Author's note – Wow, I appreciate the reviews, guys! I'm guessing some people are stumbling across this story for the first time?

Bleh: Glad you've read my FAKE stuff too, but if your comment refers to a fic in that fandom with a similar storyline, I wasn't the author. Sorry, but it's a bit of a bone of contention at the moment. Not that it matters, but this fic appeared first… Anyway, enjoy! – Swordy

Til the Clouds Roll By

Part 3 – Changes Beyond Recognition.

After we've exchanged pleasantries, jokes and other foul-mouthed banter as is often the way with sea-folk, Howard leads us to the storage bay where our gundams are being kept. The air down here is cool and I take a few moments to breathe in when the familiar scent of all things mechanical assails my nostrils. I don't need eyes nor logic to tell me Deathscythe is here. You may well roll your eyes at that remark but I swear that machine and I share a bond. He and I are death, Shinigami if you please and I fight off the thought that we'll never work together as a team ever again as I am surrounded by people that I am loathed to cry in front of.

To prevent the onset of such maudlin thoughts, I ask Howard what he has done in the way of repairs to each of our machines. Howard chuckles and asks where he should begin. "I swear you guys think they're dodgems," he laughs never once complaining about the long hours that I know he will have worked to get our gundams right again. As we move further into the bay, he starts to tell us about some improvements and additions he's made but I stop him before he gives too much away. Don't ask me what's possessed me but I suddenly feel the need to prove something to myself.

"Don't say anymore," I tell him with a grin, "I want to work it out for myself."

Get me. Duo Maxwell, specialist subject: The Gundam Deathscythe.

For once I'm glad I can't see because I know for sure that they're looking at me like I've lost the plot. Howard, my saviour for the third time in an amazingly short period is used to my whims and flights of fancy so he obligingly directs me over to Deathscythe and lowers the foot cable. I'm glad I'm here with Trowa because Heero would undoubtedly be restraining me before I could ride almost sixteen metres in the air up to the cockpit. As it is, my friend lets me go, sensing my need to do this. As the foot cable comes to halt, I envisage where I am on Deathscythe and move to stand on one of the horizontal planes of my metallic friend's angular torso. I feel for the switch that will open the cockpit hatch and find it with ease. The familiar sound of the huge gundanium door swinging open is somewhat comforting and I scramble inside the cockpit once the motion is complete. As I edge into the pilot's chair it starts to sink in how my life has changed beyond recognition in the space of just three and a half weeks. I'm not going to say I was a normal, healthy teenager before the accident because I'm pretty certain that I was neither on both counts. My lifestyle in the fifteen years I've been alive has never been conducive to good health, be it physical or mental. I'm a wreck and I know it, but at least I had my sight.

There I go again, dwelling on things I had and will never have again. Determined not to do that away from a large bottle of vodka and the privacy of my own room, I start to run my hands lovingly over the console. Most fifteen year olds will just be starting to get acquainted with motorbikes and the like. Me? Well I have my very own fifty-three foot, armour-plated killing machine. As my fingers move across the bank of buttons, I mentally picture each of their functions. Up here, I have the confidence of Shinigami and know that I will not have made a single error as I name the switches and buttons out loud. Above the sound of my own voice, slightly echoic as I sit ensconced within Deathscythe, I hear the sound of the foot cable being activated again. A sharp tone inside the cockpit belatedly warns me of that fact and I smile at how sharp my remaining senses have become.

"Beat ya there, buddy," I inform the gundam, patting the console sympathetically as if it were a small child. I've stopped conversing with an inanimate object by the time the hatch opens to admit Howard and Trowa.

"Hey, Duo," Howard says when they've both found somewhere to perch. "How's it going?"

I offer him a broad grin of triumph. "Let me see," I say, flexing my fingers and cracking my knuckles before my digits dance across the control panel. "This switch is new and… so's this one." I pause deliberately and turn my head in Howard's direction. "So Hawaii-Five-O, care to tell me what they do?"

Howard laughs. It's a hoarse, scratchy sound; a product of too many years of cigarette smoke. "Holy hell, Duo," he says and I know he'll be stroking that wiry goatee beard thoughtfully, "nothing gets past you, does it?"

It's my turn to laugh and I do so, pleased that Howard is impressed by my fingertip observations. He guides my hands back to each of the new buttons and talks me through their functions. One is a new warning system for mobile laser units and the other activates an improved balance system, which if it had been installed just four weeks earlier then I may not be as I am today. Yes, blind.

Howard tentatively explains that, when activated, the system ensures that the gundam's knee joints give automatically if the machine was knocked over. This would have softened the blow when Deathscythe fell and I may not have received the head injury that I did. If wishes were horses, eh?

I nod in response to Howard's information but suddenly feel the need to get away from Deathscythe. The thought that these new systems will be for someone else's benefit is too hard to bear at the moment and I stand, indicating to my friends that it's time to go. Howard goes down first and then it's my turn to take the foot cable back to ground level.

"See ya, buddy," I say quietly, all too aware of the wavering note in my voice. I touch the cold gundanium one last time before I take the handhold from Trowa and start my descent.

My wonderfully sensitive friends seem to realise that I've had enough and Howard suggests I take a drink with him whilst one of the others shows Trowa the other gundams. I know Trowa will be anxious to see what they've done to Heavyarms so I nod in silent acquiescence of Howard's plan. I don't want to trust my voice at that moment. Howard shouts Einstein over to look after Trowa and I manage to raise a smile as I hear the familiar nickname. 'Einstein' had been thrilled when the rest of the crew had deemed that a suitable sobriquet; naturally he had assumed it was owning to his immense intelligence so no one had had the heart to tell him it was because he bore a startling resemblance to Howard's old dog of the same name.

Trowa says he will join me soon, after he has gathered the necessary information to take back to the others. I smile and tell him to take his time, anxious to show him that I'm okay after that momentary blip. As soon as his footsteps start to fade away, Howard touches my arm and we head towards the ship's canteen. Despite everybody's good-natured attitudes as we pass, the hustle and bustle as we walk through the ship is a stern reminder that the world is still at war. Howard's men are hard at work and the canteen is virtually empty as we enter.

I take a seat at one of the empty tables as Howard goes off in search of refreshment. Alone briefly, I use my mind's eye to recall this location. I picture everything, right down to the overflowing ashtrays and posters on the walls displaying women wearing little more than smiles and gaudy gold jewellery. This place holds some happy memories, as strange as it may seem to have memories at all about eating establishments. On L-2, I don't think I ever had a decent meal, other than when I was in the Maxwell Orphanage. Even then, I don't think I ever ate a full meal.

Some of the other children thought stealing my food was suitable punishment for the crime of being Father Maxwell's 'favourite'. He never treated any of his children any different but the others didn't see that. I was small, odd looking with my long hair and purple-blue eyes and tried the patience of saints and Father Maxwell alike. I have memories of being to only child in the orphanage at one point after a particularly good run of successful adoptions. For some reason, nobody wanted to take me home. A couple of times I was taken home for a 'test run' but I was returned just as swiftly when I didn't fit into their perfect family fantasies. The do-gooders said I had 'attachment issues', which doesn't surprise me since everyone I've cared for has either left me or died. I guess it became a self-fulfilling prophecy; people treated me like demon so I started to act like one.

But I don't dwell on those early rejections; I just like to think that God had a higher purpose for me in what I was to become. Meeting Howard and his men gave me the first real bit of stability and sense of family when I came to earth. They welcomed me in with open arms and soon I was surrounded by laughter and an awesome sense of camaraderie. From the moment I discovered there were other pilots like me, I began to develop a similar bond with them. If I'm honest, I think maybe I was looking for a family of sorts, and in a way I got what I wanted. The thought of leaving them is something I don't really want to consider, but I have to think about what's best for them.

Howard returns to our table with drinks; tea laced with whiskey he's pilfered from someone's locker. For a moment we sit in silence as we sip the fiery liquid. I start to feel fuzzy almost immediately, proving that I'm one hell of a lousy drinker. Howard laughs as he notices me wincing at the taste and I can't help but do the same. Howard is one of those people whose good nature is infectious. No matter how shitty you're feeling he can almost make life seem half decent. But as I was about to learn, Howard can be serious when the moment arises. And that moment was now.

""Duo…" he says and for some reason that three letter word makes me anxious. "Tell me to shut up if you want, but have you considered what you intend to do now?"

I put the cup down carefully and absent-mindedly scratch at something on the table that I can't see. I don't really want to talk about it, but I like and respect Howard too much to tell him to piss off.

"Not really," I reply truthfully, "I guess I've been avoiding thinking about it."

"That's understandable," Howard replies gently, "but I want you to know that there's always a place for you here."

I smile and am glad I have the sunglasses to hide the moisture in my eyes. "Thankyou," I say gratefully before I think of Heero, "but it's not that simple."

Howard doesn't know about me and Heero so he can't see what's holding me back from re-joining him and the Sweepers. Still, as good friends do, he respects my decision and doesn't push the issue.

"Well okay," he says, punctuating the comment with a throaty cough, "but this is your home too, Duo. I'm not offering free board and lodgings as you've proved that you can still find your way round a gundam without your eyesight."

This piques my interest somewhat and I respond with a nod. Being treated as normal is what I need right now and frankly I'm not getting that from Heero.

"I'll think about it," I say, draining the last of the doctored tea, "but whatever I decide to do I'll always be grateful for your offer, Howard."

"You're welcome," he replies as the door behind me opens. I sense someone approaching and correctly assume that it's Trowa.

"All done?" Howard asks my companion as he draws close.

"Yes. You've done a great job," Trowa replies, the tone in his voice a mixture of awe and gratitude.

We all have an excellent level of mechanical skill and are not ignorant to the amount of damage our gundams sustained during the last attack. The fact that the others will be able to collect their machines in approximately twenty-four hours is a testimony to the skill, dedication and hard work of Howard and his men.

Howard offers Trowa a drink but my friend politely declines. "We should be getting back," he says before he touches my shoulder gently. "Duo, are you ready to go?"

"Sure," I reply, pushing back my chair and standing slowly. My back twinges and I have to wonder if didn't damage that too when I was injured. Allowing Trowa to lead, the three of us head back to gangway where we first boarded the ship. There are shouts of 'bye', 'see you soon' and other slightly less repeatable farewells that serenade us as we pass. At least I'm leaving with a smile on my face.

Howard comes all the way out to the bike with us. Before I climb on and as Trowa concerns himself with fastening his helmet, Howard pulls me into a hug and repeats his proposition in my ear.

"Think about it," is all he says and needs to say.

"I will," I promise him as he lets me go.

The ride back the safehouse is uneventful and somewhat muted. We don't stop and this time we take lots of turnings as a safeguard against being followed. By the time the bike draws to a halt, I'm glad to be back since my rear lost all feeling about fifty miles back and my ears are ringing from the constant drone of the engine. I dismount and am about to go inside the house when Trowa catches my arm.

"Duo?" he says, and I get the feeling I'm about to have a similar conversation to the one I just had with Howard.

"Yeah?"

"Howard asked you to stay didn't he?"

I'm not sure who's more perceptive - Trowa for guessing what Howard and I had spoke about or me for guessing that he'd guess.

"Yeah," I reply, reaffirming my belief that I never lie.

There's a brief silence before Trowa responds. "Just think about it carefully," he says, his voice giving no indication to his real feelings. "I don't want you to go and neither will the others, but if that's what you want then we'll stand by your decision."

I nod thoughtfully as I take in his words. I honestly don't know what I intend to do so instead I say "thanks Trowa," before we make our way inside.

Silence greets us as we enter the house. "Hellooooo. We're back," I shout just in case someone is about to jump out and shoot us – an occupational hazard of being wanted criminals. After a moment, I hear movement from the upper floor before footsteps emerge from one of the rooms and come down the stairs.

"Heero?" I say, more so to Trowa at my side, who replies with an affirming vocalisation.

"Was everything okay?" Heero asks before he's even reached us. Yeah I know, he's shitty at pleasantries.

Trowa relays the information as I take my coat off and wait patiently to be noticed. A couple of minutes slouch by as Trowa and Heero talk technical stuff and judging by the slightly detached note in Trowa's voice I'm thinking he's probably wishing Heero would shut up so he can go and do a little lip wrestling with Quatre. Actually that's not a bad idea… with Heero I mean. Sheesh, you didn't think I meant Quatre just then did you? Heero however, is not to be distracted when he's in 'mission mode'. They finish their conversation and I hear Heero's footsteps starting to move away.

"Hey!" I call out before he can disappear, "Where are you going?"

Heero stops, judging by the cessation in footsteps. "I have to go and send this information to Dr J," he says, somewhat irritably. Pardon me for breathing.

"Well I need to go upstairs too so d'you mind helping me?" I say, refusing to let my hurt seep into my voice.

Together we go upstairs in silence. Although I was glad to get out today, I realise that my body continues to tire easily since my accident and I now need some rest. I am painfully aware of my limits and the realisation that I am wearied by riding on the back of a motorbike for several hours does nothing to brighten my low mood. I sit down on the bed and am grateful when Heero helps me unlace my boots. He instructs me to lie down but I ignore this, instead clasping his arm to prevent him from leaving. Secure in my grasp, I use my other hand to reach out and touch his face and I am encouraged, as he doesn't push me away. After a moment, caressing the soft skin of his cheek, I lean in and kiss him, tentatively at first but then more passionately as he starts to respond.

For a second, the world is all right as he devours me as he has done repeatedly ever since that fateful day in the battered sedan. He clutches my hair and I allow my grasp on his arm to slip as my hands run across the taut muscles in his back. With both hands still woven into my mane, he starts to push me back down onto the bed as I moan with pleasure, despite the dull ache in my back and the feeling that my rear end has been amputated, since I can't feel a thing down there anymore. Then, as quickly as a flame being extinguished, he lets me up whilst muttering something about his laptop.

"Heero…" I complain as I try to recapture his arm to prevent him from leaving, but he is already out of reach.

"I have to work, Duo," he says firmly and I detect the annoyance in his voice.

But there's something else too… Sorrow? Pain? Guilt? I can't tell. Times like this I wish I had Quatre's empathic abilities as I try in vain to read my unreadable lover.

"Fine," I say shortly, turning my back on him to show my displeasure. Even Heero can read a hint like that but he hesitates before he walks away.

"I'm sorry, Duo," he says quietly.

"Me too," I reply coldly before I let myself drift into an unrestful and agitated state of sleep.

TBC…