Chapter Three

He was running, fast. The world around him was tinted a dull yellow from the dingy streetlamps above. None of that mattered. The world around him had shrunk to his field of vision, his senses and his mind. Run, run, run. Twist, dodge. Pain. No, ignore the pain. No time, just run. Keep moving, keep twisting. Breathe. Sharp, short, panting breaths broke the uncanny silence of the streets. Keep moving, keep running. A sudden fall. The grey concrete rushed up to meet his tired body. Get up, get up. Quick, quick, quick. UP! Pain. Force past it, push it aside, run through it. Small fingers grasped metal links. Scuffed boots found a purchase as a lithe body nimbly climbed up, up, up, then drop down. Freeze, listen, straining. Control breathing. In, out, in, out. Standing hurts. Ignore it. Slip into the shadows, like a demon, like a thief. Scanning, searching. Please, God, find one soon. There! Confusion, noise, shouting. One, two, three, four guards changing. Lights flashing on, the shadows vanished. The noise built to a crescendo.

"Look, sarge, it's a kid."

"A streetrat. Open fire!"

So they had seen him. Run, twist, change direction. A bullet screamed behind him, ringing as it pierced the metal walls of the hanger. He was going to die. The fury that had sparkled at the church blossomed inside of him. A rage against the soldiers, against the rebels, against the leader with his cruel yellow eyes. For the cold contempt with which they viewed his life and the lives of others. For the threat they posed against Sister Helen, Father Maxwell and the sanctuary of the church. He would not die for them. His small jaw gritted with determination as he pushed his body fast, scarce thinking, moving on pure instinct. His braid whipped behind him as he swiftly scaled the Leo before him and slipped inside.

His young body was trembling with rage as his eyes lit with the fire of battle. Settled in the cockpit his hands hit the switches, guided by instinct, intelligence and fate. The Leo came to life, roaring into action and swinging around to face the threat assembling across his only exit point. Guns locked down on to targets and spat bullets from the muzzles of old outdated suites and Duo was once again struck by the cheapness of his life. He slammed his foot down, sending the Leo hurtling forward, then spinning swiftly to the left as his guns swiftly sighted on the enemy. The pilots blinked in confusion at the abrupt change in direction performed by the Leo's pilot, a mere streetrat, and were caught unguarded by the hail of death that raked their mobile suites.

Duo threw the Leo forward, the flush of victory rapidly leaking away as apprehension encroached once more. Something was wrong. It had been so easy. Too easy. The task had scarce challenged his abilities as a thief, the lack of guards ensuring…the lack of guards…Then Duo's anxious eyes saw a thick column of smoke rising. And in his heart Duo knew.

"NO!"

What his heart had known, he had refused to accept. The Leo had been driven at a breakneck, reckless pace, screeching to a standstill as the unabated horror of what he saw slammed into Duo. Maxwell Church was a smouldering half ruin, the spire and central body of the church utterly destroyed. Fire licked around the old timber doors, which still stood, complete with the arch and lintel, looking incongruous and lonely by themselves. Maxwell's Demon threw himself from the Leo and flung himself through the doors, mindless of the flames. Once inside he cast his eyes around, frantically searching.

"No, oh no, please. Where are they? Where are they?"

His wide eyes took in the carnage, the twisted bodies of both rebels and children. Dominance and control no longer mattered now. Death was a great equaliser. Then he glimpsed what he sought. Father Maxwell lay silently by the charred remains of his beloved alter. Duo scrambled up next to him, timidly shaking the solid shoulder that had so often supported him over the last year. The last shreds of the fighter that had killed in the cockpit of the Leo fell from his face. The Duo Maxwell that knelt in the ruined church surrounded by the dead was, perhaps for the last time, all child.

"Father, Father Maxwell, please, wake up."

He looked into the serene face and didn't realise he was crying until a tear rolled down Father Maxwell's face. His heart leapt at the movement and slowly sank again as he realised the tear was his own. A sob fell from his lips as he curled into the broad shoulder like he had done just that very morning as the sun rose. Now the sun was dying and he somehow knew that he would never have that feeling of unconditional, illogical security again. Eternity passed and slowly he sat up again as a glint caught his eye. Father Maxwell's cross, ripped from his neck by the explosion that took his life, lay next to his body. A small hand crept out to retrieve it, tucking it away safely, as the other hand rose to trace shaky crosses upon the priest's forehead, lips and heart in a final blessing.

Then a weak moan stole across the still scene. Duo's head snapped around, as his eyes widened in shock.

"Sister Helen!"

She lay but a few feet from the priest. Slowly she opened her eyes and smiled up at the face above her, reaching up a slender, bloodied hand to cup the tear-streaked and bruised cheek. Guilt-ridden words were chocked him.

"Sister Helen, it's-it's my fault, isn't it? Coz I stole the Leo…"

"Shh…" she soothed him, feeling the tears trickle between her fingers, "Duo, my little Duo. It's not. I know it's not, and so did Father Maxwell. They arrived well before that."

He shook his head, a harsh sob of denial rising. "I should get help." He whispered, the reluctance of a child to leave his sanctuary sounding in his voice. She shook her head slowly, that sweet smile playing on her lips.

"No. It's too late for that. Duo, I'm going home!"

He saw the light and joy in her eyes and he tried desperately to be happy for her even as his soul keened its sorrow. He was going to be alone. Again. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard to hold back the tears.

The pain she felt dimmed in comparison to the pure excitement and certainty, but her peace was marred by one desperate regret. This beloved child, her beloved child was going to be alone. Again. So she gave him what she could. Her weakened fingers brushed back that unruly fringe as she looked into those beautiful eyes.

"We never really told you, did we? How much we loved you. How much I love you. And how proud I am of you. Oh, my heart could burst from the feeling! You protected us, Duo. You saved me. You should have seen the Father. I have never seen him so proud as he was of you. I love you so much, Duo Maxwell. Everything about you. Unconditionally. Even that wicked smile of yours. Don't ever forget that."

His breath stilled at the enormity of what she said, and he tried to smile for her for one last time. He tried, he really did, but the effort crumbled as he sobbed, "Please don't go."

She laughed, wincing as it turned into a cough. "I have to, he's calling me home. I'll be watching and praying, just like I always have." Her voice grew fainter and her eyes distant as the hand dropped from his face. He grasped it, realising she was slipping away and helplessly watched her face, struggling to say what was on his heart in time, panic fluttering as time trickled out.

"Wait!"

With a great effort she drew herself back, waiting just a little longer for him. He leaned closer, brushing his lips on her forehead in blessing.

"God bless ya, Sister. An' I know I never said it neither but I love ya, Sister, really I do. So much. I love Father Maxwell too. Will ya…" He stopped struggling to speak, "Will ya tell him? When ya see him?"

Her eyes held the promise as she smiled one last time, closed her eyes and was gone. There was still so much to say. Slowly he leant back from where he had sat, leaning over her body, drawing his hand away from where it had cradled her head, as the devastating sense of loss engulfed him, leaving him utterly blind to anything other than the grief. He never heard the commotion of returning army vehicles and mobile suites, nor the cries of warning as they found first the Leo and then himself. It was only much later that he realised that he realised the army had returned on account of his Leo. He had hardly been subtle in returning to Maxwell Church, and the troops having devastated the church had received the frantic SOS calls from their base and had returned to deal with the new threat. At the time, however, he was only aware suddenly of hands latching on to his slender shoulders, tearing him away from the nun's body. No! He didn't want to go. Not yet. Survival instinct kicked in and he began to fight, twisting like an eel in the iron grip.

"No! Gerroff me. I wanna stay, Get off!"

More hands joined in and violent curses assaulted his ears and he had a terrible sense of déjà vu as he stared desperately at Sister Helen's serene face, fighting viciously. Except her face wasn't contorted with fear, and the hands that held him weren't rebel hands but soldiers, although the difference was the same in his eyes, and there were no cold yellow eyes to mock him. Then he froze in shock, causing the soldiers to look at him uncertainly. For there across the way, cold yellow eyes did stare at him, but they no longer taunted. The lean face was a death mask of agony. He had been crushed by the falling masonry. There driven into his back, snapping his spine in two, was a stone gargoyle, its dragon's snout gaped wide as its bat-like wings arced upwards. It was an old friend, it's demon-like appearance as incongruous in a church setting as Duo himself sometimes felt. Duo had often climbed up to the roof to sit along side it, chatting away to his silent companion and admiring the view.

Maxwell's Demon.

Duo's gaze shifted from the gargoyle back to the leader, following his outstretched hand which lightly brushed the tip of Sister Helen's foot. The soldier's looked on in alarm as a deathly grin stole across the handsome young face.

"I told you if you touched her I'd kill you." He whispered.

Then the hideous irony sank in and he began to laugh, a quiet eerie giggle that echoed softly around the ruined church. After that he resisted no more as they dragged him away, into the army containment van and drove away.

The soldiers remaining slowly examined their handiwork, some of them looking with pity at the youthfulness of some of the still bodies.

"Any survivors?" Inquired the squadron leader.

"None, sir," came the reply, "Nothing left but the old church doors and Maxwell's little demon."

The End

Author's Note: Poor Duo! Wow, that's my first story completed that's actually longer than one chapter! Thanks to those who reviewed. I really appreciated the comments. Please review and let me know what you think. I'd love to hear which bits worked and how I could improve. Hope you enjoyed reading! Corralero