Warnings: Language, violence, angst…major angst (probably a bit more than my usual. Okay, a LOT more than my usual), sex… yaoi sex, that is.

A/N: This fic evolved as a friendly challenge with Emilinia-sama. The original premise: Duo is an up and coming writer whose work is being used by a copy-cat serial killer; and on a MAYBE unrelated note he falls for a much younger Heero. She also suggested it be light and fluffy… but, well… yeah.

A/N #2: As always, a very special thanks to the fabulous Cuzosu!

A/N #3: Chapter 19 of Umbra is with my beta - I have not abandoned it! Expect it very soon!

A/N #4: The first part of this chapter is going to be very, VERY disturbing. The rest of this story will not be that bad. I promise! Please, just… read through the entire chapter before you decide to give up.

A Very Dark Corner

Chapter One

The moonlight cast a cold, silver glow on the floor. It made the old, wooden planks look like a precious metal and not the rotting boards of an old barn.

He stalked closer, keeping to the shadows, waiting until the last moment before he revealed himself.

The still night air was suddenly split by the sound of the woman's harsh sobs. She seemed to be gasping for breath while choking on her own tears.

It sounded messy, to his ears, and he scowled in disgust. He didn't like messy. He liked order, and art. Sobbing didn't belong. He could imagine snot tracking its way down her pale face, and he felt his stomach revolt at the image. SHE was ruining everything.

He stepped into the light and she shrieked and started to struggle with the bonds around her wrists that kept her suspended from the ceiling, a few inches from the ground.

"Hush," he commanded her, modulating his voice to be soothing even though it was a command.

She quieted instantly.

He reached out and grasped her jaw between his fingers, forcing her to look at him in the dim light. Her eyes were large with fear, sparkling with unshed tears, and face stained with those she had already released.

THERE was the art.

He licked at her tears, starting from her cheek and ending, his tongue tangled in her damp eyelashes. She whimpered in fear and tried to jerk away from him, but he only laughed.

"Do you know what my favorite color is?" He asked her.

She shook her head in his hand.

"Guess," he prompted.

"B…bl..black?" She stuttered.

He laughed.

"No. Black is so boring. It hides EVERYTHING. Guess again."

"Blu – blue?"

"Too cold. Here let me give you a hint."

In one smooth gesture he stabbed her with the machete, shoving the long blade deep into her side and withdrawing it out slowly, languidly, so that he could feel her body give way.

She gasped in pain.

"Now," he said and wiped the flat of the blade on her lips, staining them, "what color do you think is my favorite?"

She continued to gasp, sucking in huge breaths of air and started to sob again.

"None of that," he ordered. "Stop sobbing."

She ignored his command and he sighed in frustration.

"Stop it now."

The sobbing only grew worse.

With a growl of frustration he stabbed her again, higher this time, arching the blade under her ribcage and into her lungs.

She howled in pain.

"Stop it!" He shouted over her and stabbed her again, and again, until, finally, she fell quiet and limp.

He sighed in defeat.

One day, one day he would find someone who listened to him.

But for now, at least he could watch the tide of her blood, violet in the silver light, track across the floor like the tide of some primordial sea. At least he had that.

-0-

He clicked on submit and then sat back and cracked his knuckles and twisted his neck from side to side. The sense of catharsis he felt was a relief. Writing was Duo's escape, and putting all of his dark thoughts into words and emptying them from his mind was the only way he could face each day.

He glanced at the time and cursed. He was going to be late for his appointment.

Duo tossed back the rest of his coffee, wincing when he realized it had gone cold. He dropped the empty mug into the kitchen sink on his way to his bedroom.

After rifling through his closet and dresser he realized that the only clean clothes he had left were a pair of jeans and Solo's Princeton sweatshirt. He knew that if he showed up wearing that sweatshirt there would be hell to pay, but Duo was confident that showing up in a stained or wrinkled dress shirt would be even worse.

With a sigh, Duo shucked out of his flannel pajama bottoms and boxers and pulled on a fresh pair of boxers, the jeans, and then the sweatshirt. He grabbed the collar and inhaled deeply, hoping to catch just the faintest hint of Solo on it. Instead of smelling rich and spicy, however, it smelled like the rain scented laundry detergent that Duo had switched to a few months ago.

He mentally berated himself for being an idiot and then stepped into his sneakers, grabbed his keys and wallet, and slammed out of the apartment.

By the time he arrived at the brownstone that had been renovated into offices across town from his apartment he was twenty minutes late. He prepared himself for an ass kicking and resignedly jogged up the interior stairs to the third floor.

He stopped in front of the second door on the right. A gold nameplate had been affixed to the door, and Duo reflexively wiped off the smudge on one corner of it. He knocked.

The door opened a moment later and Duo took a step backwards.

Wufei Chang, Doctor of Psychology, glared at Duo.

"You're late."

"Sorry, doc, I got distracted and lost track of the time."

Wufei sighed and stepped back, allowing Duo to enter the office.

Duo stepped inside and immediately headed for the leather armchair by the window.

The entire room was decorated sparsely, with dark wood paneling a strong contrast to the light blue paint on the walls. The only furniture in the room was two armchairs, a loveseat, and a writing desk situated on the wall between two windows.

The first time Duo had come here for a therapy session he had sneered at the lack of abstract art – Wufei wasn't the first psychologist he had been to, after all, and he had expected to be inundated with tribal sculptures or Jackson Pollack-esque paintings. Wufei preferred to keep the walls empty, however, and the only work of art in the room was a yin and yang painting over the fireplace.

Duo had spent countless hours staring at that painting, and he immediately focused on it now as Wufei sat down in the armchair opposite from Duo.

"Were you writing?" Wufei asked casually. He loosely folded his hands in his lap.

Duo appreciated that Wufei never took notes while they talked. He knew that the meticulous Chinese man no doubt scribbled away as soon as Duo left, but he appreciated the appearance of complete absorption from him while Duo sat in the chair and tried his damnedest to avoid discussing anything relevant.

"Yeah," Duo said and shrugged. "For the blog, though."

Wufei nodded.

"Have you begun work on the book?"

Duo shrugged again.

"I've got an outline. Sort of."

"Hm."

Duo frowned and looked away from the painting. He met Wufei's frank, dark gaze.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You said 'hm.'"

"Yes, I suppose I did."

Duo sighed.

"So, what? Just say it already."

"What's keeping you from starting the book?"

Duo leaned back in the chair.

"Nothing. I just…"

"Just what?" Wufei prompted after a moment.

"I just – I'm scared, okay? I'm terrified that I'm going to fuck it up."

"Does that matter?"

"What?"

"You fucking it up?" Wufei scowled slightly as he repeated Duo's words, and Duo had to fight back a grin at the other man's discomfort with swearing.

"Yeah. Doesn't it?"

Wufei shrugged.

"Why did you start writing in the first place?" Wufei asked.

"Because you told me to!"

"Yes, I did, didn't I? Why?"

Duo frowned. "You said that writing down my dreams would help me analyze them and give me perspective on… the past."

"And did it?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"And then what?"

"Huh?"

"After you started writing down your dreams, what did I ask you to do?"

"You suggested that I write a blog."

"Why?"

"Because you think I'm drowning in a Catholic sense of guilt and that public confession is the only way I'm ever going to recover from my depression."

"Has it helped?"

"Yeah, it has." Duo had resisted the psychologist's suggestion from the start, and it had taken him weeks before he actually sat down and created his blog site. It had been another week before he had gotten drunk enough one night to actually write on the damn thing. Now, six months later, it was the most natural thing in the world for him to wake up, write an entry, and then face the rest of his day. When people had actually started to respond to his posts he had initially been horrified – he didn't want their judgment, but even worse, he didn't think he deserved their acceptance or accolades. He couldn't decide if it made him pathetic or not, but reading over his followers comments had become the highlight of his days. At least now he had a highlight, he consoled himself.

"And then you got the book deal."

Duo frowned. "Yeah." One of his earliest followers turned out to be an editor with Random House, and after following Duo for nearly half a year he had approached him with a book deal. It had only been three weeks since Duo had accepted the deal, and every day he woke up doubting the decision.

"How is this different than the blog?"

Duo shrugged. "I guess… well, people will pay for it, right? So what if it's complete shit?"

"Do you care? It isn't as if you are doing this for the money."

"But isn't it… wrong? I mean, this is supposed to be my therapy."

"I don't think it's wrong, necessarily. Especially not if you intend to give me ten percent of the profit."

Duo laughed at that.

"Does it feel wrong because it makes you remember or because it makes you forget?" Wufei asked, his sudden, insightful question cutting deep.

"Is it wrong? To want to remember?"

"No, of course not. But I think that Solo, your parents, Father Maxwell – all of them would want you to move on. To heal."

"It's just so fucking hard!" Duo rubbed his palms against his face. "I think about them all the time!"

"Maybe the writing isn't helping, then."

"No, no, it is. Before, Christ, I don't want to talk about this," Duo caught himself and shook his head.

"Duo, running away will accomplish nothing."

"It'll keep me from having to spill my guts."

"Prolonging the inevitable makes it no less inevitable."

"Okay, Mr. Fortune Cookie. Fine." Duo scowled. "Before I started writing it was hard to breathe, most days. It just seemed like everything around me was so empty and meaningless, and my head was just – all I had were the memories, you know? Some days I'd just lie in bed, all day, just close my eyes and try to be in those memories. But then you made me start writing. I don't know why, but it helps. I still remember them, my life is still so fucking empty it's hard to do anything, but… I can get out of bed, right? So that's something."

"It isn't enough, Duo. Getting out of bed is not enough."

Duo sighed.

"That sweater," Wufei started.

"Yeah?"

"You didn't go to Princeton, did you? I thought you went to Florida State."

"It's Solo's sweater – he went to Princeton for undergrad – and before you get all worked up, it was the only clean shirt I had."

"Hm."

"I hate when you make that sound!"

Wufei arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, okay, so I haven't done laundry lately."

"Why?"

"Because… well, I usually do it on Mondays so that I have something clean for today, but I tried to write yesterday and I just… kind of stared at the wall until the Laundromat was closed."

"Duo, do you think that it's hard, this time of year, for you to focus?"

"Huh?"

"It's October 12th, Duo. It's six weeks from the anniversary of Solo's death."

"I… I hadn't really thought that far ahead."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know what day it is – there's a damn calendar on my blog. I just… shit, it is six weeks, isn't it?" He scrubbed at his eyes again.

"Have you found yourself thinking about him more recently?"

Duo reluctantly nodded.

Wufei sighed.

"Have you tried going out?"

"Out?"

"On a date?"

"No!"

Wufei arched an eyebrow at his reaction.

"I mean, hell, Wufei, it's only been -"

"A year, Duo. It's been a year since Solo died. In that time, how many men have you been with?"

"One," Duo reluctantly admitted.

Wufei looked surprised.

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"Duo –"

"I'm not being evasive. I really don't know who he was. It was… the night after Solo's funeral. I got completely wasted and… I couldn't face going back home, to our bed. So… I went to a bar, found a guy, and went home with him. I left the next morning before he woke up."

"We've never discussed this before."

"You've never tried to tell me that I need to get laid before, so… I guess it never came up."

"Duo, why do you think you are reluctant to engage in a new relationship?"

"Um… is that a real question?"

"Yes."

"Because I don't want someone else that I love to die on me."

"Then why haven't you had a string of one night stands? Like that nameless man?"

"Because I felt so damned dirty afterwards that I wanted to kill myself! Christ, I was with Solo for seven years! Seven! And then, the moment he dies, I hook up with some random guy – I'm never going to forget that, Wufei."

"So that last encounter prevents you from even seeking out the company of another man. Even for a casual relationship."

"Yeah."

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You fixate on negative situations and punish yourself as a way to remain connected with your past. I think you are afraid to move on, to start a new life, not because you are afraid of commitment, but because you are afraid that if you are happy, even for one second, you will forget them."

Duo frowned. The words hit too close to home for him.

"So what? I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do with that?"

"Fix it."

"I thought that was your job."

"No, I'm trying to guide you to healing yourself. My job is to listen to you, to help you figure out what you are really feeling and thinking. And to tell you to get off your ass and do something."

Duo frowned. "I don't think you're supposed to be mean to me."

"I prefer to think of it as tough love. Duo, we've met weekly for the past eight months. In that time I've watched you become a human being again, and while I am very proud of the fact that you no longer spend half the week in bed, you still have a ways to go." Wufei stood up. "I'm giving you a homework assignment for this week."

"What? No. Not again!" During the first few months of therapy, when Duo had fought tooth and nail to avoid discussing anything at all, Wufei had constantly given him 'homework assignments' – one of the first had been to record his dreams. But they had been as mundane as trying a new restaurant or as trying as visiting his parents grave. He dreaded this one.

"Go on a date."

"No."

"Yes. I'm not asking you to meet your soul mate. Just… go on a date. Take a guy out to dinner, or meet him for drinks."

"I don't even – who am I supposed to ask out? You?"

"Even if I was interested, that would be unethical."

"Thanks. Your support is overwhelming."

"Duo, I'm straight. You know this. If I was gay and if I wasn't your therapist, rest assured that I would be at the head of the line of men who found you attractive and charming."

"You think I'm charming?"

"Sometimes. Not often." Wufei shook his head. "Now, go forth and flirt. I'll see you next week. Please try to be on time."

"Okay. Um… thanks."

Wufei nodded.

"Of course. And don't hesitate to call me, if you need to. I'm here for you."

Duo managed a wan smile.

"Thanks, Doc."He rose and let himself out.

He decided to walk home. It would give him longer to sulk, and also allow him to postpone going back to his apartment and finally doing laundry.

As he walked he went through the mental list of men he knew. It was depressingly short, and none of the men he knew were ones he had ever considered jumping into bed with.

Then again, he had only ever considered jumping into bed with Solo. He had never even thought about what life would be like after Solo. For the past year he had buried himself away from his friends. At least once a month he went out with Hilde Schiebecker, his oldest and closest friend, but he kept even her at a distance.

He frowned. Hadn't she mentioned something about wanting to set him up with one of her friends?

Duo pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number.

"Hey!" She answered after a few rings. The pleasure in her voice made him feel a tinge of guilt. He really should talk to her more.

"Hil, how ya been?"

"I've been good. How are you? I haven't talked to you in… like two weeks!"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I meant to call you back, but –"

"Duo, it's okay. You called me back now. So, what's up?"

"Uh…" he felt awkward and downright creepy even thinking about asking her to set up a date for him. "Well, you mentioned that you had a friend, you know, who I might hit it off with."

She was silent.

"Hil?"

"Duo, when I told you about Zechs you almost snapped my head off. You called me an insensitive bitch and –"

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just – fuck, Hil, I'm such a mess."

"So I've noticed. Does this mean you're finally ready to start picking up the pieces?"

"Yeah, I guess. Wufei thinks I need to get laid. He wants me to go on a date this week."

"Really?"

"Crazy, right?"

"No, I think it's great. I mean, Duo, it's been a year – and before you call me an insensitive bitch again, I just want to make it clear that I love you. You are my absolute best friend, even if we don't talk as much as we should. I need you to be happy."

"Happy's going to be a stretch. Let's aim for functioning, shall we?"

Hilde sighed. "So, you want Zechs' phone number?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. What did you say he did?"

"He's an assistant DA, like me."

"Gotcha. So I'm going to have to listen to fancy lawyer speak."

"You know you think it's sexy."

"Meh."

"Okay, I'm texting you his number, and I'll let him know to expect a call from you. This is a really big step for you, Duo. I'm proud."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

He hung up the phone and felt a miniscule sense of triumph. He was almost guaranteed to have a lousy time – possibly horribly embarrass himself – but at least it would complete Wufei's homework assignment.

On Thursday night Duo managed to shave, dress, braid his hair, and still arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes early for his date with Zechs Merquise.

Zechs had picked the restaurant, an upscale French restaurant only a few blocks from Duo's apartment. He looked around, but there were no men sitting by themselves at any of the tables, so he headed straight for the bar and sat on one of the stools off to the side, allowing him an excellent view of the entrance to the restaurant.

The bartender, a young, blue eyed man with messy, dark hair, walked up.

"What can I get you?" He asked, his voice a rich baritone that seemed a sharp contrast with his youth and slight build.

"Scotch and soda – a little light on the soda, if you don't mind."

The bartender nodded and moved off, a moment later he returned with Duo's drink and then left him again.

Duo downed the drink quickly and signaled for another.

It wasn't that he was nervous about the date so much as completely terrified. He was so far out of his depth – he had spent the past year as little more than a hermit, only going out for work, grocery shopping, or meeting Hilde. And it had been seven years since he had actually tried to flirt with anyone other than Solo. They had spent so many years together, had developed so many inside jokes and experienced so much together, that at times it was hard for Duo to even talk to Hilde. It was as though he and Solo had developed a new, secret language – and now Duo had to try and translate everything back into English, only it simply didn't work.

Duo tossed back the second drink and then signaled for a third.

The bartender approached with a frown.

"You know, if you're just going to inhale them like that, would you like me to switch to the cheaper scotch? You're wasting it, like this."

Duo arched an eyebrow at the judgment in the young man's voice.

"My money to waste, isn't it?"

The bartender shrugged.

"Sure, but it's still a shame to waste good scotch. Also a shame to be drinking alone, in the middle of the week."

"I'm not – I'm waiting on a date."

"By getting drunk?" There was a hint of amusement in his dark blue eyes.

"It's a blind date – not only that, the first first date I've been on in seven years."

"So you're nervous."

"No shit." Duo tapped his glass.

The bartender shook his head, but took the glass away. Duo watched as he refilled it, this time with a liberal amount of soda and only a dash of scotch.

"You got that wrong," Duo commented when he handed it back.

"Are you trying to sabotage it by scaring her off?" He asked.

Duo scowled and sipped at the much weaker drink.

"Him. And no – well, maybe. Hell, I don't know."

"You're too cute to blow a date just because you're nervous," the bartender said, over his shoulder, as he walked away to serve another customer.

Duo's jaw dropped. Was the bartender flirting with him? He shook his head. Probably the guy was hoping for a decent tip.

He crunched on an ice cube and continued to survey the front entrance.

A moment later a ghost walked in.

Duo almost fell off his barstool at the sight of the tall, golden haired man dressed in a gray three piece suit walking up to the hostess. Even from this distance, Duo could see that the man's eyes were a bright, light blue that was offset by his lightly tanned skin. There was a slight, upward curve of his lips, almost a smirk, as he spoke to the hostess.

"Zechs Merquise," the man said to the hostess, "I have a reservation, for two?"

Duo watched as the hostess led him to a table and he sat down. He looked incredibly at ease, amazingly confident, and disturbingly identical to Solo.

"You okay?"

The bartender was back, and he was frowning at Duo.

"Yeah, uh, my date is here." He nodded to Zechs.

"Hm. He's hot."

"Sure. He looks just like – fucking hell, what was she thinking?" Duo resisted the urge to pull at his hair. How had Hilde managed to track down someone who looked so much like Solo?

"I need another. Just scotch, no soda."

The bartender frowned.

"Seriously, if I don't walk over there buzzed and completely numb I'm probably going to – I don't know what, but it won't be pretty."

As the bartender reluctantly filled a fresh glass with straight scotch, Duo dug out enough money to cover the four drinks and leave a generous tip.

"Thanks," he said when the bartender came back. "I appreciate it."

He threw back the drink, wincing at the burn of the alcohol on the back of his throat, and then set down the glass and headed straight for Zechs.

"Hey – Zechs?" He forced a smile as he approached.

The blonde man stood and smiled back.

"You must be Duo."

"Yeah."

"Please, join me." Zechs gestured to the opposite chair and waited for Duo to sit before resuming his own seat. "Hilde's told me so much about you – I was sure that she had exaggerated your good looks, but now, I'm not sure she did them justice."

"Ha, well, she neglected to tell me anything about how you looked."

Zechs looked expectant, as though he thought Duo should add something on to his statement.

"But, ah, it's nice to meet you," Duo added lamely.

"Have you been here before?" Zechs asked.

"Er, yeah, a few years ago, when it first opened. But not in a while."

Zechs nodded.

They sat in awkward silence until the waiter arrived to take their drink orders.

"How would you feel about splitting a bottle of the Cote Rotie?"

Duo frowned and scanned the wine menu – the Cote Rotie was a Syrah, from France. He heaved a mental sigh. Solo had been crazy about Syrah – by far his favorite red wine – and Duo vividly remembered the summers they had spent in France together, Solo visiting all of his favorite vintners and bringing home cases and cases of wine. Solo had loved Cote Rotie.

"Um, what about the Rock Syrah instead?" Duo suggested. "Sorry, I just prefer American wines."

Zechs arched an eyebrow but shrugged.

"Of course."

The waiter moved off.

"Most French wines are actually bred with American grapes, anyway," Duo continued. He had learned this during one of Solo's lengthy lectures on the subject.

"Really?"

"Mhm. Something to do with blights and genetics and things."

Zechs looked amused.

"I confess I just enjoy the taste, I've never thought to research the science behind it."

"Yeah, I don't care too much for it either – just, you know, I heard something on NPR about it." It was a lie, but certainly better than saying, 'My dead fiancé was crazy about wine, so I had to listen to him go on and on about it all the time.'

"So… Hilde says you're an assistant DA?" Duo thought he should try to contribute something to the conversation.

"Yes, this is my third year at the DA's office."

"Any plans for moving up the ladder?"

"No, I'll work here for another year or two, and then I'll start work at my father's law firm."

"Oh." Now Duo knew why the name Merquise sounded so familiar. The Merquise law firm was one of the most well known in the city, and Alexander Merquise, patriarch of the vast and enormously wealthy Merquise family, was a prominent figure at society events.

"And you? Hilde didn't say what you did."

Duo shrugged. "I, ah, well, I guess I'm a writer?"

"You don't sound so sure," Zechs smirked. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and the expression was classic Solo – so much so that Duo forgot to breathe for a moment.

"Yeah, it's kind of a new thing. I guess. I just got a book deal, so I'm… you know, starting out on that."

"And before your new career?"

"I volunteer at a few places – the library, the soup kitchen – I just… you know, things to keep busy."

"I see."

"It's not that I'm like, a great guy or anything – I just need something to occupy my time and I'm not really good at the whole concept of working at an office, and I've got money, so…" Duo realized that he was rambling. "Yeah." He finished.

"It certainly sounds like you're a great guy," Zechs argued.

"No, it's –"

"You aren't used to getting complimented, are you?"

"Not recently, so much, no."

"Or flirting, I take it, since you've missed about ten chances to do that."

"Uh, how much did Hilde tell you? About me?"

Zech's eyes narrowed.

"Not much – just that you were one of her oldest and closest friends, amazingly good looking, wickedly smart, and very funny."

"And… that was it?"

"She might have mentioned you liked French food."

Duo nodded. "That's a popular misconception. I'm actually – don't get me wrong, French food is great, but I'm not, you know, a connoisseur or anything."

"Okay… that isn't really a deal breaker for me."

"Well, the reason why people think I like French food is because Solo was obsessed with it."

"Solo?"

"Yeah, he was my fiancé. He died a year ago. We'd been together for seven years. So I guess, you know, by that point, people start to assume that if one person likes something the other does too. And that's what happened with the French food – same thing with tequila. I hate the stuff, but Solo loved it, so people always thought I liked it too. Oh, and peanut butter – see, me, I'm crazy about it, but Solo was allergic – one bite and he'd die, pretty much. But that's not how he did. Die, I mean. Yep – see, that's where I lost you."

Zechs had gone from looking carefully neutral to mildly alarmed. He shook his head and composed his features.

"No, I just, I wish she had told me. Is that – are you –"

"It's my first date, since him, if that's what you're asking. And you know the really crazy thing? Oh, thank God, the wine is here."

Before Duo could further humiliate himself the waiter arrived with the bottle of wine. He let Zechs sample it, which the blonde man did very absent mindedly, before pouring both of them full glasses.

Duo immediately took a healthy sip of his.

"Are we ready to order?" The waiter asked.

"I think we need –" Zechs started.

"No, I'm ready if you are," Duo interrupted. He suddenly, very desperately, wanted this night to end as quickly as possible.

"Of course," Zechs said with a slight frown.

Duo briefly entertained the idea of just ordering soup, but that would be too obviously rude, instead he ordered the smoked duck and spinach salad.

"I'll have the same," Zechs said, still frowning.

Once the waiter left silence fell over them.

"So… what do you write? What is your book about?" Zechs asked after a few minutes.

Duo had to give him credit for even bothering to try.

"Horror. Suspense – horror. Lots of blood and violence and death."

Zechs' eyes widened.

"Oh."

"Yep." Duo finished off his glass of wine and refilled it.

"Have you –"

"Listen, I'm sorry. You are obviously… a really amazing guy. Well mannered, charming – I'm sure that you're used to having witty conversations with equally charming dates. But I'm not – when I talk, I don't shut up, and I can't talk to you without – look, let's just… how about we not talk?"

"I'm sorry?"

"We've already established you think I'm good looking – and it goes without saying that you're ridiculously handsome. So…let's just look at each other, eat our food, and call it a night?"

Zechs looked ready to argue.

"Please," Duo quickly added.

"If that's what you want."

"Yes. Thank you." Duo let out a sigh and leaned back in his seat.

He looked around the restaurant, trying to distract himself from Solo's doppelganger, and found himself focusing on the bartender.

The young man was leaning back against the wall, drying off glasses, and looking right at Duo.

There was something almost mesmerizing about his gaze, even at this distance, and Duo found himself wishing that he had just remained at the bar instead of subjecting himself to the torture of a date with Zechs.

The bartender's features were captivatingly exotic. He had high, broad cheekbones, tanned skin, a full mouth, and those incredible eyes. Duo wondered what combination of ethnicities had produced such a strong and unique facial structure.

Their staring match ended when a customer approached and the bartender moved away. With a sigh, Duo forced himself to look back at Zechs.

The blonde man was still frowning at him, as though Duo were some puzzle for him to work out. Duo tried to squash the guilt he felt – yes, Zechs had clearly agreed to this date expecting someone else entirely. But then, so had Duo. He still couldn't believe that Hilde had failed to mention that Zechs looked so much like Solo.

They had completely different noses, Duo was able to eventually decide. Solo's had been broader, while Zech's was longer and narrower – very aristocratic looking compared to Solo's more ruggedly defined nose.

Duo rolled his own eyes at himself. He was being completely ridiculous.

Finally their salads arrived, and Duo attacked his with gusto, uncaring that he was displaying the manners of a caveman.

He was relieved when, after a momentary hesitation, Zechs followed his example and ate quickly.

When the date finally ended, fifteen minutes later, Duo insisted on paying the bill.

"I'm really sorry about this," he said to Zechs after the waiter took away his credit card and the bill. "This ruined a perfectly good Thursday night for you. And –"

"Duo."

He stopped talking and looked into Zechs' eyes.

"I think we should try this again. Maybe in a few months? When you're ready."

The waiter returned and handed Duo his credit card.

"I don't –"

Zechs leaned over and kissed Duo on his cheek, just below his ear.

"I'll look forward to meeting you again," Zechs said with a smile before standing up and walking away.

Duo rubbed at the spot on his cheek where Zechs' warm lips had just been.

Solo used to kiss him there – just below his ear, on the sharp point of his jaw bone.

Numb, Duo scribbled his name and the tip on the receipt before stuffing his card back in his wallet and getting to his feet.

He started to walk to the door but he was struck by such an intense feeling of emptiness that he couldn't bring himself to go home.

With a sigh he went back to the bar and sat down at the back corner of it.

After a moment the bartender approached him.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well."

"Depends on your definition of 'well'," Duo said with a sneer.

"Considering that you look more depressed that you did when you came in, I'm going to keep my definition of well and say that it sucked."

Duo let out a humorless laugh.

"Yeah, what can I say? I'm just that charming."

The bartender's gaze was soft and sympathetic as he regarded Duo.

"Look, can I get another scotch and soda?"

The bartender scowled.

"I noticed you finished off more than half a bottle of wine."

"What are you , my sponsor?"

"Do you have one I should call?"

"No! I'm not an alcoholic. It's just been a really, really bad night. I'm not driving either – if that's what you're worried about."

"No, I'm worried about you drowning yourself in alcohol."

"Not your problem," Duo assured him. "Now, please, another drink."

The bartended slowly and very reluctantly brought him a scotch and soda.

"Before, when you first saw him – your date – you kind of freaked out."

"Yeah, well, seeing the ghost of your dead fiancé will do that to you," Duo muttered into his glass.

The bartender arched an eyebrow.

"I mean, not literally – I'm not drunk enough to think that my date was a ghost or anything. But he – Christ he looks so much like Solo it's just… it's a fucking crime, that's what it is."

The bartender frowned.

"Solo is your… dead fiancé."

"Yep. Died a year ago in six weeks."

"I'm sorry for your loss." The sympathy in his voice was genuine, and Duo found himself nodding and looking away from the bartender's eyes.

"Me too."

"So that's why this was your first first date, in seven years."

"Yeah."

"He seemed to like you."

"Well, I kind of like my sanity, and I'm not enough of a masochist to want to jump into bed with a guy who looks that much like Solo. Not to mention – " Duo cut himself off and shook his head. "I am such a fucking disaster."

The bartender frowned.

"Not wanting to date a cheap replica of a man you loved doesn't make you a disaster. Doesn't it signal the opposite?"

"Huh?"

"If you were a disaster, wouldn't you want to, you know, punish yourself or whatever by being with him? Trying to recapture a lost relationship?"

"Jesus, you sound like my shrink."

The bartender smirked.

"Part of the job, I guess."

"Aren't you a little young to be doling out sage advice?" Duo asked.

"I'm twenty-one, not that young."

"Yeah, it is," Duo assured him after taking another sip of the scotch. "God, twenty-one – you've got a lot of living ahead of you."

"So do you, what are you, twenty-five?"

Duo laughed.

"I wish. Try twenty-eight."

The bartender seemed a little taken aback by Duo's advanced age.

"Thanks – that look – that is the perfect end to my night."

"I'm sorry, I didn't – twenty-eight is still young."

"Almost thirty."

"Two years from it."

"Close enough, though, from your point of view, isn't it?"

The bartender winced, but reluctantly nodded.

"Ah, it's okay, kid. One day you will be my age and some young punk will give you shit about it."

"I wasn't trying to – I'm very sorry."

"Seriously, out of everything that happened tonight, you thinking that I'm old is pretty much the least of my concern."

Duo finished his drink and stood.

"Anyway, thanks for crushing my ego." He pulled out a few bills and laid them on the counter.

"How far away do you live?" The bartender asked.

Duo frowned.

"Not too far – a few blocks."

"Are you walking or taking a cab?"

"Uh… is this kind of inquest your normal way of getting a better tip?"

The bartender sighed and pulled off his black half apron.

"I'm taking you home."

"What? I'm perfectly fine!"

"You are right now– because you're in public and you're mad. As soon as you step outside, where it's cold and dark and miserably depressing you won't be." The bartender's blue gaze was hard.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Yeah," the other man agreed with a scowl. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Just let me make sure you get home safely. I – I'd do the same for any old man who'd had as much to drink as you."

"Burn," Duo muttered, but couldn't help smiling back at the bartender's cocky grin.

"Just give me one minute, I'll be right back."

Duo sat back down on his stool as the bartender disappeared through a set of doors presumably leading to the kitchen. As he continued to sit, Duo realized that he had had too much to drink. His head was starting to feel very sloshy, and he was very grateful when the bartender came back.

"Okay, where do you live?" He asked.

"Few blocks from here," Duo told him.

The bartender nodded.

"Let's go."

Duo stood and suddenly had to focus a great deal of attention on walking. He was grateful that the bartender didn't talk to him again until they were outside and well on their way to Duo's apartment.

"Do you drink this much often?"

The question surprised him and he stumbled. The bartender caught his shoulders before he fell and helped steady him.

"No. Not often. Not this much in… months. Not since our anniversary. I mean – it would have been our anniversary."

"I understand."

"I'm not an alcoholic," Duo repeated again. "I have a few drinks, every now and then – not like this."

"I see."

"Oh come on, like you don't drink at all?"

"I don't."

"And you're a bartender?"

"My dad is an alcoholic. He – he's a great example of what I do not want to do with my life." There was an amazing amount of bitterness in his voice.

"Oh." Duo frowned. "So why are you a bartender?"

He sighed. "It's my uncle's restaurant. He gave me a job while I'm in college here. And… I've had a lifetime's experience mixing drinks for my dad, so… I know what I'm doing. And I believe you."

"About?"

"Not being an alcoholic. But just because you don't drink this much all the time doesn't mean you should – ever."

"Best way to stop thinking," Duo assured him.

The bartender frowned.

"Stop thinking? Why would you want to stop thinking? It's wrong to -"

"Look, why don't you talk to me about it after your family has been killed in a car accident, your group home burned to the ground and everyone dying, and your fiancé gets murdered on the way back from his bachelor party, the week before you're supposed to get married. And then you can talk to me about my methods of coping."

Before the bartender could say anything in response to Duo's rant, they arrived at his apartment building.

"Anyway, this is home. Thank you for the escort, oh noble and judgmental youth."

The bartender frowned again.

"Are you going to be okay on your own?"

"Yes. This old man is perfectly capable of passing out in his own bed without your assistance."

"Okay."

The bartender continued to look uneasy, but Duo just sneered at him and stomped up the stairs, unlocked the door to his building, and then slammed it closed behind him. He didn't look back.

"Such a fucking disaster," he repeated to himself as he climbed the stairs up to his apartment. "A fucking disaster."