Author: Asuka Kureru
notes: I don't know shit about Wuwu's religion, I'm not even sure that I know its exact name, I just have vague notions that I could have misunderstood easily, so, no offense meant to practitioners , but I do that as I please, because I don't know any better, so there ^__^

I'll list the songs used at the end, and really, they're great, lyrics and melody *___*

Garou + Part 20
Wolf Songs

"...Fullmoon is on the sky and ~He's not a man anymore... dadadaaaa, ladeeda..." the braided boy was humming while moving around in the kitchen, dancing right and left to retrieve the utensils he would need. "Full moon..."

Singing the lyrics that had been running around in his head since he woke up this morning, Duo put the plate on the kitchen table and got rid of his apron, then closed the oven with a light kick, before taking the soufflé back and walking, humming, to the living room where Trowa and Quatre were waiting for their meal.

"...In the mist of the mo~rning he cannot fi~ght anymore
Thousands moon or more, he~'s been ho~wling
Knock on the door, and scream that is soon ending
Mess on the floor agai~n..."

"Appropriate," said Heero's deep voice.

Duo didn't jump and scream, but only because he didn't want his hour in the kitchen struggling with the cooking books and the diabolical oven reduced to nothing, forcing him to do it again AND to clean the floor. Frowning, he glared at the boy descending the stairs and blew him a raspberry before walking to the living room once again.

"While you're up, Yuy, go fetch a plate and stuff... I won't move for a latecomer," he ordered without looking back.

Heero gave a "hn" which could have been a yes, or simply an aborted laugh, and jumped down the last steps.

"Go sit down," he advised the boy following him, "I'll go fetch plates, knifes and forks."

Wufei would have liked being able to protest that he could do it himself, but the fact was that he didn't know where everything was in the house. Bah, it wasn't much anyway. Hesitantly, he looked at the two boys already seated at the table. The lithe blond one was looking back at him, curiosity appearing on his face, but his smile was too friendly for Wufei to get annoyed at the inspection.

"Hello," he greeted him with a soft, high and melodious voice.

The Chinese boy hesitated for a few seconds before nodding. "Hello."

The boy with the bang over his eye looked up to glance at him, and the Asian teen imperceptibly tensed. His eyes were so green, it was striking. Wufei remembered those eyes. Over a cup of coffee, and vague sympathy offered after a bitter defeat...

"Yo, Wu-man!!! How are ya? Dun just stand there, sit!!"

The Chinese boy tensed visibly this time, unnerved by the voice, although he didn't know why, and found himself face to face with the boy with whom Heero had talked, but from whom he hadn't been able to see more than a vague shape. He was grinning at him, but for some reason Wufei felt that it was not as mocking as it looked. He frowned, ready to put the other boy in his place...

...the boy's momentum made his heavy plait dance behind him, placing it in Wufei's sights.

Duo had been too lazy to braid it entirely this morning, after Quatre's return. He had let it quite loose, and only braided to half the length of his hair. A trail of long, free hair floated behind the elastic band, for at least thirty centimeters.

"... that was you, the person Zechs made me think of..." muttered the Chinese teen, momentarily hypnotized.

The American blinked.

"... Wufei...?"

They stared at each other for a while, Wufei submerged by a wave of memories from his time as a guest of OZ and a few small flashbacks, Duo surprised and pensive to see that his comrade wasn't as healed as he had believed.

"Go sit down," advised Heero, putting a hand in the braided boy's back to gently push him forward.

Duo deposited the plate on the table while Heero installed the table set he had brought, and Quatre began to serve them helpings. The atmosphere was tense, impatient.

"Wufei doesn't remember everything for the moment, but it's coming back," Heero finally said after Trowa glanced significantly at him. "He just needs something to anchor his memory."

"What do you mean?"

"When I see something that makes me think of another thing I knew before... Until it happens, it's as if I just had never known. But once I had a flashback, I can rebuild the entire memory from it, and then it stays for good. When I have the time to think, I try to associate things with it... A little like reweaving a tapestry," explained Wufei in a low voice, strangely intimidated by those four strangers who were supposed to be his closest companions.

"Do you remember their names, or do you want me to tell you?" asked Heero.

The Chinese boy was quite busy staring at the ground.

"I... am not sure..." he admitted in a low voice, annoyed and embarrassed at the offense he did to people he felt were his allies with forgetting their names.

"Hey, nothing to fret over, man!" Duo grinned back, giving him a big slap on the back, making him falter and nearly fall face first in the table.

"MAXWELL!!! Damn it, you... Max...well...?"

The braided boy burst out laughing and slumped forward, the snickers rendering him unable to stay correctly seated.

"It's nice to know that my name is forever associated to your need to make me leave you the hell alone!" he snickered.

Heero snorted and Quatre had a little smile that he tried to hide, not sure of the way it would be taken.

"You're called Maxwell..." repeated Wufei, blinking slowly, visibly surprised of this revelation he had had; the name had come by instinct on his lips... "And your first name?"

"Duo. Duo Maxwell."

"And you have the gall to call yourself by a God's name" added Wufei, nodding firmly. That he was sure of, for some reason.

"True. I'm the God of Death! And them, do you remember them?"

"I am sorry ... No," answered the boy, shaking his head.

"It's not important," assured Quatre with a warm smile. "I am Quatre Winner and here is Trowa Barton."

Wufei nodded as a salute then sat down at the table, embarrassed, not too sure of his place in the group.

"We've been scared shitless 'bout ya, pal... Well, you don't seem to have had troubles getting by alone, did you? didn't you? Did you?"

"I didn't have too many problems, no..."

"Can you give us a report on what happened? What do you remember? Start with the first day."

The Chinese boy took on a thoughtful pose.

"I woke up one day in a bed, and I knew that my thigh would hurt, though I didn't know how I knew it. So much that I couldn't move. I had bruises everywhere, but even now I do not really remember how I received them... A chase, a shot... I don't remember anything else."

Quatre nodded, lowering his eyes. He was ashamed; while what Wufei was saying happened, he had been sitting in a car.

"There were guards, and I didn't know why they looked so cautious. I was tied down to the bed..."

"At least you had a bed," muttered Duo, remembering his sojourn in a stinking little cell, before Heero came to get him out of there.

Wufei stared at him strangely.

"And then?" asked Duo, not wanting to talk about that for now.

"Treize came to see me."

The other pilots glanced at each other, puzzled, when they heard the way Wufei was referring to his old enemy. No General Kushrenada, no Him... and the tone, vaguely softened, nearly imperceptibly moved.

"He understood that I didn't remember... He was the one to tell me my name. He was treating me very well... He ordered the soldiers to untie me, first. I was examined by psychiatrists to determinate if my amnesia was faked or not. Then, when they discovered that it was not, I was given more freedom... Even if He always had people following me around," he added with a touch of bitterness.

Treize had thought that Wufei didn't realize that he was followed; but he had just acted as if. He had been disappointed that Treize would not trust him ... but now that he knew that they had been adversaries, he better understood why. In fact, the man had been right not to trust him.

"You weren't mistreated? Tortured?"

"Tortured?!" he repeated with a touch of horror. "Gods no!"

He stared at the boys, who were looking at him, serious as ever. They were not joking.

And then he remembered the hateful glares some soldiers gave him, the circumspect way Zechs had treated him, the refusal to address him in any other way than a highly impersonal tone from Treize's help, Lady Une, and told himself that yes, they had all treated him like an enemy they were forced to tolerate. If they had been able to... maybe not Zechs, but maybe the Lady... There were moments when her eyes shot thunder bolts, and when she was like that, he was under the impression that she could do anything without blinking.

"No... Treize protected me. He said that since I didn't remember, it wasn't of any use. In between, he would treat me as a guest, not any other way. I... think I... I didn't fully understand the situation," admitted the Chinese boy, lowering his eyes on his plate.

"Well, I still think that those nobles and knight-y conducts are bloody stupid as part of a modern war, but I'm not about to complain when they come from the enemy," laughed Duo, balancing on the back legs of his chair, his hands crossed behind his head. "Well, not to be annoying, but it's cooling down! So for the one time I'm cooking..."

Heero stared suspiciously at his plate.

"Yuy," announced the American in a nothing less than pleasant tone, "if I hear you utter ONE comment on my culinary gifts, I'll make you inhale your part by an extremity that is more adapted to evacuation, if you catch my meaning..."

Heero snorted and looked circumspectly at Duo.

"I am not quite sure that it will truly do more damage that way anyway..."

"Arrrrrrgh, you..." growled Duo, getting up to give him a noogie.

Heero ducked and pushed his hand back, nearly making him fall off his chair.

"I was joking, Wufei," he said when he saw the distrustful expression the Chinese boy was glaring at his plate with. "He isn't so bad in the kitchen anymore..."

"Ha!" exclaimed Wufei. "It can't be so hard to do better than this fiasco with the ham cake..."

"Hey! Not my fault if the oven had decided to heat up on one side but not the other!!"

"And the sugar instead of salt was, without a doubt, because they had decided to change boxes in the middle of the night?" said back the Chinese, smirking.

"Bleeedah... Nice to see that you didn't forget that... Traitor!"

Trowa and Quatre glanced at each other and smiled. Everything was back to normal.

* * * * * *

/ The man-cheetah had discovered a little place in the tranquil forest he so liked to visit, where he felt even better, even more in peace. A little pond, with a stream cascading into it and running away on a bed of stones that made it sing and glisten in the light of dawn. in this particular dream, he always spent most of his time sprawled in the cool and slightly humid grass of the riverbank, his back paws trailing in the fresh water, his fingers drawing scintillating lines on the surface when he brushed it with his claws, in a state of calm and total contemplation. This particular dream always supported him, calmed him when he was stressed out, when he was afraid, when he was tired to have felt too much all the emotions and passions of other people than himself.

And then the reflection in the little stream blurred, reflected briefly mountainous, snowy heights, so high that they were becoming blue. And the sadness of loneliness./

A gentle wave of surprise awakened him from his dream, surprise that then colored with relief and bittersweet consolation. The Arab sat up in his bed and blinked, briefly confused. He had troubles recognizing it, but still, he knew exactly from who it was, without even needing to think about it. The empty place at the bottom of his empathy was taken once again.

The surprise was tinted with sadness, and he got up in silence, slid into a robe and sneaked barefooted along the corridor, to the source of the feelings.

He hesitated, then softly knocked on the door.

"Wufei?" he whispered, half-opening the door.

The Chinese boy was bent over the box containing his little offerings shrine and his possessions that Duo had managed to grab in his old room, nearly a month ago. He had a white ribbon in his hands, and his eyes were staring at an old picture.

"Oh, Quatre... Come in."

The blond-haired boy stepped in the bedroom, then stopped.

"Duo assembled everything he could find when we had to leave the last safehouse in a hurry," admitted the boy in a low voice. "I hope he didn't forget anything important, I should have helped him..."

"No... No, nothing essential," answered the Chinese boy, looking pensive and still saddened.

He closed his eyes, as if to chase away the painful memory the picture was evoking in him, then took a deep breath and gave a small smile to his comrade.

"I will have to thank him."

"I can go and get you matches if you want," offered the Arabian boy when Wufei found the little shrine in the box and put it in place against a wall.

Wufei stared at him for a second, then nodded, and his eyes expressed for him the gratitude that the education he had received prevented him from transforming into words or actions.

"Thank you."

The blue-eyed boy disappeared in the corridor, ran to the kitchen and grabbed the matchbox, then ran back, grabbing an orange in passing, running past a barely half-awake Heero without explaining his haste for the puzzled teen.

Heero scratched his skull, then continued in his hunt for the elusive coffee mug. No one should hope that he would be able to line up two coherent ideas before having had his daily dose of caffeine.

Quatre knocked at the door then entered the room as silently as he could. Wufei was kneeling in front of the shrine, contemplative. He glanced up to his comrade, and smiled slightly in thanks for what the boy had fetched for him. The orange made his eyebrow shoot up, though.

"Offering for the Ancestors," explained the lithe blond, blushing.

Wufei didn't answer for quite a long time, and Quatre thought that he had offended him somehow, putting his nose in Wufei's business. But finally the Chinese teen moved... deeply bowing in front of him, thanking him without saying a word. Quatre bowed back, then got out of the room, leaving him alone with his memories.

* * * * * *

When Quatre came back in the kitchen, Trowa was seated beside Heero and they were sipping at their coffee mugs, apparently without even realizing that they were synchronized. The Arab snickered, amused, and slid on the bench in front of them. His radiant smile attracted the two brunettes' attention, who exchanged a puzzled look that conveyed a whole silent dialogue. Quatre burst out laughing. Their exchange said so clearly "you ask or I ask?" he just couldn't help it. When Trowa stared at him and lifted an eyebrow in his direction, the boy was still snickering and giggling. It would have been strange from anyone else, but from Quatre it was just endearing.


"Wufei is back!"

The two brunettes glanced at each other once again, more circumspect. This time it was Heero who answered.

"... Quatre, he was back yesterday already..."

"No, I meant here!!" exclaimed the Arabian, pressing a hand on his heart, unable to explain in another way.

"You can perceive him again?" asked Trowa, surprised.

"Yes!" answered the blond-haired boy with an even more radiant smile. "And he is nearly like he was before, except... Less... well, more... Haa, it's hard to explain! Slightly different. But it's still him, he's here again with us, and I... oh, darn, I think I'm going to cry ... I'm so happy!"

Trowa leaned over the table and put his hand on Quatre's arm, and the boy put his own hand over Trowa's, a gigantic grin on his lips and tears in his eyes.

"Ah, I'm so emotive, it's atrocious ..." he muttered, pressing an arm across his eyes.

"How is he different?" asked Heero to distract him from his embarrassment.

"... Hard to explain. For example, you have feelings that are... Sharp, like ice shards sometimes, and when I think of a color to give them, I think white or clear blue, but violent, you see? Like a police torch or a lighthouse. Duo is like a flame, it's always dancing and very beautiful, but impossible to catch or to give a definite shape to. Red, often, passionate and dangerous, sometimes black or dark purple when he's sad or in a bad mood. Trowa... I don't know. Soft, anyway. Green and white, pastels mostly, sepia sometimes. But Wufei... His emotions were as sharp as yours, Heero, but now, they're a little bit more round on the corners. A little duller maybe? I don't really know to what it corresponds... It's something to feel, not to explain."

"Hmmm.... Well, you're the specialist. As long as you understand what you feel, it isn't important to put it in words," assured the Japanese pilot.

Quatre sighed lengthily to evacuate his tenseness and smiled at him, before jumping on the coffee pot for his daily dose.

* * *

When Wufei descended in the kitchen, the four boys were sitting at the table and having breakfast. He hesitated imperceptibly, not sure to really be part of the group, but the grin the American and the Arab sent his way and the chair Trowa kicked out from under the table for him proved that he was welcomed.

"How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," he answered with a smile, taking his place among them and reaching for the coffee maker.

The discussion by morning was more often than not calm and sporadic, about the political news, and the plan for the day ahead. Wufei occupied himself with listening to them without really participating, absorbing the information. He had missed so many events during his ... vacation in OZ.

He had so much information to sort out, about what he had missed in the outside world, or... what he remembered. It wasn't in order at all, but one way or another, the mental blocks were wearing thin and he was rediscovering entire moments of his life, as if it was the first time. It was strange to remember like that, nearly as if he was receiving them from another person, or from a past life. He wasn't quite sure yet that they were truly his own.

He had stared at himself in the mirror before meeting them in the kitchen. His image felt familiar after that month at the Oz base, but when he had been staring at himself today, tons of memories had come back on his previous appearance. Hair unbound and messy, a scar between his eyes, rebellious bangs, too short to put behind his ears and that were constantly dangling and traveling all over his face... He had stared at himself for a long time, had measured and classified the differences, had brushed that scar with his finger... Then had resolutely brushed his hair back, tied it tight, with a red band that was lying on the table. A warrior could not have his hair going in all directions; it was too dangerous and could cause too many problems. Even Maxwell knew that.

It felt strange to be once again the Wufei from before... He wasn't used to having his hair pulled back anymore, and he found it strangely restrictive. After a few seconds, he had brushed his hand the wrong way in his hair, dislodging the shorter strands, had arranged them so that they would fall framing his face, like an echo of the ebony curtain he had gotten used to.

He had stared at himself once again. There, that was better. The scar and the wild strands, with the tight ponytail of the warrior. A mix.

Pensive, he brushed a fingertip over his scar, following the light rise of skin. Luckily, it was not a hideous pucker, just a line of darker skin, just slightly thicker.

"I wonder why it hasn't disappeared yet," he whispered to himself.

A lull in the conversation let the other boys hear him and he turned pink. He glanced at them, one after the other.

"What’cha talking about? Your scar?" asked Duo.

Wufei nodded briefly.


"You got that during your capture?"

"I think so, yes. I'm not quite sure."

"Just before. One of the guards had a blade, I think," answered Quatre. "But it wasn't deep, you told me so, it should have disappeared ... Was it badly healed?"

"Not at all. But in a month it barely blurred a little... I just found that strange, that's all," added the Chinese pilot, shrugging.

"That the wound from where you received Quatre's blood?" questioned Heero, putting his mug back on the table. "The place where I was bitten stayed visible too. Maybe it has a relation."

"Probably," answered Quatre, pulling on his sleeve to show the little white points, the discolored skin, where Heero's fangs had pierced his skin months ago. "Didn't disappear either. Perhaps it is the first contact with the virus ... What do you think?"

"Mmm, maybe. Maybe it is the place from where I received your blood... I don't remember it yet."

"We were talking about that and your health in general the day before yesterday," answered Quatre. "Do you remember Sally?"

"Now, yes..." said Wufei, discovering details about a very specific woman in his mind in a place where he hadn't even been aware that there had been someone.

"She's in the USA, she helps the local Resistance net to organize, to create links to their Chinatown and the resistant groups in China to whom she was a part of ... Well you see the kind of job. We were saying that it would be good that a doctor on our side knew about our... particularity, Heero, you and me. And with your captivity and your amnesia, even if as long after the fact, she can't do much anymore, we never know, it would be better that she sees you, don't you think so?"