Chapter 23

Trowa was the early riser of the pilots, but still not fit to talk to anyone until he had coffee. 5:30am rolled around, and Trowa walked sleepily down the hallway by the kitchen. Rather than walking in, he suddenly stopped just outside of sight when he heard Heero growl, "It refused to listen to me! It will not follow orders".

Trowa listened as Rashid answered Heero's stranger declaration. "Let me come see what's happening", he said kindly.

"The dough won't stay rolled in the croissant shape! I followed the recipe perfectly, and NOTHING in it suggests I would have this problem or how to fix it."

"Heero, it's okay. Remember what I told you earlier? Cooking is a mix between science and creativity. The science comes in the kind of ingredient, the measurements, and chemical reaction between ingredients, and following a recipe. The creative part is in problem solving when someone's recipe doesn't work for you – which can be common."

"Then why did you give me a flawed recipe to follow?" Heero growled again.

"I didn't, Heero. The grade of ingredients you use, the air pressure, elevation, temperature around you all effect how the process works. Knowing you, you were precise and exact with your measurements, and maybe the person who wrote the recipe was not, and was more estimating what they use."

"That is not what the recipe said" responded, motioning towards his struggling lump of dough.

"I know, Heero. Unwrap that croissant, and I will show you a way to make it stick better. You picked one of the most difficult rolls to make. I told you it would be difficult."

Bringing over a bowl of melted butter and a brush, Rashid proceeded to paint the top of Heero's dough triangle with better.

"It works best when you paint the whole piece of dough with butter before you cut it into pieces, but see here, we are learning. Since there is extra butter, we need to roll it gently, and then press it firmly as the butter sets. With the dough this cold, the better should harden fast."

"There was nothing in the recipe about using butter like glue. How was I to know to do that?"

"You weren't. Some of cooking is following recipes, and some is building the skill to follow and correct recipes, as well as make your own."

"Is there in a book I should have read before making rolls to learn all these things?" Heero said, still scowling.

"No, Heero. Much of the creativity involved in cooking comes through experience. I have made at least a dozen different varieties of croissant rolls before. That experience helped me know how to fix your situation – through my own trial and error, as well as constantly trying new ways of doing things."

"There should be a way to access that collective data before learning to make these rolls."

At this Rashid laughed, "So you could make them perfectly the first time? No, Heero, you cannot. That would be like Miss Relena climbing into a mobile suit and piloting it perfectly into battle. Even if she read instructions – nothing can prepare the actual experience, except experiencing it. "

"Hm."

"How about this Heero? I will leave this bowl of butter with you, and you can try out what spreading it does on different rolls. Try less butter on some, and more on others, and see what works. Try to do some of each so you can watch how the way you did the butter effects how the roll cooks later."

"Why can't you just tell me how much butter is the correct amount?"

"Because, Heero" Rashid said smiling down at him, "there isn't a right amount."

"Not much of a science then" Heero grumbled.

"No indeed, perhaps not as straightforward as you are used to."

"I can see why they never covered such an imprecise science in my training."

"Indeed" Rashid said dryly, "Why introduce fun and creativity to the perfect soldier? Those are too human."

Instead of the angry reply Heero wanted to give Rashid, he turned to the door and said, "You can come in, Trowa. You've been standing their outside the door for a while now."

The conversation Trowa had heard did not prepare him for the sight of Heero and Rashid, side by side, shaping loaves of bread. If he wasn't so tired, maybe he would be able to pinpoint the emotion he felt. As it was, he settled with shock.

"Rolls?" Trowa said quietly.

"Yes. I wanted to make bread this morning. I ran into the Heero in the kitchen, and convinced him to join me" Rashid said with a smile.

Heero looked down, having no desire to talk to Trowa, and the tension he stood for.

"I'm just here to make coffee, Heero. I wake up early - this is normally when I come make coffee for Quatre and I. He sleeps in later than me, and likes to be woken up with coffee."

"I didn't know that" Heero said quietly.

Trowa walked himself over to make coffee, and the conversation faded. A few minutes later Trowa slid a cup of coffee over to Heero on his counter.

"I imagine you could use some coffee, too, since you've been so tired lately."

There it was, the invitation to start awkward conversation. Heero swallowed, willing Trowa to keep walking, knowing Trowa would not. Being in love with Quatre was rubbing off on him.

What are your plans today, Heero?" Trowa said, trying to keep a conversational tone.

"Hmmm?"

"Its Saturday. I thought Enson's shop was closed on Saturdays."

"Oh. . . right," Heero replied, wondering what the fuck he would do at the house when everyone was home. His avoidance of the other pilots would have to stop, or he had better get his ass out of the house for the day.

"The first thing you're going to do, Heero is finish these rolls, You can't stop the project when it's not finished."

Heero glowered at the rolls in front of him. His frustration returning.

"I hadn't thought about it" Heero said easily, swallowing down his emotion. "Since I was rather useless yesterday, I need to call Enson and see if there is work to finish up on today. After that. . ." Heero trailed off – Heero didn't have a plan, no orders and no plan was still an uncomfortable situation.

Even Trowa's seemingly "normal question" felt like a trap, pulling at Heero's desire for secrecy and solutiide, even when he didn't know what the secret was. Heero realized how far his trust had broken with them all, when Enson had told the other pilots his feelings about drinking. Trowa seemed to see it, the sadness in his green eye giving away his worry.

"Okay, Heero" Trowa said, and without another word Trowa left the room, perfectly balancing two cups of very full coffee in a way maybe only Trowa could do.

Heero's rolls were done being shaped shortly after. His mind was half on the task and half lost in a place he couldn't describe – this heavy kind of emptiness. When Heero was used to having numerous thoughts at the same time, analyzing, computing, and planning, this blankness was unsettling.

"Those need to rise for 30 minutes, Heero. Why don't you let me put them in the oven when they are ready? You look like you need a break."

Heero blinked down at the finished rolls. It was like Rashid had turned on this well of tiredness in him. He felt like sludge was dripping around in his brain, and he didn't want to be around anyone anymore.

"Understood" Heero said flatly. Conceptually he knew Rashid did something kind, so Heero said the obligatory "thank you" without feeling anything.

Heero walked back to his room aimlessly, still holding his mug of half-drink coffee. It was alcohol Heero wondered about drinking then, but it wasn't a craving exactly. He wondered about alcohol the way he would plan a mission. If he, Heero, was going to continue drinking, which he could admit hadight now are against him drinking, and would become alarmed he did, or they thought he did. Or they'll be disappointed that I wasn't courageous enough not to, that I wasn't perfect. Their argument is that drinking is out of my control. However, I have never made a conscious effort to control drinking, discounting these last months following their agenda to stop completely. Being dependent on a substance long-term is not the plan. Again, parameters.

Heero entered his room, and settled onto the window seat. He was oblivious to the morning sun coming in through the frosted window, so lost he was in his own mind.

I need organization. Heero thought back to his training in mind exercises on strategy, and retention. The basic questions – who, what, when, where, why, how. Who? I will not drink with others. Does that means I won't drink at a bar? No. Amendment – I will not drink with others I know. What? The "what" under discussion is obvious - alcohol. When? I cannot drink during other obligations – work at the shop, preventers commitments, any social/relationship non-sense. I can drink. . , when? When would I want to? When I choose. When I need to stop these goddamn flashbacks, and get control back over my body. I can drink when I have or have been having flashbacks. I can drink when I need a pause on all these emotions. I can drink if I have to drive the demons away to sleep. Somehow Heero forgot the times drinking made his sleep and flashbacks worse instead of better.

Heero continued with his thoughts, What about where? I cannot drink here at Quatre's – nowhere in the house, the judgement and covert supervision and post-discussion will be intolerable. Yet, if I drink elsewhere and don't come home, everyone will assume that is where I have gone anyway.

Annoyance broke through Heero's thoughts, and under annoyance lived his deep feeling of panicked trapped, stirring into wakefulness. Heero felt constrained to tip-top his choices around his housemates. His emotions progressed to annoyed at having housemates, and annoyed to be involved in relationships at all where people were intent on telling him how to live.

And yet Heero started, his thoughts talking over his emotions, Wouldn't Duo be saying something like relationships are what makes life worth living? Yes, that sounds like his bullshit. A romantic dreamer. My dreamer. . .

Heero pushed away his thoughts of Duo and redirected his mind, Focus! Back to where. Where is going to be a problem. Pause on where, and return. Why? "Why" has been addressed in when – to control these reactions I have to memories and strong emotions. How? Alcohol. That is the only how currently under examination. Other "hows' are oddly outside the scope of the mission. Unless. . . no.

Time was the next intruder in his thoughts, the sun light drawing his attention as it forced him to shield his eyes. The sun was a reminder that the day was progressing. Time to address different priorities' for a moment.

"Enson" Heero typed out into his communicator, "I recognize I left my shift early yesterday. That was not acceptable. If there is work that went undone I would like to come in today to do it" he wrote briskly.

Waiting for a response Heero let action relieve his pressured introspection. He grabbed clothes and headed to take a shower to wash his fatigue away. He was determined to not sleep this day away, too.

Several honors later, Heero threw himself on a fallen log, and sat there for a long time, a bottle between his knees. He wondered vaguely how he got here, other than dimly acknowledging his motorcycle half propped onto a tree.

The bottle held was open, was half gone, and was probably not the first. No wonder thoughts had become muddled. Did I black out? I have never blacked out before. Is this what happens when I take back my freedom drink? I turn into a coward?! Self-hatred burned inside him.

He glanced down at his communicator to Enson's last message, "No Heero, we finished up yesterday's work. You did a lot of it in the morning. I'll see you on Monday."

That was hours ago. Heero could have reached out to Enson then, but he didn't. Does plan A including telling someone when something is wrong in me? Duo would say it does. I don't want to tell anyone anything. The heaviness that began that morning corroded him.

"Get some rest" had been Heero's empty reply to Enson. Only afterward he wondered if his sudden sleepiness would make his comment hollow. Under his hurt Heero remembered the tired look in Enson's eyes earlier this week. He was getting old, and Heero was afraid.

Afraid of death? No. I have seen endless death. When you care about someone, you want to protect them from death. I protected the earth from Libra crashing into it. Was that because I cared about the earth, or because it was the mission Wufei gave me when he handed me my buster riffle? I don't think I felt anything. Until. . .

Heero swallowed, groaned in his soul, and slammed his eyes shut, trying to block at the flashback that started to unfolding on the inside of his skull.

It was so hot. . . Heero's chest heaved with effort to try to breathe the hot air – his sweat evaporating as soon as it formed. Zero was burning up. He was burning up. Close. He was speeding ahead and now it was time to time. He groaned, and he pulled the controls to turn Zero, electricity dancing across Zero's controls and into his body. He shook. His hand couldn't stay steady, making it impossible to aim the riffle. Pieces of Zero began falling off and burning up in the atmosphere's heat around him. Finally it was time to die.

No! Heero screamed into his overheated mind. He would not let Libra crash onto the earth. He would not fail. This was the moment the war meant something. The video of the colonies had just come up – they abandoned operation meteor and wanted peace with earth. Peace would never happen if the earth was destroyed. He was the only one who could save the earth now.

His broken throat opened on its own, and the words ground out. "I will. . . I will. . . I will. . . I will survive!"

His riffle target finally locked, and Heero shot.

Zero took over as Heero lost consciousness and turned into jet form to get them to safety. When they got back into the cool of out space Heero woke, and the words fell out of his mouth, "Mission complete".

Heero gasped as the log he sat on came back into focus, the cold of the day a sharp contrast to the heat of his gundam. Nausea born from his drinking, or the flashback bubbled in him as a throbbing knowledge pulsed in him. . . I wanted to live. I wanted to protect the earth. I made the shot, and then Zero heard me, and brought us to safety. I wanted to live that day. Where did that go?!

Heero looked down at his hands, which had evidently been grasping onto the bottle during. . . whatever those things were. He looked at the bottle . . . heart racing. . . Impulsively he stood up and threw it, until it hit a tree and shattered, alcohol watering the frozen grass.

What now? This was the part of drinking that the first swig told him not to think about. This was when Heero was trapped, because he would be caught. He had lost control so quickly. This was the "where" he had never found an answer for that morning. If I go back now I'll look like something is wrong. Hell, I'd probably smelled like alcohol, and would be just as likely to throw up as to make it up the stairs. As he eyes his motorcycle Heero vaguely wondered if he should be driving at all, and dismissed the concern for later.

I can't stay out until I sober up – it's too cold for that, even for me, and again, that would say something is wrong. Wait. . . Heero's befitted mind shifted topics, as a window of understanding poured in. It happen when I was drunk! That breaks the logic. . . all the logic from this morning. . . alcohol does not protect me from this assault of the past . . .

Panic burst into Heero's intoxicated brain. Drinking was the control plan, until a new plan was operational. It's too soon. I have no more plans. . . I am going to fail. I have failed.

Panic still churning he searched he bags, and with deep gratitude in his soul pulled out another bottle. He slid down the side of his bike, and laughed at himself, because it had been homeless from the start. All this struggle, it was hopeless. . . hopeless form the start.

Abandoning his bike he started wondering, alcohol bottle in hand. Time did whatever time did, and Heero wasn't the wiser.

"Hey kid!" someone called.

Heero looked up blurrily to see a truck pull up next to him as he walked wherever he was going.

"I am not a kid" Heero tried to growl, stepping back from this new threat. His intoxicated senses tried to rise to habits to survive.

"I know you, Heero Yuy."

Heero was too intoxicated to be shocked. He stopped walking, but the world around him kept moving. He fell onto the frozen ground with a crunch.

A figure he couldn't see reached a hand down to help him up, and he tried to push himself away, but was too uncoordinated to get far.

"Heero" the figure said calmly, sitting on the ground a little away from home.

"How do you know my name?"

"Heero, you're the hero of two wars. You stand out a bit. Most of us haven't forgotten you yet, and Vice Representative Relena did make worldwide announcement about your well-being a few months ago. Anyone who forgot you was reminded who we should be grateful to."

"Who are you?"

"I am no one, just someone grateful to be a civilian at last."

"I don't need any more good intended people in my life."

"Understood. All I am is the person taking you home."

"I can't go back."

"I think it would be worse if you don't."

Heero's head spun now too much. Unconsciousness called. "I can't go back," he repeated.

"Heero, your friends have proven they willing to tear down the world to find you. It sounds like it would be easier to save them the work this time around."

Heero didn't respond.

"Do you know what time it is, Heero? It's not quite evening yet. You have time still before they know there is something to worry about."

"They always worry" Heero said numbly.

"As they should be, from the looks of you" the figure said, somehow, with kindness.

Heero wanted to growl, but staying conscious took his full concentration.

"Alright, Heero. I'm lifting you up."

"You don't touch me."

The figure froze, stepped back, and then nodded. "You are right. You can choose this yourself. Get up, Heero."

Heero groaned. Nothing made sense. A feeling of absolute failure drowned out the figure's voice. I've lost. There is no plan.

"Get up, Heero" the voice pounded into Heero's mind.

It's over.

"GET UP, Heero!"

I can't.

"HEERO!"

No.

"GET UP!"

Dusk cling to the sky when Heero's motorcycle parked in front of the mansion, and Heero staggered and fell off the seat.

"My god, Heero, what happened?!" someone yelled, and Wufei's face swam into focus.

Heero tried to shake his head, but stopped when the pounding intensified.

"I just got home and you fell. . . Heero. . ." Wufei held back his tirade and crouched next to the fallen warrior. "Heero. . . you've been crying".

"Plan B failed" Heero said quietly. He knew he had been crying, because his eyes ached at the demand of his emotions to produce another tear. He shut his eyes, but he was beyond mastering himself. He failed. There was no mastering his failure.

"Heero. . ." Wufei repeated, unsure of what Heero meant, and unsure of how to ask.

Staggering, Heero got to his feet. "I got up."

"Heero, I don't understand."

"It doesn't matter" Heero said numbly, as he stumbled into the house.

Wufei watched helpfulness in the entry way, as Heero leaned against the stair banister, pulling himself up stair by stair.