The huge door clanked shut, both sides meeting softly, as he drew them together. The young man rested his head against them, running his hand on the left door, feeling the deep carved wood. The silence of the building that lay behind him touched his back softly. He closed his eyes, gald that they had gotten away and death had not claimed him today. He smiled, blowing a soft whistle of relief, and turned around, leaning his back agaisnt the wooded door, ready to share his joy with his friend. But, he was alone.

The young man frowned. Did he expect that boy to remain next to him for more than just a moment? No. He had been more than glad to finally be done with him. The young man crossed the small dark hall that lead inside the building, looking around for the other boy. He lay a hand on one of the seats, shaking his head, cursing himself for thinking that he would've been grateful.

The young man sat in the long, wooden seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He leaned back in the pew, stretching his sore muscles, and stared at the small, golden altar that branched before him. Jesus Christ in the cross hung above a thousand flowers and candles, banners of devotion hung at his sides. The altar rose magesticaly upwards, a circling dome with beautiful engravings. The statues of the Virgin Mother and the saints ligned the walls, lighted by small white and blue candles.

The young man stared in silence, his soul feeling a strange sensation as he took in such beauty and splendor. Feeling like a lost child, humbled by the eyes of his God, he could only stare at the marmol angels. He leaned foward silently, his eyes enraptured. He closed his eyes, thankful that they had found this cathedral, a place where the OZ would not follow them into. He smiled, his mind relaxing. This missions were becoming more dangerous each moment. He almost regreted ever agreeing to be a part of such a mission, but he smiled sadly. Someone had to stop the injustice.

Duo jerked his head up, thrown out of his reverie, as he heard faint steps in the cathedral. He frowned, reaching down for the gun in his belt. The steps became louder, yet slower. Duo lowered his gun, and his readyness, as he saw the other boy emerge from the darkness. The other young man did not look at him, just sat down wearily in one of the pews.

"Yatta," Duo breathed out, smiling. "There you are, Hiro."

Hiro raised his left leg on to the seat, looking up at the ceiling, not looking once at the altar. There was pain in his eyes, pain his body must feel as well, Duo thought, as he looked at Hiro's arm. It lay almost inmobile next to the boy, bloody and scared. Duo frowned, remembering the first time he had met the boy, the horrible shape he had been in. He walked closer to the pew where Hiro sat, but came not closer, sensing the animosity the other boy felt for him.

"That was a close call, man," he said. He wanted to sound calm and serene. "I'm glad this cathedral was here. OZ soldiers have a lot of respect."

The other young boy turned away, not caring about what Duo was saying or how he was looking at him. Silent, he leaned back, away from Duo, and stared at the nothingness of the air. His face revealed nothing. No exhaustion after the long get away; no fear, after being almost killed; no remorse, after destroying the bases the mission assigned; no thankfulness for being alive. No hatred, no friendship. He just sat with his hands crossed over his legs, blank and uncaring.

Duo swallowed his words, something beginning to hurt inside from so many times he has tried to reach Hiro's attention, and failed. He shook those thoughts away, breaking away from the anger he felt inside, the desire to slap Hiro very hard, to reach down and hurt the boy, shake him, just to see what the reaction would be. Duo ran a hand over his bruised shoulder. No doubt Hiro would only look at him, his eyes cold and silent, and if Duo persisted in such actions, the boy would just shake him off. Not a word.

His small steps echoed much too loud in the empty cathedral. Duo wondered why there were no penitents in the building, mussing to himself. The young pilot looked up at the marble designes, his gaze shifting to Hiro every second or two. Hiro leaned back, his body sinking in the pew, his tired head resting against the wooden bench. The boy grimaced as he put his foot on the knealing cushion under the seat. His ankle was probably broken. Unperfect, the boy thought, and ignored it, sending the pain to the back of his head. He closed his eyes, ignoring the black blood that ran down his hand, trickling down his fingers into the marble floor. Trailing softly. Hot.

"Aren't you going to tend that, Hiro," Duo said, his back towards the boy, pretending to admire the statue of Saint Joseph before him.

Duo closed his eyes, feeling the emtyness of the church swim about him, hurt him. He needed to talk more, move more; to get back into his old cheerful self. he shrugged softly, his aching shoulders complaining, and turned around. He needed to clear his head, to get good sleep, or he'd end up wacky. Like Hiro. He smiled sadly. Hiro had not even reacted to his voice.

Duo stood silent, staring at the boy, his mind racing a thousand thoughts None he'd dare say outloud. He looked at Hiro's face, the down at hsi small hand. Hiro's fingers clenched absentmindly; the boy did not seem to care about the way he was bleeding. Hiro's eyes stared up at the hanging Jesus, but they didn't seem to be looking at the Christian God.

The darkness enveloped him, as if the evil were eating him slowly. Duo bit his lip, his head was going wild on him. The shadow the candles drew across the altar and into the pews seemed to be enveloping Hiro, taking the boy into itself. The young americam pilot wanted to speak, wanted to call out to Hiro, to drag him from the shadow, but he stood quiet. His frayed nerves were too tired.