"Agent Maxwell"
The hot water beading down his back was a soothing relief to the ache. There was dirt and a bit of blood in the water that flowed to the drain, but he'd grown accustomed to it. His slender frame was cleaned first, tattooed and scared tanned skin coming clean. Then came is long, ragged brown hair, though not quite as long as it had been six years ago.
Normally, Duo Maxwell would have started humming to himself by now, but his mood muted him. His throat had a hard lump in it that his voice could not move through. His head ached in ways it hadn't in years, not since the days of mobile suit cockpits and Oz soldiers.
Something about the last mission hit a bit too close to home, though. Seeing that church in ruins was a bit too much like reliving the past, dead nuns huddled together.
He had managed to remain composed, because as a Preventer Agent, he had a responsibility, to complete his mission. Though the look in the eyes of the orphans who had managed to survive tore at the ache in his chest. Hours later, he would sob hysterically in Hilde's lap until he nearly passed out.
He would mutter a low prayer to himself, in Latin as he was taught, before he lay down in bed that night. He wouldn't sleep, biting his nails and reliving the burned flesh and hearing the echoes of Sister Helen's soft voice in the recess of his mind.