Author Notes: This is a very, very old story. I think it's from 2000 or somewhere in there. It's got a lot of the clichés roaming in the fan world of GW at that particular time. But I really enjoyed writing it and while I'm sure it could use a lot of cleaning up I think I'll still share it.

"You
You're my mask
You're my cover, my shelter
You
You're my mask
You're the one who's blamed
Do
Do my work
Do my dirty work, scapegoat
Do
Do my deeds
You're the one who's shamed"
~"Sad But True" Metallica

Sometimes, I can stand in a single moment and see forever. Just for that short time, everything jives, everything is perfect. I don't have any questions, because I don't need any answers. The world around me moves at my pace, a shimmering wave of bright colors that mold and conform to me. All I can feel is this wild sense of euphoria, like nothing could touch me, like nothing can reach out and shatter the bubble I've encased myself in. And this freedom rocks me back on my heels, leaving me breathless and flying high.

Yep, right up until the LSD wears off.

No, wait, don't look at me like that. I'm not serious. Who, me, serious? Sorry, you're looking at the wrong guy. If you want serious, I'm sure one of the others would be happy to oblige. A couple of them wear it like it's some kind of freakin' badge. But anyway, I was going to say that I'm pretty much always like this. You'll have to get used to my off-color humor. And if not, you're always welcome to go away.

Seriously, (didn't I just say I was never serious?) that feeling I was talking about there, like sex, it doesn't last. Whoops, there I go again. Not that I would know, right? Oh, I can read your thoughts. You're thinking, 'a kid like him, from the streets, never had sex'? Well, suspend your belief please, because it's true. While I may not be a virgin where most things are concerned, I'm one where it counts. Why, you ask? Because life has taken a lot from me and given me a lot of shit in return, so I won't give this willingly. Hey, I'm human, and I'm certainly not made of Gundanium, but call me sentimental if I say I'm waiting.

Waiting for what. Now there's a loaded question. I suppose I'll have to be cliché and say that I'm waiting for it to feel right. Not only that, but you've only got one life to live, and it's awfuly short. I want my first sexual experience to be something I'm not ashamed to remember. Not something I did in the frenzy of the moment because my 15 year old hormones had taken the reins and left me somewhere in the dust, sitting on my ass and contemplating things in a daze.

There it is. That sound I'm waiting for. The door shuts behind me with a sharp click, and I find my eyes drawn to the clock. I've been in here for over an hour, cooped in this tiny room, crammed in with bunk beds, and two lousy dressers slammed side by side. Then that damn computer desk sits near the bathroom and makes it difficult to get the door open all the way, since for some reason unknown to me they decided it should open out instead of in.

I've got papers scattered all around me from where I lay on my bunk, and I'm hoping it will look like I accomplished something. Which, of course, I didn't. How can you concentrate when the window is open and the sun it shooting through it, calling for you to abandon the torture that is homework and go outside? Besides, it's not as if I need to work that hard. I've got many flaws, a couple of which being the fact I think I'm the God of Death and I rip Mobile Suits in half for therapy, but one thing I'm not is stupid. I guess someone thought I had enough bad shit happen, the least they could do when they were passing out my fate was give me a brain.

Not that any of that is going to matter to my roommate. He's just going to take one look at the title of the book lying tucked halfway beneath my body and think I was slacking. That it's the truth is beside the point. He seems to think that we need to get good grades to keep from drawing attention to ourselves. Well, yeah, all well and good, really, but if we try _too_ hard, they're going to notice us too. Hell, we probably stand out like sore thumbs anyway. I mean, who else has a three foot long braid and looks like their face was carved in stone? That last one was directed at my roommate, by the way, not me.

No, you'll rarely see me in anything less than a smile. I'm the cheerful one, you know. I laugh, I crack jokes, and I'm reckless in battle. But anyway, it's simply one of my masks. I wear it to hide what I hold inside. It cracks now and then. Little hairline fractures that I can patch up again with a few careless words and another bright smile. Not that he would notice, anyhow. He never sees anything, those intense eyes of his that stare at you as if they can pierce skin and touch your heart, they don't see anything except what they want to see. Missions, and laptop computers, and Gundams.

I suppose it's probably about time I told you who _he_ was. I was just getting a big kick out of being obscure. So sue me. You'll get some loose change, a wad of chewed bubblegum, and pocket lint. I'm sure your imagination could conjure up something to do with that treasure. But believe me, you're better off without.

His name is Heero Yuy. Yes, Mr. Heero 'eats-nails-for-breakfast' Yuy, Mr. Heero 'my-spandex-are-way-too-tight' Yuy. Okay, enough of this. While it's fun and feeds my inner child, I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head and I swear it's almost as if he can read thoughts. And his words, should that be one of his many talents, would run along the lines of 'shut up, Duo'. Yes, he loves saying that to me. I think my constant running of the mouth gets to him.

Time to notice him. I toss my braid and offer him a smile to rival the sun.

"Hey Heero, how'd the exam go?" I ask, blowing an enormous bubble soon after so that I may pop it and receive the immense joy of drawing his eyes to my lips for one brief moment, even if it's a moment spent in irritation.

"I don't know. I haven't gotten it back yet," he answers, in that lovely toneless way of his. If he showed an ounce of emotion, I think I'd have to eat my braid.

I nod, trying to scoot over so that I can cover the book I had been reading for recreation. But he's too fast. I swear the guy has more than one set of eyes. Or maybe he has built in radar like Wing Gundam does. I seriously would not be surprised. Who knows what Dr. J thought was more than appropriate in the process of the making of the ultimate soldier. Hell, for all I know, Heero _is_ made of Gundanium. On second thought, I have to withdraw that observation from the court. I just got a nice glimpse of his backside as he was turning, and I somehow don't think Gundanium could create curves like that.

"Duo," he says, making my name sound like a curse.

"Yes?" I prompt, all innocence, when he doesn't continue.

"What did you accomplish today?"

I roll my eyes. "Plenty. I was just taking a break, okay? I can't study all friggin' day!"

He holds up the book, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Okay, so it was more like a comic book...

I sigh, drawing the sound out longer than was necessary. "C'mon, Heero. Don't be a slave driver. We can't all be a walking computer like you."

He just stares at me, looking even less amused than usual, if that is at all possible. I swear, there are moments I just want to leap on him and plant a nice big kiss on those disapproving lips to see if I can get a reaction out of him, if I can change his expression just the slightest bit. But I'd probably just find myself eating about six inches of cold metal. And without ketchup and salt, that would taste pretty damn bad.

It's not like I can tell what he's thinking anyway. He probably doesn't have thoughts even vaguely resembling sexual fantasies. Unless the word 'mission' is connected somehow, then it just doesn't warrant Heero Yuy's attention. I mean, hell, I'm lucky if I get spared a single glance, and anything beyond his customary 'hn'. It takes a lot of effort on my part, anyway, and there are days I doubt he's worth it.

He throws the book back at me, somehow managing to land it onto the bed without causing me any bodily harm. Got to admire that control of his.

"Just don't screw up," he orders, turning away so that he can miss my lovely expression as he grabs some clothing from his dresser and walks into the bathroom.

You know, it just occurred to me I didn't even tell you who I am. I go by Duo Maxwell. That's not my real name, but it doesn't really matter considering I don't even know what my _real_ name is. Both the first and last were given to me by people that meant more to me than anything in this world, and that's enough. I might tell you about them later, but right now I want to ruminate on my roommate some more. I love torturing myself, you see.

I'm not sure exactly how long we've been fighting together, or when it was exactly I started looking at Heero differently. I don't know why him, of all the Gundam pilots either. I mean, even Wufei's more sociable than he is. But I'm pretty certain Quatre and Trowa have something going on there, and if not yet, they will soon. No, it just had to be Heero, who is about as much fun as a rock is. Hell, a rock shows more emotion than he does. And yet, I still like him. Go figure.

I've never noticed guys this way until Heero. I've had a few girlfriends, but someone like me can't afford to get too close to anyone. Maybe that's why I like Heero. He won't _let_ me get close. Well, whatever the case, I suppose I should be bothered by all this. I mean, boys don't like boys. But then, I'm not exactly normal, so it doesn't really come as any surprise that I couldn't like girls like the other half of my sex, I had to like guys instead. No, correct that, not _guys_, just Heero.

It's not like this little one-sided attraction is going to bear fruit anyway. Heero barely registers my existence unless I'm practically in his face. And then, he pretty much tells me to 'screw off' in only that way Heero can. With just a look. I think I should be writing all this down, or taking lessons or something. I could use this stuff. The next time one of those overzealous girls in gym class grabs my ass I can shoot her a patented 'Heero Yuy glare'.

I have to smile at that. I can be just as frightening. I don't need the Heero's help. Sometimes, I don't even recognize myself when Duo Maxwell fades away and Shinigami takes control. But I need him. He kills for me so I don't have to. The God of Death. He takes lives without second thought, and when he goes, so does the guilt. This way, Duo Maxwell can look at his face in the mirror every morning while he brushes his teeth. And what a youthful, innocent face that is.

Yeah, innocent my ass. I was born an adult. Because you see, I can't remember a time when I wasn't looking over my shoulder. I've lived on the streets, taking life one day at a time because I didn't have the luxury of looking to the future. Hell, I was lucky if I _had_ a future. But no, life has pretty much killed everyone that mattered to me, yet it didn't take me. Death touches everything I touch, follows me wherever I go, but it never make it easy by taking me too.

Solo... Sister Helen... Father Maxwell... all dead. The first, he gave me a family. We were a screwed up bunch of kids, but we were a family. Disease took him away and I wasn't fast enough to do anything about it. That's me, always one step behind Death. The others, they gave me my second family, taught me about their worthless God of Life. Yeah, I say worthless. Don't look at me like I'm an atheist. I'm not. I just choose to believe in the God of Death, because he's all I've ever known. He's me, you see. Anyone that sees me goes straight to hell.

They died too. Burned, and crushed, and robbed of their lives in the ruins of their church, their haven from the outside world. I thought it was a haven, you know. I was clean there, and for the first time, my belly was full and I had a soft bed to sleep in every night. Sister Helen braided my hair, gave me clothes, and Father Maxwell, he gave me this cross I wear. He said it was a talisman. Maybe it is? After all, the God of Death never takes me. Only takes everyone around me.

Sometimes, when I dream, I see her face again. Sister Helen's. She's looking up at me, and despite her pain, she smiles. She smiles just for me, to make me feel better, to ease my ache. And I live her death again. I'm holding her in my arms, her blood is seeping into my clothing, staining my hands, and she's so warm. It isn't right for someone to die when they still feel so alive. But she does. She dies thinking of someone other than herself. And he accepts her. Her worthless God of Life accepts her when it should have been me.

Shit. There I went and got serious on you, didn't I? Yeah, it still hurts. Like the blade of a dull knife drug slowly across your skin. Or a razor blade. What, you think I don't know what that feels like? Yeah, I tried killing myself once. I still have the scars. I think that was the moment I decided to live harder, to live more, to use my masks. If Death wasn't taking me, then I was going to spit in its face. I was going to wade through all this shit with my metaphorical hip boots and laugh and laugh, until my face was frozen in a perpetual grin.

All right. I can see we're going to have to focus on this whole suicide thing again. You're thinking, 'how can someone so bent on living try to kill himself'? Hey, everyone reaches their limit. When the Federation destroyed the church, when I found it smoldering, bodies amid the ashes, twisted and scattered like grotesque pieces of art, I snapped. These were the people I had spent every day of my life with for the last few years. These people, who were now nothing more than soot drifting on the wind.

God, the guilt ate me up. It was a living monster, tearing my up, pounding against the inside of my skull. I had to escape that, so I took the cowardly route. I locked myself in a public bathroom and stared at the nice shiny blades for an hour. I remember thinking that shooting myself would be easier. But I needed to suffer. Still, in the end, I couldn't do it. I wrapped my wrists up in paper towels, watched in mute fascination as they stained crimson from my blood, and told Death to go fuck itself. It couldn't have me.

The bathroom door opens.

Heero comes out and stares directly at me. I don't have time to put my mask back on. For one single moment, he gets a good look at the Duo behind the smiles. And I think it rattles him. His eyes widen just a fraction, and his hand stays on the knob, his body frozen, unmoving. I have to revel in having his undivided attention before literally throwing my body over the side of the bed and bouncing up, that cheerful grin back in place as I toss my braid around like a living rope.

I'd pretend that it didn't bother me, having him witness me so naked, so without defense. Instead, I'd concentrate on the fact that he had thrown on his usual tank top and spandex. I'd admire him as he made his way over to the computer, that contained, lean grace of his, the way he had of moving without really moving at all. For Heero, it's all about control. And he's very good at it.

"Duo."

I freeze.

"Finish studying."

I relax, but I can't help but stick my tongue out at his back. He begins typing, that familiar click of the keys filling the room with their ritualistic, annoying music as Heero checks it for any missions that might have come in during our fun-filled day in class. I wish he'd let me turn the damn radio on...

"Say 'hi' to Dr. J for me," I quip, earning silence for a reply.

I roll my eyes again. Sometimes I just want to grab a hold of him and shake the hell out of him. But he'd probably crush a few bones, and I need said bones to pilot Deathscythe. Ah, my Gundam. Now there's a safe topic. I'll just throw myself back on the bed here and think about him for a bit, while ignoring the rock sitting over there in the chair masquerading as one of the human race.

Deathscythe is beautiful. A massive, 7.2 ton machine of Gundamium alloy with a soul. Yes, you heard right. Deathscythe has a soul. You might find it odd I think that, but then, what do you expect from a guy that calls himself the God of Death? Besides, I already told you I was far from normal, and I'm also fairly certain I'm not the only one that feels this way. Quatre talks to Sandrock, and Wufei almost worships his Nataku like a God. Now if you want something to be scared about, be scared about _that_.

So what does that say of Heero and Trowa, who look to their machines as just that, machines? Maybe, their the sanest ones of us all. After all, they're both focused on their missions, and they don't let anything else get in the way. They haven't gotten attached to their Gundams. I bet Trowa wouldn't care if I asked him to take Heavyarms out for a spin. But ask me to even sit in Deathscythe's cockpit and I'll make you sign your life over to me first.

I have to stand in awe of something with his size, and marvel that someone as scrawny and insignificant as me can control him. With that in mind, I have to have respect for him as well. From that respect came a connection, and the feeling that in more than one instance Deathscythe has talked to me. Not in words, but feelings.

My Gundam is a tool of war. Created and developed for the express purpose of taking lives. But I don't look at him that way. He's a friend, a partner. We depend on each other, and for me, that's saying a lot. I don't depend on anyone. I learned a long time ago that the surest bet is to depend on myself first and anyone else after.

Well, while I'm still thinking about this, I suppose I ought to clarify something so that you don't get the wrong impression. I don't hate any of the other Gundam pilots, and while I like to tease Wufei, I have a lot of respect for him. He can be downright nasty and anti-social, but he can also be a great guy. He's holding up under a lot pressure, and coping the best way he can. I don't know the details of what drives him, but I can recognize the signs. I've been there before, after all.

You can't help but like Quatre. He's kind and generous and always there when you need someone. He seems fragile, because he's just got that delicate build and this way of carrying himself that's a part of being an heir. But I think people underestimate him. There's a great deal of quiet strength in him that he'd need to be able to do what we do. Besides that, I don't belive he's as innocent as he seems. Those smiling blue eyes of his have seen things like the rest of us, and he's lived with that in his own way.

Trowa. Sometimes I don't know about him. He's so silent. And I'm not just talking about his lack of words. Everything about Trowa is quiet, even his eyes. He moves with a grace of a performer, but behind that grace I know there lurks a soldier much like Heero. Yet, I've seen him be very gentle. I've seen him kill in battle with the same silent focus, and I've seen him soften almost imperceptibly when Quatre is around. Sometimes I wonder who the real Trowa is, what he's really like behind his mask. But Quatre seems to understand him, so maybe that's enough.

Great. Now we're back to Heero again. There are moments I'm not even sure he's human. He just keeps going, like that damned annoying Energizer Bunny who makes me want to shoot the TV screen every time I see one of those commercials. He's so focused on his missions, because I really think he believes that is all there is for him. It's obvious he doesn't hold his own life in much regard, but he cherishes the lives of everyone else. Maybe that's one of the reasons I like him so damn much? He _is_ perfection. Everything he touches turns to gold. While everything I touch withers, and dies.

There it is. The five of us. Those wickedly famous Gundam boys. Wreaking havoc on OZ and causing much distress and destruction wherever we roam. We're all in this for the colonies, and for our own reasons. It's a long, bleak road, with no end in sight and no real, clear goal. We want to destroy the Alliance and OZ, to get them out of the colonies, without actually involving the colonies. How naive is that, anyhow? It's not like we managed to keep our stellar foes in the dark. Eventually, they traced us back to the colonies. And all hell broke lose. And Heero self-destructed, leaving all of us but Trowa to think he was dead. But this is a topic for another day.

Shit. How ironic is this? I'm thinking about toppling a strong, political force, when tomorrow morning I've got something as simple and mundane as midterms to worry about. And the funny thing is, I'm hating and dreading the tests more. With that in mind, I'm probably am insane. I mean, it's not like the exams are going to kill me. There's always a chance I'll die in battle. But hell, I'd rather be in Deathscythe facing down a whole boatload of Leos than sitting behind a desk, employing my wit on such things as the genius of Dickens, Orwell, Tolstoy, Shakespeare, and many other fine literary greats.

There's more after that as well. Algebra, history, science, and even that computer class that's teaching me in a year what Heero could probably show me in a day. For all I know, the physical education teacher could probably get a wild hair and come up with some physical exam. Either way, I've got to do well enough to keep Heero happy, and just below what might cause the teachers to notice me. I float somewhere in the middle, and all they'll see in me is the cheerful student who talks too much and probably lets his mind wander during class. Which, while there is a grain of truth in all that, is far more normal than I really am.

I think I just hit the height of boredom. I'm getting tired of staring at Spandex boy's back and thinking far more than is prudent. Maybe I'll get up and wander down the hall. I can always bug Wufei or Quatre or even Trowa if I start getting desperate for real conversation. On that line of thought, I realize I find it pretty damn funny we always get paired up with the same roommates, while Wufei gets to bunk alone at every school we go to. Is that fate blowing the proverbial horn or what?

"You wish," I mutter to myself, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

I'm still dressed in our school uniform. A pair of dark blue pants and a white dress shirt, with some stupid thing that's a cross between a fringe and bow tie. I threw mine off the minute I got in the room and I think it's lying somewhere on the floor. Maybe even under the desk. Well if it is, Heero'll probably find it and tell me not to be so careless with it. And that would be about it. Did I mention Heero doesn't talk much? Yeah, now there's the understatement of the year.

Scooting so that I can flop on my stomach, I lower my head over the side of the bed and peer under. As is my luck, my shoes are lying against the wall. I shouldn't have thrown them under the bed so hard when I came in. I believe I was still seething over Heero's remark about how I was an irresponsible pig. Well, not quite in those words, but you get the gist of it. Basically, I overslept this morning and I had to rush around in the bathroom. A ten-second shower, and a half-assed job of brushing my teeth always leaves me a bit put off. Especially considering I wouldn't get to eat breakfast or drink any coffee.

Heero _could_ have woken me up. But no, he had to be his usual wonderful self and teach me a lesson about the value of setting your alarm clock correctly, or being able to hear your roommate's go off in the midst of deep, REM sleep. I swear, there are moments I could just give into my childish tendencies and flash him a one-finger salute.

But anyway, I'm getting off track. What Heero was having such a fit over, was the fact that there were a couple of stray hairs in the bathroom sink. Oh yeah, and I forgot to screw the lid back on the toothpaste. And my nightclothes were still lying on the floor. But I mean, come on! I was in a hurry. Does one little mess automatically make me the laziest slob on the face of the planet? Apparently so.

Maybe if I lean over just a bit farther, I can reach them. What the hell. Might as well try. I realize my mistake just as soon as I lose my grip on the edge and fall over on my head first, back and butt coming next. The sound of it echoes like a gunshot in the silence of the room. How nice. How embarrassing. Rather than move, I lay where I am for a few minutes, more trying to regain my pride than my breath.

I'm beyond surprised when the typing stops. I didn't think he'd notice. I'm even more stunned when he speaks.

"Duo, what are you doing?"

I close my eyes. "Getting my shoes."

A pause. Then, "Well, do it more quietly."

Yes, Heero, I'm fine. No, Heero, I don't need medical attention. It's just a little bump. I'll live. But your concern is really appreciated.

God, I suck. I'm the biggest moron alive.

With a stifled sigh, I roll over on my side and then my stomach, scooting across the wooden floor like a caterpillar. I scrunch myself up and reach back as far as I can, my butt hitting against the edge of the bed as it rises in the air, and my face pressing into the floor so that I'm certain it'll bear an imprint when I finally get these damn shoes. Belatedly, I wonder if Heero would even pay attention to my ass as it wiggles in the air, the only visible thing sticking out from beneath the bed besides my feet.

Victory. My hands close over the offending shoes, and I pull them out with me as I go, somehow managing to defy the laws of clumsiness and hit my head on the bed on the way back up. Falling hard on my behind, I rub at my scalp, scowling darkly at my shoes, as if I've really got what it takes to incinerate them on the spot. I haven't quite reached Heero's status just yet.

Tugging the shoes on, I lace them up, hating them more with every jerk of the string. Finally, giving my braid a short tug, succeeding in only causing pain to flare up in my skull again, I rise to my feet with more grace than I'm given credit for and look toward Heero again.

"Hey, Heero, I'm going out. Going to see what the others are up to."

The lovely sound of typing.

"Hn."

I roll my eyes. I do that a lot you know. It's a very satisfying form of sarcasm.

Spinning in a fit of temper so that my braid snaps in the air, a very silly but gratifying move, I stalk across the floor and jerk open the door. Seconds away from leaving, Heero says something again.

"Did you finish studying?"

"You know, Heero," I tell him, as I settle into the doorjamb with a smirk, "you'd think you wanted me to pass these exams more than I did. I didn't know you cared."

"It's necessary so that you don't draw attention to yourself."

Spare me. "Yes, I know, we've been over this dozens of times."

"Then listen," he returns, with just the barest hint of impatience. I love it when I can needle him just a bit.

"I'll be fine. I'll pass. The world will rejoice, and our instructors will continue to be oblivious. Now, don't wait up," I add cheekily, wishing he actually cared enough to do just that.

I receive no answer, whether it be negative or affirmative, so I close the door behind me, slip my hands into my pockets to contain them, and continue on my merry way.