Disclaimer: *bites disclaimer* GW doesn't belong to me.

Enjoy!! (I had this part planned for months, I'm so glad it's finally up).

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Duo moaned, writhing. He pulled his aching arms around himself, blinking at the dim light through groggy eyes. When his sight had fully returned, he passed his fingers through his bangs; shaking his legs, he realized they were tingling with passing numbness. Glancing around, he saw the dank, dun-colored walls close in around him with not a window to shine sunlight through.

This was not Heero's apartment. This was not the interior of a random store he had passed on the street what felt like moments before. Then, he had felt happy and alert - now, it was as if he had just woken up after sleeping for days. The feeling was nothing new to him, though, but not welcome. The mellowed, rounded sense of having only half of his mind anchored in reality made him shudder.

Sitting up on his elbows, he glanced around a little more. A few lamps built securely into the wall offered light, if not much. Not far from his feet was a small table, and the shadow to his left was that of a rickety support acting as a bed, the mattress on it battered.

Now a wave of alarm washed over him, making him struggle to his feet hastily, a brief moment of dizziness making his body quaver. He reached for the table and held onto its edge, eyes darting around to snatch up a clue as to where he was being held.

Because he had been on the street before, in daylight, at around noon. He had his hands in his pockets at the time, his stomach just filled with a pretzel from a vendor, about to cross the street at a busy intersection.

Surprisingly, he did not feel any pain other than the arm he had slept on for what he guessed to be the past few hours. Or perhaps it had been twisted in dumping him on the floor - maybe he had fallen from the bed and landed on it...

A chair. Two chairs. Duo reached for the one closest, seating himself uneasily. He flattened his hands against the surface of the table for a moment, then formed them into fists to thump a beat from a song he knew on its edge. Eyebrows slanting over his eyes, attention consumed by his scarce surroundings, he did not realize he was beginning to hum to himself when someone knocked on the door.

In his experience, there were two kinds of knocks to know; one was of force, acting as a signal someone was coming or as a way of telling the prisoner they were being too loud. These were usually rapid, harsh sounds. The other was a sequence of raps on the door in quick procession, used as a form of politeness.

This was the latter of the two and Duo tensed in his seat, eyes fastened on the door with growing apprehension.

At least they hadn't hurt him. He hated being someone's stress relief.

Biting his lip, he remembered he had left Heero's apartment open. The key should be in the pocket of his coat - glancing around, he found his coat in a rumpled heap on the bed. They had let him keep it. How strange.

The door was being unlocked. They had not stolen anything from him that he could see and they had not tied him up; hearing so many locks on the door made him reconsider the possibility of a sixty percent chance of escape in his favor. Much confidence must have been in the store of those minds for them to let him move around freely but use eight..no, ten locks on a heavy door.

The door opened, revealing three people behind it. Duo squinted, finding the light they brought with it too bright. Of the three, only one person came into the room; this person, tall and of medium build, came forward with ease and sat himself opposite Duo.

By then, the squinting had stopped.

"Good afternoon." It was a man. A normal man with a normal, friendly voice. Duo crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair quietly, examing what he thought to be his opponent with critizism.

"What am I doing here?" His voice cut through the pleasantness the stranger brought with him. Duo, under a guarded gaze, regarded this man with increasing bewilderment.

The man gave him a grin and reached forward with his hand. Duo stared at it, slightly puzzled.

"Don't worry, I only want to shake hands with you." Again, that normal, entirely trustworthy voice. After some consideration, Duo slowly reached forward as well, giving the hand a quick shake.

"Hi." The man curled one hand into the other, propping his chin up on this and looking at Duo with reserved friendliness.

"I must say," He mused aloud, "You are a talented fellow."

Although Duo was slightly amused at being called a fellow, he kept a cold expression on his face.

"How so?"

"For a boy to smuggle such information out of the country is a talent I admire." Duo's eyebrows shot up as it hit him.

He really should have thought of the chance of them finding his snooping in the last few months. Now they knew, and they knew of him. His name and physical appearance had been spread over every available space in the colonies; Earth must have been affected by this as well, receiving basic, but necessary information on the former Gundam pilots.

"I see. What are you going to do with me?" The man smiled, showing slightly crooked teeth.

"Nothing." Duo wrinkled his nose and turned his face to the side slightly, completely disbelieving.

"You can't expect-"

"It won't matter now; the information would have been released as soon as we came to the publics' eye. Although it did cost us a number of unexpected turns, our goal has not changed. And you," The man nodded approvingly, "Would have been in trouble if we had caught you a moment before this."

Duo gave him a sudden glare.

"'We?' 'Us?' 'Our'? Who do you mean?" The man shrugged.

"I'm not able to give you any more information just yet. Wait a few more months for that and you will get it." He paused before continueing with, "And I have forgotten something. My name is-"

"You're willing to give me your name?"

"Of course." Duo's glare shifted to a satisfied smirk.

"Fine." Idiot. The man cleared his throat.

"My name is Mal Kash." Mal held up a hand quickly to silence any further questions. "I will not ask anything of you, don't worry."

Duo bitterly broke in, his rash anger building up to a point where he could not stop himself.

"If all you've got me here for is to stare at me, then this is a waste of time for the both of us." His voice hardened. "Let me go."

Mal held his hands up in defense, shaking his head.

"I can't do that either; right now, you are out of the reaches my power of rank holds." Duo leaned in, eyes gleaming; he knew persuasive ways of sucking things out of a person without letting them know his motives. Licking his bottom lip, he shrugged.

"Rank. Mmmh." He slipped one hand into his pocket. "Interesting."

Mal pulled back anxiously, watching Duo's hand disappear into the pockets of his pants. Duo couldn't help but slow down, letting a little tension build up in the easy manner of his host. Let him think he had some small, blow-up gadget hidden somewhere in the folds of his clothing; it was interesting watching the relatively dark-skinned Mal pale basing thoughts on something assumed.

Heero would have laughed; he always said not to make assumptions and then go on them.

Smirking, he pulled his hand out, fingers curled around an old deck of worn cards. Setting this on the table, he watched obvious relief seep into Mal's face, smoothing some worried wrinkles and bringing back a peaceful smile to his lips.

"Poker, or a card trick?" He gave a short, kind-natured laugh. "You seem the joker to me."

Duo began to shuffle expertly, whistling quietly. When he was satisfied with the needed chaos of cards, he began to deal them; eight each. After another moment of waiting, he glanced up into Mal's eyes, who was looking at him curiously.

"Not Poker; Crazy Eights."

Mal's smile turned into confusion, his nose wrinkling.

"'Crazy Eights'?"

"I'll teach you." But Duo sighed. "This must be a pure American game; I haven't found anyone else to play it with."

With a shake of his head, Mal exclaimed with wonder, "I am beginning to see why you were chosen as a Gundam's pilot."

Duo froze, a muscle in his cheek twitching as quick, hot anger ran lividly into his bones. Deathscythe Hell. He was Shinigami. This man was an enemy. Quick little things that hurtled through his mind as bits of gravel - tiny reminders.

Coughing to clear his throat, Duo held his cards up as Mal took up his.

"Here's how you play..." Duo instructed Mal through the first few leads of the game with the strict tone of a professor leading a class in a life-or-death political discussion, pointing out that this was a tame way of gambling and not a raging battle - Mal took it all to heart, studiously following his teacher's advice with cautiosness.

Duo lay the eight of clubs down on the gathered heap of cards and claiming the next step to be that of a diamonds', he cleared his throat in a business man's manner.

Mal was sorting through his many, many cards, unaware of the obvious glee in Duo's face.

"So, Mal, how long am I going to be kept here?" Mal glanced over the edge of his cards at Duo's choice, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Till our curiosity has been satisfied." Jerking his head up at a corner of the room, he added, "You must know already, but this place is being monitored by at least three people at all times. They'll let me know when I can leave and you can go."

Duo let out a low whistle as Mal lay a three of diamonds down.

"Then this is like a sport; I'm a type of entertainment."

"Our version of Sixty Minutes." Mal muttered with a distant smile. Duo flicked a three of clubs to the cards before returning to his questioning.

"You have too much time on your hands." Mal didn't make eye contact but, with a triumphant twist of the wrist, lay flat an eight of clubs down.

"Change to...hearts." He shook his head. "Think what you want; I came here to meet you. You are quite famous, though rather unknown on Earth...the colonies are pretty keen on you, they have more to say, but us...we have never met any of you, even in combat."

Five pilots. Five Gundams. Five piles of junk. Duo snarled at the cards in his hand before picking a card from the deck.

He lay the five of hearts down.

"I see," He grumbled, "But it's still hard to believe you would waste drugs on me as a whim."

Mal chuckled at this.

"Spirited, too. I think I would have really liked you," He looked up, the first time he ever made eye contact during that game with Duo, and smiled a little too quickly, "If it weren't for the fact we are on two different sides."

Duo grinned, turning his nose up at him.

"Oh, isn't that getting a little too specific?" He thumbed through his cards, staring cordially at Mal. "What were you part of during the war? A small branch of Romaefeller? White Fang? An unknown terrorist group?"

Mal shrugged, rolling his neck uneasily.

"None of them - and we aren't terrorists." He grumped. "Never were, either."

Duo's eyebrows rose when he felt himself getting a rise out of the relatively cool man.

"I dare say you are indignant now. You don't call executing the head officials of the Nigerian-"

"Let's not move to that topic of conversation." Mal growled, suddenly grinding his teeth together impatiently. "All I, all we, want is a way to spread truth through the country. Nigeria has been beaten down too much; so have many other countries, and their people.

"I truly believe that what I have done to uphold the values and beliefs of this organization was for the good of others - even if what you think is that what I have done is wrong and elaborately radical."

"You read my mind, kind Sir," Duo crowed, his voice taking on a tone of sly craftiness, "I do think that!"

Mal opened his mouth, eyes wide with disbelief, and seemed to be about to say something when Duo slammed his cards facedown on the table and rose, slamming his chair into the wall.

"If you know so much, than you must know that what I've seen, along with what I have done, has nearly killed me more than twice. And I have seen people who believed strongly in their actions, as disgusting as they were, and thought themselves heroes all their own-"

"I don't want to discuss moral issues with you, of all people-"

"-and you expect me to accept the killing of good leaders to be for the well-being of all-"

"I don't want to hear-"

"-How can you say this?? I-"

"Be quiet!" Mal screamed, all friendliness gone, collapsing in his seat with his forehead near the table surface. "I don't want to hear this!"

He shook a threatening finger at Duo, now pushing his chair to the table and sitting down.

"You have killed thousands." Mal took a breath, oblivious to Duo's stunned expression. "I don't think I'll take your word on anything - now, if you'll excuse me..."

He marched to the door, his hand was on the handle. Just as he was going to leave, Duo snapped his fingers to get his attention. Mal stopped, freezing in his steps, glancing over his shoulder frigidly.

Duo grinned casually. He kicked his legs up so his feet rested on the table, and folded his hands behind his head.

"Ask me if I'm an automobile." He wiggled his eyebrows to egg on Mal into doing so.

Mal gave him a confused, apprehensive expression.

"...Are you..an..automobile?"

Duo's half-closed eyes glittered with humor, his mouth pulling up into a lazy, yet wide grin.

"No." He said slowly, drawling the word out. With that said, he dipped his head back, risking the chance of upsetting his chair entirely, and began to laugh insanely. His laughter peeled off the walls and crashed into the furniture; continuous and loud, Mal could hear it clearly as it followed him down the hall, door closed and all.

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Relena felt the party ending. People had already left; she had been able to get along with nearly the entire crowd. And the party, if she could call it that, in her opinion would end well.

Maids and hired help for the night calmly came in and took away the silver mixing bowls, crystal wine glasses, the orderve plates. But they seemed to remain unseen - the other guests did not react to them as they pulled on coats for the cold outside.

Relena and the Head of Russia's War department met eyes. She inclined her head, smiling. He had been cooperative beyond belief, to her delight.

Yet she couldn't resist a small yawn. Turning away for a moment, she waited for her jaw to relax.

Oh. Hello. Sauntering over with dragging feet, Relena edged closer to one of the remaining guest with curiosity. His head was bowed as he stood by the table that had held the wines being served - only the table cloth remained, spotted with a variety of wine stains. His jacket was thrown over one arm, and his shirt, unwrinkled, the collar still straight, narrowed into his waist quite neatly.

"Quatre Winner?" He swung around, eyes brightening at her approach. Relena nodded to him with a welcoming smile. "May I assume the evening went well for you?"

At that last comment, his expression caved in. Relena, eyebrows pulling together with light worry, followed his stare to his fist, now opening. When Relena had a clear view of what the thing in question was, she found it be, held firmly between his fingers, the stump of a heel, most likely from a woman's shoe. Relena closed the short gap between them, staring down at the object with a puzzled look that made her hunch forward.

Quatre stared at it with wonder and a little resentment, surprisingly - Relena hadn't seen him in such a forlorn state herself before - but most of all with concern, growing with each thought that crossed his mind.

After a few minutes of silence and persistent stares given the pitiable stump, Relena righted herself, cocking her head to the side and eyeing Quatre questioningly.

"Achille's true weak point or someone I know?" An informal, rather crude way to pry, Relena admitted to herself, but at least he gave her a small smile.

And then he shrugged, his fist closing up around the stump protectively.

"Thank you, Miss Relena Darlian. I had a good time." Quatre gave her a merry look. "I'm sorry I did'nt have the chance to dance with you."

"Another time. Goodnight, Quatre Winner." She lightly patted his shoulder in farewell before moving on.

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It was lonely. She was lonely.

But then again, there were two types of loneliness that existed in this world - one being something keenly felt, an empty weight in someone's gut; it made warmth glance off a body so a person could shiver in their hollow misery, and then there was the other kind that was much more pleasant.

This loneliness was welcoming; the kind where one could wander with only their thoughts to keep them busy, where a secluded walkway emptied of trampled beer cans and people was an altogether wonderful experience. Lady Luck sat on the bench while Fate leaned against the tree, and one could traipse along without feeling walled in by other presences.

She wasn't sure which she felt - perhaps a combination.

Hanging a towel back on its rack, Relena turned and caught her reflection in the mirror. How many times had her own appearance caught her attention so? In that dress Denna had her try on. That time she set on glasses only to find she was not made for them. When she first braided her hair.

So many labels were given to her; she tallied them up in her mind, an unseen smile of wry humor curving her mouth. Had she honey-blonde or honey-brown hair? Tawny or sandy blonde? Light brown, golden brown, ginger-golde? Brown-gold, blonde-gold, what was the difference?

Crossing her arms over her chest, she tilted her head. Did she have beautiful pools of silvery blue for eyes? Giant blue orbs? Sky-blue or striking blue? So many descriptions.

But who gave a true thought to all this?

Was she the Queen or Princess? Queen Politician, woman politician, sweet talking girl, gentle lady, gentlewoman, the fair beauty of Cinq? During the months in Montreal, she had seen more titles given to her name with each week, every issue of a newspaper and tabloid article coming up with a new version. It made her chuckle while standing in the lines for the register, buying the groceries she needed.

Leaving the bathroom, she picked up her glass of champagne, as of yet untouched. This she intended to down once the clock rang of midnight - some form of celebration was necessary. And since fireworks were discouraged of around the land of the Peacecraft mansion she had the television on. Paris would have a better display.

Biting her lip, she left her seat opposite the television to wander over to the window. It reached from the floor to the ceiling in a wide arch; her eyes centered on the grounds outside, now white with unmarred, untrampled snow. This being a fresh snow, just fallen, no one had cleared the pathways below leading around the mansion.

Chewing on the tip of her tongue, Relena pressed in closer to the window, her nose rubbing up against the glass, each exhale of breath creating a hazy ring of fog. Suddenly pulling back, she set the glass of champagne down and rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms. A cold draft had settled in on her body. Cold. Fancifully imagining herself to be warm, she moved away from the window and back to her seat, tucking her feet under her knees Indian-style.

Lonely and cold - happy, lonely, and cold.

Blinking, she felt a tiny creature of fickle pessimism nagging at her, hissing softly-toned whispers up her ear canal. Studying the screen of the television, she found a hair of herself forming a whim...

Loneliness, no matter what kind, could not be overcome without the needed strength - at that thought, the nagging calmed, having successfully made aware its warning.

A strength was missing right then, and Relena crouched into her seat, slouching terribly. The sound of a voice singing was suddenly muted and she didn't hear a stray burst of wind whistle strangely outside. Missing strength; loneliness...

Oh, loneliness, what kind aquaintance you are.

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I was in one of those extremely off moods writing this - trying to write seriously and listening to "Strangers In The Night" just didn't work. But, Quatre's got Dorothy's heel! - that was all worth it. Him, holding that little heel in his hand, wondering what the heck happened without his saying a word....I am all highly amused by that - Dorothy's onslaught of confusion gives me the chuckles, too. She doesn't show if often, ne?

Please review! (Add honey to the labors).