"Decade"

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, just enjoy playing with 'em.

Archiving: Be my guest. :D Just let me know.

Warnings: Shonen-ai, eventual yaoi, dark, angst?, language (in spots), SPOILERS for Duo's Episode Zero and parts of series.

Pairings: Implied 2+OC, eventual 2+1/2x1.

Author's Notes:

This was a plot bunny that bit me some time ago. I'm sure this fic isn't entirely original and that someone somewhere has written something at least akin to this, but hey, it's a 15 year-old fandom, what do you expect? *shrugs* Anyhow, I wanted to write this, so I did. This opening bit is just going to be long enough to cover a short prologue and first chapter. Prologue is Duo POV. Enjoy! :D

Prologue: The End Begins

No night had ever been as beautiful as tonight was, with the stars hanging overhead and the moon bathing all beneath it in its silvery glow. A soft, cooling breeze stroked along my forehead and cheeks, brushing strands of hair across my line of sight.

As I stood on the ledge of the building staring out into the night sky, I drew in a deep breath of that crisp, cold air as though it was the best I'd ever had, and released it slowly, savoring it.

Perhaps what made me find an otherwise average evening so spectacular was that this was to be the last night of my life.

Everything that had happened over the past ten years led me to this point. This exact spot where I stood, one boot-clad foot hovering above nothingness; all I needed to do was take that final step forward and bring everything to a close.

How did I get to this point, you ask?

Let me start from the beginning…

CHAPTER ONE: Breathe Again

"Get back here, thief!"

A gaggle of angry shopkeepers thundered down a crowded street, one armed with a bat, another with a rope. This time, they were going to catch the culprit behind the recent thefts from local food stores, and when they did, they would make sure he learned his lesson. Just ahead of them, weaving deftly through stunned bystanders, a nameless, raggedy-haired orphan boy huffed audibly as he did his best to evade his pursuers.

Upon being discovered stealing food, he'd fled, dropping the items he'd procured in the process. Still, that didn't satisfy them; they weren't out to get their items back, they were after him.

Once he was satisfied that he'd put a wide enough margin between himself and his assailants, the boy scrambled around a corner and into a discreet, narrow alleyway between two buildings, hiding himself in the secrecy of the shade they provided. There, he pressed himself to a wall and waited warily until his pursuers passed him by.

Once they had, the violet-eyed orphan boy slid to the ground, his dirty hands clutching at his chest desperately as his breath came in noisy gasps. He'd forgotten exactly how much the disease that had taken up residence in his lungs as of late had limited his level of exertion until the realization that he could no longer catch his breath set in. By then it was far too late.

He'd really done it this time. He needed to move toward home—even if it meant having to crawl on his hands and knees to get there. Unfortunately, not having sufficient oxygen made his muscles reluctant to obey such commands. 'Come on,' he urged himself silently, 'don't quit on me now…'

But his body simply wouldn't listen.

Cool concrete chilled his side as he sank further onto the filthy floor of the alleyway. Was this the end? Was he meant to die alone and cold on the dirty pavement, gasping for breaths to no avail? It was beginning to seem like a real possibility. After all, he'd only survived this long by pure luck, and sooner or later, everyone's luck ran out.

"I don't…" the boy gasped, "I don't wanna die…"

The dizziness and nausea of oxygen deprivation washed over him, making him feel as though he was slowly fading from the world of the living…a place he didn't want to leave yet. But instead of the inviting warmth and white light of death, there was only blackness, and an eerie, bone-chilling cold.

You don't want to die? I can arrange that.

Amethyst eyes followed the sound of the words over to a dark shadow. It hadn't been there before, he was certain of it. Had someone found him? Was there someone there?

No.

Not someone, something.

I'm more than willing to help you. I'll even share some of my talents with you. All you have to do in exchange is one simple favor.

He felt more than a little odd answering…but at that moment, he was desperate. "What favor?"

You have to kill one specific person for me. The task couldn't be simpler.

Killing? Part of him disagreed with the idea.

Another part of him would do anything to stay alive, even if required that he exchange the life of an innocent to prolong his own.

The boy rasped, "Who?"

The one who is known only by a codename. You have ten years from today to find him and take his life.

"How will I know when I've found him?"

Believe me, you'll know.

Before he could get out another question, a great blackness swept over his eyesight enveloping all he saw, and his body finally gave way.

…

In a flash, he was back within the shelter of the semi-demolished and barely-standing building he called home. A boy with straight blonde hair hanging down nearly to his shoulders gazed at him with anxious eyes of an enchanting light jade color.

"He awake yet, Solo?" another child questioned from somewhere out of sight; the green-eyed boy nodded in reply.

"You okay, bub?" Solo queried, "That fever a'yours finally broke, so you should be feelin' better now."

The boy could feel his friend dab at his face with a stained, damp rag.

"How'd I get here?" the chestnut-haired boy asked hoarsely. It was a very viable question. One moment he was lying in a dirty alleyway dying as he talked to shadows, and now this? Just what was going on?

A squeeze to his right hand redirected his thought process. Someone was holding his hand; someone other than Solo. He shifted his indigo gaze in that direction to see another one of the orphans staring back at him attentively.

She was a young girl, only about a year or two his elder; a streetwise little brat with the eyes of the bluest oceans, and the mouth of a sailor. Wild and unkempt hair of rich mahogany hung in wavy locks, persistently trying to hide her face and her eyes of deep, endless sapphire. Since she had no given name, the others called her "Kit", which was common L2 slang for "pretty". Anyone who set laid sight on her would agree that the moniker suited her very well.

They hadn't known each other long, but in that short time, the nameless orphan boy had become quite attached to her; more accurately, he loved her. But a boy his age knew not much of the concept, let alone how to express it. So, showed her in the only ways a six year-old boy knew how: He teased her, picked on her, and told her she had cooties. Amazingly, it somehow only served to strengthen their bond, and she quickly became his partner in crime.

"Kit came and got me when she found you lying in the street," Solo answered solemnly, "You gotta be more careful, kid."

He gave the boy a gentle pat to the chest before walking away, leaving him alone with his female counterpart.

The chestnut-haired orphan slowly tried to sit up, but the girl halted him.

"You heard Solo—you gotta rest a while," she encouraged, "You're real sick."

"I feel fine," the boy insisted.

Her blue eyes rolled. "Don't go pullin' the macho act on me, kiddo-I can see right through it."

"Really, Kit, I'm fine," the boy smiled, "I promise."

In truth, he did mysteriously feel much better…almost as though his illness had somehow been cured. Of course, he knew the next time he was needed to do something important—such as procuring food like he had been not long ago—the illness would present itself once more. His gut told him the only reason he felt well at the moment was because he wasn't exerting himself.

"You really fuckin' scared me, y'know…" she murmured. "Layin' there in the gutter like that…you gotta learn to take better care of y'self." Her pink lips twisted into a small smirk as her eyes dropped downward almost bashfully. "…We'd all miss ya if you bought the farm."

She would never know exactly how close he had come to it, either.

…

That night the children gathered around a crackling bonfire as they always did, using it both for the purpose of keeping warm, as well as telling scary ghost stories. The violet-eyed orphan, who was usually eager to regale his companions with embellished tales of sheer terror, was unusually quiet. Solo understood, and took his place for the evening, fabricating a chilling account of a chance encounter with a spirit from another realm.

The chestnut-haired boy listened intently at first, watching the way the flickering, dancing flames cast shadows over his companion's dirt-mottled face at random.

Over the course of their friendship, Solo had imparted all the wisdom he had to offer. The young orphan hadn't forgotten a word of it…

"Three things you gotta be to succeed in this life, kid," Solo stated flatly, "Just remember the three Qs: quick, quiet, and cute."

The smaller boy perked a brow. "Cute?"

His companion nodded. "Yep. Sometimes cute kids can get shit for free just cuz they're cute. Cuter you are, the more you get."

"That stuff's for girls," the violet-eyed orphan rebuked with a scoff, "Why be cute when you can steal?"

His companion chuckled heartily. "My thoughts exactly, bub. You an' me, we gon' get along real well."

The chestnut-haired boy grinned. "I don't think I'd pass for cute anyhow."

Solo gave himself time to think over his words before he responded. Ruffling the boy's ratty chestnut locks lovingly with a worn palm, he smiled brightly to his young apprentice. "Y'know what, kid? I do. I really do. And if you ever get a chance to get outta here, you take it. Hear me?"

Even if he had the chance to leave, he didn't have the desire. It didn't matter that they didn't have food; it didn't matter that they lived in a condemned building that continually crumbled around them as days went by. What he had was something worth more than any amount of material possessions: He had Solo. He had Kit. He had a community. And he had love. If nothing ever changed, he knew he could be happy just having those things.

But nothing was ever the same after that night.

Despite the boy's best efforts, his friends one by one all succumb to the same disease he had somehow evaded. Had he known he'd extended his life only to see Kit, Solo, and all those he knew and loved wither and die before his eyes, he would have gladly let himself pass in the alleyway.

In all too little time, the L2 Plague turned the ground floor of the building he called home into something of a crude mausoleum.

He hadn't had the tools to dig or a place to put them, let alone the strength to carry them there if he did happen to stumble upon a suitable spot. Instead, he'd done the best he could with what he could attain: Covered them with beautiful quilts and blankets he'd stolen, and adorned them with the most exquisite flowers he could find. Even after they wilted and dried he wouldn't touch them, but always brought more. Especially for Solo, the boy who had taken him in and given him a place to call home and someone to call family; he had the grandest display of them all.

He no longer had any desire to be in that empty building since it had become nothing more than a shrine to departed friends, but had nowhere else to go. And so, he lived in what remained of the attic, under the shelter of a partially-demolished roof, sleeping on unstable, holey flooring. Each night he slept alone, and in deafening silence.

Until an evening came when the sound of voices floated in from somewhere outside.

"Are you sure this is the building you traced them to?"

"I'm sure."

"My word…"

Peering through a hole in the floorboards, curious violet eyes could see a trio of men enter: two of them younger, one very much their elder, dressed in solid black. He appeared to be some sort of religious figurehead; perhaps a Priest of some sort.

As his eyes scanned over the grim display before him, the elderly man crossed himself. "Dear me…they've all passed…lost to the Plague."

The remaining orphan hovered silently above them, deep in thought. Even though he had just barely reached the tender age of six he was still considered a wanted criminal, as he'd stolen from just about every shopkeeper in the colony. Eventually these strange intruders would search the building for survivors, and it was only a matter of time until he was caught. If they did, who knew what would happen? He most certainly didn't want to find out. He needed to make his escape, and quickly.

But, as soon as he shifted his weight, the boards beneath his feet protested loudly. So much for making it out undiscovered…

"Is there someone here? Is someone alive?" a man queried.

"Go away!" came the response from the young boy.

"We're not here to hurt you," the Priest called out, "We're here to help."

"I don't believe you," the boy snapped.

"Why don't you come down here and see for yourself? You can always run away, can't you?"

Though the orphan hated to admit it, the old man had a point. Slowly and cautiously, he crept down from the attic.

Out of the shadows appeared a young boy, violet eyes as wild as his untamed chestnut hair, his face dirty and fingerpainted with grease.

The Priest dropped to a knee before him. The expression on his worn, wrinkled face and in his soft hazel eyes was one of genuine kindness; he truly had no intention of hurting anyone. He was as pure and benevolent a soul as the boy had seen in his lifetime.

"What's your name, son?" the man asked warmly.

He'd never been asked that question before, and he didn't know how to respond. Unlike Kit, no one had given him a moniker; he'd always just responded to whatever nickname they chose to use when talking to him.

But, as the surviving orphan looked upon the remains of his dearest companion, covered in dried wilted roses, daisies, and wildflowers, he had his answer.

Tears welled in his amethyst eyes as he gave his reply.

"…Duo."

...END CHAPTER...

Random AN: I'm going to do my best to name each chapter after a song title from my music collection, just because I feel like it. Today's titles were inspired by Tantric, ("The End Begins"), and Toni Braxton, ("Breathe Again"). Yep. Useless facts FTW! You're welcome. :D