The hall is quiet and empty. I attribute it to a last minute study frenzy. In any case, as I walk along, my footsteps are abnormally loud each time my heels strike the ground. The sounds bounce from the dark brown walls (how depressing is that color when it's everywhere? It's like living in a tomb...) and seem to resound endlessly, as if someone was standing at the end of the hall, hitting them back at me with a ping pong paddle. It reminds me of one of those horror movies I've stayed up late to watch. They never did frighten me. I suppose it's because the demons and ghouls in it weren't real and could never hope to compare to my own personal demons and ghouls.

Sometimes I have to wonder what it must be like to have a life as simple as these kids here. They really do only have to worry about exams and grades and pleasing their parents. I haven't got any parents to worry about, and I'm more concerned with kicking OZ's ass than I am anything else. Still, it's not as if my life has ever been all peachy. I doubt it ever will be. Maybe I like it that way. And maybe I hate it. I don't suppose it really matters which. I'm stuck with it and I'll just have to make the best of it Besides, I'd rather be doing something than nothing.

Yeah, that's me, Duo Maxwell, action man. I've always got to be in the big middle of everything. I haven't decided yet whether that's because I hate feeling left out or just because I'm nosy as all hell. Maybe it's both. And maybe it's also because I crave the human contact. I like being around people. I just hate losing people. A dumb thing to say, huh? It's not like I can prevent that, and it's not like I'm the only one. But it feels like it sometimes. It feels like I'm standing in the middle of nowhere, even though there are people all around me. None of them can see me, the real me, and none of them even care to try.

See though, this is where it gets sticky. I'm a Gundam pilot. Getting noticed is a bad thing. No, I should rephrase that. Getting noticed isn't the bad thing necessarily. It's letting anyone get close enough to discover our secrets. Do you know how annoying it is to decline invitations because I can't risk letting my real identity surface? Okay, so maybe I'm just being a bit melodramatic here. (Everyone' entitled to it now and then.) I don't mind declining that badly. While it might be nice to go out and raise hell every now and then, I don't have a connection with those people like I do the other Gundam pilots.

I think people have started to notice how we cluster together into one tightly knit group. Luckily for us, no one finds that odd. They probably just figured we drifted together the same way most people do while making friends. Though _some_ have to wonder why. I mean, the majority of us is about as friendly as a man eating piranha. Heero, Trowa, and Wufei, the silent, stoic ones. I think the girls love them. Who wouldn't? Silly teenage girls with overactive hormones like the dark, mysterious types. Hell, silly teenage boys with overactive hormones like the dark, mysterious types. I should know. I'm one of them.

Now I'm laughing. That whole piranha bit conjured up this image of our serious boys chomping off fingers. While I could see Heero doing that if he thought it would save his ass, I don't think Wufei would stoop so low, and Trowa ... well let's just say I can't picture Trowa doing that. Quatre, I don't know. Sometimes that boy can surprise me. As for me, I'd rather be eating Heero's gun sans ketchup and salt.

A glint catches my eye, and I look up to see the door to Quatre and Trowa's room open and close. Quatre himself steps out, books tucked under his arms, and a distant, half-serious expression on his face, as if he were contemplating the fate of the world or something. With him, it's hard to tell. Quatre sometimes takes on more than is necessary, and is often what has pulled us all together when we get on each other's nerves (Or when _I_ do, as I'm often told I'm beyond annoying. Nothing like being told your a nuisance to make a guy's day, huh?).

In any case, I haven't figured out quite yet why he does it. I wonder sometimes if he's worried we'll think less of him because of where he comes from. The Winner family you know, with all that fine breeding and money. Which is absolutely ridiculous, because as far as I'm concerned, Quatre's one of us. He gave up everything he had to do this, so if that isn't love for his family and the colonies, I don't know what is. I have to wonder too, if I would have been so strong, and so dedicated. Because, you see, I didn't give up anything to do this. I've always had nothing.

I lift my hand in greeting, calling out, "Hey, Quatre!"

He blinks once, as if needing to clear his thoughts, and looks toward me. When he notices who it is, he smiles, changing directions, his steps quick, and light, but with a purpose behind them that makes him a good Gundam pilot. Being one goes against the Winner family wish for pacifism, and against Quatre's hatred for killing, and yet he still does it. Some might say that's hypocritical, but I call it strength. It takes a lot to give up your ideals and your own personal feelings for a bigger cause. It makes my reasons pale in comparison and I wonder if they're good enough.

He stops a few feet away from me, smiling that smile of his that I swear can light up an entire room. Quatre puts all his feelings into what he does, and he really is beautiful because of it. If I wasn't so stuck on Heero, I might notice that in a different way. But, unfortunately or not, I am. Besides, I'm fairly certain Trowa would lose that silent mask of his and deck me if I ever looked at Quatre the wrong way. And if he didn't, then I say there's something wrong with that boy's eyes.

"Hello, Duo," Quatre says, "I was just going to the library."

I wrinkle my face up in my best imitation of disgust. "More studying?"

He nods, a half-smile forming again. "Trowa needs a book. You should be studying too, you know."

I do my favorite move again. I roll my eyes. "I _have_ been studying, and frankly, I'm sick of it. If I never seen the inside of a book again, I'll be thrilled."

Quatre shakes his head, and the smile fades, as he looks at me. "It's something normal."

I match his expression. He's right there. This is about as normal as our life gets. If you can count leaving at all hours of the night for missions...

"Yeah... I guess you're right," I say, then, wanting to change the subject because serious just isn't supposed to be my style, and I don't really want to discuss just how un-normal we are right now, I add, "How is Trowa?"

Blonde brows furrow slightly and he regards me with a puzzled expression. "You just saw Trowa last class."

I smile at him, a sly, knowing smile. "No, I mean, how _is_ Trowa?"

I think he finally gets it, because he colors slightly, and scolds me. "Duo!"

I laugh.

Then, surprising me, he asks, "How _is_ Heero?"

How Quatre can manage to look both conniving and innocent at the same time is beyond me.

"How should I know? Why don't you ask his computer," I add, not really caring if my bitterness is coating that statement.

He shifts his books to the other arm. "I never thought I'd see the day someone was jealous of a computer."

"Why not? It gets more of his attention than I do. I don't even know why I bother sometimes. Half the time he doesn't even realize I exist."

"We do foolish things for love," Quatre replies, and I catch a pensive, wistful note in his tone before he smiles again to cover it. See? Didn't I tell you Quatre had his own mask? Well maybe I didn't say it quite like that, but I did say there's more to the Sandrock pilot than people give him credit for.

Apparently, not all was well in paradise. My guess that things had yet to pick up between Quatre and Trowa was dead on. There really is something wrong with that boy's eyes...

I snort. "Love? Who said anything about love?"

Quatre inclines his head, eyeing me quizzically, but he says nothing.

No, really, who said anything about love? I said I _liked_ Heero, was attracted to him. That's a far cry from love. That requires complete trust, total commitment, and the whole nine yards. I'm not certain I'm ready to give that to someone. Frankly, the thought of love scares me. Yeah, hard to believe the God of Death is scared of something. But it seems everything I love dies. Morbid, maybe. Melodramatic again, possibly. Funny... I actually hadn't considered love. Heero barely notices me, I seriously doubt love would ever enter the equation.

This is far more serious than I wanted to get while taking a break from studying. Time to steer the conversation around to something a bit more safe.

"Anyway, Quatre-man," I say, breaking the silence, "if you see any pre-colony history books, will you pick them up for me?"

He nods. " Sure, Duo. I'll see you later then?"

I grin. "You bet. Thanks."

Quatre offers me another of his sweet smiles, the kind that makes people mistake him for an easy target. I'll never forget the look on that last guy's face the time he thought tripping Quatre in the lunch room was an amusing way to impress his friends. Not after the Sandrock pilot got calmly up, dusted off the knees of his pants, and then hauled back and hit him square in the face. There was plenty of blood, an interesting shocked silence, and a mess of food on the floor that Quatre cleaned up afterward with the same detached air he had gotten to his feet with.

Reflecting on that improves my mood greatly. Enough that I'm now walking with a huge grin and contemplating a tune to whistle. I may hate it when people get one up on me, or confound the image I hold of them, but I have to get a big kick out of it when its done with style. Especially when I'm not the one being made to look like a giant ass. Which, to my chagrin, isn't often enough. I think people love making my life interesting. Or I should say Heero. He criticizes me enough for a whole army. Believe me, his constructive comments so thrill me.

As I round the corner, the sight which greets me is not a pleasant one. If I was smart, I would turn around and walk the other way. But I've never been accused of possessing much intelligence, so why start now? I mean, I don't want to ruin my image. Besides, they've spotted me, so it's a little too late. Any movement in the opposite direction would be considered cowardice, and there's no way in hell I'm giving them even an inch. I make my way toward them instead, trying to forget that they're ten inches taller than me, and out weight me by at least a hundred pounds. And that isn't between them either.

Dumb and dumber. They harp on me partly because I'm new here, and mostly because I've got a braid. They think it gives them a license to call me girly-boy and do things like take my gym clothes from my locker and replace them with dresses. Too bad I spoiled their fun by wearing the dress and entertaining the gym class. I got sent to the principle's office, the counselor's in the event that something was wrong with me (if they only knew the half of what I'd seen), and then got my ass chewed by Heero. But it was worth it to spoil the idiot twins fun.

I have to smirk as I wonder what they'd think of me should they know I go for guys. I'm tempted just to throw it out there one of these days and let them chew on it a bit. It might get them to stay the hell away from me. But, with my luck, it'd probably just make it all worse. Not that I give a damn what they think. No, scratch that, I've pretty much gathered they don't think at all.

I've survived death many times while in the middle of far worse than these two pricks could ever imagine, so they were dreaming if they thought that they could ever intimidate me. As far as I'm concerned, they can kiss my ass. No, I take that back. Kissing my ass is too good for them. Some little voice tells me they want to kick it anyway. And the reason they haven't isn't for lack of trying, but rather, timing. Hell, even at 5'11, I wouldn't want to mess with Heero. He isn't in sight at the moment, however. I'm all alone in a very spacious hall with two guys who would like nothing better than to wipe the floor with me.

"Well," the one I dubbed Dumb comments, "if it isn't the girly-boy."

He grins at me, like he's my long lost pal. Right, and you can just call me Al.

I smile back. "Well, if it isn't meathead." I'm such a smartass. Have I mentioned that yet? The way my mouth runs away from me? It's probably not a good thing.

Dumber glowers. He looks like he's constipated. I'm sorry, I can't be frightened of a guy that looks like he's having trouble with his bowel movements every time he glares. It just doesn't inspire fear.

"That mouth of your is going to get you in trouble one of these days," Dumb answers, no longer smiling. He does most of the talking. I think Dumber has a hard time stringing more than two words together.

"Really?" I respond, as if the idea has never occurred to me.

Dumb smiles again, this time with a nasty edge. "You might wake up to find your braid lying next to you on your pillow, sissy-boy."

Oh, so now I've been elevated to the title of sissy-boy. I'm beyond touched.

I adopt _my_ nasty expression, complete with a brittle smile. The one I usually reserve for when I'm in Deathscythe, and say calmly, "If I find my braid lying next to me on my pillow, I'm going to come after you and shove half of it up your ass, and force you to eat the rest."

Apparently they aren't taking me seriously. They laugh instead. Well, I suppose I can hardly blame them. As small as I am, and as skinny, I'm not much of a threat. Or so they think. Mess with my braid without my permission and I let Shinigami out to play.

They move closer to me. So that I can smell the peppermint candy Dumb is eating. Ordinarily, I like that smell. It reminds me of Christmas. Right now, I'm hating it.

Peppermint breath leans down so that I get a nice whiff. "You really think you can threaten us and get away with it?"

They're on either side of me now, boxing me in. I'm not liking the close proximity of their bodies, nor the not so subtle threat in them. I hate it when people get this close to me without my inviting it. It's an invasion of my space I don't tolerate lightly.

"Well, I just did, didn't I?" I return sarcastically, well aware I'm not defusing the situation any. Hell, if I'm going to get pounded, I might as well go down insulting them. The best I'll probably get in is a punch or two, maybe more if I'm lucky. Did I mention these two are jocks? Meaning they've got more muscle than brain. But they know how to use that muscle.

"We don't like your smart mouth," Dumber says.

"It speaks!" I say, faking shock. "Hey, do I look like I give a shit?"

No, I just look like an idiot, holding up a big sign that says, 'Hey, punch me in the face!'.

Dumber swings without warning. I duck, my size on my side for once, and land a nice one in his gut. The sound it makes is music to my ears. The sound Dumber makes is even better when I grab ahold of his bowed head and smash my knee into his face.

I don't think he was expecting it. This is the first time they've caught me alone, so it's the first time they've gotten physical. Which you can tell by the fact that my pulse just jumped up a few thousand paces, and the adrenaline is snapping through me in great waves, much like it does when Deathscythe and I are surrounded by mobile suits. As a matter of fact, the odds at this moment are pretty much the same. I just don't have 7.2 tons of Gundanium to help me. But I can savor the looks I'd find on their faces if I did. Maybe I can focus on that image when the first punch just about takes my head from my shoulders.

I suppose I ought to give them more credit. Dumb doesn't waste his time trying to hit me. He grabs me from behind, pinning my arms so that I can't move. Dumber has that constipated look again, only this time it's made comical by the fact that he's got blood smeared all over his face. As he rears back, I make a half-hearted attempt at struggling, even step on Dumb's toes, but it doesn't have much effect.

He gets me right in the nose. My head snaps back so hard I swear I felt my skull connect with my spine. Little bright lights, that vaguely resemble stars flash in front of my eyes, before my vision tries to blank out altogether. The pain is a living thing. I feel it clear into my teeth. I'm fairly certain he broke my nose. I definitely know he bloodied it, as the stuff I'm currently eating, and is pouring down my face at an alarming rate, sure as hell doesn't taste like candy.

"Not so tough now, are you?" I hear one of them gloat, as if from a distance.

If I could, I'd offer them a one finger salute. Instead, I settle for saying, "Fuck you."

What they would have said in response gets lost, as I'm suddenly jerked away from Dumb in time to see a black clad foot flying toward his head. Twisting around, still feeling the after-effects of the punch, I fall gracelessly on my butt and watch in amazement as a blur of white lands easily on his feet, only to dart forward and smack the flat of his palm into Dumb's chest, sending him stumbling back into the wall. And he's not even breaking a sweat. I think I neglected to mention just how cool Wufei is. He kicks ass.

I draw the nice, white sleeve of my uniform shirt across my bloody nose as Wufei turns to confront Dumber. The look on his face should have been frightening all in itself. There's a stillness to it, a banked fire in his eyes, as if the only thing that holds his temper in is sheer will alone. God help the person that incites it fully. Wu-man can be just as scary as Heero when he wants to be. Sometimes, I think even more so.

Without pausing, his movements flowing into one another in a pattern reminiscent of dancing (only Wufei could make fighting look as elegant as a dance), he lashes out with his hand, chopping Dumber neatly in the neck with the side of his palm. Then, and I swear Wufei has a sadistic streak, he rears back and punches Dumber in his already injured nose, eliciting a curse.

When Dumb comes at him from behind, he neatly sidesteps the blow as if he's psychic, catches him by the arm, and then easily flings him into Dumber like he weighs nothing at all. The two of them go down in a tangle of limbs, and Wufei steps over them as if they weren't even there, retrieving the books he had somehow found time to set aside, and then calmly extending his hand to me.

He doesn't even say a word to them. It's like he didn't just get done knocking the stuffing out of these guys. Cool, calm, and collected. The three C's. That would be him.

All in a days work for Chang 'Superman' Wufei.

"Damn Wufei," I tell him, "that was amazing!"

"Come on, Maxwell," he says simply, turning to walk down the hall, leaving me with no choice but to follow as I wipe ineffectively at my still bleeding nose.

He looks back at me once, expressionless. "We need to get you cleaned up."

I look down at my shirt. I _am_ covered in blood. Lots of blood. Heero is going to have a fit and probably fall in it. School uniforms don't come cheap, and they sure as hell don't buy them for us. We get to do that. And it's not like we're rich. Only Quatre is, and he's disinherited.

I have to wonder why he helped me though. Wufei is about as easy to read as a label in another language. The way he generally ignores me or tells me flat out to go away, I would have thought he'd let me fight my own battles. After all, he probably thinks I brought it on myself. Which, in a way, I did. If I had kept my smart mouth in check, it might not have escalated to the point it did. But I just can't help myself. Guys like them piss me off. I like nothing better than making fools out of them simply because my brain moves a few paces faster.

I'm grateful to him, however. I mean, if it hadn't been for him, I probably would have been ground into pieces so small I'd fit in a canning jar. Despite that fact, and the fact I look a mess, I have to strut just a bit. After all, I got in a few solid licks before Wufei creamed them. And right now, I need to celebrate all I can before Heero gets a load of me and takes a strip out of me. Not that I'm afraid of him. Like I said, I've seen some bad shit. It's just that Heero can pack into two words, what it takes another to get across in ten. And he can do it much more effectively.

Rushing to catch up with him, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. "Hey, Wu, they're going to be all over your ass like ugly on an ape now, you know?"

He gives me a look I can only label as disapproving. Yeah, so Wufei doesn't like my vocabulary. Tough. We all can't be as eloquent as he is.

"I'm well aware of that," he returns succinctly, tone not shifting in the slightest. We could be discussing something as mundane as the weather. I swear, if the guy puts any emotion into his words I'll cut my braid off myself.

"Yeah, well, I just don't want them giving you a bad time on account of me. Thanks by the way," I add, flashing him one of my many grins. I've got quite a few. I give them names. I pull them out at different occasions, whenever they're needed. And no one can see past them. Sometimes I wonder if I'm glad for that, or if I resent it, that no one cares to look past the mask.

This one is my contrite smile. My boyish, 'I'm grateful, but sorry to have troubled you smile'. I'm not sure if he's buying it or not. At times I think Wufei considers me the Devil incarnate. Little does he know, that's a compliment.

"It has nothing to do with you. I made my own decision," he replies, giving me another look down the length of his nose.

The guy is as tall as me, right, but he does that so well I can only think he stands in front of the mirror and practices. Not even the principal, Mr. Stick-up-his-butt can do it quite as effectively. Maybe Wufei was a principal in another life.

"You beat them up for me, so that makes it my fault if they harass you," I return, picking absently at my fingernails. They've got blood beneath them. I'll have to cut them off all the way. They were due for a trim anyway.

"I took care of them because they were beating on you, not for you," he corrects me.

Does he realize that doesn't make a whole lot of sense? Or maybe it does. I think I was just told he would have done that for anyone, that the fact that it was me didn't matter at all. Damn. Why does that realization bother me as much as Heero's ignoring me in favor for his computer? You'd have thought I'd learned my lesson by now. About the only one that really seems to care about me beyond the fact that I'm another Gundam pilot, that I'm needed for missions, is Quatre. And his heart already belongs to someone else.

Why I even bother getting out of bed some days is beyond me.

We're at his room now, and he opens the door, motioning for me to go inside.

"In any case," he continues, "had you been holding your own, I would have let it be. But you weren't."

I grimace. Does he have to point that out, rub it in?

"I was doing fine," I return cheerfully, flopping myself down into an old wooden chair.

He eyes me distastefully, as if he's afraid I'll get blood on the chair.

"Don't worry, Wu," I quip, "I'm finished spouting blood like a fountain."

"Get that shirt off. I'm going to soak it in the sink and treat it now before the blood dries," he orders me, disappearing into the bathroom before I can answer.

I might argue, if it weren't for the fact that his getting the stain out could save me trouble with Heero.

As I work at the buttons, trying to ignore how soaked the shirt really is, I look around Wufei's room. It never ceases to surprise me. It's at such odds with the studious, distant personality he projects. There are touches here and there, old things that had to have belonged to someone that meant something to him in the past. This chair, an ancient looking scroll hanging on the wall, the worn books lining the equally battered looking bookcase. They all speak of a Wufei I've rarely, if ever seen. It's a wonder he even lets me in here.

He comes out of the bathroom on silent feet I might not have heard at all, if it weren't for the fact that living on the streets taught me early the merits of listening closely. I trade him my bloodied shirt for a wet, cold washcloth. Wincing, I press it to my face and begin cleaning up, trying not to notice how much the act sends jolts of pain through me. Yeah, Dumber did a number on me all right. I don't think my poor nose is ever going to be the same.

Wufei appears from the bathroom again, sleeves of his white tunic rolled up to the elbows. He's wiping his hands on a towel, and I can't help but notice how it comes away stained pink. There are faint traces of a frown on his face, and he is watching me with hooded eyes. I try not to flinch when I wipe at my nose again, not while he's watching. The last thing I want is for someone like Wufei to see me in a moment of weakness.

"All done," I say, holding the cloth out.

Walking up to me, he catches the edges of it with his fingers, arm remaining outstretched as he studies my face. For one second, I think I see something akin to sympathy flash through his eyes. But whatever it was, it was so faint, so easily tucked back behind the shutters of glossy black, so fathomless they seem like two separate walls of onyx, that I dismiss it as a fanciful notion. If he was concerned, it was probably for his chair, I decide, as he straightens and the cool look is back and firmly in place.

"Thanks for letting me clean up here."

He shrugs one shoulder. "I couldn't let you bleed all over the hall any longer."

I make a sour face at his back. Gee, how caring that sounds.

Funny, but it's only now I notice the papers and books scattered across the floor. Apparently Wufei was just coming back from the library when he happened upon the scene. But wait... If that were the case, why did he pass his room by? We had to go back down the hall in the opposite direction to get here. I don't suppose I'll ever figure that one out. Wufei the enigma. If I asked, he wouldn't tell me anyway. He'll probably have a perfectly logical reason he'll never share.

I have to be grateful for one last thing, I realize. Wufei didn't accuse me of starting it, of making it worse. He didn't even blame it on me. Not like Heero would have. Will have, I correct myself. Once I get done here, I've still got to explain it to him. It's not like my swollen nose is going to be so easy to overlook. But then again, I concede, with a small flash of hurt I don't want and resent, it might just.