Terrorist Roots

"I haven't slept in days, so I need you to knock me out," he says.

Odd request but he does look very sleep deprived, despite his alertness. If he hasn't been sleeping then that vigilance will deteriorate quickly. Standing, I crack my knuckles. He smirks and looks away as I approach him. I raise my fist and bring it down on the back of his head with harsh thud.

I didn't use all of my strength; that would fracture his skull. Barton falls over from a seated position to lying limp on the floor. I haul him off the floor and place him on the bed. Looking down at his face, I can see how unhealthy he is. For one, he weighs less than a man his size should. His cheeks are hollowed, sunken down to expose the ridges of the bone beneath. There's a lack of color in his cheeks. When he spoke his voice was strained.

What has become of us? I wonder while he sleeps. How different would my life had been if I had stayed with my clan and never fought in the war? Would I be dead by now like the rest of them? Yes, probably. Is the life I have now worth it?

Distracting myself, I hack into Barton's laptop and run my own searches for the disgraced Winner heir. He's covered his tracks pretty well for such a public figure. Since he left L1 there hasn't been a single sighting of him or his craft. If I had to guess, I would say Winner would have disappeared on Earth. It's an easy way to lose yourself in the masses. While searching I also run checks on Yuy and Maxwell. Yuy hasn't been sighted since I let him go and the Preventers are desperate to find him. As for Maxwell, the agency had eyes on him after they arrested me, but they lost him and a male named Mihael Keehl at a spaceport on L2. If he weren't involved with Yuy's criminal enterprise then why would he flee his home colony? Was he finally fed up with it? Did he know the Preventers are looking into him and wanted to be left alone? Could he be aware of Yuy's troubles and wanted to help him?

Too many questions. Too many answers. Too many fucking troubles following us around. Damn, we really are a group of problematic soldiers.

Barton awakes hours later while I've engrossed myself in searching for where Winner may have gone. My best assumption is still that big blue planet.

I hear Barton groan behind me. "How long I have been out?" he asks.

Checking the time on the laptop I say, "Barely over four hours."

"Amazing," he sighs.

"Is that good?"

"I feel far better than I did before."

"Then it is good."

Barton retrieves food for us from a close by fried chicken fast food chain and I stay behind, searching on his laptop. It's not a good idea for me to leave this shanty motel room until we're ready to leave the colony. Never know where the Preventers might be lurking and there's no sense in getting us both captured. When he gets back, we debate over the where to begin our search for Winner.

"I believe Earth would be a good place to start," I say.

He hums and takes a bite of mashed potatoes. "Don't you think that would be a little too obvious?"

"Yes, but it's easier to disappear in the masses on that planet than it is to vanish on a colony."

"That's true," he agrees, "but where would we start?"

"Jordan."

"I've already had e-mail correspondence with the Maganac group, he's not there," he informs me.

"Well people fucking lie, Barton, and what better place to go than to a group of loyal people who would be more than happy to keep your existence a secret, let alone die for you!" I argue.

"It's just too simple," he murmurs, rubbing his chin and glaring at the floor.

"Simplicity is often underrated and over looked."

"Fine. We'll start there, but when we don't find him – which I'm ninety-nine percent sure we won't – where will we look next?" he asks.

Leaning back in my seat, I fold my hands in my lap and pierce the laptop screen with a mean stare, as if the answer will jump out at me from its illuminated front. "There's his political associates like the Peacecraft and Catalonia girls who might help him," I hypothesize.

Barton adds, "Possibly, but I doubt Quatre would want to involve either of them with his problems."

"You never know. People get desperate when they're in need."

"He has a gambling problem, shouldn't we consider places such as Las Vegas, Reno, Atlantic City, Macau and Monte Carol?" he questions. Now that's a good point.

"There's also New Vegas in one of the Mars domes," I add.

"Yeah, but that place is riddled with crime equal to that of L2. Don't you think it would be a little out of character for Quatre to go to place like that?"

I snort, "Don't you think him being addicted to gambling at all is 'out of character' for him?"

"True, true," he sighs.

"I say we rule out Earth before we even consider Mars. One planet at a time."

"Agreed. We should leave as soon as possible."

Looking out the window, I see the colony atmosphere dimming for late evening hours. "Let me get a little bit of sleep before we go. I want to be on top of my game in case we come into any trouble."

"Alright."

I lay on the bed and Barton takes my place in the chair in front of the laptop. We hardly made a dent in our food and I think he only ate mashed potatoes. He turns off the lights, the only luminescence coming from the blue-light computer casting its eerie glow on the off white walls. Two hours later he's shaking me awake and saying, "We have to go. Now!"

I don't ask any questions. I can tell by the tone of his voice that this is urgent and we need to vacate as soon as possible. We pack our shit up in a hurry and make a mad dash for the spaceport. About a block away from it Barton turns to look at me and asks, "What are our options?"

Doesn't he know? Or has his deteriorating mental state diminished his tactical skills? "There's really only one option," I say. The one option being the only obvious way off this colony. I thought that much was clear to him when we were talking earlier, not so much it appears.

"Hijacking will alert the Preventers and we'll be labeled terrorists again. Is that what you want to do?" he asks, his green eyes questioning, the heavy shadow beneath them darkens.

"We don't have another choice," I state and begin to walk again, "And I have few tricks up my sleeve that will keep them off our asses."

"Alright, let's do this."

Now that's a better attitude. We stick to the shadows as we walk around to the side of the spaceport. At a restricted entrance I bust open the security pad and cut the necessary wires that will allow us to open the door from the outside without setting off any alarms. Once inside I follow Barton's lead through the harshly lit hallways. This feels like déjà vu, memories of sneaking onto Oz and Alliance bases come flooding back along with the rush.

God, I fucking love adrenaline. It's the best fucking high.

A man spots us and yells, "Hey! What are you doing back he-"

Before he can finish that adrenaline kicks into high gear and my fist flies on instinct, landing on the side of the mans head. He flops to the floor unconscious. Barton and I make eye contact and then sprint the rest of the way to the hanger. The first craft in our line of sight is a galactic postal ship – it's for delivering packages and yeah, people still write letters even though it's so archaic. We surprise the hell out of the two postal workers and their pilot. Barton takes one out and I deal with the other two. It disappoints me that he's not as fast or strong as he used to be, but at the same time how could he be like he used to when he hasn't been taking proper care of himself? He's lost so much weight, hardly eats or sleeps which would surely effect anybody's fighting ability. After shoving their limp bodies out of the craft, Barton takes the main control seat and in seconds we're a go.

"Flight two-nine-five-X you are not cleared for launch. Repeat you are not cleared for launch. Disengage," a female voice over the radio commands. Punching the device, I destroy it so there's no more communication. Moments later, the space doors open and the alarms go off. Control center tries to cut us off by closing the doors before we can lift off, but Barton's faster than them. With the thrusters already engaged, we rocket out of there like a bat out of hell. I tell him to head for L2 as I rewrite a Preventer cloaking program that will make us virtually invisible, nonexistent. This way the spaceport will report us as heading for another colony instead of Earth. In fact, the cloaking mechanism is a hybrid of what Deathscythe used to have. Only that Gundams device was far more superior. I tell Barton to head for our true destination and explain what I just did. As the adrenaline begins to fade, we laugh. We're back to our terrorists' roots and in some ways it feels pretty damn great.

As the adrenaline wears off I fall asleep, back into a comforting slumber.

It isn't until the craft jolts forward and wakes me, signaling that we're entering the blue planets atmosphere. Barton takes his seat and we begin our descent. Hanging tight, we make for the Middle East, or first stop on Mission: Find Winner.

The rest of the trip goes pretty smoothly. I knew of a base with a shuttle port that has long since been deserted since the end of Mariameia's uprising. Trowa hotwires an abandoned military truck and we use that to get to the Maganac's headquarters in Petra, Jordan. They aren't hard to locate or hidden in anyway now that they aren't soldiers anymore. The only thing that worries me is Barton's obvious anxiety over the matter.

While driving, I ask without taking my eyes off the road, "Why are you so gung-ho on finding Quatre?"

"Because he's our friend," he answers, keeping his eyes fixed on the passengers side window.

"That's a very evasive answer. What's your real motive for finding him? Are you tight on cash or something?"

"No!" he bellows and glares at me. "I have my own funds saved over from the war! I don't need Quatre's money!"

"Then why is this so important to you?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It's an honest question that deserves an honest answer. You clearly have something more invested in this than trying to 'help out a friend in need'. So what's the fuckin' deal?"

Barton is quiet for a long time before he whispers something I can't hear. I ask him to repeat and he murmurs, "I love him."

"What?" I exclaim.

"I'm in love with him," he proclaims.

Well, I'm at a loss for words and it takes me a minute or so to come up with: "Does he feel the same for you?"

"Not sure, we never addressed it, but I think so."

"So this means you're actually truly, deeply concerned about his welfare."

"Yeah, and I miss him like crazy. It doesn't matter if he cares about me the way I do for him. At this point, it's all about making sure he's safe and happy."

"Winner was a good soldier, I'm sure he's safe but as for happy; would you be happy in his situation?"

"No, probably not."

We're quiet again for a while, the silence thick and heavy between us and I focus on driving. "Has the idea of him not wanting to be found ever crossed your mind?"

"Sure, but why would he try to hide from us? He needs our help."

"And what if he doesn't want it? What if he doesn't want us to find him? Don't you think Rashid and the Maganac's will do everything they can to hide him, even from us?"

"Why the fuck wouldn't he want our help?" he yells. "That doesn't make sense! We're the best allies he's got, what would be the point of cutting ties that strong?"

"Shame," I state simply. I know it might be difficult for him to comprehend especially where it concerns Quatre – such a warm and open person – but remorse is a strong and ugly sensation. I would know. "If he's embarrassed over his actions then why would he want to turn to the people who expect the most of him?"

"Since when did we expect 'the most of him'?" he mocks.

"Since we used to rely on each other just to fucking live and fight to see another day!"

He clams up tight like a barnacle and I let him have his silence, hoping I've given him some food for thought. If I were Winner, I wouldn't want any help from anyone. But that's just me. When I get myself into a shit situation, I like to get myself out on my own, and alone. Again, that's just me, he could be thinking very differently and hoping for help.

Finally we get to the Maganac's compound and that giant of a man, Rashid, is there to greet us.

The large Middle Eastern man asks in his dooming voice, "What can I do for you Master Trowa and Master Wufei?"

Barton speaks up: "We're looking for Quatre."

"Yes, I'm aware of that and I told you he isn't here," Rashid insists.

This back and forth is fucking pointless. "We'd like to have a look around to verify that for ourselves," I say, boldly.

Rashid glares at me and growls, "I have no reason to lie to you and I find it extremely rude that you would insinuate such a thing. If Master Quatre were here I would have no problem showing you to him."

"I told you he isn't here," Trowa sighs, turning to face me.

"You have your little 'look around'. We have nothing to hide. You're not going to find him here," Rashid offers, glowering at me with his large brown eyes.

The Maganac leader escorts Barton and I into the main building of the compound. Passing them both by, I proceed to march down the first hallway I see and start the search. Just because Trowa is blinded by trust doesn't mean I am too. I know the Maganac Corp is a dignified, respectable group of soldiers, but their main ally was to Quatre and if he sought out their help, then they would surely give it.

It takes a great deal of time go single-handedly search the entire enclosure. There was no point in asking Barton to help me out. He was rooted in the notion that Winner isn't here, and yeah, I agree, he's probably right. But again, that's no reason to take their word at face value. It takes me more than a few hours to get through the entire compound. By and by I find their underground hanger, and for a second I believe that I might actually find Quatre down here, but that doesn't last long. At the back of the bunker I find four Maganac Mobile Suits: Units 01, 05, 10, and 13. I didn't know they had held onto their suits, all mechas were supposed to have been destroyed. Of course, I know through working with the Preventers that small fractions of rebels had tiny arsenals of MS's, but we were gathering them up and detonating the remainders. Our main concern had been those pilotless Mobile Dolls because of their deadly accuracy and because you can't negotiate with a hunk of destructive metal.

Walking up to Unit 01, I place my hand on its foot. It's cold. These suits probably haven't seen the light of day since the end of the war almost two years ago. God, I wish I could pilot Nataku one last time. Ground battles can't compare to the thrill of falling through space, flying towards your target, and annihilating them with a Gundam. I stay there for a while, reminiscing about the heat of the battle and mentally cringing at my mistakes as they flicker through my minds eye.

A Maganac comes across me – Auda, I think his name is – and requests that I leave. Indulging in one lingering glance at the Mobile Suits, I nod and follow him to the entrance of the bunker.

"You should really spend your time being productive and looking elsewhere for Master Quatre," Auda reprimands me. "Besides, if Master Quatre were here, you won't find him anyways."

His running mouth irks me and I can feel a heat growing from my chest and spreading outward.

"You don't think I can perform an adequate search?" I ask through gritted teeth as I continue to march behind him.

"Oh, no. I'm sure you can, but if Master Quatre wanted us to protect him, neither you nor the other Gundam pilots would be able to find him. That's all I'm saying," he chuckles.

I don't like him insinuating that the others or I couldn't find one person hidden in a compound. The heat creeps up the back of neck and my teeth grind together. I throw back, "If you're so fucking skilled at hiding things, maybe you should do a better job at concealing your Mobile Suits before the Preventers find out you still have them. You do realize it's against the law now."

"And how would they find out?"

"Oh, I don't know. An anonymous tip perhaps."

We come to a stop; Auda turns to glare at me eye to eye.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Don't fucking insult me and my comrades."

"You kids think you're still top dog, don't you?"

Now, I wish I could claim that a simple, petty remark like that couldn't set me off, but it did.

Red consumed my vision and my right hand took on a life of its own as it clenched and went flying through the air, landing square in the center of Auda's face. He fought back valiantly. We tussled, pushing backing and forth, jabbed and kicked each other, yelled vulgar slurs at each other until other Maganac members pull us apart.

Rashid emerges from the group. "There is no fighting on our grounds. We are peaceful people now," he yells.

"If you're a bunch of pacifist then why the hell do you have mobile suits?!" I scream back at him.

"We keep them incase we are ever needed again. Auda, you should know better. Wufei, you're going to have to leave."

"Fine!" I holler, pick up my duffel and make for the door. Over my shoulder I order, "Tell Trowa to meet me at our vehicle."

I wait for Barton in the truck with my hands clenching the steering wheel in a white knuckled grasp. When he jumps in, I drive off and we fight, verbally. I drive at as fast as the armored truck can go to get back to our craft.

The flight from Jordan to Belgium takes barely two hours.

We leave the ship in Switzerland for safekeeping. Since we're already on the run and committing crimes along the way, I elbow the drivers' side window of a car, unlock it, disable the blaring alarm and hotwire it. Stolen car in tow, we drive over the boarder and make haste towards our next destination.

Finally arriving, the sky turns a light blue in the early sunrise. It's oh five hundred and I can feel the sleep pulling at my edges. Parking the car, we have a short discussion on how we'll get to Relena undetected, but we're both too exhausted to come up with anything concrete, so we opt for sleeping – well, I sleep – in the car, ten miles away from the Peacecraft Estate.

When I finally wake up, I toss Trowa's jacket from my face, pull the lever on my reclined seat and boast, "I know how to get us in!"

I think I figured it out in my dream, but I can't be sure. The problem we had last night was finding a weakness in the security program and detail that Yuy installed. My idea is a long soft, which is putting it nicely, but still, it's just simple enough to work. In fact, Yuy may have left this particular avenue open just in case. It fits his wolf-in-sheep's-clothing train of thought when it comes to this shit.

"What? What is it?" Barton asks startled.

"I'm going to call her from a payphone!" I boast, excitedly.

Trowa's face falls and he gives me this 'are-you-mental' look. "That's your grand plan?" he deadpans.

"It's so simple! If I enter the correct number with the corresponding extension, we might be able to reach her and bypass her secretary. That way the call won't be monitored or recorded!"

"Wufei," he sighs my name, "I've been dissecting Heero's program since you went to sleep. There's nothing to be found."

"Check again!" I order and hit the steering wheel with an open palm.

Barton types away on his laptop at a speed I'm surprised he's capable of after so many hours of being awake. Suddenly, his face jerks towards me, his green eyes wide and excited. "How the hell did you know that existed?" he yells in surprise.

I throw my arms up and reply in an equally loud voice, "I don't know! But that's how Yuy operates!"

"Yeah!" he exclaims.

"It's so goddamn obvious!"

"Yeah!" he yells louder.

"It's so in your face that you don't think it's a real lead, but it is!"

"YEAH!" he cries, pumping his fists excitedly through the air.

"So clear as day, it seems like a fucking typo!"

"MAKE THE FUCKING CALL!" he screams in my face while laughing.

"OKAY! OKAY! OKAY!" His animated state rubs off on me.

He recites the long stretch of numbers to me and I go running in search of the nearest coin payable phone. They're so useless in this day of age, but it makes perfect sense for Yuy to utilize an almost extinct source of communication for this purposes.

Running as if I'm caught on fire, I sprint down streets, boulevards, and avenues until I finally find a payphone. Pressing the numbered buttons, no coins need, I dial the numbers given to me and hope for the best.

It rings.

Sucking in a deep breath, I accept the possible failure of our trial.

But then…

"Hello?"

I hear her voice echo in my ears. "Relena?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Chang Wufei."

"Wufei," she says my name softly like a prayer.

"I need your help," I admit honestly.

"I need yours too," she says. Her voice sounding close to tears.

"With what?"

"Heero," she whimpers.

Intrigued, and above all else concerned for her safety, I ask, "What's he doing?"

"Nothing!" she hisses. "I can-can't tell you over the phone, you just have to get here."

"How?"

I hear her suck in a large breath. "I'll disable the alarms on the doors to my balcony. Avoid the men patrolling my estates grounds and you'll be free to enter."

"I'm with someone," I inform.

"Who?"

"Barton."

"That's fine," she sighs in relief. "The two of you come and help me with him."

She disconnects the phone call before I have a chance to tell her I'm – we're – looking for Quatre, but by the sound of her voice, I know she needs our assistance with Yuy.

Based on the last time I saw him, he was an absolute mess. If he's turned to Relena for help, then he's certainly out of sorts.

Barton and I spend the rest of the day walking around town. We had to ditch the car. No reason to get busted now that we've come this far.

Around twenty-four hundred hour, Barton and I sneak onto Relena's estate and scale the wall to her balcony. I tap against a windowpane with my index knuckle. An overwhelming sense of apprehension comes crashing over me. My palms sweat, my heart beats faster, my teeth grind in anticipation, and I don't know why I'm so damn nervous. The door opens a crack and my eyes lock on to the one blue orb between the break in the door. She pushes the door open and wraps her arms around me.

"Wufei," she whispers. "I'm so glad you're here."

Returning the hug, I'm enveloped in the scent and warmth of her. We linger in the embrace until Barton clears his throat loudly behind us.

Relena lets go of me, walks up to Barton and says, "Trowa, it's so good to see you too." And she hugs him as well.

The group of us enters her extravagant bedroom.

"I'm so happy you're both here. I don't know what to do about Heero. He won't listen to me. I'm at my wits end," Relena rambles.

"Heero?" Trowa asks. "Relena, we aren't here for Heero, Wufei and I are looking for Quatre. He's gone off the grid since being removed as CEO of his father's company."

"Oh," she sighs, looking down at her twiddling fingers in her lap. Shrugging her shoulders, lifting her eyes, she tells us, "I'm sorry, but I have no idea where Quatre is. I haven't seen him since that banquet I threw a few months back."

I chime in with, "Yeah, that's the last time I saw him in person as well."

"Great, just fucking great," Barton fumes, collapses heavily on plush chair, defeated.

"Calm down, Trowa. We knew this was a long shot."

We spend a great deal of time talking before Relena offers us a room.

"I'm sorry I can't accommodate you in separate rooms. This is the room Heero is in – he's probably passed out, so you don't have to worry about waking him – and it's probably best if the three of you stay cooped up in one room. If my brother finds out any of you guys are here, he'll have the Preventers marching through the halls in an instant."

We thank her for her hospitality and settle into the bedroom. Part of me is surprised that Yuy doesn't wake up the moment we tiptoe through the door, but then I remember the effects of heroin on a person. In the old days, Heero would have been awake just from Barton, Relena and I having a conversation in the next room. He probably would have heard us sneaking onto her estate if he hadn't gone down this horrible path. I'm finding it hard to be sympathetic towards him. He did this to himself. But at the same time I understand why. Dealing with the crap we went through hasn't been easy on any of us. I get angry. He gets high. Barton got…well…he got weirder and more mentally unstable, obsessive over Winner. As for the billion-dollar heir, he decided to gamble his inheritance away. I don't know what's become of Maxwell. I pray he's handling himself better than the rest of us.

Barton doesn't seem to grasp Yuy's current condition. He walks through the room on light feet, placing his duffel down as softly as he can, and sits on a padded chair in the corner of the room to sulk.

"Take it easy, Trowa," I soothe, using his first name still feels a bit foreign to me.

"Keep your voice down!" he whispers harshly.

"Yuy's out cold," I remind him, punching the Jap boy viciously in the leg to prove my point. He doesn't stir.

"Wow," Trowa murmurs. He gets up from this chair and walks loudly over the edge of the bed, pushes Heero's shoulder to test the depths of a heroin induced coma. "Jesus Christ, is he breathing?" He sounds worried and leans down to press his ear to Yuy's face. "Yeah, he's alive."

"The drugs knock him out. He's unresponsive to the world."

Barton rummages through drawers of the nightstand beside Yuy. He pulls out a hand full of paraphernalia: needles, spoon, lighter, and clear baggies filled with black, sticky-looking stuff.

"We should get rid of this," Barton mumbles.

I shake my head. "We can't do that. He'll be furious and leave. If we flush his stuff, he'll hunt some more down."

"But we can't let him live like this."

"So what do we do when he wakes up?" He really doesn't seem to understand the mind frame of an addict.

"Tie him to the bed?"

"You really think that will work? The guy can bend steel."

His green eyes glare at the drugs a moment longer before he decides: "I'm flushing this shit down the toilet."

"Fine."

I slip off my shoes and shirt, climb into the large bed beside Yuy and try to get a good nights rest. The toilet flushes in the bathroom and I know he's done the deed. I'm not going to be the one to explain it to Yuy in the morning. I won't stop him from leaving either. Stopping him would be like jumping in front of a freight train and using Human Will to slow it to a stop.

I fall asleep as Trowa worries over our next step to take.

When I wake up, it's fairly early in the morning like oh-five-hundred. Voices woke me up. I think I heard someone say 'Why are you here?' Opening my eyes, I see that Yuy is awake, sitting up a little and speaking with Barton.

"Wufei and I are looking for Quatre," I hear Barton's voice say from a dark corner of the room. "You wouldn't happen to know where he might be, would you?"

"Nnn-no. Um, I saw 'im on TV when I wuz in the hospital. He lost his job," Yuy slurs, his speech drawled and heavy similar to a person who's drunk, in pain or about to fall asleep.

"Why were you in the hospital?" Barton ask, interrupting them and bringing their attention to myself.

"It was nothin'," he mumbles, eyes full of shame.

"Will you help us search for Quatre?" Barton asks.

"I dunno, maybe," Yuy answers, with his head lulling to his shoulder. "Why iz it so im'ortant tha you find him?"

"I think he needs our help. Being forced to step down from his career couldn't have been easy."

"I'm sure he can take care of himself." Heero rolls over onto the side of the bed, opens a drawer from the nightstand, and I know shit's about to hit the fan.

"Where's my stuff?" He asks a little panic stricken as he yanks the drawer out of the stand. "Where the fuck is my shit?!"

Scooting to the far edge of the bed, I cross my arms over my chest as Barton informs, "I flushed it."

"You what?!" Yuy shrieks and runs into the bathroom.

Coming back out, he stops in the doorway, trembling and glaring at Barton. "What the hell gives you the right to go through my shit and throw it away?!" he yells louder than I've ever heard him speak.

Barton gets to his feet and shouts; "I was doing you a fucking favor by throwing that crap away! That shit's going to kill you! How could you even do it in the first place?"

Lunging across the room like a sprinting cheetah, Heero is on Trowa throwing punches, backing the taller man into a bookcase that makes the books fall to rain down around them. By the time I reach them Heero's got his hands around Trowa's neck. Standing behind Heero, trying to pull him off doesn't work, so I use a move I know will halt him: kneeing him in the balls. It does the trick, his hands release Trowa and falls to the floor groaning in agony.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?!" Yuy screams at the both of us. His voice breaks a little at the end of his exclamation and tears well in his eyes. "Now I'm going to have to find another hook. That shit was supposed to last me a while."

Trowa kneels down over him, places a hand on his shoulder and tries to soothe, "You don't need drugs, Heero. Once we get you clean you'll realized that."

"Fuck you!" Heero screeches and slaps Trowa's hand away. "It's my life! I can do whatever the fuck I want now that the war's over."

His logic sets off my annoyance. "You saved the world from extinction!" I yell. "And now you want to spend the rest of your life in a drug induced daze? What kind of loser are you? You of all people should be proud of your accomplishments!"

"Should I be proud of the innocent people I killed too?" he sobs, face mushed against the carpet.

My heart tenses in my chest, aching painfully from the realization that even if I'd been in his shoes – the one to save everyone, the one everyone relied on – I'd still be struggling, unable to hide or overcome the pain on my own. "We all killed innocent people, Heero," I whisper. "That's what happens in a war whether it be by accident or a necessary casualty, it happens. We're all dealing with it."

"No, we're not all dealing with it," he spits venomously. "I was supposed to be better. I was trained to be the best. I wasn't supposed to make mistakes!"

Trowa adds, "You're only human."

"Yeah, well this human I am and this body that holds me together needs some fucking H to function."

"You don't need heroin to make you whole!"

"It's my life! This is my fucking life now! Nobody tells me what I can and can't do! So just fuck off and leave me alone!" And with that depression outpour, Heero pushes himself off the floor, throws on his green tank, tucks it into the waistband of his spandex shorts and makes a move for his shoes. All the while he's getting dressed, Trowa and I just sort of stand there, dumbfounded by his new personality. I think we finally understand the reality of his addiction, or at least I do. He's so far in, to the point that nothing else matters.

"You can't leave," I assert.

His blue eyes glare daggers at me, his face damp with sweat and he asks between gritting teeth, "Why the fuck not?"

"If you're seen you'll cause a lot of problems for Relena," Trowa continues my line of thought for me. "You don't want to do that to her, do you?" Well played, the guilt trip might work.

"Shit," his whispers. "Well then you two are just going to have to help me. I can't stay here like this. I need a hook and then I'll be good again."

"What don't you understan-" the bedroom door bursting open cuts off my angry cry.

Men and women in Preventer uniforms flood the room, grab hold of us as try to bolt for the balcony doors, but we're too slow and far out numbered. They forcefully haul us back into the center of the room and fucking Milliardo douche bag emerges from the crowd. I don't know how he found us, but we should have known better than to come here. All I know is that Relena had nothing to do with this. She wouldn't want us turned-in in this way. I'm in such deep shit now. Escaping from incarceration is huge felony, and I expect that I'll be behind bars for the next decade to come. Would I do all over again? You bet your fucking ass I would. As different as I am from my Gundam allies, I'd do pretty much anything for them. They are, after all, my brothers.

"We're taking you in and sending you to a special program," Milliardo tells us, and sticks a needle into Heero's struggling arm. He fought the hardest to get away and maybe, just maybe if he weren't a dope fiend he may have escaped. What ever is in that syringe knocks Yuy out in seconds flat, his eyes lull back into his skull, and he becomes a dead weight in the arms of the four Agents who restrained him.

"What did you put in him?" Barton cries. "Let us go! We've done nothing wrong!"

Milliardo smirks and explains, "Oh you did nothing wrong until you helped that one escape." He points a long finger at me. Pulling a second syringe from his pocket, Milliardo approaches Trowa who begins to wrestle with his captures to no avail. In a matter of moments he's out like a light, and I know I'm next.

Marching over to stand face to face with me, Milliardo asks, "No fighting from you?"

"No."

He sticks me with the needle in my left bicep and pushes the plunger.

"Good."

"You can't keep us hidden away forever. We'll find freedom again," I assure him, and then less of a minute later my world goes black.

Hours, possibly days later, my eyes flutter open and I find myself lying on my side, face pressed against dirt. Pushing my self to sit up, I look around and gaze at the towering trees around me.

Where am I?