Author's note: Thanks again for all your great reviews! Swordy.

Warnings: bad language, angst, 1x2 action.

Part 7 – But The Sun Can Shine Again.

Five minutes after Howard has called back to say he has my location and someone will be there in three quarters of an hour, I am making my hasty preparations to leave. Whether it is the pain of unbandaging my arm so that I could dress properly or the pain of realising that my love has betrayed me with his words, but I am unable to stop the tears from flowing, even though I know one of Howard's men will be here soon.

I have packed my laptop, grabbed clothes (although I'm not sure whether they are mine or Heero's) and the bottle of painkillers from the bedside table and shoved them all into a canvas bag I found under my bed. In there too I pack the talking clock and sunglasses; gifts from a friend who showed far more understanding than Heero himself. I know Quatre will be upset that I've gone but I cannot stay around for him, or Trowa, or Wufei. Heero was the one I needed reassurance from and when he finally gave it to me, it turned out to be completely worthless.

It's ironic I know that I intend to leave when I have been given a glimmer of hope but Heero doesn't know that. To him, I am still the little blind boyfriend who entertains these crazy notions of trying to resume some semblance of a normal life. I feel humiliated by his actions and putting distance between us is the only way I can think to alleviate my indignity. I can go and work for Howard and if my sight returns then great, I have Deathscythe there and ready to take back into battle, alone this time.

I decide I need to leave a note. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel I need to give Heero an explanation for why I've gone; I just want to vent a little anger whilst the emotion is raw within me. Finding pen and paper isn't too hard, but it takes several long moments before I even begin to put any of my feelings down on the page and when I do, I very much doubt they're easily readable since I can't see what I'm doing and I'm writing with my left hand. By the time I've finished, I hope the note reads something like this:

Dear Heero,

I'm guessing you've noticed that I've gone now and I know you'll be thinking that Oz has got me but you're wrong. I'm not here because I've chosen to leave. I'm sure you'll think you deserve an explanation but since you couldn't be honest with me, I don't feel the need for such courtesies. Maybe we can talk about it in the future but right now I'm too angry to think straight. I thought I had your heart Heero but all really got was your doubt and disapproval.

Yours,

Duo.

P.S. Your Wing Link alarm doesn't seem to be working…

I finish the note and mentally re-read it as best I can. It probably looks a real mess; written with my non-dominant hand and stained with tears. Heero will probably have a hell of a time recognising it as writing before he even gets to the slightly cryptic message, but that's not for me to concern myself with.

I leave the note on my vacated bed, grab the bag I've packed and head to the door to await my ride. I know I probably look a state since angst does terrible things for your appearance so to counteract my swollen eyes, I root in the bag for my dark glasses and put them on. Since I'm having to use my good hand to carry my bag, my damaged right arm is responsible for feeling my way around, although every movement makes me want to curse very loudly, and I do with no one around to voice their disapproval at my choice of language.

The stairs will prove to be something of a challenge since my weak arm is too painful to hold the banister and I contemplate whether I should throw my bag down the stairs so I can safely join it at the bottom. I am in the process of making this decision when the sound of a car approaching draws my attention. I wait and listen as the engine shuts off and footsteps can be heard on the driveway outside. Involuntarily I tense, inwardly cursing that my knife and gun are packed in my bag and not to hand if, as I fear, Oz have found us again. Another equally unpleasant scenario crosses my mind; the others have arrived home. Fortunately neither of those situations are the reality as a voice outside the house calls my name.

"Duo? It's Tyler. I'm here to pick you up. Are you ready?"

Every inch of me relaxes as the name and the voice registers as a non-threat. "Come in!" I yell, hoping Tyler can hear me from the top of the stairs.

Evidently he has as the door opens and the footsteps grow louder.

"Hey, Duo!" Tyler says as he heads in my direction. "Whatcha doing?"

I grin, mentally thanking Howard for sending Tyler to pick me up. The man has a perpetual smile and good nature, which is what I need right now. "Good timing, you can carry my bag."

The older man strides up the stairs to meet me and takes the holdall from my one good hand. "You okay, Duo?" he says, observing my stance where I am holding my right arm against my chest.

"Twisted shoulder, possible broken collar bone," I say casually as the pain is forced back by the pills I have just taken. "I've had worse."

Tyler laughs, fully aware this is true. "Yeah well, take it easy down them stairs. Howard would kill me if you went adding to that list while you're with me."

Despite my reddened eyes and leaden heart I can't help but laugh. Tyler and I became firm friends when I first joined up with Howard and the Sweepers. Despite an age difference of at least ten years, Tyler's boundless sense of fun meant that we were destined to enjoy each other's company. That and the fact that we both know what it's like to exist off other people's leftovers scavenged from trashcans. From what he has told me, he's led a similar life to me on the streets of L-3 and as a result, he is as wise in the ways of hustling, cheating and stealing as I. He could fix a card game with a slight of hand the likes of which I've never seen before and charm people, women in particular, with his easy manner and ready wit.

With his superior intellect and unlimited resourcefulness he would make an excellent gundam pilot but for the fact that he enjoys coming and going as he pleases and makes a strong point of shunning any extra responsibility that comes his way. He has a habit of going AWOL, particularly when the Sweepers are Earthside, but Howard always welcomes him back, knowing that his technical expertise are invaluable during the conflict. He is clearly very much with the Sweepers at the moment since Howard has delegated the job of picking me up to him.

"So how've you been, Tyler?" I ask as we walk out to the car together, glad that I don't have the option to look back as I walk away from the house.

He laughs again, a typical response. "Oh you know," he says, "working hard, keeping busy."

I raise my eyebrow. "No women on the scene?"

"That's why I'm working hard. Seems she took exception to me taking a couple of her friends out while she was at work. Apparently her brothers want a friendly chat about it next time they see me. Big bastards too."

I laugh and shake my head at these typical Tyler-like antics, wondering for not the first time whether my friend has ever heard of monogamy. 'A woman in every port' is a concept that Tyler lives by and sees no problem with. I am still laughing as he guides me to stand by the car as he takes my bag round to the trunk and drops it in.

"So what are we in?" I ask, curious to know what car he has brought to pick me up as I touch the bodywork.

"You're kidding right?" he replies as he takes me to the front of the car and directs my one good hand down to the grill. My fingers move around until my frown of confusion is replaced by a look of recognition as I identify the shape of a running horse fashioned in the metal.

"This isn't?"

"Yup"

"Molly?"

"The one and only," he announces proudly.

'Molly' was, or rather is, an old Ford Mustang that Tyler and I rescued from a scrapyard while doing some salvaging work for Howard. We saw the old battered wreck and decided then and there that we were going to sneak it back on the ship and restore it as a pet project. I remember reading in the history books at one of the schools we enrolled in about the Model T Ford so I'd heard of the name and presumed it must be valuable.

Howard was decidedly unimpressed when he came across the junk, claiming that with our combined lousy attention spans, the car would never become drivable and therefore just take up valuable space aboard the ship. We argued black is white until Howard gave up and allowed us to keep the car, which affectionately became known as 'Molly'. However Howard proved as perceptive as always and, when I left the Sweepers to go it alone, Molly was still languishing on blocks, as rusty and stationary as she always had been. The fact that Tyler has arrived to pick me up in her leaves me speechless and I stand dumbly for a moment running my hand across the bodywork as if I have been given the opportunity to touch a sacred artefact. Another memory breaks through my consciousness and I grin. "Hey, what colour did you paint her?"

Tyler chuckles, as he knows where this conversation is heading.

"Classic Red"

"Now I know you're bullshitting me," I reply shaking my head.

Full-blown laughter follows and I think maybe I should explain this private joke. Back when we first acquired Molly we did as dreamers often do, and started discussing the paintwork long before a single spanner had been lifted to make the car drivable. I had stated that Classic Red was the only conceivable colour whereas Tyler had designs on painting our baby a rather lurid shade of yellow. It became a bit of a running joke with us shouting our choice of colour at each other whenever our paths crossed, but since we gave up on fixing Molly, the need for a final decision never arose. Tyler could of course be lying (and the car actually be banana yellow) but I sense that he wouldn't take advantage of my disability in that way and I feel touched that he relented in the end. Before sentimentality can set in, I tap the bonnet decisively. "Shall we go then?" I say, eager to be away from the safe house in case I do something insane and change my mind as delving into nostalgia will inevitably lead to thoughts of Heero.

"You're the boss," Tyler replies, and the muffled quality of his voice tells me he is in the process of lighting a cigarette at the same time.

I climb into the car and successfully find the seatbelt and click it shut. Tyler does the same before he puts the key in the ignition and fires the engine. It roars into life like a tiger before settling down to purr like a kitten.

"Nice," I say, genuinely impressed as I pull my braid over my shoulder with my one good hand.

"I thought so too," he replies before there is a brief silence, which Tyler is first to break. "Want me to ask if you're sure you know what you're doing?"

"No," I answer truthfully. "Let's just go"

"No problem," he replies as he floors the pedal transforming the car back into a tiger, which leaps forward and darts away from the house.

Whether it is being on the open road with good company or just the fact that I have finally taken control of my life but I start to feel an enormous sense of freedom. We talk and laugh about the things we used to get up to and I realise that I am looking forward to doing them again. For the first time in a long while, I feel like my blindness doesn't matter and for a moment, I forget that Sally has now told me I might not always be this way. When I do remember I consider telling Tyler, but I decide that if it happens, it happens; no point getting other people's hopes up too.

Tyler tells me the Sweepers' vessel has moved since me and Trowa stopped by. It's docked further down the coast, away from an Alliance base that's seen an increase in activity recently. Apparently, Heero had been in touch to inform Howard the base was targeted for attack and that they should move. More information I wasn't privy to I guess. Tyler then informs me that we have to collect some salvage from a guy who recently managed to infiltrate said base before we return to the ship. We chat some more and before we know it, we've arrived at our first stop.

"D'you want me to stay here?" I say, trying to stretch in the confined space.

"No, no," Tyler replies as he shuts off the engine and opens the car door, "Bryn doesn't get much company so he usually insists I stay for a drink or three. Come on, he'd love to meet a real bone fide gundam pilot."

"Ex-gundam pilot," I remind him.

"Nonsense. You'll always be a pilot, it's in your blood."

I smile as the car door shuts, indicating that Tyler is not prepared to hear any more arguments to the contrary. I make after him, groping my way around the car until I am stood beside him on this slightly chilly October morning. When he has finished lighting a fresh cigarette he offers me his arm, which I take hold of lightly before he starts to walk away from the car. Tyler continues to speak as we walk, telling me about the town we are in and the man we are going to see. Bryn Fletcher is an old associate of Howard's who specialises in obtaining enemy parts. He recently got in touch to say he had acquired some parts used in the production of mobile doll artificial intelligence and needless to say, Howard and the Sweepers were very interested.

Tyler informs me we've reached Bryn's local haunt; a bar called 'Chasers' located in the heart of this slightly run down community, and we enter to be greeted by the publican who recognises Tyler immediately.

"Hey, Spanner," he says cheerily, using the moniker Tyler is often known by amongst his peers, "Bryn said you were coming but he's not here yet. Now what can I get you both?"

"Beer thanks," Tyler replies, "Duo?"

"Same please."

"Okay," the barkeep answers, "take the corner booth, I'll bring them over."

We have not been waiting long before our contact arrives. He makes his way over to our table, setting his drink down and taking the seat opposite Tyler and me. The greetings are brief before Tyler introduces me as his companion, but giving only my first name. I hold my good hand out and Bryn takes it and shakes it firmly.

"Good to meet you, boy," he says before he addresses Tyler again. "Man is he a cool customer or what? Wearing sunglasses in a dingy place like this!"

"He got injured, he has a problem with his eyes."

Understatement of the year I know, but I'm grateful for Tyler not making a fuss about my problems as after all, I'm not here for sympathy.

"Bad luck, son," Bryn says and I nod my head in response, sensing his sincerity.

Talk then turns to business and eventually money changes hands. Tyler is about to go and buy another round of drinks when someone enters the bar, not panicked but certainly agitated.

"Oz is here," the man announces, sounding a little out of breath. "The bastards are up to something I swear."

"Shit," says the voice at my shoulder and realise Tyler has returned to the table. "We should get out of here. Bryn?" he says addressing the man sat opposite me, "Shall we go and get these parts so we can go?"

"Sure thing," the older man says, standing up and stretching, evidently not too anxious by the news just delivered.

"Duo," Tyler says addressing me, "Maybe you should tuck your hair down the back of your jacket, since Oz know your identity now."

"Identity?" Bryn questions.

"Duo's a gundam pilot."

"No shit, really?" our contact replies in awe and I know his eyes will be travelling up and down my slight, waif-like form as is always the case when people find out who I am and what I do. "Well I guess we really had better get out of here," he says more serious now, "I can't have a pilot getting hurt while he's with me."

With a little help from Tyler I do as he has suggested and conceal my braid in my clothing. Both Tyler and Bryn then check their weapons and we prepare to leave. Strangely, I feel more vulnerable being unarmed than I do being blind and, as if Tyler has somehow read my thoughts, he presses a small knife into my hand.

"Just in case," he says and there is no humour in his voice. I can only nod by reply.

Bryn doesn't seem to notice me holding onto Tyler's sleeve as we head out onto the streets or if he has noticed, he doesn't comment on it. The streets seem to have come alive with the news of Oz's unexpected arrival and we move quickly through the crowds, following Bryn to his base. For my benefit, Tyler describes the scenes before us, commenting on the presence of troops and several mobile suits as we push on past confused and frightened citizens, who cling each other for support and reassurance.

Tyler swears, and it quickly becomes obvious from his frustrated exclamation that all routes away from the town's square have been sealed off by troops. In short, we're trapped. Before we can form any plan of escape, a commanding voice booms out across the wind-chilled plaza.

"People of Lyndberg, we request your cooperation in this matter. We suspect our base is about to come attack from the gundams and as a result we fear for your safety. Please follow our troops and make your way into the church where we can protect you sufficiently. No one is to leave until we say it is safe to do so. Thank you."

Tyler turns and addresses me directly. "What d'you make of that?" he asks doubtfully.

"Not much," I reply, "So what do we do now?"

There's silence as Tyler pauses to consider our options. "I think we should do as they say."

"What?"

"It's too dangerous to get separated from the crowd. If we try to get away there's more chance that they'll see you and recognise you."

I sigh, knowing he's right but hating the situation I am putting them in. "Whatever," I say, unprepared to verbally assent to his plan.

And so we start to walk, following the flow of people to the church located on the other side of the square. The mood is sombre and ominous; even the civilians are suspicious of Oz's motives and they are reacting accordingly. The painkillers are starting to wear off, giving my shoulder free rein to throb viciously but despite the pain, I put my hand in my jacket pocket where my fingers come into contact with the blade Tyler has loaned me.

I pray I won't have to use it, but since a lot of my prayers have gone unanswered at the moment, I'm not sure whether God can hear me anymore…

TBC…