Warning: If you don't know by now, you haven't been paying attention!

A/N: Well, the final chapter at last! Thank you for all your support and encouragement – it's been an interesting journey. I'm sorry about the long delays between chapters and hope it hadn't ruined the flow for you! You should be chuffed you're getting this now instead of 2 months later, as I'm currently in Australia! The things we do! Anyway, read and enjoy...

Dickensian Streets

By Corralero

Chapter Fifteen

He was running down those dark streets again, darting down side alleys, sprinting across empty cross-roads, running blind with no guide, chasing after what he thought was the tip of a chestnut braid, and pursued by watchful eyes, howling wolves and a thrumming chain.

Don' look back.

He could feel the stink and filth of the streets coating him, crawling up, over and into his skin as he turned and entered a sewer, heading into the heart of the underground, running and running, his heart pounding through his chest, panic rising and rising. The darkness was a thick as hell and somewhere a clock was ticking…

Quatre woke, gasping for breath, heart pounding and exhausted. For the fifth night in a row he flopped backwards onto his narrow bed and stared up at the dimly lit ceiling of his cabin. He couldn't get the streets of L2 out of his head. Even now, he was awake yet the acrid smells lingered in his nose. With a grunt, he got to his feet, fumbling for the light and his shoes. Just at the door, he paused by the mirror. Mendez's fingers still marred his throat. He passed on.

It was the fifth time he had found himself wandering the dim corridors of the Peacemillion, with a restless energy that irresistibly reminded him of Duo stuck in Sid's flat. He struck out at a wall. This needed to stop, he told himself firmly. And yet he wandered on. He, and he had sneaking suspicion Duo also, had got through the L2 hitch on the premises that he would deal with it all later. Push it to the back of your mind. Act now, think later. Think too much as a Gundam Pilot and you're as good as dead. Yet his return to normality was proving almost as gruelling as his departure.

After the debrief came the medical and, eventually, the fuller debriefs. Quatre had endured his medical, as had the three other pilots. Duo's doctor had ended up unconscious on the floor with a broken nose; the result of a Gundam pilot still on a hair trigger. Eventually the medical team had given up and Heero and Howard had stepped in and called for Sally Po. Luckily the situation was far from unusual. With far too many young, dangerous and volatile soldiers around, the medical staff were use to extreme reactions. After a long, long wait, Sally and Duo had emerged, looking white.

Gonorrhoea and Syphilis.

That was all Duo had said before shrugging a shoulder and sauntering off down a corridor. Quatre and Heero had blinked after him and then turned to a distressed Sally Po.

'A damn sight more that than,' she replied to their unspoken query. 'Heero, I'm sorry but Doctor G wants a full medical report.'

The stoic boy had merely bitten his lip and nodded. Quatre winced as he recalled how Heero had paid for it. A nasty fractured cheek delivered by Duo's stinging right hook when he heard the news.

Despite that volatile outburst, Quatre had seen little of the 02 pilot, or at least little of the real 02 pilot. The "respite" they had was full of activity. The Gundams needed to be made battle-worthy, resulting in long heavy hours working with the mechanics from the Sweeper team, and even longer hours alone, making the fine adjustments that only a pilot knows. So they spent the days together, yet the hangers in which they worked were cavernous spaces, full of pumping music, people shouting and the sound of crashing, hammering and drills. Not the place for a heart to heart.

On top of that they had orders to regain full fitness, which meant gruelling hours of physio, re-training, ice-baths, gym and sparring.

And over all that the war marched on, with endless meetings, updates and scenarios; hourly updates of political and military chances, inside intelligence and more. They each had their own 'mini' errands to pursue – hacking, analysing, making contacts, erasing tracks. He himself had personally tied up ends with the L2 debacle, persuading the police to back off the manhunt for Duo and downsize his priority, and unbeknown to Duo, reimbursing the L2 Fabella project and contracting internet technicians to rebuild the destroyed admin systems. The other aspects of the deal with Khan he didn't honour. As far as he was concerned, Khan had broken the terms of agreement the moment a gun had been placed to Quatre's forehead. That was loophole enough for the Winner heir, and it would seem Duo agreed as he never mentioned the deal.

War left little time for idle hands. Often they ate in the huge mess hall, alongside the Sweeper crew, Magnacs and the other rebel forces that Peacemillion was housing. The Peacemillion was an impressive vessel and formed something of a roving base for the rebel resistance. Yet more often than not, the Gundam pilots could be found eating more privately in Howard's own mess, in the company of closer friends; Howard, Sally, Rashid. Those evenings were pleasant, stretching out in a tired companionable way. Sometimes they played Scrabble, inexplicably the only game on board that wasn't cards.

Duo would sit and watched, curled up in the corner of the couch, citing his bad spelling as an excuse. He would sit there, just watching, eyes occasionally drooping shut, oil smudged across his pale face. Sometimes Quatre or one of the others would do the same. No one tucked them in. No one touched them or carried them to bed. No one touched a Gundam pilot on a hair trigger.

He was standing in the long viewing gallery, looking out at the blackness of space lit by infinitesimal pricks of stars. They were moving past the outposts of L4, his home. He could just make them out in the corner of the steel framed scene. The ship was quiet, it was still too early for the normal hubbub to begin.

Soft footfalls reached his ears, drawing closer until Trowa stood by his side and leant against the rail, staring thoughtfully outwards.

'Good morning.'

Quatre smiled slightly.

'It is hardly morning at 4.00 am, Trowa.'

His tall friend shrugged.

'In space it's never really morning anyway.'

They stood in silence a bit longer, Quatre struggling with the weight on his mind. Trowa shifted sideways and asked with that subtle diffidence that only he could achieve, 'How are you doing, Quatre?'

And then, much to Quatre's relief, he sat back and listened as it flooded out of him in an endless babble. Eventually he subsided and stood staring out, overcome with a sudden longing to go home, back to L4, away from all this, to see Nina again, to see his friends and family, to ignore this hard cold war that was destroying him bit by bit. Then Trowa spoke.

'I talked to Duo a few days ago. Found him licking his wounds in some remote corner. I think if I were him I'd probably do the same. We're all looking out for him, you know. I think Wufei has even offered to do justice to Khan with his katana.'

Quatre turned to Trowa in surprise.

'He has been talking?'

'In his own way,' Trowa turned grim suddenly. 'I wouldn't be surprised if Khan turns up dead in the next few months.' He flashed a cold smile. 'It just depends on which of us gets to him first.'

Quatre thought back to the predatory eyes and smile, the ruthless, callous manipulations.

'There will be strong competition,' he promised softly.

Trowa nodded, pleased.

'I know.'

'But Duo, does he need more? Should he…?'

Trowa frowned. 'Duo's a big boy, Quatre. He needs no more than you or I.'

He saw Quatre's unconvinced face and ploughed on ruthlessly.

'He knows exactly what he needs and what he can get. What he needs is to be fully functional for the next mission and for the one after that until either he's dead, we've won or lost. Duo knows he needs no more than that for the moment.'

'But…'

'But what? What do you want him to do? Duck out for a few months, a few years? Go into therapy until he's resolved all his issues? Go back home? Go back to the streets? He can't: All Duo has is war, and all his family are here. He doesn't have time to sort this out, Quatre. He only has time to get himself together for the next battle, just like you.'

Trowa's face was hard, yet his eyes shone with a compassionate understanding that few had.

'He's doing exactly what you're doing, Quatre. And you're both so brave, because even though I know you want to go home, I know you won't. You're going to stick it through until it's over.'

Quatre gave a shuddering sigh. 'This is what they mean by battle-scarred veterans, isn't it?' he asked with a strange resignation. Trowa's brand of rationalisation was harsh at times yet good to hear. When you saw so much in grey, it was good to have a dose of black and white.

'I still miss him though.'

Trowa shrugged. 'He's still there. He'll come out of it when he's ready, like you.'

He blinked. 'But I haven't changed!'

Trowa smiled. 'Then what are you doing hanging around in a gallery at four in the morning after a full days work of "rest"?' He sobered suddenly. 'It's a lonely process.'

They lapsed into silence again, Quatre mulling things over. Slowly the lights began to brighten, signifying the start of another day. He turned to his friend and smiled.

'If it's so lonely, then why are you here?'

Eventually Trowa stood, rolling strong shoulders.

'Talk to him if you want but it won't do much good.'

'How do you know?' Quatre wondered as they walked to the mess. Trowa paused at the entrance.

'Because I know it probably wouldn't help me. Cotton wool wrapping would destroy me, I'm not used to them,' he answered cryptically, than wandered in. Duo was already there and greeted them with a lopsided smile as he stirred a bowl of porridge. He lifted up a spoonful and grimaced.

'Not sure wha' this crap is tha' cookie keeps chuckin' out.'

Trowa leant over and nicked the spoon, ruffling Duo's hair as he did. Tasting half, he pulled a wry face and passed it to Quatre.

'Needs more sugar,' he decided and strode off to the trolley.

'Needs more of everything,' Duo muttered and Quatre grunted his agreement. They struck up an easy conversation on some problems Duo was having with Deathscythe. Quatre was mid-explanation of some solution and looking at the bags under Duo's eyes when Trowa returned, balancing two bowls and a handful of sugar sachets.

'Howie needs us in the HQ after breakfast,' he noted. Quatre nodded as Duo rapidly stirred the sugar into the watery porridge.

Quatre never did get his resolution with Duo. Howard had called them with the latest intelligence and a new mission, required Heero, Trowa…and Duo. Even a fortnight's rest was too much to ask for a the height of the war. Duo was back in the field exactly a week after their arrival at the Peacemillion. Quatre followed him out the day after. They counted themselves lucky.

The destruction of the Stigittar communication base was a turning point in the fortunes of the war. Their main communication hub destroyed, OZ was left increasingly vulnerable, and their lack of full surveillance systems meant White Fang were ultimately incapably in fully defending the Libra space station, thus allowing Wing Zero's interception under the piloting of Heero Yuy, and final victory.

Amongst the list of war crimes that threatened the Gundam pilots in the post-war confusion, the assassination of Ryan Mercer, Chief of the L2 police, was listed among Duo Maxwell's, along with his other acts on L2. Here it became known for the first time, Quatre Winner's actions of compensation.

Khan disappeared. No body was ever found, nor was he ever heard of again. His leaderless Wolves scattered, but not before claiming he was murdered. However, they singularly refused to name or describe the alleged perpetrator.

Four years into peace. Preventer HQ, Sanq Kingdom.

Quatre leant back in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily with one hand as he loosened his tie with the other. His part time responsibilities to the Preventers and his political roles seemed to be on the increase, he noted sourly. This meeting had been going on for far too long. There were simply too many interests being represented and minimum headway was being made. Frustrated, he rapped his glass down sharply and said his thoughts out loud.

'I would suggest, ladies and gentlemen, that we reconsider our ultimate aims here, each decide our favoured course of actions, taking into account what we have learnt today, away from the board and reconvene in two days time.'

The more levelheaded members of the board swiftly seconded the suggestion, leaving the hotter headed to scowl at the table. Slowly the room cleared.

'What the Dickens was that about?'

Quatre raised his eyebrows at the turn of phrase as Major Bradshaw, a highly respected military commander, stared quizzically at him. He smiled despite his irritation.

'It's a contentious topic,' he replied, keeping his voice neutral. 'Gang activity is taking on a quasi-military profile, it is true, yet the social and charitable activities are quite right to recognise the more delicate aspects.'

The major snorted. 'It's a ruddy mess and a damnable waste of the last three hours of my life. That chap, what was his name now? Johnson? One to watch, there's a chip on his shoulder the size of Africa. He certainly didn't like you,' he shot at the man sitting on the other side of the table.

Violet eyes looked up and away.

'Giva toss?' Duo drawled.

Bradshaw snorted again. 'I don't supposed you do.' He stood and nodded to them both. 'Maxwell. Winner.'

Duo stretched and rolled his head to loosen his neck.

'So tha' achieved…?' He looked at Quatre.

'Precisely nothing.' The other sighed.

'Go to know we're still wastin' tax payer's money,' Duo mumbled as he stood up, slinging on his Preventers jacket. He rubbed a stubble-shadowed jaw.

'Bradshaw was right,' Quatre said carefully. 'Johnson did seem to have an untoward hostility towards you.'

The violet eyes looked up again and this time Quatre could see beyond the protective nonchalance. Not very far. But far enough. Duo spoke quietly.

'He's got a good 'nough reason. He was Mercer's second-in-command. He was there th' day I killed him.'

Quatre's eyes widened. 'Duo, I'm-'

Duo cut him off roughly.

'It don' matter.'

'But…'

'It don' matter.'

Quatre nodded slowly, memories racing back. They shared a tense smile and Quatre knew he would be chasing a chestnut braid around street corners tonight.

'Does he know that you…that we…had no choice?'

Duo's eyes were raw and full of well-bound shadows.

'Would it make any difference?'

'It might.'

'It don'. He knows,' Duo spoke flatly. 'He even knows I pulled a Heero an' visit Mercer's wife an' kids.'

Quatre hadn't known that.

'Then what does he want?' Quatre wondered. Duo's smile was twisted.

'Resolution.'

The impossible. The unreachable. The sort of thing only ever achieved in a story and never in reality. That neat ending and finality Quatre had so desperately longed for during that week on Peacemillion, that he had hoped for while they were on L2, and that they had never got.

As they flicked out the lights Quatre wondered. What happened to Sid? How the wife and kids reacted to the visit of a murderer? Did the young gang member ever survive the battle? How exactly did his friendship with Duo regain its equilibrium after the strain it had gone through? How did Duo sleep at night when he himself still had difficulty?

Duo whacked him on the shoulder, breaking his thoughts. He looked into his friend's face, at the smile that still held the wild edge of the streets, then followed him out, closing the door behind him.

The End.

Thank you so much for reading – I hope you have enjoyed this story. For those of you who have read this and never left a review, it would be lovely to hear from you – especially those of you who liked it so much that you put it on Alert or Favourites – it would be nice to hear why, especially at the end!

For those of you who need more closure, there will be a one-shot loosely tied into this up soon called Broken Peace. It's written so keep an eye out!