Heero, Trowa, and Wu Fei decided to join Preventers and help stop the 'frontier justice' that had been running the colony since it's inception, Quatre helped with the construction and the paperwork, and I... well, I needed a way to make me sleep at the end of the day, to forget the past and the blood. I joined the construction crews and put in ten hour days.

A waste, they all said, but I liked it. I liked the guys I worked with and I liked routine. I suppose a person is screwed up when they consider routine, and a constant place to live, to be one of their dreams. My choice made it uncomfortable, though, when we all gravitated back to each other, from time to time, and had our little 'parties'. Sometimes, a soldier needs to 'get it all out of his system' and talk with other soldiers about this scar, or that, or what happened in which campaign. It keeps it all from festering and boiling over, I think.

Quatre had very nice digs, so we always ended up at his place; drinks flowing freely, bottomless chips and dip, and a big screen television to watch when we couldn't deal with the memories anymore. I never admitted to anyone that I mostly watched Heero, and that it wasn't only war memories that festered inside of me.

Heero still had this dark... leashed... power about him. a 'killer' aura all his own. I could still see him giving his life at the drop of a hat, or taking someone else's without a blink of remorse. Which made it surprising the way he could so easily talk to Quatre. Quatre could even make him smile. I hated when that happened. It was like a knife twisting in my gut. It spelled out, all too clearly, how I wasn't right for Heero at all.

Even Trowa could get a laugh out of Heero, or make him nod and agree when they managed a few words between them. As for Wu Fei, we all had a rough kind of friendship with him, especially Heero. At least I found comfort that there was someone else even more wrong for him.

"You look unhappy? Not enough to drink?" Wu Fei had broken the unspoken rule. He had brought someone else to the 'party', some fellow agent who had begged to be with Gundam pilots. He wasn't bad looking, but I was a good judge of character. I knew he was an asshole, and had a temper. The way he cracked his knuckles and frowned, he probably enjoyed beating people up too. I scowled when he sat hip to hip with me and plopped a beer in my lap.

He gave me 'the look' and I knew what he was after. It seemed he wanted to brag that he had not only met a Gundam pilot, but that he had also screwed one. I also knew that he had picked me, because I was still thin and had the hair. I looked like the right kind of mark, someone who wouldn't give him too much trouble once he got me drunk enough and into a room alone.

"I can kill you with my little finger," I whispered sideways as I popped the beer and took a swig. "And I wouldn't get choked up about it afterward."

He gave me a stare, but then he just laughed. I knew what he was thinking. 'Yeah, sure kid, sure you can.' People can very stupid.

"Leave." The command was Heero's. He stood over us, dark aura at full intensity.

Asshole was very stupid. "Hey, buddy, I didn't see any 'reserved' sign anywhere."

Heero's eyes were dark blue. They had a flat coldness now, a clear warning.

Asshole squeezed my knee. "I don't see Duo telling me to go away and I was here first. First come, first served." He actually snickered on that play on words, as if he was so damned clever.

Heero's eyes flicked to me, condemnation. He wanted to know why I wasn't reacting, why I was letting asshole touch me at all. Maybe I'd had a few too many beers, or maybe depression can be that powerful. I heard myself say, feeling it for the first time, that pinnacle of loneliness, "What's it matter?"

"See? He wants it," Asshole laughed. "And I was here first." He repeated that as if I was that easy, some whore-boy who'd let anyone...I crushed my beer can against the side of his head and stood up. Asshole crumpled like a deck of cards, that simple to knock out.

I wanted out of there. I turned to leave, but Heero caught my arm. "It matters to me," Heero said.

It had grown quiet, the television still playing, but the other ex pilots watching the drama.

"Does it?" I didn't want to look at him, didn't want to know if they were just words and nothing more.

"Yes," Heero replied, and then, "Haven't you watched me long enough? Can't you make up your mind what you want?"

"I know what I want," I whispered, appalled that he had noticed... and so misread me. "I know I can't have it, though. The shirt doesn't fit."

That was stupid, and cryptic, but he seemed to understand. "Maybe, you just haven't given me a chance to try it on and see?"

I cringed at how cheesy that sounded, but I looked at him anyway. His expression was hurt, almost, and hopeful. His aura was banked, still there, but softened. Maybe... maybe I could do something for him, something more profound than Quatre's ability to make him smile, or Trowa's ability to make him laugh. Love was a hell of a lot bigger than either of those things, after all.

"Okay," I managed and then moved closer to him as I chuckled, "Try me on for size, Yuy."