Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The One-Eared Neko ❯ THE WALTZ ( Chapter 6 )

Part 6 THE WALTZ

Sleeping on the road had always been difficult for the young Japanese man. The hazy orange streetlights would pierce through his eyelids and cut into the black nothings of his dreams; the jarring would slowly shake him back to life and he would spend the remainder of the night praying for an early dawn. He'd never been overly disposed to a life on the move, always rooted down by the beautiful but cumbersome weights of wealthy and prominent parents. They had raised their son to have a peaceful home life that they hadn't been so fortunate as to have in their childhoods, and he never adapted to the idea of living in a moving car. It was something he had failed to think of once he'd made a decision to carry out with his plan. Perhaps it was because he had never been homeless, but whatever it was, it was different that night. Heero awoke a great while later to a still bed in an unmoving truck.

Uninterrupted sleep in the backseat of a vehicle. The idea was so strange to him that he momentarily didn't recognize where he was without Relena constantly barging in or rubbing his ankle.

The black fabric of his backpack, piled on top of the bohemian's luggage and wedged against the back wall, was the first thing to greet him, as opposed to his white bedroom walls. It was dark, and his eyes took a while to adjust enough so he see traces of light on the wall above him. He blinked for a moment and shook sleep off before sitting up.

With one look out the windshield, he could tell three things all at once. First of all, the brunet bohemian was missing, leaving behind an empty driver seat as proof. The second was the explanation for his absence. Roughly a hundred meters or so in the dimness of light, a truck stop glowed brightly with its fluorescent white lights and brightly lit gas pumps littered with a few lonely shipping trucks. Inside the café, the color and movement of people was obvious, one of them seemingly his new term paper subject. The last was that he'd slept for a disturbingly long time, judging from how dark the sky was, and the fact that it was flashing a green 4:20 on the electronic clock. He shook his head and took another look at the clock, hoping to find something more reasonable. When it didn't miraculously change, he sat back and frowned to himself.

He'd slept nearly fifteen hours. In a rapidly moving vehicle, no less. Something was wrong.

Heero lifted his backpack up into his lap while still in his clothes from yesterday and unzipped the main pocket. He paged quickly through the items in his bag, assortments of clothes, the permission clipboard, a school notebook nearly filled with notes, and a few primly-kept hardcover novels, and saw nothing had moved. Or otherwise, they'd been meticulously replaced. Heero's frown didn't lessen, but he then carefully inspected the other, smaller pockets and found his wallet and bills of money completely intact, identification and credit cards pristinely in place. Untouched by thieving hands.

He grunted unhappily, and found it hard to believe that nothing had been taken.

Just as he finally gave it a little acceptance, enough to push it from his mind momentarily, and sat up, he heard the truck door swing open. Distant sounds of semi engines and crickets sifted in as Duo's head popped in and he slid up onto the seat effortlessly. The shadows played on his dark clothing and seemingly made him a ghost who looked over the seat at him.

"Oh, you're awake!" Duo greeted happily, with no traces of sleep-deprivation in his voice or rings below his bright violet-blue eyes. In fact, he seemed bright awake and overly enthusiastic for a hunted criminal. Something to note for later. "So, did you get a good night's sleep, Mr. Yuy?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes into his palm once to wake himself up completely. "I hate dealing with such pleasantries. Call me Heero, please."

"Alright," Duo agreed with a smile. He leaned back from hovering over the seat and slung his other arm causally over the wheel as if he were teenage rebel embodied. "I hope you're not so grumpy every morning. It'll be one long trip if you wake every morning with a stick already in your ass."

Heero pinned a sharp, calculating look on him, sitting up on the cot. The criminal stiffened ever so slightly.

"What?"

"You drugged me, didn't you?" the blue-eyed Japanese man said in a muted displeased tone.

The surprise only lasted a second before it was replaced with a half-cunning smile and short burst of laughter. Duo's entire face grinned at him in the dim shadows, punctuated by the distant, whitish-blue glow of the truck stop. "You're really sharp. I like that. Most people would be completely helpless to the situation, but no, not you. You've got a quick head."

He responded with a grunt, slumping his shoulders sullenly. "You went through my stuff as well."

"I only drugged you to reassure that you were being truthful to me," Duo said. "Had to check for weapons, federal badges, things like that. Make sure you weren't a thief. It was only for my precious protection."

"Reasonable," Heero grunted, though it was clear in his suspicious blue eyes that the thought of being helpless and ignorant to the con man's actions wasn't wholly comforting. "But you're still strange."

"Why's that?"

"I've never heard of any notorious con man who was afraid of burglary."

Duo smiled, one palm pressed against the side of his face, so it looked ridiculous and crooked. "Well, just because it's my profession doesn't make me immune to it."

Heero watched the display of overly white teeth and snorted back, shifting his eyes downward. "Hn."

"Actually, the tranq' wore off after an hour. You sleep the rest of the night away by yourself." A catty grin consumed the width of his face. "Mumbled things. Maybe you've got a few problems you'd care to get out into the open. Hm, traveler?"

"It's none of your business."

Duo flashed a smile and leaned back playfully. "Alright."

The brunet bohemian slid forward in the seat despite the hostile eyes set upon him as his moved and nudged the heavy door open with his black, mud-slicked boot, obviously a rental since he consciously ignored the grime and dirt he'd trekked inside like an animal. Again, the muffled noises of early morning commerce sifted in, and Duo looked back at him over his shoulder. Oddly enough, Heero observed, he still retained his dark black baseball hat on his sleep-disheveled brown hair, shielding off an angle of his face in the dimness.

"They're serving breakfast up there, you know."

The Japanese man snorted on instinct, ready to rebuke anything the entrancing criminal offered. He was here to observe, not be pillaged or swayed. Perhaps he was just always crabby before the sun rose, but he rolled over and laid down again. "No thanks," he grunted.

"Oh, I know you're hungry, traveler. You can't fool me."

In the darkness of the backseat, Heero felt abnormally long nails clench around a section of his white shirt and yank steadily. Even his dark tie got a few strong tugs of encouragement. He wasn't a dog, Heero thought to himself. Meanwhile, the impatient twitch in his throat slowly turned into a low growl. Damn, he never realized how little of a morning person he could be.

"Paging Mr. Yuy!"

"Fine," Heero grumbled finally, shielding his head tiredly with his arms.

"Come on!"

If only for show, if only to irritate him because of his lack of patience in the morning, Duo led him through the glass doors in the fluorescence of the truck stop straight up to the counter. He seemed starkly out of place as he walked ahead of him with a confident walk. Loose and comfortable clothing, usually bright t-shirts and jeans, characterize an American trucker, but Duo apparently had thrown away that memo. He wore a black sweater, with the sleeves rolled to the white at his elbows, and slim-fitting black pants. Even his baseball cap was a dark pitch of black that was unnatural in the lights of the truck stop.

They drew a few pairs of eyes up, but not many. It was still very early, and it wasn't filled to full capacity. The grungy, unkempt truckers that were there were struggling with the hours and half-asleep in their plates of scrambled eggs and French toast. Duo tried to be friendly and even waved at a few. Heero just followed behind, glancing around and looking irritable.

The con man slid easily on one of the red-leather seats and waited patiently for his new travelmate to take his own, sullen place beside him. He turned his head slightly and grinned at him, brown hair still unbound and free, half-tucked behind his ear. "It's on me."

"I wasn't going to pay," Heero mumbled.

Their short banter was cut even shorter when the early-shift waitress strolled up to the metallic, industrial-style counter with notepaper in hand. The bags under her eyes contradicted the inviting smile she found somewhere deep inside her reserves to plaster on for her customers' sake. "What would you fellows like?" she asked, in an accent Heero wasn't familiar with. How far had Duo exactly traveled while he slept?

Duo gave her a bohemian smile in return. Heero couldn't help but think he was peering at her candy red skirt through that cheeky grin. "We'll need a little more time. Thanks."

"Fine," she answered and promptly strolled back into the kitchen for what smelt like a quick smoke.

Once the employee had made herself scarce, the dim sounds of the truckers chewing and mumbling to each other and their newspapers and Duo turned that smug, feline smile to the traveler sitting next to him. "Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of leaving you with the bill," Duo said. "You're a guest." His hand lifted from his pocket and pulled a red-rimmed menu from the plastic holder sitting beside the ketchup and mustard. With a flare, he flipped it open and buried his nose in the morning choices.

"But you're a con man," Heero said finally, after watching all of that. "You sweet talk for a living."

Still reading intently, Duo's other hand extended to offer Heero a menu of his own to leaf through. "Oh, I'm sweet talking now, am I?"

"You know what I meant."

"The breakfast sausage is good here," Duo murmured complacently to himself, obviously ignoring him with all smarmy intent. "And the house special, too. Is it Thursday today? I'd absolutely love a good bowl of chunky beef stew!"

"Humor. Amusing."

"Who cares? I'm beautiful and flippant."

"Whatever," Heero said icily, lifting his own menu from the container and prying it free of a lob of gum stuck between the laminated pages.

Across the pages, it advertised the sloppy, greasy pleasure of the local favorite dishes, meaty Scandinavian foods that weren't all too attractive to a vegetarian. He skimmed through the pages, fully able to ignore his subject for a little while, and finally found something friendly to his tastes. A pancake dish with some butter and hashbrowns. Not one of his usual meals, but it would suffice for the moment. He couldn't afford to be picky in the questionable company that he was, lest Duo find expensive tastes something he wouldn't suffer to lose and simply dispose of the body properly. He glanced over at the criminal happily humming as he read.

It wasn't a very pleasant thought.

The waitress returned with her accent and two steaming coffees on a plate. They hadn't ordered any, but at this hour of morning, it was practically mandatory.

Duo was the first to react even though Heero had watched her approach from the kitchen door and busted open a charming smile as he accepted the coffee bravely in the palms of both hands. He sighed loudly and took a fearless kick back while Heero received his own. It burnt his hand the instant he touched it. Suspicious eyes turned to the con-turned-shameless-flirt.

"Thanks much, pretty miss."

She obviously didn't seem to care, though, when she flipped out the notepaper again, pen at the ready. Flirtation shields up.

"Are you two ready to order now?"

"Of course," Duo gushed.

He was doing it just to rub him the wrong way, he was sure of it.

Meanwhile, the criminal happily folded up his menu and handed it off. "Give me the breakfast steak, two eggs, sunny-side up, three slices of bacon, an order of sausage, two slices of toast, a tall glass of orange juice, and-Oh yeah, a shortstack with some strawberries, too, sweetie. Got all that?"

The waitress looked sourly at him, also sniffing out the hidden deliberate annoying tone in the brunet's voice and innocent deceit spread across his face. But she only gave him a momentary withering look and dutifully went to the task of writing down all of his selected meal and then turned to Heero with an expectant look that said, 'You'd better not think you're a smart ass as well.' And he returned it with one that sympathized, 'He's a nuisance, I know.'

"And you?"

"Pancakes and hashbrowns, just coffee, thanks."

"Any sausage with that?"

"No," Heero shook his head politely. "No thanks."

The blonde waitress then finished the list of orders with a flourish of her pen and a disinterested look to match, punching the lined green paper on a rotating silver tray of orders. Just past it, they could see glimpses of the kitchen and the single cook who shuffled back and forth with no discernable pattern. She quickly picked up the porcelain plate with steaming slops, order tab slipped underneath, and delivered it out to the booths populated one at a time. While she left, Heero instinctively followed her path with his eyes and soon came across the face of the con man grinning at him.

"What?" Heero asked.

"Nothing," Duo replied.

The bohemian's violet-blue eyes gleamed in a ridiculous ridicule smile at him for an instant, before he quickly snatched up his cup and began chugging animalistically from his black coffee and still managed to keep a certain charm about him. Heero simply snorted in his direction and carefully lifted his own mug.

For another five minutes or so, the two sat in relative peace and quiet, simply listening to the sounds and half-coherent complaints of the truckers to their recently-acquainted buddies and plates clinking and ovens sizzling in the background. There was peace between them. Duo did manage to find another nerve to grind upon, which was easy this early in the morning for a verified non-morning person.

With a strange rhyme and reason, he would casually brush through the condiment tray beside the half-empty ketchup bottle and line up all the coffee creamers. Then organize them by color, mix them up, organize them alphabetically, from French Vanilla to International and Irish Cream, shuffle them up again, and finally line them up according to extension of affection and stack them accordingly. Once he'd stabilized the entire height, he'd swipe his hand through them and knock it over so the creamers scattered like pawed dead mice.

Duo snickered, of course, and Heero tried his best to pay it no mind. Finally, the waitress returned and forced the annoying ritual into extinction.

She handed Heero his plate first, and it gave time for Duo to prepare. Hungrily, he snatched up his fork and such and held them at the ready. And when he received his own, he dug in without hesitation. The poor waitress just rolled her eyes and went to attend to the more important business of finishing her smoke.

After a few moments, Duo finally paused in constantly stuffing his mouth full and glanced over at Heero. He ate quietly and stared down only at his plate like he had nothing behind his blue eyes. The bohemian smiled to himself, took a quick drink of coffee, and set it down again. "Are you really that tired?"

"Yeah," Heero said, taking a drink from his own steaming coffee. "I'm not used to this kind of a schedule."

His eyes ran up and down him for a moment and the good mood dropped away. "So. How much can I trust you? And don't lie."

This caught Heero's attention. Perhaps it had been just the unnatural gumption and grins that had irritated him so much, because as he looked into the much sterner face of the con man Duo Maxwell, it seemed much more sincere and honest, as honest as a criminal's face could have been. He quit eating for a second, and mulled over his words briefly.

"As much as I think I can trust you."

"Hm," Duo grunted amusedly. "Do you really think that's a good decision?"

"I don't," the Japanese man answered honestly. "It may not be a good decision for either of us, actually."

"But here we are."

"Yeah."

The intense violet-blue pigment of the criminal's eyes again caught him off guard, looking at him almost pointedly from over a fork. "You can always turn back if you want. The offer is always there." Was Duo pleading with him? Asking him to go? Then why wouldn't he just say so? He wanted to interject, but those eyes pinned him down and demanded his infinite attention. "Just say the word."

"No thank you, I'm fine," Heero answered, with eyes closed. He turned back forward, taking a long, considerate draw from the warm, bitter coffee to slowly jolt himself awake. Meanwhile, Duo's eyes didn't seem to leave him for at least a few more seconds. After that, the wanted con man returned to his old mood of pleasant grins and dug right back into his breakfast.

It continued like that, in peace and quiet once more, until Heero finished his small pile of unadorned pancakes and finished the last of his black coffee. He indicated that he was headed for the small supply shop at the other end of the diner to his rather unwilling travelmate and left him with strings of egg white hanging out his mouth. Heero pushed the glass door open and listened to the solitary bell overhead. There wasn't a man behind the counter; he was adjusting some items in the window before the daily rush hour of customers, which had to be sometime in two hours or so. The short, dark-skinned man nodded at him, and Heero nodded back. Inside, he strolled around and shortly found what he was looking for. Notebooks.

He bought a thick-bound three-subject notebook, college ruled, of course, and a few reliable-enough pens to write with, since he very well didn't want to borrow Duo's, and paid for it at the counter. The cashier made some short, pleasant small talk with him and they parted on a warm, professional note.

Upon returning to his red barstool beside Duo, he sat down and set his supplies down on the counter beside his empty plate. The fork and spoon were crossed meticulously and suspended on the rim of the porcelain plate; the half-crumpled napkin was placed beneath them. The empty, black-ringed mug sat to the side as well. Once he'd cleaned up sufficiently, Heero turned to look at the con man sitting beside him, noticing that he'd stopped moving and therefore must have finished wolfing down his breakfast.

The plate, littered with sauces and juices and scraps of what had been a mountainous pile of food, sat alone and dirty, the napkin beside it equally stained. Something seemed wrong though. As Heero looked up to Duo's face, he saw that he definitely had quit smiling for the moment. In place of a grin, he had a very grim, dark look about him beneath suspicious eyes. His head was half hung, and his nose twitched ever so unobtrusively back and forth. Sniffing.

"Duo? Is something-"

"Wait," he warned quietly under his breath, eyes flickering up. "Do you smell that? It's gunpowder."

"Gunpowder," he repeated skeptically.

The criminal nodded. "A lot. And it's not me."

Heero took the hint from his travelmate's darkened eyes to keep his tone low and inconspicuous, along with his volume. It seemed essential now that they sound conversational and keep the edges off their voices. "So someone recognized you, then?"

"They must have. Unless the average Joe Trucker always keeps three loaded guns with him."

Another sweep of Heero's blue eyes around the room still produced the same image. Quiet, sleepy truckers enjoying their morning coffee, passing out in their omelets from sleep deprivation. "Are you sure? There's no proof that they're hunting you. No one here is even awake. It could be just a coincidence."

Over the ruse of taking a deep sip of coffee, the violet-blue eyes flashed dangerously at him. "Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'There are no coincidences'?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Heero droned back. "Don't you think-"

Suddenly, the warm weight of the bohemian's hand squeezed down on his own, and Heero suddenly had a newfound attention span. Eyes of hidden spitfire and a twisted mouth lashed back at him. "Don't you think I know what I'm doing? If you didn't happen to know, I've only survived like this for so long because I know exactly when to follow my gut," Duo hissed, still keeping his voice barely audible. Heero flinched, as bohemian warmth shot up the length of his arm and every muscle in its wake tensed.

"You're in my custody now. When I say, 'Run,' you say, 'How fast?'. Got it?"

Amazingly, he'd managed to keep all of his impassioned words well beneath his breath so that only the man who was pulled close to him would ever hear, and would hear those words very, very plainly.

"Understand?" Duo asked, the sharpness of fear never leaving the edges of his eyes. "Heero?"

The Japanese man nodded as the stern hand left and wrapped once more around the ruse of a caffeine-urge. "Good." The criminal glanced around warily, analyzing the faces and constantly twitching his nose.

Heero realized that it was the first time he'd heard the bohemian say his first name without tacking some brash nickname over it, like Traveler. His eyes carefully watched the profile of Duo's face, now furrowed and suspicious, lacking all the pleasantries but none of the raw charm. Angered paranoia didn't become him.

"Let me handle it."

Duo looked back at him, eyes wide, mouth filled with steaming black coffee. "Hmm?"

The expression solidified on the traveler's face. "Head to the truck. If anyone tails you, I'll stop them."

Duo quickly swallowed his beverage and set the porcelain mug down, quirking the unmerited attention of a few men in the shop, unknown to the furtive two seated at the counter. His bright eyes flickered back and forth, testing the traveler's distinctly Asian face for any signs of panic or apprehension, but only found they were stony and half-distant as always. He scowled unpleasantly. "There's no need to put yourself in danger's way just for my sake."

"Same to you." Heero met every ounce of stubbornness with his own.

Duo gave him a disapproving frown for an only a moment, before the traces of a grin broke through to the surface. "You're impossible."

"You're not my idea of cooperation, either."

This struck a humorous nerve somewhere. A bohemian smile flashed in his direction, and Duo boldly kicked back the last drops of coffee. Sliding the mug away, the criminal said, "Fine. Then nail 'em for me."

With that, the warm, benevolent and social traces in the brunet man's face and manners were suddenly replaced with a starkness that was a bit shocking to see for the first time. Every last movement was precise and feral down to the last blink of the eye, all placed carefully in the best interest of survival.

He pushed the empty plate away, rattling the loose silverware, and turned on the barstool before sliding off silently. Heero watched him, scooping up his own coffee, and was a bit in awe of how cold and silent the once bubbling bohemian was as he pushed open the door and slipped into the darkness. It was unnerving, at the least. For a few more moments, after the door swung shut again, there was no movement. Heero watched patiently, taking guarded glances around at each of the faces, but was quick to avoid any eye contact. He had the feeling that a few were getting ready to move, but he hadn't yet pinpointed them.

"Excuse me, sir."

The sound of the waitress's voice pulled his attention around, and saw her standing there with a fresh, round pot of black coffee at the ready, steam pouring from the spout. He waved her off politely and quickly whipped his head around again once she'd strolled off. And cursed to himself.

Two of the truckers seeming had found it convenient to disappear just then, leaving a visible gap in the population. There were scattered bills and coins spilled around the plates of half-eaten, steaming food, two separate tables in all. The tinny bell above the door trilled innocently; the smudged glass door casually swung close. Heero restrained himself from cursing out loud and quickly found himself digging through his pockets. Luckily, he had a twenty-dollar bill and hurriedly stuffed it halfway beneath a porcelain plate. He said, "Keep the change," before stuffing the notebook and pens under his arm and quickly showing himself the to the door.

Duo had ended up making him pay anyway. Insidious con man.

Ahead of him, he could hear the slow, deliberate tread of predacious feet in the darkness. Once he'd turned the corner and slowed in order to walk in necessary silence, he saw a glimpse of clothing disappearing into the lines of sleeping semi-trucks. Since their brief breakfast, the darkened parking lot behind the truck stop had filled with the looming dark shapes of vehicles from end to end. The humbleness of the dark Isuzu was easy to spot besides the towering semi-trucks, though it was obvious the bounty hunters were uncertain as to which was Duo's. As for the charming bohemian, he'd long disappeared into the cover of night. There was no need to worry about that. He was certain Duo could hide himself well enough, with those Machiavellian eyes of his, but his ability to defend himself was what Heero was concerned with. Losing his subject simply wasn't acceptable at this point.

Heero waited until he was sure enough, a split-second at the most, and began to stalk down the bounty hunters' paths. That's what they had to be. Where'd he last seen them, they were nearly six trucks away from Duo's, but they seemed to be able enough to track Duo himself and probably didn't know which was his truck.

He quietly crossed the parking lot and caught a glimpse of the hunters' feet beneath the trucks and hid one down from them. Before they could turn the corner and spot him, he ducked under a grungy-looking white semi, crouching just beside the large spare tire suspended beneath it. He put his hand against it and looked out again. There were two, one wearing high, dark leather boots and another in jean-covered sneakers, each treading quietly. Beyond that, it was too dark to see if he could spot Duo's own feet, but that may have been a good thing. He put his thick, red notebook on the spare tire to retrieve later and slipped out silently, always watching the pair of feet ahead of him.

Another thing he'd failed to think of was the possibility of guns. Duo was a criminal, and more times than not, criminals had weapons, so it would be only natural to bring your own if you were hunting one. Heero had sufficient training in self-defense that he could stop any full-grown, unarmed man, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to dodge a few bullets from a semi-automatic, let alone three as Duo had claimed.

But then again, he doubted Duo could, either. And that was his motivation, wasn't it?

So in the darkness, pierced only by the distant white lights, he slunk up to the side of the next looming semi-truck, hiding his feet behind the wheels and listening. The hunters shuffled on the other side, tracking their prey. He could hear traces of conversation, the men whispering between each other with less than absolute confidence. So, they couldn't find him, huh? That thought brought a momentary smile to Heero's face, but he dropped it when one of the hunters gave a short victorious grunt, whispering, "That's him!"

"Good, but do you think what the police said was true? He's a-"

"Hey! You're not backing out on me now, are you?"

"No, John."

"Good. On the count of three, then."

Heero scowled, and quickly pressed his back to the cold metal, readying himself. He slunk silently around the back end, tiptoeing through patches of dirt-brown slush and avoiding all noise, still intently listening for the scuffs of the bounty hunters' movements.

"Three…"

Heero narrowed his eyes and took a last deep breath before he whirled around the corner.

"Two…" The taller of the two men, a sharply-cut man of mixed southern European descent, said to his long time friend and college acquaintance. Slightly pudgy and marked with fear by the lines of sweat dripping down the side of his face, he nodded and raised the two semi-automatics he wielded. This more inexperienced man with dark features pressed his back tightly against the cold metal and carefully watched his friend's face for reassuring qualities. Confidence, bravado, unlike his unsettling nerves. He'd never actually hunted another man, especially such notorious prey as they had. But his comrade was stony-faced and self-assured.

"Now!" John whispered, jerking to round the truck and corner their bounty while his partner would go the other direction and create a trap.

"Thanks for the countdown, boys."

The men only had time to grunt in surprise at the whispery, sinuous voice hanging above their ears before rough and capable arms cut off their mouths and hauled them silently into the air.

And he found himself faced with a span of very empty, cold and wet blacktop. Heero fully had expected a pair of less-than-affable men with weapons to give him startled looks followed by hateful glares and volleys of bullets, but found nothing. Not only was it surprising, and a bit unnerving, but also very much physically impossible. Even if the hunters had found some inexplicable reason to suddenly flee, Heero was certain he'd be able to hear their footsteps or glimpse them as they left. He crept forward and glanced around warily, suddenly feeling the urge for a weapon. There was a dangerous presence around him. Or it could have just been paranoia.

A few doubts were cleared up when the man in the high leather boots suddenly pitched down from the sky and fell at Heero's feet, but he was still radically confused. The man, obviously unconscious, lay facedown in a thin puddle of oil and water, with large red gashes and bruises along his head. Which of the many, only a few seemed to be from impact. Heero quickly pried the gun away from his pudgy fingers and lifted it when he whipped his head around to determine where the raining man had come from. That's when he heard the sounds of struggle cry out; a wail of pain from what sounded to be the sneaker-wearing bounty hunter.

On the top of the semi-truck, set against the blackness of the early morning sky, he saw the disheveled top of "John" seemingly scampering away from another person in desperation, one whom Heero couldn't see from his standpoint. A flurry of footsteps followed, loud on the metal roof, and the bounty hunter cried out in pain, trying to lash out at his attacker. He lost that scuffle, apparently, because his pair of identical black guns scattered to the ground, landing on top of his unfortunate friend. Heero ducked when the guns fell from the sky, and quickly decided to step back for a better view.

But it was unnecessary. It was already over. A lashing foot whirled from the right and caught him in the face, sprawling him to the top of the truck. The eyes of the bounty hunter were rolled under, as his head lolled off the edge of the roof with blood spilling openly from his nose and mouth. Heero winced and looked up to the victorious party, standing there and panting.

Duo surveyed the damaged and looked to Heero, displaying a victorious smirk. "Well, glad you finally decided to come along. Things were getting a little boring around here."

"Sarcasm noted," Heero said flatly. "It seems you didn't need any of my help."

"Well, I appreciated the offer at least."

"However useless it may have been?" Heero asked skeptically, giving a challenging look to the jaunty bohemian on the top of the truck. The criminal's face was pale and defiantly charming in the shadows above, grinning so that his teeth looked sharp and almost wicked.

"Pessimist," Duo teased him with a smile. "What good does it do to think like that, huh?"

Heero shot him a flat, unamused look, still holding the cold metal of the weapon in his hand with the unconscious bounty hunter lying behind him. Meanwhile, the lanky-looking criminal strolled up to the other and flashed him another smile of victory that he did not see. "Alright mister, surely you have some gifts for me. I just hope I haven't caused you to bleed all over them." He laughed to himself. "Pity. And that looked like such a nice flannel shirt, too."

He quickly hunched down onto his rather healthy haunches and frisked through his jacket and pockets with skills clearly polished over the course of many years and managed to pull a significant wad of money out and put it in his own pocket. After doing so, he smiled insolently and patted the unconscious man's cheek as if he were thanking him for his generosity. Heero frowned up at him, and watched the shadow of a man slip down from the top of the semi-truck. Duo landed silently a few feet away from him and stood up and simply dusted off his pristine dark clothes, also flattening his shoulder length hair.

"What?" Duo said, when he looked up and discovered Heero standing stone still, regarding him with a sharp eye. He sighed outright at the expression and seriousness seeped into his tone again.

"Alright. It's time to decide, traveler. I tried my damnedest to warn you what would happen if you hung around, but you declined. If you don't hop off the sinwagon now, it'll be nearly impossible later on." The power in his violet-blue eyes didn't diminish either, in the dim contrast of distant glowing lights and very real shadows. In fact, it was stronger. They almost seemed to glow unnaturally.

"So, what's it gonna be?"

It didn't take more than a few moment's consideration for Heero find a very fitting answer. He turned around, facing the unconscious lump of a man, and snatched up the two other guns from off his back. With the greatest elegance, the Japanese man shoved them into Duo's hands and knew it would suffice.

"Well, say no more." Duo smiled. "Let's get the fuck out of here."