1Duo was a mess.

Hair frayed out of his three-foot long braid. Long bangs stuck out at every angle no matter how many times he ran a hand through them, which was more of a nervous action more than a self-grooming one. His eyes seemed dull as they jetted from one charred, blackened item to the next. His hands twitched every now-and-then, like he had one too many cups of coffee. His breaths were slow and jagged.

I turned my gaze to my black surroundings. I had seen burnt buildings before, but not this close. Absolutely everything was completely destroyed. And I'm not exaggerating. If I had seen this place before the crime was committed--I wouldn't have recognized it.

"Who in Hell would do this!" Duo said more as just a statement than a question.

"Definitely not just some kids," I answered anyway, "Whoever did do this knew what they were doing . . . "

"Duo," I tried to speak with comforting words, "it'll be all right, they were nothing but things, just material possessions. Life will go on,

He turned around quickly to face me. With furrowed eye brows he spit out, "Some of those things had something called 'sentimental value'! Heero, this was my life, my home! Sure sometimes the window would get stuck, or the drains would get clogged, but it was mine! And the people that lived here, they were my friends, my fucking family! And they died Heero! They died! They're dead! They're all gone! Once again I have no control over my life, over who lives and who doesn't . . ."

He hung his head, covered his face with his palms and sobbed gently. 'Oh crap.' I thought, 'I can't handle this kind of stuff. What should I do? I should at least say something,'

"You've changed." I said. Not exactly what I should have said, but that's what was on my mind. He raised his head, and I could tell by the look on his face that he wanted an explanation. "I've never seen you cry before. In the old days you wouldn't have been so, sensitive over such a thing."

"Well," he said in a strong tone, "I've only had one other home. And it and my family were taken from me in the same manner,"

"It's okay Duo, " I said to achieve my goal of being comforting, "I understand how you must feel,"

In truth I had no idea what was going on in his head, what kind of pain he must be feeling.

Gingerly, I stepped across the burnt floor and lightly placed a hand on his shoulder blade. He looked up and gave a weak smile as I gazed down at him.

The hand slowly started to slip down to the small of his back as I said "Come on, Duo, I don't think there's much to be saved here." He nodded absently and started to walk with me as I ushered him out.

"...Wait!" he cried out, and turned on his heal. He ran--stumbled--across what used to be his apartment and pulled open what seemed to be his old closet door. He blinked a few times clue-less and started to rummage through his destroyed wardrobe that seemed to be made up of mostly T-shirts and jeans.

"Here it is!" He said to himself and started to stand up straight. He shifted a small, unscathed, metal box from one hand to the other as he slipped on a leather jacket which had also escaped the flames.

"What's that, Duo?" I asked gesturing at the box while he walked back up to me. "Oh," he said looking down at it "just . . . just my life in a box,"

I blinked a few times.

He slapped that big grin back on his face. "Why don't we go get some coffee?" he said nonchalantly, walking onto the fire escape. "Yeah, we should leave," I said following him down to the street, "this place may collapse at any moment,"

We started to walk away from the gloomy scene when Duo stopped and turned. I turned as well and we found a small boy, about the age of three or four, tugging on Duo's pant leg. His midnight black hair had a choppy look to it and hung over his wide, dark, mahogany, eyes. His creamy, tan skin looked like it would break if you took him by the arm too hard.

"Jesus," he said softly (in the Spanish pronunciation), "what are you doing out here?" He kneeled and held out a hand which the boy took. His eyes had that solemn, faraway look in them. "Jesus," he spoke again in that soft, gentle tone, "where is your mommy and daddy?"

Suddenly, Duo's expression jerked from calm puzzlement, to shocking realization.
He stood up straight and started to walk to the front of the building. Jesus, who hadn't answered Duo, and didn't look like he was going to, walked close beside him.

I followed them, although Duo had never instructed me to. He had become as quite as the boy.

"Excuse me," Duo said flatly when he approached a police officer, who turned to face him, "do you have a list of the deceased?" The man nodded and handed him a clipboard.

As Duo looked over the names, to me the scene looked as if it had been drained of all colors and emotion--except for immense sorrow. My eyes literally shifted to see nothing but blacks, grays, and dull whites. The silence was defining.

Everyone, Duo, the police officer, had become as quite as the eerie little boy. The silence, the ear throbbing silence, was driving me mad.

He handed the clipboard back to the man and picked up Jesus as he took a deep sigh. They boy wrapped his arms around Duo's neck and stared at the horizon. Duo talked to the officer a bit more, but I couldn't hear his words, I only say his lips move.

"Come with me," Duo said, starting to walk away. I turned to follow.

But I couldn't walk.

I had to run.

Run from this place, run from the awful memories that were starting to resurface. Things I had long since forgotten, or at least tried my damnedest to forget. My legs were stiff as steel beams, but I forced them to move and I walked away with Duo.

"What is going on?" I asked him once I had regained enough sanity. He sighed once more. "Jesus," he said uneasily "Jesus, was orphaned by the fire. He has no other relatives in this country. I knew his parents, Maria and Joseph. Poor Maria, she was such a wonderful lady. She used to keep white roses right outside her door, which was often open, so that I could see them. I love white roses, but they make me sneeze so badly! I really feel bad for Jesus,"

"What's wrong with him?" I asked with the same uneasiness. "He's so quite."

"He's, deaf. He can talk but not very well, so he doesn't speak a lot. Some people think he's just ignorant when they meet him. But he's just, unaware . . . "

By this time we had come to another person standing around the withering chaos of the once building, a middle-aged woman in a pant suit and glasses.

"Are you the social worker?" Duo asked her up-front. She nodded and introduced herself. Duo explained Jesus' situation and she listened with saddened understanding. He handed over the boy to her, and she gave her business card, which Duo pocketed with a thanks. He watched the woman take Jesus into the car and drive away before he turned back to face me. I looked into his tired eyes, and he had a sort of saddened smile on his lips. As if he found some strange humor in it all. Wasn't it just strange that horrible things happened to good people? As if we were all Job, and each day God brought pain and suffering to his followers simply to prove a point to Satan.

"Let's skip the coffee," his words broke me from my dreary thought, "I need to visit somebody,"

When we got out of the cab, we were in front of a quint music store. Duo led me inside and yelled out, "Good morning!" as the door was closing behind us.

"Duo!" a familiar voice called back, and a blonde head popped up from under the counter. When he saw me standing there next to Duo, in my full length black trench coat, his sapphire eyes widened and turned his head quickly to call behind him, "Trowa, come out here quick! You won't guess who's here!"

Trowa came striding out of the back room. His form was tall, even taller than mine now, and his muscles seemed heavy and dense on his bones. It was like someone was leading a champion steed out from the stables. Those green eyes locked onto me and stared. Quatre came around to shake my hand warmly, and smiled up to me saying things like 'how long it's been' and 'we've missed you' Trowa took his long steps toward me and shook my hand as well. His handshake was much harder and quicker than Quatre's though. "Good to see you," he said simply.

Trowa then looked down to Quatre and said something about having to run an errand before it got too late. Quatre nodded and said goodbye. Then . . . Trowa kissed him.

Quatre's head only came up to about his solar plexis, so he had to stoop over to kiss him. I watched the brief kiss with silent amazement, and Duo began to chuckle slightly. Quatre looked over to see what was so amusing, and he realized I was still standing there. "Oh, Heero . . . " he said a bit nervously, "I forgot, you didn't know . . . "

"Why should he care?" Trowa interjected strongly. It was less of a question to Quatre than it was a threat to me. I knew he was trying to say I shouldn't care, and if I did there would be a problem.

Quatre just smiled gently to him, "You better go before the hour passes . . . "

Trowa nodded and headed toward the door, "Sorry I can't stay to catch up . . . "

With Trowa gone I took a look around the store. It was narrow, but continued on pretty far toward the back. The walls were covered with any instrument you could imagine: violins and violas, flutes and oboes, piccolos and pianos, even guitars and drums. The building seemed old, and the shop was packed so tightly, it felt like an antique store. I could see in the back room behind the counter Trowa had been working on tuning some violins.

"I have horrible news," Duo told Quatre, "My building burnt down . . . all that was left in my apartment was this," he raised up the small metal box and placed it on the counter.

"Oh my goodness!" Quatre exclaimed, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine, luckily I was visiting Heero while it happened . . . But some of my neighbors didn't make it. This Hispanic family across from me, the parents died,"

Quatre raised a hand to his mouth, shocked, ". . . And, the little deaf boy . . . ?"

"He was fine, but, he's orphaned now. A social worker took him, I suppose he'll be put up for adoption,"

"The poor boy," he said gently, shaking his head slowly, ". . . At least your safe, and so is your box," Quatre seemed to know it was somehow important to Duo.

"Yeah," Duo grinned, "it was a good thing I used a fire proof one,"

I wanted to know what was in that box. Why was it so valuable to him? Did he have his life savings in it? Most people would put their money in the bank for safe keeping. It was a mystery.

"I better find out where I'm crashing tonight," Duo went on.

"You can always stay with us," Quatre offered.

"No, I couldn't. I don't want to get in the way of you two lovebirds," Quatre smiled gently and blushed at the remark.

"You can stay with me . . . " I said it without really thinking.

"Really?" I could see he was excited, "Well you do have enough room . . . And you were looking for a pet," Duo laughed.