Author's note: This is a story I've been working on for quite a while, now. It's still a rough draft, and as such, is somewhat disjointed and is missing a few scenes I'm still working on here and there. So far, there aren't even really chapters, so I'm just posting what I have completed so far. Let me know what you think! I'm only posting this now because I want it to be better. Thank you; I hope you enjoy it.

It seemed like a good night to drink.

The goldfish was definitely dead, floating belly up in his little, round, glass bowl. He, (I'm assuming it was a he), had commiserated with me when my wife had decided not to come home one evening, choosing instead to go home to someone else. Someone a little more successful. Things had started out well enough. I had met her while I was stationed in Germany, and she had followed me to Torii Station in Okinawa. The work was...boring. Petroleum Supply Specialist sounded fancy on paper, when I was eighteen at the local recruiting station my parents had dropped me off at in downtown Raleigh. In reality, it was damn dirty, monotonous work, but I stuck it out for five long years. After all, what else was I going to do? After my enlistment term ended, I found work at a small publishing company in Osaka as a translator. Even the most uneducated dolt can learn a language pretty well if you're constantly surrounded by it, and although it didn't pay much, it paid the bills. And so, our life was fairly simple; how one imagines life should be. I went to work from nine to five, stayed late on occasion. Hilde fussed over our apartment and went out and spent all my money on occasion. There were the weekly phone calls to the parents, monthly trips to the beach. Life was pleasant enough, I thought. But apparently, my partner hadn't felt the same, and now the damn goldfish was dead.

I really couldn't blame her, I guess. I did ignore her constant hounding to take better charge of our future prospects, or even have future prospects for that matter. What can I say? It's hard for me to see beyond tomorrow. And I can't help but wonder why one should even bother. They said it best in an old horror movie I saw when I was a bit younger. "We all float down here..." Stupid goldfish. You were Hilde's idea.

I didn't bother changing out of my office clothes. After unceremoniously flushing my aquatic friend to the great beyond, I left that sad little apartment, eking of loneliness, and drove straight to the nearest bar. It occurred to me after parking that I could have just walked. You really couldn't throw a stone in Osaka without hitting a watering hole of some kind, and I don't think I had driven a mile before I pulled into some obviously old, but well kept joint. But I wasn't a drinker, so I'd never really paid attention to where bars were located. Hell, I wasn't even a smoker, but that night, I was bound and determined to be everything that the world had to offer. Two shots later, I thought I was pretty alright. Five shots later, I was pretty sure I could fly. Two beers and another three shots later, I had no idea where I was. I handed over my bank card without any hesitation to any vendor of every sort. Everywhere I went, I threw cigarettes and bought rounds like it was going out of style. I imagine I was quite popular for a while. But eventually, the escort sitting on my lap's face began to blur, her bright red lipstick streaking across my vision as she spoke all those scripted, phony niceties I don't even recall now. The generic lounge music began to slow, till everything sounded like one giant, screaming wad, annoying, and stuck in my ears like old gum. I couldn't swallow the lump in my throat. I stood abruptly, the girl dropping to the floor with a little cry of protest.

"Gotta run," was all I offered. Then I left. That is, I left directly after the owner pulled me back in to pay the tab. I handed over my card again and told him to be careful, because it was hot. He didn't get it.

It was well past midnight, and the intent had been to walk back to my car, but I couldn't see more than two feet in front of me, and one dark, empty street kept leading to another. The night air was cool and moist, and helped to soothe my aching head a little. I could hear the droning of the tug boat horns, so I guessed I must be somewhere close to the harbor, a far cry from where I parked, I'm sure. Suddenly, I desperately needed to see the sight of water, so I stumbled my way towards the docks, and leaned against the rope railing to peer into the black and swirling mass. I wondered, briefly, if my poor goldfish's body had made it out to the sea. I leaned further over the railing, letting my weight rest against the rope entirely. I was sad for my fishy pal, but I couldn't help but feel a little envious. All of his small troubles were over. What was I going to do with myself? I could easily have leaned over those ropes and become part of the nothingness I'd always perceived to be just beyond my consciousness, and I would be lying if I said no small part of me wanted to. However, proper suicide etiquette required I leave a note, at least for my poor parents, and I was far too lazy to go home, write it, and remember my intent. It was not lost on me that besides my wife, there was no one beyond my parents who would even notice me leaving this world, and that kind of chafed. But there was also no one to blame but myself.
I sighed, deeply, and took a step back, loosening my tie. That was the extent of my pitiful rebellion against life; get drunk, waste all my money, and then go get lost on the outskirts of Osaka in the middle of a Wednesday night. Christ, I had to get up for work in the morning.

'I sure showed the world a thing or two,' I thought glumly, and stumbled back in what I hoped would become the direction of my car. In reality, it was towards a short flight of steps down a basement alley way that would immediately change the course of my life forever. I didn't even see them, all I knew was that I was falling. A few bumps on the head later, I was flat on my back, willing the world to stop spinning. Something was blinding me, and there was a faint clinking echoing in my ears. As I slowly gained my focus, I could see the fuzzy light of a street lamp above. Moths kept stubbornly flying into it, and I could hear their futile attempts again and again. I also became aware of the muted sound of music coming from one of the broken down buildings nearby. With more effort than it should have taken, I rolled to the side, immediately feeling a dull throbbing in my head. After vomiting everything I had drank and ate in the past 24 hours, and then some, I staggered to my feet. The surrounding area was in shambles, completely abandoned, no doubt after the latest economy crash. Who was playing music in an abandoned building in the middle of the night? It was not normally my custom to go poking around isolated, dark parts of the city, but what the hell. I was curious and I figured I didn't have too much to lose.

Drawing closer, I could tell the sound was coming from a little pink building in the alley way, sandwiched amongst all the other dilapidation. It occurred to me that parts of the city looked like building blocks haphazardly stacked together by a child. This building in particular looked like an old strip club. I could barely make out the faded characters on the door; parts of it had worn away with time. "Pink Dreams..." Cute. I leaned against the door and found it open, so I walked into the foyer. The music was certainly louder inside, and I must confess that I had never heard anything quite like it. The guitar sounded so mournful, and whoever was on the keyboard was positively haunting. A voice began to echo through the rooms, sad and lilting, and I felt my chest grow heavy, compressed so that I could scarcely breathe. It was a hypnotic, dream like sound that made me feel so nostalgic, though I was sure I was hearing it for the first time. It was beautiful, and I was intrigued. I was no music buff, but I listened to and dabbled with instruments enough to know amazing things when I heard them. Like one of those silly moths outside, I was gone, and walked steadily towards the stage room, crushing broken glass along the way. Beginning to feel dizzy from the fall, the alcohol, or a combination of both, I peered into the room, leaning against the door frame for support. There he was. I don't remember how his hair looked, or what he was wearing, but I remember his hands. He stood near the front of the stage, leaning against a dancing pole, looking as if his body and the instrument he held were weightless. His hands moved so effortlessly, with such precision and grace. I wasn't sure if it was the lighting, but sometimes it looked as if there were no bones in his hands at all. His fingers flew across the strings, bending and twisting in ways I didn't think possible. All the while he continued to sing, and I continued to listen and stare. Things stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. I was certain that in that time, we were the only two people who existed in the world. At least, we were until I lost my balance and stumbled forward into the room.

Everything came to a screeching halt, and I could feel several pairs of eyes upon me.

"Please excuse me," I babbled, still trying to keep my balance now that I had no support. "I didn't mean to intrude, I was just passing by, well not really passing by, I fell down some steps-" I was starting to swoon. "And I heard music, so, um, I...," Everything was spinning again and my head was aching terribly. I took a step backwards, unable to swallow the lump in my throat, my eyes tearing up for some ungodly reason. "I'm so sorry, I'll be on my way."

"Wait! Are you alright?" a man stood from behind the drum set, his serious tone was etched with a bit of concern. Great, now I was making a complete ass out of myself.

"Oh, yes! I'm fine! This is all my goldfish's fault. Well, it's not really mine. Stupid thing! Ha ha!" I continued to stumble backwards.

"Why the fuck is he talking about goldfish?" A very skeptical, effeminate voice came from behind the keyboard.

"He needs a doctor. I think he bumped his head too hard," a deeper voice standing nearby confirmed. I was completely mortified by now.

"Thank you, no. I'm fine, really! So sorry again! Bye!" I turned and made it one step forward before falling flat on my face.

I opened my bleary eyes, squinting at the sunlight streaming in from a nearby window. My head hurt like a bitch. I tentatively reached up my hand to touch my forehead, and found a large bandage covering it. The events of last night suddenly returned to me in a flash, and I sat up quickly, alarmed. This was not my apartment. Unfortunately, I sat up a little too quickly, and the sudden movement made me feel like someone was pummeling my brains. It took all of my self control not to vomit again right then and there.

"Please, guy, not on my couch," a larkish plea startled me from across the room. I squinted and saw a thin man, not too much shorter than myself, leaning against the kitchen counter that separated the two rooms. He had tousled, dark brown hair but very blue eyes, and wore a red candy striped shirt that made me dizzy just looking at it. I wasn't quite sure who he was, until he unfolded his arms and I saw his hands. I fought the slight blush creeping up my cheeks, sincerely praying to any god out there that the man had not noticed me staring at him like some stalker for a good portion of the night. He regarded me with a mischievous smirk, and picked up a mug from the counter.

"Here, " he walked across the room and held out the cup. "Drink this, it'll help. Smells awful, I know."

"Not at all, thank you." I gratefully accepted the warm tea, although the extremely bitter taste did catch me off guard at first. But something about it was soothing to my aching head. "It's good," I nodded, and continued to drink. "I can't thank you enough for your kindness," I gestured to the bandage on my head.

"Well, you know," he shrugged and slipped his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, the whole movement looking somewhat oddly coquettish, "The guys said we should just drop you off at the local hospital, but your head didn't look that bad. Alcohol was the main culprit; I think you just can't hold your liquor," he finished with a grin.

"You would be right," I chuckled. "I will not be repeating that mistake any time soon."

"Ah, but no man should be alone and sober after his goldfish dies," his voice was full of mock solemnity.

"Oh, god..." I moaned, putting my face in my hands.

"You cried about that damn thing all night!" he laughed, sitting on the arm of the couch next to me. "At least, I think it's yours. You couldn't seem to make up your mind if it was yours or your 'whore of a wife's'. Either way, I had to hug you and reassure you that it was in gold fish heaven for two hours!"

"I didn't!" I protested weakly, shaking my head. Man, if the guys in my old unit could see what I'd degenerated into. The man simply shrugged again at my denial and jumped to his feet.

"Well, in any case," he plucked at the knee of his jeans, "Based upon your medical condition, I'm prescribing one serving of pancakes with syrup and an egg."

"Oh, you're my doctor now, are you?" I rose as well, suddenly becoming aware that I was no longer wearing my clothes from the night before. He saw my look of utter confusion and held up his hands.

"Wait here, I'll be right back." He dashed out to the landing behind a screen door and retrieved my shirt and pants from a clothes line. "Here. Sorry if I took liberties; they were sort of-,"

"Don't!" I held up my hand quickly stopping him, cringing at what I presumed he was about to say. He just held them out to me with another smirk.

"Call your work, shower, change." he commanded, succinctly, jerking his thumb toward a door to the far side of the living room. He then turned on his heel walked to the kitchen, as if there was no question I'd do exactly as he said. I did, of course, but still. After calling and letting my work know that I was too ill to come in, I felt dirty enough to warrant taking a shower in the cocky stranger's latrine. When I emerged, dressed once again in my own clothes, I could hear the Pixies on the cassette player, and the usual noises of someone cooking. The man was somehow managing to use the stove, talk on the phone, and smoke a cigarette all at the same time. I tucked my poplar shirt in and leaned against the far wall to wait. Every movement he made possessed a natural elegance, like a swan unfolding it's neck. But he also moved quickly, precisely; his hands like a snake striking. Like a strange dance, he spun in and out of the long phone cord with the receiver tucked under his chin and into his left shoulder.

"You can't take the piano solo out, it's supposed to be foreshadowing. Of course it fits with the rest of the album, you fucking seagull!" Catching sight of me out of the corner of his eye, he waved a spatula toward a stool next to the long counter, and I sat down. "Stop shitting over everything, already!" He rolled his eyes very slowly and took a long drag off his cigarette. I could see the ring finger on his right hand tapping the counter in exasperation. "We'll talk about it later, Wufei. I gotta cut and run...What?...I take our musical endeavors very seriously!...ouch, that really hurt, guy!" He grinned and winked at me. "Okay, okay, boss man. Uh-huh...See you then." He practically threw the phone back into the cradle with an exaggerated sigh. "That guy... needs... to relax," his words were comically deliberate. I didn't really know one way or the other, so I stayed silent. He didn't seem to mind, and continued working on breakfast. The smell of the butter and pancakes overpowered the smoke from his cigarette, and my stomach involuntarily grumbled quite loudly. "Heard that."

"Eh-heh. Sorry. Kinda lost my dinner last night, I guess," I grinned, taking the plate he extended.

"This smells great, thanks."

"Well, of course it does," he dusted off his hands and lit another cigarette from his back pocket. "I made it, after all."

I laughed and so did he. He left me to make a pot of coffee, and I looked around as I chewed. The apartment was small, but the stark colors and smooth metal surfaces reflected the light made it seem spacious enough. One, lone bamboo plant dominated the counter I sat at and seemed to have done so for quite some time. Everything was neat and tidy, except for one corner in the sitting room where a piano sat. The Gibson he'd used last night leaned up against it, and various musical sheets and scribbled notes were pinned to the wall and scattered across the floor. I swallowed, and turned to him.

"You write all the music for the band?" I asked, feeling proud to finally initiate some conversation.

"For the most part, yeah. Kind of just comes easy to me, I guess. But," and he sighed again, "As you heard, there is always a bit of 'tweaking'," his fingers made quote marks in the air.

"What's the name of your band?"

"Sexy Sizzlers Sixty-Nine." My eyes grew unintentionally large and my fork hit the plate.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" he got a good chuckle at the face I made. It was a reverberating sound that emanated from somewhere deep in his chest, and you couldn't help but also smile when you heard it. "So it Goes."

I took another bite of fluffy, syrupy goodness. "Reminds me of that book. You know, the one by Vonnegut?"

"Never heard of it. You read a lot, erm...?"

"Oh!" I threw down my fork and stood up extending my hand. I'd been so caught up in the moment, I'd completely forgotten to introduce myself. "Duo. Duo Maxwell."

He grinned at my completely American introduction and gesture, and after eyeing my hand for a split second, took it in a firm handshake. "Heero. Where are you from, Duo?"

"North Carolina."

"Ah," I didn't see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. "So, you read a lot?"

"Not particularly," I shrugged, sitting back down. "But on all those nights I was banished to the couch, it sure made falling asleep a lot easier."

He laughed at my explanation. "I see," he snorted, lighting another cigarette. He certainly enjoyed those more than anyone I'd ever met.

"How about you?" I clasped my hands in front of me, thumbing at the nail on my opposite finger. "I know a guy isn't this neat."

"Well, I suppose this guy is. I do have a special lady in my life, though."

"I hope she doesn't mind the intrusion," I said, a little nervously.

"You're awfully apologetic for an American," he observed, blowing out a steady stream of smoke. He put it out in the sink. "But no. Since she's been sitting by your feet for a good five minutes, I'd say you're in the clear."

I hastily looked down to see a sleek and shiny furred Siamese cat. It looked up at me with enormous blue eyes, and we regarded each other silently for a moment.

"Well, hey there, gorgeous!" I leaned down to scratch behind the cat's ears. "Aren't you a pretty little thing."

The creature hissed, and after taking a deft swat at my hand, ran under the sofa. "Aisha!" Hero practically bellowed. He stomped after the thing like it was a disobedient two year old and boldly reached an arm under the couch. Within seconds, he had the cat by the scruff and lifted her up under her front legs so that they were eye to eye. The cat looked very unhappy, and it's ears lay flat against it's head, but it did nothing to resist it's owner. "What have we talked about? We don't hiss and scratch guests."

"I can't say I blame her," I called over. "I'd probably deck someone if they tried to put their hand on my head. I mean, unless I knew them. You know what? Never mind." I shut my mouth, feeling more than a little stupid, as both Heero and Aisha stared at me. The cat let out a low, throaty meow. Heero flashed a sly grin.

"Aisha says she's very sorry," he said, tucking the thing under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

"Apology accepted," I muttered, feeling like the whole situation was pretty stupid, in general.

"Let me get you a bandage."

"Thanks," I absently brought the cut on my hand to my mouth, tasting that familiar, salty taste.

"So that's your girlfriend, huh?"

"Currently, yeah. Last few relationships didn't work out so well. Here you go." He tossed a box from the kitchen drawer in my direction. "Thinking about giving up on the idea of human companionship all together."

"I feel ya there, buddy. More trouble than it's worth, right?"

"Exactly."

We could be so pleasantly, ridiculously idiotic back then.

"So, you liked what you heard last night? You must of; you stood there for forty minutes," he seated himself across from me and gazed directly into my eyes. I tried not to glance away, but it was no use.

"Yeah, it's pretty awesome, man," I said in all earnestness. "Been a long time since I heard music I liked that much. I really wasn't trying to spy, I didn't think anyone saw me."

"I was the only one that did."

"Oh..." So, Heero had been watching me the entire time I was watching him, or more precisely, his fingers. Not that I was going to mention that part.

"But I'm flattered you enjoyed it," his voice sounded genuinely pleased, as if my opinion actually mattered. A warm feeling began to emanate from deep within my chest. "We have to practice at night a lot, because most of us have day jobs. But that's all about to change. We finally landed a gig at GLIB down 6th."

I knew the place. Pretty trendy club; my wife and I had been once when it first opened. Or rather, my wife had dragged me and I scowled the entire time. "Congratulations! That place is pretty spiffy."

Heero leaned back in his chair, looking very pleased. But his smile quickly turned to a frown. "It's great, but everything fell into place a little too fast."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we were trying to hold auditions for another guitarist, but now there's really no time. We play next week."

"Ah. That sucks." I tapped my fingers lightly across the counter, and his eyes darted toward them. Oops.

"You don't happen to play, do you?"

I laughed, but he wasn't laughing, so I stopped. "Well, I used to play a little bit. Nothing too fancy, you know?"

"Perfect!" He leapt to his feet and, before I could blink twice, a cheap, Yamaha guitar was thrust into my unguarded hands. I stared, blankly, down at it like I'd never seen one before in my entire life. "Play something," he ordered. I shrugged and thought for more than a moment. It wasn't that I was trying to recollect which songs I knew, more so just trying to figure out which one to pick. I settled for that Procol Harum song, Whiter Shade of Pale. It took a moment for my fingers to become accustomed to the foreign instrument, and it had been quite a while since the last time I played. It started out a bit painfully, and more than a little out of tune, but slowly, my hands remembered the movements and it sounded halfway decent by the time I finished. Heero sat perfectly still the entire "audition", watching me. Needless to say, it made me just a little self conscious, especially since I could see him criticizing every little chord I plucked and strummed, his eyes burning with unusually intense concentration. I held the guitar out to him, and he quickly snapped out of his trance like state. He rocked back on his heels as he rested the body of the instrument on the floor.

"You're just awful!" he gushed, quite cheerfully. I shrugged and scratched the back of my head with a stupid grin.

"Um, yeah, it's been a while."

"You're hired!"

"What?" my voice went completely flat with bewilderment.

"You've got the spot, if you want it. I want you in the band."

"You just said I was awful," I reminded him.

"I'll teach you everything you need to know."

"You just said that you only have one week!"

"I'm a REALLY good teacher," he folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, challenging me to say anything more.

"But-"

"Look, stop fucking arguing with me about what I said!" he snapped, taking a step toward me as if we were about to come to blows. I instinctively moved away, almost raising my fists in defense. I was pretty sure Heero did not realize just how hard I could hit. Something about being in the military makes your bones denser, and all the give gradually gets beat out of you. "Just say yes."

I pursed my lips together. He didn't move a muscle. It seemed like an easy enough request.

"Okay, we'll give it a shot, but I think you're gonna regret this pretty soon," I warned.

"You're kind of down on yourself. I see LOTS of potential. And," he held up a finger for emphasis, "if all else fails, you can just get by on your good looks."

"You're pretty forward for being Japanese," I told him. He lit another cigarette, blowing smoke up into my face.

"Fuck that shit."

If you rode your bike fast enough down the hill on St. Andrews, you could almost make it all the way up the next one on Bartholomew's, without pedaling. The mail box was a mile down the driveway, and a beat up, little gas station had the best Coke flavored Slush-Puppies you ever tasted. That's how it was growing up near Dunn, in a small shack of a home, with grandparents that leaned, ever so slightly, back and forth in distressed, creaky rockers on the front porch, watching the fireflies come out of the tall grass in the dwindling heat of July evenings.

"Duo, honey, look at that one o'er there," my grandpa pointed to one of the little lights that kept blinking twice. "See, son, the males blink twice, and the females blink once to let im' know they heard the message loud and clear."

"What message, gramps?" I asked, already bored as I stretched out my gangly, fourteen year old limbs across the boards at his feet.

"Why, that she's ready for a little of that sweet honey he's got!" the old man laughed heartily, showing every gap where a tooth should be.

"Really, Don!" my grandmother chided. "You shouldn't talk 'bout things to such a youngin'!"

"What? He knows 'bout the birds and the bees, doncha boy?"

"Yes, Gramps..."

"But there's more to it than that, yeah?" he slapped his gnarled fingers, thinly veiled in translucent skin, but still firm, on my shoulder. "Duo, son, listen here, there's something else out ther'," he pointed with his other hand to nothing in particular. "Yes sir, there's an love impostor! They have a light too, and they lure them poor males to their doom! Lookie, there!" I gazed back out at the tiny lights dancing across the lawn. "I'll bet even you can't tell the difference...Well, can ya?"

Before I knew it, I was pacing back and forth in front of the back door to an obviously western styled building, a club for all the indies of the time, no doubt. I wasn't thinking about that, though. I was busy running through every note in my head. I'd practised with Heero almost every day, and had listened to his lessons like they were mission briefings and my life depended on it. It kind of did, because I was pretty sure I was going to die of embarrassment that night. I felt a light tug on the back of my jacket. Heero was leaning completely at east against the railing, smoking what I hoped to be some new kind of cigarette. It certainly had an interesting enough smell. He held it out to me more as a command than an offer. Desperate to calm my nerves, I quickly took a puff and handed it back. My eyes immediately watered, and I coughed a few times, but it did help. Heero tossed the butt in the back parking lot and grasped my shoulders firmly, wrapping his thin fingers around them. "You'll be fine."

"Right."

"After all, you were in the U.S. Army. What could be scarier than that?"

"Humiliation," I said, frankly.

"What you got to lose that you're so afraid of a bunch of teenagers and college kids?" he laughed, jerking his thumb toward the building. I laughed, too. It seemed pretty silly when he put it that way, but that wasn't it.

I don't want to let you down.

I didn't say it, but I wore the message on every inch of my face. He locked eyes with me and smiled. It wasn't his usual, playful smirk; it was quite brilliant. But as quickly as it had come, it vanished. "Alright, grasshopper, we're on."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and followed him inside. There was already loud music blasting from the speakers, as young socialites danced and drank amidst the darkness and strobe lights. We quickly and quietly set up our equipment and stood at the ready. I just kept my eyes on Heero, like a lost child. Trowa gave me a nod as he plucked through a few scales and rifts on his bass. Wufei felt the need to shake my hand again, ensure me I'd do fine with a total lack of sincerity, and then purse his lips and look me over like he wanted to change everything about me. Quare simply ignored me altogether, smacking on bubble gum and bobbing his black curls along to the music already playing. Heero simply stood with his head bowed low, as if in some silent form of prayer. And seemingly and eternity later, the lights all went out. I couldn't see a damn thing. I really didn't need to. I heard the harsh tapping of Wufei's drumsticks, heard Quatre's fingers climbing the scales on the keys, and closed my eyes. I raised my hand up high, and let it fall across the strings like a guillotine.

"This is all happening as we dream," Heero called through the microphone to the silent crowd. His fingers began to dance across the board and strings. Ambient lights began to flutter behind us. I tried to ignore them. His voice had an eerie, foreign quality, and it drifted over the crowd, hypnotizing them for a few moments. But when I struck a loud chord again, and Heero quickly picked up with the main rhythm, they began to scream. It all became a blur, no beginning and no end, spinning round and round. I felt immense sound vibrating off my skin, along with the echo of my rapid heart beat. It was something beyond any drug I'd ever experienced, such was the sensory overload, and my hands, if they were indeed still playing, were moving on instinct alone. All throughout, the only thing I could hear was Heero's clear voice, which cut through the noise confusion like a knife and kept us all centered. And we rocked it, song after song.

An hour and a half past, and the song we'd just played was our last. Without skipping a beat or losing an ounce of his energetic countenance, Heero thanked the crowd, nothing but smiles, and they went nuts. They threw their hats and gloves in the air; they clapped and stomped their feet. I felt as if I'd run the iron-man. I'd never been so exhausted! Even in all my army days, I couldn't recall doing something so strenuous. Well, not mentally, anyway, and that's the only kind of activity that really wears me out. Heero was fist pumping the air, like a hero from the glory days, and like a jackalope, he bounded next to me and put his arm around my neck. I let him tug me around in his victory spin, trying to catch my breath. I guessed I'd done alright, and the immense relief made me giddy. I returned his hug, feeling a good ten years younger than I was, and the rest of the band was soon sharing our circle. Quatre couldn't stop jumping up and down and waving to the crowd, continuing to entertain them with his cute antics. Wufei put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a firm shake and nod. I'd finally earned a little of his respect. Trowa had a small smile on his face as he mock saluted me. I saluted back. It was the best night of my life.

"Duo, a woman called today, long distance from Housten," Hilde sat at the kitchen table, carefully painting her toenails a shiny metallic blue, her dark eyebrows furrowed with deep concentration.

"No kidding," I sat down on the bench next to the front door and unlaced my snow covered boots. Muddy ice flew everywhere.

"Oh, Duo, my love, I just cleaned!" Hilde wailed, jumping from her chair and rushing to fetch a rag. She always called me "love" when she was pissed. I always found that rather odd.

"I got it, I got it!" I cried apologetically, holding out my hand. She handed me the towel. "Sorry, babe." I wiped up all the melting ice, throwing the bigger chunks out the door.

"Just pay more attention, yah?" Her German accent peeked out in her frenzied state. I grinned.

"Sure thing. Sorry, I was thinking about today. A soldier in my platoon went missing this afternoon. First Sergeant was all up in my ass about it, but we finally found him asleep behind the supply shed. Know what I did?"

Hilde peered up from her resumed perch on the edge of the chair. "What?" her eyes were round with curiosity. I leaned forward with an evil grin.

"I tied his laces together, and then I went and got the First Sergeant. We woke him up with a practice grenade! Rolled that sucker right next to his boots!"

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did! That private leapt twenty feet in the air, then fell flat on his face!"

"You're terrible!" she giggled, holding the back of her hand to her nose.

"Maybe, but he'll never sleep on duty again, I can promise you that. First Sergeant cussed him out to next week."

"Oi..." she shook her head, and resumed painting. I walked to the small fridge and pulled out the bottle of orange juice. I got my favorite cup, a tall, pub glass, and began to pour.

"Who was it that called?" I asked absently, watching the thick liquid swirl around as the glass filled.

"Oh yes, um, Solo I think it was."

"What?" I froze, feeling all the oxygen rush out of my body.

"A ummmm...Ms. Solo? She said you served with her son in the Gulf?" I couldn't stop my my left hand from nervously rapping the counter top. My knuckles began to strike more and more violently, until I pressed against them with my right hand and closed my eyes. Hilde continued.
"She really wants you to call her back, she was most...insistent," she raised her eyebrows for emphasis. "So I put her number next to the phone."

"I re-, ahem, really don't know what she's talking about," I recovered after my voice cracked.

No one slept that night. We all sat around at Wufei's bar, shooting the shit and talking about the performance. Heero was beaming at me and happily took full credit for my debut into the musical world. I was just happy he was happy.

The next morning, while I was attempting to stay awake at my work and chewing on some toast, the phone began to ring. I swallowed my bite and picked it up. "Duo here."

"Duo, it's Wufei. I just got a call from a scouting agent for Warner Music. How would you like to make the band a full time job?" Wufei certainly wasn't one to beat around the bush.

"Well, let me think about that," I said, swishing the coffee around in my old, favorite over-sized mug. It was one my recruiter had given me when I first enlisted. Somehow, my parents held on to it, and it wound up in my possession again. The Army logo had long ago worn away, but I still appreciated how much coffee it could hold. I glanced back at my computer screen. I thought about my career choices up to this point. "Rock star" would certainly be a big deviation from the norm. I took another sip of coffee, wondering just how long Wufei would wait for my deliberation.

"Gods, man, I haven't got all day, you know!" he made no effort to hide his irritation. "To be perfectly frank, I think we could find another guitarist, but Heero's quite insistent that it HAS to be you."

"Really? Why?" I wondered aloud. I could see Wufei rolling his eyes in my head.

"I really don't know what goes on in his crazy little mind, but I do know that he is irreplaceable, so whatever he wants, I try my damnedest to get, and right now he wants you...to be a permanent member of the band," he hastily added. "So, what do you say? We could be big."

And I'd thought my little week long trip into wonderland was ending. It was odd to think it could only just be beginning. I sipped my coffee again, and Heero's eyes flashed through my mind.
"I'll do it."

"Good. Quit your current, fucking job and get some sleep," his voice was instantly all business. "We convene tomorrow morning, bright and early. All our lives are about to drastically change. Be ready."

He hung up without waiting for a reply. I slowly let the receiver fall in it's cradle and leaned back in my chair. Be ready...I was always prepared for life, right? I stretched my arms over my head and closed my eyes, seeing his again. Here goes nothing!

I wrote a short, polite letter of resignation, handed it to my director with a bow, collected all my belongings, and left. Once home, I slept soundly for a very long time. I awoke to a knock on my door. It was seven...the next morning. I'd slept almost an entire day. Odd.

Feeling groggy from oversleep and dehydration, I stumbled to my front door to peek through the peep hole. A deep blue eye took up the entire circle, startling me fully awake. I opened the door.

"Morning, sunshine!" Heero walked right past me with a paper sack in his arms and into my kitchen. "You slept a long time. I called three times."

"Sorry about that," I scratched the back of my head. "Guess I must have needed it."
He seemed to be only half listening as he rifled through my cabinets for a pan. What the hell was he doing? "What the hell are you doing?" I yawned and stepped closer.

"What's it look like? Making food." He pulled a box of pancake mix out the bag. Of course it was pancakes. My stomach started to growl, and I looked the other way, a little embarrassed.
"Heard that," he called over his shoulder, already mixing batter and cracking eggs into a bowl. I regarded him, silently. He seemed jittery, and there were dark circles under his eyes. If this past week was anything to go by, he probably hadn't slept at all. And now he was in my apartment, making pancakes...and drinking beer, which had just appeared from inside the bag. I looked at the clock to confirm that it was, indeed, seven in the morning, and not at night. I shrugged out my shoulders and walked to stand next to him.

"Need any help? I used to help cook at my fob, sometimes."

"What's that?" his eye twitched rather than blinked at me, and he paused his harried whipping of the eggs. One of the pull strings from the hoodie he was wearing dangled dangerously close to the liquid.

"It's like a temporary base you set up in foreign territory."

"You've fought in a war?" he asked, sounding as if it was something quite unheard of.

"Yeah, my unit deployed during the Gulf War. I was over there from, well, pretty much start to finish."

He studied me, silently. I knew what he was thinking, I'd seen that look before. I was pretty sure of what the next words out of his mouth would be. "No, I don't need any help. Go shower or something," he commanded, turning away to his mixing again. Those eggs were going to be like eating a yellow sponge. When I didn't move, he shooed me away with his hand, then took a pack of cigarettes out of his front pocket. I smiled, shaking my head. If the crazy man wanted to make pancakes for me so badly that he'd shown up on my doorstep at seven in the morning, who was I to object? And I was certainly in need of a shower. I was pleased with the way he didn't seem to think my deployment was a big deal, after all. And I thought, as I rinsed and toweled off my hair, how glad I was he didn't ask THAT question...but isn't it a shame I thought about it all the same?

He was talking on my telephone when I emerged from my room. Glancing up at me from where he lay, he succinctly pointed to my small kitchen table, where my breakfast had been neatly laid out, and then crossed his legs and went right back to talking. He seemed to have made himself quite at home, all stretched out on my couch. It was like he'd always been there, and it wasn't an unpleasant notion. When Heero was there, I didn't feel that oppressive feeling of being totally alone. He reached over and spun Cleo's empty, little bowl around, absently, said goodbye, and hung up. I watched him as I ate a stack of pancakes and extremely fluffy eggs. He sat up and stretched his long arms toward the ceiling.

"So, we're going to have a meeting today about the band, right?" I asked between bites.
He looked at me like I was speaking Greek for a moment.

"Ah! Yeah. Let's walk together after breakfast."

"You already ate?"

His only reply was to hold up his half finished pack of beer, as he opened the screen door on the porch and stepped out. I would have thought it would be all he wanted to talk about. After all, music seemed to be his life. And he'd bothered to come all the way over to make pancakes. Why would someone do that without any sort of conversation? He leaned over the railing with another cigarette, watching the cars speed by the highway. What sort of person was I dealing with, I wondered. I put my plate in the sink, and he flicked his butt into the street below and joined me. "Bring a jacket, it's cold," he informed me. "Let's not keep the boss-man waiting. Tends to make him a bit cranky."

The meeting was interesting, to say the least. We all sat in the small waiting area for quite a while in the temporary office rental. Wufei couldn't stop pacing. Trowa, who had been ever calmly leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, opened one and cleared his throat. "Wufei, you're going to wear out the floor. Just sit."

"Argh!" Wufei huffed, sitting down rather harshly in a leather cushioned seat. It let out a steady hiss of air from the sudden weight. "I wish he'd call us back, already!"

"Is it gonna be, like, a real record label?" Quatre asked, pausing in filing his nails. It still confused me to look at him with a wig on. At least today it was slightly more tamed and pulled back in a sort of half pony tail. He wore corduroy that were entirely too big and used a cord as a belt to scrunch them tightly around his waist, with a v-neck, dark red sweater. He looked like such a little kid to me. I wondered how someone so young always seemed to be out at all hours, day and night.

"That's what the man said," Wufei sighed, resting his chin on his fist. He glanced at me and Heero standing against the opposite wall. I was amusing myself by scraping at the dust on the leaves of a fake tree in the corner. "You both came here together?" I stopped my fidgeting.

"Yeah, Heero stopped by, earlier," I offered, not quite sure why he was asking. He simply nodded. But not seeing a better way to pass the time, he continued with his questions. Was I ever married, did I have a girlfriend, what was the Army like, did I fight in the latest war...?

"Did you ever kill anyone?" Every one's, except Heero's, eyes fell on me. I supposed I shouldn't make them wait too long, as they were obviously holding their breath.

"Yes." I said it simply, casually, like he was asking if I'd ever climbed a tree.

"Whoa...," Quatre breathed, dropping his hands to his lap. Trowa and Wufei both raised their eyebrows.

"How long have you lived here, Wufei?" He blinked at my obvious redirection of the conversation.

"About ten years. My father was a ferryman at the port in Shanghai. As soon as I was 16, I hopped on a boat to Okinawa. Been here ever since."

He must have been a shrewd business man to acquire a bar starting with nothing at such a young age. "It must have been hard living for a while."

"Yes, I nearly starved at one point," he chuckled. "Luckily, the previous owner of Faye's took me under his wing, taught me how to manage, and eventually let me take out a loan to buy the place. And then, this scraggly, ugly as sin, scrawny riff-raff showed up on my doorstep," he pointed at Heero, who grinned a chesire grin. "And the rest is history."

I'd not planned on sticking around too long, so I hadn't asked too many questions about the band's history. Now seemed like as good a time as any. "How about you, Trowa? How'd you get into the band?"

"I used to stop by Faye's after walking my beats every night," he told me, lazily stretching with his fingers interlocked. "And one particular night, a really quiet night, Heero brought his guitar out and was playing through several of his compositions behind the bar. I was really impressed, and mentioned that I played bass."

"I jumped on that," Heero interjected, finally joining the conversation. "I already knew Wufei played drums. The idea for a band was born."

"Only other thing e needed was a good keyboardist, and I just so happened to know a very gifted classical pianist, whom I thought just might be able to pull it off."

"Stop, you're making me blush," Quatre said rather unenthusiastically.

"You play classical piano?" I couldn't mask the surprise in my voice. I had a hard time picturing the tiny cross dresser performing Chopin or Liszt.

"Yeah, my mom was a huge fan of the piano before she died. I tried to keep it up through school."

"Are you out of high school?"

"Technically, I believe I'm a drop out," he said, flatly.

"For all that matters once you sign a record deal," Heero comforted.

"Thanks, Mr. Julliard."
"Wait, what? You went to Julliard?" my eyes were huge.

"So he says," Quatre gave a little toss of his head.

"It's true," Heero shrugged, not really caring to make a case for himself. "Didn't say I finished."

"Oh," Quatre tapped my shoulder to bring my attention back around. "And didn't you also know that he modeled and has millionaire parents that he has disowned to the point of near ruin and homelessness," Quatre made air quotations as he spoke. He glanced slyly in Heero's direction.

"Did I leave anything out?"

"Oh, I don't know. I took ballet for a few years and I can type REALLY fast."

"I fucking hate you," Quatre hissed.

"No, seriously!" Heero raised his hands in defense, shrugging his shoulders high. "My parents stuck me in this boring ass, career guidance class in high school. All I did was dick around on the typing tutor the entire time. I can type, like, 135 words per minute."

Quatre shook his head and rolled his eyes. I looked at him, quirking a brow. It was possible, but...

"I know, it sounds crazy," he grinned at me. "It doesn't really matter one way or the other."

"Well, it's pretty undeniable you fucking rock at guitar, so I don't care if you're the biggest liar on the planet," Quatre crossed his legs and surveyed all the work he'd done on his nails.

Heero just laughed. He seemed to take all this poking at him in stride. The door to the office finally opened, and a rather tense, but pleasant enough man ushered us in after apologizing for the wait. Wufei assure him it was no trouble at all. Nakamura Ken was his name, and he was the scouting agent for this particular district. He lit a cigar as he spoke behind his desk. I always imagined more portly men to be cigar smokers. It looked a little absurd on this bookish, nervous individual, with thick rimmed glasses and combed over hair, but that was just my humble opinion. Of course, it was a green light for Heero to go ahead and light a smoke of his own. I looked around to see if anyone else was going to follow suit. Apparently Heero was the only smoker in an otherwise non-smoking band.

"Gentlemen, I'll be frank with you, it's been quite a while since I've heard someone on your level. Let's face it, music's gotten a little, well, cheap and dirty. Anything to make a quick buck," he glanced at each of us over his frames as he spoke. "I think you could add some real integrity back to the business." Not really knowing what to say, we all just nodded and kept silent. Nakamura didn't seem to mind. "That being said," he drew out a large stack of papers from his bottom desk drawer, "I'd like to present you with an official offer from Warner Music for a one year contract with our record company." We all held our breath. Well, all of us except for Heero. He was puffing away on his cigarette, studying a poster from some play, cheaply framed, on the wall. Looked like just a pair of yellow cat eyes to me. "I've already shown some of your work to my producer," he turned to Wufei. I assumed Wufei had given him a recording of some of our practise sessions from the past week. Perhaps he'd been sending tapes to companies for a long time, now, and was finally getting the break he'd always dreamed of. Something told me that was probably the case. "And he's very excited about your sound and look," okay, pictures too. "And he thinks you would be huge in today's market. So, what do you say, gentlemen? Would you care to look over the paper work?"

Wufei took the stack of papers extended in his hand with a small bow and Trowa, Quatre and I crowded closer to see. "What's that poster from?" Heero asked quite suddenly, pointing with his free hand.

"Oh, uh, I believe it's from a Broadway musical, titled the same, "CATS", by a Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber. It is very popular throughout the world, Mr. Yuy."

"Call me Heero."

"Uh, yes sir."

Heero shook his head and put out his smoke. He then joined us in peering at the contract. It seemed our time would be pretty much booked for the next year, if we signed. First, we'd produce the record, then there would be extensive promoting and appearances after the release. If it sold well enough, we would start touring with other bands to open for them.

"Wait a minute," Heero tapped a line on the page. "It says we can't play locally anymore. That's no good."

"Heero, what are you talking about?" Wufei hissed in a low voice.

"Yes, as Warner Music would own the rights to your music, you only would be allowed to play through our venues," Nakamura confirmed. I sucked air through my teeth, fairly certain that signing away rights to his music was the last thing Heero wanted to do. It was, after all, mostly his creations, and I was beginning to realize why he wasn't enthused about coming here. Heero stared straight ahead. I could tell the gears in his head were spinning at the speed of light.

"What about after the contract is up?"

"Whatever you create afterwards will belong to you. But if I may inform you, your music will reach an infinitely larger audience by signing with us, and the more popular an artist is, the more bargaining power they have with the record company. Try not to think of it as Warner Music trying to cage you; we're just protecting our own interests. We have to make a living too, right?"

"Of course you do," Wufei nodded with a side glance at Heero. Heero took out another smoke.

"If Wufei says it's a good idea, I'm in."

"Me too," Trowa added.

"Me three," Quatre jumped out of the chair, raising his hand.

Everyone turned to me. I put my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. "Well, guess I'm in too."

"Wonderful! Let's go over the contract together, and I'll call for some refreshment."

He made it sound so short and simple. It took the entire next two days to get through all the nitty gritty details, but by the end of it, I suppose we were bonafide rock stars. After all, we had a piece of paper that said so. What a deal!

It spread like wildfire throughout Japan. Our faces were plastered all over the pop culture magazines and billboards. Footage from our performances and music videos cycled constantly on the T.V.. I had to admit, the people at Warner Music knew their business. It was not long before everyone new So it Goes' name, was humming our tunes, taping them off the radio or buying our cassettes and Cd's. We toured all over Japan. I helped Heero translate some of the songs in English and we began touring Europe as well. I'd seen Germany and a few surrounding countries on weekend trips while stationed there, but it was all pretty new to everyone else.

Trowa hovered over Quatre like a nervous mother cat would a small kitten. You know how they scatter and wander when they're really small, and the mother cat runs around all wide-eyed and panicked, constantly picking them up in her mouth by their scruff and setting them down in a corner or box, only to have them wander off again? That's what it reminded me of. Our little diva had a very large female, as well as male, following with his ambiguous type of beauty, and Trowa on more than one occasion, felt the need to get between Quatre and a little TOO adoring follower. Rumors about their relationship were all over the gossip columns. I think the whole thing irked Trowa on a small level, but Quatre seemed to be getting a huge kick out of the whole affair, as well as the fact that no one seemed to be able to confirm his true gender. Wufei got his own special following from China, especially from his old home town. I suppose I was the "exotic" member, being the only one not Asian. It was an interesting role to play, "The American", as I was called, and many things found their way back to me. I was "too pretty" to be American. They thought it was badass I was a soldier, (I started wearing my old dog tags on the outside of my shirt, which seemed to please them), they loved my hair, I had no proper bearing in public, (but that was okay, because Americans are pretty ignorant as a general rule). All sorts of things. The real magnet, though, was Heero. People adored him, worshipped him everywhere he went. His talents and good looks and easy charm with people made him the instant favorite, and they were drawn to his energy, just as I had once been, every time he took to the stage. There was no doubt he was the heart and soul of the band. He still made something in my chest do a leap every time he performed. It was a crazy and wonderful time, and we found upon our return back home, that we were certainly not poor anymore.

After staying in hotels all over the world, it was a little odd coming home to my small little flat near the harbour. I retrieved my mail from my neighbor's, who congratulated me upon my success, even though they didn't really care for my music, (They were seventy or seventy-five, respectively) and I went to sleep on my little couch. I awoke at about two in the morning. The phone was ringing.

"Duo here," I yawned into the receiver.

"It's me," Heero's voice sounded anything but tired. Go figure. "Can I come over?"

"...Ok." There was instantly a knock at my door. "Hold on a second," I said, laying the phone down and quickly padding over to the door. I looked through the peep hole and saw, to my utter confusion, Heero standing there. I opened the door. "That was awfully fast," I commented, as he swept past me with a paper sack. I had a feeling I knew what was inside it. He then held up a bulky, black, rectangular box of some sort. It looked like an overgrown walkie-talkie. "What's that?"

"A mobile phone," he informed me. "Now I can call almost anyone from almost anywhere, anytime. Always wanted one. Neat, huh?"

"Was that on the box?" I smirked, taking the hefty thing from him to weigh it in my hand. "How are you supposed to carry this thing around?" He stuck out his hip, where there hung an accompanying pouch. "Ah..." I reached the grocery sack, which now sat on the counter, and took out a beer.

"I see I finally brought you over to the dark side," he smiled.

"I'm pretty sure I already had one foot in," I mused, taking a sip. I was glad to see him. Spending months recording and crowded on a small bus and in multiple hotels had not diminished that pleasant and content feeling I felt when he was near. And now that we were back, maybe I wouldn't have to see his awful cat, which he insisted on bringing with us, all the time. I hated that thing.

"So, what now?" I asked, handing him the pan I knew he was about to search for. He lit a cigarette and shrugged.

"Who knows? These past few months have been a little crazy, even for me. It'll be nice to have some time off. Time to play just for ourselves again." He fished around for his favorite spatula, shuffling utensils around noisily in the cheap, presswood drawer. I leaned against the counter behind him with my arms folded. "You're always watching me."

"Oh, sorry," I muttered, looking the opposite way out the window, quite suddenly.

"I wasn't asking for an apology," he mumbled back, without turning around. The slowest minute in the history of time eked by, one painful second at a time. "Am I really that interesting to look at?" he asked, "Or do you just think I'm hot?" There was a light and playful note in his voice. The T-shirt he was wearing was definitely tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. Every sinewy muscle along his chest was outlined quite clearly, but that really wasn't it.

"I think you're beautiful," I said, absently, still staring at nothing through the window. The clinking in the kitchen stopped. I stopped breathing. Had I really just said that out loud? I knew he was staring at me, I could feel his eyes burning a hole straight through my head, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I jumped when I felt the icy grip of his cold hands on my face, and he forcibly turned my head towards him. There's a story by Rudyard Kipling about a mongoose, Ricki something or other. In it, a bird stares into a cobra's eyes and becomes completely paralyzed. I always thought that was so stupid when I read it as a kid. The dumb thing could have just flown away. But now, I'm pretty sure I know how that poor bird felt, as Heero pulled my face level to his. And then he kissed me. It was bizarre, the feeling that coursed through me. I felt like my entire body was on fire, and my legs were melting away, bringing me closer and closer to the floor. However, I soon got my bearing and pushed back, only to find that I was met with equal force. This was certainly different. At the time, I wasn't quite sure how to go about these things. Heero had absolutely no intention of taking any submissive role in this, a fact he made clear when he gripped my shirt and pulled me down hard enough to make me lose my footing and topple over. I didn't care. I loved feeling him. My hands wandered over his back, across his torso; everything about him was absolutely perfect. I found my way down to the back of his thighs, and he let out the most barely audible moan. It was really nothing more than a sharp exhale. I'd sensed it, though. We never quite got around to making pancakes that morning.

Everything about the world seemed to have a special shine. I felt like I could just float away at any moment as I walked down the street with Heero by my side. They had Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade playing at a small theater that catered to soldiers stationed nearby. He'd wanted to see it, and I was more than happy to oblige, although, I did feel odd being surrounded by mostly Americans in BCU's again. I certainly kept my hands in my pockets and thanked the stars silently that Heero had opted for more traditional clothing that day. Never the less, he still attracted more than a few stares. Standing out was never really a good thing, and although I was retired military, military bearing still colored every action I took. I had tucked my hair inside my jacket before we left, and I walked a little taller and stood in line with my feet shoulder width apart, my hands behind my back. Old habits die hard. Heero studied me for a moment and grinned.

"How many people here do you think know how to speak Japanese?" he asked.

I gazed around for a moment at the sea of camouflage. "Most of the soldiers look brand new. They're probably on a weekend pass of some sort. I'd wager they don't know much, yet," I shrugged. "Why?"

"I was just going to say that you are excellent in...couch." I paled considerably and he laughed.

"HEY!" a voice hollered in my direction, in English. "MAXWELL!"

I looked over my shoulder to seen a familiar face, stout and freckled with round glasses and a shaved head, rushing towards me through the crowd. "McNeil!" I called back, turning to face him with my arms outstretched as if we were going to have some sort of starry eyed, Hollywood reunion. He, quite dramatically, dove into my arms, and we hugged quite a bit longer than was appropriate.

"Aaaah, how I've missed this!" he sighed.

"The nights were so cold and lonely," I affirmed.

He finally shoved off me and shook my hand properly. "Seriously, now, man, how you been! God, it's been like, two years!"

"Been good, been good. Little bit of this and that. I'm in a band now."

"SWEET!" his eyes grew large with appreciation. "So I guess you're not in the service anymore, huh?"

"Nah, but look at you! Sergeant First Class? They that desperate for people that they promoted your dumb ass?" I teased.

"Damn straight!" he puffed out his chest and rank proudly. Just took over a new squad of 36 Bravos."

"Paper pusher," I sniffed with mock condescension.

"Pushed your mom!"

"Shut the fuck up! So what? You into Indiana Jones now? His whip turn you on?"

"Baby, you know it!" he crowed. "No, really, I'm into drinking. The movie's just a break in between. What are you up to?"

"Ah, me and my band pal here are just out to catch the movie," I gestured to Heero, who'd been politely and silently standing there the entire time. McNeil looked at him in surprise; he'd probably thought Heero was a local who just happened to be standing near me this entire time. "Heero, this is SFC McNeil. We were stationed together in Germany for a time." He blinked at me a moment, and it suddenly dawned on me that his English might be a little rusty, so I repeated myself in Japanese and he nodded his head and took McNeil's outstretched hand with a smile. I turned back to McNeil. "Heero's quite the skilled guitarist," I informed him.

"Hey, you weren't so shabby yourself, back in the day," he grinned. "Good to meet you, Heero. Sorry, I don't speak Japanese. Guess you don't speak any English, either, huh? So I really can't warn you that this guy's a complete asshole," I rolled my eyes when he pointed at me, and Heero just blinked at him. "So, what's up with this guy?" he asked, turning back to me and not changing the his tone or the expression in his face. "He kinda looks like a chick. Think you need to ditch him and come hang with real men for a while...and get a damn hair cut while you're at it! Shit!" he craned his neck to look around the side of my head. "What the fuck is up with that? You think you're Rapunzel or something?"

I shook my head at him. "Whatever you say, baldy. You know you're just jealous. Enjoy the movie."

"You too, Maxwell! Keep in touch!"

"Sure thing."

"Bye, gaywad," he waved cheerily to Heero.

"Bye. It was nice meeting you," Heero spoke English so well, you would have thought he was a native speaker. If he was pissed, he didn't let it show. Both McNeil and I stared him him with our mouths wide open.

"Uh-huh...Aren't you a smart one," he smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. Heero just shrugged.

"I'm Japanese. Doesn't that go without saying, or something?"

McNeil looked at me somewhat critically, as if he was questioning whether I'd been in on the little joke. I could see in his face that he felt betrayed.

"See ya," he offered half-heartidly, before walking away. I said nothing as I watched him leave.

"McNeil's really not a bad guy," I finally said, somewhat chastising. "That wasn't necessary."

"It wasn't necessary to say I looked like a 'chick', either."

"We all say things we normally wouldn't when people can't hear us."

"Doesn't change the fact that he thought I was sub human. And you didn't seem to mind too much."

"I did mind," I told him, feeling knots form in my stomach. "I just didn't know what to say. We go way back, and we've been through so much together. It's hard to just let stuff like that go."

Heero wouldn't look at me, and tapped the front of his shoe into the ground. "If that is true, you should just be honest," he said at length, his voice oddly quiet, just above a whisper. "Everything you just told that man was a lie." I stared at him, utterly confused, and said nothing. "Let's see a movie some other time." He put his hands in his jacket pockets and walked away. It was the first time I'd ever seen him angry, and I had a feeling it wasn't about what McNeil had said.

"You're such a fuckin' idiot!" Solo half yelled, half whined, as I'd messed up the vehicle fuel schedule for the umpteenth time. He smacked my Kevlar soundly with his knuckles and snatched my clip board away. "It's comforting to know they let any old moron into the Army, now days!" He always spoke louder than was really necessary. I supposed being around high powered machinery for so long had made him a little deaf.

"Sorry, Sarge," I scratched the back of my head. "I couldn't read your handwriting."

"Oh, ho! Passing the buck, are we?" He squinted down at the sheet. "Well, shit, private! I can't read it either!" He laughed heartily, and I smiled. "Come on, soldier. Let's pack up for today and go have a drink."

You would have thought he was my dad or something, the way he talked, but Solo was only twenty-three, and I was one of his nineteen year old privates, straight out of AIT.

"One day, Maxwell, we're gonna be out of this shit-hole, and then what you gonna do?" He took a swig of the muddy colored, spicy ale the locals, and apparently he as well, loved.

"Ummm, probably get assigned to a new duty station?"

"No, Private! Shit! What are you gonna do when you get out of the Army?"

"Oh...I don't know, Sarge. I suppose I'll find a job somewhere. Maybe get married?"

"Usual stuff, huh?" he scratched his nose.

"Yeah, Sarge," I shrugged. "Guess I haven't thought about it too much. I'm a pretty simple guy."

"Pretty boring is what you are, Maxwell!" he slapped the counter hard enough to make our glasses jump to emphasize. "Good thing you joined the Army! At least you'll have one thing to talk about!"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"PSh!" He waved his hand at me and left to go chat with some females, crowded near the edge of the wooden counter where we had sat. I'd no doubt he'd sleep with at least one of them, if not two, that night. Solo didn't have to pay for a lot of things, least of all sex. He stood at least six feet tall, sheer muscle, but not bulky, and was always quick, and light on his feet. He could box better than anyone I'd ever met, and when he fought, his green eyes seemed to glow with an almost inhuman energy. His almost shoulder length, wavy, wheat-colored hair made him look like some Greek god, and like one, he also exuded unwavering confidence, almost cockiness. Women fell over right and left when he walked through the door. I blamed Texas. However, chivalry was not completely dead inside of him. Sure, he'd sleep with ten or fifteen different girls a month, but he'd make sure it was the best night of her life, sometimes even go as far as buying her breakfast the next day. He really wasn't a bad guy. He was just a man who didn't know the meaning of regret or shame. He was the type of man you'd follow anywhere, even to the gates of Hell. So, that's just what I did.

Above his left hip, Heero had three freckles, evenly spaced in the shape of a triangle, almost as if someone had deliberately placed them there like tiny stickers. I lay on my pillow, staring at the small of his back, barely visible above the bed sheets. Without even thinking, my hand reached out, and I traced them with my index finger. The bedding rustled, and he flipped on his other side, the sheets pulling tight against my back as he rolled with them. I could see his muscle fibers move his bones in a ripple effect, like a serpent, as he repositioned himself after turning. His hair fell across his face, unruly and dark against the whiteness of the pillowcase, and his left hand landed palm up, stretched out in front of him. It was a wonderful thing to see first thing in the morning. Most of the time, Aisha's whiskered face was the one I woke up to. I always fell asleep with Heero next to me, but I supposed at some point during the night, he would get up and wind up falling asleep on the couch. I never really asked him anything about it. I figured he had some sort of aversion to sleeping next to anyone. I offered more than once to get my own room, but something about that seemed to trouble him, so I let it rest.

I saw his eyes slowly open, and he furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, while adjusting to the morning light. We had rehearsal early that morning, because there was a fund raiser for blood donations we were supposed to attend, and it was a good three hours away by car. Even as I lay there, I was acutely aware that the bright, red back lighted alarm clock would sound off with it's annoying screech at any moment. But even so, I didn't want to move from that spot. I watched the moment he woke up, the moment he realized he was awake, the moment he realized I was there. The changes were subtle, a mere ripple across his deep blue eyes. Sometimes, they almost appeared black in color, but in the morning light, his eyes were like a deep ocean, teeming with every thought that flitted through his mind. I could see them all, except the one when he looked at me. The corner of his mouth tugged in a small smile.

"Hi," he said, as if I'd just walked up to him on the street. His voice was thick from sleep.

"Morning," I answered back. I'm glad you're here is what I wanted to say. I'm glad we're together is what I wanted to say. I can look at you forever. It seemed so easy at first, and the words would swell and swirl up to my lips, but the inertia would always mysteriously vanish right as I was about to spit the damn words out. Then, the great rush would be over, and there would be nothing. I walked my fingers across the divide and curled them around his. He watched our interlocked hands for a moment, as if he were observing something completely unrelated to himself, someone else's hands on the television or in a magazine, and he didn't move. I'd lived it all before.

It wasn't where we were supposed to be. That's all I could remember thinking, and it certainly wasn't helping anything. It was just a supply run, one gone horribly, horribly wrong.

"GOD FUCK IT!" Solo roared above the noise and dust. He, Bishop, and I were crouched behind our overturned hummer, somewhere in the desert. A home made explosive had blown one of our tires off, and we were isolated from our convoy. In theory, the area had been cleared of enemy personnel, otherwise we'd never have left with such a small crew. And it was only getting smaller. Shipman lay dead a few feet to my right. The poor Bastard had been hit with shrapnel through the bottom of the vehicle. He'd been sitting directly above where the bomb had gone off. Tore a hole clean through him, and he'd bled out in a matter of minutes. There was nothing anyone could do for the man, except reassure him through his terrified screams of agony that it was all gonna be alright, and he'd see his wife again.

"And your daughter too!" I added, as I dragged him by the back of his rucksack, I flicked my selector to burst and fired randomly in any direction. I could hear the pops of small arms fire, but it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Then he was gone. Before diving next to Solo, I ripped the dog tags from his neck.

"11 o'clock!" he yelled in my ear over the rounds of Bishop's SAW. I peaked over the top of the vehicle, and fired off a few rounds. There were at least eight enemy soldiers in the dunes a few hundred meters away. Our convoy was nowhere in sight, and there was no response on the radio. Chances were it was straight up broke. The successive firing of the SAW ceased, and Bishop's body jerked. I knew he was dead, I didn't even have to confirm it. Solo grabbed me by the back of the collar, and pulled me to the rear of the hummer. The small arms fire halted as well. We could hear the enemy conversing with each other, excitedly, almost giddily. I had a bad feeling. Looking back, remembering the expression on Solo's face, I think he knew it too. We weren't going to die, not that day.

"Hey, Maxwell," he whispered, breathing heavily in the sweltering heat of the dessert sun.

"Sarge?" my voice was hopelessly optimistic, as I waited to hear the command, the words that would surely save me, that would point me in the direction of life.

"Throw down your weapon."

"...It's out of ammo anyways, Sarge."

We were absolutely, irrevocably fucked.