Duo pulled the wool hat over his hair, blinded for a second as his bangs were flattened into his eyes. He tucked the unruly locks under the cap’s brim and grinned at the five year old girl walking beside him. “Betcha I look like the beastly soldier men now, huh?” Lexie giggled, swinging her books by their leather strap.

“No! You look like a girl!” She shrieked at her daring, darting quickly ahead of him, fearful that her taunt would result in retaliation. Her precautions were needless. Not feeling up to a chase, he watched as her twin pigtails bobbed simultaneously as she ran further ahead down the street.

“Yeah, a girl who’s much prettier than you, so there!” He called after her. Lexie paused, turned, and stuck out her tongue before continuing her run towards the school.

“You’re going to be late!” Her little voice drifted back to him, tossed over her shoulder as she ran. It was quite obvious she intended to be on time.

“I would’ve been early if someone hadn’t hidden my shoes!” he hollered half-heartedly at her back, not really expecting her to pay any attention. She surprised him again. Once more she stopped her flight, pivoting on her heel until she directly faced him. Her lips curled into a sinister grin as, with all the delicacy and precision of a practiced pickpocket, she flipped him the bird. Without waiting to see his reaction, she took off once again.

“Give them an inch and they walk all over you,” he mumbled to himself, breath making puffs of smoke in the cold air. Holding his books to his chest with both hands, he continued trudging towards the school alone.

********

Winter ended as abruptly as it had begun. Duo’s cough gradually faded as the warm air set in. Sister Helen stopped fearing the cold would snatch the children’s lives. Fuzzy grew another inch. Father Maxwell noticed a few more gray hairs. A new orphan arrived and little Hazel was adopted. Allie started noticing girls, particularly eleven-year-old Beth. The thaw had started and all were more than ready to cast off their heavy clothes and chafing mental burdens.

“I finished sweeping, Sister! Is there anything else you need me to do?” Duo stood peering earnestly up at her, a broom almost as tall as he was held firmly in his hands. He must have been nearly ten, as close as anyone could guess, yet still remained as diminutive in stature as a seven year old. Still, what he lacked in size he more than made up for in personality. So small, but so driven. Would that all the children had that attitude. This place would be spic and span in no time at all. She could tell from his eyes that he was tired, yet he remained more than determined to lighten his overworked caregiver‘s tasks. I just don’t understand this child, she admitted to herself.

“Everyone does what they can,” he’d said earlier with a cock-eyed grin. “Right now all the others can do is roll around outside like little kids. Sure, I’d rather be with them than dusting the knickknacks, but that’s what I want. Help is what you need. Besides which, I’ve been here so long I know what needs to get done as well as you do! And I also know it’s too much for one little nun-lady to handle all by her lonesome. So here I am!” He’d confidently spread his arms wide, eager to embrace all she would throw at him. She knew a good offer when she heard one and quickly delegated a number of chores that desperately needed to be done, along with instructions to stop if he got tired. With an energy she envied, he bustled off to his work. She’d sat down to the ever-present mending, resolute she would repair all the winter clothes before they were stashed away to await the day they would be useful again.

The morning had passed quickly and then she found herself regarding Duo once more, the boy liberally covered in dirt smears and dust. She noted with satisfaction that he’d had the good sense to tuck his braid into his shirt, protecting it from the worst of the filth. Good. We don’t have enough water to keep that mop of hair clean. The snow they’d melted over the winter was already running low and she knew Father Maxwell would soon have to dip into their meager coffer to buy more water. They needed to drink and eat. I don’t know how we got through the cold season intact, but somehow we managed it. Thank God for miracles.

“That’s all the major chores for today, little Duo, but why don’t you go outside and brush yourself off? I have one small task remaining that I’d like you to help me with.” Duo nodded, propping the broom up in its habitual corner. Attention to detail. She listened as he walked down the hall, stopping briefly at the door to tie his shoes on before going outside. Methodical in his actions. Sister Helen put down the mitten she was darning and stood. Crossing the hallway to the small rec room, she peered at the barren shelves, straining to read the titles of the few ragged books the orphanage possessed. Most were meant for children, naturally, but there were a couple that she and Father Maxwell indulged in when they had a spare moment. Now, where did that one novel get to...? She considered her limited choices carefully before pulling down a thick, worn book. Hastily, she returned to the kitchen and placed the volume on the table, taking her seat as Duo came through the doorway. Made it.

“What’s up, Sister?” He casually leaned against the wall, too-thin arms crossed negligently on his chest. His clothing looked a great deal cleaner, but there was still a smudge of something running across his cheek. “You’re looking a tad on the flushed side. Need me to unclog the toilet or something?”

“Not at all. Quite the opposite in fact,” she smiled. Tread carefully, Helen. “Sewing is a rather mundane task, even for a woman such as myself. I would be pleased if you’d read aloud to me for a while. It would help break the monotony.”

“Shoot, Sister! Do I have to?” he looked uncomfortable, suddenly shifting his weight from foot to foot. She lowered her eyes firmly to her needle, weaving the yarn firmly into place as she drew the mitten‘s hole closed.

“No, you don’t have to, but it would make me very happy.” Let me give you this small reward for all you do.

“It’s not some stupid girl book, is it?” The voice was sullen.

“I wouldn't call it that, no.” Anything but!

There was a pause. “Is it okay if I do all the voices?”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She practically could feel the moment his vivaciousness snapped back into place. “Hold onto your habit, ‘cause here we go!” He picked up the book and slouched into a chair, propping his feet up on the table. She cleared her throat and he quickly removed the offensive intruders, grinning apologetically in her direction. He cracked the cover and cleared his throat.

“ ‘On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Palace and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge...’ ” [5]

*********

“You have my sincere apologies. I regret this has happened. He will most certainly be dealt with appropriately at home,” Father Maxwell assured the school principal, shaking the irate woman’s hand.

“This is the last time I’ll be lenient, Father,” she warned. “I cannot have him disrupting my classrooms any longer. It’s not fair to expect Ms. Kreuz to deal with his behavior problems and it’s not fair to the other children, either. They cannot learn if their lessons are constantly being interrupted by his tantrums. He needs strict discipline, not prayers. I expect you to treat this matter very seriously. Believe me when I say, the situation is very serious indeed.” Her icy gray eyes met his, accentuating her words.

“Thank you, Mrs. Burns, for your trust. I assume we may go now...?” He didn’t like this stiff woman, with her double-edged words and her piercing gaze. Dear Lord, please keep me from passing judgment on those surrounding me. He especially didn’t care for the condescending tone of voice she’d taken with him. Does no one have respect these days? This woman expects to be treated with the utmost esteem, yet regards those around her like servants. Peace cannot be found in hypocrisy.

She flicked her hand dismissively. “Yes, you may leave. Remember, he is not to return for a week. We must give tempers time to cool.”

“I will remember. Come, Duo,” Father Maxwell instructed, leading the indignant child from Mrs. Burns’ office. I have to get him home before I say something I regret. The two walked side by side down the school’s sterile halls, speaking nary a word until they reached the exit, each lost in their own thoughts. Yet their feet had barely touched the sidewalk when words seemed to physically burst from Duo’s throat.

“I hate that damned harpy! I ain’t never goin’ back there! Never! Blaming that whole mess on me! He was the one who started it! Pulling my hair and calling me a girl every time the teacher wasn’t looking! Just look what he did! He dipped my braid in glue! Glue! And not that crappy white kind they use in art class! The good stuff! That stuff you used to glue the Jesus statue back together that time Matt broke it! It ain’t never gonna wash out! I’m gonna have to cut my hair! Of course I decked him one! Jeez, you’d think he’d have learned by now that you do not mess with me, not unless you gotta death wish!”

Such fury! I almost pity the other boy. Facing this formidable whirlwind must have been no small feat. He looks rather intimidating when he’s like this. His mind suddenly barked a laugh. That furious expression makes his braid even more incongruous than usual! The thin man patiently waited for Duo’s rage to run its course. It didn’t take long. The boy was too good natured to stay angry at anything for more than a brief moment... although he could hold a grudge indefinitely. It was only a matter of minutes before the child stopped ranting and regained control over his emotions. He stood panting for a few seconds, fist still clenched, before relaxing his bunched shoulders and allowing his arms to drop loosely to his sides. The maelstrom is over. Now we face the aftermath.

“I... I’m sorry you had to apologize for me again, Father,” Duo said in a small voice, sounding very ashamed indeed. And enter the guilt. He tries to carry far too much responsibility on his shoulders. I do wish he’d laugh more often.

“Oh, little one...” Father Maxwell firmly took that tiny hand in his and began walking slowly back to the orphanage. “How many times do I have to tell you? I won’t ever mind apologizing for you so long as you do your best. That’s all I ask. I’ll apologize three times a day if I have to, so long as you never give up trying.”

Duo sniffled. “I just hate to see you lower yourself for them, Father! It’s not right! People like that don’t deserve an apology, especially from someone like you.” His hand tightened convulsively. I promise I’ll won’t let you go, have no fear. You will never face this cruel world alone, so long as I live.

“We all must compromise, child, sometimes even at the cost of pride. Sometimes we must hurt ourselves to help others. But in the end, wouldn’t refusing to help at all hurt the most?”

“I guess that makes sense. That doesn’t mean I have to like it, though,” came the sullen reply. “I’d rather die fighting than surrender, but I guess sometimes when we fight, we hurt our friends more than our enemies, huh?”

“That’s right.” They walked in silence for a ways, the priest marveling at the wisdom possessed by so young a mind. With the proper training, he could be the greatest priest L2 has ever known.

“I don’t think I deserve your cross anymore,” Duo suddenly spoke up, sounding serious even for him. He seemed near tears again. “It didn’t remind me to be faithful. It didn’t make me patient and understanding. I failed you. I was bad and sinful. And if your cross didn’t help me be good, I don’t know what will.”

“You didn’t fail me,” the priest denied, feeling his heart thud dully in his chest. He tries so hard and yet still believes he disappoints me. How can I help him trust me? “You could never fail me. Not even if you tried! You can only do what’s right for Duo and if that sometimes means you act a little sinfully, so be it. I’ll believe in you regardless.” He paused before forging on. “I think that maybe the cross just isn’t the right help for you. Maybe it wasn’t a large enough reminder,” he suggested gently. “Perhaps we need to start with something a bit easier to keep in mind? Something that‘s harder to forget about than a tiny charm?”

Duo wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Like what?”

“I’m not certain. We’ll have to see what makes itself known.”

********

“That is the third set of clothes you’ve ruined this month! What am I going to do with you?”

Sister Helen was beside herself with aggravation. Parents’ Day was at the end of the week and the child who was in direst need of a home seemed determined to make himself as unattractive as possible. The boy had gotten into yet another fight at school that resulted in quite the lovely black eye. He’d also somehow managed to get glue in his hair and had torn yet another outfit completely beyond repair.

How does he get himself into these scrapes? It’s as though he goes looking for trouble these days! He causes a fuss, comes home with his tail between his legs, acts repentant as anything, and then the second we forgive him he runs off to do it again! He says he’s defending us from the outside world. I’m not certain what he means, precisely, but I do know this has to stop. How can I get it through his thick skull that he doesn’t need to defend us with his fists?!

“I don’t think we have any clothes left that will fit you. We’re going to have to cut up bed sheets just so you aren’t indecent when the parents arrive!” She threw up her hands in exasperation.

“I’m sorry,” Duo said in a small voice. “I guess maybe I don’t deserve to be adopted.”

Her heart lurched in her chest. Gracious, what have I said? He doesn’t mean to be a bother. He just... draws catastrophe to him like a moth to a flame. “I... I didn’t mean that, Duo. I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated, that’s all. Even nuns get in bad moods at times.”

He looked at her sideways. “You don’t have to tell me that.” And she was forgiven, simple as that. This child, for all his wild ways, never ceases to humble me.

She smiled. “Come, let’s see if we can’t dig up something decent for you to wear.” She led the way to the basement steps.

A futile search found them sitting across from one another at the kitchen table, staring blankly into each other's eyes. “What now?” Duo asked, fidgeting with the gaping hold in the knee of his pants.

“I’m not certain. This has never happened before. I suppose I’ll have to buy something...” This never *has* happened before, but never have we had such a shuffle of children. They no sooner arrive than they are adopted, taking our clothes along with them. We don’t have enough money to buy new garments, but I don’t see much alternative. We certainly can’t count on any timely donations, not with war threatening to break.

“Is there a problem, you two?” Father Maxwell’s deep voice inquired from the hall. Finished with the afternoon services, he’d returned to the orphanage for a quick lunch only to find the despondent pair frowning with worry. This doesn’t look promising. He entered the room and pulled up a chair at the table, loosening his priest’s collar ever so slightly as he settled. “Why the long faces?”

“I mussed my clothes up good and now I’m might have to go naked. Sister ran out of stuff I can fit into, ” Duo explained point blank. “I told her not to worry about it, but she still is. The way I see it, I‘ve been a beggar since I came to this church, living off donations and all. I figure it’s about time I look like what I am, but she won‘t listen to me.” He looked accusingly at the nun.

“I don’t know what to do, Father!” she explained in exasperation. “I can’t possibly fix those holes and we have nothing else for him to wear! I can’t let him walk around like some tatterdemalion, but we can’t afford to buy anything new. I’m at a loss!”

“That is a problem,” he admitted, fingers still tugging at his binding collar. Abruptly, his hand froze. “However, I think I see a solution.” He turned to meet Duo’s purplish eyes, meeting his gaze as a peer, not as an adult. “I think your reminder may have presented itself,” he said cryptically. “I’ll return shortly.” He left the room without another word.

Sister Helen looked wonderingly at the wide-eyed orphan. “What could he possibly have meant? What reminder? Duo?” She watched as a grin slowly spread across his bruised face, his fingers clutching at something beneath his tattered shirt. “Duo?”

“Do you think you can cut this down to his size, Sister?” Father Maxwell suddenly asked behind her, holding a set of his black priest garments in his arms.

Astonished, she gaped even as her ears registered Duo’s delighted laugh.

********

Parents’ Day was a huge success. Prospective men and women began arriving at the orphanage’s door by midmorning. By dinner time, fully half the orphans had found new families, taken away to homes all across the colony. Even Fuzzy was chosen, selected by a big brute of a man who was full of ideas of football games and sports teams. Yet for every happy match there remained an unclaimed child, a small soul ill prepared to deal with the pain of rejection. That night as Sister Helen and Father Maxwell tucked their charges into their beds, tears were visible on each disappointed visage.

“I hate it!” Beth sobbed. “It’s like we’re not even people! It’s like they’re shopping for fruit and we’re the smushy bruised ones! No one will ever choose us!”

“It wuzzn’t so bad, ‘cept they frowned. If they’d at least smiled I wouldn’ta cared so much,” Dan growled, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“But I’m a good girl! I’m good!” Lexie wailed. “Why didn’t they want me? I’m good!”

“I don’t care. Who wants a stupid family anyway?” sniffed Barnaby contemptuously, saving his tears for after the lights went out.

“I thought they were going to choose me. Then they picked Riley. I thought they were going to choose me...” Fitz whispered.

Each child was soothed with gentle hugs and understanding words. The priest and the nun moved from bed to bed, tucking in covers and fluffing up pillows. They did their utmost to make each young heart feel important and wanted, cherished and loved. They tried their best to fill the void in each young life, poignantly recognizing their inability to be heal those fragile, broken dreams, yet always striving to try.

“No one ever chooses me. I’ve been here three years now. I’ve smiled and smiled and I’m still passed up. And even when I do get picked, they just send me right back. No one else has been here this long. Everyone else finds homes and families. They all find people to love them. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be loved?”

That was the hardest question to resolve, for there was truth in Duo’s broken words. None of his adoptive families ever had come to love him, always returning him to the orphanage within a week. They would seem slightly disconcerted by the small boy, whispering that he was too old to be a child, were they sure he wasn’t a midget? “I wanted a son, not a father,” one woman had said before breaking the adoption.

Eyes that had seen too much, a mind that saw too clearly. These were Duo’s burdens to bear. Yet his statements had not been completely true. There was one thing in which he was mistaken...

“Come here, little Duo,” Sister Helen held her arms open, allowing her now-admittedly favorite orphan to lean into her embrace. “Don’t ever believe that you aren’t loved. Father Maxwell and I love you, more than we can say.” She hugged him tight, feeling his tears soak through her sleeve. “How can you ever wish to fit in anywhere else? You don’t need to. You belong right here. You are part of the Maxwell Church family and no one can ever take that from you.”

“Really?” came the watery voice. “So you’re like my mother and Father Maxwell is my dad? And the church is my house?”

“That’s right, Duo,” Father Maxwell stroked the long, unruly hair. “We’ll never make you go to Parents’ Day again unless you want to. This is your home. You don’t have to leave here unless you decide to.”

“I have a home?” Duo raised his head and stared at them with glistening, awe-struck eyes.

“Yes, little Duo. Welcome home.” They smiled together as an ecstatic grin spread across Duo’s face.

*********

Another year passed and many orphans came and went, their numbers increased by the hostile military occupation of the colony. The galaxy was preparing for war and the coming years promised to be filled with hardship and strife. Yet even as tensions increased outside the orphanage, within its walls all was bright with hope, lit by the spirit of a very special boy. Since finding his home, Duo had flourished. Never had Sister Helen seen such a happy child. Gone was that painfully thin mask of cheer. The Maxwell Church’s resident orphan had finally found where he belonged and his glowing smile showed he knew it. His newly-found passion for life was contagious and it wasn’t long before his zealous joy infected those around him.

As they stood side by side at the kitchen counter, pounding sticky dough into loaves of bread, Sister Helen found herself beaming at her boy. The imp returned her grin promptly, never pausing in his task. Flour was speckled across his rosy cheeks and it was evident that he’d wiped his hands across his black pant legs. He continued to dressed in Father Maxwell’s castoffs, despite the ridiculousness of such holy garments on a child. Neither she nor the priest had the heart to refuse, not when the clothes so obviously made Duo happy.

“After this it’s straight outside to brush off,” she laughed. “I think you have more flour on you than the bread does!”

“You’re none too clean yourself, lady,” Duo snickered, pointing a dusty finger at the back of her habit. She twisted her head and saw two small handprints on her rump.

“Well, I’ll be!” she marveled. “I didn’t even know I’d done it! ...... Say, wait a minute! Those are too small to be from my hands! Duo!”

But the wily prankster had already slipped from the room, the echo of his laughter all that remained. Shaking her head, she returned to her baking, unable to keep a smile from her lips.

“May laughter warm your heart each day of your life,” she murmured to herself. “Never let anyone steal your happiness, Duo.”

Pressed tightly against the wall to the left of the kitchen door, safely hidden from Sister Helen’s view, Duo smiled to himself. “I never will, Sister. You have my promise.”

Three hours later Federation soldiers kicked down the orphanage door.

*********

End Part 1

********

[1] “Yes, yes. I’m sorry. Bread and butter mother, please. Straight ahead!”
[2] “... beware of dog?”
[3] Language lessons would, I assume, be of great use in a globalized world such as Duo lives in. German is a root language, as is Latin, so I chose those two as logical choices for basic education. Most modern languages are derivatives of these two.
[4] I know, I know. Books were supposedly a rarity. However, L2 was a poor colony and it is unlikely laptops could be provided for every student. Notebooks would be a cheaper and more accessible option. Besides which, if they had the technology to build Gundams, why couldn’t they create affordable, synthetic paper, in which case there would be no shortage at all?
[5] From “Crime and Punishment,” by Dostoevesky. It is perhaps my favorite novel and has been since I was twelve. It’s as excellent a work as I’ve ever read and contains a protagonist that could justifiably be compared to Duo. I think he’d commiserate rather strongly with Raskolnikov: “He was flinging himself on his knees to pray, but broke into laughter -not at the idea of prayer, but at himself.” Since it’s a classic book that deals with the concept of higher morality, it would seem likely that a priest would own it, too.

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