Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Twelve ❯ Young and Stupid ( Chapter 9 )

Chapter 9

"Young and Stupid"

"What the hell do you mean you didn't get a gun? You're trying to tell me that you never have a gun with you, that's it, isn't it? Jesus, Heero! What the hell are you thinking? You could get seriously hurt someday! You're a cop, you're supposed to be armed!"

Had they not been sprinting along an iced alleyway, nearly stride for stride now that Duo's legs had grown long enough to match Heero's, he would have taken the time to sigh as well as roll his eyes, but he could only settle for one. And luckily, his companion didn't notice it, otherwise he probably would have done something other than snap at him in disbelief. Heero took a glance to the side at the face of his disgruntled partner, then back to the fence approaching them at the other end of the alley. It had been sealed off to ward off belligerent teenagers and troublemakers from harassing the apartment buildings on either side, but a ten-foot steel fence was not, and never would be, a trouble for Heero Yuy. Taking a firm step, he launched himself up at the top bar, grabbed metal between the unpleasant looking prongs, and drove effortlessly over it.

He rolled on his shoulder up onto his haunches and looked back at Duo. He wasn't as extremely physical as himself, so he was climbing instead of jumping, and after a moment's display of agility and his experience his time spent as an orphan dodging angry shopkeepers, he was walking up beside Heero, mumbling something about getting old. "Shit, man. I could have done that in two steps a decade ago," he mumbled to himself, putting a hand in the crook of his back and pressing forward to crack his back. It popped in a little symphony running down his spine, and Duo sighed tiredly and muttered again. "Fences suck."

Heero stood up and started running again, and Duo fell in line behind him. He had no idea of where they were headed, only that one of Heero's co-workers was definitely not in good shape somewhere in the city, and they were going there on foot. That would be thanks to the sudden influx of traffic due to some unfortunate driver, clogging all the streets that would lead to the site of the bomb threat by vehicle. Leaving them, unfortunately, forced to continue on foot in the snow and ice of a Northwestern December. For a second, he momentarily forgot about the ex-Wing pilot telling him that he would have to be extra careful since he was unarmed, but his memory came back very quickly. Very quickly.

"Hey," Duo said between breaths, running half a stride behind Heero, "don't think I let the fact you're going into a hostage situation without any kind of weapon slip my mind, bud! What the hell are you thinking?"

"I was thinking that you could go a little faster," Heero deadpanned, in that nasal way that indicated he had no intention to argue with him, or the liberty to. "Or is it time we put you out to pasture, Shinigami?"

"Low, Yuy! Low!" Duo even took the energy to raise his index finger and point it at him. The tiny amount of deceleration that the motion took was just enough for Heero to notice, and enough to spur him to turn slightly as he continued running down the slush-covered sidewalks. He glanced once up to the American's cold-pinched face, then his eyes trailed down to his arms. He snatched him by the sleeve of his jacket and yanked him forward, just enough so that he could get a decent grip on his wrist.

"Hey, I don't need you to drag me along, Heero," Duo said teasingly, though he secretly relished it, any contact he could get he would lap up. "I'm all grown up, ya know. I can tie my own shoes and everything!"

"I'm aware of that."

"Well, alright," Duo said smugly, "then you'd be so kind as to explain why you don't carry any arms on you, wouldn't you? Right, my friend?"

Between the puffs of steam marked every breath, Heero said, still going steadily along at ninety percent down the slushy sidewalk, "Duo?"

"Yeah?"

"Just shut up and run." An almost gloating, smug smirk crossed his face at the blunt remark, and Heero also propelled the American forward until he was running beside him, then released his hold to turn the corner at the end of the block.

"Don't you go blaming me if you end up getting shot full of lead, then, almighty hotshot!" he managed to get in as a final word.

As Duo turned as well, his hair trailing behind him in a wide arc of brown, he could see just how much of a ripple effect the single accident had had on traffic running through the city. He could see it, because they were dashing straight past the sight of said collision as they rounded the corner.

Scattered through the intersection were various gleaming, snowy scraps from the six cars bearing the most damage. The entire front of a red Mercury had been practically sheared off by the inattention another car, showering the road with chunks nearly the size of Quatre Raberba Winner. The other four cars had swerved in mindless panic and buckled into one another in the resulting chaotic blurs of cars, and they were dusted with glass from the demolished windshield of a minivan. Of course, a scrap of hull flying off of impact and spearing itself into the passenger headrest had demolished said windshield. The scraps of metal from the Mercury, dusted in a fine layer of snow, looked like macabre twists of candy, red and gray and silver.

Luckily, Duo noticed, none of the passengers seemed seriously hurt. All were gathered on the opposite sidewalk with a small crowd of the warm-hearted Samaritans who had gotten out of their cars to tend to the collision victims. There was a mother, most likely from the speared minivan, clutched a grade-schooler to her side as she held a cloth to her head, bleeding from a few minor lacerations. But no blood on the snow. No death spilled out over the snow. That's what gave Duo a swell of relief, and the sprinting push to catch up with his single-minded partner.

Heero had continued on past the collision site with a minimal glance-he had his own disaster in the making to tend to, with a helping hand in the form of his old wartime comrade hot on his heels as they twisted through the crowds gathered on the sidewalk to witness the metal carnage on the streets. As they ran, Duo could see Heero pulling away slightly from him, while he stumbled and slowed to avoid running into a few teenagers and an old woman scowling at the scene with her failing eyes, and apologized on the run.

"Sorry 'bout that, sir!" he sputtered, after bashing into a middle-aged man carrying a heavy load of shopping bags twisted around his wrists and rolling to the side quickly to keep up his momentum. He could feel a disapproving, irritable scowl inevitably come his way and burn momentarily at his back.

"Darn kids!" the man grumbled at him loudly, shoving his hands tightly into his jacket pocket and hunching his shoulders to keep warm as he trudged along with groceries in tow.

Duo chuckled out loud at that, knowing neither he nor Heero had never really been kids, or at least normal ones, but very young soldiers to be. And what did that make them now? Duo snorted to himself while his mind churned and deliberated and remembered to keep running on the side. They were old men in the body of young men, with so much damage beneath their belts that they had to buy new ones. Keeping his eyes glued carefully to Heero's back, he extended his stride to chew up the distance between them.

Suddenly, the Japanese man tried to come to a sudden halt to prevent dashing out in front of a car, and ironically creating another frustrating collision as they had just seen, and found nothing but ice beneath his shoes. Duo watched him slip forward in an awkward jerk, unable to help him immediately since he was still making up the space between them. Maybe if he wasn't so damned centered on being the fastest of the two of us, I'd be there to grab him, huh? Duo thought exasperatedly, slowly coming to realize, watching Heero's normally graceful line of balance contort much more than it should have, that his stoic best friend was much off balance more than he thought.

He felt a moment's panic as it seemed that Heero Yuy-the teenaged assassin who'd struck fear into hearts throughout the near solar system, battled the finest trained warriors and laughed as they were incinerated, saved the entire Earth Sphere from a nuclear winter and massive destruction, and hell, the only man who'd been able to steal from him, an expert on thievery, right from under his nose-might slip and crack his head open on the ice and that would be the end of him. Not surprisingly, he didn't, but after catching himself on the streetlamp beside him, Duo could the silvery puffs of steam coming out in a startled pant.

"Dude, Heero," Duo drawled as he came to a much safer stop beside him, "you okay?"

He was patting him comfortingly on the back on his half-wrinkled denim jacket, noting incredulously just how startled the possibly disastrous slip had made him. Either he was just abnormally high strung today-which didn't seem like the case this time-or he'd really been spooked by it, had really lost control of himself for a moment. Aside from the cold there was a half-panicked flush to his face that was waning down, but he was still breathing rather quickly for just a measly scare. Not that he would be accusing the Perfect Soldier-and he meant stunningly perfect-of being out of shape, but he definitely had slipped up.

"Please tell me you're not getting old and feeble on me. You looked kind of little rattled by that; you okay?" Duo asked, teasing him gently as was almost routine for him, with a very detectable current of concern beneath it. A furtive way of asking him if he was all right without the risk of sounding weak around a man who had once would have nothing to do with dealing with other soldiers' weaknesses.

"I'm fine," he insisted. He swallowed with difficulty and eventually unwrapped a steel-like arm from the metal streetlamp he'd used as an emergency support. "Just a little anxious."

"Well then, you oughta slow down. There's no reason you should let a patch of ice get the better of you, that's almost pathetic. Just remember that you can't help anybody if you go and get killed first, ya know. That's basically how it works."

"I said I'm fine," Heero insisted again once he'd loosened up enough to release his tight grip on the metal post and glanced over to Duo once as the standard confirmation they'd used in the old days to make sure he was fully prepared to move out. Of course, by now, whatever tiny sliver of apprehension he might have shown had faded back into the protection of the steely concentration he was infamous for, at least within the circle of surviving mobile suit pilots. "Let's go."

As soon as Heero started loping off again, Duo couldn't help but release a wicked smile at his back as he followed. "Are you sure you should be straining yourself like this, old man? Did you remember to take your nitroglycerin this morning? You just might work yourself up into a heart attack or something," he teased, and didn't care if the object of that razzing had been listening or not, because he was definitely not getting a response. He could read it in the way he could see the tiny lines in Heero's neck tensing up. Knowing him, he might have even rolled his eyes a little were no one would see, and that only made Duo snicker again.

Low and behold, the building under attack was empty after Heero and Duo had waltz in through the front door. They had taken only a little longer to reach their destination on foot than it would have taken in the car, had there not been insane congestion.

Down a narrow, winding street lined thick with neglected community buildings-neighboring a moldy, dusty law office that had long been emptied and housed a cardboard sign reading "Rent Space: Cheap" in the corner of one grimy building, and a dilapidated tenement building sitting aside a community education building lamenting its similar state-stood a single level, brick edifice with one bland glass door to welcome in visitors. It was curled slightly around the far end of the unkempt cul-de-sac, and in comparison it was like an estate on the French Rivera.

There were few windows, but where there were, instead of simply displaying shadows, half-functioning oscillating fans or the wooden boards blocking them out, there were crayon-colored pictures of sunshine and stick-people families and construction paper butterflies and smiling faces. The sidewalk was strewn with faint memories of the kaleidoscopic chalk images in canary yellow and sky blue and tickle-me-pink that had been there before snow had fallen. The slush had been shoveled aside and there were tiny bicycles locked up against the rack, a few icy streamers fluttering weakly in the cold December breeze. Wet footprints dotted the salted cement, and the glass door was doused in dozens upon dozens of minute handprints.

Duo had stared at the fingerprints while Heero stood behind him on the steps, making it a process to send a vicious stare into every dark corner in their radius, scoping out for any possible threats.

It was public knowledge that they'd stepped into a part of town that had become corrupted in the last few years, the nights quickly filling up with young and very stupid kids with very stupid habits and dangerous toys. Heero had been patrolling more than once in the very area, and had seen the devilish intents in the eyes of the teenagers as he passed by. A kind of no-good, wicked smirk that only a foolish civilian could possess. It had been a welcome change from the murderous glares of enemies, but it didn't change the fact they still loved to cause trouble and it was born in him to snuff out those with bad intent. Snorting softly at the memory, Heero walked fluidly up the stairs, in the coiled manner he did on any mission, and stopped behind Duo.

For a second, the American hesitated, placed his hand over one of the childish handprints, took a deep breath, and opened the door forcefully, growling something about, "the bastard who dared to endanger children" and "giving him the unholy beating of his life." Heero's face darkened for a second at the trailing words, and he followed the American's motivated strides down the hallway, his hands loose and ready at his sides as he stole inside behind his comrade.

The foyer was small and warmly decorated with another wave of crayon-fashioned pictures like welcoming wallpaper. Tiny, multicolored tacks held them each by their upper corners, and as the icy breeze followed inside, the sheets of paper fluttered until they hung horizontally in the air. In light of the situation, Duo thought they looked like the mouths of kids opening in screams, in silent pleas that would not be heard.

He shivered slightly and clapped his hands on his arms once to warm them up. "I don't like this at all, Heero," he said, and made an awkward scoffing laugh beneath his breath. "It's almost too much like good old times, you know? There aren't bodies to step over, or injured men bleeding and screaming to put out of their misery, but like reopening wounds that never really healed." The pessimistic, self-deprecating laughs that slipped out in the length of the dimly lit hallway echoed as if they were passing through an empty wormhole back into a time of desperation and warfare they had left behind long ago.

Needless to say, Duo felt the shivers running rampant and playing concertos on the vertebrae of his spine. He'd only felt them the first time piloting Deathscythe in battle, and watching the Wing Gundam plummeting backwards toward Earth and glowing coal red in the atmosphere, chased by a massive chunk of Colony, and carrying his best friend in it.

Behind him, Heero was stalking along silently, always tossing looks behind his shoulders and past Duo's head. Eventually, he spoke quietly, addressing the American in a neutral, cautiously soft voice. "If things get out of control, you'll take all the hostages you can and get them away from here. Neither you nor I want any of the children to be hurt. Their safety comes first."

"Definitely," Duo said without hesitation. He shuddered again, thanking whatever murky being was the Shinigami that he claimed to channel in battle, now that the pictures had ended. It was a sinister image, despite the bright crayon colors. "And, of course, I'll have to grab you too," he added as the hallway split up to two directions: the main hall stayed its course and opened up into a wider hallway of classrooms, and the other ascended up a darkened, twirling staircase into the second level. A broad painted red stripe went across the stairwell wall, a rich, earthy brown shade below and a creamy off-white above it. Block letters were chipping slightly just below a tiny window, reading, "Level 2."

Duo paused slightly, squinting down the dim, empty hall. The lights were inauspiciously turned off, and only a faint light sifted in through the windows, screened gray by the cloudy, snowy skies. The American paused for a moment without breathing, just soaking up the absolute silence of the place. It was wrong on an almost primal level. Children should be laughing somewhere. Somewhere.

"Where are they?"

"It's too quiet in here. He must have taken them somewhere to keep them all in check," Heero informed him, bewaring the ominous tone his words took on their own. "Too many phones in here, too many possible weapons for self-defense. He would have taken them somewhere secluded or inaccessible if he didn't want trouble."

Twisting slightly to pin a slightly confused, dark violet gaze on the Japanese pilot halting beside him, who was as silent as an assassin shuffling up behind his victim, he contorted his lips awkwardly. "What? It kind of sounds like you know this asshole personally, or something?"

"Let's just say it's strong intuition," Heero muttered. "He's described as distraught, disturbed even, by events he can't possibly control or reverse. He wants attention and maybe even a sick sort of pity for what he's doing-"

"Kind of like the mindset a terrorist, huh? Kind of like us in a way."

"Aa," Heero agreed quietly, his response barely a brush of air out of his lips. Just as suspicious, his eyes nit-picked every hint of life, every pair of shoes lined up against the wall, every pink and white Barbie backpack and every blue and red Spiderman backpack, for silent hints as to what had happened. "But in our case, it was the orphans who were the aggressors, not the hostages," he commented calmly, twisting around to stare at a simple finger-painting of a pink and yellow smiley face over looking a blue and purple sea, dotted with red fish and a big black whale spouting water.

"Orphans?" the sound of Duo's unusually lifeless voice echoing between the narrow expanse made the other pilot turn cautiously, confronted by a face that was a few shades paler than was sound. "What do you mean, 'orphans'?" Duo demanded sharply, though the expression in his eyes suggested his mind was miles and miles from a lonesome brick building on Earth.

When Heero hesitated, his voice cut at him again, this time filling with frustration. In the narrow hallway, they had been stepping close, but soon the American had almost invaded his space, planting his feet firmly to the floorboards, narrowing his eyes in a mixture of distress and bubbling fury inches from Heero's face. "What the hell do you mean, 'orphans'? Answer me. What the hell did you mean? You distinctly never mentioned a thing to me about us liberating an orphanage, Heero."

Slightly disturbed but the rattled expression the American wore, Heero kept his voice even and low, his militaristic clock always ticking and always aware of the fact that danger could be lurking behind the next corner, awaiting to kill him. "Mayfield called and informed us that the bomber was holding an orphanage hostage, Duo," he droned in his semi-nasal tone, able to feel distant traces of his comrade's erratic, heated breath on his face.

"No, he didn't," Duo automatically protested, drawing his eyebrows together drastically. "He said it was a foundling home!"

"They're one in the same."

"Well, you could have fucking told me that!"

He furrowed his brows in mild confusion. "I thought that you understood."

"I understood the little kid part. Oh yeah, the bright-eyed urchins in trouble part came in loud and clear," Duo ranted in desperation, suddenly flushing dangerously, tossing his arms up to the side as he spun about and snapped at the darkness hovering near the ceiling, "But nobody had the decency to know to mention to me that they were orphans!"

Flickers of concern became one steady line of apprehension running through the Asian pilot's face, and he consciously put on a sympathizing frown and a hand reached out to his shoulder, beckoning, "Duo-" It was almost frightening, how radically different the familiar, warmly attractive face of his comrade was when it was consumed by an almost rabid sensation. His paled face was quickly flushing with blood again, and his grin was jagged as broken glass.

"I'll kill him," Duo snorted incredulously to no one, staring blankly off into a place and time that Heero couldn't see. "I'll kill him, I'll make him beg for Death for this, that asshole! Then jail'll look pretty peachy in comparison, won't it, brat! You'll be on your hands and knees pleading for that option!"

Heero had long grown accustomed to such talk, to murderous tones and desperate cries that never really left his brain, even after they had died or been incinerated or injured beyond compare, but somehow to hear the same desperation in Duo's tone, in such a peaceful time, drove a stake through his chest. "Duo, stop talking like that. You're acting ridiculous. I think it'd be better for you if you went back for help instead. I wouldn't have made you come along if I'd known you'd get so upset-"

"I don't want to disappoint you, Heero. Honestly, I don't," the American murmured darkly. From his vantage point, standing directly behind the American pilot, he could see the distinct lines tensing through the entire line of Duo's body, and his braid lay neatly between his gaunt shoulder blades and twitching as loathing laughter rolled smoothly out of his chest and sent ominous shivers down his spine.

"But I don't think I'll be able to control myself right now. I'm going to beat this bastard to a bloody, unrecoverable pulp if he so much as gives one of those kids a fucking shady look, and I apologize in advance for it. But I'm going to make that bastard wish he'd never fucked around with Shinigami's kind." The announcement was dark and almost prophetic, but his eyes didn't lie, and Duo certainly prided himself on never lying.

"Duo," Heero chided sharply, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. An instant later all he felt were the snowflakes falling off of the dark, beat-up jacket that the American wore along with the palm of his hand and the sharp, immediate feeling of offense as his gesture of comfort was rebuked in favor of dashing towards one of the classroom doors.

"Hey!" the Japanese pilot hissed, doubly frustrated by his comrade's stubbornness and his foolishness. "Damn it, Duo, stop this and listen to me!"

But it was useless. Whatever he would have said would have fallen on deaf ears each time-whatever he would have done, short of punching him squarely on the jaw, would have gone unnoticed, he was that far gone into anger. Shrugging off Heero's hand-forcing himself to ignore the guilt he felt in the act of being so callous to the man he'd always hoped to be able put his hands on his face and not risk being socked, to touch for no reason, to try and romance with his horrible cooking-he bolted toward the first classroom insight, at the opposite end of the dim hallway. The pasty gray light that had ventured in through the glass door was growing fainter and the walls darker and the fingerprinted images on the wall more and more indistinct.

The overwhelming thunder of fury coursed through his brain like unheard music, influencing him to do things that he'd only dreamt of doing on a primal level. He wanted to bash the brains out of whoever was threatening those kids, and he'd wanted an opportunity to ventilate that desire for years and years. There were a few things war was good for, a very slim few, mind you, and for Duo Maxwell it had been exercising a particular demon named Shinigami.

Cursing what God would have the sick sense of humor to ignite such wrath from his comrade, Heero ran after the blurring shadow as best as he could while still glancing around the darkened hallways for signs of danger. God, it frustrated him so much how Duo was allowed to blindly jump into something without risk, only because he was there to watch his back. He tried calling out to his friend, but he knew it was useless. Duo was intent on protecting those kids, even though he'd never seen them before.

The yellow-tan wooden door ahead of them was securely shut, a glimpse of an equally dark classroom peeking through the small, square glass window. Through the intercrossing black lines in the glass, there were hints of colorful posters of friends walking together to school, multi-toned maps of the United States, piles of books, and not a hint of a living soul. The erratic tattoo of furious feet on the wooden floors echoed eerily up into the top levels, which were equally devoid of laughter and light.

It drove Duo even faster, even deeper into a realm of no return, as he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open with his shoulder and losing not a bit of his momentum. He even went as far as to fling it shut behind him. Heero was naturally quicker on his feet, and had Duo not pushed the door behind him, the Japanese man would have been seconds from grabbing a hold of the long plait of hair that trailed behind him and reining him in. The fraction of a second that it took to push the door out of his way was just enough to allow Duo to escape.

"Just calm down!" Heero barked sharply. By now he was having trouble keeping it beneath his breath.

They sprinted past tiny tables scattered with markers and crayons, past the alphabetical, square cubbyholes stuffed with papers and creations, past sleeping mats with ragged teddy bears tucked beneath their airy blankets. Heero was too wrapped up in frustration, trying to rein in his emotional comrade before he would cause more trouble for himself, and trying to regain the momentum he'd lost. He was too preoccupied at the moment to see the obvious signs of struggles-a jar of paint had shattered on the carpet, orange acrylics spilled in the shape of a blood spatter. Some of the miniature chairs had been tossed backwards and a bullet hole had taken a chunk out of Kentucky on the American map. He went by, still gritting his teeth and snapping after Duo.

Although it would seem that they were running a rat race, being inside a seemingly enclosed room, Lady Luck was siding with the frothing American that day, the first she had for a long time, and across the distance of the cramped kindergarten room there was gray, snowy light soaking in through a glass door that led out onto a small backyard. A backyard filled with a few metal structures for the orphanage inhabitants to spend their recesses on.

There just happened to be a classroom's worth of those orphans, of various ages and ethnicity, were huddling anxiously together in a cattle-like heard, bowing on their knees and ducking frightfully beneath the silenced gun brandished at them. The ragged circle of sobbing, shaking children and their pale-faced teacher clutching as many of the youngest to her sides as she could, formed around the instigator of all this unnecessary suffering. A twentysomething addict lifted the silenced pistol without discretion at whatever moved, his eyes as frantic and emotional and desperate as Duo's were furious.

A plainclothes police officer lay face down in the dirt, a boot on his back securing his degrading position. His gun had apparently been knocked from his hand, as it was still lying on the ground, palm open, and it seemed to rest in the addict's pocket.

It was almost horrific to behold, something so close to a specific wound in Duo's chest, and whatever tact had survived in him had now found itself buying the farm and the new found furor was already reaching for the door knob. He could hear his own young voice echoing in his head, or more precisely, echoing in the rafters of the Maxwell Church, while it had still stood in its humble glory.

"If it's a mobile suit you guys wan', then I'll go get one! Then you can leave us alone!"

"Duo!"

Sister Helen's hand had never been enough to stop him when he was hell bent on -not even Heero would be able to stop him, reason with him in the state he was in. The warmth and strength of his Japanese comrade's hand sat vainly again on his shoulder; this time he'd caught him by both of his shoulders with intent to spin him around and bash some rationale into his brain with that cutting monotone of his, but to no avail. He shrugged it off again, the anger in him reaching a dangerous swell.

It was the way of Duo Maxwell to act on his pride, and there was no way in the fires of Hell that he would be stopped from protecting those poor kids.

"They'd never asked for any of that shit, none of it!" Duo hissed venomously, throwing his fist sloppily around the doorknob and lunging into the door as it swung open.

"Duo!"

As the light adjusted in their eyes, Duo stepping righteously out onto the first step and Heero cursing all the way as he lunged after, hoping to draw him back inside in time to avoid being seen. Even as the winter breeze rushing inside was still breaking on them, there was a strangled exclamation from the center of the simmering chaos. The addict instantly found them, and with a jagged and fretting voice, snapped at them not to move. The barrel was leveled at them from the distance of seventy-five meters, but both Gundam Pilots could see it trembling in his grip.

"Baka," came the incriminating hiss at Duo's back.

The American paid no heed to Heero's frustrated whisper and, plastering a stony Shinigami grin onto his face once again, he lifted his palms in surrender and began walking towards the trembling man posing the threat of a bomb, the evidence bulging ever so slightly beneath his ratty mohair sweater in the shape of a crude but effective homemade fertilizer bomb.

"Hey! Hey, don't you move!"

"I was only coming to see some of the kids," the longhaired brunette man offered peaceably, even offering a humble little shrug to top off his dead-accurate acting.

The blond-haired, pale-skinned addict gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and waved his gun threateningly at the uninvited pair, directly them sharply to sit down with the rest and, "don't cause no trouble, else you'll be in the market for a casket.'"

It'd better be dead accurate, Heero though, as he was forced at gun point to follow his comrade into a situation he'd had no time to map out a mission plan. A situation in which either of them could be shot, fail miserably, or have the deaths of tens of more innocents on their conscience. He hoped that Duo knew exactly what the he was doing, dragging him into something like this.