Doctor Mikamura rang the doorbell once again. It was in the dead of summer, late July. The artificial weather conditions never climbed over 27 degrees in the Kanto district on the Neo Japan space colony, though it was still plenty warm enough to cause him to perspire. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead as he waited at the threshold.

"Please answer," he murmured to himself as cicadas chirped loudly in the muggy heat. It was scheduled to rain tomorrow, and the humidity was already rising. It had been three weeks since the conclusion of the Twelfth Gundam Fight, three and a half since that sudden and humiliating defeat. He had yet to hear from Major Ulube Ishikawa since then. The radio silence was deafening.

Mikamura stepped back and shielded his eyes as he he gazed up at the small, unassuming house. There didn't seem to be any sign that he was home, no lights, no air conditioners running, curtains drawn, and a mail slot full to the brim with letters.

"I guess I went out my way for nothing..." Mikamura, extended the handle of his roller luggage and turned toward the narrow street when someone called him from the neighbor's door.

An older granny, hobbling on her cane with cloth and empty shopping bags hanging on her arm asked, "Are you looking for Ulube-kun?"

Mikamura nodded, "Yes ma'am. I was told he took leave and I came to visit since I was in the area."

"Unfortunately I haven't seem to have seen him in a few days now. Poor young man," she stepped slowly into the street and limped toward Mikamura, "I saw him on the television. To think that they made him apologize for losing to the eventual champion. A formidable fighter at that. But with all the bad blood and controversy, the Defense Ministry had to have a scapegoat." Mikamura remembered the press conference shortly after the Gundam Fight. The blinding flashing lights of cameras and the clamor of reporters barking questions like rabid dogs was not a pleasant sight to behold. But it was Ulube's dead-eyed stare and the low, humiliating bow that struck Mikamura.

"Pardon me ma'am, you said you saw him a few days ago?"

The old woman nodded, "I sure did. He had a bunch of bags from a convenience store. It looked like he bought a bunch of liquor. And he looked like death warmed over."

Mikamura blinked, "Liquor?"

"Whiskey I believe. That cheap no-name crap. I've knocked on his door to see if he was alright, but I haven't had an answer since. I figured he may have gone back to work"

Mikamura's eyes widened, "But he doesn't-"

"Anyway son, I've got to be on my way. Gotta get dinner on the stove. If you find him, tell him to keep up the good work," the old woman bowed politely and shuffled along, leaving Mikamura with his mouth hanging open. He stood there as the cicadas continued to chirp. He jolted when the other shoe hit and bolted for the front door, dropping his luggage in the street.

Pounding on the door, Mikamura yelled, "Major! Major open up!" He turned the knob and pulled on the door, not knowing what to expect. Mikamura fell backward and on to his rear when he found out too late that the front door had been unlocked. He scurried to his feet and stared at the door for the moment, the heavy feeling in his gut sinking further. He approached the door carefully, well aware that Ulube wasn't one to hesitate to shoot. Neo Thailand's Fighter found that out the hard way last August.

He knocked on the door and peered inside, "Major? It's Mikamura," he stepped in slowly and began to take off his shoes. Ulube's work shoes were paired together, polished to a mirrored finish and positioned at attention. His dirty gray running shoes were tossed haphazardly near the step. He glanced at the amount of letters that piled up behind the door. While he was amazed, somehow they only worried him more.

After slipping out of his shoes, he crept further past the stairway and to the door to the living room, calling out to him again, "Major?" The door was ajar, with a red and white jogging suit and a pair of underwear scattered in front of it. The air inside was still and suffocatingly hot with a lingering organic odor, but Mikamura couldn't tell if it was garbage or something else. What little sunlight shone through the living room illuminated dust motes as the floor creaked with each step.

Mikamura once again knocked and peered inside, "Major Ishikawa?" It was even hotter in the living room. The beads of sweat on Mikamura's forehead grew to droplets and began to roll down his face. The curtains to the back porch patio were drawn partially, allowing the sunlight to illuminate the scene. At least two empty bottles of cheap whiskey were set on the coffee table with a plastic bag from a convenience store with at least a couple more. There was only one shot glass half full of whiskey. However, Mikamura's worry shot into panic when he saw the blackened pistol and box of ammunition in the middle of the mess. He stumbled to the coffee table and couch to find the man he was looking for. Major Ulube Ishikawa was naked, unconscious, and face down in a puddle of his own evaporating vomit.

"Oh God," Mikamura shoved the coffee table away and shook his shoulders, "Ulube! Ulube-kun wake up dammit!" Mikamura turned him over by his shoulders and pulled him away from the soiled floor. He cradled his head and tried to slap him awake, but he got no response. Ulube was ghastly pale, his lips blue and bleeding from how dry they were, and was barely breathing. His green, sunken, and blood shot eyes were rolled backward and motionless. Every inch of him smelled like pungent alcohol and sweat. Thankfully, there was no sign of any gunshot wounds; the situation was already dire enough. Mikamura laid Ulube's head on the floor and headed to the kitchen. The burnable trash can was overflowing with garbage, wrappers and uneaten food from convenience stores. He simply yanked the bag out and tossed it aside, then brought the can into the living room. He set it by him, and with considerable effort, sat Ulube upright. He placed the can in between his legs and held his head above it by his unkempt hair. Mikamura hesitated for only a moment. He then shoved his hand in the Major's mouth and flicked his uvula.

Ulube's eyes snapped wide open. His body heaved as he began to projectile vomit the contents of his stomach. There wasn't a sign of anything solid, just brownish whiskey and neon yellow bile. Mikamura held tight to his hair while he dug into his pocket for his cell phone. His hand trembled as he tried to dial 119 with his left hand. He slipped up and had had to dial again. However, before he could, he felt a frighteningly strong hand grip his wrist. It squeezed him hard and forced him to drop his phone.

"M-Major? Are you...?" Mikamura lifted Ulube's head from the garbage can. While still in his deep stupor, Ulube had regained consciousness and leered at Mikamura from under his heavy eyebrows.

He blinked his bloodshot and glassy eyes and managed to mumble, "... No"

Mikamura replied, "Major this is dire you need medical-" Ulube slowly shook his head no.

The two of them sat in silence. The cicadas outside continued to chirp. Mikamura's wrist began to hurt with Ulube's tightening grip.

Mikamura finally relented, "Well... you need to drink some water."

The sun had set a couple of hours ago. When Ulube finally finished vomiting, Dr. Mikamura somehow managed to drag him to his couch in spite of Ulube having more than thirty centimeters and at least thirty kilograms more than him. Since then he continued to nurse him as best as he could as he fell in out of sleep. When Mikamura felt Ulube was over the worst of it, he made a trip to a nearby convenience store to pick up some things; heavy prepared meals, vitamin drinks, and several more bottles of water and Pocari Sweat. As he returned to the house, he found the lights were on.

"Major? Are you awake?" Mikamura called as he entered. He found that the mail from the door had been gathered and the clothes were gone. He made his way through the living room and into the kitchen where he found Ulube leaning on the sink and pouring out the rest of the whiskey. This time he was wearing the red and white jogging pants from the floor and had tied his unwashed hair into a messy ponytail.

"Doctor," he slurred, "Nearly everything you did could have killed me."

Mikamura blinked and asked, "Are you serious?"

Still plenty drunk, he placed the emptied bottle on the kitchen counter, "Never induce vomiting, don't lay an unconscious vomiting person on their back, and don't stick your fingers in someone's mouth to induce a gag reflex unless you want to lose some fingers." He opened the second bottle and dropped the cap on the floor.

"Oh...oh dear..." Mikamura said, blushing in embarrassment.

Ulube suppressed a belch while staring at the whiskey pouring down the drain, "About the only thing you did right was try to call emergency services. But I shouldn't have expected much from you." Mikamura looked down at his shoes and fell quiet for a moment.

While not looking up, he finally said, "I brought some food. You should probably put something on your stomach." Ulube didn't react, shaking the bottle to make sure it was emptied. He then set the empty bottle next the first on the counter and began to stumble to the living room. Knowing that this was going to be a disaster, Mikamura set the bags down and walked to Ulube as he tripped on his own feet. Mikamura caught him by his chest and stood him back upright while letting him lean on him.

As they hobbled slowly to the couch, Ulube hung his head low and mumbled, "Stop calling me "Major." My name is Ulube. It's just Ulube. I'm Ulube..."

This wasn't the first time Mikamura heard this, "I apologize. Referring to someone by their rank is a hard habit to break." He thought to himself how Ulube's instance of using his first name was strange, considering his prestigious family line. When they reached the couch, Mikamura slowly lowered Ulube and laid him down. Ulube tried to sit up and reach for something on the table.

Mikamura laid him flat again, "No don't get up Ulube. What do you need?"

"Ice."

Mikamura looked at the table to find a warm blue ice pack sitting in a thin film of water. He picked it up and went to retrieve the shopping bags. He brought the bags into the kitchen, placed the warm ice pack in the freezer, and brought out a cold one.

As he rummaged through the bags, Mikamura told him, "They had oden at the convenience store. I didn't know what you'd like, but I got boiled eggs, kinchaku, satsuma-age, and chikuwa. I also brought curry buns and-"

"I don't need that crap."

Mikamura frowned and grabbed the cardboard bowl of of oden and a pair of chopsticks from the bag, "Well since you decided to drink yourself halfway to death, you're going to have to eat this 'crap.'" He then walked back the couch, set the food and ice pack on the coffee table, and pulled Ulube upright. He then handed the bowl to him and sat down next to him. Ulube blinked confusedly and then sighed. He pulled the chopsticks from the paper wrapper and tugged on them until they separated into uneven halves. He then opened the bowl and inhaled the steam from the fishy, somewhat salty broth.

"It does smell alright," he said as he took a piece of satsuma-age, a fish and vegetable cake, in between his chopsticks. Mikamura watched as he took a bite from it and chewed slowly at first. He began to chew with more enthusiasm as he took the rest of the satsuma-age into his mouth.

"Hungrier than you thought?" Mikamura asked. Ulube just nodded as he took the chikuwa and ate it in three bites. Mikamura sat relieved that he was starting to get back to his old self. He wasn't all better, but he was getting there. But then he remembered the gun, which he still had hidden in his roller luggage at the door.

As Ulube slurped at the broth, Mikamura finally asked, "So, I remember you telling me that you weren't fond of hard liquor."

"I hate the smell." Ulube replied, taking another piece of satsuma-age into his mouth.

"Whiskey's pretty hard..."

Ulube swallowed and paused, "...Yeah... that it is."

"And the gun?" Ulube sat silent for an awkward moment. He then brought the bowl to his lips to sip on the broth as the clock on the wall ticked away.

"Why didn't you shoot?"

Ulube lowered the bowl, closed his eyes, and bowed his head, "I was so drunk that I forgot about the safety... I figured since that wasn't going to work, I'd just use the alcohol." The both of them sat in silence. Mikamura didn't like that his assumption was correct. He glanced at Ulube, head still low as his oden cooled.

"Are you going to get help?" Mikamura asked. Ulube turned his head, stray strands of hair hanging on his cheek.

"I think I've gone through enough humiliation Doctor. I don't need some pampered snot-nosed medical resident telling me what I'm thinking."

Mikamura sighed, "I would argue what happened today would have been a much worse humiliation." Ulube turned away, but Mikamura saw his ears reddening in anger.

"Why'd you come here anyway?"

"I came to Kanto to wrap up some business with the Defense Ministry and the Gundam Fight Team. When I saw you weren't at work, I was told you were on convalescent leave. I figured I'd pay you a visit." Mikamura said, tugging on his beard.

Ulube clarified, "But why did you come visit me?"

"You didn't look like yourself during that press conference. I figured you'd need a friendly face after all of this." The first droplets of rain began to fall and patter on the window. Ulube set the oden on the coffee table and grabbed the ice pack. He then laid back and placed the pack on his closed eyelids.

"Huh, it wasn't scheduled to rain until tomorrow," Mikamura murmured.

"Even in such a controlled environment, man cannot control nature. He can only influence it."

"He may not control nature, but he can surely control his behavior." Ulube didn't reply.

Mikamura continued, "I can understand why you won't seek help. I'm not in your shoes, and I'm not the one getting the angry letters from people who, just a few weeks ago, were singing your praises. But I am a member of your team and a coworker. I care for your well being. So I'll make you a deal; Let me reprogram your gun safe and the combination, and I promise I won't tell anyone about this. I'll give you the combination when I think you're out of this... mess." Ulube sat silent for a moment, then pulled the ice pack off of his eyelids to look at Mikamura. They were still bloodshot and swollen.

"You promise to not tell anyone?"

"Not a soul."

"And what should I do if you break that promise?"

Mikamura didn't like the tone of the question, "That is something I have no intention of finding out." They sat once again in the silence, save for the ticking clock and the falling rain outside.

"I'll take your offer..." Ulube murmured. Mikamura raised his head, smiling slightly.

"However, I do take oaths very seriously, Doctor."

"There's no need to threaten me Ulube-kun. I'm doing this for your sake." Mikamura watched as a faint smile crept on to Ulube's face.

"I don't hear that all that often."

"What precisely?"

""I'll do it for your sake."" Ulube smiled wider as he placed the ice pack back on his face.

Mikamura nodded then stood to his feet and gathered some of the empty water bottles from the table, "Well, you do need one other thing."

Ulube asked, "What's that?"

"A bath." Ulube took the ice pack from his face and looked at Mikamura with a raised eyebrow. He then sniffed his armpit and grimaced.

"Damn, I do smell like a sweaty bar," Ulube chuckled softly, "And a bath would do me some good."

Mikamura walked to the kitchen to throw away the garbage and asked, "Do you mind if I stay with you until you're completely sober? As a precaution of course." When he didn't get a response, he turned around to find Ulube slouched to his side, asleep and drooling on the armrest. Mikamura threw the bottles in the recycling can and returned to the living room. He lifted Ulube's legs and pulled them on to the couch. As he turned him on his side and pulled a thin blanket over him, he heard Ulube muttering in his sleep.

"Is...this "divine intervention"...Mother?"

Mikamura wasn't sure if he could agree.