Past Tense
Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new.
Secrets are stolen from deep inside.
If you're lost, you can look, and you will find me
Time after time.
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After my picture fades and darkness has turned to grey.
Flashbacks, warm nights almost left behind
The drum beats out of time
If you fall, I will catch you. I will be waiting.
Time after time.
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Time after Time – Cyndi Lauper
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"Milliardo… I'll be waiting on the other side…."
The words were soft, but still clear, the tone sure despite being breathless. Treize felt his lungs struggle for the air that was no longer there, choking as he drew in nothing but poisonous smoke. His eyes burned and watered as he fought to see the controls that were searing his hands as they shorted and overheated.
Tallgeese bucked under his hands, fighting him as he forced the suit up and away from the Gundam. He'd used the little pilot enough for one day – Treize wasn't about to risk causing the boy an injury with what he knew he had to do next.
Arcing electricity burned through his body, forcing cries of pain from him that he wouldn't have ever let anyone else hear. He coughed and felt a vague amount of shock as bright red blood flooded the back of his throat and spilled to dye his uniform jacket and stain his breeches.
The world went grey at the edges as he lost all sense of orientation. It didn't matter; there was only one thing he had left to do.
The button depressed smoothly under his grasping fingers and Treize's world flared into nothing but blinding white light.
The Tallgeese vaporised and its pilot fell.
"Feliu?"
A woman's voice jarred shattered senses, the sound too much despite the speaker having low, pleasantly modulated tones. Treize could feel every inch of his body screaming its agony at him, nerve endings seared, organs torn, bones broken. He'd been under the impression that his death would stop all pain, but if this was Heaven, then God wasn't living up to His promises.
And if it were Hell, then Lucifer needed to redecorate. The white marble Treize was kneeling on was not a good choice of schemes, all things considered
"Felix? What are you doing here? I thought you were in Bordeaux till the end of the month?"
Treize tried to look up at the second speaker, the rich baritone voice hauntingly familiar, and succeeded only in making the world reel around him. He whimpered helplessly and then cried out in protest as someone gripped him by the shoulders and held him upright, bracing him even as they shook him lightly in an attempt to get his attention.
"Cousin?" The man's voice had taken on shades of worry. "If this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny. Wearing that outfit again is asking for trouble, and covering it in fake blood is a bit much, even for me." There was another, more vicious shake. "Felix!"
Treize tried to draw enough air to explain that he wasn't Felix, that he had no idea who Felix was, that the uniform was his own and that the blood wasn't faked, and found himself coughing and choking on bitterly salty, coppery fluid. He swallowed hard and it burned like acid, roiling in his stomach.
It was a relief to retch. He collapsed against the support the other man was giving him and gave himself over to the convulsions. The man swore frantically and the woman screamed in horror as the marble was splashed crimson with blood.
"Jesus Christ! Felix!"
There was a clatter of heeled shoes on the hard floor and then a flurry of skirts as the woman sank to her knees next to the two men. "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed and suddenly her voice was familiar to Treize. "Feliu! Darling!"
Treize coughed to clear his throat, looking up to confirm what his ears were telling him, unable to understand it. "D…Dors?" he managed, when what he saw just confused him more. The woman in front of him was his niece, he was sure of it – her voice, hair, eyes and familiar eyebrows all said so, beyond any doubt – but she was also at least ten years his senior in age, a woman on the edge of a graceful middle age and not the hell-raising teenager he'd last seen less than a month before.
She gasped, one hand going to her mouth to cover the expression. "Where did you hear that name?" she demanded. "No-one calls me that."
Treize shook his head again. "I've… always…" he choked, struggling to form the words. " Dorothy?" he asked plaintively, when she closed her eyes.
The man supporting Treize seemed to take objection to something in the woman's expression because he gave Treize another shake, this one hard enough to snap his teeth together and trigger another wave of gasped retching. "Gah!" he exclaimed, as Treize threw up blood and bile. "Steady, cousin," he soothed, a moment later. "What the hell have you been doing to yourself?!"
Pain was flooding through Treize, setting off dizzying trembles in his muscles as he swallowed, ignoring the vile taste, and fought to find the words to explain. Palest gold, silver-gilt hair flickered in a corner of his vision as the other man leaned over him and tried to hand him a soft linen handkerchief.
Recognition was instant. "…Zechs…?"
"Yes, I'm Aleks. Glad to see you know at least one of us!" The young man laughed, but the sound was hollow, covering frantic worry and not a little panic. "Should we call a Doctor?" he asked, a moment later.
The woman was staring at Treize as though she'd seen a ghost. "Aleks, get your father," she instructed, reaching out one elegant hand hesitantly to touch the stained fabric of Treize's jacket.
"What?" the other man wondered. "Wouldn't Sally Po be a better choice?"
"Your father, Aleksander! Now!"
Ignoring the edges of her skirts trailing in the mess on the floor, the woman reached out and took Treize's weight from the man, taking the handkerchief as well and moving to clean away some of the blood from his face.
There was a moment of silence, and then heavy, running footsteps as the younger man obeyed the orders held been given.
"Dors?" Treize wondered again, desperate for an anchor of any sort. This was nothing like he'd imagined Death to be.
"If you are who you appear to be – and I don't even think I can begin to understand how you can be – then, yes, I'm Dorothy." Her hands dropped the ruined hankie and settled on Treize's face, cool as they lifted his head so their eyes could meet. "Well, you certainly aren't my son," she continued after a moment. "So I shan't have to go to the trouble of horse-whipping you for wearing that stupid costume again. Where did you get the uniform?"
Treize frowned, so far beyond confused he couldn't think clearly. "It's…mine," he answered uselessly, not knowing what else to say. "Your son?!" he choked, a second later, as Dorothy's words processed properly.
The woman sighed. "Yes, my son. Feliu Maxwell. The resemblance between him and … certain male relatives of his is startling." She summoned a smile that Treize recognised only too well as that of a politician. "How do you feel?" she asked.
"Dreadful," Treize answered her hoarsely. "Maxwell?" he quizzed, wondering if that meant what he thought it did.
Dorothy let him go and waved the question away. "A long story, and not one for you to worry about now, I think." She tilted her head, levelling him a look from eyes that hadn't changed at all. "If I may offer you a word of advice?" she began. "Brace yourself as best you can. I think the next few hours are going to be rather shocking for you."
The irony of that comment made Treize laugh weakly, and the sound was ragged and raw. "A moment ago I was being electrocuted to death," he whispered. "I've done with shocking for the duration, I think. It might be hard to top." He stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started, acknowledging to himself that he was dangerously close to his limits. "Am I dead?" he asked flatly, making Dorothy blink and raise a wry eyebrow.
"Tallgeese?" she asked, but she didn't give him time to answer. "Yes, you are," she told him, "but, no, apparently, you aren't. And I have no idea how that can be, so please don't ask me." She smiled, genuinely this time. "Death hasn't hurt your sense of humour, it seems," she commented. "Do you think you can stand? This floor is not meant for kneeling on."
Treize stared at his niece helplessly for a few breaths, then bit his lip and nodded. Whatever was going on, whatever was about to happen that Dorothy thought would surprise him so, he would be best to face it on his feet, if he could.
He watched as she stood gracefully, shaking out her skirts with a complete lack of care for the stains on them, and then bent down to offer him her hands.
Gripping them carefully, Treize pushed slowly to his feet, feeling his balance skitter as though he were drunk as the effort made him light-headed. He steadied remarkably quickly, and frowned as he realised that his didn't feel nearly as injured as he'd thought he was. He could breathe nearly normally now, would probably be able to talk that way, too, if he could have something to ease his throat. His hands hadn't felt burned when Dorothy had taken them and the agony of broken bones and damaged tissues was rapidly fading to little more than a dull ache.
He straightened to his customary posture and tugged his uniform into place, scowling at the state of it, then ran one hand back through his hair to neaten it. No, he still didn't feel well, but he'd faked good health from worse starting positions in the past. He'd manage.
The hand smoothing his hair came to rest on the bridge of his nose for a fraction of a second as Treize's eyes closed and he took a deep breath, and then he let it out slowly and turned an alert gaze on his niece.
Dorothy drew a sharp breath, clenching her hands together so that the knuckles went white. "If you're a fraud, you're an exceptional one," she murmured. "I've never seen anyone get that gesture just so."
Treize gave her a puzzled look and opened his mouth to ask her what she meant. He stopped as two sets of footsteps approached, seeing Dorothy glance over his shoulder at what he assumed was a door. He made to turn to look and she caught his wrist to stop him. "For his sake, if not your own," she murmured under her breath.
For whose sake? Treize wondered.
"Doro, what the hell is going on?" somebody said from the doorway, voice sharp with enquiry. "Aleks just told me the wildest tale about Felix and you and…. What the hell happened to my floor? Is that blood?!"
Treize shuddered. That voice was seared into his body at every level. How had he ever mistaken it for anyone else's? "Zechs…." he whispered, and he could hear the world of emotion beneath his tone.
Dorothy shot him a quelling look. "Yes, it's blood," she replied, letting him go and stepping around to put herself between the two men. "And Feliu has nothing to do with this, but you can worry about all that later. I strongly suggest you sit down."