Duo was quite thoroughly annoyed as he silently walked through the house. Jeez, it was bad enough when Quatre razzed him like that, but Heero joining in… k’so! The guy didn’t even have a sense of humor! ‘Rat-tail,’ indeed! That one comment was what really cooked Duo’s goose.
He made a beeline for his bedroom, shutting the heavy door and shedding clothes as soon as he was inside. He stripped as far as his undergarments and pulled out a white t-shirt and shorts, then reached for the basketball stashed under his bed. Bouncing it down the hall, he jogged out to the court completely heedless of the rather late hour. Sunset had already been and gone.
Duo loved basketball as much as he loved flying Deathscythe. It was a part of him. It was a peaceful way to let out his stress, and he had a good deal of that. Accessible in most places, widely played… And Father Maxwell had taught him how to play: one of his few remaining links to a past that he treasured and hated at once. No, he did not bear any ill will towards the people of his past. Duo stopped and looked up at the sky, leaning against a tree. Even the people who had seriously hurt him were forgiven in Duo’s mind. He was, after all, trying to be a good Christian boy despite all the hardships of the past.
Hadn’t Solo and then Sister Helen and then even Professor G told him the exact same thing, that hardship builds character? And Father Maxwell had always said that God wouldn’t give his child a burden they could not learn to handle?
The long-haired boy let out an explosive sigh in the shadows. /No, Father. This time, you weren’t right. I can’t believe that. I saw too many die because they couldn’t handle their own life, among other causes, to ever be able to believe in your kind, merciful God. The only deity I have ever seen in my life is the God of Death. And I think that a kind God would have watched over his children a little better: if He had, V08744 wouldn’t be the slum it is now./
Resolutely Duo pushed the past from his mind and continued on to the basketball court. /The past is the past and it can’t be changed, Duo,/ he thought, /and the future hasn’t happened yet so don’t worry about it./ His mantra, from as far back as he could remember, had been those exact words. He lost himself in the soothing thumps of the rubber ball against the concrete floor of the court, losing track of time.
He began fumbling the ball as he grew more tired, though, after hours of play. It was very late at night, perhaps even early in the morning. The dew was beginning to collect on the grass and in his braid. /Just a couple more hoops and then I’m in./ But the ball rolled from his hand before he could move quickly enough, and was promptly tossed back by the figure he hadn’t seen sitting in the cold wet grass.
“What are you doing here, Heero?” Duo asked, a touch of anger over that past remark cutting through his fatigue. Heero shrugged.
“You play well,” he said simply. Duo had the feeling that was the only explanation he was going to get, until Heero’s low voice broke the descending silence again.
“Have you been in the hangar recently?”
“No, why?”
Heero was quiet for a moment, as though phrasing his response. A ticked-off Duo Maxwell was unpleasant, and he had already annoyed him enough for one day. The best way, he decided, would just be to spit it out.
“Someone, we’re not certain who, was seen by the Maganacs sneaking around the hangar not long ago.”
Duo’s weariness melted away from him like ice in the desert sun as he broke into a run, basketball forgotten. Heero ran beside him easily, knowing that the course was for the Gundam’s hangar.
To Be Continued…