Disclaimer - To my sorrow I do not own Gundam Wing, and make no claim to.

Warnings - I am not sure where this story will write itself because I am still getting inside Heero's head, but be prepared for some dark stuff, PTSD, self-harm of some kind, emotional distress, etc.

Respectful reviews are welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 1

The heat of his gundam cockpit was almost overwhelming. Only his rigorous training kept him from succumbing to heat stroke. So much heat contained in his gundam, so much heat isolated in the otherwise frigidity of outer space. Sweat soaked through his clothes as he fought one more meaningless battle. His mind whirled with Zero's constant stream of data, allowing him to match his opponent's every move. This battle had to end, he had a mission to complete. Then, unbidden the image of a young girl flashed before his eyes, smiling in her sun hat with the untainted happiness of a child.

"How many times do I have to kill that little girl and her dog. Zero will not tell me anything. Tell me Wufei!"

The ache of his heart burst open and physically knocked the air out of him with the force of the memory of that little girl's death. Such a meaningless death. How many more would die at his hands?! The pilot shook his head, directing himself to return his mind to the battle. In war there was no room for distraction. Fortunately his opponent seemed equally lost in his own mind, but that was no excuse, Heero chided himself. He was allowing himself to unravel, he, the perfect soldier was allowing his sanity to fray at its edges.

Heero was ripped back to reality as Wufei's voice came over his communicator, "Would an incident like that have to be repeated again?" With that last comment Wufei lowered his weapons. Heero waited a moment to make sure Wufei's cryptic comment meant the battle was over, and then set his auto pilot for earth, and Mariemaia's last stronghold.

As his gundam descended, Heero's mind wondered again. 'The only way to live a good life is to act on your emotions', that is what he had told Trowa, because that was what Trowa needed to hear at the time. But now it sounded like hypocrisy in Heero's mind, he, who put the mission above all feelings, had counseled the importance of emotion. It was his practiced emptying of emotion he forced over himself now. The mission, THE MISSION! The mission was all that mattered. His life was cheap, his survival unimportant, his emotions obsolete, what mattered was the mission.

Heero fell into his perfect soldier mode as if a switch had been flipped. He destroyed Mariemaia's base with Zero's beam canon, held a gun to Mariemaia, and pulled the trigger, allowing the empty barreled gun to fire the last of its gun powder in her direction. His own words drifted to his ears as if spoken by another 'I have killed Mariemaia. I will never kill anyone again. I don't have to anymore'. The heat stroke, and exhaustion swamped him and he felt himself slipping away into darkness, wondering why in the hell he was still alive.

Heero shot up out of his bed, his hands tangled in his sheets, his body and hair damp with sweat. The sweat on his body confused his reality and he fought to decipher where he was - in the battle field again or in his bed. He felt his breath come in rapid gasps as the images from his dream replayed in his mind in fast-forward. The emotions were so real that he felt himself clutching at his chest with the intensity and pain of them. Rage at this moment of weakness rose above the other emotions as he tried to employ the breathing and calming techniques he had learned under Dr. J's tutelage.

The unraveling of Heero's emotional control that had begun at that last battle had only intensified once the war had ended. Without any battles, Heero had no way to atone for the lives he had taken, he had no way of giving that little girl and countless others justice. The memory of his victims haunted him day and night. Somehow, without meaning to, Heero had escaped the war alive. He had intended to use his self detonation device as the final force to break through Mariemaia's stronghold that day, but the bunker fell too soon, making such action unnecessary.

Heero saw black spots clouding his vision, his breathing was still too erratic, and his body was responding to the lack of oxygen. Control. He would gain control. With all his strength Heero heaved himself off his bed, and slammed his fist into the nearest wall, not once or twice but over and over again, letting the pain bring him back to the here and now of his reality.

Quatre sat up in his bedroom, a few doors down from Heero's room, overwhelmed by a feeling of self-loathing that did not belong to him. Awakened by his lover's distress, Trowa sat up on his side of the bed and began rubbing Quatre's back, whispering comfort in a soothing tone. Trowa did not know what was wrong with Quatre, but he knew that he would get no answers while Quatre was so shaken up. "Just breathe, Little One, it was a dream. I am here beside you, I am real," Trowa repeated.

"Not a dream," Quatre gasped at least. "Something is wrong with Heero. He is in overwhelming pain".

Needing no further comment Trowa threw the sheets off his body, pulled on his boxers, and headed down the hall to Heero's room. Trowa only spared one furtive glace at his lover, still working to gain control over the strong emotions that were not his own. Trowa ached every time Quatre's empathy affected him in such a way, but Trowa also knew it was a gift, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste. Though Heero had agreed to come live in Quatre's manor with the other pilots after the war, he had kept to himself more than ever, only emerging from his room to pursue preventer business. At first Quatre and the others had tried to get Heero to come with them on their various night life activities, but after continued and strong refusal they had stopped asking for fear of offended Heero and pushing him further away. Trowa shook himself out of his thoughts as he arrived at Heero's door, and cautiously turned the handle.

Blood dripped down his arm as his knuckles split open, and a resounding crack told Heero that the bones in his fist had broken. Yet he was satisfied. The pain had brought him back to reality and control. Quiet, almost soundless footsteps caught Heero's attention and he turned rapidly to come face to face with the piercing green eye not covered by Trowa's length of bangs.

Heero glared down at the intruder, furious he had been caught in such a moment of weakness. Trowa met Heero's glare with calm seriousness. Before Heero registered what Trowa was going to do, Trowa had stepped forward and took Heero's hand, examining the damage Heero had done to himself.

"It's broken, shattered really" Trowa commented, assessing the injury is a quiet voice.

Heero withdrew his hand from the other pilot and said in the most monotone voice he could muster, "This doesn't concern you, Trowa. Go away".

"That is where you are wrong. Your nightmare disturbed my Little One's sleep. He is concerned for your well being, and I share his concern. This sort of stunt is not like you."

Heero remained quiet for several minutes before saying, in a surprisingly defeated voice, "Then I will leave. I'd hate to bother Quatre or anyone else."

Trowa sighed, frustrated at the other's stubbornness. "Heero", he almost pleaded, "you know that is not what I meant. We care about you, and we want you in our home. It only feels right that all of us pilots stay together. You are my brother-in-arms. I don't know what you are going through right now, but that doesn't make me or any of the rest of us unwilling to listen and help where we can. You are not alone."

Alone, that was the only thing Heero was sure of, that he needed to be alone. He ignored Trowa, and the pain in his hand as he began packing up his meager belongings. He had to continue to be strong; he could not be weak in front of Trowa or the others. If this was the beginning of his self-destruction, Heero was determined to do it alone. In a matter of minutes Heero was packed and ready to go, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Give Quatre my apologies" Heero finally responded his emotionless voice firmly in place as he pushed past Trowa and into the hallway.

"Heero!" Trowa exclaimed louder than he meant to, having allowed too much frustration to creep into his voice. "Please don't go, you have to know that is not what I meant."

Heero kept walking, down the main staircase and towards the front door. Trowa threw himself in front of the door and grabbed Heero by the shoulders. "Do you think you were the only one fucked up by the war? Do you really think we won't understand that you can't be perfect forever? Heero, please stay. This is not what I wanted. Let us support you."

Temporarily both men's attention was drawn away has they heard movement upstairs. Heero cursed himself, realizing the scene unfolding between him and Trowa had woken the other pilots, all of whom were light sleepers. If Heero was going to get out of there, it had to be now.

Heero put all the coldness he could into a glare as he met Trowa's eyes and said firmly. "No."

With that last word, Heero landed a strong punch into Trowa's gut, solidly knocking the air out of him. Heero slid past Trowa, and out the front door. Trowa was still trying to catch his breath when he heard Heero's motorcycle come to life and speed out of earshot. Trowa felt one tear of discouragement and frustration slide down his cheek, and he lifted his head to see the other pilots, half asleep, descending the stairs.