A Darker Shade Than Black

Part One

Duo snapped on a pair of sheer, black silk stockings, sneezing slightly at the dust he was raising in the ancient room. Though his "office" was less than satisfactory, he did have some extremely high-quality products in there. Okay, granted, the majority was made of leather and metal. So what? Take for example the stockings he was pulling on. They were the best that money could possibly buy.

He was Duo Maxwell – best in the business. And he was on in about three minutes.

"Could you possibly be any slower?" growled the gruff voice of his boss from somewhere offstage.

"Oh, up yours, you old bastard," Duo answered amiably, casting eyes around for his dress. The custodial staff at this place was positively non-existent.

He spotted a bit of red and black lace sticking out from under a hefty metal box and yanked at it, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that the dress was still mostly intact. There was that rip in the neckline, but it didn’t matter much. His customers loved pawing him anyway, they’d doubtless be perfectly pleased at this turn of events.

"Two minutes, Maxwell!" his boss called again.

"D’you think I can’t keep track of minutes, man?!" Duo quickly stripped off his gray tanktop outfit in exchange for the dress. It was impossible for him to walk to his job wearing his normal priest’s frock – he’d be jumped by about half-a-dozen angry Feds. Then again, he could definitely bribe them, he thought wryly. He had stopped being shy a long time ago. This was how he survived.

And he was, incidentally, quite good at this.

Now for those God-forsaken heels…there was another reason why so few people favored this line of business. The heels had to be at least twelve inches high.

He sighed and kneeled down to check for the heels beneath a table. That was where he’d last thrown them. He thought.

Or maybe they were beneath that other table.

Nope, it was this one, Duo affirmed with a small smirk, seeing the forlorn pair of shoes peeking out from behind a messy stack of paper.

"They’re waiting for you, Maxwell!" his boss yelled, stress straining his guttural voice.

"They can damn well wait a little longer, because I am not going out there without my make-up on, you bloody fool!" Duo shouted, hopping on one foot over to another generic cluttered table while forcing one of those heels onto his other foot. He jammed the last shoe on as he searched for his make-up. He’d been against make-up at first, but he did learn to deal with it, manage it, and even learn to use it to highlight and compliment his admittedly beautiful features.

He peered into the mirror in front of him and applied sweat-resistant foundation with pain-staking care. Foundation was a necessary evil. Painfully aware of the crowd’s riotous cries for him outside, he knew he was going to have to make himself look pretty fucking good to calm them down.

He added the tiniest touch of blush to his cheeks. He’d learned a while ago that this job was exhausting, and he usually finished the night flushed, so if he went overboard on the blush, he’d look like a tomato when his shift was over. Then lipstick – soft red, just a few shades brighter than his natural lip color.

He noted with a sigh that he was almost out of violet eye shadow, as he picked up the small applicator and skillfully brushed the powder onto his eyelids. He used the black eyeliner to dramatically emphasize his violet irises, and with what remained of the mascara he dealt with his lashes, curling their full length out. He always paid the most attention to his eyes.

"MAXWELL!" the boss roared. "I CAN’T KEEP ‘EM DOWN FOR MUCH LONGER WHILE YOU FECKIN’ CHANGE! HURRY UP!"

This time Duo didn’t even bother to respond. The crowd would calm down when they saw him. They always did.

He carefully smoothed his bangs out of his eyes and fluttered his long lashes at his reflection, noting with a smirk the vitality of his brown hair. He constantly favored it with the best shampoo he could find, with luxurious brushing and laborious combing-throughs, and it recognized his efforts. The waist-length fall of chestnut locks had to be the most versatile sex toy ever created, or at least it had a lot of folks under that impression, because his customers constantly moaned for him to release that tempting mass. He never did.

Duo laughed out loud at the strange tangent his thoughts had gone on, wide indigo eyes sparkling in a way the expertly applied make-up gladly emphasized. He smiled, satisfied at last that he was ready for the night, wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the beautiful young woman in the mirror, winked at himself and then turned to run out of the room, only to stumble and only barely catch himself on the doorframe. Apparently he’d have a job navigating on those deadly heels.

But by the time he reached the curtain dividing the catwalk from the backstage area, he was under control of himself. He had, after all, been forced into a lot of truly godawful outfits. The boss, a crude, gray-haired old man who as of yet had not been able to inveigle Duo into his enigmatic back office, sighed in relief.

The star had arrived.

Duo parted the curtains with one smooth gesture, one sweep of his arms, and immediately the crowd hushed. He was a remarkable sight, a confusing, yet inherently appealing blend of feminine beauty and masculine confidence. The spotlights shone on his glossy chestnut locks, and created alluring shadows on his cast-ivory face. For a moment he merely stood there, giving the crowd the full, face benefit of him. The crowd swept approving eyes over his devilishly angelic face, down the chest which was so frustratingly covered by that red and black lace, down the long, slim legs which the black stockings so accentuated.

The first-timers, the blasphemers, the ones who had been drawn to this place by the rumor of an impossibly sexy cross-dresser, were stunned. Men and women alike were affected, were hushed as the full radiance of his beauty hit them. He wasn’t like all of the other desperate, unwilling prostitutes, somehow. He brought class to the place, the way ancient paintings adorned palaces. The seedy pub was transformed into a temple, and Maxwell’s Demon was its altar boy.

With the crowd transfixed under his spell, the music began to rustle through the club, and Duo began to dance.

---

Tired beyond belief, Duo jammed the key into his apartment’s lock, wrenched the door open, and stumbled towards the first soft object he could find, which just happened to the couch. Collapsing on it, he ripped off his sneakers, brought one leg up and gingerly rubbed the vaguely aching foot. He was never wearing those heels again. The minute he had released his feet from the pincer-like grip of the heels, he had felt so much pain radiating through them that he’d almost collapsed right there in the office. Sheesh, what a job.

At least he’d been able to change in the office, though the outfit he had put together was less than satisfactory. It wasn’t like it mattered much anyway – but his job made him very critical of his appearance, overly-critical sometimes. He had located a huge, baggy white T-shirt, black leggings, and scuffed tennis sneakers. It wouldn’t go in the fashion hall of fame, but it would do. He had learned the hard way that if he came home wearing what he wore on his job, a) the likelihood of mugging/rape increased tenfold, and b) Hilde would put him through royal hell. He feared Hilde’s lectures a lot more than mugging or rape, because he really had his ass covered when he walked through those streets. He knew important people; important people knew him. And he wouldn’t hesitate to have favors called in when some annoying bastard invoked the streets’ "bishounen" rule, i.e., any pretty boy is fair play. He could take damn good care of himself, so probably he wouldn’t even need any favors. He still remembered how to street-fight; one didn’t forget things like that. If some moron tried to get their hand up his shirt, they’d be down in a flash, and dead if he was in a lousy mood. He was freaking Shinigami and no one messed with him…

He sighed. Damnit, everything was just engulfing him. It wasn’t like he wanted to be a sex slave. He did want something better than that for himself. But he was becoming too deeply rooted in his job, around the colony’s underworld network of smugglers and general ne’er-do-wells. He knew that if he stayed here and continued working, soon he would cross the point of no-return, and he’d be doomed to stay a – well, slut, for the rest of his life.

"Duo, you really need to stop coming in here at five o’clock in the morning."

Hilde emerged from the bedroom looking very sleepy, very rumpled and thoroughly pissed. Duo stifled a bark of laughter. Yeah, the woman was pissed, but her pajamas were patterned with little fuzzy teddy bears. Surely no harm could come from a girl who wore teddy bears to sleep.

Hah, as if. This was Hilde they were talking about.

"Hilde, you should be in bed now," Duo protested. "I didn’t want to wake you up or anything…" The dawn of realization slowly reached his eyes. "Don’t you tell me you waited up for me, Hilde, I’ve told you not to do that! You have a day job, you can’t go around losing sleep waiting for me to come home!"

She snorted rudely. "I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, Duo. You know how dangerous your - your job is. And the streets are rough at night, especially around where you work."

There was real worry in her eyes as she said that, residing right alongside the irritation.

Why couldn’t Duo just understand? He thought he was invincible to all danger, and as much as he could almost persuade her to that end, common sense always won out. Duo wasn’t immune against all danger. He was too intelligent, too vivacious to lose in the crowd as just some prostitute. And above all, he was too naïve to understand how deeply he could get in trouble. "Duo, you should give it up. You’re smart. You can get a job elsewhere."

Duo stretched elaborately. "I know it can be dangerous to work there. But trust me here, Hilde. I can take care of myself. Besides, there aren’t a lot of places that’d accept me even if I did want or need another job. You know, not enough jobs to go around anyway, what with the Federation running loose everywhere."

"You know about the Federation?" Hilde asked stupidly. So Duo wasn’t totally unaware.

"Who doesn’t, Hilde? I don’t live under a rock, you know. Besides, people talk, I listen. The Feds at my club talk, and a lot. An hour with me and a bottle of liquor can do so much to loosen a person’s mouth." He grinned at her. "I should be in politics."

Hilde felt an indefatigable smile spread across her face, and to compensate she hardened her tone. "Duo, the point is that it’s just not safe for you to be a…a…"

"Prostitute," Duo finished for her. "Jeez Hilde, you’re such a prude. It’s no biggy. Maybe not the most desirable job option, but still, it’s not like I can’t handle it."
With a sigh, Hilde walked over to the worn old sofa and sat down on one of the armrests. "Don’t you want to be something more?"

"There aren’t a lot of options open to me, Hilde, I already said that," he informed her testily. He shrugged. "Besides, it’s easy enough work and I get high pay. Even if the clothing comes straight from Hell."

Hilde rolled her eyes. "Oh, Duo, it’s just not right for you of all people to be involved in that foul business. You’re worth so much more than that. "

"Thanks. I’m honored, really."

"It’s true, you know," she said, her heart painfully twisting. He did know that his job was an unsavory one. He was strong enough to keep it and face up to the fact that there really were no other choices available to him. None that she could think up, anyway. "One day, Duo, I’m going over there, and I’m going to get you out of there."

"It’s all about ethics, Hilde. You have to have a very open set of ethics. You of all people wouldn’t be welcome there." He winked at her, smirking. "And besides, I’d overcharge you."

"Duo!"

"Ah, calm down, I was jokin’, Hilde." His eyes had a devious sparkle. "Nah, you wouldn’t settle for me anyway."

"That doesn’t matter, Duo," Hilde said uncomfortably, leading the conversation away from what she felt about Duo. "What does matter is that you can’t spend the rest of your life letting yourself be used. It’s a waste, Duo! That’s no way to live your life!"

He smiled, a true smile this time, not the brand of cynical smirk he wore more and more often these days. "Hilde, I work at this job for a reason. I’m saving up. Soon, I’ll be able to go to a good school. That’s my plan out of all this shit."

Her eyes rounded. "Really, Duo?"

"Yeah, if you’ll believe it." He chuckled. "The last school I went to was pretty crappy. The Feds ran it, and all they wanted to was brainwash us. Poor them – it, ah, didn’t exactly work with me. And, you know, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being screwed senseless by strangers. Who knows? I might learn something useful. At least it’d be better than what I do now."

Hilde grinned encouragingly at him. "That’s great, Duo!"

"Thanks." He yawned. "Yeah, you’ll see. I’ll go to school for a bit and then one day, I’ll stop this damned… war…"

Up went Hilde’s eyebrows. "That’s certainly ambitious."

But she was talking to no one. A faint snore creased the air. Duo was totally out of it.

A smile upped the corners of her lips as she gazed down on him. No, she had never seen him in his full cross-dressing glory. But yes, she had heard rumors about Maxwell’s Demon, winding all the way up even to this relatively nice neighborhood. He was quite sought after – they called him beautiful, exciting, never the same experience twice. Sadly, it seemed he was very good at his job.

But it was during times like these that Hilde thought him beautiful. He had scrubbed off whatever make-up he had had to put on, which revealed his true complexion, a spirited creamy color. His heavy lashes lay against his cheek and he was resting somewhat fitfully. Moonlight shone through the window to cast silver highlights all along his long, slim body. His hand trailed off the end of the couch and his mouth was wide open and snoring away. His braid hung over the armrest his head was propped on, slightly mussed, and a portion of it had come loose during –

She shuddered. She hated thinking of what exactly Duo did during his job. Duo admitted it and didn’t give a damn. Like he said, he had an "open set of ethics." Hilde was not blessed with that particular gift.

She shook her head vigorously. No. Prostitution was not the right choice for Duo. Duo could make a difference. She realized that, even if no one else selfishly would.

Very tenderly, she leaned over him to brush soft bangs away from his face. She rose for a moment and returned the next with a pillow under one arm and a quilt under the other. She would have picked him up and carried him to bed; but Duo had told her before that he liked the sofa, it was old and fat and comfortable in a way no bed could achieve.

So she carefully lifted his head and placed the pillow beneath it; then unfolded the quilt and gently tucked it around him. Duo wore the tiniest of sleepy smiles as he slept, and when she turned to go after dropping a good-night kiss on his forehead, he clutched at her sleeve.

Alarmed, she looked back. He was still asleep…

"Sister Helen," he murmured softly. "’Night, Sis."

"Oh, Duo," Hilde whispered, before going in to her bedroom.

---

[the next day]

Heero Yuy walked down his latest school’s corridor, impartially spearing people with his characteristic glare. He shot a special one at the door he had just come out of. The guidance counselor’s office. He wished to high heaven that he knew why the school had ever hired such an incompetent bitch of a woman. It was obvious that she was treating him only to see if she could break through him and become famous, sharing her success story all over the world.

"Yeah, well you can keep dreaming, Miss," Heero muttered, swinging his locker open with little trouble. No one would ever be able to break through to him. Not the guidance counselor, nor his psychologist, nor his uncaring adoptive parents, no one. If his father hadn’t been able to do so – and he had tried very hard to break Heero – no other weakling would be able to, either.

He remembered the time he hacked into the guidance counselor’s records and checked out her files on him. He had printed the page out and hung it on the inside of his locker, strangely proud of it. Every time he opened it, there it was.

Student Name: Heero Yuy

Age: 15

Grade: 10

Birthday: Celebrated June 10

Briefing on student:

Heero Yuy is a highly gifted, talented child. His IQ is extraordinarily high; yet though brilliant, he is also very emotionally disturbed. He exhibits antisocial, masochistic, suicidal, and violent tendencies. He was selectively mute up to age eleven. He was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Baxter Mitchell at age six and before then was repeatedly physically and sexually abused. A teacher noted the scars on his body and sent him to a hospital, where it was discovered that the scars were the result of aforesaid abuse.[See p. 24-27.]

Progress Made: None.

And that was damn straight, thought Heero with a smirk as he slammed the locker shut, making the girl next to him jump two feet into the air. Heero had, shall we say, a reputation. As a rule, people did not want to fuck with him. He didn’t go picking fights, he never had. But if someone tried to prove that they were some big deal, he put them down like lightning. All Heero wanted was to be left alone. He didn’t need help from anyone; he didn’t need any people. He could deal with himself.

"Ohayo, Heero-san!"

Some people just didn’t get the message.

He had decided long ago that he couldn’t begrudge Quatre Winner his attempts at friendliness. They were just unwanted. He did his best to be at least civil to Quatre, because Quatre really didn’t have it in him to be rude or mean to anyone.

"Ohayo."

Quatre paused by his locker with his easy, open smile on his face, and Heero very quickly pushed down the wistfulness he felt when he saw that smile. "Hey, do we have next period together?" Quatre asked curiously.

He shook his head.

Quatre’s innocent blue eyes widened. "Oh, really? Well, I have to go to my Lit class, otherwise I’d stay. I’ll talk to you later, alright Heero?"

He shrugged and hitched his bookbag a notch higher on his shoulder.
"Hey, TROWA!" Quatre yelled, seeing the quiet-eyed boy go past. "Wait up!"

Trowa paused at once, leaned back against a locker so as not to be jostled by the stream of people in-between classes, and offered Quatre a tiny smile. Quatre ran up to him and they walked off together, Quatre talking about something or the other and Trowa nodding in agreement.

Heero watched them critically as they walked away, disappearing into the general crowd of people in the hallways that was now dying down. It was a known fact that Trowa and Quatre were together. But both of them were so sweet, no one really cared. Besides, it was rumored that little Quatre had the Maguanac Core on his side – no one knew how – and that tall, silent Trowa Barton had a mean fist and reflexes quicker than any member of the feline family.

For any other pair, homosexuality would have been a sin up there with dumping Relena Dorlian. Yet somehow, Quatre and Trowa were just different. No one had a problem with their being openly together.

Heero’s mouth twisted in what might or might not have been a frown as he made his way to the cafeteria. He was on the outside, looking in. Granted, a lot more perceptive than any outsider would be, but still on the outside.

He really didn’t care.

Upon reaching the cafeteria, he flipped out his schedule and glanced at it. He had an hour-long break and nothing better to do than screw with the school’s computer system, which he had done a thousand times already. Oh well – he’d just reread what his class was supposed to read for English. They were doing a unit of poetry now. Their homework had been a poem whose name he couldn’t remember…Sea of Faith or something like that. It was a good poem. He extricated the crumpled facsimile from his pocket and skimmed it.

…the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…

Yeah, he could definitely agree with that view of the world. It was his life’s story.

He grabbed a tray, indifferently chose a hamburger, fries and some limp salad for lunch, and plopped down alone at a table, pointedly shoving his bookbag besides him in case some foolhardy soul decided to sit next to him.

Well, there was only one soul truly stupid enough to try sitting next to him. Unfortunately, she also happened to be one of the very few people he couldn’t bring himself to sock in the face.

Relena Dorlian.

Heero didn’t know why, but the girl persisted in tormenting him. Sitting next to him in whatever classes they shared. Writing him notes. Asking him the homework. Calling him on the phone. She was pathetic, exactly like all the other girls in this rich-kid school. And while he was at it, exactly like all of the pampered, spoiled boys. He could stand precious few of the kids here. He wasn’t antisocial, as his report claimed, he was just very, very selective in his choice of friends. He found no one as of yet who fit his high standard for friendship. He repelled those who did not fit his criteria.

Though Heero didn’t notice the charm he possessed, the female population of the school most certainly did. He was, exclusively, the boy most drooled over. Some of the other boys were handsome, yes, but in a bland, no-big-deal, everyday way. Heero was so much more different. Heero – with those sharp, intelligent, cobalt-blue eyes that focused like the wild eyes of eagles. Heero – with that dark mop of spikes that fell into his eyes and gave him even more of an air of secrecy. Heero – with a slim, graceful, and almost carelessly muscular body. Heero’s strange brand of beauty was almost feminine, what with his very fine, very defined features. But most of all, he had the air of the untouchable, unreachable, unattainable. He represented the figure so appealing to some women; the man they knew they could never get. He was quite clearly not parent-approved dating material; hence why so many girls were so desperate to date him. Every cold shoulder he turned to them only made them want him more. Every rejection only proved that they would never reach him, and made them that much more determined to try.

"Heero!"

And speak of the devil, Miss Dorlian was not about to miss a chance to speak with him.

He blatantly ignored her, staring ahead of him with rock-hard eyes, chewing fixedly on his hamburger.

The girl was pretty enough if you went for that sort of thing. Soft cornflower blue eyes that blazed with passionate fire whenever someone opposed her. Rich blonde hair that fell to the half of her back. An innocent demeanor and supposedly endearing naivete. The girl actually believed that pacifism was possible, and was probably directly influencing Vice-Minister Dorlian to try to reach it. Not that the Foreign Vice-Minister needed the pushing anyway.

She smiled happily at him, delicately pushing his bookbag off of its seat to replace it. She smoothed down her long navy skirt and asked, "So Heero, did you do the English homework?"

He blinked at her, then rose, dragging his bookbag’s straps and lifting it up with one arm. He left his lunch tray where it was and did not bother to answer her. Then he strode out of the lunch room, pushing his way through people with frigid silence.

Relena’s face fell as she watched him leave. He was always so cold, as cold as an Arctic sea, and it just wasn’t fair. He treated her like nothing more than just so much trash, so why did she still love him?

She sighed, the happy face gone, and rested her chin in her hands, elbows on the table but not really caring. She did love him. He was certainly intriguing, to say the very least, and above-average physical beauty didn’t help matters any. She always found herself hopeful around him; maybe he’d drop his armor one day, maybe he’d deign to speak to her.

Deign. Usually people were falling all over themselves to talk to her.

"Hey, Miss Relena, what’s the matter?" her friend Amelia asked concernedly, sitting down besides her in the space Heero had occupied but a few seconds ago.

"Yeah, what’s wrong?" Another of her friends came over, equally concerned. Soon the small table was surrounded by a small anxious hub of people. "Come on Miss Relena, smile. You’re so pretty when you smile."

For them, for her friends, she put on a brave front and smiled a tiny smile. "Thanks, everyone…"

"Is it about that Heero?" Amelia asked her, putting one hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

How she wished that hand was Heero’s. She felt tears well up in her eyes. "I don’t understand him…I try to be nice to him…You guys all know that I really, really like him but I just don’t think he feels the same way back."

Amelia patted her shoulder, and her friend Clara gave her a hug from behind. "Don’t worry," Clara assured her. "Who could honestly resist you, Miss Relena? He’s probably just a little uncomfortable that you like him so."

"He should be used to it," Relena answered dully, picking at nonexistent lint on her skirt. "I mean, he’s got a whole fan club here."

"Only with the girls, Miss Relena, the guys don’t favor him much," Amelia informed her. She shrugged. "And mostly the girls are just taken with his looks. He’s really cute."

Relena looked up into the faces of her friends gathered around her. She didn’t really need Heero. It was probably just some stupid obsession she had with him, a silly crush.

But if that was true…

If that was true, then her heart wouldn’t break every time he rose to leave her. If it were true, then every time she looked up at her friends, she wouldn’t desperately wish that among them were Heero. If it were true, then she wouldn’t stand uncomfortably during dates with other boys when they tried to hug or even worse, kiss her.

Yeah. Relena sighed. She had it bad for him, and she couldn’t even do a damned thing.