Author: Sunhawk

Pairings: 1x2, 3x4, 5+S

Rating: R

Warnings: Yaoi, angst/sap/romance, citrusy moments, OOC, language, Duo POV, unrepentant use of pet-names.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this series.

Thanks to Christy, the beta reader I have not been able to break. ^__~

Thanks also to Kitana for artistic technical suggestions, Kracken for opinions rendered, and Plaiddragon for the loan of the Zechs plot-bunny.

Feed-back is a dream I have...

Ion Series Part 13
Connections

Why do things keep taking me by surprise? Why did it never once cross my mind that Captain Yancy 'meet my son the illegal co-pilot' Gray would attempt to dispute the charges Heero made against him? Why, once that stupid return trip from L2 was over and my sleep-deprived bout of paranoia had eased, did I not realize that we were somewhat out-numbered in the 'their word against ours' department?

Gray, his son, the two flight-attendants and even the damn bar-tender were attempting to claim that the whole fiasco was the fault of two 'hot-shot' ex-Gundam pilots with some sort of twisted need to 'play the hero' even if they had to manufacture a crisis to rush into the middle of.

Heero's and my... delay in reporting to the head of security might have turned into a tactical error on our parts. Ms. Kasten, who had been somewhat on the fence in her opinion of us, was rather unsympathetic after that. I think she took our attitude as... well, attitude that lent credence to Gray's hot-shot accusations without us even realizing what was going on.

Somehow, while we'd taken our sweet time getting back to the shuttle port security office, Gray's son Spencer had managed to get in to see his father. I wouldn't have taken Ms. Kasten for a chief with holes that big in her policy... but who knows how the kid managed it. Captain Gray hadn't wasted the opportunity though, because not long after that, the crew of flight fourteen-ten suddenly had a united front and a story they were sticking to. I imagine all that time locked in his cabin during re-entry had given the good Captain plenty of time to think his situation through and he used it to get his shit together.

It got kind of ugly after that. What we had assumed was going to be a miserable day or two filing paperwork and giving statements had turned into more. A lot more. Gray had opted to take the thing to trial, claiming his innocence. He was going to make us work to prove our allegations, the son of a bitch. And the first smoke-screen he'd thrown up was mucking with the shuttle's black box recorder. While Heero and I had been outside his ship, saving his ass... saving his son's ass... saving the asses of his passengers and crew, Yancy-boy had been in the cock-pit applying enough current to the ship's recorder to assure that the thing was wiped and useless. He was claiming it must have happened during the initial impact that had taken out the deceleration vane. It was... an unbelievable story and nobody in their right mind bought it. Unfortunately, Heero and I were alone in that cockpit just as much as Gray was. We'd had just as much opportunity to 'destroy the evidence' as he had. The question hadn't been so much that the evidence had been tampered with, but more... evidence against whom?

That act had utterly crushed whatever spark of sympathy I might have had left for Captain Yancy Gray. It had turned his impromptu panicked embracing of the opportunity to save his career, into something a hell of a lot more... arranged.

In the Preventer business, they call it pre-meditated murder.

Heero hadn't had any damn sympathy for Gray to start with, but finding out about the black-box had sent him into a seething rage. In his mind, somehow, it had all become about me. Gray had tried to murder me. Gray was lying about me. And I don't suppose by now I have to tell you that Heero has a protective streak wider than a four-lane highway?

The result was his using his standing with Une to turn the case into Preventers' business. With all the scrutiny that entailed. Scrutiny that Heero and Wufei were right in the thick off. Not that he'd had to apply a lot of pressure, Commander Une had not been happy with what was being implied about one of her top agents.

My partner was doing his best to keep me the hell out of it, for which I was eternally grateful, but when it was all said and done, two weeks after our Christmas trip to L2 found me pretty much living the life of a bachelor. Heero and Wufei were out of town, dealing with interviews and trial preparations and I was just trying to maintain 'normal' while great chunks of my life were being turned upside down. Again.

Ever wonder just what it is about me that rubs God the wrong way?

And I could cheerfully kick my own ass for starting the whole Winner sister art gallery ball rolling when I had. If I'd had a clue what we were going to be facing in the days and weeks after that stupid trip, I'd have never in a million years made that call to Trowa. But I hadn't, and I had, and I'd been right to equate the woman with a rat terrier, who had been held on a short leash for far too long, and when she'd been given the ok to approach me... no time had been wasted. Had she not been out of town at the time of the initial call, I have little doubt she'd have been on my doorstep that same night.

And somehow, on the day that I ended up going to meet her for the first time, and Heero was gone because of that stupid trial and not able to be with me... I found a whole new reason to hate Captain Gray.

I can't tell you what I expected Aleyah Winner to be like, I really can't. I'd felt somewhat like the woman had been stalking me ever since she'd first been mentioned. Back before she'd been more than 'the watercolor Winner sister'.

I forget sometimes just how damn many of them there are, and by virtue of that fact, the spread in their ages. Not that I think that Daddy Winner didn't cook them up more than one at a time, but when you've got a brood of thirty children... they aren't all going to be from the same decade. I sometimes have trouble getting my head around the fact that 'Quatre's sister' does not necessarily mean of the same damn generation. Half of them were old enough to be his mother.

Aleyah Winner was one of those, probably in her early to mid forties... not that she would dream of telling you her age, and a damn imposing woman.

A scary woman. A woman with a family name that lent her a certain amount of power that she had parleyed into a social circle that she used like clothing, if that makes any sense. I had this feeling that if you took the woman out of that circle; she would just cease to exist.

She was tall for a Winner, her blond hair darker than Quatre's, but shot with gray that she wore with some amount of... I dunno, not quite pride, but almost like a banner, as though making sure that people knew she was of an age to be taken seriously.

I had little doubt that nothing in her wardrobe cost less than one of my paychecks, and I also doubted she bothered to wear any of it more than once. And that included her shoes and ridiculous hats.

She was the polar opposite of everything I was. The classic, clichéd single rich woman. Right down to her little dog.

Her little dog that was keeping me from truly concentrating on the woman's words. The little dog that was wandering about Quatre's sitting room just as though it owned the place. The little dog that Trowa was currently trailing quite unobtrusively.

Maybe it was Trowa to whom I owed the distraction, and not so much the dog, Cocotte. Because it was damn surreal and kind of amusing to watch the doggy dance he was doing. Cocotte sniffed and wandered, sniffed and wandered. Trowa shifted and trailed, shifted and trailed. Cocotte wandered and... squatted. Trowa nudged and then they started all over again.

And while the corner of Quatre's mouth twitched just slightly whenever Cocotte was thwarted, Aleyah seemed to be totally oblivious to the entire Dog Piss Ballet that her own dog was leading.

The whole bizarre thing at least gave me something else to think about besides the kind of sick tightness in my chest as the woman leafed through my portfolio with a detached aloofness that I couldn't read for the life of me.

I'd about given myself an ulcer picking through sketches and trying to decide what to present for her... God, for her interview, I guess you would call it. Because it sure as hell felt like I was interviewing for a job. A lot of my art is... a little too personal to be showing to anybody, much less to be contemplating showing to a lot of anybodies. It had taken me every second of time between Trowa calling to tell me when to be at their house and actually leaving for the appointment, to pick out a set of sketches that didn't leave me cringing. I'd settled on some from the time period right around when Hayden had met Toria, back in the days when he and I had been hanging around together and contemplating a partnership in the trade. Those had been... not bad days. Most of the sketches from then were studies and portraits, some memories and some fanciful stuff. But there wasn't a lot of the darker crap that started surfacing after I'd been out on my own for awhile.

But it was still my art, it was still bits and pieces of... me that she was carefully leafing through with those exquisitely painted nails.

'And where did you say you studied, dear?' she asked as she turned a page to look closer at a portrait of Hayden in free-fall.

I let out a sigh and tried not to let myself rub at the back of my neck. 'Ah... I've never actually been to art school,' I confessed, cringing inwardly and waiting for her to dismiss the whole thing, but her eyes flicked up from the page and she graced me with a look that made me feel decidedly like a side-dish.

'Oh,' she purred thoughtfully. 'Raw talent... I like that.'

I felt the heat rising into my cheeks and I glanced toward Trowa the second she turned her attention back to the sketches, trying to catch some clue from him. When he finished suggesting to Cocotte that she not pee on the floor for the tenth time, he met my gaze and gave me a small smile.

I tried to be reassured by it. Beside me, Quatre delicately cleared his throat. 'Would you care for more tea, Duo?'

I glanced from my full cup to meet his eyes and got a wink that was designed to tell me his support was behind me and not his sister. Or something like that. I honestly wasn't real sure. It was kind of hard to tell, because my 'baby brother' was so damn busy being happy as a little gilded clam over my 'breaking into the art world', that he couldn't stop beaming at me. It made for some damn mixed signals.

'No thanks,' I mumbled, just for appearances sake, because there was certainly no room in the little china cup for more tea. Though it served to make me remember the stuff and I took a sip. I'm not a big fan of tea, I'd have rather had a bottle of soda, and not just for the label I could have been peeling into confetti. But today seemed to be all about appearances. And of course, that thought only served to remind me of how tight my damn collar felt and I found myself reaching to tug at it and made myself stop.

Somewhere in there, I realized I'd missed something and I blinked up to find Aleyah looking at me expectantly.

'Pardon?' I managed.

'Pay attention, dear,' she smiled bemusedly and I felt my face flame. She laughed a dainty little laugh that still managed to chill my blood and said, 'I am so going to enjoy you.'

I fell back on my carp imitation and beside me Quatre sighed with a hint of resignation in it, chiding, 'Aleyah... be nice.'

The woman actually pouted in an almost elegant way... don't ask me how that's done because I couldn't have reproduced the expression if I'd tried, and brushed aside Quatre's warning with a wave of her hand. 'Quatre-pet you are simply no fun at all.'

Quatre didn't bother to reply, and she didn't seem to expect him to. I suspected it was a scene they played out quite often and it made me wonder about her... habits.

'I said,' Aleyah turned her attention back to me. 'If you are paying attention now, darling, that this piece is very interesting. What do you call it?'

I blinked down at the sketch she had it tilted for me to see, showing me a study I'd done of a downed Leo. It was quite detailed in the damage that could be done to metal by a beam scythe. That was the whole focus of the picture actually; how the metal curled just so.

Ok... maybe one or two of the sketches had been a little darker than the others. I did say that some of them were memories, didn't I?

'Call it?' I stammered, looking between her and the sketch.

She gave out with an exasperated little sigh. 'I must have titles, dear,' she informed me somewhat dismissively, as though she had just delegated some task. 'The Frenchman brought an artist in just last month that couldn't title worth diddly. Sweet girl, but absolutely no imagination. We simply can not do the 'untitled-101' thing again so soon. You will have to title.'

She was already turning the page while I was still dealing with the fact that she had just informed me in her non-informative way, that she was going to sponsor me. Quatre made a noise and I glanced at him to see him doing that beaming thing again. Guess he'd gotten the same message I had.

Aleyah was pausing over a study I had done of Toria's hands. It had struck me one day, how different her hands were from some of the women I had happened to meet near the end of the war. Women like Relena with their porcelain skin and manicured nails. Toria had a spacer's hands; calloused and scarred. Blunt-nailed and strong. But no less beautiful in their own way.

I felt my own hands curl around my tea cup.

Suddenly Aleyah turned the page toward me and commanded. 'Name this one.'

I blinked at her in surprise and finally faltered out with, 'Uh... 'Victoria's Hands'?'

The woman actually rolled her eyes at me. 'Oh darling... you suck at this,' I was told in a rather resigned little tone. She turned the sketch back around and swept her gaze over it again. 'Competence,' she said after a moment's consideration. 'We shall title this one 'Competence'.'

I honest to God was surprised that she got that part. I glanced up to meet her eyes and was graced with a tasteful little smirk. 'I shall do the titling, I think,' she said, and there was such an air of command about her that I found myself nodding, still trying to get my brain around the fact that the prim Ms. Winner had just used the word 'suck'.

Then she shut the portfolio with a certain finality. 'These are lovely, pet, but I will need more current work from you.'

It startled me, that she had known somehow that the sketches weren't new. 'I can manage that... I think,' I replied, trying to figure out if I had anything current that was... audience friendly.

'Quatre-love,' she said, almost as though my answer hadn't mattered. 'I want to display that portrait of your charming lover. It is exquisite; you must let me have it.'

I missed the look on Quatre's face, because my attention leapt in Trowa's direction to catch his reaction to the comment. He finished his step in the doggy ballet and looked up to meet not mine, but Quatre's gaze, and he shrugged unconcernedly.

'It's not for sale,' Quatre replied firmly, once he had confirmation that his 'charming lover' didn't mind having his picture trotted out for the art world to see.

'Of course it isn't dear,' Aleyah reassured. 'It's a must to have several pieces labeled as part of a 'private collection'.' She tossed a small wink in her brother's direction. 'I wouldn't sell your precious Trowa.'

Then she was pulling out a massive day-planner and was all business. 'I have a block scheduled in my name at the gallery in two weeks. My potter canceled on me... something to do with her job. I deplore artists with day jobs. You don't have a day job, do you dear?' She never glanced up as she busily made notations and so missed my patented deer-in-headlights routine.

'Aleyah,' Quatre warned, his tone implying a certain amount of exasperation. 'You know he does... I told you about it.'

'Quite right, pet,' she replied, topic already forgotten, or dismissed, or some damn thing. 'No matter... his work is exquisite. I won't miss the opportunity to make him one of mine.'

Whatever look came over my face then was enough that Trowa actually gave in to a snicker. I was lost in visions of Aleyah Winner in a house full of pet artists... all dressed in collars and not much else. Oh God... what had I gotten myself into?

'I just have time to have the pamphlets printed, dear,' she was saying and I tried to focus on the meaning behind her words. Pamphlets? What fucking pamphlets? 'If we get you to the photographer immediately.' She pulled out a business card, jotted something on the back and handed it to me. 'Have yourself at the studio on Monday. I'll handle everything else.'

'But...' I stammered, and stopped, disgusted with myself. Was I going to stammer every damn line I delivered to the woman? 'I have to work, I can't possibly...'

She laughed lightly. 'You do get a lunch hour, don't you darling?' she reached across and tapped delicately at the card in my hand. 'Note the time on the back of the card. Don't worry... Jacques is a wonderful photographer. He'll have you done and back playing with your silly little cars in plenty of time.'

It dawned on me in there somewhere, just how Aleyah Winner got her way in everything, and I had no doubt that she did... she simply kept everyone around her so damn off-balance that they never thought to object to anything.

'Now that that's settled,' she said breezily, making a couple more notes before closing the planner. 'I'm going to need some more pieces from you by the end of the week. Your sketch work is extraordinary, but I would prefer at least two paintings as well; I don't want your scope to seem too... narrow.'

'Paintings?' I queried, refusing to stammer again.

'You do have paintings, don't you?' she pressed. 'I've seen your terribly unorthodox... ship's work, pet, and I simply must have paintings.'

Two paintings by the end of the week? 'That... shouldn't be a problem,' I heard myself saying; suddenly loathe to admit that I didn't have a thing that could be gotten into a gallery, unless she wanted to have the show in a damn hanger somewhere.

'Good,' she smiled, actually looking at me for the first time in a bit. 'And more recent sketches than this; you mustn't hold out on your sponsor.'

I found myself blushing again for some damn reason and all I could do was nod.

'Perfect!' she declared and I felt dismissed. 'I believe that is all I need for the moment. I will see you Monday at Jacques.' Then she was gathering her things and preparing to leave. Trowa looked mildly relieved. Quatre looked like he might bust something grinning. I'd graduated from a deer in headlights, to a bunny-rabbit with a bad leg on a shuttle-field.

But then she gathered up my sketches right along with the rest of her stuff and there was a funny little lurch in the pit of my stomach. 'Uh... what are you...?' I began, and she gave me that weird amused little smile I had already decided I was going to be heartily sick of before very long at all.

'Darling,' she informed me in a tone that can only be described as condescending. 'I can't hang sketchpads in a gallery. Things must be matted and framed.'

Well. That certainly made sense, didn't it? Another one of those things that I should have thought of. Another one of those things that rather took me by surprise. Some part of my brain that hadn't been frazzled to death started doing math calculations but even that quickly ground to a halt. I'd never had anything matted and framed... I didn't have a clue. 'Oh,' was the best I could manage.

Somewhere in there, she had stood up and it was the sense of her towering over me that made me stand too. She laughed outright and stepped over to pat me gently on the cheek. 'My dear, you are too adorable for words!' she said and something in her voice wiped away the notion I'd had of her as a rat terrier and changed it to something more akin to a shark. 'You have a sponsor now; let Aleyah take care of everything.'

I was rather grateful that she turned away before I had a chance to actually say yes Ma'am.

Cocotte didn't even have to be called, leaving Trowa's company and darting to her mistress' heel as soon as Aleyah began walking. She gave Quatre one of those proper little hugs, admonishing him to 'take care of his acrobat', and then surprised me by stopping to give Trowa an identical little embrace, though I didn't quite catch what she told him. It made Trowa use his sardonic grin, and I decided I really didn't want to know.

Watching her walk out the door with my portfolio tucked under her arm kind of brought it all home though, and my knees decided I should sit back down on the settee. Trowa stayed with me while Quatre saw her out, and no longer being busy policing the dog, he turned and smiled bemusedly at me. 'So... you going to live?'

I looked up at him and didn't even try to school what must have been a shell-shocked expression. 'Dear God... what have I done?'

'She is rather... overwhelming, isn't she?' he smirked and came to sit in the chair closest to me.

'You did not warn me,' I accused, still staring at the door, still fighting the urge to run after them, snatch my sketches back and tell the scary woman to forget the whole thing. 'I thought we were friends.'

He chuckled and reached out to take one of the little shortbread cookies off the saucer in the middle of the coffee table before sitting back to nibble at it. 'Would you honestly have believed me if I'd tried to describe her?'

I looked his way and finally had to let out a snort. 'I suppose you have a point.'

He quirked me a grin that was meant to be reassuring. 'Duo, as odd as she seems sometimes... she really does know what she's doing.'

'I hope so,' I mumbled, giving in to the urge I'd had all afternoon to rub my hand over my face. 'Because I sure as hell don't.'

When I pulled my hand away from my eyes, I started at the green bottle that had suddenly appeared in front of me and looked up to find Quatre there, grinning down at me. I took the offered soda with a heart-felt sigh. 'Oh God, Quat; I love you!'

Trowa chuckled at me while I uncapped the thing and gulped down several nerve settling mouthfuls. Quatre came around the settee and sat back down beside me. 'Well... you didn't seem to be enjoying your tea.'

'I really don't like tea all that much,' I confessed sheepishly, 'but swilling Mt. Dew in front of your sister seemed... crass, somehow.'

Quatre snorted and shook his head, then surprised me by reaching out and before I knew it, he'd unbuttoned the top button on my band-collar shirt. 'You looked like you were about to strangle a couple of times.'

I gave in to the second urge I'd been having all day and rubbed at the back of my liberated neck. 'Little brother,' I intoned solemnly. 'We have a seriously weird family.'

He laughed with delight, his eyes fairly shining, and I had to work not to look Trowa's way, though I could feel his approving gaze. Making an effort to make Quatre happy was a fairly recent conscious decision of mine.

'Aleyah is...' he said, when his laughter had faded. 'Very dedicated.'

It was my turn to laugh. 'Dedicated?' I asked, a little incredulous. 'That seems a little... tame, for a woman who makes you feel like you've been run over by a steam roller.'

'She gets the job done, Duo,' Trowa told me, then popped the last of his shortbread into his mouth.

'But,' I couldn't help saying, trying to decide which of them to address the question to. 'A photographer? What in the world does she need a... a pamphlet for?'

It was Quatre who answered me, reaching out to pat me gently on the knee, as though he was about to impart the news that I was to be executed at dawn. 'Duo, you do understand that there will be a reception at the opening? When people go to gallery shows, they want to know about the artists. There are usually little informational leaflets that are handed out...' the more he talked, the more I must have looked like I was staring down the barrel of a .45, and he finally petered out and stopped.

'Reception?' I stammered, suddenly understanding that this art world thing might be a hell of a lot more complicated than I'd ever dreamed. 'I don't know anything about...'

'That,' Trowa cut me off calmly. 'Is why you have a sponsor. It is Aleyah's job to know what to do for you. All you have to do is listen to her.'

'Oh God,' I told him, somewhat aghast. 'I'm supposed to trust a woman to handle everything who can't even remember my damn name?'

Quatre let out with a bark of laughter that he tried to stifle and finally managed, 'She does that to everyone, dear; it doesn't mean she can't remember your name.'

I couldn't help the double take and he grinned at me rather unrepentantly. 'I sure hope so,' I grumbled. 'I really don't want to end up with all those pictures labeled as 'by Pet'.'

Trowa chuckled and prodded my foot under the table in a companionable way. 'Stop worrying,' he commanded. 'Now tell us how this trial business is going. Are Heero and Wufei coming back soon?'

I sat back with a heavy sigh, taking the moment to up end my bottle for another couple of swallows. 'Not likely,' I told him. 'They're still in the interview stage. Heero hasn't given up the hope that they can keep this from actually going to any kind of trial.'

'Have they found anything promising?' he questioned, sitting forward to rest his forearms across his knees.

'Nothing he can tell me too much about over the phone,' I reported, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. It was rather eating at me to be side-lined on something that I had as big a stake in as Heero did. But, Heero was the agent. Mechanics, even Preventer mechanics, don't get to go out in the field and do research. 'They were going to get to interview Gray's wife today, I think.'

'I'm sure they'll be coming home soon,' Quatre assured me and I tried my best not to hear the sympathy in his tone.

'That would be nice,' I replied, taking another drink. 'Because that would mean this mess was over. As it stands now... they're likely going to be on-site until at least the end of the week.'

Quatre didn't respond and I glanced over to see him looking at me with that really bad poker face of his, struggling with words. I wanted to tell him not to bother... the words were pretty well written across his forehead. In glowing green script.

'I'm fine, you mother hen,' I told him firmly. 'I haven't had a psychotic episode in weeks.'

It was rather fun watching him change colors.

But it didn't stop him from jumping all over the subject since I'd technically been the one to broach it. 'You know you're welcome here, if you'd like to stay,' he told me almost breathlessly, afraid I think, that Trowa might shush him. Of the two of them, Trowa seems to have a better understanding of what makes me squirm. 'And if there's anything at all that you need...'

'Just two paintings by the end of the week,' I told him with a bit of a theatric sigh. 'You don't happen to have a couple I could borrow?'

That line made Trowa laugh right out loud, or maybe he was just helping me change the subject, because that had rather been the point to begin with.

Quatre looked a little wide-eyed. 'You mean you don't have...'

'Not unless I could get some old spacer friend to take an acetylene torch to their ship and loan me a section of bulkhead,' I said, and took another swig of soda.

'What are you going to do?' he asked, delivering me my straight line.

'Paint like hell?' I deadpanned, and finally got a laugh out of the both of them. It wasn't hard after that to plead an 'artist's dead-line' and I made my exit. Though I wasn't too surprised that I got walked out to my car by Quatre's 'charming lover'.

'So,' he ventured as we made our way down the front steps. 'You going to tell me what this sudden interest in entering the art circle is all about?'

It hadn't been what I'd been expecting, and he rather caught me by surprise. 'Just broadening my horizons,' I tried, and got a side-long glance for the line and nothing more.

I tried out lasting him, but he's got this way of making me feel guilty as sin when I don't tell him what he wants to know, and by the time we got to my car, I was squirming. 'Look,' I began, not sure just how to explain myself. 'One of my... one of the kids at the Maxwell home was bitten by a dog and she needs plastic surgery, but the insurance won't pay for it. Considers it 'cosmetic'.' I found my hand rubbing over my face and I leaned against the fender, figuring we were in for a long talk. 'When I started thinking about a second job... this seemed like a possibility.'

He regarded me quietly for a moment, and I tried to brace myself for what was coming next, but again he surprised me. 'I thought there was something pushing you into it,' he told me. 'You seem a little... reluctant. I just wanted to make sure that Heero wasn't pressuring you.'

I blinked up at him, grateful as hell that he somehow understood my need to handle this myself, and at the same time, surprised at his suspicions. I snorted. 'Are you kidding? Heero wouldn't pressure me to get out of bed in the morning if I didn't want to.'

Trowa grinned at me and shook his head. 'I should have realized.' Then he seemed to dismiss the topic all together, but finally got around to the one I had been anticipating. He reached out carefully and took hold of the base of my braid, giving me a tiny little shake. It was a gesture he had taken to using when he wanted to guarantee my undivided attention. 'You will call me if you need anything,' he commanded.

'Yes boss,' I replied and graced him with a roll of my eyes.

He didn't let go immediately, giving me that look he's got that makes me feel like he's twice my age, twice my experience, and more than the head taller than me that he actually is. 'I don't care if you just want someone to come and watch bad movies with you. Quatre and I will always have the time.'

I grinned slyly up at him. 'So; you get a 'watch out for Duo' speech from Heero before they left?'

He grinned right back at me, not so much as blushing. 'He didn't have to... it's a standing order.'

I chuckled ruefully and shook my head when he finally let go of me so that I could. 'Sorry Tro, but I don't think I'm going to have the time to be watching movies, good or bad. I wasn't kidding... I don't have a damn thing painted that doesn't come with some sort of structure attached.'

'And you seriously think you can have two paintings done before the end of the week?' he asked me, quirking his eyebrow and managing to look amused more than surprised.

'Don't have a clue,' I said, rather cheekily, I thought. 'Never painted on canvas before.'

He laughed and shook his head, stepping away so that I could open the car door. 'Then I suppose you'd best go find out.'

I climbed in my car, but then hesitated, and he noticed it enough that he didn't immediately shut the door he was holding onto. He didn't speak, only looking at me expectantly until I finally blurted, 'If I can't manage to come up with something, do you think...'

He snorted, not bothering to let me finish. 'Aleyah will have that gallery opening even if she does it with nothing more than what you've already given her. Trust me.'

It was about as disconcerting as it was comforting, but I nodded in acceptance of the information. He shut my car door, stepping back, and I gave him a little wave as I pulled away.

I had left home with a list of things to do a mile long that morning, but somehow my brain had been fried and I couldn't think of a damn one of them.

You know, at that stage of the game I couldn't even freakin' decide if I liked Aleyah Winner or not. She just... intimidated the hell out of me. She was so obviously used to getting her own way, that it grated with me just a bit. But, what she was preparing to do for me was damn generous and that fact was not lost on me. I may be a little uneducated when it comes to the kind of thing that I had just jumped into, but I'm not stupid. Photographers. Pamphlets. Matting and framing. Receptions. These 'gallery shows' were apparently not cheap. And she was rather off-handedly taking care of all of it. Paying for all of it. I guess I was just still having trouble understanding what the woman was getting out of the whole thing. And she was just so... pushy.

It was probably her attitude toward Trowa, and his toward her, that made me reserve my judgment more than anything. She seemed honestly to be at least mildly fond of him, and he seemed to hold her in some kind of regard, even if there was more than a hint of humor in it. I had found, in the last few months, that I respected and trusted Trowa's opinions as much as I did Heero's. Hell; in some things I probably trusted his thoughts more than Heero's. He tended to be more... pragmatic than Heero when it came to things that had to do with me. Less likely to assume that what I wanted was necessarily the best thing.

Somewhat less likely to call the National Guard if I confessed to a headache.

Before I knew it, I'd taken myself back home and was parked in front of my own front steps. I don't recall a lot about the journey there. I dislike when things throw me so much that I fall into 'autopilot' mode; I don't always end up where I intended to go.

But home had been my goal that day, both consciously and sub-consciously apparently, and I took myself inside, mind fairly churning in my skull.

I went to the stereo in the first part of what had become almost a ritual since Heero'd been gone, and queued up my music. I had yet to wire the house the way I had planned to, and knowing that I was most likely going to end up in my studio before long, I just jacked the volume up a touch to be sure I would be able to hear it there.

Then I went into the kitchen and spent my several minutes staring at the portrait of Allison and me that she had given me for Christmas. Sometimes I like to have my goals clearly in mind. Like to put things in their proper perspective.

So maybe Aleyah Winner made me stutter and blush. So maybe she made my mind blank from the sheer power of her personality.

She didn't have shit on the sound of a little girl's voice telling me, 'I got scars, Mr. Duo!'

Then I went upstairs to change out of my dress clothes and into something I didn't care if I got paint all over. The superman cape was only in my imagination. As was the approving nod and slightly feral grin I got from Solo's portrait over my dresser. Though I nodded in return anyway. It was at his elbow that I'd developed my need to guard the children in the first place, after all. He understood. Solo had always understood.

I missed him, sometimes, with a pang that had diminished not overly much through the years. It was a wound that had never quite healed, and that trip to L2 still had it a bit raw. I rubbed a hand over my line of physical scars as I made my way down the stairs, and sighed as I realized that Solo had gotten caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts rushing through my head.

And it was in that frame of mind that I went to stand in front of my brand new, never really used, expensive as holy-hell easel. The canvas was still sitting on it from my one attempt to actually paint at that scale. The attempt that had ended with me covering part of the damn wall in a brain-dump all of whose parts and pieces I had not yet identified. That canvas bore little more than a couple of parallel lines that had meant to frame in Heero's window, before I'd abandoned it all unknowing.

I found my lip caught in my teeth as I worried with the notion that I couldn't paint on anything smaller than a dreadnaught, and wondered what the seemingly unflappable Ms. Winner would do if I showed up with my paintings on sheets of plywood.

I wasted five whole minutes looking at that idea from different angles, before I gave it up and decided it probably wasn't feasible. Then I decided that the first order of business was logically, figuring out what the subject matter was going to be; 'what' before 'how', and all that.

The 'what in the hell...?' thought was enough to bring hamsters scrambling forward from every nook and cranny in the room, little suggestion banners flying. All of them pushing and shoving and jockeying for prime positions to present their ideas to me. Everything from sunsets to still lifes, landscapes to abstracts. I think I groaned out loud.

I sent the ones with the more mundane ideas packing immediately, not even considering about seventy-five percent of them. I somehow didn't think Ms. Winner was looking for floral studies or butterflies. She didn't strike me as the landscape type.

And of course, that begged the question; just what type was she? I thought back over the afternoon and tried to remember which sketches had drawn her attention. She hadn't commented on a lot of them, but I could remember her lingering over several, and they all fell into the category of... different. The portrait of Hayden in free-fall; his body moving in a way that would not have been possible anywhere else. The destroyed Leo. Toria's hands. She had commented in some form, on all of those, but when I thought about it, there had been a couple of others that she had looked at just a bit longer than average. There had been a strange thing I'd done of a view of the ocean off one of Howard's ships. It had been just a slice of sea and sky, framed between the legs of Deathscythe, and in the middle of that calm, quiet, view soared a sea gull.

Yeah... I guess it was a given that Aleyah Winner was not going to be satisfied with bowls of fruit.

'Try again, guys,' I muttered to the hamsters and the little buggers did their best to oblige. After ten minutes of staring at the canvas and dismissing hamsters, I decided to go get myself a soda. Maybe the caffeine would engage my brain.

The minute I stepped into the studio doorway, intent on heading down the hall to the kitchen, alarm bells went off in my head and I found myself flattened to the wall. There was someone on my front porch; I could see the movement of shadows through the window. I didn't know whether to curse my music for masking whatever noise I might have picked up out there, or bless it for masking any noise I might have made myself, but either way I used it to my benefit and darted on down the hall to the kitchen door closest to me. I ducked in, silent as a thief and snatched up a butcher knife from the block on the counter, intent on going through the kitchen into the dining room for a glimpse out the window.

That was when the doorbell rang, and it kind of took the wind right out of my sails. I started feeling pretty stupid, and I just stood there blinking for a second. The war was a long damn time over, after all, along with the days of having to go to the corner store armed to the teeth. I wondered at my own over-reaction; it had been a long time since I'd let myself get set off that way. Still... hearing Heero cursing me six ways to Sunday for being 'careless', I crept on in to the dining room and took a look out the window before going to answer the bell.

I decided I didn't need the knife, and left it lying on the dining table while I went to open the front door. No point in traumatizing a couple of kids, after all.

There were two of them, an older boy and a younger girl, siblings by the look of them, and almost as jumpy as I was. I grinned winningly as I opened the door, watching the boy blush and the girl peek around him from where she'd sheltered. 'Can I help you?' I asked, trying to sound as harmless as possible.

The boy cleared his throat self-consciously and drew himself up to his full height. 'Hi we live down the street and my Mom wanted to know if you had a couple of eggs she could borrow because she's in the middle of baking a cake and ran out and it'll be ruined if she has to stop now and go to the store and it's for my Grandma's birthday.'

It took me a second to decipher the run away sentence and while I was working it out, the little girl stepped out from behind her brother and kind of rolled her eyes. 'Introduce us,' she stage whispered in exasperation and her brother blushed even more hotly than he had been.

'Oh yeah,' he muttered, and then a little more firmly. 'I'm Bobby and this is my sister Ruthie. We live down the street in the white house.'

I nodded at them, still feeling the tick of adrenaline fading from my system. 'I'm Duo,' I told him. 'Hang on a second and I'll see if we have any eggs.'

They nodded back at me, almost in tandem, and I could see the eyes of the little girl searching curiously past me. I left them standing on the porch and retreated to the kitchen.

I couldn't help grinning; what a bizarre ass moment... my neighbor had sent her kids over to borrow eggs. It made me want to laugh. I had neighbors. Who did not think twice about knocking on my door. For eggs. I was relieved to actually find some; I hadn't been sure.

I returned to the front door, eggs in hand, and grin toned back down to something that I hoped wouldn't be scary.

'Be careful getting these home,' I warned them as I opened the front door. 'I don't have any more.'

Bobby looked a bit hesitant then, but gravely took the things when I handed them over. 'Thanks a lot,' he told me. 'My Mom will really appreciate it.'

'No problem,' I replied, and was trying to think of something else to say when Ruthie suddenly piped up.

'Don't cut the rose bushes,' she commanded rather imperiously.

'What?' I said, just as her brother hissed at her.

'Ruthie!'

'I heard Mom tell Dad!' she informed him haughtily. 'She said she hoped the new neighbors weren't too stupid to know what the rose bushes were.'

I thought Bobby was going to pass a kidney stone right there on my front porch, and while watching him sputter and hiss and look like he was contemplating strangling his own blood kin was kinda fun... I started worrying about the eggs making it in one piece, and decided to interject something.

'And just where are these rose bushes of your mother's?' I asked, rather proud of the level tone of voice. I would not laugh at the child on our first meeting.

She turned toward the porch swing and pointed in the general direction of a million things. 'They grow all along the fence row. My Mom says that Mrs. Dent planted them all herself and she doesn't want you to cut them down just 'cause you think they're weeds.'

I looked where she was pointing now that I had a general idea of just where that was, and had to grudgingly admit that I really had thought that tangle of vines was just weeds. 'I promise not to cut them down,' I told her solemnly, and that seemed to be enough to make her happy.

'Thanks, Mr. Duo!' she beamed at me. 'I'll tell my Mom!'

If I hadn't been so thrown off guard by her use of the name the kids at Maxwell's called me, I might have suggested that telling her mother about our little conversation might not be the best idea she'd had all day.

'We gotta go,' Bobby prodded, obviously just wanting her to shut the hell up. 'Mom needs these eggs.'

'Ok,' Ruthie agreed and turned to jump down the steps, stopping at the bottom to wave back at me. I returned the wave and grinned, not able to hide the amusement. She didn't seem to notice. Bobby, an interesting shade of red, muttered an apology.

'Don't worry about it,' I waved him off. 'I really didn't know they were roses.'

He looked relieved and unbent enough to tell me, 'They're yellow ones... my Mom's favorite. Mrs. Dent used to let Mom come over and cut some.'

'Your Mom used to know the lady who lived here?' I asked, my interest piqued despite myself.

'Yeah,' he told me. 'Mom says they used to be friends.'

'Well,' I smiled at him. 'Your mother is more than welcome to come over and cut all the roses she wants when they bloom again. And if there's anything else I should know about, I wouldn't mind hearing about it.'

'Cool!' he grinned, and looked like he might have said more, but Ruthie gave him an exasperated, rather theatric sigh.

'I thought you said we had to go?' she demanded, hands on hips and all but tapping her foot.

'All right... all right!' Bobby returned, and then they were leaving.

I just stood in the door for a minute, watching them walk off down the street, and tried to stop grinning.

It rather hit me all at once then... we lived in suburbia.

I, Duo Maxwell, product of the colonies, ex-Gundam pilot, ex-Spacer, ex-terrorist... was gonna need a lawn-mower, and would probably be buying Girl Scout cookies before the year was out. I managed to get the front door shut before I burst out laughing.

What a totally fucked up concept.

I retrieved the butcher knife on my way through the dining room and put it away with a pang of guilt, wondering what those poor kids would have done had I actually answered the door with it in my hand. I'm sure it would have been the last time their mother sent them over to 'the new neighbor's' place. I stopped to get my bottle of soda out of the fridge and then wandered back to my studio.

God; kids are so... adaptable. No, that wasn't quite what I meant. Accepting? A little closer, but still not quite right. Maybe there just isn't a word.

Bobby looked to be about thirteen or so. Looked like he probably played baseball or soccer or stuff like that. Probably had to be made to do his homework and had to take out the trash to get a little bit of an allowance that he probably spent on video games and candy. A lot of probablys, but you know what I mean; just an average, run-of-the-mill kid.

If you happened to have an even semi-normal family life. If you had somebody who made you do that trash thing, and withheld that allowance when you didn't, and showed up at all your ball games and cheered even when it was only a base-hit and not a homerun. The kind of kid who didn't think twice about knocking on a total stranger's door.

Davey was thirteen too, or had been, not all that long ago. Could not have been less like Bobby if he tried. Davey would probably have balked at knocking on my door, but would have made Ruthie wait on the side-walk had he gone through with it, and would never have expected those eggs without giving something in return. If Bobby was the 'this is what thirteen looks like' yardstick, then Davey came off looking seventeen at least.

And then there was me. By thirteen, I'd been training to fly a Gundam into the middle of a war. I'd have laughed out loud at the notion of going up to some complete stranger and asking for eggs. I would never have bothered because I could not have been convinced there was any point. Might have stolen them, had I really wanted them, but would not have bothered to ask. By that same yardstick, I suppose I would have looked a little bit like... thirty? A slightly jaded thirty?

You see what I'm trying to say? All those kids... all the same age... and how much more different could they possibly be? Made by circumstances into... whatever the hell they had to be. Whatever the hell they could be.

Damn. One little 'Mr. Duo', and look where my brain was off to.

But I found my brush in my hand and my paints on my pallet, in a room suddenly devoid of helpful little banner-toting fur balls, so I just went with it.

Wonder what Heero had been when he was thirteen?

Wonder why I couldn't quite let go of the hurt that he wasn't willing to tell me?

Then I wondered what Aleyah Winner had been like at thirteen and I think I broke my brain. I don't think the woman had ever been less than thirty-five. Had probably sprung full-blown from her poor father's forehead, like some trendy Athena, spouting cultured opinions on the poor man's décor.

I had to sigh, realizing that somewhere down inside I'd pretty much made up my mind that I wasn't all that fond of the woman, even while my conscious self tried to convince me that she wasn't so bad.

But really, it was all about Allison, and how I felt over the whole thing shouldn't enter into it. This was all for Allison's sake... my little Alley-cat.

And that thought brought my conscious brain into contact with the part that had been painting all afternoon and I blinked the canvas into focus for the first time in... quite a few hours, it seemed.

Sometimes... every once in a great while... I get a little bit nervous over my ability to do things without really noticing. If you understand what I mean? Not that I'm not aware... I'm just not always aware.

It was Allison's face looking back at me. Staring back at me. Or most of her face. The bits of window frame that had been on the canvas from before had metamorphed into a half open closet door. Inside the closet, it was black as pitch, and outside it was very bright and sunny. My Alley-cat was caught between, sitting in the dark with her face half obscured with that fall of chin-length, cropped hair, the light illuminating the unblemished half of her face... and the tear track running down her cheek.

That Superman cape got kind of restrictive then, because I choked just a bit.

'One'a yours?' Solo asked near my ear and I nodded.

'Yeah,' I told him, with a certain amount of pride behind the pain.

'Ya gonna let her down twice?' he pressed, in that way he had that minced no words.

'Fuck, no,' I growled and he chuckled as he faded away.

'At's my Rat-boy,' he approved, and there was the breeze of a punch on my shoulder that never connected.

'Fuck, no,' I repeated, not able to tear my gaze from Allison's, but it was mostly for my own reassurance.

When the phone rang a second time, I jumped like it was a shot, set aside my pallet and brush, and ran for the kitchen phone.

The fading daylight registered with me enough that I realized it might actually be Heero, and I snatched the receiver up with a 'Hello?' that managed to sound not only breathless, but kinda hopeful.

'Duo?' his well-loved, much-needed voice came, sounding somehow both happy to hear me and concerned all at the same time. 'Are you all right?'

'I was...' I tried to explain, still seeing that child's piercing gaze boring through me. 'I was painting... I don't think I heard the phone right away... I...'

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Did I interrupt? I can call back later...'

'No!' I exclaimed, a little more vehemently than I'd either intended, or was probably wise. 'No... I was done. I... please don't go, ok?' Then I started thinking a little more clearly, started wondering about where he was and who he was with. 'Uh... where are you, anyway?'

He somehow seemed to keep up with my sporadic thoughts, and soothed, 'It's all right; we came back to our room for the night and Wufei is in the shower. Now tell me what's wrong?'

I sighed, swallowed, and made a conscious effort to drag my sorry brain back into the here and now. 'Nothing's really wrong,' I told him, pleased that my voice had steadied. 'I just... miss the holy hell out of you is all.'

He chuckled softly. 'I miss you too. But are you sure everything is ok?'

'Just been a weird day,' I sighed, aware on some level how much I was relaxing just from the sound of his voice. 'I got to meet Quatre's art-blooded sister.'

'That was today?' he asked, and I could hear the trace of guilt behind a weariness that I was suddenly very aware of. 'Damn. I wanted to be there with you. How did it go?'

'Well,' I chuckled, trying to sound a little less needy. A little more together. 'Let's just say that I am apparently poised on the brink of a gallery début.'

'She's going to sponsor you?' he asked, and a bit of excitement crept into his voice. I imagined the smile and things were a little better. I suddenly felt the need to sit down and took the handset with me to the living room couch.

'Sponsor me?' I quipped. 'At one point I was afraid she was going to abduct me... Heero, that woman is seriously scary.'

He laughed, and it was a good sound. 'She does usually get what she wants,' he agreed.

'No shit,' I muttered and then decided I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I leaned my head back against the cushions and sighed. 'Hey, wasn't today the day you were going to interview Mrs. Gray?'

'I can't tell you too much,' Heero said, but I could hear a certain feral tone in his voice. 'But let me just say this... it's the Ex-Mrs. Gray.'

'Oh that has to be good,' I speculated. 'Right? I mean... she probably isn't too disposed to defend the man if they aren't married any more. Though... that may mean she doesn't know very much, I suppose.'

There was an uncomfortable silence and then he finally said, 'Duo, love... you know I can't...'

I sighed, a little dejectedly, and cut him off. 'I know... I know. I'm sorry; I shouldn't ask. It's just...'

'Frustrating?' he supplied, a touch of his humor back.

'Yeah,' I agreed. 'Frustrating.' I suddenly felt the press of the day on my shoulders and turned to sit sideways, stretching my legs out on the couch.

'You sound tired,' Heero said.

'So do you,' I replied and made him chuckle.

'I guess I'm getting frustrated too,' he confessed. 'I didn't think it was going to take this long.'

It made me want to ask a million damn questions that I knew he couldn't answer over an open line, so I just bit my tongue.

'I just want to come home,' he suddenly told me, and the quality of his voice had changed. I imagined that he was lying down too.

'How much longer, do you think?' I ventured, proud of the fact that I didn't let it sound petulant.

'Depends on whether I... we can keep it from going to trial,' he told me, and sounded irritated. 'Honest to God, Duo... I expected one of them to crack before now, but they're sticking to that damn story like a pack of ticks!'

'It'll be ok,' I soothed. 'Lies are lies no matter how well they're told... somebody will make a mistake eventually. Maybe letting it go to trial isn't such a bad idea; the pressure might just make somebody slip up.' That comment was greeted with nothing but dead-air and I stared at the ceiling for a minute, waiting for him to speak.

'I just didn't want you to have to testify, love,' he said softly, and I could almost feel his concern. I closed my eyes and smiled.

'If I have to, I have to,' I reassured. 'I won't let that bastard get away with this... I don't care what I have to do.'

'I know,' he sighed. 'Doesn't change the fact that I don't want you to have to.'

Damn, but he sounded so tired. 'My white knight,' I murmured and got to listen to him rumble a laugh.

'Does that make you my damsel in distress?' he asked and I didn't have to imagine the wry little smile.

'Hardly,' I snorted, and then we were quiet for a moment. 'You know I love you... right?' I asked softly.

'I do know,' he replied, voice fading. 'And I love you...'

I heard him drifting off and I just let him, lying there on the couch listening to the gentle sound of his breathing until Wufei came and picked up the phone.

'Maxwell?' he asked softly.

'How'd you guess?' I chuckled.

'Well, I was hoping he didn't fall asleep talking to the Commander,' Wufei quipped, his voice so soft it was hard to hear him.

I let him win the soft chuckle, but then had to ask, 'Is everything all right?' I didn't have to tell my lover's partner just how unlike Heero this was.

'He's just pining for you,' Wufei tried, but I wouldn't let it pass.

'Wufei,' I warned and heard him sigh.

'He just wants this... very badly,' he told me. 'And can't quite keep his fingers out of any part of the investigation.'

I had to sigh, knowing how Heero got. He never quite trusted that things he wasn't keeping an eye on were getting done properly.

'Fei,' I asked softly, 'you'll take care of him for me?'

There was an uncomfortable moment of quiet in which I wondered that I'd actually said that, and then Wufei told me, 'Of course I will, my friend. As best I can.'

'Thanks,' was pretty much all that needed to be said to that, and we bid each other good night.

I was not disposed to move, feeling as content as I had all day, and just curled there around the memory of Heero's voice and went to sleep. I hadn't been sleeping all that well myself, since he'd been gone. Too many long hours to do not much of anything but think. And remember. And brood.

I had gotten to the point where I never bothered to turn the stereo off unless I was actually leaving the house.

I remember reflecting, just as I dozed off, that Heero would not have been pleased to come home and find me there.

I'm not sure just what woke me Sunday morning, my belly telling me I'd skipped dinner the night before, my bladder telling me I needed to take a hike upstairs, or just that pinch you get from sleeping in your clothes. There was just a vague awareness that I wished I could roll over and go back to sleep, followed by the resignation that it wasn't going to happen.

Bladder won over my other concerns and while I was in the bathroom anyway, I decided I needed to shower and change out of the clothes I'd just slept in. With those two irritations tended to, I went down to find some breakfast.

Through the majority of my years piloting and living on my own, I had subsisted on 'Spacer food' or what amounted to military rations. Most spacers stock them; they are inexpensive, nutritionally balanced, have an incredible shelf live and take no preparation what so ever. The perfect food.

Unless you're talking to Heero. Somehow or other, in his mind, the things equate to my 'not taking care of myself'. Which made no sense at all, if you asked me, but there was just no arguing with him about it. Just because the stuff doesn't always taste good, doesn't mean it isn't good for you. I don't get it, but Heero hates seeing me eat it. So I had rather gotten out of the habit of maintaining a stock, something that I seriously regretted at times like that, when Heero wasn't around anyway. I hated wasting a couple of damn hours out of each day cooking and eating. It was just so ridiculously inefficient.

It crossed my mind that morning, as I stood with the refrigerator door open, eating lunch meat straight from the deli package, that I should get my ass down to the space port while Heero was gone and stock up on my rations. It was the best opportunity I was likely to get. Maybe I could even buy a case and stash it in the basement somewhere. I swear I suspected he'd thrown some of my last batch out, because I just didn't think I'd gone through them that fast.

Thinking of the basement made me think of laundry and I decided I should probably do a couple of loads. While washing dishes had not been an issue because I wasn't dirtying them, I was still wearing clothes.

Once the washer was going, I decided to just go ahead and gather the trash up to set out for the next day's pickup, and it was while I was standing by the curb with the bag in my hand, looking at the fence row and debating walking out to look at the rumored rose bushes, that I finally had to admit to myself that I was stalling going back into my studio. I sighed, set the trash down and made myself go in the house.

I hadn't had much chance to really study my latest work before the phone had rung the previous night, and decided I needed to go face whatever my twisted little psyche had dealt me this time.

Though I managed to kill another ten minutes cursing myself for forgetting, again, to clean up my brushes and pallet. At the rate I was going through brushes, I was going to have to start stocking disposable ones. Maybe I should just learn to paint with my fingers and be done with it.

But then it was just me and Allison's portrait and I had to meet that unhappy gaze.

My first, rather knee-jerk reaction was to paint the hell over the damn thing. She certainly wouldn't have thanked me for painting her like that. But then a thoughtful little hamster with one of those silly barrettes on, wandered up and titled the damn thing and that was that... it was somehow protected.

'Lost Faith' his banner read, and I thought about smashing him under the pallet. Aleyah would be proud; I'd titled one all by myself. Well... me and the hamster.

I sighed out loud and muttered, 'Great. Just great.'

Then I thought about it some more. No one would have a clue who she was. Probably not even some of the people who knew her. It was a very dark and shadowed painting; part of her face obscured in hair and darkness. But it was a powerful piece... even I could feel it, and I'm something of a rather hard to please critic. Not that I was pleased with the damn thing in any way, but I could kind of look at it and tell Ms. Winner would be delighted with it.

It would make a somewhat appropriate centerpiece. Though no one would understand just how fitting. Except Heero. I knew he would understand. I could imagine him in the room with me then, looking at the painting and slipping his arm around me from behind, settling his chin on my shoulder to softly ask if I was all right.

Made me shiver almost hard enough to give myself whiplash.

I took the picture off the easel and set it aside, placing a new canvas in its place. I'd just freakin' decide later what the hell to do with the damn thing. It seemed odd that there was no fate available for it between trash and art gallery.

I alternated my morning between staring at the blank canvas and chores, before I gave it the hell up; frustration is an even uglier beast than guilt. At almost noon exactly, I threw my head back and yelled, 'Fuck this!' at the ceiling, went to get my coat and got the hell out of the house. Another five minutes and I'd have been painting the dismembered corpses of all the people who were currently frustrating me, starting with Ms. Aleyah Winner and finishing with Captain Gray.

I don't remember making the decision to follow through on my earlier thought to go out and buy ration bars, but that's what I suddenly found myself doing. Guess just driving around was too self-indulgent and my conscience needed something for me to be accomplishing.

Believe it or not, in my previous life, I had been a fairly organized, hard-working person.

McMurphy's place is open twenty-four/seven with the exception of a couple of holidays. McMurphy himself works a kind of second shift, coming in around noon and leaving sometime in the evening. It sometimes seemed sporadic, but at the same time, in perfect sync with the guy who covered the night shift. Spacers just don't keep hours regular enough to try running a business that revolves around them, on any kind of ground-bounder schedule. Ships launch when ships launch; you eat when you're hungry and socialize when you can. It's just the way of the trade and McMurphy understands that.

So I had no fear of not being able to get what I wanted on a Sunday afternoon. It had actually been one of the harder adjustments I'd had to make when I went from pilot to invalid and then mechanic. Learning to think in terms of day/night and weekday/weekend. I just expected what I needed to be available when I needed it.

You don't appreciate the little things until you have to work around not having them.

Though pulling into McMurphy's lot, I will freely admit that I was somewhat relieved to find it not all that crowded. I'd done a lot of thinking on that trip to L2, when I'd been coherent enough for it. I'd thought about my past, about old friends, and about how I was letting a lot of things I used to cherish slip away. So while coming to McMurphy's place was something of a conscious effort... I can't say I was wildly excited about the prospect of running into a dozen people I knew who would want to 'catch up'. Baby-steps, Dr. Webster used to tell me. Just walking into the place felt like about a dozen of them.

I parked and got out of my car, walking across the lot with that 'girding of the loins' feeling. Ever wonder about that phrase? Just where in the hell does it come from? It always generates the oddest damn mental images for me... but I digress.

Walking through the door of McMurphy's always used to give me a faint feeling of being 'home', somehow. I guess it had just been a constant in the inconstant world of a pilot, but there had always been a strange sense of... sanctuary when coming back after a long trip. Maybe it was just the people; that flash of recognition, the smiles and the waves. People who shared a way of life with you, even if you didn't always know them by name.

It was odd to walk into that same place and feel... uncomfortable. Even though I got the smile and the wave from McMurphy himself.

I gave the room a quick scan as I headed for the bar, and was a little relieved I didn't see anybody I knew all that well. Though I could tell a couple of people recognized me. Whether from the old days, or the evening news... I didn't have a clue.

'Hey, McMurphy,' I grinned as I plopped myself on a stool.

He stuck his fist out, grinning back at me, and we tapped knuckles in greeting. 'Been awhile, Maxwell,' he chided from behind the grin and I ducked my head.

'Been kinda busy,' I muttered and he laughed out loud.

'So I heard,' he said, and made me sigh. Should have known that my L2 exploits were all over the grape vine. It always rather amazed me how news traveled through the trade when you consider how much time people spend out of contact. Or maybe that's what makes them so damn gossipy when they do get together.

'Yeah,' I grumbled. 'My luck has been...'

'Legendarily bad?' he supplied, giving me his Papa bear grin to take the sting out of it as he set a bottle of soda in front of me. I looked from it to him and back again; I hadn't ordered anything. And if I had anything that would have been considered a 'usual' here at McMurphy's... it was beer. He didn't lose that big grin when he met and held my gaze, but there was something there... some understanding. Though I wasn't sure if he understood... or wanted me to.

I didn't comment on it, just accepted the bottle and took a swallow. 'Apparently so,' I responded to his barb and the moment was gone.

He lifted his own bottle of water and gently tapped it against my soda. 'Well, here's to seeing the end of it.'

'Oh, I'll second that!' I readily agreed and we drank on it. It was weirdly comforting to have Papa McMurphy wishing an end to my curse.

'So you gonna tell me about it?' he prodded, leaning against his side of the bar and giving me his undivided attention.

I snorted and shook my head. 'You mean the story isn't all over the place already?'

He chuckled and took another swallow of his water. 'Well... there's gossip and then there's stories... I'd rather hear it from you.'

I raised my leg up, propping it on the next stool over. The stretch in my hamstrings felt kind of good, so I lifted my other leg up to join it. 'I dunno, McMurphy... I wasn't plannin' on being here all day.'

He grinned. 'Long story, is it?'

I let out a gust of a sigh that lost a bit of the teasing. 'Damn long,' I confirmed, and took a swallow of soda while I thought about it. I wasn't sure just how much I could tell anyway, seeing as how there was an investigation going on.

'The word is that Captain Gray and his co-pilot used to be... military,' McMurphy said, his own voice getting more serious. 'Is that what started it?'

I shook my head and took a moment to cross my legs at the ankle while I thought about it. 'No... I don't think so. Well, it wasn't personal at least. Though that stupid ass 'make do' attitude you find in ex-soldiers sometimes, might have been a factor.'

He gave me that cocked-head look that clearly said 'I'm listening' and I sighed.

'Between you and me, Mac,' I told him, and knew that he'd keep it to himself. 'The guy was letting his damn un-licensed kid sit watch unsupervised. That's what started it.'

He whistled softly and shook his head. 'There'd been talk about that guy...' he muttered and it was my turn to do the listening look. He rolled his eyes, 'Veteran pilots don't just suddenly start kissing the spars without there being something up.'

'So people knew?' I asked, caught between hopeful and aghast.

'People guessed,' McMurphy told me, and we both took a minute to take a swallow of our drinks.

I sighed quite despite myself; I suppose it had been a kind of stupid hope that I would just stumble across some bit of information that would help in the investigation.

'Trouble, kid?' he asked me gently and I could only hope the dejection wasn't as strong in my voice as I felt it was.

'The asshole is fighting the charges,' I growled and was almost surprised when my hand found its way up to rub at my eyes. I let it fall back into my lap and turned to meet McMurphy's eyes dead on. 'Keep this to yourself Papa bear... but the guy tried to space us to keep the whole damn thing quiet. He's fighting tooth and nail to turn this around and make us the bad guys.'

McMurphy's eyes narrowed and for a moment I got to see the look that had earned him that 'Papa bear' nickname. 'Surely...' he began, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

'The whole crew was in on that damn deal with the Captain's son,' I sighed. 'They've all got exposed asses to cover, if you know what I mean.'

He nodded his understanding and absently began rubbing at his beloved oak bar top with the rag that was never far. 'Trade don't speak too highly of the man,' he informed me and I snorted.

'I don't think too highly of him either,' I agreed. 'But I'm kinda tired of the headache he gives me... so what's new around here?'

He chuckled, accepting the change of topic without argument, perhaps understanding that I'd already told him more than I should have. 'You just missed the Musketeers,' he told me, grinning at some memory. 'Smitty's been asking for you since before Christmas. He's so full of himself since that hot-shot singer bought some music off them or some such damn thing. You can't get him to shut up about it.'

I grinned, thankful for the easy course change in the conversation. It had been a long time since I'd talked to people who respected the 'I don't want to talk about that' signs. It was something of a relief. 'He sent me an e-mail about it some time back, but I don't remember much more than he was barely coherent.'

McMurphy laughed out right. 'Not coherent has to be the understatement of the year!' he chortled. 'It's even got him fired up to start that damn band back up again!'

I found it easy to laugh with him and it somehow wasn't so hard to sit with the man and talk about things that didn't really matter. I even ended up ordering lunch while I was there, suddenly finding my appetite not completely gone.

I won't say it wasn't bitter-sweet catching up on the news of people I used to keep in a lot better contact with, but there was some sweet mixed in with the bitter. It wasn't... all that bad.

He made me laugh telling me about Havers and Bernie trying to put a lid on Smitty and his dreams of super-stardom. Made me grin telling stories about Jessie, the evening hostess, finally finding a man she just might get serious about, if the guy survived meeting her three older brothers.

I ate my sirloin tips and salad, barely having to interject a comment now and again to keep him going. He occasionally had to stop to pour a drink or make change, but he always came back and finished whatever story he'd been telling right where he'd left off. It was kinda nice until I stopped to realize that in his own Papa bear way, he was treating me like the guys used to... like he was afraid I'd run off. I was only hearing the good stuff, the funny stories. Like he didn't want to tell me anything that would upset me.

I suppose my grin faltered a little, when I made the connection, and he hesitated in the tale of hiring a new cook.

'You know,' I ventured into his small pause. 'I think I just figured out where all my bad luck is coming from... I must be bearing the brunt of it for the entire trade, because it looks like nothing bad ever happens to anybody else in the solar system.'

His grin wasn't all that repentant, though he gave it the ol' college try, ducking his head and giving me a look that was probably a real killer when the guy was like... ten years old. I snorted in response and he chuckled. 'Come on, Duo... I'm just trying to make sure it's not another six months before you come out to see us again.'

My damn face flamed and it was my turn to duck my head. 'I'm sorry, Mac, it's just been... hard,' I told him, trying to make him see that it wasn't personal by a long damn shot.

All his mirth washed away and he was suddenly wiping the bar again, so he didn't have to look at me while I tucked 'miserable' back behind the mask. 'I know, kid,' he said gently, and there was a whole world of understanding in his expression. 'Guess I'm just tryin' to make it a little less... hard.'

Almost, I just let it go, but somehow with McMurphy I was able to say what I'd never been able to say to the guys. And wasn't that just a strange little notion? 'Making me feel like I'm being handled with kid-gloves doesn't exactly make it any easier, Papa bear,' I said, and since the remnants of my lunch was still in front of me, I picked up the fork and began drawing lines through the last of the salad dressing in the bottom of the bowl.

'Guess it wouldn't,' he said rather genially.

'You make a lousy Pollyanna,' I told him with my cheeky grin, just to put things back on track.

He snorted and took my dirty dishes away from me before I quite got done with the salad dressing space ship sketch. 'Well, nobody likes to hear the bad shit.'

'And nobody likes to feel like they're being shut out, either,' I responded since he'd left me with nothing to distract myself.

'Touché,' he grinned. 'Though it's kinda hard to shut a guy out when he's never around.'

It caught me by surprise and I laughed, understanding that the gloves had just come off. 'I'd hang around more if the food wasn't so damn bad.'

His grin went a notch toward wry. 'I didn't think you came in here for the food?'

'Well it sure as hell ain't your God-awful drinks!' I responded and barely evaded the corner of his rag as it snapped at me.

'Show some respect for your elders, punk!' he mock growled and caught the edge of the rag again, threatening me.

'I give!' I crowed, throwing my hands in the air. McMurphy is deadly with his bar rag, can take a fly off the lip of a beer bottle without leaving a trace of fly behind. My precariously perched ass didn't stand a chance. 'You serve the best damn drinks this side of the parking lot!'

'That's better, Maxwell,' he grinned and then frowned in thought. 'Wait a minute; I serve the only damn drinks this side of the parking lot!'

I snickered at the look on his face and he forgave me my teasing, just as he always did.

After that the stories seemed a little more... balanced. The story about the new cook had a darker underside involving the old cook drinking on the job. Turned out Jessie's older brothers were as touchy as they were over their baby sister because of a weirdo that had been stalking the poor girl after work at night. Nothing Earth-shattering, but obviously more of a slice of life, and not just the sugar-coated snap-shots I'd been getting.

I was rather surprised when I checked my watch, to find that I'd been in the place for over an hour and a half. The next time McMurphy wound a story down to its end, I grinned and asked for what I'd originally come for.

He laughed at me right out loud. 'Can't quite get rid of all those Spacer habits, can ya kid?'

'Who said I was trying to?' I quipped and he chuckled some more, but he also understood that I was ready to go, and went ahead and tallied up the lunch and the box of rations. I finished my bottle of soda while he went to fetch the case for me. I wasn't too surprised when he came out from behind his bar to open the door for me, but I was when he followed me on outside.

There was obviously something on his mind, so I just held my tongue while we walked across the parking lot together. He held the box while I unlocked the trunk and he made me wait until the rations were stowed and the trunk lid shut.

It was really kind of weird seeing McMurphy outside his bar.

'Uh, Duo,' he finally said, rubbing one of his big hands over his chin like he was checking to see if he needed a shave. 'There's something I think I ought to tell you...'

He was so hesitant that I was starting to wonder if I had a bar tab I'd forgotten about or something. Wondered if my fly was open maybe.

'I wasn't sure...' he began, but stumbled to a halt before giving it another try. 'You coming in here today...'

He was seriously creeping me out; I was pretty sure this was worse than me owing him money. 'Just spit it out, Mac... what's wrong?'

He looked at me like he was trying to see something in my eyes, and suddenly blurted, 'Duo... Jock's dead.'

The guy gets absolutely no points for his ability to deliver bad news. I was aware that I had fallen back to lean against my car only when I felt my butt getting cold. 'What?' I stammered, maybe hoping for a different answer. Maybe hoping he'd take it back.

He dropped his gaze to the pavement and sighed heavily. 'I'm sorry, Duo... he finally up and did it. His landlord found the body just yesterday.'

'Ah Jesus,' was the best I could manage, feeling vaguely ill and colder than even the winter air warranted.

McMurphy just looked sick and I had a pang of sympathy, remembering having to be the one to deliver the bad news. It sucks; there's just no good way to say that somebody who shouldn't be... is dead. 'Guess he really freaked himself out when he sobered up and realized just how close he'd come to shooting somebody,' McMurphy told me, his voice kind of distant.

Close to shooting me, I remembered thinking. 'He finally... he just... I mean, he...'

McMurphy snorted softly, understanding somehow. It was a noise that was almost a laugh but had not one iota of mirth in it. 'It wasn't even a gun,' he told me with the sound of irony in his words. 'He climbed in the damn bathtub, got drunk as a skunk... and slit his wrists.'

I made some noise that caused him to lay his hand on my shoulder.

'I'm sorry, kid,' he said. 'I wasn't sure I was even gonna tell you... but when you walked in today after so long, it seemed like some kind of sign or something.'

It was my turn to snort that mirthless little laugh. 'Yeah,' I sighed. 'My timing has always been... impeccable.'

'I'm real sorry,' he repeated, making me feel like I'd actually been related to Jock or something. Like this should be hitting me harder than other people who'd known him. 'You going to be all right?'

I shook off the shock of it and gave him a wan little smile. 'I'm fine, Mac. It's just... such a hell of a waste is all.'

He nodded, but dropped his hand away. 'Uh... the funeral is going to be Thursday.'

Another thing that took me by surprise. Funeral? Well, of course; even old alcoholic, ex-Spacer wash-outs had to have funerals when they died.

McMurphy didn't wait for me to say anything, just did that thing where he rubbed his hand over his chin again. 'Jock would appreciate it... if you could make it.'

I repressed the urge to rub my own hand over the back of my neck because the two of us would have looked pretty stupid indulging in nervous habits that damn similar at the same time, and resisted telling him that Jock was pretty much beyond appreciating much of anything. 'Can you e-mail me the details?' was what I managed, and it seemed to be the right thing to say because he took his leave and went back into his bar.

I got in my ugly car and took me and my ration bars home, because I really just didn't feel up to much of anything else after that.

I spent most of the drive back to the house trying not to resent Mac for telling me. Trying not to kick my own ass for suddenly having a yen to stock the pantry when I had. Trying not to be mad at Heero for not being home. Trying not to hate Captain Gray any more than I already did.

Guilt was a presence in the back seat, and I knew he was just waiting to take his shot.

Do not ask me how in the hell I had become associated with Jock Nottingham in the first place. There just seems to be something about me that makes me easy to talk to. Or something. Damned if I know. But somehow, from the earliest days of my association with McMurphy's bar, I had been one of the few people who could approach Jock while he was in the middle of one of his episodes, without pissing him off. There was just something about me the guy seemed to kind of like, and he trusted me when I came to talk him out of shooting holes in McMurphy's décor or McMurphy's customers.

Guilt beast got me from under the seat, somehow sneaking up on me from the back.

I could still hear Jock's voice asking me in a resigned kind of way, 'I screwed up this time, didn't I Duo?' Apparently not as bad as I had. We had.

I suppose I couldn't take the fall for this one alone, the whole damn trade had covered and band-aided. We'd all felt sorry for the old guy. Could all see ourselves where he'd ended up. All it took was a bad bit of luck, a dry spell or... an accident. There wasn't a one of us who couldn't look at Jock and say 'there but for the grace of Lady Luck go I...'

And we'd failed to stop the inevitable because not a one of us had been able to get tough with the guy. Though... how the hell do you force a person to do something like give up drinking? You really can't. A person has to want to help themselves before other people can help them. Maybe we really couldn't have done much more than we'd done. I don't know. I don't suppose anyone ever will.

But knowing that didn't do much to stop guilt from gnawing on my ass. Didn't do much for the mood I'd fallen into.

What a fucking damn waste.

I was surprised when I got home to find that I'd forgotten to turn the stereo off. I stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, holding my box of rations, and listened to Bedingfield tell me 'just one more second and I'll be all right' and decided I needed to be more selective in my music choices.

I set the box down on the couch long enough to go to the entertainment center and make some adjustments. I settled on my queue of 'Helio' music. It was a folder of straight up fluff stuff. Nothing that could possibly worsen my depression, because I sure as hell didn't need any help with that.

When I retrieved the box of rations, I decided the hell with it and just put them in the kitchen. I wasn't about to hide the damn things from Heero; if he didn't like them he could just lump them, I wasn't asking him to eat the damn things, after all.

I stood in front of the refrigerator looking at Allison's picture for a moment, listening to them build cities out of rock and roll, and reflecting that I needed to get my head back in line with the job at hand. I only had a week to come up with what my sponsor was looking for, after all. I somehow didn't see Aleyah Winner being all that understanding about me not getting the paintings done because I'd stopped to play ball with my pet beast.

I glanced down at the slavering thing at my feet that was guilt and mentally tossed him that ball. 'Go on,' I told him. 'I'll feel guilty about Jock later... I don't want to be feeling guilty about Allison in a couple of weeks. Jock's long past my helping him anyway.'

He rolled his blood-shot eyes and gave me a look that said, 'Oh please,' quite succinctly, I thought, and padded after me into the studio. He at least went to curl in the corner of the room, out of my way, but not out of sight.

The blank canvas was still there waiting for me, my Superman cape hanging from one corner. I thought I felt Solo's presence, and when I looked, he was perched on the arm of the old sofa. He gave me a silent nod of understanding before fading away like the Cheshire cat... leaving only the feel of his gaze behind.

'I lost another one,' I whispered to him anyway.

'Not one of yours,' his voice told me on a breath of air.

'I know,' I sighed, and picked up a dry brush to stroke over the canvas, as though it would give me ideas. 'But I can't help feeling...'

'Don't,' he said so firmly that I jumped, glancing around to make sure he wasn't really there with me.

I returned the tight nod he'd given me earlier and tried to put it out of my mind. Letting myself listen to the solid beat of the music, trying to let it fill my head with pictures. But somehow leaving my friends behind just because they didn't dance, only gave me visions of black spandex and slashed denim. Perhaps my choice of music hadn't been the best? Maybe there was no music that wouldn't give me thoughts I didn't want?

I let the brush in my hand ghost over the canvas until my eye began to see lines in its wake. But they were still just lines that didn't mean anything.

There was a place on the back of my neck, almost on the back of my shoulder really, that ached to feel Heero's lips brush across it.

I had a sudden flash of memory and realized that had I still been a pilot, I would have been adding Jock's portrait to that long line of dead in the corridor of my Lady Demon. He would have stood right behind that nameless girl that I'd let Jensen kill. Jock wouldn't have liked that overly much; standing for all eternity with a woman.

Though, she was truly gone now, erased with all the rest of them anyway, so I suppose it didn't really matter.

Guess there hadn't been much point in changing music; hadn't made much difference.

But the non-existent lines on the canvas were starting to look like something, so I added the paint to the mix, just to see what would come out. I somehow didn't think it was going to be good. Hopefully, it would at least be presentable.

Ever wonder about last moments like that? Like Jock's? Like that girl's? Hell... like Captain Camden of the good ship Londonderry, if you want to get technical. People shouldn't have to die alone. There should be someone there who at least gives a damn. I think that was the thing that had eaten at me the most, during all those days out there in the dark, at the edge of the universe... knowing that despite the voices in my head, that I was going to die all alone.

Though, I suppose I'd lived my life up until then relatively alone, so maybe expecting to die any other way was a little... naïve.

Made me almost angry with Jock. He'd died all alone... about as alone as you could get... but he hadn't had to. A three block walk to McMurphy's and he'd have found a score of people who would have helped. Would have talked with him. Sat with him. Done... what? Something. Someone would have done something.

It's not my fault I couldn't think just what, off the top of my head.

And now there was a funeral of sorts ahead of me, just to add interest to the week. As if I didn't have enough on my plate.

Somewhere in there, I realized what was forming on the canvas under my hands and my brush and my twisted psyche, and I kind of wanted to stop. But sometimes these things are like giving birth... try telling the kid in mid-push that you're rethinking this parenthood thing. The attending physician, at least, will get a laugh out of it.

At least it would be a spacer's funeral, and not one of those morose grounder things. We called it a funeral, out of some ancient habit, but it really wouldn't be. The actual funeral part of things would happen somewhere out between the planets when Jock's ashes were jettisoned out the lock of some courier ship. What Mac had been talking about would be more like a wake. Probably held right there at McMurphy's unless Jock had someplace else he would have preferred. I wondered, of a sudden, just where Jock would end up. Earth orbit? Near one of the colonies? Further out? Most spacers had a preference and it was usually in their will. I had never bothered to specify, because I'd always assumed that I would end up not leaving a corpse behind.

It came to me, all unbidden, that it would be rather appropriate if my ashes were scattered across the belt.

A noise came out of my mouth then that would have brought Heero running from anywhere in the house, had he been home. I decided to stop painting for the time being since my hands were shaking too damn hard to hold the brush anyway. I stepped away from the canvas, staring at its contents as I automatically cleaned my brush out, hands moving on autopilot.

Jensen had been a damn intimidating man, and if the memory of my first sight of him had ever stood a chance of fading from my memory, I'd just seen to it that it would never happen.

The painting was a long way from being done, but there was enough. More than enough really, especially as I found that it was dark out and I was alone with that dark. My pathetic shield of fluffy music suddenly just wasn't enough, and my feet took me into the kitchen where I picked up the phone, dialing Trowa's number without ever consciously knowing I was going to. I was under orders, after all. And if I had ever needed someone to just come and watch bad movies with me... it was then.

See? I'm learning to recognize when I've had enough a little bit before I fall flat on my face.

I listened to the phone ringing, and tried to compose what I was going to say when he answered. It was difficult; every line I came up with just sounded lame. If it hadn't been for the modern technology of caller id, I would have hung up on the second ring; I was just a little bit appalled with myself. And then the phone got picked up, but it was Quatre's voice on the other end and every prepared line I'd half been considering went right out the window.

'Hello?' he said, sounding a bit hesitant, as though he didn't usually answer Trowa's phone. 'Duo?'

'Uh...' I responded wittily. 'I... Hello, Quatre.'

I felt decidedly weird, like I was carrying on some kind of illicit affair with his lover, and had just gotten caught. I couldn't bring myself to ask for Trowa, but was left floundering trying to figure out what to say.

'Is everything all right?' he asked me with a slightly worried tone.

'Yeah!' I blurted. 'Just fine! I...'

'Duo, where are you?' he suddenly interrupted, and I realized his voice was a bit elevated. 'I can hardly hear you over that music.'

'Oh crap!' I told him. 'Hang on a minute.'

I laid the phone down and hurried into the living room to turn the music off. I felt kind of stupid, but it did give me a chance to take a deep breath and get head and mouth in concert, so that by the time I picked the phone up again, I had regained a little equilibrium.

'Sorry about that, Quat,' I told him with a chuckle. 'I had the music up so I could hear it in the back room. I really need to get around to wiring this place for sound.'

'Oh,' he said, and there was an odd quality to his voice. 'Were you... painting?'

'Yeah,' I responded, trying to sound... not frayed. 'That's why I called. I know your sister took the sketches to be framed, but do you think I should do something with the paintings?'

'Oh no,' he was quick to assure. 'Aleyah will take care of it. That's why she needs to have them by the end of this week, so she'll have time before the show. She usually makes sure that everything is matted and framed in the same style.'

'Oh,' I said, brightly, not having carried the topic any further forward in my head. I was lacking anything close to a next line. 'Ok then.'

There was a silence then that was kind of strained. With Trowa, I could have made some lame joke about bad movies and he would have gotten it. I wouldn't have had to just come out and tell him I was feeling lonely and wanted some company. I didn't know what to say to Quatre, short of asking for Trowa, and that just seemed... rude.

'So,' he ventured, after a moment. 'How's it coming? Do you think you'll have the paintings done in time?'

I snorted a mirthless little laugh. 'Oh, at the rate I'm going, I doubt I'll have any trouble at all!'

He hesitated again. 'That's good, isn't it? Why do you sound... unhappy about it?'

Almost, I asked for Trowa, but thankfully my repress hamster made an appearance, sliding valiantly across the kitchen counter to come to a stop in front of me with a huge 'Don't do it!' banner, and I bit down on the words. 'Oh, I guess I was just so nervous about getting done in time that I haven't been doing much of anything else,' I tried, hedging around the rest of the story.

'Oh,' he said helpfully, not doing much toward moving the conversation along.

There was another one of those uncomfortable silences and I suddenly felt this oppressive weight settling over me. The pressure of being alone in the house with... with that portrait of Jensen. It was too quiet. It was too... a lot of things.

'Want to go get some ice cream?' I blurted out and could have bit my own tongue off. On the counter, Francis covered his little face with his paws and just shook his head.

'What?' Quatre asked, and there was as much of hopefulness in his voice as confusion. It made me bull forward instead of retreating.

'I just... suddenly had this urge for some ice cream,' I heard myself saying. 'Want to meet me down at that little place near you guys?'

'Duo,' Quatre said, and the confusion was getting stronger in his tone. 'That's a bit out of the way for you, are you sure...'

'But they've got that caramel and chocolate thing that you can't get anywhere else,' I reasoned, struggling for a way out of what I'd gotten myself into even while I was trying to argue him into it. What in the hell was I thinking?

Oh yeah... that whole human contact thing.

'That... would be nice,' he finally replied, though I could still tell he wasn't entirely convinced that I hadn't lost my mind. But that was ok; I wasn't sure either.

'Great!' I chirped, and cringed at my own voice. 'Meet you there in say... twenty minutes?'

'All right,' he agreed and then we hung up.

I refrained from beating my head on the counter without Francis' help, because he had vanished off to wherever the hell thought hamsters go when they aren't trying to shove their little suggestions up my nose.

I'd say that hadn't exactly gone as planned, but really... I'd had nothing planned when I'd picked up the stupid phone in the first place.

So, damn near eight o'clock on a Sunday evening and I was heading back out to meet Quatre at an ice cream and dessert parlor I wasn't even sure was still open, because I didn't want to sit around my own house with the half-finished portrait of a man I'd killed almost a half a dozen years ago. The man who had given me my first kiss.

I suspect sometimes that I could be the life's work of some psychiatrist looking for uncharted territory in the area of 'issues'.

I got to the restaurant first, surprised to find it still open and unsure if I was pleased by that fact or not. I ordered a soda just so I'd have something to do until Quatre arrived, and settled at a small table within sight of the front door.

I was rather surprised, when I finally sat down and had two seconds to actually feel it, to find just how weary I was. Wouldn't have thought it, considering no more than I'd done all day. Painted a little, done some laundry and gone out to lunch. My, how... exhausting. I would have rolled my eyes at myself if it wouldn't have looked nuts. You should never mock yourself in public.

The tinkle of the little bell over the door made me look up and I blinked to find Trowa ambling toward my table, his hair still damp, and a gentle smile on his face. Guess he hadn't answered his phone because he'd been in the shower. I looked past him, but didn't see his partner.

A picture was trying to form in my head that wasn't particularly attractive.

'Where's Quatre?' I asked as he sat down across from me.

'Well, it's good to see you too, Duo,' he said, the smile growing a little rueful.

I felt my face starting to go hot and I looked down at the table. 'That's not the point, man, and you know it.'

His smile wavered and then abandoned him altogether. 'It's all right. He just stopped and realized that it was my phone you called, and that you needed...'

That utterly made me feel like shit and I felt my shoulders hunching as I cut him off. 'Damn it, Tro... I hurt his feelings, didn't I?'

I caught him a little bit by surprise and it made me feel even worse, that they hadn't expected me to get that part.

'Quatre understands,' he soothed, and sat forward to lean his elbows on the table. 'Duo, what's wrong? And don't give me the ice cream story, because I know you don't really even like it that much.'

God, this was so screwed up. I could imagine poor Quatre sitting back at their house, waiting for Trowa to come home and tell him what was going on. Worrying and stinging from the rejection that it was his lover and not him that I had called on when I needed to talk to somebody. I had that weird-ass feeling again, like I was doing something horribly wrong by being there with Trowa in the first damn place. Why hadn't I ever seen it before?

I don't think I could have turned any darker red.

'I'm sorry,' I mumbled, eyes fixed on where my hands rested on the table between us. 'I didn't mean to... I mean, Quatre caught me by surprise and I didn't know what to say and I...'

Trowa suddenly looked concerned, reaching out and resting a hand on my arm. 'Hey, little brother... what's the matter?'

I flinched at his touch, feeling like a complete idiot, and not at all sure how this had gotten so seriously twisted around. 'Nothing,' I blurted, pushing back from the table and gaining a little space. 'I shouldn't have called... this isn't right, and I'm sorry.'

'Duo?' he asked in confusion, as I stood up to leave.

'Go home to Quatre,' I told him. 'And tell him I'm sorry. Everything's fine... I don't know what came over me.'

He took a second to do the gape-mouthed thing and I mumbled another apology as I did everything but bolt for the exit. He finally called after me, but the door was already shutting behind me, the little bell ringing cheerfully.

Shit. How could I not have seen the kind of pressure I must have been putting on the two of them? Quatre wanted so badly for us to have the relationship we'd had during the war, but I just couldn't help it, there were a million light years between the Chief Executive Officer of Winner Enterprises and an auto mechanic. I didn't know how to talk to him anymore. He was so far above me in station that it wasn't even funny. Not that he talked down to me, but there were things that he just couldn't understand, things that Trowa did understand because he'd lived through the same sort of childhood.

Quatre had the most recognizable surname in the entire Earth sphere. Probably even more well-known than the Peacecraft family. Trowa and Heero and I didn't even fucking know what our real names might have been. Hell, I couldn't even guarantee I'd ever been given one.

What must it feel like that I could freely accept from Trowa, what I didn't know how to accept from him?

It made me feel ill.

I went home because I didn't know where else to go. Had I not been so terrified somewhere down inside of getting sucked down the alcoholic drain like... like Jock, I might have gone back to McMurphy's place. But I suspected with the mood I was in, soda would not have cut it, and I didn't think I could have stopped myself from drinking whatever ended up in front of me.

God, but I wanted Heero to come home.

I had at least remembered to turn the stereo off this time, before leaving the house, so that was the first thing I did. I decided I didn't need any more reminders of Helio and Jensen and that long ago mission, and I hunted through my files, finally settling on my folder of fiddle music. All instrumental; no words... couldn't get depressed from that, could I?

Any more depressed.

Perhaps it was the presence of guilt beast who came to sit with me on the couch that kept me from going upstairs after my bear. One furry thing to hug is as good as another, right?

I had the absurd notion that I wanted to cry, but I wasn't sure if it was for Jock, for that nameless prostitute, for my memories of Jensen, for Allison, or just plain missing Heero. Or maybe Quatre and Trowa, and the feeling that I'd just lost something... precious. And why did that thought fill me with a strange sense of sorrow wrapped around a core of déjà vu?

Or maybe it was just all of it. Too much at once. The dread of what I'd set in motion with Aleyah Winner. The pain of picking the scabs off old wounds and trying to turn the fresh blood into art. The guilt of failing to be there at the right time for Jock. The fear that I had been causing tension between two of my best friends.

I wanted Heero to call... and I was afraid Heero would call. I wanted to hear his voice so damn bad... but I didn't think I could maintain any kind of composure, and he certainly didn't need to be dealing with me in the middle of the mess he was in.

So I just curled up in the corner of our couch, with the afghan and my guilt beast, listening to my fiddles and staring at the wall, waiting for sleep to come and take it all away.

I should not have been as surprised as I was when the knock came on the front door. I really shouldn't have been.

I just sat for a long moment and stared at it in open confusion, just enough off-kilter that I couldn't for the life of me imagine who in the hell was on my front porch. It skittered through my head that it was awfully late for kids to be out selling Girl Scout cookies, and then the door swung open on its own and I was left thinking about how pissed off Heero would have been at me for forgetting to lock it.

'You know what we forgot?' Trowa drawled almost lazily as he and his partner came into my house. 'Drinks. You can't have popcorn without drinks.'

'Well, you know darn well that Duo, of all people, will have soda,' Quatre replied, though he didn't carry the nonchalance off as well as Trowa did.

'Good point, my heart,' Trowa grinned at him. 'Why don't you go get us some while I get the movie started?'

I'm afraid I just kind of blinked at them, like I was watching them on television or something. Listening to them move around my house, just as though we did this all the time, was very surreal.

Trowa finally addressed me as he walked by to turn off the wail and trill of my fiddles. 'I do hope you meant 'bad movie' when you said bad movie, because we tried to find the cheesiest thing on the shelves.'

I watched him load the disk and turn on the television, picking the remote up before moving to the couch that faced the TV. 'Ok,' I said, almost inanely.

Quatre came back into the room carrying three bottles of my soda and went to sit on the same couch with Trowa. only on the other end. 'Come sit with us, Duo, you can't see very well from over there.'

They made me feel like some kind of damn invalid or something, so I tried to get up and move without making it into a big deal, taking the spot they'd left me without protest. Only later did I wonder how much I looked like I was clutching a security blanket as I dragged the afghan with me.

Once I was settled between them, Trowa took the lid off what proved to be a large bowl of popcorn and plopped it in my lap. This, of course, necessitated the both of them shifting close enough to reach it. Then Trowa hit play and started the movie. It truly was awful, some sort of horror flick that wasn't very horrifying and quite predictable besides, that had the two of them snickering and poking fun fairly quickly.

It was... uncomfortable at first, but they made it not so bad with their easy laughter and after a little bit I nibbled at some popcorn. Then a little after that, I managed a joke of my own about the zipper in the monster suit, that made Quatre snicker.

They bracketed me close so that I could feel their body heat, making me aware of just how cold I'd been.

They spoke around me so that it was as obvious as my own neurosis that there was nothing wrong with their relationship. They were as solid as ever, and nothing I might do could touch that.

And when I began to quietly weep somewhere after the monster abducted the girl, they let me, without comment, allowing me to pretend they didn't notice. Making it not quite the horrible thing it might have been. And if the next time Trowa leaned over for a handful of popcorn, he didn't quite straighten up, so that his shoulder was resting against mine, we didn't speak of that either. Any more than it was mentioned when Quatre's leg happened to end up propped against my thigh.

I couldn't have told you if they were tears of mourning, or tears of relief; sorrow or gratitude, but I was hard-pressed to get them stopped before the hysterically tragic end of the movie.

'Well, it was cheesy all right,' I managed as the credits rolled, and the gravely sound of my voice made Trowa hand me my untouched bottle of soda. I took a swallow, and then took another, while I tried to think of things to say.

'Only the best cheesy movies for my big brother,' Quatre dared, and I could feel the ache in his voice for me. Could feel him trying hard to follow Trowa's gentler lead and not just gather me into his arms the way he wanted to. I let my head fall over to rest on his shoulder, an odd reward of sorts, and could fairly feel the tension thrumming through his body.

'T...thanks, guys,' I told them around the lump in my throat.

'Not a problem,' Trowa told me. 'Though next time it would be easier if you just came to us; we have a better television set.'

It was a mild reprimand and we all knew it. I felt Quatre go very still as we headed into that area that he's never quite gotten about Trowa's relationship with me. Quatre can't catch that balance between bluntly direct, and the space I seem to have to have.

'Flaunting your entertainment system, are we?' I tried, though it fell a little flat.

'If you've got it, flaunt it,' Trowa murmured, letting me turn it aside, knowing that his message had been delivered.

I snorted softly, feeling like the face I had put on for them was a fragile thing and not quite stable yet. I took a breath, soaking in their presence and just tried to let the memories fade away. 'Wouldn't have thought you were the flaunting type,' I said, a little happier with the sound of my voice.

'Are you kidding?' Quatre interjected, though he didn't sound too sure of himself, too sure of his welcome. 'I thought you saw his circus act once?'

It was a marvelous effort, on his part, to enter into the arena of our strange dancing around topics, and I rewarded him with a bark of surprised laughter. 'I guess you have a point there, Quat.'

Trowa gave him a raised eyebrow look that was meant to seem put upon, but even I could read the quiet approval in it. I took another swallow of my soda while I concentrated on not blushing. But then Trowa turned that look my way and I could kind of tell he wasn't going to let me off scot-free after my little restaurant scene. I think I sighed. 'Quatre tells me you were painting this afternoon... got anything you can share yet?'

I'd forgotten I'd mentioned that. I guess I should have realized they would be fishing for clues to the reason behind my mood, and what better indicator than the shit I spewed out on paper and canvas? I was sure I sighed that second time.

'In the studio,' I told them with a certain amount of resignation in it.

'Do you...' Quatre asked, ever the solicitous one, 'mind if we look?'

I snorted and rubbed a hand over my face. 'Might as well, since I'm contemplating showing the damn things to the world. If I can't show them to you... I'm not going to be able to give them to your sister.'

That made them share a look that I pretended not to see. I meant to stay on the couch with my afghan, my soda and my beast, but found I couldn't. When they went off to the back room, I trailed along behind them, though I just ended up leaning in the doorway, not taking the step down into the studio.

Jensen captured Quatre's attention immediately, and though Trowa stopped to look at him, he was the one who noticed Allison's portrait leaning against the counter and went to pick it up. I realized with a bit of a start, that Trowa understood just what he was looking at. I was surprised and pleased and embarrassed to see the picture... move him. Was surprised to see his eyes go soft and sad, as he forgot for a moment that he'd come into my room looking for something other than what he'd found.

I was so absorbed with watching Trowa, that it caught me even more by surprise to suddenly find Quatre wrapped around me and realized that he somehow knew just who in the hell's portrait he'd been studying. 'If I could go back and change just one thing during the war,' he whispered to me fiercely. 'It would be that damn mission.'

It swept me back a hundred years, to those days when he and I had been each other's support system, when we had hugged and touched each other because no one else would. I wrapped him close and something took control of my tongue, making me ask him, just as though he might have an answer, 'Why can't I get that son of a bitch out of my head, Quat? After all these years... why won't he leave me alone?'

In the back of my head, a deep voice purred, 'Will you let me taste you?' and I shuddered almost violently.

'Because,' he told me gently, even as he was hugging me almost fiercely. 'However briefly, he held power over you.'

It rather took my breath away, making me remember things best forgot.

I let Quatre hold me until Trowa came and made me ease off, because I was clutching his lover tight enough to bruise.

'Sorry,' I muttered, suddenly feeling trapped with the two of them so far inside my personal space, and I retreated to the living room with them following after me. I went to fetch my bottle of half-finished soda and took a swallow, standing with the coffee table between us. It was enough to tell Trowa I needed some space, and I saw him touch Quatre's arm in a manner that spoke to me of pre-arranged signals again. It gave me that wild animal feeling, which I hate, but I suppose it was warranted. It was in Quatre's eyes to come and offer himself on the alter of my need for touch again, but I was afraid of where that would lead, and I let the unspoken offer go.

'If you... would like,' Trowa said, picking his words carefully, because he had an understanding of how much I hated to use that word, 'need'. That word was only ok with Heero... and then only sometimes. 'We could avail ourselves of your spare room?'

It was so cautiously offered, that it made me feel doubly bad, both nuts and stupid. Lovely combination. I huffed a sigh and rubbed a hand over the back of my neck so that I didn't have to look right at him. 'I'm all right, guys,' I told them, trying for some of Trowa's bluntness. 'I'm really sorry that I bothered you... it was stupid of me to let that damn painting get to me. I was just feeling a little... weird.'

'You're never a bother, Duo,' Quatre had to tell me, though I saw him glance at Trowa after he'd spoken, as if unsure if he should have. But Trowa backed him up with a reassurance that was as much for Quatre as for me.

'Of course you aren't.'

And before I could even think about what kind of reply to make to them, Quatre bulled forward, not looking at Trowa as he spoke. I had a feeling like he was deviating from the guidelines he'd been handed. 'And it was not stupid of you to get upset; what happened that night was... awful.'

I ducked my head even further, feeling my shoulders wanting to hunch and waited for Trowa to shut his partner up, but it didn't happen. 'It was no big deal, Quat. It was just part of the mission...'

'Bull,' he growled, and came on around the table to get at me. Quatre's always been a 'hands-on' kind of talker. 'Duo... why do you always belittle what happened?'

I watched in a certain strange fascination as he took my bottle from my hands and set it aside. I looked over his shoulder for Trowa, but my normal protector was strangely staying out of it. 'It was a simple undercover mission... I just did what I had to... no big deal...'

He gave me a look that made me feel kind of stupid. Like he'd just asked me to plot a course to L1 and my calculations had brought us out somewhere around Venus. 'It was a big deal. I saw you that night... I heard you in there throwing up. Don't lie to me.'

He sounded vaguely... pissed, and I found myself blushing. 'Nothing happened...' I tried, but couldn't continue in the face of the look I got.

He took hold of my upper arms and refused to let me look away. 'It doesn't matter how far it went or not... what matters is how it made you feel.'

Violated? Filthy? Heart-sick? Nauseous? Degraded? All of the above?

I tried on a rueful little grin. 'Well, I like to think it matters just a little bit that it didn't go as far as he'd intended.'

The line only got me frowned at. 'Duo, you have to understand that while you might have physically put yourself in danger... you were the one in control from the start. He might have held the power for a while, but you were the one who came out on top. You bested him. He's dead... and you're not.'

And I suppose that's all that things come down to in the end.

Jensen was dead... and I was not.

That prostitute was dead... and I was not.

James Camden was dead... and I was not.

Captain Gray's second was dead... and I was not.

Jock was dead... and I was not.

'I guess it can't all be just luck, can it?' I heard myself say and was surprised when Quatre actually laughed at me. Or maybe it was for me.

'No,' he agreed. 'I think there's something more than luck at work here.'

Somewhere in the vicinity of Trowa's direction, there was a soft little sound. Something between a cough and a throat clearing, and Quatre let go of me with a mildly frustrated sigh. Trowa has always been the hit and run type; get in, deliver the message, and get the hell out. It helped redeem him; I'd been a little peeved that he'd let Quatre go as far as he had without intervening.

Which gave me an odd twinge that I just didn't feel like pursuing right then.

But Quatre couldn't quite let it go entirely, no matter his obvious intentions to follow Trowa's lead. I suppose I can't blame him too much, I was the one who'd sat with them and bawled like a baby over a guy in a rubber monster suit, after all. 'Duo,' he asked, voice soft as though he were afraid of getting in trouble. 'Come home with us?'

I snorted and reached out to tousle his hair. 'I'm fine... really I am,' I told him, and maybe it was my ability to touch without clutching, that let him back down with nothing more than a sigh and a nod.

When he looked Trowa's way next, it was with more of a pleading look, than one seeking guidance. Maybe he thought Trowa would have better luck getting me to go get fawned on all night.

But Trowa seemed to understand that I'd gotten whatever in the hell it was I'd needed from them when I'd called, and that it was time for the graceful exit. He's very good at exits; has quite the flair for them. He gathered up his movie, his half empty popcorn bowl, and his frustrated partner and got them moving toward my front door.

At the last moment, he stopped and gave me a hard look, making me feel evaluated and weighed against some imaginary chart. 'Duo,' he said sternly, commanding my attention. I cringed, waiting for whatever was coming, and was surprised when he simply said, 'Remember to lock up this time.'

We shared a grin and then they were gone. I was rather pleased with myself that I was able to wait until they'd actually pulled away before I went back and turned on the stereo. I went ahead and queued up my night music, deciding that I might as well get my butt to bed since the next morning was a work day. Wouldn't do to get fired from my day job over attendance issues, before I even knew if the night job was going to pay off or not.

Since it was a work night, I crawled into the guest bed where I had the alarm set up, feeling vaguely bad that Heero hadn't been able to call. Not that he'd been calling every night by a long shot, but I missed it whenever he couldn't.

What? Why the guest bed, you ask? Because our bed smelled like Heero, and sleeping there only made me... want things. Things I couldn't have, or do anything about until he came home. I was tired of cold showers and morning jogs. Besides, I didn't think it was good for my karma to wake up every morning from a restless sleep, cursing Captain Gray to the appropriate circle of Hell. I think it was ok to curse him for attempted murder, or even stupidity, but I'm not sure it was appropriate to curse him just because I was horny.

Not that sleeping elsewhere solved everything, it just removed one bit of stimuli from the equation. And no, we're not going to talk about my inability to change the damn sheets.

Though, if I were honest with myself, I had enough on my mind that night that I doubt it would have been a problem. But I'd already effectively moved into the guest room, and everything was set up there. My star-field blanket was waiting for me, as was my retired co-pilot, and I did my best as I lay down with them, to keep my mind on the monster movie we'd watched and not on Quatre's words. Not on the new paintings. Not on McMurphy's news. Not on my fast approaching dead-line. Not on the possibility of an upcoming trial.

Sleep was a long time claiming me, and the dreams were many and varied. Ranging from the predictable rehashing of memories, to a strange one of Heero being thrown over the shoulder of a slightly more frightening than the Hollywood version monster, and carried off into some dark swamp.

When the alarm went off in the morning, I was rather less than happy with it, but somewhat ready to stop wrestling with the sheets.

I rose and trudged through the first bit of morning ritual on auto-pilot, washing up, doing my hair, and dressing before wandering downstairs to poke at the contents of our fridge. I was pleasantly reminded of the previous day's acquisition, when I saw the box on the counter, and was happy to open it. Rations just took all the damn work out of eating... there was no choice to be made, no preparation to worry with, just open the package and eat. It made life so simple, and saved time besides.

It saved so much time, in fact, that I found my feet carrying me down the hall to my studio, where I stood in front of Jensen's portrait, chewing and staring.

I would still need to finish the background of city street, night sky and blowing snow... but the portrait of the man was pretty much complete. I wondered idly how Quatre had known almost instantly who he was; I had not thought that either he or Heero had gotten much of a look at any of the three soldiers before we'd all gone to ground and started trading bullets.

It was an intimidating picture of an intimidating man, striding down the street with his drover's coat swirling about him in the wind, his eyes locked unerringly on the viewer. I made myself not shiver, and did my best to stare him down until it just felt... nuts, and I stopped.

I could hear Quatre's reassurances again, echoing through my head and it made me grin, suddenly remembering a line from an old movie. 'You have no power over me,' I told the canvas and then snickered self-consciously.

'S'true, rat-boy,' Solo would have told me. 'I thought ya was a goner, but ya came out on top.'

'I suppose that's so,' I told the air, and leaned in a little to study the face in front of me. 'Maybe I didn't save that girl's life, you son of a bitch... but I stopped you.'

'Damn straight,' Solo agreed, and I took another bite of breakfast.

I had to wonder, not for the first time, just how damn many people that slime-ball had killed. I knew from the transmitter we'd planted on him not long before his untimely demise, that he'd taken a good half a dozen into that warehouse with the intent to rape and murder. Me included. I was pretty sure I was the only one to get away.

And that had only been while he'd been stationed in that place, on that assignment. It was kind of depressing that no one would ever know.

But Quatre had been right. 'You are dead, and despite your best efforts... you didn't get me.'

I decided it was time to leave for work before he started answering me. He was as much a 'ghost' as any of the rest of my voices, after all. Sure as hell didn't need to get that started.

As I stopped by the front door to fish my keys out of the dish sitting there on the little table, I caught sight of the scars I'd gained that night, and a stray thought filtered through from God only knows where...

Maybe I'd paid the price for not saving that girl?

It was an odd idea that kept me company on the drive to work.

Work. Isn't it amazing how, even when you feel like you're in the middle of some kind of damn crisis, that work and all of life's normal things have to keep right on going? You still have to go to the grocery and pay the bills. Still have to do laundry and dishes. Still have to bring in the mail and take out the trash. Even when your head is so full of hamsters with signs telling you about all the things you aren't getting done, that you don't know where to start.

What? Everybody doesn't have hamsters in their head?

Things at the garage had settled some since the holidays, the routine reestablished, or something. And as screwed up as the rest of my life was at that point, I was rather glad of that much at least. That that part of my day held a certain amount of normalcy.

You know, I really do not understand how it happened that the crew of guys I work with have become so... protective of me. I really don't. But somehow, when I wasn't paying any attention, I turned into some kind of damn garage mascot or something.

Oh, I suppose that isn't fair, though that's how it feels sometimes.

It's just very damn weird considering how much my being an ex-Gundam pilot had thrown people off at first. I suspect that Griff had taken some flack for hiring me in the first place, and I've often wondered if he'd been pressured to do it or not. He's never said and I haven't wanted to ask, because we all know where that pressure would have come from. But other than my health issues, and that one little disappearing act, I don't think I've given the guy any reason to regret hiring me. I'm more than qualified. I guess that's what got the guys past dealing with my history.

I have yet to figure out what got them past dealing with the fact that I sleep with a guy. It was not something I had ever meant to become public knowledge, but there were apparently rumors even before I'd done that swan dive in the middle of the garage and woken up to find myself in Heero's lap. I suppose if there'd been any doubts left about the state of our relationship... that had pretty much put them to rest. It had rather surprised me that nobody seemed to mind. It's another thing I don't question.

I was half way through changing out a starter on a transport vehicle when I suddenly remembered that damn appointment with the photographer. I guess all that crap about Jock, and then the guys with the movie, had run it completely out of my mind. For a brief moment I was moved to hurl the screwdriver in my hand across the room, but thought better of it; it makes people stare.

Great. Just what I wanted to be doing on my lunch hour. Or any other hour, for that matter. I had to close my eyes and concentrate to dredge up the address that had been on the card. Not all that far from the Preventer's building; doable on a lunch hour, but I had to wonder what Aleyah was going to say when I showed up in my Preventer grays, because I hadn't thought to bring any other clothes. Maybe she'd just say the hell with it and not bother with the picture at all? I can't say that would break my heart, because I wasn't altogether comfortable with it in the first place. I had not anticipated being so high profile in this whole thing. An art show should be about the art, right? What the hell did I have to do with it?

Oh shut up.

I guess I grimaced or otherwise looked 'not happy', because Giles felt compelled to ask, 'Hey Maxwell; swallow some grease, or what?'

I looked up and found him standing beside the truck I was working on, grinning at me, though there was open curiosity on his face.

It made me try harder to school my own expression, and I grinned back. 'Nah, I just remembered something I have to do at lunch.'

He gave it a heartbeat to see if I would elaborate, but when I didn't, he let it go. 'You hear from Yuy and Chang?'

It took me a second to change gears and he got the heavy sigh he probably wouldn't have heard if he hadn't taken me by surprise. 'Yeah; I've talked to them a couple of times. Not that they can frickin' tell me anything.'

He gave me a sympathetic little nod and leaned on the fender, watching me work. 'Rumor has it that it might go to trial,' he ventured.

That much wasn't any huge secret, so I nodded. 'If that asshole Gray has his way.' But I couldn't resist adding, 'Though Heero's fighting it tooth and nail.'

Giles gave me a grin that was just a bit predatory and I grinned back. He was quiet for a second before he asked, 'You doin' ok, man?'

It made me glance up at him, unsure of his reasoning. Was there something about the way I looked? The way I was acting? 'I'm all right,' I assured him, but the confusion must have been plain in my voice, because he shrugged.

'You just had a pretty rough couple of weeks.'

I snorted and shook my head, bending back to the task at hand. 'I'm hoping this will be a better year.'

He chuckled and seemed to drop the subject, giving me a once over where I sat on the fender and shook his head. 'Never understood how you could work like that,' he grumbled and straightened.

I gave him a wide grin. 'I'm still young, old man.'

He didn't take the bait, only laughing as he turned to go back to work.

The rest of the morning sped by, only because I didn't want it to.

When lunch time rolled around, I washed up a little more than normal before heading out, wishing I could have gotten rid of the butterflies in my stomach along with the grease. It was weird going around to get the car instead of just walking over to Andover like normal. I wondered if anybody noticed, but wasn't about to try explaining anything. If everything went the way Aleyah had said, I'd be back at work with time to spare. And I had little doubt that anything Aleyah Winner planned went off without a hitch. It wouldn't dare not.

The photographer's wasn't hard to find, probably less then ten minutes from the office, but in a neighborhood that positively made me cringe. Dear Lord, I felt funny even driving my little Chevy anywhere near the place.

I'm guessing the area was considered one of those 'historic' places. The damn streets were even brick instead of pavement, for a stretch of about five blocks. There were ornamental trees everywhere and flower boxes which would be overflowing in the spring. The Christmas lights and wreaths were still in place at this time of year though, and as I carefully parked on a side street, out of sight of anything, the word that came to mind was 'trendy'.

It fairly screamed Aleyah Winner's name.

The place was easy to find, right in the center of the cobbled area, and I wondered if Aleyah had picked it because of the location, or if she'd made the guy move here. The tasteful sign above the door simply said Jacques' in a script that somehow even felt French. I quailed as I pushed the door open and wondered what kind of impression it would make if I threw up in the middle of the guy's lobby.

It was probably the shock of looking around and finding myself not in a lobby that stifled the urge. For about ten seconds, I was convinced that I'd accidentally walked into somebody's living room, and I froze, preparing to retreat as fast as my legs would carry me.

But then Aleyah appeared and all thought fled. Not just thoughts of being in the wrong place, but all thought. The woman is just a freakin' force of nature. And she had that damn dog with her, following at her heel like its nose was tied to her shoe.

'There you are, darling!' she called as she came sailing into the room, waving me to follow her without preamble. 'We don't want to keep Jacques waiting!'

She chattered at me as we went down the hall, questions I wasn't meant to answer, comments I wasn't meant to have an opinion about. Just Aleyah filling the place with noise until we entered into the afore-mentioned Jacques' domain. She segued right from asking if I'd had trouble finding the place to introductions. Introductions of the Aleyah type. 'Jacques, this is Duo. Now tell me... the red or the black?'

The man in question glanced up at us from making some adjustment to his camera, seeming totally nonplussed with the woman. He gave me a smile of greeting and then a once over that was more like twice, and left me feeling like he'd stripped me and felt me up. 'Oh, the black, Cherie,' he said with a heavy French accent. 'With the leather.'

'Pardon me?' I managed, remembering my resolve to not just stutter at the woman; she enjoyed it too damn much.

They shared an amused little laugh and Aleyah took my arm as Jacques went back to his adjustments. 'I can't possibly have your portrait done in that,' she informed me, dismissing my clothes with a disdainful little sniff, and led me off in an entirely new direction, dog still in tow.

I followed her into a room that was obviously supposed to be a dressing room, but was bigger than Heero's and my guest room. It had better décor too. There was a bench with several sacks sitting on it, and Aleyah went straight to them, obviously searching for something. Leaving me standing in the middle of the room to gawk around like a tourist in the big city for the first time. It was a beautiful room, but left me feeling like I shouldn't touch anything. I had a hunch that there wasn't a piece of furniture in the place that I could have paid for with less than a half dozen pay checks.

Cocotte and I shared a look and I couldn't help thinking that the dog seemed more at home in place than I did.

'Ah!' Aleyah finally declared in triumph and turned toward me with several articles of clothing, all black, draped over her arm. 'Hold still, pet,' I was instructed and I had a horrible moment of fearing that she intended to dress me herself. But she only held up first one and then another shirt to my chest, cocking her head and humming to herself as she decided just how she wanted me dressed.

My butterflies had morphed into something with a bit more attitude, and I'm sure the look on my face made it quite plain to her what I was starting to fear. Not that she tried to reassure me in any way; I think she was enjoying having me so far off kilter that I couldn't even think how to inquire just what in the hell she was doing. There were just too damn many questions running around in my head to settle on just one. Where the hell had these clothes come from, how had she determined what size I wore, had she actually bought the damn things just for me, she wasn't expecting me to keep the things after this photography thing was done, was she, and mostly... please God, she was planning on leaving the room before I actually had to change... wasn't she?

I was starting to feel like a nonentity. More like a doll, than a person, and maybe she sensed some of that, because she finally took pity on me, patting my arm and telling me, 'Don't fret, dear; you're going to do just fine.'

'This is just...' I managed. 'A bit more than I was expecting.'

'Just leave everything to Aleyah,' she told me with a strange little wink, and suddenly seemed to have made her choices, because she handed me several articles of clothing, returning the rest to the bench. 'Now then, pet,' she told me airily. 'Put that on and just open the door when you're finished. Dorleen will be right in.'

'Dorleen?' I parroted, and got my cheek patted for the effort.

'Make-up, dear,' I was told, and then Aleyah breezed out before I could sputter a reply to that. I suppose it was just as well, the best I could come up with was the rather overused, 'What?!' and it probably would have made her laugh at me again.

I was getting a little tired of being the woman's personal entertainment committee.

I looked at the clothes dangling from my arm, looked around the room, and couldn't find a place that I felt like I could sit my mechanic's ass down, so I changed just standing there. The new clothes I laid across a chair, and my own dirty clothes I piled on the floor on one of the empty sacks.

It was a pair of tailored black slacks that fit me like someone had measured me six ways to Sunday without my knowing it, and a black turtleneck that was made out of some sort of material I'd never felt before. Kind of like silk, only not, and it clung to me in a way that made me uncomfortable. Aleyah had not produced a pair of shoes, and the only thing I had were my grungy steel-toed work boots, which looked worse than ridiculous since they were tan, so I simply went in my stocking-feet. I assumed that the picture wasn't going to be full length. I had to prod myself with the reminder that I had to get back to work, before I was able to go open the damn door. I wanted nothing so much as I wanted to throw my own clothes back on and go running for the hills.

Not for the first time and not for the last, it crossed my mind to wonder just what in the hell I'd gotten myself into.

I'd barely touched the doorknob, when a petite little dark-haired woman, presumably the expected 'Dorleen' was upon me, Aleyah in tow.

'Oh, darling,' Aleyah gushed in her refined way, 'you look exquisite.'

'Just look at his bone structure!' the assumed Dorleen exclaimed and they both laughed in delight as my face turned beet red. Even the stupid dog looked amused.

Dorleen ushered me toward a side-door that proved to hide an elaborate bathroom roughly the size of Houston. There were more lights than used on the average Broadway stage and enough sinks that all three of us could have washed our hands at the same time without even touching elbows. I had always considered Quatre's bathrooms to be rather opulent, but I decided that day that the poor guy was actually pretty sedate in his décor.

There was also the biggest damn make-up case I'd ever seen and that was where I finally balked. 'Ok Aleyah, this is going just a little bit too far...'

It got me the strangest little smile I'd seen on her face yet. It was one I found a little scary. Dorleen just looked as though I'd insulted her professionally. Something was exchanged between the two of them in what I took to be rapid fire French, and they shared a laugh. The smattering of French that I know is better suited to back alleys and bars. I didn't understand a word of what was said.

I was back to feeling like that doll, because Dorleen proceeded to open her case just as though I'd never spoken.

'Don't fuss so, darling,' Aleyah soothed. 'You are so uptight! We just need to take a bit of the shine off that freshly scrubbed face.'

It threw me, that she had been able to tell that, and it bought them the two seconds it took for Dorleen to begin dusting powder across my skin. And at that point it didn't seem to be worth the effort of arguing further. Though I couldn't contain the heavy sigh.

In that moment I suspect that there wasn't a man alive who had ever gone head to head with Aleyah Winner and come out on top. Trying to go against what the woman wanted was akin to standing in front of an avalanche and screaming 'stop'. It just wasn't going to happen. I simply set my goal to getting back to work on time and let the rest of it go. Just went with the flow.

They didn't over do it, I don't think, or else Dorleen just worked very fast. I didn't bother trying to follow it. I was just suddenly very tired and beyond fighting them. What the hell difference was it going to make? Let them have their fucking picture and be damned to all of it. While Dorleen worked and Aleyah kibitzed, I pulled up a mental image of Allison's painting back in my studio and reminded myself why I was even there.

It had nothing to do with Aleyah, it had nothing to do with Jacques, it had nothing to do with Dorleen, and it certainly had nothing to do with me.

When they were done, Dorleen disappeared and I followed Aleyah back out to Jacques' studio, Cocotte dancing along at our heels. Lights had been turned on and the man in question was waiting with an air that made me feel like he didn't normally have to stand around that long. He gave me the once over again, running his eyes over me in a way that I suspect would have made Heero step between us. Maybe would even have made him growl.

Oddly... I would have liked that just then.

'Black was the perfect choice, Cherie,' he told Aleyah, just as though it had been her call, and she preened under his praise.

'What now?' I asked, cutting across their mutual admiration society and Jacques turned to look at me with a faint little frown.

'Now you do as I say and let Jacques make you beautiful,' he told me, his accent thick enough to cut with a knife.

I refrained from rolling my eyes, and just went to stand where he indicated with a flick of manicured fingers.

Dorleen reappeared, carrying something that Aleyah had obviously asked for and I found myself being handed a black leather jacket. It was covered in silver snaps and zippers and it made me blink. For a moment, the thing reminded me so much of the one I'd bought myself right after the war that I almost turned it over to check the lining, but as my fingers really registered what I was feeling, I knew from the quality of the leather that it was probably ten times as expensive as the one I'd owned back then.

But it still made me remember.

I shrugged into it with a vague, twisted sense of déjà vu that really wasn't helping with my mood.

Jacques made a tsking sound at that point and gestured my way with those long fingers of his again. 'There is a... lump, my sweet,' he said to Aleyah. 'It will show.'

I looked to see where he was pointing and realized it was my cross under the turtleneck. The damn sweater clung so damn much, that the necklace was showing. I fumbled it out, ready to offer to take it off for the duration, when Jacques smiled widely.

'Perfect!' he crowed, and Dorleen, whose job description must be official fusser, came and arranged the thing on my chest just as though I wouldn't know how to do it myself.

After that it was something of a haze. I was posed like a damn mannequin; sitting, leaning, standing. Behind me, I heard backdrops come down and retract. All I could think about was getting out of the damn hot jacket and getting the hell back to work.

I might have known that Aleyah had told me whatever she'd needed to get me to meet the appointment. Getting back to work in 'plenty of time' was hopeless before Jacques was half done.

I was to the point of telling them that I was damn well leaving, when Jacques informed the room in general that we only had 'one more' shot to take.

I was parked on a stool and it was fairly obvious that he was going for a close-up where most of the rest of the pictures had been half body shots. They sat me down, fussed with the jacket, the braid and the cross and then I was told to bring my right hand up to my face.

I balked. Ok, I'd balked before, but this time I flat refused. It was like I'd just reached my limit of things I could deal with. Kick me. Punch me. Spit on me. I'll roll with it. But apparently asking to photograph my scars was too much.

Aleyah looked annoyed, her face taking on that set that spoke to me of bodies of uncooperative people buried in her backyard. But Jacques, accent suddenly not so damn thick, quietly said, 'Cherie,' in a gently warning tone, and she backed down. Just like that.

I have to admit I was surprised to see it.

He turned back to me then and calmly gave me another set of instructions that had my hands where they belonged; out of frame. When that last shot was taken, he gave me a smile that seemed more genuine than the ones I'd been getting, and dismissed me.

I didn't wait to be shown back to the dressing room, fairly jogging there on my own. I left the new clothes lying folded on the bench and struggled back into my own clothes as fast as I could. I did take the time to use the well appointed bathroom to wash my face until 'well scrubbed' was an under-statement.

Like I'm going to walk into a garage full of mechanics with fucking make-up on my face.

I didn't wait to be shown the way out either, I knew the route now, and while I felt a little bit like a damn rabbit running for its bolt-hole, I really didn't care.

Aleyah caught me just as I hit the front door, and stopped me about the only way I think she could have at that point.

'Duo?'

Not 'dear', not 'darling', not 'pet'. My name. I had not been entirely convinced she knew it.

I stopped; hand on the knob to the front door.

'Yes?' I said quietly.

The fact that I didn't just run on out must have been enough for her, because the slight hesitation in her voice was gone before I was even sure I'd heard it, and she was all her usual airy self. 'The pictures are going to be wonderful, dear! Jacques was so pleased to work with you. I'm sure I'm going to have quite the time deciding which one to use.'

'Do you...' I asked, level-head trying to reassert itself over the rabbit, 'need me to do anything else?'

She laughed lightly, making me feel stupid somehow, though she seemed genuinely pleased with me and not really mocking. 'Just come up with my paintings, darling.'

I sighed, and fought the urge to run a hand through my hair. I was still feeling a bit touchy about those hands, and the one not engaged in trying to open the door, was currently stuffed in my jacket pocket. 'I've actually got something,' I told her. 'But I'm not sure...'

'Wonderful!' she said, cutting me off before I could finish. 'Shall we come out to your studio to collect them?'

It took me a moment to figure out she meant herself and the dog.

'Well... I'm not quite done with one of them,' I stammered, cursing myself, and lost to that need I seemed to have to fiddle with something. My hand came out of hiding and rubbed over the back of my neck.

'Something fresh for the opening?' she questioned, though her voice was suddenly distracted, and before I quite knew what she was doing, she'd caught my hand in hers, before I could get it tucked away again.

I blushed darkly, but made myself hold still while she looked.

'You have strong hands,' she suddenly told me, looking up at me, but not immediately letting go. 'I see no reason to hide them.'

My brain registered that in the conversational court, it was my turn twice over, but I couldn't think what to say to either remark and just stared at her. She dropped my hand with an enigmatic little smile and said, 'I should like to see these paintings of yours. I'll be out on Friday,' and she smiled a bit more. 'After work... of course.'

'O...of course,' I said and she turned and walked away, so I did too.

If a leprechaun had popped up at that point and offered me the chance to go back in time, undoing that phone call to Trowa that had started the art ball rolling somewhat out of control down my hill, and had only asked my right arm in exchange for this favor... I'm not at all sure I would have said no.

I am not overly fond of humiliation. I have never dealt with it well, and this whole situation was just one damn bit of embarrassment after another. I don't like not having a clear path. I don't like not knowing exactly what is expected of me, or what I should be doing. It smacks of being out of control, which rather pushes a great deal of my buttons.

I spent the drive back to work wondering if I would ever get it all figured out. Wondering if I would ever lose the feeling that I was being highly entertaining to a whole lot of people. Not to even mention the dog.

I was late, of course, and despite my fervent prayers, that fact did not go unnoticed by Griff who informed the majority of the northern hemisphere, at his usual volume, 'Maxwell! You're late!'

'Sorry!' I called, heading for my tool box and trying not to make eye contact. 'I'll work over to make it up!'

Griff has been a little more... attentive to his mechanics since the day he'd damn near lost one under an engine block, and I'd passed out on him. He gets twitchy when things aren't going exactly by the numbers, so I got to see God ignore the second part of my plea, as my boss made his way across the bay toward me.

I managed to stop with just the heavy sigh, keeping the curse words behind my teeth.

'Don't huff at me, kid,' he grumbled as he drew near, making me cringe. I will never get used to the man's uncanny sense of hearing. 'You don't have to make up a lousy half an hour... you never take a whole damn lunch hour anyway.'

I blinked at him and said, 'Thanks, boss-man. I was just trying to run some errands and wasn't counting on how long it would take.'

He shrugged, the subject obviously already forgotten, but continued to stand there looking at me. 'You doin' ok?'

'Huh?' I said brightly, wondering what in the hell had brought this on.

'You look...' he told me, cocking his head and looking me over. 'A hell of a lot like you did the day you tried to give me a heart attack.'

Somewhere behind me, somebody snickered and Griff cast a glare that way that only made a second voice laugh at the plight of the first offender.

'I'm ok,' I told him while he wasn't actually looking at me.

It was pretty damned uncomfortable while we just stared at each other for a minute and then he growled, 'See you don't do anything that'll give me more gray hairs.'

'I'll, uh, do my best,' I managed and he finally turned and walked away.

I'm pretty sure the guy deliberately never does what you think he's going to, just to make people crazy.

I turned back to my tool box, only to find that the first snickerer had been Giles and he was still there, grinning at me widely.

'What the hell was that all about?' I asked him, since he obviously wasn't going to go away.

'Who knows?' he grinned. 'Maybe he just figured that with your run of luck lately, you'd gone and got hit by a truck or something.'

I snorted, leafing through my work orders, looking for something interesting enough to keep my mind occupied through the afternoon. 'I've been told my luck has become 'legendarily bad'.'

He laughed, planting a hand on his hip and shaking his head at me. 'Well, you've managed to give the whole garage something to talk about once or twice now.'

I glanced up from the papers in my hand and gave him a look that was supposed to quail his humor, but only ended up making him grin. 'I'm so glad I'm able to entertain you guys,' I drawled, and he laughed again. I went back to my work orders, but he just kept standing there. Like he wanted something, but couldn't quite figure out how to ask.

'Hey Duo,' he suddenly blurted. 'You know... Yuy's a pretty good guy.'

I forgot all about work orders, and looked up at him, totally baffled about what he was going on about. 'What?' I asked, blinking stupidly.

Giles ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. Looking at the floor, I suspect, to hide the color rising to his face. I wondered suddenly if it was a nervous habit he'd unconsciously picked up from me, if it was the other way around, or if we'd developed it independently. 'I just... well, he's pretty well liked around here... I mean...' I thought the guy was going to rupture something, and it suddenly dawned on me what in the hell we were talking about.

The rumor mill had finally gotten around to knocking right the fuck on my door.

'Chang's a pretty good guy, too,' I told him, a little colder than I'd intended, but it served to let him know I knew exactly what we were discussing.

'Oh,' he said, and the blush escalated. Too late, I realized what that had sounded like, and I out-did his damn blush by a couple hundred watts.

'Look, Giles,' I told him, struggling to keep my bad mood from sliding over into 'pissed off'. 'Not that my home life is anybody's God damn business, but Wufei did not get his black eye from Heero. It had nothing to do with my relationship. Wufei is Heero's partner and a good friend of mine... I'd appreciate it if he stopped getting the cold shoulder for something he didn't fucking do in the first place.'

I don't get irritated enough to get in people's faces very often. I'd be willing to bet it hadn't happened on the job more than twice. So I'll be honest and admit that I fully expected Giles to tuck-tail and get out of my vicinity.

I didn't expect him to give me a lop-sided grin and ask, 'So just how did he get the black eye?'

You may insert my stupid carp imitation at that point, because I indulged in it right up until blurting, 'It was my fault.'

Well shit.

Giles' lop-sided grin grew until it lopped both ways. 'You did it?' he asked, sounding rather incredulous.

I took two deep breaths and put my work orders down to fumble the bottle of aspirin out of my tool box. 'Yeah,' I growled. 'We had a... misunderstanding and I lost my damn temper, ok?'

He snickered and I gaped at him. 'Hey,' he shrugged. 'It's just kinda funny; hot-shot elite agent getting cold-cocked by a mechanic.'

I stared at him for a second and had to wonder if I'd just made things better or worse. 'You have a seriously screwed up sense of humor,' I told him and he chuckled again, but finally turned and went back to work, curiosity apparently satisfied. I dry swallowed two aspirin and put the bottle back.

I could not get my head around the fact that one of my co-workers had just... that Giles had apparently...

I think I had just narrowly escaped a lecture about cheating on my boy-friend from a fellow mechanic. How totally screwed up was that?

I was so flustered, I just grabbed the top work order and ended up spending the next couple of hours trouble-shooting an electrical problem that ended up being a bad processor chip. Damn thing shouldn't have taken me half as long as it did, but I couldn't seem to concentrate for shit.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to think about my paintings, worry about Jock's wake, be embarrassed about the trip to the photographers, mortified about the conversation with Giles, or just freakin' miss Heero.

I couldn't get the memory of Aleyah holding my hand and looking at my scars out of my head. The woman was... damn hard to understand. Not as flighty as she pretended to be, but still irritating, none the less. There were a lot of layers there, and I wondered if anybody had ever gotten all the way to the bottom. I wondered if I'd even scratched the surface.

I looked ahead at my week and had to sigh thinking about it. I had Jock's funeral to deal with on Thursday. Aleyah was coming to my damn house on Friday to pick up paintings that didn't entirely exist yet. That only left me three days free to come up with everything she'd asked me for, and I hadn't even taken the time to think about the more current sketches she'd insisted on.

It made for a damn long afternoon, and I was beat by the time quitting time rolled around. I was pleased with myself that I had enough brain cells left to remember that I was low on soda and I stopped at the store on the way home. I had one for dinner, in company of a ration bar, and it felt like the good old days.

The phone rang while I was still eating and I frowned at it, it was a bit early for Heero, so I assumed it was Quatre or Trowa checking up on me. Teach me to get all needy in front of the Winner-hen.

I reluctantly went to answer it and was surprised to hear Heero's voice.

'Hello, love,' he said after I'd picked up, and managed to make it almost a caress.

'Hey!' I responded, and I'm sure he could hear the relief in my voice. 'You're early... is everything all right?'

'Just fine,' he assured me. 'In fact... I was calling to let you know we're going to be wrapping up here probably sometime tomorrow, and we're planning on coming home. We can do some of the paperwork from there before we have to go back out for... well, we'll talk about that when I get home.'

'God!' I blurted. 'You mean it? When do you think you'll be in?'

'Probably sometime Wednesday,' he said, and I could tell he'd caught the edge to my voice. 'Is... everything all right, Duo?'

I hesitated on asking what I wanted to know, afraid that he'd change his plans to accommodate me. The case, and what he was doing, were far too important for me to muck with it for the sake of a little moral support. 'How long do you think you'll be home?' I asked instead, hedging around the issue.

'A few days, at least,' he said, starting to sound a little concerned. 'What is it, love? What's wrong?'

I sighed and regretted it; it always sounds so loud over the phone. 'I... have something I have to do Thursday night, and it would be... nice if you could maybe go with me?'

'Anything you want,' he told me. 'You know that. What is it... something to do with the gallery?'

'Uh, no,' I had to say, sounding a bit wan even to my own ears. 'A funeral... sort of thing.'

There was a moment's silence on the line while he digested that, and he finally asked, pushing past all the obvious questions, 'Duo... are you all right?'

I answered the obvious question to avoid the one he'd actually asked. 'Do you remember that guy from McMurphy's? The one with the gun?'

He managed not to snort at me, but it was there in the tone of his voice. 'Of course.'

'Well,' I sighed and thought about taking the phone to the living room where I could sit down, but was afraid of losing another night falling asleep there. 'He... passed away. There's going to be a kind of... wake, and I probably ought to go.'

God, hadn't that sounded pathetic. Could I have been any more obvious about the fact that I didn't want to go? Made me feel like a real shit; Jock hadn't called a lot of people 'friend', but I was probably on that short list. And here I didn't even want to go to his send off.

'I'll be there,' he promised, and there was a quality to his voice that told me how much he wanted to come and hold me. It helped at the same time it made me feel guilty for worrying him.

I took a firmer grip on my mood and my voice and told him warmly. 'Only if it doesn't interfere with the investigation. If you're going to be here anyway, I'd love to have you go with me, but if not... don't worry about it. It's not that big a deal. I mean...'

'I know,' he said, and really did know somehow, what I was trying to say.

'Enough of that then,' I replied, making a serious effort to lighten up. 'Tell me what you can about your super secret investigation. Tease me with just enough information to drive me crazy.'

The chuckle he gave me was... very forced. 'More interviews tomorrow, followed by an afternoon of digging through old files. We're... going up to the records center at the Romefeller archives. I want a look at Gray and Hill's military history.'

'But,' I stammered, blinking at the kitchen wall. 'Those records were sealed after the war. You can't...'

'I can now,' he said, his voice an almost feral growl, and I had to wonder what strings he'd pulled, what favors he'd called in to get that kind of clearance.

It took me a second to think past the part where Heero wasn't within a hundred miles of where I'd thought he was, to the other part. 'Heero... you shouldn't be telling me this kind of stuff over the phone.'

'I... know,' he sighed, sounding frustrated and tired. He wanted so badly to give me something, some comfort, some reassurance.

'Just your voice is enough,' I told him softly, and hoped he'd understand.

'Damn it, but I miss you,' he blurted, and I'm not sure he meant to. His stress was a palpable thing.

'Me too,' I soothed.

'Duo-love,' he said then, his voice telling me how tied up in knots he was. 'Is there something...' But there was suddenly another voice in the background and he cut off whatever he'd been about to say. It was Wufei, and for a moment I was afraid that Heero was going to snap his partner in half over the interruption.

'Hey,' I called to him, cutting across the almost heated words he was trying not to let the phone pick up. 'Heero... calm down, lover. Everything is ok. I'm fine...'

He sighed, a sound that was every bit as loud as I'd been afraid my own sigh had been. 'I... I'm sorry,' he told one of us, I'm not even sure which.

'What's wrong?' I asked him, suddenly sensing something that I didn't understand. 'Heero, why are you so... on edge? Did something happen?'

I couldn't tell if his hesitation was just a hunt for words or not. 'Nothing specific,' he finally sighed. 'Just... not getting anywhere, and I'm running out of time.'

'Listen to me,' I told him firmly. 'If it goes to trial, it fucking goes to trial. We'll rip the guy's lies to shreds on the stand. You have to stop killing yourself trying to protect me from testifying. If it happens... it happens.'

I no longer heard Wufei in the background, but he must have still been close, because Heero lowered his voice and there were hints that he was moving. 'I love you,' he said to me, trying so hard to make me feel it, that I almost could.

'I know you do,' I said, freer than he was to say things. 'So much, that you're not taking care of yourself right now. I love you too, and I don't want you coming home with a damn ulcer.'

He snorted, about all he could manage, but I could feel him pulling it together. 'I'm sorry,' he said again, and I chuckled at him.

'When was the last time you got some exercise?' I prodded. 'When was the last time you ate something that wasn't delivered to your motel room in a paper bag?'

'This morning,' he grumbled in mock indignation. 'We ate out of the vending machine on the way out.'

I laughed, because he needed me too. 'And you talk about me! I want you to take Wufei and go out to eat tonight. A sit down place, with a waitress and the whole bit. And then I want you to go for a run or something. I'd suggest sparring, but I'm afraid you two would kill each other. You understand me?'

'Yes, sir,' he replied, sounding a bit sheepish, but I wondered if it was all for my benefit or not.

'Promise me, Yuy,' I commanded, and got the heavy sigh that told me he'd only been humoring me. 'Look, asshole... I worry about you too, ok?'

'Ok,' he murmured, sounding pleased. Sounding sorry. Sounding resigned. 'I promise.'

'Good,' I said and could tell that it came out a little bit smug.

'Duo,' he said then, sounding a little distressed. 'I... have to get going. We have an appointment before dinner.'

'That's ok,' I chuckled, trying to make it easier for him. 'I really need to get back to work myself. I've got three days to come up with a couple of paintings.' Then on a sudden thought, I added, 'and hey; tell Wufei those canvases turned out to be a real life-saver!'

'I will,' he replied. 'It will... please him.'

'Love you, husband-mine,' I told him warmly. 'And everything is fine.'

He hesitated, and there was a ton of unasked questions hanging in the air between us. 'I love you too,' he finally said. 'I'll see you Wednesday.'

Then the goodbyes, and then the hanging up. It was hard to sever that connection, and I found myself sighing when I settled the phone back into its cradle. But I hadn't been lying; I really did need to get back to my painting.

I polished off the half-eaten ration bar, and had to chuckle as I thought of another benefit to the things... they can't get cold, and then I went upstairs to change clothes. It was time to face what needed doing, and I can't say I was looking forward to it.

Jensen was still in the studio waiting for me, and I swear to God for a minute it seemed the predatory smirk he wore was... smirkier than it had been. I saluted the canvas with the bottle of soda and turned to get out my paints, determined not to let the son of bitch get to me two nights in a row.

I spent a solid hour working on the background, ignoring the man himself the best I could. I blocked in buildings and lined out the sidewalk, putting the skirling snow in the air. But then shadowed figures began to appear in the background. Indistinct... vague... dark...

I stopped painting when I realized they were Jensen's ghosts. I am not completely masochistic, no matter what anybody tells you; I took the half finished canvas off the easel and set it aside. Taking it down to the other end of the counter, far away from Allison and me. I would finish it some other time. When it wasn't quite so dark out. Maybe while Heero was home and I wasn't in our big old house all alone. I really don't need to look for ways to depress myself.

I realized with a start that Heero's call had distracted me when I'd gotten home and I'd never turned on my music. It rather surprised me that I'd gone several hours without the background noise. For a moment, I was tempted to try continuing without it, but I'd already noticed the silence. Had already let myself feel the unease that comes with those two things... 'alone' and 'silence'. I decided not to push for more, as much trouble as I'd been having, and went to turn on the stereo. Didn't want to be tempted into calling Trowa and Quatre again... I doubted I'd escape being whisked off to their place two break-downs in a row.

I stood in front of the unit for several long moments, deliberating my choices, almost drawn to put on some battle music, just to see if I could stir up some backbone. But it wasn't that long before bed-time and I'd never in a million years manage to sleep if I let myself do that. Sleep had been elusive enough without my adding to my own problems. Helio's fluff music was obviously out... too many reminders of The Mission in there. Too many reminders of the things I'd already decided to set aside for the night.

I ended up putting on some Norwegian folk music, I liked the guy's voice, but I couldn't understand the words enough to get depressed over the lyrics.

Bolstered by the sounds of another human voice, even if it wasn't really human, and even if I couldn't understand it... I gathered my hamsters and went back to the studio to give it another try.

One more charge up the hill, boys... not ours to reason why.

I placed another blank canvas on the easel without a damn idea in my head, and proceeded to stare at it.

This is probably going to sound stupid, seeing as how I'd already jumped off the cliff in question, but... I don't feel like an artist.

I obviously have a bit of talent. I can't really deny that, and I've never tried, I mean... I'd had people paying me to paint murals in their ships for years. We're talking Spacers here; I must do ok, or they wouldn't hire me.

But this whole notion of filling an art gallery with my pictures was rather daunting. My pictures. Mine and nobody else's. Trying to imagine what this art show was going to be like was just too much to fathom. And headache fodder for another day; I had more than enough for the time being. The show itself was very much on my list of 'things to worry about later'. Why yes, I do the denial thing quite well, actually.

Though, if anything was seeping through that solid wall of denial... it was Ms. Aleyah Winner. The woman unnerved me; I didn't really trust her not to do things that I wasn't going to be overly thrilled about. Like that photo shoot. Hell, she hadn't been my patron for more than a couple of days, and I already felt like she had too damn much control over what was going on.

But she had me over the barrel of my own ignorance. I really couldn't do this without her. She had all the contacts, the clout and the know-how. All I had was a couple of battered old sketch books full of my blood and tears.

I wanted to parley that into something that would get me to my goal of helping Allison, and I couldn't do that without Aleyah's help. So I had to hand over the reins to her and that... rankled.

Or had you never noticed what a damn control freak I am?

I guess I just couldn't believe in all the things Trowa assured me she was getting out of this. It's a little hard for me to get my head around this notion that I am... a marketable commodity. It made it difficult to completely trust the woman when I just wasn't sure what she really wanted from all this.

And thoughts of Aleyah made me remember that brief look of hesitation on her face at Jacques, just before she'd taken my hand. Every time I thought I had her figured out, there was another layer revealed. Another... mask.

I wondered if the woman wore that professional little smile even when she was home alone. Most of the Winner children had a cast to their features that made them very damn similar. I suppose genetic tweaking can do that for you. But sometimes it seemed that Aleyah had worked most of her life to erase that look. Maybe to stand out from all those sisters just a little bit? Not for the first time, I tried to imagine what it had been like growing up in that household, but I really couldn't do it. Sometimes it made me feel an ache in my chest, thinking about it, and sometimes it made me cringe.

I suddenly had an urge to paint the woman's portrait. The notion made me snort; wouldn't that just frost the woman's cookies? I wondered if it would get past that... cool exterior of hers. I wondered if I would get some kind of reaction. The thought intrigued me enough that I found myself opening paint. It might be nice to paint something for a change that didn't want to turn my soul wrong-side out. Even if it wasn't something that would end up in the gallery, it would be nice to just paint.

Nice to put brush to canvas without... bleeding.

I've often wondered what it's like for real artists. Do they have that same disconnection from time that I can have sometimes? Do they come unglued from reality while they work? Not that it's always like that, I'm perfectly capable of just drawing without getting sucked into the Twilight Zone, for God's sake... but I've always wondered. Never met anybody that actually made their living through some sort of art, in order to ask.

Though, I suppose it was entirely possible that might change in a week or so.

It was a disconcerting notion, somehow. A layer to this mess that I hadn't taken into consideration before. While I might very well get some answers to questions that I'd wondered about for years... there was no guarantee that they would be answers I would like.

Hell... maybe I really was some kind of nut case, and I would only get that fact verified.

I listened to the music flowing around me, trying to catch words that made sense, trying to catch meaning without half trying, and just painted. Danse? Dance? Maybe so, it was hard to say. It was voice more than words that mattered, though the mind couldn't help trying. Med? Made? Probably not. Danse, again. And I couldn't help imagining a young Aleyah dancing across a field of green grass dotted with wild flowers. I chuckled at the notion; really just could not see the woman in that setting. She might get dirt on her outfit.

It ended up being a not altogether bad evening. Especially considering the one the night before. Though I have to confess to being a bit pissed with myself when I stepped away from the canvas, and realized it was almost three in the morning. Oooops.

I gave the picture in front of me a critical once over while I cleaned up, and couldn't decide if it was going to get my ass skinned, or not.

It was Aleyah's face all right... all half a dozen of them. Faces... masks... I'm not sure what to call them. The one closest to the foreground was only partly visible as it spiraled toward me, the expression that calm, cool, professional one; perfect smile in place. But it wasn't really a face. There was an edge and it looked almost porcelain in its perfection. The one behind wore an odd little quirk of a grin, almost rakish... almost not. The next was the imperial glare. The next was a vulnerable, hesitant look of almost longing. The next coquettish. The next, that of a young woman, bright eyed and eager. All of them falling outward from the central figure, as though caught and blown away by the wind. Aleyah, walking away through a field of flowers, summer dress blowing about her legs, bare-foot in the grass. She was looking back over her shoulder, laughing freely, hand up to her face to hold her long blond hair away from her eyes. You could see a ribbon between her fingers, just the hint of one, and even I wasn't sure if it was the tie on the final mask or not.

I snorted and shook my head, wondering as I turned out the lights and headed to bed, if it was possible for me to paint anything simple.

Tuesday was something of a bitch, running as I was on about three hours of sleep. I'd had to settle for a quick shower on the run in the morning and my damn hair was still damp when I got home. As usually happens when your senses are suffering from half your brain going on strike until you agree to let it sleep, I had one of those 'can't hang on to anything' days. I dropped more damn tools than I owned, and thought I was going to get ribbed to death by everybody in the garage. It was mildly amusing until Dave started keeping count, and every time something hit the ground, he would call out from where ever he was, 'Was that Maxwell?' and when somebody confirmed it, he would shout out the appropriate number.

The amusement factor waned after about ten.

I can't say for sure if the day dragged so badly just from the brain-dead factor, or if knowing Heero would be home the next day was giving me something to look forward to. I just know I thought it would never be over.

I opted to skip the whole painting issue that evening and instead gathered my sketch pads together, looking for those 'more recent' pieces that Aleyah had insisted on. I sat with them at the kitchen table, eating my ration dinner and making myself drink some juice instead of another soda. I'd been drinking entirely too much of it lately, even by my own standards, and had decided all the caffeine might be a factor in the sleep issues.

Recent sketches. Damn; that was a little bit more difficult than I would have thought. Let's look at what was available; my pre-burned hands, a corpse, Heero asleep in a hospital bed, my starved 'inner child', and Heero asleep in a hotel room.

Ok, how about semi-recent? I ran across the pictures of Wufei's cat and decided those might not be a bad idea, but figured Wufei would kill me for the one that he was actually in. That was the problem with a lot of my work; somebody I knew who would not be thrilled with finding their faces hanging in some gallery, was the subject matter. Though, I suppose I'd handed over that picture of Hayden quick enough. I guess the difference was knowing that Hayden would never see it. I was pretty sure that all the guys would end up going to the gallery before the show was over. They're supportive like that. And as curious as a herd of hyper-active cats.

I ended up not making many decisions, and just hoped that Trowa had been right that Aleyah wouldn't be all that upset if I couldn't come up with a lot more pieces.

By nine o'clock, I could barely keep my eyes open, so I decided to just give my e-mail a quick look and go the hell on to bed.

There was one of those 'You know you're from - enter the name of your colony here- when...' things from one of the Sweeper crew, a note from McMurphy giving me the details of Jock's wake, and a brief message from Heero telling me he might get home before I did, and to plan on eating together. It was this weird little progression of up/down. The joke was actually kind of funny, the wake news was just depressing, and then I finished off with the high of Heero's note. Guess I should just be glad there wasn't a fourth message.

I took my butt off to bed with Heero's words firmly in the front of my mind and managed to doze off thinking about getting to see him, and not about funerals.

Wednesday dawned early. Ok, maybe it didn't dawn any earlier then normal, but I generally don't sleep more than about five or six hours a night. So I was awake at the God-awful hour of four in the morning. Left me plenty of time to take a nice long run though, chasing away the last of the vaguely erotic images left from my dreams. I was very damn glad that Heero was coming home.

After a more leisurely shower than the one the day before, I got myself ready for work and then went down to the studio to kill the last hour before I had to leave. Aleyah's portrait, such as it was, was finished and I stood it next to Allison's on the counter. Then I retrieved Jensen from his exile at the far end of the room, and set him back on the easel.

Set the painting back on the easel. God, if I wasn't careful, I was going to give the damn thing a personality.

The man and the ghosts of his conquests were not so... disturbing in the daylight. Looking at the picture, I couldn't help wondering what people would think of it. If they would wonder why all the figures in the painting but the one, were so shadowed and indistinct. It almost appeared to have been done to draw the eye to Jensen. As though those around him paled in comparison. But that wasn't quite right either, because there was something frightening about the ghosts despite the fact that Jensen was obviously oblivious to them. On a whim, I got out the paints and scattered a bit more snow about, letting some of it show, muted, through the background figures. The effect was... odd; serving to make Jensen even more of a solid presence. I shivered, put the paints away and went to work.

It occurred to me, during the drive into town, as I passed the exit to the market we used, that I would have to stop and pick something up for dinner on my way home. Heero wasn't likely to enjoy a home-coming meal of ration-bars, not even if we ate them by candle-light. And I already knew he was sick of eating out.

It was actually a kind of pleasant thought; cooking for Heero again. I don't really like cooking all that much, never bothered with it when I was out on my own, but it had been one of the earliest things I'd been able to do for Heero when I'd recovered enough after the accident for it. It had helped me feel like not such a leech. Had given me something to do in the afternoons while I had waited for Heero to come home from work. It had been... a very odd period of my life. I had been rather surprised that the weird, almost domestic feel of it had been... pleasant. After everything Heero had done for me, it was nice to be able to give something in return, no matter that it was such a small thing. At the time, wheeling myself around the kitchen in my chair as I worked, had been damned exhausting, and it hadn't felt like a small thing at all.

But Heero always seemed to enjoy it when I cooked for him, and that had made it worthwhile. It seemed like tonight should be something special and I spent the rest of the drive trying to make up my mind if we had enough ingredients at home for me to manage Sukiyaki or not. I didn't care for it all that much, but in my experimenting with traditional Japanese recipes for Heero, had discovered that he did. I could get the sirloin and snow peas easily enough, but the bamboo shoots and Chinese mushrooms would require a trip to the Asian market. That was a bit out of the way, and I didn't want to be late getting home. Heero would just worry, and that would rather spoil anything special I might have planned. Maybe I'd just stop at the fish market and splurge on something a little more expensive than Mrs. Paul's.

Work was nothing exceptional. Though I was much better rested and not quite so fumble-fingered, I had to endure a bit more teasing until somebody else did something stupid enough to make people forget about me. It pleased me just a bit too much that it ended up being Dave. Poor guy managed to somehow back a car into the oil collector, dumping a couple of gallons of used oil all over the floor. Dave swore somebody moved the thing while his back was turned, but Griff still yelled at him for a good five minutes, and by the time the mess was cleaned up, Dave was the 'joke of the day' instead of me.

And yes, you bet your ass I indulged right along with everybody else.

Wednesday made Tuesday look like a freakin' holiday. I distinctly remember looking up at the clock in the afternoon, convinced that it was time to go home, only to find it was only two.

When quitting time finally did come, it was all I could do to keep myself from running for my car. I had decided not to risk the longer drive and settled on a quick run to the fish market, it was on the way home and not usually all that crowded. I picked up some halibut and some shrimp too, because the guy claimed I 'couldn't find fresher if God dropped it from the sky into my hands, still alive', and then I booked for home.

I can't even tell you if I was relieved I got there first, or disappointed. Then I realized I couldn't start dinner until Heero got there, since I didn't have a clue what time it would be. So the fish went on ice and I went up to change and shower. Didn't want the poor man coming home to a lover who smelled of grease and oil. Nothing quite as off-putting as snuggling up to somebody who stinks.

And then... I went out to sit on the front steps to wait.

Yes, I am pathetic.

I have to admit that this trip had surprised me quite a bit. I had not anticipated missing Heero as much as I had. We'd been together just over a year, and during all that time, had not really been apart more than just a day or so. My trip to L3 and his stay in the hospital being the biggies. And even when he was in the hospital, I'd not been apart from him more than I would have been during a work day.

I honestly don't know how he managed that, because I'd picked up on enough conversations here and there over the course of that year, to figure out that he used to travel on assignment a hell of a lot more. I have no doubt it was because of me, and knowing Heero, he just flat told Commander Une 'no' in no uncertain terms. It was weird and embarrassing if I let myself think about it, which was why I'd never questioned him overly much about it. I just wasn't sure I wanted to know. Even though I kinda did, if you know what I mean. Guess I just didn't want to verify it.

I'd been sitting outside on the cold steps for a good fifteen minutes when I heard the sound of footsteps on the walk. The cadence was odd, and it took Ruthie coming into view for me to figure out it was because she was skipping. She had a digital camera dangling from one mittened hand, and a leash held tight in the other. A little brown, flop-eared dog was on the other end of that leash, dancing around one minute before, and the next behind. Pulling and darting about, generally causing Ruthie to laugh and giggle. I couldn't help smiling, and wondered what in the world she'd come to borrow this time. She was wearing what appeared to be a party dress underneath her coat and when she saw me sitting on the steps, stopped and gave me an exaggerated curtsy, though it was spoiled when the dog pulled her off-balance.

'Mr. Duo!' she called and finished skipping up to the porch. 'You're home!'

'Hello, Miss Ruthie,' I replied, not really sure how to otherwise reply to what had been a statement. That made her laugh some more, the pup sniffing the air in my direction inquisitively, her tail wagging a mile a minute.

'We're having a party!' Ruthie exclaimed, waving the camera at me as though that explained something. 'And Buffy and me are on a hunt!'

'A hunt?' I grinned, not at all sure what kind of party involved running around the neighborhood with a dog and a camera.

'Yep!' she said, and tried to fish something out of her coat pocket to show me. The dog, I'm assuming the afore-mentioned Buffy, was tugging in my direction and making the whole endeavor a bit difficult. I slid down another step, so that I could reach and pet the dog, and Ruthie got a piece of crumbled paper pulled out while the dog was still.

I thought the animal was going to wag its butt right the hell off.

'We're on a scavenger hunt,' I was informed, though the word scavenger lacked a consonant or two, and it took me a second to get it. The list was waved in my face and I didn't even try to read it. 'We gotta find three different kinds of trees! Can we go into your yard?'

I got the whole process then, and wondered how many other little kids were running around the area, mostly just staying out of the house and out of the hair of whoever was throwing this 'party'. Or maybe Ruthie was just on her own hunt.

'We got to take a picture of it!' she explained, and tried to hold the camera up to her face to demonstrate. It became obvious pretty quickly that Buffy wasn't making this chore particularly easy. Ok... Buffy was making the chore almost impossible.

I couldn't help laughing at the whole weird little ballet number they were doing. 'Sure,' I told her. 'But why don't you let me hold the leash while you go take the picture... I think it might be easier.'

She fairly beamed and handed the loop of the leash over in the next instant. 'Cool!' she said, which I took for acceptance, and then she skipped off around the side of the house. Buffy attempted to follow before coming up short on her lead and ended up sitting on the dry grass beside the step looking abandoned. The look of pure confusion was pretty priceless, until she began to bark feverishly, making sure her mistress realized that she'd forgotten something important.

I chuckled and gave the leash a tug. Buffy wasn't a terribly big dog, and she tumbled over my feet, looking up at me uncertainly. 'Hush you,' I grinned and ruffled the ears. The wagging was back, though she looked so damn dewy-eyed that I had to pick her up and set her in my lap. 'Ruthie will be back in a minute,' I explained, and only felt slightly stupid. The dog cocked her head, looking up at my face just as though she understood. It was cute until I figured out she was just plotting the best angle to get at my chin. Dog spit is kind of gross.

Then I forgot about it when I realized I heard a car coming up the street. We're pretty much the last house on a dead end road. If a car doesn't turn off before it crests our hill, it has to be coming to our place, and I was only expecting one person. I was standing before I realized it.

I know I was grinning like a damn loon the whole time he parked, but I just couldn't help it. I had stood with Buffy in my arms without really thinking about it, but that put her where she could reach my face again and she proceeded to distribute more drool.

'Damn it, Buffy,' I grumbled at her, leaning to put her down. 'You're going to have to learn better than that. That's just gross.'

When I straightened, Heero was almost right in front of me. I was still rubbing my sleeve across my chin and just opening my mouth to say hello when I got a really good look at his face.

For about two damn seconds I would have said 'stricken'. Pale, came to mind. Horrified.

But then it sort of got washed away by this... anger. I'm not sure what else to call it. Between one heartbeat and the next he was just freakin' furious.

'What the fuck is this?' he snarled, but it was obviously one of those rhetorical questions, because he didn't wait for an answer. 'You don't do something this major without talking to me first! What in the hell were you thinking!'

I couldn't do much more than just stare at him. Heero and I have had our fights before, but this was... like nothing I'd ever seen. There was a light in his eyes that wasn't altogether rational, and I have to admit he was scaring me. On about half a dozen different levels.

Buffy, apparently, is not one of those dogs that found a home through her intelligence, because she chose that moment to wander over to sniff at Heero's shoes. Heero made a noise that I couldn't identify, and almost stumbled back a step. 'Get that God damn thing away from me!' he snapped and I figure at that point my eyes had to have been as wide as saucers. I leaned down and snatched the dog up, retreating myself a couple of steps. I had brief thoughts of pod people, and murmured 'Good girl, Buffy,' to the stupid dog, because she'd finally figured out that this was a 'bad thing' and was whining quietly. Words of explanation would not find their way out of my throat. Part of my head was still trying to tell me that the man in front of me could not possibly be Heero, and the rest of me was just standing there staring, perfectly willing to be convinced.

Heero's expression was set in stone; the anger trying to bleed out around the edges, and that was when I heard Ruthie returning from the back yard. I was looking right at Heero and I got to see that expression fade back into the stricken one he'd worn when I'd first seen him. I've never really seen somebody go white as a sheet from up close before, though I pretty well knew what it felt like.

'Got it, Mr. Duo!' Ruthie crowed, and I had to turn away from the sight of Heero to even begin to reply to her.

'T...that's good, kiddo,' I choked out. 'Are you all done then?'

'Almost!' she cheered, fairly bouncing up and down as possession of the dog changed hands. 'You don't have a hamster, do you?'

I almost choked. 'No... sorry,' I managed.

'Darn!' she pouted. 'That's all Buffy and me need to win! A hamster!'

'Better get going then,' I told her, wishing her gone.

'Who was that?' she asked me brightly, and I kind of froze until the word 'was' soaked in a little bit. I whirled around, but Heero was gone. I had a panicked moment before I saw his car was still sitting at the curb and I realized he must have gone into the house.

'My... my roommate,' I said. 'Heero.'

'Oh,' was all she said, and then they were skipping off down the street. 'Bye!'

I can't remember if I told her goodbye or not.

My next conscious thought found me sitting on the damn steps again, staring after Ruthie and the stupid dog, trying to decide what I should be feeling.

Ok, I'm not a total loser. I know that Heero had come home and made a totally wrong assumption based on the evidence of his eyes, and had jumped my shit without asking question one. Well, without asking any questions he had allowed me to answer.

I should be pissed. I should be livid. I was perfectly within my rights to throw a hissy fit in his face the likes of which he'd never seen.

But...

But Heero had never done something like that to me before. Not like that. If our voices had ever been raised, it was usually in sheer exasperation. The only times I could really remember him yelling at me since we'd moved in together, was because I'd done something to scare the shit out of him.

This had been... not altogether coherent. When I had looked into his eyes, it was like he hadn't been looking back at me. He'd honestly scared me.

Physically? I don't know... maybe a little. He'd sure as hell looked like he'd wanted to deck somebody. But mostly... it was just having him unhappy with me. I have issues with that, probably more than is healthy. I'm kind of aware of how much of myself is pinned to Heero, and not to sound all melodramatic and crap, but I really don't know what I'd do without him.

Suicide? I'm not going so far as to say that. I just mean that I really don't know what I would do... where I would go.

So, while some sane part of me wanted to be flaming pissed, most of me was kind of hurting. The sane part said I should go find Heero and see just what the hell was going on, but the rest of me thought staying on the front porch until sometime around spring was a pretty spectacular idea.

I'm not sure the sane part won out so much as I got really cold.

I found him sitting right there on the couch in the living room. He'd made it no farther than that, had not even managed to get his jacket off. He didn't even look up when I shut the front door behind me.

He sat just on the edge of the couch, almost looking poised to bolt. His elbows were on his knees and his head was in his hands, fingers clenched in his hair. If tension were a color, the whole room would have been bathed in black.

I'd been home long enough that the stereo was playing, the Norwegian stuff again, and I listened to it for a bit while I watched him just sit there.

If I had been able to work up any anger while I'd sat on the porch, it would have washed away in that moment. This was my Heero... no matter what had just happened outside.

He didn't even react when I walked across the room to turn off the music. It was damn weird having the house that quiet with someone else in it with me.

Briefly, I toyed with the idea of just going to start dinner and giving him a minute to sort himself out before I tried to talk to him, but I had a bad feeling nobody would eat what I fixed. The fish had been too damn expensive to cook just to throw it away.

After a minute of just watching him do nothing, I finally walked over and sat down on the edge of the coffee table. Not right in front of him, that would have been a bit close under the circumstances, but within touching distance... if he so chose.

'I, uh... guess you figured out it wasn't my dog?' I finally managed, trying for teasing, but not really making it. I got nothing but a tight little nod without him even meeting my eyes. I felt like I'd just served at tennis and nobody bothered to hit the ball back. I watched it roll around on his side of the conversational net and sighed.

I was left unsure if I should prod at him, or just try steering him away from the whole mess. He was starting to scare me in a whole different way than he'd been scaring me before.

But then his hands came away and he finally looked up at me with this... weird-ass expression that I didn't quite know what to make of. His face... his expression... was almost stony. Flat and closed off and frightening and... not like I'd seen in a long, long time. But his eyes...there was something behind those eyes that was just screaming at me, something that was calling out to me until the only thing I could think to do was open my arms.

I really wasn't expecting him to almost crumble into them.

'Don't let me not feel,' he whispered, and though the words didn't make sense, his hands clutching at me spoke a different language, and I gathered him to me in a fierce embrace. He was trembling.

'It's all right,' I told him, not sure if it was, but less sure of what else to tell him.

I knew he wasn't half in control, because he was hurting me. It made me hold on all the tighter; he obviously needed it.

'I'm so sorry,' he finally murmured, voice all twisted round itself.

'Hush,' I soothed. 'It's all right... but, Heero... you've got to give me a clue. You've got to tell me what I did, because God... I don't ever want to do it again.'

He shuddered and I swear, if he could have turned himself into something that would have fit, he'd have crawled into my lap like a child. All I could do was hang on and endure the bite of his fingers on my flesh. 'Wasn't you...' he panted, sounding on the verge of some kind of damn break-down. 'It wasn't you... I'm sorry... please forgive me...'

I kissed the top of his head and told him as firmly as I could, 'You know I'd forgive you anything. I'm not mad... just really confused.'

'I know,' he whispered.

I moved us over to the couch before our combined weight did something bad to the coffee table. Heero went where I took him, as damn docile as a babe in arms; it unnerved me. He's just not normally like that, but he really did seem to need to be held, just needed the contact. Maybe he was drawing some reassurance from my touch; proof that I wasn't angry.

'It's going to take more than a couple of cuss words to get rid of me, Yuy,' I grumbled, trying to make it come out sounding like a threat. He didn't buy it as joke, or threat, and made a noise that was kind of strangled.

We just sat for a bit then. He had himself curled up against my chest, tucked under my chin, and I had to resist a very strong urge to rock him like a child. I stroked my knuckles over his hair instead, while he just seemed to be working out the mechanics of breathing.

'Who...' he finally asked. 'Who was that?'

'Our neighbor,' I told him. 'Ruthie. She came over the other day with her brother to borrow some eggs. She came back today because she was playing some kind of scavenger game and wanted to take a picture of the willow tree.'

He digested that and I let him, deciding that we weren't going to get anywhere if I kept letting him get away with the traumatized silence thing. It took him a bit and I knew he was going to speak before he did, because his fingers suddenly tightened further, digging in almost harshly.

'Tell me?' he blurted and it broke my heart to hear the need in him. To hear how torn up he was... and not understand it.

'Of course,' I whispered, and stroked the back of my knuckles along his jaw line until he tilted his head up enough for me to kiss him. I meant for it to be soft and gentle; he made it fierce and hungry. 'I love you more than anything, and I always will,' I reassured. 'You know that.'

'I do,' he told me earnestly, looking deep into my eyes, as though still hunting for that reassurance. 'I am so sorry; it caught me off guard... I didn't mean... I...'

I touched a finger ever so gently to his lips and stopped the stumbling rush of words. 'Shhh... no more apologizing. Just please... tell me what's wrong?'

He stilled and settled his head back against my shoulder. 'Later,' he breathed, so softly I almost didn't hear him. 'Please... later?'

What the hell could I say, but, 'Ok'?

I tried not to let it sting. I understood that something had him a bit too raw and he needed his distance first. I remembered how damn hard it had been for me to talk to him about... certain things. But it was hard not to believe that he wouldn't just sweep it all under the rug, and I never would know what the hell it was about neighbor relations and pets that had made my lover look like he wanted to divorce me.

But if he needed to sweep it away, then by God I would let him sweep it away. If he didn't want to talk to me, I would be damned if I would try and pry it out of him. 'I promise not to have the other kids over when you're out of the house any more, Dad,' I teased softly and he managed a little snort of a laugh, but didn't reply.

It was one of those jokes that, under the circumstances, I could make... but he couldn't join in with. But he seemed to relax a little bit, getting the message behind the words that I would let it go if he wanted.

'I don't deserve you,' he told my collar-bone, and it was my turn to snort.

'It's too late in the day to start the I'm not worthy game,' I chuckled and he finally seemed to let go completely, his embrace no longer so desperate, his breathing no longer sounding so ragged.

'I should go get my bag out of the car,' he said, finishing the job of putting himself back together, like some part of him just wanted to pretend the whole thing had never happened. I felt a spark of irritation, that I throttled down fairly easily. I could well relate to that desire. Done more than my fair share of things that I had wanted, at the time, to undo. Had more than one instance of wishing fervently for a time machine.

Who was I to deny him his need to save face?

'Why don't you do that while I start dinner,' I agreed. What I might have wanted here wasn't what was important. 'You probably even have time to get cleaned up, if you'd like... I got some fish at the market and haven't even started yet.'

He sat up and I let him, though it was a conscious effort on my part. He was faintly flushed, and I think he had a hard time meeting my eyes, but he did, reaching out to stroke his fingers over my cheek. 'I missed you,' he ventured and I smiled for him, turning my head to kiss his hand.

'Missed you too.'

Then he took himself outside and I went to the kitchen. It's a wonder I didn't kill us both with my culinary attempts that night, because I sure as hell didn't have my mind on what I was doing.

It wasn't long before guilt beast was tailing me around as I went from refrigerator to stove to sink. I felt petty and small and like an absolute asshole, but you want to know what I was struggling with the most?

The fact that I had shared... and Heero hadn't.

You know what I mean?

Oh, come on... you really think Heero Yuy tried to rip me a new asshole because he thought I bought a pet without asking him? You can't tell me there wasn't something more to that whole little scene than was on the surface. It had something to do with the dog, but it had just as much to do with the neighbor kid. I'd been looking right at Heero when Ruthie had made her appearance. He'd looked like a Leo had just come stomping out of our back yard.

Something had kicked him in the ass so hard it damn near took his breath away. I'd been looking into the face of a haunted man. I know the look... I've seen it in the mirror often enough.

On that trip to L2... the one that was still so painfully fresh in my memory... Heero had asked me to dish up a large piece of my soul and point out for him all the quaint little flaws. And I had. Maybe not everything, but a hell of a lot. I'd told him things that nobody else in the universe knew. And no, it hadn't been easy.

You tell me he wasn't refusing to share those same kinds of things now.

It's not that I hadn't wanted to tell Heero. It had felt... good, somehow, to give him that piece of myself. But it seemed... tainted now, like telling someone 'I love you' and not hearing it in return.

It was making every defensive tendency I owned want to kick into hyper-drive.

Which made me feel like a real shit.

By the time I'd managed to get something resembling food onto the table, guilt had pretty well gnawed my leg down to the bone.

I had heard Heero moving about the house, bringing his things in and even coming through the kitchen once to take his laundry to the basement. But we hadn't really talked. I'd heard him go up to shower and remembered with a pang my earlier thoughts about not wanting to smell of grease when he came home. Somehow... I doubted that was going to matter much with the frame of mind we seemed to be in.

He came into the kitchen looking freshly washed just as I was pouring the drinks. My own discomfort made me wonder if he'd been avoiding me until he couldn't any more.

Guilt and I'd had a long talk, and we'd decided that I was trying to turn something that should have been about Heero into something that was about me. That seemed just the tiniest bit self-centered, so I was making a solid effort to remove my head from my ass.

The effort was not helped by the realization that I'd unconsciously poured myself a glass of water instead of soda, and had actually remembered to set out my bottle of iron tablets... something I had not managed in days. Obviously, some part of my head did not want Heero to get upset with me again. And that rather left me feeling pathetic.

So I sat down at our kitchen table across from Heero, feeling defensive, lame, and hurt, and smiled brightly. 'So, are you going to give me all the juicy details of the case, now that you're home, or do I have to languish away in ignorance forever?'

He smiled back at me, though there was a quality to it that let me know he understood my effort to move on. Understood, and appreciated.

'We didn't find much at the record's center,' he told me, seeming to jump on the new topic almost eagerly. 'Confirmed that they did both serve, though they were hardly as involved in the war as they tried to imply; they flew messenger ships and never saw a moment's action.'

I snorted, remembering Hill's flippant remarks about 'making do' and being 'veterans'. I'm sure they got a lot of practice doing out-ship work on the little courier jump ships. 'Well,' I mused, looking at the information for other clues. 'I suppose that makes it unlikely that this whole thing is based on some grudge Gray holds against Gundam pilots, since he never fought.'

Heero grunted, cutting into his fish. 'Not likely. Unless it's just unfounded prejudice. We found no record that he or anyone in his immediate family ever saw combat.'

That was about the point were I took my first bite and realized that I'd fucked the fish six ways to Sunday. Overcooked would be an understatement. I chewed slowly, trying to decide if it would actually kill me. It was not only overcooked, but over seasoned, and while I doubted it would harm us, it certainly tasted like shit. And while taste has little or no meaning to me, Heero places some store by it.

I sighed and rose without comment, going to fetch the shrimp from the refrigerator while Heero figured out what I'd done. I hadn't thought the stuff was a contingency plan when I'd bought it, but I was glad it was there. I took his plate of fish away without needing to comment, and sat the shrimp and cocktail sauce down in front of him while he took a couple of swallows of water to wash the taste away.

He looked vaguely guilty, understanding where my distraction had come from, and when I sat back down across from him, he reached out to touch my hand. 'I'm sorry.'

I shrugged, not really wanting to get into it, and picked my fork up again. 'So the military records didn't really pan out, what about the ex-wife?' I prodded, wanting to not dwell on the ruined meal; so far this had not been the world's best homecoming. But I could tell from the look on his face as he saw me start to cut into my fish again, that we weren't done. 'Heero,' I said, interrupting him before he could even get started. 'Just don't. It will make me feel better not to waste it, ok?'

'Duo,' he began, 'it's ruined...'

'It is not ruined,' I heard myself snap. 'Just eat your damn...'

Ok, apparently my efforts at setting shit aside where being relatively unsuccessful. I laid my fork carefully down on the table, because I've got a history of hurling things when I'm getting pissed, and just took a moment to concentrate on shutting up.

Heero was busy looking like he was trying not to implode with frustration.

'Strained' is about the only word that applied.

I suddenly didn't have the stomach for fish, shrimp, or any damn thing else.

'I wish we could start this whole day over,' I told him softly. 'But I don't know how.'

'I don't know what else to say,' he told me, eyes on the table and not me.

Tell me what happened, I wanted to say to him, but if I had to ask... if I had to force it, it was only going to make matters worse.

'I think we're both just tired,' I told him, in an effort to ease the strain, though we both knew I was just talking. 'Can I assume that you don't want to eat any of this any more than I do?'

He looked hesitant for a moment; as though he were afraid I would get my feelings hurt, but then gave me a little nod.

I got up and took it away to wrap up before he had a chance to throw it out. Maybe I could use the fish to make something else later. Soup or something; maybe chowder. Heero let me, sitting at the table and watching me move around him. I think he just flat didn't know what to do.

I was hurt and trying to hide it. He could tell, but either couldn't decide what he should do, or wasn't capable of doing it. It was one of those lose-lose situations. When I had the mess pretty well cleaned up, food put away and the dishes stacked in the sink, I went to him and made him let me sit in his lap.

'I'm trying,' I told him, feeling like I was letting him down because I couldn't put a lid on my feelings. 'It's just been an... odd week.'

He put his arms around me and buried his face against my chest. 'You shouldn't have to be trying. I'm the one... I should...' he floundered to a stop.

I sighed without meaning to, and kissed the top of his head. He straightened and looked up at me, heart in his eyes.

'I'm not...' he began, struggling with it so much it was painful. 'I'm not trying to shut you out. I'm not. It's just so...'

'Hard?' I whispered, smiling gently. 'I know.'

He heaved a sigh so heavy I felt it through his whole body. 'Yeah,' he agreed.

I gathered him against me again, a little surprised at how readily he gave in to it. 'There is nothing you could ever say to me that would make me stop loving you,' I told him, and knew I'd nailed it from the shudder that coursed through him.

I knew that fear well and good. Knew it inside and out. Though it was not something I had ever thought to see echoed in Heero's eyes.

We sat like that until he didn't need to hang on anymore. It was probably as much an excuse as anything when he said he had some reports to type up, but it didn't sting so much somehow. I had the feeling that he was at least trying to work it out in his head, so it was easier to let him.

Besides, I still had my very real excuse of sketch hunting.

He went up to his study and I went out to my studio and we tried to pretend we weren't hiding from the whole damn mess.

I just was not up to working on Jensen's portrait, no matter that Heero was in the house with me again. Off balance as I was, I didn't figure I needed that on top of everything else, so I settled on the old couch with a stack of sketch pads instead.

I was a little disconcerted to feel the need for my music, I normally don't when Heero's home, no matter where he is in the house. But somehow, the silence was as sharp as it had been all week long. I resisted because I didn't want him realizing. Didn't want him knowing how much I still had to fight with the silence. How much it still ate at me to be alone.

So I leafed through my art books in the quiet and it didn't take long before I was cringing thinking about showing them to my 'patron'. I could just imagine the woman titling Froggy's portrait. Felt vaguely horrified at the idea of her seeing the strange portrait of Quatre and Trowa.

Maybe it would be best if I just tried to draw something new? Something specifically for the damn show and stopped trying to find something suitable for public consumption? The thought had barely hit my forebrain when I found a pencil in my hand. She had said 'more recent', you couldn't get any more recent than the moment you lived in. I certainly didn't have the time to do much, but if I came up with anything, it would meet the request and really... that was all I cared about. Make the woman happy, meet the requirements, and get this the hell over with.

Sound like an ungrateful wretch, don't I?

That fact does not escape me. I had set this fiasco in motion with my own little speed-dialing hand, and now that it was too late to stop the avalanche, I was having second thoughts. So it makes me a little pissy...sue me.

There were just so many things to think about... to worry about. So many things I needed to be doing. I had a Spacer's sendoff to deal with that was scratching at the back of my brain with little claws of dread. There would be people there that I had not dealt with in awhile. There would be alcohol that I used to indulge in without thought, that I was leery of now. And the guilt. Let us not forget the damn guilt. Can't forget what this funeral was all about, after all.

'Damn it, Jock,' I muttered to the air and hoped to God he wasn't one of the ones who would come back to talk to me. Didn't think I could deal with living with that morose voice for the rest of my life.

And those thoughts led back around to time and timing and understanding that Jensen's portrait had to be finished the very night of the wake. Either before hand, or afterward, and I doubted I was going to be up to it when it was all said and done. But Aleyah would be there on Friday and my time was stinking well up. I had to sigh, thinking that Heero coming home was going to make this harder, because he would not put up with my staying awake until the wee hours to do the work when I had to get up for my actual job the next day.

And of course, that thought came full circle to the little drama we had enacted on our front lawn and I wondered if I could get any more depressed.

Then I looked into the eyes of the kid on the paper in front of me and decided that I had barely scratched the surface.

It was probably me, though thankfully, that fact was not as obvious as some of my other self-portraits. For simplicities sake I will refer to the portrait as though it really was of some other child and not another damn version of my splintered little self.

I... no, he was looking right straight at me, with the most beauteous expression of openness. Smiling broadly, eyes shining with hope and happiness, he offered up in his cupped little hands what must have been his most prized possession. He cradled it, gentle and careful, holding it out to... someone... we won't get into that right now. He was... proud? I'm not sure about that part... there was something very akin to it in the expression. Something in the eyes that said 'this is a treasure'. That said, 'I'm sharing something important with you'.

The thing in the cupped hands was... oddly bird shaped. It was a thing that might have been pretty once. But it had been broken and mended many times. It looked pathetic lying there. Sad. More-so in the sharp contrast with the boy's expression. As though he didn't see what he held in his own hands with the same vision as the rest of the world.

A soul with wings that could not fly.

I tossed the sketch pad down on the couch beside me and wondered again if it was possible for me to freaking draw a simple still life. Don't other people just draw flowers sometimes?

That was when it finally filtered through to my brain that I could hear water running through the pipes in the house, and I realized that Heero was in the shower. It took me almost thirty damn seconds to pull my brain out of the haze it had been in to realize why that was odd.

Heero had showered while I'd fixed dinner. What the hell?

It was late. Later than I would have thought, and I rose to go up the stairs, turning lights off as I went.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I started to go toward the closed bathroom door, but the light on in the bedroom caught my eye. Heero is almost anal about turning lights off as he leaves a room. I almost think it causes him some kind of physical pain not to. If the light was on in the bedroom, there was a reason, so I went there instead.

The sheaf of neatly stacked papers sitting on our bed stood out like a neon sign. Starkly white against the dark green fabric of the comforter. They didn't exactly have my name written on them, but the intent was obvious. Heero had wanted me to come up and find them. I was almost loathe to make the walk across the bedroom and pick them up.

It was a shock to recognize the format and style of an old time mission report. It had not at all been what I'd been expecting, and that alone was enough to make me sit down on the bed. I scanned the cover sheet; surprised to note the date... it was nothing current, AC 194; a moment's calculation put the year in perspective... before Operation Meteor. Before the real war. During that period of time when we were all just finishing up our training and taking on our first missions. Going out into the field for the first time.

The report wasn't Heero's, but rather about a mission of Heero's. There wasn't a single author, but several reports all centered around an infiltration and sabotage mission that had apparently gone bad. I skimmed my way over the pages, suddenly filled with a vague sense of dread. A training mission that seemed to be almost a test; there had been a spotter who reported afterward. The words 'perfect' and 'flawless' were used often... until near the end. Get in, plant the explosives, get out, blow the installation. Simple; I'd run several almost identical assignments in my day. But this one had apparently not been so simple.

There was an evaluation. There were recommendations. A memo from Dr. J insisting on 'not discarding a useful weapon'. There were statistics and numbers, a death-count, quite clinically listing the military numbers right next to the... civilian.

Reports on retraining. Desensitization. Discipline. I read the term 'acceptable losses'. I read the term 'additional training'. I felt sick just reading the crap over.

War and desperation can make men do some damn unspeakable things.

I still didn't understand just what in the hell the dog had to do with anything, but I understood enough.

Heero's mistake at New Edwards had not been his first brush with 'civilian casualties'. God; it was no damn wonder he'd been so quick with the self-destruct button.

I was suddenly more concerned with how long he'd been in that shower waiting for me to come upstairs and find his attempt at showing me what he hadn't been able to tell me, than what those papers had to say.

I don't even know where they fell when I dropped them. I think I was down the hall and had the bathroom door open before they hit wherever they ended up.

I could see Heero in the tub, just his vague silhouette through the shower curtain. He was standing in the back corner, leaned up against the wall. I wondered how long he'd been there, waiting for me to hear the water and come to investigate. I wondered how long it had taken me to come out of my day-dreaming to notice. It's a wonder I didn't rip the curtain getting past it. Getting to him. I went in, clothes and all. The damn water had been running long enough that it was cold. He should have been shivering his ass off... but wasn't. It made me think of something he'd said. Something I hadn't understood at the time.

'You're not what they tried to make you,' I told him fiercely, grabbing hold of him. 'You are so much more than that. So damn much more.'

It was what he'd needed to hear, because he came away from the wall and buried himself in my arms. 'You don't think I'm a...'

'No,' I cut him off before the words could come tumbling out. I didn't even know what he'd meant to say. A monster? A killer? A cold-hearted bastard? It didn't matter; I just knew it wasn't going to be good, and I didn't want to hear it. Didn't want him to hear it. Sometimes putting things into words makes it harder to set it aside. 'You are none of the things they said. You are none of the things they wanted you to be.'

'I was,' he whispered in a tone of voice that was kind of flat. Kind of resigned.

'Maybe so,' I agreed, because you don't waste your time arguing with the truth. 'So was I. So were we all. But that was then... and we aren't what we were.'

'I'm not always so sure...' he said and I pushed him away to look him in the eye.

'I am very damn sure,' I told him, and then kissed him hard. Fed him raw feeling until he choked on a sound that wanted to be a sob that didn't come clear, and he was kissing me back.

Need was an almost-living presence there with us. Though it took me a minute to understand that it was as much my reassurance he craved, as anything physical.

I wanted to take him the hell out of there right then, but my clothes were soaked through. I groped behind us and got the damn water turned off and then he had to help me peel out of the clothes that were plastered to me. I simply abandoned them there in the tub, to drain and be dealt with later. I pulled him out, and got us dry and then took us to bed where we could hide together in the dark, under the dubious security of our blankets.

He curled against me, a thing that felt strange somehow, with his head pillowed on my shoulder. 'I'm sorry I took so long,' I had to tell him.

'S'ok,' he murmured, not seeming to care at all, but I couldn't escape the vision of him standing there all alone with the icy water running over him. He felt chilled still.

'Heero...' I began, not at all sure where I was going. I wanted to encourage him to talk. I wanted to understand. But I just... ached for him. So I also wanted to help him make it all go away again, didn't want him so upset. I wanted to run his ghosts off and keep him safe from them. 'I'm here,' I finally said, though it sounded rather feeble there in the dark.

'I know,' he replied and his hand stole up to stroke gentle patterns over my chest. He was quiet for a long time before he murmured, 'I feel like such a fool.'

I couldn't help a tiny snort of derision, understanding that feeling all too well. 'You're not,' was all I said.

'I just...' he said softly, 'haven't lost myself like that... in a long time.'

I didn't speak, letting him tell it, understanding that we were finally there. It was oddly... not what I'd expected. There was nothing about it that felt good in any way. I had thought it would make me feel closer to him...but it only hurt.

'That dog,' he said at last, just seeming to want to mold himself against me, 'was so much like... M...Mary.'

'Mary?' I prompted gently, though I really didn't want to. I wanted to tell him that he didn't need to tell me anything more, but I wasn't at all sure that he didn't need to tell me. A little bit the way I'd needed to tell him.

'Isn't that sad?' he suddenly said. 'I knew the dog's name... but I never knew the little girl's.'

Somehow I knew we weren't talking about Ruthie. I raised my arm and curled it more tightly around him, carefully letting my palm rest against his side. He sighed softly, sorting through words.

'I'd wanted to prove myself so badly,' he said, voice almost not his own. 'J had such faith in me; I wanted to prove I could handle it. I just wanted to be allowed to fight.'

There wasn't much I could say to that; I understood that need... that desire, inside and out. But he knew that. He didn't need to hear me say it, to know that I'd been down my own path of fire.

'I was so damn... full of myself,' he confessed, his voice finally betraying some of the pain I knew he was in. 'I slipped into that base in broad daylight to set the charges. I was so... so fucking proud of myself... I was so damned...'

His voice choked and he ground to a halt. I held him and kissed his forehead and waited for him to begin again. Knowing that he couldn't stop now that he'd started this tale. No more than I could have.

Once the memories come out of the box, they have a tendency to dance out their parts before they'll go back to their rest.

'There was this... little girl,' he said when he could manage it. 'She... she thought I was lost.' He made a sound like a laugh crumbling away to nothing, and his hand left off stroking over my skin to slide on around me. We just held on for a bit. I felt like I should say something, but was almost afraid to. It made me feel odd... Heero had always seemed to know just what to say to me when I was struggling so damn hard with words. I felt like I was letting him down.

'We talked,' he said. 'She... let me pet her dog. The dog's name was Mary. It was all cinnamon brown and... and soft. They had no idea what I was. No idea...'

His voice, and the tension in him, told me how he'd felt about that. I remembered that strange little rush of walking bold as you please among the unsuspecting. Of smiling and speaking to people, of having them talk to you and never realize what you were on your way to do... on your way from doing. Made you feel almost smug. God... we'd been so young.

'I was to blow the installation that night,' he told me, voice steadying on the technical parts. Operation parameters are so much easier to talk about than feelings. Than guilt. Than... consequences. 'The mission was to destroy the Alliance base. I set the charge and returned that night to detonate it. Minimal crew on the night shift. The... the least amount of... the least...'

'I know,' I told him, because I couldn't listen to him struggle with it anymore. The least amount of casualties. Skeleton night crew. It was odd to remember that there had been a point in the war when that had mattered. Back before things had gotten... intense.

He nodded his head against my shoulder in acknowledgement, letting me know he was grateful not to have to say it. But really... I'd seen the report; it was the least of what we had to get through yet.

'You don't have to,' I told him, suddenly remembering when he'd made that offer to me. At the time, I remembered thinking that it was far too late for that, and it was probably the same for him now, but I understood the need to say it. Understood suddenly the need to try and spare.

'I know,' he whispered and shifted so he could twine his leg over mine, settling as close as he could. I felt his breath sigh across my chest.

He knew I had the gist of it, knew he didn't have to tell me every minute little detail and when he spoke again, he'd skipped forward a bit. 'They said later that I miscalculated the charge, but it wasn't really that. I just wanted... I...'

Had just wanted to be certain. Had just wanted to pass the test. Had only wanted to make absolutely sure of the assignment. Had only wanted to prove himself.

I knew. God, did I know. He couldn't say it, and I kissed his brow gently, absolving him of the need. He tilted his face up to meet mine then, almost suddenly, but waited for me to bring us together. I kissed him willingly, trying to give back at least in part some of the endless support he's always given me. It ate at me seeing him so unsure of himself. So unsure of me.

I tried to imagine him back then, it seemed so damn long ago, though it wasn't... not really. A thousand life-times, but less than a dozen years.

'I found them,' he told me, quite suddenly cutting to the heart of it. 'In the rubble. She lived in the residential quarters. I found... them... I...'

I just couldn't bear to hear any more; I turned to pull him completely into my arms and he came quite readily. 'I know, love... I know,' I soothed and felt him heave a sigh that I hoped was relief.

I could only imagine the fixation he'd had on that little girl and her dog Mary. The casualty list had been... long, but Heero had not stopped and spoken with all the others. Had not been introduced to their dogs. Had not talked about being lost.

I thought about that child, and that dog, and truly understood what had happened on our front steps.

The crash after the high always made things worse. To go in and do the job, to think you have it nailed and perfect... only to have it all go to hell in your face, is infinitely worse than just generally fucking up, if you understand what I mean.

You know, I really don't know that I could have gone on, had I been in his place all those years ago. I don't think I could have continued to fight the fight... no matter my reasoning. No matter the training I'd have been wasting. No matter the revenge I'd have forsaken.

The fact that he'd been able to, kind of filled me with a twisted sort of pride.

It's a daunting thing to find that breed of strength curled in your arms.

We were down to the soft murmurings then. Words of comfort on my part. A few more words of confession on his. Apologies. Acceptance. Until he eventually fell asleep, exhausted, with his head still pillowed on my arm.

I was a very long time following him. I don't sleep well with shit stuck in my craw.

You know, I pretty much gave those five scientists their ride to Hell. I suppose if you want to get severely technical, I have to take some responsibility for their deaths. And I suppose the fact that they went to those deaths quite willingly, doing their part to stop Zechs' lunatic plan, should absolve them of a lot.

But it would never be enough, in my book, for what that fucker Dr. J did to Heero. Damn bastard. I went through Gundam training too. So did Trowa, and Quatre, and Wufei. None of the rest of us were told we weren't allowed to feel. None of the rest of us were told to check our humanity at the door. None of the rest of us endured that kind of 'retraining' for our mistakes.

While Dr. G was never what I would have called a father figure for me, I can't ever say the man went out of his way to be cruel. He trained me, or saw to my training, and there was nothing about it that was easy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Not easy for a full grown adult soldier, much less a scrawny little kid. But from what I'd just read, he didn't have shit on Heero's own personal SOB.

Had I known then what I know now, I'm not entirely sure that Dr. J would have lived to make that crossing to the Peacemillion. I might have crushed the bastard in the hand of my Gundam.

My Heero was more than just a weapon. More than just a damn tool.

Like I said... I was a long time joining him in sleep.

I was a little surprised that there weren't nightmares, but Heero has never been the 'thrash and yell' type. My own bad dreams have put me on the floor more than once, but he kind of... contains his. If he has them. I'm assuming that he has them. Hell; he might have enough damn control over his sub-conscious mind that he just doesn't, but I don't think so. Sometimes there's a haunted quality in his eyes in the morning, and sometimes he wakes needing to make love in a way that speaks of desperation.

But he seemed peaceful enough that night, so when I woke from my own unsettled dreams, I didn't really hesitate to leave the bed. He didn't need my tossing and turning, after all, and since I was awake anyway, I might as well try to get some work done on the stupid painting that I needed for the stupid art show that was coming up in something like a stupid week.

Stupid damn idea; should have just gone for the second job.

If I had not already had so much time invested in that damn picture, I think I would have been tempted to trash it. I was heartily sick of it and at five in the morning, was suddenly a little aware that it was a large part of my irritation with the whole damn endeavor. The only thing that was even letting me consider turning it over to Aleyah's tender mercies, was knowing that no one would ever know who he was or just what the thing was all about. Would never know that they were looking at the portrait of a rapist and murderer. Would never realize that they were looking at a man that had haunted my dreams for a lot of years. Guess I was never quite going to let go of the guilt over that one.

I was just finishing the shadows at Jensen's feet when warm arms slid around my waist and soft lips brushed across the back of my shoulder. I shivered and had to bite back a gasp, finally getting the touch I'd been wanting for days.

'Part of your... rough week?' Heero asked gently, and I snorted.

'Guess so,' I confessed, leaning into him. 'Wish these damn things would consult me before I start painting.' He chuckled softly and nuzzled against my hair.

'Things?' he asked, not understanding at all, I don't think.

'Ideas? Muses? Errant thoughts?' I sighed. 'I don't know... whatever damn whim starts these projects.'

'You all right?' he said, his voice knowing, and I was a little surprised.

'You...' I said, turning my head to try to look at him. 'You know what this is?'

'Yes,' he affirmed gently, and gave me a tight squeeze. 'Can't say I'm happy to find you've been... working through this all alone.'

I ignored the somewhat embarrassing statement and went for the other part. 'Quatre recognized it too. How in the hell...?'

'You sketched him, remember?' he told me and I had to stop and think about it. It had been a long time ago.

I blinked owlishly at the canvas in front of us, because I couldn't really turn far enough to see Heero all that well. 'You... recognize the man in this painting based on a two minute sketch I did all those years ago?'

'I had reason to memorize that face,' he murmured, and though his voice was soft, his tone was as hard as steel.

'Oh,' was the best I could come up with, but then I felt him tense and I made the effort to turn enough to see him. He'd spotted the other paintings and I wasn't surprised when he moved away from me to go look at them. I took the moment to clean out my brush; it would be nearing time to get ready for work, after all.

He gave Aleyah's portrait a glance and I saw him quirk a little, amused grin at it. Perhaps imagining what she was going to think of it. But then he looked further, and Allison's portrait he had to pick up.

'Oh, Duo,' he sighed, and it was my turn to go slip arms around him from behind. 'I'm sorry I wasn't here,' he told me and turned to kiss my cheek.

I shrugged and shared a grin with nobody in particular. 'Had plenty of company,' I quipped before I had a chance to think better of it. He set the picture carefully down and turned to pull me into his arms. He seemed to want to say a million things and I wasn't sure that any of it was going to be something I wanted to talk about. So, 'How are you feeling this morning?' I asked instead, before he had a chance.

'Stupid?' he chuckled after a moment, though I could tell he hadn't really wanted to change subjects.

'You know this is the part where I tell you how damn amazing you are, and you have to take it, because you did it to me on my 'morning after', right?' I grinned and kissed the side of his neck. It won me a full, if somewhat rueful laugh, but he didn't have a reply, so we just stood with our arms wrapped tight around each other. Offering with mere presence all the things that words might have made too painful.

He was the one who finally broke away, telling me, 'We have to get ready to go... it's getting late.'

'Guess that means I can't talk you into playing hooky?' I teased, though I wasn't really serious, I'd already missed enough work.

'Look where that got us last time,' he snorted and took my hand, giving it a tug just as though he thought he was really going to have to fight with me over it.

I followed him out of the studio and up the stairs, sighing dramatically and playing the game. It helped us put it all aside for the moment, and I guess that's what I'd been missing the most. Just another living being to help me focus enough not to think about the crap I didn't want to be thinking about.

With Heero back in the house, even Jensen's portrait was... just another painting.

We cleaned up, we dressed, we ate breakfast and were on our merry way with only one awkward little moment as we made our way down the front steps. Heero gave me a look that told me he wanted to apologize again, and I just stepped up beside him, bumping shoulders with him and giving him a look that kept the words from coming out. Then we climbed in his car, following our routine just like he'd never been gone.

I cheerfully waved at a woman I took to be Ruthie's mother, from the fact that she was standing on her front lawn in her housecoat waiting for Buffy to finish watering the shrubs. She waved back, though she looked a little confused and a little embarrassed all at the same time. I made a mental note to walk down to their house some evening and introduce myself since I was becoming so acquainted with her kids.

'So,' Heero ventured hesitantly after a couple of blocks. 'You going to tell me some more about this... funeral we're going to this evening?'

Oh yeah. Guess that would be fair.

'It's not exactly a funeral,' I told him, looking out my side window. 'Have you ever been to an Irish wake?'

'No,' he said, 'but I think I get the gist of it.'

I sighed heavily. 'A Spacer send-off is kinda like that.'

'Spacer send-off?' he asked, sounding like he wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

'We...' I began and then rethought that. 'Spacer's don't really go in for the standard 'bury 'em in the dirt' kind of thing. So there's no real funeral.' Just a couple of friends to raise a final glass, space your ashes, and wave goodbye. A lot cheaper than a ground-bounder funeral too.

I forced myself to tear my gaze from the fascinating scenery when his fingers brushed across my thigh. 'You... ok?' he asked, and I gave him my hand to hold on to.

'Yeah,' I reassured, trying not to let it come out on a sigh. 'Just... such a damn waste.' I ended up telling him the whole stupid, gory story, such as it was, just as I'd gotten it from McMurphy. I hadn't really meant to, but at least he didn't get the terminal guilt part. There was no real reason for him to make that connection; he'd only seen me around Jock that one time. I don't think he'd ever pieced together that I'd talked the poor sap down from situations like that a dozen damn times. Talked him down when nobody else could sometimes.

I never seem to be in the right damn place at the right time.

'So this service... thing is actually going to be at McMurphy's?' Heero asked and I wasn't sure if he wasn't just a bit scandalized by that fact. But then he'd been thinking for the past couple of days that we were talking a black suit and tie kind of thing.

I snorted, imagining the evening. 'All the better for those involved to get rip roaring drunk.'

I felt him look at me as much as saw it. His gaze had a certain... weight to it. 'Are you... all right with that?'

I sighed, trying to recall if I'd ever said anything to him about the vague unease I had about alcohol now, or if I had Wufei to thank for passing on that little tidbit of information. 'I'm not planning on getting soused,' I informed him, just a touch of something snappish in it.

He squeezed my hand and when I looked, he quirked that little lop-sided grin at me. 'Well, you know I've got your back if you decide you want to... right?'

I couldn't help the chuckle at the mental picture of Heero Yuy playing designated driver for me and the Musketeers back in the day. 'I think I'll pass, thanks,' I grinned, and he seemed relieved despite his offer.

'I'm assuming then,' he quipped, 'that the suit I thought I'd be wearing would be... a little out of place?'

That made me laugh just right the hell out loud. I'm not sure that McMurphy's place had ever seen a freakin' tie. 'Just a little bit,' I grinned, when I was able. 'The uniform of the day will be jeans and smart-ass slogan shirts.'

Heero groaned. 'Please don't tell me you'll be wearing that beaver shirt?'

I grinned ruthlessly and actually thought about it for a couple of seconds. Heero absolutely hates the thing ever since he realized that his naïve little Relena paraded around L2 in it without knowing about the three... manner-challenged Beavers on the back. 'Nah,' I finally said. 'I've got way more obnoxious shirts than that.'

He raised an eye-brow and gave me a look that was supposed to quell me. 'I'm so reassured,' he dead-panned, but since we were pulling up to the Preventers' building, I had to let it go.

He gave my hand one last squeeze just before I climbed out of the car and I was moved to tell him, 'I'm glad to have you home, Yuy.'

He looked pleased, gracing me with that smile of his that always makes me feel warm all over.

And then it was time to go the hell to work.

I have come to hate time-clocks. In the salvage business, you worked when you had work and you stopped when you were tired. Or you stopped when you could. It was way less... regimented than this weird ground-bounder method of daylight versus dark. It bugged me that it mattered if I walked through the door in the morning at a quarter till eight, eight, or eight-fifteen. Give me a break; fifteen minutes out of a day should not matter so damn much. If I was early, I had to wait to clock in or some poor clerk upstairs in the main building had a coronary over 'unauthorized' over-time. If I was late, I got docked for the full half hour. It just seemed so damn anal to me.

And at the same time, it drove me nuts to be in the middle of a job and have to quit just because the clock said it was five. It's just stupid; unproductive and wasteful. You lose all that time putting your tools away only to get them back out in the morning and start all over again. You lose the thread of what you were doing and waste time getting back into the job. Why not just work until you're done?

And if anybody could ever find a logical explanation for me about the flow of time from day to day, I would be greatly appreciative. The last few days, waiting for Heero to come home, had crept by like sluggish oil down a clogged drain. I thought the days were never going to end. But that day, with a damn Spacer's social event I didn't want to go to loaming in my face, the day sped by like the spray from a damn garden hose. Noon, before I had a chance to blink, and almost time to go home before I thought to get a little hungry over the missed lunch. And the jobs I'd been doing were not even all that interesting. Boredom was usually a recipe for long days, but nothing ever goes the way I want it too.

It was all too soon for me when Heero came into the garage to pick me up. I was delighted to see him just walk in though, coming straight from the building to get me. Before he'd left on his trip, he'd developed the habit of bringing the car around to pick me up and it had been getting on my nerves. A guy passes out on the job one damn time and everybody treats you like an invalid. It's irritating.

I started putting my tools away when I saw Heero coming across the bay, but was surprised when Giles stepped out to speak to him. I swear to God, for about ten seconds my blood ran cold while my mind replayed the damn conversation I'd had with the guy. Surely he wasn't going to try talking to Heero about...

I think I forgot to breathe waiting for him to actually speak.

'Hey, Yuy,' he called, in that drawl of his. 'You sign up for short-stop again this season? I saw the sheets went up.' I actually sighed in relief, though I was too far away for either of them to hear me.

Heero stopped and flashed a grin. 'I called it the day the sheet was posted, and Chang's got third again.'

'Are we going to manage a team this year since we lost Robinson and West?' Giles asked, absently wiping grease off a wrench while they talked. Ever wonder about that proprietary 'we' stuff, when it comes to organized sports? To my knowledge, Giles was not even on the team.

'We're just short a couple of players,' Heero reassured, still moving in my direction. 'It's early yet, we should make it.'

'Hey Maxwell,' Giles suddenly called, grinning from ear to ear. 'Why don't you sign up?'

I am rather proud of the fact that I neither choked on my own tongue nor dropped the volt meter I was in the process of putting away. Though I have to admit that it took me a minute to work words out of my mouth. The first thing that occurred, but did not get passed on, was the whole fact that I had never played softball in my life and had not a clue how one went about it. I had a vague notion what it involved, mostly from seeing Heero's gear when he came home from games, and hearing him and the guys talk. But play? Yeah sure... lot of opportunities in my childhood for stuff like that.

The second thing was the more pressing fact that I really didn't know that Heero would want me infringing on that part of his life. It was something he shared with Wufei, a history that I was not a part of, and I certainly didn't want to try inserting myself into the middle of it. It had all the ear-markings of a thing that could be very awkward.

Isn't it amazing sometimes, how innocent third-parties can stir shit up and not ever realize what was in the pot they'd decided to screw with?

I continued putting my tools away and did not even consider glancing in Heero's direction. Didn't want him feeling obligated to jump on Giles's band-wagon out of some misguided notion that he would upset me if he didn't. 'My therapist says I should avoid sports that involve hurling things,' I quipped, and Giles burst out laughing. That, of course, led to some ribbing from several of the guys about my mental state, and the softball notion was forgotten. Much to the delight of my manipulative little self.

Maybe I hadn't lost all my conversational dodging skills after all.

The drive home was filled mostly with Heero's sporadic attempts not to burden me with the details of the Gray case. I think he needed to vent about the tedium of the reports and the lack of progress on anybody's part in getting past the united front of the flight 1410 crew. But he kept stopping himself and trying to turn the topic to something else. It wasn't hard for me to get him going again though, just a well placed question or two, and he'd be back to worrying at it like a dog with a bone.

He just seemed to be twisted in knots trying to keep the case from going to actual trial. And I knew most of that was his desire to keep me out of it as much as possible, despite my reassurances that I could handle it if it happened. As things stood now, I'd made my statements to a pair of Ms. Kasten's cronies and to the Preventers. No big deal; sat in a room with a couple of agents and talked to a voice recorder while they asked questions. Things would be a whole lot different with an actual trial, and while I can't say I was looking forward to the possibility of taking the stand in front of all those people, it wouldn't kill me either. I really couldn't understand why Heero was letting it make him so insane that he snapped at his partner for simply walking into a room. I had a vague feeling like I was his 'big gun' and he just didn't want to resort to me unless he had to. Which really didn't make much sense; it was going to come down to our word against theirs, and it was still five against two. I wasn't going to improve the odds that damn much.

'It still bugs the crap out of me that Spencer as much as confessed in front of Amazon woman, but she can't do anything about this mess,' I grumbled as Heero was parking in front of the house, and I heard him sigh.

'It's not admissible in...' he began, but I cut him off with my own heavy sigh.

'I know... I know,' I said, hauling my tired butt out of the car. 'But it still sucks.'

He snorted and shook his head, following me up the steps. Once we were in the house with the door closed firmly behind us, Heero snagged one of my belt-loops and tugged me toward him, giving me a peck on the end of my nose. 'Why don't you go get cleaned up and I'll see what I can find for a quick dinner?' he grinned and the kiss made it ok for me to wrinkle my nose; though it was more for the idea of eating than the unexpected touch. I couldn't say I had much of an appetite in the face of the rest of my evening.

'Ok,' I reluctantly agreed. 'Just... keep it light... all right?'

He gave me a tiny little frown in return, but nodded. I headed up to the bathroom, and he to the kitchen. I hoped he listened; I really didn't think I could stomach much.

I made quick work of the shower, not really feeling indulgent and my 'want this over' mind set making me do everything as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Though there was very little in the way of 'efficient' going on when I went to get dressed. Underwear and socks are a wonderful damn thing. Nobody cares if every pair you own are identical. If your BVDs on Monday look just like the pair you wore on Sunday, nobody is going to call you on it. Nobody is going to question if you changed clothes. It's just a given. Now jeans aren't really a difficult thing either. Maybe it's different for women, I've seen some of them wear some weird looking denim concoctions, but over-all guys are kind of expected to own a closet full of generic blue jeans and you won't get called on that either. After that is where it gets awkward. Why can't there just be some generic outfit that all people wear and that's that? Life would be so much simpler and we would all save time getting dressed in the morning. I dithered over my t-shirt collection for almost five whole minutes before I settled on the red one that claimed 'Some days it's just not worth chewing through the restraints'. A subtle message to most of my former Spacer buddies that I just didn't want to talk about some things. I was hoping it would save me from at least a small percentage of the uncomfortable conversations I was probably going to end up having.

Solo's portrait winked at me saucily. 'Sure, kid... that's real subtle, all right.'

'Bite me,' I told him and went downstairs.

Dinner was some kind of stir fry thing which probably met my 'light' conditions, but I still couldn't do more than pick at it. Heero did not look pleased with me, but since he didn't know I'd missed lunch too, he didn't press the matter. Just made sure I took my iron pill and put the leftovers in the fridge, presumably to try to feed to me after we got home.

Somehow, I doubted I'd have any more of an appetite then.

Heero was leaving again the next day and had some laundry to finish up and his packing to do, so I took advantage of the time and went back to my studio. If I didn't get too creative here in the final hour, I thought I could get the Jensen painting done before Aleyah descended on me. That would make three paintings and she'd just have to be happy with that. Assuming, of course, that she didn't kill me when she saw her own little bit of inspiration.

Most of what I had left was technical stuff. Just filling in some background and fixing a couple of things that didn't seem quite right to me. Not anything that I usually lost myself to, and I was aware of Heero moving around the house. I kept an ear tuned and tracked him as he went from basement to living room to bedroom to bathroom and back to basement. I could tell when he was carrying something, and knew when he took some time to clean up. It was... oddly companionable, even though we weren't in the same room together. Comforting. I was going to miss his presence when he was gone again.

I wondered if his making these trips was going to be like opening the flood gates. Now that he'd broken down and let an assignment take him out of town, would he start drawing those assignments again? Would there be more time with him away from home? Away from me? Was I right in suspecting that he'd only been escaping these trips because of me? Because of his reluctance to leave me alone?

I'd ask if I didn't want to not know so damn bad.

I was aware enough of his movements that I knew when he was coming to tell me it was time to go before he actually got there, and starting cleaning up. He came to stand beside me, watching me clean and dry my brush and put my paints away.

'Is it finished?' he asked, giving it a critical look.

'I think so,' I told him, turning to look at it with him. 'It could be. There's still something about the snow that is bugging me, but I can't put my finger on it.'

Heero was quiet long enough that I glanced at him and found an oddly hesitant look on his face. An elbow was as good as asking him what he was thinking and he sighed. 'There's... no snow on him.'

Startled, I turned to look at the painting again. He was right... while the snowflakes danced and skirled all around Jensen, there wasn't a flake settled on the asshole. As though the purity of the snow that was blanketing the rest of the street, making it look almost clean... wouldn't come near him. I snorted. 'Damn,' I muttered. 'You're right.'

It was Heero's turn to look startled and I laughed and shook my head. I don't think he quite gets how my sub-conscious sometimes runs the show without me really knowing it. Maybe I should have worn my 'Freud would have a field-day' shirt.

'Well, I guess it is done then,' I smiled, and we left the studio with Jensen smirking after us. I would be very glad to deliver that particular painting to the illustrious Ms. Winner and good riddance to it.

Heero had our jackets lying on the couch and I felt almost reluctant to take mine when he went to pick them up and handed it to me.

'We don't have to go,' he offered, looking sympathetic.

'Yeah I do,' I replied, though I'm sure it was pretty obvious that I really didn't want to. 'You sure you wouldn't rather bow out though? You know you don't have...'

He didn't even let me finish the sentence. 'Shut up, Maxwell. Didn't I tell you I'd be here?'

I had to grin, though it felt tired and probably looked worse. 'Ok then, Yuy. I suppose we better get going.'

The drive over was a little quiet. I kept thinking I should try to give Heero some clue what to expect, but didn't even know where to start. Hell, I wasn't really sure what to expect myself; Jock's... passing was not your normal method of leaving the mortal plain. I'm not sure I'd ever been to a send-off for a... suicide before.

Spacer send-offs really are a lot like a wake. They're more about celebrating the life of the sendee, and not dwelling on the death. But Jock's life had been... perhaps a thing that would be difficult to celebrate. I had no idea what in the hell to expect and I can't say I was even sure which way I hoped it would go.

And before you ask, colony-born does not mean spacer-born. Yes, Heero had come from L1 as near as he could tell, but he had never worked in the trade, and that's what made a person part of the circle. One of the brothers. It wasn't an issue of Earth versus Colony, but more of an issue of... mobility, I guess. Think of us as gypsies if you will; everywhere and nowhere at all.

If I'd had any hopes for a low-key evening, they were pretty well blown away when we walked through the door of McMurphy's place and I realized that they were already singing 'The Night Pat Murphy Died'. The whole damn bar full of people, and it wasn't a light crowd. I have to admit I was a little bit surprised.

Jess was there and came to take our coats, but it was more like she was inviting us into her home and I didn't think she was on the clock. McMurphy gave us a wave from his place behind the bar. I caught a glimpse of Havers and knew the rest of the Musketeers wouldn't be far. Dusty... Cortaine, I thought, though I wasn't sure... a guy I recognized from the field. A couple of fellow... a couple of ship owners. People. God, so many people. From a life I'd left behind. I think I heard hamsters dodging stripping gears in my head.

There was a touch in the small of my back. 'You ok?' Heero asked gently and I gave him a small smile.

'It's probably going to be a weird-ass night if they're singing that already,' I told him. It was with only a small amount of reluctance that I moved us away from the door. Really it was.

The first one to descend on me was Dusty, but that was probably because he hadn't seen me at all since my trip to L2. And I suppose he hadn't really 'seen' me then.

'Maxwell!' he called, and came striding across the room to greet me. He grabbed my forearm in the more personal greeting, and clapped me on the shoulder. I hid the wince quite well, I thought, and only lost a moment figuring out where the faint pain had come from.

A vision of Heero, clutching at my arms, came to mind and I realized that he'd done some damage. I wondered if I could keep him from noticing until after he was gone. He would not be happy with himself if he realized.

'Hey, old man,' I smiled and hoped I didn't sound as guilty as I felt. I used to eat at this man's house on a fairly regular basis. Had taught his kid how to shoot a slingshot. His wife addressed me as 'sweetheart'. And I hadn't so much as e-mailed him in months.

'Good to see you, kid,' he grinned, then ducked his head a little. 'Though, wish it could have been under different circumstances.'

'No shit,' I muttered and then Dusty was looking curiously just past my right shoulder. 'Uh... Dusty, this is my room-mate Heero Yuy. Heero... this is the music critic, tow truck driver that hauled us to the field on that trip to L2.'

I'd thought about that part quite a bit and had settled on 'room-mate'. People could take that however the hell they chose; I didn't much care. I had no more reason to shove our relationship down people's throats than I had to hide it.

I watched while Heero chuckled at my description of Dusty and they shook hands. I could see that Heero was surprised when he was offered a more traditional hand-shake, perhaps having anticipated the clasped arms greeting that I had gotten.

We shared a few pleasantries and then Dusty moved off toward the bar with a last admonishment to 'come out to the house sometime'. I was spared having to respond when Heero chuckled and asked, 'So... do I stand out that badly?'

I turned and gave him a little shrug. 'Trade's kind of... tight. It's more that nobody recognizes you. People will assume you're an outsider until proven wrong.'

I got a funny look, but then there was Cortaine giving me his fist to tap, and there were more pleasantries to exchange.

I was ready to go the hell home before we even managed to get close enough to the bar for me to say hello to McMurphy. Well, I suppose to be totally honest, I'd been ready to go home before I'd ever freakin' left it. I had known this was not going to be fun in any way, shape or form, and it's not always a pleasant thing to have your suspicions confirmed.

As was the twisted tradition, Mac was setting out glasses of the... deceased's favorite brand of poison, and people were making that their first drink of the night. I was not at all surprised to find that it was good ol' Jack Daniels. Rumor had it, as I had been told three times already, that they'd found an empty bottle in the tub with Jock.

I picked up a shot glass and knocked it back before I had a chance to think twice about it. Damned if I'd break tradition over a bit of squeamishness and it would take a damn lot more than one shot glass of whiskey to phase me. When I turned my empty glass over and carefully added it to the pyramid that would grow until the send-off was done, I'm not sure who was giving me the more concerned look... McMurphy, or Heero.

Somewhere across the room, someone had started up 'Spacer's Home' and I winced at the memories it brought up. I could make out Haver's mellow voice leading the chorus.

'Good crowd, Mac,' I said. 'Jock would be... proud.' I'd almost said 'happy', but somehow I think Jock might have been a little happier had some of these people shown up a bit before now.

Sitting on the bar was Jock's urn, not the one he was actually in, that one was signed, sealed and delivered to someone on an out-run who didn't mind doing the final resting place gig, but the collection urn. It was standing in for Jock's urn, a rather morbid bit of humor mimicking old time tradition, and was there to help reimburse Spacer's services for funding the... final arrangements. I fished out my wallet and made a sizable donation. I was surprised when Heero followed suit without being asked, and I graced him with a small smile.

'Yeah,' McMurphy agreed. 'I think he'd have been pleased,' he said, scanning the room as though taking a head count, his hands never really slowing in filling and setting out glasses. 'Glad you could make it, kid.'

I nodded to that, but didn't really know what to say. I remember wondering how long we would have to stay before leaving wouldn't be just plain rude.

Heero and Mac gave each other wary nods and I suddenly realized that there were a number of people in the room whose introduction to my 'room-mate' had probably been his attempt to murder a large number of their brethren in his efforts to get to me on the night Jock almost shot me. It made my gears shift again.

Guess anybody who could add one and two, had already figured out the room-mate thing.

Across the room a guitar joined the singing and I finally spotted Smitty. The guy actually doesn't play all that bad, he just does better when he doesn't sing along. I was kind of relieved to note that Bernie and Havers hadn't brought the rest of their equipment, so we wouldn't end up sitting through an impromptu concert. Not that the guys are horrible, but they'd had rather enthusiastic aspirations to be a rock band in their day. A loud rock band.

Jess appeared at my elbow looking teary-eyed, handed me a beer and gave me a peck on the cheek. 'I think he's in a better place, don't you, Duo?' she asked, and I blinked at her, wondering just how much she'd been drinking.

I resisted the urge to say something flippant and managed a somewhat lame sounding, 'Sure, kiddo,' and she was suddenly hugged me.

'You were a good friend to him, Duo,' she blurted out. 'He always spoke highly of you.'

I stared down at her, not able to see more than the back of her head and that hump of pony tail. 'Jock was... a good guy,' I told her, hoping I sounded reassuring and not just nervous. I had a bad feeling she was going to burst into tears any minute.

'He wanted you to take his ashes,' she informed me and there was a tiny little oasis of silence around us. I saw a couple of people glance at her and then at McMurphy. 'You know that, right? He wanted his final ride to be aboard the Demon with you.'

Jess is not a ditz, so I was sure in that moment she'd had a bit too much to drink. She most definitely wasn't working then, because she doesn't drink on the job. I'm sure that she thought she was telling me a flattering, nice thing. And, I suppose in a way, she was. Not her fault it was also a rather callous, painful thing. Behind the bar, Mac cleared his throat.

'Jess, can you go bring me another bottle of Jack out of the back? I can't get away,' he said in a deceptively quiet voice, and Jess raised her head from my chest to nod at him.

'Sure, boss,' she said, wiped a tear away, patted my arm and walked off.

'So who picked up the job, then?' I asked Mac gamely, and he couldn't quite repress a small grin.

'Buck Kruger,' he told me with a touch of smugness to it.

'On the Star Shark?' I grinned.

'Yep,' he replied and we locked gazes for a minute. It might not have been Jock's 'dying request', but he would have gotten a kick out of the idea of taking his final ride aboard Kruger's luxury ship. It helped a tiny bit with the rest of it. Then I glanced past Mac and raised an eye brow.

'You might want to put that extra bottle away before Jess comes back,' I smirked at him, and he looked not at all guilty, simply setting the full bottle of Jack Daniels out of sight.

I turned away then, looking for some port in the storm of noise, and led Heero to a small, but wonderfully empty table near the door. He touched my elbow as he moved around me to sit down, giving me a look that was at once rueful and sympathetic.

I smiled and took a long swallow of the beer Jess had given me, it was blessedly cold. A covert glance at my watch told me that despite how it felt, we'd only been there about an hour. I sighed and looked up at Heero, 'We shouldn't have to stay too much longer, but I can't just...'

'It's alright,' he told me, and I saw him think about touching my hand. 'How are you... holding up?'

I let a grimace cross my face. 'God, Heero... I can't believe the guy actually designated me his courier.'

'He... didn't know?' Heero asked gently.

About my ship. About me. 'Jock... kind of lived in his own little world,' I explained. His own little alcohol induced world. It made me stop and think, and I set down the beer bottle I'd never really intended to pick up.

Heero settled his elbows on the table, and leaned in just a bit. 'You two were... close?' he asked in a deceptively casual voice. I knew he was balancing curiosity with concern and smiled for him.

'Would you understand if I said I wasn't sure?' I told him, trying to decide whether to pick at the label on my bottle, or rub at the back of my neck. 'I wouldn't have said so, not really; until tonight.'

Heero just watched me, letting me pick around at the words. I wasn't at all sure I knew what I was thinking, and was even less sure how in the hell to articulate it.

I hadn't thought of Jock as a 'friend' so much as just someone in the trade that I talked to sometimes. Perhaps I had been more than that to him? He must have considered me his friend or he wouldn't have bothered listing me as his courier. I guess I had kind of known that, but it was a little weird having it demonstrated to me at a point where it really didn't matter anymore.

It made me feel doubly bad. I had not only screwed up the being there thing, but hadn't even been able to fulfill the poor guy's last wish. Made me feel somewhat less than... reliable. Somehow kind of shallow.

'That night... in the backroom,' when the man in question had nearly ventilated my hide. 'That... wasn't exactly the first time I'd convinced Jock not to... not the first time that I talked him out of...'

'Ah,' Heero said softly and his fingers touched briefly on the back of my hand. I saw understanding in his eyes then, perhaps of a little bit more than I'd meant to share. 'You couldn't have followed him around twenty-four hours a day... you know that?'

Yep. Understood just a little bit too much.

'I know,' I sighed, giving in and rubbing at the back of my neck, mostly so I didn't have to look right at him. He was having one of his damn mind reader nights, and I already felt like my skull was very accommodatingly made out of glass.

Heero echoed my sigh. 'But you're going to feel guilty about it anyway?'

I snorted. 'It is what I do,' I informed him and took a swallow of my beer.

He chuckled lightly and shook his head. 'God, don't I know it,' he muttered and it made me blush darkly.

'I can't help how I feel,' I grumbled and my fingers went for my label.

'Hey,' Heero soothed, looking a bit concerned, and he actually laid his hand over mine to stop my confetti act. 'I didn't mean anything...'

'Just that you wish that I...' I began, but than stopped myself. What in the hell was wrong with me all of a sudden? 'I'm sorry, Heero.'

He smiled at me gently, but moved his hand away before anyone noticed. 'I was just thinking about how you used to tease Quatre for trying to take responsibility for everything. Seems to me he rubbed off on you.'

I chuckled, feeling the defensiveness bleed out of me. 'That whole air in space deal?'

Heero only smiled broadly and nodded.

I heaved a sigh and took another sip. 'I guess I just wasn't expecting... that. I always assumed that he had somebody looking out for him. It's just kind of... damn weird to think it might have been me, you know?'

Heero didn't have much he could say to that, and just gave me a look that was somewhere between troubled and sympathetic.

'He wasn't trying to hurt me,' I suddenly blurted, not really wanting Heero thinking that about Jock. Bad karma and all, to think bad things about the deceased at their own send-off. 'You know that, right? That shot was an accident... he scared himself almost as much as he scared me.'

But that led me back around to the fact that if McMurphy was right, that was probably the straw that broke the camel's back.

I made this intuitive leap, sitting there staring at Heero and thinking about an old dead, drunkard ex-spacer. 'Do you... do you think he... killed himself to protect me?'

'Duo,' Heero told me intently, 'you can't think like that. What he did... or didn't do, was on his head. Not yours.'

I made a noise that was vaguely in agreement, but I couldn't help worrying at it. Somehow it was a difficult thought to pin down. My failing to protect Jock from himself had led him to do something stupid to protect me from himself. Or somebody. Anybody. Not just me, I suppose.

It made my head hurt to think about it; it was too circular. To convoluted.

'When do you have to leave tomorrow?' I asked Heero, deciding that the topic was best set aside.

He gave me a look that made me wonder if he were stripping his own mental gears. 'Mid morning,' he finally said, not sounding all that happy about either that fact, or the subject change. 'We should probably drive separately to work.'

I sighed, wishing instantly that I'd been able to contain it. Heero looked mildly pained and I tried on a slightly self-deprecating smile. 'I'm going to start suspecting you of fooling around if you keep leaving home so much.'

He snorted, but wouldn't let me distract him. 'If this wasn't so important...' he began, and my sigh that time was a little heavier.

'It's your job Heero,' I told him, frowning down at the little pile of shredded paper on the table between us. 'It's part of what you are, and you can't stop doing it just because...'

I was cut off in mid half-formed thought by somebody calling my name.

'Maxwell? Where'd Maxwell go?' I glanced in the general direction of the bar; suddenly realizing that the random singing had stopped and things were headed into that part of the evening where they got a bit more... structured.

There are traditions to be upheld after all.

I took a couple long swallows of beer, wishing that the bottle were still cold enough that holding it to my forehead might actually help my headache, and raised a hand in vague acknowledgment.

'He's over here,' someone behind us supplied helpfully, and Bernie took a step away from the bar where he could see me.

'You got first toast, buddy,' he called and I think my heart dropped about three feet.

'Oh fuck,' I muttered, struck with that feeling again that I never seemed to see things coming. It made a certain kind of logical sense that if Jock had wanted me carrying his ashes, it was pretty darn likely that I would also fit the role of... whatever the hell you called the person left in the point position. Next of kin?

I set my empty bottle down, gave Heero a wan, sick little smile and pushed back from the table. If I had a hamster for this kind of thing, he had fled and taken his pack-mates with him.

My mind occupied itself on my walk across the room, not with what I would be saying, but wondering if pack was the right term for a group of hamsters. Herd? Flock? Nothing seemed quite right. Perhaps they didn't normally travel in groups?

Wake executor, was the term that popped into my head as I accepted a glass of whiskey from Bernie with which to deliver my toast. And that was pretty much all that was in there; coherent thought had fled with the hamsters.

How the hell do you toast a guy who freakin' slit his own wrists while sitting in a bathtub wearing his best suit?

I contemplated the glass in my hand for a moment, tilting it slightly and watching the light glint off the liquid. The room had gone silent as a damn tomb, waiting for me to speak. I dared a glance around at the expectant faces, some familiar and some not, and was a little surprised that Heero had followed me. He was standing just a few steps away, close but not too close. Available but not obvious. I smiled my thanks for the support, and then looked back down into the glass in my hand. Somebody in the crowd shuffled their feet.

'I suck at this,' I blurted, and it got me a round of almost nervous laughter that helped ease the silence just a bit. Somewhere in the back of the room, Smitty called out something that I didn't catch, but it took some of the nervousness out of the laughter, and it got a little easier.

I took a breath and glanced at Heero again, he caught my gaze and I could almost feel him lending me... something. Strength? Stability? I wasn't sure, but it was good to have.

I raised the glass in my hand. 'I suppose that I should make a toast to Jock's lousy aim,' I quipped and the laughter that erupted was much more genuine. The pressure eased, and two or three of my brain cells decided to surface. 'But that would be the easy route and I think maybe Jock deserved better.' Things quieted again and I had to focus on a spot somewhere halfway between me and the nearest person, to continue. 'Jock... deserved better than a lot of things,' I heard myself say and hoped something relatively intelligent was in charge of my tongue. 'Jock Nottingham was a good man... one of our brothers, and a good pilot once. I think he'd like to be remembered for those days; before things went... bad for him. He was proud of his years in the military and he'd been proud of his ship,' I was afraid I was on the verge of rambling and hoped I didn't sound like some kind of lunatic. I knew my face was flushed from the hot feel of it, and I just wanted out from under all the attention. I dared a glance in Heero's direction, feeling his presence like a solid damn thing, and heard my voice falter when, I swear to God, for a second I saw Jock standing there with him. When I blinked, he was gone, and I prayed he stayed that way. 'To Jock Nottingham, the pilot... may Lady Luck be kinder to him wherever he's gone.'

I downed the drink and was finally able to turn away from all those eyes to put the empty shot glass on the pyramid. It was already a good half a dozen layers tall; Spacers will take whatever excuse they can to party, after all. I snagged a bottle of soda and a bottle of water from Mac as I got my ass out of the lime-light and rejoined Heero, while the calls of 'To luck!' and 'To Jock!' were still dying down. Heero took his water from me, and managed to touch my hand in a very intimate way in the process. I smiled, trying to imagine making it through this nightmare without him being there, and then wondered if I was being moony-eyed and tried to stop.

The next half an hour was spent raising our bottles and responding to toasts, and wishing fervently that it was all over. We drank to Jock's ship, and to his one big mining strike. We drank to various aspects of his military career; his rank, his last commanding officer, and the base he was stationed on the longest. We drank to the dog he'd owned when he was twelve. We drank to his mother. And one bitterly enterprising soul asked us to raise a glass to the woman that had left him in his darkest hour, asked us to forgive her in Jock's name. I learned her name had been Wanda, and I drank as much for Jock's peace as hers.

That toast seemed to settle and sober things a little, and I was just beginning to hope that we could finally slip away, when I realized that McMurphy had come out from behind his bar and was standing next to me. I looked up at him and was not happy to find the vaguely sympathetic look on his face.

'What is it, Papa-bear?' I asked, sure somehow that I wasn't going to like it.

He cleared his throat a little uncomfortably and I could see that he knew I wasn't going to like it either. 'Listen kid... Jock kind of left a letter and asked for... a couple of things.'

'Things?' I prompted, and felt Heero shift a little closer to me.

McMurphy sighed and rubbed at his neck. 'When he named you his courier... he asked if you would... you know; sing for him.'

It's kind of part of the tradition; the singing. I think maybe a long, long time ago there had been funeral type songs that were part of some ritual or service. But we Spacers have a tendency to bend the shit out of things to suit us. A couple of generations out between the stars and the singing had taken on a different slant. God only knows now-a-days just what in the hell you'll hear sung over the ashes of the dearly departed.

If he still remembered the somewhat drunken conversation we'd had, Smitty was under instructions to sing 'Rocket Ride' at my send-off.

I did one of those slow blushes that starts somewhere around my toes, and by the time it reaches my face, feels so hot I'm not sure what keeps me from passing out from it. 'He... what?' I said, purely and quite obviously stalling.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a singer. I was never tempted by any of the Musketeers offers to join their band. But I like music. A lot. In my days in the trade, it had been my only companionship and I had not been without it almost twenty-four hours a day. And I used to sing aboard my ship almost as much as the music played. If you get me drunk... I have a tendency to not care where I am.

Rowdy bar singing is something I used to indulge in quite a bit. But... I wasn't drunk, it had been a long damn time, and Heero had never been standing next to me before.

'He asked for you to sing at his send-off, Duo,' McMurphy told me, as though explaining something complicated to a small child. I would have glared at him for the tone, but I'd asked for it with the question, so I guess there wasn't much I could say.

'God, Mac...' I muttered and could tell from the look on his face, that there was something more.

McMurphy ducked his head and one of his big hands fell on my shoulder for a moment. The twinge when he hit the same bruise Dusty had, brought me around into focus; there really wasn't much I could do about the situation. I'd screwed up protecting the man... had not been able to take on the job of being his courier... how could I refuse the one thing he had asked of me, that I was actually capable of giving?

And though he'd have not said it out loud, I could see by the look on McMurphy's face that he was thinking the same. He had not asked me for a kidney, after all. A whole lot of people would think a whole lot less of me if I refused to do such a simple thing. And the regard of people I thought of as friends was something I felt in short supply of lately.

But, 'What song?' I had to ask, suddenly knowing I wasn't going to like it.

'In Another World,' McMurphy said quietly, and while I gaped like a carp in a drying up pool, Smitty appeared at my elbow.

'I'll play,' he offered, his hand patting his guitar for clarification.

'Shit,' I muttered to neither one of them, running a hand through my hair and struggling on some level to see if I still remembered the words.

'Come on, Duo,' Smitty cajoled, and I think it was his gentle tone of voice that pushed me over the edge of having to save face. Smitty had never in his life spoken to me in that tone before. It bordered too much on that 'wild-animal' voice that the guys had used when I was at my worst.

I sighed and glanced from one of them to the other. 'I haven't sung in years, guys,' I had to warn them. McMurphy gave my shoulder a final squeeze.

'Doesn't matter, kid,' he told me. 'It's what Jock wanted... he won't care how you sound.'

I was able, through sheer force of my well practiced repression skills, to not tell them that Jock was kind of in a place where he didn't care about much of anything any more.

'Let's just do it,' I grumbled to Smitty, and he gave me a wide grin, before stepping around me to drag a bar stool out enough to give him room to play.

I opted to just stand next to him, and I watched while he made a bit of a show of tuning the guitar, struggling with the damn opening lines while he worked. 'So many'... something. And something about drummers. Oh God... I couldn't dredge it up.

Around us, the room was falling silent, people knowing what was coming now that the toasting was done. I started to lean an elbow on the bar, but was too close to the pyramid of glasses and was afraid of bumping it; it would be just my luck. I looked and saw that the thing was one shot glass short of being complete to the sixth level. Impulsively, I reached out and snagged one of the glasses of Jack, downed it and then filled the hole that completed level six. I have a thing for even numbers.

Then Smitty was playing, and the notes clicked in my head somehow and the words came flooding back, brought by the music, or brought by the whiskey, I'm not sure. Hell... maybe Jock was whispering them into my ear.

'So many worlds of might have been...' tumbled from my lips, and I suddenly remembered Heero. I looked for him and found him not far away at all, watching me intently. I almost faltered and had to look away; God... he must be so embarrassed. There was a moment, when the words were a little less clear in my mind, but I concentrated on the sound of Smitty's familiar guitar and tried to forget that Heero was there hearing me make a fool of myself. '... in another world I'm alone and lost, a man without a clue, but in another world I still love you...'

The crush of feeling was... hard to sing past. I'd known the implications of the song the moment that McMurphy had told me the title. But knowing it, and singing it were two entirely different things.

Somehow, despite all his protests and all his advice and all his bitterness... Jock had never stopped loving that woman who had walked away from him.

And just damn the man to hell for making me voice what he had never been able to say while he was alive.

'Tiny things can change a life...' I managed, though I felt like my voice must sound as thick as though I had pneumonia. I couldn't look at anyone at all, standing next to Smitty and pretty much just staring down at his scuffed up old Reeboks. I got through another round of speculation on realities and then, thank God, there was a spot in the song for a bit of a guitar solo. I took the opportunity to just breathe, knowing I was right on the verge of losing it completely. Back around to that 'there but for the grace of God' feeling. I dared a glance at Heero, aching with the sudden knowledge that without him... I could very easily be just like Jock. Lost and alone.

The oddly... pleased look on his face took me by surprise and I stumbled a bit as I missed my cue, rushing through 'What am I doing in another world...' to catch up to Smitty. I had to look away as we wound the song out. 'I don't want what I have here, but I can't have what I want...' I seriously didn't think I was going to make it to the end of the damn thing, didn't think I could get through the final lines, but Smitty seemed to hear the twist building in my voice and he came in on the end of it, shoring me up, and we finished together, '...In a better world I'd be with you.'

There was an uncomfortable silence for a long moment; I think it was just awkward for people to know how to react to the thing. Jock's bitter distrust of all things female was legendary. There wasn't a soul in the bar who didn't get the message the old guy had left. It was a strange shift of perceptions, and... damn sad.

I wondered about the woman for the first time. Wondered where she'd ended up. If she was happy. If she would ever know how things came out for Jock. If she'd care.

And I wondered if I could be done now.

Someone finally broke the silence with a clap that was hesitant, but still sounded sharp to my ears. I think I flinched, but it was joined with a smattering of polite applause and Smitty took a rather theatric bow. While he was having his moment, I stepped away. A glance showed me that our little table had been taken when we'd abandoned it, and there wasn't another one in sight that was empty. I found myself standing in front of Heero, trying to find a way to implore him to take me home. Bernie wandered by and punched me lightly in the bicep.

'Not bad, Maxwell,' he grinned, 'though you're rusty as hell.'

I muttered something that masqueraded as a come back, but I think he was drunk enough that he didn't really care, and was probably gone before he heard it anyway.

'Heero...' I began, but was interrupted again when Cortaine stopped for a second.

'Jock would have liked that, kid,' he was compelled to tell me, and then snickered. 'Course, the old guy was tone deaf.'

I laughed dutifully at the joke, and tried not to cringe at the strained sound of my own voice. It was enough to make him wander on to take a poke at Smitty though, and I turned back to Heero, intent on getting the hell out of the place.

I was surprised to find McMurphy standing next to him, our jackets in his hands. He grinned at me and I grinned back while Heero took our coats.

'Don't forget your way here, kid,' McMurphy told me with a wink.

I ducked my head. 'Thanks, Papa Bear.' I felt profoundly grateful for the rescue at the same time that I felt embarrassed as hell that it had been so obvious I needed rescued.

Then finally, blessedly, Heero was leading me out the door and I thought I just might cry from the sheer relief.

The cold night air was a balm after the heat of the crowded bar, the dark a comfort, and the easing of that constant sound was almost a physical relief.

I sighed heavily, and blinked as we made our way across the parking lot, my eyes still adjusting to the lighting. Heero reached out to steady me when I almost tripped on a break in the pavement that I couldn't see. I was surprised when he didn't let go again, and even more surprised when I found myself leaning into him. But then, it was early yet, hours before most people would be leaving and the parking lot was deserted.

'Are you all right?' Heero asked me with a slightly bemused tone to his voice.

'Yeah,' I told him. 'Just... damn tired. That was a lot more than I'd been ready for, I guess.'

Heero's arm tightened around me as we walked toward the car. 'You...' he said, sounding as though he were choosing his words carefully, 'handled yourself well.'

I snorted. 'It didn't feel like it. I felt like I couldn't string two damn thoughts together all night.'

We got to the car and Heero was quiet while he unlocked the passenger door. 'You have a damn sexy singing voice,' he murmured, as he leaned down to help me get in. I was momentarily confused about whether the line distracted me from getting irritated about the helping part, or if the helping part distracted me from getting irritated about the line. The door was closed before I quite got it worked out.

I thought about it while he walked around the car, and decided that I was too tired to fight with him over either thing. 'I'm not an invalid, and I sing like a damn frog, now shut up and take me home,' I said after he'd gotten himself settled.

Heero chuckled and gave me a look that was... weirdly affectionate. 'You are so drunk,' he commented offhandedly as he started the car.

I just sat and looked at him for a minute. Drunk? I hadn't thought so, but looking inward I could see that I wasn't completely unaffected. I frowned, trying to remember how much I'd had, and didn't come up with enough to make me more than a little... friendlier. But when I let myself feel it, there was a certain amount of truth to it. Though I was a long damn way from being as shit-faced as I'd been at my worst.

'Slightly buzzed,' I corrected Heero. 'I am not drunk until I have to be stopped from taking physical challenges and stupid bets.'

Heero glanced across at me, but didn't seem to know what to say. I couldn't help worrying at it though; it didn't make sense, I really hadn't drunk all that much. If there's one thing I have, it's a high alcohol tolerance. I know it had been a while, but I really shouldn't have been feeling as unsteady as I was with no more than I'd put away.

Beside me, Heero sighed softly and reached out to snag my hand. 'You didn't eat dinner,' he reminded me gently. I didn't mention the missed lunch, but it was actually something of a relief to have an explanation.

'Oh yeah,' I murmured and felt the weariness creeping up on me. I... echo when I'm drunk. Put me in a room of revelers, and I'm the life of the party. Put me in a room of mourners, and... I can become dangerously depressed. I think my poor brain was just worn out with trying to figure out how I was supposed to be feeling.

Without thinking about it overly much, I leaned over and laid my head on Heero's thigh, curling myself as best I could on the seat, legs trailing off onto the floor.

'Duo,' Heero warned, his tone telling me I'd taken him by surprise. 'You shouldn't do that... you need to buckle up.'

'I'm ok,' I assured him and there was a moment of silence. There was something oddly soothing about the play of light and dark as he drove, and we passed in and out of the range of the streetlights. 'You'll be careful.'

There was a sigh of almost exasperation, but he didn't argue with me further and finally his hand came to settle on my shoulder. Though I couldn't help noticing he slowed down just a bit. It made me grin where he couldn't see me anyway.

I felt vaguely bad for making Heero suffer through the damn evening with me. He hadn't known Jock, didn't really know any of the people who had been at the send-off, it must have made for a damn long day.

'I'm glad you were there,' I blurted, feeling the depth of it, and knowing how much harder things would have been on my own. I honestly was not in a state that I would have called 'drunk', but I knew I was close enough to it that McMurphy wouldn't have let me drive myself. Things could have gotten really awkward.

Not to even mention that whole moral support thing.

'I was just glad I made it back in time,' Heero said, his tone more 'relieved' than 'glad'.

Made me wonder just how stupid I'd seemed all evening. I wondered if I'd embarrassed him. It made me squirm inside, and I concentrated my attention on the play of Heero's thigh muscles under my cheek and just tried not to think about it. After a little bit, his hand moved and he began to almost unconsciously stroke his fingers over my hair. It was disturbingly relaxing and he almost lulled me to sleep before we got back to the house.

Heero apparently thought I actually had dozed off, because the first words out of his mouth after he'd parked and turned the car off were, 'wake up, love.'

'Not asleep,' I told him, and sat up. He seemed a little surprised, but only grunted as we got out of the car. I noticed him watching me closely on the steps, but I let it go because it gave him something to think about besides the drama that had unfolded on our front walk the day before. I was tired of seeing him grimace whenever we came and went from the house.

It was hard to get my head around the fact that it really wasn't all that late, it felt like it ought to be in the wee hours of the morning, but it was just getting toward the time we normally went to bed anyway. Heero locked the door behind us, and immediately started our ritual 'security check' for the night, so without thought... I did too. I went over and started picking through my music for something to sleep with.

'Duo?' Heero asked gently, 'what are you doing?'

I blinked for a second at the reminder, and had to grin at him, though I doubt he missed the faint blush. 'Oh... yeah,' I said simply and left it at that, heading for the stairs.

I suppose if he hadn't been so concerned that I was drunk, I might have gotten away with moving Fuzzy-butt and the alarm clock back to our room while he finished locking up, but as it was I don't think he trusted me on the stairs.

I knew my trained observer lover had only missed their lack the night before due to our... conversation, so I didn't bother trying to hide it as I trudged down the hall to the guest room to retrieve them.

He watched in silence while I plopped Fuzzy back in his place on the dresser, taking a moment to straighten his little pilot's wings, and then settled the clock back on the bedside table. I didn't really see that there was anything to talk about, so I just started undressing for bed and after a few moments, Heero followed suit.

We climbed into bed together almost on auto-pilot. He was thinking so damn hard I could almost feel the vibration of it. And I was just... feeling.

I was taken a bit by surprise by how much I wanted him.

He waited until he had me curled against him, head pillowed on his shoulder, before he quietly asked, 'why... were you sleeping in the guest room?'

I took a breath and let it out in a gust, thinking about phrasing, thinking about how lame any sort of explanation I could make, was going to sound. 'I... didn't miss you quite as much in there?' I finally ventured.

He was quiet while he thought that over, his fingers playing almost absently up and down my arm. I blinked as he unknowingly traced over a bruise that those fingers matched perfectly. I was thankful we'd undressed in the dark and was a little appalled that I'd forgotten about it... it had been pure dumb luck that Heero had flicked the lights out when he came into the room.

'Duo-love,' he began, but then hesitated.

'Plain speaking,' I prodded, though I doubted I was going to like whatever he was going to say. Still... better to just get it the hell over with.

He sighed, a rueful little sound, and wrapped his arms around me for a moment, squeezing tight. 'I'm afraid that you're having problems staying by yourself and won't tell me,' he finally blurted.

I had to chuckle, though I doubt there was much of humor in it. 'I'll probably always have problems being alone, but it's not so bad I can't deal with it.'

He hesitated again, giving me a feeling that there was something he wasn't saying. 'I just don't like thinking of you... upset... with no one here. You know it would be all right to stay with Trowa and Quatre until I get back.'

'Heero,' I grumbled, feeling myself getting tense. 'I don't need a damn babysitter; we've been over that. I can handle it. I just want...'

It was my turn to hesitate, unsure which of the million things to mention, and he prodded at me. 'What do you want, baby?'

It irritated me, that name, and spurred my mouth to act without me. 'I want Jock to not be dead. I want another chance to not fail him. And baring that, I want my damn ship back so I can at least fulfill his last wish. But I can't have any of that, so what the hell does it matter?'

He rolled up on an elbow, hovering over me in a dark that wasn't complete, reaching to brush his fingertips over my cheek. 'It's killing me... thinking about you needing that music... needing to hide out in...'

I blushed and wondered if he could feel the damn temperature change in my face. 'I wasn't fucking 'hiding out', Heero. I just... you know; missed you. A lot. And I could smell your scent on the sheets, and... it just made it...' Hard. Bad choice of words, that. 'uncomfortable,' I hedged and was starting to wonder just how dense one man could be.

He finally made a sound of understanding, but it held a note of amusement too, which rather served to make me want to deck him... if I hadn't already been wanting to do something else with him a little worse. 'Will you stop fussing and just damn well make love to me already?' I heard myself blurt and decided that he might be right about me being a just bit under the influence.

He leaned down to kiss me, and it felt like my whole body was rising to meet him, I was reaching, tugging at him, wanting him on top of me, wanting to feel his hands on me. The week of isolation and frustration and depression was reaching a boiling point inside me, and need was all I was thinking about. Until Heero's lips brushed over mine in an almost chaste, dry kiss.

I faltered, suddenly unsure of myself, my questing fingers telling me that he'd come to bed with his underwear on. I felt... a strange 'wrongness' and then I heard him say, 'Duo-love, please... don't.'

There was some evidence of his... interest, and it confused me. I let my hand stroke up his side, but the fire was already fading in the face of his words. He caught my hand in his and held it.

'Please,' he said again. 'Duo... you're drunk...'

And wasn't that just a splash of cold water in the face? I withdrew my hands. Withdrew... the rest of me. God; of course, I must reek. He must be disgusted with me. After all the resolve I'd had about alcohol, after all my fears of turning out just like Jock and Neo... look what I'd done the first time I was presented with the opportunity.

'God, I'm sorry, Heero,' I told him. 'I didn't even think about it... I should have at least cleaned up.' I pushed away and I think I caught him by surprise, because he let me go.

'Please...' he murmured, sitting up and watching me retreat, but I wasn't sure what he was asking.

'It's all right,' I soothed, trying to make it sound light. 'I must reek like a... damn bar. You should have said something.'

'That's not what I...' he began, but I was half way out of the room and I didn't wait for the rest.

Bathrooms are a rather nice sanctuary, don't you think? Once you get the door shut and the water running, you could be a million miles away from whatever the hell you're running from and wouldn't know the difference.

There was really only one word that came to mind; ouch.

A couple of things here; I can't really say that Heero had ever denied my... advances quite that way before. And there sure as hell hadn't ever been anyone before him to do so. I can't imagine that a man is ever in a more vulnerable position than when he has just asked his lover to... well; you know. That had been my first real experience with... that sort of rejection.

And though the rational part of my brain could perfectly understand his lack of interest in a drunken sot... it had still hurt.

Second thing. I don't feel things with my hands all that well. So when I happen to touch my own skin, it feels... odd. Almost like someone else is doing it, because I feel where I'm touching, but I don't feel with my fingers. So I don't. Touch myself, if you get my meaning. So my outlets are... limited.

Hence the cold showers and the morning jogs for the last week.

It was kind of late to go jogging, so once I was locked in the bathroom, I turned on the cold water and proceeded to finish the job that Heero had started with his words.

It really didn't take all that long to erase the last of any desire that had survived getting resoundingly rejected, but I stayed under the harsh spray for awhile, because I just wasn't sure what else to do.

It made a nice little capper on a long, hard week.

I wasn't mad at him; far from it. I was embarrassed. I guess I should have known better than to try to take Heero with me into my old world. I should have realized that it would not work to try integrating the two... stages of my life. God, that sounded like I was some little kid; don't worry... he's just going through a stage.

Wonder when I was going to grow out of this one.

I'd not been some party animal, during my years as a salvage man. Not been some loose canon, or faltering alcoholic. But I'd had friends, and we'd done things, and it had helped me forget that in between times I was a rather lonely little man. Had helped me forget how hollow I had felt sometimes.

And if most of my old life had been erased and eradicated... so had that hollowness. Had it been a fair trade? I suppose I would have to say yes, since I would not trade it back if given the chance.

Maybe my mistake was in not making a clean break from it? But... those were people I cared about; how did I just turn off that caring and move on?

It's weird sometimes, when I think about my life, there really have been stages, and the transitions have never been easy. And you sure as hell couldn't miss them. The plague... the massacre... the war... the accident.

When whatever wayward God it was who was not all that fond of me, decided it was time for me to make a change... he didn't fucking fool around.

I got out of the shower when I realized that there were body parts that had started to lose feeling, and not only was all trace of arousal gone, but so were my balls.

I brushed my teeth until my gums bled, and used mouthwash too, then on a whim took a moment to drink a couple of glasses of water. Not that I thought I'd drunk enough to be hung-over in the morning, but I hadn't thought I'd drunk enough to qualify as intoxicated in the first place. The evidence of my running off at the mouth said otherwise... and apparently so did Heero.

And then I was left trying to figure out what to do next. I wasn't all that crazy about facing Heero right away for the pure awkwardness factor, and it probably wouldn't be a great idea for the ice-cold-Duo factor either. I had no clothes with me, so I wrapped a towel around my waist, turned out the bathroom lights and did my best to slip silently downstairs.

I had been a little surprised when we'd moved in, just how difficult it was to move around without making noise. It was an old house, and there were more damn creaky boards and slightly stiff hinges than you could shake a stick at. I had no doubt that if Heero were still awake, he was well aware that I had left the bathroom and was on the prowl, so I made a stop in the kitchen first, opening the refrigerator to explain my wanderings. I shut it again without actually finding anything, but the noise was all that really mattered to me right then. I just wanted a bit of space, which was seriously screwed up when I stopped to think about it, considering how much I'd wanted Heero back with me all week. I had to stifle a morbid little chuckle as I made my way to my studio.

Suppose I could take one last look at the paintings I was preparing to hand over to Aleyah. It was, after all, technically Friday at that point, and she would be out that afternoon to pick them up. I wondered again what she was going to think of them, particularly her own portrait. Wondered if they would meet her expectations.

And that reminded me of the more recent sketches she had asked for and I had to sigh. My sketch pad was still lying on the couch where I'd left it and I wandered over to look down at it. Did the picture sting a little less in light of Heero's having shared a piece of his own history with me? I'm not sure I can say. My emotions get tangled up in the pictures when I create them, and I can't always separate out what I was feeling at the time, from what I feel when I look at them later. Looking at it still made my chest feel tight, so who's to say?

I had to admit to myself though, looking at the thing with slightly fresher sight, that it was another self-portrait. It might not be so obvious to someone else, but I think I know my own face when I see it. Though... it was hard to imagine that the open, eager child I was looking at had ever existed inside the smart-ass brat I remembered being.

Was this the child that Sister Helen had hugged and claimed to love? Was this the child they had hoped to save from the streets?

I couldn't ever remember being that... young.

I suppose it was only natural, with Heero having talked to me about his days in training, and all the stories at Jock's send-off about the past, and the military, and... regrets, that I would end up thinking about my own past. My own regrets.

How far back could I follow my string of wish-I-hadn'ts? Could you count my parents? I regret not knowing who they were, I regret not knowing why they abandoned me. But does that count as a personal regret? Maybe you could only count the stuff that you did or didn't do on your own. I couldn't even dredge up a memory of anything that even resembled a mother, I don't see how she could count on the debit side of my karma.

So I guess that made Froggy my first big regret. That I hadn't done something other than what I'd done that day. He might have lived if I'd gotten more insistent. He might have lived if I'd raised a stink. He might have lived if I'd stayed with him instead of running. Despite what Solo had told me at the time.

It hit me with a sudden almost crippling pain that I'd forgotten him when I'd grown to manhood and struck out on my own. When I'd painted my line of ghosts aboard my ship, his portrait should have been first in line, but it hadn't been.

'Damn,' I muttered to thin air, appalled at myself. How could I have forgotten?

'I tol' ya,' Solo grumbled from somewhere above me. 'He made his own damn decision. He don' count as one'a yours.'

'So does that make you my first real regret?' I asked, imagining the disgusted roll of the eyes he would have given me.

There was a snort, and for a moment, I thought I saw him lounging on the couch. 'So now I'm a regret?'

'I let you die,' I informed him. 'In case you missed that part. Can't I regret your death?'

He laughed and solidified enough to sneer at me. 'Ya didn' let me die, Rat-boy... the plague got me if'n I remember right.'

'But I was...' I began, and he snorted, vanishing from sight completely.

'What'n fuck is with you tonight?' he groused and sounded for all the world like he was right at my elbow.

'Heero says I'm drunk,' I explained, eyes on my row of finished portraits.

'I seen ya drunk afore, kid,' Solo laughed. 'Ya ain't drunk.'

'I know,' I agreed with nobody, and took my sketchpad to lean with the line of paintings. Seemed like a hell of a lot of new art for just a week, at the same time that it didn't seem like much to be offering the woman who was sponsoring this whole mess.

'So,' my talkative ghost asked. 'If'n Froggy don' count and I don' count... what's yer regret?'

I snorted and turned to find him perched on the counter down the way in a patch of moonlight. 'Don't be an ass, King-rat... you know.'

'I was dead by then, remember?' he chuckled and I had to look to see the smart-ass grin because that was one of the things about him I missed the most.

'The church, you fucker,' I snapped. 'And don't act like you don't know it.'

'Seems t'me that those rebels were the ones...' he began, his tone as irritating as I'd always remembered it.

'That's enough,' I growled and stared right at him until the moonlight was only moonlight again.

In the realm of bad karma, I was pretty sure that Froggy and Solo counted against me every bit as much as the rest of it. Maybe there had been some balancing when I'd stolen that serum. Maybe there'd been some balancing when I'd held what was left of the gang together after Solo had died. But what in the hell would ever balance what had happened at the Maxwell church? My helping to win the war? But when you looked at all the things I'd done in the course of that war, the debit side was stacked pretty heavily against me.

God... I just couldn't stop thinking tonight. It felt like my thought processes were as convoluted as a bad stretch of mountain road; too damn many switchbacks and a long drop on either side. Maybe Heero was right; maybe I was drunker than I thought I was.

Or maybe I was just a naturally depressing individual.

I put a blank canvas on the easel, deciding that it wasn't likely I was going to be able to stop the hamster on the wheel in my head for awhile. Maybe I could put the nervous energy to good use and something nifty would appear on the canvas in front of me in time for me to give it to Aleyah when she came.

Or maybe if I sacrificed one of the pristine, white canvases to the Gods of paint, little elves would come and paint something for me.

Hey... you never know.

Five minutes of staring produced nothing but memories of flames and broken glass that made me shiver, so I went to get the afghan from the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders to join my attire of... towel. I suppose standing in the cold back room wasn't exactly the most stellar idea I'd had all day, and considering the day, that was saying a lot. Perhaps if I was going to make a habit of these nighttime romps through the land of ancient nightmares and lost dreams, I should stuff some clothes away in one of the cabinets. I would have given a lot for a pair of pants and a sweater at that point.

I couldn't help sighing as I thought about going back upstairs and joining Heero. I wanted to. A great deal. He would be warm, and he would take me in his arms and hold me until I was warm too.

But I just wasn't quite ready to let go of the hurt feelings and I knew that if I went back up before I was, that there would end up being words and I would make a fool of myself again.

I found myself going over to stand in front of the mural I'd done for Heero. His Christmas present, I'd called it. It didn't seem like much when I held it up against what he'd done for me, but... he seemed to like it. I looked at the stars through the window that wasn't a window and wondered again about the things hidden between those stars. Wondered about the things that were not hidden between those stars.

Heero had wanted to know about the things that I used to think about so hard back during my days of convalescence and the months after. I had put a lot of junk in that painting, but had been surprised when I'd realized that the kids weren't part of it. I wondered about it, but didn't have an answer. Maybe I just hadn't been finished when I'd realized what I'd done and panicked, thinking Heero would be angry with me for painting on the wall. They certainly should have been there; failing them, failing to send support money to the home, had preyed on my mind as much as any of the rest of it during that time.

I decided, since I wasn't getting anywhere with the blank canvas, to remedy that. I ditched the afghan and fetched my paints, trying to decide just how I wanted to go about adding to the picture. There was room... though there was a window frame in the painting, it did not contain, but overlay. There were no walls, and the field of stars and memories, thoughts and doubts were bound by nothing but the edges of the 'canvas'. Me, Heero and the window suspended in the middle of nothing and everything.

I didn't think I wanted to add them all... it would disturb the balance. The incidents of my life were represented in the picture, but I'd not really given precedent to any one thing. Solo was there, symbolizing a lot of years of my life. Standing in for all the other children of my youth, standing in for a life on the streets of L2. Standing in for the plague and all its attendant horrors. Deathscythe there as token of an entire war. The tiny portrait of Jensen embodying a whole truckload of deep-seated fears.

It was a little sad to realize that my entire life at Maxwell church, from the moment I knocked Father Maxwell on his ass running from a fruit vendor in the streets, to the night the church burned down, was present only in a scattering of shattered glass.

It seemed... unfair, somehow. Seemed as though I had cheated in the telling of the tale. The biggest mistake of my entire life, the mistake that had cost sixty-four people their lives, and all that was left of it was a dusting of pretty bits of glass?

That didn't seem right. Not at all.

I was moved to fix it. God only knows why, I've never understood what wakes the need in me to paint, and I'll always wonder about the timing of it. Could the 'muse' ever wake first thing at the beginning of a three day weekend? No... it has to wait until the wee hours of a work night, or when I'm so sick I pass out afterward.

Or when I ought to be headed back to bed to apologize to my lover who was probably lying awake somewhere over my head worrying himself sick about me.

But what I think never seems to matter, and I found the big brushes in my hand, and the gray paint mixed on the palette without ever really consciously deciding I was going to. Father and Sister deserved better than what they'd gotten from me, and I could not hide what had happened behind those shards of broken glass. I had painted my shame and my horror, my guilt and my confession on the walls of my ship once; erasing it had not erased the memories. Erasing it had not absolved me of what I'd done. The blame for all those deaths had been on my head, and I could not deny that. It was time I put it back, here in my new home.

It was cold there in the studio, the air made colder because I'd never really warmed up from the shower. But... I really wasn't feeling it. Wasn't feeling much of anything, the way I do when I'm consumed with the need to make something appear where nothing had been before. There is some connection that happens between hand and eye and memory and I don't have to think, can't really think, I just have to let it happen almost as though it's just flowing through me. Almost as though it has nothing to do with me.

I painted the walls and the steps of the church, the big stone blocks just the way I'd remembered them. I painted the great cross that had been atop it, somehow one of the last pieces to fall. I painted the huge wooden doors, banded with metal... and then I found the yellow paint. I found the red paint. I put them on the palette and though I could barely see what I was doing for some reason I refused to acknowledge, I prepared to paint the end of my childhood. The end of everything. I painted the place I remembered as a home... as a sanctuary... as one of the few places I'd ever felt safe. And then I prepared to burn it to the Ground.

Warmth suddenly enveloped me. Surrounded me and held me still.

'No, baby,' Heero's voice, tight and distraught, whispered to me. 'Don't. Make it whole. Make it the way it was... not the way it ended.'

I was trembling; shivering, and not sure if I had been before he had found me and caught me in his arms. He was the soul of warmth and shelter and I listened to the rumble of his words, caught by the sound of his voice.

'Don't bring that pain into our home,' he told me, sounding so sure of himself, so commanding. 'Remember it the way it was. Remember when you were happy there. When it was whole and beautiful. Remember the people who loved you...'

More. He had a lot to say to me, but after awhile the words didn't really matter, and the trembling didn't really matter, and what I had thought I was painting didn't really matter.

I remembered that I had wished I could take Heero to that place that had been my home, however briefly. I remembered that I had wished that Sister Helen could have met him, that Father Maxwell could have shaken his hand and blessed him. I remembered that I had wanted to share that tiny year's worth of security with the man I loved.

I let Heero guide me, I forgot the bitter muse that had started me down the path I was on, and I let Heero take me down a new one. I let him hold me while I worked and I let his voice guide the broad strokes of my brush, and all those places where I had left room for the flames and the smoke, we filled with solid stone. The hole I had left where Father's stained glass window had been, we filled with brightly colored pieces of glass until the pictures it had formed were there again. We repaired the wide front steps until they were not cracked and broken. The doors we opened wide and the light inside the church was the dance of sunlight through Father's window and not the dance of flames.

And finally, he held me steady while we brought Father and Sister back from the dead and we let them stand in the doorway, hands outstretched in invitation. For the first time since that night, I let myself remember the way that place had looked in the light of day.

Heero's voice never stopped, guiding me through it until the deed was as done as it needed to be, and brush and palette fell from stiff, cold fingers. I turned in his arms, vaguely aware that it wasn't dark out anymore, and found myself being lifted. Cradled against his warmth, and carried. I didn't fight it, I felt the exhaustion of a hellish day and an equally hellish night overtaking me and just let Heero take over. I was cold and my muscles were cramped, I was tired and a bit confused, and having him take me someplace warm where I could rest was not such a horrid thing.

Somehow, he managed to get me up the stairs, though I would have sworn I had achieved a weight that would have made that impossible. He took us to bed, though the quality of the light told me it wasn't that long until we ought to be getting up for the day. But the bed was soft, and he was warm, and I couldn't find it in me to argue. It wasn't quite time, anyway, and it would do no harm to lie together for at least a little while.

Once he had us cocooned together under the blankets and my shivering seemed to be subsiding, he caught at my hands and began to gently massage them, though how he knew how cramped my fingers were, I couldn't have told you. It was soothing.

'Better?' he asked after a little bit, and I nodded, so he settled down and pulled me in closer to him.

'I'm sorry,' I murmured against his shoulder. 'I didn't mean to start that.'

He was quiet for a minute before venturing, 'I'm sorry I didn't come down sooner.'

I thought about that, but wasn't sure how to tell him that might not have worked out all that well. But he was gazing at me rather intently and I don't think he was looking for an answer anyway. I suddenly felt awkward about the fact that I hadn't come back to bed, and wondered what he had thought. 'I didn't mean...' I began, but he shushed me.

'Never mind,' he soothed, smiling a sad little smile. 'I should have come after you. I... dozed off waiting.'

I just blinked at him for a moment; it was something of a surprise that he had understood I needed some space. I just wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it. 'I didn't set out to do that,' I finally had to tell him, though I just felt like I was repeating myself.

He seemed to consider his words carefully before he said, 'I can't say I'm thrilled that you did that on top of the day you had yesterday. But... I can't regret getting to see you like that.' And then he was kissing me. Somewhat intensely. It woke that fire in my gut that I'd worked so hard to subdue, and while part of me was moved to reach and grasp and pull him down to me... the rest of me couldn't help the hesitation. Couldn't help the doubt. I froze; too tired to deal with the conflicting signals I was getting from body and brain. Heero drew away and looked down at me questioningly. I saw his eyes cloud with sudden understanding.

'Oh God, Duo... no,' he whispered, his hand cupping my face to make sure I didn't turn away. 'Please don't.'

'It's all right,' I soothed, trying to push aside the lingering traces of bitterness. 'I understand.'

He frowned at me, his expression not a happy one, though I wasn't sure which of us he wasn't happy with. 'Damn it, love... I couldn't, not last night. Not with you half drunk like that.'

I was beyond arguing the drunk part. Hell... maybe he was right; I'd seen enough people in my time who swore they were stone cold sober, five minutes away from winning an honorable mention in the Darwin Awards. I hadn't thought I was that bad, but maybe Heero just had a problem with alcohol in general. He was in law enforcement, after all; probably gave him a harsh view of the whole issue. 'I'm sorry,' I said, wondering if I could get all my apologies out of the way before we had to go to work. 'I really had not intended to do any drinking last night. I swear... it's not something I plan on making a habit of. I promise, I won't...'

He cut me off by simply catching my chin in his hand and forcing me to meet his eyes. His gaze was very intense. Searching. 'When you give yourself to me,' he said quietly, 'it's a gift. A precious gift, and I wasn't going to accept it from you when I wasn't sure if it was you or the alcohol talking.'

I blinked, feeling a bit... slow somehow. I felt like my perceptions had been ripped up by the roots and turned around. I... hadn't looked at it that way. I guess... I hadn't really understood at all. I was rather surprised when something deep down inside me wanted to laugh with the sheer relief that he wasn't simply disgusted with me. 'I can't possibly still be drunk after all this time,' I heard myself whisper, and he smiled at me, though it seemed a bit sad somehow.

'No,' he replied. 'You can't be.'

He kissed me again, but there was still something held back between us. I couldn't quite decide if it was him or if it was me, but then he bent and began gently kissing the bruises on my biceps and shoulders and I knew what was still... not right. I felt my eyes go wide as I realized that he'd seen, and I held very still. He ghosted soft kisses along the length of the bruises, soothing them with little more than his breath, and when he had found every trace and every mark, he lifted his head and met my stare. 'Don't you ever,' he commanded, though his voice was very quiet, 'let me hurt you again. Not ever.'

I nodded tightly, not trusting my own voice, and he came back for a different kind of kiss. One that I couldn't help meeting with a choked moan.

I wanted to wrap myself around him. I wanted to flinch away from him. I wanted to beg him. I wanted to ask him if he was sure. I wanted to just fall into his embrace. I ached for his touch, but I could feel myself almost afraid to accept it.

There was pain in his eyes, but he pushed forward, not accepting my hesitation. Not allowing me to let the hurt come between us. Bringing his hands and his lips to my body and making me bear what I wanted. Making me want what I couldn't bear.

My week weighed heavily on me, the last few days coiling hot and tense in my belly, making me need him so much I was shaking. Making me want him so much that when he finally took his place between my thighs, I came just from the penetration.

Some part of me felt I should be embarrassed, but the rest was more concerned with making him not stop. Sexual need met, there were other needs still begging, and I urged him on until he finally let it become about what he needed too.

I was able to let go then, taking my pleasure from his. Finding my balance with his. Letting him make us real again. It felt like some barrier fell away from between us.

I was as surprised as he was when his slow and gentle rhythm woke the beast of desire in me a second time, and he took me over the edge again.

After that, things got a little hazy. I remember there being a rain of kisses that I couldn't meet for the panting. I remember telling him that I thought he'd turned me to jelly. I remember him whispering words of love against my skin.

And then I don't remember much of anything else.

The asshole called me in sick to work. He might have gotten away with it too, if he hadn't come back to the bed on his own way out, to whisper to me some more. He thought I was too far gone. Thought that the day and the night and the sex had left me too exhausted to wake. I did miss some of it, but when his voice got... intense, it brought me to awareness again, though I didn't let him see it.

'... I won't let that son of a bitch hurt you any more, love. I'll stop him... I swear it. He'll pay for what he did. Just rest now... I'll be home as soon as I can...'

Then he kissed my temple and left the room. I waited until I heard his car start before throwing my ass out of bed and scrambling for clothes. Damned if I'd miss work because of a little lost sleep.

The whole thing made me wonder though, just how much Heero talked to me while I was asleep. He had not seemed the slightest bit self-conscious about it. It made me feel decidedly unsettled; I would not have believed I could sleep through something like that, but the evidence suggested that I had in the past.

A shower was not an option in the short amount of time he'd left me, so I just washed up enough to make sure I didn't stink of sex, jerked my clothes on, and ran out of the house with the corner of a ration bar package clenched in my teeth, as I buttoned and snapped.

I was pleased that I got away soon enough that I didn't even have to do more than bend the speed limit to get to work on time, though I pushed the fifteen minute rule down to the final seconds. My triumphant grin when I got clocked in on time vanished when I turned to find Griff standing in his office doorway, hands on hips, glaring at me for all he was worth. I tried a cocky grin and a wave, but it didn't wash.

'Maxwell!' he hollered. 'In my office!'

Some small part of me was relieved that he at least wasn't going to yell my personal business across the garage, but the larger part couldn't help muttering, 'fuck,' under my breath. Had Heero been around, I would have had more than that to say to him. The man truly needed to get over treating me like he was my damn mother.

'Yeah, boss-man?' I inquired with my best innocent look once I was inside the inner sanctum.

'Yuy called in this morning and left a message that you weren't comin' in,' he growled and peered at me while he talked, in a way that made me want to squirm.

I passed up the first couple of things that came to mind, because not only were they too smart-ass, they would have revealed just a bit too much information about my home life. 'I got better,' I quipped instead and put the ball back in his court without telling him shit.

I got the expected frown. 'Don't be a smart-ass, Maxwell,' he ordered. 'If you're sick, I don't want you in my garage.'

'I'm not sick,' I sighed, knowing I had to have some kind of explanation for the call from Heero. 'I... wasn't feeling too good last night, but it must have been one of those twelve hour bugs, because I feel fine this morning.'

Griff looked at me doubtfully and I met his gaze unblinkingly because half of getting somebody to believe something that isn't altogether on the up and up is to be able to maintain eye contact. 'You don't look so great,' he finally growled.

'Well,' I replied, turning on a grin. 'I was up kinda late worshipping at the porcelain altar.'

'Too late?' he said suspiciously and I snorted a laugh.

'I wouldn't be here if it was,' I assured him, and I got a rueful shake of his head for my trouble.

'Ok, kid,' he finally conceded. 'But if you pass out on me again, I'm dockin' your damn check until you come to.' I laughed and turned to leave, thinking we were done, but he stopped me. 'Wait a minute, Maxwell.'

I hesitated, wondering if Heero had said something more that I didn't know about. 'Yeah?' I prompted and was surprised when Griff looked kind of uncomfortable.

'Listen,' he began with an almost resigned sigh. 'I just wanted to say that you're probably the best body man I've had in this shop, and I'd hate to lose you. You work harder than any two of those yahoos out there.'

I'm afraid I gaped at him, despite all my recent resolve to give up the fish imitations, trying to switch tracks to this new topic. Or was it a new topic? Was I being warned that my job was in danger? 'Did I do something wrong, Griff?' I asked, not sure what in the hell he was on about.

He snorted and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Griff's the only guy I know who has five o'clock shadow a half an hour after he gets to work. 'Hell no, kid. I'm just saying that there's talk that you've... had a couple of other offers and I'm just gettin' my bid in, I guess. If money's an issue, we can talk.'

I went from the fish imitation right straight into the deer improv act. 'What?' I asked, wincing when I almost squeaked. 'Who...'

Griff gave me a little self-satisfied smirk. 'I may just be the chief mechanic, but I still been around a long time, I have my sources. Rumor has it that you've got... options around here.'

It so echoed what Commander Une had said to me, that I had to wonder if he'd heard it right straight from the horse's mouth. There was a chair on my side of Griff's desk and I was rather surprised to find myself suddenly sitting in it. 'Damn, Griff,' I blurted. 'How the hell wide spread is this? I haven't even told Heero a damn thing about it yet.'

He did this kind of slow blink at me, then came around to push his office door shut before going to sit down behind his ridiculously clean desk. 'Don't know that I can say, kid,' he told me. 'I ain't heard it on the floor yet.'

The 'floor' being the garage itself, which was a good sign since Griff's 'boys' were some of the biggest gossips in the organization. 'Jesus... do you have any idea what kind of brick Heero would shit if he knew Une's got a gun and badge with my name on it?' I said before I had a chance to think about it. His aborted snicker made me think about the words and I blushed to the roots of my hair.

'I can guess,' was all he said before moving on. 'Though... I heard that wasn't the only offer you got.'

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to coax the heat out of my cheeks. 'That guy... what's-his-name Jones, wants me in his bullpen of sketch artists.'

Griff leaned back in his squeaky chair and for a moment I got caught up in how much it reminded me of Howard's old desk chair, right down to the duct tape on the arms. I wondered if Griff and Howard knew each other. 'He's a bullpen of one, kid,' Griff informed me. 'And rumor has it he's salivating over you pretty bad.'

I gave up on getting rid of the blush. 'What?' I stammered, feeling oddly like I ought to start wearing a damn wedding ring or something, though I knew that wasn't what he'd meant by salivating.

'I heard the Commander had to sit on him to keep him from coming down here after you,' Griff told me with a grin that was bordering on sadistic, as he watched me squirm.

I had to think about that one for a minute. I suppose I really had left that whole damn issue hang. Both Jones and Une. I hadn't really had two damn minutes since those offers had been throw in my face to give either of them any consideration. When I didn't reply immediately, Griff gave me a slightly more serious look.

'You know, Duo,' he said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his desk. 'I said I didn't want to lose you, and I don't. But I ain't gonna hold you back either. If money's the issue, I could maybe compete with Jones... but I can't hold a candle to an agent's position and we both know it."

I couldn't help the sigh, suddenly feeling like some kind of all you can eat buffet. When in the name of God had I become so fucking popular? 'I'm not going anywhere for awhile, chief,' I reassured him. 'I don't have a damn clue what I'm going to do... I haven't had two seconds to think about it... but you'll be the first to know once I decide.'

'Right after Yuy?' he grinned and I think it was purely so he could watch the blush come back.

Never being one to like not being able to give as good as I got, I grinned back. 'Hell... depending on what I decide, you might just get told before him.'

It got me a laugh and I decided we were done and stood up to leave. He didn't stop me that time, just waiting until I was half way across the bay before yelling, 'And tuck your damn shirt in!' I turned and flipped him off, and he laughed louder.

I spent the entire day concentrating on only one thing; not dropping any tools. Dave could find his entertainment elsewhere.

I did actually take the time for lunch, walking over to the Andover as much for the exercise as the food, hoping the fresh air would help wake me up. I was truly dragging by then, and when I stopped to buy my bottle of soda on the way back, it was more of a necessity than an indulgence.

I drove home that night with all the windows rolled down to make sure I didn't fall asleep at the wheel, a hamster riding shotgun with a little sign that informed me I wasn't as young as I used to be.

It was disheartening to let myself into an empty house again so soon, almost as though Heero had never been home. In that moment of swinging the front door open to dead silence... I missed him almost painfully.

Having Heero notice that I needed something to fill the quiet had made me feel... uncomfortable about it, and I tried to do without as I moved around the house, picking up and putting away in preparation for the arrival of Ms. Winner.

We are not slobs by any stretch of the imagination. With Heero, I think it's just his nature; he's always been the most organized soul I think I've ever met. With me, it's left-over spacer mind set. I half expect my things to come floating through the air at me later, if they aren't secured. So there wasn't stuff lying all over the place or anything, but somehow trying to imagine what Aleyah was going to think, was making me hyper-sensitive. I probably would have run the vacuum cleaner if I'd thought I had time.

Besides, as long as I kept moving I didn't think I was in any danger of falling asleep on my feet. By that time, I'd been going for something like thirty-six hours, give or take, and was flat running on empty. If it wasn't already the last day that I'd been given as my dead-line for having the paintings done, I'd have called Aleyah and begged off until the next day. I wasn't sure my brain functions were up to dealing with the woman.

Five minutes before she arrived and much too late to do anything about it, I had a sudden fervent wish that I'd called Trowa so that he could have come out with her.

My hind-sight is damn near perfect.

I had just discovered the towel I'd been wearing the night before in the middle of the studio floor when I heard the car pull up, and I hastily threw the thing into one of the many empty cabinets, not really wanting to explain it.

'Help me,' I muttered to the open air, half wishing that Solo would pop up and at least get my back, but sleep-deprivation has always made him scarce. I guess I'm just not good company when I'm groggy.

I took one last glance around the studio and then headed for the front door to greet the woman.

I should not have been surprised when I opened the front door and that damn dog darted in ahead of her, but I was. I kind of followed it with my eyes, blinking with the sudden realization that I didn't have a Trowa to run interference for me. But then Aleyah was bustling in after the animal and I forgot about it.

'Darling!' she gushed, looking as fresh and energetic as though it were first thing in the morning, and not headed toward evening. 'What a quant little house! It's so... rustically cozy!' Then she kissed me on the cheek in a gesture that claimed familiarity we really didn't share. I found it annoyed me, but was too busy being amused by her defining my house as 'cozy' when all our other friends had questioned our desire for such a large place, to let it get to me too much.

Perspective, I suppose, is everything.

I managed a stammered, 'Thank you,' that made her laugh that weirdly delighted laugh that makes me feel like I've said something stupid. Then I stared at her, not sure what to do next, until she laughed again.

'This is the part where you invite me in and offer refreshments, pet,' she said, and patted my cheek.

Spontaneous human combustion is the supposed process of a person catching fire due to some heretofore unproven internal chemical reaction. It is a process that most scientists are somewhat skeptical about, and I have apparently made it my life's work proving not only its existence, but attempting to demonstrate it at every available opportunity. I have yet to actually generate flame, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time at the rate I'm going.

'Tea?' I croaked out and got another of those lilting laughs.

'If it's not too much trouble, dear,' she told me airily and moved on into the living room to look around, dismissing me to my task of brewing, just that fast.

So I took myself off to the kitchen and proceeded to put water on to boil.

Out from under her gaze, I wondered, not for the first, nor for the last, time what it was about the damn woman that threw me for a loop so bad. Was it her station in life? Her attitude? How much I was going to come out of this feeling like I owed her? Or just the way she treated me? I have discovered within myself over the years, an inability to deal with women of a certain age. With older women, to be quite blunt. But... Aleyah, despite falling into the proper age group, didn't give me that same sort of feeling. And maybe that's what was throwing me. She was old enough to be my mother, but still flirted unrepentantly. I didn't quite know what category she fit in. Where to file her, so to speak.

I tried to dredge up the arrangement that Quatre, or rather, Quatre's cook had produced when Aleyah'd had her meeting with me at Trowa and Quatre's place. I was already at a disadvantage because we didn't own one of those china tea sets. We used mugs and just heated the water in a metal tea kettle. And there wasn't any way in hell that I could come up with anything like those little shortbread cookies that Quatre had provided unless Ruthie showed up in the next five minutes selling the Girl Scout cookies I'd suspected I'd be buying one of these days.

Cocotte snuffled her way through the kitchen while I was waiting for the water to heat, coming in the dining room door and going out the back hall door, stopping to look up at me in an oddly solicitous manner. If a dog could say, 'excuse me', she would have. When the tea kettle whistled, it made me jump and I forgot about the dog.

I'm not much of a tea drinker, though I've learned to manage it sometimes since coming to live with Heero. He's a big one for using different blends for easing everything from upset stomachs to stress. Aleyah had not specified flavor, but I remembered that Quatre had served a green tea with a mint flavoring, and I was somewhat exultant to find that Heero had some that looked like it would fill the bill.

For myself I poured some damn Mt. Dew in a mug and hoped she wouldn't look too close. I really needed the caffeine, and stress or no, I didn't think I could handle the tea.

I was somewhat surprised to come out of the kitchen and not find Aleyah sitting on the sofa. I was down right shocked when she responded to my call... from up the freaking stairs.

I just stood staring up at her as she made her way down, trying to think of a tactful way of asking her just what the fucking hell she thought she was doing, but she was smiling at me delightedly and acting as though it were nothing at all to go prowling around other people's homes uninvited. And who knew; maybe for Ms. Winner, it wasn't.

'I gave myself the short tour, darling,' she informed me. 'I simply had to see that bedroom my dear brother can't stop talking about. It is everything he said and more. You are just deliciously talented at everything you chose to do, aren't you?'

Try getting pissed off and in somebody's face after they've delivered a line like that to you.

'Well,' I managed, handing her the mug of tea as she reached the bottom of the stairs. 'I'm not much of a cook, though I suppose I haven't killed anybody yet.'

'A true sign of success then,' she responded, taking the mug without so much as a raised eyebrow. I was grateful that she didn't make a fuss over my lack of... social preparedness, at the same time that I was still struggling with the irritation of finding the woman poking around my house.

I stepped away with my own mug, giving her the space to return to the living room, but her curiosity apparently wasn't sated yet, and instead of going to sit on the sofa, she looked over my shoulder and then headed for the dining room. I had little choice but to follow.

'Such a lovely little place,' she said, just seeming to make noise as she satisfied her somewhat overwhelming nosiness. I imagined her as a child, before she had become so prim and proper, poking her fingers into every damn nook and cranny that came along. She stopped in the dining room to turn and look at the bay window, giving it a smile as though she saw something there that I didn't. She was still cradling her tea mug in her hands and I suspected I'd gotten it too hot.

Cocotte trotted in as though checking to make sure Aleyah was still there, gave a little wag of her tail and then trotted back out again. I took a couple of swallows of my soda and when I lowered the mug, Aleyah was giving me an odd look.

'That is not tea, unless one of your talents is maintaining a straight face while burning your internal organs,' she said, never really losing that weird, calmly amused tone to her voice. 'Please tell me you aren't a drunkard. I simply can't deal with another artist who shows up opening night too intoxicated to stand.'

'It... it's just soda,' I stammered, and winced, but she didn't seem to notice, turning to make her way through the kitchen.

'Good!' she praised me, just as though I'd not been a drunkard as a personal favor to her.

'Does that happen often?' I couldn't help asking, following after her as she stopped to survey the kitchen.

'Once was too often, dear,' she said, though her attention was elsewhere, as evidenced by the slight wrinkle of her nose. 'Remind me to give you the number for my interior decorator, pet. This room... needs work.'

Despite the fact that Heero had said much the same thing, in a slightly less stilted fashion, it was hard not to take it personally. She didn't wait for me to respond, just continuing her tour and heading out the back kitchen door.

'I am counting on you, my dear,' she suddenly informed me, not even bothering to look my way, but taking a second to finally dare a sip of tea. 'My last few protégées have been... less than I'd hoped. My potter for instance, is simply too unfocused. Can't decide if she wants to create, or if she wants to be an engineer, of all things.' There was a disdainful little sniff, but it was obvious that I wasn't meant to answer, which was just as well, as I'd have probably said something about making a living. Something I didn't think Aleyah quite... got. 'And my textile artist... a superbly talented woman who has suddenly decided to delve into the world of exotic pet breeding.' A tsking sound followed that declaration as she made her way down the hall and it was suddenly just as though she knew right where she was headed. Cocotte joined us just as Aleyah took the step down into my studio. I wondered how she referred to me when she spoke to other people; her sketch artist?

I'd forgotten that I had the new paintings and the new sketch displayed on the opposite wall, and it looked for all the world as though I'd deliberately placed them to catch her eye as soon as she entered the room. I felt kind of foolish, though it had been a complete accident. I stopped on the step and took another swallow of soda as I watched her for a reaction. There wasn't one for a very long time, and I was just starting to sweat, thinking that I'd either seriously pissed her off, or else the paintings weren't at all to her liking when she said, so quietly that I'm not sure she meant for me to hear it,

'Oh, I begin to think that you don't disappoint in anything you do.'

I opted to pretend I hadn't heard, because my half-functioning brain could not come up with a single, solitary response.

I noticed the dog sniffing around the base of my new easel and went that way to encourage the animal to go investigate another part of the room. That mission complete, however, left me standing fairly close to Aleyah, and I couldn't help glancing over to try and catch her expression. Enthralled was the first thing that popped into my mind, and I felt myself blushing. I had expected the same sort of rushed perusal that she had given my work at Quatre's, and I wasn't at all sure what to make of her reaction.

She looked at me, sipping her tea for a moment, as though collecting her thoughts, something I'd not seen her do before. Aleyah's thoughts always seemed to be completely collected, organized and ready for firing. 'I am going to bend a personal rule of mine, dear, and accept anything you have to give me right up until the night before the show. These are... more than I dared hope.'

'Even the... uh... I mean...' I began, my own thoughts completely unorganized and uncollected.

'Especially the 'uh I mean',' she smiled, cutting me off and making me all the more flustered. 'I shall be buying this one myself, so you may rest assured that you have at least one sale.'

I blinked at her and looked again at her portrait. 'I can't take your money after everything you've done. If you really want the thing... it's yours.'

I got the most outrageous burst of laughter from her, a sound that made me grin despite myself mostly because it was the first laugh I'd heard from her that sounded completely honest. 'Oh, darling!' she said when she could. 'I can see why you need me; you are so not the business man. Please, pet... the night of the show, leave all the tedious details to me, or you shall die a penniless pauper.'

I snorted, and ducked my head, some part of me wanting to argue with that assessment and not wanting her to see that in my eyes. Though, I had to admit there was some bit of truth in what she said. I'd never known how to go about setting a price for my artwork. Even when I was charging to paint murals for people, I'd only starting doing it to try and deter them from asking, I had been getting far too many requests prior to that. Now, sitting down to haggle over the price of a salvage job, and we were talking a different Duo Maxwell.

I wondered about that rather suddenly, standing there staring at my art patron. Wasn't salvage work just another talent? Why, in my own mind, was it acceptable to set a price for those skills, but not so much to set a price for my art skills?

It was one of those moments of sharp clarity that left me feeling unsettled, so I simply nodded and agreed. 'You're the boss,' I quipped and her smile got a little... scary.

She gave me a long look and almost purred, 'Yes... and I like it that way.'

Had I been taking a drink, I would have choked. Though I think she got the gist of my discomfort without the sound effects. She took a sip of her tea to hide a demure little smile, though it more accented, than hid it.

I decided to change the subject, and pointed to Allison's portrait. 'If there's some sort of... of centerpiece for the show... that's it.'

She moved a step to her left, taking her away from me a bit, and studied the picture. 'It will make for a dark theme, pet,' she told me in a tone of voice that was considering. 'This one is very... affecting.'

'But it's the focus, none-the-less,' I heard myself say, and wondered if I could get away with refilling my mug of soda. She gave me an appraising look that rivaled some of the ones that she'd been giving my work.

'Are you a father, dear?' she suddenly asked and I'm afraid I sputtered and then freakin' laughed right out loud. 'I'll take that as a no,' she said, not waiting for me to reply more than that. 'You do children extremely well, is why I asked.' Her attention went to the portrait of Jensen then. 'I shall amend that... you do expressions extremely well.' She reached out and picked up my sketchpad and gave the portrait there a small smile and sighed. 'You are obscenely talented, you do know that? There should be some sort of regulatory law against people like you.'

When I do my carp gig, you kind of have to look to get it, and when she finally turned toward me to further enjoy the show, I saw her notice the wall behind us. She blinked past me for a second and then an oddly irritated look came into her eyes. I was completely dismissed as she made her way around me to go look at Heero's Christmas present.

'Darling,' she chided as she studied the thing. 'Had I only known about this earlier, I could have arranged a print in time for the opening.'

'You can't!' I blurted, somewhat aghast at the idea. 'That's Heero's... it's private.'

'Art should never be private, pet,' she said firmly, sounding for the first time like the older woman she was. 'Art isn't art until it's shared. The painter creates... but the viewer fulfills.'

'I shared it with Heero,' I found myself telling her, her attitude rubbing me just a bit the wrong way. 'Some things are... best left where they are.' It sounded lame, but no way in hell was I going to give the woman the verbal opening of what I'd intended to say. God only knows where she'd have gone with some things are best shared only between two people. I'm slow sometimes, but I'm not stupid.

She seemed to sense that I hadn't said what I'd meant to, and turned to smile knowingly at me. 'Then I suppose I should take what you have to offer and be going,' she said, giving me a look that made me wonder if I'd pissed her off. 'Be a love and go out front and fetch Gage.'

'Pardon me?' I asked, blinking stupidly and wondering if she would be throwing me so damn bad if I wasn't feeling like my brain was running on fumes.

'My driver,' she clarified, turning back to the mural on the wall and dismissing me completely. It was a weird feeling to be dismissed out of my own studio.

She had a driver?

When I went out front, I discovered that she did indeed have a driver. He looked every bit the part of the clichéd, indulgent rich woman's boy toy. I could imagine that his resume had consisted of some beefcake photos of him shirtless, sprawled across the hood of some expensive car. I wondered if his name really was Gage, or if she'd picked it for him. Or if he'd chosen it the way actors choose stage names. I was miserably uncomfortable leading the guy through my house.

'Madame?' he inquired when we were in his employer's presence and she turned to give him a smile that was just a bit... I don't know, but I was left thinking of the looks she'd given some of my sketches.

'We have paintings to transport,' she told him and that seemed to be enough. I stood and watched, feeling like they didn't really need my company at all, Gage quickly took the paintings in hand, and it gave me a decidedly strange flutter in the pit of my stomach, seeing him walk out of my studio with them. I almost felt like I should stop him.

Aleyah moved from Heero's picture to the half finished painting of the church and I felt myself blushing, just as though she could somehow see the strange circumstances under which the thing had been born just from looking at it. She raised one of those delicate eyebrows at me and made a gesture as though she would tap the wall in front of her. 'This is fresh, dear. If you're going to express that artistic talent of yours this week, please do it on canvas so that I can make use of it.'

'Yes Ma'am,' came out of my mouth and the blush escalated back up to flash-fire level. She laughed in delight, but then Gage appeared in the doorway and sketched her a faint bow.

'The car is loaded, Ms. Winner,' he informed her and she made a noise that seemed to indicate that she was pleased. She turned to me then, and I found her handing me a card that had come from I know not where.

'This is the address of the gallery, my dear,' she told me, her well-manicured fingers managing to brush over the back of my hand somehow, as she left the card with me. 'The show will open precisely at seven on Friday night. I will need you there no less than an hour before.'

The whole thing seemed very real in that moment. I muttered some acceptance of the information and looked at the card so that I didn't have to look at Aleyah or her stud of a driver. The card was tasteful and elegant and done in gold ink. I distinctly remember wondering what the things cost to have printed.

'Come along, darling,' Aleyah said and it took me a moment to realize she was talking to the damn dog. Cocotte came running from behind the couch and I watched as the three of them went up the step into the hall. I followed only because it seemed the thing to do.

The woman's parting shot was a light laugh and an admonishment. 'And do not wear those ungodly Preventer's colors, darling. They don't suit you at all.'

I stood on the porch and watched as Gage handed both Aleyah and Cocotte into the car and then drove them away. I stood on the porch while my brain adjusted to the fact that I was actually going to be having an art gallery opening. I stood on the porch until my hands began to ache with the cold. I stood on the porch and tried to convince myself that I could get through the whole thing without Heero. I stood on the porch and thought about music, because I was beyond denying that I needed to have it.

When I'd settled on my hammered dulcimer, I left the porch and went back in the house. I locked up. I queued the music. I turned out the lights and went up the stairs to our room where I laid the hell down to go to sleep thinking about the fact that the woman called the dog by the same pet names she used for me.

Going to bed that insanely early, I had fully expected to wake at an equally insane hour of the morning, and was surprised as hell when I slept right past sunrise the next day. Heero would have told me it was a sign of how emotionally exhausted I was, and would have endeavored to keep me in bed for a few more hours. Which led to thoughts that made me get the hell up to escape.

Saturdays, while attractive for the no-work issue, have their own... lack of appeal for people who don't have time through the week for all the mundane chores of life that make the world go around. Laundry, house-cleaning, marketing... boring and dull and oh-so-necessary. I normally don't care all that much for Saturdays for that reason, but under my current circumstances I can't say I was sorry for the distraction. Can't say I was sorry that I just didn't have the time to sit and brood.

And about mid-afternoon, when I ran out of my regular chores and was just beginning to worry about what I would have to do next, I found the first rather rank puddle of drying dog pee. Damn freaking animal had 'marked' every room on the first floor at some point. I was... extremely irritated.

A quick call to Mr. Ex-circus-guy Barton got me some detailed instructions on the best way to clean the messes up. It also got me laughed at, but we don't need to go into that.

So I made a second trip to the store for club soda, white vinegar and a rented portable steam cleaner. I cursed the woman and her little dog too, all the damn way home. I had an overwhelming desire to go buy myself a Saint Bernard and pay Ms. Winner a return visit. After feeding the beast six jars of prunes.

But then... I've always been a bit vindictive.

Some places weren't too bad; the tile of the studio for instance, but the living room carpet was going to take some work. Trowa had admonished me about getting the smell out as well as the stain and I had a certain order to work in, starting with simple blotting with towels, followed by application of the club soda and more blotting.

I was doing pretty good, my music flowing around me, and my mind focused completely on the job at hand... until I fired up the steam cleaner.

Once running, the things work rather remarkably like paint strippers.

I have an on-again/off-again therapist. Dr. Webster. Nice lady. We'd had a long talk at some point about a thing called 'triggers'. I have a rather large array of them, ranging from burning buildings to vacuum suits.

I figured out that day that I could add paint strippers to that list. Made me feel like a total dumb ass. I mean, seriously; paint strippers? How incredibly lame is that?

But lame or not, the minute I turned the stupid thing on, my heart rate went through the roof and it was like I took a step sideways into the past. The nozzle in my hand could have been about twice the size it was, and I was applying it to the wall and not the carpet. Was stripping paint, not cleaning up piss. Felt like screaming and couldn't quite get my head around why.

When my hand finally fumbled the power switch to the off position, I was sitting on my ass on the floor, panting like an asthmatic and vaguely wondering how my ship had come to be carpeted. You don't carpet a damn space ship; what in the holy hell had I been thinking? But then the faint smell of diluted dog pee made me doubt the reality I had thought I was in and I started wondering exactly how an animal had gotten aboard, but I remembered the ocelot and decided that maybe the thing had managed to...

The upward spiral of... we won't call it hysteria; confusion, maybe? The upward spiral of upsetting confusion was interrupted rather suddenly by the sound of the phone ringing.

It rang twice before some part of my brain registered what the sound meant, I kept trying to equate it to alarms and couldn't figure out the meaning. Then I finally shifted back to the left and stuff started falling into place in my head again. I scrambled up off the floor and ran for the kitchen extension, grabbing it up on the fourth ring with shaking hands and snapped, 'Maxwell,' into the receiver.

There was a moment's silence on the other end before Heero hesitantly asked, 'Duo?'

I thought I would fracture at the sound of his voice. Half of me was almost exultant, knowing that Heero could help ground me again, but the other half was waving his arms in warning, understanding that neither of us was in any shape to be trying to talk to my somewhat protective lover. If I wasn't careful, he'd be on the next bus/train/plane back, and the case be damned.

'Yeah,' I replied, keeping it short and trying to hold the phone so it might not be picking up the sound of my still settling breathing. I took his moment of hesitation to look around the kitchen, verifying with my eyes where I was.

'Is...' he asked gently, 'everything all right?'

Iron clad cinch he knew the answer to that before he asked it, so I went on the offensive. 'No, damn it... Aleyah was out here and that damn dog of hers peed all over the house!'

'What?' he questioned, and I have to confess to a certain aggravation that he hadn't said more. I'd been hoping for a moment to collect myself while he talked. So much for plan A.

'Look, Heero,' I tried. 'Now is not a good time... I've got piss drying all over the...'

He wasn't buying plan B either and cut me off. 'Duo-love... I can hear your voice shaking, I know you well enough to know you're not that upset over some stupid mess. What is wrong?'

Well, fuck. I hadn't formulated a plan C, and that only left me with the default honesty thing. Didn't that just suck?

'I...' I began, but really couldn't quite find the words. 'I rented...' I stopped again, understanding that there was just no good way to explain myself. I took a second to just breathe and suddenly heard myself say, 'Heero... I just need you to talk to me for a minute.'

There was a long moment on his end, and I have no doubt that if he had possessed the ability to teleport, he'd have been in our kitchen that very second. 'It's ok,' he finally said. 'I'm... here.' I smiled and let myself drop down to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. 'So, you say that Aleyah was out to the house? To get the paintings, I suppose. I would have liked to have seen her reaction to her portrait. And she actually brought the dog? Trowa and Quatre talk about that thing all the time, but I never really believed that it would go in the house. I would have thought it would be better trained than that. That doesn't sound like anything Aleyah would put up with...'

He was rambling and I had to smile a little wider, listening to him trying to verbally gather me into his arms. By the time he got to hypothesizing about the possibility that Cocotte wasn't house trained at home either, I had gotten my bearings and was able to chuckle softly. 'I have the distinct feeling that the dog is only allowed to indulge in that marking business at certain times,' I told him and could almost hear him breathe a sigh of relief. 'I don't remember seeing the damn dog trying to 'sign' any of the furniture at the photographer's place.'

'It really peed all over our house?' he had to ask, now that I seemed to have settled.

I sighed, thinking about tackling the living room carpet again. 'Yeah. I should have known. She just wandered all over the place while Aleyah and I talked. God, Heero... she must have hit every room downstairs. I guess I should just be glad she didn't follow Aleyah upstairs.'

'Upstairs?' Heero asked, sounding somewhat taken aback.

'Yes!' I blurted, letting the irritation take hold of me again. 'I went to make tea and when I came back the woman was damn well up in our bedroom! I can only hope she wasn't digging around in our freakin' underwear drawer!'

There was a tiny pause and then Heero said, 'Maybe you should start from the beginning.'

So I told him about the entire evening, skipping the getting home from work part since I really didn't want to get into that whole 'called in sick' thing, and kind of glossing over the slight shift I'd had in perceptions while cleaning the carpet. Not that I could skip it completely, but I did my best to make it sound... a little less psychotic.

'Are you sure you're all right now?' he asked when I was finished.

'I'm ok, Heero,' I assured him, wishing for all the world that his call had not come precisely when it had.

'I wish we hadn't had to leave so soon,' he felt compelled to tell me, and I kinda wondered if he meant so soon after the funeral, or so soon after the therapeutic paint application in the back room. Or maybe he just meant in general and wasn't thinking of anything in particular. 'If things weren't heating up...' he started to say, but then stopped and I had to repress a sigh. We were back around to that bullshit where he wouldn't talk to me about anything on the phone. I somehow didn't think that Gray had a wire tap on our house, but I suppose policy was policy, so I didn't let him brood on it.

'It's all right,' I said, deliberately misunderstanding his meaning. 'You probably wouldn't have realized what the stupid dog was doing either.' And before I could think what I was saying I had opened my mouth and out popped, 'Would you be terribly upset if I bought a Saint Bernard and spent the next week feeding it prunes in order to take it visiting at Aleyah's place?'

I could have kicked myself the minute the words were out my mouth, I had only been thinking about making small talk, about making him believe that I was fine and not lost in the labyrinth of my own mind. I hadn't been thinking about... what I should have been. But he didn't seem to take it wrong. Didn't seem to make the jump, because he laughed rather abruptly.

I heard something in the background on his end and he repeated the line, coming back to relay to me what Wufei had said. 'Wufei says that canned tuna works better. The kind in oil, and don't drain it.'

I couldn't help laughing, relieved that I hadn't brought up memories of our fight. 'Is that personal experience talking?' I had to ask, and he chuckled rather sardonically.

'Sally ran out of cat food and tried to... improvise,' he explained, and I could hear Wufei chuckling too. It felt... good to hear them.

I blinked at the kitchen wall, rather surprised to realize just how good. My support system. How wild was that? I had to really stop and think about that for a minute... Duo 'I can take care of myself' Maxwell had a safety net. An almost family, albeit a kind of weird one. Maybe it was having just taken that little slip-trip in my brain to a time when that hadn't really been true, that made it into such a revelation.

Or maybe it had been true, but I hadn't been ready to accept it.

It was an odd thought best left for another day.

'Are you sure you're all right?' Heero asked again, and it was there on the tip of my tongue to tell him a million things.

I'm just tired...

I just wish you hadn't gone away again...

It's just been a rough couple of days...

Come home...

But, 'I'm ok now,' is what I told him. 'How are you guys doing? Everything all right on your end?'

He hesitated for so long that I suspected that something major had happened on the case. Something he was probably dying to tell me, but couldn't. I decided to spare him. 'I mean... you got in ok and everything?'

There was just a hint of relief in his voice and I figured I'd made the right choice to not pressure him. 'We're fine,' he told me, with a hint of amusement in his voice. 'And there's even a restaurant in the hotel, so we aren't eating out of the vending machines.'

'Good!' I said in mock reprimand. 'Don't want you coming home wasted away to nothing.'

'Yes, sir,' he acquiesced with a somewhat lame attempt at sounding contrite. I was opening my mouth to call him on it when I heard a knock on the front door.

'What the hell?' I muttered and rose, taking the cordless handset with me.

'What's wrong?' Heero was quick to ask.

'Somebody at the door,' I told him and expected to get the standard lecture about being careful. I was surprised when he just asked if he should let me go.

There was no mistaking the silhouette I saw through the window and I told Heero as much. 'It's just the guys... hang on a second.'

I opened the door and was greeting by a pair of somewhat sheepish grins. 'Truce?' Trowa asked, brandishing a couple of bags of Chinese take-out.

'Truce?' I echoed confusedly. 'For what?'

'Well,' Quatre said, ducking his head and looking a bit embarrassed. 'It was my sister who came into your home and... uh...'

'Christened it?' Trowa suggested when Quatre floundered, and got an elbow in the ribs for his trouble.

On the phone I heard Heero chuckle. 'I hear you're in capable hands,' he told me, sounding more than just a bit relieved. 'I'll leave you to your guests and talk to you tomorrow if I can manage it. I love you... you know that?'

'Yeah,' I stumbled, feeling weirdly embarrassed. 'I... uh... you know,' I finished lamely and felt like an absolute asshole, not being able to say it in front of the guys.

But Heero just chuckled at me again. 'I do know,' he replied warmly and then we hung up.

The guys followed me into the kitchen when I went to hang the phone up, with what was apparently going to be our dinner. I got out plates while they unbagged it and then we took it all into the dining room to the much larger table to eat.

Trowa wrinkled his nose as he sat down. 'God Duo... how did you not notice the smell last night?'

I snorted, dishing myself up some noodles. 'I went straight up to bed after she left, and I think I'd just been in it so long that I didn't notice it today until I'd left the house and come back in.

Quatre looked very damn uncomfortable. 'Duo, I am really sorry...'

I stopped him with a fork waved in front of his face. 'You are not your sister's keeper. Not your fault.'

'Well,' Trowa grinned. 'Since it's not likely that Aleyah will be coming back with a steam vac... the least we can do is help you clean it up.'

I stilled for a moment, at the abrupt mention of the machine that had caused me to jump mental ship, and I wasn't sure if I covered it quick enough or not. 'Y... you really don't have to do that. I told you... I don't hold you guys responsible at all.'

Trowa gave me a rather level look, and I wondered about it... I really hadn't done much more than pause in speaking. But all he said was, 'Quatre will never be able to sleep tonight if you don't let him help.'

'Hey,' Quatre responded, giving his partner a raised eyebrow look. 'What do you mean me? I thought we came to help?'

'She is your sister,' Trowa told him blandly, plucking shrimp one at a time out of the carton.

'But she likes you better,' Quatre accused mockingly and Trowa grinned at him unrepentantly.

'Only because I flirt with her in French, my love bug,' Trowa said haughtily; Quatre might have replied to that if I hadn't distracted them both by snorting soda out my nose. Love bug?

There was back thumping and much mocking laughter from Trowa as I stumbled into the kitchen to rinse my face and clear my sinuses. I was struck again with that feeling of... of... camaraderie? Support? That I had felt while on the phone with Heero and Wufei. I just knew that despite the irritation of my abused nose, it felt good to have them there. It felt good not to have to face the horrors of the wet vac all alone.

The evening played out much as you would have thought. We ate, we cleaned, Trowa and Quatre doing their best to keep me laughing. It made me less irritated with Aleyah. Made me stop thinking about the Saint Bernard project. Made me stop thinking about drop-kicking Cocotte into the middle of next week. Helped me keep my mind off the fact that Heero was going to be gone for an indeterminate amount of time. Helped me not think about the gallery show at the end of the week.

It made it easier to get through the rest of a day that might have been... a bit difficult otherwise.

And if Trowa somehow ended up wielding the steam cleaner after that, I certainly wasn't going to argue. It was an easier job than getting down on one's knees with the vinegar and towels after all; not like I was sticking him with the hard part.

Quatre spotted the new mural when we got to the back room, and of course I had to submit to some questioning over it. I wasn't sure if the look I got from him after my short-form explanation was sympathetic or not, and I chose to ignore it. That was an area where I was just a bit raw yet, remembering how I'd meant the painting to look, and also remembering Heero's husky voice guiding me in a different direction. He didn't push overly much about it, seeming to understand that it was something I felt rather strongly about, and it wasn't long after that that we deemed the mess cleaned up and they were preparing to leave.

Quatre just couldn't seem to stop himself from hugging me, his grip almost fierce and hinting at some underlying emotion that I wasn't sure I understood. Trowa, as usual, was more subdued, simply giving my braid a tug and smiling in a way that told me to call if I needed anything, without having to fill the air with the words. I stood on the porch and saw them off and then went in to shower. Nothing quite like cleaning up piss to make you feel the need of some soap. I was rather comfortably tired by the time I was done, and again made an early night of it, going to bed as soon as I'd locked up and cleaned up the dinner mess.

It wasn't until my eyes opened to the first faint hints of morning light, that it occurred to me why they'd come. I think the clues had lined themselves up in my dreams and the first solid thought I had on waking was, Heero had Wufei call Trowa.

That was why Heero had been so blasé about someone coming to the door unannounced. That was why Trowa took over the steam cleaner without asking, when he was not normally one to take the easy job when there were other choices; he's not a slacker. That was the unidentified feelings I'd been picking up from Quatre; protectiveness.

I just laid there and thought about the evening, and you know? I really just didn't know how I felt about the whole thing. It was weird thinking about that... connection. Thinking about Heero, scared by my tone of voice, signaling Wufei who went aside and called Trowa, who grabbed Quatre and came running to... my rescue? I didn't know whether to be embarrassed or... warmed. I could see the threads of connection between the guys and it was damn strange to see that they extended to me just as strongly. It was hard to believe after all the years I'd not been a part of their lives, that they could take me back into their brotherhood so easily. But I didn't think it was just my relationship with Heero that bound me to them; not the way we seemed to be. Sally's relationship with Wufei made a connection too, but it wasn't quite the same. Not that I could have explained the difference, and not that I'm saying if she and I were both drowning, that Wufei would save me instead of her. It was just... different. Because of what we were? Because of what we'd gone through together? Because of where we'd come from? I really don't know.

I got tired of puzzling it out, and for the first time that I could remember since I'd been an invalid in Heero's apartment... I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Sunday was like this strange little vacation; the pressure of producing art-on-demand was gone and I almost didn't know what to do with myself. I fiddled with the new mural for a few hours, just filling in some of the background, but didn't finish it. I took the steam cleaner back to the store. Changed the sheets on the guest bed since I didn't figure it was going to be a good idea letting Heero catch me sleeping there again. Cleaned out the refrigerator. Busy work, all of it. Just keeping myself moving so that I didn't start thinking.

That would, in fact, pretty much describe most of that whole week. Just moving. Moving as fast as I could to go nowhere. Any time spent not keeping my mind occupied, resulted in ulcer inducing brooding about what I was facing at the end of the week.

Sounds stupid, doesn't it? Ex-Gundam pilot terrorist, a guy who had infiltrated more damn military installations during his short career than you could shake a stick at, a guy who had spit in the general direction of the executioner when faced with public execution... was trying not to shit his pants over an art gallery opening.

It's human nature, you know, to be apprehensive in the face of the unknown. And dear God, but this was certainly the unknown.

When you create, whatever you create, you are putting a small piece of yourself into it. Doesn't matter if you are knitting hats, or painting portraits. Doesn't matter if you are crafting dolls, or carving wood. Each piece contains just a tiny sliver of your soul, and it's a damn scary thing thinking about tossing that out there for the general population to see. Like each and every one of those paintings and sketches were my children, and I was letting them go out into the wide, mean world alone.

If you don't get that part... I can't explain it any better. Maybe it's just something you have to feel for yourself.

So it was a week of tightening the screws. Each day that brought me closer to the oncoming freight train that was Friday, wound me just a little tighter. Apparently made me a little less easy to live with. By mid-week, I think if there were such a thing as enforced vacation, Griff would have sent me the hell home. I remember at one point wondering if maybe it wasn't for the best that Heero was clear of ground-zero, safe from my nerves.

By the time Thursday morning dawned, I was probably at my worst. Sleep had become somewhat elusive about mid-week, just adding to my joy. If I'd been a coyote, I'd have gnawed my own leg off to get the hell away from the trap I felt like I was in. Starting my mornings staring at Allison's portrait of me was no longer enough; I had to revisit it several times a day to keep in my head just why I was going through with the whole thing. I felt so damn... arrogant, it wasn't even funny.

And just to add insult to injury, the Gray situation, or as the media was calling it, 'The case of flight 1410', was coming closer to its impending trial date so the coverage was heating up. It wasn't helping my tension much to hear Gray's lawyer talk about what a poor, unfortunate man the good Captain was, on the drive to work each morning. Not that I could not listen; old instincts said that forewarned was forearmed and since Heero wasn't telling me much, I had to get my information from somewhere.

Though there was a side-benefit in that all the guys at work assumed my attitude was coming from the trial, so I at least had an excuse for being short-tempered and pissy. Even if Guilt-beast did trail me around the garage giving me a hard time about it. It wasn't right to take my bad couple of weeks out on those around me, but knowing that, and acting on it were two entirely different things.

By Thursday, Griff was throwing body-work at me like there was no tomorrow. It was a hard, physically demanding job that let me beat the hell out of large metal parts with a rubber mallet and run loud power tools that kept people from trying to converse with me. I'm sure it was all part of his master plan of keeping me occupied. I had noticed early in the week that the radio that normally played all day long, had been shut off. There was a little 'out of order' sticky note taped to the front, but I suspected the guys were just trying to keep me from hearing trial news all day long.

And what a sad little commentary it was that my sour mood and nausea were driven more by the gallery opening than the thought of having to testify against Gray. I think that said something very telling about my psyche, but I wasn't sure just what. It hardly seemed worth making an appointment with my therapist just to find out.

I was sanding out a section of fender in the middle of the afternoon when I became aware of somebody staring at me. I was instantly a bit irritated, I'd managed a level of concentration that had been eluding me for days, and I wasn't thrilled to be pulled out of it. Then I looked up and found Sally standing there, and couldn't help a momentary mental flinch as I remembered the last time she had come down to the garage to see me. I turned off my grinder and her smile widened a bit.

'You have a disgustingly dirty job, Duo,' she teased, and I made as though I was going to shake bondo dust all over her, making her yelp and take a step back. 'Don't you dare, mister!' she warned. 'I have a cat and I'm not afraid to use him!'

'I've been threatened with that devil-beast before,' I informed her haughtily. 'Heero would have your scalp if you tried to off-load it on me while he's gone.'

She sighed theatrically and planted her hands on her hips, eyeing the grinder suspiciously. 'Maybe I'll just abandon the damn thing on your front porch then,' she grumbled, and I had to chuckle.

'What's it done now?' I asked.

'Only cost me my entire last paycheck when I had to take him to the vet after he ate part of a skein of angora yarn,' she huffed, looking greatly put out about the loss of the yarn.

'Yuck,' was about all I could manage without bursting out laughing at the mental image.

'You have no idea,' she grimaced. 'I walked into the room just in time to see the end of it disappear into his vicious little mouth like he was sucking down spaghetti.'

I did laugh then, though the idea was more disturbing than anything. She waited me out, doing her best to look as though she had no idea what I found so funny. 'Tell me you didn't come all the way down here just to tell me your gross cat story?'

'My cat is not gross,' she quipped. 'And no, I came down here to find out if you need a ride to the show tomorrow.'

I gaped, ok? And then I just kind of blinked at her. Remember that thing I mentioned about always being taken by surprise? Flat fucking footed.

'The show?' I managed, and thought she would snicker herself to death.

'Yes, M'Lord,' she grinned at me, changing tone. 'You do recall? You have an art gallery opening? Sponsored by the illustrious Ms. Aleyah Winner? Or did it slip your mind?'

'Hardly,' I growled, frowning slightly despite my best effort. 'How did you...'

She actually went so far as to roll her eyes at me. 'The invitation was something of a give away.'

Invitation? There were invitations to this thing? My brain disengaged from my surroundings for a moment while I tried to fathom that.

'So?' she prompted and smirked out-right at my blank expression. 'Do you?'

'Uh... no, I'm fine,' I finally told her, still trying to get my head around the notion that there would be people at this thing that I actually freakin' knew. I wasn't sure if that made it better, or worse. I suppose it depended on whether the opening was a success or a bust. Public humiliation was bad enough stand-alone. 'But... you don't have to go... I mean, I wasn't expecting...' I floundered, not sure how to tell her that I hadn't expected anybody to waste their time on it, without sounding like she wasn't welcome. But she only quirked me a grin that bordered on wicked.

'I wouldn't miss it for anything short of a half-price sale at Baskin-Robbins.' And she actually reached out and patted my cheek.

I snorted, unsure if the gesture was mocking Aleyah on purpose, or not. 'I don't think it's going to be anything to write home about,' I had to tell her.

'It does not surprise me that you think that,' she said, 'but I shall reserve the right to judge for myself. It isn't every day that someone I know opens at Expressions.'

I sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. It felt gritty. 'If you say so,' I conceded doubtfully. 'But it's just the same shit... only in pretty frames.'

She burst out laughing then, shaking her head at me as though I were just too ridiculous to talk to. 'I'll see you tomorrow night, Duo.' And she walked away, still chuckling.

It was probably a good thing it was near the end of the day by then, because what little concentration I had was blown right straight to hell.

The hamsters in my head got on their wheels and started running for all they were worth. Offering me a plethora of possibilities that rather left me thinking about running the hell away from home. It certainly put a different spin on things, thinking about having people there that I knew. Opened up whole new avenues in the area of total humiliation. Bad enough to look like a... a... clueless newbie in front of strangers.

I lost two knuckles and screwed up the patch job on the fender before quitting time. It was oddly disconcerting to be glad it was the end of shift, at the same time I was sorry to be that one step closer to Friday.

Both Giles and Griff looked like they wanted to speak to me as I passed them on my way to the time clock, but neither of them managed to come up with anything. Or maybe it was the part where I utterly refused to make eye contact and just kept on walking. It probably would have just been something reassuring about the investigation, and I really wasn't all that interested. They couldn't tell me anything I wasn't hearing on the news each night, so why bother? Besides, it really wasn't what was bothering me, despite what they thought.

I suppose that sounds strange. But really... I just wasn't all that worried about the flight 1410 fiasco. Maybe I should have been, but there was some part of me deep down inside that had been listening to all of Heero's promises and just... well... just damn well believed in him. If Heero said that he would stop Gray, then Heero would stop Gray. It sounds stupid and naïve as hell, but it's the truth. I just had mentally relegated the whole thing into the realm of 'Heero will handle that'. It was like some division of labor. I generally gathered the trash and took it out, and Heero did most of the vacuuming. I did a large chunk of the cooking, and Heero took care of the clean-up most of the time. It was like that. Heero was just handling the psycho murderer-wannabe.

Or maybe I just didn't have enough hamsters to cover the gallery opening and the trial.

I had fully intended to stop and pick up a pizza or something on my way home from work, but somehow just couldn't think of anything I felt like I could stomach.

Half way to the house, it actually crossed my mind to wonder if we still had those stupid la-la land tranquilizer patches that Heero had gotten from the clinic for the trip to L2. I had a funny feeling that I wasn't going to be getting much sleep. Though... maybe I'd look the part of the starving artist if I showed up at the gallery with dark circles under my eyes.

The solitude and quiet was a damn palpable thing when I walked through the door that night. Not that it hadn't been getting to me up until then, but I guess I just had too much to think about at that point. I turned on the television, as had become my habit, just to catch part of the news, but they were already up to the sports, so I wandered into the kitchen for a soda. It tasted clean somehow, going down, cutting the dust from my throat, and I decided to go on up and get my shower. Bondo dust is damn fine stuff and just gets everywhere.

I took extra long cleaning up, just because it gave me something to do, indulging myself in soaking some of the stress away. At least... as much as I could. Washing your hair does not really take a lot of brain power, so it still left a lot of time to think.

I wondered who in the hell all knew about this stupid thing. I wondered who might actually show up. I wondered what in the bloody hell I was going to wear. I wondered how long I was going to be obligated to stay. I wondered if Cocotte had been trained not to pee in the gallery.

And then you know what came to me, all of a sudden? Recon.

That's what I would have done during the war in a situation like this. It was the apprehension of the unknown that was making me crazy... why not go scope the damn place out? Why not take some of the unknown factor away?

I got out of the shower, dried, did my hair and dressed in my black dress pants and a generic polo shirt. Not exactly puttin' on the Ritz, but hopefully at least passable.

I'd memorized the address from the card Aleyah had given me and took off as soon as I could get out of the house. Even getting to see the neighborhood and the general lay of the land would help, but if I could get there before the gallery actually closed... all the better.

And yes, at some point during the drive back into the city, it did occur to me to wonder why in the hell I hadn't thought to make the trip sooner. I think for the same reason you don't always realize that the dead cat at the side of the road is really just a scrap of some trucker's shredded tire... you're too busy trying not to look at it.

If Jacques' place was 'trendy', Expressions was... elegant. It was located in the downtown area with a clothing boutique on one side that looked like the scarves probably cost more than one of my pay checks, and an antique and out of print book place on the other. The whole neighborhood screamed 'money' in a loud, but tasteful voice.

And yeah, you bet your ass I parked two blocks over and walked. I felt underdressed just walking down the sidewalk.

The building itself wouldn't have needed a sign, the whole damn design somehow managed to radiate 'Art' with the capital A. There was no doubt that it had been built expressly to be what it was; the building was something of a work of art in itself and I found myself lingering in front of the book store, loathe to actually go near the place.

I moved along when I realized the clerk inside was donning a pair of white gloves in preparation of showing an old leather bound book to a customer.

I wasn't sure whether I was happy or not when I found that the gallery was still open. It took a moment of loin girding to convince myself that it was ok to just walk in. Intellectually, I knew it was just a business, but there was something about all that glass, steel and imported looking marble that was intimidating as hell.

There wasn't any tinkling bell when I finally opened the door, but a strangely melodic tone that sounded softly in the distance. There was a receptionist type counter and a young woman was slouched there, attention on a book of some sort, and the most incongruous pink bubble gum bubble expanding in front of her face.

At the sound of the tone, I thought she was going to have a heart attack, and between trying to straighten up, hide the book and get rid of the gum... she managed to pop the bubble. All over her face. As a last resort, she just turned her back to me while she cleaned herself off, and I heard a muttered, 'Well, fuck...'

Nothing in the world could possibly have put me at ease in that damn place faster than that had. It was a good thing she turned her back, because I thought I was going to hurt myself trying not to laugh out loud. The sudden release of tension was just about to put me on the floor.

Though the color of her face when she finally turned back around, rather took the humor out of it. Despite my initial knee-jerk reaction, I don't normally find other people's humiliation amusing. Well... unless that other person is Dave. Or Smitty. Or maybe...

Ok; never mind.

'Hi,' I said, feeling bad for the poor kid, and tried to smile engagingly.

She ducked her head slightly, letting her oddly streaked hair swing down in front of her eyes, but it did little to hide the raging blush. 'Uh... hi,' she managed. 'Welcome to Expressions.'

I couldn't help grinning at her attempt to fall back on what must be a rote line. 'I hope you don't have to do the bubble gum greeting for everybody who comes in,' I said, hoping she had a sense of humor.

She didn't disappoint, laughing loudly and giving me an exaggerated little drop curtsy. 'Nope. Once a day performance, and you were the lucky customer of the day!'

I laughed in return and hoped that there wasn't anybody else in the place; I had a feeling that it was normally quiet as a library. I glanced around and was struck with a strange urge to smooth my hair and check to make sure my shirt was tucked in all the way around. 'So,' I prodded, not sure how much time I had before the gallery closed. 'I've never been to an art gallery before... just how does this work?'

The girl made a face and quirked a wry grin. 'Just think of it as a museum... only not old.' She came out from behind the desk then, her earlier embarrassment set aside and a certain hint of enthusiasm showing in her voice. 'You came just in time if you're here for the DeBoye show, it closes tonight. We have a new artist opening tomorrow.' While she talked, she lead me to a small table that I had missed seeing near the front door and picked up a pamphlet from an artfully arranged display of the things.

I took it when she offered it to me, staring at the picture of a woman on the front, smiling bemusedly back at me, face framed by a cloud of unruly dark hair. I didn't need to presume I was looking at the aforementioned Ms. DeBoye, since her name was printed beneath the picture. I missed some of what the receptionist was saying while my mind tried to catch up with the fact that somewhere there were flyers just like the one in my hand, only with my name and picture on them. I skimmed the text, noting the American Indian decent and the claim to a husband and two small children. I couldn't help wondering what my own damn pamphlet said, since Aleyah had never asked me any of the kinds of questions that were answered in the one I was looking at. It gave me a chill of uncomfortable foreboding. I hoped the woman hadn't just made crap up.

I realized that the flow of words sweeping around me had faltered and I blinked, catching at the last word I could dredge up. 'Mr. Lee?' I prompted, and she was off and running again.

'Yes, Mrs. DeBoye was sponsored by Jack Lee,' the girl informed me. 'He co-owns the gallery with Aleyah Winner and the Kirby's. The artist coming in tomorrow is one of Ms. Winner's.'

I muttered something under my breath about ownership, but she didn't notice, leading me through an arch into what proved to be the main gallery. Some ancient training tickled at the back of my mind, and I found my eye tracing the lighting and noting the security measures; both were very subtle... but very present. It was something of a kick at reality, trying to think about my own drawings hanging in the place, and I had to mask a snort of amusement as a cough. The very idea of my piddly little sketches being guarded by all that security was just... flat fucking ridiculous.

Mrs. DeBoye appeared to be a landscape artist, and there wasn't a damn drawing anywhere. There was nothing but oil paintings and watercolors as far as the eye could see. What I considered real art. Elegant gardens with paths leading off into nowhere. Wild gardens with bits and hints of arches and gates half obscured. Ordered Zen gardens, perfectly balanced and serene. Beautiful works that made you want to know if such places really existed outside the artist's mind.

The clerk caught me looking at a study of a park bench, with a spreading maple tree behind it, and grinned. 'I like that one too,' she prodded, perhaps remembering her job. 'It hasn't sold yet, if you're interested.'

I took the bait, mostly out of idle curiosity, and asked, 'How much?'

The number she quoted almost made me whistle out loud. Triple digits. I hoped I didn't look as shell shocked as I felt, but suspected from the slight smirk the girl was wearing, that I did. I attempted to change the subject with a casual, 'Is it always this busy?' I couldn't tell if her chuckle was for the evasion or the joke.

'Only on closing night,' she said as we walked. 'Openings are the busiest, of course.'

'Of course,' I echoed, and tried not to think too hard about that.

I wondered if all the customers got guided tours, or if the poor kid was just so bored that leading me around was better than standing at the front desk.

The gallery was laid out to take you in a circular path that would bring you back around to the reception area when you were done, secure that you hadn't missed anything. Mrs. DeBoye was a damn prolific artist and I despaired how my own show was going to look with no more pictures in it than I had. When I questioned that inequality of productive habits, I was shown how a certain loop could be closed off, shortening the tour area without it being obvious that part of the gallery had been shut.

The place was a masterpiece of efficiency. In an artistic way, of course.

The tone sounded that I knew heralded a new arrival, and the receptionist excused herself to go do her meet and greet thing. I continued my wanderings on my own.

I became aware, once I was alone, of gently playing music and had to listen for a moment to catch the genre. I was surprised to detect a slight Cajun feel and couldn't help smiling. I wondered if the music was the choice of the artist or the patron. Then I wondered what would be playing the next night and had to shake my head.

I just could not damn well imagine it. When I looked at the detailed and colorful landscapes and tried to imagine my own dark images up there... I couldn't. When I tried to imagine my own music playing through the completely invisible speakers... I couldn't.

When I tried to imagine myself 'mingling' with the type of people who wouldn't even blink at the idea of spending thousands for a painting... I just damn well couldn't.

I was oddly calmer, having seen the place and found it not to require some secret handshake at the door, but... I was also not in the slightest bit reassured. If anything, I had reinforced the notion that I just did not belong there. I was a mechanic, for God's sake. I felt like a little kid playing dress up in Daddy's clothes or something.

Though I was quite sure that if I tried phoning Aleyah and telling her I was calling the whole thing off, that I would find my own ass hanging from the wall instead of my drawings. The woman would damn well kill me.

And I suppose I would deserve it. I was kind of hip-deep at that point, with no choice but to keep on wading and hope I managed not to drown.

Standing there, looking at a watercolor seascape, I sighed right out loud, and then continued on my way, pretty sure that my reconnaissance had bought me all the information it was going to. Might as well go on home, I did have work the next day.

As I neared the reception area from the opposite direction, I heard someone talking and at first assumed that the receptionist was speaking to whoever had come in. Then I realized that I only heard the one voice and was pretty sure she was on the phone. '... all over my face! And get this, Jen... when I finally got it off and turned around, it wasn't one of those typical stick-in-the-mud, blue-haired types, but the best looking guy to come through those damn doors in like, forever! Why do I always have luck like that?' There was a pause and then an exasperated snort, 'Oh, thanks a whole hell of a lot!'

I didn't know whether to be flattered or appalled, so I just hesitated about going through the exit arch until the conversation had turned to something to do with school. I waved on my way out and she waved back, seeming oblivious to having been overheard. Just as well, the bubble-gum thing had probably been embarrassment enough.

I was kind of surprised to find that I'd lost the light; I had not thought I'd spent that long inside, but I guess I'd gotten kind of drawn in by the artwork. I walked back to my car not at all sure if I'd made things better or worse. Better, I thought, but only marginally. I was so going to stand out like a chicken in a flock of swans. One of those brown ones.

Traffic on the drive back wasn't nearly as heavy as it was on the drive home from work, and the trip didn't take as long. I was just as glad, because screwing with that damn car's radio was just frustrating, but I really felt the need for some sound. It ended up being little more than that, as I listened to the strains of music through the hiss of static. Have I ever mentioned that I really hate my car?

I probably don't have to actually say that the first thing I did when I got home was to turn the stereo on. I needed something a little upbeat, and cued up my fiddles playlist. Then I turned on the television too, since the news would be on again soon and I'd missed the earlier report. It was something of a cacophony of sounds, but I really didn't mind; the combination of music and voices made a soothing background that mimicked a setting not unlike McMurphy's place. If I didn't think about it too hard, I could almost convince myself that I wasn't alone in the house.

While I waited for the news, I figured I should probably do something about my missed dinner and went into the kitchen. I'd long since tossed the shrimp, afraid that it had gone bad, but the fish was still there and I stood with the refrigerator door open picking at it. Oddly, it wasn't quite as bad cold; so I turned it into my meal. In a break in the music I heard a commercial come on for shampoo and knew it was getting close to the top of the hour. The next song up was Whiskey Mountain Waterfall, a somewhat loud and fast piece, and I couldn't make out how wonderfully silky the shampoo made the girl's hair. Even after the commercials, there would be the headlines before they got to the meat of the news, so I took the time to rinse the plate and wash my hands.

And then I thought I heard Heero call me. And oddly, by my last name. I shut the water off and listened hard, but the music was too loud. Feeling kind of stupid, I stepped over to the kitchen doorway to listen again, and very distinctly heard Captain Gray's gruff voice say, 'Roger.' I think I jumped a foot in the damn air.

Gray's face was staring at me from the damn television set, and I rushed over to the stereo system, slapping at the power switch. I was just in time to hear my own voice saying 'Yeah... let's just do it.'

What the fuck?

'Really though,' Heero's voice said. 'How smart could the Coyote have been to keep driving into painted tunnels?'

I just... stood and blinked at the damn television, somehow not able to understand what I was listening to. I heard us bantering and just couldn't get my head around it. It was surreal as hell hearing my own voice like that. What the fuck was I listening to?

And just to add another twist to my evening, somebody was suddenly pounding on my front door, I vaguely remember thinking I should go answer it, but couldn't quite pull my attention away from the TV as Heero did his best to... to distract me.

It suddenly fell into place what I was hearing, I just didn't know how. That was us... outside on the hull of flight 1410, repairing the vane array.

My door flew open on the heels of that realization, and some tiny part of my head pointed out to me that I'd forgotten to lock it again.

'Fuck,' I heard Trowa say, and then, 'it's too late... I'll call you back.'

I'd have turned around to greet him, or ask him what the hell was going on, or something, if I hadn't heard my own voice mutter, 'Shit,' in a tone that sounded very dismayed.

Trowa didn't exactly wait to be invited in, coming across the room and trying to get between me and the television. 'Duo,' he demanded, 'where the hell have you been? Heero's been trying to call you all damn...'

'Stop,' I said, and though it came out kind of quiet, there was something in my tone that made him do just that. I missed something that Gray said while we stared at one another. 'I gotta know,' I told him and he sighed heavily.

'Damn masochist,' he murmured, but stepped out of the way. They were flashing Heero's and my pictures now and I heard my own voice asking, 'You ever change out a vane with a high-v charge?'

They cut some, because the announcer came in to explain the principals of a ship's damping system, complete with little diagrams.

'Duo,' Trowa said, during the brief lull. 'Heero was trying to warn you...'

'This was,' I managed, not able to tear my eyes from the screen as little dotted lines hypothesized the course and velocity of the rock that had hit the ship. 'This was his ace in the hole? How the hell did they manage it? The ship's recorder...'

Trowa didn't waste time with a lot of words, knowing that it wouldn't take long before they were back to the part I would want to hear. 'Suit's recorders.'

'Oh fuck,' I muttered, understanding that I would be hearing some damn personal stuff here in a minute. Things that would not have been caught by the ship's recording system.

'Heero tried,' he told me firmly. 'He didn't want it to come down to this.'

I sighed, so full of conflicting emotions that it came out so shaky even I heard it. Trowa stepped in behind me and dropped his hands onto my shoulders. I think he might have said something more, but they cut back to the recording and we heard Heero ask me, 'You sure about this?'

I was almost shocked by the overwrought sound of my reply. I'd thought I'd sounded much more... unpanicked. 'We really don't have any choice, love. We get this array back on-line or we're going to discover for ourselves what lies outside this solar system.'

I listened to the sound of Heero's sigh, and felt the frustration behind it.

They left in a few lines as Heero and I talked about what we had to do, cutting away to the graphics again, their resident expert explaining about the charge a vane held and explaining, in what I thought was excruciating detail, what would happen if a person were to come in contact with said charged vane.

Trowa's arm came on around my chest and made me aware that I was quivering like a damn piano wire being tuned. I tried to relax, but it really wasn't much use. 'God, Duo...' he breathed, and I felt the gust of his breath stir my hair.

Even though I knew it was coming, I flinched when our voices resumed and Trowa reacted by squeezing tight.

'I'm not an idiot,' Heero's voice snapped, sounding almost staticy as his volume strained the little suit recorder. 'I know the man pulling the vane is going to be the dead one if the other guy screws up. I'm not taking that chance. You are doing the disconnect.'

I cringed when my own voice cracked as I yelled back, 'But I'm supposed to take that God damn chance?'

There was the sound of a sigh caught in the background, evidence that Gray was still listening to us. Heero reassured me and I exploded, the suit's recorder popping loudly as I overwhelmed it. 'My damn hands have been shaking since we picked up the stinking vacuum suits! It's going to take a steady hand to do that job without crossing something up!'

I wondered almost inanely about the editing job. Wondered who had decided what of this recording should be heard and what should not, because they cut quite a bit of the next part. Graphics were flashed on the screen, animating two figures pulling a damping vane and I wanted to laugh, but knew where that would lead and didn't. When they cut back to the recording again, our words were being printed along the bottom of the screen as we said them. I blinked at the little white flow of characters, but couldn't make sense of it.

'Listen to me. Listen to me closely... you have to hold still, you hear me?' Heero's voice said intently and I thought my knees were going to give out.

'Oh God,' my own voice said, and it took me a second to realize it hadn't come from the television.

Instead, my recorded voice, not understanding yet, said, 'No shit?'

Heero's voice took on a gentleness then, wrapped around an intense need to force me to steadiness with just his words. Because it had been all he'd had. 'Listen, love, Hill's... suit, has drifted, ok? It's right behind you... just off to your left.'

I heard the me from those few weeks ago begin to pant and I cringed. It was a damn miracle Heero'd gotten through to me. But he had, and I listened to him do it again.

'I'm right here. Duo... I need you. You said it yourself; we're committed. We can't stop now.'

It sounded like I tried to say something, but even the subtitler didn't guess at what it was. Trowa took a step backward, taking me with him and I found us sitting on the couch rather suddenly. I was grateful he'd gotten us sat down before I'd fallen. My knees felt like they were made out of water.

'I need you,' Heero demanded, voice getting firm and no nonsense. 'Now.'

My next words were delivered in this humiliating voice, almost choked with fear. 'Just...don't let it touch me without warning me... ok?'

Trowa was a bastion against the images replaying inside my head. The only thing that felt steady as I listened to the nightmare unfold in front of us. Unfold in front of... everyone. Couldn't forget that part, now could we? That this was playing out for all the lovely home-viewers? My own little nightmare brought to you commercial free and in living color. I must have made a small sound of distress, because Trowa squeezed tight again and whispered, 'Oh damn, little brother. Just... damn.'

We listened to us go back to work, listened to me gain and lose control of my breathing a dozen damn times. Listened to Heero gently but firmly keeping me on track.

'Let me turn it off,' Trowa finally pleaded, right after we heard Heero's voice soothing me.

'It's all right, baby. I've got you. I'll take it from here and then...'

I felt myself blushed hotly, but I just shook my head. 'Gotta know,' I told him and heard him sigh. Bad enough knowing that the world was hearing this. Far worse to only guess at what they'd heard, because frankly... I hadn't remembered the half of it. The words lost to time and the fear of the moment.

They played part of our argument over who was going to rewire the vane and then thankfully cut away again. Though what came next was just a God damn recap of my original accident in the belt.

Nothing like having your phobias put into perspective on national television.

I found my hands clutching at Trowa's forearm where it lay across my chest, and tried to make myself stop.

They cut back again to the sound of me and Heero cursing resoundingly as I almost got caught in the airlock door. Then my voice, shaky, yet firm in my belief. 'He means to space us!'

Heero's doubt was met with my reasoning, voice firming as I spoke, as I started to truly believe it myself. 'Think about it, no one else aboard this ship really knows what's happened except for people who stand to be in almost as much trouble as he is. If we happen to have an accident... Captain Gray and his son are off the hook.'

I found myself wondering why Heero even bothered to voice the next objection, because his tone made it obvious he'd already been swayed. 'But why would he even let us back in the ship?'

They were down to the meat of the story now, and didn't stop the recording again. There was no cute little graphic explaining explosive decompression, for which I was eternally grateful. We got to listen to me finish my explanation, got to hear Heero believe me. I almost laughed again when the subtitles asterisked out the bad word when I yelled, 'We have to get the fuck out of this air lock!' in a voice so laced with panic that Trowa lowered his forehead to rest against my shoulder and murmured something that was meant to comfort.

The last coherent words on the recording was Heero's command to me when he managed to force the door open. 'Can't... hold. Jumper... controls.'

All sign of me disappeared not long after that, when I'd stripped the suit open to free my hands from the clumsy gloves. It was a wonder that Gray hadn't noticed that and been spurred into action. Then we had to sit through a couple of minutes of nothing but the sound of Heero's breathing. I was shocked to hear him begin to pant softly, and realized that he'd been scared too. It made the backs of my eyes sting, at the same time that it made me feel oddly better. That I hadn't been the only one scared out of my wits.

They played it right through to the damn end. Heero's fake scream when Gray blew the lock, though it didn't sound so damn fake. Sounded real enough that behind me, Trowa shivered, and I had to tell him it was ok. Even though he obviously knew it was, or Heero and I would never have made it back. I kept losing that part where I wasn't listening to real time.

Then it was finally over. The announcer, sitting behind gaudy 'special report' banners, came back to give a bit of a recap of what we'd just listened to. Trowa didn't ask that time, reaching around me to snag the remote control off the coffee table and shutting the damn television off. I didn't try to stop him, I'd seen the part I needed to anyway.

We just sat for a couple of long minutes, I was staring at the blank television screen and Trowa had his forehead resting on my shoulder again. He bumped one of my bruises and it made me remember my own hands, and I forced my fingers open, hoping I hadn't hurt him. I should have been squirming with discomfort, and I thought maybe I would be before too long, but in that moment, still hearing the echo of my own gasping breath... I couldn't make myself pull away from him.

'You have got to be so tired of driving all the way out here,' I finally managed, and won a snort from Trowa. Though the sound was more sad than amused.

'Just wish I'd caught up with you sooner,' he said, and then he was the one who straightened away. For the first time... I hadn't been quite ready to let go, and felt the loss of his strength like losing my footing. 'Duo... Heero is frantic. I promised him we'd call. He's been trying to reach you all afternoon.'

I blinked for just a second, finally taking the time to really think about that. 'Why in the hell didn't he warn me this might happen?' I blurted, turning around to look at Trowa, almost unintentionally putting a bit more space between us.

'He didn't want to worry you with it until he was sure they'd have to resort to using the recording,' Trowa explained, then hesitated. 'But...'

It only took me a second to make the mental leap. But... the last time Heero had been able to call me, he'd caught me in the middle of... God knows what it had sounded like on the phone; a breakdown? A fit? A bout of hysteria? I suppose I could see why he hadn't been all that keen on informing me of the card he'd been contemplating playing. 'Ah,' I said, in understanding, and Trowa looked a little relieved.

I couldn't even begin to decide what I was feeling. I think I was just still, on some level, in shock. There were hamsters lining up with lists of names, wanting to inform me of who all might have seen that damn report, but I really wasn't ready to think about that yet. There was a part of me that wanted very badly to work up to being seriously pissed off, but that would require allowing myself to really let the whole thing sink in. Not quite ready for that either.

But Heero Yuy has never been the world's most patient man, and while Trowa was still sitting there, looking at me like he wasn't sure if I was going to bolt from the room or die of terminal humiliation... his cell phone rang. He made a noise that bordered on disgusted and pulled it out. The look on his face told me it was Heero's number on the display and I just held out my hand. Trowa handed it over without a word.

I flipped it open and put it to my ear; I never had a chance to even say hello, Heero was already talking before I even had it positioned to hear him. Or perhaps 'talking' is too mild a term. '...damn it to hell, Barton! What is going on? Did you fucking find him or not? Where are...'

'Hey,' I said quietly and it served to stop his tirade dead in its tracks.

'Duo?' he asked, and I almost laughed at the instant change in the tone of his voice. Almost... but not quite.

'I'm here,' I told him and wondered how the man could exude 'relief' over a damn phone the way he did, without really making a sound.

'Duo, I'm so sorry,' he burst out, words that had obviously been waiting for hours to be said, almost stumbling over themselves. 'I've been trying to reach you all evening. Gray's lawyer was calling for a dismissal and we had to move with the suit recordings before we lost our chance. I didn't want to, love... you have to know that. I did my best to keep you out of this, and...'

I cut him off with a rather gusty sigh. 'Heero... I was 'in this' from the minute we stepped on board that shuttle. There wasn't any keeping me out of it.'

Trowa seemed to decide that it was a good time for him to give me some space, and rose to wander almost nonchalantly into the kitchen. I was grateful, even though I had my doubts that he was far enough away that he couldn't still hear.

'I know...' Heero said through his own sigh, and I heard him make a sound that let me know he'd just dropped to sit down. I imagined him pacing restlessly while he'd been waiting and it made it just that little bit too hard to get really angry with him.

'As much as I love you for the White Knight routine,' I told him. 'I'd rather you stopped treating me like a damn five year old that isn't allowed to eat at the big people's table. This was... hard. Some advanced warning would have been good.'

'I'm sorry,' he told me again, sounding so damn tired and worn that I just didn't have the heart to really bust his chops over it. 'I thought I'd have more time before the damn thing hit the news. I didn't want you finding out this way... This was the last thing I wanted to happen... I...'

His voice was wound so tight, his tone so damn distressed, that he made me ache wanting to reach out for him. 'Hey,' I interrupted him, unable to listen anymore. 'It's done... it's over... stop.'

He did stop, words just staggering to a halt, but I could almost feel him struggling with the million and a half things he wanted to say. He made a soft sound that I couldn't identify and it made me sigh again.

'Heero,' I soothed, wondering how one went about saying it's ok, when it really wasn't. 'I'm not mad, I'm just... I dunno what. I... God; I know you had to do that, but... I just wish I'd had some warning. That was... was...'

Damn fucking painful? Surreal? Sickening? Not how I'd planned on ending my day?

I heard him take a breath that seemed to quiver and he said my name in a voice so anguished that it hardly sounded like him. 'Duo? Tell me... please?'

Damn near killed me. I ask sometimes, when I need reassurances, but Heero somehow seldom seemed to question. Seldom faltered in his belief in us. In his belief in me. It took me back in a rush to the last time he'd felt the need, made me stop and remember the feel of him clutching at me, lost in memory.

'I love you,' I told him firmly, because he needed to hear, and I needed to reaffirm. 'You know damn well I'm not going to forget that over something like this.'

'I... know,' he whispered and then got quiet. Kind of... too quiet, really.

'You did what you had to, husband-mine,' I said, lowering my voice just a bit, aware of Trowa, but not able to care more than that. 'I know that. Gray not getting away with attempted murder, not getting away with actions that got his co-pilot killed... that's a little bit more important than whether I... than my getting a little embarrassed.'

Do I get an award for understatement of the year?

We just sat together for a couple of long minutes, while I listened to him breathe and I understood that the last couple of hours truly had been, as Trowa had said, frantic for him. I tried to imagine him, desperately calling everywhere, trying to get through to me before I heard what he hadn't ever meant for me to hear. It made me feel strangely guilty for having left the house.

'I went down to the gallery,' I said, as much explanation as a sudden desire to fill the silence for him the way he'd filled it for me. Remembering how soothing his voice had been for me when I'd needed it. 'Have you ever been there? Damn place looks like... I don't know, like it was built by the designers of the Taj Mahal or something. Opulent is its poor younger cousin. And not a hint of dog piss anywhere. God, Heero, I felt like there was a dress code for just walking down the stupid sidewalk...' It took three or four more one-liners before I finally got a choked little laugh, and then I stopped because he sounded like he was still on some ragged edge. 'You're stuck with me, you know that, right?' I murmured and heard a shuddering sigh.

'God, I hope so,' he finally said, and sounded a little steadier, but still so unsure of himself that it was painful.

'Don't be an ass,' I grumbled affectionately, but he didn't rise to the teasing.

'I just feel like I've screwed up so many times in the last couple of weeks,' he said, his tone asking me to confirm or deny. A question in the sound of his voice that wasn't in the statement.

'Never,' I said firmly. 'Just stop trying to be Superman.'

He snorted, sounding like he was recovering. Sounding like he was calming. 'Superman was a solo act... I'd rather be Batman, he had a partner.'

I grinned at his attempt to pull himself out of his dark mood, and deliberately misread his comment. 'Wufei would never put up with the tights and the little cape.'

I actually got a rough little chuckle out of him with that one. 'I meant you,' he corrected and it was my turn to snort.

'I don't do elf boots, Yuy,' I growled in mock annoyance.

'I was thinking of the later costume,' he said, trying to make it sound suggestive and failing. I ignored the catch in his voice.

'You just like all the gadgets,' I teased, but he couldn't manage a return.

'I wish...' he whispered after a moment's hesitation, but then didn't finish it.

'Me too,' I agreed anyway, knowing what he wished and wishing it too. I would have asked him how much longer, but knew he'd have already told me if he'd had any idea. 'You just do what you have to,' I commanded, trying to sound firm. 'I'll be here when you're done.'

'I love you,' he told me then, a hint of desperation wrapped around the words.

'I don't doubt you,' I said; what he needed to hear more than anything else.

He couldn't hang up until I had, and I found it a harder thing to do than I would have thought.

Was it wrong to wish that Heero had a nice simple job? Something in accounting maybe? Something that never required he be away from home?

I was a little surprised when Trowa did not immediately appear when I'd snapped his cell phone closed and ended the call. Surprised, and more than a little pleased with the space. I looked at the little phone in my hand and found myself reflecting that I really needed to get myself one. The evening might not have worked out quite so... melodramatically, had Heero just been able to call me and give me some warning that my face, my neurosis, my history, and my love life were going to be plastered all over the evening news.

Oh yeah. My love life. Guess anybody who had just watched the news was going to have little or no doubt that Heero and I were... together. In every sense of that word you could come up with.

I am not particularly ashamed of my preferences in dating material. Heero doesn't seem to be either. We don't go out of our way to hide what we are to each other, but we've never really bothered to advertise it either. So I wasn't overly devastated that we had just 'come out of the closet', as they say. I guess I just would have preferred to have had a little more say in it.

I suppose most of our co-workers had pretty much figured out the basics. Our close friends were more than aware. But... I couldn't help thinking about other people hearing that news report. And God... it made my stomach knot thinking about my kids hearing something like that. What would they think of me? I just couldn't handle letting myself think about it. Couldn't let myself imagine...

I jumped when our phone rang, and for a moment I wanted to just let it go; I doubted it was anyone I wanted to talk to. It surprised the hell out of me when Trowa picked it up without asking though. I rose and shuffled slowly toward the kitchen, not really wanting to deal with whatever it was, but fully expecting Trowa to call me to the phone. I got to the doorway just in time to hear him tell whoever it was, 'I'm sorry, he can't come to the phone right now, can I take a message?' The look on his face was a strange, predatory one and I just stood blinking at him for a moment, but the look softened somewhat as he listened. 'Yes sir, that would be me,' he replied to something after a moment, and almost looked like he might smile. 'I will tell him, and thank you.' Then he hung up and turned to give me a wan little smile.

'Your boss is a damn loud man, Duo,' he quipped and I felt myself blushing furiously, thinking about Griff hearing that news report. 'He says that he consulted with Commander Une after the... 'new development in the case' and they don't want you coming in to work tomorrow.'

'Huh?' was the best I could come up with.

Trowa took a step toward me and gave me a funny little once over look. 'The dismissal was denied and the next step is a full-blown trial. You are going to be a key witness in this. They want you, as they said... 'out of the lime light' for now.'

'But what the fuck am I supposed to do?' I blurted, thinking about going stir crazy all day with nothing at all left to occupy my time. I had this horrid vision of Heero coming home and finding every damn surface of the house covered in mini brain dump murals. Hell, maybe I'd be working my way down the block by that time, I could do those stupid kid's chalk drawings on the sidewalk as I made my way down the street and then I could paint all the neighbors houses with giant portraits of their damn pets or something and then...

I was aware that Trowa had hold of my shoulders and was gently pressing down. 'Sit, Duo,' he commanded, 'and remember to breathe.'

Knees unlocked and butt met forcefully with chair seat. It felt like there was a hole opening up at my feet and I was about to fall into it. The implications of that newscast were... staggering. I kept thinking... or rather, trying not to think, about people who might have seen it. I was aware of Trowa kneeling in front of me and I looked into those deep green eyes of his and found myself saying, 'I don't want to think right now... thinking is bad.'

He couldn't contain a snort, but his hand reached out and settled on the back of my neck, giving me a gentle squeeze. 'Duo, I know how that...'

He was cut short when his cell phone rang, which was still clutched in my hand. I almost dropped it in surprise, having half forgotten it was there. Trowa took it from me with an exasperated little sigh, I think he was expecting Heero again, but I could tell from the faint fading of the lines around his eyes that it was Quatre. He gave me another little squeeze before letting go to answer it. He didn't make me move to give him his own moment of privacy, but stepped away just through the dining room door. As I had thought, it didn't do much more than offer the illusion of privacy.

'Hello?' I heard come from the shadows of the other room. 'Yes, I saw it... No, no, calm down Quatre, I'm with him. It's ok.' There was a long pause and I knew he was getting an earful. I heard him sigh softly. 'Please, my love... calm down. Yes, Heero knew and he did his best to warn...' he got cut off pretty quick after that line and I imagined that Quatre hadn't thought much of my getting 'surprised' by the whole thing. In fact, Trowa had to break in with a fairly firm, 'Quatre,' after several long minutes. 'I'm at Duo's house now. Heero got through and they've talked... it's ok.' Then something in Trowa's voice changed and I suspected that Quatre had gone from irritated to upset. 'I know... I know... hush now, it's all right. He knows you'd be here if you could. You'll be back tomorrow. Please, love... don't...'

I felt like the worst kind of voyeur and got up to vacate the area, making enough noise that Trowa would know that he truly had that privacy that had only been illusory before that.

Oddly though, it kind of helped me get my own brain back in gear.

Or maybe it just gave me something else to think about.

So... Quatre was out of town until Friday. Iron-clad cinch that Trowa wasn't going to be going home for the night then. I went upstairs to make sure the guest room was ok, trying to decide if I was grateful for that fact, or just further embarrassed. It would be nice to have someone with me, but I just felt so damn off-balance, I wasn't sure I wanted anyone around.

And yes, I know that doesn't make a lot of sense.

When I was finished turning back comforters and laying out extra blankets, I went and sat on the steps, close enough to hear the murmur of Trowa's voice, but not really close enough to make out what he was saying. It went quiet after a while and I suspected that he'd finally hung up. He didn't stir from the dark dining room for a long time, and I imagined the poor guy in there, just wanting to run away to the Bahamas. Made me feel bad that Heero kept sending him in to back me up.

When I was sure that his conversation with Quatre was over, Guilt Beast and I padded quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen. The mongrel curled up under the table while I fished around in the cupboard, looking for something I could fix quickly. It only took Trowa another minute before he joined me. He looked... kind of tired.

'I'm assuming, since you seem to have spent your evening hunting for me, that you haven't eaten?' I prodded, before he had a chance to say anything, and got an odd look and a shake of his head. 'I've got chicken and rice soup, and some weird ass chicken and broccoli stuff. Heero's got a thing for broccoli... guess it must be good for you.'

He smiled faintly. 'I'm guessing from that description that you aren't a huge fan of broccoli... the chicken and rice is fine.'

I pulled the can down and tossed it at him; he looked a little surprised, but caught it almost without looking. 'Pots are by the stove. You want a grilled cheese with that, or there might be some turkey left?'

'Grilled cheese is ok,' he replied and seemed almost bemused with me. He opened the soup and put it on to heat while I started the sandwiches. It was kind of weird working around the kitchen with someone who wasn't Heero, I had to keep reminding myself that Trowa didn't just automatically know where things were.

We were quiet while we worked, casting each other side-long glances, and I knew he was watching me for signs of how I was handling things.

But his call from Quatre was making me do the same. I couldn't help but wonder about the pressure this whole thing was putting him under too. Left to be the point man with the crazy guy, while the rest of his squad was off on their own 'missions'. I could imagine Heero hounding him all damn evening, driving him to track me down before it was too late. And then dealing with Quatre's frustration and general upset; off God knows where, and unable to help.

Oh yeah... and me. Me being the crazy guy.

When we sat down to eat, I could see he was chewing on more than just his food, and waited until he got it worked out in his head. 'Were I in your shoes,' he finally told me. 'I think I might just want some company tonight.'

I grinned and shook my head. 'I figured out you were staying the night a half an hour ago, man. The guest bed is ready and waiting.'

He chuckled, but had to ask. 'Do you want me to?'

I thought about it for a minute, not sure if he was hoping for an out or not. But, that really wasn't like Trowa, and I finally admitted, 'Well, since Quatre's out of town anyway... I suppose it wouldn't hurt.'

'That's not what I asked,' he said softly, not looking up from where he was stirring rice around in his bowl.

I tried not to sigh, and stalled for a moment with a spoonful of soup. I glanced up after I'd swallowed and found him not watching his bowl any more. 'Yes and no,' I confessed before I had a chance to think about it. And then I grinned. 'No, for all the reasons you're probably thinking yes.'

He actually gave me a low little laugh. 'Guess I'll stay then.'

He took a bite of his sandwich, his fingers unconsciously toying with the edge of his saucer. I watched him for a minute before asking gently, 'Trowa... are you all right?'

He looked up at me, his expression trying to look surprised, but I could see the faint flush of his cheeks and knew he hadn't intended to let so much show. 'I'm sorry, Duo,' he told me, looking chagrined, seeing from my expression that I understood. 'This is just... harder than I thought it would be.'

I felt Guilt Beast roll over and lean against my leg. 'You really don't have to stay, Tro. I'll be ok.'

He sighed and his expression slid over into something that made me wonder if maybe Guilt wasn't leaning on the both of us. 'I... don't much feel like going home alone, if it's ok?'

I gave him a wide grin. 'Great! We can be totally screwed up together!'

It surprised a bark of laughter out of him and he shook his head at me. 'How the hell do you do it?' he asked, and I'm not sure he meant to say it out loud.

'Denial, my friend,' I quipped, brandishing my spoon. 'If you move fast enough, the hamst... thoughts can't catch up.'

I blushed a little at the slip and he gave me an odd look, but it was more of a 'sometimes I don't get you' look, and not an 'oh my God, you're crazy' look, so I didn't worry about it overly much.

He had to do some thinking while we finished dinner, and I just let him. Though, I suppose, I had a bit of thinking to do myself. I wondered why it was that nobody ever remembered Trowa's own past when it came to these damn situations. Why did it never seem to occur to anybody how my nightmares would resonate with his own? It couldn't be easy for him listening to a recording of Heero and me, trying to avoid death by explosive decompression. It had to be waking a demon or two from his past.

While we were clearing the table and I was standing at the sink with my back to him anyway, I blurted, 'It's ok for you to tell them to fuck off, you know.'

There was a moment's silence and then his soft voice, coming from closer than I'd been expecting it. 'Not this time, little brother... I couldn't have let you go through that alone.'

It made me shiver, and his hand settled on my shoulder for a moment before he went back to clearing the table. He got the towel without being asked, drying while I washed, and I suspected he knew a thing or two himself about the art of forward movement.

If you just keep moving, sometimes you can out run what you don't want to think about.

By that time, it was damn late and I launched straight into my lock-down ritual, intending on showing him up to the guest room. But when I came back through the living room on my way upstairs, I was surprised to find him settled there.

'Dibs on the long couch,' he said quietly, and if there was a hesitation on my part, I think I covered it well.

I sighed rather theatrically and grumbled, 'Guest rights, huh?'

'Good a name for it as any,' he smiled, and managed to look relieved and almost sheepish at the same time. I left him sitting there while I went up to fetch blankets and pillows.

I won't say the idea didn't appeal, though I would have denied it if asked out loud. Sleeping in the living room was our only option for being in the same room without being in the same bed. And I don't know about Trowa, but I find I'm not all that crazy about sharing blankets with anybody other than Heero.

I just wished I knew if Trowa was making the offer for my sake, or asking the favor for his own. I hoped it was for his own sake; it made me feel less guilty for asking to put on my night music, but it just didn't seem to be a good time for silence.

It was destined to be the world's most God-awful long night, and completely lived up to its expectations. With Trowa stretched out on the one couch, and me curled on the other, with the lights off and the music playing softly, conversation just seemed... a horrible intrusion. So we didn't indulge, and just laid there. For hours.

I was pretty sure that Trowa finally managed to doze off somewhere in the neighborhood of two in the morning. Or else he faked it incredibly well. Had he not been there, I would probably have gotten up and gone to do something other than stare into the dark, but I knew he'd be on a hair-trigger where I was concerned, so I just kept still. And thought.

I think I've mentioned before... once or twice... that I really don't deal well with humiliation. Though you'd think by now that I'd be getting used to it. I just kept hearing that news report in my head, over and over. Kept thinking about the people who might have seen it. Though, if my last brush with 'fame' was any indication, it wasn't exactly as though the world was going to have just one chance to see the damn thing. The footage of the bus accident kept popping up for days after the fact. I had little doubt, unless something more interesting came along, that the shuttle recordings would be all over the news for a while. I suppose it would be kind of rude to hope that a war broke out, just to give the media something else to talk about, wouldn't it?

Everybody at Preventers' headquarters from Une right on down to the guy with the limp who emptied the trash at night had probably already seen the thing. I mean... when somebody you work with, even if you don't really know them, shows up on the evening news, you tend to pay attention. If only for the 'Hey, I know that guy!' factor. Probably most of the crowd at McMurphy's would have seen it by now. News travels damn fast in the trade, and that report would have two-fold interest to most Spacers; the involvement of a former salvage man, and Gray's own part in the story. I seriously doubted there was a person I knew from my old life who hadn't been pointed in the direction of an internet connection or a television set if they were anywhere dirt-side.

I wondered suddenly if Hayden and Toria had seen it yet. It would depend on where they were berthed at the moment. I tried to remember if Toria had told me their schedule in her last e-mail and couldn't. They were about the only ones I could think of who would really worry about me, hearing that damn tape, instead of just indulging in the typical 'tsk-tsk' water-cooler gossip. I made a mental note to send them an e-mail the first chance I got. I would have done it right then, but I didn't want to disturb Trowa after it had taken him so long to fall asleep.

And that, of course, led me around to thinking about Octavia and the kids and I just started feeling sick to my stomach all over again. I couldn't even imagine how they would take hearing me like that. I had sounded like the solar system's biggest wimp. They used to delight in my harrowing tales of salvage jobs and piloting daring-do. Had looked to me as something of a hero, I think. I was the guy who appeared out of the blue and brought them gifts, who sent money to their care-giver that let them eat the extras they wouldn't have had otherwise. The guy who came out of nowhere and offered them choices. And fixed the sink and patched the roof in my spare time.

The guy who could have banished big, mean dogs.... Had he only been there.

I wondered what the whole thing would do to my Superman status; the cape was feeling a little tattered.

And we won't get into the whole sexual preference thing. Most of those kids weren't old enough to have gotten past the cooties stage enough to have thought about that aspect of things. What in the hell would they think, hearing Heero and I call each other 'love'?

God, I didn't envy poor Octavia the questions that I'm sure were headed her way.

I suppose while I was sending that e-mail off to Toria, I should send one out to Octavia as well. There was enough of an information lag in the newscasts, that if I was lucky, I'd get through to her first and she'd at least have some warning.

I wished again that Trowa had taken the damn guest room, so I could get the hell off my not-sleeping butt and go freaking do something. Lying still and staring off into nothing was making me crazy.

Though in the end, with false dawn thinking about making an appearance, it probably turned out for the best. I would never have known about the nightmare otherwise.

I never really did sleep, kind of faded into something that bore a close resemblance to a doze a couple of times, but not for very long. So I was very aware when Trowa suddenly sat bolt upright with a kind of funny little gasp.

His nightmares seem more... contained than mine. Not as instantly banished as Heero's, but... quiet. He just sat for a long moment, panting lightly, and then rubbed a hand over his face, as though wiping the remains away. I wasn't at all sure what to do, I know how I feel when I wake up from a trip down memory lane, and decided that I should maybe give him a bit of space. So I just stayed still and let him think I was asleep. I saw him register his surrounds all in a rush, and he jerked his head around to look over at me. He seemed relieved, so I patted myself on the back for making the right choice and watched him reach out to snag his discarded pants, rising with them in hand to slip quietly from the room.

I heard the rustle of cloth after a moment and knew he'd paused to pull the pants on. After another few moments, the pale shadows of the coming light told me he was sitting in the bay window in the dining room.

I managed to last maybe four minutes before I couldn't take it any more, and rose from my own dubious bed. I took a moment to slip into the previous days clothes and then padded silently off to the kitchen. There was enough light from the window to allow me to fill the tea kettle and put it on; I really didn't want the harshness of the electric lights. It seemed too... invasive.

Trowa didn't stir, didn't come to join me, and that spoke to me most eloquently of his disquiet. When the tea was ready, I filled two mugs and sought him out.

He looked very damn lost sitting there. The faint, early light washed the color from him, leaving him ghostly pale and almost... haunted. I shivered at the strange thought, almost slopping tea on myself. He didn't seem to notice, but gave me a wan little smile as I joined him, taking the mug I offered and cradling it in his hands, turning his gaze back out the window at nothing.

'You ok?' I asked softly and got a dry little snort. 'Ok... guess that was stupid,' I sighed. 'Is there anything I can do?'

He turned back to look up at me and I heard a sigh. 'I'm sorry I woke you,' was all he said, and it made me want to sigh too, but I didn't. I touched his shoulder instead, feeling skin that was chill under the brush of my knuckles. I sat my mug of tea on the dining room table and went to fetch a blanket from the living room, not bothering to reply until I had it settled around his shoulders.

'Now see,' I muttered. 'If I'd had a bad dream and not called you, you'd be pissed off at me right now.'

He tried out a chuckle and it was fairly steady, so he dared admit, 'You're probably right.'

I didn't really reply to that, letting it go now that I had him talking. 'You know... since I don't have to go to work today, I have all the time in the world.'

I thought I'd prodded too soon when he turned back to look out the window, so I just shut up, reaching out to retrieve my mug of tea. It seemed to remind Trowa of his own and he took a sip. 'Not bad... for a guy who hates tea.'

'I'm learning,' I replied and tried to see what he was seeing outside in the shadows of not yet dawn. Made me remember how Heero used to wonder what I thought about so much. Made me think about his mural in the back room and I had to smile a little. 'You know... there really aren't any answers out there.'

'Is that the voice of experience?' he ventured, the remark making him turn away from the window, but his gaze only fell to the mug in his hands.

'Yeah,' I said, and dared reach to brush his hair back so that I could see his face. 'It is.'

He looked up at me, almost seeming to do so against his will, and our eyes locked for a long moment. It broke my heart to see steady, solid Trowa so off balance. When he spoke next, I'd almost swear it was as though something pulled the words from him against his consent.

'I... just feel so damn naïve sometimes,' he whispered, and I couldn't help blinking at him, caught by surprise by the comment. I'm not sure what I had expected him to say... but that wasn't it.

'Tro?' I prompted, letting his hair fall back into place as he turned away from me again. He took a deep breath and it seemed a little shaky when he let it out. I was moved to tuck the blanket closer around him, but didn't. Setting my tea aside again, instead, giving myself something to do.

There was something in the air between us that made me hold my tongue, waiting for him to speak again, and when he did, his voice was little more than an echo of the Trowa I knew.

'I never thought he'd do it, Duo,' he said. 'I... didn't believe he'd really shoot.'

It's funny, but it took me a damn second to figure out what he was talking about. For some strange reason, my thoughts leapt first to Gray, until memory assured me that there had been no gun involved in that little incident. Then my thoughts turned to the sniper attack, as though my mind had to run backward through time to find the right reference point. I wondered that Trowa didn't hear my brain shift into gear when a disgusted hamster finally popped up and shoved a banner in my face that read, 'His nightmares; not yours!'

Ah. Quatre.

I forget sometimes, when thinking about Trowa's own swim out between the stars, just how he got there. I suppose it's because we just didn't dare talk about it all that much. Quatre had been... God, there are no words strong enough for what he'd felt, and none of us was really willing to broach the subject around him.

I doubt I'll ever forget the way he was afterward. Before Trowa turned up safe, if not altogether sound. I had thought more than once that Quatre wouldn't live past the end of the fighting. He'd narrowed his focus down to winning the war, and I don't think he'd planned on anything after that. Or... more precisely, he'd planned on going to join the man he thought he'd killed. The first real love of his life.

I wondered suddenly what kind of nightmares Quatre had at night, and if he was one of the quiet ones. Perversely, I hoped I wasn't the only thrasher in the group.

'You know that wasn't Quatre,' I told him, and let my arm settle across his shoulders the way I remembered his around mine more than once.

I felt more than heard him sigh. 'I was just so damn sure that he'd never hurt me. I thought I could stop him...'

'You did,' I said, knowing it was faint comfort.

'Too late,' he countered, though it was just a statement with no real heat to it.

'I know,' I whispered, and squeezed his shoulders. I was surprised when he leaned his head to rest against me. Was even more surprised when he chuckled softly.

'You know, Duo,' he told me, his voice tinged with the hint of fond memory. 'We owe you for inadvertently bringing us together.'

'Me?' I blurted, though I wondered if he wasn't just changing the subject.

'That mission,' he said, not looking up, but reaching out to catch at my free hand, turning the palm up and looking at my scars. 'When you were burned. Quatre was so upset. When I took him away to keep him from seeing Heero and Wufei working on you... things got said. A lot of things. On both our parts.'

I had to keep myself from snatching my hand away, but I think Trowa felt the tension in me, and he let go with a soft little sigh.

'Glad to be of service,' I murmured, feeling suddenly self-conscious and maybe he felt that too, because he straightened away from me. I felt... bad, like I'd spoiled something delicate, but my hands were already tucked under my elbows and the mood was gone.

He took a sip of his tea and glanced back out the window. False dawn was giving way to the real thing and the light made the frost outside glint and glitter almost harshly. We watched the sun come up, sharing a silence that was at once companionable and painful. I wanted to have the things to say that would make it better, but there just weren't enough words in the world to ease what he was feeling.

'Sucks, doesn't it?' he asked suddenly and I jumped, looking at him sharply, replaying the moment in my mind to make sure I hadn't spoken aloud.

'What?' I said, just to make sure I wasn't misunderstanding him. Just to make sure he really was practically reading my mind.

'Wanting to help... and not knowing how,' he replied gently, but then he looked up at me and frowned. 'God, Duo... you look like shit. Didn't you sleep at all?'

I blinked at the sudden change of subject lines, but then had to duck my head away from his scrutiny. 'Some,' I temporized and heard him sigh heavily.

'Could have fooled me,' he said, quirking me a wry little grin. 'You look like a damn raccoon.'

'Great,' I muttered, and he gave me a funny light snort of a laugh.

He suddenly seemed to have had enough of sitting there then, and uncurled to rise to his feet, letting the blanket fall away as he stood. I moved to step out of his way, but was caught by a hand on my shoulder and he pulled me into a one armed hug.

'This is one of those just between you and me things, Duo... ok?' he whispered against the top of my head and I nodded. 'I've never spoken of it... Quatre doesn't need to know.'

'Ok,' I replied, voice just as soft, as though someone might hear us. And just like that, he was done. He let me go, and gave me a playful little nudge toward the kitchen.

'Now, I can't make you sleep without employing questionable means, but let's at least get you fed.'

I let him lead, let him alter the mood... some things, I guess, just can't remain in the light of day.

It was a very odd morning. We avoided the whole issue with the news. We avoided the whole issue of the gallery. There seemed to be a list of names that we both unconsciously just did not bring up. It included Captain Gray, Aleyah, Griff, Une, Heero and Wufei.

So we spent a lot of time talking about our breakfast, the weather, and bad movies. And though I felt a little bit odd about his presence when I let myself think about it too much, still... I was damn glad he was with me. I'm pretty sure I'd have been climbing the walls, painting the walls, or just plain throwing up, if he hadn't been.

I had very mixed feelings when, mid-afternoon, he finally had to leave. But Quatre was expecting him at the shuttle-port and I still had to shower and generally make myself presentable.

'We'll be there,' he said to me, standing in the doorway on his way out. 'Count on it.'

'Don't suppose you could stand in for me?' I tried, but it came out more pleading than teasing. He laughed anyway.

'Nope,' he returned, shooting me down unrepentantly. 'This is your moment, Duo... not mine.'

I snorted and shook my head. 'Why do my moments always come with nausea?'

'Because it is your nature to over-think everything, and to always expect the worst,' he said, though I had thought it was a rhetorical question.

'Guess that explains it,' I muttered, feeling the beginnings of a blush, and wondered how long he'd been waiting for an opening to deliver the line.

'Duo,' he said then, and I could tell from his tone of voice that he wasn't teasing any more. 'You know that Heero would be here...'

'I know,' I told him, and he only nodded once, message delivered, and then we said our goodbyes.

I have decided that in my next life I'd like to be something with no responsibilities, and the memory retention of a goldfish. A koala bear, maybe. Or a gecko. I think I'd make a good gecko.

I already felt kinda green.

Something kicked the day into high gear then, and there just suddenly didn't seem to be enough hours to get everything done that I needed to do. Maybe it was the half an hour I spent trying to scrub the faint traces of grease that always seem to be there, out from under my nails. Or the next half an hour while I dithered over my gloves. Or maybe the amount of time I spent trying to decide what in the hell to wear. It was the thought of Solo laughing his ass off at me, that finally spurred me into dressing. I went with the tux Heero'd gotten me when he'd dragged me to Relena's damn party. I had to think about it, while I was putting it on, and doubted I'd worn the thing since that most memorable of evenings.

'Used ta call 'em monkey suits,' Solo smirked from the more shadowed corner of the bedroom.

'Shut up, Solo,' I snapped, as I struggled with the tie I usually had help with.

'Such a hotshot,' he snickered and I just growled, leaving the room and leaving him behind. I didn't stop hearing the echo of his laughter though, until I'd left the damn house.

I had an eerie feeling while driving into town, that the night would turn into one of those capital letter things. The Church. The Accident. The Opening. Made me want to just keep driving, and not look the hell back.

As before, I parked well away from the place. My poor little used car just looked so hideously out of place in that neighborhood that it was embarrassing. I still felt strangely compelled to tell passing strangers that it was ok... I really was supposed to be there.

I walked the few blocks to the gallery feeling the butterflies trying to curdle the remains of my breakfast in my stomach. I had tried to talk Trowa into tea and ration bars, but the guy had insisted on fixing us something 'more substantial'.

Can eggs go bad after the eating part? It felt like they had, though I doubted there could be a bit of breakfast left in my stomach after all those hours. Perhaps the skipping of lunch decision hadn't been the best idea? Though... at least this way, there wasn't anything down there to come up if I felt so inclined.

Not that I could have eaten lunch if my damn life had depended on it. But...

Ok. I'm rambling. I kind of do that when I'm getting ready to do something slightly less attractive than a frontal lobotomy.

The gallery somehow seemed even more imposing than it had the night before. It took me a moment to decide that it was the announcement on the front door, in tasteful lettering on elegant parchment paper, that stated that entry was by invitation only.

I had to stand there and blink at that for a moment. Or maybe it was my name right above that line. 'Expressions presents Duo Maxwell. By invitation only'.

George, my expletive hamster, tugged on my pant leg and showed me his 'Fuck' banner. But the lettering was rather plain and it was the simple white of all hamster message banners, and he quickly left me, looking slightly ashamed and terribly subdued.

I wanted to smack the little sucker. Of all the damn nights to be abandoned by the suppliers of what little wit I owned.

I was still standing there on the sidewalk, staring at that little sign, trying to decide what in the hell I should do, when the door was opened in front of me, taking the choice completely out of my hands. So much for the idea of turning around and going back home.

'Darling!' Aleyah enthused. 'You're prompt! I just knew you would be. Come in, come in... mustn't stand around blocking the sidewalk.'

I felt myself blushing as I stepped through the doorway, and sighed. It was promising to be a long damn evening.

Aleyah was... in her element. Had she been thirty years younger, she'd have been laughing, flushed with excitement, dragging her friends around from place to place and gushing enthusiastically.

As it was, her enthusiasm was much more refined, evidenced mostly by a need to be in constant motion. Cocotte was at her heel, dancing about and trying not to get stepped on as her mistress shut the front door and turned to look me over.

'Too formal for the Artiste, dear,' she informed me and reached to tug at my tie before I could so much as blink. I stood, feeling like a damn child, while she undid the tie I had worked so laboriously to get tied in the first place and then unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt just for good measure. She stepped back and cocked her head, giving me another once over that made me want to fidget. I saw her gaze linger on my gloved hands, but she didn't mention it. 'Hmmm... better,' she proclaimed. 'But it needs something...'

And then she was off in a swirl of skirts, with the promise that she would be right back and to wait, Cocotte flouncing after her. The movement of her dress drew my eye, reminding me of something, and it was with a sudden jolt that I realized the damn thing looked a hell of a lot like the one I'd painted her wearing. Not exactly; the one in the picture had been a summer dress after all, but the flowered fabric was the same and the cut of the skirt. I think it was the sound of my damn jaw hitting the floor that made me stop staring after her.

I had a hard time imaging just how much money one had to have in order to have a piece of clothing custom made right down to the fabric, in less than a week.

I shook my head and turned to look around, my curiosity getting past my consternation, but then wished I hadn't when I found the fan of little pamphlets on the table by the door. Oh yeah. I drifted that way, almost reluctant to see what they looked like.

I was rather... taken aback by the picture that stared up at me. Jacques had not spent a lot of time trying to do the 'smile at the birdy' thing, but I vaguely remember personally trying to at least manage 'pleasant'. I looked kind of... I'm not sure what. Belligerent was the first word that popped into my head, but that was pretty far off. Aggressive was a little closer, not carrying the pissy baggage of the other adjective, but still not quite what I was looking for. I picked one of the things up, feeling oddly guilty about disturbing the artful arrangement. I studied it a little closer and decided that there had been some filters on that camera, or else the portrait had been touched up.

The first clue was the fact that there wasn't a hair out of place. Now, I've had long hair for a very, very long time. There is never a time when it looks like those women in the shampoo and conditioner commercials. You know the ones I mean? The ones with silken waterfalls on their heads? The ones who look like their hair is made out of some synthetic? Because, trust me, you do not have hair down to your ass without having split ends and fly-aways. Never. No matter how damn well you take care of it.

The second hint was the weird spark of starry light from the edge of my cross. Then I noticed that all the hardware on the jacket, that I very distinctly remember being silver, was now gold to match that cross.

I met my own eyes, and realized that I was looking at the final shot that Jacques had taken, after the little incident over my hands. The word I was struggling for was... dangerous. I looked damned dangerous. The notion almost made me laugh out loud.

The sound of Aleyah's heels clicking on the tile made me jump like a little kid who'd gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Without thinking, I jammed the stupid flyer into my jacket pocket, somehow feeling guilty for having picked it up. It was a stupid reaction, but once the thing was shoved out of sight, I was loathe to pull it back out and look like the moron I seemed to have become. I turned to face the archway and found Aleyah approaching with something in her hands. It took a moment, as she deftly folded it, to identify it as some sort of handkerchief. She got right back in my personal space and tucked it into my breast pocket, tugging and smoothing it into place. It was an odd shade of bluish-violet and I think I blushed when she stepped back and smiled. 'Perfect match! It brings out your eyes.'

Yeah, that was something to take into consideration. I tried not to shake my head in exasperation. It felt oddly like carrying 'M'Lady's' token into battle.

'Aleyah...' I began, but she cut me off.

'Not now, pet. I have entirely too much to attend to,' she waved me rather dismissively toward the gallery entrance. 'Why don't you look around? The caterers should be here by now and I have some calls to make.'

She was on her way before I had a chance to do more than work my jaw a time or two. Cocotte stayed a moment longer looking up at me with cocked-head, in a way that seemed... smug. She trotted off after Aleyah when I growled low in my throat and flipped her off.

Well... at least I was intimidating to the damn dog if nobody else.

Since I really didn't have much else to do, I wandered on in to the gallery.

I felt like I'd taken a step into the Twilight Zone. I glanced around, but didn't catch a glimpse of anybody who looked like Rod Serling and was slightly relieved. In fact, I didn't catch a glimpse of anybody at all. Though now that I was past the arched entrance, I could hear voices coming from the back of the gallery. Aleyah issuing orders and the murmured replies of God knows who. The afore-mentioned caterers, perhaps? And wasn't that just a serious kick? My gallery opening, the one I was having trouble getting my head around, had caterers.

I found myself wished that Trowa were there, just so I could have someone to share the goofy grin with, because I felt really stupid standing there grinning by myself.

The pictures were spaced differently than the ones from the previous show, since I didn't have nearly as many, and I found myself wondering how in the hell the things were hung up without there being any obvious nails. The whole gallery had a different feel than it had the previous evening. There had been a lot of greenery for Mrs. DeBoye, a lot of ferns and potted palms. All of that was gone and instead there were now artistic marble looking columns holding cut flower arrangements. I wondered if it wasn't to off-set the starkness of my mostly black and white show.

My show. My opening. Are you catching that? Doesn't it just sound pretentious as all hell? I wanted to snort derisively, but it was another of those things that you should only engage in with a buddy.

In the distance, I heard Aleyah raise her voice to someone, never losing that tone she always seemed to have, but just raising the volume a notch. I wondered if the person on the receiving end were in trouble, or just out of ear-shot.

As promised, Allison's portrait was front and center, and it was framed slightly different than the other pictures that I could see. But then, it was also the only painting in the area. I wondered where the others were? In the mirroring 'room' on the other side, or in the curve of the gallery 'hall'? I use all structural terms loosely, because none of them really applied to the strange place.

I just couldn't stop looking. It was rather amazing how simply framing things turned my sketch pad ramblings into... something more. I went to take a closer look at Allison's portrait and noticed the little placard beneath it proclaiming, 'Innocence faded'. It made me blink. It made me look around again. The picture of the Gundam framed seagull was titled simply 'Peace'. The study of Toria's hands was labeled 'Competence', just as promised. Hayden's zero-g portrait was titled, 'Freedom'. It went on. The woman had an unbelievable knack for catching the point, and I have to confess that it surprised the hell out of me. I hadn't thought she had it in her. I decided not to correct the titling of Allison's portrait, it seemed rather inconsequential, and besides... Aleyah had come close enough.

While I was standing there, gawking like a damn tourist, I heard a strange little noise and turned to find the receptionist from the night before standing with a vase of flowers in her hands, staring at me rather openly. I tried on a sheepish little grin, suddenly feeling guilty, as though I'd actually lied to her and not so much... not told the whole truth. 'What?' I grinned. 'No bubble-gum greeting?'

She raised an eye-brow and for a moment, I thought she was irritated, but then she said rather haughtily. 'Never on opening night... pink would so clash with the black dress.'

I laughed, and would have retorted if Aleyah hadn't breezed into the room at that point. 'Kitten, dear, I don't want the red roses in this section. No red in here at all. Put those with that delightfully disturbing painting on the other side.'

I was looking right at the girl and saw her grimace, but she responded with a chipper, 'Yes, Ma'am!' and then Aleyah was off again. I heard a muttered, 'Kit, damn it... not Kitten.'

I couldn't contain the snicker, it was kind of weird thinking that there was something worse than Aleyah Winner not remembering your name; remembering and getting it wrong.

Kit muttered something else that might have been response to my amusement, but she was already on her way through the arched doorway, heading off to do her job. I decided I should probably just stay out of the way and so went toward the hall that would lead around the other way.

I call it a hall for lack of a better term, but you could have driven a semi tractor-trailer rig through it and still had room for a motorcycle escort, assuming you could make the curve. At its center you couldn't see the entrance into either room, and that was where I found my second painting, the one of Aleyah herself. It was rather prominently displayed dead center in the hallway and had two placards instead of just one. The title, in its elegant gold script, read simply 'Façade', and the other read, 'From the private collection of A. Winner'.

It was kind of weird to see it. I was still amazed that Aleyah had liked the dumb thing enough to want to buy it. Or... in retrospect, perhaps she simply didn't want it falling into anyone else's hands.

I was sure that the final painting would be in the exit room, spacing the three of them out evenly. I realized somewhere about then that somehow the sketches were arranged almost in chronological order. It was weird as hell to see it, because I don't date my work. I wondered how in the hell Aleyah had been able to tell.

The borrowed portrait of Trowa was hanging not too much further down the hall, its placard reading 'The Art of Balance', and also marked as part of a private collection. And just past that, I found a portrait of Wufei's cat.

I stopped, and found myself frowning at it. I did not recall giving Aleyah any of the sketches of Beowulf. I was still trying to puzzle it out, when my eye was caught by the next piece in the row. It was Beowulf in Wufei's lap.

'Son of a bitch,' I heard my voice mutter, as something rather unpleasant slipped into my brain. The night that Aleyah had come out to the house to pick up the paintings, I had also given her a sketch. Or, I had meant to give her a sketch. When I stopped to think about it... I had not seen the sketch pad it had been in, since then.

'Oh hell!' I growled and began to hurry forward, scanning the pictures as I went, trying to remember just what in the hell all had been in that damn pad.

I passed a couple of sketches of the kids and felt my chest start to feel tight, as my fears started to solidify into reality. I passed Froggy's portrait and winced. Passed the portrait of Trowa and Quatre that I'd been working on for months and freaking cringed. Then I burst into the room at the end of the hall and had my worst fear confirmed.

'Fuck!' I blurted, almost making Kit drop the vase of flowers she'd been arranging, and stopped my almost run right in front of the framed portrait of Heero.

The one I'd done on L2. While he slept. In nothing but a sheet.

Ok, I'm not a prude or anything, but I don't go around drawing people in the nude unless they ask me to. So Heero was not... indecent. But... oh shit, but... it was a portrait so obviously drawn by the man's lover, it wasn't even funny. He wasn't indecent, but only by the grace of a couple of inches of cloth. Sprawled out and sleeping soundly, I had spent a great deal of time capturing the utter peace of deep sleep in his expression. The shaded outline of his strong arms. The deep shadow of his collarbone.

I'd spent a half a damn hour on his hair alone.

The picture was the essence of the part of Heero that was my lover. And I had never even shown it to him.

'That has to come down,' I said to Kit, since she was the only one there, in a tone I thought was quite reasonable.

'What?' she said, looking at me like I'd lost my mind.

'This picture,' I explained, oh so carefully. 'Was not supposed to have been hung. It needs to come down.'

She sat down the flowers she'd been fussing over and turned to look at me with an expression that was warring between utter disbelief and apprehension. 'I... can't do that.'

'I think you can,' I said calmly, even though my nerves were telling me to shake the shit out of somebody.

'I really can't just...' she began, starting to look a little uneasy.

'Take it down!' I snapped, the mental image of other people seeing Heero like that, making my nerves fray. The fearful look that crossed her face instantly made me feel bad, but she was finally moving to comply and I wasn't going to argue with success.

But the sound of Aleyah's voice, demanding, 'Just what is going on here?' made Kit hesitate, and I almost growled in frustration.

'Mr. Maxwell wants this piece removed, Ma'am,' Kit was quick to explain, looking at me askance, probably wanting to cover her own bases without actually pissing off the new artist guy.

'What?' Aleyah questioned, managing to sound completely scandalized. 'Darling; don't be absurd! That's one of the best works in the show, you can't take it down.'

'That one is... private,' I stammered, kicking myself for letting the woman get to me with that damn imperial tone of hers. 'I never meant to give it to you.'

'But Dear,' she said, her voice taking on just a hint of a placating tone. 'It was in the sketch pad with all the others.'

'I only intended to give you the sketch I showed you!' I blurted, exasperation getting the better of me. 'Not the whole book!'

She hesitated just a moment before bulling forward in the same vein, 'Some of your best pieces were from there, my pet... you simply can't remove them now.'

I don't really know what it was that told me... the hesitation maybe. The tone of her voice. The strange way she looked at the sketch hanging on the wall and not at me. I'm not sure, but in that moment I suddenly realized that she had known damn good and well what she was doing when she had taken that sketch pad. It hadn't been an accident. Not a misunderstanding. She had contrived with her driver, using her brash flirting and abrupt manner to keep me off balance while 'Gage' had walked right the hell out of my house with the entire contents of a sketch pad I had never meant to share.

I thought about that very hard, taking a second to turn slowly around, scanning the room and the remainder of my pictures, deciding that while I had a whole lot of reasons not to be happy... I had only one real reason to be afraid.

Heero had never seen that portrait I'd done of him, and I wasn't about to have him see it for the first time standing in a room full of strangers.

I moved past Kit, who was still standing there, frozen in place doing an admirable imitation of my deer in headlights impression, and reached for my picture. 'It's coming the hell down,' I told Aleyah in a firm voice. 'And if you don't like that fact, you can damn well take them all down. This one is private.'

When I turned to confront her, frame clutched tight in white knuckled hands, I was kind of surprised to find that the receptionist had fled the blast zone. Smart girl.

Hell... even the damn dog had vanished.

Aleyah was giving me that level stare that I had no doubt would have made rabid dogs bow, scrape, and apologize for disturbing her. 'Mr. Maxwell,' she gritted, pronouncing each syllable distinctly. 'You simply cannot come in here at this stage and begin tearing down artwork. This display took hours of...'

I think, in some way, I saw that sketch as threatening my relationship with Heero. I really had no way of knowing how he would react, not only to seeing it, but knowing that other people had viewed it as well. It was a personal thing; like I kept trying to tell the woman.As well have hung a picture of the two of us making love. It was that damn intimate. And while I would sacrifice a lot in order to obtain my goal of helping Allison, I would never sacrifice Heero.

'Don't stand there,' I growled, cutting off her prim little diatribe, 'and pretend that you didn't know damn well you were taking more than I intended to give. This portrait is something extremely personal, and I will not leave it up here for the whole damn world to gawk at. Now, if that pisses you off, feel free to cancel this whole fucking thing, I'll find another way to get what I need.'

Some small voice in the back of my head wondered idly if getting to see Aleyah Winner blush was going to be worth being murdered in my sleep at some later date.

Cocotte returned from God knows where, and planted herself between me and her mistress, looking for all the world like she was thinking about biting my ankle. Since I couldn't decide which of the two of them to glare at, I turned with my picture under my arm and stalked out of the room. I wouldn't feel safe until the damn thing was locked in the trunk of my car, well out of the woman's reach. Though I felt like some kind of damn thief, striding down the sidewalk with it clutched against my side, doing my best to block the actual picture from view. Later I would let myself think about the pictures I'd abandoned in my efforts to protect Heero.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I settled the frame in my trunk, still half expecting Aleyah to send big, burly men after me to retrieve it. Though I found myself giving it one last lingering look as I closed the trunk lid. Made me miss Heero with a rather sudden, sharp pang.

God, how I wished he could have been there.

I took my sweet time walking back, not really in a hurry to deal with the fallout of telling off the woman who was sponsoring my foray into the art world. I imagined the rest of the evening wasn't exactly going to be pleasant. When I approached the gallery door, it opened for me again and I all but cringed, waiting for Aleyah to rip me a new one, but it was Kit who had been watching for me. She gave me a wide grin and gestured me inside with a flourish of one hand.

I opened my mouth to ask where Aleyah was, but then I heard her voice coming from the room with the now empty spot on the wall.

'A little more to the left, Jennifer dear,' she was saying, her tone one of supreme patience. 'And then move those flowers over to balance.'

There was a mumbled, 'Yes, Ma'am,' from someone I didn't recognize, and then the sound of movement, and the sound of heels on tile. Then a rather heavy sigh.

'It will have to do, I suppose,' Aleyah said, sounding quite put out, and then I heard her walking away. 'Artists are a temperamental pain in the ass,' was her parting comment, and I thought Kit was going to hurt herself trying not to laugh.

A brunette appeared in the doorway to the exit room just long enough to share a grin with Kit before presumably going back to move the flowers in question. She was wearing a black dress just like her partner in crime and I understood it was a uniform of sorts.

I decided at that point, that I should probably just stay the hell out of Aleyah's way until there were enough people around to ensure that she couldn't kill me without witnesses, and headed back into the first gallery room.

I found myself standing in front of Allison's painting, just letting myself remember what it was all about. Reminding myself why I was there... why I was letting this woman make me crazy.

You know... I've thought more than once that it had been a really good thing that Oz interrogators had never found my Achilles heel. Pain I can take... just don't embarrass me. Public execution? I laugh in your face! Now... threaten to dress me in a pink tutu and then execute me... and that just might get you what you're after.

But I will bear a lot for the people I care for, and in the grand scheme of things, I didn't suppose this was so much to have to bear.

I detected a certain increase in the tension in the air, a kind of expectation, and when I glanced at my watch, saw that it was seven, and time for the floor show to begin. There was a sense of bustle somewhere in the background and I imagined a legion of black-dress clad young ladies lined up for inspection before being sent off to their stations.

Someone cued some music and I was surprised to hear a Celtic flavor. Reminded me a bit of my night music, and I wondered how it had been chosen. If Aleyah had asked someone, and who that someone had been.

And then I heard that tone that announced the front door, and one of those young ladies delivering their line, 'Good evening, and welcome to Expressions...'

'Don't you worry, Alley-Cat,' I whispered to nothing but paint and canvas. 'We'll make things right even if this doesn't work out. I promise.'

I took a deep breath, girded my loins... and didn't have a clue what to do.

No one had given me a copy of the script. Hell... I wasn't entirely sure just what my part was; should I be out front greeting people? Or should I stay out of sight for some kind of 'entrance' later? Wish Aleyah wasn't so damn pissed off at me; kind of made the prospect of asking her, just a bit unattractive. In the end, as usual, the decision was taken out of my hands.

Aleyah was suddenly sweeping across the room, smiling at me just as though she hadn't been contemplating flaying me alive not fifteen minutes prior. Cocotte was tucked under one arm, looking around with bright little eyes, but just lounging there as though she were nothing more than a clutch purse. Aleyah was escorting a family in my direction, an impeccably dressed man, his equally impeccable wife and a daughter that would have been just as impeccable if it weren't for the faint aura of 'fidget' that she was exuding. No wonder, really, the dress she was wearing would have made a masochist uncomfortable.

'There you are, Darling,' Aleyah was saying, her free hand gesturing in my direction in a manner that made me step forward to meet her. 'You simply must meet my associate, Stanley Kirby and his darling wife Joan.'

It felt very much like I was being presented for some kind of strange judgment, and I tried to exude something besides the desire to go the hell home. 'Mr. Kirby,' I said dutifully, and shook the man's hand. If he thought my gloves odd, he didn't comment.

'Mr. Maxwell,' he beamed at me. 'Aleyah has been able to speak of nothing but your work for weeks.'

I was able to let the comment go, as Aleyah poohed the remark off while I took the hand of the missus in greeting. I saw the little girl, perhaps eight or nine, peeking at me from behind her mother. 'And who is this?' I asked, mildly irritated on the kid's behalf that they hadn't bothered to introduce her. She looked startled for a second, but quickly stepped around and stuck her hand out to be taken along with the adults.

Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but the kid jumped in with, 'I'm JC,' and the sigh I heard told me I wouldn't have gotten the same name from her mother. The 'J' made me wonder if she were, perhaps, named after the woman.

'I'm Duo,' I replied and shook her hand the same as I had her parent's. I saw her looking curiously at my fingerless gloves, but a tight little cough from her mother stopped whatever comment might have come.

'I dare say,' Mr. Kirby was saying, drawing my attention back in his direction. 'Our Aleyah has made quite the find in you, dear boy. You show a lot of potential.'

'Thank you, sir,' I managed, though I could detect a certain irritation coming from my patron, and I wondered about it.

'Now, Stanley,' Aleyah said in a tone of voice that was supposed to be teasing, but had something of an edge to it. 'Even you have to admit that my Duo is the brightest talent we've had in here in a long time.'

My Duo? I wondered if anybody else noticed my eyebrows trying to crawl up my forehead.

'Oh, he certainly doesn't lack for raw talent,' good old Stanley conceded with a dismissive wave of his free hand, his wife having hold of his other arm, 'but training, dear... there's no training!'

'You and your vaunted training,' Aleyah replied, laughing lightly in a way that made me shiver. 'You don't train this sort of imagination.'

Stanley raised his eyes heaven-ward in exasperation and stabbed a finger in the general direction of the seagull sketch. 'Look at this one, for example,' he commanded and led the two women over to do just that. I'm afraid I gaped after them for a minute before glancing down at JC. 'So... are they always like this?'

She grinned widely, glancing after her parents, before whispering, 'Boring,' in a sing-song voice. I got the distinct impression that I was listening to an argument that had been going on for years. I just wasn't sure how I felt about finding myself the foil in the middle of it.

JC wandered off to dutifully join her parents, though I got a backward glance that told me I might be more interesting than they were being at the moment.

'... balance is all wrong,' I heard Stanley saying. 'The horizon line is completely...'

'Oh pish, you old fart,' Aleyah cut him off, delivering the insult with the finesse of long practice. 'Stop looking for technicalities and feel what it says!'

There was probably a lot more; they certainly looked like they were ensconced for awhile, but I began to lose the thread of their conversation as the room around me started to... fill with people.

It was something of a shock to glance around and find that I was rather slowly being surrounded by strangers. My face, already warming from the treatment I was getting at the hands of my patron's obvious rival, heated further, and I started looking for a potted palm to hide behind.

As if on some sort of cue, as the room reached a certain level of occupancy, a pair of black-dress clad ladies began circulating with drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Remembering Relena's party all those months ago, when one of the girls came my way, I took a glass of the champagne so that I would have something to do with my hands. Playing with the fluted stemware wasn't going to be as therapeutic as peeling the labels off things, but I suppose that would have been rather inconvenient since I was walking around anyway. What would I have done with the peelings? Stuff them in my pockets?

It was... very damn weird standing around in that place. Part of the time, it was like I was invisible. Despite the fact that most everyone that came in was holding a copy of one of the pamphlets that Aleyah had made up, they weren't always connecting me with anything. People can be quite unobservant. The amusement factor of that fact didn't last long in the face of some of the comments I was hearing though. I wasn't sure whether to die of embarrassment... or just die.

'...incredible attention to detail...'

'...unspoiled...'

'...Aleyah's latest find...'

'...DeBoye show was much larger...'

'...fantastic realism...'

It was really a good thing that I don't like champagne at all, or I think I would have gone through several glasses of it inside the first fifteen or twenty minutes. It was just horrendously uncomfortable being... essentially... the center of everyone's attention.

At length, I started feeling stupid shifting about the room, trying to stay out of the way and be unobtrusive. I mean, what the hell was I supposed to do? Pretend to look at my own pictures? That's what everybody else was doing, so the laws of blending in dictated that I should too... but that was just too weird. So I wandered out of the main room and down the wide hall, my untouched champagne glass twirling idly in my hand.

I wondered suddenly, how often real artists had to do things like this. Supporting oneself with artwork would be a much more attractive livelihood if you never had to leave the studio. I would think this sort of public spectacle would be a hell of a deterrent for entering the field. It made me rethink the whole plan of supplementing my income this way. I was starting to doubt that it was worth it.

I wondered if Heero really would have a cow if I just went out and, say... took a night job as a shuttle mechanic? Job as a bar bouncer? Fry cook at McDonalds?

I guess that last one was out unless I could work out the logistics of a hair net. Maybe I should just reserve judgment until I got through the first night of this whole art thing.

I was almost at the end of the curved hall, having heard someone recognize Quatre from his portrait, and someone else point out that Beowulf was cute, but Beowulf's owner was cuter, when I heard a familiar voice.

A not altogether welcome, familiar voice.

'...I know the odds are against it, but the resemblance is uncanny,' a deep, cultured voice was saying and I found myself slowing to hear the conversation.

'You never know,' Noin replied to her husband. 'They say it's a small world.'

Zechs was standing smack in front of Jensen's portrait, studying it intently, Noin standing on one side, and Sally on the other. He was his usual, immaculate self, and the ladies were both dressed in damned impressive evening gowns. I was shocked, really; I'd never seen Sally in a dress before. I hadn't thought she owned one. Noin, wasn't much of a surprise, being a Peacecraft or Merquise or whatever the fuck she was now; stood to reason that she was more than familiar with dressing for the social occasion. But Sally... I was oddly pleased that she had dressed up more for my gallery opening than she had for Relena's grand get-together.

'Who was he?' Sally asked, nibbling delicately at something she'd accepted from one of the roving tray-ladies.

'Subordinate during the war,' Zechs replied with a clear sound of distaste in his voice. 'Man got transferred more than anybody I ever saw. He was a horrible discipline problem and just... a psychopath. Nobody wanted to deal with him.'

Noin frowned at the portrait. 'Why in the hell didn't he ever get discharged?'

Oh yes, that was the question of the hour, and I should have thanked her for asking it.

'Connections,' Zechs replied, and I couldn't help wanting to laugh at the irony of that little statement. 'No one wanted to embarrass the family. God... what was his name?'

'Jensen,' I heard someone say, and realized it had been me, when they all three turned to look at me. How in the hell had I ended up standing right behind them?

Sally and Noin both smiled with unmistakable delight at finding me there, while Zechs only looked surprised. 'That's it!' he exclaimed. 'You mean, it really is him?'

Honest to God... I didn't know what to say to the man. The first thing that popped into my head ran something like, yeah, you fucking asshole... that would be the man that your wonderful military empowered with their blind eye into becoming a serial killer. But, it wouldn't quite come out my mouth with Sally and Noin standing there smiling at me like that. But, my God... I just couldn't get past that statement. That Oz, Romefeller, whatever the fuck they had been calling themselves at that point... had just shipped the son of a bitch around from base to base, from assignment to assignment, effectively making it possible for him to 'hit and run' as it were. I think my mouth opened and closed three or four times, but I couldn't figure out how to politely tell the pompous asshole just what his oh-so-wonderful fucking military had...

And that was the point where a warm and solid hand settled on my shoulder and Trowa and Quatre were suddenly there, and it was unbelievable what a difference it made that I didn't feel outnumbered anymore. It let words finally come staggering out. 'Yeah... his name was Jensen.'

Somehow, my nearly irrational anger had not made its way to my face, and people around me didn't seem to have a clue that I felt like spitting on Zechs' perfectly polished shoes.

But then Trowa's hand tightened ever so slightly and I wondered if maybe there were at least a couple of people who understood what I was feeling.

'Where on Earth did you know the man from?' Zechs was asking, and I thought I would choke.

Before I could decide how in the hell one went about answering a question that on the surface seemed so simple, yet ran so complex, Quatre smoothly replied. 'We happened to cross paths during the war.'

I looked his way and found that his expression, while well schooled, held a hint of my anger around the edges. Zechs missed it, leaning in to look at the portrait again. 'I remember wondering where he ended up,' he mused. 'Hadn't thought of him in years.'

There was something about the man's almost idle, totally unconcerned curiosity that was just squeezing at my guts, and I felt... things wanting to spiral up and burst from my throat. Scathing things laced with a lot of swear words.

Trowa's other hand landed on my other shoulder, and his fingers dug in, testing my level of tension, I suspect. The pressure of his grip buying my silence.

Unfortunately, that left no one available to buy that same silence from Quatre. Though, I'll admit he delivered his message in a much more civilized tone of voice than I probably would have managed, 'Oh, I imagine he ended up in Hell. That's generally the final destination for serial killers.'

Behind me, Trowa sighed in exasperation, though I doubt anyone heard him but me. It was funny to watch Zechs turn abruptly to look at Quatre at the same time that Noin and Sally were whirling around to look at the portrait with renewed interest.

'Pardon me?' Zechs said, arching an eyebrow.

Quatre was carrying one of those fluted champagne glasses too, and he took a small sip before clarifying. 'I said, I'm quite sure he's gone to Hell. That was generally what happened to those who tried to go against our God of Death.'

My face did something interesting, but from the inside I couldn't really tell if it was a blush or a blanch. I just know it felt really odd.

'Your Jensen was a clever man,' Quatre continued, looking past Zechs at the portrait with those red roses next to it. 'Quite took advantage of the opportunities offered him by a corrupt military.'

'He wasn't my anything...' Zechs began, looking confused and almost like he wanted to take exception to what Quatre was saying, but didn't quite know how to justify getting pissy when confronted with that conversational tone of voice.

'Oh,' Quatre replied, that tone turning to the purr of a man about to score a major point. 'Jensen belonged to everyone whose apathy allowed him to become a rapist and murderer.'

'Duo,' Trowa suddenly interjected, the picture of a man throwing himself on a verbal grenade. 'Quatre and I wanted to talk to you about one of the portraits down the hall.' He gave me a nudge, and I was more than happy to be led to safer ground. He snagged Quatre as we went by, and steered the both of us away from a still staring Zechs. 'Please excuse us,' Trowa tossed over his shoulder, and waited until we were through the doorway before smacking Quatre lightly on the back of the head.

The grin that Quatre gave him was anything but contrite. In fact, it bordered on smug. 'The pretentious jerk just needs a reality check every now and again,' he muttered, and brought his champagne glass up to hide the smirk.

'Quatre,' Trowa warned, giving his partner a look that didn't seem to have any affect at all.

'What?' Quatre said, glancing back as Trowa brought us to a stop out of the flow of people. 'Tell me what he said didn't make you want to deck him too?'

'This is not the place for a scene,' Trowa sighed, though he sounded like he was merely going through the motions. I think he knew it wasn't going to make any difference, but somehow had to uphold his position as the peace-keeper.

'I didn't make a scene,' Quatre grinned. 'Now did I?'

If I was any judge at all, the guy was on something of an adrenaline kick, and looking for something to kick in return. I snorted, derailing whatever response Trowa would have made. 'Probably less of a scene than the one I was apparently about to make, if you hadn't come along and shut me up. Thanks guys.'

'You are entirely welcome,' Trowa responded with the quirk of a grin. 'Shutting people up is what I do best.'

'It's what you try to do,' Quatre murmured from behind his glass, but before his partner could even start to reply to that, his attention was on me. 'This portrait, Duo, did you have plans for it? Because if not, I want it.'

I glanced up finally, and found that we were standing in front of the sketch I'd been working on of the two of them, the one I started way back while Heero was in the hospital. 'Uh... about that,' I said, ducking my head because I knew I was blushing furiously. 'I never meant for this to end up here, guys. I swear. Aleyah got hold of a sketch pad that I hadn't really intended...'

'We're not looking for an apology, you dork,' Trowa said genially. 'We want to buy it, if it's one of the ones that are for sale.'

I blinked up at him, a little surprised that I didn't find any sort of irritation in his expression. 'Are you nuts? After everything you two have done for me? If you want the thing, you know it's yours.'

They shared this look that made me feel like I'd said something stupid, and Quatre all but snickered at me. 'Aleyah was right, Duo... you really do need to leave the financial end of things up to her.'

There was that slur on my business skills again, and I might have been irritated about it, but I was too busy thinking about the implication that Quatre and Aleyah had been talking about me. How completely weird.

Since I wasn't sure how to answer that, I glanced back at the picture in question and wondered why they weren't ready to kill me. It was a strange damn thing; a ying and yang sort of picture, with Trowa and Quat as the two halves, almost knee to forehead with each other. Their hands were cupped in front of the curl of their bodies, not touching, but framing the white rose held between them. It was oddly intimate despite the rather unusual design. I'd have thrown a fit over it with Aleyah, if I hadn't felt like I needed to pick and choose my battles. I'd had a feeling that I was only going to win one, and it had been far more important to me that I not embarrass Heero.

I wanted to feel guilty that I'd thrown the guys to the wolves, so to speak, but neither of them seemed to be the slightest bit upset, so it kind of felt like a waste of energy. I was opening my mouth to apologize one more time anyway, when Trowa suddenly shifted.

'There's Aleyah now,' he said. 'I'll be right back.'

I glanced up in the direction he was moving, and could just see Aleyah back in the entry room, still talking with Mr. Kirby, though there was another man standing with them now.

Quatre blew out a breath and I turned me attention his way. 'Whoa, Duo,' he muttered softly, shifting just a bit as someone moved past us. 'That's Jack Lee... I haven't seen him come out to a show in ages.'

'Jack Lee?' I questioned, wondering if I was supposed to recognize the name.

'He's Aleyah and Stan's other partner,' he explained, just as we saw Trowa approach the group and shake hands all around. 'He's got something of a reputation for being very particular; he seldom comes to the gallery except on special occasions.'

At the end of the hall, we could see Trowa as he talked with the group. It was very strange seeing Trowa Barton in a setting like that one. The last time I could remember it, was at the end of the war. We'd all been pulled fresh from the battle-field, stuffed into suits and ties, and expected to mingle with the elite and powerful at the many celebrations that the world seemed to need to throw. Back then... Trowa had been just as miserably uncomfortable as I'd been. A street rat, and a mercenary, with no real names of our own, suddenly trying to make small talk with people who had qualified as 'the enemy' not all that long before.

Looked like Trowa had gotten it all figured out. Watching him laugh lightly at something Mrs. Kirby said, watching him clap Mr. Lee on the shoulder... he seemed very much at home. It made me feel odd; like I'd fallen behind my class-mates in school. When had I lost the ability to adapt? When had such small, insignificant things become so difficult?

I realized I probably should have said something to Quatre's comment, but wasn't sure just what it would be. I was just starting to worry that my silence might be stretching a bit too long, when we saw the Kirby's daughter approach Trowa. He leaned down to listen to something she said, smiled broadly, and then straightened to point our way. The kid... JC, I suddenly remembered, flashed Trowa a grin and started to run down the hall. Some parental word must have sounded, because we saw her slow down, though we also saw her roll her eyes.

Quatre grinned down at her, when she drew abreast of us. 'Well, hello JC; you look lovely tonight.'

The kid did the eye-roll again and blew out her a breath. 'Pah-leese,' she informed him. 'I look like a Barbie doll.'

Quatre laughed and gave her a conspiratorial grin. 'Well... at least it's not pink.'

He got a dark look that made me wonder if pink hadn't been Mommy's first choice. But then the kid was looking up at me with a light in her eyes that was a little unnerving. Like she'd just been told that I was a member of the latest, popular, boy band and no one had bothered to tell her. 'You drew a cat,' she suddenly observed, sounding like she thought I might not know that.

I couldn't help grinning. 'Yes, I suppose I did.'

She pointed past me to where Wufei's portrait with Beowulf hung. 'Can't you do the back end either?'

Beside us, I thought Quatre was going to spit champagne. I followed JC over to stand in front of the portrait and she pointed up at it and its companion piece of just Beowulf. Both of them did indeed show the cat from the front.

'See?' she said, tone just a bit accusing, as though I'd cheated somehow.

'Well,' I replied, trying to tone the grin down just a little bit. 'These just worked out that way; I suppose I could manage the back end of a cat if I had to.'

Her expression changed to one of guarded hopefulness. 'Really? Then could you help me get this right?' And she was digging around in this dinky little purse that I had thought was only there to accent the outfit. She pulled out a folded up piece of paper and handed it up to me. Some artistic part of my soul wanted to cringe, but really, the picture had been erased so many times that it was going to have to be redone on good paper at some point anyway. 'See?' she said, pointing at the back half of the cat on the paper. 'It's all wrong.'

There was more wrong with it than just the back end, but the rear definitely had some major issues with cat anatomy. I turned the paper around where she could see it too and pointed along the curve of a back leg. 'Here's your problem,' I explained. 'You're thinking backward.'

'Backward?' she frowned up at me, fidgeting in place, making me wonder just what her normal attire was. Somehow I saw jeans and cover-alls, and a lot less curl in the hair. Kid should have been home with a babysitter, playing video games or watching TV, not out being paraded around like some porcelain doll for show.

'Cat's back legs bend the other way,' I smiled. 'Don't you have a model?'

She blew out a breath of sheer irritation. 'My Dad's allergic.'

'Ah,' I commiserated. 'If I had a pencil or something, I'd show you.'

That was all it took for the kid to drop down right there on the floor and start digging through her purse. I heard Quatre snort almost involuntarily and I glanced up at him, noticing the pissed off parental person down the hall, just over his right shoulder.

What else was I to do? I sat down with her.

She looked startled for a second, but then grinned widely at me and settled in, her God-awful puffy skirt hiding her legs and making it look like she was only half there. It was a morbid little thought that made me shake my head as I accepted the pencil she produced. And then we bent over the paper on the floor and I did a quick cat drawing lesson.

'See...' I began, doing a small sketch in the corner of her paper. 'Cat's may have a knee back here, but it bends the other way...'

'Standing up,' she commanded, when I started to do a lying down pose. 'I want one walking.'

I shifted to another corner of the paper and started again. 'The back foot is really kind of longer than the front...' I explained and she nodded as I worked.

'Did you have a model?' she suddenly asked, making it sound like an accusation, as though that were cheating too.

'For Beowulf?' I asked distractedly, working out the details of a walking cat. 'Yeah, he belongs to a friend of mine.'

'Bayowolf?' she snickered. 'What a dumb name for a cat.'

'It's classic,' I grinned. 'What would you name a cat?'

'Tiger,' she said decisively and I glanced up at her, thinking that there was a whole lot of 'I wish' in that tone of voice. I bent back to the picture and began shading in stripes.

She kind of gasped and pushed at my hand, so she could see. 'How'd you do that?'

'There's more to a pencil than the point,' I smirked and showed her how to hold it. 'Got another pencil in there?'

She dug back through the little purse, and I had a feeling her mother did not have a clue what all was in that thing. I suspected it had been meant for show, or maybe just a dainty little handkerchief. I doubt dear old Joan had seen the junk the kid had managed to drag along with her. Then she sighed, pulling something purple out of the purse. It wasn't a pencil and I wrinkled my nose. 'What is that? It stinks.'

I thought she was going to giggle herself silly before she burst out, 'A crayon, silly!'

I took it from her and tested it on the paper; it made a quite unsatisfactory line, almost crumbling as I worked. I stopped pretty quick and handed it back. 'That's nasty,' I had to tell her. 'Have your parents get you some colored pencils and forgot those things. How do you get a decent line out of it?'

She had to cover her mouth to stifle the laughter that wanted to come out. 'You're weird,' she finally proclaimed, though something in her tone of voice made it sound like that might be a cool thing, and not really the insult it sounded like.

'I like to think so,' I smirked and got a roll of the eyes. Then she took the pencil and tried to add some stripes to my cat. There was a noise somewhere above us that sounded... not happy.

'Don't press so hard,' I instructed and she did a decent job finishing out the tail. When it was done, not that it was much, I took the pencil back and did a quick sketch of a little girl in a pair of cover-alls standing with the cat and positively got beamed at.

Then we both sort of became aware of the fact that it was kind of... quiet.

I'm not sure what brought it to my attention, but JC seemed to notice at the same time, and we probably looked damn comical as we kind of unbent from where we'd been working on the floor and looked up.

At first all I saw was legs, and realized that we'd drawn some attention. I glanced at JC and wondered if my own face was as red as hers. 'Busted,' I muttered, and she giggled, though it was a bit more subdued than her mirth had been. We wordlessly, but mutually, agreed to pack her things up and I noticed that we lost a pair of legs or two when the paper got put away. It was something of a relief.

JC bounced to her feet then, sticking her hand out for me to shake, and I got the impression it was a last ditch effort in not getting in trouble with her parents for sitting down on the floor in a dress in a public place. 'Thank you very much, Mr. Maxwell.'

I snorted at the sudden formality, but shook her hand quite solemnly. When she stepped away, I started to rise, a little sorry that the reprieve was over, and a hand presented itself to me. I took it and let myself be pulled to my feet, expecting Trowa, but turning to find, 'Heero!'

He smiled at me, his hand squeezing mine tight for a moment. 'Hello, love,' he murmured very softly and I couldn't help grinning at him. God, it was so good to see him. If we'd been anywhere else, I'd probably have already been demonstrating that fact a bit more physically.

'What are you doing here?' I had to ask though. 'What about the trial?'

His smile turned just a little bit smug and he told me, 'It's over.'

He let go of my hand then, though I could tell he hadn't really wanted to, but any longer would have been awkward. 'What happened?' I pressed.

His grin failed him then, and I suddenly remembered the last occasion I'd had to talk to him. Remembered the subject matter. Remembered what he'd had to do. I couldn't help a glance around, suddenly realizing that everyone in the room with us had probably seen that damn broadcast. I was relieved that people were moving off now that the spectacle of the resident artist sitting on the floor was over. Though I imagine my smile deserted me every bit as much as his had.

'I am so sorry...' he began, but I stopped him with a shake of my head.

'Old ground,' I said, trying not to think about it. 'Just tell me what happened to Gray.'

Though he didn't get that smug grin back, there was a certain satisfaction in his voice as he told me, 'The... evidence, when it went public, finally broke one of them. That flight attendant came forward and the rest of them just caved one after the other.'

I grinned, recalling the girl who had led us down to the air lock. 'Bobbi?'

Heero shook his head. 'The other one.'

I blinked at him, remembering the giggly girl who had asked for my autograph. 'Leslie?' I muttered. 'I'll be damned.'

'As soon as she came forward,' Heero said. 'Spencer was quick to follow. I think the only thing that was keeping him from telling the truth right from the beginning was fear of his father. But once the truth came out...' he shrugged, not bothering to finish.

I looked at him long and hard, caught in a sudden rush of emotion. 'It's really over?' I almost whispered, maybe afraid that weird little deity in charge of torturing me might hear.

Heero smiled warmly. 'Case closed. Gray confessed when his subordinates turned on him.'

Over. Case closed. It was like some sort of weight was lifted off my shoulders that I hadn't even known was there. I had not thought I'd been dwelling on it that much, but the sudden wobbly feeling in my knees told me I had. If there had been someplace handy, I might have sat the hell down. Like some sort of buzzing adrenaline over-load in the back of my brain was suddenly gone. We won.

'Yes,' Heero agreed to a thing I had not realized I'd said out loud. 'We damn well did.' And there was a hell of a broad hint of pride in his voice.

Something about that tone, sounding just a tiny bit dangerous, brought me back to our surroundings and I glanced around. The world had moved on when I hadn't been paying attention. I didn't see JC or her parents and I hoped the poor kid wasn't off in some corner getting lectured about lady-like behavior. I could just see Trowa and Quatre in the entry room, talking with Aleyah now that she seemed to have stopped her debate with Mr. Kirby, Cocotte still tucked neatly under her arm.

'Did Wufei...' I began, not sure if it was politic to ask, but Heero snorted.

'Like he would have missed this for anything in the world,' he said, and inclined his head in the general direction of the exit room. I turned just in time for Wufei to snap the picture, and I realized I'd been set up. Wufei was smiling at me with the most bizarre proprietary air, just as though he were somehow responsible for the entire gallery show.

'I didn't think cameras were allowed in here?' I grumbled, blinking at him in mock irritation. Well... mostly mock.

'Do you honestly think that even Aleyah Winner could say no to this charm,' Sally said, stepping up beside her... whatever you want to call him. Boyfriend? God, but that was just too weird a word to use for Chang Wufei. Significant other?

'Charm?' Heero asked in disbelief. 'I thought he snuck it in?'

'Why, of course,' Sally returned, in a really bad southern drawl. 'But it will be his considerable, dark-eyed charm that gets him out of trouble when he gets caught, good sir.'

I think only Wufei can manage to look pleased and disdainful at the same time, using little more than an arched eyebrow. 'I did not 'sneak' anything, Yuy,' he corrected. 'I have free rein as long as I take some pictures for Aleyah as well.'

Somehow, it figured.

Sally was toying with one of those champagne glasses and it suddenly reminded me of mine, and I wondered where it had gotten to. I looked around, fairly sure that I must have set it down when I'd sat on the floor with JC, but I didn't see it and could only assume that one of the black-dress brigade had come and cleaned up after me.

When I brought my attention back to the group, the conversation had moved on without me, and Heero was teasing Sally about the dress. I had this strange sense of detachment; like one of those out-of-yourself moments that you hear people talk about. Words flowed around me, but I didn't really hear them. I was too busy thinking about how strange the evening was. I'd been feeling so damn uncomfortable, hadn't known how in the hell to talk to the people around me. JC had been a welcome relief. Kids are easy to talk to; there's no pretension, no hidden agenda, just blunt honesty and a curiosity that generally won't be quelled.

I had rather been dreading returning to the grown-up world when she and I had put away our toys. But... finding that Heero was there, had made everything different. Finding... my friends there, had made everything different.

It was very strange to feel all these... touchstones around me. Like a safety net. Like backup. But not. I was struggling, very close to understanding what I was almost feeling when Heero touched my elbow, bringing me back into focus. I'm afraid I only blinked at him for a second, a little frustrated as it slipped through my fingers.

'Duo,' he asked gently, voice low, 'are you all right? Would you... like me to take you home?'

I could sense his concern, and I could also sense eyes on us. I glanced up to find Wufei watching Heero, taking his cues from him. I felt something more, and turned a little further to look behind me and found Trowa trying to catch Wufei's eye, perhaps seeing the disquiet on Heero's face and wanting to know what was going on. Beside him, Quatre seemed to sense Trowa's attention drift and looked up at his partner, following his gaze our way.

I could feel the connection between us like a damn physical tie. Something I could have traced with my hands if I could only feel well enough to touch it. It rather left me feeling breathless, and still not quite sure I understood it.

'We should get a picture,' I blurted, turning back to Heero.

'What?' he asked in this totally bemused tone, like he was trying to follow my thought processes and had taken a wrong turn. I had the urge to tell him that I couldn't always follow my thought processes, but refrained.

'We're all five here together,' I told him, wanting to capture what I couldn't quite see. 'And... you know... we're all dressed up and crap.' I shrugged, suddenly feeling kind of stupid for asking. But something took light in Wufei's eyes and I realized that I'd just poked at his own hobby. Maybe stirred up his own artistic muse.

'Duo,' he said, pouncing on the notion, 'that's a very good idea. I'll go out to the car and get my tripod and...'

Sally cut him off with a jab to the ribs. 'Don't turn it into a three-ring circus, Chang, just give me the camera.'

Wufei growled at her, muttering something under his breath about 'over-exposure' that made Sally get indignant. Beside me, Heero chuckled lightly and leaned in to whisper, 'Now see what you've done?' but he sounded pleased.

If I had thought that Chang Wufei was anal about his candid photography, that was only because I'd never dealt with him doing a posed piece. I thought he would never get everything just the way he wanted it, moving us several times until the background was just so, checking lighting, making minute adjustments to his camera, and giving Sally detailed instructions. If we were bothering anyone there in the flow of the gallery, no one dared challenge Wufei's dark glare to say anything.

When it was all said and done, I found myself in the center, turned slightly toward Heero, Wufei at his back, Trowa at mine, Quatre at his side. I felt it again, that strong sense of connection, of relationship, and though Wufei made Sally take several shots of the same pose, just in case, I knew somehow that the first one would be 'the one'. I already knew where I wanted to put our copy.

When we broke apart, while Sally was still mocking Wufei for checking his 'precious' camera over after she'd handled it, I found Kit standing at my elbow. 'Ms. Winner would like to speak with you,' she informed me, all trace of her normal impish humor set aside, for a much more professional tone. 'She's in the foyer.'

I tried not to feel like my number had just been called by the executioner, and excused myself. I had rather hoped that the woman would wait until some other time and place to give me hell over the picture I'd removed from her carefully crafted display, but I suppose I shouldn't have set my sights quite that high.

I went around through the exit room, since it was closer, and noticed that Zechs and Noin were still standing near the Jensen portrait, never having made it much further, engaged in quiet conversation. I tried not to look that way as I slipped between the other visitors, excusing myself quietly as I went.

As soon as Aleyah caught sight of me, she gave me a rather imperious gesture that wordlessly commanded, 'This way,' and she went back into the gallery, not bothering to make sure I was following.

She came to a stop in front of Allison's portrait and turned to wait for me to join her; Cocotte had been shifted from her left arm to her right, but was otherwise much like I'd seen her last.

'Darling,' Aleyah said, her voice managing to convey just a whole world of stressed exasperation. 'You simply must stop holding out information. You make things so very difficult.'

'What?' I blurted, completely confused, blinking at her while I tried to change gears. This strange, almost affectionate, exasperation was not what I had been expecting.

She flicked those manicured fingers of hers in the general direction of Allison's portrait and graced me with a slightly accusing look. 'You did not tell me this was a charity show. I could have done so much more had I only been privy to that information.'

I opened my mouth with another what, but felt kind of stupid and closed it again. When next I opened it, what popped out was, 'Who...?'

She laughed lightly in a way that made me feel like I was being terribly dense. I thought back over the evening and realized pretty quickly that the only one who had a clue about my agenda that I had seen talking to Aleyah at any length, had been, 'Trowa?'

'Oh, he does have a brain in that darling little head,' Aleyah said delightedly to, apparently, the damn dog.

I snorted, but she was still waiting for some sort of explanation from me and I stopped looking at her and looked at Allison's portrait instead. 'They... aren't charity cases.'

I had to imagine the raised eyebrow since I wasn't looking right at her. 'What you provide isn't charity?'

I frowned, irritated somehow, by her manner. 'No; I'm... I'm family. I came from that place as much as they do.'

The delicate little sniff she let out then made me look at her again. Her smile was quite condescending and my irritation flared. 'Commendable, pet, but impractical.'

I glared at her, taking in the dress and the jewelry and the damn little dog, and growled, 'What the hell would you know about it?'

It didn't faze her, just made her smile soften a bit. 'What I understand, Duo, is that it's your pride keeping those children from reaping the real benefits you could bring to them. You have connections, my dear, that you shouldn't be so persnickety about exploiting.'

I blinked at her and could see that she was quite pleased with herself for taking the wind out of my sails, but I couldn't think how to answer would amounted to an accusation.

She didn't wait for me to figure something out, tapping the back of one of my gloved hands instead. 'Perspective, darling. Put it in perspective.' She lifted her arm and displayed a diamond bracelet sparkling there; she didn't have to tell me that it had probably cost her damn near as much as I was struggling to raise for Allison's surgery. I blushed, scowling at the notion, and she walked away laughing at my consternation.

I stared at Allison, and she stared back. Was that a hint of reproach in her shadowed gaze? More so than had been there before?

Pride? I suppose I have to kind of take that one without too much argument. It's rather been the trait that has gotten my ass into trouble for as far back as I can remember. But... was I really letting my need to handle things on my own stand in the way of something better for those kids?

What I chose to do, or didn't choose to do, as far as the Maxwell home was concerned was between me and Mrs. Octavia and those kids. If I sent them books, or I sent them money, or I sent them gifts, what the hell did that have to do with Aleyah Winner? Or anyone else, for that matter. I sure as hell wasn't stopping anybody else from making donations if that's what they wanted to do.

Was I?

All my hamsters, artwork, beasts, and ghosts were strangely silent.

'Why's she so sad?' a small voice asked me, and I looked down to find JC back from her presumed lecture, and standing beside me.

'Because...' I said, really thinking about it, 'somebody let her down.'

'Oh,' JC replied, not seeming to know what else to say to that.

'You get in trouble?' I asked, kind of wanting to change the subject.

'Nah,' she smirked. 'I don't get yelled at in front of people.'

I chuckled. 'And by the time you get home, it's been forgotten?'

She just grinned, which I took to mean yes, and we just let that go.

'My Dad bought that picture,' she suddenly blurted, as though she was telling me something that was a secret.

'Huh?' I said brightly and looked to where she was pointing.

'That weird one,' she clarified. 'With the bird.'

I had to walk over closer; just to be sure we were talking about the same picture, though I couldn't think of anything else with a bird in it. 'This one? But I thought he said it was all unbalanced?'

She grinned again, telling me, 'Yep. He says it makes him think.' Then she rolled her eyes and skipped off after one of the black-clad servers, having seen something on one of the trays that must have been to her liking. I wished her luck; I hadn't seen anything yet I could identify.

As she got the attention of the server, and the woman held the tray down so that JC could delicately pluck something from it, I tried to imagine Allison in her place. Or Sarah. I couldn't. Instead, I imagined them standing just behind me, peeking out at all the people with trepidation, their eyes solemn and wide.

JC wandered on, probably off to find her parents, and I was left to look around at all the people, and I wondered if there was an expression of trepidation on my own face. Aleyah's words came back to me and I had to wonder; what really kept me from feeling like I could fit into this bizarre little world of hers? It's not like L2 orphans were branded on the forehead or anything. Nobody could possibly know about my past or my history to pass judgment on me.

Then someone wandered past me, leafing through one of those little pamphlets and I had to shake my head. At least, I hoped they didn't know about my past. God only knows what Aleyah had written about me. If I hadn't felt like I just didn't need another thing to deal with at that moment, I might have been tempted to pull my copy out and check. Though... in retrospect, I suppose that would have looked just a little bit self-absorbed.

But... was I just as guilty as the people that I felt were judging me? Wasn't I just as judgmental, only in reverse, so to speak? I resented those people their money and their life styles, but I honestly didn't even know them.

Was it really just my pride that painted such a picture of 'us' and 'them'? And was that same pride really keeping me from doing all that I could for those kids?

I really hate it when people see things about me that I haven't figured out on my own. Though... you have to give me the bracelet thing; there's just no damn call for a piece of jewelry that costs as much as your average car.

So just what the hell was I supposed to be exploiting?

I might have stood and chewed on that for quite a while longer, if I hadn't suddenly caught sight of Zechs in the foyer, obviously querying an employee about something, and that something turned out to be me. I was pointed out, and the good Prince Peacecraft was heading my way.

I always set aside personal epiphanies when confronted with royalty. Even if it's only the King of Peroxide.

Ok, get off my damn case. I really don't like the man; I'm supposed to not take the cheap shots just because of who he is? I think I deserve points for toning down 'vile hatred' to mere 'dislike'. This was the man who goaded Heero into that dumb-ass duel when Heero was still recovering from self-destructing his damn Gundam. You want to tell me where the honor and shit was in that?

'Maxwell,' Zechs said curtly as he stopped in front of me, and I nodded a greeting, having to tilt my head a bit to look up at him. I had to fight the urge to step back a pace; he'd gotten just a hair farther into my personal space than I was comfortable with, but I suppose the flow of people dictated it.

'I...' he began, and a strange frown flitted across his face. 'I didn't know you were an artist until Lucrezia told me about your opening here; you're very talented.'

I recognized it for the 'nicety' thing. Breeding will tell, I suppose. Do the polite stuff first, because that sure as hell wasn't what the man had hunted me up to say.

'So they keep telling me,' I quipped and I could tell he wasn't sure how to take the comment. He assumed false modesty, just because that's what that comment would have been, coming out of his own mouth. He couldn't fathom a person not being supremely confident in their own abilities. I wondered if the man had ever known a doubt in his life. I saw him eventually just dismiss the remark rather than decide how it was meant.

'I wanted to ask you,' he said instead, surprising me by cutting to the meat of things. Perhaps his military training overriding his breeding? 'What Quatre said... about that man...' he surprised me again with his hesitation. I wouldn't have thought he had it in him. The man wasn't sure he wanted the answers he was asking for. I grudgingly had to give him points. Not many, mind you, but a few.

'Jensen?' I prompted, not letting it just be that man.

He nodded, looking even more uncomfortable. 'Jensen; yes. Was that true?'

The guy looked like he'd just taken a sip of his champagne, only to discover that it was really Kool-aid in disguise. 'That he was a murderer?' I replied levelly. 'Yes, it was.'

I saw the faint hint of disbelief behind those damn ice-water eyes of his and thought for a minute that he would keep it there, but he couldn't contain it and blurted, 'How do you know that?'

I almost laughed at the strange, line-in-the-dirt feeling he was exuding... except it kind of pissed me off that he was questioning Quatre's word. 'That would be the part where he tried to add me to his list of victims,' I told him coldly, getting a sudden mental image of a Pekinese growling at a St. Bernard. No, not a St. Bernard; too mundane for Zechs. A Greyhound, maybe... or a Doberman.

He blinked and I watched the disbelief fade. He surprised me for a third time; he hadn't just been doubting us, but simply verifying personal knowledge. Checking his facts. I suppose I should have expected that; he was a Preventer agent, after all. But then his expression turned just a touch guarded.

'Define murder, if you will,' he said, not mincing words any more at all. 'We were at war...'

It kinda rubbed me the wrong way at the same time that I had to give him another half point for having the balls to ask. 'We were not, to my knowledge, at war with innocent teenage street people,' I told him, not entirely able to keep the anger out of my voice. 'We encountered him in the middle of a mission, yes. But during our surveillance, we over-heard a clear admission of no less than five rapes and subsequent murders of civilians.'

That rather caught him by surprise, I was very pleased to see, and he just stared at me for a long couple of minutes, as though he could somehow read whatever information he wanted in my eyes. 'And you?' he finally asked.

'Under cover,' I admitted. 'I was supposed to make contact with him in an attempt to follow him back to the target.'

If he got the scenario from the Reader's Digest condensed description, it didn't show on his face, and so far, just about everything else he'd been thinking had. He chewed on that for a second before asking, 'And what was the target?'

I snorted. 'That was the question of the hour. It turned out to be a hidden manufacturing site for some type of advanced mobile dolls.'

He looked... not happy. Kind of guilty, actually. Another surprise from Prince Pomp. I had no doubt from the look on his face that he knew exactly what the operation had been, and might well have had a hand in it somewhere up the chain of command. I was starting to wish that he would get his curiosity satisfied soon though, he was making me think about things that were making me just as... not happy.

I couldn't help making an adjustment to my gloves, not that I'd meant to, but it made his gaze flick that way. I thought for a second that he would speak of them, but he didn't.

'Thank you,' he finally said, acknowledging my speaking to him honestly, I think. Then he got in one last surprise shot, inclining his head slightly and saying, 'I'm sincerely sorry,' before he turned and walked away.

Well. Hard to say just how I felt about that little remark. My first thought was to ask him if he really thought that made any damn difference, so maybe it's just as well he walked away when he did. My second thought, after I'd swallowed a bit of my temper, was that he really had sounded sincere. Not that it made any more of a damn difference, but I suppose I could award him the other half of that last point. Not that it really brought him up past pompous asshole, but a guy should have room for goals.

As I watched him walk away, back ramrod straight like any good little soldier boy, I was reminded of Jensen; he'd had that same gait. Made the gooseflesh rise on my arms. I watched him until he disappeared into the other room, and then I headed back down the hall, looking for the guys. I found Quatre first, and he gave me a wry grin.

'Have an interesting conversation with the good Count?' he asked, and it startled me, that he'd seen and hadn't come to 'rescue' me.

'More interesting for him, I suspect,' I smiled in return and we began walking slowly around the curve of the gallery. 'He wouldn't make much of a poker player, would he?'

Quatre snorted. 'No... Wufei says he's impossible at under-cover work because everything he thinks is right there on his face.'

I quirked him a bit of a side-ways grin and he punched my bicep.

'Oh shut up,' he muttered. 'I got better.'

I didn't bother telling him that I could still read him like a book most times. 'You think it was all those years wearing that stupid mask?' I asked on a sudden thought. 'I mean... he never had to worry what his expression was; nobody could see it.'

It made him laugh right out loud and drew the attention of the rest of the group as we joined them.

'What is so funny?' Wufei, asked, smiling bemusedly at Quatre's slightly red face.

I tossed an arm around Quatre's neck and growled low and menacing, 'Let's not share that last remark, ok little brother?'

He jabbed at my ribs with an index finger and made me give ground. 'I wouldn't dream of it,' he smiled innocently. 'Much too good to waste. I'll save it for later... when I need a favor.'

'The Winner heir,' I sighed in mock horror. 'Reduced to blackmail.'

He ignored the comment, but suddenly looked at me with narrowed eyes. 'Hey, I always meant to ask you; why am I the younger brother?'

'Uh... because you're younger?' I tried.

'I am not,' he grumbled, folding his arms and looking like he was actually settling in to argue the point.

'When's your birthday?' I shot back, and when he'd told me, I grinned widely. 'There you go; you're younger.'

He blinked at me for a moment and then said, 'What does that prove? When's yours?'

'I have no idea,' I pounced on the straight line. 'So I arbitrarily become the older brother.'

I'll give him credit, he opened his mouth to launch a counter argument, but Trowa dropped a hand on his shoulder and just shook his head, grinning at the both of us. 'Let this one go; there's no arguing with him when he's like this and you know it.'

'He is rather unreasonable,' Quatre commiserated, though he looked damned pleased about that fact. Or damned pleased about something, anyway.

They all looked rather... cat-in-the-cream, if you asked me, but I decided I just didn't want to pursue it.

But as we stood there and bantered about nothing much, I realized that things seemed to be thinning out. A glance at my watch told me that a lot more time had passed than I had thought, and I wondered just when the gallery was supposed to close.

I wanted to be relieved, and I suppose on some level, I was. But, if I was going to be completely honest with myself... something I try for despite what everyone seems to think... I had to admit the evening hadn't been that hideous. I mean, on a scale of one to ten with ten being... something along the lines of getting stranded in the asteroid belt with a bunch of frozen corpses or something. Not so bad at all, really.

Just over Wufei's shoulder I caught a glimpse of Aleyah and she was giving me that imperial look that told me my presence was requested in a prompt manner. 'Excuse me, guys. I have been summoned,' I told them with a grin and went like any good pet-artist.

'There you are, my pet,' Aleyah smiled as I walked up to join her, making me blink at the odd parallel in our thoughts. 'I wanted to introduce you to Jack before he had to leave.'

I smiled broadly at the tall, white haired man in front of her and held out my hand in greeting. 'Mr. Lee, I presume?'

He didn't seem at all surprised that I knew who he was, and I had to surmise that he was a man used to being recognized. 'Mr. Maxwell,' he said pleasantly. 'I'm glad you had a moment to spare from lessons before I had to go.'

It caught me by surprise, though I suppose it shouldn't have. I couldn't quite tell if he were being mocking or amused, so I simply grinned wider. 'Next class isn't until after closing, so I have a minute or two.'

I'd chosen the right tack, because the man laughed boisterously. I took him, in that moment, to be a soul who enjoyed his life and didn't much care what people thought. 'You should charge old Stanley for the lesson,' he grinned in return, and it made me wonder about the odd relationship between the three of them. Old world money all around, I'd lay odds.

'Now, that doesn't seem quite politic,' I quipped before I had much chance to think about it, but he only chuckled again.

'No, I suppose not,' he agreed wryly. 'But kidding aside... I really do need to be going, but I would like to speak with you later about commissions?'

I managed, just barely, to keep the shock off my face. I did it by pretending he was just another spacer wanting a bulkhead to be a little less austere. 'I'm sure something could be arranged,' I agreed amiably, wondering just what I was letting myself in for.

'Good!' he beamed, and pulled a business card out of an inside pocket. 'I'll be out of town for the next week. But I'll be in touch when I return.'

'I look forward to it,' I told him, trying for sincere, but not hopeful. He shook my hand again, then he and Aleyah did that weird almost kissing thing to each other's cheeks just before he turned and walked out.

I turned the card over in my fingers, noting that there was nothing on it but the man's name and a phone number. I wasn't paying that much attention to it though, not able to ignore the absolute, but totally low-key, smirk of satisfaction on Aleyah's face.

'You bear a striking resemblance to a cat who has just received a rather expensive bowl of cream,' I ventured. 'With a side order of mouse d'jour.'

I managed to get a laugh from her, not as free as the one she had let loose in my studio, but a tiny bit more than she'd meant to in a room full of people. When she looked at me, her eyes sparkled with a touch of something predatory. 'Let me simply say, darling boy, that you have not disappointed. Not at all.' And that seemed to be all she had to say on that subject, because she turned with a bright smile to greet someone, leaving me standing there with that card in my hands. I took it for the dismissal it was and went back to join my friends.

'What was that all about?' Heero wanted to know as soon as I was back in their circle.

I snorted and shook my head. 'I apparently have received the pretentious art connoisseur stamp of approval or something.'

Trowa grinned at me and took a stab. 'Mr. Lee?'

'Yeah,' I confirmed. 'He wants to talk commission and Aleyah is acting like he just asked to have my children.'

I'd never seen anybody turn a gut busting laugh into a cough so fast before, and I had to give Quatre credit for the save. 'Duo,' he said, when he was able. 'Jack Lee is legendary in his... art opinions. According to him, there hasn't been anyone worth bothering with since Michelangelo. If he wants to commission you...' he let it trail off.

I just blinked at him for a second and then quirked a grin. 'Man, I hope he doesn't want me to do something on his ceiling... that sucks in full gravity.'

Quatre looked a little surprised at the come back, but Trowa picked up the ball and grinned back at me. 'Imagine what Michelangelo could have done with zero-g.'

I think Wufei might have joined in the discussion at that point, but we suddenly became aware that the quiet, but constant, presence of background music had ceased. I took it for the sign it was.

'Well,' I murmured, watching the guests begin to gravitate toward the exit. 'Looks like the party's over.'

'You sound disappointed,' Sally ventured, and I thought I detected a look of disapproval from Wufei, but I have yet to figure that relationship out.

'Hell yeah,' I grinned at her. 'I don't think everything's sold yet!'

She laughed at me, not even bothering to mask the open derision. 'I don't think it works that way, M'Lord.'

'It might,' I informed her in mock affront. 'Though it would be easier to tell if the black-dress squad would just freaking put 'sold' stickers on the things.'

That almost made her snort in a very unladylike fashion, but I noticed the flick of the eyes that she couldn't seem to help. I followed that look and saw Wufei and Beowulf's portrait. I noted with a sudden pang, that it wasn't tagged as being owned, and I felt hideous about it. That one should not have been there any more than Trowa and Quatre's should have been. I felt oddly bad; it had been a private moment between me and Wufei, and I had never intended to let it end up where it had. I just hoped the thing hadn't sold. I wondered if I could stop the sale if it had.

I had missed Sally's next barb, though I hadn't missed the faint hint of wistful regret she tried to hide behind the words I hadn't heard anyway. I stepped away from Heero's side and took her hand, leading her over to the portrait, a little away from the others.

'I never meant to let that one end up here,' I told her softly. 'I don't know that I can do anything about it now... but if it hasn't sold; it's yours.'

She looked at me, that wistful regret just a little bit more apparent, and smiled softly. 'It's just so... beautiful,' she whispered, obviously knowing her partner well enough to know how that comment would go over.

I'm an absolute sucker for dewy-eyed women, God forbid any of the ones I know and count as friends, ever figure that out. 'If it got away... I'll paint it for you,' I blurted, and you would have thought I'd offered her the damn Hope diamond. Or all fifty-one flavors of Baskin-Robbins.

She hugged me impulsively but then gave me that calculated grin of hers, mood completely restored. 'How about you paint it either way?'

I snorted and shook my head at her. 'M'Lady is so mercenary.'

'Always,' she replied, not the slightest bit sorry.

Wufei came and took her hand then, turning her attention away from me. I don't think he could deal with that look in her eyes any more than I could. Or maybe she and I had been treading too close to that strangeness he has about my art again. I had yet to really figure that out, so I was never sure.

They didn't look like they were going to start arguing though, so I faded from the scene and rejoined Heero.

'Are you ready to go home?' he asked me, giving me a smile that held open affection in it.

'If you think Aleyah is done with me,' I replied, looking around, but not seeing the woman anywhere close. 'I never did get a damn script.'

Trowa looked at me oddly, cocking his head slightly to the side. 'Duo, didn't Aleyah tell you what was expected?'

I felt my cheeks growing just a touch bit warm and ducked my head slightly, avoiding his gaze. 'Well... we kinda didn't speak for awhile after I cussed her out.'

For about two seconds you could have heard a pin drop before Trowa lost control of the snort of laughter. 'After you... cussed her out,' he said as though confirming what I'd said.

I nodded and shrugged helplessly. 'We... had a difference of opinion about... uh... picture placement.'

'Picture placement,' Quatre had to press, exchanging a look with Trowa. 'Just where did Aleyah want to put this hypothetical picture?'

'In the secondary room,' I replied, making them dig for it.

'And you?' Trowa queried, ever my straight man.

'In the trunk of my car,' I deadpanned.

And that was the point where Kit cleared her throat, letting us know that the party really was over. It was just as well; I think Quatre was done playing my word game anyway.

'I don't think I even want to know,' he muttered to me, as we followed the receptionist through the gallery to the front doors.

That was where we found Aleyah, doing that weird thing they do at weddings. I think there's a name for it, but I always think of it as running a gauntlet. We waited patiently while she saw out the last two or three stragglers, and then her attention was completely on me.

'Not a shoddy turn out, darling,' she told me brusquely, finally putting Cocotte down now that all the people with their big, fat, dog stepping feet were gone. 'But you have a long way to go toward this goal of yours. If you had only told me sooner,' she sighed, but then waved the notion away with a gesture. 'No matter. I'll be in touch with you after the show is closed. We will need to start planning now for the charity auction.'

'Charity auction?' I parroted and almost grimaced. Damn; I hoped I wasn't back around to that echoing business again.

'Of course, dear,' she tsked. 'Spring, I think, will do nicely. But we'll talk about that later. Now off you go; Aleyah has things to do, you know.'

Woman was going to be the death of me.

I reached out for her hand and she gave it to me, allowing me to raise it to my lips. 'If I must,' I told her when I straightened, grinning at her and she positively beamed at me.

'Oh, I do believe I shall keep you!' she laughed, taking her hand back. Then she and Cocotte walked off into the depths of the gallery and we took our leave.

Heero and I were quickly left alone, as no one else had felt compelled to park blocks away from the gallery as I had. The night was quite cold, the sky clear enough that I could make out a few stars despite the bright lights around us. We walked in silence for a bit, before Heero poked at me. 'Have trouble finding a place to park?'

I snorted, and glanced across at him. 'I was afraid there were standards for parking over here.'

He chuckled, but let it go, his attention going to my hands instead. 'Why the gloves?' he said after the briefest moment of hesitation.

To be honest, it had surprised me that he'd let them go before now. I'd fully expected to be called on the things as soon as I'd realized he'd made it to the show after all. I probably wouldn't have worn them if I'd known. 'Made me feel better?' I tried, knowing that it was one place we were never going to see eye-to-eye.

He didn't speak for a minute, four squares of side-walk, by my reckoning, but then softly said, 'But you don't need them now?'

I smiled up at the night sky. 'I suppose I don't,' I agreed and began working them off. Heero stopped in the middle of the side-walk and helped me. We didn't start walking again until they were tucked away in my pocket.

'I'm glad you made it,' I told him after another moment and he edged close enough that his hand brushed against mine.

'Me too,' he agreed, his voice full of something I couldn't quite identify.

We got to my car and I unlocked his door before going around to get in. He hesitated until I opened the driver's door, before getting in himself.

He was oddly quiet while I started the car and got us moving, merely setting the heat controls while I wound through downtown and headed for home.

'You all right?' I asked after I was out on the highway and driving didn't take so much attention.

He grunted, sounding a bit surprised. 'Just tired, I guess,' he finally said ruefully. 'It has been a long couple of weeks.'

'Tell me about it,' I muttered. 'I am so glad this is all over.'

He looked across at me, just watching me for a moment. 'The trial... or the opening?'

'Both!' I burst out, and grinned at him. 'Half way through this week, I could not have told you which one I was dreading the most!'

He chuckled, still watching me, though the sound seemed a bit melancholy. 'I really wanted to be here,' he told me.

'I know,' I soothed. 'But you had a job to do. Besides... you made it when it really counted.'

He was quiet after that for long enough that I reached out and took his hand, and he squeezed my fingers for a moment before I let go to make a turn. I thought he might have dozed off after that, but I didn't have to wake him when we got home, so maybe not.

I got the painting out of the back while he unlocked the house, and if I thought I was going to get away with stashing the thing before he saw it, he put that hope to rest when he took it from me once we were inside.

'Uh... listen,' I told him, rubbing at the back of my neck while he sat it on the couch so he could step away to look at it. 'Aleyah sort of got hold of a sketch pad without me realizing it... I never meant for this to end up in the show.'

He tore his gaze away from it long enough to give me a look that was a little aghast, but trying not to show it. 'It wasn't...' he began, but floundered, not sure how to ask.

'No!' I was quick to assure him. 'I took it down the minute I saw it. The place hadn't even opened yet.'

He seemed to accept that, and turned back to look at it again. There were more damn emotions running behind his eyes than I quite knew what to do with, so I just stood and waited for him to pass judgment. Finally, he moved to stand with me while we looked together. 'I'm not that damn perfect, Duo,' he murmured.

'Yes you are,' I heard a husky voice say.

He raised a hand to his shoulder in an almost unconscious gesture. 'Where are my scars?' he whispered.

It drew my gaze away from the picture and I let my fingers follow his, tracing up his arm and over his shoulder, finally stopping with his cheek cupped carefully in my hand. 'Funny...' I told him. 'I don't remember seeing them.'

And then I kissed him, because there was just nothing else in the world that was more important in that moment.

I drew away and caught a look in his eyes that made me blink at him. It was... intense, and hungry, and something more that I couldn't quite understand. 'What is it, Heero?' I had to ask.

He came back in and kissed me hard, his hand finding its way to the small of my back and pulling me against him. 'God...' he told me, his voice thick with emotion. 'I am so damn proud of you.'

After that, words just seemed to get in the way, which was just as well, because I didn't know what to say to that. I wanted nothing so badly as I wanted to rediscover that body I'd sketched. I wanted to follow with my hands every curve I'd drawn... wanted to trace every line of muscle with my lips... wanted to prove that perfection I'd found in him.

He took my hands and he led me up the stairs. It wasn't a moment for fast and furious. Wasn't a moment for couches. It was a night that begged for the slow touch, for the whispered kisses and gentle caress. It seemed all the weight of the world was gone from our shoulders. For the first time in weeks, there was nothing hanging over our heads, nothing that our time together was leaving undone. Unattended to.

Our love-making didn't feel like it was stolen from something more important.

In that moment... there was nothing more important.

It was a very long time before we gave in to the need for sleep, and when we finally curled up together for the night... I don't even remember Heero pulling the blanket up.

I woke first, as usual, and just lay for a little while watching Heero sleep. Reflecting on what a difference it made for me, having him with me. I hadn't slept so well in days. Though it seemed a whole lot longer. I had trouble remembering a time when there hadn't been something ugly staring us in the face when we woke.

I might have managed to drift back off with him if I hadn't felt so oddly... wrung out, and realized that I'd missed a number of meals. I've learned when not to ignore that shaky feeling, so I slipped from bed and went down to scarf a ration bar and take my iron tablets. I slipped in a soda too, just to add the caffeine and sugar to the mix; wouldn't do to have Heero catch me on the fading edge of a long, hard week. I wasn't quite ready to lose that look of regard from him... and having him decide that I hadn't been taking care of myself while he'd been gone, would only buy me that other look. The one I really didn't care for.

I could still see that shine in his eyes that I'd seen all evening, but hadn't understood. Could, when I closed my eyes, still see that small smile that he'd worn through the whole opening whenever he'd looked at me.

It was an almost overwhelming feeling, knowing what that look had meant. It was more than I'd dreamed of having from him, and meant almost as much to me as having his love.

I caught sight of Heero's portrait, still sitting where we'd left it the night before on the couch, and wandered that way. Prior to the gallery show, the only sketch of mine that had ever been framed was Solo's portrait. Heero'd had it done as a surprise for me when we'd moved into our home together, hanging it in our bedroom in a place of honor. I think it had been Heero's way of acknowledging my relationship with Solo as something important to me. His way of letting me know he accepted that there had been a time when there had been someone else that was as close to me as he was, just in a vastly different way.

Looking at my picture of Heero, it crossed my mind that it was somehow fitting that my two framed pieces were of the two most important people I'd ever had in my life.

I wondered if I could get Heero to let me hang it in our bedroom.

I decided, in the end, that I should probably at least put the thing away in the studio until after we'd discussed it. I didn't think Heero would thank me if I left it sitting in the living room and we happened to get company.

Taking my soda with me, I carried the picture out into the back room and ended up putting it in one of the cabinets at the end of the room, inadvertently stumbling across the towel I'd stashed in there when Aleyah had come to visit. I tossed it over the back of the couch and made a mental note to throw it into the laundry.

I ended up sitting on that couch myself, sipping at my soda and staring at the wall that contained ninety percent of a finished mural. How weird was it that it seemed odd to see Father Maxwell and Sister Helen alive? I'd spent a year with them, give or take, and lost them in a night... why did that day of blood and fire overshadow an entire damn year?

Though, I suppose when I thought about it, it was true for most of the stages of my life. There had been a lot of years running like a wild dog with Solo and the gang, but when I thought back to that time, the first thing I remembered was the plague. Those long, horrible weeks of watching my friends die while I went on, completely unaffected. Lived while they died. While I watched helplessly.

And my years in the salvage business. Did I remember the good runs when I thought back? Did I remember hell-raising with Hayden? Did I remember zero-g races with Toria? No... I remembered the belt. I remembered corpses and silence and the pitch black of hell.

I guess there's nothing quite like a trauma to make something stick in your head.

I wondered, as I sat and looked at the new mural, just why I'd painted Father and Sister the way I had. They seemed so... inviting, somehow. Reminded me a little of how I remembered them at the beginning of services. Though, there seemed to be something missing. The spacing of the picture was odd... like I'd intended to put in something else. For awhile I thought maybe it was just because I'd started the painting meaning for it to be something other than what it had turned out to be. But there was just something nagging at me that I couldn't ignore. I abandoned my bottle of soda to the floor by the couch and went to look closer at the damn thing.

Truth be told, I was not all that crazy about the urge I seemed to have to poke at it. After the last two weeks, I was rather tired of the whole art mess just on general principal. But... just try and deny the muse when it speaks.

Looking closer at Sister Helen, I was reminded of the only other picture I'd ever painted of her... the one in the corridor of my ship. I remember how I'd always thought that she looked like she was watching over the plague children that had stood in front of her in that line of remembrance.

I guess I don't have to tell you what was missing from the picture? It wasn't such a huge church... but I guess there was room there for a few more. Though this time, I vowed not to forget Froggie.

I thought about him, while I got out my paints, understanding that what Heero had made of the mural dictated that I remember Froggie the way he'd lived... and not the way he'd died. This was a picture about... I don't know; souls? Letting go? Moving on?

Not about the bleeding and the dying, not about the crying and the bitter smoke of lose.

I tried to make it up to Froggie by giving him the place of honor at Father's right side, where he would be safe forever from the predators and horrors of life. When I finished with his wide grin and those knobby knees, I gave Becca the spot beside Sister, letting her smile one of her rare smiles. Not making her cry for all eternity again. I imagined that her faceless parents were inside the church somewhere. Sister Helen would watch over her and see that she had nothing else to weep over.

There had been a great maple tree in the yard beside the church, before the fire had killed it. I roughed in the trunk, leaving the rest for later, just wanting the spot for Solo to stand. He'd have loved that tree, if he'd ever had the chance to see it. I could already see his shadow, arms folded and leaning against the trunk.

'Don't,' that shadow commanded, and I stopped, brush poised over the wall.

'Why?' I had to ask, blinking until the hint of his being was gone.

'Yer laying to rest, kid,' he told me, his voice in the room with me again. 'I got no want to be laid to rest.'

I turned and tried to find him, and thought he might have been sitting where I'd been on the couch. 'Don't you deserve some rest too?' I asked, though I had a sudden fear of it. I wondered if I could truly make it so, if I went ahead and painted it. And then I wondered if I would want to. Which led me to wondering if I had the right not to.

'I'm right where I wanna be, rat-boy,' he would have smirked. 'Leave me out of yer guilt trip.'

I snorted and shook my head. I suppose it did take a hell of a twisted mind to feel guilty for trapping a nonexistent ghost on the mortal plain. Though... I suppose it beat admitting that I talked to myself. 'Am I denying you Heaven, King-rat?'

He laughed abruptly, his voice clear as a damn bell for a moment. 'Maybe yer savin' me from Hell?'

'Never,' I whispered, knowing how he'd have mocked me for waxing so sentimental. 'Never you, old friend... you bought your place in Heaven a dozen times over.'

He snorted darkly and grew quiet. I turned back to look at the church again, sorry that I couldn't offer him some sort of release... glad that he'd absolved me from having to let him go, by his own command.

'Ya know,' he suddenly said, his tone almost gentle for Solo. A little bit like I remembered the night that Froggie had died, when he'd done his best to allay my guilt and fear. 'That Heero-boy of yours ain't the only one who's... proud a ya.'

I whirled around even though I knew he wasn't really there. I stared at the shadow of a man who'd been dead a long damn time, knowing that I was hearing my own thoughts and nothing more... but still not able to stop the mad pounding of my heart as I heard him tell me, 'Always knew there was somethin' special about ya, kid.'

He faded away then, and I wondered just how nuts it made me that I felt like crying over a thing that had never really been said.

I eventually turned back to the wall and began to put the next soul that had stood in line, next to the tree. Let sullen Jack take the place I'd intended for Solo. Another plague victim. Another one gone from my life. I remembered his sharp tongue and quick anger... and it truly did feel like I was putting him to rest. Handing his care over to Father and Sister, along with all the other children, and I'm sure it was just my imagination that Father and Sister seemed to smile more with every brush stroke.

I found myself softly humming some of those old hymns I'd learned way back then, remembering the sound of the old pipe organ echoing through the whole church. Sister Helen had told me that she would teach me to play when I got old enough to reach the pedals of the thing. Looking back now, I realized that she had known somehow that I would never be adopted. That I was going to be with them for a good long time. Or maybe... she'd only wanted it so. It was an oddly warming thought.

I hadn't quite worked my way through my plague victims when Heero came wandering into the room, looking tousled and sleepy and altogether gorgeous. I smiled at the sight he presented and he smiled back, seeming almost surprised that I'd noticed him at all. I suppose most of the times that he'd seen me work, especially on the murals, I'd been... less than connected with my surroundings.

'Good morning,' I said, and he came to join me, blinking at the mural in some small surprise. I watched him for a second, pleased as I saw understanding dawn in his eyes. He moved to slip his arms around me, watching over my shoulder as I went back to work, moving easily with me if I had to shift. It made me think of a dance. A slow, completely intimate, dance.

'Valhalla?' he asked, his voice somewhere between amused and melancholy.

I snorted softly. 'Aren't you mixing your religions?'

'I suppose,' he agreed amiably. 'But it seems sort of small for Heaven.'

I chuckled, brush finishing up the zipper on Tank's jacket. One of the bigger guys, he'd had his name long before I'd come along, and I'd never known where it had come from. He hadn't been the brightest kid, but had been loyal to Solo to a fault. Would have done anything the Rat King would have asked of him, I suspect. He had lasted longer than any of the others when the sickness came through. At the time, I'd thought he might actually make it, but I think he'd just been making sure he lived longer than Solo. Had to guard his leader's back right through the end.

'Maybe it's just our little corner of Heaven,' I told Heero and hesitated over the paints, suddenly sensing that there was something waiting to happen in that picture. Something I hadn't seen yet. I cocked my head and looked it over, sensing an imbalance. Feeling an empty space that something needed to fill. Like shadows moving in front of my eyes. Like voices in my head that I couldn't quite hear.

Or maybe I couldn't hear them because they weren't speaking to me?

'You know,' I said softly, so that I wouldn't overwhelm that voice, my hands waiting to be told what colors to choose. What brush I would need. 'Poor Becca seems lonely to me, I think she would like having... another girl there... maybe someone closer to her own age?'

The world seemed to stop around us, everything going still and quiet. I could feel Heero's heart, where his chest was pressed against my back, suddenly thump and accelerate. But I wasn't sure of the emotion behind it. I turned and kissed his temple, not speaking, letting him think it through. Letting him understand what I was offering, in my own strange way. I didn't know if he was ready to embrace it, even though he was the one who had led us here.

'Are you sure?' he finally whispered, voice thick.

'Very sure, love,' I told him. 'This is... ours. We made it together. If there's any comfort to be had from it... it's not just mine.'

He took a breath, and then another. 'I'm not even sure I believe...' he began, but I chuckled softly.

'Me either,' I reassured. 'But I don't think that's what's important. Maybe they believed. Maybe it's real. Maybe we make it real. I don't know... but the peace there is as much yours as mine. Maybe more so... you know what this would have been without you. Let me share it with you?'

I know the feel of my Heero when he needs me to just be there, and he needed that just then. He held me tight while I felt the tremble in his arms, felt the shudder of his breath. I just held on, and waiting it out, letting him set aside what he hates to let me see. He kissed the side of my neck when he thought he could speak again.

'Love you,' he whispered huskily and I knew where we'd be spending the rest of the day, once we were done.

'Forever,' I told him in turn, and then he began to speak to me softly, and we danced together to the music his voice made.

'She smiled a lot...' he began, and the colors came clear in my head. I reached for brush and palette and we sent Mary and her nameless owner to find their rest at the Maxwell church, with all the other souls that had wandered our dreams for so many years.

Heaven? Valhalla? Peace? Salve for the guilt? I don't know, and I'm not sure I really care.

But sometimes... you just have to forgive yourself.

OWARI

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