'Play to your strengths'--he knew exactly how he was condemning me when he said that. Damn, I'm out of shape. This hill's killing me.

Huffing, puffing, wheezing and generally gasping for air, Duo laboriously pedals his bicycle over the rough terrain.

A lengthy period of self-examination, punctuated by spirited grumbling from his stomach, led him to the inevitable conclusion: he is a winsome rogue, a lovable scoundrel, and a procurer. In short, the boy's a thief-- one with some principles, but a thief nonetheless.

They think all I'm good for is to steal stuff, be a Sweeper. I'll show them--I can beat 'em at their own game and avoid serious work at the same time. Yeah, teach them all a lesson, he vindictively thinks. Well, that was what he had intended. It's beginning to look like he's the student. Cresting the hill, he stops to catch his breath and check the address listed in an advertisement.

Oh, man-- that's clear across town and at this rate, I'll never make it. A job at a local packing plant had not been his first plan, but Heero's interference squelched the original plot.

After his bit of introspecive evaluation, he had formulated the perfect painless means to obtaining cold, hard cash. Unfortunately, Heero knew him all too well and was waiting in the garage when he slunk in.

"No. I can't let you do this, Duo."

Sputtering, he looked about the room. "It's not like they're going to miss one, right?" he asked, indicating a veritable convoy of vehicles: hot little sports cars, luxury sedans, an off-road rig, a pair of motorcycles, a beat-up truck Wufei insisted on calling "Sharon" and, strangely enough, an ice cream delivery truck with bullet-proof glass (he'd tested it some days earlier--Shi-chan's rating: Deathscythe Hella-good).

"One of the limitations is you can't do anything illegal. You don't own anything here, so you can't sell it."

"Aw, come on," he wheedled. "Give me a break and just look the other way for a second. You don't want me to die of malnutrition. Have a little sympathy."

"It's only been three hours since you last ate." Heero fished around in his spandex and pulled out a neat square of newsprint. "Here, I think you might like this one. There's an opening in their second shift operations."

Gingerly accepting it in case it decided to detonate and take his arm off, Duo read the small circled ad. Seems easy enough. Shrugging his shoulders, he figured at least this way he would have a reason to sleep in late. That would irk Fei-chan to no end ("lazy lump, doesn't know the meaning of real work."), so everybody wins.

"I guess I've got time to head over today and reply." His recent cash flow problem came back to mind. "You couldn't spare some change for the bus, could ya Hee-chan?"

Heero simply pointed to a dark corner of the garage. "I believe you not only still own that, but it is sufficient for your current needs."

"Oh, right. My Christmas present. From Quatre, no less, to replace the one that 'got lost'." Dispirited, dejected, completely bummed out, our hero wheels off into the city astride his four-speed 'Pretty Polly Petal' junior- miss bicycle.

The pink model with flowing purple and mauve handle ribbons-- and matching fake wicker, plastic daisy bedecked basket.

"How was I supposed to know those cards were valuable? They made just the coolest sound against the spokes."

Finally sucking in a breath without sounding like the audio track of a porn flick, Duo surveys the town below him. There's got to be an easier way to get money. Working is for suckers. I haven't earned one cent and already I'm dripping with sweat.

A glimmer from the roadside catches his attention. Huh? Bending closer, he picks up a dented aluminum can. He turns it over in his hand, letting a small amount of liquid drain out onto the grass.

*beep, beeep*

*zooooom*

*thunk*

Lying in the roadside ditch, Duo stares up at passing clouds, carefully feeling the semi-circular indentation in his forehead, he picks himself up and kicks a glass bottle.

"Damn near get myself killed a dozen times over fighting a war for these creeps, keeping their homes from getting destroyed, and how do they say thanks? Run me over and chuck trash at me."

Trash... Sweepers... 'one man's treasure, dude'... That's it! Chuckling with demonic glee, he roots around in the overgrown foliage. It's so simple... the answer's all around me--it's everywhere!

"Everywhere!" he screams, thrusting the original, precious can high into the air.

"Lalala... my lucky day, huh? This ought to be enough." Coasting along, he is within sight of his goal. "Well, maybe one more won't hurt." He pulls off the road and carefully steadies the laden bike on its kickstand. He walks over to the post, spits into his hands and rubs them together. Hastily wiping it off on his pants, he realizes why no one in real life ever does this. Eew, that's so gross.

He grips the box firmly and gives it a sharp pull. It fails to part from its anchoring post. With a grunt, he heaves again. "Come on, damn it," he urges. Straining his muscles (and causing fangirls everywhere to collapse in a swoon), he hears the securing bolts start to give way.

One more time ought to do it, he thinks, easing up on his hold.

*schl--pop!*

He carries the box and post to his bike. With the latest acquistion over one shoulder, he walks the bounty a final few yards.

Destination--reached.

Mission accomplished.

Sketti, here I come.

"What the hell do you got there, son?" A stout grey-hair bears down on Duo in a swirl of vibrant silks. He shrinks back and stammers an answer.

"Just some recyclables--aluminum, you know. There's a 'cash-back' policy." He nods at a sign over the convenience center's metal drop-off.

"Well, we'll see about that now, shall we?" She starts to inspect his basket, muttering as she pokes and prods.

"Um... excuse me, crazy lady, but what are you doing?"

"I'm sort of in charge of this place." She points to a name badge. "Control the gates, oversee bulk pick up and drop off, help out where-ever necessary, and keep young punks like you from passing off junk like this as waste."

"Hey, it's all aluminum and I want my money! I'm hot, sweaty, and hungry."

Shaking her head, she ticks off his salvaged goods: "Seven pop cans, three steel cans, a gum wrapper--gum included-- and a 'Yield' traffic sign--you're not even trying, are you?"

"Don't forget the mailbox," he insists.

"Kid, I'll do you a favor and not report you to the police if you promise to return the sign. The cans are worth a nickel, that gum's just nasty, and you better put that mailbox back--it's mine." She taps one side of the box, right below four-inch painted numbers and the name "D. E. Machina."

"What if I throw in the bike? That's got to be something... come on, you can't say no to this face." He pastes on a lopsided grin, playing the reliable 'scruffy waif with a heart of gold' (TM) routine for all it was worth.

"Just you watch me."

Throwing caution to the wind, he plays his trump card: soulfull, sparkly-wet-with-imminent-tears, dinner plate sized eyes. The old biddy didn't stand a chance.

"Alright. Twenty-five and that's out of my own pocket, mind you."

Duo gladly accepts the cash along with a bit of advice: "If you're that strapped for greenbacks, try the plasma and blood banks. You're a little on the thin side, but they don't usually turn folks down."

A city bus screeches to a stop near the latest g-boy safehouse. Yeah, they've got a million of them, and there probably isn't a private school left that hasn't had one of the guys pose as a student while ferreting out some secret, sinister OZ plan. Anyway, the doors swing open and a pale Duo unsteadily falls out. Weaving slightly, he makes his way inside the house.

Maybe I shouldn't have gone to those last two plasma centers. I'll need to wear long sleeves for a couple of days, but at least I'm going to eat. Staggering into the kitchen, he throws a small pile of bills at Wufei. "Gimme some sketti now."

The other boy doesn't even bother to look up from his dinner. "No way, Maxwell. Not until you've completely paid your debt to society."

Duo whimpers, his stomach growling in agreement, as he takes in the impassive audience.

"And don't even think about sneaking anything when we're asleep. Trowa installed some locks on the pantry that not even you can bypass."

Grumbling, Duo shakily storms off to his room in a weak huff. This whole day has reeked. And it's all Fei-chan's fault, he illogically concludes. He opens his bedroom door, convinced a little sleep will make things look better.

A dust-bunny huddles forlornly in the far corner, shielding its small brood from the acres of empty frontier. "You... you traitors!" he screams, fists balled in rage. As the echoes die, he seizes the final answer. A perfect revenge and technically completely legal.

I won't be selling the stuff because I promise I'll return for it... well, it's an understood promise, if not overtly stated.

With his last reserves of strength, he kicks in Wufei's door. At a downtown movie theater, Trowa momentarily stops munching popcorn and places a buttery hand over his heart. "The pain..." he murmurs.

"What is it?" Quatre asks, snuggling closer.

"This feeling--like three hinges crying out then suddenly being silenced." The sensation fades as quickly as it appeared. Confused, but not overly concerned, he settles back and tries to enjoy the movie.

Meanwhile, Duo is gaping at Fei-chan's sparse bedroom furnishings. God, he's such a freakin' anchorite.

Item: one honkin' huge stereo system. Value: outweighed by low probability of toting it to the pawn shop without getting a hernia.

Item: one polka-dot sheet ("Only weaklings require beds."). Value: nominal.

Item: one cuddly stuffed panda on sheet. Name: Nataku. Value: merely sentimental--too awkward for transport.

Item: one little black pig. Name: P-chan. Value: only as an oddity. Where did he pick the thing up? Bad enough he treats it better than anybody else and only slightly worse than his Gundam. No, he had Trowa install 'pig- flaps' on _every_ door. At least I can understand the outside doors, in case it wants to go out, but why would it want to visit Heero? Duo plops down in frustration and stares at the sleeping piggy.

Kind of peaceful, you know. Blood loss, hunger, and a general "Duo- ness" pick that quiet moment to gang up on the poor boy. Otherwise, how can you explain the next thought?

Wait a minute. What's a pig except pork on the hoof? He pulls a fork out of an ankle-sheath and inches forward.

*poke*

*ernk?*

*poke, poke*

*oink!*

*poke, poke, poke*

*skree!*

The piggy pops up and skitters away from the fork-wielding maniac. He hits the flap and barrels out into the hallway, trotters madly clicking as he calls for his protector.

"Come back here, you! Your sacrifice won't be in vain!" Lurching after the meal, Duo crashes into Wufei outside the kitchen. "Out of my way," he yells, pushing off again. He finally traps the bewildered animal.

"Keep away from my P-chan, you unworthy load."

*thump*

*crash*

*kwee!*

Heero walks in from his evening class and looks over the damage. Wufei was pulling at Duo's leg while the prone boy retaliated with the closest object to hand--the pig. Punctuating his battle cry of "Jupiter Coconuts Cyclone!" Duo vigorously flails at his agressor's head.

"Glad to see you two are friends again." Heero goes off to study physics, relieved that everything was back to normal.

Slide back to Part One and just forget the whole embarrassing affair.

If your hunger for revenge has been satisfied, please continue to The Visit, a related ficlet.

If you still want to see Fei-chan psychologically tormented, go on to the strange Part Three .

Whatever your choice, take some time and e-mail the author, Mel, with questions or comments. She'll love you for it and probably be so grateful she'll bake you cookies ;)