A.C. 201

Contrary to what most people believed about him, Heero had no wish to return to the battlefield. He simply felt...unsettled, unfinished, un-something. He was in limbo, suspended between worlds, a confused mass of living potential in a cocoon, undecided about what he should become. That semester he took in classical literature was rubbing off on him.

There was no discussion of going back to St. Gabriel's from either of them, though college courses were offered at the new campus. She had joked about it in passing, the memory of the dance made her flush, which made him look away and change the subject. He returned to L1 to complete his education, she insisted that it was "very important for his reintegration into society." He enrolled at the post-graduate level, hidden behind falsified records and his age-ambiguous Asian features.

Heero switched majors three times in two semesters, the subjects all seemed frivolous to him. He could not sit through a class without the distinct feeling that he was pretending to be someone else, faking it all. He said as much to Duo, who visited Heero unannounced, smelling faintly of moonshine.

"I'll let you in on a secret-we're all fakin' it buddy, everyone pretends to be someone they're not for people they pretend to love." Duo answered melodramatically, and then invited himself to stay the night. He left early the next morning, and hoped Hilde had calmed from their most recent domestic spat.

It was early summer in the Northern Hemisphere when Heero returned to Earth, but he did not return to her, not yet. Instead, he retraced his footsteps from the war, and found himself helping in the post-war rebuilding efforts of a small village, on the Eastern boarder of the Former Sanc Kingdom. He was paid enough to cover lodging and meals - he ran out of cash funds and did not feel inclined to tap the blood money of the Barton Foundation.

The men he worked with were not chatty past the barest greetings, the solemnity of war still felt too fresh. He spent six weeks to help the villagers rebuild a small stone church. That they chose to prioritize its reconstruction while their homes still lay in ruins perplexed him.

"The spirit comes before the flesh." One of the men grunted out. They all cramped inside the cargo van to wait for the flash storm to let up. Others nodded their agreement while they washed down dry rations with watery tea, they may as well eat if they couldn't work. Heero did not question their reasoning on the matter.

He was invited to the first Sunday Service after the rebuild was completed. Out of politeness and mild curiosity, he went. The small stone sanctuary was filled to the rafters, people came from hamlets near and far. The stoic men he came to know in the past few weeks turned uncharacteristically jovial, transformed completely by the reunion with their families. Heero stood by the door and felt out of place, he never cared enough to let social awkwardness bother him, but the sudden wave of envy caught him off guard. He slipped out quietly, and the stones he laid rang with songs of praise.

He stayed in the village, after all, there were still houses to rebuild, infrastructure to repair, and he had nowhere he needed to be, really. He developed calluses on his hands from lumber framing, got cuts on his fingers from wiring houses, and sore muscles everywhere from that one week he helped baling hay . For the first time since he tumbled out of Zero, he felt real. And slowly, inexplicably, he began to feel a sense of comradery with the men he worked with, and begun to think of them as "his crew". How odd, Heero thought, to have always fought alone yet in this place...

They had just finished laying down the roof of the newest house when it began to snow in earnest, great big flakes that floated down and did not melt when they touched the ground. No sooner had the hammering ceased, the silence was broken by delighted childish squeals from the streets below.

Heero climbed down with the others, each man packed up their own tools. Pierre, one of the older men on the reconstruction team, lit his tobacco pipe and offered it to Heero under the eaves. Heero took it, pulled a small polite puff and handed it back with a nod of thanks.

"That's it for this year lad, once the snows come we can't work no more."

"Hn."

"I'm sorry we couldn't pay you proper," Pierre said apologetically, and blew a cloud of smoke into the thin air of winter, "you should have something to show for it after all the help you put in..."

Heero did not tell him that he has a standing offer from the Preventers, which he suspected was Une's attempt to keep tabs on him. "I'm not in want of money."

"No? Well your money can't buy you peace eh lad, or is there some other reason you've been hiding in these backwaters for three whole seasons playing lumberjack?"

Heero eyed him warily and shoved his chilly fingers into the pockets of his jacket, which, he remembered with a scowl, was plaid. The man had never before been so forward, perhaps he was emboldened by Heero's imminent departure. Pierre finished his pipe, and was now emptying the bowl by tapping it on the heel of his own boot.

"And what is this 'peace' that can't be bought?" Heero decided to humour him, as he had started to more and more now that he'd become familiar with the crew.

Pierre looked up at the thick, grey clouds. "You know that feeling when you lie down on a soft bed after a hard day's work?" Heero's look turned skeptical. Pierre chuckled and continued, "To rest easy is to have peace. You're running, from what or who I don't know. Eveyone's running from something after a war like this. But you've got to face it head-on willingly, before it catches up to you. Face it, or you'll keep running and never find rest." Without waiting for a reply, he patted Heero once on the shoulder and went into the newly finished house to join the celebration. A wave of gruff laughter and a few shrill notes from a penny whistle wafted out before the door was closed against the cold evening.

Left alone outside, Heero stepped out from the shadow of the house and looked up the same way Pierre had done a moment ago. White fluffy flakes fell lightly onto his face and stuck to his lashes. He closed his eyes and thought back to another time it snowed on Earth, and remembered melting steel and rubble and gun smoke, and the softness and warmth of her that followed him into the darkness.