By: TailFear

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A/N: I don't own Gundam Wing, and don't think that I will any time soon, so for now I am only borrowing its characters for my own creative purposes. Thank you.

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Years afterwards he would remember what had happened. He would remember the day so vividly that it would stay in his mind, forever allowing him to drift back into it at any given moment. It would allow him to slip away from reality into some painful dream that didn't seem to end, no matter how far he had decided to put everything behind him and start over.

That was something that he couldn't do. Duo Maxwell couldn't seem to start over, couldn't seem to stop dwelling in the past. No matter what he did something would come to haunt him, something would come up from the depths of his mind to remind him of what he had done. There was always something lurking there, trying to lure him into the comfort of his own mind where it would trap him for days, not letting him go until it had forced him to relive it all, to go back and see all of the pain and destruction that he had caused, even for a good name.

There was something that kept him from living a normal life. Maybe it was the fact that he had ended the war at the age of 16. Maybe it was the fact that he was an extremely talented Mobile Suit pilot, the best of the best. Maybe it was the fact that after the war when he had felt that he would have a place he ended up having nowhere to go, nothing to do except to drift back to the colony he had come from and try to scrape up a living from the hell that he had been born into. Maybe those were the reasons, or maybe it was because there were still millions of people that hated the Gundam Pilots.

They were the ones that had lost family, friends, lovers, siblings in the long and bloody war that had lasted for more than a year. They were the ones that promised to get revenge against people who were fighting for what they thought was right, who were fighting to defend a home that was under attack. The public also didn't like the fact that the pilots managed to just simply disappear after the war was over, leaving questions unanswered and hate still running in a strong current through the people that had lost someone close.

Duo Maxwell. Pilot 02. Shinigami. All of those were names that he had given himself. He hadn't been named by anyone, always going by 'boy' or 'you' until he had met Solo and finally found a name. His early life hadn't been an easy one, not matter what people said. They wouldn’t know what had happened, and they wouldn't know who the real Duo was. He had carefully erected too many masks to let them fall and shatter upon the ground like glass for someone who had decided that they wanted to know who the teen with the long chestnut brown braid and large violet eyes was.

He was too careful to let that happen, too careful to not attract much attention. He was back into his old habits of running and hiding, holding a job here and there, but keeping a move all of the time. Occasionally he thought of the other pilots and wondered how they were doing. He would hear about Quatre in the news, or see a poster that was dedicated to the circus that Trowa had hidden out in during the war. He would also see the new task force, the Preventers, in their brown jackets that didn't look good on any of the staff, just served to remind everyone that they were there to take care of anything that the police couldn't. He had kept track of the pilots to know that Wufei was thriving in the organization, still serving 'justice' to those that he deemed wrong.

The only ex-pilot that he hadn't been able to find was Heero. The boy tended to be hard to track at the best of times, and now that the war was over he had just disappeared. All records of him had vanished, making it look like he had never even been born. The dark brown haired boy was an enigma all of his own, something that Duo wasn't going to try to classify. If the other boy wanted to show up he would, and generally did, although Duo couldn't remember the date of the last time that he had seen him.

He was walking in a park in one of the nicer neighborhoods of the L-2 colony. They had finally coaxed flowers and trees into growing on the almost run down colony, a sign that someone wanted them to succeed and not float away like dust like most thought that they would. They had made the little area into a kind of haven for people that wanted to get away from the daily struggles of live, lining the paths with the occasional bench, and adding picnic tables further away, out under some trees. The paths were made of smooth cement, unbordered and plain, but holding their own part in the beautiful little respite from reality. It had been deemed a neutral place by the local gangs, even the hostile crowd respecting the effort that had been made.

Duo wondered through the park, mostly staying on the paths, but sometimes venturing off to go look at something, his cobalt blue eyes shining in the artificial colony light. It reminded him of the Earth. Duo loved the Earth and the meaning of it. He loved how the air wasn't recycled daily, how it was clean and fresh. He loved the way that it supported the plant and animal life all on its own, nothing having to be coaxed into growing in false conditions. He loved the way the sunlight would feel against his skin, caressing it with warmth.

A secluded bench under a tree provided an ideal place for the 19 year old teen to sit, his long plaited hair falling over the back of the bench to swing inches off of the ground. He didn't think that he could ever bear to part with his braid. As he had told Sister Helen all of those years long ago, it was the only thing that someone hadn't given him, the only thing that was completely and truly his. He knew that people wouldn't understand, but he didn't expect them to. He didn’t expect them to feel the way that he did on subjects.

He let his hands fall into his lap as he looked around, admiring the beauty that was only a few scant yards away from the reality and violence that was life. He looked down, seeing the creamy skin of his hands stand out against the black cloth that his pants were made out of. He hadn't given up wearing the black clothing, but he had given up the Catholic dog collar that he had warn when he had fought in the wars three years ago. He now wore more reds and blues along with his traditional black and white clothing. That in itself was a sign of him moving on, no matter how slowly it was.

His eyes crossed over the faint scars that were still there from when he was younger. Some of the scars were small and barely visible, bad enough to last, but not bad enough to stay for too long. Other scars were still a dark pink color, some longer and some shorter. Those had been more painful, more dangerous. He studied them, already having them memorized in his mind. That was an absurd thing that brought him comfort, his scars. To him it showed that he had done something important, that he had stood for something that wasn't the wondering life that he was leading now.

He then leaned back, the end of his braid falling against the bright green grass, presenting a sharp contrast. The once wild younger boy was now a quieter man. He hadn't lost the spark of spontaneousness that had made him who he was, or his sense of humor, but he was more subdued, as if the thought of life was catching up with him. He had the look of someone who had seen too much in his years and had come out jaded, but not jaded enough that he wouldn't think of trying new things, that he wouldn't try to make this place into a world that was a better place for everyone, even in the hells that lived in the bottoms of run down colonies like L-2 who could only build small parks for places of shelter.

He closed his eyes, letting the false light filter through the trees and come to rest on his face. Someday he might come to find out what he was doing, what he was supposed to be, but now, but now he was here. Right now he was sitting in a park in a run down old colony that was in need of repair and law enforcement. Right now he was hiding from the reality that was going to over take him too soon if he didn't watch out and send him back into the depths of living. But at the exact moment, all he felt was peace.

He knew what Heero had meant during the war when he had said that the only way to live was to follow your emotions, but at the time all he had been wondering was how Heero could truly do that when he came out cold and emotionless, almost dead to the world with a spark of humanity. But that was just who Heero had been, but who he was now Duo had no clue. He knew now that it meant doing what you felt was right, following your instincts, and not pushing the good things away. He could understand it now, even if his younger self hadn't understood how that would help in the middle of a great war.

It was the memories that kept pulling at him, trying to pull him into the pain ridden night and daymares that haunted him. He could still hear the screams as he approached the enemy, the lights shining off of the black of his gundam's armor. He could still feel how much it pained him to have to kill, even if he put it off, acting like it was a game, only to go off by himself and have his sorrow. He hated killing, always had. He had seen too much of it when he was little to want to see anymore, but everywhere he went death seemed to follow.

The gundams were gone now, and with them they had taken the urge to fight and kill like a machine himself with them. They were long gone, now only scraps of metal and various parts that could be used for different things. He didn't know what everyone else had done with their own MS, but he knew that the first thing he had done with his had been to blow it up. He hadn't wanted the burden of responsibility that had gone along with it. All he had wanted was to be normal, even though by now that wasn't possible. To even pilot the massive machine he had needed better reflexes, strength, and intelligence than most adults ever needed.

He sighed and lifted his arms to let them hang almost bonelessly over the back of the bench. Here he was, after all of the training and fights, sitting in a small park on L-2. Here he was, still stuck in the past, stuck in his actions, rather than what he could be doing. A small breeze flowed through the colony, moving his bangs a little as it passed by him. Even the breezes smelled, this one of shuttle fuel. It wasn't often that they got shuttles going to or from the colony, but when they did there was always a breeze. He smiled a little, his face shining a bit through the haze of seriousness that he always seemed to be shrouded in. Who would have thought that Duo Maxwell, the happiest and wildest of the ex-pilots, would end up being serious. He didn't really care though, none of that mattering to him.

He was going to leave his past behind him. He was going to start a new life from here, go where he wanted to go and do what he wanted to do. He was going to be his own person, not held down by what he had been, or what he had done. Somewhere along the line he knew that he was going to have to face up to the facts of the past, but that was what he had been doing for the past three years, and by now he wasn't up to it anymore. The first step: to get off of the bench…