‘Solo?’ The young boy crouched beside the still body of his best friend. ‘Solo wake up….’

There was no movement, no indication of life.

‘Please don’t leave me here alone… it’s so quiet… you know I can’t stand when it’s too quiet. That’s when the bad things happen.’ One filthy fist rubbed across watering eyes, leaving a darker streak across grimed cheeks as the child prodded at the body hopelessly. The head turned towards him limply, tears of dried blood beneath the lifeless gray eyes. ‘Don’t cry Solo… you said boys don’t cry….’

‘I’m not crying anymore, Duo.’ The child whirled to face the voice behind him. Solo stood behind him now, blocking the way out of the dark alley. For the first time, the child felt terror wrap cold arms around his body in an obscene hug. ‘Though you will be… you kill everyone you touch. You killed me… and you have to pay for that…’

“No!” Duo woke, disoriented from the nightmare and not sure why he was pinned helplessly to his bed. “Shit…!” What the hell was that? Solo wouldn’t have blamed me….

Realizing that he was tangled in the sweat soaked sheets, he managed to struggle free enough to sit up and scrub at stinging eyes. What time is it…? Oh, yes, let me guess. Two a.m. This is getting really old. It’s not even the same damn nightmare anymore.

Climbing out of bed, he headed for the bathroom. Yick… I feel like I’m covered in slime. Or blood or something. Damn Sally for insisting that if I didn’t take at least one night off, she would put me on report.

He carefully avoided looking in the mirror as he stripped out of the oversized T-shirt he was sleeping in and stepped into the shower stall. He had been avoiding mirrors for days now, not wanting to see the haunted look that had taken over his face. I look like I did when Father Maxwell found me… and I so do not want to go there….

After a long semi-relaxing shower, he dragged on a pair of worn jeans and a loose T-shirt. Wandering into the kitchen, he poured what was left in the coffeepot into a cup and nuked it in the microwave. Yum… wonder how old this stuff is? He grimaced, but took a sip of the bitter liquid anyway.

It didn’t help with the exhaustion, but he was getting used to that. Well…now that I’m up for the day…. He looked around the kitchen bleakly, but he hadn’t been home long enough to cook anything in weeks, so the only dishes in the sink were an assortment of coffee cups.

Deciding that it wasn’t worth the effort to wash them at 3 in the morning, he took his cup of stale coffee into the living room. That room looked equally unlived in. What had been a plant, left behind by Trowa when he moved out, was now a brittle bundle of sticks sitting forlornly in the window. Otherwise, there was nothing in the small room but the lumpy sofa, a coffee table cluttered with more coffee cups… and the Book.

Duo sat down on the sofa, automatically squirming around until he found a spot where he was able to avoid the worst of the lumps, and stared forlornly at the cover of the photo album he’d put together after the war. It held mostly photos that he’d snapped of the guys when they weren’t expecting it, or shots stolen from surveillance cameras before blowing up various bases. The cover of the Book was dusty, and he realized he hadn’t touched it in several months. Not since… not since Trowa moved in with Heero.

For the first time, he let himself realize how much he missed his former roommate. Of all of the Gundam pilots, Trowa was the closest thing to a best friend he had let himself have since Solo’s death. The taller pilot had shared a similar background to Duo’s, and was the only one who had ever bothered to really look behind the mask he wore. It was probably why Duo hadn’t ever let them become anything more than friends; and eventually, Trowa had turned to Heero. He left me behind, just like everyone else did— He frowned, wondering where that thought had come from. Idiot… that’s the sleep deprivation talking. He didn’t leave you… you practically threw him onto Heero’s doorstep with all his belongings. He looked around the bare apartment. Maybe I should have kept some of his belongings. Maybe it wouldn’t seem so empty then.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted the book carefully and opened the cover. The first picture was of Deathscythe, newly christened and towering over the shuttles in the hanger of Howard’s ship. The Prof would have flipped if he knew I took this picture… I’m glad that Howard not only lent me the camera, but he kept it safe for me until after the war. Thoughts of the older man, with his wild hair and even wilder shirts, made him smile fondly. Wonder if he’s still enjoying his retirement in Jamaica.

The next picture was a group shot of the other four pilots, clustered around the table where Heero’s laptop was sitting. It had been taken in the second year of the Gundam war, when the four had returned from space for a while. They had only barely started actively working together at that point, and he could remember some of the arguments that had gone on over who should be in charge of mission planning once the Doctors had dropped out of that role.

“I think Trowa and I were the only ones who didn’t want to be in charge.” Duo smiled at where Trowa was sitting on the fringe of the group, his arms folded and an annoyed expression showing in the one visible eye. Hope he’s feeling ok. Heero actually took time off work to stay with him while he’s out on sick leave. I should give him a call tomorrow… see how he’s doing. I just don’t want him to see me and worry….

He flipped through the pages slowly; smiling sadly as random scenes brought back bittersweet memories. I know the war was a long, terrible thing, and I know that things are better now for everyone then they were when the Alliance was in charge… but I miss how it used to be. Now everyone is so…different.

Not for the first time, he missed the easy camaraderie that he’d had with the other pilots. Back before I had to worry about being the third wheel. Or fifth wheel. Whatever you want to call it. They all moved on with their lives and are enjoying themselves. Why can’t I? Why do I have to be trapped in the silence and memories I’ve spent my whole life trying to escape?

The last picture was the day that he’d joined Preventers. He and Trowa had been the last holdouts, both trying to make a life that didn’t involve missions or fighting. Yeah… and Trowa was miserable at the circus and I was miserable doing salvage when Hilde left for the Mars project with Noin. Hell, I was miserable before she left, but it had meant so much for her to have the yard. But she gave it all up. Maybe she was miserable too.

He stared at the picture through clouded eyes. All five of them were standing facing the wall, spread-eagled like they were waiting to be frisked. I can’t believe Sally managed to actually take the picture, she was laughing so hard. That was the last time she’ll ever tell us to get up against the wall so she can take a picture. He smiled then, lost in happier memories. But eventually the smile faded, and he was left alone with his ghosts; the ones he didn’t have pictures of, but that he never forgot.

Closing the book, he curled up on the couch forlornly. In spite of his best efforts, his thoughts kept returning to the earlier nightmare.

“Solo… you didn’t really blame me for killing you, did you? I tried… tried so hard to get back with the vaccine. But it took too long to figure out where they kept it. Maybe if I’d learned to read earlier… or something….” His voice echoed oddly in the silent room, “But that was one thing you couldn’t teach me either….”

He lay there for a bit, lost in the past, before standing up wearily. “Sally’s right… I have to get some sleep.” Gathering up the collection of empty cups on the coffee table, he dumped them into the sink. Snagging a beer from the fridge, he retreated back to the bedroom.

The bedroom was as bare as the living room, at least as far as furniture went. He and Trowa hadn’t been able to afford much when they had finally given in and moved back to Sanck, and the room was tiny enough that the only way to fit two beds in was to stack them. They had crammed in a battered chest of drawers bought at a thrift store at the same time as the couch, and a single desk.

When Trowa moved in with Heero, he hadn’t needed to take his bed with him, and Duo hadn’t bothered to unstack them. He had hoped that keeping the bunk beds would make it feel like someone else still lived there. Wish you were here tonight, Tro… it would be nice to have someone else to talk to.

Not sure what impulse was prompting him, he ignored the ladder to his own bed, and crawled into Trowa’s empty bunk. Despite the fact that he’d been gone for nearly two months, Duo could still smell the faint traces of raspberry shampoo that Trowa preferred; if he closed his eyes, he could almost feel his friend’s presence in the room. He wasn’t sure if that helped the loneliness, or made it worse when he opened them again.

Stifling a sigh, he hugged the pillow tightly and took a sip of the beer he’d brought with him. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Why can’t I let the memories go now?

There was no answer from the silence.