Disclaimer: Gundam Wing doesn't belong to me. If it did, the characters would probably kill me.

Note: This was my very first GW fanfic. It's cliche, it's AU, and obviously very fandomized. But I remember enjoying writing it and I'm proud of it for the characterizations of Duo and Wufei, even if the plot sucks. Since I know my writing has since grown and there's no way in hell I'm editing this (too lazy) I'll stick it up as is because I am proud of my first attempt. Please overlook my once tendency to overuse commas. I seemed to have thought they belonged everywhere.

"God will save his fallen angels
And their broken wings he'll mend
When he draws their hearts together
And they learn to love again
All their sins will be forgiven
In the twinkle of an eye
All the saints rejoice in heaven
When the fallen angels fly"
Patty Loveless "When The Fallen Angels Fly"

The braided pilot was getting on his nerves. No, perhaps that was not strong enough. He was driving him stark raving mad. His incessant nannerings didn't leave him with a moments peace. He had read this same sentence three times now in an attempt to regain his train of thought. It wasn't often he was given the time to sit and do virtually nothing, so it was only natural that he would want to use that time constructively. And listening to Duo Maxwell run at the mouth was not it.

His strength of will the only thing that kept him from sighing aloud, Wufei Chang slowly lowered the book he had been reading and eyed Duo impassively. The Deathscythe pilot was dressed in a loose shirt and pants, presumably what he had worn to bed and not yet changed. His dark brown braid was flying about his body like an out of control whip, while his arms seemed to be competing with it for the appendage which would first cause Duo the most bodily harm. As was the usual case, he was rambling on about something, his words rushing together almost to the point where Wufei had given up deciphering them.

Duo was restless, and Wufei was to be the target for his boredom.

"Hey, Wu, are you listening to me?" Duo questioned, stopping long enough to plant his hands on his hips and offer Wufei one of his overly bright smiles.

Wufei pushed his glasses up further on his nose. "Hearing, yes. Listening, no."

Never one to let an opportunity pass him up, Duo pounced on that. "Want me to tell you again?"

"No!" Wufei responded, more forcefully than he had intended.

Duo threw his hands up. "Okay, okay. No need to get so excited about it."

"I am not excited," Wufei returned blandly.

No kidding, Duo thought to himself, resisting the urge to make a face at the serious pilot.

Of all the Gundam pilots to be cooped up with for the next few days, it had to be Wufei. Duo had never seen anyone have the capacity for tuning out another human being like he did. Heero was fairly good at it when he got going on that laptop of his, but even then, Duo could tell when he was getting through to him, if just by the occasional 'hn' that was thrown his way.

Wufei valued his privacy to the point where he spent long hours without speaking to anyone, or even coming out of his room. To someone who considered the thought of being in a room with only four walls to stare at and endless silence for company as close to real hell as he was going to get while still alive, it was unthinkable that someone could actually get enjoyment out of it.

With Heero, Trowa, and Quatre all off on their own separate missions, he was left to do just that. Which meant that suffering Wufei's company was better off than the alternative. Not to say that it was all bad. Wufei wasn't half bad to hang around when he was in one of his better moods. If he could get the other pilot to talk, some of the conversations they had were fairly interesting. It was getting past that first hurdle. Wufei could be incredibly stubborn when he wanted to be.

Turning his attention back to the Chinese boy, he picked up the end of his braid and fiddled with it absently, wondering how anyone could want to sit on the floor to read when there was a perfectly good chair to sit in or bed to lay on. Darting a quick glance around the room, he realized the decor reflected what he knew about Wufei. Virtually nothing. He wasn't exactly forthcoming with information, and getting anything out of him that didn't have relevancy to the current situation was next to impossible. In short, the taciturn pilot of the Shenlong -- better known and henceforth referred to as Nataku -- was an enigma.

Wasn't it just his luck that he loved puzzles?

"Maxwell," came Wufei's calm voice over the top of his book, "what time is it?"

Duo automatically looked to his wrist for an answer before realizing he had yet to get dressed, which meant he also hadn't put his watch on. Without that option open to him, he took to searching Wufei's room for a clock, half wondering with a small amount of annoyance why the other boy didn't just look up from his book and find out what time it was for himself.

The clock was small and smooth, its wood painted a dark ebony that made it seem somehow more ancient than it was. There were no minute marks, only hours, and the lettering inside the thick glass was something foreign and unreadable to him. It was probably a possession Wufei had brought with him from L5 colony. Still, it seemed odd that he would, considering he never spoke of his family, or lack there of as the case may be, and Duo had never taken Wufei for the sentimental kind. But then, he really didn't know all that much about the pilot.

Holding back a sigh, he stared at the clock and then called out, "Just after noon."

"And you aren't dressed yet?" Came the even reply.

"Hey, I just got up!" He shot back defensively.

Of the five pilots sharing this one secluded house Quatre had asked the Maguanacs to scout out for him, (and it was accepted due to the fact that the environment lent to easy concealment of their Gundams) Duo was what Wufei would label as the least disciplined of them all. He adhered to no strict exercise regime, ate anything that was not nailed down, and seemed to have no control over his own mouth. Yet, the Chinese pilot had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Duo more than made up for these personality flaws when in battle. If pressured, Wufei would even go so far as to say that he wouldn't want to be facing down the other end of that scythe.

While he had been up since 6am, practicing both his martial arts and sword fighting forms, Duo had obviously been taking advantage of the fact that he had no mission and no homework. Summer meant that the boarding schools they hid themselves away in were closed. It was why Quatre had asked Rashid to find them some place where they would not be bothered. This, of course, ruled out the Mauganacs base. Quatre felt as if they had endangered and inconvenienced the small town nearby it enough. Wufei, on the other hand, really cared less where they stayed, so long as he had his privacy, Nataku was safely hidden away, and he could be reached when it came time for a mission.

Privacy, he was fast learning however, was not a word in Duo's vocabulary. Unlocked doors meant an invitation to enter, as Wufei had found out last week while changing. Foolishly thinking that no one would enter his room while the door was closed, he hadn't counted on Duo bursting in on him just as his pants rose over his knees. While he had been something close to mortified, and definitely something close to furious, the other boy had taken it all in stride. Wufei's rage had been met with laughter, and it became perfectly clear that Duo would have remained in the doorway had Wufei not threatened him with the blade of his sword shoved into Duo's throat up to the hilt.

The boy had absolutely no modesty.

Lips curving slightly, he savored the memory of the expression on Duo's face when the other boy had realized he was serious.

Duo was still standing there. Wufei could feel the other's eyes on him, awaiting a comment of some kind.

Gaze flickering back to the writing before him, he said mildly, "There are 24 hours in a day, not 12."

Duo snorted. "You're almost as bad as, Heero. Only he drags me out of bed. Why the hell should I get up early if there's no reason to? I value my sleep, thank you very much. Lord knows, I don't get much of it when Dr. G's cramming missions down my throat."

"And you listen to Heero?" Wufei asked, attention still on his book as he disregarded everything else Duo had said.

White teeth flashed briefly. "Not unless I have to. Otherwise, I tell him to go screw himself."

Wufei winced slightly at Duo's choice of words, trying to imagine Heero accepting that kind of insult from anyone. But then, Duo seemed to be able to get away with a great deal where the Wing pilot was concerned. It was apparent that Duo was completely oblivious to that fact, however. Wufei had walked in on more than one occasion where the dark haired boy was complaining to Quatre about Heero's lack of response. He was tempted to tell him to spend a little less time talking and a little more time observing to find answers, if only to get him to shut up. But Duo had never asked him for advice, and he considered it really none of his affair what did or did not go on between Heero and Duo.

"Hn." He answered vaguely, trying once again to concentrate on his book.

Duo rolled his eyes. "Great. You sound like Heero. What're you reading there?" He added, venturing closer, Wufei's clock passing from hand to hand in some odd sort of rhythm.

Praying to Nataku for patience, Wufei lowered his book and regarded Duo stonily. Duo had obviously desensitized himself to threatening glares under the tutelage of one Heero Yuy, for he remained unperturbed as he bent over and tried to get a better look at the cover.

With remarkable aplomb, Wufei lifted the book so that Duo could see easily and with the hope that the other boy would leave him alone after having done so.

"Geez Wu, this is in friggin' Chinese! How do you expect me to read that?" He blurted out, rocking back on his heels as he now began tossing the clock.

One hand snaked out and past his guard, snatching the clock in mid-air.

"I don't."

Without the clock to occupy his hands, Duo began swinging them back and forth.

Did the boy ever remain still?

With a half-sigh, Duo gave his braid a reassuring tug. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was worried about the others. They were alone, without back up of any kind, and he hated to think that one of them might not make it back all in one piece. But had he voiced that to Mr. Wufei 'never-shuts-up' Chang, he would be informed in that succinct way the Chinese boy had of stating his absolute opinion, that it was an insult to their abilities to consider them unable to complete their missions without help. So instead, he settled for expending his nervous, pent up energy on distracting Wufei from his book and never standing still for more than a second.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. He wasn't supposed to care. Dr. G had sent him down to Earth alone, and alone was how he had expected to stay. But life rarely worked out as it was supposed to, and Duo was generally willing to go where it took him with little complaint. The problem that presented itself from allowing that, was that these four pilots were now his friends. They meant something to him in a way only three other people in his entire life had.

And those three people had died. Two because of his actions, and the third because he was not quick enough to prevent it.

That day, as he knelt in the ruins of the Maxwell Church, Sister Helen's lifeless body clutched in his arms, was the day he had ceased to believe in God. The God of life, at least. For he had wanted desperately to protect the church from those rebels using it as refuge from the Federation, and had braved losing his own life to get them the Mobile Suit they so desperately wanted. But that action had invariably caused the deaths of two of the few people who had ever given a damn about him, and taught him at the same time that no matter what he did death would follow him.

So he would believe in the God of Death. He would become the God of Death. He would accept that it was a part of him, while still living at the same time. He would smile more, live harder, and laugh longer. Life had taken the people he had loved, caused him to bleed, and left him alone, but he refused to fold under. Death had already taken everything from him, it could not have him too. Anger was a much more effective weapon, and with anger, he felt alive. So he got back at death by living, because that was the most effective revenge. And he continued to care, because he had come to realize that emotional death was far worse than physical death.

But a part of him realized as well, that he allowed himself to care for these pilots because they were strong. They had skirted death more than once and came out the victor each time. Especially Heero, who seemed to consider self destruction a sort of hobby.

By becoming death, he also had control. He was death, so what did he have to fear?

Wufei had grown accustomed to Duo's movements, so when they ceased, his attention was again pulled from his book. The American pilot was a nuisance. He was one of the few people that Wufei could not completely ignore and overlook. It seemed that no matter what he did, he was a distraction. Wufei disliked admitting to it, however, because it spoke little for his discipline.

It only made him feel marginally better that even someone as focused as Heero was not completely immune to the braided pilot.

There was just something about Duo that was difficult to ignore. For a boy that claimed to be The God of Death, he was filled with a great deal of life. He tended to throw his energy everywhere he went, as well, and to remain untouched was to be completely without feeling. That such conflicting masks of both light and dark could live within one person told Wufei that Duo was far more complicated than some gave him credit for. One such person being Heero, who had confided to Wufei once (which he suspected was only because he had been around to hear it) that Duo's lack of focus and control were not the traits of a decent Gundam pilot.

While Wufei tended to agree with this, he had long ago suspected that behind Duo's battle chatter and laughter, there lurked a focus and control that would have made even the Perfect Soldier envious. It was simply his way of dealing with it. They had to have ways of dealing with the deaths caused by their hands. Heero met it with resolve, Trowa with silence, and Quatre with gentle strength and regret. Duo embraced it by calling himself Shinigami and laughing in death's face. And he, Wufei... took refuge in his solitude and the very things which caused the one he fought for to call him weak.

But he would not think of that now.

Setting the book in his lap, he rubbed absently at the bridge of his nose, fingers freezing there when he caught Duo's expression. There wasn't a trace of amusement on the normally animated face, and his eyes looked so world weary and wise, that Wufei felt almost guilty for having caught Duo without his mask. It was obvious he wasn't meant to see. The other pilot probably expected him to still be reading his book, his attention centered there because Duo was not talking at him.

What could cause the smile to slip? And why did it mildly disturb him?

Duo swung around suddenly, startling him.

"Hey Wu, I'm starved!"

The smile was firmly back in place, but there was something wild about the eyes that warned Wufei not to speak of what he had just witnessed.

They all had their secrets, their reasons for fighting, and their reasons for staying together. Perhaps they really didn't know each other in the true sense that friends did, but they understood each other, because they were, in some ways, the same. Right now, when it was five against many, they needed that understanding.

But Wufei would say this to no one.

He would cling to his isolation because he needed to remain alone to fight. Together they fought for the colonies, but alone, they fought for their own personal reasons. These reasons were his, and he would share them with no one. He was afraid that by speaking of them, they would cease to be, and everything he used as his foundation would crumble. Perhaps the others realized this too, and it was why they kept it to themselves. Even Quatre had never come right out and said his personal motives for fighting, and he was the most open of them all.

Abruptly shifting trains of thought as easily as he moved, he wondered how the script would play out today. The scene was the same. Duo would come to his room, pester him needlessly for a short time, and then complain about his hunger until Wufei broke down and made him breakfast (or lunch, depending on the hour) just to get him to shut up. It was a familiar routine that had been going on almost since they moved in here together nearly two months before. One that Wufei had actually grown used to and almost looked forward to. Almost. Even he, who could withstand much, could only take a certain dosage of Duo's inane chatter.

The look Duo was giving him now was filled with such pleading, that Wufei was forced to lift the book higher to hide the smile threatening to bloom against his will.

Keeping his expression unconcerned and his tone bored, he replied, "Then go fix yourself something to eat."

Duo had been expecting that answer, but he knew it would only require a minute amount of pestering on his part to get the other to fold. He and Wufei went this route nearly every morning, or afternoon, as the case may be. It was a bit of stability that he admitted to liking. In his life, there hadn't been much that he could count on, but he knew he could depend on Wufei to be his same, solid self. As unmoving as an oak, as closed as a locked safe, and as distant as the clouds stretching across the sky. Half the time, he was certain that the Chinese boy was his favorite person out of the remaining four of them.

For all his acerbity, however, Duo knew that Wufei had a kind streak in him. If Wufei hadn't wanted to cook for him, nothing short of killing him could have moved him from his comfortable spot against the wall, tucked in the corner of his room with a book that only he could decipher. They were all stubborn in their own separate ways, and Duo liked to think he ranked right up there with Heero, but Wufei had them all topped. Duo had seen him stand his ground before until he nearly grew roots. You had to admire a guy that had more tenacity than a leech.

"C'mon, Wu! You know I can't cook. Do you really want me scarring your beautiful pots and pans?"

"They aren't my pots and pans," Wufei corrected, turning the page of his book.

Duo shrugged. "You use them the most, so I figure they're yours. You mean to tell me, you don't have any feelings for them whatsoever? You don't care if they get scratched up and burnt?"

Dark eyes leveled him over the top of the book. "They are inanimate objects, Maxwell."

"Hey," Duo returned, prowling closer, "everything has feelings."

"Absurd." Wufei muttered, running a finger down the characters, lips moving in silent recital.

His stomach growled audibly.

"See that? It's crying out for nourishment."

"So go eat cereal."

Duo wrinkled up his nose in disgust. "Not only does that wheat stuff Quatre buys taste like crap, but it barely fills me up for an hour."

"I am very concerned for you," Wufei replied, turning another page. "This is me being concerned."

Duo resisted the urge to laugh. Wufei had such a dry sense of humor. You almost had to be as insane as Shinigami was to appreciate it.

"Wu, be nice an' cook for me? Please?" He added, the demands of his stomach finally overriding the enjoyment he was getting out of the wordplay.

Wufei stared directly at him. "No."

With a grin and a little wave, Duo suddenly whirled and practically skipped across the room to the door, braid swinging freely behind him.

He called out blithely as he left, "Okay, but don't blame me when the house burns down."

That did it. He could hear the unmistakable slap of a book against the wood of the floor before the door jerked open farther behind him and a displeased looking Wufei joined him in the hall. He was such a safety nut.

"Get showered and dressed while I cook," Wufei ordered, his tone clipped.

Duo grinned. "Thanks, Wu. You're the best."

He received an unintelligible grunt for his response.

PPPPPPPPPPP

Sometime later, after the dishes had been washed, (Duo drying, Wufei washing, as the Chinese pilot was such a perfectionist the American was certain he had to see his face reflected in the glass before it was clean enough) Wufei left the stifling confines of the house and relaxed with his book on the small balcony facing the back yard. If Duo left him alone for any length of time longer than a minute, he might actually be able to get through the remainder of this book.

He had long ago shed his tunic and slippers, opting to walk barefoot and remain in his dark tank top and loose fitting, white pants. It was not ordinarily something he did while indoors, or when not training, but even the intractable Wufei Chang had to bow to the weather.

From behind him, somewhere in the house, there was a sudden blaring of loud music with screaming guitars and a base that hit so hard, it was a wonder the speakers didn't blow and the house didn't crumble beneath their feet. Shaking his head, Wufei turned his attention back to his book, wondering how Duo could consider that music. But he didn't make an issue of it, as he was relatively safe from losing his hearing while sitting out here. That, and he could count on one hand the amount of times Duo had been given the opportunity to play that music. Apparently, Heero was no more fond of it than he was.

Even music such as that had to be taken out and dusted off now and then.

Duo padded silently through the house, resisting the urge to time his movements with the beat of the music. Since he was balancing a glass of lemonade in each hand, both nearly filled to the brim and topped off with shards of ice, he didn't want to spill either. Wufei would never let him hear the end of it if there was a sticky spot on the floor and the Chinese boy somehow happened across it. Which he probably would, considering he had radar for this kind of stuff.

Passing through the sliding door that led off the upstairs hall, he smiled at the sight of Wufei sitting cross-legged in a chair, intently reading the same book he had been so engrossed in this morning.

"Hey Wu, got some lemonade for you."

Wufei looked up, placing a dark red ribbon between the pages to mark his place, and reaching one hand out to accept the proffered glass.

"Thank you."

Duo waved the courtesy away, drinking down half his glass in seconds, having to reach up to wipe the back of his hand across his chin before replying, "No problem. Man, sure wish Quatre could have gotten us a place with air conditioning."

"This was the only place with a secure enough area to camouflage our Gundams," he reminded Duo.

Duo made a face, spinning away from Wufei to practically hang himself over the edge of the balcony. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to your precious Nataku."

Biting back a sharp retort along the lines of informing Duo of Deathscythe's importance to him, Wufei suddenly found his eyes unwillingly drawn to what the other was wearing. Somewhere between now and the end of breakfast, Duo had shed his usual dark clothing and slipped into a tank top and a pair of spandex shorts that lovingly hugged the curves of his backside. For someone so small, he had unusually long legs. Unusually long, well formed legs.

Mentally giving himself a slap, Wufei's brows slammed together in a look that probably would have sent Duo over the edge of the balcony and scrambling for safety.

Since when had Duo's physical appearance mattered to him? Better yet, when had he begun to notice how pleasing Duo's physical appearance was? Whatever the case, his admiration of it ended here. Duo had made it more than plain, and on more than one occasion, that he cared for Heero. And whether the American knew it or not, Heero felt something in return.

Besides, it was probably just the heat.

"Heero will not be pleased to find you were in his closet."

Spinning around, Duo winked, and Wufei was shocked to find that wink, which he had seen and been on the receiving end of many times before, produce a little thrill in him.

Being cooped up in this house with the braided menace of a pilot was starting to get to him. "Heero'll never know unless you tell him. And you won't do that, will you Wu?"

Wufei ignored that.

"You going to drink that? Or are you afraid I did something to it?"

Glancing down at the glass in his hand with some surprise, Wufei realized he had nearly forgotten about it. It was all Duo's fault.

Forgoing his usual manners, the inside of his mouth suddenly very dry, he tilted his head back and downed the glass in a fashion and with a speed that would have made Duo proud.

Duo stared at him, mouth opened in undisguised shock.

Wufei didn't dignify the stare with a comment.

In all the time that he had known him, Duo had never once seen Wufei act in any way other than proper. His manners even surpassed Quatre's, who was the Winner family heir and a very gracious host to boot. He was tempted to feel Wufei's forehead and ask him if he was feeling all right. Something about the way the other pilot looked, however, warned him that his joking would not be appreciated.

Shrugging the odd display aside, tucking it into the corner of his mind to take out and ponder later, Duo asked, "What're we going to do all day?"

Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, Wufei replied bluntly, "I don't know what you are going to do, but I'm going to read."

Duo groaned. "All day? How can you read all day? What am I supposed to do with myself?"

Wufei grit his teeth. Suddenly, he needed very much to get away from Duo.

"Something constructive," the Chinese pilot bit out, stalking past him and into the house.

Scratching his head, Duo stared after him, wondering what had bitten his fellow Gundam pilot's ass today.

He wanted constructive, did he? Well Duo would show him constructive. And wipe the smirk right from his face while doing it.