It was a very simple plan, really -- find the Son of a Bitch in the garden again, tearfully confront him and in the process goad him into attempting a second rape, then kill him in "self-defense." The self-defense angle even meant that the Palace would do all his covering up for him, or so Seth said. Heero would be proud of how Duo turned a seeming disaster to his advantage and never know or care that he'd lost another piece of his soul in the process, never see past Duo's smile to the choking terror and shadowy fears that would haunt him as soon as this precious wrath faded away and left him alone to face reawakened demons.

Well, it had been a simple plan, at any rate, until Seth had complicated matters by insisting on coming along.

"Absolutely not. You're staying here," Duo said firmly, for what felt like the fiftieth time. <<Some slave! The one time I do give him an order, he argues about it!>>

"I'm not letting you go alone! You need backup," Seth retorted, arms crossed over his chest.

"I do not need backup, and you're not coming with me."

"Last time you faced him alone he..."

Duo shook his head fiercely, cutting Seth off with a sharp hiss of, "Caught me off guard. Won't happen again."

"And what were you planning to do about his slave, then?" Seth asked smugly, head cocked to the side.

Duo froze, mouth gaping a little, a shiver wracking his body. The Bastard's slave. The one who actually... who had... a tiny little shriek of fear wriggled its way through the comforting shield of rage. Duo could feel the ropes binding him solidly in place, the weight pressing down on him, crushing him, stealing away his breath. There was blood sliding down the inside of his thigh, he could have sworn, blood... and only blood. Bright crimson, undiluted, unmixed, staining his legs, his dress. The terror receded a tiny bit, unblocking his ears, returning to him his sight. Seth was there, not quite touching him but standing close, murmuring soothingly at him.

"You can come, to take care of... Jag. But don't kill him. He... I think he didn't... enjoy... what he did," Duo whispered, still feeling the illusory trickle down his thigh.

For a moment, Seth looked blank. Of course, he didn't know exactly what had happened, couldn't have known that it was Jag, and not the Son of a Bitch himself, but eventually the meaning of Duo's words apparently sank in and he only said, "I didn't expect to hear you offering mercy."

"Mercy?" Duo smiled, tasting the word as it left his lips, the weightlessness of it, all cobwebs and empty air. "No, not that. I will hate him as long as I live. But I understand fear, and survival, and what the one can make you do for the other." He felt his smile growing sharp and ugly, felt the bitter anger bubbling up ever higher, consuming him. "And I know that, when the lights go out and he's all alone, telling himself that it was him or me won't quiet the ghosts one fucking bit."

Watching the faintest hint of fear flicker through Seth's eyes, Duo almost laughed. <<Would you recognize me now, Heero? My dear friend Quatre? Any of you? Would you know me for who I am, or would you look for the smile I hide behind and wonder where your comic relief has gone? Fuck you all, anyway.>>

This freedom was intoxicating. No need to face the world with a wry grin and a morbid joke, no one here who would know to expect to see his game face. Except that he did have a Bastard to kill, and he needed to get away with it, so... "Showtime."

Thinking of Solo and Sister Helen and drowned kittens in a sack, Duo felt a few fat, glistening tears start to roll down his cheeks, heard a piteous little sniffle and knew it was his. Out in the halls he would need to pass to reach his target, the cameras were rolling, and all they would show later would be a miserable, frightened little rabbit of a boy, running headlong towards a foolish confrontation.

Duo glanced back at Seth to make sure that the slave understood the game plan, and then bolted out the door, Seth in hot, if deliberately belated, pursuit.

*****

More and more, Seth was beginning to suspect that his current Master was perhaps not someone he wanted to get to know, after all. When Max had arrived, the jaded slave would have described him as adorable, shy or maybe mysterious. But now... dangerous and frightening were the only words that came to mind. Dangerous, frightening and, god damn it, still hotter than the desert outside the Palace walls.

Only a small part of his mind was on the show they were putting on, the lie they were playing out in order to get away with murder. Chasing Max through the halls, calling out every now and then for his Master to wait, to stop, to come back to the room and calm down, Seth finally began to feel a twinge of doubt. When his anger had been fresh and new, killing the man who hurt Max felt entirely right, justice in its purest form. Now... now it simply seemed that there wasn't really any other choice. Christopher Lefebvre was powerful, and he was rich and, according to every rumour out there, and judging by the way he'd treated Max, he was ruthless. If he was left alive, he'd exact his revenge for any injury done him, which left two options -- do nothing and let him get away with defiling the Palace, or kill him.

So maybe it wasn't so much the killing itself that bothered Seth, but the fact that Max seemed intent on enjoying the act. What kind of monster had been lurking under that shy facade? But then again, there were those moments, when terror leaked through that frightening wrath, when Max trembled and cried out, seemingly unaware of doing so. What would happen once the deed was done, and there was nowhere left for that anger to go? Would Max turn into a monster in truth, hurting anyone who got in his way, or would he collapse into the grip of that fear? The latter, Seth felt confident he could deal with. The former... the former scared him. He did not like being scared, and frankly hadn't the faintest idea what to do with the relatively unfamiliar emotion.

And then they reached the Gardens and the time for second thoughts was past.

Max wove through the hedges and flower beds, unerringly bringing them into a secluded little copse where Christopher Lefebvre sat calmly on a stone bench, watching dispassionately as his slave licked his boots.

Seth had stopped shouting after his Master by then, and somehow the longhaired boy was cat-quiet, even on those tottering six-inch heels of his, so neither Master Lefebvre nor Jag noticed their approach until Max was all but standing on Jag. Before either man could say a word, Max's hand shot out in a ringing slap against Christopher's cheek. The force of the blow, even open-handed as it was, rocked the surprised Master right back off the bench, tumbling him onto the grass in an ungainly sprawl.

As Jag started to rise hesitantly to his feet, Seth turned his attention from Max to his fellow slave, grabbing the larger man around the neck and running him back against the prickly hedge wall. That Jag was half a foot taller and considerably broader in the shoulders than he didn't seem to matter at all to either of them, Seth growling in anger and Jag trembling faintly, not resisting at all. "You know what you did, Jag."

"I had to, Master Lefebvre..." Jag's eyes widened as he pleaded with Seth, sounding more like he was trying to justify his actions to himself than to the other slave. Max was right -- guilt was obviously eating Jag alive.

"Bullshit. You're no better than the late, unlamented Smoke. Hell, you're worse than he was. He terrorized and raped other Keys -- you raped a Master. My Master." Seth growled again, his anger returning full force. Off to one side, the oddly quiet scuffle between Max and Christopher continued but Seth paid them little heed, his focus narrowing to Jag and Jag alone.

"I didn't know he was your Master! I just did what I was told!"

Leaning closer yet until his face was all Jag could see, Seth hissed, "Get real. You're afraid of me now, with my hands around your throat and my reputation looming in the back of your mind, but would it really have made even the slightest bit of difference yesterday, if you had known that the Master you were raping was mine?"

Jag never got a chance to answer, as a bloodcurdling scream from Max whipped them both around to stare at the results of the Masters' fight.

*****

Out of the corner of his eye Duo saw Seth grab the other slave and marked the tall, muscular Jag off his mental list of immediate threats. Only The Bastard remained.

Deliberately not pressing the advantage he'd gained by knocking The Son of a Bitch off-balance, Duo drew back a little, as if shocked by his own actions. A few more tears trickled down his cheeks while he watched an enraged Christopher Lefebvre struggle back to his feet, red-faced and panting. "You little... bitch!"

Duo let The Bastard grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled, whimpering piteously, just in case Jag had any attention to spare to watch or listen to what was going on. After a moment, Lefebvre growled in disgust and shoved Duo to the ground, hand already going down to the buckle of his belt. "Maybe I should get a taste for myself, this time. Would that teach you a lesson, little bitch? Or would you still come back for more? Do you want me to keep you, is that it?" The Son of a Bitch hissed at Duo, starting to kneel beside him, a smirk playing over his features as Duo cried out softly and scrambled away on his knees.

<<Bait the hook...>>

Skirt riding up to the tops of his thighs, Duo trembled, to all appearances frozen in terror as The Bastard edged closer again, chuckling darkly now.

<<Play out the line...>>

With a strangled little shriek of terror, Duo scrambled away again, flashing a generous amount of creamy, white inner thigh as he reached for the high-heeled shoe that had fallen off in his first tumble to the ground. It lay on the grass just within reach now, and as his fingertips closed on the smooth patent leather, he heard Lefebvre chuckle, "Oh, don't worry, my little Cinderella, you don't need to be fully dressed for this, you needn't worry about your pretty little shoes."

<<And reel. The sucker. In.>>

Spinning in place, Duo lashed out with the shoe in his hand. The force of the blow made Duo's arm ache from wrist to shoulder as the narrow end of the heel sank into the relatively soft, unprotected flesh just to one side of The Bastard's windpipe. Eyes widening in shock and horror, mouth open in a soundless "o" of pain, Christopher Lefebvre reached up to grasp at the oh-so-aptly named stiletto heel, fingers closing on nothing but air as Duo twisted, widening the wound and snapping the heel clean off as he pulled it free, bringing a hot, bright gush of blood with it. The bright red colour and sheer amount of the blood spurting forth told Duo everything he needed to know -- he'd hit the carotid artery dead on, and torn it wide open when he'd pulled the broken heel free.

Maybe it was something in Duo's expression, or the way he looked with blood splattered across his face and down his front that sparked his memory, but even as he spasmed and sank back onto the grass, the former Oz officer choked out, "Pilot 02..."

Duo smiled fiercely and watched the Bastard bleed for a little bit, glancing up to make sure that Seth and Jag were still arguing and not paying any attention to him. Then he sat back and covered his mouth with one hand, his expression one of stricken horror as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

He saw Seth and Jag whirl to look at him, saw the widening of their eyes as they took in the scene. "Oh god, oh god, I... I... didn't mean... I just... lashed out and he... I... oh god!" Duo thought he was doing a pretty good impression of panic, really, and when the Palace staff arrived in response to his scream, they found Seth kneeling over him protectively, whispering to him to soothe him, and Jag kneeling over his Master's unconscious body, deep in shock.

*****

The Palace staff made a valiant effort to save Master Lefebvre, of course, but while they were not lacking in general medical staff, this magnitude of injury was not entirely something they were prepared to deal with -- generally they tended to slaves who had been used too roughly, or the results of simple accidents like falling and breaking a bone. In the end, they failed. ¹

Throughout it all, though, Max's performance was absolutely amazing. Between his general panic, well-timed fainting spells and the testimony Jag gave once he was coaxed out of his numb stupor, the Palace Staff declared it self-defense, and a very, very lucky shot leading to an accidental death. Less than five hours after the death of Master Lefebvre, Max was ensconced back in the Burgundy room, propped up in bed on a plethora of pillows, surrounded by little gifts from various sympathetic staff members, and with a voucher for a free month's stay at the Palace resting in his robe's pocket.

For failing to report Max's rape and for letting such a distraught Master out of his sight for even a few moments, Seth was given a stern talking to and had his access to the Key Lounge revoked "until further notice." For breaking the most important of rules, but at his Master's orders, Jag was suspended for six months to undergo therapy and some re-training, as well as having his own lounge access revoked permanently.

<<Now the real shit begins,>> Seth worried, watching Max from across the room. He was waiting for a reaction -- any reaction -- from his Master, but the young man was just sitting there in bed, staring down at a plush panda the Palace doctor had given him. It was getting kinda creepy, that blank look in Max's eyes. "Master... would you please talk to me?"

*****

The rage had long since drained out of him, and the manic thrill of battle was starting to go with it. He didn't regret killing Lefebvre, really. Completely aside from what had happened between them, it had been his mission to kill the man. He was a threat to the peace they'd worked so hard for, a profiteer providing weapons to anyone and everyone for no reason other than to make himself richer. No, what he felt now wasn't regret -- it was the same vague, gut-churning illness he'd felt after any battle, it was the nauseating memory of his own laughter ringing in his ears. He fought because he had to, because someone had to, and it disgusted him to know that some dark little part of himself liked it; liked being the strong one, instead of the victim; liked hurting the people who had hurt him, hurt his friends, killed everyone and everything he'd ever loved.

But the nausea was better than the other feeling that hid in the shadows of his mind, just waiting for him to stop feeling sick and guilty so that it could pounce.

"Master... would you please talk to me?" Duo looked up at Seth, who had crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, just short of the eddies of pity gifts that surrounded him. His expression was gentle, his eyes full of worry.

<<No, don't look at me like that. Don't look at me like you care!>> He remembered now the reason he hid behind a smile with his friends, especially Quatre. He couldn't take that look, the worry, the "Are you okay? You can tell me, if something's bothering you." He couldn't do it, he couldn't lie outright to people who cared about him, so it was just better if they never saw a reason to ask, to pry, to think that anything might be wrong, because neither could he stand the thought of watching those worried looks turning to disgust once the truth was out, once they knew... Except that this was Seth, and he did know, and he had seen the absolute worst, and he was still sitting there, looking concerned.

That realization was his undoing. Something tore loose inside him, a spring stretched too far recoiled, and all of a sudden he was crying. Sobbing. Spilling eight years worth of tears against the solid shoulder that was suddenly there to support him. Wave after wave of wracking sobs tore through him -- one for his parents and one for Solo and one for Sister Helen and Father Maxwell and one for Heero and a whole damn bunch for himself. He cried because he'd been starving or fighting or hurting for as long as he could remember, and because he was sixteen fucking years old and he'd already lost track of how many people he'd had to kill to get there. Mostly, though, he cried because he'd held all of it in for years and years, because he had to be strong, and he had to be cool and even though sometimes he felt like hell, and wanted to wallow in his own angst like the others did he knew, just knew, that if he showed weakness for so much as one single second, suddenly he'd be the pretty little boy again, the one everyone picked on, the one everyone thought couldn't take care of himself, because he looked just like a little china doll. And boys didn't cry, damn it, if they wanted to be seen as men.

But Seth didn't care about any of that, and he didn't need to take care of himself just this minute, and so maybe it was okay to be just a boy for a little while.

*****

Seth hadn't really expected Max to break down so quickly, and certainly hadn't expected Max to break down so dramatically. He'd never seen anyone cry so hard, for so long. But then, after his Master's sobs had quieted down to weary little sniffles, he got another surprise. Max started to talk.

He talked about his childhood on the streets -- the sort of life Seth remembered all too well, except that at least he'd been relatively tall, his muscles a little more obvious, his strength a little less well-hidden than Max's was. He hadn't had to prove himself again and again, like Max had because he was so little, because he had wide violet eyes and delicate little hands, because he looked like a girl until he started to hit puberty. But it kept going, getting worse at every turn. Max talked about losing first his best friend, and then the orphanage, and then spending yet more time on the streets, in and out of jail, never quite turning to whoring himself but coming damn close as he hopped from lover to lover. And then came the real shock.

Gundam. He knew the word, even though the war hadn't really touched the Palace -- he'd seen it in the papers and on TV, he'd trembled at the massive destructive power those machines represented. And Max had piloted one. No, not Max, Duo. Duo Maxwell. Pilot 02. The one who had been captured and was supposed to be executed; he remembered reading about that, too. But listening to Duo choke on describing what they had done to him while he was waiting for his sentence to be carried out... that made Seth forget all about being afraid of Duo. He was just a kid. A very, very deadly kid, but a kid. <<A kid who makes me look innocent, no less. Fuck, no wonder he fell apart so bad... it doesn't sound like he's had so much as a single day to just deal with all this, ever.>>

Lastly, as Duo's voice started to give out, little better than a hoarse croak by then, Seth learned that Christopher Lefebvre hadn't been as scuzzy as he thought -- he'd been worse. Knowing that Duo had come here for the sole purpose of killing the man was a little difficult to process, though... he understood revenge, and self-defense, but assassination? Assassination of someone who clearly needed to be stopped, granted, but it was a bit of a strain on even his loose morals. <<I'll just be glad that I don't have to make calls like that in my line of work and leave it at that. What's done is done.>>

And finally, exhausted, Duo collapsed into sleep. Seth tucked him into bed and wandered back to his favourite window seat. All of a sudden, he felt old, burdened with a hell of a lot of secrets. He'd heard a lot of confessions in his time here, and no one element of Duo's story was really unique. He'd taken care of other street kids, of orphans, of plague survivors and rape victims; even the Gundam thing was really only a matter of degree -- Oz pilots started training almost as young as Duo had, though they never seemed to have had the same kind of responsibilities on their shoulders, with the strength of numbers on their side. But all those things, all piled up on top of each other, all heaped on one set of frightfully narrow shoulders... <<Damn it, how does he keep functioning?>>

Seth was pretty sure he knew the answer to his own question, though -- Duo had managed to keep going by pretending that none of that stuff ever happened. It had probably seemed like the only solution at the time, too -- grin and bear it, so to speak. But when you did that eventually you hit a wall and it all caught up with you. <<Lucky me, I got to be here to see it happen.>>

Glancing over at the bed, Seth watched Duo sleep for a while. He watched the rise and fall of that scarred, well-formed chest, he watched the way those lithe limbs twined around a pillow, as if the silk-covered bag of down could offer him the warmth and security he so obviously needed. He let his gaze rest on that amazing hair for a while, and then on the long eyelashes that brushed against those high cheekbones and the little frown line between his eyebrows. Knowing everything that he did, did he still want to seduce this Master?

Hell yes. He did so love a challenge.

*****

"I dunno, Seth... I really should be getting back..." Duo bit his lip and fidgeted, finding it hard to accept that Seth was acting pretty much exactly the same as he had been from the start, despite knowing his freakin' life story.

"Look, you need this. You need some time to deal with all this shit. You told me yourself, it took you six months last time, to deal with one issue. Because you were trying to do it while you kept on with your life like nothing was wrong. But if you stay with me, I swear, just one month and I'll have you back on your feet and feeling better than you have in years. You'll have nothing to do but rest and heal." The look in Seth's eyes promised at least one other thing, but the slave was wisely not pushing that.

Damn, he was good at this, though. Duo felt himself starting to give in already. A vacation... time to rest. The mere idea made his knees go wobbly, and the thought of how much it would irritate Heero was starting to matter less and less. Not that he'd stopped caring what Heero thought, overall, it just wasn't in his nature to be a doormat and this decision had everything to do with what he needed and nothing to do with Heero, in the end. Before he knew it, Duo heard himself saying, "Okay, I'll stay. One month and no more."