Prologue 
 
 

    They'd been buried in the same cemetery; remarkable considering the vast difference in their origins. There was a faint breeze, enough to cause a mournful whisper through leaves and grass and the flowers that had been lain on the graves by the family and friends left behind. A figure stood before them, dressed as always in black. His presence cast aside the peaceful atmosphere, leaving a deep well of sorrow in its place. He remained, unmoving among the four tombstones as he might have stood before those now buried. But there was no cheeky smile offered. No answering glares or giggles. 

    He'd stayed away from the funerals, mostly from the people who were there. He didn't want to see them, hear them, feel them. There was no patience in him to handle the lips that offered condolences. There was no strength to fend off the looks that asked 'why did you live?". He always lived. 

    ...whether you like it or not... 

    He'd waited patiently for the funeral processions to end, the lingering mourners to go back to their homes. Waited until the cemetery was empty and he could be alone with his friends again to do what he intended. He sat on the grass, crossing his legs beneath him. From a pocket in his jacket he pulled out a sheathed knife. It was a simple enough tool, tucked safely in leather; more than sharp enough for what he wanted to accomplish. Around the hilt were several rubber bands. 

    Setting the knife on the ground before, he reached back, snagging the long braid against his back to pull it over his shoulder. The tie holding it together snapped as he took it off. He began unraveling the braid with one hand. He took his time, unthreading each strand carefully, ensuring that they wouldn't tangle. Once it was free, he separated the hair again, this time into four lenghts. He took each length in turn, splitting them into three, plating them without thinking, his fingers long accustomed to the motion. He focused instead on a recent memory. 

    ...you guys are my family, man... 

    When it was done there were four braids, smaller versions of the original. He tied them off with the rubber bands. Wrapping the braids around one fist, taking the knife in the other, he closed his eyes, hesitating for a moment. Then he moved in a swift, decisive motion. 

    There was a faint whisper at his ears, a loose weight in his hands. The pressure at the nape of his neck, so familiar that he'd never really been aware of it, disappeared. Hair tickled lightly at his neck near his shoulders. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and looked down. Four impossibly long braids were clutched in the hand held before him. All that hair... He set the knife aside and ran his fingers through the length of hair left on his head, marveling at how light it felt when there wasn't as much of it. It took so little time to pull his hand from root to end when only a minute before the copper-brown hair had been longer than his arm. 

    He buried one braid at the head of each grave. It wasn't difficult work; the earth hadn't had time to settle. A tiny chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned back, resting his weight on his heels. Maybe this was going too far. But he had always been one for over-dramatics, and this action, like his previous care for the braid, meant something. These deaths too were important. He would miss it, yes. But he wouldn't regret it. Not the braid at least. 

    ...You guys are my family, man, whether you like it or not... 

    "I should never have told you..." he rasped, throat suddenly tight. 

    He'd damned them the moment the words had left his lips. Seemed he never knew when to keep his mouth shut... He hadn't been given even a day to try and take it back. They were gone by then. 

    "I'm so sorry..." 

    And for the first time since Sister Helen's death, Duo Maxwell gave himself over to tears. 

***** 

    He tried to open his eyes and couldn't. Tried to reach out and met warm fluid and cool surface all around him. Tried to remember and encountered a wall. But there was something there, a brief glimpse of long hair and all-encompassing fire. A small chunk fell out of the wall. Something had happened. He remembered a sound so loud that it drowned out every noise during it and every sound afterwards. And a burning sensation all along his body before everything went hazy then red then black. 

    Remembering the burning brought back a dull ache throughout his body, and it wasn't until then that he'd realized he'd felt totally numb only moments before. He struggled to move. It didn't matter what; just some part of him that would listen and react. But it was like there was nothing there to move, nothing but the ache. He wasn't sure how long it took but he managed to slit his eyes open and he found himself floating in tinted liquid. His hand twitched, feeling clumsy and met with the smooth surface again. 

    Several blurred figures moved beyond the clear surface. Coming towards him, he realized belatedly. Not that he would have been able to do anything about it had he understood sooner. A second went by before he felt the cooling in his veins and he knew no more. 

End Prologue