Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ True Calling ❯ Odin ( Chapter 3 )

TRUE CALLING

CHAPTER THREE:

ODIN

x.x.x.x.x.x

Duo left the church soon after supper. Helen pleaded with him to stay the night, always trying to maintain peace in the household, but he declined. It wasn't because of what happened over dinner. Father Maxwell and he didn't always see eye to eye. They had their differences, whether over God, life, death and many others things. After all, they were different people, with various views on life. Though they never quarreled like children. They had calm, sometimes passionate, debates; speaking about their different opinions. Even as a child Duo spoke very decisively and maturely about his beliefs.

He remembered sitting on the dark-green carpet in Father Maxwell's study, speaking his mind confidently about anything at all. There was always a warm, proud look in the Priest's eyes as he watched him speak. It made Duo feel important, like what he thought really did matter. Even when he spoke about his reasons for not believing in God, the Priest listened. He never pushed him to believe otherwise; he merely told Duo why he did believe in the Lord. They could go on for hours, speaking well into the night until Sister Helen would timidly step into the den and remind them that a certain little boy had to go to school in the morning.

No. Father Maxwell was not the reason he'd left. The argument over dinner was just an excuse. The real reason was his job. He didn't quit school so he could have extra hours to do nothing. He dropped out of high school so he could work. He worked so he could raise money for the orphanage, for his family. Aside for waitering at Star Cup, where he now worked two shifts a day, he had a night shift in a local mechanic workshop.

The 'Shop worked twenty-four hours a day since it was the only licensed garage still open on the colony. The rest had been bankrupt. Mr. Cortez, his employer, had survived in the market by tooth and nail. He was a hard, bulky man who always wore a dirty white tank top covered with grease. He smelled of sweat and had two teeth missing. He was the kind of man who stepped on people on his way to the so-called "top". He was sneaky and sometimes cruel, which was what one had to be in order to survive in the L2 market. Duo didn't like him very much, the man disgusted him, but he paid well so he learned not to care.

He stumbled upon this job by pure chance. Cortez worked with the black market, and it wasn't rare when he needed someone to make a delivery that no one would notice. He was snooping around Duo's school in search for some teens who wanted easy cash. Duo was the first to agree. Most of the people in need for money had already dropped out of school and only the wealthy remained. Duo was the obvious choice, though Cortez never knew that.

He stayed in school and worked for Star Cup, only doing some small errands for Cortez from time to time. The money was good, and the work was relatively easy. All he had to do was go back to the Streets again, entering the shadows to extract "the goods", as Cortez dubbed the shipments.

Sometimes Duo hung around The 'Shop for a while longer, fascinated by the machinery around him. He watched Cortez's men rebuild cars and shuttle engines out of scraps. He watched and learned, skipping school more and more as time progressed. After a month or two of watching, one of the mechanics let him assemble a simple piece of machinery. When he succeeded, very quickly and efficiently, the men cheered. Cortez found out about his talented delivery boy and offered him a job.

"Ya'll hang out with Bobby here for a while, learn what ya can and then we'll see, huh? Wha'dya say?" He asked with a wink, offering Duo a greasy hand.

Looking at that offered hand; Duo knew that he couldn't stay in school anymore. After he shook that hand, he never stepped in the school grounds again. He began working for Cortez, learning as he worked, slowly becoming one of his best men. He had a nick for mechanics and the wits for any technological equipment. None of the men in The 'Shop knew how to operate the advanced computer systems they were asked to install in various machines. Late at night, Duo activated the Operating Systems and had a look here and there. He didn't understand much, but he was fascinated.

Stepping into The 'Shop, he was greeted by the acrid smell of welding metal and grease. The 'Shop was a small garage with a large scrap yard, which was behind Mr. Cortez's house, in the Latin Quarter of L2. Duo knew most of the people in the Quarter from their Sunday visits to the church. They were mostly good people, some very religious, but Cortez was not one of them. He was thankful that the man never went to Sunday Mass, where Father Maxwell had a chance to meet him.

The sound of metal being forged and struck by hammers filled the air, along with the screeching of machinery, chainsaws and other heavy equipment. Eduardo and Roberto (AKA Ed and Bobby) were working in the yard on what looked like a giant arm, probably a mobile suit arm. Now that OZ were slowly taking over the colony, Duo wouldn't be surprised if Cortez signed some fat contracts with the military. After all, there was no one else on the colony that had the equipment and men power to fix their heavy machines of war.

"Maxwell! Glad yer here!" Cortez called from across The 'Shop, where his shabby office stood. "Come over here!"

With a tired sigh, Duo complied. He was after a twelve hour shift at Star Cup - six AM to six PM, a dinner gone wrong with Father Maxwell, and his shift at The 'Shop ended at two AM. The night was still long and he was so tired...

"Yes Mr. Cortez?" He said as cheerfully as he could - and he was good at faking it - as he entered the office. "What is it?"

The fat man known as Mr. Cortez was sitting sweating in his leather chair, smoking a cigar. He flashed a toothless smile at Duo as he entered the office. "Sit down." He grumbled with his permanently hoarse voice, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk.

Duo did as told, noticing two things on his way. First, there was an OZ flag hanging on the wall behind the man's desk - something that wasn't there before. He wasn't surprised. Cortez was just the type to be brainwashed by cheap and insidious propaganda. He'd follow any popular faction blindly. He probably didn't even know what kind of organization he was supporting. Despite his ignorance, he would most certainly become a fanatic supporter. The flag was just the beginning.

The second thing Duo noticed were two young men standing in the room, leaning against the wall. He eyed them warily as he sat down.

They were both young, around his age, and they were both wearing OZ uniforms. Duo's eyes narrowed. They looked younger than the other soldiers he'd seen so far, plus they one had a sergeant rank and the other was a corporal. It was strange.

The sergeant was African, with dark skin and a short, military haircut. He had a hard and angry expression, his eyes darker than death itself. He was standing rigidly by the wall, shoulders tense, head held high and his arms crossed over his chest.

The soldier next to him was far more relaxed. He was about a head shorter than his African partner, his fair white skin a distinctive contrast to the other. He had fine golden hair which gave him quite a boyish look. His aqua-marine eyes were soft and kind. Duo couldn't help but thinking - good cop, bad cop.

"There's a delivery I want'ya ta make." Cortez's grumpy voice spoke up, drawing Duo's attention. He turned around to face his boss.

"Sure. Where to?"

Cortez was about to open his mouth and answer, when the sergeant stepped forward and slammed his fists on the table. He glared harshly at Cortez with meancing eyes.

"Keep your mouth shut, you fat old fuck! What makes you think we can trust him!?" He hissed dangerously, turning an icy glare towards Duo.

"He's my best man. There's nothing he won't fetch ya!" Cortez said calmly, almost amused. He was looking the solider in the eye without even flinching.

There was a short glaring contest before the soldier pulled back. He circled Duo's chair, eyeing him like filth.

"Where you from, white-boy?" He asked tauntingly.

From the corner of his eyes, Duo could see the blond soldier shift uncomfortably from side to side. It looked like Good Cop didn't like the way Bad Cop was handling things. Duo rolled his eyes mentally. Good Cop seemed too much of a wuss to say anything about it.

"I'm from around here." He finally answered, looking at Bad Cop with a fool's smile. It was better to act dumb when facing such characters.

Bad Cop snorted, annoyed. "Be a smartass and you won't live to regret it." He said, reaching for the pistol tucked in his belt.

Duo eyed the weapon for a few seconds, remembering the feeling of the homeless boy's gun against his head. He reconsidered his course of action.

"I'm nobody, really. I live downtown in this crappy old room and I work here. That's all." He said, trying to sound honest. He will never mention the church. Not the church. He will never endanger the church.

Bad Cop glared at him, but didn't say anything. Good Cop took a step forward, clearing his throat as if to announce his entry to the conversation.

"I apologize for my partner's rudeness," he said softly, approaching Duo, "This matter is extremely top secret. We cannot afford any slipups."

"We?" Duo echoed, raising an eyebrow.

The blond boy smiled gently. His smile too kind for an OZ soldier. "OZ, of course."

"Right." Duo said, smiling widely. Inside, he was full of distrust. Why would OZ make a deal in the shadows with a guy like Cortez? He was sure the army made every deal with organized contracts. He was certain that a few of those signed contracts were already sitting inside Cortez's drawer. Why would they need to buy parts from the black market?

Cortez might be blinded by money, but he was not fooled by a simple pair of uniforms. Something fishy was going on.

"See? The kid's all right!" Cortez called cheerfully, twisting his cigar in his mouth. "You'll get yer money's worth, that's for sure!"

Bad Cop glared and growled in annoyance, probably thinking how to kill the fat man on the chair. Good Cop just smiled sheepishly and nodded. He pulled a thick envelop from his inner jacket and threw it to the table.

"This is the advance. You'll get the rest when we'll see the parts."

Cortez smiled greedily and was already counting the money. "Sure, sure," he said, distracted by bills, "the kid will take ya outside and take the list from ya. Ye'll get the parts in no time."

With a heavy sigh, Duo got up and dragged himself out of the room. The two soldiers followed, and he could feel Bad Cop's glare drill a hole in his back. He was relieved when Good Cop took charge of the rest of the deal, giving him the list of parts and location for the delivery.

"We need the parts ready as soon as possible." Good Cop said, looking him intensely. "And remember, this is top secret."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Duo said hurriedly, his eyes skimming over the list he was handed. It was like he suspected, it was a list of Mobile Suit parts. Some pretty rare electronic boards, optical fibers, delicate joints and a few items that were probably a part some advanced hydraulic system. He had most of the stuff in the safe, but the hydraulics he'll have to fetch from the black market.

After skimming through the list, he looked up at Good Cop. "Give me two days."

The blond nodded. "Very well. I will see you then."

"Let's get the Hell out of here." Bad Cop grumbled, glaring at Duo. He had been standing next to the blond, like a bodyguard ready for battle. His hateful gaze was both disturbing and annoying at the same time. Annoying, because it made Duo want to punch the guy in the face just to wipe that expression away. Disturbing, because the soldier's eyes were too cold and too dark. Like death. He couldn't wait to have the guy out of his sight.

He looked up at the two and wore his best joker mask. "You guys can go. I'll take care of everything from here."

The blond corporal considered him for a second more, before he nodded and turned to leave.

Bad Cop gave Duo another hateful glare before whirling around on his heels and stomping away.

x.x.x.x.x.x

When the pain subsided, leaving his body a limp wreck of shuddering nerves, he lay in silence, watching the night. He was still curled inside his shabby shelter, the water soaking the cardboard 'roof' dripping onto his cheeks in icy drops. Each time a chilly drop landed on his face, he blinked, reminded of reality. His blue eyes were staring blindly ahead, gazing numbly at the dumpster before him. He was barely even breathing, his body so terribly exhausted from the seizure.

The streets were silent in this late hour. He supposed that it was well past midnight. Daybreak was too far away and all he could do was lie there and wait for it. He couldn't go back to sleep. If he'll close his eyes again, the letters would be back. He tried to keep his mind blank, but sometimes a picture of the man would float behind his eyes, smiling at him with the warmth he'd lost so long ago.

Odin Lowe was the only father he ever knew, despite the fact that he was not his real father. He was an assassin who worked for anyone who was willing to pay the right price. He didn't remember how he came to be with Odin, or who he was before the man took him as a young protégée. Odin was the only adult he could remember taking care of him. He knew he was not his father. He rarely acted like one, at least in the beginning. What kind of father would teach a four-year-old to handle a weapon? What kind of father would use a little boy's shooting talent as an aid to his hideous assassination jobs? He was four and a half when he made his first kill, without even knowing what killing someone meant. After that first shot, when he saw the body fall to the ground, his innocence began to shatter. He began to understand what it meant to take someone's life. He began hating himself then, always feeling like a bad little boy who deserved punishment.

Still, he did it all for Odin. The man was the dearest thing to his young heart. Despite the man's many faults, he loved him. And in a way, though he never admitted it, the man loved him back. He knew it without being told. He felt it in the man's timid caress, a hesitant hand petting his hair when he was injured from a mission. He saw it in the man's proud eyes whenever he managed to learn something new. He heard it in the man's voice when he 'pretended to pretend' (as the boy called it) to be his father on missions, speaking to him like a father should, without much of pretending.

But Odin Lowe died when he was eight years old. That was seven years ago, a lifetime passed since that day. A lifetime spend mostly on the streets of one colony or another. He never tried to turn for help in an orphanage or something of the likes. He knew he couldn't. No one would accept a little boy who knew only how to kill in order to please someone, in order to be loved.

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Oh no! He'd been thinking again!

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He clenched his eyes shut, trying to shove the pain away. He didn't mean to start thinking again! He didn't mean to!

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A wave of images suddenly flooded his brain, shattering on the shores of his consciousness in a painful splatter. A lab. A needle. Men in white coats.

Odin was shouting: 'NOOOO!!!!!'

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The boy groaned silently and clutched his fists over his ears. He shrunk into a fetal position, breathing hard. There were bright lights dancing in his head, from above him. He was lying on a cold metal bed. More needles.

'Leave him alone!'

Run. He had to run. Always run. Always run and always hide.

'Never forget... what I taught you... what I... what I told you before we parted...'

Odin was dead. He was dead. He was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead...

A noise came from the street. The boy jerked with a gasp and became very still. He slowly brought his hands down from his ears, listening.

A car slowly drove into the alley.

The boy held his breath, his eyes wide with fear.

The tires grazed against the wet asphalt, filling the alley with a silent scrapping noise. It slowly came to a stop just a few feet from the dumpster. The boy curled deeper into himself, trying to hide better behind the dumpster. He calmed his breathing as much as the pain in his head allowed him, trying to disappear from existence. A car in an alleyway in the middle of the night was not a good sign.

There was silence for a long while. The boy waited breathlessly, the loud sound of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

A few minutes later, another car rolled silently into the alley, from the opposite directions. Its headlights washed the alley as it turned, reaching the shadows behind the dumpster. For a moment they skimmed over him.

The car stopped in front of the first, cutting the engine and turning off the lights. There was silence. Then, someone came out of the first car, slamming the door behind him. The boy could see his shiny black boots through a small gap under the dumpster. He followed the boots as they approached the other car. He couldn't see the car, but he heard a window being lowered down, buzzing quietly.

"It's confirmed," One voice said, probably the person standing by the car. "Zero One is dead."

There was a sigh, and then: "I was afraid so," an old man with a scratchy voice replied, "Have you found any of the former candidates?"

"We're working on it sir." The other replied roughly. By the sound of his voice, the boy assumed that he was strong. He sounded like a soldier.

"Such a shame..." the old man muttered, "But he was never what we needed."

"OZ has the upper hand now. The Gundams were badly damaged and were forced into hiding."

---- ^011Χ00▼╪∂↓010 ----

The Gundams!?

"Any words from the other pilots?"

"We believe they're back in space, sir. Probably in the L2 area."

"It's an obvious place for hiding. It wouldn't be long before OZ found out."

"The best place to hide is right under the enemy's nose, sir."

The old man sighed. "And that's why we're here, isn't it?" He muttered.

Were they part of the rebelling colonist? He shouldn't be listening to this... he'll get into trouble... he shouldn't be here... he shouldn't be here... There was something... something he had to run from...

His head began to ache again, the pain coming back with a vengeance. He closed his eyes tight and tried to escape it. The pain only grew sharper, tearing a helpless moan from his lips. He froze.

"What was that?" The strong man suddenly snapped.

The boy flung a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Did you hear something?"

"It sounded like a whimper."

The boy held his breath. It was too quiet. His heart began to beat faster. His blue eyes shifted frantically from side to side, trying to see the black boots.

Nothing. Just silence.

And then the cardboard above him was tossed aside in one swift movement. He jumped up, startled.

The man looked at him with sharp dark eyes, a deep frown on his face. He sighed. "It's just some homeless kid, J."

The boy lay still, unable to move even if he wanted to. His frightened eyes gazed up at the man, wide with shock. The letters in his head began to swirl wildly as a response to his sudden distress. It was hard to think with the pain drilling in his head.

"It doesn't matter," the old man muttered with a sigh, "He might sell the information to OZ." There was a pause before he added: "Kill him."

That useless survival instinct kicked in as soon as the old man said the words. The boy jumped up and without thinking, tackled the man to the ground.

The letters spun wildly, making him dizzy. He heard the man yelp as he crashed onto the cold asphalt.

"What the--" He called, jumping back to his feet.

The boy didn't wait for the rest of the sentence. He began to run.

"Go after him, you fool!" The old man shouted.

The boy ran faster, bursting out of the alley. He could hear the man running behind him. He looked left and right, panting. He chose right and continued to run, shoving a hand into his trench coat to retrieve the gun.

BANG!

The man beat him to it. The bullet past only a few inches from his left ear, whistling loudly as it cut through the air. It hit the road just a meter ahead of him. He ran faster.

BANG!

Another shot was fired. And another. He ducked his head between his shoulders, while struggling to keep his feet moving. The frostbites on his feet hurt like shards of glass digging into his flesh. He winced as he ran, clutching the gun harder. It was useless. He didn't have any bullets. The gun was only for intimidation, and he knew that it will not work on the man.

BANG!

Another shot missed him by an inch or two. He ran into an alley, nearly stumbling down as he made a sharp turn.

"There's nowhere to run, you little piece of shit!" The man screamed, running after him into the alley.

He knew that. He knew that! But he had to! He promised Odin! He promised he would never let them catch him! He promised! He had to run! He had to run! Faster! Faster! FASTER!!!!

x.x.x.x.x.x

He finished all of his work by 01:38 AM. He had spent his entire shift preparing the new delivery. For that, he had to go back to the Streets, making a few visits to some illegal merchants he knew. He had many acquaintances on the Streets. Kids he used to scavenge for food with were now gang leaders and crime masters. He didn't like to call in old favors, but when work demanded it, he did. They were familiar with him and they trusted him. He disliked them because they reminded him of the old times, of his previous life, the Hell he lived through before the church. Those people were still a part of that Hell. They made him uncomfortable.

The deals were done quickly. He made the order, paid the advance and promised to be back tomorrow night to take the "goods". When he returned to The 'Shop, Cortez was nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping in his office. Bobby said he could leave a bit earlier, he promised it would 'be cool' and winked at him. Exhausted, Duo smiled tiredly and thanked him. He was out of The 'Shop by 01:45, walking away from the Latin Quarter towards his building Downtown. It was a forty minute walk, and he dragged his feet tiredly, his mind half asleep as he walked.

Somehow, through the waking dream of his tired mind, a sound registered. Footsteps. Running footsteps.

He stopped, looking around.

The footsteps were approaching faster.

He turned, looking behind him at the road. A running figure emerged behind a curve.

Duo narrowed his eyes, trying to see better in the dark. The figure was running towards him, a bit wobbly. He guessed it was a drunk, a junky, or someone who didn't have anymore strength to run.

He wouldn't be surprised if it was just another gang fight between some junkies. L2 was full of gang fights. The best thing was to just stay out of it. Rolling his eyes, Duo turned back and continued walking.

BANG!

A shot was fired from a distance, making Duo jump. He stopped, without turning to watch. He could hear another set of footsteps, probably the person who just fired. He didn't bother to take a look, and slowly continued walking. He walked closed to the buildings' side, trying to remain out of sight.

Just as he was swallowed by the shadows, the running figure streaked past him, running down the road.

Duo stopped, eyes wide.

The figure that just ran past him had a long trench coat flapping behind him and brand-new mustard shoes.

The boy!

He didn't even have to tell his legs to start running, they just did. In a second, he was running side to side with the boy. He could hear the boy's harsh panting. He could see the fear on his pale features. The boy looked at him with tired and dull blue eyes. Duo assumed that the boy had been running for quite a while, and was on the brink of collapsing.

"C'mon!" He called, making a sharp turn towards an alley, "Follow me!" He ran faster, without stopping to make sure that the boy was following him. He didn't have time to convince the boy that he meant no harm. He hoped that the boy would trust him.

When he ran into the alley, he could hear the boy's footsteps behind him. He was running a bit slower, having a hard time to catch up.

"C'mon!" Duo called, panting. He grabbed the boy's hand - it was completely frozen from the cold - and dragged him onwards. He didn't want the boy to collapse.

The chaser was still after them, just entering the alley.

"STOP!" He screamed, and then a shot was fired. It hit the building's wall right next to Duo.

He could feel the boy slow down again and he had to pull him harder. The boy was reaching his limit, panting harshly and coughing.

"Just a bit longer!" Duo encouraged, squeezing the boy's hand. He dragged him through three more alleys and then out into an empty street. The chaser was still in pursuit, but he had stopped firing.

Duo forced his body onwards. He too was about to reach his limit.

He could see his destination getting close. The OZ Command Post was just a few dozen meters away.

Their chaser began to slow down as he too noticed the building.

The two boys continued to run, Duo dragging the other with him. The homeless boy was stumbling on his feet, unable to keep himself going.

Duo looked up at the OZ building. There was a guard standing in a small guard-post at the entrance of the building, armed with a rifle. Though he was standing, he seemed to be sleeping, his head lying limply to the side.

"Hey!" Duo called at him as they approached.

The guard looked up, jerking awake.

Duo smiled widely when he heard the chaser stop running.

He flashed a wide grin at the guard as he ran past him. "No sleeping on the job, ehy?" He teased and continued running.

The guard blinked, confused, before smiling at him. "Yeah, thanks." He said, shaking his head. He resumed position, holding his rifle closer to his chest.

Duo nodded at him and continued to run down the street. Their chaser had long disappeared into a shadowy alley. He slowed down, loosening his hold on the boy's hand. After a few more meters he slowed his running into a normal pace of walking. He was panting hard, but the boy was breathing harder. He turned to look at him, slowing down so they were walking side by side.

The boy didn't look at him. He walked slowly by his side, his mouth wide open as he struggled to catch his breath. His cheeks were flushed a bright red, sweat trickling down his temples. His shoulder-length hair was a mess, and his ski hat had fallen somewhere along the way. Long bangs clung to his sweaty forehead, obscuring his eyes.

"Hey, are you all right?" Duo asked softly, reaching for the boy's hand again.

The boy pulled away, jerking his hand out of reach.

Duo didn't try to touch him again. He guided him to an entrance of a building, leaning on the banister of a small staircase. The boy slumped tiredly onto the stairs, panting. He leaned his whole body forward, leaning on his knees, his head bowed so that his hair hid his face. He began coughing loudly.

Slowly, carefully, Duo sat beside him. He watched him silently for a while, letting him catch his breath. A few minutes later, the boy was still panting, although a bit calmer.

"Are you all right?" Duo asked again, looking at him with deep concern.

The boy coughed, slowly looking up at him. His cheeks were still a blushing red, and there was a feverish look in his terrified blue eyes.

Duo was about to reach a hand to him when the boy's eyes slowly rolled back and his body slumped forward. He fainted, collapsing on top of Duo.

x.x.x.x.x.x

He couldn't just leave him out on the streets. It was never an option. Once he got over the initial shock of watching the boy faint in his arms, he gathered his wits back together and got up. Carefully, gently, he lifted the boy into his arms. He wasn't surprised how light the boy was. Despite the bulky appearance the trench coat gave him, Duo knew how skinny he was. He remembered seeing the boy's slender body shake in the cold when he had been whoring himself on the streets, dressed in practically nothing. However, even without that memory, the boy's hollow cheeks were enough of a proof.

His apartment building - a rat's lair more like it - was just a few blocks away. It was not a long walk, so he didn't mind carrying the boy with him. He hoisted the unconscious teen over his shoulders in a Fireman's carry, holding him tight.

His apartment was more of a room than an actual apartment. There wasn't much space to move about. There was a bedroom, a tiny counter that was a mockery of a kitchen, a small window and a mini bathroom. The only pieces of furniture in the room were the couch - where he slept, a small table and a chair. The walls were bear, the paint coming off. It wasn't messy; he only came here to sleep for about three and a half hours a night before he had to go back to work. His life was a boring and exhausting routine of working a lot and sleeping a little.

With a heavy sigh, Duo placed the unconscious boy on the sofa in a sitting position. He gently peeled the trench coat off him, wrinkling his nose at the stanch it carried. He reeked of cigarettes, filth and sweat. He was burning with fever, a layer of moist perspiration on his pale features.

Carefully, he lowered the boy down, laying his head gently onto a soft pillow. He walked to his pitiful excuse of a kitchen and returned with a bowl of water and a kitchen towel. He knelt by the sofa and took a deep breath, just looking at the boy. The boy's features were blank in sleep, neither peaceful nor tormented. His cheeks were blushed with fever.

Taking a deep breath, Duo mumbled a small apology and began taking the boy's clothes off. He undressed him slowly, tossing his dirty red sweater to the floor, followed by two sweatshirts and a sweat-soaked tank top. Now that the boy's torso was exposed he could see how thin he was. He was practically famished, the outlines of his ribs clearly showing under a pale layer of skin.

Duo swallowed, shaken by the sight. He forced himself to look away and proceeded in taking the boy's shoes off. His feet smelled. Underneath his torn socks were hideous red and blue frostbites. The sight shook him even more. The boy ran through half of L2 with terribly wounded feet. His eyes watered at the thought.

"Damn it." He muttered, shaking his head in an attempt to stop the tears. What this boy had been through was nearly too much for him to bear.

He got up, his tired body feeling twice as heavy than usual, and went to the bathroom. On his way, he turned on a small portable heater. He returned from the bathroom with a small first-aid kit. Sister Helen insisted he'd take it when he left the church.

Kneeling by the sofa, he turned to remove the boy's trousers. He was wearing a pair of baggy black pants, which were four times his size. They were held by an old leather belt. Duo unbuckled the belt and pulled the trousers down, discovering another pair of pants, a simple brand of sweatpants.

The boy coughed, his body jumping up a little. Duo pulled back, looking at him with wide eyes. When he was certain that the boy was not waking up, he breathed in relief and removed the two pairs of pants. The last thing he needed was explaining his actions to a distrustful homeless boy. He was sure that the boy wouldn't understand that all he wanted was to help him.

With his clothes piled up on the floor, the boy now lay on the sofa wearing a simple pair of dirty boxers. His bony figure looked small and vulnerable lying motionless on the couch. Duo's heart ached at the sight, though he had seen worse in the past. There was a time he looked the same.

Before he opened the first aid kit, Duo noticed another piece of fabric that was not removed. It was a dirty, makeshift bandage wrapped around the boy's left wrist. Frowning, Duo nudged the bandage, slowly prying it away from the skin. It wasn't soaked with blood, just dirt. He slowly untied the knot that held it together and removed it.

At first, he didn't see a wound, but when he turned the boy's arm for examination; he noticed an ugly collection of scars on his inner wrist. Some of the scars were old, some were relatively fresh. It looked like self mutilation, like the boy cut himself on purpose. But it didn't look like a scar caused by a suicide attempt. If the boy wanted to kill himself, he would have surely done it and no one would've stopped or helped him. The scars didn't even cut across the main artery. They seemed like random scratches cutting deep into the flesh.

Duo didn't understand them, but that didn't stop him from tending the wounds. He cleaned the scars with some disinfectant and wrapped a fresh white bandage around them. When he finished with the wrist, he tended the frostbites on the boy's feet. He smeared some antibiotic salve over them and bandaged both feet. He also soaked the towel he brought with some lukewarm water and carefully washed the boy's dirty skin. The towel was nearly black by the time he finished.

He brought a new cloth, this time soaking it with cooler water. He placed it gently on the boy's burning forehead.

Rising to his feet, Duo placed a thick quilt over the boy, covering him tightly. The boy's head sunk deeper into the pillow, lulling aside. His features seemed calmer now, the blank expression replaced by serene sleep. That was a good sign. It meant the boy had slipped from a state of unconsciousness into a healthy sleep. Hopefully his fever will go down by daybreak.

With a tired sigh, Duo scooped the boy's dirty clothes from the floor and made his way to the bathroom. He removed everything from the coat's pockets and threw the clothes into the bathtub. He opened the tap, letting it fill with water, while he went to fetch the boy some fresh clothing.

The rest of the night he spent washing the boy's clothes, cooking him some rice with vegetables and changing the cloth on his forehead when it became too warm. He didn't sleep a minute, beside a few times he nodded off while waiting for the rice to boil. At five thirty AM he changed into his waiter uniforms and left to work, leaving the boy to sleep soundly and heal.

x.x.x.x.x.x

The boy woke up to a feeling of warmth, which was extremely unusual. Was The Winter over?

No. that wasn't it. He was covered with a blanket, thick, soft and warm around his body. Why? Was he dead? Did the man kill him? Did they catch him? They weren't supposed to! He... he ran away, didn't he? Odin would be so angry if he knew... he promised never to let them catch him. He promised Odin! He promised him! Just before he died, he promised him...

'Kid, this might sound... a bit... weird, but... there are... there are some bad people... some bad people who'll come after you once I'm gone...' Odin whispered, coughing. Blood trickled down his chin.

'No, Odin... please don't leave yet...' he whispered back, crying. 'I'll secure an escape route... we can go home... right?'

Odin just smiled, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tight. There was more blood on his chin after he coughed. 'You'll have to hide, kid. You'll have to hide from them... I'm so sorry I couldn't... couldn't protect you from them...'

The men in the white coats? He thought it was just a dream... when he told Odin about them he said it was just a nightmare. That it never happened... Did they really use the big needle on him? It hurt so much in the dreams... was that real?

--- Ω℮0011110∫∩∟≈≠≡≤ ---

-- 01¡ª»¾╪111≥⌂⌐Y 92;⌡─│∞╟╠ --

- ΏΞЋΩΦΧ00001110111000010 -

The boy flinched from the sudden pain, jerking awake once again. He'd fallen asleep without noticing. His eyes snapped open, blue orbs still hazy with fever. He stared at the ceiling until it came out of focus. He blinked, only then realizing that there was a roof above him. He was indoors, lying on a soft bed. Not cold metal, but soft and warm. Where was he?!

He looked around, turning his head against the pillow. It's been years since he'd last slept in a bed. The last time he had been lying on clean sheets covered with blankets was when Wanda made a deal with one of her regular 'customers'. Instead of paying her money, she asked the customer to let the boy sleep in the room the man rented after he was done with her. That was almost four years ago.

But that was no motel room. It was someone's apartment. His jumbled memory slowly reconstructed itself, reminding him of last night's events. The car. The meeting in the alley. The chase. The shots fired at him. The burning feeling in his lungs. The braided waiter. He helped him. He was sitting beside him on the steps and then... black. He must have passed out.

This was probably the waiter's apartment.

The boy sighed, slumping back into the pillow. He threw a hand over his eyes, trying not to think. Things were getting complicated again, the green letters clapped happily and cheered in the back of his mind. They would be happy for a chance to return. He had to stop thinking. He had to stop thinking!

'The last few years with you...' Odin whispered, dying, 'W-weren't so bad...'

-- 011111111≥⌂⌐⌠⌡─│∞╟ 568; !!

- ΏΞЋΩΦΧ00001110111000010 !!!!!

NO!

He opened his eyes, forcing Odin's last words out of his head. He had to concentrate on something simple. A smoke. He needed a smoke.

Groaning, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He placed two feet down on the floor, expecting the cold floor to bite his wounded feet. Instead, he was surprised to feel something cushion the blow. He looked down, blinking when he noted the thick bandages wrapped around his feet. He was also stunned to see that he was wearing a thick, large, black sweatshirt and a pair of black cotton boxers. Those were NOT his clothes!

His eyes widened with sudden panic. He snatched his left wrist and jerked the sleeve up. The bandage on his wrist had been changed.

"Shit." He cursed, the first word he spoke in more than a day. The braided boy... he saw the scars.

The boy looked up, his blue eyes scanning the small room. There wasn't much to see. Aside for the sofa there was a small table, a chair and a wobbly shelf on the wall. His things were on the table.

Slowly rising up to his feet, he walked carefully towards the table, mindful of his every step. His feet throbbed after last night's run.

His two shirts, tank top and sweater were folded neatly, lying on top of his trousers. The trench coat was hanging from the back of the chair. They were all clean, emitting the scent of laundry softener. The boy swallowed, unsure what to make of this kind gesture. His head began to ache dully as the letters begged him to let them come and dance. He pushed them aside, turning his attention back to the table.

The rest of his things, the few belongings he carried in his trench coat pockets, were also lying neatly on the table. Three cigarette boxes, matches, a can opener, a condom, a pocketknife... even his gun was there. He supposed the waiter noticed that it was unloaded, therefore he felt safe to leave it there. He reached down for the gun, slightly caressing it. The gun might be useless without bullets, but it was the only thing he had left from Odin. It was the only thing he carried with him that gave him some sort of connection to his past, as violent as it may have been.

Sighing, he reached for a cigarette box and placed one in his mouth. He needed a smoke before he'll start thinking again.

When he reached for the matches, he suddenly noticed the small yellow note lying next to his clothes. Matches forgotten, he reached for the note. While playing with the cigarette between his lips, he read through it:

'Hey. I wanted to be here when you woke up, but I had to go to work. Sorry. I've washed your clothes for you, I hope you don't mind. I didn't touch your stuff; I just thought you'd like them cleaned. There's also a hot meal waiting on the stove. Eat as much as you like, I made it for you.'

He looked up towards the miniature kitchen, and noted a pot sitting on a small portable stove-top. He turned back to the note.

'You can take a shower if you like; there'll be hot water if you turn the boiler on for about two hours. There's a timer on the water system, you can only shower for two an a half minutes a day, so take that in mind. I don't mind if you use it all, really. If your fever goes up again, there's some medicine in the bathroom cabinet.

If it's not too much to ask, please wait until I come home. I'd like to speak with you. There's no catch, I don't want anything from you.

Good day,

Duo.'

With a sigh, he placed the note back on the table. Duo. The waiter's name was Duo.

He looked around, suddenly feeling as if the walls were watching him. The letters in his head chuckled at the thought, so he dismissed it. He drew the chair back and sat down, finally taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He didn't feel like smoking anymore. He had to think.

-- ♂℅Ñ×Ø11≥⌂⌐⌠ 993;─│1111∞╟╠ --

- $%^011101110ΩΦΧ00▼╪∂↓0 10 -

Ignoring them, he pulled his left sleeve up again, exposing the white bandage. He slowly shoved his fingers under it, rubbing his fingernails against the skin. He began to scratch himself deeply, so hard until it hurt. The bandage was pushed aside, folding up so it exposed the scars. He dug his nails harder into the tender flesh, wincing at the pain. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, ignoring the ache he was causing himself. He cut himself deep, drawing blood.

He opened his eyes and looked at his work, displeased. Despite the many scars he could still see it. He could still see that dammed mark, those cursed black letters tattooed into his wrist:

M - 00001

The letters were nearly faded, distorted by many scars. But he could still see them. They could still be read. And no matter how many times he tried to erase them, they were still there. Sometimes he thought that they were always there, ever since the day he was born. They just appeared one day. Odin didn't say anything, but they just appeared one day.

If he couldn't delete them, he could at least hide them. It was nearly impossible to read them through injured skin.

He clenched his right palm into a claw and ran all five fingernails over the injured skin. There was a lot of blood this time. Good.

x.x.x.x.x.x

Duo entered the apartment at 18:29 PM, barely carrying himself through the doorstep. He finished his two shifts in the diner and had to be in The 'Shop at 21:00. He had about two hours to sleep. He had been thinking about the boy all day long, wondering if he'll wait for him until he came back. It wasn't likely, he knew, but he still had hope. He hated to think about the boy going back to the Streets so soon.

When he stumbled into the small apartment, he found it dark and empty. He sighed, bowing his head. He expected that much. Turning on the light, he walked towards the kitchen. Just a small drink and then some sleep. When he passed by the table, he saw that the boy's clothes were gone, and instead his own clothes - the one he dressed the boy in last night - lay folded on the table. His note was there too.

Damn it. He was hoping to talk to the boy. He imagined it would have been nice to come back home and have someone waiting for him there. Except for Madeline, he didn't have any friends. But it wasn't the same with Madeline. He kept things from her. He didn't want to burden her with his problems - she had enough of her own.

But what was he hoping for? Why was he expecting so much of this boy? Maybe it was because he felt like he was meant to meet him. That it wasn't just pure chance that they collided into one another so many times. But that was ludicrous! He didn't believe in such crap! Not in God, not in Destiny and not in Fate! Why was he building his hopes so high? It was just some homeless kid... there were many like him... and he helped them whenever he came to the church. Why was he treating this kid so differently?! Why was he so disappointed that he left?! WHY!?

Because he was stupid. He was a fool. A lonely, hopeless, fool.

He snatched a small kettle, filled it with water and slammed it against the single portable stove. His movements were harsh and angry. He was furious at himself for caring so damn much!

A cool breeze caressed the back of his neck. Duo froze. The window was open. He didn't leave the window open. He turned around, watching the window at the opposite wall. It was open, the curtains flapping under the soft wind that solemnly blew through the colony. He could smell cigarette smoke.

No. Way.

The window was also an emergency exit to the fire escape - a small metal platform with a ladder dangling down into the alley. When he stepped closer to the window, pushing the drapes aside, he saw the boy standing there. He was wearing his trench coat again, smoking a cigarette as he looked out into the alley.

Duo's smiled with joy. The boy waited. He actually WAITED!

"Hey," he said softly, his smile evident in his voice.

The boy took a long drag and slowly turned to him. His piercing blue eyes gazed intensely at him for a long moment before he replied. "Hi."

"Thank you for waiting." Duo blurted, slightly sheepish after he said it. It was the first thing that came to mind. He leaned on the windowsill, looking at the boy.

The boy nodded and took another lungful of smoke. "It's the least I could do." He replied with his quiet, but not shy, voice. He squashed the finished cigarette on the metal banister, putting it out. He threw it into the alley, watching it fall, a small orange sparkle disappearing into the shadows.

"Thanks for helping me." He mumbled, still looking down at the alley.

"Don't mention it." Duo answered. Silence followed. The boy still didn't face him, his gaze focused on the dark alleyway.

"So, uh..." Duo began, trying to break the ice, "Are you hungry?"

"I better get goin'." The boy said, finally turning to face him. He took a step towards the ladder leading down to the alley.

"No - wait!" Duo called, reaching for his hand. His voice came out too desperate to his liking.

The boy whirled around to glare at him, eyeing his hand as if it was a weapon pointed at him.

Duo backed away, drawing his hand back. "Sorry." he mumbled, head bowed, "It's just that I think it's... yanno, still dangerous out there. They might still be looking for you."

The boy looked at him, his expression unreadable.

Duo swallowed, shifting his weight from side to side. "And... yanno... I don't mind if you stayed. I mean, I have to go to work in about a two hours, but... but I would be much calmer if I knew you were safe." He looked up, a bit sheepish from his admission.

The boy frowned.

"Why?" He asked, genuinely confused.

Duo shrugged.

The boy looked away, thinking.

"I can make food." Duo tried to convince him, his voice hopeful. When the boy looked up at him again, he knew he used the right argument. He smiled and gestured at the boy with his hand, inviting him back in.

x.x.x.x.x.x

He wasn't really hungry, he always had his lunch and supper at the diner, but offering a meal was the only way he could think of to make the boy stay. So he filled a small pot with water and added an instant-soup powder once it boiled. The boy was sitting by the table next to him, watching him quietly.

He couldn't think of anything to say. The silence was heavy. There were many things he wanted to ask, but he knew he shouldn't. He'd already approached the whole matter in the worst way possible, going against everything he was taught at the church. He didn't want to scare the boy away now, after finally being able to help him.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the boy pull a cigarette out of a box. When the boy prepared to get up, Duo was suddenly filled with a terrible feeling. He didn't want him to be far. For some reason, he felt better when the boy was close.

"You can smoke in here," he said, "I don't mind."

The boy looked at him for a moment, as if assessing his words, and then sat back down. He lighted the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Duo watched him blow the smoke out of his lungs. It seemed to calm him somehow.

"So, uh," Duo said as he turned to stir the soup, "Is it okay if I asked for your name?"

There was a long silence. The boy took a few more deep breaths of smoke, releasing them slowly into the air. His blue eyes followed the smoke thoughtfully.

"Odin." He finally said, his eyes still following the smoke.

"I'm Duo."

"I know." Odin muttered, taking a long drag before puffing out the smoke.

Duo smiled, stirring the soup. "Isn't it a waste of money? All those cigarettes?"

Odin shrugged, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. "It keeps me warm," He replied quietly, then thought for a second. "Or at least, it gives me the illusion of being warm." He added, placing the cigarette back between his lips.

Duo turned off the electric stove and closed the pot. He noticed that Odin didn't speak like he had the last time they met. He didn't use "Bad English" anymore. He should have seen it coming, given the fact that the boy read some heavy material at the library. He supposed that the "street punk language" was just an act. It was yet another piece to the puzzle he now knew as Odin. The boy was a challenging riddle. Duo had to admit that he was more than curious.

He didn't say anything about his new revelation. He poured the soup into a couple of bowls and served them to the table. When he leaned next to the boy he noted the faint scent of soap. It raised a small smile on his lips. He was glad Odin felt comfortable enough to use the shower as he offered. He knew from experience how good it felt to wash the filth of the streets away after so long.

"There you go." He said with a smile, placing the steaming soup in front of Odin before pulling back. There was only one chair by the table, so he remained standing.

Odin looked at the soup, then at him. He prepared to stand up, when Duo shook his head and smiled that kind smile at him again.

"Nah, that's okay. You can sit." He said and flopped down on the sofa, which was less than a meter away. The one-room apartment was extremely small.

Odin nodded and turned back to his soup. He threw the cigarette into a half empty glass of water Duo had served him earlier. When he raised his hand, Duo could see the bandage he wrapped around his wrist last night. It was soaked with blood.

Odin caught him watching and hurried to drop his hand down. He pulled the sleeve over the bandage. Duo looked away, berating himself for staring. They ate in silence.

Once both were done, Duo got up and took the bowls to the sink. He turned back to Odin.

"You can stay the night, if you want." He said timidly.

The boy didn't look at him.

He sighed. "The news said there's a blizzard coming," he chuckled bitterly, "Heh, those OZ bastards said they'll fix the weather system, but it's only getting worse."

Odin was just staring at the table. Duo babbled on.

"It's really sadistic, isn't it?"

That made the boy look up at him. So he heard the rumors too.

"Maybe they're doing it on purpose." He said.

It was time to play dumb again. The conversation was becoming too grim. He put on his joker mask and smiled goofily.

"Heh, I never thought of that." He chuckled, a hand behind his head.

Harsh blue eyes looked at him intensely. "Maybe you haven't been sleeping enough on the streets."

The joker mask cracked a bit. In his mind's eyes, the pair of small hands trembled in the cold. But he ignored them for now, pushing the image aside.

"Maybe." He said, smiling like nothing was wrong.

Odin considered him silently, before looking away again.

"So... will you stay?" Duo tried again, ever so carefully. He waited for an answer, but none came. He sighed and let his head drop down in defeat.

"I'll make you a deal," he said, and the boy finally looked up. Duo could see the slight panic in his eyes. He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry; it's not what you're thinking."

The boy snorted and looked away.

"I need to go to work soon. I've been on my feet for two days straight, I'm bush," he paused, sighing tiredly, "There's this delivery I have to make tomorrow, and there's ton of work I have to do."

Odin turned to look at him again, frowning. "You want me to help you?"

Duo nodded. "Yeah. You'll help me get the stuff for the delivery, and then we'll be even. Fair enough?"

For some time, the boy sat silently and considered the offer. Just when Duo thought he was about to decline, Odin nodded and got up.

"Fine." He said, his tone indifferent.

Duo smiled, genuinely this time. "Great."

This was good. He bought himself some more time. He had to find a way to help this boy, and hopefully an opportunity will present itself tonight.