Duo did not know how long he had been sitting at the table, but he knew that he was there. His bare hands pressed flat against its grainy plastic surface. He knew, too, that he was seated in a metal chair that chilled him even through the wool of his military overcoat. Why he was dressed in his formal attire he did not know, nor could he place his surroundings: A large square room without discernable boundary.

After taking his time surveying the place he closed his eyes and tried to remember. He recalled heat, then cold, then nothing. When he opened his eyes she was seated across from him instantly and without explanation, though in no way he had ever seen her before. Business casual is what he would have called her dress, and far removed from the nun's habit she had worn in the days of his youth. Her hair hung loose, slung over her right shoulder and fixed loosely behind her left ear with a large white-flowered pin. She seemed not to notice him, or at the very least was deliberately ignoring him, and she tapped a familiar folder on the table to align the pages within. Then she lay it down flat before him and looked up with the same smile he might expect at a job interview.

"How have you been?" she asked, and though her mouth moved it seemed that her voice entered into his head without the travel of sound waves. Her voice made him shiver.

Duo looked at his hands, at his clothes, at the space around him. Then he turned back to Helen and said quietly, "So I'm dead."

She smiled again. "Not strictly speaking," she said, and opened the folder to its first page. "Where do you think you are?"

Duo shook his head dumbly. "Why are you here?"

"Well I'm your escort, Duo," said Helen with a certain tone of surprise he recalled fondly. "We've all got to be escorted, and we're always met by someone we loved. Usually it's mothers or fathers, siblings, children who've passed on before us, but we all have someone."

"Just hold on a minute," Duo stammered. "You…You're who I think you are, aren't you?"

She looked at him blankly, and then furrowed her brow as if mildly hurt. "Of course I am."

"Then I'm really dead," Duo mused, and in that instant a thousand questions entered into his head. He had wondered endlessly in life the things he would ask of Helen if ever they met again, what things he would say now that he was an adult looking back on the mistakes of his childhood. But she seemed not to notice his contemplation, she seemed methodical and attentive only to the business at hand.

"We've been through this already, little one." Helen looked at the first page of the file and frowned. She flipped to the second page. The third. The fourth. Her frown deepened. "It seems you've done a terrible thing," she said.

"I've probably done a lot of terrible things since the last time I talked to you."

Helen shot a glance of warning at him, and Duo felt ten years old again. Her face relaxed and she asked, "Do you think you deserve to be admitted to Paradise?"

The question caught him off guard, and Duo hesitated. "I don't know what you mean."

"Heaven. The Promised Land. Nirvana. Paradise," Helen explained calmly. "It's my job as your watcher to lead you there, but only if you're ready."

Duo floundered for words, still coming to grips with the fact that it seemed he was indeed dead. Everything he had ever thought about the afterlife had turned out so wrong. After a time, he said, "I don't know if I'm worthy of that or not. You just said I've done something terrible. I've killed people in war; I've hurt a lot of people. I killed you."

Helen shook her delicate head, but her mouth curled into a sweet smile. "Do you remember what you told me when I asked if you believed in God?"

Without hesitation, Duo said, "That I hadn't seen enough good in the world to believe in your God, but that I had seen enough death and suffering to believe in the God of Death."

"It seems you adopted that as your title," Helen added, and though she still smiled it seemed there was disappointment in her tone now. "A bit arrogant, if you ask me."

Duo shifted his glance around the room, unable to answer her accusation. "I called myself that during the One Year War. It seemed appropriate at the time, but I was, what, sixteen? What sixteen-year-old isn't a complete idiot?"

Helen contemplated, and as she did she flipped absently through the file. "It seems a fitting title, though, considering all you've done," she said. Then she looked at him directly, with coldness. "Do you think you did the right thing?"

"Without a doubt," Duo replied. "Everything I did in the One Year War was meant to bring peace to the colonies and earth. I didn't kill people because I wanted to, but—"

"And what of the DeSchepper girl?"

Duo's mouth went suddenly dry. So he had connected. He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table and stared at Helen appraisingly. "If that file has everything I've done in it—if it tells you all the things that happened in my life—then you know the answer to that already. I acted in self-preservation. I don't regret it."

"But your self-preservation destroyed a colony. And it doesn't seem to have preserved you."

Duo grimaced. "I hadn't planned for that."

"Mass murderers seldom plan to be mass murderers," Helen reasoned. "And the Duo I once knew would never have entertained the thought."

On instinct Duo ran his hand through his hair. "So what now?"

"I ask again if you feel worthy of entering into Heaven."

Duo shook his head and cast his gaze downward. "No," he said quietly. "But not because I was a bad person." His gut wrenched, and he breathed deeply. "You taught me to take responsibility for my actions. That's what a good man does. I did something terrible without any consequence. If I tell you to take me to a place of eternal happiness on the back of the deaths of millions, how good of a man does that make me?"

"That's not my question to answer," Helen replied. "I can tell you that I was never taught in the seminary that the world needs death, and God won't deal it out. We are both His shepherds and His sheep, if you catch my meaning. It is our job to cull the flock, to keep things orderly." She paused and looked for meaning in Duo's stunned expression. "If it's any consolation, I'm not disappointed in you. I think you've done things for the greater good of the world, even if you left on bad terms."

Duo thought on this for a moment. "My answer is still no."

"I need to know that you understand the alternative," Helen said quietly, sadly. "That if you choose to say no you understand what will happen."

Duo shrugged. "Fire and brimstone," he said simply, then looked up with a smile. "But I'll gladly go to Hell if it means taking responsibility for what I did. Good men own their mistakes, even if doing so means they're ruined. Besides," he added in afterthought, "I don't want to defile your neighborhood by moving in down the street."

Helen nodded. "You're strong in your convictions." She shuffled the papers back into the folder, tapped it twice on the desk, and stood. "I don't know whether we'll meet again, and I don't know whether you will remember our meeting when next you wake." She paused again and sighed. "It was wonderful to see you again, though. You grew up handsomely."

As Helen turned and walked into the endless white Duo's throat tightened and his stomach sank. The encounter was over too soon. He hadn't said what he needed to say. He hadn't had the chance to say what he had always wanted to say. When first he opened his mouth the noise came out a lame squeak, but on second try he managed to call hoarsely, "I'm sorry! For everything!"

Helen stopped at a distance and turned back around. "Think nothing of it, little one," she said sweetly, "and don't dwell on what's been done. It's long past time for you to move on."

Duo could have sworn he saw her smile before the world faded away.

When next he woke unknown hours later it was to absolute darkness. He was not uncomfortable on the lightly padded platform on which he lay: He felt warm and strangely full, but he could not remember when last he had eaten. His ears were filled with various hums and a steady and rhythmic beep that coincided with the very real, very strong beating of his heart.

He raised his arms and touched the black glass dome over his body, suppressed mild panic, and flexed his muscles as best he could in the confinement. After a time he came to realize that he was lying in a stasis chamber, a fairly common device used to transport and stabilize critically injured patients between hospitals, and so he understood that he had been hurt. He did not, however, recall when he had injured himself, and that struck him as odd.

It was not until he tried to call for help that the panic he felt earlier welled back up. He could not move his mouth, and now, aware of his apparent bondage, it dawned upon him that he could not feel the rush of air as his chest expanded and contracted. There was a heavy pressure in his throat and when he gingerly touched his hand to his face he felt an intubation device strapped securely around his head.

The steady, high pitched beeping sped up and grew erratic as he groped around the lid of the darkened chamber for an emergency release, and sped up even more when his efforts proved futile. By the time he began pounding against the chamber's glass lid Duo could feel his heart hammering in his ears and could no longer hear the machine's frantic alarms.

A thousand questions flooded his mind as he continued beating away at the tempered glass—how long had he been in the chamber and how severe was his injury that he'd had to be intubated? Where was he? Who was caring for him? Did they believe he was going to die? What the hell had happened?

Duo rolled as far onto his left side as he could—not far, admittedly—and reeled at a searing pain in his gut. Still, he composed himself and threw his full weight against the right side of the chamber. He felt the box rock ever slightly on its base and then he tried again. Three times, four times, five times he heaved himself against the wall, rocking the apparatus back and forth, until finally the momentum knocked the pitch black box off of its stand. The glass shattered with a crash so loud that it drowned out the constant hum of machinery, and blinding light poured over him.

With his eyes closed against the influx of blinding fluorescent light, Duo clambered out of the broken stasis chamber, barely aware of the jagged glass over which he dragged his weakened body. When at last he felt the cold ground beneath him he ripped the mask away from his face and extracted with great difficulty the thick tubes that blocked his airways. He gagged and coughed between greedy gulps of air until he retched, and then he sat shivering and terrified in the cold open air.

He heard the flat monotonous beeps of the machines and a dozen or more alarms flared up about him. All he could do was sit, squint his eyes closed against the lights, and tremble.

After what seemed forever he heard the mechanical slide of a door somewhere in front of him. There was a shuffle of bare feet on the ground followed by a blanket of warmth. A pair of hands held him steady—one pressed firmly against his stomach while the other laid on his back, and a voice uttered quietly, "It's okay, son. You're all right."

Eventually more people arrived. They spoke in urgent voices. He could hear the scuff of a broom on the ground and subsequent scrape of glass on the linoleum. A cup of water was pressed to his lips and he drank only tentatively, somewhat instinctively, and without true awareness. The liquid burned in his throat.

"Vitals are okay," said a woman's voice. "Let's get him into a legitimate bunk for now, onto a real bed. Then we'll clean up his arm and get him into some clothes."

The man who'd been holding Duo patted him on the back and said, "All right, we're going to get you onto some wheels now. Don't panic or you'll fall off. You're safe now."

Duo offered no resistance. One set of arms grasped him under the shoulders and the other round his knees, and in a swift but gentle motion he felt soft fabric beneath him. The doors hissed, and air ran over him. The people wheeling him down the way called for others to clear out, to make way, to give some space, and Duo could hear the murmuring of many concerned voices. He dared to open his eyes.

These hallways were familiar. The right turn was familiar. The gray metal walls and sterile white floors were familiar. This place felt and smelled of home. Upon first waking Duo had believed himself to be in Hell. Now he realized that he was on the lower deck of the the Peacemillion.

A surreptitious glance told him that Howard and Sally were the ones at his side, but they seemed so intent on their tasks that they did not notice him looking. They maneuvered him into a familiarly short hallway, opened another hydraulic door, and pushed him into a darkened but comforting place.

This was his room.

Some of the urgency had died away from Sally's voice when she ordered Howard to situate Duo on the bed, and the old man did as he was told. Comfortable, Duo lay back with his eyes closed and let them fuss over him.

Sally arrived with a white box and sat on the bed beside him. "Duo, can you hear me?"

Duo looked at her blankly but offered no statement.

"Very good. You've cut yourself," she grasped his left wrist gently and held it before him. Indeed, a sizeable gash marred the flesh of his forearm, and though he felt slightly disgusted by it, Duo did not flinch. "I'm going to suture it."

Again, Duo offered no response.

Sally began her work with a topical numbing agent, and Duo watched intently as she threaded the thick twine through his skin. He felt nothing, neither physically or emotionally.

"Why isn't he talking?" Howard asked, and Duo glanced at him sidelong.

Sally shrugged. "Could be that the tubes hurt his throat when he pulled them out. Could be shock. Could be he doesn't know what to say."

Howard sat opposite Sally on the bed and scrutinized Duo's face for a long time. He looked ancient then, tired and withered like an old leathery tree, and Duo met his gaze evenly.

"Can you say something to me, Duo?"

Ashamed, Duo looked back to his arm.

"Guess that's a no, then," Howard grumbled.

"It's no real matter," Sally said to Duo. "No need to feel bad about it. We'll get scans to make sure you didn't injure yourself when you extubated."

"Quatre won't be pleased when he finds out you shattered his stasis chamber, though," Howard chuckled. "Those are expensive, and I'm pretty sure he said that the one you were in was on loan."

By now Sally had finished her work and presently scrutinized Duo's face. "I'm going to ask you a few questions here, Duo. All you have to do is nod your head."

Duo nodded shortly.

"Do you know where you are?" she asked.

Duo nodded again.

"Do you know who we are?" Sally gestured between herself and Howard.

Again, Duo nodded.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Duo thought, furrowed his brow and looked at the floor. He remembered waking up. Before that was a blur of faint feelings and smells, and he couldn't put a timestamp on it. Prior to that, the last thing he remembered was the pre-flight briefing for testing of the mobile suit he'd been building,

Sally patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. We'll get you back in shape in no time." She looked to Howard sternly and breathed deep. "I'll go call Quatre and have him bring in the medical docker. Get Duo situated in here and make sure he's comfortable and stays calm."

"Sure," Howard replied. "I'd be happy to."

"I'll see to it that the wing remains clear for right now, at least until the scans are complete."

After Sally left, Howard stood and made for the drawers mounted into the wall opposite the bed. From them he produced a cotton shirt and standard athletic shorts, and carried them back to the bed. "Would you like some help?"

Duo continued staring at the floor. He was still stuck on the fact that he couldn't remember. And before he knew it Howard was manipulating his arms through the holes in the shirt, pulling it down over his torso. Duo lay back and pulled on the shorts with difficulty, wincing at the pain in his side. Then as he lay, he pulled up his shirt to examine the source of the discomfort.

A large bleach-white bandage had been taped over his stomach, just below the ribs, and covered several inches of skin. Duo began picking curiously at the tape, but Howard, grabbed his hand and pulled it away.

"Best to leave that alone for now, son," Howard said gently. "You were pretty seriously injured. Give it another week and you can look as much as you want, otherwise I'm sure Sally will be happy to show you when she changes the dressing. It's ugly as hell, and last time I looked at the thing it was smelly as a dead cat. Best leave it alone."

Duo nodded and stared at the ceiling.