Fandom: Gundam Wing
Rating: T for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.
Pairing: Zechs and Treize, Zechs and Noin, Duo and Heero
Warnings:vague references to m/m relationships, some swearing I think, nothing explicit
Spoilers: mild ones
Summary: After Treize's death, can Zechs find to himself? Will he be able to make his peace with the Gundam pilots and the world at large? Overcoming hatred means conquering darkness, but loving your enemy has never been an easy feat... Zechs, Noin, Duo, Wufei, Une, Heero, Relena.
xxx
Zero had broken loose. Having overworked himself ruthlessly, he had not been able to suppress it anymore. It had wreaked havoc with his head, and he had finally asked Une to send him home for a while.
A log in hand, Zechs sat in front of the fire, and stared into the flames. He wore neatly pressed dark grey slacks, a spotless white dress shirt that was unbuttoned down to his collarbone, the sleeves rolled up, the hem hanging in starched creases over his belt. He was barefoot, socks and shoes set neatly by the door to the drawing room – he had been out wandering through the park that at this time of the year had muddy pathways and a bare shimmer of green to cover winter-black branches and shrubs.
Spring. The renewal of life. Brimming with energy. It lay in the damp, cool air, the chill of frost laced with the first timid warmth even though thick patches of porous snow, transparent with icy edges, lingered stubbornly in the shadows, where the sun would not yet reach.
Zechs leaned forward to push the log into the flames. For a moment, they leapt up to lick around his fingers, and he watched, enraptured, soaking up the sensation of heat dancing over his skin and making it tingle. Before the flames died back, withdrawing beneath the slightly dank wood, sizzling on drying, withering bark. Birch, black and white, curling in the heat before bursting into sparks and smoke to perish-
He gasped and got up abruptly, tossing back his hair. His hand slipped over a few stray silver lenghts, on over his chest, to press over the place where he could feel his own frantic heartbeat.
Memories of another's touch… longing lancing through him with the force of lightning, heartwrenching, soulsearing, making him hiss out and gulp for air like a drowning man.
Yet again.
Stupid, he berated himself when he managed to catch his breath, so damn stupid. Get a grip, Marquise, right now you're a disgrace to anyone who thinks good of you.
He sighed and dragged the back of his hand over his brow even as he rose to walk around the long polished walnut table that took up most of the room, letting his free hand trail over the backs of the chairs surrounding it. Through the French doors, he had a glorious view on the damp meadows of the park, the stone fountain in the middle of it, and the silver-green shimmer of the woods beyond.
Swathes of snowdrops had pushed their white bells through the layers of melting snow, and the weathered stone of the fountain shimmered a pocky, jaundiced green with new lichen. A thin sheet of ice lay over the puddle of murky water at the bottom of the basin on whose edge a pair of Treize's doves had alighted to drink, cooing to one another.
A pale sun shone from an incredibly blue sky.
So blue…
Zechs leaned against the sash of one of the doors and laid his hand against the cool glass, to regain his bearings, to steady himself by allowing the chill to sink into his heated thoughts.
So peaceful… if I only knew… what should I do now? Ah, yes, my job. The Mars project. Lectures at the Terraforming College. Something's not right though.
Nonsense. Nothing is right. I'm still waiting for him to turn a corner and laugh at the idiotic face I'm going to pull. Still hoping for him to turn up and tell me what to do, where to go, and that everything is alright again… damn you, Treize, damn you… I should have learned to think for myself by now, shouldn't I? Grow up, Marquise, it's about time.
At least he had made it through Christmas – by escaping the various ceremonies, no matter whether happy or solemn, and spend the season working on the Mars project when almost everyone else had taken leave for home.
Do they even know that Treize's Christmas is not theirs? he mused idly, fondly and painfully recalling long rides in a troika, meals after evening mass that lasted into the small hours of the morning and did not contain meat dishes, and the melodious chants of the priest in the incense-thick golden dusk of the church. Candle light reflecting on gilded icons dark with age, the shimmer of rich fabrics and precious stones on vestments, the chill of a starspangled winter night… the Khushrenadas observed tradition, and that meant they would celebrate the new year with a decorated tree to please those who would not attend church, while the real celebrations would take place seven days later.
To Zechs, Christmas Eve had only one meaning, and he hated it.
xxx
When Relena had asked him to take in Maxwell for some time, he had grudgingly agreed, even if for his life he could not remember why. A moment of deplorable weakness, he told himself, wincing at the thought. Time went by, and the lad stayed. He even tried hard to remain unobtrusive and quiet, but here he was bound to fail miserably – soon enough he was unable to sit still, and filled the old house with his energetic presence as he made himself useful. Forever buzzing about, helping the groundsmen, fiddling with the vehicles of Zechs' private pool of cars, but carefully avoiding the stables. Horses scared him, he explained laughingly.
Spring seemed to arrive sooner that year. The Mars project was developing according to plan; Zechs would not have to return before autumn. He showed Maxwell the library. "If you slacken off, you'll fail the next set of exams. I won't have you smudge my reputation as a lecturer like that. Stop being a grease monkey, and sit down to study. I'll rehearse with you."
He piled a stack of carefully selected books into the young man's lap:
Advanced Engineering of Terraforming Equipment.
Tectonic Studies of Martian Landscapes.
Establishing New Colonies – Preconditions to Consider, Analysis of Computer Generated Models, and their Application to Assess Suitability
Pre-Evaluation of Building Sites
Basic Finance for Project Management and Delivery
Team Leadership
Maxwell, almost dwarfed by his armful of weighty tomes, had not even complained. Instead, the house grew quiet again – at least in the afternoons, when he buried himself in the library, with his laptop, a calculator, pen and paper.
He did his homework with diligency – and to his own surprise, Zechs felt a twinge of pride when they sat down in the dusky stillness of the book-lined room, amid the musky scents of dried roses and old paper, and the young man knew an answer to every one of Zechs' questions. He had not just drummed borrowed learning into his brains, but was able to use his wits with precision and speed.
"I owe you, yanno," he said after that first session, as he closed his notebook and tucked away his pen.
"You owe me nothing," Zechs retorted crisply. "I would do this for any of my students."
"Well, I happen to be here, so I still owe you."
"Just why did you come here?"
Maxwell's eyes darkened a little, his smile cooled somewhat. "I thought…" He shook his head. "Well, I forgot that you're not tuned into the rumour mill. Heero and I… we hooked up during the war." He leaned back in the overstuffed leather armchair, the opposite of the one in which Zechs sat in his customary comfortable grey slacks and white shirt, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his hands settled lightly on the armrests. Between them sat the low coffee table that was stacked high with books and papers, the laptop balanced precariously atop one of those piles, and a couple of empty coffee cups in between.
Zechs slightly inclined his head, swathes of silver sliding over his shoulders. "And?"
Maxwell shrugged, obviously unsure whether to continue, but then he sighed and nodded. "Okay then. He's having headaches. Nightmares, sometimes. He's trying so hard to protect us all… Relena, and the rest of us… I think he's afraid of losing anyone now…" His voice trailed off, and his gaze broke away, erring about a little before he looked down at the books. "We argued a lot, and before last Christmas, I think we just had enough of one another. So I went."
"He let you go?"
Maxwell's lips thinned. "I said, I went. Perhaps it's only… I want to put this damn war behind me."
"And he's still in soldier mode." There was no need to ask. Zechs knew what Zero did to him.
"He can't help it," the younger man said quietly, those sunny features uncharacteristically sullen. "And I can't handle it right now." A small pause, then, "You, at least you had everything before…"
"It all went to hell," Zechs picked up where Maxwell faltered, his face flushing fiercely.
"Yes," he said, looking up to meet Zechs' glare with a stubborn look, "yes, you did, and then you lost. And you still think we're too stupid to know… I lost everyone I ever loved a long time ago, and I thought I was going to crack up. They weren't great or famous, but they were my family, my mates, people you wouldn't even have noticed 'cos you'd never get to the places where we lived. And then, like that, bang – wiped out 'cos some asshole sent in the army to clean the place up. We were trash to them. To folk like you."
Zechs tensed, his fingers digging into the leather of the armrests, but he said nothing.
Maxwell waited for a heartbeat or two, gauging his reaction. "I thought learning to fight would be a great alternative to conking out myself. So that's what I did, and then I met Heero. I think he's been raised in that damn lab." He got up and collected his computer and papers. "If you want me to leave, just tell me, and I'll be gone."
He seemed to expect an answer right away because he just stood there, fiddling with the laptop, adjusting the sheaf of papers, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Zechs thought that selective memory sounded like a great idea, and that he could have done with something strong to drink right then. And heard himself say quietly, "I think I still owe you for a lost bet."
Maxwell's eyes grew wide, and for a moment, his mouth slackened and he looked like a shocked puppy, before snapping his mouth shut and turning sharply to march out, braid whipping wildly about his backside.
Zechs blinked.
Something had changed.
And when he listened into himself, he heard but silence.
xxx
That night, for the first time in an eternity, he had slept without dreams. Only Treize had so far been capable of calming him thus.
The next morning, he had been waiting for the customary downturn. For Zero to power up in his mind without warning, and the usual storm of blinding headaches.
Nothing had happened. He felt empty in a pleasant, serene way, and had chosen to leave the confines of the house in favour of a long walk in the cool park. He did not even want to wonder why he was feeling like this; just enjoying this respite was enough.
Thinking of Treize, as always. When passing the artfully planted roses in the formal gardens, when looking up at the trellis that framed the windows of his own and Treize's rooms, when watching a few of his birds settle on the fountain on the lawn…
Yet the wild tearing of pain was gone. Mellowed into a soft melancholy that allowed him to remember and breathe without wanting to howl in agony.
He wallowed in it. Incredulous. Forbidding himself any worry that it might not last. Determined to preserve this precious, warm lightness that suffused his mind…
It was something he had not known since losing Treize.
xxx
Zechs twisted a strand of silverblond around his forefinger and watched the hair uncoil briskly. Maxwell's hair was incredible – his braid touched his bum, so it had to be much longer than his own silver mane, wavy possibly because the lad kept it tightly plaited most of the time, with any natural wave likely to be pulled smooth by the sheer weight of this mass of shiny russet brown. No wonder Yuy kept a jealous watch over… wow, way to go.
Zechs shook his head, a wry half-smile pulling at his lips. Just why had he agreed to let Maxwell stay? Ah, yes, he had nowhere to go, as if that was believable – the lad called the world and his dog his friends, what with his ever-cheerful grin and forceful energy.
Enviable, really, Zechs mused idly. So Lucy and Une had set him up. He did not bear them a grudge – they meant well, he knew it, and it warmed him a little. Being all alone made the world a cold place indeed, and he had enough of it.
Lucy was moving back and forth between the Preventers headquarters and the estate, her visits welcome highlights in his monotonous schedule of work and teaching. He liked her warmth, undemanding and generous, but he was reluctant to show her how he felt. He did not want to raise her hopes, she did not deserve to be disappointed.
So he remained quiet, contented himself with enjoying her friendly companionship and the odd shared drink. Une was working too hard, she told him with a wistful smile, but what else could she do?
Work was all Treize had left them.
xxx
But then, Lucy had turned up for one of her visits with Chang in her tow. She did not even try to make excuses; Zechs had blown a fuse, she had braved the brunt of his wrath. It had not been funny then, but now it seemed merely an ironic quirk of fate, a twist of circumstances beyond his control.
Still, him pointing a gun at Chang had made her go pale and Maxwell, suddenly there as well, shove his skinny body in the line of fire, to catch the bullet should it fly – he had not hesitated at all, merely stared at Zechs unblinkingly, with an oddly cool expression in those impossibly wide eyes. What was it – disappointment? Zechs slapped the thought off before it could take root. The lad was simply crazy that way…
It had been too much, too sudden, and it broke the gentle stupor Zechs had come to enjoy, causing a fresh wave of pain and resentment to crash though him. Out of my sight, he had roared, hanging on to the last shred of control for dear life.
Hurtling right back to where he had been…
Lucy had been wise enough to take the hint too. There was such a thing as stretching friendship and patience too far, and whilst he treasured the first, the latter had gone out of the window with the stunt they tried to pull on him. So he had yelled at her when she came to see him after having settled the young men in their respective rooms.
He had escaped to the stables to work off his anger, stomping about ankle-deep in straw and muck, clouds of dust blooming whenever he plopped a bundle of hay or straw down. He had tied his hair into a loose ponytail and wore a faded black, sloppy mechanics coverall, old Alliance issue. His face was smudged with dust and sweat, and red-flecked with anger. His pale eyes blazed at her with undiminished fury as she tried to explain, while keeping clear of a stabbing stable fork and the sweeping, fierce motions of long arms.
Clad in her dark grey exercise uniform, she leaned against the door and let him rant, watching him as he gathered spent straw into damp heaps, forked them into a small cart, and raked out fresh bedding for the animals. The horses sensed his mood and fidgeted, trampling back and forth in their boxes while he kept working briskly: replacing the straw with fresh, bright golden layers, the aroma of dusty hot summer fields filling the cool air, to drive away the sharp, muggy reek of horse manure. Filling the racks with hay that smelled of honey, the scent mingling dizzyingly with the warm odour of horse sweat.
"What IS it?" he snapped at last, irritated at her lack of response, and jabbed the fork into the last bundle of straw, right next to her by the door. His elbow brushed her shoulder, nudging her back against the doorjamb, and almost instantly he caught her arm.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, contritely, eyes wide with sorrow, "I didn't mean…"
"I know," she said, drawing back a little. "Look, let them stay a little. You'd never have agreed, we all know that. But it might help."
She had never been fond of mincing her words. She preferred – like all of Treize's officers – to be forthright, efficient, precise. Always to the point. He had drilled it into them, and old habits did last indeed.
Zechs clasped the handle of the fork. Knuckles white against the darkened wood that was worn shiny smooth with use and age. Treize's hands had touched it, too, an eternity ago. Zechs felt the heat of his anger evaporating as quickly as his body cooled down, damp patches of sweat between his shoulder blades and under his arms beginning to chill his skin. He had worn himself out. He could not see it through anymore – he found himself tired of being down and at odds with the world, and no longer able to keep anyone at a distance he considered healthy.
They're all after me, and they're having me now. Conquest by siege. Very well then, it might be interesting to see how they're handling it. Lightning Count, full blast – or is it Marquise they're getting? Certainly not Milliardo.
Never Milliardo.
Because Milliardo belongs to you, Treize, and I do hope you're as goddamn restless as me now, wherever you're hiding out.
With a barely suppressed groan, he reached up and pulled the elastic from his hair. She watched as he raked his fingers through the tangled strands, and he looked up to meet her gaze because he could feel her staring. She smiled.
Before he knew it, a smile flickered over his lips too.
Lopsided, wry, but a smile nonetheless.
And he realised that he had almost forgotten how this felt.
xxx
No, Lucy had never been fond of the diplomatic game. Soldiers have no time for this kind of play, she laughed at him once, when they still shared coursework and spare time at the Academy.
A good soldier, he had argued, would try to defuse a situation. To minimise losses. Words make good weapons, just listen to Treize.
She had thought about it, and conceded the point.
He had no idea just how big an impact his almost distracted rejoinder had made – instead of going on to join the combat units, she stayed on to train new cadets. Words for tools…
Standing by the French doors, he could see the light change, with swathes of ragged white clouds driving over the sunny sky. He could hear voices and recognised the lively prattle of Maxwell talking to Lucy.
He did not turn when the door opened softly and light footfall, muffled by the thick carpet, closed in haltingly.
He expected Maxwell – Lucy's steps were firm and purposeful.
Then he registered the lad was still talking outside, his jittery voice fading away towards the vestibule…
Zechs whipped around –
"Good afternoon," Chang said quietly.
It was like diving into boiling water, and he sunk like a stone into black eyes and a storm of memories so vivid as if it all had happened just moments ago…
xxx
"You told me yourself-"
"That sometimes, mercy is a sin," Treize interrupted him calmly, wiping down the blade of the sparring sabre. Light slipped over the ice blue steel, lingered at the tip and reflected as a pale shimmer onto Treize's face.
Frustrated, Zechs tossed his weapon onto the table in the cavernous, bleak officer's mess of the Alliance Headquarters where he had joined his CO after returning from the devastation of the Lake Victoria base. The sabre clattered onto the bare, polished dark wood, slithered half-way across with a metallic ring, and was caught by Treize's quick hand before it could fall over the edge to the grey slate floor.
"Yes," Zechs accused, "you let him get away with it, and Lucy did the same. I'm telling you that he's taken you for a fool."
Treize's head snapped up at this, and he met Zechs' glare with a searing gaze. "No one," he said softly, "absolutely no one is taking me for a fool."
Zechs pulled his lower lip between his teeth and began to chew even as he folded his arms and cocked his head slightly, an unconsciously defiant gesture, as if to avoid a smack. "You declared this war."
"I do not wage war on children."
Zechs' eyes widened for a moment, before a wave of bitterness swept over his features. "Holding out the other cheek then, are we? How many lives is it going to cost this time?" He was tired, exhausted from having to fight down his emotions while trying to clear up the chaos at the destroyed base. It had gotten to him more than he cared to admit, and had put him on a dangerous edge. Now he felt himself lose this precarious balance, with panic seeping through him – if Treize would have killed Chang in that duel, the base might still be intact… and those memories that kept roiling in his dreams, terrifying him night after night, would not have turned into daydreams and visions that held him in a stranglehold he was unable to break.
Nonsense, he tried to reason with himself. Someone else would have done it anyway, and he would have to face up to those visions before they ate him alive, just how…
"Lieutenant Noin was correct to let Chang go. Can't you see, Miliusha?"
"Don't call me that," he grated out, kicking a chair against the table with a bang. "All I can see is that this could have been avoided!"
Treize's face grew ashen for a moment, before he simply turned away and strode towards the door.
"Do NOT leave me like this," Zechs burst out. "Make me understand. Explain. What's your problem, Tre?"
Treize, about to reach for the door handle, stopped dead, broad shoulders set squarely and stiffly, the tension in his body screaming for a vent, but his voice was low and cool. "Colonel, sir. May I ask which details I should consider, in order to understand and make the correct tactical decisions."
A brief, charged silence spread between them, before Zechs let his arms drop by his sides and straightened, posture taut. "Sir. Please… may I offer my apology, sir."
"Accepted. At ease, Lieutenant." Treize turned back to face him, eyes cool and shuttered, expression blank. "You are lucky that this happened here, without witnesses. I will not note this incident on your service record. Do question me, by all means, in private." A brief pause, then, "Not here. Please. Not ever again."
Zechs swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry and scratchy, and he felt his face glow with shame. Treize's low, even voice was worse than a slap or a swift retort designed to cut because Zechs recognised his words for what they were – a plea, a warning, barely veiled concern…
xxx
Zechs drew a long, sharp breath as he struggled back to reality. The silent room, with the timid warmth of spring pooling behind the glassdoors that shut out the icy breeze. Chang's slight figure, standing motionless near the door. The young man wore a dark blue Chinese suit with neatly buttoned standing collar. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck and tightly braided, with not a single strand out of place, thus highlighting his distinct cheekbones, high brow and almond-shaped eyes. A young face with old eyes, severe and serene.
"Colonel," he said quietly. He emphasised the last syllable, and pronounced the 'l' too hard, making it sound almost like 'r', his voice barely inflected but with the slight sing-song tone characteristic of his mother tongue.
Zechs was at a loss what to say, the familiar storm of emotions and helpless anger blasting through him and leaving in its wake…
Nothing.
He felt hollow and cold, and unspeakably tired. The memory of a few contented days biting him harshly now as he resigned himself to yet another loss. Would it ever end?
"I came here because there are things between us that should not remain unspoken," Chang said into the silence. Forming the words slowly, carefully, setting out each one like a Mahjong-piece, engraved intricately with layers of meaning.
Zechs shook his head, unwilling to peel them back. "Audacious," he murmured.
A flicker of anger enlivened those dark eyes, only to subside beneath something resembling sorrow…
Ashes upon our fires… stifling and cold…
"I understand your resentment," Chang said stiffly. "And I know why you hate me."
"No, you don't. And I have not changed my views."
…but I fear that this war, this terrible war will only end with my demise, my dear friend… General Khushrenada will have to go to make room for peace…
Chang swallowed hard. "I did not expect you would."
"Then what do you want of me?"
"I… I am not sure. Perhaps… to offer a chance to resolve unfinished business. I believe you wanted satisfaction to avenge… the General's death. I am at your disposal, should you so wish."
I do not want to die. Perhaps I am much less of a hero than the world wants to believe… no, I never intended to sacrifice this chance…
"And what good would that do?" Zechs murmured, turning away from those dark eyes, to gaze vacantly over the park.
"Excuse me?"
I want to live, with you, after all of this is over. We would be happy together, don't you think, Miliusha?
"You thought he wanted that duel?"
"I… he left me no other conclusion."
We would turn our backs on war and politics, and hide someplace where we could grow old together in peace. Or we could work the estate, fend off the press for a while until the novelty wears off, and they leave us alone at last… yes, I would like that very much.
"You misunderstood," Zechs said blandly. "You miscalculated. You made a mistake."
Another long, heavy silence, before Chang was by his side, too close for comfort, way too close to escape should Zechs decide to kill him. "I know… I know now…"
Zechs drew up his shoulders. "He… he rarely was wrong. But when..." Treize's mistakes were as grandiose as his plans, with catastrophic consequences. And then, with a sharp intake of breath, Zechs faced Chang who's eyes were fairly burning him. "Is that it?"
"What?"
"I was one of those mistakes, and you…"
Chang lowered his head to stare at his hands, linking his fingers as if to suppress a tremor. "Yes. Maybe that is it."
Zechs bit his lip and returned to his contemplation of the wide, rolling meadows, damp and dark, with the thin veil of blossoming snowdrops beginning to cover the soggy earth. Shadows were growing longer, the light began to wane as the sun grew paler and the blue sky faded gently towards a lilac dusk.
The pair of doves had flown off, and high in the dusky infinity circled a falcon in wide, lazy rounds.
"How…" Zechs cleared his throat and tried again, clasping his hands behind his back, his gaze following the bird of prey. "How was it when you lost your family?"
And without pause, Chang replied, "As if I had died, too. And when I woke from my stupor, I felt I had been reborn for one purpose alone – my revenge. For back then, I believed that revenge is justice, and justice begets peace."
xxx
They had gone for a walk, two silent figures in the vague light of the evening, one tall and broad, silver mane fanning in the light breeze, his hands occupied with whittling at a stick. The other man slight and dark, glossy black braid swinging gently, hands linked firmly behind his back.
When they returned, it was almost dark outside. On the table in the drawing room stood a pair of candles, and the fire burned high and warm. It smelled of woodsmoke and floorpolish.
Zechs knelt to feed another log to the flames that cast a flickering glow over his amber features. Chang stayed by the table. "I should take my leave now," he said quietly.
Zechs rose and was bout to reply, when the door opened, and Maxwell's braid swung through the gap before his face appeared, eyes wide and curious as he glanced at Zechs, and then at Chang. "Oh… I was looking for you, Wu…" Without awaiting an invitation, he slipped in, sparing a quick, nervous smile for Zechs. "Hey… I think they've served dinner in the dining room. It looks so damn formal… Lucy's gone way over the top with it."
Before anyone could figure out what was happening, firm steps approached the door, they heard voices – undoubtedly Yuy's deep monotone and Lucy's calm, sure tone – and in the blink of an eye, the door was opened wide and Yuy stepped in, followed closely by Lucy.
"Duo," he said, grabbing the lad's braid, "I've been looking for you everywhere."
"How did you get here? And what do you want?" was the rather jittery retort.
Zechs felt oddly helpless. All those people were intruding on him, and that Lucy should be party to this did, for a moment, greatly disconcert him. He glanced across the room at her, and saw her smile at him.
"I got here by plane. And I've come to retrieve my boyfriend," Yuy said soberly, apparently not disturbed in the slightest.
Lucy stepped in…
Followed by Une…
And a young woman with a shy smile and hopeful eyes.
"Lena," he murmured, utterly out of his depth and incredibly relieved to see his sister. "Lena, what do all these people want here?"
xxx
Those we love would not want us to suffer for their sake.
Those who love us would rather die for ours.
Treize's words, reminding him of a caress.
That moment, when an expectant silence settled over the small group of people gathered in the drawing room, one last, blinding onslaught of hope consumed him like a flame feeds on cinder, and he saw…
A shadow, broad and trim, the glint of uniform buttons, the gleam of copper hair… a smile, brilliant if a little wistful, and the intense gaze of brilliant blue eyes.
Miliusha moy…
He did not dare to breathe.
Miliusha…
You are a dream.
Does it matter? I promised, did I not?
You never kept your promises to me.
So much bitterness… and yet, I am with you. My dreams are with you, my hopes, my heart… is this not enough? What else can I give you?
Touch. A warm body to press against at night. The beating of your heart beneath my hand.
He could feel it then. A warm grip on his hand. Someone leaning against his side, a hand on his shoulder.
I must be delirious.
You are healing.
I do not want to heal… forget… I do not want to lose you yet again, it would be more than I can bear…
But you burden me… too much grief, Miliusha, too much sorrow – is that what my dream has come to be?
Do not try to manipulate me…
A soft laughter, a kiss to his cheek, and then…
Let me rest awhile.
I do not understand…
Go on, live. You know better than to cling to me now. I do not want to have your name on that list… those names I learned by heart… the names of the fallen.
But I am doing what you wanted…
Do it properly, as befits you. Let go of me now, and live.
But…
For me, time has no meaning anymore. I will be waiting, Miliusha. An eternity, or two…
"Milliardo?" Relena hugged him firmly, an expression of concern on her face, her eyes wide and dark as she looked up at him and tugged at a fistful of his hair.
He realised that he was flanked by Une and Chang, with Yuy hovering close behind Relena – just in case, his scowl seemed to say. Maxwell had closed in too, and Lucy glanced at Zechs with worry written clearly in her tensely set features.
The doorway was empty, a swath of soft amber light washing over the carpeted floor from the vestibule.
"We wanted to see how you are doing," Relena said, smiling bravely at his blank face.
He was still staring at the doorway.
"And," Lucy said, stepping closer to touch his shoulder, "to remind you…"
With an effort, he suppressed the sudden urge to lash out, free himself of the warm circle of hands and bodies. Instead, he tried to speak and failed, a lump in his throat and heat behind his eyes. He cleared his throat. "He… he is not here."
Relena leaned against him. "No," she said, her voice unsteady, exhausted. "But you are. My brother. And today is your birthday."
Maxwell edged closer to Yuy. Their arms touched, no more than a soft brushing of skin against fabric, but some of the tension in Yuy's face melted away, and something resembling a smile settled in the corners of his mouth. Maxwell, of course, began to beam broadly even as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "So what, shouldn't we go and blow the candles on the cake?"
Chang looked startled. Une smiled, her severe features surprisingly soft. And Lucy…
He followed her, the others trailing in his wake. In the dining room, the table was covered in white linen, and set with Russian food – most of the dishes Treize had loved, laquered bowls and crystal in lavish abundance, shimmering white china, silver, intricately cut teaglasses in filigree holders, and an enamelled samovar for tea.
In the centre of this festive table sat the cake, round, enormous, decorated with brilliant blue ribbon, and iced with white sugar coating.
No flowers. But in the middle of the cake, one single white candle.
A heartbeat of silence, breathless with anticipation.
And then, Zechs made his wish, gathered his hair in one hand, and bent to blow out the candle. When he straightened, he was smiling, and his eyes clear as he calmly looked at the small assembly. "Thank you."
xxx
Lucy had been sitting close throughout the meal. She had shifted her chair a little so his elbow touched her from time to time for lack of space. Apart from this, she seemed no different from her usual firm, composed self. Perhaps she was a bit quieter, he mused as he flaked a piece of fish on his plate, and maybe…
Maybe he should talk to her, after the meal and the drinks, when everyone else would leave to go to bed.
Not necessarily to their own, if he were to judge from the glances Maxwell gave Yuy, and the hungry glares the latter shot back at his friend, apparently content that Une was perfectly capable of keeping Relena safe for the time being.
Zechs snorted softly at the thought, and then registered that it had not cut him… Amazed, he lowered his fork and glanced sideways… to meet Lucy's eyes when she turned towards him almost at the same time.
"What is happening?" he said, barely above his breath. He did not want to disturb the mood – Maxwell had managed to make even Une laugh, and Relena too; even Yuy had cracked a few jokes in his unmistakable dry, flat voice. Zechs found this extraordinary. He felt out of sorts.
"Are you angry?" she countered softly, her eyes warm and shiny.
"I… no. I just think… I have to relearn…"
"To be happy."
He inclined his head, his gaze slipping away from her. "Lucy, I… I don't want to be dishonest."
"I know. I'm not your first choice."
He remained silent, playing with the fork.
"I can handle that."
"What?"
"I said, I can live with it." She touched his hand. "I've been living with it since I met you. Don't beat yourself up over it. I think I understand, and I won't tie you down."
"I do not want to hurt you."
"You won't. No more than telling me you're too afraid of even trying."
He met her eyes once more, searching, wondering, weighing… and then, in full view of everyone, he leaned over to draw her into a firm kiss.
She tasted sweet and spicy; her body moulded safe and strong against him. And in the back of his mind, he heard a quiet, contented voice.
Happy birthday, my friend, and may you keep me waiting for a long, happy lifetime…
xxx
THE END of LA10