Gundam Wing/AC 1. Children Of The Night

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**DISCALIMER: **I do not own Gundam Wing and its wonderful character. If I did, I would have made a movie out of it long ago...

**WARNING: :** Rated R. Alternative Timeline for the show, shounen ai, angst, violence, sex, gore, OC, 21, 34, 1R.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** This is an answer as to where Duo's and Heero's lives would have been without two main events in their lives – The Maxwell Church Massacre and Heero's "adoption" by J. I've tried to stay true to the show the best I could, but I did change a few things here and there so they will fit better into my plot. I hope you will enjoy this story, even though it's kind of AUish...

**Naomi.**

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**TRUE CALLING**

**CHAPTER ONE:**

**CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT**

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was in the midst of the AC 195 war that L2-V08744's weather system broke down and a harsh winter seethed through the colony. A layer of frost covered everything, from the colony's metal casing to the buildings and roads. A malfunction in the weather controls caused a week of rain, which nearly drained the colony of its already deprived water resources. The sewerage system was flooded, the dirty water overflowing from the underground pipes and onto the streets. The water froze soon after flooding the roads, as the temperature dropped to a minus 18 degrees Celsius.

Though it was cold, there was no wind. The colony's ventilation fans were running on minimum power, just enough to blow oxygen into the crumbling space settlement. The air was crisp and still, as if frozen. It gave the colony the feeling of a graveyard.

It didn't stop snowing. Feathery white frost piled at the edges of the roads and in the entrance of every building. At first the municipality dispatched snow tractors to clear the roads, but gas was beginning to run low on the colony, so the service was cut off. Public transport was shut down, and only a few drivers risked their lives on the slippery roads. The colony's streets were packed with people who walked resignedly through the snow, the hardship of their lives written over their tired features.

L2-V08744 was an industrial colony, consisting mainly of working class people and smoke-raising factories. The air was dark and thick with pollution. Tall chimneys rose high above the buildings, painting the skyline with black smoke. The streets were crowded and narrow, buildings crammed against each other within tight spaces. The sidewalks and roads were badly maintained, asphalt cracked and shattered. Most of the colony's structures were neglected and tumbledown. Even the main district of the colony, the government hall, the courthouse and the colony's infamous museum, had been left to decay. There was no money to even fix a broken window.

Homeless people gathered in groups around large metal barrels with a small fire burning inside. They thrived on the garbage that littered the streets due to the lack of sanitation. Some less fortunate lay dead in dark alleys, frozen with a look of utter desperation. The local authorities were having difficulties keeping up with the corpses. Many lay dead on the streets for days.

There was a war raging between Earth and the Colonies, and times were hard. Factories were closed one by one, collapsing under the financial burden. The few people who still had a job hung onto it with sheer brute force and hostility. Competition in the job market was great. Joblessness usually coincided with homelessness. There were entire families living on the streets. Social Services and Unemployment Offices were packed with people, as were the penitentiaries and hospitals. Gangs roamed the streets, young men and women with nothing better to do than cause mayhem. Suicide rates climbed up drastically. Many children were left without a father, or worse – orphaned. Homeless children sunk into the nighttime shadows, swallowed by the dark. Whores and pimps, drug dealers and thieves... there were too many for the police to hinder. L2-V08744's underworld prospered, feeding on the lost souls who were cast out of society.

The small businesses were struggling to survive. Three small diners remained open on the colony. In the past, there used to be at least a dozen. The three restaurants struggled to survive under the harsh crisis, relying on the industrial workers to drop by for lunch or a cup of coffee from time to time. Food supplies to the colony were low, and the prices climbed higher with the inflation. Most of the meals on the menu were hard to afford, and there weren't many buyers.

It was a perfect opportunity for a large restaurant network to take over and open a branch on L2. A new diner, a forth one, was opened- brand new and full of promises. Star Cup café promised work for a few more fortunate people, and cheaper prices for all. The other diners on the colony were on the brink of bankruptcy, like most small businesses on the colony. Dumpsters that were once a promise for a meal were to go down along with them. That meant more gang fights over the few precious dumpsters that were left in the colony.

One of those fights was taking place in an alleyway behind Star Cup at an early morning hour. A boy, no more than fifteen years of age, against an older, perhaps thirty-years-old, homeless man. The boy was dressed in a long, thick trench coat that was twice his size. It reached down to his ankles and gave him a rather unwieldy appearance. His features were thin, almost famished; betraying the bulky appearance the trench coat gave him. The thick raincoat only created an illusion of volume around his fragile figure. He counted on that delusion to intimidate his rival.

The two opponents circled each other in the dark alley. Their feet sunk into the snow that covered the ground. The boy's movements were slow and calculated, each step made to intimidate with confidence and promises of pain. His eyes, a deep shade of blue, gazed fiercely at his older rival. It was an intense gaze, fiery and icy all at once. His hands, clad in fingerless gloves, balled into tight fists. They clenched and unclenched, ready for battle. The boy was frail and thin, but the desperation in his eyes told volumes of his strength. It was the kind of primal emotion that heightened a person's senses and skill. Survival on the streets was a matter of strong will and determination.

The man took a step forward, testing the air. The boy growled dangerously and tensed, his fists clenching tightly. That dumpster would be his this morning. He was willing to kill for it. He was even willing to die for it. Hunger drove him mad as he launched into the fight with a swift motion and a feral growl. He moved with speed and viciousness, using his smaller frame to his advantage.

The fight was quick, leaving them both breathless. They kicked and punched, fell and got up again. As moments passed they became slower, but just as determined. It was something they both had to do, otherwise they'd die. The boy was hanging onto the last shreds of his resolve, onto his last few resources of strength. His head was spinning and sweat trickled into his eyes. He was panting harshly, his legs trembling with effort. Looking coldly at his rival, the boy saw that he was in no better shape.

He snarled. It was time to break the man, using the final straw he had. If the man was exhausted enough, he might back away.

Still glaring at the man, watching his every movement, the boy reached a hand into his trench coat. He pulled out a gun, aiming it at the man's head.

"Leave." He rasped, his voice low and dangerous.

The man didn't move. He stood there looking at him with an expression stating that he was willing to die. He might even carve for it.

Panic stirred inside the boy for a second before he shoved it away. His fingers moved slowly, cocking the weapon with an audible 'click'.

"Now." He threatened, leveling the gun with the man's eyes.

Time stood still for a few moments. The boy struggled to keep his shaking feet from giving out. His features betrayed nothing though, glaring at the man with cold, menacing, eyes.

Eventually, the man gave up. With a heavy sigh, he slumped his shoulders and slowly backed away.

The boy did not move the gun away until the man disappeared into another alley. When he was sure it was safe, he let his hand drop down lifelessly to his side, the gun heavy in his hold. After a moment of just breathing, he shoved it back into his inner pocket.

With a sigh that raised warm vapor from his lips, he turned to the dumpster. He reached a pair of thin and bony hands into the dumpster. The fingerless gloves offered little protection from the cold, as did the tattered ski hat on his head. His chocolate brown hair, long and messy, peeked from underneath the wool hat, reaching down to his shoulders. His hair was dirty and hard as straw, but it kept the back of his neck warm. Long and untamed bangs fell over his face and obscured his eyes.

He had survived many winters on the streets, but this one was the hardest yet. It was getting harder to find ways to keep warm. Underneath the raincoat he was wearing three more layers of shabby clothing, some he'd long out-grown. He was fifteen and growing rapidly. It was hard to keep up with his body when it came to clothes. They were hard to get as it is, and having to change them every few months was not doing him any good. He didn't understand how he could be growing so fast. He was suffering from severe malnutrition. Where did his body find the means to grow?

He had been watching the dumpster from across the street the whole night, making sure to be the first to reach it. He waited until the first two garbage bags were thrown and then ran to catch his first meal in days. He knew that there would be a fight. He was prepared for it.

He had little time. Soon the dumpster will be raided by a homeless mob. He had to snatch what he could and run. He was in no condition to fight any more; he was too weak from hunger. Usually he would fight anyway, like an animal driven by desperation, but this winter was different. This winter was harder. It had worn him down.

He found a half eaten doughnut, wrapped in a colorful paper napkin. The pink and red designs didn't fit the colony, he mused as he picked it up. He unwrapped the doughnut and looked over it carefully, making sure it wasn't moldy. He then shoved it into his mouth - it was barely a mouthful - and chewed it gracelessly.

Licking his dirty fingers, he returned to dig through the garbage. His hunger had grown by tenfold, his stomach awakening after two days of starvation. He had been too ill to go hunting for food the last few days. The harsh winter was taking its toll on his already poor health. He had been lying in a cardboard box behind two dumpsters for most of the week, too ill to move.

The realization that he will starve to death made him drag himself out of his makeshift shelter and back to the streets. He didn't know why he bothered. The need to survive was ingrained deeply into him for some reason. He didn't know why he obeyed it, why he fought so hard to survive one day after another. But he did it anyway, simply because he didn't know what else to do. He had no future plans; all he did was live one moment after another, his furthest plans reaching as far as the next meal. No more, no less. An existence without living, just breathing with no reason. On some nights he held his breath in an attempt to stop his useless breathing, but then that survival instinct kicked in again and he found himself gulping for air. There was no use fighting it, he supposed. He simply had to survive. Perhaps the reason for it will come later on. And if not, he'll simply keep surviving.

**---!!¥¦§Ớ‰ⁿ!!!!**

A noise from the street made him look up in fright. He whirled his head from side to side, senses alert. His blue eyes narrowed and hardened. His gaze pierced through the alleyway and into the street. He waited, watching.

A car passed by, splashing cold water. Then silence. The air was still, the snowy street empty. No one came.

**. . .10001◙▼╪Ớ. . .******

He relaxed, slumping his shoulders. He turned back to the smelly garbage.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Half an hour after the boy was gone, another young man approached the dumpster. He was wearing a pair of simple waiter uniforms, the name of the diner - 'Star Cup' - printed on the back of his black shirt. His hair was long, chestnut color, gathered in a tight and tidy braid. He was carrying two heavy garbage bags, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He threw them into the dumpster with some effort, his arms too tired and stiff to move. There were black bags under his eyes, his features pale and worn with lack of sleep.

His eyes, which were an odd shade of violet blue, were blood shot and weary. They noted that the previous bags he had thrown that morning were already torn open and their content was scattered inside the dumpster. A sad, wistful, smile nudged his lips. He reached back towards the bags he dumped inside and untied them, leaving them open and in plain sight. It wasn't much, but it was something. His heart ached as he pictured a pair of thin, childish hands trying to rip the thick plastic open. At least if it was open, it would be a little easier to search for food.

With a heavy sigh, the teenager turned around and walked back into the diner.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The boy walked listlessly down the frozen streets of Downtown L2. He was dragging his feet over the frosty sidewalk, his hands shoved into his trench coat pockets and his gaze glued to the floor. His feet ached, his toes crammed inside a pair of worn-out shoes that just didn't fit him anymore. Vapor was rising from his nose and lips as he breathed. He had just walked out of the City Library, after spending a few hours there to avoid the cold. The warm air the heaters provided still filled him. He was even colder now, but he had to go out and hunt for food.

He walked past the marketplace, where the few merchants who could still afford to trade were shouting out their prices and begging people to buy. There were fewer buyers in the market compared to the old times, but people still had to purchase their necessities, and the marketplace was the cheapest.

He snuck into the alleys behind the market, the hum of the crowd still reaching his ears. There were food stands just a few meters away, but as strange as it may sound to some, he did not steal. He tried to avoid it the best he could. Times were hard, and many merchants were struggling to bring food to their family table. His conscience did not allow him to take their livelihood away from them. He relied on the food they threw away later to keep him alive.

His feet protested in pain with each step he took. He stopped, wincing, and looked down at his feet. His shoes were torn and muddy after years of carrying him through these streets. When he got them, three years ago, they were at least three times his size. He couldn't believe that he had survived long enough to fill them.

Sighing heavily, the boy looked up, his blue eyes scanning the market. There was a shoe stand not so far away. He swallowed, hesitation flickering across his face. He had no money, but he didn't want to steal. He needed shoes. He couldn't walk with what he had for much longer.

Helplessness and frustration stirred uncomfortably inside him. Troubling thoughts that usually made his head ache. He did not like to deal with such things. He tried to keep his life simple, concentrating on his next meal and a place to spend the night. Sometimes he saw things in his head. He didn't know what they were, but they came when he was troubled. He tried not to think too hard on things, it only made the flashes come and his head hurt.

**-----!!!001111‰ⁿ0011101₫⌂≡╘║ﬂ￼¶µ»º±¡ÛÄ001†‡₤₧₫€...******

He closed his eyes, ignoring the flashes. His body itched uneasily, beaconing him to deal with his dilemma.

Instead, he leaned against the wall of a shabby building and with a sigh, pulled out a small cigarette box from his pocket. They were a cheap brand, one he could easily buy after a few hours of begging for money on the streets. There were times he could gather up to ten credits a day, but when the winter came things changed. He had run out of cash, and he had to cut down on cigarettes. Not that he was a heavy smoker, but he did enjoy it at least a few times a day. Now he only smoked when he needed to quiet down his mind and simply concentrate on the warm smoke filling his lungs. It helped keep the flashes at bay.

**----1010001◙▼╪♂∂0111111≥⌂⌐⌠⌡─│∞╟╠**

One of the many advantages of his oversized trench coat was that it had many deep pockets. He carried his few possessions with him always, stashed inside the large pockets. He rummaged through the side pockets for a while before pulling out a small matchbox with a motel's name printed on the front. A young hooker gave it to him when he asked her for a light.

**---0¢£¥¦§ỚữỢ0000111011√℅$?¼†‡₤₧₫€...******

Holding the cigarette between his lips, he lighted the match and carefully brought it up, cupping it in his hands to shield it from the cold. When the cigarette was lit he took a long, relaxing drag and let his body sink against the building's wall.

**. . . 10∫∩∟≈≠≡ . . .******

The flashes slowly faded away... disappearing like smoke into the air.

With a relieved sigh, the boy slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold cement. His blue eyes gazed up at the metal sky, watching the smoke rise to where the two tall buildings touched the sky. He smiled sadly at the sight, his eyes fascinated by the way the dark rooftops connected with the cloudy sky. When it was this cloudy, one could almost forget he was living in an artificial environment. This is what Earth must look like, an endless skies stretching above you. When he watched the smoke ascend from his mouth and to the sky, he could almost envision what freedom felt like.

He took his time with the cigarette, prolonging the small pleasure of life. It was acrid and bitter in his mouth, burning his nostrils as he exhaled through his nose. He amused himself by blowing out circles and other unidentified shapes, watching the smoke as it disappeared before him. He envied it so much.

When the cigarette ran out, he continued sitting, leaning against a frozen wall, gazing ahead at nothing. His problems were slowly returning to his mind, creeping in on icy little feet and stinging his mind with troubling thoughts. There was a small flash of green flickering before his eyes. He closed them tight and tried to concentrate. Shoes. He needed shoes.

With a heavy sigh, the boy pulled himself up to his feet, his body heavy and weary. He looked up at the shoe stand and with a heavy heart, began to make his way towards it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He stood in front of the small shoes selection arranged neatly on a large wooden stand. They were so shiny and new, unlike anything he ever owned. They looked expensive. He didn't even dare to ask how much they cost. His heart beat painfully in his chest. He didn't want to steal. His feet shouted back in agony. He had to.

Sighing heavily, the boy reached towards a pair of simple black & white sneakers that seemed about the right size.

"May I help you, lad?" A voice asked softly, startling him. He snatched his hand back and looked up.

It was a man, around forty or fifty, wearing a blue sweater, a thick raincoat and a kind smile. He was looking at him with hopeful eyes, warm and brown like honey. The boy swallowed and took a small step back, guilt flooding him from the inside.

"I, uh, how much are these?" He asked, suddenly realizing it was the first bit of conversation he had in weeks. The thought stung a bit, but he pushed it away.

The man smiled in sympathy and shook his head. "They might be a little more than you can afford. But I might have something else for you." He said, reaching for something underneath the counter. "Do you know your size?"

The boy lowered his gaze, slightly embarrassed. "No." He answered, looking down at his feet.

"Well, try these on first." The man said, placing a simple cardboard box on the table.

The boy looked up and watched him open it. He made a sour face as the man pulled out a pair of ugly yellow-mustard shoes.

"They might be low in price, but not in quality." The man encouraged as he noted the distaste on the boy's face. He nudged the shoes towards him. "Come on, try them on."

"How much?" The boy asked without making a move towards the shoes.

The man frowned, putting the shoes back down. "Fifty credits. But I'm willing to give them to you for thirty five," he lowered his gaze down as he added, "...it was the original price." He looked back at the blue eyed teen, his smile returning. "They're my last pair, and it's a good deal, I assure you. These shoes are built to last."

The boy stared at him, bemused.

Thirty-five credits... thirty-five! He couldn't remember when he had last seen so much money all at once. The largest sum he ever held in his hand was a bill of twenty, and that's only because it fell from some businessman's wallet. He had returned the money to the man, and in return he was rewarded with half the sum. It was better than stealing. He did that quite often, back in the days when people carried money in their back pockets.

He could come back later and steal them. He could do it while the man was closing down for the day, loading his merchandize onto his van. He could... but...

"Daddy?" A small, childish voice spoke up from somewhere behind the man. The boy looked up and saw the man turn around in the direction of the voice. When the man turned, the boy could see a little girl standing behind him, hugging a tattered rag doll. The boy's heart sank heavily under the new load of pain. His head hurt again. He didn't want to think so much!

**---00-1◙▼╪♂∂0111≥⌂⌐⌠⌡─│∞╟╠****---**

"What is it, sweetheart?" The seller asked with a warm, yet melancholic, smile.

"I'm hungry." The little girl said, pouting. Her big brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "When is mommy coming home?"

The boy noted the tears welling in the father's eyes. His features were anguished. He assumed that there was no mother. Looking up at the girl's thin and famished face, he knew that there was no food either.

No. He could never steal.

"She's not here, sweetheart. Why won't you go back into the van and I'll make you a hot cup of tea?" The man spoke softly, carefully hiding the trembling in his voice. The boy heard it, but the child didn't.

Sighing, she buried her head in the doll's hair and mumbled a small "Okay..."

The boy watched her waddle slowly into the van. It was a while before the man gathered the strength to turn back to the boy. There was a small, forced, smile on his lips. "So, what do you say?"

The boy swallowed, looking up at the salesman. He didn't want to do this! He didn't want to! But he had to. He had to. The little girl's hollow face, pale with sadness and hunger, will haunt him for many nights if he won't.

He balled his hands into tight fists, trying to draw strength as he spoke his next words, looking at the salesman. There was an anguished look in his eyes as he spoke.

"Can ya save 'em for me 'til tomorrow? I'll be getting some money t'morrow."

The man frowned, distrust shining in his eyes for a moment.

"I haffta ask my mom first." The boy hurried to add. The old man thought he was going to steal someone's wallet or something. He never stole. He never knew if the person he was stealing from had a family. Families needed money more than he did. He couldn't afford the risk.

The seller didn't look convinced, given the boy's appearance, but after a while he sighed and nodded his head. "Sure." He said, putting the shoes back in the box. "You can come back tomorrow."

The boy nodded in thanks and slowly walked away, disappearing into a shadowy alley. He had work to do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Inside the new 'Star Cup' café, the digital clock flashed 17:56 PM. The young waiter looked at it and exhaled deeply. His shift was almost over. It's been a slow day, like always. Only a small selection of industrial workers came for lunch, and a grumpy businessman in a dark suit made some nasty comment about the Day's Special. The young waiter ignored him, paying more attention to the three middle-ranked officers sitting in the back of the dinner, dining on a large meal funded by their fat military paychecks. He eyed them angrily as he wiped the counter clean, his fierce gaze never leaving their sight as they laughed loudly and made rude comments at Madeline, also waitress.

"Fucking bastards," Madeline muttered as she brushed past him on her way to the kitchen, leaving a trail of sweet scent behind her.

"Yeah," he grumbled back, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

It was 18:00 PM. His shift was over.

"Are you going home, Duo?" Madeline asked as she exited the kitchen, taking her apron off slowly.

"Nah, not yet. Got some studying to do." Duo answered with a sigh, also taking off his black apron.

Madeline nodded thoughtfully. A soft smile graced her pretty face as she looked up at him shyly. "Walk me home?"

There was a flash of fear in her eyes that was hard to miss. It was only a week ago that he rescued her from the hands of three ugly bullies. The memory of her screams still made his blood boil. L2 was such a bitch. Ninety percent of the population had been corrupted.

"Sure," he answered with a smile, "it's where I'm headed anyway."

Madeline smiled in thanks and they both walked into the kitchen to get their coats.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So how's school going?" Madeline asked as they walked together through the freezing streets. "I think it's so great you're able to go to school. Most of our class dropped out of high school soon after I did." Her green eyes shone sadly as she spoke the words. There was longing in her voice, a longing for a childhood that disappeared all too soon. Sighing wistfully, she adjusted her red cape, brining it closer to her body and hugging herself. The air was like ice, it almost hurt to breathe.

"Yeah, I know." Duo muttered, vapor rising from his lips. He looked away, avoiding her eyes.

They continued to walk in silence, Madeline's hands clutching her cape protectively to her chest and Duo's hands shoved deeply into his pockets. His steps were harsh against the frosty sidewalk, his gaze glaring at the floor. Madeline watched him, a worried frown creating wrinkles on her young, sweet, features.

"So how's it going?" She asked again, her voice soft and undemanding.

Duo sighed and offered her a tired smile. He watched her curly red hair bounce up and down before speaking. "Great. Just great."

She smiled back and nodded, turning her gaze up at the artificial sky. It was already dark, like winter nights on Earth. Her eyes twinkled brightly as she watched the orange streetlamps pass overhead, soft snowflakes descending from above, sparkling under the orange illumination. They fell slowly to the ground, swinging in a graceful dance. It was beautiful; if she ignored all the hardship it brought the people.

Duo watched the street as they walked, his senses alert as his eyes shifted from side to side, searching. The shadows might be watching. There was evil lurking within them, waiting to jump its prey. There were drug deals in the shadows. Whores selling their bodies and children injecting toxins into their veins. He'd seen it before. He still saw it every day. It didn't make it any easier to bear.

"What's going on there?" Madeline's voice brought him out of his musings. Duo halted abruptly and followed her gaze. He frowned.

There was a crowd of homeless men surrounding an entrance of a building. There were a few bonfires burning among them, probably to keep them warm while they waited. The structure was unremarkable in any way, and Duo couldn't remember if it had any importance. Not even the Unemployment Office had such a mob waiting in front of it. He wondered what could be going on.

"Are they giving away food?" Madeline asked, her voice hopeful. Duo winced as he remembered his friend's starving family.

"I don't think so." he let out thoughtfully, "Otherwise there would be fighting."

"Oh." she whispered, bowing her head in disappointment. "Guess you're right."

"Must be another stupid protest." He muttered with an annoyed sigh, motioning at her to keep walking. Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he added: "Like it does them any good."

"It's better than turning to crime." Madeline pointed out, increasing her pace in order to keep up with him.

"Of course." Duo grumbled, sticking his gaze at the floor again. Those little childish hands appeared before his eyes again, desperately trying to reach for a loaf of bread lying on a stand in a crowded marketplace. It was too high to reach, the little hands tried but couldn't.

He sighed, shaking his head to chase the image away.

"We're here." Madeline said, slowly coming to a stop. He did the same and looked up at her. She was smiling again, her pretty green eyes glittering in the dark.

"Thanks for walking me home."

He smiled back. It felt real enough to him so he hoped it looked like it too. "What are friends for." he answered softly. "Say hi to your mom for me." He almost said 'folks', but then he remembered that Madeline's dad killed himself three months ago. He didn't have to say it; the dark flash in Madeline's green eyes was enough to show that she remembered without him having to remind her.

"Sure." She said nevertheless, smiling. "Goodnight Duo. Have a good day at school tomorrow. Tell Mrs. Robinson I miss her math class." She finished with a mischievous smile.

Duo chuckled, it sounded real enough. "Yeah right, like she'll believe me." They both had a little laugh, bitter and sweet at the same time. Madeline leaned to offer a light hug, clinging onto Duo's warmth for a second too long than what was accustomed between friends.

"Take care, Duo. I'll see you tomorrow." She whispered in his ear, slowly backing away. He didn't return the hug, she didn't expect him to, but it made her eyes shine sadly.

"Bye." He said, standing by the stairwell leading to her buildings as he watched her go inside. He stood there for a few moments, until he saw her silhouette in the window. Now that he knew she was safe, he turned around and made his way back home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was cold. His limbs were stiff even though he jogged most of the way in order to keep warm. His nose was numb, and probably red. His lips felt parched and his lungs ached from panting cold air. The streets were dark and seemingly empty to the naked eye. In fact, the night was when L2-V08744 truly came to life. War and financial problems usually went hand in hand with high crime rates and corruption. At night, the streets were full of it.

The police didn't bother to try anymore. They used to at least chase the whores out of the residential areas, but they only managed to divert the flow to other areas in the colony. There was no way to just 'flush' them out to outer space, though some people on the streets, those with a questionable sanity, liked to rant about such conspiracies. He used to know this homeless man, Mr. Parker, who always made such accusations. He was once his History teacher in Junior High, before he lost his family, then his job. He ended up on the streets like most people without a job. He occasionally came to the Soup Kitchen Duo volunteered it. Duo would sit with him while he ate, and the man would rant on and on about how to government was trying to 'cleanse' the streets from what they consider 'human filth'. He always said that a big flood would come someday to wash the wicked away. A sarcastic smile twitched Duo's lips. The man was right. Only the rain didn't wash the filth away. The flood just carried it up to the surface.

The Soup Kitchen was a part of the Maxwell Church, where Duo lived for most of his life. The church did a great deal to help the needed. Aside from the Soup Kitchen, the church did a variety of charity work and it also ran a small orphanage. Father Maxwell and his nuns, seven women with hearts of gold, picked up stray children from the streets and offered them a home. There was hardly any funding, but the Priest and his nuns managed somehow. Father Maxwell worked day and night to raise funding from different people, who mostly lived outside of L2. He was more dedicated to the children than to God, though his faith was just as strong as his love for the children.

The orphanage was small, but it held at least sixty children. Most of them were in Elementary school. They usually got adopted by that age, but that was before The Winter, when people could somehow afford it. Duo was the eldest among the Maxwell Children. Father Maxwell took Duo under his wing at the age of seven, rescuing him for a harsh childhood on the streets. He was the only child who was officially adopted by the church. The old Priest was like a father to him, a person he truly loved and adored. He never regretted living his life in the church, but now that he was older he didn't want to burden the old Priest and the Sisters. When Father Maxwell used the church's savings to send him to high school, a form of education that was not easily afforded on L2, Duo moved out of the church and rented a room downtown. Still, he made sure to come and visit at least once a week. After all, they were his family.

The walk from Madeline's home to the church was long. It would be an hour more before he'll get there, and the cold was not helping him either. He could hardly feel his body anymore, even though he was wearing a thick, navy-blue, raincoat.

The sound of a car's horn jerked him violently from his musings. He had been walking in the middle of the road, figuring that no one will bother to drive on the dangerous and slippery surface. Apparently he was wrong. Without turning back to see the car, he moved slowly to the edge of the road, letting it pass. The honked again.

Annoyed, Duo whirled around and glared. "Fuck off!" He shouted, waving his hands angrily. "I moved didn't I—" He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes widening. He was staring straight onto a large gray van. The Church's van.

The large vehicle rolled a few more feet forward so that the driver's side was in front of Duo. The window slowly slid down, and an old man peeked out the window. There was a warm smile on his wrinkled face, his kind eyes looking down at Duo with amusement.

"We spoke about your foul language before, haven't we, Duo?" Father Maxwell asked with an amused voice.

Duo's cheeks blushed a slight red. He bowed his head down humbly. "I'm sorry Father." He mumbled, staring at his shoes. "It's been a long day."

The man didn't lecture him. He just smiled and gestured with his head towards the van. "Come on, hop in."

Duo climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt. The Priest continued driving.

"What were you doing out in this frigid weather?" The man asked, though there was no judgment in this voice.

Duo sighed, looking out the window as the streets blurred into a mix of darkness and light. "I was walking someone home."

"Was it someone from school?" The Priest asked, turning to face Duo.

"Yeah." Duo mumbled, his gaze fixed on the scenery outside. "She was afraid to walk home by herself."

"That's very kind of you." The man said, turning back to face the road. The wipers squeaked as they wiped the snowflakes from the windshield.

Duo sighed and turned to face the Priest. "Where have you been?" He asked, knowing that Father Maxwell only took the van out for special arrangements. Gas was hard to obtain and extremely expensive. The Maxwell Church Van was once known to make many rounds around the colony, delivering food and aid to the helpless. Father Maxwell didn't like to stay in the church and preach about better days. No. He aimed straight for the belly of the beast, walking with his head held high into streets full of filth and desperation. He worked in places where it mattered. He dove into the gut of the outcast society of L2, brining it what little comfort he could afford.

People always came to knock on the door of the Church's Soup Kitchen, but it was the Maxwell Van that reached many more of them. As a child, Duo didn't understand why Father Maxwell risked his life so many nights driving into those dark shadows. When he grew older, the Priest took him with him on one of those rides. Duo saw what Father Maxwell had to deal with, and how he handled everything with a kind smile. He also knew when to be tough. He was a strong man, if not in body than in spirit. There were times he did not handle everything with a smile, and at those times he was as dangerous as anyone. Those occasions were rare, though. Duo could hardly remember seeing Father Maxwell angry or hostile.

Even on the night when he was harassed by three gang members, Father Maxwell stood his ground and showed no fear. They wanted to steal the food from the van, but he did not let them. He told Duo to run to safety and stood up to them with a stubborn face. When punches were raised, Duo could hide no more and came to the rescue. He was only twelve and they were much bigger than him. His sheer determination in fighting was what drove them away eventually. Since that night Duo joined the Priest on every ride into the darkness. He wanted to help and he wanted to protect the person who was so important to him. Some people didn't respond well to kindness. He never let them lay a hand on the old Priest.

But eventually even the Maxwell Van ran out of money for gas. Father Maxwell stopped making his trips into the night. It's been a long time since Duo sat in that passenger seat and watched the night streak outside the window. He couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

"Why did you take the van out tonight?" Duo repeated his question, watching Father Maxwell's face carefully.

"I went to pick up something from the spaceport. I finally got that delivery from L4."

Duo frowned; trying to remember what this was about. "The thermo blankets?"

The old man nodded. "Yes, that's right. I'm giving them away tonight. Would you like to join me?"

"Yeah, sure," he hurried to agree. Of course he would. The streets were harder than they were before. The winter caused the night creatures to harden their shell. There was more distrust and violence out there than ever before. Of course he was coming along. How could he not?

"They were very hard to get. At first all they wanted to give me were ordinary blankets, but I insisted on the thermo ones. Normal blankets won't do any good against this cold." the Priest explained, "Mr. Winner approved the delivery himself. He's a good man, when he has time to be one."

Duo smiled weakly and turned his gaze back to the window. He watched the rush of scenery slow down as the van drove up a hill and into a curve. From behind a few buildings, the church was revealed. The chapel, a white wooden building, stood silently in the middle of a well-kept yard, overlooking the rest of the colony from the hilltop. A round and colorful glass window decorated the roof, always shining with light, making the angels painted on it glow. It was an eerie contrast to the darkness surrounding the buildings. The bright colors seemed as if they were taken from another world, a different reality.

The building connected to the chapel was more appropriate for the colony. It was a small; four story building, bulky and brown. The entrance was rather fancy, with two thick white pillars at each side of the door, like a Greek temple. But even they lost their pure whiteness and were now dirty and cracked. There was a gloomy appearance to the building, but the warm lights shining out of its windows spoke of the warmth it held inside. Seeing those lights raised a small, sad, smile on Duo's lips. This was home.

Father Maxwell stopped the van in front of the orphanage and the two climbed out of the car. From inside the building Duo could hear the soft melody of the piano. Sister Josephine was probably playing for the children. It was 20:00 PM – Family Time. The children must be gathered in the lounge, the family room, drinking tea with cookies. He couldn't wait to go inside.

"We'll say goodnight to the children and then go, all right?" Father Maxwell asked as they walked up the stairs leading to the door.

"Sure." Duo mumbled, waiting for the Priest to open the heavy double doors. Warm golden light poured out the doorstep, washing them both. Duo inhaled the sweet warm air the rushed out of the building. There were definitely home made cookies. He could smell their sweet warm scent. He could imagine the little kids standing on wooden stools in front of the counter in the large kitchen, covered with flour as Sister Maria guided their hands over the dough.

"I hope they remembered to leave us some." Father Maxwell joked as they both entered the building.

The lobby was not fancy, but it was nice and cozy. There were two large armchairs and a small coffee table. Large framed pictures, ones drawn by children, decorated the walls. In front of him was the main staircase, leading up to the top floors where the offices and bedrooms were located. To his right was a door leading to the dining room and to the left was another door, leading to the lounge, or as the residents of the house called it– The Family Room.

"Oh Lord! Duo! You're back!" A woman's voice called happily, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. Both Duo and the Priest looked up to see a young nun rush down the stairs. The frost in Duo's eyes slowly melted into pure warmth as he watched the young woman run down the stairs, a wide smile on her beautiful face. A smile that was meant solely for him. Sister Helen.

She was a beautiful young woman, with smooth white skin and kind green eyes. Her hair was a golden, long and soft. He'd only seen it a few times, when he was a little boy who came to sleep in her bed when the nightmares were too much. In the morning he would watch her sit by her dresser and brush her long wavy hair. It always shone and made her look like an angel. He was probably the only one in the orphanage who'd seen Sister Helen out of her nun attire. Although now that he was older, he avoided it out of his respect for her.

"What took you so long?" The young nun exclaimed breathlessly, coming to stand in front of the two.

"He was walking his girlfriend home." Father Maxwell answered proudly, wrapping a strong arm around Duo's shoulders.

Duo smiled sheepishly, his first true smile for the day. "She's not my girlfriend, just a friend." He corrected.

Sound of laughter and soft singing came from the family room, followed by clapping and a merry tune.

Sister Helen nodded in understanding. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes; Duo could see her try to hide it. She was always sad that he did not have many friends. After all these years he still didn't feel 'normal'. He still found it hard to be a part of a group. He'd seen too much in his young years, more than he should have. His wounds were healed, but the scars still went deep.

Without pestering him about it, she turned to the Priest. "Are you going out tonight?"

"Yes," Father Maxwell replied, "in a while."

"The children and I packed some bread and milk. The boxes are in the kitchen. It's not much, barely enough for twenty or thirty people."

"It will have to do." The old man sighed with a sorrowful face. "We'll save whoever we can."

"I'll go put the boxes in the van." Duo offered quietly and made his way to the kitchen. The two watched him disappear behind the door.

"Something's wrong with him, Father." Sister Helen whispered, watching the closed door worriedly.

The old man sighed, almost resignedly. "He's out of the church again, back in those streets. Of course something is wrong with him."

"He shouldn't have left." The young woman mumbled, bowing her head sadly. "It was too soon."

"Perhaps. But you know it would have done us no good to argue. Duo's a stubborn young man." He turned to her with a reassuring smile. "I'll talk to him, Helen. Don't worry."

The young woman smiled, the light returning to her eyes. There was nothing this man could not do. He had her full trust and faith. He had rescued her from a life of pain and abuse. He brought her life when all she wished for was death. There was nothing he could not do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They drove silently through the dark streets of L2's most deprived neighborhoods. The van's headlights cut sharply through the darkness, shedding some light into narrow alleys as it turned. The children of the night did not scatter like rats. In fact, they looked silently at the van, not even blinking. They stared hollowly at the light, pupils dilated and faces pale. When it past, they continued to look blankly at the world and wallow in their destitution.

The night was silent, making the world seem dead. Only a few streetlamps were working, shedding small rays of orange light onto the thick blackness. The whores usually gathered around those lamps, the only creatures of the night that wanted to be seen. There were boys and girls, men in women's clothing, homosexuals and transsexuals from both genders. Young men and women willing to do anything for a few credits.

Duo winced and looked away, tearing his gaze from the window.

"It's been a while, I know." Father Maxwell said, breaking the silence for the first time since they left the church.

"Don't worry about it," Duo muttered, "It's nothing new."

The old man sighed and continued driving silently.

"Look, Duo, I know you don't want to hear it, but—"

"I'm not moving back into the church, Father." Duo cut in, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and added, "I'm doing fine."

"Yes, I know you are, but if you need any money—"

"You don't _have_ any money, Father. Please don't offer what you can't give. I'm fine. I have a job. I'll be fine."

"A job? Since when?" The Priest exclaimed, surprised. He turned to Duo. "Since when?"

"Since they opened Star Cup. I'm a waiter there. The money's good enough."

"And what about school?"

Duo sighed, looking away again. He leaned against the window, looking out at the night. "School's fine, Father. Don't worry."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Father Maxwell's eyes narrowed, watching, until he picked his prey for the night. He stopped the van. They exited in silence.

The children watched them with dead eyes. Father Maxwell was not wearing a Priest's outfit. His old jeans and tattered brown jacket made him look just like anybody. Duo walked to the back of the van and unlocked the cargo doors. He could feel the children watching him, ready to fight if necessary. Most of those children were fresh meat. They didn't know who Father Maxwell was. They didn't know that there was no danger. Their empty eyes followed every movement they made.

Some of the veterans – those who were over eighteen – greeted Father Maxwell warmly. They knew him, they liked him. They were a bit more suspicious towards Duo. It's been a while since he came down to these parts. For some strange reason, it almost felt like home. For a moment, he thought he actually missed it – the nighttime thrill. His life was boring and set into an unbreakable routine. The night was different. It held something alluring and mysterious. Father Maxwell would probably give him the belt for even thinking such sinful thoughts. He knew he should be grateful for being rescued from the night. He just felt that his life was going nowhere. At least the streets offered some excitement, if one could call it that.

He unloaded the cardboard boxes from the van and followed Father Maxwell silently. Like a bodyguard, his posture radiated confidence and strength. He watched the shadows carefully, daring the children to make a move. The night children just continued watching mutely, unaffected by anything around them.

Duo watched as Father Maxwell set to work, talking to the older people who knew him, letting them spread the word about the goods he brought. He conversed with an experienced hooker named 'Sugar', catching up with the latest news on the streets. Duo tuned off the conversation after hearing a few bits and pieces that involved the Winter Conspiracy Theory. Sugar was saying something about how the government was trying to kill everybody again, like it did back in AC 187 when the plague raged through the colony.

An image of those childish hands came to his mind again. They were trying to shake this little boy awake, but he remained sleeping. Dead. The dirty little hands hugged the dead blond boy, crying. Or rather, he was crying.

He shook his head and his eyes clenched shut, telling the image to go away. It slowly faded to black and he opened his eyes. He was staring at the dark street again, looking straight into the jaws of the beast.

"Fresh meat." A voice whispered, low and smelly as it brushed past his ear.

Duo turned around, confused. "What?" He asked, looking into the face of an eighteen-year-old male hooker. He was wearing tight leather pants, a small blouse and a pink feather scarf. His face was painted with too much make up.

The man pointed up to where Duo had been staring. "That one. Over there." He said, pointing at a small figure that stood huddled by a wall, away from the streetlamp.

Definitely fresh meat. She didn't have a territory of her own yet. But even from the shadows, she was going to attract attention. Fresh meat always did. They were still young and untainted, their skin still smooth and inviting.

Duo swallowed, turning back to the male hooker. "Thanks." he said, opening the box he was holding and handing it out to the man. "Here, help yourself to something."

The hooker smiled in thanks and took a small loaf of bread before disappearing into the shadows.

Sighing, Duo placed the box on the ground, near the van, where he knew it would be safe. The 'elders' respected Father Maxwell too much to steal from him, and the younger ones were still afraid to make sudden moves. He took out some bread and milk, and also a blanket. Securing them in his hands, he walked towards the girl.

There were two reasons the man bothered to point her out. The first, and he admitted to being naïve about it, was that he saw himself in that girl. Perhaps all he really wanted was to help, to stop the poor girl before she became like him. Before she will be swallowed completely by the night. The streets were like a black hole; they sucked you in quickly and without giving you a chance to resist. That's why Father Maxwell tried so hard to get to those children as early as possible. After some point, there was just no turning back.

The second reason, and the more sarcastic one, was that the man simply wished to eliminate the competition. After a few years on the streets, the whores were not a pleasure to look at. They became ugly. Most of the experienced ones, standing around the streetlamp, were hideous to say the least. Fresh meat, despite its inexperience, was going to get some attention.

The girl was young, around his age, and very pretty. Her dark brown hair reached down to her shoulders, long bangs falling over her eyes as if to tease someone to tousle them. She didn't wear any make up, but she didn't need any. Her eyes were blue and intense; there was no need to emphasize them any further. Her lips were thin and small, almost delicate. They were blue from the cold. It was no big shock, because all she was wearing were a pair of tight jeans short and a black loose shirt that was cut low in the waist and chest. Her feet were bear. Her slender shoulders were trembling badly. Duo knew that if she won't put on some proper clothing, she'd slip into hypothermic shock.

"Here," he said, placing a thermo blanket over her shoulders, "You need to get warm."

"Dun touch me." The young hooker growled, and Duo's eyes widened in surprised at the sound of her voice. It was a boy. She was actually a _he_.

Duo didn't let the surprise to show for more than a split second. He composed himself quickly, knowing that any judgmental reaction out of him will chase the boy away.

"I'm sorry." He said, and took a step back. He left the blanket hanging from the boy's shoulders and nodded in approval when the boy reached for it, clutching it close to him. At least he didn't refuse the blanket. It was a start.

"G-G-Go'way..." the boy stuttered through chattering teeth, glaring at him.

Duo pretended not to hear him. "There's some food if you want." He handed him the bread and small cardboard of milk.

The boy looked at it hungrily, before turning his head away in a stubborn movement. "Go'way."

Duo sighed. "I'm not a cop or anything."

The boy still didn't look at him, holding the blanket close to him with trembling hands.

"Look, I'll leave the stuff here anyway, and if you want, you can eat it later, okay?" He tried again, slowly placing the food on the pavement.

The boy still didn't look at him.

A car stopped by and honked. The boy turned to look at it silently, his eyes shimmering in the dark. A hand peeked out the window and motioned at the boy. Duo saw him clutch the blanket closer, a sight that pinched his heart.

"Hey! Lets see what's hiding behind that blanket, huh?" A drunken voice slurred.

Duo could hear the boy sigh before he let the blanket drop. He watched with helpless agony as the blanket fell to the floor and the boy walked towards the car. He winced with every step those small, bare, feet took towards the vehicle, his heart sinking. He watched the boy lean into the car, his frustration indescribable. He wanted to stop it. He wanted to push the boy away from the car and punch the asshole in the face. But he didn't do anything. He couldn't. If anyone here saw him do it, he would lose their trust. And if he didn't have their trust, he didn't have anything. Without trust, he could never help them.

So he stood there. He stood there and watched as the passenger door opened and the boy climbed in. It looked like the car was swallowing him. Slowly the boy disappeared, diving into darkness. He watched, feeling helpless, as the car sped away. It was as if the boy was never there. If the man chose to do so, he might not even survive the night.

Duo was left behind with the knowledge of what's about to come. Contrary to popular belief, most customers were interested in a simple act. Something quick that can easily take place in a parked car. It made sense. The simple act was comfortable for the buyer; he didn't have to find a room, there were fewer reasons to worry about sex diseases, there's no chance of pregnancy, you don't have to take all of your clothes off... it was convenient.

He looked away, refusing to think about it any further. With a heavy heart, he picked up the discarded blanket – the food he will leave to whoever came to take it – and walked back towards the van.

**

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**TBC…******


	2. A Five Dollar Meal

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**TRUE CALLING**

**CHAPTER TWO:**

**A FIVE DOLLAR MEAL**

x.x.x.x.x.x

The boy walked down the street, a burning cigarette in his hand. He made a total of fifty credits last night. Thirty-five for the shoes, ten for the smokes and the rest he will keep for a decent meal. He had three cigarette boxes stashed in his trench coat pocket. He didn't know when he will have money again, so he bought them in advance. On some days, they were even more important than food. Especially when the green flashes started and his head began to ache. The trashy outfit he'd worn last night was shoved in there too, folded in a bundle of fabric, sweat and semen.

It was the first time he'd worn that outfit. He never dared to put it on before. It wasn't even his. The clothes belonged to a young girl named Wanda. She was a junky and a whore, but she took care of him in his first year on the colony. He arrived to L2-V08744 as a stowaway on a cargo shuttle. He was eleven years old. She was a sixteen-year-old hooker who ran away from home after years of being sexually abused by her father. She took him under her wing and helped him whenever she was lucid enough to do so.

He was twelve when she taught him a few secrets of her trade. It was his first and only sexual experience until last night. She gave him the jeans shorts and the shirt, and two useful advices for life– never agree to go all the way ("'Specially cuz yer a boy," she said), and "stay the Hell away from drugs!"

She died two months later from an overdose. He'd been alone ever since.

Taking a long drag, he tried to erase the sound of her laughter from his head. He'd nearly forgotten how pretty she was. She had the face of a sweet country girl, though her nose was a little crooked after years of beating.

The sounds of the marketplace drifted from across the street. He took one last drag and threw the finished cigarette away. Crossing the snowy road, he looked up to see the crowded market. Scents of bread, fish, vegetables and spices engulfed him. The food supplies must have arrived to the colony. Large swarms of people raided the food stands; policemen tried to keep things in order but failed. Chaos ruled the busy street, shouting and fighting all around.

He walked in silence, watching the commotion with indifferent blue eyes. His hands were shoved deeply into his pockets; clutching the money he'd earned last night. He was invisible in the crowd, but he felt as if they were scolding him. He avoided looking at anyone in the eye, feeling dirtier than ever.

The shoe seller was surprised to see him. The look in his eyes suggested that he didn't expect him to return. The boy offered him a weak smile as a greeting.

"Ya still got them shoes?" He asked hoarsely, wincing at the pain in his raw throat. He reached a hand to rub it, trying to soothe the throbbing.

The old man watched him carefully, his gaze thoughtful. After a moment or so he replied: "Sure."

He reached underneath the counter and pulled out the shoebox. "Would you like to try them on first?"

The boy nodded, avoiding the use of his vocal cords. The man gestured at a small stool behind the counter, and the boy complied. He sat down and untied his shoes. The man was looking at him, his gaze unnerving. The boy avoided looking into his eyes, staring hard at his shoes while he untied the laces.

The man kneeled before him and reached to take off one of his shoes.

"I ca--" the boy started, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat and winced at the pain. He looked up at the man. "I can do it." His voice was rough like sandpaper, but still determined. The man backed away and watched the boy try on his new shoes.

"How many did you take?" The man asked, crossing his hands over his chest.

The boy's head jerked up, eyes wide. He was about to deny everything, but the look in the man's eyes told him that he didn't have to. There was sympathy there.

"Five." he rasped, looking down at his feet again. "I wasn't any good."

The man nodded in understanding. "Clara!" he suddenly called towards his van, "Bring daddy a cup of tea, will you sweetheart?"

"No, 's okay, I--" the boy began, but the man hushed him with a kind smile.

"You're my first costumer in weeks. It's the least I can do." He explained, kneeling down again. He reached for the other shoe, and this time the boy didn't stop him. The man removed the shoe, wincing at the sight of his torn and dirty socks. The boy grimaced as well, having to stop himself from flinching. There were frostbites underneath the fabric. They hurt, but he was used to pain. He sat silently as the man placed the second shoe on his right foot.

"Take a few steps, see how you like them." He offered softly, rising to his feet. The boy got up, taking a few steps forward. The shoes were damn ugly, but they were very comfortable. And warm. He liked them. He took a few more steps, testing them further.

"They're kinda big." He said, lifting a foot up to examine the sole.

The man smiled. "So? You'll have some room to grow into." He answered just as his daughter came with a steaming cup of tea. He handed it to the boy.

"Herbal tea. It will help to soothe your throat."

The boy stared at the mug for a moment, considering whether or not he deserved such kindness, before finally taking it. Sitting down again, he mumbled a small "Thank you."

The man smiled and so did the little girl.

x.x.x.x.x.x

It was eleven AM, and the Star Cup Diner was rather empty. Madeline was working behind the counter. Duo wasn't due to work until four o'clock. She sighed longingly and rubbed a cloth over the shiny countertop. He was probably sitting in class now, listening to Mrs. Herbert's babble about modern history and war. It was boring as Hell, but she missed it dearly. Life in high school were normal. She missed normal.

Sighing, she gazed out at the street through the large wall-to-wall window at the front of the restaurant. There was mostly snow out there and a few cars rolling carefully down the street. People were walking up and down the pavements, wrapped in thick winter clothing and concerned only about themselves. There used to be times when children played ball in the streets. Back when Mr. Brant's ice cream stand stood in the corner of Colonial Ave. and Bravery St. She remembered how the kids from her neighborhood used to open the street's fire hydrant and play in the water that gushed out of it. It used to be warm. It used to be fun. There used to be innocence. Now most of those kids were begging for money on the streets. Summertime seemed so far away.

The front door opened with a silent chime. With a sigh, Madeline drew herself away from her musings and looked up. Her pretty green eyes widened as she watched Duo stumble out of the cold and into the café. He was wearing his waiter uniforms, but carrying a heavy-looking backpack. Stunned, she watched him approach the counter.

"Hey." He greeted tiredly, acting like noting was out of the ordinary.

"What are you doing here?" Madeline asked, gawking at him.

"They're cutting down on classes cuz there's no money to pay the teachers," Duo explained as he headed to the kitchen, "So I talked to the boss and booked a morning shift."

"And what about Marissa? She's supposed to be working mornings." She called through the service window.

Duo walked back from the kitchen, tying his apron around his waist. He shrugged. "I talked to her, and she'll be working evenings instead of me."

Madeline frowned. Something just didn't add up. "And you'll be going to evening school?"

Duo didn't answer, taking his post behind the pasty counter.

Madeline sighed and shook her head. When Duo didn't want to talk, there was no use trying to make him speak. Sometimes he would just close off and there was no reaching him.

The bell over the door chimed as a customer entered the small diner. Both Madeline and Duo looked up. It was a boy wearing a dirty trench coat, fingerless gloves and a tattered ski hat. His face was streaked with dirt, and his shoulder length hair was messy, sticking out in all directions. A homeless boy.

Duo frowned, his eyes narrowing.

The boy stood by the door for a while, no doubt appreciating the warmth. He looked left and right, his slow movements hinting at his hesitation. When he turned to face the counter, Duo's frown deepened even more.

He knew those eyes. He's seen them before. They were the most intensive blue, their gaze cutting mercilessly through the air. He watched the boy stand quietly, as if he hadn't decided if it was safe to enter.

"Hello," Madeline greeted with a friendly voice, smiling widely at the boy. "Can I help you?"

The boy looked up, silently shifting his gaze between the two. Duo decided it would be better to look away and began cleaning the counter, keeping his head bowed to avoid eye contact.

It was a moment more before the boy moved. Slowly, he approached the counter, watching Duo like a hawk. His shoes squeaked against the shiny floor, drawing Duo's attention. He didn't look up, knowing without looking that they were brand new. His mind did a small amount of calculating before reaching a conclusion. Last night the boy's feet were bear, and today he had a new pair of shoes. This was indeed the boy he'd seen on the street last night.

The boy finally stopped in front of Madeline. The red headed girl smiled warmly at him. She saw him cast a short glance at Duo – who was ignoring him on purpose for some reason – before he turned to look at her again. His features were blank, but the look in his eyes seemed a bit lost. It made her heart ache.

"Can I help you?" She repeated her previous question, cocking her head aside in a friendly gesture.

The boy blinked, as if coming awake. He looked surprised that she spoke to him. She saw him swallow, hesitation flickering through his eyes.

"I, uh..." he began, never looking at her in the eye, "Wha'dya got for five credits?"

His voice was quiet, and somewhat hoarse. Her eyes narrowed in sympathy as she looked thoughtfully at his face. He was very thin and pale. He looked famished.

She thought for a moment before answering. "Well, I can give you one of our sandwiches with some orange juice."

"A sandwich?" he echoed, disappointed. "Duntya have somtin' else? How much for one of them burgers?"

A few feet from them, Duo began scrubbing the counter furiously. He tried to shut out the sound of despair in the boy's voice, but it was painfully obvious. The boy had just managed to make a few bucks, after selling his body no less, and all he could eat was a lousy sandwich. It wasn't fair, that's all.

Madeline's green eyes shone sorrowfully as she shook her head. "No... sorry... that's ten credits..."

"Oh." The boy mumbled, lowering his gaze. He sighed before looking up again. "Is it big?"

Madeline frowned in confusion. The boy wasn't very good at expressing himself. She wondered if he was even used to speaking with people. She didn't let her thoughts show, and patiently asked: "What is?"

"The sandwich."

She smiled, her curly hair jumping up and down a little. "Yeah, pretty big. It's actually a roll. And I'll let you chose whatever you want in it."

There was silent disappointment in the boy's blue eyes. "...'kay."

Madeline smiled and nodded. "Just wait a minute and I'll get it ready for you."

The boy nodded and watched her walk into the kitchen. He looked aside and saw the other waiter looking at him. His gaze was firm and intense. It made him nervous. He slowly looked away, tucking a few hairs behind his ears.

The waiter was familiar. He recognized that braid. It was the same boy who approached him last night. Embarrassment flooded him like liquid acid. That waiter knew what he did to get the money.

Duo sighed silently, forcing himself to look at anything but the boy standing just a few feet away. He could see the shame shining in his blue eyes. He didn't want to make him feel any more discomfort.

"So," Madeline said as she returned, holding a large roll. She made sure to pick the biggest one they had in stock. "What would you like in it?"

The boy looked up at her, his features hesitant. "Just... whatever." He mumbled before returning to stare at his shoes. He could feel the other waiter _try_ not to look at him.

"Will you be eating here?" The girl asked.

The boy looked up. The braided waiter was watching him again. There was something in his eyes, something too intense for him to recognize. He stared at him blankly for a second, before turning back to the redhead. "No." He said, bowing his head again.

Madeline nodded, her smile never wavering, even though she wanted to beg him to stay in the diner, where it was warm.

"All right. I'll just pack it for you." She said before walking back into the kitchen.

The boy stood silently and waited.

Duo stood and stared at his hand holding the cloth over the shiny counter surface. There was an awkward silence. He wanted to say something, but he knew he shouldn't.

"There you go!" Madeline's cheerful voice called, drawing both boys attention. Duo looked up and watched the blue eyed boy reach a hand over the counter. He stared at his dirty hand, clad in a filthy fingerless glove, handing Madeline a ragged bill. She thanked him for the money. The boy took his roll – Duo could see that Madeline stuffed as much as she could into it - and a small bottle of orange juice.

The boy looked at him one last time before mumbling a small 'thank you' and leaving the diner.

Duo watched him leave, feeling awful. This was the second chance he had to help the boy, and he messed it up.

"I wonder why he didn't stay," Madeline wondered out loud, shaking her head sorrowfully, "It's warmer here."

Duo sighed and returned to cleaning the counter. His movements were slower now.

It was because of him. He should have said something; he shouldn't have scared the boy away. He shouldn't have let him feel like he was judging him. Some help he was. That's twice already that he'd failed to help him.

x.x.x.x.x.x

A morning that had started chaotically, with the arrival of food supplies to the colony, faded into a slow and quiet day. Snow continued to fall silently to the ground, adding another soft layer of whiteness to the colony. The air was calm, coating everything with silence. By the early afternoon hours, the streets were almost empty. A few people walked here and there, making their way through the snow. Shops were closed due to lack of buyers. Buildings were locked, their entrances closed to keep the homeless from squatting in the lobby.

There was something different about the streets. There was a certain sense of order. False tranquility. The calm before the storm. The alleyways were empty, not even a rat running around. Even the Shadows didn't move. The Children of the night were gone, perhaps in hiding.

Duo walked silently down the colony's main avenue, his school bag bouncing over his back in silent thuds. He was looking restlessly from one side of the street to another, his eyes wary. He couldn't feel the shadows watching from the alleys. Something's changed.

He pulled his heavy backpack closer and moved onwards in firm strides. Something was cooking on the streets. There was a part of him that still needed to know what.

He'd listened to the radio while working at the diner. There was no news about a raid on the supply shuttles. The market trades for the day went by smoothly. It didn't make sense. Where were the Children? Where were the desperate homeless men who fought for a slice of bread for their family?

He walked past what once was the main park in the colony, now a makeshift tent city, full of homeless families. Crossing the park, he entered the colony's main district, passing by the Municipality Hall and small office buildings. He was headed to the L2 Colonial Library. His bag was packed with thick textbooks, bouncing against his body as he walked.

His eyes shifted restlessly from side to side, watching the streets. A few businessmen walked hurriedly past him, ignoring anything around them. One collided with him and pushed him aside. He didn't even apologize and kept walking.

Duo sighed and shook his head. People were losing their compassion. Or perhaps they did a long time ago. He continued walking, turning away from the main avenue and into a side street.

Now that he was off the main avenue, something dawned on him. Watching the narrow streets around him, he noticed that there were no beggars. He didn't see one shabby-clothed man since he left the diner. There were no homeless old ladies sitting curled in their rags inside a dark alley, a numb look in their ancient eyes. No street punks running up and down busy pavements, stealing and running faster. The streets were 'clean', not an outcast around.

Duo frowned and halted. He looked around, trying to confirm his observation. Only snowy streets stared back at him, screaming with emptiness. There was no sign of the Children watching him hungrily from the shadows. For the first time in months, he felt alone on the street, with only the snow to keep him company.

Something was wrong.

He kept walking slowly down the streets. When he arrived to what used to be the colony's main entertainment center, came another shock.

The area was packed with people. Shops that had been closed for a long time were now open, offering their service once again. Cafés and bars, game arenas and theaters. A few were still closed, but most of them glittered with colorful neon lights like they did in the good old days. It was unreal. The neon glow twinkled in the snow, reds, greens and orange winking merrily at the crowd.

Duo watched with wide eyes, completely dazed. Young people walked among the shops and restaurants, laughing and speaking among themselves. Soldiers. OZ soldiers, of every rank, age and gender. They walked in their uniforms, their shiny black boots sinking softly into the snow. A young couple, an Officer and his girlfriend – a sergeant – walked hand in hand past a café. Two female officers were giggling happily as they stood in front of a cotton-candy stand. A group of soldiers - shuttle pilots by what the symbol on their uniforms showed – sat by the window in a small bar, having a drink.

Most of them were young, not much older than him. They looked happy, unlike anyone else on the colony.

What were they doing here?!

Realization hit him hard and painful as he remembered the large gathering Madeline and he saw in front of a building last night. Without a second wasted, he turned on his heels and ran, through an alley, into a narrow street, over the bridge overlooking the main avenue, past three blocks and further on. He ran until he got to that building, panting frantically from both shock and extortion.

When the building came to sight, he stopped, nearly stumbling on his own two feet.

The crowd was still there, but now they stood in neat rows in front of the entrance, waiting silently. Soldiers were keeping order. The homeless stood obediently in the cold.

Duo whirled his head to watch the building. It was a rather small, maybe six or seven floor, old and shabby. OZ flags hung limply from the roof for there were no wind to flap them. A decorative OZ symbol, about a head big, hung over the entrance. Above it was a sign:

'**Organization of ****Zodiac - L2-V02744 Command Post**'

All around the building, there were posters screaming:

'**Join OZ Today! Recruitment Project AC 195!**'

Duo frowned, confused for a moment. OZ were recruiting people from the colonies? From L2? But... why? Weren't they from Earth? What was going on?

"Hey there!" A friendly voice, a girl's voice, greeted him. "Would you like a brochure?"

Duo blinked, looking away from the building and straight into a young girl's eyes. She was wearing OZ uniforms, a Private rank, her eyes shining bright. Her cheeky face was rosy and her full lips were curved into a kind smile. By the looks of her, she wasn't from L2; she was too well fed. She handed him a small booklet, her hand brushing warmly against his.

"OZ needs young men like you to stand up for the colonies' rights. Read this over, you might find it interesting."

He looked down at the colorful brochure in his hand. It was heavy for some reason, or maybe the weight was just in his mind.

'**Join OZ today and get up to 2500 Credits a month! Your colony needs you! Join now!**'

The covered screamed at him with colorful writing. There was a picture of a Mobile Suit – he wasn't sure how it was called – against a starry sky. An OZ flag was flaping in the background. Cheap propaganda.

He looked up at the girl, puzzled. "You're even letting us be pilots?" He wasn't really interested, he just wanted to make sure that they weren't offering people to be stockkeepres, mechanics and secretaries. As suitable for most "uneducated" colonists.

The girl smiled warmly. "Of course! OZ does not discriminate colonist. We offer a large variety of flight courses, from Earth aircrafts to space shuttles and even Mobile Suits."

Duo made a face, finding it hard to believe. "Mobile Suit pilots... like the ones who fight?"

"Why sure! Someone has to protect the colonies!"

Now he was frowning. "Protect from what?"

Apparently he had asked too many questions, because the girl's smile disappeared. He supposed she wasn't "programmed" to answer such questions.

"Listen, just read this over, okay?" she muttered in annoyance, her fake visage fading. She turned and walked away to find the next person to brainwash.

Duo sighed and looked down at the booklet in his hand. Finally, he shook his head and shoved the brochure into his backpack. He cast a final glance towards the long line in front of the Recruiting Station, and with a heavy feeling in his chest, he walked away.

2500 credits were a lot of money. There was no wonder why such a large crowd of homeless people were waiting in front of that building. OZ sure knew what they were doing coming to L2.

x.x.x.x.x.x

"Why Duo! Hello! It's great to see you again!" An elderly librarian called excitedly the minute she looked up from her work and saw Duo standing in front of her. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It sure has, Mrs. Perkins." Duo replied with a smile, sliding his heavy backpack off his shoulders. He was standing before Mrs. Perkins station - a counter packed with papers, books and an old computer terminal.

L2-V08744's Colonial Library was a small and old building, not up-to-date with technology. It used to reside in the University Campus, but the university was shut down. People could barely afford to go to high school nowadays. A university was out of the question. Father Maxwell was expecting him to leave the colony as soon as he graduated from high school so he could go to a university. He wanted Duo to get proper education in one of the neighboring colonies. Duo, on the other hand, had different plans.

"How is Father Maxwell?" The elderly woman asked, pushing her thick glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Duo pulled his books out of the bag and placed them on the counter one by one. "He's fine."

The woman smiled sweetly, in a manner only old ladies know how. "That's wonderful to hear."

There was a tall pile of books lying on the desk now. Duo closed his bag and turned to the woman.

"I think they're long overdue."

Mrs. Perkins chuckled and waved her hand in a dismissing motion. "Oh, Duo! Don't be silly!" She laughed, leaning closer to Duo. Looking around to make sure no one was listening, she whispered to him: "You know I let Father Maxwell borrow them for the year. You don't have to return them until the school year is over."

Duo smiled sadly. "I know, Mrs. Perkins. But I don't need them anymore."

The old woman frowned, backing away from him. "And why not?"

When the young man sighed, lowering his gaze, Mrs. Perkins' heart sank. She placed a hand over her heart and breathed: "Oh, no! You didn't!"

With his head still bowed, hiding from shame, Duo nodded. "Yeah, well, there are bigger things happening now. I don't have time for school."

"What else is there to do but gain knowledge?!" The old woman exclaimed breathlessly.

"Earn money, what else?" Duo snapped, looking up at her with a sharp gaze. "Father Maxwell doesn't let it show, but the church is out of money. The bank is already threatening to take possession of the orphanage. Where would the children be then? On the streets?!"

The old lady's face paled at his words. Sighing, she bowed her head and shook it sorrowfully. "I had no idea..."

"Well, now you do." Duo mumbled with a sigh, looking down sadly.

Without another word, Mrs. Perkins took the textbooks one by one and fed them back to the computer. She worked in silence, giving Duo time to calm down. She knew him since he was a little boy of eight, just starting school. He was two years behind everyone in his class. He was eight and didn't know how to read and do simple sums yet. Times were hard for him at school. He was picked on by other children, who mocked him for being an orphan and a bit 'slow'. In fact, Duo was not 'slow' at all. He was only behind on the curriculum.

She remembered the first time he walked into the library, holding Sister Helen's hand and looking very unsure of himself. He was such a sweet boy, a cheeky face with bright violet eyes. He had the most adorable pout and a smile that could melt anyone's heart.

Sister Helen introduced the little boy to her and asked if she could take care of him while he was in the library. The younger children in the orphanage needed her there. Mrs. Perkins took the task on gladly. It wasn't easy at first, Duo was a stubborn little boy, but it was only because he had been teased so badly about his intellect that he refused to try and learn. After a few visits, she managed to get to him somehow by reading him stories. She asked him if he wanted to know how to read them by himself, knowing how much his independence was important to him. The little boy agreed.

Two month later, he was reading and writing perfectly, better than anyone in his class. He was a bright boy, very witty and smart. He had an incredible capacity to learn quickly and efficiently. There was no other boy like him on L2.

Mrs. Perkins looked up at Duo, and saw him looking at a particular person sitting in the library. She smiled.

There was no other boy like him, except one.

The old lady smiled secretly to herself, typing away in the computer.

While Mrs. Perkins was working, Duo turned around and swept his gaze across the library out of boredom. His gaze stopped on a particular figure sitting in an old armchair in the Private Reading Section.

"He comes by here quite often." Mrs. Perkins commented casually, placing one book aside and taking another. "Especially since it began snowing."

Duo swallowed, his eyes glued to the figure on the armchair. It was a boy, with brown, shoulder length hair peeking out of a blue ski hat, shabby clothing, and a large trench coat lying on the armrest next to him. He was reading a book, turning the pages slowly with hands clad in dirty fingerless gloves.

It was him. It was the same boy from the diner, the boy from the street. The one he failed twice already. He was here.

"He's a bright boy, more than he lets people believe." Mrs. Perkins continued matter-of-factly, "The first time I saw him he was no more than eleven. He walked in and asked me if he could read something without paying. He asked if I had Assimov!" she exclaimed with a chuckle, "Assimov! How can I refuse a little boy who asks me about Assimov?" She laughed, shaking her head.

Duo listened to her with wide, stunned, eyes. "Seriously? He's been coming here all these years?"

The old lady nodded. "Hm hmm. He must be your age by now, I think. I never asked. He's not much of a talker." She said in that I'm-not-a-nosy-old-lady tone, looking at him above her glasses, which slid down her nose.

Duo smiled, nearly chuckling. Mrs. Perkins always made him laugh with her little performances.

"Are you done with the books?" He asked, changing the subject. He was eager to go talk to the boy.

Mrs. Perkins smiled knowingly. "Yes, dear. You can go."

Duo nodded in thanks, picked his bag, and walked towards the armchairs at the end of the library. Mrs. Perkins watched him with proud eyes.

x.x.x.x.x.x

The boy must have been absorbed into the book, for he didn't look up when Duo approached. There were five more armchairs in the Private Reading section and they were empty. Duo carefully sat down in an armchair opposite to the boy's. He waited for the boy to notice him.

He took the time to examine the boy's features. His expression was concentrated, obviously absorbed deeply into the book. It made Duo wonder what he was reading. The book was pretty thick and seemed like heavy reading. He hated to come off as prejudice, but it was a bit strange to see a homeless boy read such a book.

Duo leaned into his chair, watching him carefully. He ran his eyes up and down his figure. The boy's posture was relaxed. Underneath a dirty red sweater, he was wearing at least two other shirts that peeked under the collar line. He smelled of cigarettes and filth, his face streaked with dirt. The edges of his lips were cracked and wounded, no doubt from his little 'job' on the street.

When he saw that the boy did not register his presence yet, he cleared his throat and offered a silent "Hi."

The boy's reaction was immediate. His head jerked up and his eyes widened impossibly before narrowing into a glare. Without a word, he closed his book and got up.

"Wait!" Duo called, jumping up to his feet. "I just want to talk!"

The boy ignored him. He picked up his coat and hurried to leave, throwing the book into the 'Return' trolley on his way.

Duo stood and gaped, completely shocked. There was fear in the boy's eyes. It was just for no more than a second before it disappeared into an icy glare, but it was still there. The boy was in some sort of trouble, he was sure of it. He _will_ help him. This time, he won't let him walk away just like that.

x.x.x.x.x.x

He waited in the library for a few more minutes before following the boy outside. Stepping into the street, he looked left and right, searching. He spotted the boy sitting on a small staircase in front of a building. He was leaning casually on his knees, smoking a cigarette.

Taking a deep breath, Duo approached him.

The boy took a lungful of smoke and slowly released it into the air. When he saw Duo come closer, he got up and threw the cigarette away.

"What do ya want from me?!" He demanded, his eyes burning with anger and distrust.

"Nothing." Duo replied simply, shrugging.

"Then quit following me!" The boy growled, his fists clenched. His glare was harsher than before. He didn't wait for Duo to answer. Pushing him aside, he stomped down the stairs and into the street.

Without even thinking, Duo followed him.

The boy noticed that and quickened his pace.

"Just hear me out for one minute! Please!" Duo called after him, knowing he was doing everything wrong. Father Maxwell taught him to never push and pester the Children. It only made them push back. He knew that, but he was so desperate to help that he didn't care.

"Leave me alone, you fuck!" The boy shouted, walking quickly into an alley, into the shadows.

Duo stopped for a second, hesitating, before following him into the darkness.

After taking a few steps into the alley, he stopped, frowning. It was empty. Or at least, it looked empty. There was no way the boy could have made it out already. He looked carefully, narrowing his eyes to see in the shadows. There was a wobbly fire escape, a lot of snow and a dumpster.

No sign of the boy.

He waited a few seconds, watching. Nothing happened.

With a heavy sigh, he turned on his heels to leave.

Then something _did_ happen.

From nowhere, someone grabbed him, wrapping a hand around his neck. He was shoved against the wall, his face hitting it roughly. The arm around his neck tightened into a crushing hold, and someone pressed his body against him, pushing him into the wall.

All this happened in less than a second, giving him no time to react. He gasped; the air knocked out of him, and tried to blink the haze out of his mind.

A gun was cocked.

Duo's eyes widened.

He could feel the cold barrel press against his right temple. He closed his eyes tight and waited for the shot that will end his life.

Instead, came the boy's dangerous growl.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" He threatened, shoving him hard against the wall. "Talk or die!"

"No one sent me!" He hurried to shout, wincing in pain as the gun dug into his skull. He was raised to be a pacifist, how come someone was pointing a gun at him?

"Bullshit! Tell me who sent you? Why were you following me!? Talk!"

"No one sent me! I swear to God!" He screamed back, talking about the God he'd never even believed in. Anything to get that gun away from him. "Please, I was just trying to help... I'll leave you alone if you want... just... just... I was just trying to help..."

There was a long moment in which nothing happened. Duo counted his wild heartbeats, trying his best not to panic. It was hard to do when a gun was aimed to his head and all he could do was think about how he was lying to Father Maxwell about going to school, and how he will never have the chance to make it up to him by earning money for the orphanage.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the boy released him.

He stumbled down, nearly collapsing to his knees, before catching himself and getting up. He didn't turn to face the boy yet, keeping his face in the direction of the wall. He could hear the boy pant silently behind him, also unmoving.

"I'm sorry." The boy finally said, and walked away. Duo could feel the slight wind his trench coat caused when it flapped behind him.

He waited until he felt it was safe, and then slowly turned away from the wall. He turned just in time to see the boy disappear behind a building, into another alley. Taking a shuddering breath, he ran a hand through his hair, tidying it a bit, before returning to the street.

x.x.x.x.x.x

Sister Helen placed a steaming casserole in the middle of the dinner table, before heading to her seat. She walked by Duo's chair, petting his head gently as she did. He turned around to offer her a weak smile, and she smiled back. Father Maxwell waited until she was seated before tucking a napkin under his collar.

The three were sitting in Father Maxwell's study, having what has become their weekly dinner routine. Usually they ate along with the other children, in the main dining hall, but ever since Duo left the church they made it into a habit to have a private dinner with him at least once a week. It gave them a chance to catch up on things. It gave them the feeling of a family.

The den was a modest office with a small library of thick old books, a heavy wooden desk, a small armchair and a television set. A decorative floor lamp stood by the armchair, casting dim light and shadows. The green office lamp on Father Maxwell's desk was also on, casting a soft glow on the shiny wooden table. Sister Helen had placed two candles in the middle of the table, letting them burn silently. The dim illumination gave the room a shadowy, yet intimate feeling. It was quiet and pleasant. The television was also on, soft mumbling drifting into the air.

In the middle of the room stood a small folding table and three folding chairs, where the three sat to have their dinner. The room was silent and warm, though there was something heavy floating in the peaceful atmosphere.

The serving spoon clacked as Sister Helen dipped it into the casserole pot and served the Priest his dinner. The old man thanked her silently and took the plate, waiting patiently for her to finish serving. When the plates were full, the old Priest bowed his head humbly. Helen did the same.

"Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen." Sister Helen whispered.

Duo remained silent, looking at the two. He didn't bow his head either. They didn't expect him to. In all his years in the church Duo hadn't prayed once. He did not believe in God. Father Maxwell had given up on asking him why. The boy refused to believe in an entity that did so many things wrong, as he claimed. The Priest once asked him if bringing him to the church was also a mistake God made. Duo, then a little boy, said that it was not God who rescued him from the streets. It was Father Maxwell. He will not give his thanks to God. He was thankful for Father Maxwell and the Sisters. Since then, the Priest had more or less given up trying. He couldn't force belief onto the young boy. He just wished that Duo would be able to find faith in _something_ one day, if not in God than in something just as important, like the love and care for another human being.

The opening tune of the evening newscast came from the television. A female anchor smiled to the camera before speaking.

"Good evening. I'm Sharon McLain with the evening news. On Earth, OZ forces have managed to defeat one of the terrorizing Gundams."

Duo looked up at the screen. Father Maxwell purposely ignored it.

"The Gundam known as Zero-One was brought down in a battle taking place in Siberia. A new type OZ Mobile Suit has defeated the Gundam, killing the pilot." the broadcaster continued dramatically, "The terrorist pilot was a young _teenage_ boy, a colony born, who went by the name of _Heero Yuy_. The name, says an OZ official, is supposed to be a codename of some sort."

Father Maxwell snorted, rolling his eyes as he reached for his drink. "A codename of some sort! Please!" He called angrily, slamming his glass on the table. Duo looked at him silently, knowing that Father Maxwell was perhaps one of the few people living in this colony who still remembered Heero Yuy. OZ had made sure to erase all data about the deceased president who once united the colonies and strove for peace. He was assassinated before peace was ever achieved.

"...The true identity of the pilot remains a mystery, as OZ officials took both the body, and the Gundam, for further examination..."

Sister Helen sighed and shook her head sorrowfully. "Such a shame. He was so young."

"He brought it onto himself," the Preist muttered, "Kids shouldn't play war. They know nothing about it."

The Priest's tone clearly informed that there will be no further discussion on the subject.

Silence returned to the dinner table. Duo lost his appetite and picked at his food silently. There was no use talking about it with the old Priest. Father Maxwell was an extreme pacifist. He didn't believe in any form of fighting. A few years back, a group of colony rebels asked for sanctuary in the church. The were hunted by the military and their lives were in danger. When they asked for their religious right for sanctuary, Father Maxwell refused. It was the first and only time Duo saw him refuses to aid someone.

As a child, he didn't understand it. But now he knew that Father Maxwell had been thinking about the benefit of the children above his commitment to God. The rebels were hunted down and killed, as were the people who helped them. By refusing to give them sanctuary, Father Maxwell saved the church and the children. In a way, he prevented a massacre of children in exchange for the death of a 'group of killers', as he called the rebels. It still didn't seem fair and righteous to Duo, but he could understand why the Priest did what he had. The children were always his first priority.

From the television, the newscast continued:

"On other news, Governor Radcliff announced in a Press Conference today that a deal was made with OZ officials to repair the weather system on the colony. The Governor said that the deal is just another proof that cooperation with OZ will only benefit the colony."

Duo looked up to see the Priest's reaction to the announcement, but there was only a hard and angry look on his face. He ate silently, purposefully ignoring the words drifting from the television. Sister Helen was more or less curled into herself, trying to be as small as possible, something she did often in such grave and heavy situations.

The silence annoyed Duo. It made his blood boil. There was a war raging out there, people were suffering, and the people in this room were behaving as if it didn't matter. How could they just _ignore_ it? Just for the sake of pacifism? It didn't make sense to him!

Sighing heavily, Duo looked up at the old man. He could understand why Father Maxwell opposed war so passionately, but on the other hand, he couldn't understand how the old Priest could just _ignore_ so much suffering! He didn't see how taking a stand could be wrong! Someone had to fight.

But... fight who? Who was the real enemy? Who was right and who was wrong?

On one hand, there were OZ – a conquering army – and then there were the Gundams - a terrorist group of colony rebels. They both killed and caused chaos. Every little thing the Gundams did brought only more pain and suffering to the colonies. But who was to blame? The Gundams who started it or OZ for delivering the punishment? It was all so confusing. There was no clear line between right and wrong. His head hurt just from thinking about it.

The newscast continued to babble on and on about OZ's benefit to the colonies. The news anchor was speaking excitedly about how more than two hundred people have already enlisted when Father Maxwell turned the TV off. Still glaring at the silent TV set, he whirled around to face the table. His movements were angrier as he ate.

"I went by the recruiting station today." Duo's timid voice broke the solid silence. His head was bowed as he spoke, staring at his half-eaten meal.

"Don't you dare go by there again." Father Maxwell hissed, hushing the teen immediately.

Sister Helen looked up with her shimmering green eyes. Her shoulders tensed and she seemed to draw a bit more into herself. She never responded well to violence, whether physical or verbal. The tension in the air made her visibly nervous.

Duo looked lengthily at the Priest, his eyes hard and accusing. "I was just on my way to the library." He explained slowly, emphasizing every word.

"I don't like repeating myself, Duo. Don't go near that building again." The old man's voice was harder and colder this time.

"Father, please," Helen whispered softly, reaching a gentle hand to soothe him. "Not now."

"Then when?" Duo asked, turning his burning eyes to her. "We have to take a stand _sometime_!"

Father Maxwell slammed his fist on the table. The plates rattled loudly, some casserole spilling onto the white table map. Sister Helen jumped up in fright, placing a hand over her heart. The sound of the punch echoed in the small room.

"_You_, young man, are to concentrate on your studying!" the Priest hissed angrily, his eyes cutting intensely through the air, "An education is worth more than any military training. I will hear no more of this. Eat your dinner."

With that said, the old man returned to eating his meal, a heavy, acid, silence hovering over the dinner table. Duo wanted to slam his plate on the table and leave, but he remained seated out of his respect to the old man. Sister Helen sighed and looked at the two sadly before returning to pick at her own meal.

x.x.x.x.x.x

Small and chilly drops of rain fell silently from above, soaking the cardboard surface he placed above him as shelter. He was lying in an alley, behind a smelly dumpster and a damp brick wall, sleeping in the rain. His slender body was folded into a fetal position, curled into himself to shield his limbs from the cold. His tattered trench coat was his only blanket, and despite the fact that he was wearing a sweater, two sweat shirts and a tank top under it, he was still shivering. His feet were like ice, frozen inside his new pair of shoes. He could barely feel them anymore. One pair of torn socks was just not enough against the cold.

His hideout for the night was not much of a shelter either. Usually he tried to find an indoor shelter, a lobby of a building, a public restroom, the underground mono-rail station, but they were all closed, locked and guarded. Everywhere he looked there were soldiers guarding the streets and public places. They didn't let him into the mall today. It was the first time it was open in months, since The Winter started. He heard people talking on the streets, saying that the mall was open for business again. It was a homeless paradise, warm, dry and full of things to steal or salvage from the garbage. He made his way through a blizzard to get there, his teeth chattering as he walked up to the main entrance. Two burly OZ soldiers stopped him and kicked him out. The homeless were not allowed into public areas. Those were the new orders.

With no other choice left, he found himself a narrow alley and a cardboard box. He unfolded the box into a flat surface and placed it above him as a roof. At nightfall, it began raining and snowing, frozen water soaking the cardboard until it threatened to collapse. It was too cold to sleep, the sound of his own chattering teeth disturbed him, but eventually exhaustion won over discomfort.

Sleep did not offer escape from the harsh reality. The green flashes began as soon as he closed his eyes. His head had been aching all day long, so he had been expecting the flashes. When he closed his eyes and saw them dance across the black void of his mind, he accepted them resignedly and allowed them to pull him under into a horrid state of sleep.

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There were images accompanying the flashes. He rarely saw the pictures running through his head, but when he did it only made the pain worse. It was a sharp and focused pain, centered in a certain area in his brain that always throbbed in pain one way or another. It usually got worse when he was troubled, or when he thought too hard about something. It was the worst when he tried to remember things, like his dreams for example. That painful part of his brain kept secrets from him, he was sure of it. Since it was too excruciating to find out what those secrets were, he simply didn't.

The images flickered through his mind. Black, white and blue. He thought he saw something gleam metallically, but he wasn't sure. When he tried to summon the image again it just hurt more. He allowed them to flash and whirl in his head as they wished, the green letters dancing around them in blinding speed.

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There was an image he recognized! It was there for no more than a second, but it was enough. He knew that image. He knew that smiling man with shining turquoise eyes and short blond hair. Of course he knew him! Why was he with the other pictures?

More green letters. He tried to push them aside, shoving them violently like opening a vile. He wanted to see that picture again! He wanted to see the man smile again. He knew him.

There was worry on his face now. The smile was gone. He looked so sad and sorrowful. He thought he knew why, but he wasn't sure. He tried to remember, but then the pain got worse.

'No! You're not allowed to remember! You're not allowed to remember!' The pain screamed in a screechy metal voice.

'But I want to!' He shouted back desperately. 'Please!'

More images flickered with lightning speed. More imaged of the man, smiling at him, playing with him, caressing him, telling him stories, holding his hand.

He smiled. He was happy as a child. He was warm. He was safe. The man gave him a gun so he could protect himself. He taught him how to use it. It was fun, putting holes into things. The man didn't find it funny though. He tried to remember why, when the flashing green pushed the images viciously away.

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The letters screamed at him to look away before they'll hurt him even more. The pain got worse.

He whimpered; the pain overwhelming.

'Odin!' He called, reaching his hand out for him. 'Odin!'

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The letters screeched, like fingernails scraping a chalkboard. They began racing faster through his head, drilling one hole in his brain, passing through it like a derailed train and drilling another hole and another and another. Soon his brain was a network of tunnels, all bleeding and painful. His mind felt like Swiss Cheese, oozing with blood and pain.

"ARGHHHH!!!!!!!!!" He shrieked, his voice echoing in the dark alleyway.

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He whimpered and moaned, shrinking into himself in a pitiful attempt to escape the pain. He just wanted to forget... he just wanted to forget... he just wanted to FORGET!!!!!

In the cold night, lying in a lonely alley, the boy shrieked and hollered in pain, his body quaking with a seizure. His trembling hand reached up, fingers twitching as they reached for a helping hand that wasn't even there. Tears streamed down his pale face, mingling with the dirt. His cries continued well into the night as his body trembled and shook with pain.

No one heard him, no one saw him. His anguish was a forgotten footnote in the tales of time.

**

* * *

**

**TBC…**


	3. Odin

**

* * *

**

**TRUE CALLING**

**CHAPTER THREE:**

**ODIN**

x.x.x.x.x.x

Duo left the church soon after supper. Helen pleaded with him to stay the night, always trying to maintain peace in the household, but he declined. It wasn't because of what happened over dinner. Father Maxwell and he didn't always see eye to eye. They had their differences, whether over God, life, death and many others things. After all, they were different people, with various views on life. Though they never quarreled like children. They had calm, sometimes passionate, debates; speaking about their different opinions. Even as a child Duo spoke very decisively and maturely about his beliefs.

He remembered sitting on the dark-green carpet in Father Maxwell's study, speaking his mind confidently about anything at all. There was always a warm, proud look in the Priest's eyes as he watched him speak. It made Duo feel important, like what he thought really did matter. Even when he spoke about his reasons for not believing in God, the Priest listened. He never pushed him to believe otherwise; he merely told Duo why he _did_ believe in the Lord. They could go on for hours, speaking well into the night until Sister Helen would timidly step into the den and remind them that a certain little boy had to go to school in the morning.

No. Father Maxwell was not the reason he'd left. The argument over dinner was just an excuse. The real reason was his job. He didn't quit school so he could have extra hours to do nothing. He dropped out of high school so he could work. He worked so he could raise money for the orphanage, for his family. Aside for waitering at Star Cup, where he now worked two shifts a day, he had a night shift in a local mechanic workshop.

The 'Shop worked twenty-four hours a day since it was the only licensed garage still open on the colony. The rest had been bankrupt. Mr. Cortez, his employer, had survived in the market by tooth and nail. He was a hard, bulky man who always wore a dirty white tank top covered with grease. He smelled of sweat and had two teeth missing. He was the kind of man who stepped on people on his way to the so-called "top". He was sneaky and sometimes cruel, which was what one had to be in order to survive in the L2 market. Duo didn't like him very much, the man disgusted him, but he paid well so he learned not to care.

He stumbled upon this job by pure chance. Cortez worked with the black market, and it wasn't rare when he needed someone to make a delivery that no one would notice. He was snooping around Duo's school in search for some teens who wanted easy cash. Duo was the first to agree. Most of the people in need for money had already dropped out of school and only the wealthy remained. Duo was the obvious choice, though Cortez never knew that.

He stayed in school and worked for Star Cup, only doing some small errands for Cortez from time to time. The money was good, and the work was relatively easy. All he had to do was go back to the Streets again, entering the shadows to extract "the goods", as Cortez dubbed the shipments.

Sometimes Duo hung around The 'Shop for a while longer, fascinated by the machinery around him. He watched Cortez's men rebuild cars and shuttle engines out of scraps. He watched and learned, skipping school more and more as time progressed. After a month or two of watching, one of the mechanics let him assemble a simple piece of machinery. When he succeeded, very quickly and efficiently, the men cheered. Cortez found out about his talented delivery boy and offered him a job.

"Ya'll hang out with Bobby here for a while, learn what ya can and then we'll see, huh? Wha'dya say?" He asked with a wink, offering Duo a greasy hand.

Looking at that offered hand; Duo knew that he couldn't stay in school anymore. After he shook that hand, he never stepped in the school grounds again. He began working for Cortez, learning as he worked, slowly becoming one of his best men. He had a nick for mechanics and the wits for any technological equipment. None of the men in The 'Shop knew how to operate the advanced computer systems they were asked to install in various machines. Late at night, Duo activated the Operating Systems and had a look here and there. He didn't understand much, but he was fascinated.

Stepping into The 'Shop, he was greeted by the acrid smell of welding metal and grease. The 'Shop was a small garage with a large scrap yard, which was behind Mr. Cortez's house, in the Latin Quarter of L2. Duo knew most of the people in the Quarter from their Sunday visits to the church. They were mostly good people, some very religious, but Cortez was not one of them. He was thankful that the man never went to Sunday Mass, where Father Maxwell had a chance to meet him.

The sound of metal being forged and struck by hammers filled the air, along with the screeching of machinery, chainsaws and other heavy equipment. Eduardo and Roberto (AKA Ed and Bobby) were working in the yard on what looked like a giant arm, probably a mobile suit arm. Now that OZ were slowly taking over the colony, Duo wouldn't be surprised if Cortez signed some fat contracts with the military. After all, there was no one else on the colony that had the equipment and men power to fix their heavy machines of war.

"Maxwell! Glad yer here!" Cortez called from across The 'Shop, where his shabby office stood. "Come over here!"

With a tired sigh, Duo complied. He was after a twelve hour shift at Star Cup - six AM to six PM, a dinner gone wrong with Father Maxwell, and his shift at The 'Shop ended at two AM. The night was still long and he was so tired...

"Yes Mr. Cortez?" He said as cheerfully as he could – and he was good at faking it – as he entered the office. "What is it?"

The fat man known as Mr. Cortez was sitting sweating in his leather chair, smoking a cigar. He flashed a toothless smile at Duo as he entered the office. "Sit down." He grumbled with his permanently hoarse voice, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk.

Duo did as told, noticing two things on his way. First, there was an OZ flag hanging on the wall behind the man's desk – something that wasn't there before. He wasn't surprised. Cortez was just the type to be brainwashed by cheap and insidious propaganda. He'd follow any popular faction blindly. He probably didn't even know what kind of organization he was supporting. Despite his ignorance, he would most certainly become a fanatic supporter. The flag was just the beginning.

The second thing Duo noticed were two young men standing in the room, leaning against the wall. He eyed them warily as he sat down.

They were both young, around his age, and they were both wearing OZ uniforms. Duo's eyes narrowed. They looked younger than the other soldiers he'd seen so far, plus they one had a sergeant rank and the other was a corporal. It was strange.

The sergeant was African, with dark skin and a short, military haircut. He had a hard and angry expression, his eyes darker than death itself. He was standing rigidly by the wall, shoulders tense, head held high and his arms crossed over his chest.

The soldier next to him was far more relaxed. He was about a head shorter than his African partner, his fair white skin a distinctive contrast to the other. He had fine golden hair which gave him quite a boyish look. His aqua-marine eyes were soft and kind. Duo couldn't help but thinking – good cop, bad cop.

"There's a delivery I want'ya ta make." Cortez's grumpy voice spoke up, drawing Duo's attention. He turned around to face his boss.

"Sure. Where to?"

Cortez was about to open his mouth and answer, when the sergeant stepped forward and slammed his fists on the table. He glared harshly at Cortez with meancing eyes.

"Keep your mouth shut, you fat old fuck! What makes you think we can trust him!?" He hissed dangerously, turning an icy glare towards Duo.

"He's my best man. There's nothing he won't fetch ya!" Cortez said calmly, almost amused. He was looking the solider in the eye without even flinching.

There was a short glaring contest before the soldier pulled back. He circled Duo's chair, eyeing him like filth.

"Where you from, white-boy?" He asked tauntingly.

From the corner of his eyes, Duo could see the blond soldier shift uncomfortably from side to side. It looked like Good Cop didn't like the way Bad Cop was handling things. Duo rolled his eyes mentally. Good Cop seemed too much of a wuss to say anything about it.

"I'm from around here." He finally answered, looking at Bad Cop with a fool's smile. It was better to act dumb when facing such characters.

Bad Cop snorted, annoyed. "Be a smartass and you won't live to regret it." He said, reaching for the pistol tucked in his belt.

Duo eyed the weapon for a few seconds, remembering the feeling of the homeless boy's gun against his head. He reconsidered his course of action.

"I'm nobody, really. I live downtown in this crappy old room and I work here. That's all." He said, trying to sound honest. He will never mention the church. Not the church. He will never endanger the church.

Bad Cop glared at him, but didn't say anything. Good Cop took a step forward, clearing his throat as if to announce his entry to the conversation.

"I apologize for my partner's rudeness," he said softly, approaching Duo, "This matter is extremely top secret. We cannot afford any slipups."

"We?" Duo echoed, raising an eyebrow.

The blond boy smiled gently. His smile too kind for an OZ soldier. "OZ, of course."

"Right." Duo said, smiling widely. Inside, he was full of distrust. Why would OZ make a deal in the shadows with a guy like Cortez? He was sure the army made every deal with organized contracts. He was certain that a few of those signed contracts were already sitting inside Cortez's drawer. Why would they need to buy parts from the black market?

Cortez might be blinded by money, but he was not fooled by a simple pair of uniforms. Something fishy was going on.

"See? The kid's all right!" Cortez called cheerfully, twisting his cigar in his mouth. "You'll get yer money's worth, that's for sure!"

Bad Cop glared and growled in annoyance, probably thinking how to kill the fat man on the chair. Good Cop just smiled sheepishly and nodded. He pulled a thick envelop from his inner jacket and threw it to the table.

"This is the advance. You'll get the rest when we'll see the parts."

Cortez smiled greedily and was already counting the money. "Sure, sure," he said, distracted by bills, "the kid will take ya outside and take the list from ya. Ye'll get the parts in no time."

With a heavy sigh, Duo got up and dragged himself out of the room. The two soldiers followed, and he could feel Bad Cop's glare drill a hole in his back. He was relieved when Good Cop took charge of the rest of the deal, giving him the list of parts and location for the delivery.

"We need the parts ready as soon as possible." Good Cop said, looking him intensely. "And remember, this is top secret."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Duo said hurriedly, his eyes skimming over the list he was handed. It was like he suspected, it was a list of Mobile Suit parts. Some pretty rare electronic boards, optical fibers, delicate joints and a few items that were probably a part some advanced hydraulic system. He had most of the stuff in the safe, but the hydraulics he'll have to fetch from the black market.

After skimming through the list, he looked up at Good Cop. "Give me two days."

The blond nodded. "Very well. I will see you then."

"Let's get the Hell out of here." Bad Cop grumbled, glaring at Duo. He had been standing next to the blond, like a bodyguard ready for battle. His hateful gaze was both disturbing and annoying at the same time. Annoying, because it made Duo want to punch the guy in the face just to wipe that expression away. Disturbing, because the soldier's eyes were too cold and too dark. Like death. He couldn't wait to have the guy out of his sight.

He looked up at the two and wore his best joker mask. "You guys can go. I'll take care of everything from here."

The blond corporal considered him for a second more, before he nodded and turned to leave.

Bad Cop gave Duo another hateful glare before whirling around on his heels and stomping away.

x.x.x.x.x.x

When the pain subsided, leaving his body a limp wreck of shuddering nerves, he lay in silence, watching the night. He was still curled inside his shabby shelter, the water soaking the cardboard 'roof' dripping onto his cheeks in icy drops. Each time a chilly drop landed on his face, he blinked, reminded of reality. His blue eyes were staring blindly ahead, gazing numbly at the dumpster before him. He was barely even breathing, his body so terribly exhausted from the seizure.

The streets were silent in this late hour. He supposed that it was well past midnight. Daybreak was too far away and all he could do was lie there and wait for it. He couldn't go back to sleep. If he'll close his eyes again, the letters would be back. He tried to keep his mind blank, but sometimes a picture of the man would float behind his eyes, smiling at him with the warmth he'd lost so long ago.

Odin Lowe was the only father he ever knew, despite the fact that he was not his real father. He was an assassin who worked for anyone who was willing to pay the right price. He didn't remember how he came to be with Odin, or who he was before the man took him as a young protégée. Odin was the only adult he could remember taking care of him. He knew he was not his father. He rarely acted like one, at least in the beginning. What kind of father would teach a four-year-old to handle a weapon? What kind of father would use a little boy's shooting talent as an aid to his hideous assassination jobs? He was four and a half when he made his first kill, without even knowing what killing someone meant. After that first shot, when he saw the body fall to the ground, his innocence began to shatter. He began to understand what it meant to take someone's life. He began hating himself then, always feeling like a bad little boy who deserved punishment.

Still, he did it all for Odin. The man was the dearest thing to his young heart. Despite the man's many faults, he loved him. And in a way, though he never admitted it, the man loved him back. He knew it without being told. He felt it in the man's timid caress, a hesitant hand petting his hair when he was injured from a mission. He saw it in the man's proud eyes whenever he managed to learn something new. He heard it in the man's voice when he 'pretended to pretend' (as the boy called it) to be his father on missions, speaking to him like a father should, without much of pretending.

But Odin Lowe died when he was eight years old. That was seven years ago, a lifetime passed since that day. A lifetime spend mostly on the streets of one colony or another. He never tried to turn for help in an orphanage or something of the likes. He knew he couldn't. No one would accept a little boy who knew only how to kill in order to please someone, in order to be loved.

**---- 01****♂šœ****²ĭĦǾˆΘΩ0†‡₤₧₫****!!!----**

Oh no! He'd been thinking again!

**--- ****£§®¦µÿ****Ω℮0011110∫∩∟≈≠≡≤ ---**

**-- 011111111≥⌂⌐⌠⌡─│∞╟╠ --**

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He clenched his eyes shut, trying to shove the pain away. He didn't mean to start thinking again! He didn't mean to!

**--- 1011ΎЮЯДЖТ00001110101Б**** ---**

A wave of images suddenly flooded his brain, shattering on the shores of his consciousness in a painful splatter. A lab. A needle. Men in white coats.

Odin was shouting: 'NOOOO!!!!!'

**---- Ω℮0011110∫∩∟≈≠≡≤ ----**

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The boy groaned silently and clutched his fists over his ears. He shrunk into a fetal position, breathing hard. There were bright lights dancing in his head, from above him. He was lying on a cold metal bed. More needles.

'Leave him alone!'

Run. He had to run. Always run. Always run and always hide.

'Never forget... what I taught you... what I... what I told you before we parted...'

Odin was dead. He was dead. He was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead...

A noise came from the street. The boy jerked with a gasp and became very still. He slowly brought his hands down from his ears, listening.

A car slowly drove into the alley.

The boy held his breath, his eyes wide with fear.

The tires grazed against the wet asphalt, filling the alley with a silent scrapping noise. It slowly came to a stop just a few feet from the dumpster. The boy curled deeper into himself, trying to hide better behind the dumpster. He calmed his breathing as much as the pain in his head allowed him, trying to disappear from existence. A car in an alleyway in the middle of the night was not a good sign.

There was silence for a long while. The boy waited breathlessly, the loud sound of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

A few minutes later, another car rolled silently into the alley, from the opposite directions. Its headlights washed the alley as it turned, reaching the shadows behind the dumpster. For a moment they skimmed over him.

The car stopped in front of the first, cutting the engine and turning off the lights. There was silence. Then, someone came out of the first car, slamming the door behind him. The boy could see his shiny black boots through a small gap under the dumpster. He followed the boots as they approached the other car. He couldn't see the car, but he heard a window being lowered down, buzzing quietly.

"It's confirmed," One voice said, probably the person standing by the car. "Zero One is dead."

There was a sigh, and then: "I was afraid so," an old man with a scratchy voice replied, "Have you found any of the former candidates?"

"We're working on it sir." The other replied roughly. By the sound of his voice, the boy assumed that he was strong. He sounded like a soldier.

"Such a shame..." the old man muttered, "But he was never what we needed."

"OZ has the upper hand now. The Gundams were badly damaged and were forced into hiding."

**---- 011Χ00****▼╪∂↓****010 -****---**

The Gundams!?

"Any words from the other pilots?"

"We believe they're back in space, sir. Probably in the L2 area."

"It's an obvious place for hiding. It wouldn't be long before OZ found out."

"The best place to hide is right under the enemy's nose, sir."

The old man sighed. "And that's why we're here, isn't it?" He muttered.

Were they part of the rebelling colonist? He shouldn't be listening to this... he'll get into trouble... he shouldn't be here... he shouldn't be here... There was something... something he had to run from...

His head began to ache again, the pain coming back with a vengeance. He closed his eyes tight and tried to escape it. The pain only grew sharper, tearing a helpless moan from his lips. He froze.

"What was that?" The strong man suddenly snapped.

The boy flung a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Did you hear something?"

"It sounded like a whimper."

The boy held his breath. It was too quiet. His heart began to beat faster. His blue eyes shifted frantically from side to side, trying to see the black boots.

Nothing. Just silence.

And then the cardboard above him was tossed aside in one swift movement. He jumped up, startled.

The man looked at him with sharp dark eyes, a deep frown on his face. He sighed. "It's just some homeless kid, J."

The boy lay still, unable to move even if he wanted to. His frightened eyes gazed up at the man, wide with shock. The letters in his head began to swirl wildly as a response to his sudden distress. It was hard to think with the pain drilling in his head.

"It doesn't matter," the old man muttered with a sigh, "He might sell the information to OZ." There was a pause before he added: "Kill him."

That useless survival instinct kicked in as soon as the old man said the words. The boy jumped up and without thinking, tackled the man to the ground.

The letters spun wildly, making him dizzy. He heard the man yelp as he crashed onto the cold asphalt.

"What the--" He called, jumping back to his feet.

The boy didn't wait for the rest of the sentence. He began to run.

"Go after him, you fool!" The old man shouted.

The boy ran faster, bursting out of the alley. He could hear the man running behind him. He looked left and right, panting. He chose right and continued to run, shoving a hand into his trench coat to retrieve the gun.

BANG!

The man beat him to it. The bullet past only a few inches from his left ear, whistling loudly as it cut through the air. It hit the road just a meter ahead of him. He ran faster.

BANG!

Another shot was fired. And another. He ducked his head between his shoulders, while struggling to keep his feet moving. The frostbites on his feet hurt like shards of glass digging into his flesh. He winced as he ran, clutching the gun harder. It was useless. He didn't have any bullets. The gun was only for intimidation, and he knew that it will not work on the man.

BANG!

Another shot missed him by an inch or two. He ran into an alley, nearly stumbling down as he made a sharp turn.

"There's nowhere to run, you little piece of shit!" The man screamed, running after him into the alley.

He knew that. He knew that! But he had to! He promised Odin! He promised he would never let them catch him! He promised! He had to run! He had to run! Faster! Faster! FASTER!!!!

x.x.x.x.x.x

He finished all of his work by 01:38 AM. He had spent his entire shift preparing the new delivery. For that, he had to go back to the Streets, making a few visits to some illegal merchants he knew. He had many acquaintances on the Streets. Kids he used to scavenge for food with were now gang leaders and crime masters. He didn't like to call in old favors, but when work demanded it, he did. They were familiar with him and they trusted him. He disliked them because they reminded him of the old times, of his previous life, the Hell he lived through before the church. Those people were still a part of that Hell. They made him uncomfortable.

The deals were done quickly. He made the order, paid the advance and promised to be back tomorrow night to take the "goods". When he returned to The 'Shop, Cortez was nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping in his office. Bobby said he could leave a bit earlier, he promised it would 'be cool' and winked at him. Exhausted, Duo smiled tiredly and thanked him. He was out of The 'Shop by 01:45, walking away from the Latin Quarter towards his building Downtown. It was a forty minute walk, and he dragged his feet tiredly, his mind half asleep as he walked.

Somehow, through the waking dream of his tired mind, a sound registered. Footsteps. Running footsteps.

He stopped, looking around.

The footsteps were approaching faster.

He turned, looking behind him at the road. A running figure emerged behind a curve.

Duo narrowed his eyes, trying to see better in the dark. The figure was running towards him, a bit wobbly. He guessed it was a drunk, a junky, or someone who didn't have anymore strength to run.

He wouldn't be surprised if it was just another gang fight between some junkies. L2 was full of gang fights. The best thing was to just stay out of it. Rolling his eyes, Duo turned back and continued walking.

BANG!

A shot was fired from a distance, making Duo jump. He stopped, without turning to watch. He could hear another set of footsteps, probably the person who just fired. He didn't bother to take a look, and slowly continued walking. He walked closed to the buildings' side, trying to remain out of sight.

Just as he was swallowed by the shadows, the running figure streaked past him, running down the road.

Duo stopped, eyes wide.

The figure that just ran past him had a long trench coat flapping behind him and brand-new mustard shoes.

The boy!

He didn't even have to tell his legs to start running, they just did. In a second, he was running side to side with the boy. He could hear the boy's harsh panting. He could see the fear on his pale features. The boy looked at him with tired and dull blue eyes. Duo assumed that the boy had been running for quite a while, and was on the brink of collapsing.

"C'mon!" He called, making a sharp turn towards an alley, "Follow me!" He ran faster, without stopping to make sure that the boy was following him. He didn't have time to convince the boy that he meant no harm. He hoped that the boy would trust him.

When he ran into the alley, he could hear the boy's footsteps behind him. He was running a bit slower, having a hard time to catch up.

"C'mon!" Duo called, panting. He grabbed the boy's hand – it was completely frozen from the cold – and dragged him onwards. He didn't want the boy to collapse.

The chaser was still after them, just entering the alley.

"STOP!" He screamed, and then a shot was fired. It hit the building's wall right next to Duo.

He could feel the boy slow down again and he had to pull him harder. The boy was reaching his limit, panting harshly and coughing.

"Just a bit longer!" Duo encouraged, squeezing the boy's hand. He dragged him through three more alleys and then out into an empty street. The chaser was still in pursuit, but he had stopped firing.

Duo forced his body onwards. He too was about to reach his limit.

He could see his destination getting close. The OZ Command Post was just a few dozen meters away.

Their chaser began to slow down as he too noticed the building.

The two boys continued to run, Duo dragging the other with him. The homeless boy was stumbling on his feet, unable to keep himself going.

Duo looked up at the OZ building. There was a guard standing in a small guard-post at the entrance of the building, armed with a rifle. Though he was standing, he seemed to be sleeping, his head lying limply to the side.

"Hey!" Duo called at him as they approached.

The guard looked up, jerking awake.

Duo smiled widely when he heard the chaser stop running.

He flashed a wide grin at the guard as he ran past him. "No sleeping on the job, ehy?" He teased and continued running.

The guard blinked, confused, before smiling at him. "Yeah, thanks." He said, shaking his head. He resumed position, holding his rifle closer to his chest.

Duo nodded at him and continued to run down the street. Their chaser had long disappeared into a shadowy alley. He slowed down, loosening his hold on the boy's hand. After a few more meters he slowed his running into a normal pace of walking. He was panting hard, but the boy was breathing harder. He turned to look at him, slowing down so they were walking side by side.

The boy didn't look at him. He walked slowly by his side, his mouth wide open as he struggled to catch his breath. His cheeks were flushed a bright red, sweat trickling down his temples. His shoulder-length hair was a mess, and his ski hat had fallen somewhere along the way. Long bangs clung to his sweaty forehead, obscuring his eyes.

"Hey, are you all right?" Duo asked softly, reaching for the boy's hand again.

The boy pulled away, jerking his hand out of reach.

Duo didn't try to touch him again. He guided him to an entrance of a building, leaning on the banister of a small staircase. The boy slumped tiredly onto the stairs, panting. He leaned his whole body forward, leaning on his knees, his head bowed so that his hair hid his face. He began coughing loudly.

Slowly, carefully, Duo sat beside him. He watched him silently for a while, letting him catch his breath. A few minutes later, the boy was still panting, although a bit calmer.

"Are you all right?" Duo asked again, looking at him with deep concern.

The boy coughed, slowly looking up at him. His cheeks were still a blushing red, and there was a feverish look in his terrified blue eyes.

Duo was about to reach a hand to him when the boy's eyes slowly rolled back and his body slumped forward. He fainted, collapsing on top of Duo.

x.x.x.x.x.x

He couldn't just leave him out on the streets. It was never an option. Once he got over the initial shock of watching the boy faint in his arms, he gathered his wits back together and got up. Carefully, gently, he lifted the boy into his arms. He wasn't surprised how light the boy was. Despite the bulky appearance the trench coat gave him, Duo knew how skinny he was. He remembered seeing the boy's slender body shake in the cold when he had been whoring himself on the streets, dressed in practically nothing. However, even without that memory, the boy's hollow cheeks were enough of a proof.

His apartment building – a rat's lair more like it – was just a few blocks away. It was not a long walk, so he didn't mind carrying the boy with him. He hoisted the unconscious teen over his shoulders in a Fireman's carry, holding him tight.

His apartment was more of a room than an actual apartment. There wasn't much space to move about. There was a bedroom, a tiny counter that was a mockery of a kitchen, a small window and a mini bathroom. The only pieces of furniture in the room were the couch – where he slept, a small table and a chair. The walls were bear, the paint coming off. It wasn't messy; he only came here to sleep for about three and a half hours a night before he had to go back to work. His life was a boring and exhausting routine of working a lot and sleeping a little.

With a heavy sigh, Duo placed the unconscious boy on the sofa in a sitting position. He gently peeled the trench coat off him, wrinkling his nose at the stanch it carried. He reeked of cigarettes, filth and sweat. He was burning with fever, a layer of moist perspiration on his pale features.

Carefully, he lowered the boy down, laying his head gently onto a soft pillow. He walked to his pitiful excuse of a kitchen and returned with a bowl of water and a kitchen towel. He knelt by the sofa and took a deep breath, just looking at the boy. The boy's features were blank in sleep, neither peaceful nor tormented. His cheeks were blushed with fever.

Taking a deep breath, Duo mumbled a small apology and began taking the boy's clothes off. He undressed him slowly, tossing his dirty red sweater to the floor, followed by two sweatshirts and a sweat-soaked tank top. Now that the boy's torso was exposed he could see how thin he was. He was practically famished, the outlines of his ribs clearly showing under a pale layer of skin.

Duo swallowed, shaken by the sight. He forced himself to look away and proceeded in taking the boy's shoes off. His feet smelled. Underneath his torn socks were hideous red and blue frostbites. The sight shook him even more. The boy ran through half of L2 with terribly wounded feet. His eyes watered at the thought.

"Damn it." He muttered, shaking his head in an attempt to stop the tears. What this boy had been through was nearly too much for him to bear.

He got up, his tired body feeling twice as heavy than usual, and went to the bathroom. On his way, he turned on a small portable heater. He returned from the bathroom with a small first-aid kit. Sister Helen insisted he'd take it when he left the church.

Kneeling by the sofa, he turned to remove the boy's trousers. He was wearing a pair of baggy black pants, which were four times his size. They were held by an old leather belt. Duo unbuckled the belt and pulled the trousers down, discovering another pair of pants, a simple brand of sweatpants.

The boy coughed, his body jumping up a little. Duo pulled back, looking at him with wide eyes. When he was certain that the boy was not waking up, he breathed in relief and removed the two pairs of pants. The last thing he needed was explaining his actions to a distrustful homeless boy. He was sure that the boy wouldn't understand that all he wanted was to help him.

With his clothes piled up on the floor, the boy now lay on the sofa wearing a simple pair of dirty boxers. His bony figure looked small and vulnerable lying motionless on the couch. Duo's heart ached at the sight, though he had seen worse in the past. There was a time he looked the same.

Before he opened the first aid kit, Duo noticed another piece of fabric that was not removed. It was a dirty, makeshift bandage wrapped around the boy's left wrist. Frowning, Duo nudged the bandage, slowly prying it away from the skin. It wasn't soaked with blood, just dirt. He slowly untied the knot that held it together and removed it.

At first, he didn't see a wound, but when he turned the boy's arm for examination; he noticed an ugly collection of scars on his inner wrist. Some of the scars were old, some were relatively fresh. It looked like self mutilation, like the boy cut himself on purpose. But it didn't look like a scar caused by a suicide attempt. If the boy wanted to kill himself, he would have surely done it and no one would've stopped or helped him. The scars didn't even cut across the main artery. They seemed like random scratches cutting deep into the flesh.

Duo didn't understand them, but that didn't stop him from tending the wounds. He cleaned the scars with some disinfectant and wrapped a fresh white bandage around them. When he finished with the wrist, he tended the frostbites on the boy's feet. He smeared some antibiotic salve over them and bandaged both feet. He also soaked the towel he brought with some lukewarm water and carefully washed the boy's dirty skin. The towel was nearly black by the time he finished.

He brought a new cloth, this time soaking it with cooler water. He placed it gently on the boy's burning forehead.

Rising to his feet, Duo placed a thick quilt over the boy, covering him tightly. The boy's head sunk deeper into the pillow, lulling aside. His features seemed calmer now, the blank expression replaced by serene sleep. That was a good sign. It meant the boy had slipped from a state of unconsciousness into a healthy sleep. Hopefully his fever will go down by daybreak.

With a tired sigh, Duo scooped the boy's dirty clothes from the floor and made his way to the bathroom. He removed everything from the coat's pockets and threw the clothes into the bathtub. He opened the tap, letting it fill with water, while he went to fetch the boy some fresh clothing.

The rest of the night he spent washing the boy's clothes, cooking him some rice with vegetables and changing the cloth on his forehead when it became too warm. He didn't sleep a minute, beside a few times he nodded off while waiting for the rice to boil. At five thirty AM he changed into his waiter uniforms and left to work, leaving the boy to sleep soundly and heal.

x.x.x.x.x.x

The boy woke up to a feeling of warmth, which was extremely unusual. Was The Winter over?

No. that wasn't it. He was covered with a blanket, thick, soft and warm around his body. Why? Was he dead? Did the man kill him? Did they catch him? They weren't supposed to! He... he ran away, didn't he? Odin would be so angry if he knew... he promised never to let them catch him. He promised Odin! He promised him! Just before he died, he promised him...

'Kid, this might sound... a bit... weird, but... there are... there are some bad people... some bad people who'll come after you once I'm gone...' Odin whispered, coughing. Blood trickled down his chin.

'No, Odin... please don't leave yet...' he whispered back, crying. 'I'll secure an escape route... we can go home... right?'

Odin just smiled, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tight. There was more blood on his chin after he coughed. 'You'll have to hide, kid. You'll have to hide from them... I'm so sorry I couldn't... couldn't protect you from them...'

The men in the white coats? He thought it was just a dream... when he told Odin about them he said it was just a nightmare. That it never happened... Did they really use the big needle on him? It hurt so much in the dreams... was that real?

**--- Ω℮0011110∫∩∟≈≠≡≤ ---**

**-- 01****¡ª»¾╪****111≥⌂⌐⌠⌡─│∞╟╠ --**

**- ΏΞЋΩΦΧ00001110111000010 ****-**

The boy flinched from the sudden pain, jerking awake once again. He'd fallen asleep without noticing. His eyes snapped open, blue orbs still hazy with fever. He stared at the ceiling until it came out of focus. He blinked, only then realizing that there was a roof above him. He was indoors, lying on a soft bed. Not cold metal, but soft and warm. Where was he?!

He looked around, turning his head against the pillow. It's been years since he'd last slept in a bed. The last time he had been lying on clean sheets covered with blankets was when Wanda made a deal with one of her regular 'customers'. Instead of paying her money, she asked the customer to let the boy sleep in the room the man rented after he was done with her. That was almost four years ago.

But that was no motel room. It was someone's apartment. His jumbled memory slowly reconstructed itself, reminding him of last night's events. The car. The meeting in the alley. The chase. The shots fired at him. The burning feeling in his lungs. The braided waiter. He helped him. He was sitting beside him on the steps and then... black. He must have passed out.

This was probably the waiter's apartment.

The boy sighed, slumping back into the pillow. He threw a hand over his eyes, trying not to think. Things were getting complicated again, the green letters clapped happily and cheered in the back of his mind. They would be happy for a chance to return. He had to stop thinking. He had to stop thinking!

'The last few years with you...' Odin whispered, dying, 'W-weren't so bad...'

**-- 011111111≥⌂⌐⌠⌡─│∞╟╠ !!**

**- ΏΞЋΩΦΧ00001110111000010 **

NO!

He opened his eyes, forcing Odin's last words out of his head. He had to concentrate on something simple. A smoke. He needed a smoke.

Groaning, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He placed two feet down on the floor, expecting the cold floor to bite his wounded feet. Instead, he was surprised to feel something cushion the blow. He looked down, blinking when he noted the thick bandages wrapped around his feet. He was also stunned to see that he was wearing a thick, large, black sweatshirt and a pair of black cotton boxers. Those were NOT his clothes!

His eyes widened with sudden panic. He snatched his left wrist and jerked the sleeve up. The bandage on his wrist had been changed.

"Shit." He cursed, the first word he spoke in more than a day. The braided boy... he saw the scars.

The boy looked up, his blue eyes scanning the small room. There wasn't much to see. Aside for the sofa there was a small table, a chair and a wobbly shelf on the wall. His things were on the table.

Slowly rising up to his feet, he walked carefully towards the table, mindful of his every step. His feet throbbed after last night's run.

His two shirts, tank top and sweater were folded neatly, lying on top of his trousers. The trench coat was hanging from the back of the chair. They were all clean, emitting the scent of laundry softener. The boy swallowed, unsure what to make of this kind gesture. His head began to ache dully as the letters begged him to let them come and dance. He pushed them aside, turning his attention back to the table.

The rest of his things, the few belongings he carried in his trench coat pockets, were also lying neatly on the table. Three cigarette boxes, matches, a can opener, a condom, a pocketknife... even his gun was there. He supposed the waiter noticed that it was unloaded, therefore he felt safe to leave it there. He reached down for the gun, slightly caressing it. The gun might be useless without bullets, but it was the only thing he had left from Odin. It was the only thing he carried with him that gave him some sort of connection to his past, as violent as it may have been.

Sighing, he reached for a cigarette box and placed one in his mouth. He needed a smoke before he'll start thinking again.

When he reached for the matches, he suddenly noticed the small yellow note lying next to his clothes. Matches forgotten, he reached for the note. While playing with the cigarette between his lips, he read through it:

'Hey. I wanted to be here when you woke up, but I had to go to work. Sorry. I've washed your clothes for you, I hope you don't mind. I didn't touch your stuff; I just thought you'd like them cleaned. There's also a hot meal waiting on the stove. Eat as much as you like, I made it for you.'

He looked up towards the miniature kitchen, and noted a pot sitting on a small portable stove-top. He turned back to the note.

'You can take a shower if you like; there'll be hot water if you turn the boiler on for about two hours. There's a timer on the water system, you can only shower for two an a half minutes a day, so take that in mind. I don't mind if you use it all, really. If your fever goes up again, there's some medicine in the bathroom cabinet.

If it's not too much to ask, please wait until I come home. I'd like to speak with you. There's no catch, I don't want anything from you.

Good day,

Duo.'

With a sigh, he placed the note back on the table. Duo. The waiter's name was Duo.

He looked around, suddenly feeling as if the walls were watching him. The letters in his head chuckled at the thought, so he dismissed it. He drew the chair back and sat down, finally taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He didn't feel like smoking anymore. He had to think.

**-- ****♂℅****11≥⌂⌐⌠⌡─│1111∞╟╠ --**

**- $011101110ΩΦΧ00****▼╪∂↓****010 -******

Ignoring them, he pulled his left sleeve up again, exposing the white bandage. He slowly shoved his fingers under it, rubbing his fingernails against the skin. He began to scratch himself deeply, so hard until it hurt. The bandage was pushed aside, folding up so it exposed the scars. He dug his nails harder into the tender flesh, wincing at the pain. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, ignoring the ache he was causing himself. He cut himself deep, drawing blood.

He opened his eyes and looked at his work, displeased. Despite the many scars he could still see it. He could still see that dammed mark, those cursed black letters tattooed into his wrist:

**_M - 00001_**

The letters were nearly faded, distorted by many scars. But he could still see them. They could still be read. And no matter how many times he tried to erase them, they were still there. Sometimes he thought that they were always there, ever since the day he was born. They just appeared one day. Odin didn't say anything, but they just appeared one day.

If he couldn't delete them, he could at least hide them. It was nearly impossible to read them through injured skin.

He clenched his right palm into a claw and ran all five fingernails over the injured skin. There was a lot of blood this time. Good.

x.x.x.x.x.x

Duo entered the apartment at 18:29 PM, barely carrying himself through the doorstep. He finished his two shifts in the diner and had to be in The 'Shop at 21:00. He had about two hours to sleep. He had been thinking about the boy all day long, wondering if he'll wait for him until he came back. It wasn't likely, he knew, but he still had hope. He hated to think about the boy going back to the Streets so soon.

When he stumbled into the small apartment, he found it dark and empty. He sighed, bowing his head. He expected that much. Turning on the light, he walked towards the kitchen. Just a small drink and then some sleep. When he passed by the table, he saw that the boy's clothes were gone, and instead his own clothes – the one he dressed the boy in last night – lay folded on the table. His note was there too.

Damn it. He was hoping to talk to the boy. He imagined it would have been nice to come back home and have someone waiting for him there. Except for Madeline, he didn't have any friends. But it wasn't the same with Madeline. He kept things from her. He didn't want to burden her with his problems – she had enough of her own.

But what was he hoping for? Why was he expecting so much of this boy? Maybe it was because he felt like he was _meant_ to meet him. That it wasn't just pure chance that they collided into one another so many times. But that was ludicrous! He didn't believe in such crap! Not in God, not in Destiny and not in Fate! Why was he building his hopes so high? It was just some homeless kid... there were many like him... and he helped them whenever he came to the church. Why was he treating this kid so differently?! Why was he so disappointed that he left?! WHY!?

Because he was stupid. He was a fool. A lonely, hopeless, fool.

He snatched a small kettle, filled it with water and slammed it against the single portable stove. His movements were harsh and angry. He was furious at himself for caring so damn much!

A cool breeze caressed the back of his neck. Duo froze. The window was open. He didn't leave the window open. He turned around, watching the window at the opposite wall. It was open, the curtains flapping under the soft wind that solemnly blew through the colony. He could smell cigarette smoke.

No. Way.

The window was also an emergency exit to the fire escape – a small metal platform with a ladder dangling down into the alley. When he stepped closer to the window, pushing the drapes aside, he saw the boy standing there. He was wearing his trench coat again, smoking a cigarette as he looked out into the alley.

Duo's smiled with joy. The boy waited. He actually WAITED!

"Hey," he said softly, his smile evident in his voice.

The boy took a long drag and slowly turned to him. His piercing blue eyes gazed intensely at him for a long moment before he replied. "Hi."

"Thank you for waiting." Duo blurted, slightly sheepish after he said it. It was the first thing that came to mind. He leaned on the windowsill, looking at the boy.

The boy nodded and took another lungful of smoke. "It's the least I could do." He replied with his quiet, but not shy, voice. He squashed the finished cigarette on the metal banister, putting it out. He threw it into the alley, watching it fall, a small orange sparkle disappearing into the shadows.

"Thanks for helping me." He mumbled, still looking down at the alley.

"Don't mention it." Duo answered. Silence followed. The boy still didn't face him, his gaze focused on the dark alleyway.

"So, uh..." Duo began, trying to break the ice, "Are you hungry?"

"I better get goin'." The boy said, finally turning to face him. He took a step towards the ladder leading down to the alley.

"No – wait!" Duo called, reaching for his hand. His voice came out too desperate to his liking.

The boy whirled around to glare at him, eyeing his hand as if it was a weapon pointed at him.

Duo backed away, drawing his hand back. "Sorry." he mumbled, head bowed, "It's just that I think it's... yanno, still dangerous out there. They might still be looking for you."

The boy looked at him, his expression unreadable.

Duo swallowed, shifting his weight from side to side. "And... yanno... I don't mind if you stayed. I mean, I have to go to work in about a two hours, but... but I would be much calmer if I knew you were safe." He looked up, a bit sheepish from his admission.

The boy frowned.

"Why?" He asked, genuinely confused.

Duo shrugged.

The boy looked away, thinking.

"I can make food." Duo tried to convince him, his voice hopeful. When the boy looked up at him again, he knew he used the right argument. He smiled and gestured at the boy with his hand, inviting him back in.

x.x.x.x.x.x

He wasn't really hungry, he always had his lunch and supper at the diner, but offering a meal was the only way he could think of to make the boy stay. So he filled a small pot with water and added an instant-soup powder once it boiled. The boy was sitting by the table next to him, watching him quietly.

He couldn't think of anything to say. The silence was heavy. There were many things he wanted to ask, but he knew he shouldn't. He'd already approached the whole matter in the worst way possible, going against everything he was taught at the church. He didn't want to scare the boy away now, after finally being able to help him.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the boy pull a cigarette out of a box. When the boy prepared to get up, Duo was suddenly filled with a terrible feeling. He didn't want him to be far. For some reason, he felt better when the boy was close.

"You can smoke in here," he said, "I don't mind."

The boy looked at him for a moment, as if assessing his words, and then sat back down. He lighted the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Duo watched him blow the smoke out of his lungs. It seemed to calm him somehow.

"So, uh," Duo said as he turned to stir the soup, "Is it okay if I asked for your name?"

There was a long silence. The boy took a few more deep breaths of smoke, releasing them slowly into the air. His blue eyes followed the smoke thoughtfully.

"Odin." He finally said, his eyes still following the smoke.

"I'm Duo."

"I know." Odin muttered, taking a long drag before puffing out the smoke.

Duo smiled, stirring the soup. "Isn't it a waste of money? All those cigarettes?"

Odin shrugged, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. "It keeps me warm," He replied quietly, then thought for a second. "Or at least, it gives me the illusion of being warm." He added, placing the cigarette back between his lips.

Duo turned off the electric stove and closed the pot. He noticed that Odin didn't speak like he had the last time they met. He didn't use "Bad English" anymore. He should have seen it coming, given the fact that the boy read some heavy material at the library. He supposed that the "street punk language" was just an act. It was yet another piece to the puzzle he now knew as Odin. The boy was a challenging riddle. Duo had to admit that he was more than curious.

He didn't say anything about his new revelation. He poured the soup into a couple of bowls and served them to the table. When he leaned next to the boy he noted the faint scent of soap. It raised a small smile on his lips. He was glad Odin felt comfortable enough to use the shower as he offered. He knew from experience how good it felt to wash the filth of the streets away after so long.

"There you go." He said with a smile, placing the steaming soup in front of Odin before pulling back. There was only one chair by the table, so he remained standing.

Odin looked at the soup, then at him. He prepared to stand up, when Duo shook his head and smiled that kind smile at him again.

"Nah, that's okay. You can sit." He said and flopped down on the sofa, which was less than a meter away. The one-room apartment was extremely small.

Odin nodded and turned back to his soup. He threw the cigarette into a half empty glass of water Duo had served him earlier. When he raised his hand, Duo could see the bandage he wrapped around his wrist last night. It was soaked with blood.

Odin caught him watching and hurried to drop his hand down. He pulled the sleeve over the bandage. Duo looked away, berating himself for staring. They ate in silence.

Once both were done, Duo got up and took the bowls to the sink. He turned back to Odin.

"You can stay the night, if you want." He said timidly.

The boy didn't look at him.

He sighed. "The news said there's a blizzard coming," he chuckled bitterly, "Heh, those OZ bastards said they'll fix the weather system, but it's only getting worse."

Odin was just staring at the table. Duo babbled on.

"It's really sadistic, isn't it?"

That made the boy look up at him. So he heard the rumors too.

"Maybe they're doing it on purpose." He said.

It was time to play dumb again. The conversation was becoming too grim. He put on his joker mask and smiled goofily.

"Heh, I never thought of that." He chuckled, a hand behind his head.

Harsh blue eyes looked at him intensely. "Maybe you haven't been sleeping enough on the streets."

The joker mask cracked a bit. In his mind's eyes, the pair of small hands trembled in the cold. But he ignored them for now, pushing the image aside.

"Maybe." He said, smiling like nothing was wrong.

Odin considered him silently, before looking away again.

"So... will you stay?" Duo tried again, ever so carefully. He waited for an answer, but none came. He sighed and let his head drop down in defeat.

"I'll make you a deal," he said, and the boy finally looked up. Duo could see the slight panic in his eyes. He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry; it's not what you're thinking."

The boy snorted and looked away.

"I need to go to work soon. I've been on my feet for two days straight, I'm bush," he paused, sighing tiredly, "There's this delivery I have to make tomorrow, and there's ton of work I have to do."

Odin turned to look at him again, frowning. "You want me to help you?"

Duo nodded. "Yeah. You'll help me get the stuff for the delivery, and then we'll be even. Fair enough?"

For some time, the boy sat silently and considered the offer. Just when Duo thought he was about to decline, Odin nodded and got up.

"Fine." He said, his tone indifferent.

Duo smiled, genuinely this time. "Great."

This was good. He bought himself some more time. He had to find a way to help this boy, and hopefully an opportunity will present itself tonight.

**

* * *

**

TBC…


End file.

Gundam Wing/AC, Angst, Drama