Wild Roses

Chapter One

Mid-June AC 192: Khushrenada Ancestral Estate - Moscow

"Rough night?"

Seventeen-year-old Zechs Marquise looked up from where he was resting his head in hands, winced at the bright sunlight flooding the room, and grimaced. "Somewhat," he admitted, scowling as he caught sight of Treize's clear eyes and amused smirk. "How are you so chipper this morning?" he asked in disgust.

A forked brow lifted slowly. "Chipper?" Treize retaliated. "I'm no more or less 'chipper' than I am any morning. The joys of a decent night's sleep, my friend, and the anticipation of a good breakfast – you should try it occasionally."

Zechs swallowed hard, feeling his stomach heave at the very thought of eating. "Don't mention food unless you want me throwing up," he pleaded, cringing as he recalled the thoroughly unpleasant half hour he'd spent in the bathroom after waking that morning. "Again."

"Oh, dear," Treize sighed as he sank gracefully into the chair on the other side of the small breakfast table. "Do I want to ask what you were doing last night?"

"Something green," Zechs responded, reaching out and stealing Treize's steaming coffee from under his hand. "And don't ask me how I know that," he added with a rueful smile.

The second eyebrow joined the first. "Delightful." Treize glanced at his appropriated coffee. "Are you planning to give that back?" he asked.

"No," Zechs admitted.

"Miserable brat." As gracefully as he had sat down, Treize got to his feet again, crossed the morning room to the table under the window and poured a fresh cup of coffee. Coming back to the table he switched the new cup for the one Zechs had purloined. "There you go, pure caffeine. None of the nasty cream and sugar I put in mine."

The younger man picked up the cup and inhaled gratefully. "Thank you!"

Treize snorted, shook his head and went to fetch himself food from the table, returning with two plates, one only half full.

Zechs didn't seem to appreciate the slices of dry toast the older man set in front of him as much as he had the coffee. "Treize…"

"You need to eat something, Zechs. You know that. You'll feel better for it," he encouraged.

"I doubt it," Zechs protested, but he picked up the first slice and began to nibble at it slowly. Treize nodded his approval and set to work on his own meal – one considerably more substantial than the blonde's. He'd just cracked the top off his soft-boiled egg when the younger man shoved back from the table and fled the room.

Treize set his knife and fork down with a sigh and followed him at a more sedate pace, wondering what had been the trigger for Zechs's behaviour this time.

Late September AC 190: Lake Victoria Military Academy

Instructor Treize Khushrenada leaned his slender body back against the cold brickwork of the cadet dormitory building, drawing his heavy uniform cloak tighter around himself in an attempt to ward off the chill of the early morning. A glance at the pocket watch he drew from his jacket told him it had gone two am, and he shook his head at the stupidity of the cadets he was waiting for. Even if they hadn't been noticed as missing this evening – which, of course, they had – somebody would certainly have noticed something was amiss tomorrow, when they were all struggling to get through the day on less than three hours of sleep whilst suffering the after-effects of too much strong alcohol.

Still, he knew why they had taken the risk. A cadet's life was brutally hard, the chances for fun and frolics with classmates and friends few and far between – too few and far between in his opinion. In combination with accelerated maturity demanded of Specials trainees and the natural rise of a teenager's hormones, the lure of the dance clubs and bars in the nearby city was far too strong, and most cadets slipped off base at least once in their time at the Academy. It was one rule Treize himself hadn't been an exception to.

Most cadets, though, had the sense to be back well before now, guaranteeing an acceptable amount of sleep before the morning reveille at 5.30 am. The trainees didn't know it, of course, but amongst the staff of the Academy it was agreed that no official notice would be taken of such excursions – especially if the cadets participating in them were in their final year – provided that those involved were back on base by midnight and that their performance numbers didn't slip.

Perhaps because he wasn't so very much older than they were, Treize was generally a little more lenient with his wards than the other instructors were with theirs, but this group had passed even that tolerance long since and, when they did finally turn in, were going to be in real hot water. Some few cadets always tried to take advantage of his generosity, but most learned quickly that he wasn't to be crossed. He had a temper and a scything tongue, and, though he had never once been forced to resort to the regulation-permitted forms of corporal punishment to discipline his charges, he was known for reducing errant trainees to helpless tears when irked.

He was more than irked now. He was, in fact, coming very close to being thoroughly furious. He was cold and tired, bored of standing out here in the dark and utterly dreading the ribbing he was going to take about this from his fellow staff members. More, he was annoyed because of the cadets involved in this stunt – half a dozen of his best and brightest, including Lucrezia Noin, the single most talented cadet he'd ever seen, and Zechs, childhood companion turned close friend and personal protégé. He hadn't thought either of them was this foolish.

Hushed whispers, clumsy footsteps and hurriedly stifled giggles warned him of the miscreants' imminent return and, with his usual flair for the dramatic, he waited until they were almost on top of him before he moved from the concealing shadows and stepped out onto the floodlit path directly in front of them.

They came to a stunned, staggering halt, eyes wide with sudden fear. Treize's sensitive hearing caught a whispered, but truly heartfelt 'Oh, shit!' from someone but he didn't bother to identify whom as he raked his gaze over the group.

"Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen," he greeted mildly. There was a ragged chorus of response, and he allowed himself to smile slowly. "I find myself facing a dilemma; perhaps you could help me to solve it?" he asked as he took a step closer to the loosely-packed group and raised one hand to stroke the pad of his thumb over his lower lip. "A group of cadets has been found out of bed well after Lights Out, and there are two possible explanations – either this diligent, dedicated group has chosen to rise almost three and a half hours before they need to in order to work on their physical fitness before morning roll call, in which case I shall commend them for their dedication, and retire to the comfort of my bed. Or, they have been caught returning from an unsanctioned visit to the City and are in breach of at least half a dozen regulations, in which case I shall take great pleasure in raining every punishment I can think of upon their idiotic heads."

There was a ringing silence, broken only by uneasy shuffling as he allowed their alcohol-soaked brains to process what he had said. "Perhaps one of you could help me to decide which conclusion I should come to?" he prompted after almost a minute had passed.

As he spoke, he allowed his eyes to wander slowly over each cadet in turn, knowing full well what effect it would have. Most reacted as he had expected, cringing away as they sought protection in the shadows of their fellows. As much as they knew they were in trouble, none of them wanted to draw his attention personally – and well they shouldn't.

As he watched them fidget under his gaze and flick questioning glances at one another, he found that amusement was beginning to overtake his anger. They were a rumpled, rag-tag bunch; with their clothing creased and stained, the girls' make-up rubbed half off and everyone's hair sweat-dampened and in need of a brush they managed to look much younger than they actually were and a far cry from their usual spit-and-polish presentation.

"Well?" Treize demanded, idly making bets with himself over which of his suggested options they would take. If they were smart they'd take his offered three hours of exercise, tough as it would be on them – the known fate was always, tactically, the sounder option. He had to admit, though, that he was hoping they didn't. In the time they'd been deliberating, he'd already thought up several rather creative punishments for them.

"Is it possible there could be a third explanation, sir?"

Or, he realised, one of them could have the steel – and the stupidity – to challenge him. He turned slowly to look at the cadet who had spoken and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, Mr Marquise. Is it?"

Zechs was standing with his arm around Noin's slender waist, holding his classmate against his side as she huddled against the chilly night air in what appeared to be the blonde's jacket. As Treize focused his attention on the younger man, Zechs dropped his arm, straightened to parade-ground posture and lifted his chin, almost pulling off the formal stance despite the casual grey t-shirt and black jeans he had worn to go out in. "Yes, sir," he murmured.

"Indeed." Treize locked his gaze on the blonde's face for a moment, then turned to glance at the other cadets. "You may go. I will expect to see each of you in my office tomorrow morning, in whatever order you choose, beginning at seven am. I shan't need more than ten minutes with any one of you."

He watched as they gave him a sloppy salute and scurried off. "Your third possibility, Mr Marquise, if you please?" Treize asked when he and Zechs were standing alone.

The younger man didn't move, though Treize could see his skin reacting to the cold. "Not precisely a separate explanation, sir," he began. "I merely wished to suggest that there might be further, extenuating circumstances behind the cadets' behaviour."

"I see." Treize nodded coolly, and then allowed his anger to make his voice a lash. "Do you presume our prior relationship will save you, Zechs, or are you simply so drunk that you don't realise how much trouble you're in?"

The boy tensed subtly. "Neither, sir."

"Then, would you care to tell me why you chose to argue with me? You had realised, I hope, that the smart move would have been to agree to the exercise?"

Zechs shook his head. "No, sir, it wouldn't have been. Three hours of PT would have left every one of us ill, sir." He stopped, hesitating before adding, "And I chose to disagree with you because it was my job, sir."

"Your job?" Treize demanded. "I don't recall it being your job to challenge your commanding officer!"

The younger man's eyes widened. "I didn't mean that, sir!" he protested. "I only meant that, as cadet-corporal, I'm the senior officer in the group and that therefore it's my job to take responsibility for the actions of the others."

Treize snorted. "Very noble, Zechs, if utter rubbish. The last time I checked, Noin was also cadet-corporal. You're hardly her senior officer."

"No, sir, I know I'm not, but it's her birthday, and…" he trailed off, abruptly slipping from stoic officer to uncertain teenager.

Treize scowled at the boy as the light dawned. "Her birthday. Your extenuating circumstances, I presume?"

"Yes, sir, part of them."

"Part of them?" Treize snapped, then threw up his hands as Zechs shivered visibly in the rising wind. "Oh, for Christ's sake! Come with me, Zechs. If I have to argue with you, I'm damn well going to do it in comfort!"

"Yes, sir," Zechs replied, gratitude colouring the automatic phrase.

Moving swiftly, Treize crossed the open, lawned space dividing the cadets' quarters from the staff officers' accommodation, keyed his security code into the panel beside the glass doors and gestured Zechs through them. The closing doors cut off the cold night air and left the two of them standing in the heated, well-lit lobby of the building.

Treize made his way across the foyer to the staircase, paused as he realised Zechs wasn't with him, and turned back to see the younger man looking around curiously. "A little more comfortable than cadet quarters, isn't it?" Treize asked, remembering the dull paint and utilitarian furniture of the barracks.

"A little, sir, yes."

"It'll give you something to aim for then," Treize commented. "This way." He gestured up the wide, carpeted stairs.

To his surprise, Zechs giggled as he followed him up to the second floor, leaving Treize to notice how wobbly a path the younger man was walking and remember that Zechs was, most likely, utterly sozzled.

Sighing to himself, Treize caught Zechs's arm in his hand and kept him from bouncing into the walls as they made their way down the corridor. At the far end, the instructor unlocked the door to his quarters, steered the cadet through it and left him standing in the middle of the room as he switched on the light.

He dropped onto the softness of the couch in the centre of his lounge, and looked up at the boy. "That's better," he admitted. "Now – you were going to explain why I should forgive your breach of Academy regulations tonight?"

As he had outside, Zechs drew himself to attention before speaking. "Yes, sir," he began. "As I said, it's Noin's birthday…"

Treize held up a hand. "Do you think that excuses you?" he asked.

"No, of course not, sir. That's only the reason we went tonight specifically."

"Oh? Then explain why you thought it necessary to disobey orders at all, please."

Zechs shuffled uncomfortably. "I was trying to cheer her up, sir. She's been miserable since the term started."

"Has she? I haven't heard anything from any of her teachers."

"No, but… with what happened over the summer…"

Treize lifted an eyebrow. "What did happen over the summer?"

"Don't you know?!"

The accusing tone to the boy's voice and the sudden rise in volume took the older man by surprise. He sat back and fought to keep it from showing on his face, as he replied, "Clearly not. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"Noin's father was killed in action over the summer break, sir," Zechs hissed, his voice still holding the reproachful lilt. "I would have thought you'd know something like that," he challenged.

Treize smiled coldly as understanding dawned. "I did," he confirmed. "I simply didn't think you'd expect me to consider it a valid reason for your behaviour."

His fine-boned face showing an equal mix of outrage and disbelief, Zechs snatched off his shielding dark glasses and glared at his commander with eyes as piercing as lasers. "How can you not consider that a valid reason?!" he spat.

"Because it isn't one," Treize replied, and his own tone was icy. "Noin's father was a soldier, and soldiers die. Noin should know that. She's a final year Specials cadet – she's expected to be able to deal with such things on her own."

The older man allowed that particular bit of cruelty to sink in for a few seconds before he spoke again. "If she was having problems," he continued as the defiance drained from his pupil's posture, "she should have gone to her personal mentor for help. That would have allowed us to deal with things in the most appropriate fashion – which certainly wouldn't have involved allowing a group of cadets to engage in unsupervised roaming of the city late at night and illegal underage drinking."

Zechs shrugged helplessly. "It was all I could think of," he confessed softly.

Treize nodded. "Yes, I imagine it was. That's precisely why you shouldn't have taken matters into your own hands. Noin's mentor would have listened sympathetically as she explained the problem, and then, most likely, would have referred her to the Academy counsellor's for a time."

The blond snorted abruptly. "Noin's mentor is Major Valadin. I don't think Vlad the Impaler would have been very sympathetic!"

Treize quelled him with a look. "Yes, Mr Marquise, she would have been. Major Valadin, like all the Academy instructors, is expected and trusted to be as understanding of such things as is possible. She wouldn't have her position if she wasn't thought capable of that. None of us, myself included, would. In the future, cadet, please allow us to do our job."

Zechs slumped. "Yes, sir."

Treize leaned forward again, pinning his pupil in place with his gaze. "Now, Mr Marquise, whilst I admire your concern for a fellow cadet, and your willingness to accept responsibility for your actions, I find I cannot justify your behaviour. Therefore, I have to assign you some sort of punishment. Would you care to suggest something suitable?"

"I don't know, sir."

There was sudden wretchedness in the blonde's slender form and Treize sighed inwardly, not finding it in himself to be as harsh as he knew he should be. "For the next two weeks," he decided as he spoke, "I think I shall require you to attend to such duties as I may find suitable for you, rather than spending your free hour with your friends. Does that seem fair?"

"Yes, sir."

Treize nodded. "One last thing then, before I allow you to go to your bed. I have never, in my time as an Instructor, raised my hand to a cadet, and I never intended to. I find the practice of caning officer trainees demeaning and detrimental to their education. That said, if you ever – and I do mean ever – challenge my authority again as you did tonight, I will put you over my desk and personally cane you within an inch of your life. Are we clear on that?"

Zechs, once again shaking visibly despite the warmth of the room, stood with his head bowed and didn't reply. Concerned, Treize got to his feet. "Zechs?"

"… Yes, sir…"

The tiny catch at the end of the standard acknowledgement made something inside the older man freeze. He'd had Zechs in his office half a dozen times over the two years he'd been a cadet – had raked him over the coals on several occasions for daring to operate against regulations – and, though more than one of those tongue-lashings had escalated into near-screaming rows, forcing Treize to go at the boy far harder than he had tonight, and though the instructor was infamous for making cadets cry, he'd never, to date, managed to get such a response from his friend. He hoped he hadn't now.

"Zechs, look at me, please," he asked quietly.

The blonde's chin lifted, the gesture dignified despite the misery in his eyes. "Could you tell me where the bathroom is, please? I… I think I'm going to be sick."

Treize blinked. "Are you really?" he quizzed. "Or are you trying to keep me from seeing that I've upset you?"

"No, sir, I…" Zechs stopped, turning pale. "Treize, please!" he begged.

The older man nodded towards a door on the far side of the lounge. "Over there."

The boy flew across the space, flung open the door as soon as he reached it, and slammed it behind him hard enough to make Treize wince at the noise. The last thing he needed was to wake the officers in the neighbouring rooms with the commotion.

Determining from the rather unpleasant sounds coming from his bathroom that Zechs was going to be occupied for at least the next few minutes, Treize shucked off his cloak and jacket, slung them over the back of one of his arm-chairs and kicked off his boots. Socked feet silent on the thick carpet, he left his rooms, made his way along the corridor to the broom-cupboard where the cleaner kept her equipment and retrieved one of the sturdy-looking buckets he had seen her with, hoping she wouldn't notice it missing before he had a chance to return it.

Returning to his quarters, he set the bucket down by the sofa, and padded first into his bedroom, where he cast a wistful glance at the bed he knew he wasn't going to get to use tonight, collected one of his thicker spare blankets from their shelf in the top of his wardrobe, and then made his way into his little kitchen, pausing only to throw the blanket in the general direction of the couch.

Agile fingers set his coffee machine to brew without thought on Treize's part, and he began to open his cupboards in sequence, wondering if he actually had anything in any of them that Zechs could drink in his current state. The fridge yielded bottled water – something he knew he hadn't put there – and he set it on the side as the first of the coffee began to drip into the pot.

He was settled comfortably into the other armchair, sipping his second cup of the fragrant, potent liquid and trying to stay awake when his bathroom door opened again. "Done for now, are you?" he asked, smiling.

Zechs nodded. "Done completely, I hope…"

"I doubt it. Come and sit down."

Treize watched as the cadet crossed the room slowly, perched himself on the end of the sofa and wrapped his arms around himself. Slender body shivering violently, his skin pallid, Zechs looked altogether younger, smaller and more wretched than Treize could remember him being for quite some time. Certainly, he seemed far removed from the confident, rapidly maturing officer the older man had been training for the past two years.

"I'm sorry I'm causing you all this trouble," Zechs murmured. "I didn't intend to…"

"I know that."

"I know I shouldn't have broken the regulations. It's only that Noin's been so upset since we came back, and when one of the others suggested going out for her birthday she seemed so happy with the idea that I couldn't say no."

Treize set his cup down on the low table. "I know, Zechs."

The boy nodded silently, staring at the floor.

Treize got to his feet abruptly, something akin to paternal instinct prompting him to move around the table and sit down next to his friend. He pressed the bottle of water into trembling hands. "Sip it, it'll make you feel better," he ordered.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. If you know you shouldn't have, why did you go with the others tonight? You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did. Noin wouldn't have been happy if I hadn't. She might even have refused to go altogether," Zechs explained. He twisted the top of the bottle off and almost spilt the water trying to drink it. Treize wrapped one hand over the boy's, steadying the bottle and used the other to pull the blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it around his friend.

"May I ask you something personal?" Treize began when Zechs had put the bottle back on the table. The boy looked up, startled, and nodded. "Are you in love with her?"

"No!" Zechs's eyes widened. "No, I'm not. Why do you ask?"

"You seem to be going to an awful lot of trouble to make her happy, that's all. It would be easier to understand why you would if you had feelings for her, or if you were trying to impress her."

"Oh." Zechs shook his head determinedly. "She's my friend, nothing else. She's… I wouldn't… I'm not…." He broke off, seemed to decide against whatever he had been about to say and collected himself. "She's just a friend," he repeated. "My best friend, I think… after you, I mean."

Treize smiled. "Sweet of you to say so."

Zechs shrugged. "It's the truth." He shivered.

"Still cold?" Treize asked. "Take your shoes off and come here." He waited for the boy to pull off his boots, then settled his arm lightly around Zechs's shoulders and drew him back into the soft cushions of the couch.

To his surprise, the boy turned into his hold, all but climbing into his teacher's lap as he curled his feet up under the blanket and leaned into the older man, letting his silky head rest on his chest. Treize stared down at him for a moment – they hadn't sat together like this for years, not since Zechs was nine or ten – then he shrugged, tightened his grip and began running his fingers through fine white hair.

There was a part of the older man that knew this was inappropriate for an instructor with his cadet. Had that been all Zechs was Treize would have made him move, but, as the boy could be considered his adopted younger brother, there was nothing wrong with holding him like this – and for that Treize was grateful. There was something about it that soothed the part of him that missed his baby daughter so fiercely.

"I really am sorry I've been so much trouble…" Zechs whispered softly.

Treize smiled. "Oh, hush. You're half drunk and half asleep. Close your eyes and apologise to me tomorrow, will you?"

"Alright…"

Zechs's breathing slowed and deepened as he relaxed into sleep. Treize watched him for a moment more, then allowed his own eyes to close as he drifted into a light doze