Duo insisted on driving to the school and parking outside the main building. They were treated to the sight of Mr. Duncan being lead out of the building in handcuffs, protesting all the way.

Duo was leaning on their car when Duncan was put into the cruiser. He made sure that the Headmaster saw him then mouthed "Got ya" and, touching two fingers to his eyebrow in a cocky salute, smirked at him. Duncan glared but could do nothing but get into the cruiser never to be seen again.

"That's what I call making the system work for you. Q-man we need to talk, all of us."

Quatre nodded. "We are going to have a meeting tonight. Come to my bedroom. Trowa. Will you sweep it before then please?"

~*~

TRACK

Trowa shut his equipment down and tucked it away. He decided he was going to sweep the entire house this weekend. He didn't think there were any bugs but if Duo was going to propose what he thought he wanted to make sure.

And when they met after dinner Duo did indeed propose exactly what Trowa thought he would.

"Guys. I've been thinking. We need to act instead of reacting. While we were pilots that was good. We followed orders; did what we were supposed to do. We fought and sweated and bled. Now that we're not useful anymore, they just want to forget about us. Well, we deserve better than that. I don't want a medal or stuff like that. I just want the respect we deserve and to be left alone to live like we want to. Another year and we'll all be adults but until then every asshole and his dog wants to control us. What do you say?"

Wufei was even more resentful than Duo or Trowa. "You know that I'm one of only about a thousand survivors of my colony. We are all entitled to a percentage of the off colony assets. As the last of my clan I'm entitled to approximately eighty percent of the total. The other survivors are trying to deprive me of access to it until I'm twenty-five. That's ridiculous. I was responsible enough to risk my life to defend peace but I'm not responsible enough to handle my own finances? Thanks to Quatre, the legalities are almost concluded . . . in my favor. But it still rankles. I'm not lying down and taking it anymore. I want justice for all of us. " He gave Duo a dirty look. "Maxwell, do not start."

Duo held up a hand. "Not a chance. You're right, I'm right. I still want to hear what Q and Tro' have to say."

Trowa considered; he tugged Quatre into a hug and nuzzled his nose into the fluffy blond locks at the nape of his neck. Wufei and Duo could hear him whisper softly to Quatre.

"Well, . . . ok. Trowa and I agreed sometime ago that we would keep a low profile until or unless something happened. Excluding Heero being fucked over. So . . . if you want. We have several ways we can go. I think the easiest is to wait another month." At Duo's sharp exclamation Quatre held up a hand. "Easy, Duo. If we stay low for another month, several things will happen. The best is that the statute of limitations on war related recording media will expire. I have first option to buy up most of the footage. I intend to do exactly that. In fact, a team of lawyers has instructions to pay whatever it costs. Then, we launch our attack. The footage includes almost every recording made at several Oz and Alliance bases . . . on earth and the colonies. There's a lot of useless footage from other sources. I've managed to make sure that everything pertaining to Gundam Pilots is in one lot and that is the lot I have an option on. Now . . ."

Duo suddenly saw exactly where Quatre was headed and crowed in delight. "Q, you are a little devil."

"Yes, and I'm getting my pitchfork good and sharp. The other thing is, when we get that footage it also includes a bunch of communiques from the professors. That gives us a toe hold possibility of establishing the fact that the professors were our commanding officers and since they are all dead . . . that proves that Heero was used as a scape goat. We might even get all charges against him dropped and his sentence reversed. That would make it necessary for the authorities to expunge his record. So we need to stay low for another month. But that doesn't mean we put up with shit.

"Duo, you are still having trouble with the soccer team. I know you are. I'll make arrangements for them to have a little reward."

Trowa snorted and Wufei suddenly grinned in a feral way. Duo snarled, "Reward . . . damnit Q."

"Oh yes . . . a wonderful reward. They are sure to win the game tomorrow night. And I'm going to make arrangements for them to try out our new obstacle course . . . under the guidance of its designer. Now throw that fit."

Duo started laughing and nearly fell off the bed. Trowa had to grab him by one arm and Wufei snatched an ankle; they hauled him back on the bed and wrestled him flat on his back. Trowa pinned him by the shoulders, Wufei lay across his legs, and Quatre tickled him until he begged for mercy and swore to stay out of trouble. With his fingers crossed.

The next day was interesting as they were still expelled, but the new Headmaster was trying to smooth over problems as best he could. The arrest of the old headmaster had left him with a lot of dirty laundry to wash. Including trying to explain where some funds had disappeared to. The investigation of Mr. Duncan's affairs was bleeding into everything he'd touched.

Records had been confiscated and paperwork that should have been available couldn't be found. Some class records were . . . not there. And others were so obviously tampered with that some students who'd graduated were going to have to be retested. Duo smirked. Most of the soccer team was going to have to retest on finals from their freshman year.

It seemed that Mr. Duncan was a soccer fanatic and had ‘nudged' some final scores so that his team would have the best players no matter what. Duo smirked some more. Most of the players were in academic trouble.

Most of their families were in social and/or financial difficulties. It might not seem fair to some but to Duo it made perfect sense. If you didn't know what your kids were up to, you deserved to suffer from the repercussions from their actions. ‘You made ‘im, you raise ‘im' was his philosophy.

~*~

After sitting in the office for half an hour, they were ushered into the Headmaster's citadel. He was sitting behind the desk looking uncomfortable and unhappy.

"I'm not exactly sure what to say. You've been expelled. I'm sure there were extenuating circumstances. But the governing board has made it clear, I'm not to reverse the old Headmaster's decisions, it would leave us open to too many law suits. So . . . I've made a decision of my own. You all are obviously not happy here. You've tested out of so many classes that you could graduate now if it was legally possible. So I'm going to allow you to come back to finish your humanities, next semester. You'll have to be home schooled the rest of this one. Tutors are extremely expensive but I have a list of very good ones that you could hire."

He handed a piece of paper to Quatre, who just took it and smiled. He had no intention of ever crossing the threshold of this school again if he could get out of it. In fact, he was pulling a grant or two and talking to some of his business acquaintances about their donations to a private school that allowed, even encouraged, the headmaster to fudge grades and abuse students.

"I've made arrangements to ‘make up' with the soccer team. I have an obstacle course at my training facility in the city. It was designed by an expert in the field, with considerable help from three other experts. It is one of the finest in the world. They are all invited to come and run it. They will be treated just like my security teams. I think they will find it inspirational and educational. Please. Tell the coach. He can get in touch with my secretary and she'll make the final arrangements. It is a reward for winning the game tonight. I'm sure they will."

Duo made a snorting sound and smirked at the new headmaster in a nasty sort of way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He knew what the problem was. The soccer team was all masculine with a capital M. They thought that Duo was queer and a femmie fairy. None of them could understand that sexual preferences didn't mean that someone wasn't tough; he intended to change some attitudes. And attitude adjustment could be painful.

They left the office and threaded the gauntlet of halls full of immature and annoying peers.

Trowa carried the big duffel into the gym. They'd all managed to escape the class more often than not just because the coach seemed not to care if they were there. So, Trowa stood in the middle of the locker room and waited as Duo, Wufei, and Quatre emptied their lockers and handed him their gym things. He stuffed everything into the duffel and they started to leave.

Duo poked Quatre and motioned to the gym. The coach was lining up a bunch of older boys trying to get them organized for a rope climb. It was one of the timed exercises that had to be passed.

Quatre rounded Wufei and Trowa up with a glance and they all invaded the class laughing and snickering.

"Oh Geeze, look at that . . . sitting down on the job. Can't stand it." Duo snickered loudly.

"They're supposed to sit on the floor first. They have to rest before they exert that much energy." Wufei's cold sneer carried clearly across the now silent gym.

Quatre capped the climax by remarking. "But Trowa, I thought that you were supposed to kind of roll down the rope, not sit on the floor holding it. Or should one person sit while the other rolls. I'm lost."

The coach snarled, "We'll see about those smart asses . . . " then louder, "All right you four, why don't you show us how it's done if you're so smart?"

Duo bounced over grinning like a maniac. "Ok, coach. Here, you got your little watch thing?" he turned to one of his tormentors. "Oh, there you are Frankie. Why don't you show us dummies how it's supposed to be done, so we can see how superior you are?"

So Frankie sat down, took hold of the rope and when coach said ‘go,' started pulling himself up by his hands. You weren't supposed to let your legs drop, but by the time he was near the top you could hear him wheezing and his legs weren't at a ninety-degree angle anymore. It was more like a hundred and ten. Then he started down and just slid the last eight feet or so.

"Oooohhh . . . that's want you're supposed to do. Trowa, you told me wrong. Shame on you."

Trowa ducked behind his bangs and made a funny sound, sort of like ‘snerk.' He sauntered lazily over to a rope and settled down on the floor. The coach snarled, "The rest of you guys get ready."

So they all did, settling down and wiping their hands. When they were all ready, the coach blew his whistle and the whole class was treated to the sight of real, trained athletes, whose very lives depended on their physical abilities, racing each other to the top of a fifteen-foot long rope using only the strength in their arms. Their form was perfect, legs remained at a ninety-degree angle. They all made it completely to the top; the smack of hands on girders was loud in the gym. Trowa was first but the other three were a dead heat. Nearly simultaneous smacks sounded out.

The trip back down was accomplished with a speed that made the coach fear some mortal injury was about to occur. When they were all down again, he blinked then snarled, "Well, guys that is how it's supposed to be done. I don't know where you all got the idea that any of those guys are fairies. You four get on out of here. You're expelled, sorry to say."

So they finished packing their things and, amid the groans and moans of a class of disgusted boys, headed out to clean out their hallway lockers.

"Bye guys. Have fun. And remember . . . any landing you can walk away from is a fucking miracle." Duo sauntered away, braid swinging.

Wufei was the only one who didn't laugh, he was too busy eyeing a collection of weapons hanging behind a locked gate. He poked Duo, who eyed them too.

"Ya wanna, Fei? You shouldn't, ya know."

"Maxwell, I don't always do what I ought. Nor do I refrain from doing things I shouldn't. Watch your grammar."

Duo glanced at the coach, who was busy haranguing the class. So he picked the lock and handed Wufei a naginata.

"I like to watch you work with that. It's just so. . I dunno what. Please?"

Wufei couldn't refuse Duo when he looked like that. So eager and happy. He hadn't realized that Duo watched him that much.

"Very well. If you like. I'll do a simple kata."

"Naw, do the Dragon over Clouds . . . please."

The others added their pleas to Duo's, so Chang Wufei started one of the most complicated katas in the Naginata set he knew.

When the coach saw him, his jaw dropped. This was one of the times he wished he'd stayed at his old public school. He couldn't do anything with most of the rich, lazy kids in this school, and the athletes were another matter all together. They were dedicated and nearly obsessive. He was proud of them, but to have such a martial artist available would have been a plus to his martial arts team.

"That's what I get for listening to that ‘kicker'. Ball players!"

He coached martial arts, self defense and wrestling. He and the soccer coach had little to do with each other, each considering the other a dilettante.

Wufei finished his kata and handed the naginata to Duo, who locked it up again.

They went on to the halls and emptied their lockers without further incidents, but on their way out of the building they ran right into the soccer coach.

"Well. You think you're so smart. I'll have you know that we will win that game and get that trip to WEI. Then you'll all see. My boys are the best there are. We'll make the Drill Sergeants there sit up and take notice."

Duo smirked at Wufei. "Sure they will. We'll be there too. You wanna pick up the pieces or shall we leave it to the pick up squad."

Wufei shook his head. "Maxwell, I doubt that some of them will make it far enough to need the pick up squad. They'll stall out at the first station."

The coach turned a funny shade of purple. "My boys can take anything that obstacle course can dish out. You'll see. Too bad you lightweights can't be there to see it."

Trowa shrugged and touched Quatre on the shoulder, they turned and started walking away following Wufei and Duo. "Yes. Too bad."

In the car, Duo sighed slightly. Wufei, more sensitive to his moods now, just poked his shoulder.

"I miss Heero. I wish he was here. He'd love that obstacle course. I designed it with him in mind. He'd . . . aw, shit!" Duo rubbed his face and leaned back in the seat. All the others closed in on him in a group hug that seemed to be the only thing that comforted him anymore. They were all comforted.

~*~

Duo bounced maniacally on the bed. It was Wufei's bed, but that didn't make any difference. He was happy and wound up, so he bounced on the bed, chattered like a monkey, and in general made the other three smile. He hadn't acted like this in months.

"Duo, stop bouncing on the bed, you're giving me a headache," Wufei smiled indulgently.

"Should I take a . . . no, I want . . . I'll load up. Damnit, I wish Heero was here. I know they are taking care of him but . . . can we watch the video again before we leave?"

Quatre had gotten a print of all the footage from the interview Heero had given. He didn't look much like the few seconds of footage Relena had released during the trial. He looked young and tired instead of business like and neat. Duo watched the footage every day and sometimes twice.

"No, we won't have time. Now calm down and act professional."

Duo smiled at Wufei and it wasn't one of his cheerful grins, it was the God of Death smirk

"Ok." Duo took a deep breath, sighed, and changed; from a seventeen-year-old excited young man into a hardened soldier. "Well, let's do this. I'm ready."

Wufei just hoped that no one got too smart with Maxwell; he didn't feel like cleaning up blood or explaining to upset parents.

The drive to the training facility was short and accomplished in silence. Duo was in what Quatre called ‘soldier mode' and so was Trowa. Wufei was in instructor ‘mode' and Quatre was ready to organize the outing to minimize damage as much as possible; they wanted to teach the soccer team a lesson, not kill them. ‘Dead people can't learn from their mistakes and others only learn fear.'

Duo unloaded at the gate to the obstacle course; he looked quite different from his appearance at school. The uniform of light pants, oxford shirt, and green jacket, that they all had to wear had never suited him. Now he was dressed in BDU's of concrete camouflage, grey boots and a pack vest with enough pockets to hide many things. Most of which exploded in one way or another. At his feet was a grey pack.

He turned to speak to Quatre just as a phone went off. The strains of a violin identified it as Quatre's. He answered and snarled. Trowa flinched, that particular sound had become inexorably linked in his mind to Quatre becoming the executive head of WEI. Which meant that they were going to have to work instead of play.

"What is it now?"

Quatre sighed. "The Board of Directors of ESUN Bank wants to meet with us at 10:30." He looked at his watch. "that's in about thirty-five minutes. Call Mr. Bancroft's secretary and tell her we'll be there, but we will be in casual clothing as this is Saturday and we were planning to play war games. I'm not going to let them put me off my stride because we're not appropriately dressed. I'm dressed just fine for corporate raiding, thank you."

"Quatre? Tell me again why I can't shoot them." Trowa gathered Quatre into his arms and rubbed his cheek against soft, fluffy hair.

"Because . . . if you shoot them, I won't get that construction loan." Quatre settled against Trowa's chest with a grumble. He'd really been looking forward to watching Duo make fools of a bunch of stuck up, rich, bums.

Duo watched with amusement and not a little envy. It hurt to see Quatre and Trowa together in a ‘not jealous, just lonely' sort of way. He didn't begrudge them their togetherness, he just missed Heero.

~*~

Duo sat on the retaining wall and watched as the team and, surprise, the coach gathered in the staging area to wait for their guide. They milled around bragging about how they were going to show the ‘real' guys up. Duo snickered, they hadn't noticed him and probably wouldn't.

"All right, people . . . excuse me. . . . HEY, SHUT UP! . . . thank you." Mr. Lyons looked at the gathering of boys, then he shuddered slightly. "My name is Mr. Lyons. You will not call me Leo. You will pay attention to me when I speak. My job is to see that you all get through this course without getting hurt. If I say shit and duck, you shit a pile and crawl under it. You will be running the same course that all the recruits do. I expect you to act your age, not your IQ. No horse play.

"We will be running this course with Mr. Maxwell. You will call him SIR. You will call me SIR. WE will be setting the example you WILL follow. If one of us says you're out, you're out. No one will be allowed to injure themselves for vanity's sake.

"Everyone examine the course map you've been given. Each section has several people scattered along it. If you get into trouble, they will be there to help you. You will obey them. Each station has people who are there to count your reps. You will obey them. In case you haven't gotten it through your heads yet, you will obey anyone in a uniform. You will not get smart with the instructors. You will not act up. These people have given up their Saturday so that you can do this. So. . . . now, you have five minutes to review the map. Sit and read."

Duo watched the group. The coach *what the hell is that man's name?* looked worried. The boys all looked ready for anything. He waited until the group had looked at the maps, and gave them credit for actually reading them over and trying to commit them to memory.

Mr. Lyons called them all over to the pack rack and told them that the real recruits would run with a pack that weighed as much as a mission pack. He invited them to lift a pack and decide if they wanted to try to carry one or not. He also advised them against it. Most of them decided against as it the packs weighed fifty pounds. The coach hefted one and shook his head, then told the few who had to put them down.

Duo dropped from the wall as the group headed out to the first station, he was going to bring up the rear and collect the dropouts. He didn't see most of them lasting past the second station because his idea of a short run was 300 yards. He was pretty sure that the fifty pushups would put at least half the second stringers out. He was right.

The pick up crews were already hauling panting, gasping bodies back to the gatehouse. He was last into the station but the first finished with his pushups, clicking them off in less than a minute. Mr. Lyons was correcting form, walking from one boy to another. The coach even got a ‘keep your butt down.'

The second run was even longer than the first at 600 yards. Duo waited until the first batch of boys got on the track and followed them, watching as they proved that they were somewhat tougher than white bread. He backtracked several times to check on the progress of the whole group. He consulted with one of the Sargents and told him to see if he couldn't clump them up a little better.

"I don't like them strung out like this. Coach is taking eyes behind but still. . . ."

"Ok, Sir. I'll see what we can do. You want to leave that pack with me? If you're going to keep heel nipping, you're going to wear yourself out."

Duo shook his head. "I got a few surprises in it. It only weighs about thirty pounds and I'm only going to run the course once, so I'll be fine."

The Sargent cringed; he'd been on the receiving end of one of Duo's surprises.

At the next station, they wiped out six more boys as the sit ups did them in. Duo finished first again, and waited until Mr. Lyons told the faster ones to slow up a little for the slower ones.

"Why should we let them ruin our time? That's not fair." The captain of the team hadn't gotten the idea yet.

"Because, you idiots don't know the first thing about real team work. You keep together. You help each other out. You all worry too much about being first. A good time isn't necessarily a good thing. Sometimes it's about backup instead. You understand that?" Lyons could see that they didn't really. "Get on the trail and stay together."

Duo watched as the faster ones tried to out run the slower ones and he tapped the two worst offenders on the shoulders. "You're out. You too . . . Pick up."

"You can't throw me off the course, you're nobody. " The taller boy got in Duo's face. He was one of the worst for giving Duo shit. He didn't even bother to be careful. Duo grabbed the boy in a come along that gave him no choice except to do as he was told.

Duo stuffed him in the cart and told the driver. "If he gets off, cuff him to the rail. Get him off my course, he offends me." Duo stuck his face right up to the other's nose and snarled, "You're a waste of skin. If I had a choice of depending on you and going it alone, I'd go alone. You're self-centered, selfish, and stupid. You don't know enough about team work to fill a thimble."

The driver got away from Duo as fast as was safely possible and gave a gasp of relief; he didn't like that look at all. It promised death and disaster. The two boys just sat and shook, finally aware that they had been playing with fire and just avoided getting burned because the fire was sentient.

The coach realized that his boys were failing the course because their idea of team work was to backstab each other so they looked better. He wondered where he went wrong, never realizing that his insistence that scoring and winning were the most important things was what had caused this fiasco.

When the group gathered at the third station, Duo took the first shot. He scrambled up the ladder, jumped to the rope, Tarzan swung to the other side. He didn't need any help from the spotter to get onto the platform and down the ladder on the other side. He watched as the rest of the group managed to make it to the first platform, but most of them refused the swing and had to climb down the ladder, run to the other side of the frame, climb up that one and down the other side again. He spent the next twenty minutes laughing up his sleeve, while the spotters grabbed, pushed, and poked. He was still wearing his pack.

"Ok, people, this station is beyond the skills of many of you. Anyone here know how to field strip a .45?" A few hands went up. "Good. How fast can you do it?"

The results were painful to Duo, the fastest strip down was well over a minute as the boy fumbled with the slide release and dropped the clip. The others weren't sure enough of what they were doing for the spotter to allow them to continue.

Coach Williams *that's his name* stepped up to the bench and took his turn. It took him fifty seconds and he turned to Duo with a smirk of satisfaction. "Do better than that."

"Ok, Coach." Duo put his hands flat on the table, at ‘go' he picked up the pistol and with a few spare, practiced motions popped the clip, flipped off the slide, pulled the spring and barrel; then reversed the process. "Fifteen seconds. Right?"

Mr. Lyons grinned "On the button, Sir. As for the rest of you, you've all failed this stage. The limit is forty five seconds. You've all technically failed the course."

Duo turned and motioned to the next stage. "After you bunch are through fumbling your way through this, I'll show you how it should be done. Go!"

They ran another 500 yards with Duo leading the way. When they realized that they had to do pull ups, the whole group groaned. Not that it was very loud, out of thirty starters there were only about ten left. Most of the first string. The pull ups eliminated another four. They just dropped after about ten and gave up, groaning that it was inhuman and whoever had designed the course was a sadist.

Duo, still in the middle of pull ups, laughed. "So I'm a sadist, am I. I didn't know that fairies could be. Forty-nine, fifty." Duo dropped to the ground and twisted from one side to the other. He wasn't getting much of a workout, chasing these kids from one end to the other made him run more but at a much slower speed, so he was really in good shape.

"Now we get to the fun part. Open the door, go through, close the door. Follow the numbers.
If you go through in the wrong order, you have to go back to the last correct door and try again. Then the combat course and we're done."

Duo demonstrated, except he made a few detours through doors with big red ‘M's on them. Those doors were locked and he had to take time to pick the locks. It took him ten minutes of fast, furious work to make it through the fifteen doors.

Duo returned to the group and popped his shoulders. "Now, you all get to do it the combat way. I just showed you how it should be done, without the special effects. You get the full treatment. Go!"

The boys started through the door and Duo gave them their first surprise. He started throwing flash-bangs. Two of the boys just plain quit, running for the safety of the spotters. The rest grimly kept on, but three of them finally broke down, one actually cried. The last three couldn't get through the whole course and Duo finally called a halt to it.

"Ok, ok, enough. You all aren't going to get through the rest of the course, no matter how hard you try. I'll show you how that goes, and remember. I've done this for real."

Duo entered the last part of the course, which consisted of crawling through a ditch, under barbed wire, then crossing a field of concertina wire, and then a 1000 yard run to the end of the course, which ended at the beginning on the other side of the gate house.

Then the fun began. Explosions, gun shots, smoke, fire; everything suddenly went to hell in a hand cart. Duo didn't even seem to notice. He wriggled through the ditch on his belly and then rolled over onto his back to pull himself under the barbed wire. He dodged the concertina wire, jumping over some and crawling under the rest. Then he darted into the final run completing it in no time at all. He still had his pack.

"Ok, guys. That's not it yet. This is a demonstration of fighting skills. You'll notice that my opponent is Chang Wufei. Be scared, be very scared. He's as good as they come in martial arts, and I wouldn't put him up against many and expect him to lose. I've got a fifty-fifty chance of beating him. Maybe."

Wufei stepped out of the shadows and everyone except Duo and Mr. Lyons flinched. Coach Williams wondered if he could get his boys away before their confidence was completely broken, then realized it was already too late.

All the soccer team had been brought back to the gate house and to see the match between Duo and Wufei.

Wufei circled Duo, who just took a defensive stance and turned to face him. The exchange was quick and deadly. Wufei started a punch, Duo blocked; Wufei launched a kick, Duo jumped it and flipped over his head. Turning quickly, Wufei tried to get back face to face with Duo, but he wound up on his knees with Duo holding his head in a grip that all he had to do was jerk his hands apart to break his neck. Wufei clapped his hands in front of his face.

"Ok, I give. Duo . . . " Duo offered Wufei his hand to help him up "that was good. You scare the hell out of me. " Wufei clapped Duo on the back and turned to the goggling group. "During the war, he was called Shinigami, I was called the Dragon. Work it out and realize how lucky you all are that we don't make war on children. Go home, tell your parents what you've been up to. Apologies will make life much easier on your whole family."

They started to leave, but the coach stopped them.

"Wait, you're . . . damnit. I knew you were hiding something. But not this. I thought . . . well, it doesn't matter what I thought. I learned a lesson myself. I'll be rethinking a lot of things . . . but I still don't like . . . er . . . boys . . . well, you know."

Wufei examined the man for a second. "My sex life, or lack thereof, is not your business . . . unless I make a pass at you. Then a simple no is in order. You are supposed to be a good example for your boys. If that is a good example, I'm glad I only had bad ones. Excuse me. I'm not usually rude to my elders but in this case, I . . . you make me feel older than dirt."

Wufei bowed to him and Duo followed suit. They went into the gate house and headed for the showers. The soccer team, coach and all just got back on the bus and left in defeat.

~*~

FIELD

Heero had been moved from the cattleyard. Mr. Cooper had told Headmaster Compton that his skills were being wasted in shoveling manure. So he was replaced by a bovine young man whose intelligence was barely above his charges. He didn't mind much, he was using his free time to study on his own. He had already tested out of every required class and most of the other classes available. He was now taking college classes online.

He'd settled into a routine; get up, check mail, check with the desk, exercise, work the cows, breakfast, check mail, school, check mail, lunch, free time, check mail, supper, homework, check mail, bed. Start again. Part of his free time every other day was spent in sessions with Mr. Terry.

Mr. Terry seemed to be inordinately interested in his training, a thing that Heero found uncomfortable and unpleasant. He didn't want to remember the little he did, much less delve into his feelings about it. He wanted to . . . change? He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted. He didn't think he'd ever be normal. He'd be satisfied with being able to love Duo, keep out of trouble and manage some kind of job. They were working toward some kind of equilibrium. Things were getting somewhere near that.

Right now, he was wondering if he could get on a work release program. It would look good on his record, and he could get off the grounds and do something worth doing. It would only be a road crew but pulling weeds, mowing road sides, and picking up trash was preferable to boredom. And he could prove his trustworthiness. Not that Mr. Compton needed further proof but, again, it would look good on his record.

"Hey, Heero. Headmaster wants you."

Heero sighed. Every time Mr. Compton wanted to see him unpleasant things followed shortly. *Now what?*

~*~

"Hello, Heero. You've been wanting to get on one of the road crews. There's an opening on one of the mowing crews. You'll be working with men from the local jail. It's a good crew, one of the best. I like getting guys on with them. They'll take care of you and watch over you. Only drawback is . . . they mow with old-fashioned scythes. And you have to wear leg irons. It's part of a scared straight program."

Heero gave Mr. Compton an arrested look then started laughing. He couldn't help it. Mow with a scythe? Duo would fall over.

"Well, I'm glad to be the source of amusement . . . yes . . . or no." Mr. Compton didn't mind Heero laughing. He didn't do much of that or even smile. So . . .

"Yes Sir, I'm sorry to laugh. But my lover has a thing about scythes. Private joke you might say." Heero ducked his head to look through his bangs. He was finally getting over his reticence. J wasn't going to spring out of the shadows and punish him for laughing.

"Well. Good for you. So I take it the answer is yes?" Heero nodded. "Glad to hear it. I'll send you down to the jail this afternoon and you'll be fitted with leg irons. You'll find these a bit different from transport irons. They'll . . . well, I'll let you see for yourself. If, after seeing everything, you change your mind, don't be afraid to let us know. Some people just can't do it. We'll work something else out . . . oh, by the way. I got that rec. from Mr. Griffin. Rather glowing. In fact, I don't feel I'm exaggerating to say incandescent."

"Well . . . that's nice." Heero remarked rather doubtfully. He wasn't sure exactly how much weight something like that would carry with a parole board that would find out that he'd been hiding in the system rather than being where he was supposed to be. "But never mind. When do you want me to go to the jail, Sir?"

"You'll go directly from here. I understand that you've been online schooling. How will this affect that?"

Heero thought, blinking slowly. "Humm . . . since I'm not taking care of the cows . . . I'll do my class work then. If the work is strenuous enough, I'll cut down on my exercises. . . . if I find out that I can't keep up. . . . I can . . . I hate to drop a class, but I could drop metallurgy, or maybe, . . . ummm. I hate to drop Poly Sci. I could drop haiku, I guess. But I'm only taking eighteen hours so I should be able to manage. If not, I'll talk to you before I make a decision."

Mr. Compton rubbed his neck. *Only eighteen hours?* He'd been watching Heero more closely since his little adventure with the bulldozer, the fire had set up red flags, but that had capped the climax. This boy was more than he purported to be, but if he was what they thought he was, things didn't add up. He was way too polite, for one. But no one wanted to ask questions they didn't want answers to.

"Very well. I don't want you to sacrifice your education. You're way too intelligent to wind up on an assembly line somewhere. We'll try very hard to get your record expunged when you leave here. There's a lot of different things you could do with your skills, and I hate to see you wasted. If there's anything else?"

Mr. Anderson came in to get Heero and smiled. "Come on . . . let's go."

Heero got up and headed for the door, stopping by Mr. Anderson and putting his wrists out to handcuffed.

"Naw. You're a trustee now and we don't cuff trustees. Come on, quit fooling around and let's get this over with. I'll miss my afternoon tea."

Heero sighed. He missed the strangest things. One of them was afternoon tea with Quatre and Wufei.

"What?"

"I miss tea. Two of my friends . . . we'd sit down in the afternoon and have tea."

"That's too bad. Maybe we can do something about that. . . . well, come on. We'll run down to the jail and get you fitted. If you feel you can't do this, you let the Gang Boss know. I don't want you freaking out on me. Ok?"

Heero nodded "Yes, sir. I'll be ok. But couldn't we drive down. I don't feel like running all that way." Heero eyed Mr. Anderson through his bangs. He wasn't sure how he would take the joke.

"Running. We. . . ." Mr. Anderson snickered and swatted Heero on the arm gently. "You just kill me."

Heero froze for a second then laughed too.

They got into a car and Mr. Anderson fussed at Heero for not fastening his seat belt right away. Heero rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way which got him a scolding.

At the jail, Mr. Anderson turned Heero over to an older prisoner and told him to do as he was told, then went off to see someone he knew about something. Heero looked the other man over and decided he wasn't a threat.

"Come on, Boy, don't just stand there glaring at me. If you don't want to be in the program just say so; there are boys who'd nearly kill to be here."

Heero started after the man and was lead to a machine shop where Mr. Gary introduced him to Fitz, the machinist. Fitz stuck out his hand and shook with Heero.

"Ok, Boy, put your foot up on the block. I want to make sure the cuff fits right. Never blistered anyone yet. And don't intend to start now. You get a hot spot, I want to know about it. You understand me?"

Heero considered for a moment then shook his head. "Not really. A hot spot? Where?"

"On your ankle, Boy. These leg irons are working irons, not those transport chains you're used to. Here, let me show you."

Fitz reached over and retrieved a heavy steel loop from the table beside him.

Heero took it from him and examined it. It was fairly thick at nearly a quarter inch and almost half an inch wide. He weighed it in his hand and realized that it was made of mild steel.

"Heavy. So?" Heero handed it back.

Fitz took it and tossed it negligently back on the table. "Well, let me measure you and fit you. Then we'll see."

Heero put his foot on a block of wood and Fitz just closed his fingers around his ankle. At his motion, Heero changed feet and let him finger the other ankle.

"You ever sprain that ankle, Boy?"

"Yes, several times, Sir."

"Don't sir me. I'm no Boss, just a con like you. You ought to get that worked on or it'll be weak later in life."

Heero nodded, he was well aware that it was weaker than the other one. "I'm hoping to get a friend to pay for getting it regened. I'll pay him back when I get a job. Now what?"

"You sit down there and drink coffee. I'll work you up a set of work irons and we'll put them on. You walk around a little and see what you think. If you really can't take it, now is the time to say so. Not when you're out in a field somewhere. Got me?"

Heero shrugged. "I don't think I'll freak out or anything. I'm used to . . . stuff. But . . . I've got a longer stride than it looks like I do. You want to measure it?"

"Naw. I watched you walk across the bay. You walk like you're crossing a new plowed field. Real strong." Fitz pointed to the stool and gave Heero a gentle shove. "Sit down before you fall down."

Heero sat, accepted a cup of coffee, and watched as Fitz made a set of the oddest looking leg irons he'd ever seen. The cuffs were lined with leather and had a bar at right angles to the hoop. A leather strap was connected to the top of the bar. The chain was almost long enough to let him take a full stride.

"Ok, Boy, let me see how I've done. If they rub anywhere, you tell me now. Ok?"

"Yes, Sir. I'll let you know." Heero ducked his head apologetically as the man gave him a mock nasty look.

After fastening the cuffs around his ankles the man pressed the bar up the outside of Heero's leg and fastened the leather strap just under his knee. Heero realized that the bar and strap arrangement was to keep the cuff from rotating on his ankle and making blisters. At Fitz's instruction Heero walked around the shop for a while. Nothing seemed to be rubbing, so he sat back down on the stool, hooked a heel on a rung and picked his coffee back up. He'd rather have tea but coffee was better than nothing.

"Well, Boy, how's it feel?"

Heero considered, "Not too bad. I'll be able to work in these just fine. What's next?"

"I'll find out where you're going to go. Then we'll see."

Fitz picked up a phone and, after talking to someone, smiled at Heero. "Well, Boy, you're lucky. I'll call your sponsor. You'll like him. He's a good guy. Likes kids." The man held up a hand. "Oh, I know you're all grown up at, what, sixteen . . . seventeen? You're still a kid. You should be worrying about dates and dances and whether you're gonna get a zit before senior picture day . . . not whether leg irons are going to wear a blister."

Heero thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I never worried about stuff like that. I worried about whether I was gonna get shot or blown up; or was my friend gonna get it. Or my lover. I guess a blister or two doesn't worry me much. But you don't want to hear an old war dog tell battle tales." **Heero, give them hints and let them fill in the blanks. Makes a better story than the gory details.**

"Son, you scare me. Well, here's your sponsor. Evan, this is Heero Winner-Yuy. Heero, Evan Brown. He'll show you the ropes so to speak."

Mr. Brown demonstrated mowing with a scythe to Heero. He found that mowing with a scythe wasn't that hard once he'd gotten a rhythm established.

Step-sweep-pull

Step forward, sweep the scythe out. Pull to cut.

The leg irons didn't bother him much, the chain was long enough to allow him almost a full stride.

After he'd mown a swath across the field, Heero went back to Fitz so he could check the fit of the working irons.

"Well, Boy, any hot spots?" Fitz poked at Heero's ankle, checking the fit.

"No, Sir. They don't rub anywhere. Thank you."

"Stop callin' me sir. I'm only a common con, just like you."

Heero smirked at Fritz. *Common con? If you only knew* "Sorry. You're older. Naturally I'd call you sir."

Fitz only grunted. He took the irons off Heero and took a tool off the bench. With a few quick strokes he scratched initials on the cuffs. HWY.

Heero eyed the initials for a moment then snickered softly.

"What?"

"My initials. H. W. Y."

"Highway? So?"

"I'm working on a road crew."

Fritz started laughing. "Well, Heero, I'm glad to see that you still have a sense of humor."

Heero grinned. "I'm getting one."

Fitz started to say something else but Evan came up just then with the scythe in his hands.

"Here. You gotta learn how to keep it sharp. Mowing with a dull scythe is a bitch."

Heero took the file and the scythe, then watched as Evan used a file to sharpen another scythe. It was no harder than dressing a knife and used the same principles. Evan was impressed.

After some more fiddling around, Mr. Anderson came to collect him. In the car, he filled Heero in on how they were going to work out the process.

Heero would be picked up by the bus at eight, immediately after breakfast. He would be taken to the work site and stay until after lunch. Then he would be brought back so he could work on his classes.

"If anything happens that shouldn't, I want to know about it at once. I'll be coming to get you every day, so no hiding stuff. You understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Heero sat looking out the window; it was good weather, and he was going to make the most of being outside. He was glad to get out of the facility, even in irons. He didn't have any plans to escape, he was staying where he was. But for some reason, he was reassured by the realization that he could break the chain anytime he needed to.

"Heero?"

"Yeah."

"You might want to be a little more careful who you tell what."

"I've been talking to my friends by e-mail. We all agreed that some things need to come out into the open, no matter what. I'll be eighteen soon. You'll be transferring me out shortly after that. Right?"

"Not necessarily." Mr. Anderson regretted having this conversation while he was driving. Heero was hard to read, but if you watched carefully he gave clues to what he was thinking. "Depends on your attitude and record. With as short a real sentence as you've got and your behavior, you could stay here until you're twenty. Especially as you're in intensive therapy. The Board of Corrections discourages interrupting patient doctor pairings that are especially successful."

Heero studied Mr. Anderson for a moment. "I like Mr. Terry. He doesn't patronize me. I've done a lot of things I'm not particularly proud of, but I was a good soldier. I followed orders. I still don't understand how it was all right for them to order me to do things, but it wasn't all right for me to do them."

"Kid, if you try to understand the hypocrisy of politics, you'll drive yourself nuts for sure."

Heero just grunted and settled back for the rest of the drive.

~*~

The next morning Heero got up a little early, followed his routine up to breakfast then went to stand by the gate and wait for the bus. Strange as it seemed, he was allowed to wait alone; then, when the bus came, the first thing the guard did was put the leg irons on him.

"Sorry, Kid, I know you're a trustee here but the regs say irons." The guard checked the straps and locks then helped Heero step up into the bus. "Sit by Evan. Stay with him. If you get too far away from the group we'll have to come and get you."

Heero gave the guard an offended glare. "I won't escape. I'd lose more than I'd gain. You. . ." He trailed off at the man's upraised palm.

"I know that, but it makes the civilians nervous. That uniform really stands out."

The other reason that Heero took offence was, he was wearing a dark grey BDU uniform with big black P's on the back of the shirt and the thighs of the pants. He might as well be wearing a neon sign.

Heero just nodded. "Ok, sir. I'm sorry. I think I'm a little nervous. If I make a mistake, please tell me quickly. I'll . . . "

The guard patted Heero into his seat and told Evan to talk to him.

Evan turned to Heero and just asked him what the problem was.

"I think I'm . . . worried. I'm not scared, I don't think. But what if I make a mistake? How will they punish me? Will . . . I . . ." Heero trailed off. He didn't take failure well. The consequences were usually painful; Doctor J had seen to that. Later, during the war, failure usually meant someone died.

"Boy, I don't know what went on wherever you were before here, but if you make a mistake here, they'll explain. You make the same mistake twice, they may yell. In fact, they'll probably be in your face. But that's about all. Relax. Stick close to me. I'm your sponsor. It's my responsibility to see that you don't make mistakes. Listen and learn. Then we'll both be happy."

"I see. Thank you, Sir. I'm good at following orders if they are clear."

Evan gave Heero an amused look. "Quite the little soldier, aren't you?"

Heero smirked back. "I've been told I'm perfect, sir." Heero settled back to sleep until they got to the work site, his old training kicking in.

Evan nudged Heero with his elbow, "Wake up, boy. Time to go to work."

Heero started awake. When he started to stand up, he got tangled in the chain and nearly fell. He could have saved himself but that would have meant breaking the chain. He was startled when both Evan and the guard grabbed him before he hit the floor.

"Thank you both. I'm not usually this clumsy." Heero ducked his head waiting for the dressing down he deserved.

"Well? . . . Don't just stand there, get moving. Day light's a wastin'" The guard gave Heero a gentle shove.

Heero got in line and found that, with Evan behind him, he felt better about turning his back on a bunch of unknown men.

One of the three guards on the bus stood at the door and made sure no one tripped stepping down from the bus. The other two issued tools and organized the job.

Heero was given a scythe and told to follow Evan. They made a quick survey of the job they had been given, which was to mow a long strip beside the road. The strip went from one exit on the highway to another, about a half mile altogether.

Heero watched as Evan organized the men into a conga line. He was to take the point position. Evan told him that it was the easiest position because he didn't have to worry about getting his irons tangled in newly mown weeds. Evan came next and after him three more men. The five of them could mow the whole strip in one trip. The other men would pick up trash, weed the flower beds, and do general clean up.

~*~

Heero stopped to wipe the sweat off his forehead, squinting at the glare coming off the highway. He wished vaguely for a hat. When he stopped, the rest of the men stopped. He turned to look at the others and they were just standing waiting.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be holding up the line like this but . . . "

Evan gave Heero a funny look. "We usually put the weakest of us on point so they don't wear themselves out trying to keep up with us. You've run us all into the ground. You've got the endurance of a horse. We'll stop for a little while, get some water . . . and I think we all need hats."

"I was just thinking the same thing. And sun screen, if there's any. We all should have a drink of water too."

Heero looked around and saw one of the guards riding toward them on a horse. He'd been surprised to see several guards on horseback but it made sense. They didn't tear up the ground like an ATV and could help with the job.

The guard dismounted and opened a saddlebag; taking out several bottles of water, he handed them around as well as hats and sunglasses. He also took out a can of spray-on sun screen.

"If any of you idiots want to take off your shirts tell me now. You get a major sun burn, I don't want to hear about it. Now . . . line up or leave your shirts on."

Heero, whose shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his shoulders, stripped down to the waist. He got a few looks, but these men worked on the theory, ‘if he wants me to know he'll tell me,' so no one said anything. The guard blinked, sprayed him, and turned to the next man, gritting his teeth.

The men put on hats and sunglasses and went back to work. They were about halfway done when a van pulled up and several people scrambled out. Heero nearly ducked when one of the men pointed something at him. Evan stepped between him and the camera, hissing, "Put on your shirt."

Heero scrambled into it and grumbled, "This happen a lot?"

The guards on horseback got between the convicts and the news people. The Crew Boss walked over and gathered all the men into a group.

"They want to film us. I called the sheriff and he says it's up to you all. So . . . show of hands. Who all don't care."

Everyone raised their hands. Heero raised his rather hesitantly. *This fits in with Quatre's plans, but Duo's gonna have a fit.*

"Son, if you don't want to, we can let you stay in the bus. But . . . you could say ‘hi' to your Mom or something."

Heero decided. "No, I'll do it, Sir. I just . . . I'm kind of concerned about how my lover is going to take this."

"Most relatives are upset at first, but then they're just glad to see that you're ok. Button your shirt up straight."

Heero rearranged his shirt, then went back to work. The camera man stayed out of the way but seemed to have a ‘thing' for Heero, he followed him with the camera almost exclusively. Heero kept to his job and found himself whistling softly. It was an odd song that had hit his fancy somehow.

He started back as something was suddenly thrust into his face. He almost struck out with the scythe and would have hurt the reporter badly except that Evan snapped "Heero" sharply enough that he started instead.

Then Evan turned on the reporter and snarled, "Lady, that was stupid. That thing is sharp. He could have cut the hell out of you. You need to speak before you do anything like that."

Heero got his reflexes under control and patted Evan on the arm. "I'm ok now. She just startled me. Not a good thing. But . . . thanks."

"Well, now that that is out of the way. You're very young to be in the county jail. Could you tell me how you wound up incarcerated?"

"Yes, Ma'am. First, I'm not in the jail. I'm on a work program from Fitzroy where I'm a trustee. I wound up incarcerated because I followed orders."

"Excuse me? Orders from whom."

Heero gave the camera a puzzled look. "My control, of course."

"Could you tell me more?"

Heero shrugged then, to the reporters disgust, said. "No, Ma'am. I'm sorry. Most of that information is still classified."

"Well . . . classified. I see. Can I ask you . . ."

Heero smiled. When Heero chose to really smile, it had a particular sweetness that could be heart breaking. The reporter forgot what she was going to ask

"Ma'am? You ok?. . . " Heero took off his hat and offered it to her. "Perhaps you should put on this hat. That sun is really hot. It'll scramble your brains."

"Oh. Ummm . . . thank you." The reporter put on the hat with a slight frown. "You were whistling before. You really don't mind being forced to work wearing chains . . . it's barbaric. I mean . . ."

Heero snickered, causing the reporter to interrupt herself. "Something?"

"If you think that they are forcing me or any of these men to work, you're wrong. It's a privilege. The leg irons are only because civilians freak out so easily. We aren't going to run away. Most of these men are short timers. Thirty, sixty, or ninety day sentences. I'm the only one with a sentence over a year. They are very careful to make sure the irons don't cause any pain."

"I see . . . and it's a privilege because . . . why?" The reporter just pointed Heero in the right direction and got out of the way. She couldn't believe the boy was so communicative. *He's talking like he's trying to send a message to someone.*

"Because it shows that we are trustworthy. It looks good on parole forms. I'm coming up for parole soon."

"I see. You're so very young to be a long timer. You said something about a controller? Where is he? Why are you here instead of him?"

"He's dead. So . . . can you say scapegoat?" Heero was getting tired of her already. She was prying into things that he wasn't sure were supposed to come out yet. He decided to stop the interview, not realizing that most reporters were more tenacious than a pit bull.

"Excuse me. I need to get back to work. I'm holding up the whole crew. " Heero stepped out to start mowing again. The reporter nearly lost a foot as she got in his way again. "Lady. You really have a death wish. This scythe could cut you in half. That's one of the reasons it's considered a privilege to work on a road crew. We're basically given weapons."

"Oh. Ummm I'm sorry. But just one more question, then I promise I'll let you get back to work. You were whistling. You're very good, but I don't recognize the song."

Heero smirked at the reporter. "Oh, it's something my lover put on my MP3 player. I'd like to thank him for that by the way." Heero whistled a little more, then pulled off his sunglasses, winked at the camera and dropped the other shoe. "The first song is called ‘I shot the sheriff' and that one is called ‘Unchained Melody.' Is it ok for me to say hi to some people?"

"Sure. Are they your family?"

"Only family I've ever had. Wufei, Quatre, Trowa, and especially Duo. I love you all and miss you. Come visit me."

"Well, no ‘Hi, Mom . . . or Dad.' That's unusual."

Heero gazed steadily at the reporter for a second. "I'm sure I had parents, everyone does. But I don't remember them. I need to get back to work. Excuse me."

Heero went back to work, the reporter wound up her segment, and everything went back to what passed for normal.

~*~

Quatre got the raw footage and helped with the cut. He made sure that what he wanted to emphasize was nearly shoved into the public's faces.

When he got back home, he made sure that none of the others saw the lead-ins. When they settled down to watch the news, he knew he'd succeeded in his plans.

Duo settled on the couch next to Trowa and pouted. He usually didn't watch the news; all he watched was the lead-ins, then he read the paper. He said the tv news was biased but the paper had the facts.

"Don't pout, Duo. You'll like this last segment, I promise."

"Ok, Q. I'll like it." Duo sighed; the last segment Quatre had said he'd like was about whales. What he'd like about a marine mammal, he wasn't sure. So he was reserving judgment.

He spent the next five minutes just gaping at the tv with his mouth open. *Heero, talking and everything. Oh my.* When Heero's whistling was played over a short still of him smiling so sweetly Duo broke down in tears. But he had to laugh too.

"Oh, my god. I shot the sheriff? Really."