Duo wandered down the dark streets, the blank look in Heero's eyes playing over and over in his mind. The impulse to let Shini free on the idiot who thought he was being sneaky while tailing him was strong. The guy wasn't well-dressed enough to have gotten past Shaken Not Stirred's gatekeeper, so Duo was sure that Heero should be out of his sights, but it still irked him. Getting drunk or high weren't options on Duo's plate to get out of his own head, even if he'd been inclined. It left sex or a fight.

Since he was still recovering from being shot, a fight, unless unavoidable, was a bad idea. He didn't want Quat to fuss if he pulled his stitches again. He hadn't had sex with a stranger since he stopped turning tricks when he was twelve. He didn't count Jesus because they'd been acquainted for at least a few weeks before Duo decided that falling into bed with him was the best move to make. Although Jesus's particular brand of violence-flavored sex would be a very welcome distraction, he wasn't trusting a random stranger for it.

His thoughts circling from Heero to Jesus wasn't productive, and he checked his tail in a store window. The guy was keeping his distance, and had he been trailing someone ordinary, he probably would've been missed, but it was getting late enough that he was as good as waving a neon sign for Duo. He considered ducking into an alley to let Shinigami take its due, and it throbbed under his skin at the thought. He started looking for an appropriate alley when a sticker in a window caught his eye. It wasn't anything special, easily overlooked—an old symbol for the sun, a plain circle with a black dot in the exact center. It was still popular in astrology, but it was more popular with Spacers, and it was rare to see it like this dirtside.

On a whim, Duo opened the door next to the window where the sun was the only sign other than the number on the door. It opened to a small, undecorated hallway, but in the empty space, a soft beat pounded at a level more felt than heard. Something about the rhythm brought a smile to Duo's lips, and he dashed up two flights of narrow stairs. He didn't hesitate at the door, where the rhythm was clearer, just opened it and let the familiar strains of stringed instruments, flutes, and various drums wash over him. To dirtsiders, the music sometimes sounded Indian, sometimes Middle Eastern, usually folkic, but to Duo, there was an electronic undercurrent that spoke of Spacers and home.

He stepped in, and the first step was strange, forcing him to catch his balance. A second step reoriented him, and he laughed as he realized the floor was the same surface used to train for low-gravity work. It mimicked the movement in low-grav environments and was about as close as you got dirtside to the real thing.

There was a bar and high-top tables, stools attached to the bases of the tables that could maneuver around one another. Most of the tables were occupied, and except for the cloud of cheap cigarette smoke in the air, the bar could have been one of a thousand hole-in-the-wall places that littered colonial ports.

Behind the bar, a man with no hair on his head or face, including eyebrows stood, cleaning a glass. His eyebrows were tattooed over in a pattern of straight lines that Duo recognized as being from a C8 crew.

The man met his eyes, and lifted flicked his fingers at Duo as if flicking water from them. Duo grinned and made his way to the bar with the easy stride of someone who had spent more than their fair share of time working in space. The tight frown on the man's face eased both at Duo's easy gait and his obvious recognition of the Spacer sign.

"Black at back," the bartender greeted.

Duo put his fist out as if he were holding something in it. "Steel in sight," he returned, and the bartender finally grinned, made a similar fist, and bumped their curled fingers together.

"Well, no to-look like a Walker, but walk so," the bartender observed, a clipped accent in his Spacer lingo.

Leaning on the bar because just standing on this stuff without bouncing around could be a challenge if you weren't used to it, Duo said, "Not much of a Walker these days, but I didn't expect to find a piece of home in the middle of New York City," he admitted. "Duo," he added, introducing himself with a quick fist knocked on his chest.

"Zhenya," the bartender returned, doing the same quick knocking gesture to indicate himself. It wasn't the Russian pronunciation of the name, but a Spacer version that was said "zen-ya." "Drink?" he offered.

"Gas'll do," Duo assured, using the universal name for a house brew. It always tasted like piss to Duo, but it wasn't like he was going to get drunk off it, and not ordering something alcoholic would probably make Zhenya suspicious again. Duo may have been rough around the edges for Shaken Not Stirred, but he was dressed way too well for a Spacer bar. Zhenya turned to the tap, put a lidded cup to it before filling it to the lid. Real Spacer beer then—all of the carbon dioxide removed, both because you didn't want to introduce unnecessary carbon dioxide into contained environments and because you couldn't burp out excess gas from carbonation in zero g. So dead-flat beer it was. Duo was still amused to get the drink in a lidded cup with a self-sealing straw. "What is this place?" he asked.

"Bit'a home for grounded Walkers," Zhenya said, which was all the explanation Duo needed. Spacers who had serious injuries or certain illnesses while down the gravity well of Earth were sometimes grounded because either low or zero gravity could be fatal or just the Gs required for escape velocity could kill. In the last twenty years, tech had gotten better, and it was possible to commercially travel between Earth and the colonies for most healthy people, but there was still a slew of medical conditions that made it inadvisable if not life-threatening. "Your crew?" he asked.

"Not a true Walker," Duo admitted. "But Sweepers be mine."

Zhenya's brow ridges rose in surprise, but Duo expected that. Sweepers were damn near royalty among Spacers, so even though Duo had only lived with them for four years—if you counted the year after the first Eve War he and Heero spent with them—his ties with them would hold serious weight in any Spacer community.

"Marco?" Zhenya asked, naming the current head of what was previously Howard's House.

"Howard," Duo corrected, and got a low whistle. Duo hadn't really understood the Sweepers' place in Spacer society, much less G and Howard's places, until after the Eve Wars. Howard was a damned living legend as one of the founders of Sweepers House, which was the newest House established among Walkers in the last century.

Zhenya trilled a call to get everyone's attention. "High and shiny here, Walkers!" he called, pointing to Duo. "Sweepers vi Howard!"

Cat calls, whistles, and cheers went up. If Sweepers had been esteemed before the Eve Wars, their public parts in bringing down Libra made them the most respected group of Spacers there was. No Spacer would falsely claim kinship to Sweepers. Lying about such a connection was as good as suicide. Colonists and Spacers knew better than any dirtsider how critical Earth still was to supporting life in the sphere. Spacers might make it without Earth. The colonies wouldn't.

Duo accepted the hails with good humor, but he wasn't surprised when the door opened and his tail stepped in. If this had been a normal trashy bar, the guy might have had a prayer, but as it was, he took a step, barely gained his balance, took a second step, and landed flat on his face.

"Hey, mudsucker," Zhenya called, using one of the ruder terms for an Earther. "If you can't stand, get out of my bar."

To his credit, the guy got to his feet and, resembling nothing so much as a drunken giraffe, managed to make his way to the bar. He was so painfully out of place, Duo was surprised he didn't turn and walk straight out, but he seemed to realize that would be even more suspicious. He all but collapsed onto a stool, ignoring Duo, and Zhenya moved over to take his order.

A rangy man who was seven foot if he was six, came over and slid between Duo and his tail. "To dance, pretty Flier?" he asked, holding out a hand in invitation.

Before finding this place, Duo couldn't imagine agreeing, but even with the smoke in the air, it was home in that way Duo had nearly forgotten, and it was a welcome balm. The years spent on Peacemillion and other, smaller Sweeper ships, learning what it was to be a Walker, working on Deathscythe, and training to be a Gundam pilot were good years, years he'd learned to be an adult while still being given the slack to be a kid for the first time since the Church. Even with the memories of the year spent introducing Heero to Spacer culture, it reminded him that there had been life before Heero Yuy and Jesus Reyes. There would be life after them too.

Duo smiled and let his hand be swallowed by the tall man's correspondingly enormous one. "Might to knock the ice off," he said, the dialect a little rusty even in his own ears. G had always worried about him getting Spacerspeak too ingrained in his speech and giving him away, so he'd discouraged Duo from speaking it too much, but the near-broken syntax of it had a musicality of its own.

The Walker grinned back, wide in a thin face, but sincere. Duo took a moment to push his drink back toward Zhenya, then let himself be dragged to where there was now a cleared space on the floor.

The two of them dancing should have been laughable with the height disparity, but low-G could help make up for that in fun ways. Even though the floor wasn't truly low-G, a lot of the same types of movement would work. The Walker raised his hands and began to clap and carefully tapped his heel in a way that would keep his knee from bouncing back up or hovering in low-G.

Others around the room took up the rhythm, and more instruments joined as an old Spacer favorite began. The Walker took his hand and began to spin him towards and away from each other in ways using their own momentum. He lifted Duo for simple flips that the floor helped with. Duo could feel his stitches pull at some of the movements, but it felt too good to just go with the mood in the room to stop.

The rangy Walker was Luca. From him, Duo was passed to Vasile, a stout, dark-skinned man, who only had a couple inches on Duo and a prosthetic leg but still moved like a lifelong Walker, then to Bing, who was more petite than Duo but still lead him around as if he weighed nothing. After her, Duo lost track of the people he was passed to, simply losing himself in the music and the people and the sense of belonging. He caught his breath a couple times at the bar, happily accepting just water from Zhenya before getting pulled back to the floor by Bing again. If he hadn't been wearing his holster, he'd have taken his jacket off, but Spacers didn't like guns, and it was all but guaranteed to kill the raucous mood. Instead he rolled up his sleeves, unbuttoned a couple extra buttons on his shirt, and kept the jacket zipped. A familiar figure had slipped in at some point, standing out only slightly less than Duo's tail did, which wasn't saying much.

Speaking of his tail, Duo was surprised to get passed to him. The man did a passable job of replicating the dance steps.

"You know, I killed three of your friends a couple nights ago," Duo said when the tail pulled him in close, low enough that he was unlikely to be overheard.

The tail raised an eyebrow as if merely curious. "Did you now?"

There was culture in that voice, but for the first time in hours, Shini stirred under Duo's skin. He might sound cultured, but Shini knew him—that was all Duo needed to know. His tail caught him slightly off guard when he pulled Duo to his chest and murmured, "There are far too many people here to pull your gun out."

Duo threw his head back and laughed. He could hear Death in that laugh, even if this guy was too stupid to, and made a move that took him back out to arm's length. When he was pulled back in, he said, "It's cute you think I need a gun."

"My turn," Maria Hill said, sliding in and effectively placing herself between Duo and his tail. She moved almost like a natural on the floor, meaning she had some space experience that she hadn't mentioned. Duo laughed, a genuine one this time, ready to fall back into the pass-and-go steps.

The tail reached out and grabbed Duo's arm, yanking him off balance. Duo barely had a chance to look up and watch as Vasile grabbed a pitcher and promptly broke it against the back of the tail's head. Flat beer soaked the guy as the pitcher broke and splashed Duo liberally, but Duo was laughing too hard at the look on the tail's face as he went down to be annoyed. Duo stepped over the unconscious form to grasp forearms with Vasile. "Thanks," he said. "Had control, though."

Vasile grinned, unapologetic. "Did know," he agreed. "But safe to go and alone now."

Duo knelt to check the man's pulse, it was steady, but he didn't even groan. "Did ya have to hit him that hard? That's a plastic pitcher—they don't break easy against a head," he said, but he was trying not to laugh as he said it.

Vasile gave him a lazy, could-mean-anything shrug. "Slipped."

Shaking his head, Duo made his way back to the bar, knowing it was time for him to head out. Chances were good that his tail wasn't alone, so he'd have to lose anyone else before he went back to the Tower if he could. Hill hovered at his back, not in his space, but not far from it. He reached for his wallet, but Zhenya put his hand up.

"Cred's no good here," he said.

"At least let me cover Vasile's pitcher," Duo insisted, pulling out three twenties and sliding them across the counter.

"Misunderstood, you did," Zhenya said, pushing Duo's money back. "Pilot's money is no good here." Duo blinked, surprised, because there had been a very particular emphasis on the word pilot . "Took me time, old brain, slow brain," Zhenya explained, tapping at his temple. "But knew of Howard's boy. Knew of G's boy," he said, meeting Duo's eyes, his voice low enough not to carry beyond Duo. "Your tab is paid for. Got no use for a pilot's money."

A little off guard—it had been a while since he'd been around people who knew what he was—he said, "At least pour the bad guy into a cab and give whoever has to clean up that mess a nice tip." Duo lifted his hand from the money, refusing to take it back.

Zhenya looked put out, but he couldn't exactly jump across the bar to force Duo to take the money back. "I mean it, pilot," he said, a little gruff. "Your money's no good here. And if a safe place you need, find old Zhenya. Walkers give proper respect." He raised a hand to his forehead, palm out, then folded it down to rest it over his heart, holding Duo's eyes until his head bowed too far to do so.

Startled, Duo glanced around, realizing the room had fallen quiet. Most eyes met his for a moment before repeating Zhenya's gesture of respect. Murmurs of Walkers remember made their way to Duo's ears. Humbled, he bowed his own head, then reversed the gesture, starting with his fist over his heart, then opening his palm with the back of his hand to his forehead.

"Go, now," Zhenya said. "Walkers take care of this one."

Duo nodded, moving toward the door, but he hesitated before leaving. He saw Zhenya watching him, and the older man smiled for the first time that night. "Always welcome, Duo," he assured.

Feeling Hill's eyes on him, Duo gave another sharp nod of acknowledgement, then left.

He didn't hesitate before choosing a direction when he hit the street. He had to ensure his own trail was clear before going back to the Tower, but a smile lingered at his lips. His quick, sure steps forced Hill to speed up to catch him. "That was something," she commented neutrally.

"Were you tailing me or my tail?" Duo asked.

"You."

"Une ask you to keep a line on me?" He slid a sideways glance to her. "Or did Fury?"

"I'm a Preventer now," she said.

He laughed, the good humor of the bar lingering. "That's not an answer."

She was the one to look at him this time. "Does it matter?"

Did it? A little, probably. But he trusted Une to know of Hill's potentially compromised loyalties, and both Une and Fury would probably be interested in him for their own reasons. He decided to change the subject. "Moved pretty good up there for a dirtsider."

Her soldier's eyes tracked the street around them, but it was late and dark and Duo would know if someone were taking too much interest in them. "Did I?" she asked.

Another non-answer. Duo shook his head, knowing he wasn't going to get anything out of her without much harder pushing that he wasn't willing to do. He made a beeline to an all-night convenience store. She followed him in as he made himself a cup of coffee.

"You smell like a drunken ashtray," she informed, watching him pour enough creamer into his coffee to make it a sandy color.

"That's what happens when you spend time in Spacer bars," Duo told her. He went to the register, noted the wary way the night clerk eyed him from behind his plexiglass protection. Duo pulled out his badge—there was a permanent Preventer office in New York, so the convenience stores should be familiar with it.

The clerk frowned as he eyed it. "Do you expect free coffee since you're a cop?" he asked, looking nervous.

"Nope," Duo said cheerfully. "I actually wanted a pack and figured you'd think my ID's a fake. This one works better."

The tension eased from the man's shoulders, and he quickly got Duo a pack of his requested brand.

He could feel Hill's eyes staring into him. She should never do undercover work with eyes like those. Once he paid for the coffee, cigarettes, and a lighter, he tucked his change away—even though it could be stolen, he still liked the anonymity of cash—and turned to face her. Her poker face was impressive, but Duo had seen better.

"Gonna tell on me?" he asked as they stepped outside, unable to keep the teasing out of his voice.

"I didn't expect you to smoke," she admitted as he began to make his meandering way back to the Tower.

He broke the cellophane and cracked the pack open. "If you tell me these things could kill me, I gotta tell ya…" He glanced back, grinning.

She shook her head. "No, I just didn't think Spacers smoked."

Duo popped a stick into his mouth, paused just long enough to get it lit and take a drag before he started moving again. "They don't," he agreed. "Not unless they're grounded. They're much more into vices that can be chewed or snorted."

"Then…" She trailed off and fell silent.

"Why smoke 'em?" he asked, spinning to face her, walking backwards. She made a face as the smoke floated her way. He spun back around, giving himself his own little cloud. The almost sweet smell of the clove cigarette evoked a powerful sense memory. He let himself sink into it for a moment, before forcing himself to pay more attention to his surroundings. Just because Hill was with him wasn't a reason to be sloppy.

He could still feel Hill's eyes on his back, so he glanced behind again, raising the cigarette as if to take another puff, but mostly enjoying the smell and the memories it brought, so real, he could almost feel Jesus's weight at his back for a moment. The memories and scents buried old pains under the newer ones, Jesus's ghost joining his personal cadre of beloved dead.

To Hill he just said, "Walkers remember."

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

Author's Notes:

On Spacerspeak:

We saw some in Ch 24 with Duo, but more here. I'm a little bit of a linguistics geek (very, very amateur, just enough to be a little dangerous) so, there were specific things I wanted this Spacerspeak to do and for it to function that wasn't just dropping letters and slurring together words. I wanted it to have distinct and consistent rules. It's loosely inspired by Belter language in James S.A. Corey's The Expanse series. We also see the beginnings of sign language used during space walks making its way into Spacerspeak, which I am shamelessly borrowing from The Expanse as well.

-Subject dropping—I'm assuming that there was a good amount of exposure to Romance languages which do a lot of subject dropping (because the subject is encoded in the verb). It's why "yo soy" isn't really said in Spanish, if you're familiar with the example. Soy is I am, and yo is I, so saying Yo soy is redundant in most cases. L2 and Spacer dialects picked that up, so they do a lot of subject dropping. Spacers, in general, don't use "I" or "you" unless they are making a particular point. It's rude. If they feel the need to reinforce the subject without being rude, it's added to the end (which can result in it sometimes sounding a little Yoda-speak-ish). L2 and Spacer culture are closely related as a lot of the original Spacers were L2 undesirables who "got off the ring," and basically never went back.

-No future tense—instead they use the infinitive verb, "to [verb]". They will also use that infinitive form in place of "will"—so "To dance, pretty Flier?" is basically "Will [you] dance [with me]?"
-Also not big on helping verbs in general—has, have, had, be (and its iterations), so you'll usually see the infinitive there too.
-Might to knock off the ice.
-§ [You] might [have] to knock the ice off.
-"knock the ice off." Since space is typically cold, any exterior condensation can (and usually does) turn to ice, and ships occasionally get icy. That ice will stay there until it's knocked off. It's like saying something is rusty or needs to be shined up.

-Heavy reliance on context—plenty of languages do this, but you don't notice it when actually talking to someone. It isn't seen in writing very often, because you have to be more precise/clear in written language. Especially in causal language, Spacers drop out unnecessary words. English, as a whole, is an extremely specific language. Plenty of languages do it by context instead. Japanese is awesome at this, for example. For Spacers, in technical contexts, they'll be as specific as they need to be (like when training), but in a casual context like this, dropping words is a sign of friendliness, but it can also be a way to deliberately exclude outsiders. Duo tends to start dropping into it when stressed because it's pretty much his native dialect.

-Colonists vs. Spacers – a colonist is anyone born or raised on colonies. The exact line of what is/isn't is the immigrant problem (if you moved to a country when you were two, but weren't born there, are you effectively a native of that country or not?). Spacers are a subset of (mostly) colonists, the first true "gen" of Spacers were from L2, though they'll take anyone these days. They spend most of their time living in low or no g on ships, and only, really, come in to colonies to restock or on specific social occasions. Most normal colonists are suspicious of Spacers because they're modern-day nomads and usually have loose relationships with the law. They have their own codes among themselves,but they tend to be very insular. Spacers call themselves Walkers (Space Walkers). A Flier, like Duo, is someone who has walked but still goes back to ground/goes down the gravity well, since not all Spacers can safely do that if they've lived too long in low/no G (thank you again, Expanse). Most of the people at the bar are Fliers who have been grounded and can't return to space.

-"Black at back/Steel in sight." – this is a reminder that became a greeting among Spacers. When you're spacewalking, make sure you keep the black[space] at your back and the steel [ship] in your sight.

-Dirtsider – anyone born and raised on Earth. It's not really polite, but it's not any ruder than "jerk." Dirtside does have an inherent, somewhat derogatory implication, especially when used by a Spacer. Think of how "bloody" in UK English vs US English.

-Mudsucker – this would be one of those "getting shit past the radar" things since the word doesn't seem bad outside the culture. This is roughly equivalent to calling someone a "cocksucker" in severity. It pretty much has the same source—"If you love the dirt so much, why don't you blow it?" Only this one's even worse, because you'd suck mud. Dirtsucker is a slightly less offensive version of this, but really, neither of them are things you'd probably say in polite company.