It was less like a statement and more like an interrogation, which was about what Duo expected. He'd been given some food, but not enough, and by the time he was released, it was getting late. He paused outside the precinct and pulled out his phone. He really should call Sam. He may have slipped "yes" past Sam, but Sam didn't know better, and even for Duo, it was a thin line.

He really wasn't ready to go back to the Tower and deal with Stark or the Avengers, or even Quat and Tro's well-meaning support though. The interrogation had put him in the mind of the war, which had something else from the war heavy on his mind.

He navigated to Sam's number when a reminder popped up on his screen. He was actually not that far from the right part of town, if he wanted to go. As if the universe was giving him signs, a bus with the location of his reminder on it caught his eye, and he turned off the phone to run over and catch it. Once on the bus, he grabbed the bar before pulling the phone back out. He shot a quick text to Sam that said, Gonna be late as the bus paused at the next stop. He took the opportunity to pull the battery out before Stark could use it to track him. It was time to put some ghosts to bed.

When Duo stepped into Shaken Not Stirred, an upscale bar and restaurant, he wasn't surprised to get a look from the gatekeeper. It was not the kind of place someone who looked like Duo frequented. He was clean-shaven, which was a small plus in his category that had more to do with the fact he had very little body hair than any dedication to propriety. His bangs were longer than they usually were, more framing his face than anything. He was glad he'd decided to wear some of the clothing Tony had bought for him. The shirt was a nearly black navy, had a classic, almost mandarin collar, and a fine pattern that spoke to its cost and fit like a glove. The buttery black jeans could become a favorite also spoke of money, even if his utilitarian combat boots didn't. In short, he wore expensive things but wasn't clean-cut enough to be of the upper class, so he was probably a crook.

They didn't really want to let him in, but they weren't willing to raise a fuss with it. The gatekeeper didn't dare card him.

Duo went straight to the bar, and it took all of five seconds for the bartender to come over.

"I don't care what ID you give me, no way you're legal," the man said flatly before Duo could get a sound out.

Duo gave him a rueful grin. "I am, for the record, but I actually wanted a soda on the rocks." He slid a twenty across the bar. "I'd like the excuse to take up a seat at your bar, if that's all right."

The bartender's eyes gave him a second look, then took the twenty and nodded, coming back with a soda with a drink stirrer in it, making it look like any of a dozen alcoholic options. Duo took it and eased his way down to the end of the bar so he could settle in and watch the room.

Hacking the Fitzhugh's home network had been child's play using the Preventers mainframes. It got him not only into Oliviana Fitzhugh-Stroh's personal network, but into her phone, and from there, he was able to get into Heero's. If anything convinced Duo that this was not his Heero anymore, it was how little protection there was on his phone. He also wondered if Heero's memory had been affected beyond the amnesia. His schedule was planned to the fucking minute, and every one of those minutes was in his phone's calendar app. Heero had never had Duo's memory—he could memorize specs and mission details in a heartbeat, but he had to make a conscious decision to retain the information—but he could certainly keep his schedule in his head.

Tonight was a celebration of some friends finishing up midterm exams. Heero had, of course, blazed through his undergrad well ahead of any normal expectation, finishing in two and a half years, but he'd had classmates who had taken the normal time, and that was apparently who he was getting together with. Even getting kidnapped with his fiancée hadn't slowed him down.

Of course his new princess arrived with him, but Duo had eyes only for Heero. It was the first time he'd seen Heero in more than nine months, and it still hit him like a solid kick to the balls. He watched Heero for a while, watched him greet guys with handshakes, and in a couple of cases, hand clasps and chest bumps, unguarded in a way that Duo had seen only in their most intimate moments, and never so easily happy. Girls were greeted with air kisses and hugs.

Fitzhugh-Stroh stood at his side, easy in his space, getting and giving greetings just as warm. The way he touched her made Duo ache with longing. Heero had only ever been that tactile with Duo, and only after several years of Duo's careful instruction. He touched the others with frequency as well, far more than he had even the other pilots.

He had known, on some level, that Heero had become this somehow normal twenty-something. The weight and experiences of his pre-Preventers life were lost to him, and he radiated health and happiness. Two years had taken Duo's rough edges and sharpened them to blades that could cut with the barest pressure. Two years of normal life had polished Heero into a young man of fine standing.

Duo must have watched him and his friends for the better part of an hour before he finally made his decision, sliding the bartender another ten for indulging him. He'd picked the cash off the grumpy gatekeeper anyway.

Heero saw Hilary stiffen and his eyes lock on something over Heero's shoulder. Heero knew that look painfully well.

"Really?" he huffed in exasperation before he turned to see what Hilary was ogling.

He turned just in time to meet—

Purple eyes .

"Hi, 'Ro," the man said, and no one, not even Liv, said his name like that, filled with more emotions than Heero could readily name. Who was this guy?

"Fuck, Yuy, you need to introduce me," Hilary blurted.

Heero's eyes swung back to Hilary, bewildered. "I..."

"I know you don't remember me," the man said. His voice was lower than Heero might have expected, rich, with the softest L2 cadence underlying his words. "It's okay. You don't need to. Not anymore."

"I'm sorry," Oliviana stepped in. "You are—?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, but if we've met, I don't remember," Heero admitted. A dull throb was beginning between his eyes, a warning of an oncoming migraine.

"No," the man agreed. "You haven't met me. But I knew you, who you were before."

Alarms started going off in Heero's head, and he grimaced. Someone from his past. He thought he'd put this to bed already.

"Look, you don't know anything about me—"

"I know where the scar right here"—he reached out and barely touched the outside of Heero's right bicep—"and the one right here"—his hand reached out and touched the side of Heero's left thigh—"came from."

Purple eyes glowing out from under a shaded cap.

"It's pretty obvious you're the bad guy here."

"They're—" Heero tried to protest.

"They're scars from gunshot wounds."

Pain spiked, sharp and fierce, and Heero couldn't tell if it were in his head or in his arm and leg. "You're wrong, and there's no way you could know that."

"I gave them to you."

Heero could sense his friends starting to stand up and close ranks at that. The man, short and lithe as he was, seemed unbothered by the threat.

(Because these are law students and he is so much more.)

"Are you here to kill me?" Heero asked, fear churning his stomach.

"No," he said, soft and sure and sad. "Never." And just like that, Heero breathed easier. (He never tells lies.)

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Who I am doesn't matter—you won't remember anyway. I'm here 'cause I need to say goodbye." He stepped closer, and Heero let him. This man, he had said he was no threat to Heero, and Heero, God help him, he believed the man. "I've never had the chance before—to say goodbye to someone, I mean." He reached up and slid his fingers into the thick hair at Heero's nape like it was the most natural thing in the world. Some part of him he couldn't name knew the feel of those rough fingers in his hair, knew the weight of that hand.

No. I. Don't.

"I don't—"

"I know. It's okay, really. I want you to be happy, and it's obvious you are." His thumb stroked Heero's cheek, staring at Heero as if he were the only one in the world. Those eyes froze Heero where he stood, the depth and breadth of the emotion in them— no one should look at another person like that—it was too close to worship, and it made Heero's skin crawl. "I need to move on and let you go. So it's selfish, but let a stranger say goodbye to the man you once were." With no warning, he surged up, using the grip on Heero's nape to pull him down, and kissed him.

It should have been violent; Heero should have shoved him away. Instead, it was soft and sweet, and achingly familiar. He had kissed this man before, and often, held him in his arms, claimed him and been claimed in return. He didn't realize he'd put a hand on his hip and cupped his face until 02 broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together.

Not 02. He had a name. Heero knew his damn name—it was on the tip of his tongue…

"I would tear the world apart for you," the man said, voice catching and so thick with emotion that Heero's throat tightened. "But I don't think that's what you need." He stepped back, letting go, and forcing Heero to either chase him or release him. And just like that—the migraine spiked, sharp, stealing the present from him for a heartbeat.

He blinked, confused when he saw a young man, probably his own age, standing before him, looking rough around the edges but wearing clothing that spoke of privilege. "Goodbye, Heero Yuy," he said, and how did this stranger even know Heero's name?

The man turned to Oliviana. "I hope you know how lucky you are. You'll never find someone better."

He spun on his heel and made a beeline for the door, a long braid whipping out behind him. Heero stared at his wake until Oliviana gasped, "Heero!"

Heero's cheeks tickled with tears. He reached up and touched them, confused, but he blinked and more fell. "I don't... understand. I don't know why I'm crying." Tears thickened his voice. They choked his throat so badly, he had to swallow before he said, "What just happened?" Oliviana went into his arms, and he held her tightly, grounding himself. He could tell by the looks of his friends, he'd lost time, and he tried to mentally backtrack.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Oliviana asked, reaching up and stroking his face, the only one who'd seen him like this before, seen him when he lost time.

"Hil—Hilary found a mark," he said, closing his eyes, trying to remember. Everything after his own sense of exasperation was a blank.

But the tears still fell as Oliviana hugged him tight.