Author's Notes: With deepest thanks to everyone who has reviewed this so far, and to my wonderful beta-readers for all their hard work.
My full disclaimer is in my profile, but as a quick reminder – I don't own them, I'm not making any money, I just want to play for a while.
For anyone interested in seeing what Treize house looks like, there are pictures on my website – just follow the link in my profile.
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Chapter One
Zechs Marquise felt the wheels of his plane touch down on the surface of the runway in Austria and sighed silently to himself – home. He was home.
Two months commanding a mission to the L2 colonies had left him tired – more tired than he could ever remember feeling before – and not merely physically.
Bodily exhaustion was familiar, an almost welcome companion to someone trained as he was to pilot the huge mobile suits of his chosen military unit. Such fatigue simply meant that he was keeping up enough hours with the mecha that his fighting edge would remain sharp, and any cadet was comfortable enough with the nearly constant condition to be able to ignore it completely within six months of commencing their training.
At first, he had believed that the feeling was being caused by the lingering traces of the injuries he had sustained in his brief, bloody skirmish with the ever-growing rebel forces. But the ghost of the punishment his muscles had taken, the continual nagging drain of the headache that throbbed behind his right eye and would not settle, the way the air seemed to be constantly chilly did not explain why he felt as he did. Those things were annoying, to be certain, but they did not explain his listlessness.
He felt… weary. A sinking, apathetic weight that he could not shift and did not particularly, after almost three weeks of carrying it, care to try to anymore.
If he thought about it hard enough, the symptoms seemed familiar, but he could not recall experiencing them before. They hovered at the back of his mind like a picture that was incomplete – as though he had the clues, but not the conclusion.
With a lacklustre shake of his head, he collected his bag from the storage rack and stepped from the plane into the freezing air and the falling snow.
Though he had landed at the New Edwards base almost eight hours before, Zechs hadn't felt as though he were home, back on Earth, until a few moments before.
That feeling had nothing at all to do with rational thinking and a great deal to do with the slender, well-wrapped figure standing just to one side of the runway; his distinctive auburn hair hidden under his hat and his aquiline, handsome features all but shrouded in his heavy coat and scarf.
Zechs felt his soul lighten a little at the sight and he raised one hand in a wave as he crossed the sodden ground to the car.
"Get in, you fool!" the figure berated him when he got into earshot. "What were you thinking, coming to Austria at this time of year dressed like that? Anyone would think you'd never been here before!"
Zechs glanced down at his own light uniform cloak and shrugged. "I wasn't thinking about the weather, clearly."
"Oh, clearly!"
The pilot offered no resistance as he was bundled into the back of the state car and, in fact, smiled when the door was slammed shut, closing out the frigid air of the airport in favour of the gentle warmth generated by the car's heaters.
He glanced around the passenger compartment, his smile broadening as he took in the deep leather seats, the drinks cabinet and the privacy screen – unmistakeably made of one-way glass – separating the two of them from the driver.
Treize Khushrenada lifted his snow-dappled hat off his head, unwound his scarf and shrugged out of his coat, laying them all to one side on the seat opposite before turning to his companion and looking him over from head to toe. "You've lost weight," he complained.
"Forgive me if rations and hospital food aren't entirely to my taste. No doubt I'll put it back if you have anything to say about it." Zechs ran his own inspection. "Not that you can say anything to anyone about being too slim."
The general shrugged. Out of his imposing Specials uniform and dressed as casually as he was in woollen jumper and trousers, the elder man was almost delicately slender. "I'll have you know that my weight is perfect for my height," he retorted.
"Yes, I'm sure that it is," Zechs teased back.
Treize repeated his shrug, though with the barest hint of a smile, and then looked squarely at the younger man. "Is that to be your greeting then?"
"It was more courteous than yours!"
"I told you – Rank Hath Its Privileges. And that wasn't my greeting; that was an exclamation torn from me by your sheer stupidity – anyone would think you wanted to get frostbite."
"Oh, no. Most unpleasant."
"Absolutely."
The two of them looked at each other for a moment, eyes the colour of the deepest cold beyond the windows of the car meeting those the hue of purest sapphires, and then they both smiled, breaking some indefinable tension lingering between them after two months apart.
"I have missed you," Treize murmured, laying one long fingered hand on the other's arm.
"I've missed you as well… talking to you by email just isn't the same."
"No, it isn't," Treize agreed. Cautiously, the older man reached forward and lifted away the heavy silver helmet that the younger was forced to wear to conceal his true identity. The metal was cold after its exposure to the wind outside and he tossed it aside in disgust. "Promise me something?" he continued, running fingers through the chill silk of the pilot's waist length hair and making him shiver a little.
"What?"
"Don't put that back on until we go back to Luxembourg?"
Zechs stilled. "Whilst we're alone, of course not."
Treize shook his head. "Not at all."
"I… can't do that. Not with so many people coming to your party. It only takes one of them to recognise me and…."
"Wear the dark glasses you used until last year and tie your hair back."
"Treize, I can't…" Zechs repeated, pulling away from the touch on his hair.
"Please. As a Christmas present?"
Zechs closed his eyes. "For everything except the party tomorrow night. That I won't risk – I've seen your guest list, there are too many people attending who could recognise me if they looked closely enough."
"Alright."
Strong fingers began moving again, soothing away the strain of the last few seconds, and the blond left his eyes closed, drifting into a state somewhere between sleeping and waking under the rhythmic touch.
A ghostly pressure on his lips drew him back to reality a little and made him smile.
"I'm sorry; I don't want you to do anything that will make you uncomfortable," the general apologised quietly.
"I know."
"Good."
The pressure on his lips was a little firmer this time and the pilot opened his eyes to see Treize looking at him from a little distance away.
"Welcome home," Treize murmured and leaned in, closing the distance.
Zechs gave himself over to their embrace, sinking into it as his eyes fluttered shut again.
As was his wont, the older man had found a new way to kiss him – something which would have been a more demanding challenge had the blond ever shared more than a half dozen such in his life, and all but one of those with the general.
Always before, the auburn haired man had used his caresses to communicate something to the younger man. Their first kiss, shared in a frozen park one late evening in Luxembourg, had been a cautious, dizzying expression of buried longing and love, intense and emotional. The next two had been a firestorm of passion, insistent and arousing, searing him and tearing violent reaction from his body.
The last kisses they had shared had been full of regret and worry. Stolen in the final minutes they had spent together, the general had used his hold on his partner to show his fear for his safety.
This kiss, though, demanded nothing from him and pressed nothing on him in return. The weight of the other man's mouth on his was merely that: a soft, purely physical pleasure that grounded him and began to ease the trauma of the last few months.
Zechs allowed his head to fall back against the supple leather of the seat and sighed. "You know me too well," he mumbled. "That was perfect."
Treize chuckled and slid his arm around the younger man, pulling on his arm until his head slid from the back of the seat onto his shoulder. "I don't know you too well at all, but I do know how you feel right now. I've felt it myself."
Zechs tensed, starting to sit up. "I…"
"Shh." Tapered fingers began working through his hair again in soothing strokes. "Just go to sleep now. We can discuss it later."
"Yes…sir."
"Shh, Zechs."
----------------------------------------------------
The pilot woke gradually, aware of the low thrum of the engine of the car and a snug weight surrounding his body as he floated up from dreams he immediately forgot.
He sighed and began to roll over.
Something latched onto his arm, preventing the movement, and it was then that he remembered that he had been sitting upright when sleep had claimed him.
The hand on his arm let go and resumed its previous duty of casually petting his hair.
Zechs let his eyes open and he looked around as he tried to work out what had happened.
He was lying down, full length across one of the seats of the car, his head resting lightly on something warm and firm. Quick glances showed him his boots on the floor, tucked into the corner, and his cloak folded on the opposite seat next to Treize's coat, hat and scarf.
Slowly, he turned himself onto his back and peered down at the blanket that was covering him, wondering how it had got there.
Quiet laughter made him look up.
"Good afternoon."
The blond swallowed. "What happened…?"
Treize was smiling at him, looking down. "Obviously, I moved you. Forgive me, but I thought you'd be more comfortable like this and my arm would not have appreciated you lying on my shoulder for the best part of three hours."
"Three hours?" Zechs asked, startled.
"Hmm, yes. We're almost at the estate. I would have had to wake you myself in ten minutes or so."
"Oh… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
Treize closed the book he had been reading and set it aside. "What are you apologising for? You must have needed to sleep or you would have roused when I moved you."
"I haven't seen you for two months and the first thing I do is fall asleep!?"
Treize smiled. "Yes, and I was expecting you to. Truly, I don't mind – you make rather a good lap-warmer."
Unexpected colour flushed into the pilot's face as he realised exactly how and where he was lying, and he began to sit up, pushing the blanket down as he did so.
The general caught him by the shoulders and held him. "Be still," he commanded.
Treize genuinely hadn't minded having his younger companion resting in his lap at all – he had been telling the truth when he said he made a good lap-warmer. The steady, comfortable weight of him was relaxing and the hushed little snuffling sounds he made under the careless rhythm of the general's hand were delightful.
He wondered if the younger man knew how trusting a gesture it was that he had allowed himself to sleep in his commander's arms at all.
The blush had faded from Zechs' perfect skin and he was looking up at the older man, puzzled – there had been enough strength in the hands on his shoulders to force him to stay still had he chosen not to co-operate. Unconsciously, he began to resist the hold and Treize sighed and patted his arm before letting him go so that he could complete his movement and sit upright. "May I ask you something?" the elder man asked calmly.
"Certainly."
"Why are you uncomfortable?"
The younger man abruptly fixed his attention on replacing his boots upon his feet. "You're my commanding officer, a Colonel, not a…a pillow!"
Said Colonel laughed. "Aren't I also," he replied when he calmed, "supposedly your friend? Your lover?"
"That's not the point."
"Yes, I think you will find that it is the point. Precisely so, in fact."
The blond shook his head, stubbornly.
"Look at me."
Reflex caused the younger man to obey him and they stared at one another.
"Zechs, I know you can't forget that I'm your commander and I can understand the reasons why – however much I may dislike it – but lately… It's almost as though, once you began wearing your mask, you also began to forget that I was anything other than your commander. It's troubling…"
"Has it not occurred to you that it is this mask which allows me to be your friend?" Zechs asked him, his eyes showing his seriousness, and not a little heat. "All that allows it, in fact. You should remember that, in your hatred of it," he added coldly.
Treize frowned, shivering slightly in the sudden blast of anger.
Sitting back, he rubbed the still-warm place on his leg where the pilot had pressed against him and contemplated calling on his diplomat's tongue to smooth the situation for a moment, before it dawned on him just how much Zechs' words had stung. Did the younger man truly believe that the two of them had no common ground without the roles they were forced to play? "Do you really believe that or were you simply trying to upset me?" he asked quietly. "If so, you succeeded admirably – that honestly did hurt."
Zechs went still for a moment, and then pressed one hand to his eyes for a second, as though the gesture helped him to press himself back under control. When he looked up, his gaze was confused and apologetic. "I don't know. I'm just… I'm sorry."
The car turned through highly wrought gates and pulled smoothly up the long, grey shale drive before coming to a halt outside the door.
Treize picked up his coat, hat and scarf and moved for the door. Just before he opened it, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. "The point I was trying to make is that even our friendship will struggle if you continue the way you are going. There's absolutely no point in even trying to be anything else to one another if you can't forget, when it's necessary and we are together, that I am your senior in rank."
"I know that!"
"Do you? You were my friend long before you were my subordinate. Once, you would have taken sleeping like that as perfectly normal."
"I was a child then."
"Yes, and you trusted me, liked me to touch you. You told me once it was the only thing that could make you feel safe."
The pilot bit his lip. "It still is." He blinked. "Forgive me, please. I don't know what's wrong with me… I've felt so out of sorts for weeks now."
Treize looked at the younger man, seeing confusion reign in his pale eyes, noting that they were ringed in shadows. There was the trace of a bruise on his forehead, and a stiffness to his movements that betrayed how he still ached. The general shook his head.
The boy had spoken no more than the truth – Prince Milliardo Peacecraft would never have been friends with Colonel Treize Khushrenada and, in many ways, the helmet was the dividing line between that Prince and the soldier who was his friend. Given that, could he blame the boy for allowing the difference in their ranks to remain at the front of the soldier's consciousness?
The truth shouldn't wound.
Treize smiled at him, opened the car door and climbed out gracefully. Once he was balanced, he leaned down and offered his hand to the blond. "Come on. It's absolutely freezing out here!"
Zechs took it and slid along the seat and out of the car, coming to stand hesitantly at his commander's side in the snow.
The older man rested a hand on his shoulder and guided him into the house; his firm touch both his own apology and his forgiveness. "Are you hungry?" he asked as the front door of the house closed behind them.
"Isn't there some sort of meal tonight?" the blond quizzed.
"Yes, but not till quite late. It might well be getting on to ten o'clock before we sit down, so eating now won't have any real effect."
The younger man registered his words, but he merely shook his head. "I'll wait."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm not at all hungry."
Treize handed his outerwear to the maid who hurried up at that moment and directed her to take Zechs' bag to his usual suite opposite the general's own rooms.
The girl bobbed and disappeared to do just that.
"I've asked the staff to put Lady Une and Captain Noin in the guest quarters on the next corridor along from our rooms, so we shouldn't be disturbed."
The pilot nodded, understanding, he thought, what it was the auburn-haired man was implying. It was a more than pleasant notion, but he didn't let it show. "When are they arriving?" he asked. "Or are they here already?"
"No, they aren't here yet. They should arrive in a few hours – they're coming in from Luxembourg by train."
"I see."
They stood for a moment, and then Treize squared his shoulders and began steering the younger man in the direction of the staircase. "Now, you look as though you could do with a stiff drink, a bath and another hour or two of sleep. Certainly you should get out of that uniform, at the least, so come along."
Zechs could remember many visits to this house in years past and he had always delighted in the rich wooden floors covered in places with ancient, vividly coloured, woven wool rugs and the pale furniture, chosen to match the white walls.
The majority of the structure had been old in the pre-Colony days, though it was perfectly maintained, and the estate as a whole exuded a sense of timelessness. The weight of Family history spanning hundreds of years appealed to the Prince in Zechs that he thought he had buried over a decade before.
The estate was picturesque in any season, but at this time of year, with the grounds buried under several feet of pristine snow, it was something from a fairytale and he knew that both Lady Une, if she hadn't been here before, and Noin would fall in love with it as soon as they caught sight of the house from the road.
Treize, having grown up on the estate, appeared to notice none of this as he ushered the blond through the door to his apartment and manoeuvred him into sitting on the edge of the wide bed. Zechs glanced round, recalling details he had forgotten in the years he had been away from this room he had spent so much of his childhood in.
"I'll have someone draw you a bath and then you can tell me all about L2 whilst you soak," the general told him, picking up a phone and issuing such orders.
"I'd rather talk about the plans for the next few days, if you don't mind. It's Christmas Eve – I don't want to think about anything unhappy," Zechs replied when the phone went down. "And you've already had my official report, so there isn't much to add."
"Very well. I'll get you that drink."
Zechs watched as the trim figure strode from the room and closed the door behind him.