Was it an aneurysm or arrhythmia when your heart regularly skipped a beat? No, if it missed that beat consistently then there’s nothing wrong—right? Is there a name for it when your heart climbs your ribs and tries to reside somewhere around your throat? How long, really, could it stay there?

That was never his strong point; there were others to worry about those medical-healthy type problems. At least he was good at this.

“Hey, I’m Duo. I run, I hide, but I never tell a lie.”

Running: maybe it was too easy, it took nothing, he just could. The chestnut braid bounced, keeping pace with his swift gait, pounding on his backside and swinging out, alternately.

“I run, I hide...” The ex-pilot scoffed. Was it really something to boast about? If you start to run, sometimes you can never stop, and you can’t hide from what you really want to: fear, pain, sorrow, yourself.

It might be that he had never lied, not to anyone else, just to himself. And if one continues to tell oneself something difficult to prove one way or the other, who can say it isn’t true? Lies are funny like that, they are subjective; they extend only to what one knows.

What one can and can’t run from, if a heart can literally change address, whether or not he lied; none of that makes a difference. What really mattered, and the only thing that really mattered, was that the stupid newscasters never gave enough information. Blast them all! But at least he could do this—he could run.

Hilde should be there now, she always used to be, but perhaps that was too long ago.

“That girl,” Duo panted, no, not any longer, she really had developed into a woman now, “but still, she always attracts trouble. Well, she did find me.”

The young man rested his palm on the cold surface of the building, breathing heavily, quickly scanning for any sign of Hilde. He approached the dark-haired woman kneeling next to an older lady.

“Hilde, you okay?”

She turned to look up at him, her satiny hair resting on creamy soft skin, a hint of a smile in her violet eyes. Maybe that was what always drew him back to her.

“Duo?” She stood and took a few steps. Hilde didn’t ask ‘why are you here?’ but somehow the braided-man still heard it.

“Um…So,” Duo Maxwell ran his hand through his thick bangs, “What happened here?”

“Some drunk moron crashed into the paper stand and continued to go through the shop window.” Something in the wistful expression of the woman standing before him softly asked, ‘could it really have been that long ago that we were both best friends, simple minded buddies, just kids?’; afraid of the answer.

“Yeah, I guess they shouldn’t let people like that drive,” he commented, his cobalt eyes focused on her face. “But you’re all right?”

“Reasonably so,” Hilde answered, “What are you doing here?’

Slightly abashed, Duo ran his slender fingers through his hair again as they started to walk. “I heard on the news, they said the meds were having trouble getting here and I thought that maybe you might be here, like you used to.”

Hilde chuckled; this one habit hadn’t changed. “One truck has already been and gone and there’re a few people who can handle it. It’s not as bad as it looks. When’d you get back?”

“Yesterday.”

“Not exactly the homecoming you were expecting,” Hilde jested.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Duo laughed back, “But I’m pretty sure; no.”

Hilde tried to respond but a passing bicyclist caught her off guard, riding close enough to startle her, and forcing the petite woman to trip and fall into the street. With the reflexes and strength that training to be a gundam pilot had given him, Duo managed to prevent the situation from becoming worse. And, lucky day for the biker, both were too preoccupied to give him a much-deserved lecture.

Duo stood her upright on the sidewalk. “Not a great day for you is it?”

“Depends,” Hilde grimaced as she took a step, “Are we comparing it to better days or worse?”

“If that’s how you’ll play it—let’s just call it Tuesday.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s Friday.”

“Hilde?” Duo asked as the dark-haired woman made a pained expression when she placed all her weight on one foot to walk down the stairs to the colony transport.

“It’s only twisted.”

“Yeah and the Libra was only a hunk of metal.”

“A really big one, and your solution.”

The Libra had become their code for a possible mistake; a simple way to point out that it was hard to judge something as right or wrong, fair or unfair, brave or foolish, until it was over.

“I’m staying closer than your place,” he offered, “You think with my help you could hobble there, gimpy?”

She agreed, and leaning against him they made way to where Duo was staying. He opened the door and guided her to a chair. Kneeling in front of her, the young man slid off her shoe. Hilde put her hand on the back of his bent head, “Well, how bad is it Doc? Will I ever play soccer again?”

“You were right, it’s just a sprain,” Duo assessed, and then poking the pale and expanded flesh added, “It’s swelling magnificently.”

She yanked it away, “Quit that.”

“Here, put it on.” Duo tossed her a chilled can of soda. “I’ll go see if I can get something to wrap it.”

He left and returned rather promptly; Hilde barely had time to look around and wonder why Duo had come back to the colony, but enough time had elapsed for her fingers to turn slightly pink from holding the cold drink to her ankle. Duo wound the bandage around her, careful to make it tight; he had learned this much.

The colony lights were dimming in their representation of sunset, something that made him feel oddly far from the woman asking him about the other ex-pilots. Maybe she didn’t want to push him away by expecting something more so Hilde slipped easily back into that ancient camaraderie they had shared, the way she always did when he returned. This time though he had stayed away a lot longer than a Preventers mission or a visit with the other ex-pilots. He had run; from exactly what, he still didn’t know: an argument, expectations, uncertainty. Did she feel it too? That if they got closer, if he chose wrong or tried to change it, that somehow it would disappear.

“Thanks for the drink,” Hilde indicated the warming can and slipped her shoe on over the bandage.

“You sh...” Duo started as she stood and, favoring her injured foot, walked to the door.

“It’s okay. I’m sure I can hobble on my own now.” Grinning, she turned away.

“Stay with me,” the man gently pleaded, wrapping his arms around her.

Short dark hair moved when she shook her head.

“Hilde?”

She needed to, knew she should, pull away from him but she didn’t want to. Hilde bit her lip, willing herself to be strong and not cry. Lacing her fingers with his, she bowed her head, silently.

“You will?” Duo questioned but received no answer, “Please turn around.”

“I’m not mature enough to do that, Duo.” If she looked at him, or faced those cobalt eyes, it would hurt more than leaving. If she kissed him now, like she so desired to, if she let him hold her, selfishly she would want more.

Duo let his arms fall and she walked out the door. He’d seen it before; her leaving, the young man had seen it many times: Hilde stomping off in anger, her waving and saying ‘see ya later,’ or small and dejected, violet eyes near tears: but this felt more painful.

“‘Stay with me?’” He asked himself, “Not ‘don’t go,’ not 'I like you.' She thinks she’s childish?”

Duo understood how many times she had seen the same thing when he left for a mission or just vanished, running, hiding; why she couldn’t look at him.

Hilde turned her head to see who was walking behind her. “Duo?” she questioned a young man with a bag over his head, chestnut braid hanging out.

“Who would let an injured woman walk home alone?” he answered, voice muffled. “You can’t say no to that, can you?”

She laughed, “Fine then, but walk by me.”

The End

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