Well. Except maybe one of them. But he wasn’t going to think about that.

With a sigh, Duo laid his forehead against the window, looking down the seventeen floors to the street. It was a height that would make most nervous. He had survived freefalls from farther up, so now there was no nervousness to distract him as he watched the world below. People were walking there, couples hand in hand, shoppers burdened with paper bags. It still bewildered him to realize that they didn’t even know how goddamned lucky they were, not to be starving and under enemy fire. He had been living like that for what felt like forever, for so long that this was like the paradise he had stopped believing in years ago.

His fingers closed around the stolen cross that dangled from his throat on a thin chain, squeezed in silent apology. Sorry, Sister Helen.

There was no answer, no matter how much he wanted one. With a resigned sigh, he turned his attention back to the blank spiral-bound notebook on his lap. “Journal about the past, they said,” he muttered resentfully. “Should be easy enough, they said. Not when you’ve gotta make up the past from scratch, pal.”

Some part of him, the skewed part that had enjoyed planting bombs and jumping off of buildings, whispered that maybe he ought to write down the truth. That’d go over well.

“Hi,” Duo said to the empty, silent apartment, somehow reassured by the strident sound of his own voice. “I grew up on the street after I was orphaned by a secret war nobody even knows about. I lived in a church for a while, but it blown up because of that same war. That’s why I dress up like a priest when I kill people. Funny, huh?” Thunking his head against the glass, he said, disheartened, “Shit.”

The blank notebook paper just sat there, taunting him. Duo stuck his tongue out at it. That didn’t help.

Okay, so maybe he could write about one of the other topics. Most of them seemed relatively safe, if he put enough imaginative recreation into it. And if there was one thing Duo Maxwell did well… With a grin, he pulled out the syllabus and looked it over.

Write about the book that most shaped your life. Scratch that one. He was never that big on reading, even if he’d had time to do so. Something told him that the professor might not appreciate it if he said that the Bible taught him what a crock of shit Catholicism was.

Write about the high school experience that most sticks out in your mind. Never mind that he hadn’t been at any high school long enough to have an experience, let alone one that he remembered. Well, except for that one particularly friendly cheerleader in Vegas. Poor girl hadn’t realized that she had the wrong equipment to try to seduce him. Not to say that he hadn’t enjoyed it… of course, the professor might not agree. So, no joy there.

Tell me about someone who had a meaningful effect on your life. Now there was an intriguing question. But who to choose?

Tapping his eraser against his chin, Duo smirked as he recited aloud, “I’d like to thank Professor G for supplying me with lots of weapons and military training, and then inventing a high school record so I could get in here, and then forging a medical history so I’d get to live off campus, and teaching me how to kill in fifteen different ways, and-… eh. Better not write that down.”

Duo lay back against the window seat, folding his arms behind as he let his mind drift. “Treize had a nice effect on me by never ordering my bloody death before Wu killed him.” Something told him that Wufei wouldn’t appreciate that reference. Changing in mid-paragraph, he began mock-solemnly, “Wufei taught me how to rant for a good twenty minutes without needing air. Trowa taught me the value of pathological silence. Quatre gave me a nice place to stay while we planned bombings of enemy military bases. And Heero-”

Heero saved my life.

His smile crumpled, and it took him a moment to recover enough to scowl. With a mocking edge almost sharp enough to cut, he went on angrily, “And Heero Yuy fucking ditched us.”

Me. He ditched me.

The pencil slipped from his nerveless fingers and clattered noisily to the floor. When it hit the wood-panels, Duo jerked upright.

For a moment, the silence seemed too much, crushing in on him, exposing things that were better off muffled by his own constant chatter. For a moment, he was tempted to scream. But if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Pushing himself to his feet more for a distraction than anything else, he stormed to the kitchenette and yanked open the fridge. He had a feeling that he was sulking like a scorned teenaged girl, but it was better than acting on the alternatives. His hand hovered over the three remaining bottles of beer, and the temptation to use them to ease the sudden knot in his throat was almost overwhelming. Then, growling something profane, he grabbed the bottle of Jolt beside them and kicked the door shut. He had that journal to do; damned if he would let that cold bastard ruin his GPA from where-the-fuck-ever he was.

Not that Heero would care anyway. Fucking sociopath. What the hell had he been thinking, trying to snuggle up to that? He might as well play tonsil hockey with a pitbull. Duo Maxwell was no one’s punching bag or whore. Screw him. If Heero wanted to go off into the far corners of the world and find himself a new war, he was damned well welcome to it. Bastard.

Jerking away the cap, Duo tilted the Jolt into his mouth and proceeded to chug the entire bottle. It took less than twenty seconds for the sugar to fade into a bitter taste that made his nose wrinkle. Spitting the aftertaste into the sink, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and dropped the bottle into the trashcan. He hooked his finger in a spiral of the notebook, not caring when the wire sank into his finger, and stormed back to his room. The stereo he’d stolen a week ago, calling it ‘creative borrowing’ from the fraternities, was on the way to his bed; he viciously jabbed a button without looking and spun the volume control to ensure that the neighbors would complain. He needed someone to snap at.

The bedsprings creaked ominously as he flopped on to his bed, only to get drowned out by the grinding sounds of the song. Duo grinned, a dangerous grin that had accompanied many people to their deaths, and began writing his fiction as he mouthed along with the words.

“The most important person is my life is my father. He raised me to be an upright human being, with a strong sense of morals and respect for human life.”

Duo couldn’t quite suppress his snort.

And everything I never liked about you
Is kind of seeping into me

“He taught me how to read, play basketball and love church.”

Try to laugh about it now
But isn't it funny how everything works out?

“He taught me how to cook. He taught me to love football. He taught me to be normal.”

I used to never be afraid
I used to be somebody

“He protected me. He loved me. I loved him.”

I used to have something inside
Now just this hole that's open wide

“And he died.”

Duo stopped, staring at the simple words in his own handwriting. He hadn’t meant to write that. That wasn’t the way it had to end. It was his past; he was the one writing it. So why had the ending turned out that way? Why the hell were those three little words there?

Because that’s the way it was. Now and always. Forever and ever, world without end.

Amen.

He shoved the notebook off the bed and rose in one violent motion. His coat hung over his bedpost, and he yanked it off, shrugging it on so jerkily that his shoulder ached. A moment’s consideration, and he pulled it off again. His t-shirt and jeans quickly followed it. He kicked them under the bed; it didn’t feel right. Only one thing would.

I'll cross my heart and hope to die
But the needle's already in my eye
And all the world's weight is on my back

The black cloth slid on with a whisper and clung like an old lover. He closed his eyes, breathing in the soft dust smell of it, remembering all the sweat and blood that had soaked into it. The collar eased into place without a hitch; it felt cold against his throat. Taking a deep breath, he tossed his braid over his shoulder and let his smile slip on like a mask.

When he opened his eyes, Shinigami smirked back at him from the mirror, welcoming.

And I don't even know why
What I used to think was me
Is just a fading memory

Satisfied, Duo pulled his coat on and left the room, leaving his lights and stereo on behind him. As he passed Wufei’s room, he knocked once and called out, “Don’t wait up!”

There was no response. It seemed fitting.

Reaching into his pocket, Duo fished out his sunglasses and slid them on. The world looked darker through them.

I looked him right in the eye
"Goodbye"

The door locked behind him.
*********
The classroom rang with spirited discussion. In the true tradition of college political discussions, every person had their own opinion to righteously defend. Already an argument had broken out, resulting in one young man storming out mid-discussion and dropping the class. The class had only been in session for a month; more would unquestionably follow him.

In the back of the class, one boy watched in cold silence, his cobalt clue eyes tracking the discussion from behind messy brown hair. The professor repeatedly tried to coax him into participation, but his replies were rationed out to one terse, logical comment a week. It kept him in the class. That was all he needed. Any more than that would draw unwanted attention.

It was Heero’s job to be left alone.

Folding her hands in her lap, the professor sat on the edge of her desk. Her eyes were still bright and earnest with youth and relative innocence as they scanned the room. “Now, in last night’s reading, we discussed some of Marx’s views on politics and revolution. Does anyone have any questions?”

There was silence. Then one well-formed, manicured hand rose.

The professor smiled. “Yes, Relena?”

In the back of the room, Heero straightened as the familiar, confident voice spoke. “I was wondering, ma’am, why his theory of the inevitability of revolution and war was presented as a fact.”

“Because it is a fact,” replied a student at the front of the room, his voice rich with patronization. “Somebody’s going to complain that they’re being oppressed, no matter how enlightened the society is. It’s a historical fact.”

“Perhaps,” Relena said serenely, not missing a beat. “Or maybe no society’s been enlightened enough quite yet.”

“No offense, Miss Relena, but I think that’s a kind of naïve view.”

“None taken, Keith. Hopefully you won’t be offended either, because I think that sort of cynicism is keeping us from having that enlightened society.” Tilting her head, Relena granted the scowling boy a gracious smile. “Maybe when the world becomes naïve, we can reach a sort of… absolute pacifism.”

Heero smirked, very slightly. It slid away before anyone could see.

Keith rolled his eyes, and began his rebuttal. Before he could even open his mouth, the professor climbed to her feet and clapped her hands, briskly and once. “All right, class. I’m afraid the discuss of Marx’s theories will have to wait until tomorrow. For tonight, read chapters one and two, and…”

The rest of her words were lost to shuffling as the students began to pack up their bags. Heero remained in place until she finished, taking mental note of the assignment and committing it to memory. When Relena rose, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and dropping her notebook in her bag, Heero moved. She glanced up, then jumped slightly as she saw him by her side. Her smile was rich with delight. “Good evening, Heero.”

“Hn,” he replied shortly.

“Would you care to walk with me back to the dorm?” Eyeing his hair, still wet from the rain that had lingered all morning, she offered, “You could borrow my umbrella…”

“I don’t need one.”

“Aww… Heero, that’s so sweet!” she chirped, sliding her arm through his without an invitation. “You’re a true gentleman.”

He looked down at her and frowned. “Because I don’t need an umbrella?”

Relena laughed. A few of the male stragglers gave Heero a darkly jealous look, which he ignored as steadily as he ignored the wistfulness in Relena’s eyes. He let her cling to his arm as he started walking towards the door. The after-class crowd had thinned out by the time they reached the hallway, but his eyes darted restlessly over the few who lingered. If Relena noticed, she didn’t comment on it. Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t talking.

“How are you liking our calculus class, Heero? I think the professor’s boring, but he’s supposed to be very good.”

“It’s informative,” Heero replied, glancing in the reflection of the glass windows in case someone was following. He didn’t deign to add that it might have been more so if he hadn’t already been extensively trained in the source material years ago.

“Well, I don’t like it.” Cornflower blue eyes slid up to meet his as Relena leaned in to him. She ignored it when he shifted away, ignoring the invitation in her expression. “Is there any way you could tutor me, Heero?”

“I’m already tutoring you in biology.”

“Hmm. Isn’t it odd how we’re in all the same classes, and in the same dorm? I could almost swear that my father hired you as a bodyguard or something.”

Heero stiffened.

Alarmed, Relena looked up at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

With an ease born of practice, Heero made himself untense and mutter flatly, “I don’t even know your father.”

“Oh.” For a moment, Relena sounded almost disappointed, and was so distracted that she let Heero pull away long enough to open the door for her. He hesitated, fighting with his own instinct against another’s touch, then grabbed her shoulder anyway. It was easier to keep track of her that way. Tilting her head, Relena explained, “He’s a Senator.”

“I see.” He had known all about Senator Darlian; the man’s casefile was tucked safely in his backpack, along with the file on the girl who walked beside him. “Interesting.”

“Not hardly.” Brightening suddenly, Relena touched his arm and beamed up at him. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

“No.” The word slipped out with slightly more frustration than he liked. Thirty nights of staring at his laptop, waiting for a mission that wasn’t going to come, was wearing on him. Staying in one place too long ate at him, until every sound as the building around him settled had him reaching for the gun concealed under his mattress. Nights had become just another time to sleep, and dream of a thick brown braid curled around his fingers like a sleeping snake. It was getting to be too much of a distraction, even across miles of separation. Trust Duo to manage that…

Damn that thought for being so fond.

“We’re going up into New York City,” Relena chattered on from beside him, pulling him out of his thoughts. “There’s this club downtown-“

“We?”

“Yes. Me and my friends and…” Her smile grew shy, and she looked down. “And hopefully you.” When he just looked at her, she went on in a rush, “It’s a very nice club. Very trendy, and right downtown, and we could go get coffee later…”

A senator’s daughter in a trendy, deep downtown club. Stupid girl might as well put a target on her pretty little snow-white forehead. He couldn’t let her go alone.

No matter how much he wanted to.

Another mission accepted. Just another part of keeping the peace.

“Fine,” he cut her off, and pulled a little harder than necessary to get her out of the way of an incoming bike. She didn’t seem to care.

Pulling to a stop, she turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide and bright and so very innocent, a reminder of past sins. That was the only reason he didn’t shove her away when she lunged forward, embracing him tightly. Her voice was muffled against his chest. “I didn’t think you’d say yes. Thank you, Heero.”

“Hn,” he said awkwardly, looking down at the top of her head. Her hair smelled like strawberry shampoo, expensive and slightly fake. It made his traitorous mind wander elsewhere, back to the memory of thick chestnut hair that felt like satin under his hands and smelled like the sun when he rubbed his face against it.

Weakness. All of it weakness. He couldn’t afford to forget that.

Pulling away, he glanced around for any sign of attack he had missed during that display, then said roughly, “We’d better get back to the dorm.”

As if cued by his words, a drop of rain fell from the sky and landed on Relena’s upturned face. It slid down her cheek like a tear. Startled, she wiped it away, then smiled up at him. “Looks like it’s raining again. Are you sure you don’t want to share my umbrella…?”

“You can keep it,” he said flatly, and turned away.

Her hand laid proprietarily on his arm the whole walk back; he didn’t care enough to push it away.
**********
All lyrics property of Nine Inch Nails.