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Wufei lights four sticks of incense every morning: two in memory of his parents, so their spirits won't wander. One for his colony and all its lost souls. And one for his wife, the pilot of the Shenlong Gundam, who died honourably in combat against Treize Kushrenada. Four is an inauspicious number, but Wufei isn't anxious for anyone else to mourn.

Then he goes downstairs and opens up the shop.

Wufei's shop is small, with a galley-style set-up in the back of the room: one counter along the back wall, and one counter separating the 'front' where the customers can sit from where he works. The lone break in the back counter is the door to the only tiny kitchen in the two story building.

A closed set of stairs folds tightly along the back of the building, leading up to where Wufei lives: a small living room, bedroom, and shower unit separated by paper-thin walls. Everything is made out of steel and concrete, the cheap backbone of any colony construction.

The cash register is next to the gap in the front counter, and the big coffee machine is set up next to that, to make the wall between Wufei and his customers taller. Milk, syrups, sugar, honey—all of that goes on the counter in the back with the coffee mugs and the tea cups. He also has several Chinese tea sets complete with individual pots, just in case, but he doesn't expect a lot of call for them, since he doesn't serve food.

He has enough space inside to fit eight chairs and three small tables. Outside he's got two more tables that fit two chairs each. None of the furniture matches, but none of it has too. L2 is what Wufei had expected—what he'd wanted. It's a little remote, set farthest from the planet that spawned them. It isn't on the edge of human-occupied space, but that's good too. Mars is too crowded, overful of hopeful colonists old and new trying to start a new life. Wufei wanted to be a little bit harder to find. L2 is a little rundown, never quite enough of anything for anyone—space, food, credits. It suits Wufei; he's a little rundown himself. He fits right in.

And space is beautiful with a spare, stark grace that all the blue plenty of Earth could never hope to match. Space is beautiful in its lack, in the way that it makes living better for having been harder. More miraculous by being an impossibility. Wufei had liked Earth, despite everything. He saw why people would want to fight for it. But he would never want to live anywhere but space.

*

"Oh, good, you ordered already," Hilde says, dropping into her seat across from Duo. She rests her head on the table for a minute while one of the servers brings over another glass of water, then drags herself upright to snag one of the baozhi from the bamboo basket in front of her. "Today has been such a day," she says around a mouthful of food. "I swear, if one more person tries to sell me crap at a premium rate like I'm too green to know a wrench from a screwdriver, I'm going to break their face."

"Oi, oi, Hilde. Deep breaths!"

She does, and then takes another pork bun. This one she eats a little less voraciously, but only a little. "I'm telling you, though, Duo. It's all crap lately. I know scrap metal doesn't go for as much as spare parts, but if that's all you got, why waste everyone's time trying to pass it off as something else? The only people who can do anything with metal that warped are the recycling refineries. What'shisface had half a tonne of little frozen globs of metal that had clearly melted off something and mobile suit armour plate scales mixed in with a couple of derelict escape pods."

"More stuff from L1?"

"Probably. Who knows. There've been enough battles out here for it to be local. If they were, like, dismembered mobile suit limbs, it would be one thing. We could take that apart and sell the pieces, even if the whole structure is broken."

"Yeah, but flash-frozen metal? We just don't have the facilities to melt that down into anything reusable." Duo takes the last bao in the top basket and switches it out with the full one below. The day is nice, and a cool breeze blows through the trees lining the street. A little more food and a little more time in the sun will probably restore Hilde to her usual cheerful self—but just to be safe, "I can take sales this afternoon, if you wanna finish getting the shipment ready for Howard's crew instead," he offers.

"Oh," Hilde groans, "That would be a life-saver."

Duo laughs. "Not yours, somebody else's!"

Hilde swats him with her hat. "No one asked you."

"Hey, now! I'm just looking out for my business partner. Gotta keep you from getting arrested. I can't run the shop without you!"

"Well, if I'm going to be at the warehouse, I'd better get a move on. You'll get the check?" Hilde says, picking up another bun. When Duo tries to protest footing the bill, she shoves the bun into his mouth, and hops out of her seat.

Duo chews quickly, but Hilde's already outside the restaurant enclosure. "Bye, Duo!" She waves. "See you later!"

Hilde's long gone by the time Duo swallows. "Last time I do something nice for you," he mutters to himself, and then perks up. Paying means he gets to keep all the leftovers for himself.

*

"Nothing further to report," Heero concludes. They've been chasing up sales and resales for weeks, but everything dead-ends at L2. Guns, ammo, even some mobile suit parts. But then all trace of them just disappears.

Commander Une sighs and folds her hands together over her desk. "Well, looks like you two will be taking a little trip then."

"You mean..?" asks Trowa.

"Yes. If there's nothing else you can discover here, maybe you'll be able to find something out closer to the ground. Don't forget that time in Belize." Over the course of a year and a half, a group there had bought enough mobile suit parts to construct a small, but effective national army. Their actions had gone unnoticed for a while, but started pinging radars when they stepped up the quantity of their purchases. The local governments in neighbouring countries were calling for peacekeeping forces when undercover Preventer agents finally sent a report detailing how the anti-military group that had been buying the parts was disassembling and recycling them. "There was also the Mariemaia Incident in AC 196. I want you to find out which sort of situation this is so we can take appropriate action."

"Yes ma'am."

*

Wufei learned of his wife's death on the news. Gundam 05 pilot killed late last night during assassination attempt on Oz leader Treize Kushrenada, in tickertape along the bottom of the screen during continued coverage of the Oz coup d'etat of the Alliance military.

It didn't even make a main story in space; at the time, the Gundams were viewed as yet another one of Earth's problems. The colonies didn't start paying attention to the Gundams until later, after Oz started "liberating" the colonies from the Earthsphere Alliance's control.

It was followed in the text queue by a headline about a shuttle docking accident and the ongoing police investigation, and then by one about rising water prices while pundits on screen talked endless circles about what the change in military leadership on Earth would mean for the colonies. Wufei went online to look up further details, but the only other thing he could find was a reassurance that Treize Kushrenada was safe and was continuing his role as one of the Earth's youngest military leaders.

"Rest in peace, Nataku," Wufei murmured—but of course that was too little, too late. She had been a warrior to the last, their colony's guardian spirit, but now she was dead and she would never be able to hear Wufei acknowledge her strength of will. Wufei went to tell Master Long that his granddaughter was dead.

And then Wufei bought a ticket to Earth.

*

Wufei closes down in the middle of the day, from just before lunchtime to just after dinner. With the residential, working class makeup of his neighbourhood, he doesn't get much business then, and as the only worker in the shop, it is too taxing to try to stay open for the odd monthly customer. Instead, he flips the sign out front, locks the door, and goes upstairs to run forms.

He works his way through the forms as he works his way across the floor. The pure motion of it is soothing, almost meditative. Wufei steps forward, leading from the hip as he brings his elbow forward in a blow. He shifts his weight back again and raises his other hand in a block, then turns, arms shifting up to support his fist as he punches forward. He can almost hear Master Long's voice in his head, correcting forms, giving advice; can almost hear the sound of his fellow students following the same forms in time with him. If he shuts his eyes, he can almost see it: the dirt training yard, the tiled tops of the buildings forming the courtyard around them, his fellow students in neat rows, moving in unison.

Wufei shifts his weight onto his back foot again, drawing one open hand up past his face, the other moving in natural counterpoint past his front hip. He holds the pose for a moment, then transitions into the next form. He keeps his eyes shut. He knows the exact dimensions of the room. He doesn't need sight for this.

When he finishes that set, he moves on to another, punching and kicking; and when he finishes that, he moves on to yet another, running through everything he'd ever learned when he was younger and didn't know he wasn't strong enough. Finishing the final form, Wufei closes his stance and brings his hands down across his body, breathing out as his hands lower. He holds it just for a moment, living for one last second in a time that ended long ago, and then he steps out of his final pose and goes to take a shower.

After his shower, Wufei pushes the furniture back into its usual places and gets back to the rest of his day. Sometimes he runs errands, if he has any: buys food for a few days, or returns his library books. Small, everyday things that he can't decide are grounding or irritating. Then he comes home again, eats a quick lunch, and takes a nap so he'll be ready to reopen the shop in the evening.

*

"Do you really serve Arabic coffee?" asked the customer as he jingled his way through the door.

Wufei set his book down behind the till and straightened up. He'd only been open three days, but three days without anyone setting foot inside had dragged by dishearteningly. "Yes, but it's Saudi-style, not Turkish-style."

"Ahhh, wonderful! I told Farid I saw it written on the menu you've got out front, but he refused to believe me you really did. Turkish-style is too popular these days. I can never find Saudi coffee anymore." He settled in at a little two-seat table in the front corner. "Just one cup for now. I don't want Farid to be able say 'Ibrihim, I told you so' later."

"It'll be a short wait; I have to make it fresh," Wufei said.

"That's fine, that's fine," the man waved him off. "Old guy like me, I've got plenty of free time."

Wufei started measuring cardamom and rose water into a small pitcher and hoped his first customer didn't want to chat. When Wufei finally strained coffee into one of the cups from the set Quatre had given him as a "good luck" gift, he knew a lot more about Ibrihim than he'd wanted to, but he was also satisfied with the coffee he was serving. Wufei supposed it was better than nothing.

"This is the stuff. Kid, you know what you're doing here," Ibrihim said after his first sip.

"Four credits. Please take your time," Wufei said before ducking into the back to avoid any more stories about grandchildren.

*

Chang's Tea and Coffee becomes a local mainstay—despite its owner's personality—because it has the best tea and coffee this side of Earth's atmosphere and a one-cup free refill policy. On top of that, Wufei's prices are scrupulously fair and he never actually kicks anyone out, even though he threatens to with some frequency.

Wufei makes a big fuss about preferring tea to coffee, probably because most of his patrons order coffee anyway. He keeps his teas in canisters on shelves along the back wall of the shop and updates the tea menu daily. He keeps his coffees under the counter. The coffee menu never changes because he doesn't advertise when he changes the house blend.

*

"What do you want?" Wufei asks.

"What's good?"

Wufei looks at her appraisingly for a few moments—short, dark hair; large blue eyes; an oversized sweater worn over dark leggings. The names 'Schbeiker & Maxwell' are written on the tote bag she's carrying, but she isn't wearing a sign that lists her drink preferences—then gives up. He sighs. "Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee," she says, without even a hint of hesitation. It's always coffee.

"All of my coffee is good," Wufei says. He's completely serious, but she laughs: a bright, clear sound. He sighs again, just slightly longer than before. "The espresso is particularly good right now. It's a new blend."

"I'll take a mocha, then, thanks," she says, passing some credits over. Wufei hands her her change.

"If you sit down, I'll bring it out to you."

*

Duo sat up when the door to their cell opened. "Get out, 01," said one of the soldiers silhouetted in the light from the hallway.

Duo groaned. "Come on, how come him again? I'm a better pilot than 01 is, you know. Let me take care of the next battle." It was true (or so he liked to think), but mostly he said it because he was bored. Now that the mere act of breathing didn't hurt anymore, Duo was antsy for something to do. Prison was boring, go figure. Heero's sole, mostly silent company didn't help all that much either.

Trowa threw Duo a look so full of scorn Duo couldn't tell if he was faking it or not. "You can't do it in your shape. Even a Gundam pilot runs the risk of being killed in this next mission. Because it's a Gundam pilot you'll be fighting. Apparently it's a new model. He wiped out a whole Oz division with one suit."

"What are its characteristics and weapons?" Heero asked, already focused on the mission at hand.

"The engineers asked the same questions. That shows that you're familiar with them," Trowa said.

"Ok, let's go," Heero said. "With that red one, the Mercurius, this should prove to be quite a fight."

"And you'll just stand back and watch as the two Gundam pilots fight each other," Duo couldn't help but accuse as he struggled to his feet. "Hey, 01, don't do it! It's probably a suit performance test!" He had more insight to add, but Trowa shut him up pretty effectively by punching him in the gut. It knocked the air out of him, and reminded him of all the places where he simply hadn't recovered yet.

"You just better keep quiet there. You'll get your turn eventually," Trowa said, cool as ice. One of the other soldiers led Heero out of the cell, and then the door slid shut behind Trowa, leaving Duo alone in the darkness. It still took Duo a couple of moments to catch his breath and straighten up again, but when he did, he smiled.

"Hey, Trowa," he said, flipping the small, rectangular projector into the air and catching it on the way down. "Thanks for the present." He pushed a button on the side, which activated the light and projected Deathscythe Hell's schematics onto the cell wall.

Duo spent a lot of time memorizing schematics in the dark. He had nothing else to do.

It made it easy to hear the sudden absence of noise, sharp as scissors, as the air to his cell was cut off. "So you've decided to kill me after all? Kind of uncool, though, taking the coward's way out, here." The sound of his voice echoed around the empty chamber, startlingly loud without the reassuring hiss of ventilated air.

Duo flopped onto his back, projector painting Deathscythe Hell onto the ceiling. Alone in the dark, Duo flipped through schematic slides and waited to die.

*

It's before Wufei opens for the morning—so, an ungodly hour—when the bell over the door chimes gently and someone lets themselves in. Wufei hasn't had any trouble since the first month, when he politely but firmly removed three sets of thugs from his premises by their collars. They had all been local toughs, fortunately, and not part of any organization trying to run a proper protection racket. He wouldn't have had the funds to pay them off, or the time or, frankly, patience to run them out. Plus, they'd probably just have taken the easy route and burnt the place down.

Wufei eases out of the kitchen, expecting trouble. He gives up any pretense of stealth when he sees who it is. "Trowa," he says, stopping behind the counter.

"Wufei." Trowa nods.

Wufei pulls out one of his special blends from below the till and plugs the cappuccino machine in. He tries to discourage coffee, but there's no arguing with some people. Trowa lingers over the cup, while Wufei finishes setting up for the morning.

"Can I stay? It's for work; you won't have to entertain me," Trowa says when he's done.

Wufei sets Trowa's cup in a basin of water to soak. "Doesn't the government have the money to put you up somewhere?"

Trowa doesn't bother responding to that directly. "Here. I brought you a present," he says instead, tossing him a large cloth bag. It's heavier than it looks, particularly in this lighter gravity, and when Wufei opens it, it's all coffee beans tucked into smaller plastic bags, each with a handwritten masking tape label: Panama, SL28, Ethiopian Harar, Sumatra Mandheling.

"This is from Quatre," Wufei says, earning a little half-smirk from Trowa.

Trowa sets another, much smaller bag on the countertop between them. Wufei opens it. "White Hair Silver Needle. This is impossible to get out here."

"Nothing is impossible."

Wufei rolls his eyes. "Impossible without a few thousand credits and a willingness to flirt with the grey market."

"Fortunately, I come to you directly from Earth."

"Don't think I'm going to share any," warns Wufei.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Trowa says, humour not quite hidden by his dry delivery.

"You can take the bedroom. The couch pulls out."

*

"Wufei," yelled Hope from their unit's comm station. "Boss on the line! He wants you to head back to HQ for something."

"What does he want?"

"Dunno, he just says you gotta go."

"Fine, I'm going. Tell Surya where I am when he gets back."

"Sure thing," Hope said, and waved him off.

Mid-shift, Wufei was nearly the only person on the light rail. Two weeks ago, it wasn't even running outside the half-constructed colony's only habitable area. They'd made a lot of progress.

There were three people waiting for him when Wufei walked into the shift boss's office. The daytime boss, whose name he could never remember, Sally, and another young man he'd never seen before. Wufei gave him a quick once over—brown hair, green eyes, light build. New people were coming on the project every day, and Wufei did his best not to meet any of them.

"Wufei, it's nice to see you again," Sally said. Wufei nodded stiffly, suddenly awkward with the realization that he had actually missed her. Wufei had gotten used to missing people, but not any that were still alive.

She turned to his boss. "Do you think we could have a minute? It won't take long."

He shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Mr. Winner says you can have whatever you want, so." He left, but the young man didn't. Wufei had thought he'd been someone on the project, but now he reassessed. He must be here with Sally.

"Wufei, Trowa Barton. Trowa, Chang Wufei," Sally said. Trowa nodded a greeting, but didn't say anything. Wufei nodded too, then turned back to Sally.

"Trowa is actually part of the reason I came to find you. He's getting a new assignment, so I'm looking for a new partner; I thought you might be interested," she explained.

Wufei raised an eyebrow at her. "The Preventers?"

"That's right." She nodded, smiling. "That's what I've been doing since the war. So, what do you say? We worked pretty well together back in the old days."

Wufei took a long moment to think about it. He could go back to it—the Preventers were one of the few places that could really use the skills he'd picked up on Earth. He thought about it, and his future, what he wanted to do with the life he'd ended up with. "I have to decline," he said at last. "I don't know a lot about what you do, but I'm tired of fighting for things, hunting for things. I won't do it any longer."

Trowa spoke up. "Is that why you're out here—building something for the future?"

Wufei gave him another look, one more appraising than before. He'd underestimated him—presumably because Trowa had wanted him to. "Not quite." Wufei smiled. "I just want the paycheck."

*

The bell in the front jingles as the door opens. "Hey, anybody home?" a man calls as he raps on the side of door frame. "Hilde says you got the good stuff."

Wufei eyes him warily. White, young. About Wufei's height, but with a slimmer build. Black clothes smudged with dirt and oil. Long brown hair down his back in a braid. Big, blue, bloodshot eyes and the exhausted twitch of someone coming down off of something. Well, no use beating around the bush. The worst Wufei can do is offend him, and the worst he can probably do is yell at Wufei. Even if he pulls a knife, Wufei can defend himself. "If you're asking for drugs, I don't have anything to do with that. And I'd like you to leave, please."

"Drugs?" the guy says, mouth falling open in almost comic shock. "Man, I don't know what you're talking about. Coffee. Co-ffee. This is a coffee shop, right? That's what the sign out front says. Don't tell me you're closed already!"

"Oh," Wufei says, caught flat-footed. "Yes. I do sell coffee. We're not—the shop's not closed yet."

"Great! I wasn't going to make it the rest of the way home if I didn't get a little more caffeine in my system. It's been a really long flight." He smiles brilliantly. "Duo Maxwell's the name, by the way."

"Chang Wufei," Wufei says. "What would you like?"

"Just a cup of coffee, your house blend, whatever. Too tired to appreciate anything fancy. Black, no sugar."

"It's been sitting a little while, I'm sorry," Wufei says as he pours Duo a cup. "Three credits."

Duo blows across the cup's rim a few times before taking an eager sip. His eyes half-close in bliss, then open wide as he looks back up at Wufei. "Hold on a minute. This is real Earth coffee." He points at the mug like Wufei doesn't know what he serves. "Is there anything colony-grown even in this cup? Man, oh, man, I haven't had a cup of Earth-grown coffee since the war.

"Don't get me wrong; I totally support local produce. Forcing the colonies to rely on earth-grown food only reinforces the poverty that plagues most of us up here. But colony-grown coffee just isn't the same as coffee that comes from beans that grew in actual gravity. There's nothing else that tastes like this."

"Do you really think that growing some fruit and a few vegetables in space will stop the rampant poverty the colonies have to deal with?" Wufei asks.

"Oh, heck, no. But you gotta start somewhere, and being able to feed yourself is always a great place to start, if you ask me," Duo counters. A comm unit on his belt beeps. "Aw, shit, I gotta go. Hilde'll skin me if I make her worry for being late."

He drains the last of the coffee in his mug, and sets it on the counter. "This is amazing. You're never going to get rid of me now," he calls, and then he's gone with the jingle of the bell over the door.

*

Wufei barely sees Trowa, who makes his own coffee in the shop in the morning and then takes off with two filled thermoses of it before Wufei can scold him for ruining coffee by drinking it on the go. If Trowa comes back before Wufei closes down in the evening, he doesn't make a lot of fuss. He causes almost no disruption in Wufei's daily routines, except for the way Wufei sleeps on the couch that week.

They don't eat together, don't sit together; even when they're both home at the same time, they rarely bother to speak. Still, it's nice, in a way, having Trowa around. He's quiet, unobtrusive. Wufei relaxes to the white noise of Trowa running the shower and lets himself get lost in his book. Something about the soft sound of his movements around the apartment lets Wufei lower his guard, makes him feel less like he has to watch his back.

"Your shower's broken," Trowa tells Wufei when he comes out of the bathroom. "Water's cold."

"Earth's made you soft, clearly. Don't you remember what the water's like out here? You have to run it longer than thirty seconds if you want it hot," Wufei says. "They're keeping you very busy. Where's your illustrious partner in anti-crime?"

"He's probably sleeping at the office. If our boss reminds him to leave occasionally, well, he's got some friends on L2, too." Trowa shrugs. "It can't be said Heero doesn't have a strong work ethic."

"Do you know how much longer you will be staying?" Wufei doesn't worry that Trowa will misunderstand him.

"Can't say yet. It depends on what information we turn up. We've been getting some interesting hits from L2 lately. Could be something, could be nothing; either way, I don't think I'm technically allowed to tell you."

Wufei laughs. "I'd never threaten your operational security." And that's the end of the conversation. Trowa pulls out a sheaf of reports and Wufei goes back to his book. Not much later, they both go to bed.

In the morning, Wufei catches himself smiling more at his patrons, finds that he doesn't mind that he thinks of Jennifer as "Jennifer" instead of "iced coffee, cream with two sugars" when she comes in for her usual.

In the evening, Trowa comes back, does some work, goes to bed, and Wufei thinks that maybe he doesn't mind having survived this long after all.

*

The next time Duo comes to Chang's Tea and Coffee (clearly imaginative names aren't the guy's forte), it's colony-night and the cafe has a lot more business than the last time. Duo supposes it's because the owner isn't mopping up. He waves to Marco and Sergei, who are drinking tea and probably complaining about how Duo and Hilde are running them out of business, and saunters up to the counter to order.

"Two coffees, to go," Duo says, putting six credits down on the countertop.

Wufei stops drying out a cup and looks at him reproachfully. "I don't serve 'to-go'. Hot drinks should be savoured and enjoyed, not chugged down while concentrating on other things."

Duo's jaw drops; he can't help it. He's never been very good at controlling his expressions. "What?"

"To-go ruins the entire experience. It invalidates the entire purpose. The only thing that would be worse is coffee or tea that's simply too weak. Completely unacceptable!"

"Are you kidding me? You own a coffee shop and you don't serve take-away coffee?"

"Tea and coffee shop," Wufei corrects.

Duo rolls his eyes. "Fine, tea and coffee shop and you won't serve take away?"

"Precisely." Wufei sets the mug down. "Now are you going to order something or not? I don't have all day to stand here."

"Yeah, yeah, ok fine. But when Hilde asks me where her coffee is, I'm telling her you are the one she should be killing."

Wufei actually cracks a smile at that. "I guess I'll just have to take my chances," he says, and pours Duo a cup.

*

When the fleeing Oz plane exploded, everything stopped for a few moments. The Alliance soldiers stopped shooting, the other unidentified mobile suits stopped their attack. The suit that had sliced through the plane with its beam saber came back to earth almost gently. And then a woman's voice crackled through Trowa's comms.

"Aren't you sick of these meaningless battles yet? Idiots. You've played straight into Oz's hands!"

"What do you mean by that?" Another voice crackled through Trowa's comms. Quatre.

"Check out the Alliance report," she said. Heavyarms flashed a notification across one of Trowa's displays: incoming unidentified mobile suit. She had to be the suit's pilot. "You've just wiped out the Alliance's pacifists."

The new suit stopped several meters away. "This was all planned by Oz. They've made us into puppets, controlled by Treize Kushrenada." Her voice was bright with anger.

"Damn you, Oz!" cried the pilot in the black mobile suit. Overly emotional. A liability.

"What—what have I—" The pilot in the other suit, the one that had taken down the plane. Quietly. He might not have even realized he was speaking over open comm lines. "What have I done?" Trowa had heard other soldiers lose it on the battlefield, but he didn't have time for this now.

Her cockpit opened, and she climbed out to stand on the hatch. The wind blew her black hair into her face. She was pretty, but what Trowa noticed most was her iron will. "But I'm going to fight you, Oz. Even if I've got to do it on my own," she said, before climbing back inside.

"I'll come with you," Trowa said. He may have become one of Oz's pawns, but he didn't have to stay that way.

They stole a couple of carriers from the base while the other three Gundam pilots—intentionally or unintentionally—played decoy. They needed the time. Treize had a considerable head start.

"Which do you want?" Trowa asked her over a closed channel when they get close. Trowa still hadn't gotten her name. That was fine. Names weren't that important. Trowa's was only borrowed.

"You can do what you want," she replied. "I'm going after Treize."

"Understood." He closed the channel, and started hailing the Oz armada. They gave him permission to land almost immediately. Disorganized. They were so busy staging a coup d'etat, but they couldn't keep their own soldiers straight.

Trowa set his carrier down on the capital vessel only moments before they realized their mistake and opened fire on the other carrier. It crashed into one of the smaller ships as Trowa finished securing himself in Heavyarms's cockpit. Trowa was sure a fellow Gundam pilot could take care of herself.

He opened fire on the first scattered wave of Leos, and then concentrated on destroying the loading bay doors. If he could destroy that, the rest of the suits inside that hanger would be trapped. Effectively out of the battle. It was just good tactics.

One of his viewscreens flickered as Heavyarms zoomed in on the ship the other carrier had crashed into, honing in on movement.. The other Gundam was emerging from the flames, unscathed.

"I've found Treize," she reported over their frequency from the carrier.

"I'll hold them off here," Trowa acknowledged. He turned his attention to the next set of loading bay doors. They were only vulnerable when they were opening to let mobile suits out.

An explosion rocked another ship in the fleet—one closer to the edge of the armada: one closer to Treize. The other pilot. The burning ship started to sink, but not before Trowa saw her boost her way across the ocean surface to the last ship between her and Treize's ocean liner.

A Leo on a launch pad threw itself bodily at Heavyarms. Trowa opened fire, but not in time to stop the Leo's momentum. The impact threw him backwards, but he managed to keep Heavyarms on its feet. He finished the Leo with his wrist blade, then let the pieces fall around him. Trowa had plenty of targets to deal with here.

*

Wufei likes to argue. He won't talk about himself, where he's from, what he does. He studiously avoids gossiping about any of his customers, even though they all live in the same neighbourhood and it's practically a social obligation to chat about who's up to what. But he loves to argue. He gets sucked into political conversations almost against his will. He's even worse about philosophical debates. Duo doesn't think Wufei even realizes he's doing it. It's amazingly fun to watch.

And better than watching, it's a lot of fun to participate. Wufei enjoys the discussion part of it. He likes to pick apart ideas, and he respects a verbal opponent who isn't cowed by the passion behind Wufei's opinions. He's a little like a bulldozer about what he believes, but Duo thinks that's fine too. Once Duo dropped onto a planet with nothing but his Gundam to try to destroy an entire military regime. He can appreciate relentlessness.

"Ok, so what do you think it would take for the colonies to be truly independent?" Duo asks when Wufei comes around to refill his cup.

"The strong will always be able to take advantage of the weak. The only way to avoid this is for the righteous to have sufficient strength. Only then can there be true justice."

Duo takes a slow sip of his coffee. "That sounds an awful lot like you're advocating an end to the total pacifism all those politicians on Earth and up here have been working so hard to bring us."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying it doesn't matter if wars are fought with weapons or with economies. There will be injustice as long as the strong exploit those weaker than themselves," Wufei declares, setting the coffee pot in his hand down on the small table in front of Duo.

"So, what then? What can the colonies do so they won't be taken advantage of?"

Wufei shrugs. "Nothing."

"So that's it? Just nothing? We shouldn't even try?" Duo drains his cup.

"What's the point? The weak have no right to fight."

"That's bull, man." Duo starts to pick up the coffee pot, but Wufei swats his hand away.

"Stop that. You've had your free refill already. You want another, you have to pay for it." Wufei pushes away from Duo's table and picks his pot back up. "Oh, crap. I've left a ring on the table."

Wufei looks so distressed for a moment that Duo can't help but laugh. "Hey, hey, it's ok," Duo says, reaching out to bump the backs of his fingers against Wufei's hip. "I've got some plate glass back at the shop. Gimme an extra free cup of coffee this once and I'll bring it in for you. You can put it over the tables and stop worrying about ruining the wood."

"For just a cup of coffee? I couldn't take advantage of you like that."

"Hey, hey! Who says you're the strong one here? You're talking to Duo Maxwell; don't underestimate me!"

*

When Wufei wakes up from his usual midday nap, Trowa's packing his bag.

"We weren't getting anywhere here," Trowa says, "and there are some things back on Earth that we need to care of."

Wufei nods. The Preventers are, by nature, a small organization, designed to work quickly and delicately. They don't have a lot of resources to waste. "Need any help?"

"Think that's everything," Trowa says, zipping the bag and standing up. Wufei carries it downstairs. He sees it as his responsibility as a host.

Wufei hands Trowa's bag over when they get to the street. "Tell Quatre thanks for the coffee," he says.

Trowa hefts the bag to his shoulder. "You should write more," Trowa says. "Quatre would like that." He pauses. "I wouldn't mind either. Using government resources to keep tabs on what your friends are up to starts looking creepy after a while."

"I'll keep that in mind," says Wufei with a smile. Trowa throws him a wave over his shoulder, and then he's gone, out of sight around the corner. Wufei waits for a moment longer, and then he goes inside and opens up the shop.

*

"Aren't you coming to class?" asked a blond kid as he walked up. "You're not in uniform."

Wufei gave him a look. Theoretically, he knew there was a school here, but it had nothing to do with him. He wasn't some rich pacifist's son here to bask in the light of the heir to the Sanc Kingdom. He was a soldier. As far as he was concerned, everyone in that school was living in a fantasy world.

"Pardon my saying so, but you don't look old enough to be staff. Besides," he laughed, "so far it seems like all the lectures are taught by Miss Relena."

"I'm not a student here," Wufei said, when it became apparent that he was waiting for an answer.

The blond's eyes sharpened. "Is that so?" Wufei narrowed his eyes back, wondering what he saw. Suddenly, he extended a hand to Wufei. "I'm Quatre Raberba Winner. I think we may be seeing more of each other later, working with Miss Noin."

In town, a church started chiming the hour, and then another and another joined in, all slightly out of time with each other as the sound of their bells drifted up the hill.

"Oops, late," Quatre said, breaking back into a smile. "Well, it was very nice making your acquaintance. I expect next time we meet, I may even get your name." And then he went up into the big, overblown school building and left Wufei to wander the grounds at will.

Wufei didn't completely realize his significance until Oz attacked the Sanc Kingdom without provocation, and he caught a flash of blond hair making a dash for Gundam 04 as he ran for the white Taurus Noin had designated for him on the other side of the hangar. He turned in time to see that kid, Quatre, sealing himself into the Gundam, then all Wufei's systems checked green and he got clearance to leave the hangar to join the defense line.

It was a hopeless battle, but after all his time with Sally, Wufei thought he knew a little something about hopeless battles. Sometimes you fought them because going down losing was better than letting a bully meet no resistance whatsoever.

He barely had time to get into position before Oz's mobile dolls began their attack. His Taurus was, in essence, the same model as the mobile dolls being sent against him. Their reaction times were better, but he was a better thinker, since they couldn't think at all. It wasn't an even match, though, because in the end, there was only one of him, and Oz always had more dolls to throw at the real soldiers.

His Taurus took a hit, and then another; he took out a line of mobile dolls and held his position. He didn't have time to admire the way Gundam 04 cut literal swaths through the enemy suits. Wufei took another hit, and his suit sheared off at the knee. He fell—no way to prevent it—but his suit didn't explode. Sometimes you fought hopeless battles because your only choices were about the number of enemies you took down with you.

Wufei wrestled his suit into a position that allowed him to get in a few more shots at the advancing mobile dolls. He snuck a shot in during the split second before one of the dolls reactivated its shield after firing; it blew up and took out the doll next to it. He must have been redesignated an active target for that, and an almost surgical strike took out his Taurus's head.

He pitched over backwards, all his controls suddenly as dead as the suit's camera. The radio was still working, but Wufei knew better than to bother with a distress signal. The Sanc Kingdom's pitiful defense force had its hands full, and Romefeller was known for anything but mercy. Quatre's a Gundam pilot. The chaos of battle flooded and ebbed through his cockpit, and through the static and the shouts and the explosions, Wufei thought, Quatre might be one of the last people ever to speak to Nataku.

*

"What can you tell me about the situation on L2?"

"Nothing that wasn't in the written report. Several loose groups that are unhappy with the colony, the Colonies, the Earth, the way they're represented, or the current government. Some individuals in those groups were responsible for some of the small arms activity we were seeing. Much more of it appears to be the work of one Dominique Jian, a pacifist artist who disassembles former weapons in her installation pieces," Heero reports. Lady Une looks dubiously at the pair of them.

"Her work is really quite interesting," Trowa offers.

"So no new leads have turned up since your visit?" Lady Une asks.

"No."

"Alright. A few of those groups were a little worrying, but from your report, I don't believe any of them pose an immediate threat. You may find yourselves heading back to L2 in the future, gentlemen, but for now, let's focus on the problem developing in the former Australian Confederate. I've sent you the file. Please review it and come back to me with potential courses of action. Do not," she pauses to stress her point and catches Heero's eye in particular, "take any action without my express approval first. Thank you; you're dismissed."

Heero and Trowa obligingly file out into the hallway. "Why, Heero," Trowa says once the door's safely shut behind them, "it's almost as though she thinks you're prone to reckless actions."

*

"When are you closing tonight?" Duo asks from where he's perched himself on the far end of Wufei's counter. Wufei usually shoos him off it, but Duo may finally have found the sweet spot where he can still see what Wufei's up to without encroaching so far into the workspace that it annoys Wufei. Duo likes to watch Wufei as he works—there's a certain grace, a certain economy to his movements that reminds Duo of piloting Deathscythe. The Sister Helen is a beautiful ship, but she's not a Gundam.

Wufei pauses just long enough to shoot Duo a look that seems made up of equal parts fondness and annoyance. He focuses back on the drink in his hands when he starts speaking. "My operating hours are written on a board directly above you, Duo. It's Thursday—you tell me what time I get off."

"Ok, fine," Duo concedes the point. "What I meant was, are you busy afterward?"

Wufei's hands pause on the next cup, fingertips sliding along the sides as though he’s searching for flaws in the porcelain. "What do you mean?" he asks, heating milk with a steam wand.

"I was thinking I could bring by the sheet glass I promised," Duo answers, shifting so he can prop his head up on one upraised hand. Wufei pours the warmed milk into a small cup of espresso. "I've got a portable cutter—we can do it all tonight if you're not busy."

"I suppose so," Wufei says as he sets the cortado on a dainty saucer, adding two packets of sugar and a small silver spoon for stirring on the side.

"I'll take it out," Duo offers when Wufei gets closer. "It's for Nikki, right?" He plucks it carefully from Wufei's hands. If Wufei doesn't have to make Duo move in order to take anything out to his customers, he's less likely to notice that Duo's been hogging his counter space.

"You know, you should really consider hiring someone to help out, at least part-time," Duo says when he's finished his delivery. "I know some kids who're looking for something. They've got really steady hands."

Wufei raises an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't comment on the not-so-veiled reference to what the kids had been doing before. "I don't need help in the shop," he says. "But I'm not busy tonight. After work. Can you do before midnight?"

"I'll find some way to pry myself away. You know how busy the hours from 10 pm till 12 am are in the salvage industry."

Wufei rolls his eyes. "Not all of us can run entirely on caffeine."

Duo grins, all cheek. "Not all of us can benefit so much from a beauty sleep."

*

Wufei pays attention to what his customers order, partially because he makes most of his own blends and knowing what his clientele likes helps him decide what to repeat and what to abandon, and partially just because he can't help it. He's always been good at finding patterns, and people are creatures of comfort and habit when it comes to what they drink. Vasta likes cappuccinos made from blends from Central America or Bolivia. Hilde usually wants a mocha. Pat always gets an iced coffee. Rhey orders first flush Darjeeling black tea, and never adds milk or sugar.

Duo isn't a regular, exactly, but he is something of a frequent irregular. Sometimes he's in twice a day, and sometimes Wufei doesn't see him for a week or more. He usually gets the house coffee with a little cream, no sugar, but he's gone through just about every item on Wufei's menu. If he's coming off a run in the Sister Helen, he either orders a double espresso or camomile tea; Wufei can't quite predict which day will be which.

Duo doesn't like the brighter blends. He'll drink them—but he doesn't enjoy them the same way he does when the house blend is a rich classic cup or one of Wufei's heavier, smoother cups. It's not profitable to stick only to beans that one customer likes—Wufei, to a certain extent, is constrained by what is available and affordable on the market.

So Wufei finds a compromise: he changes the house blend as often as he always has, and makes those changes based on what he has in stock and what appealed to the most customers in the past. But he also keeps a small, special blend for the weeks that Duo wouldn't like the house blend, fine-tuned to Duo's taste. Then, if Duo comes in one of those days, Wufei is 'making a fresh pot' just as he arrives.

It just so happens that that pot makes exactly one cup and is only ever served to one particular customer.

Wufei doesn't lie to himself about his motivation. He accepts it, and moves on. Duo never realizes that he isn't getting the same coffee that everyone else is.

*

"Are you coming? I could use a partner," Sally said, leaning out the truck's window. "Or you could stay, if you wanted. A lot of the guys have warmed up to you, despite your best efforts. We could find you somewhere to live if you want to settle down here."

Wufei climbed into the passenger side of the cab and pulled the door closed behind him.

"Aren't you even going to ask where we're going?" Sally teased.

"Does it matter? As long as I get to fight Oz when we get there, I don't care."

Sally rolled her eyes. Wufei ignored it. "A little bird told me where Oz is keeping the pieces of that Gundam that self-destructed recently. They're trying to rebuild it, you know. I thought we'd go interfere with their plans."

"Good enough for me," Wufei said and buckled himself into the seat.

*

"Hold on!" Sally yelled, and dropped the nose of the carrier. A few moments later she jerked the controls back up into a climb, but there was no way their plane could match the maneuverability of the mobile suits on their tails.

"There has to be something—I could get in the suit," Wufei said. "I could pilot it." Something small and solid settled in his chest at the thought, grounding him as some lost path of destiny crossed with his again.

"The Gundam?" Saily asked. "No bullets, no fuel. You could get in, sure, but all you'd be able to do is sink in it." The suits chasing them shot out the engine under the left wing. "Dammit!" Sally cursed, as she fought the controls.

"We're going down," said Wufei.

"Let's just make sure they don't get our cargo," Sally agreed, and dropped the carrier's nose into as steep a dive as the machine could take. "If we play it right, they won't have any idea we had a Gundam in our hold." Wufei curled into a crash position and tried to brace himself. Oz kept shooting as they went down.

Impact all but broke the plane apart, and the water was fucking cold as it rushed around them. Sally choked on a mouthful of frigid salt water, but coughed her lungs clear enough to shout instructions to Wufei over the noise of the crash. "Get out, and get as far away from the plane as possible!"

By the time Oz caught up with them, they were half frozen—but the plane and the Gundam it was carrying were well on their way to the ocean floor.

*

Duo doesn't have a secret talent for baking. He doesn't find it soothing at the end of a long day. There's nothing meditative about the measuring and timing process for him. He doesn't have the patience for it.

"It's just chemistry!" Hilde told him once, exasperated, and he has to admit that's true. It's just that it had never seemed important enough to force himself to learn. "You can make an explosive capable of putting a hole in Gundanium alloy, but you can't make a semi-decent cupcake? I don't believe you." Cupcakes never explode prematurely.

Needless to say, Duo purchases his baked goods. He regrets nothing. Cupcakes never explode prematurely, but they can taste surprisingly awful.

As soon as Wufei brings out Duo's Hong Kong-style milk tea, he takes the cup off the saucer and sets it on the now ring-proof glass table top. Then he retrieves a croissant—still warm—from the paper bag and uses the saucer as a plate.

"What are you doing?" Wufei asks.

"Uh, eating a croissant," Duo says, breaking off a crusty, fluffy bite and popping it in his mouth. Perfect.

Wufei's brow creases as he frowns. "Really, you're going to bring outside food into my shop?"

"Do you serve croissants?" asks Duo.

"No."

"Then I have to get them somewhere else, then, don't I?" Duo takes another bite of his croissant, hoping he can convey with the finality of his chewing that that should really be the end of the conversation, but Wufei continues to stand over his table, scowling.

Duo sets his croissant down at last. Wufei only looks slightly less cranky now that Duo isn't actively eating. "Stop looking at me like that," Duo says, reaching into his bag and pulling out another fresh croissant. "I brought you one too." He offers it to Wufei with a flourish, doing his best to look winsome. Based on the way Wufei's face softens, just ever so slightly, as he takes the proffered pastry with a huff, Duo's pretty sure it works.

Duo pushes the other chair gently away from the table with one foot. "If you're not too busy," he says with a glance around the nearly empty shop, "you could sit and eat with me. It won't be as good once it's cold." The only other customer at the moment is old Farid, who's ensconced in a corner by the window with a hot cup of Arabic coffee and a newspaper. He doesn't look as though he plans on emerging any time soon.

Wufei looks at the croissant in his hand, and then at the empty chair, and the back to the croissant. He never looks at Duo, and he doesn't look around the shop. "I—" he hesitates, and Duo finds himself holding his breath. "I guess I've got nothing better to be doing at the moment," he says, sitting down abruptly. He steals the saucer Duo was using for a plate, sliding Duo's half-eaten pastry to the napkin that had come with his milk tea and replacing it with his own croissant. He looks smug when he finally looks Duo in the eye. It's a pretty good look on him.

"So what do you think about the colonization efforts on Mars?" Duo asks, watching the delicate way that Wufei eats, pulling the pastry apart with his fingers and catching the flaky crumbs with the saucer.

"Other than the fact that it's Vice Foreign Minister Darlian's pet project, you mean?"

Duo nods, nudging his cup closer to one of Wufei's hands in case he wants something to drink later.

"Hmmm," Wufei muses. "For the whole Earthsphere, or for L2 specifically?"

"Let's start with L2 and then move outward. What do you think about the colonization efforts on Mars, specifically in terms of how they will likely impact L2?"

"I think," Wufei says, dark eyes lighting up as he warms to his topic, "that it could be a very good opportunity for L2, or it could be a very bad one, depending on the way the colony leaders manage it."

*

Duo wasn't sure what he thought he'd do after the war—truthfully he hadn't thought he'd live through it, so what he wanted to do after didn't matter. But he was alive, and he had to do something.

Quatre went home to run his father's company. Trowa and Heero joined the Preventers; a lot of ex-soldiers did. Re-integration was hard—all the news channels ran specials on it, how people who'd grown up fighting were having a difficult time coping with the sudden and lasting peace. They desperately wanted it, but they didn't know what to do with it now that they had it—but Duo had always lived his life at the edges of society. It was less important to Duo to find someone else's definition of "normalcy" than it was to find something to occupy his time.

"You could join up, too," Noin told him, not unkindly. "After everything you pilots have done for us, I know Lady Une will make sure there's a place for you here."

Duo hesitated. "Nah, I think I'll find my own way," he said at last. There was just something about space—how wide and endless it was, how beautiful and impossible it was—that made Duo sick of fighting. He wanted to forget human nature for a little bit. After all, he was alive. Who knew what else he'd been wrong about.

*

Wufei gets one email from Trowa, a few weeks after his visit, that says, Creepy, and nothing else. He didn't even bother to sign it.

Wufei starts six emails to Quatre, but finds he has nothing to say, and ends up with six blank saved drafts. Instead he replies to Trowa's message, saying, maybe a misuse of government resources really is the most efficient way to keep in touch.

Trowa doesn't write back. A response isn't necessary, so Wufei hadn't expected him to, but he keeps checking his email anyway. He's not entirely sure why. Just in case, maybe.

*

They're cute together. Duo and Hilde. Wufei had never really noticed before, but now that he has, it's hard to deny.

They suit each other, with their bright personalities and the easy way they slip into teasing humour. Wufei can see why they get along.

Most of all, it's easy to see their long familiarity and affection for each other. The way they kick each other under the table like little kids. The easy way that Hilde smiles, and sighs, and complains about how her partner is good for nothing while Duo throws back his head and laughs. The way they take turns ordering for each other without even having to ask when they come in together.

It's sweet, and it makes Wufei's chest ache in a way that isn't loneliness or envy or even grief, but a strange sort of wistfulness, like what he'd felt the first time he'd ever looked up at the night sky from the Earth. The stars had looked so close and yet so far away, like some fragile, impossible thing. It was beautiful—and his chest had clenched as though a fist had closed around it, caught somewhere between wonder and longing.

They're like that, somehow: lovely and impossible to touch.

So Wufei looks away when they walk in, focuses on cleaning countertops and fixing Kiria the perfect masala chai and changing roasting trays in the kitchen, and fights the way his eyes want to stray back to Duo's sharp grin when he's making a joke at Hilde's expense and the open way he smiles when she returns his volley. He runs over forms in his head, the placement of a foot, the moving arc of an arm. He knows exactly how strong he is now, but he's still not sure it will ever be strong enough.

*

Wufei lost himself on Earth. What had seemed so clear-cut from outer space was muddy and confusing once he landed. He ended up wandering, fighting at random, trying to find a way to get back at Oz for all that they'd done.

He stole a Leo from an Alliance base and left the base in flames behind him. He used it until it took too much damage to keep up, and then he stole an Ares from an Oz base and moved on again.

He probably wasn't much more than a nuisance: a one-man distraction instead of a one-man army. But distractions could be fatal in war, and Wufei had the manic strength that came with being utterly disposable. He cut a ragged line through Northern Europe, and then swung South into Asia, through the remains of China. He left destruction in his wake. The Alliance, Oz, they were both too weak to continue existing. Wufei would show them true justice.

He fell in with Sally Po's freedom fighters by accident. The former Alliance in the area had broken off when Oz staged their Operation Daybreak and established an independent military dictatorship. They were launching an attack on Sally's camp when they noticed Wufei's Ares in the woods nearby and decided it was a part of Sally's forces. When they started shooting at him, Wufei was as willing to take them on as he had been everyone else.

The rebel camp was small and poorly defended; the ex-Alliance forces sent to annihilate the camp had expected no real resistance. They were mediocre pilots at best. It didn't take Wufei long to defeat them.

"Why are you fighting, when you know you can't win?" Wufei asked, dropping down on a line from the mobile suit's hatch.

"Because we have to!" A woman fired back. She seemed to be the leader.

"You mean someone's making you fight?"

"No!" she said. "This is our home. If we don't fight for it, who will? Why are you fighting?"

"Because the rest of you are all too weak," Wufei answered. He couldn't keep the scorn out of his voice, but he wasn't trying to. People died when the weak fought. That was what Wufei learned from Nataku.

"Hey," She said, softening. "Why don't you come back with us? Anyone else looking at you would say you're just a kid and send you home, but you remind me of another young pilot I met recently."

Wufei shrugged. He didn't care about their cause, but that didn't seem to bother her. She let him stay, and everyone else deferred to her. Wufei was going to wipe out Oz entirely. He might as well start here.

*

Lazy. T.

*

"What?" Wufei snaps into the videophone.

"Is now a bad time?" Quatre says, which means it isn't an emergency or he wouldn't be offering to call again later. The connection is unusually good, so it feels like a shame to let it go to waste.

"No, no, it's fine. The shop's a little busy right now, but I think everyone is set for the moment."

"Well, I know this is a little sudden, but I will be docking at L2 in a couple of hours. I'll only be here for a few days, but I was hoping we could catch up. Do you think you'll have any free time?"

"Most of my free time is in the afternoon, but if that's inconvenient for you, I could close the shop one evening."

"Don't go out of your way. I'll make sure to get some time in the afternoon. I can always plead jet lag this first day," Quatre says, smiling.

"Send me details once you get them worked out," Wufei says. He hesitates, then confesses, "It'll be good to see you, Quatre."

Quatre laughs. "Trowa told me not to give you any warning. 'Show up on his doorstep. Don't give him a chance to run away.' But I've got to stay at the hotel or our business partner will take it personally, so I don't have the option of crashing on your couch. I thought I'd just call you and see if you were free instead."

"I'm hurt Trowa has so little faith in me."

"I'll be sure to let Trowa know he misjudged you," Quatre reassures him.

The bell above the door rings, alerting Wufei to the arrival of another customer. "I should go," he says.

"Of course," says Quatre. "I shouldn't have taken you away from your work for so long. I'll be in touch."

Quatre signs off, and Wufei turns to the counter with a smile just in time for Duo to walk up.

"You look happy," Duo says. "Got a date?"

"An old friend is coming to visit," Wufei explains.

"I see," says Duo. "Is she pretty?"

"He has a boyfriend."

“A boyfriend who’s not you?”

“You’re being nosy,” Wufei says. “I’ll give you nothing but tea for a month. Tea from the grocery store. Tea I wouldn’t even serve a dog.”

"Caffeine is bad for dogs," Duo says, but he stops badgering Wufei and orders his usual coffee.

*

The company party was something of a madhouse, just by virtue of involving so many people. Winner Corporation was one of the largest single employers in outer space, which made the annual corporate party one of the largest single events in outer space.

Trowa went every year.

He wasn't actually connected with the company, so he didn't have much to do: he just trailed along in Quatre's bright wake like a shadow. He nodded greetings when he was introduced, made small talk if he had to, but mostly he just enjoyed watching Quatre work. Quatre smiled at everyone, had time for everyone, spoke to everyone. Quatre made people feel special when he spoke with them, which made him popular.

Trowa wasn't a fan of that kind of chitter chatter himself, but he didn't mind watching Quatre at it—though, truthfully, there wasn't a lot Trowa minded watching Quatre do. Particularly if he was going to wear a tuxedo while doing it.

"Rosita, this is Trowa. Trowa, Rosita," Quatre said, gesturing between them. Trowa nodded at her as she said something about being pleased to finally meet him. Trowa didn't really pay attention to the conversation. It didn't concern him.

He let his attention drift around the room instead, just a quick perimeter check—more habit than anything else—when he saw someone he recognized. Golden skin, dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, a small half-smirk on his face. Where had he seen—

That time with Sally, before he was assigned to be Heero's partner instead. That guy. Chang Wufei.

His outfit was different, but that wasn't surprising: a party's a far cry from mid-shift, in terms of appropriate attire. So he was still at the company, not building anything for the future.

"I'll be right back," Trowa murmured, moving off. Sally had wanted to bring him into the Preventers the moment Lady Une told them Trowa was being transferred. He hadn't talked her about it in detail because her choice for new partner was her own business, but she was usually a pretty good judge of character. Trowa wanted a chance to speak to Wufei on his own. It might be interesting.

*

"Wufei!" Quatre calls, waving an arm over his head, as soon as Wufei steps into the hotel lobby. When he reaches him, the aid talking to Quatre gets up and makes the most polished exit Wufei's ever seen.

"We were just going over my schedule for the rest of the day," Quatre explains, smiling. "It looks like it's going to be a long one, but I'm hoping it will be very productive. Do you want to go up to the suite? I was just going to have room service send something up since it's easier. Everything else while I'm here will be business lunches and business dinners and tea instead of breakfast because Trowa couldn't come to make sure I get up early enough to eat properly."

"Isn't that what that guy is for?" Wufei asks, as Quatre leads the way to a set of elevators.

Quatre laughs. "He has enough to do already, without having to face me first thing in the morning."

Wufei snorts, but he lets it go.

Quatre chatters through the elevator ride, catching Wufei up on all the small details of his and Trowa's lives that Trowa never mentions. Wufei lets him, feeling slightly lighter, more centered as the sound washes over him.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Quatre offers when they get inside the suite. It's not nearly as ostentatious as the lobby had been, even though the furniture inside is probably twice as expensive. Instead it has a comfortable, streamlined feel, half living room, half office.

"I brought tea, if you have hot water," Wufei answers.

"There's probably tea in the cupboard over the refrigerator."

Wufei doesn't bother trying to hide his disdain. "That will almost certainly be some kind of overpriced dust in a teabag. I brought your favourite," he says with the smallest of flourishes as he produces a small packet of Lapsang Souchong from a pocket.

"There's probably still some milk in the fridge," Quatre says, acquiescing gracefully. He knows better than to fight Wufei on this, even for hospitality's sake. "Or if not, I can order some more with lunch."

Wufei nods, because it's just Lapsang Souchong. Ruining that with milk and sugar isn't really so bad. Truthfully, adding milk and sugar is the only thing that makes the tea worth drinking.

*

"Please sit," Quatre said with a pleasant smile, gesturing to the folding chair across from Wufei's manager's messy, make-shift desk. He could barely make out LISETTE HENRY on her nameplate, because everything else was covered by paper. His boss, though, was nowhere to be seen; Quatre—the company president—was the only other person in the room.

"Somehow I doubt this is standard exit interview procedure," Wufei said as he sat down.

Quatre's smile lost some of its polite veneer, turning more genuine. "No, not exactly," he admitted.

"Then to what do I owe the honour of your visit?"

"Truthfully, I was hoping I could convince you to stay with the company," Quatre said. "You're one of our most efficient independent auditors. Lisette says she trusts your assessments the most out of all her subordinates because she knows you never mince words to save anyone's feelings. That's a difficult thing to do, but it is critical to ensure the safety of our workers and of the people who will eventually live in the spaces our company constructs."

"I'm still leaving," Wufei said, but he did soften it with a smile.

"Well, worth a shot. Let's see," Quatre said, shuffling through some papers. "You signed on with Winner Corp. in A.C. 197, when construction restarted on L3-X18999. You worked as a technical engineer on L3 for a little over a year, then asked to be transferred to the Audit Department. You've been working here under Lisette ever since."

"I was at your house for dinner last week," Wufei pointed out archly. "I think you know my work history."

"Yes, but since you're definitely leaving, we have to go through with the exit interview," Quatre said, good humour evident in his voice.

"Oh. Right."

*

"One coffee, Americano," Duo says, dropping his credits by the cash register.

Wufei sweeps the money up and ducks behind one of his giant machines to hide. Duo goes to find his usual seat; Wufei never lets him hover by the counter when he's feeling squirrelly. He can hide as long as he also makes Duo's coffee. A few minutes later, Wufei comes out from behind the counter with a couple of cups on a small tray. He drops two teacups off with Rhey and her boyfriend Kazu, and then comes over to give Duo his coffee mug. Duo doesn't wait, because Wufei's Americanos are probably the only slice of heaven Duo's ever going to get.

Except that it isn't an Americano, it's a travesty. Only sheer habit keeps Duo from dribbling his mouthful back into the cup. He glares down the cup accusingly, then just as accusingly up at Wufei. "This is tea."

"You've ordered this before," Wufei points out placidly. "Several times."

"I didn't order it now," Duo says.

"Your hands are twitching. Too much caffeine is bad for you," Wufei says, and walks back to the counter.

*

Quatre leaves some 40 hours later.

He never made a fuss about the way Wufei never writes, just accepted the rest of the lapsang souchong wrapped in a twist of paper. He pulled Wufei into a hug when they bid goodbye and then didn't end up having enough free time to see Wufei again before he had to head back to L4.

*

Wufei stares at his computer screen for a long time, watching the message cursor blink in a blank field.

Wufei's never really had anyone to keep in touch with before. He moved in with Master Long when his parents died. He wasn't exactly in a position to write while he was on Earth. And then when he'd tried to return, he lost the last home he had left.

I don't know how to do this, Wufei thinks. He nearly writes that down and sends it to Quatre like that, but he doesn't. It feels too much like giving up. He's lost too much to want to throw things away willingly.

It was good to see you, he says instead, and hits send. It doesn't seem like it should be enough, one line of text against all the separation and the distance, but it feels like an accomplishment anyway.

*

"Sister Helen, Wufei. Wufei, the Sister Helen." Duo says, with far less flourish than Wufei had expected. It's like his opinion doesn't matter at all—Wufei feels like he's being presented to the ship for approval, rather than the other way around.

"L-series transport shuttle?" Wufei asks, waiting for Duo to nod permission before walking beneath the docked ship. "But the fuselage isn't L-series—did you modify it?"

Duo grins, eyes focused on his ship. He looks fond, proud. "Yeah, me 'n Hilde did it about a year ago. Finally got all the parts we needed."

"It's not M-series, though?" Wufei asks, coming out from under one wing.

Duo shakes his head. "N-series. More fuel efficient. This beauty should save us a few thousand credits a year."

"I thought N-series isn't compatible with L-series."

"They're not, but we're experts. You know your ships pretty well, don't you?" Duo says, grinning at Wufei this time. Wufei looks away from him before he can try to read anything into his expression.

"I live here, don't I?" Wufei says, meaning L2, meaning the space colonies. "You pick things up."

Duo shrugs. "A lot of people don't, is all." He leans forward onto the railing overlooking the ship. "You know, I never thought I'd be doing anything like this, but here I am. Hilde and I just celebrated the company's fifth-year anniversary last March."

"What did you think you'd be doing, if not this?" Wufei asks, coming back to Duo's side.

"Be dead, probably," Duo says with a grin. It's the cheeky one, the one Duo uses to mean, 'don't take me entirely seriously,' but it's shallow this time, a front. "Or worse, alive." Wufei doesn't have to ask what he means by that. He knows; the worst thing to be is alive when everyone you love is dead.

"I grew up as a street kid," Duo continues. "No parents, nothing. Ran with a gang, but we got picked up by the cops. We were lucky to be taken in by an orphanage instead of sent to jail. I was about six or seven." He looks up at the ship. "I got my last name from the priest who ran it, the orphanage. Maxwell Church. The nun who took care of me there was Sister Helen.

"Only stayed with them for about a year, but it was a great year, you know? One of the best years of my life. Before that I didn't know that grown ups could be kind to little kids." Duo shrugs like he's shaking off a burden, then forces a smile back on his face. "Man, I don't know why I'm talking about all this depressing stuff."

Wufei watches his face for a moment while Duo's smile grows more natural. Wufei's never really liked hearing people's life stories. He hates when his customers get chatty, tell him the little things about their days, think he wants to know just because he's there. "No, it's ok," he finds himself saying. "It's good that you remember them this way." Wufei looks blindly away, face turned towards the Sister Helen. He sees four thin plumes of smoke every morning instead of the spaceship, smells burning wood with just a hint of jasmine instead of the oil and exhaust of a hangar. "It's important to remember the people who have affected our lives like this, to honour them as we keep living."

When he looks back, Duo's giving him an odd, sideways glance. Wufei blinks. "What?" he asks.

"Nothing," Duo says, throwing a cheerful arm around his shoulder and dragging him from the hangar into the light outside. "It's not important. You're not such a bad guy, Wufei; even if you are kind of a stick in the mud."

Wufei pushes him off, scowling. "I am not," he says.

"Not a stick in the mud? Or not a decent guy?" Duo says, eyes sparkling as he ducks in front of Wufei. Wufei looks pointedly away from Duo's face. It seems more mature than sticking out his tongue at him.

"Go away; no one likes you."

"Yeah, sure, whatever, man," Duo says, turning around to walk with his hands clasped behind his head, grinning like an idiot. Behind him, Wufei lets himself smile a little, too. It's fine as long as Duo can't see him doing it.

*

I finished a new espresso blend today. I think you'd like it, particularly. It's not Trowa's thing though; he'd only drink it if you were the one giving it to him. Wufei hits send before he can convince himself that Quatre wouldn't really care.

Quatre's responded by the next morning. I'm so sorry I won't be able to taste it! By the way, Trowa says you should take a day off and visit an exhibit by an artist named Dominique Jian.

There's another email in his inbox, also nominally from Quatre—but as soon as Wufei opens it, he can tell it's really from Trowa. 2400 Pine St., Mountain District. 10 am till 4 pm, Tuesdays through Saturdays.

*

Wufei closes up for the afternoon with something that can almost be called relief. He's tired, and the morning was busier than usual. Some of his evening regulars who usually worked the first shift had gotten moved to the third shift until their company finished construction on a set of new buildings downtown. The area around the construction site is primarily commercial, so there's no one to disturb at night, but the office workers have been complaining about the noise and vibration during the day. Most of Wufei's customers are adjusting badly to the change in shift, which means they want more caffeine when they come to his shop. It is good for business, but Wufei still sort of hopes it ends soon.

He's in the kitchen, starting on the sizeable stack of dirty dishes when the bell over the shop's door jingles. He dries his hands, frowning—sure he'd locked the door—and goes out to tell whoever it was that he has closed already.

His annoyance evaporates when he sees it's Duo, though his confusion doesn't. "I thought I'd locked up."

Duo has the decency to look a little bit sheepish. "Ah, well, about that. I may have let myself in," he says.

"Let yourself in?" Wufei asks.

"You need better security, man. Anyone with half a brain and a flat strip of plastic could waltz right in here whenever they wanted." Wufei's face twists back into a scowl, but Duo just keeps talking, completely undisturbed by Wufei's darkening expression. "Anyway, I brought lunch," he says, holding up a bag of take-out and jiggling it hopefully.

Wufei feels himself folding under Duo's persistent good cheer. "Well, I guess I haven't eaten yet," he concedes.

"Awesome!" Duo crows, setting the bag down on a coffee table. He's pulling out napkins and plastic silverware when Wufei stops him.

"Let's eat upstairs instead." Duo glances up at him and Wufei feels suddenly, inexplicably awkward. There are only three people in the solar system Wufei would call friends, and of those three, only Trowa has ever been to his home. "I don't want anyone to see people inside and think we're open," he explains.

Duo shrugs acquiescence and shoves everything back into the bag. He follows Wufei through the building's small kitchen and up the stairs to Wufei's apartment without comment. That doesn't help the uneasy feeling in the pit of Wufei's stomach any. Duo's not usually the sort of person to keep opinions to himself.

"Do we need plates?" Wufei asks to have something to say as Duo starts unpacking the paper bag again.

Duo waves him off. "Nope, should be some in here," Duo says, with an easy grin. Wufei has to look away.

"Please sit." Wufei waits until Duo does before sitting himself.

"I don't know what you like," Duo admits, passing Wufei an open container stacked with noodles and some kind of fried cutlet. "I hope this is ok?"

"This is fine," Wufei insists, but Duo still watches him like a hawk as he takes his first bite. The attention makes Wufei feel flushed, makes it hard for him to swallow. He's not sure what Duo reads on his face, but Duo stops examining him so closely and begins eating himself, so Wufei supposes he passes.

The food is good, and a silence descends as they focus on eating. It's surprisingly comfortable, even with the way Wufei keeps sneaking glances at Duo from under his lashes. Duo finishes before Wufei does, taking the opportunity to wander around Wufei's living room poking at things while he finishes his last few bites.

"What's all this?" Duo asks, petting Wufei's stack of Chinese-language library books. "Political science? Philosophy?" He's teasing, Wufei realizes, though it's not quite the same tone of voice he uses with Hilde. There's more curiosity, less cheerful bite.

"They're mysteries," he says.

"What, all of them?" Wufei does blush this time, to his even greater embarrassment. "Huh. The great Chang Wufei, barista extraordinaire and coffee-house debater reads paperback mysteries in his spare time."

"I like to figure out who the murderer is."

Duo laughs—delighted instead of derisive. It doesn't help Wufei's blush much; it just makes something in the center of his chest feel too warm as well.

*

Duo and Hilde finish filling Howard's latest order a whole 27 hours before the Peacemillion 2 is due in port. That doesn't give them time off, exactly—not in the salvage business, with suppliers always coming in with their latest hauls, or customers looking for a particular difficult-to-find part or piece of equipment—but it does give them something of a breather.

"Want me to finish finalizing the inventory list?"

"Nah, I got it. You can go home," Hilde says. "I told Linda and Emery I'd meet them for a late lunch, but I should be back at the house by four."

"Sounds good," Duo says. "I'll see you later."

Duo stops by Wufei's shop on the way between the warehouse and the grocery store. It's technically out of the way, but you should never go grocery shopping hungry, and nothing cuts hunger quite like a good cup of coffee. Or so Duo tells himself.

It's 9 am and moderately busy. Half the tables are occupied and there's a short queue in front of the register as Wufei adds an iced coffee to a small tray with a couple of steaming tea cups on it.

"Kamenashi!" Wufei calls orders for pick-up when he doesn't have time to deliver them to the tables right away, rather than letting them sit and risk 'ruining' the flavour. Duo doesn't doubt that Wufei knows his craft—but sometimes he does think Wufei might be a little over-invested in the concept of a perfect cup.

"Just give me a cup of coffee," Duo says when he gets up to the front.

"Got it," Wufei said. "Go find somewhere to sit."

Duo's usual table is taken, so he picks one closer to the window. He's got no view of Wufei behind the espresso machine, but it's great for watching street traffic. Duo will need something for entertainment if it stays too busy to convince Wufei to come keep him company.

"Maxwell!"

Duo leaves his hat on the table to mark his place and goes to pick up his order. Wufei is hovering—that's what Duo notices first. Then he sees the tray his drink is on, and the croissant on an extra saucer next to it.

"What's this for?" he asks, bellying up to the counter. Wufei smiles at him—a small, soft thing Duo isn't sure Wufei's even aware of—and then screws his face up into his signature scowl.

"Breakfast, I'm told," he says.

"Where'd you even get it? Have you decided to start serving food? 'Cause if you have, you'd do better business if you charged people for it."

Wufei sets down a pitcher of milk and turns to glare at Duo, so Duo turns up the wattage on his grin. He loves a challenge, and working Wufei up and then charming him into a good mood again is his new favourite pastime.

Sure enough, it works, at least a little. Wufei doesn't look any less annoyed with him, but he does answer one of Duo's questions. "It came from La Vie Parisienne. Now quit bugging me and go sit down before your coffee cools off. I have work to do."

Duo takes a slow sip of his coffee still standing at the counter just to piss Wufei off. The coffee's perfect, as usual. He closes his eyes to enjoy the flavour, rich and smooth—and when he opens his eyes again, he catches Wufei staring at him. Duo can't quite figure out his expression—something almost sad, something almost lost.

Duo can't watch that.

He looks down at his croissant. "How'd you know I liked the pastries at La Vie Parisienne?" he asks, pulling it apart. He hears rather than sees Wufei pick up the pitcher of milk again—the scrape of stainless steel against the metal grating in front of the cappuccino machine.

"The name of the store was printed on the napkins that time you brought me one. I remembered it," Wufei says. He's stacking dishes now, words accompanied by the soft clink of porcelain. Duo risks a glance, keeping his head bent as he looks up through his bangs, but Wufei's watching his hands as he stacks saucers. Wufei's face relaxes as Duo watches, like something in the familiar motion is soothing, grounding.

"Thanks for breakfast," Duo says, stuffing a big piece into his mouth when Wufei looks up. Wufei rolls his eyes, fondly annoyed, finally looking completely back to normal. Something loosens in Duo's chest, and he grins.

Wufei glances over Duo's shoulder. "Someone's taking your seat," he says, totally unperturbed as he collects his stack of saucers and ducks into the kitchen.

"Shit," Duo yelps, grabbing his tray and spinning around. "Hey! That's my hat!"

*

"I was hoping you would come in today," Wufei says before Duo can order. "Are you busy later?"

"Maybe," Duo says. "When's later?"

"Around noon? You usually take a lunch break, don't you?"

Duo leans forward onto the counter like he usually does. "Sure, I'm free then. What's up?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to an art exhibit with me?" Wufei asks.

Duo grins, leaning farther forward on his elbows and coincidentally closer to Wufei. Wufei decides not to say anything about Duo taking up valuable counter space. "Are you showing me your hidden depths, Chang Wufei?" he teases.

Wufei scoffs. "If you don't want to come you don't have to come," he says.

"I never said that. Just tell me where to show up."

There's a young woman sitting at the information desk when they arrive. She hands them a glossy pamphlet with information about the exhibit and a message from the artist on it, and says, "Most of the pieces in this show are intended to be interacted with, so please feel free to touch the art. I hope you enjoy the exhibition." Then she waves them towards the only other object in the room: the husk of a mobile suit cockpit set halfway into the gallery's plywood wall. It's been half-stripped of its armour, and had definitely burned—though Wufei can't tell if that was during the suit's last battle, or if it was part of the artistic process—and the suit's metal frame pokes through what armour is left like black bones through a carcass's hide.

When they get closer, Wufei can see that it's not set against the wall, but is actually the frame of a tunnel through the wall. The inside of the cockpit has taken as much damage as the outside. Entire consoles have been ripped out, their wires trailing down the inside of the small space. The pilot's chair is missing—the back of the suit melted away like it had caught a through-and-through from a beam cannon. A curtain made out of some heavy material blocks their view through the twisted back of the suit, but an arrow has been painted onto the gallery's concrete floor, pointing the way.

Wufei glances at Duo, who shrugs and walks through. Somewhat dubiously, Wufei follows.

The smell hits Wufei first as he passes through the curtain: the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle, thick, like summer, even in the temperature-regulated space of the gallery. There's something else layered in with the honeysuckle, something subtler and harder to place. It reminds Wufei of home, of his childhood—his mother's face, and the strong set of his father's back. Jasmine.

Behind him, the burnt shell of the cockpit is a riot of colour with flowering vines trained up the metal framework like a garden trellis. The plants start sparse and thin near the ground, only a few morning glory vines gamely scaling the suit's armour by themselves for the first foot. But there are small pockets of earth tucked into crevices in the broken suit's carapace where more vines are planted, so by the time the plants reach head height, they've formed a thick, green wall of leaves with cascades of colourful flowers: honeysuckle and morning glories, orange trumpet flowers and the familiar, delicate, white clusters of star jasmine.

Not a single leaf, not the slightest scent had been apparent on the other side of the wall. The plants climb all the way up to the ceiling, sweet and breathtaking at once, almost completely covering the broken mobile suit that supports them.

"It's gorgeous," Duo breathes, wonder and delight in his voice. Swallowing around the sudden, inexplicable lump in his throat, Wufei nods his agreement.

It takes him a long moment to notice the sign, stenciled onto the white plywood next to the installation—PLEASE DO NOT PICK THE FLOWERS—but when he does, he laughs. Something about the practicality of the admonition in the face of the piece's stunning appearance; he's not sure what it is, exactly, but suddenly he's laughing and reaching out a hand to touch one of the white sprays of flowers.

"Hey! Don't touch, can't you read?" Duo squawks, batting Wufei's hand away.

"It says not to pick. I'm not picking," Wufei protests.

"Yeah, yeah, sure; tell them that when you get us kicked out of here," Duo grumbles, but he doesn't interfere when Wufei reaches towards the flowers again.

"We had these in my parents' garden," Wufei says quietly. "They grew all along one wall in the courtyard. As soon as the first flower bloomed, we opened the all the windows on that side of the house, and we didn't close them until the last flower fell from the branch at the end of the season."

Wufei paused, then continued, "You know, I'm not even sure whether it was Ma-ma or Ba-ba who liked them."

"They're pretty," Duo says.

"I don't remember the last time I thought about that house." Duo gives Wufei another moment—to look, maybe, or to remember—a warm presence at his side Wufei's surprisingly grateful for. Wufei's not used to having witnesses for his moments of weakness, but this, today, with Duo, is almost nice.

"Come on," Duo says after a while, bumping affectionately against Wufei's shoulder. "I want to see the rest of the exhibit."

*

Heero makes a noise, harder than an exhale, softer than a grunt. Trowa sits up and pays attention.

"What is it?"

"Maybe nothing," Heero responds. Trowa waits. It doesn't sound like nothing.

A few minutes later, Heero points to his computer screen: a string of dates, prices, suppliers. "Anything stick out?"

Trowa examines the data, scanning through the rows systematically. "What are these dates here?" Trowa asks, indicating a few lines that don't have prices attached to them. There's always a gap of several weeks' time following those lines before the next entry's date.

"Those are exhibit start dates," Heero says. "Specifically start dates for shows displaying Dominique Jian's art."

"Ah." Trowa looks over the data again. There's a definite pattern: frequent purchases clustered together leading up to exhibits; no purchases at all for a few weeks after they open—presumably during the exhibit; and a smattering of infrequent, sporadic purchases at other times.

There's also a clear break in the pattern. Right at the very end of the list, there's a date Trowa recognizes: the start of the exhibit he'd emailed Wufei about not a week prior. And four days after that, there's another purchase.

"I see," Trowa says. "All of these purchases dead-end at L2?"

Heero nods. "I may have more information in a few hours. I have a couple of searches running."

Trowa nods too. "That will give me enough time to write a report for Lady Une."

*

Duo slumps halfway over the counter when he gets to it. "What a day," he says, voice muffled by his arms and the thick coil of his braid where it slides over his shoulder into his face. The morning rush has cleared out, and the little bump of customers Wufei usually gets during the hour before closing (the only reason he bothers to stay open) haven't started to trickle in yet. Wufei's got a plastic tub full of clean mugs and saucers propped against one hip while he sorts tea sets into matching pairs on the back counter. "What a long, awful day."

Duo doesn't seem inclined to order anything quite yet, so Wufei lets him lie there moaning while he finishes with the cups. "You realize this isn't a bar, right? So you can take any delusions you had about complaining to me about your life and find yourself a bartender who will pretend to care," Wufei says, face as bland and unassuming as he can make it.

Duo blows his bangs away from his eyes long enough to glower at Wufei, but he doesn't bother righting himself. Wufei takes his empty tub back into the kitchen and uses the opportunity to put a kettle on the stove. He fills his tub with more cups—coffee mugs this time—from the large drying rack he has set up next to the sink, and then takes the kettle off the heat right before it starts to sing. He doesn't want to give the game up just yet.

Wufei opens the cabinet where he keeps his own teas—instead of the ones for the shop—and fills a strainer with dried leaves. He pours hot water over the leaves and lets them steep, then settles the cup carefully into a clear space at the bottom of his bin full of dishes.

"Here," he says, setting it on the counter just far enough away from Duo's head that he probably won't knock it over when he sits up. "Black tea and mint."

Duo obligingly pulls himself upright, and slides the cup closer. "I didn't order this," he says, eyeing it as he cradles the mug between his hands.

"You didn't order anything," Wufei says acerbically. "Now drink it."

Duo raises it towards his face, blowing gently across the surface of the hot liquid. Wufei lets himself look for a moment, then turns away, stacking coffee cups on the counter like he could build a fort out of them. Like he could make them into something that could protect him.

*

On L2 again. Government's putting me up this time. Maybe we can get lunch—let me know your schedule. The usual number works.

T.

*

"What's this?" Wufei asks when Duo hands him the package. It's light, cylindrical, and wrapped up in brown paper and white string.

Duo shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly—bashful, almost, except that Wufei's never seen Duo look bashful in his life. "Not much of anything, really," he says while Wufei picks at the knots in the string. "I saw it and it reminded me of you. I thought if you liked it, you could put it up in here; your sense of interior decoration is a little bit spartan for someone who refuses to sell take-away coffee."

"Always with the take-away," grouses Wufei. "You think you can badger me into giving you thermoses-full when you go out in your tugboat, but it won't happen." He finally gets the knot undone, and pulls the string off.

"Hey!" Duo protests. "The Sister Helen is not some tugboat. She is beautiful, and you will treat her as such."

The paper falls off as Wufei turns it over, revealing a tightly rolled and fastened silk hanging scroll. Wufei unties the silk strings holding it shut and rolls it out along the counter. It's a painting, done only in black ink, of a flower. Its long, thin leaves grow in bunches and the flower's petals peek out from among them as they trail along the paper.

"A Chinese orchid?" says Wufei. "The gentleman-scholar in seclusion?" The painting is beautiful: the lines are clear, and the shading in the ink clearly shows the studied intention of the artist who'd made it.

"I don't know, I thought it suited you," Duo says in a way that makes Wufei suspect he knew exactly what he was buying when he got it.

"I don't know if this is really appropriate for a coffee shop," Wufei says, feeling awkward. It's too nice a present.

"You're right," Duo says. "This is a place of business. I definitely should have gotten you one of those little porcelain cats begging for gold ingots."

Wufei sniffs. "There's nothing wrong with hoping for a little bit of good fortune," he says.

"Anyway, if you don't like it, you can give it away or throw it out or whatever. It's yours now; you don't have to hang on to it just 'cause it was a present," Duo says breezily. Wufei raises an eyebrow at him.

"I shall keep that in mind," Wufei says. He pauses, turning the words over in his head, on his tongue, before he actually says them. "Thank you, Duo."

Duo grins, and Wufei gets that odd feeling in his chest again, like it's too tight or too big or both at the same time. He doesn't know what to do with it, so he focuses on taking deep, slow breaths and lets Duo talk. "Like I said, it's yours; do whatever you want with it. Anyway, I've got to take a little porcelain cat back to my shop before I miss too many more customers."

Duo's not wrong about the shop's lack of decor: the front wall is mostly glass, and the back wall is mostly menu, but the rest are just bare concrete. The tables and chairs lend it a little character because Wufei had picked up whatever was in decent condition and fit in the space from a couple of nearby junk dealers, but all in all, the shop's not homey. It was perfectly serviceable, so Wufei had never noticed.

In the end, he hangs the painting over a little wooden side table, where he can still see it from the till. Something about the black ink on the soft paper, the grace of its spare lines, makes Wufei think that the painting isn't just about him, or about his shop, but about their colony—distant, unimportant L2—about humanity's whole existence, toiling quietly in seclusion.

*

"Chamomile tea?" Wufei guesses, when Duo saunters in. It's late, by colony standards—definitely later than Duo usually comes in unless he's coming home late from a salvage run. But Duo shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm heading out. Erica says her group's found something big and they're willing to split the profit if we're willing to split the labour."

"Coffee then," Wufei says. He checks a carafe. "I'll need to make a fresh pot—do you have time for that?"

"Maybe you can give me the rest of that pot in a thermos?" Duo tries hopefully. "Since I'll have to wait for it, I won't have time to go get inferior coffee somewhere that will let me take it out of the shop."

"Don't think I don't see straight through your ploys," Wufei says as he measures fresh grounds into an old-fashioned drip filter and starts the machine.

"Aww, come on," Duo pleads. "What if I promise to sit very still and do nothing else when I drink it?"

Wufei purses his lips. "You're mocking me."

"I wouldn't! Ok, ok, I would. But not about the coffee. Yours is the best," Do says. "Come on, Wufei, one thermos. I won't tell anyone."

Wufei regards Duo for a long minute. He isn't at all subtle, but Wufei finds him endearing anyway. Wufei likes the hard edges under Duo's friendly surface just as much as he likes how genuinely good-natured he is most of the time. When the coffee's ready, he pours Duo a cup and sets it onto a saucer.

"Milk?" Wufei says, offering Duo his pitcher. He wonders how long Duo's going to keep this up.

"Well, worth a shot, right?" Duo says, dropping the imploring act all at once as he takes the milk and pours a small amount into his coffee. He stirs it briefly with a small spoon, the movement almost graceful in its economy.

Wufei smiles. "Give me your thermos," he says. He's not sure why he's giving in now, particularly after Duo's given up again—maybe it's because he's given up. It feels more like a gift than something Wufei's been bullied into.

"What?" Duo sputters, his surprise gratifyingly comical.

"Do you want the rest of this coffee or not?"

"I want it!" Duo nearly spills his cup in his rush to dig his thermos out of his pack. He hands it over quickly. "Don't be ridiculous, of course I want it."

Wufei fills it up, then starts to hand it back. When Duo grabs the bottom, though, Wufei doesn't let it go. "Tell no one about this if you ever want to get coffee here again," Wufei warns him. "I'm not going to have half a dozen spacers coming to ruin my coffee in a thermos every morning."

"Got it. Total secret," Duo swears. Wufei releases the thermos, which Duo packs carefully upright in his bag. He straightens up again, and puts his elbows on Wufei's counter. "Thanks, Wufei."

Wufei huffs dismissively. "Finish the rest of your cup and get out of my shop. Don't you have an appointment?"

"Yessir," Duo says, sketching a loose salute without moving even slightly from his spot. He looks so casual like that, so comfortable, like he belongs exactly where he is. Like it's his space to take over. Wufei wants—

Wufei turns away. The milk needs to go back into the refrigeration unit. It'll spoil if he leaves it out too long.

"Hey, Wufei," Duo says suddenly. "After I get back from this run, let's go out somewhere. Maybe get something to eat?"

Wufei feels frozen, suddenly, but he can't tell if it's just him, or the whole colony that's stopped. When Wufei finally manages to look at Duo's face, he's smiling. Wufei can't tell if the brittle set to his smile is really there, or in his head. "I— Yes?" Wufei hears himself saying, and Duo picks up his cup, and downs the rest of the coffee.

"Great." Duo grins as he sets the cup down again. "Anyway, gotta go; gonna be late. Dinner—or breakfast or lunch, depending on the time of day—when I get back. It's a date," he says, dropping a few credits on the counter before grabbing his bag and bolting out of Wufei's shop.

"It's a— Dinner," Wufei says, aloud to no one. "Or breakfast or lunch. It's food. It's just food."

*

The ringing sends Wufei stumbling out of bed, but he's still barely half awake when he answers the call. "Wufei, is Duo with you?" Hilde asks, quick and anxious.

Wufei's brow wrinkles. "The shop's been closed for hours," he says, dumbly.

"Yeah, I know that, but is Duo with you now?"

"No, he's not," Wufei says, confused, because Duo was out on a run, why would he—

"Shit," Hilde swears. "Shit, damn, fuck. Ok." She closes her eyes, puts her fists to her temples, and just stands for a minute. "Ok."

She opens her eyes again. "I think Duo's missing. Sister Helen's in port, but Duo never made it home. Records say he docked sixteen hours ago."

"I haven't seen Duo all day," Wufei says slowly, mind working furiously as fear—adrenaline—pushes it from sleep straight into overdrive. Duo can take care of himself, there has to be a good reason he wouldn't be home yet.

Duo was supposed to meet Wufei after he got back, but the Sister Helen has been in dock for most of a day already. "Have you tried asking anyone else? Maybe someone's seen him. If he's missing, I need to make some calls. See if we can find anything out."

"I tried you first, I thought you'd be the best bet. I'll go out into the neighbourhood, ask around." She hesitates, then asks "After, can I come by the shop? I don't want to be by myself."

"Sure," Wufei says. "Of course."

*

Wufei rented a shuttle on L1. It was faster than buying a seat on a commercial shuttle making the journey; not a lot of traffic went to A0206. He was nearly home when one of his comm screens flared to life, Master Long's stern, wrinkled face spreading across it, starting a live transmission.

"In AC 194, the Alliance military decided that this colony in the L5 cluster ought to be decommissioned. Rather than offering to help relocate our citizens, however, they ordered that we all be killed with biological weapons. Tens of thousands of people, killed in cold blood, for no reason. Their plan was stopped at the last minute.

"Today, Oz, who has, until now, pretended to be friendly to the colonies, invaded A0206 stating that they believed we were harbouring a fugitive Gundam pilot and that if we did not surrender them immediately, Oz would be forced to take military action against us. We are not housing a Gundam pilot, so we have no way to comply with their demands.

"Oz, like the Alliance before them, has unjustly attacked our colony—" and here the feed flickers to some footage of Taurus mobile dolls walking through Wufei's home colony. One walks straight over a playground near the neighbourhood he'd grown up in, carelessly destroying all of the play equipment in it. Another suit opens fire on some rundown residential buildings.

"We shall not simply accept this. We are not hiding a Gundam pilot, but A0206 supports those pilots and their actions and we oppose Oz's insidious interference in space and in the colonies. This is our declaration to Oz: leave our colony immediately, or we will be forced to take action."

In Wufei's viewscreen—in the viewscreens of every colony open to receive broadcasts—the mobile dolls continued advancing over the face of the colony. Wufei's shuttle continued its plodding commercial course towards A0206. He wasn't even close enough for Oz troops outside the colony to be trying to warn him off.

Perhaps five minutes passed. Master Long's face replaced the livestream of the mobile dolls again. "Very well. You leave us no choice."

And then, across Wufei's cockpit windows, A0206 bloomed suddenly and silently into the delicate orange and red blossom of a fireball against the black backdrop of space.

"No," Wufei whispered, staring in horror at his home as it burned. The fireball continued to expand, new bursts of brilliance burgeoning into existence as secondary explosions rocked the structure. On Wufei's screen, the livestream continued through violent shaking and falling rubble. Master Long's face was still visible for a few, bare moments, wracked with pain, but absolutely devoid of remorse—and then the room he was in erupted into flame and the feed cut to static.

Outside, A0206 bloomed into tertiary explosions and began to break apart. "No!" Wufei screamed, shaking his head. "No, no, no!" Tears streamed down his face as he yanked the controls of the shuttle around, reversing his course. He didn't have a destination anymore. All those people. All those lives. All of them dead.

He didn't have anything.

He blinked his eyes clear long enough to program a course back to L1, and then he screamed his rage and sorrow to the void of space until he was too tired to do anything at all.

He woke to the beeping notification that he was coming up on L1. How strange, to feel so heavy and hollow at once. How strange, to have no home.

*

Duo wakes up in the dark with the kind of headache and the weird metallic aftertaste that only comes from being knocked out. His arms are held together by wrist cuffs, wide ones, probably Oz surplus from the war. Ugh, seriously, if he'd never woken up in a cell again, he'd have been perfectly happy. He could have gone the rest of his life without it, and he really would have been perfectly happy. Now Duo has to worry about how long the rest of his life is even going to be.

He lies still for a minute, trying to assess damage, trying to determine the size of the cell by the sound of his breathing—and then feels like Heero and stops. He's not hurt, and he's not chained down, and he's the only person in the room. Duo sits up.

"Dammit, Duo, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he says aloud, just to hear something in the quiet. He's not really worried about bringing whoever's caught him down on him. If they're monitoring him, they know he's awake already; if they're not, and come to see what the noise is, hey, at least he'll get a look at them. And if no one comes at all, Duo has a little more time to try to figure out where he is.

The cell is empty: no furniture, no blankets, nothing. It has one of those sliding hatches that were really popular when L2 was being made; not much light or sound gets in around it. It's all steel and concrete, just like about half the colony, and there's some dirt on the floor, like no one's bothered to clean in here in a while.

First things first then, Duo thinks, climbing to his feet. He's out of luck on the wrist cuffs—he'd stopped carrying lock picks with him all the time when he stopped worrying about being captured by enemy soldiers—but the door panel on the wall should still be no match for his skills. He's no Heero with a computer, but he isn't a slouch either. Plus years of working salvage has him in practice for just about every model in space.

*

Duo hates to say that he let a bunch of rank amateurs get the drop on him (twice), but that's basically what happens. He's nearly got his cell door open (probably—he's pretty sure, anyway, and no one will be able to say now) when it opens from the outside.

"Holy shit, he's gone!" someone—presumably the person who'd opened the door—panics, so Duo decides to take advantage of his element of surprise while he's got it. Unfortunately for him, there are two people outside waiting for him, one with a meal tray and one with a gun, and the one with the gun isn't the one panicking.

Fortunately (relatively, anyway), for Duo, it's a stun gun, not a projectile weapon. His kidnapper catches him straight in the thigh with the contact prongs and it hurts like hell as he spasms and goes down, but he's not going to bleed out like this.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," says the one with the tray, still panicking, while Duo twitches and pants and tries to figure out which way is up. The woman with the stun gun surveys him coolly, and presses the trigger again, which is just cruel. Pain sears through Duo as he thrashes; dimly, he worries about additional injuries as his twitching limbs hit the floor, but he can't concentrate—or control his muscles—enough to do anything about it.

Duo's vision swims, darkening at the edges. "Shut...go get...him what..." the woman says, and then Duo slides into unconsciousness.

*

Wufei calls four hospitals and seven police stations, along all the routes between the berth where the Sister Helen docks, Duo and Hilde's warehouse, and their home address. He asks for anyone matching Duo's description who might be hurt or unconscious—or worse. Wufei's heart beats up into his throat every time he gets put on hold while they check.

He never knows if he's relieved or disappointed when they tell him they don't have anyone who looks like that there, because it means Duo's still missing, but it also means that he's not dead. Probably not dead. Not definitely dead.

Wufei's long finished by the time Hilde arrives. She's brought nearly a dozen people with her, who quickly take over Wufei's small shop and make it into an impromptu headquarters.

"I hope you don't mind," Hilde says, looking almost as lost in the swirl of purposeful neighbours as Wufei feels. "I mentioned I was on my way here, and they...just sort of came along. Did you find anything?"

Wufei shakes his head. "Nothing yet."

"It almost seems silly, this much commotion. If Sister Helen were out of dock, I wouldn't have thought anything of it. But this long after docking? Someone would have heard from him by now. Just to be gone..." Hilde looks disturbingly like she's going to cry, so Wufei pushes her into the nearest chair and flees into the back to make her a cup of tea. His hands are perfectly steady as he measures and pours; he remembers this from the war, the way his body is calm while his mind's racing.

"It's lavender," Wufei says, when he delivers the unasked for cup to Hilde's table. When she hesitates over it, he adds, "Drink it. It's good for stressful situations."

Hilde picks it up, takes a sip. Sets the cup down again. "I hate waiting," she tells him. She turns the cup between her hands, watching the liquid instead of Wufei's face. "It was a while ago, but I used to be a soldier. When I enlisted, they told me to get used to waiting. Never did manage that. I was always doing one impulsive thing after another."

"It's different anyway," Wufei says. It comes out a lot more gruffly than he'd expected. "Waiting in war, and being a civilian. Warriors get to feel like they can do something, sometimes."

Hilde turns the cup around again, then lifts her head and looks straight at Wufei. "Duo really likes you," she says. "You're a lot kinder than you want people to think, Wufei. There's nothing wrong with showing people that you care. When we find Duo, remember that."

*

When Duo comes to again, he's not alone, and he's restrained a lot more securely than he was the first time.

"So you're awake," says the man in the cell with him. "That's good. We were worried."

Duo straightens his spine against the back of the chair he's tied to, testing how secure the restraints at his ankles are. Too secure. Why does this always happen to him? "You," Duo croaks. He swallows a couple of times to ease the parched feeling in his throat, and tries again. "You sure about that?"

The man smiles a little self-deprecatingly. Duo decides he dislikes him. A lot. "Now, you're probably hungry, and I've got food. You can either take it from this spoon nicely, or we can get your friend from earlier in to help you."

"What else is in it?" Duo asks, figuring it can't hurt.

"Just food. We didn't want it to be like this, you see. Marcia got a little carried away."

Duo tries not to roll his eyes. 'Carried away,' right. "Can I have some water first?" he asks. He doesn't see the point in fighting.

They feed him and leave. Duo works at his bonds for a while, but it's going to be a long-haul effort. Eventually he dozes off. He'll have a hell of a crick in his neck in the morning, but what can you do?

*

By the third phone call, the police start suggesting that maybe Duo's missing because he doesn't want to be found.

They get their first breakthrough ten exhausting hours in, when Vasta and her crew return to port. Duo had been finishing up the Sister Helen's post-landing checks just as Vasta's crew was getting ready to head out.

"He'd asked me if Chang's Tea and Coffee had closed for the day yet," Vasta recalls. She shrugs. "I said 'it should be,' then Sarah finally showed up, so we undocked. Really, no one's seen him since then? That was yesterday."

Wufei calls the police station back to confirm Duo's last sighting, but the police have got bigger problems and don't want to spend resources on a wild-goose chase. No amount of arguing will make a difference. Wufei gives up on them.

He calls Trowa instead, on the work number Trowa gave him three years ago and that he never used until today.

"Wufei?" Trowa looks surprised—for him, anyway.

"I've got a favour to ask. Do you think you can help?"

"That depends on the favour. What is it?"

"One of my friends has gone missing," Wufei explains. "We don't know what's happened—we don't even know if he's alive. There's probably nothing for you to find, but, you're in town, so I thought, maybe you could look into it, too. You have a lot more resources than the neighbourhood watch does."

"Send me his information. I'll see what I can turn up," Trowa says, and hangs up.

*

He jerks awake when the door slides open. Marcia's there, face unreadable, and someone else, a teenager, black, whip-thin and only a couple inches taller than Duo himself. "Our leader wants to see you," he says. "Don't try anything funny."

Duo doesn't. They remove all of his restraints except the original wrist cuffs. The kid grabs him around the tricep and leads him out of the cell. Marcia follows, and having her behind him makes Duo's skin prickle. Duo doesn't know how much actual combat training she's had, but she's demonstrated an ability to keep her head in a tough situation and a willingness to hurt him. She's not going to make his list of favourite people anytime soon.

The kid steers him down a hallway, no subterfuge at all, and then out into the floor of a warehouse, where a much larger group of people are waiting. Duo gets pulled into the middle of the group and deposited in front of, presumably, their leader. He's young, maybe twenty-five, tall, with brown skin, dark hair, and very white teeth.

"You can call me Rio," he smiles. "I'm the leader of the L2 Only League. We're sick of the way Earth treats the colonies, and we're not going to take it anymore. True independence can only be achieved by total self-sufficiency and complete separation from the Earth. The Earth sees space only in terms of resources to be exploited. They've never given us real support or safety, but continue to make us indentured servants for the right to live. This was true under the Earthsphere Alliance. It was true under Oz and the Romefeller Foundation. Even in this era of so-called peace, we continue to be robbed of our resources so people from the Earth can go to Mars."

"That's a pretty speech," Duo says, "but I fail to see where I come in to all of this."

"We know who you are, Duo Maxwell. Hiding in plain sight just a little too obviously, don't you think?"

"Who says I was hiding at all? Look, I'm just a colony citizen, just like everyone else. I don't see what you want from me."

"Stop trying to play dumb." Rio narrows his eyes at Duo. "We know you were a Gundam pilot. And you're going to pilot this mobile suit for us, or else." Someone flicks a big warehouse light on so it shines down over the seated form of a slightly worse-for-wear Alliance-era Space Leo. Someone in LOL clearly has a flair for the dramatic.

"Excuse me, you want me to what?," Duo exclaims, outraged. They want him to fly that beat up old thing? There's a hole in its gun arm. It barely looks functional. "That? You want me to pilot that. Are you sure it even powers up?

"Do you even have a set list of goals as an organization? What, you think prosperity will just come about as a natural result of cutting off all ties with Earth?" Duo scrubs one shackled hand through his hair. "Dear God preserve me," he mutters to himself. "Like seriously, do you have even one concrete plan? How about an attack plan? Assuming I do it, you plan to wrest control of this colony away from its citizens—"

"Collaborators and oppressors!" interrupts one particularly raucous would-be splinter cell member.

"Fine, wrest control from 'collaborators and oppressors' how, exactly?" When no one answers right away, Duo moans and casts pleading eyes towards the ceiling. "I can't believe I've been kidnapped by the Earthsphere's least competent group of separatists ever. Really? How is this my life. I can't take this. I need to sit down."

"Hey! Watch who you're calling incompetent!" shouts one of the terrorists, before Rio puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

"I don't think you understand. We want full separation from Earth, and we're not above using violence to get it," Rio explains.

"What the heck? You're not a bunch of kids! You were alive six years ago, you should know better than to go around starting pointless wars!"

"You'll help us, or we'll go get that partner of yours, Hilde Schbeiker, or your friend Chang Wufei to do it in your stead. You weren't the only pilot in the war, you know."

Duo slumps all at once. "Fine. Fine, I'll do it."

"That's right, just play along and no one has to get hurt," one of the other separatists says, like armed revolution doesn't have any casualties. Well, whatever.

"Yeah, ok. But you've got to promise not to hurt them. I'll help you as long as they're safe."

"You have our word on that," says Rio. Duo nods, then straightens his spine. He doesn't actually think it's going to be this easy, but hey, always worth a shot.

"Ok," he says, holding up his manacled wrists. "I can repair a mobile suit too. Let's see what your Leo's got."

Rio nods at one of his supporters—who pulls out a handgun and aims it at Duo—before plugging a code into Duo's wrist cuffs and popping them open. He didn't even bother trying to hide the code as he entered it. Amateurs! The Alliance military would have crushed them like bugs. Duo doesn't even want to think about what Oz would have done to them. Duo moves slowly and makes sure to keep his arms up and his hands in plain sight. No reason to get shot pointlessly.

And then he bends his knees and springs straight for the Leo's hatch. The LOL member misses his first shot, and then the Leo is grating open and Duo's darting inside. One shot ricochets off the bottom of the open hatch, forcing another LOL member to duck as it skitters back towards the crowd. Duo, inside, pounds the command to close the hatch again while two more bullets drag sparks from the edges of the opening as it closes. One of them actually rebounds into the cockpit and embeds itself in the padding at the side of the pilot's chair—and then the hatch is closed and Duo's safe. Relatively speaking.

Duo powers up the Leo. More bullets ricochet off the outside of his suit—a lot more than one handgun—but they haven't taken anything important out yet. Duo can't tell if it's because they're not aiming at the right places, or if they're not aiming at all.

The right arm—his gun arm—bucks and shudders as he tries to raise it; outside, Duo watches the L2 Only League scatter for cover. Like a few wooden crates are going to stop a beam rifle. Duo's more worried that the floor won't stop a beam-rifle blast; he doesn't dare use it inside the colony. He throws it not-so-gently towards one of the warehouse's walls.

One of the Leo's two standard beam sabers is missing, but the other is still there. It takes Duo far longer than he'd like to get the malfunctioning arm to pull it out and activate it; it hums alive just as Duo accidentally runs the suit's head into the light swinging above it, plunging the room into darkness.

"All right. Time to blow this popsicle stand," Duo says, switching the beam saber to his left, fully functional arm. Only a scattering of shots still come Duo's way. He cuts a rough hole through the warehouse ceiling—which catches fire—and starts pushing his way outside.

*

Trowa answers some responses to his official queries while Heero combs through another hospital database—technically they're not allowed access to them, but Heero's always thought that if a network didn't have sufficient security around it to keep him out, it's not his fault if he finds things there. Trowa's never particularly felt the need to dissuade him. Heero's completely focused on his task—when there's a distant boom that rocks the office he and Trowa are sharing, and a ribbon of smoke blooms on the horizon.

Trowa leans forward to peer between the half-closed blinds. The head of an old Alliance Space Leo pokes its way out of a building about a kilometer distant. "Ah, here Duo is now."

There's another, smaller explosion, and a much bigger plume of smoke. Trowa watches Heero log off the hospital's network quickly, then tosses Heero his jacket.

"We'd better go get him," Heero says. Trowa nods. There's no telling what further trouble Duo will get up to if left to his own devices.

*

Duo gets about halfway upright when the suit's left leg takes all seven tonnes of its weight and gives out entirely, sending him crashing against the edges of the hole he'd made in the warehouse roof. The whole building shakes and large chunks of the ceiling come crashing down. He barely saves himself by dropping the still-lit beam saber and grabbing the wall, but the beam saber ignites a stack of wooden crates, which explode spectacularly, rocking his suit, and pulling yet more of the building down in pieces.

Duo pulls at the suit's controls, but it's taken more damage than it can handle. It's not going anywhere. In the distance, Duo hears sirens start to scream—presumably for the fire cheerfully raging around him. Duo sighs, and uses the last of his power to reach down and thumb off the beam saber before it can do more damage. He's got the option of opening the hatch and dropping into a small inferno, or staying in the Leo, hoping that its armour is in good enough shape to protect him from the fire, and taking his chances with the authorities.

Duo pounds the suits controls in a fit of pique. The suit responds by shuddering once, and then a warning message scrolls across Duo's main monitor stating that the hatch has jammed and emergency ejection is not currently possible.

"Oh, fuck you too," Duo mutters, and throws an arm over his eyes. Waiting for the authorities it is. This isn't exactly the escape Duo was hoping for.

*

Duo's being corralled with several men and one young woman from the L2 Only League who had failed to be seriously injured or flee the scene, trying to explain to a very stubborn rookie police officer that he is not with them, when he spots Heero and Trowa over her shoulder.

"Heero! Hey, Heero! Trowa!" he shouts, waving his arm over his head. "Come over here and tell them this isn't my fault."

"These officers give me to understand that you were the one piloting the suit that caused all of this damage," Trowa replies in that obnoxiously level voice of his. A bit more of the warehouse chooses that moment to collapse, as if to punctuate Trowa's statement.

"Yeah, but only because they," Duo jabs a finger at the rest of the people being held with him, "kidnapped me and threatened the lives of several other people for my cooperation. I was trying to escape, when the suit malfunctioned."

A nearby officer snorts. "Right, like anyone will believe that," someone else mutters. Duo snaps his head around, but all the officers are looking bland and uninvolved. Duo narrows his eyes at each of them in turn.

"You can give him to us," Heero says to the officer in charge of holding them, flashing a Preventer's identification badge. "I'll take personal responsibility for him."

"Yeah, Heero! Thank God!" Duo cheers as the police officers let him out. "I have spent way too much time being held against my will in the past week."

"Don't think you'll get off that easy," Heero says. Duo gives him the evil eye for always—always—trying to ruin his mood.

"Come on," says Trowa. "You're still going to have to apologize to Lady Une for the damage before she pulls any strings for you."

*

Wufei answers the phone on the first ring. Trowa can see half of Hilde's anxious face hovering behind him. "Yes? Anything?"

"Have to be quick because there's suddenly a lot for us to tie up here," Trowa says, "But I wanted you to know we've found your errant Gundam pilot. Heero was going to bring him back to his house once he's done being debriefed, but I suppose I should tell Heero to take him to yours instead?"

Wufei turns to look back at Hilde. The motion obscures Hilde's face and Trowa can't tell what's being decided.

"He's ok?" Wufei asks when he's facing the phone again. When Trowa nods—more or less—Wufei continues. "Take him home. It's a madhouse here right now. He could probably use a rest."

"Got it."

"Trowa," Wufei blurts, just before Trowa can hang up. "Thank you."

Trowa pauses. He doesn't have a lot of time, but this feels important. "Wufei, it's not a problem. Maybe we should be thanking you—we'd have missed him too."

*

"You should go home," Wufei tells Hilde mechanically after hanging up. He can't tell if he's shocked or relieved, so all he really feels is a little bit numb. "It would be bad if Duo got home and no one was there." Duo, who's not with Hilde. Duo who likes him.

Duo, a Gundam pilot. Which means he already knew Trowa and Quatre and Heero—that partner of Trowa's Wufei's only met once. Which means he met Nataku on Earth. Which means— Wufei's not sure. Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Maybe it—

"Wufei," Hilde breaks into his scattered thoughts. "Do you want to come too? I bet Duo would like to see you."

Duo is safe. Suddenly, Wufei's legs feel shaky. Blood rushes in his ears like a great wind, making Hilde's voice sound small and far away. He wraps one hand carefully around the edge of the counter and holds on.

"No, that's ok," he hears himself say. His voice sounds just as distant as Hilde's, like he's listening to someone else speak with his body. He watches the knuckles on his hand turn white, but he doesn't fall.

"Are you sure?"

Wufei nods. "I should stay." His voice sounds like it's his again, and his knees feel firmer. "There's a lot for me to clean up here."

Clean-up only takes twenty minutes, once he's finally gotten everyone out of his shop and locked the door behind them. The cups can soak overnight—well, over morning. It's nearly his normal opening time. He just dumps them all into the sink, and then wipes down his counter and the tables quickly. It takes him another twenty minutes to find a piece of blank paper in his apartment and write CLOSED across it in bold strokes. He sticks it to the inside of the shop door with a bit of tape and then uses the last of his energy to trudge back up the stairs.

He doesn't make it to the shower, just falls straight into bed, more exhausted than he's felt in a long time.

*

Wufei jerks awake, some sound or some change in pressure in the room pulling him suddenly out of sleep. He's up before he's even really conscious, body moving on instinct and half-forgotten fear. He drops into a guard stance, equally ready to block or strike, but freezes entirely when he hears Duo's voice.

"Hey, whoops, sorry," Duo says, holding his open hands up by his head. He smiles sheepishly. "I told you to get better locks."

Wufei drops his stance. "I—Yes—I didn't really have time," he says.

The silence drags out. Wufei doesn't know how to break it.

"I was hoping I'd get to see you after they sprung me from the cops," he says, not quite meeting Wufei's eyes. "I do still owe you dinner."

"Lunch now," Wufei says, thinking about what Hilde had said to him when they were waiting. Maybe she's right, and the difference between soldier and civilian isn't so large. Maybe impulsiveness and bravery are still things he can catch hold of.

"Nah, it's nearly 5 pm. I walked past the shop like six times before I took your lock into my own hands." Duo smiles, flippant and completely unrepentant, though Wufei can see the strain under it. "So it's dinner."

"Oh."

"Look, I know you were worried," Duo says. "Hilde said she spent the whole time over here. She said you put on a stoic face and drowned her with tea. And I can't promise that something like this won't ever happen again. If I could, it never would have happened this time. But, if you want to, I'd still really like to go out to dinner."

"Ok," says Wufei.

"I really mean—wait, what?"

"Ok," Wufei repeats. "Let's go out to dinner." There's nothing he can do about the past. Wufei knows that. He's spent years coping with the fact that life doesn't give you do-overs.

But maybe there's a difference between accepting the past and living in the present.

"Like on a date?" Duo presses, looking genuinely anxious as he waits for Wufei's answer. Wufei can't help but smile a little at that.

And maybe Wufei's strong enough for this. "Like on a date," he confirms, watching the grin blossom across Duo's face. Something in Wufei's chest jumps, beats faster, like bird wings taking flight, and he finds himself grinning right back.

*

"Wake up," Duo singsongs right by Wufei's ear. Wufei grumbles and tries to roll away from the persistent noise, but he runs into Duo's travel bag in the place Duo usually sleeps and has nowhere to go.

"Urg," he says.

"You are really not a morning person, are you," Duo says, plopping down onto the edge of the bed. Wufei absolutely does not immediately curl into Duo's warmth through the sheet.

"Shut up," Wufei says, face mashed into the side of Duo's thigh.

"Come on, wake up. I know it's twenty minutes earlier than you usually get up, but Hilde's still mad at me about having to find a new flatmate. If I'm late meeting her at the Sister Helen this morning, she's really gonna skin me. You don't want that, do you?" Wufei doesn't open his eyes, but he knows Duo is giving him his best loveable hangdog expression. "I made you coffee," Duo says, trying to be enticing.

"Nurgh," Wufei says, but it's clear Duo's not going to give up, so he hauls himself upright and then uses Duo's shoulder as a prop to keep himself that way. "What?" Wufei demands, one eye still scrunched close.

"Here," Duo says, lifting Wufei's arm at the wrist and pressing a hot mug against his palm until Wufei's fingers close firmly enough to avoid a spill. "Coffee."

"I don't know why you're always forcing coffee on me," Wufei grouses, even as he lifts the cup to his lips for a sip. "You never make it right, and I want tea anyway."

"I make it perfect, and you love my coffee," Duo says, still pressed up against Wufei's side.

"Still want tea."

Duo lets him take another sip, then says, "Ok, give me a kiss. I am fifty seconds from being late and consequently coming home to you skinless."

After Duo's left in a whirlwind of last minute prep, Wufei stays in bed for a while, slowly finishing his coffee. He thinks about life in space, more miraculous by being an impossibility. He thinks about what it means to be happy. The morning rush will be in soon, Vasta on her way back from a job, Rhey and Jennifer and Pat on their way to work. Once the morning lull sets in, Farid and Ibrihim will come in and dawdle over Saudi-style coffee until he kicks them out to close for lunch.

In the evening, Kiria will get her masala chai, and Rhey will be back, this time with her boyfriend, while Marco and Sergei will kill some time before a night shift. They'll all tell him stories: bad bosses and good grandchildren, new jobs and wedding colours, and Wufei will threaten not to serve the next person who asks him to make an exception to his take-out rule.

He considers going back to sleep, but it's not really worth it after the caffeine. When he's done, Wufei crawls out of their bed and lights four sticks of incense; and then he goes downstairs to open the shop.

*

おわり