Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ A Reason For Me ❯ Part Two: Chapter One ( Chapter 4 )

Title: A Reason For Me
Author: Prynesque
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst
Pairing: 1x2
Rated: R
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me - just so long as I get to hear from you.
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

Author's Notes: OK, so here is Part Two of "A Reason For Me"; I had originally planned to put it up yesterday but then I went to see Grinspoon in concert (probably only fellow Aussies will know who they are, but take it from me, they fucking rocked!) and then this morning I got carried away with trying to recover (my ears are still ringing). But it's up now and that's what matters, right? Part Two will be longer than the first part and hopefully will have a happier ending (or at least a slashier one)… but no promises… the Muses take me where they will.

Anyway, I hope you like it and would love it if you reviewed.

Part Two - Chapter One

Heero:

I'm standing on the balcony again. I seem to have developed an affinity for balconies and for the vistas that stretch out before them.

No, that's not true. It's just this view. It's just Chicago. The apartment I shared with Wufei in New York didn't have a balcony and I never really felt the need for one there; and yet the moment I landed back in the Windy City I immediately knew that the only demand the real estate agent would receive from me would be for a balcony.

It's early morning, 6:07am, to be precise. The sun is just beginning to rise; bright rays of pale yellow sunshine streak through the narrow gaps between the high rise buildings. It's cold and fresh and a hint of frost lingers in the air. It's only November; winter seems to be coming early to Chicago this year.

The street below is deserted. It's too early for the commuters to start pouring in from suburbia, and too early for the locals to be beginning their day. It's just me, and it almost feels like I'm the last person on earth.

Most people would find that a depressing and lonely thought, but to me, it's peaceful and calming. Solitude has never bothered me. At least, that's what I tell myself.

In many ways, moving to Chicago was a reflection of the increasing isolation I was experiencing in New York (although in many other ways it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with a single night I experienced many years ago).

My seclusion was partly self-imposed and partly a result of Quatre and Wufei's gradual distancing from my life.

Don't misunderstand me, they are still, and always will be, my best friends, but in the past couple of years they've both matured, both moved away in different directions whilst I just remained in the middle where I always was. I suppose, at 25, it was a natural progression for them. And I suppose that Chicago represented a way for me to do the same.

Quatre is the head of Winner Enterprises Incorporated now. And he does it brilliantly; I always knew he would. When he first started, he continually doubted himself and his abilities. At work, during the day, I would receive flustered phone calls from him. I'm not someone who is particularly inclined towards comfort and so usually all I could manage was a stern, "You'll be fine, Quatre" but I think that was all he needed to hear.

As the months and then years passed, I received fewer calls from Quatre, partly because he became more confident in his position and in himself, and partly because he found someone else to turn to during those stressful times.

At the time, I told myself that I was glad my work no longer suffered the interruption but now, with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that deep down I was disappointed and confused that some how my position in Quatre's life had been supplanted.

I was all ready to hate Trowa the first time Quatre introduced us; I was convinced that there was no way he could ever be good enough for Quatre or good enough to replace me.

But I was wrong. From the moment I looked into those amazingly clear green eyes and shook the hand that was offered, I knew that Trowa was a good man. And when I saw the way he looked at my friend, the way he found any excuse to touch Quatre even for the briefest of moments, and the way they continued to fall even more hopelessly in love with every minute that passed, I knew that Trowa was the only man that could ever make Quatre happy.

And whenever I see their heads bent together, pale shades of blonde mingling with chestnut brown, I feel an inexplicable sense that somehow our whirling universe has found a balance purely because they are together.

In a way, that's the perfect way to describe their relationship. They are both very different and yet, when you see them together, you can't help but feel that they are two pieces of the same puzzle, destined to be with each other.

Trowa is a writer and sub-editor for the New York Times; he's an intellectual… quiet and reflective and yet with this overwhelmingly strong and commanding presence. His personality, his life and his background are the complete opposite of the high-flying corporate business world that Quatre occupies. But they've discovered a balance that transcends their differences and a deep connection that celebrates their similarities.

And despite all my pre-conceived notions of what Trowa would be like, we've became very good friends. He and I are quite similar in a lot of ways; both silent, stoic and imposing figures, though he does not have that hard, cold edge that I do.

Neither of us is very communicative and so we have developed a means of conversing without words. A raise of one eyebrow, a quirk of the lips, a simple nod and that's all that is needed. It annoys Quatre no end.

I don't see them as often as I did when we first graduated. In fact, I don't see them as often as I'd like. Of course, it doesn't help that I now live in Chicago.

But even before my sudden and unexpected move, our face-to-face contact had been minimal. It's strange how you can live in the same city as someone and yet follow a completely different and often exclusive life.

We'd exchange regular emails and Quatre would usually call once a week to make sure I hadn't worked myself into an early grave, but often a couple of months would pass before we would manage to coincide our schedules. In many ways, that was primarily my fault; I probably should have made more of an effort to stay in closer contact. And yet I can also recognise that our lives just drifted in opposite directions and that it was no one's fault.

But I still miss them. And now the physical distance between us makes that feeling immeasurably worse.

My relationship and contact with Wufei has remained more constant over the years. We continued to live together after we graduated from college. Neither of us had the funds to live alone and as we already had an established and comfortable living arrangement, it made perfect sense to maintain our situation.

I started work as a computer engineer and program developer at the multi-national corporation, Tanaki Industries while Wufei finished Law School.

I was not surprised when he graduated with Honours and I wasn't surprised when he was immediately snapped up by one of New York's most prestigious law firms.

But I was surprised the day he brought Sally home. Wufei had had a few girlfriends through college and I never really liked any of them. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure Wufei really liked any of them. They were all too passive, too girly. However, whatever Wufei thought of those girls he was always honourable and loyal to them. He and I nearly came to blows over one of his more incessantly annoying companions.

But Sally is completely different. She's a med-student; intelligent, quick, witty and most importantly, she calls Wufei on his bullshit. She continually keeps him on his toes and consistently challenges him mentally, emotionally and physically.

She is a much more relaxed and easy-going than Wufei, who is intensely uptight. From his neat, tightly pulled-back hair to his perpetually watchful eyes to his intense stance, he is a tightly coiled spring. But Sally's presence in his life has helped him to relax and unwind. They are different enough to compliment each other and similar enough to work perfectly as a team.

I knew the moment I arrived home from work to find her in our kitchen that she was going to become a permanent fixture in Wufei's life. And I'm glad. She's an amazing woman.

Over time she became incorporated into our household; tampons in the bathroom cupboard, bras in the washing basket, soy milk in the refrigerator, medical textbooks on the coffee table.

In the evenings when I would arrive home from a long day of work, the usual sight that greeted me would be the two of them sitting at the kitchen counter, bent over their textbooks. They always sat side-by-side, close enough for their thighs to be pressed tightly against each other and for Sally's long dirty blonde hair to slide over Wufei's shoulder whenever she lent across to turn her page. That sight is probably one of the things I miss most about New York.

When Wufei came into my room one night and told me that he and Sally wanted to move in together, it wasn't wholly unexpected. Disappointing and saddening perhaps, but from the moment I met Sally, I had been preparing for this eventuality, for another chapter of my life to close.

I offered to move out. Sally was practically living in the apartment already and it made more sense for me to leave than for the two of them to try and find somewhere together.

So I began the painstaking process of trying to find a new home while Sally moved her things in around me.

In the end, I was spared the harrowing experience of Manhattan real estate. Mr Tanaki offered me a promotion and with it, a temporary transfer to another branch of the company.

I didn't need much encouragement to make my decision. Quatre and Wufei had both moved onwards and upwards with their lives and it was about time I did the same.

Mr Tanaki sat me down in his office and informed me that the branches in Washington D.C, San Francisco and Chicago were all looking for someone with my experience to head up their latest projects.

I would like to say that I thought about each option carefully, that I considered the opportunity for advancement within each branch and the projects that they had been developing, but that would be a lie. The truth is, the moment he said Chicago, I made up my mind.

You see, Chicago had always been there in the back of my mind; a niggling, persistent memory that still threatened to engulf even after five long years.

After I returned to New York following my failed attempt to find Duo that day, I often considered returning to Chicago, if only for a few days. I had dreams of meeting Duo again. Our reunion would be on some darkened street. We'd meet by accident and he would fall into my arms and this time the answer on his lips would be 'yes'. It's stupid, I know. But dreams are not meant to be rational or even attainable.

But I never went back, no matter how many times I found myself dialling the number of a travel agent or entering the interstate railway station. It felt like that by trying to track Duo down, I would be intruding in his life; that I would little more than some sad, pathetic stalker who refused to let go of the past.

But as soon as "Chicago" rolled off Mr Tanaki's lips, I knew that I had to take it. I've never believed in fate, but in that instant, it felt like a sign.

And so here I am, standing on a balcony in Chicago, with a new job and a new life stretching out before me.

I've only been living here for two months but already it feels like home. I've adapted quicker and easier to Chicago than I ever did to New York. I know my way around the streets and the public transport system. I know where the shops and restaurants are. I've memorised the garbage collection timetable. I know the names of my neighbours and I even greet them with a smile when we meet in the corridor.

It's amazing how much I've grown since I first left home seven years ago. When I arrived in New York it took all of Quatre's considerable tenacity to maintain some sort of relationship between us. And I'm ashamed to say that I shared a room with Wufei for a full month before I even bothered to find out his name. And yet now I'm perfectly comfortable having coffee with Mrs. Astermeiker from across the hall because I know that she's just as lonely in her little flat as I am.

I'd like to say that it was my own strength and sense of self that enabled this change but really, I had very little to do with it. It was Quatre and Wufei and most importantly Duo, even though I spent the least amount of time with him. They each managed to bring me a little further out of my shell, each gave me a reason to try and be a better person. It's corny and clichéd, I know, but true.

Even though my initial reason for choosing Chicago was to see Duo again, I've had little time to pursue that quest, and even less success.

Of course, the moment I landed, I went straight to that back street on the off-chance he might be there. But he wasn't.

Club X had closed down and there were fewer girls patrolling the street. I approached one of the older hookers. Her face was thin and worn and she looked both bored and desperate. I asked if she knew Duo or knew of his whereabouts. She took my $50 and pointed me to an address on 93rd Street. When I arrived I found myself outside a sprawling multiplex cinema; smiling teenagers laughed around me as they entered the theatres, jostling each other and throwing popcorn.

I was angry and disappointed but not very surprised. I hadn't really expected it to be that easy.

I've been back twice since. Just brief, passing visits. But no Duo and none of the working girls were interested in talking to me, even for the meagre fee I could offer.

For weeks, I've been intending to mount a proper, intensive search. My contract here in Chicago lasts for at least another four months and I'm determined that I will find him before I have to leave again. But I simply haven't had the time. Adjusting to a new workplace, a new home, a new everything has kept me inordinately busy.

But it's Friday today and provided nothing unexpected arises at the office, I shouldn't have any work to finish over the weekend. And as I stand in the early morning breeze, I resolve that tonight, come Hell or high water or any combination of the two, I will find Duo.

In the flat behind me, the radio reminds me that it's nearly 7:30am. As the advertisements start to roll, I turn away from my morning view and, re-entering my living room, I begin to get ready for work.

I'm late to work for the first time in history. Too long spent on the balcony reflecting about my life and too long spent in the shower remembering Duo.

The front office girls all stare at me as I enter at ten past nine. From the looks on their faces, apparently Heero Yuy being late for work is one of the signs of the apocalypse. I cast them a tight smile and their giggles follow me down the corridor to my office.

Relena Peacecraft is waiting for me when I finally arrive. She is standing by my desk, her expensive leather high heels tapping silently on the carpet. She flicks her long dark blonde hair in an irritable gesture and her perfectly manicured fingernails drum impatiently on the file in her hand.

Relena is a member of the legal department here at Tanaki Industries but her real forte lies in public relations. She's very popular around the office because she's polite and approachable. But there is also something very strong and charismatic about her; people can't help listening when she speaks.

The moment I met her I knew she was destined for a job in politics. Her father, a former Governor of Illinois, is now a Senator and it probably won't be long before she forsakes law in favour of following in his footsteps.

She's an interesting and complex woman and, in spite of myself, I find her strangely intriguing; though, of course, only from a distance.

I've met her sort before. She would have been pretty and popular in high school; soft and delicate, even innocent. But then she reached the eye-opening world of the college campus and she came into her own; she discovered her sexuality, her intellect and her possibilities. Now she is a strong, capable and incredibly attractive woman, so very different from the naïve young girl that would have mounted the steps of Harvard all those years ago.

She and I have a strange relationship. From the moment I arrived she made it clear to the other girls in the building that if anyone was going to succeed in seducing me, it would be her.

She pursued me relentlessly for a month. Finally, I capitulated and we had dinner together. It wasn't a total disaster, but it wasn't exactly a success either. After that night, we made a mutual decision that trying to pursue a relationship between us would be completely futile. She realised that my silent, uncommunicative and cold demeanour was not limited to the work place and I realised that even after five years, the only person I was interested in having dinner with had large violet eyes and a braid.

But we've established a comfortable working relationship. I'm not sure you could call us friends (that seems to imply a deeper connection than the one we share) but we work well together and she's invaluable as a colleague.

She still flirts with me at every available opportunity purely because she can. I let her only because I enjoy watching the other girls in the office sulk when she does.

Relena looks up as I close the door behind me. She raises one eyebrow as I silently remove my jacket and move across the room to my desk.

"Ten past nine, Heero?" she purrs. "There might just be hope for you, after all." She gives me a toothy smile which I ignore.

"What can I do for you, Relena?" I ask, as I switch on my computer.

She drops her file on the keyboard in front of me and then moves around to perch on the desk. She crosses her legs and her skirt stretches across her hips, rising and casually revealing several extra inches of long, lean leg.

"Legal contracts for the new project," she murmurs, leaning towards me with a smile.

I give her a look that clearly says I'm not amused. Her soft, tinkly laugh echoes around my office; by now, she finds my disinterest amusing rather than annoying.

"Just read them and sign them and get them back to me," she says, hopping off my desk. She sashays across the room. "Bye, Heero." She gives me a little wave and then shuts the door behind her.

I slide the file to the side and turn back to my computer, relieved that the little ritual dance that transpires between us every morning is over; her boldness still unnerves me, even though I know her act is just for show.

I focus on the screen in front of me. My fingers fly across the keys and my eyebrows draw together in intense concentration; I am completely absorbed in my work. Relena, Chicago and Duo are all pushed from my mind and nothing short of the building collapsing around me could divert my attention.

Just as the numbers on my desk clock register 1pm, I sit back and stretch the aching muscles in my neck. Months ago, Sally gave me a series of exercises that I should do to prevent the tension building up in my neck and shoulders. The instruction sheet is neatly folded inside my laptop case, but I haven't looked at it since I put it there. I'm either a masochist or just stupid. I'm sure Sally would say both, if she knew.

Footsteps shuffle past outside my office and loud chatter reverberates up and down the corridor. The masses are moving to lunch and so I collect my jacket and join them. When I first started, I religiously avoided the cafeteria and, as a general rule, my workmates. But by now I've learnt that if I don't at least make a brief appearance, Relena will just come up and get me anyway; and I'd rather subject myself to the torture of communal lunchtime voluntarily than wait around to be dragged down there by Relena like a puppy on a leash.

The cafeteria is nice, for a cafeteria. The stylish Ikea white plastic chairs and tables are stretched across the room in neat rows and the room is a buzz of cheery greetings and the clatter of cutlery on china.

I collect a tray and move down the queue to receive my hot lunch. It's roast beef and I'm relieved. Yesterday we were served some sort of pie and I spent my entire lunch hour trying to figure out what was actually in it.

I sit by myself. There are plenty of half filled tables that I could sit at, including one where the majority of my fellow computer engineers are sitting. They snort into their gravy as they talk about God knows what. I have very little patience for them and while I will lower myself to work competently with them, I refuse to spend any of my free time in their presence. I'd prefer to sit with the Harpies from the advertising department, and that's saying something.

So I sit alone and dispassionately consume my lunch. I'm halfway through my roast beef when I hear a high-pitched voice calling across the cafeteria.

"Relena! Relena? I have something I need to discuss with you!" one of the Harpies is exclaiming.

I look up and spot Relena just moving away from the lunch queue, tray in hand. She gives the Harpy a polite but clearly dismissive look and then catches my eye with a smile.

She sets her tray down opposite me. "Afternoon, Heero," she says loudly as she seats herself and crosses her long legs.

The front office girls at the next table all pout and mutter amongst themselves. I almost smile before I turn back to my lunch.

"Have you signed my forms, yet?" Relena asks as she stirs the sugar into her coffee. Her voice is back to normal and she's all business.

"Not yet, Relena. I'll get them back to you when I'm done. There is no need to hassle me," I answer without looking up.

"I'll just wait then, shall I?" Relena begins to pick at her own roast beef.

"Hn," is all I bother to respond with.

She clicks her tongue in annoyance and is about to comment on my lack of social skills when a third tray is slid onto the table. My gaze flickers to the left ever so slightly, enough to take in the tray and its cargo: a single shot of espresso and a crumpled packet of cigarettes.

Dorothy Catalonia sinks into the seat beside Relena and, pulling the shot of thick aromatic coffee towards her, sighs in contentment.

I don't like Dorothy. She is entirely too insincere and too opportunistic. But I do admire her strength and her single-minded pursuit of authority and control. Her long sandy blonde hair frames her face and one bizarrely forked eyebrow is delicately raised as she casts a calculating eye over the cafeteria.

Dorothy is Mr Tanaki's representative here at the Chicago office. She is little more than a glorified personal assistant but she manages to wield an incredible amount of power and influence within the company. And she knows it.

She belongs to the top echelon of Tanaki Industries, she reports only to the company partners, but when it suits her, she mingles effortlessly with us lowly workers. But she is famous for playing both sides and for playing them against each other. She subtly manipulates the relationships she has with both the bosses and the workers and the result is that she has both groups wrapped around her little finger.

Most people are afraid or intimidated and nearly everyone hates her. But that little triumphant smile that lingers on her lips tells me that she enjoys it.

The only person she respects in this entire company is Relena, who is diplomatic and cooperative but steadfastly refuses to bow to Dorothy's cunning duplicity. And I think that deep down, Relena actually likes Dorothy, or rather enjoys the somewhat refreshing repartee that they regularly engage in; though she would never say so aloud, especially to anyone who might pass it on to the woman in question.

"Relena." Dorothy nods to Relena and smiles insincerely. She ignores me and I'm perfectly content with ignoring her.

"Dorothy," Relena replies courteously, laying down her cutlery.

The front office girls who are seated at the next table had all stopped talking the moment Dorothy condescended to seat herself in their general vicinity, but now they tentatively lean closer and whisper amongst themselves. A peel of giggles erupts from their huddled group.

Dorothy fixes them with a piercing stare and they wither visibly. "Either shut your mouths or I will shut them for you," she states silkily over her coffee cup.

The front office girls scuttle away nervously and Dorothy settles back looking satisfied. Behind her soft, manicured hands, Relena smiles. And I must confess, I'm impressed. I detest giggling and were I more inclined to be pro-active, I probably would have told them to shut up myself.

The lunch hour isn't over yet, but the sickly, pungent smell of cigarette smoke that cloaks Dorothy like a security blanket is drifting across the table and now I'm starting to feel nauseous. I push my chair away from the table and stand.

"You'll get those forms to me, won't you, Heero?" Relena's voice follows me across the cafeteria. I ignore her and continue walking. I don't need to look back to know that she's looking very disgruntled right now.

In the end, I send Relena's contracts back to her by inter-office courier; I simply can't be bothered dealing with her in person this afternoon.

I work late. Around me, people are turning off their computers, writing that last memo, filing that last account away, leaving for home relieved that the day and the week are finally over.

But I stay because really, there is nothing waiting for me in that apartment anyway. My office light is a single, solitary beacon in a dark building. Even the cleaners have packed up their vacuum cleaners and departed.

The red, iridescent numbers of my desk clock are flashing 9pm before I finally switch off my computer and make my way through the darkened maze of corridors to the exit.

I catch a taxi home. Normally I would catch the train because it's more economic. But tonight a desire for efficiency and speed overrides my monetary sensibilities.

The driver tries several times during the ride to engage me in conversation. After commenting on the weather, the football, the traffic and the song that is currently playing on the radio, and receiving no communication from me, he gives up and we ride the rest of the way in silence. I feel slightly guilty so when he pulls up at my building, I tip him generously as I exit the cab.

Earl, the doorman at my apartment complex, holds the heavy glass front doors open for me. By now he has learnt that I am not the sort of person who responds to any small-talk so he merely lets me through with a simple nod of welcome and a smile. Once upon a time, I would have ignored his considered admission but now I consciously make sure I at least acknowledge his gesture; it's part of my commitment to being more responsive and less anti-social.

I reach my apartment, flicking the lights on as I enter. I hang my coat on the rack and set my bag down on the table. The little red button on my answering machine is flashing merrily and Quatre's sunny voice fills the room when I press it. I listen to the message twice, memorising any important information and remind myself to call him back tomorrow.

I change out of my work clothes into something more casual, and then, grabbing my keys and wallet, I leave the apartment. It has taken all of seven minutes and Earl is visibly surprised when I appear in the lobby again so soon. I don't blame him really; I'm not exactly known as the sociable type.

"Going out, Mr Yuy?" he asks, in his surprise forgetting that I am not likely to answer. I merely nod and step through the open door out onto the street.

I take a deep breath, zip up my jacket and walk briskly back to that now familiar backstreet. The clenching of my teeth is the only hint of determination on my normally expressionless face. Tonight, I'm resolute that I will not fail my mission.

It's dark and eerie when I arrive. The street is no long lit up by the incandescent red glow of the Club X sign. I shove my hands into my pockets and stiffly make my way down the road.

A small group of girls is waiting on the sidewalk, leaning back against the grimy wall, exchanging stories in coarse voices.

They straighten up as I approach. Seductive smiles grace their faces and their hips sway as they totter down the footpath towards me.

A young blonde latches onto my right arm and smiles coyly up at me. A brunette appears at my left shoulder and tries fruitlessly to attract my attention. They can't be much older than 16.

I politely but firmly disentangle myself from their vice-like grips. They make a show of their false pouts and whimpers and I barely control the urge to roll my eyes. In the shadows, half a dozen pairs of eyes watch me curiously.

"I'm looking for someone who used to work around here," I announce to the group in a loud, clear voice. "His name was Duo. He had long hair tied back in a braid. Can anyone help me?"

There is silence up and down the street. No one moves. I set my shoulders firmly and wait. "I'm not leaving until one of you answers," I threaten.

Slowly, a woman steps out of the shadows. Her red stilettos click on the sidewalk as she approaches me warily. Her short, spiky hair is dyed blue and she has a suspicious glint in her jaded eyes. She's probably about my age, but years of hard work make her seem much older.

"What d'ya want with him?" she asks her voice rough and accusing. She runs her eyes up and down my form as she tries to assess me.

"Nothing. I'm not a cop or anything. I just need to talk to him," I say as gently as I can.

She cocks her head to the side and her eyes narrow. She doesn't trust me. And she probably has every reason not to.

"I really need to see him. Please, can you help me?" I try to let my eyes do the talking. For someone as normally emotionless as me, this is no mean feat. I try to look as desperate and hopeful as I feel and when something flickers in her cynical gaze I know I've succeeded.

"Yeah, I used to know him back when he worked this part of town," she says. Her left hand rests on her hip as she surveys me again. She's still a little wary.

"Do you know where he works now?" I ask patiently.

Her right hand sweeps through her short cropped hair and then moves lower to play with the chain around her neck. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. It was a few years ago, yanno? I don't know if I can remember that far back." Her eyes challenge me. She's not wary anymore. She'll tell me what I want to know, but now she's being purely mercenary. Given my previous experience with opportunistic prostitutes, now I'm the slightly wary one. But deep inside, I know that I would give $50 to every single hooker in this city if that's what it took to find Duo.

I open my wallet and withdraw a crisp $50 note. "How is your memory now?" I ask as I press the money into her hand.

"Perfectly fine." She tucks the money into the waistband of her skirt. "He works over on Roly's patch." She gives me a wink and then turns away. My heart sinks.

"No, wait… please…" Something in my voice stops her.

"You're fucking serious about finding him, aren't you?" It's a rhetorical question but I nod anyway. "West 103rd," she says simply. "If he's workin' tonight, that's where he'll be."

I thank her but she brushes it away. She walks away down the street; her hips, encased in a tight red mini-skirt, sway with the movement. I watch her disappear into the distant gloom and then I turn away myself.

When I reach the main road, I hold out my hand and when the taxi pulls up beside me, I get in and give the driver my directions.

He stares at me when I give him the street. Evidently West 103rd is only known for one thing, and judging from the look on his face, he disapproves of it.

When we arrive ten minutes later, he leans over the back seat. "What's a nice, good-looking guy like you need in a neighbourhood like this?" His nasal twang indicates that he is not a native of Chicago. "You don't need those… those…" he struggles for the right word. "…things. You just need to find a nice girl and settle down."

Immediately I think of Relena. A nice girl I could settle down with. I think we've already established that I'm not interested in that whatsoever.

I ignore the cab-driver's unwelcome advice, pay him and then leave. He speeds away and I'm left alone on the dark street. I'm suddenly struck by the feeling that wandering around in this area on my own with a wallet full of cash is probably not a sensible thing to do. But I've come this far so I rub my cold hands together and start off down the street.

It's dark and smoky and as I walk down the narrow road it almost feels like it's pressing in on me; like the street is contracting and the tall buildings that stretch up to the sky on either side are closing around me. It's unnervingly claustrophobic and my pace quickens.

I feel the pumping of the heavy bass in my chest long before I draw close enough to hear the music. The clubs are depressing and sleazy. A drunken man hollers abuse at the bouncer who ejects him. He stumbles and pitches forwards into the gutter and then lies there mumbling to himself. The bouncer rolls his eyes and, heaving a heavy sigh, turns and re-enters the club.

I skirt around the man in the gutter who now seems caught between a decision to sit up or pass out. The loud, thumping music slowly fades into the background and suddenly I can see the outline of figures looming in the gloom ahead.

A dull grey sedan glides silently past me. It pulls up further down the street. A thin figure steps up to the curb and leans in the window.

Just as I'm drawing close enough to hear snippets of the conversation, the voices stop abruptly. The thin figure opens the door and is momentarily illuminated by the side-light. He is pale and skinny. His limbs are too long for his body, like he hasn't grown into them yet. I'm instantly reminded of my younger brother Shinji even though it has been some years since he outgrew that stage. And now I feel sick.

The boy, who is all of 14, clambers silently into the car and the door shuts with a click. I'm suddenly filled with the urge to rush forwards and retrieve the boy, as though saving him will make up for my failure to save Duo.

But the opportunity has passed. The engine revs and then the car is pulling away. I stand frozen on the sidewalk and watch as it disappears, with a puff of exhaust fumes, into the distance.

I shiver. Suddenly it feels much colder and I feel strangely dirty just being here, just witnessing that brief transaction. I find it odd that I never felt like that with Duo.

It takes me several moments to get my limbs functioning again. I've taken barely two steps when a second figure emerges from a side alley.

My heart stops. I can actually feel it skip a beat, and then suddenly it's racing as though it's trying to leap out of my chest.

It's just like my dream. A darkened street, an accidental meeting. Except that in my dream, I'm articulate and heroic. His arms fold around me and I sweep him off his feet and away to safety. But in reality, it's nothing like that. I can't even move. I just stand on the pavement, my heart going like the clappers, waiting for him to reach me.

He is about two metres away from me by the time he finally looks up. Those beautiful, expressive eyes widen as he recognises me. He freezes and for several moments we both just stare at each other.

He hasn't changed much. His body is still lithe and lean and he still moves with a mixture of entrancing grace and restless energy. That rope of hair still hangs down over one shoulder. His mouth, still slightly too big for his face and curved into an unreadable expression. And those eyes, still that same impossible colour, still impossibly deep and absorbing.

"Duo," I breathe. My voice is surprising loud and harsh in the silent night.

He blinks once and suddenly the image is broken and I realise he has changed. He is tenser and harder than I remember. He looks tired and depressed and hollow. But mainly it's his eyes. They no longer twinkle; they're hard and cold. It's like he's dead inside; it's like he has become what I used to be.

"Duo…" It's a whisper this time. I'm afraid to speak any louder, as though he might just fade away if I raise my voice.

His jaw clenches and his eyebrows snap together in anger. He takes two steps towards me and then stops abruptly as though he's afraid to get any closer. "What the fuck are you doing here?!?" he asks me. His voice is harsh and cold, so very different to the lively chatter I remember.

For a moment, I don't know how to answer him. What am I doing here? What on earth was I expecting? How could I possibly have assumed that my dream of him falling into my arms would ever, could ever come true?

"I…" My voice catches and I clear my throat. "I was transferred here. I've been living here for the past two months. I wanted to see you again. I wanted… I had to know that you were OK…" I trail off.

"OK?" He laughs, but it's a sickening sound… wild and unrestrained and laced with bitter pain. He stops suddenly. "You were supposed to forget about me. I'm nothing remember?" For a moment he looks like he's about to cry. But then the shutters close behind his eyes and I can't see anything. "Just go!" he says dully.

"No!" My voice is louder than I intended. "I just want to talk to you. I just…"

"Yeah, well I don't wanna talk to you, OK?" His shoulder turns away from me defensively.

"Duo…" I begin.

"Please, Heero… just go!" He refuses to meet my gaze but his voice cracks as he says my name and my heart feels like it's tearing in two.

I fumble for my wallet. He catches the movement and shakes his head as he screws his eyes shut. He thinks I'm going to offer him money again and I wince.

I withdraw my business card before shoving my wallet back into my pocket. I reach out and touch his shoulder gently. He jerks away as though I've burned him. I hold the tiny slip of cardboard out towards him. My arm hangs in the air between us like some kind of peace offering, like one final, desperate gesture.

"This is my card. It's got my phone number and my home and work address on it. Please take it!" My voice is higher now and I think that, for the first time in my life, I'm begging.

"I don't want it!" he says roughly. "Just go!"

My hand shakes and I take a step towards him. "Please, just take it. You don't have to call me or visit me or anything. But please… I just need to know that you have it…"

I can almost see the word 'no' forming on his lips. But he doesn't get the chance to say it. Two figures loom out of the darkness suddenly on either side of him. One is big. Easily 6'3", probably taller. His tight white t-shirt stretches across his bulging muscles and I can just make out the shadow of tattoos under the material. The other is smaller. Shorter than Duo and equally as thin. Although he is the physically inferior of the two, there is mean glint in his eyes that tells me he is probably the more dangerous one.

"Is this man bothering you, Duo?" the thin man asks. His voice is smooth and slimy and leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.

"He was just leaving," Duo replies, but his eyes don't leave mine.

"You sure?" The big one presses.

"I'm fine. He's leaving. Just back off, guys, OK?" Duo's voice rises in irritation. The two interlopers cast one final gaze over me before disappearing slowly into the darkness again. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I can feel them still watching me.

"Duo, please… just take it." I make one final attempt.

His head swings around as he searches the darkness behind him. He clicks his tongue in exasperation. "Oh for fuck's sake, just give me the damn thing!" He snatches the card from my fingers. "Now, will you piss off?" He hisses at me.

I nod and I can't stop the little smile that creeps onto my face. He seems momentarily disarmed by my expression. He hesitates and his mouth quivers as though he is lost for words. "Good," he finally croaks, though there is very little emotion behind it.

"Promise me, you'll come and find me if you need anything. Anytime, day or night. Just promise me." My voice is urgent and I step forwards. We're close enough to touch now and I can almost feel the warmth of his body seeping into mine.

He starts to shake his head. "Promise me!" I plead.

He swallows heavily and he forces his gaze away from mine. And finally he nods. The relief I feel is palpable.

He opens his mouth to say something. "Duo," that same smooth, slimy voice oozes out of the darkness.

And that's when I hear it. The sound of a car approaching. The hum of the engine cuts through the eerie silence. It drifts slowly past us and then pulls into the curb a few metres down the road.

Duo winces and refuses to look at me. I feel a lump rising in my throat. I grasp his hand briefly and he is too surprised to pull away.

Those haunted eyes stare at our joined hands before lifting to meet my gaze. "Anytime," I reiterate.

He swallows and then so do I. There is a slow, hissing noise behind us as the car window glides down.

I release Duo's hand and step away. He hesitates for the briefest of moments and then he turns away and moves down the sidewalk to where the car is waiting.

My fists clench, my bottom lip trembles and I've got that funny itching feeling in the corners of my eyes again. I can't bear to watch. I turn away and start walking. Before I know it, I'm running. My leather shoes pound against the concrete as I flee.

I don't stop running until I reach my apartment building. I rush passed Earl without even stopping to acknowledge him. My feet thump on each step as I climb the stairs.

The apartment is dark when I enter but I make no move to turn on the lights. I close the door behind me. My heart is pounding in my chest, partly from having just run across half of Chicago and partly because I can still feel Duo's hand in mine.

I sink down onto the couch. The suede leather is soft beneath my fingers but I barely even register it. I don't move. I just sit in the darkness.

And I wait. Again.

Author's Notes: And here we are again… at the end of another chapter. Just a quick note about Relena and Dorothy: I'm afraid they might be a little OCC, I'm not sure. But I'm tired of seeing pathetic, wimpy female characters in fanfiction and so I've aimed to make them a bit stronger and more assertive. Besides, I may not like Relena but I respect her enough not to turn her into a simpering, obsessed, be-pinked hussy. Let me know what you think.

A big THANK-YOU (I believe it warrants capital letters) to all my beautiful, wonderful reviewers. Speaking of which…I think you know what to do now… r-e-v-i-e-w! Simple. Please?