Treize took the heavy crystal snifter that Zechs handed him gratefully, gripping it in both hands and balancing it on one knee to be sure of keeping hold of it as he watched the older man sink into the soft chair opposite him with a sigh.

"I know it's a little early for it," Zechs said, "but you look like you need it."

Treize glanced down at the glass, then lifted it and knocked the inch of rich amber liquid back in one go. It burned his throat on the way down but the heat and the potent, smoky taste felt remarkably good against the cold shakiness still gripping his body.

He'd been rather surprised – dimly, and through the haze of the reaction he was in the grip of – when Zechs had gathered him up and stood, lifting him easily and carrying him from the dining room across the corridor into this little sun-soaked sitting room. Before he could protest, he'd found himself settled onto the cushions of a wonderfully comfortable over-stuffed couch and held gently until he'd gotten himself together. When Treize had moved to sit up, Zechs had let him go and gone to a little cabinet in a corner of the room to fix the glass of whisky.

The general put the empty snifter down on the antique coffee table in front of the couch and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to centre himself.

"How do you feel?" Zechs asked him quietly.

Treize shrugged. "How am I supposed to feel?" he wondered. "I'm not entirely sure it's all sunk in yet."

The older man nodded in understanding. "I've had a few moments like that. Take your time." He reached out to put his hand on a phone very like the one in Treize's bedroom. "Is there anything I can get you? I have a nanny-turned-governess who makes the most fabulous cocoa. I'm sure she'll be willing to spice it a little if I tell her it's for a grown up."

Treize shook his head. "I'm all right." He looked up, and sighed ruefully. "It's silly. I can run a war, organise a revolution, and even orchestrate my own death without turning a hair. Tell me I've survived and I'm falling apart at the seams."

"One could imagine that the small matter of being tossed a quarter of a century through time with no knowledge of how you got there might have something to do with it," Zechs pointed out.

"Perhaps," Treize allowed and it won a small chuckle.

"I shouldn't fret over it too much. A lot of it is probably physical, actually. I wasn't trying to get you to eat just to put off having to explain. Experience has taught me always to feed people and let it settle for a while before shocking them half to death."

"Oh?"

"Fatherhood," Zechs explained with a grim smile. "Having to tell your eight year old son that his mother has been killed teaches a brutal master class in delivering bad news."

"Yes," Treize agreed carefully. "I imagine it would, at that." He gave it a moment, then asked, "Can I ask what happened to Noin?"

"A sniper," Zechs answered, his voice low. "Relena and I had just stepped out of a full day's ESUN summit and we were standing outside the council chambers waiting for our car to be brought round. Noin came to join us, discussing what we were going to have for dinner that night, or something like that. The shooter fired from the roof of an adjacent building, aiming at either Relena or me – we're not sure. Noin somehow caught a flash of light off his scope just before he pulled the trigger and put herself in the way. The first round went into my shoulder, the other caught Noin in the back of the head."

Treize winced, able to picture the scene far too easily. He'd been the target of several assassination attempts over the last few years, and twice had watched the bright young soldiers serving as his bodyguard's take bullets intended for him. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "She was a wonderful and amazing woman. It must have been a crushing loss."

"It hurt," Zechs replied simply. "It had consequences, too. Relena would probably be married to Heero now, rather than Quatre, if it hadn't happened. And, of course, Aleks has never been quite the same. I don't think he's ever quite forgiven me for surviving when she died."

Treize raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure he doesn't think that."

Zechs snorted. "I'm sure he does – he's told me so several times, but that's adolescence for you." He got to his feet and scooped up the glass, taking it back to the cabinet.

"It wasn't for me," Treize replied sharply. "It wasn't for you. I hope you put him across your desk for it."

"Treize," Zechs said dryly, lifting the whisky bottle by way of offering a refill, "think what I was doing at nineteen. I can hardly comment on teenage tantrums – and neither can you, given that you spent your time plotting the downfall of a world government!" He splashed the alcohol into the glass and came back across the room. "And I've never struck my son. I've never needed to."

Treize took the glass from his friend silently, biting down on his reply as he realised that he had no place offering any further commentary.

Zechs sat back down and smiled knowingly. "Say it," he said, making Treize start a little.

"Oh," Treize murmured, taking a sip of his whisky. "Ah, I was simply thinking that if Aleks thinks it's all right to speak to his father in such a disrespectful and deliberately hurtful way, then maybe you have needed to discipline him more. I know I'm not a father," he continued, missing completely the way his friend flinched and bit his lip, "but I was an instructor for a few years and it was my experience that most teens benefit from a firm hand. Especially the boys. There were very few cadets it didn't work with eventually."

Zechs smiled. "Probably true, but Aleks isn't a military cadet." He laughed softly. "And strange as it might sound, I like that he feels secure enough to pitch fits at me occasionally. He's a product of his time, and I thank God for it."

Treize had to smile in agreement. "If you're happy with him then…"

"Most of the time." Zechs propped an elbow on the arm of his chair, and looked at the younger man with an expression that was both happy and a little wistful. "This is very strange," he commented. "I've lost count of how many times I've wished you were around to talk to like this, especially after Noin died."

Treize raised an eyebrow. "Really? Surely you had your friends? Dorothy, or Relena?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. But it wasn't the same." He tilted his head to one side a little more. "Would you think me terribly forward if I say that I missed you?"

Treize shook his head. "Not too badly, I hope?"

"Occasionally," Zechs admitted softly. "Aleks was named for you, you know. Your middle name, of course, and not your first – I don't think he would have thanked me for making him one of about five million Treize's – but the thought was there. The only difference is the slight respelling to make it the Sancian variant – Aleksander rather than Alexandrè."

Treize blinked, caught between surprise and an amazing sense of privilege. "I… thank you!" he said. "I'm honoured."

"That was the idea," Zechs replied.

They sat, gazing at one another for a few moments before Treize spluttered. "Five million Treize's!" he exclaimed. "What on Earth…?!"

Zechs started laughing loudly. "I knew you'd react like that!" he cheered. "I'll have to tell Quatre he owes me a bottle of scotch. Yes, five million, thereabouts, at last census count. I'll be able to address you as Treize in public without raising so much as an eyebrow because most of them are between 20 and 25 years old. You fit the demographic perfectly, given your age now. You'd have been born two months after the end of the Eve War, and 'Treize' was one of the most popular boy's names for the first few years, especially in the old European countries. There are about five million instances of 'Treize' as a first name, and God alone knows how many as a second or third."

"Good grief!" Treize shook his head in incredulity. "Those poor children. Did no one think to inform their parents that it was a ridiculous idea?"

Zechs shrugged. "Can't argue with heroism, my friend. You're going to get a real kick out of reading some of the history texts and biographies that have been written of you."

There was utter disbelief in Treize's eyes as he stared at the blond for a moment, then downed the rest of his whisky, put the glass down and buried his face in his hands. "Sweet merciful God," he moaned. "Biographies?"

Zechs was on his feet before he really knew he'd moved, reaching across the table to put a hand on his friend's shoulders. "Too much?" he asked gently, wincing at the way the man's breath was catching.

Treize just shook his head helplessly. "Biographies!" he choked. "Oh, my God!"

"Treize!" Zechs reached down with his other hand as well, intending to pull the smaller man up. He stopped when a hitching, bubbling sort of noise rose from the general.

The man dropped his hands to wave at Zechs feebly. "Biographies!" he repeated and dissolved into peeling laughter.

The blond just stood and stared. He hadn't seen Treize go off on a giggling fit like this since they'd both been children, and he didn't think he'd ever seen the man laugh so hard he was crying with it and clutching at his ribs. There was an edge to the sound that Zechs – if he were honest – didn't entirely like, but he recognised it for what it was, a much-needed release of tension, and soon found that it was infectious and that he was chuckling right along with his friend.

He was smiling happily when Treize finally pulled himself together and wiped at his eyes. "Oh…" Treize sighed. "I am sorry! But really – Biographies? What on Earth did they find to write?"

"Enough," Zechs answered him good-humouredly. "I have a few in the library, I'm sure – publishers keep sending me copies in the hopes that I'll endorse one or the other. I'll let you have at them when you've got your bearings a bit." He looked at the younger man assessingly for a moment, then held out a hand. "Come with me," he offered quietly.

Treize hesitated for a few seconds before he put his hand in Zechs's and stood up. "Where are we going?" he asked, as the older man closed strong fingers around his own tightly.

"I thought you might enjoy a walk in the gardens," Zechs told him, tugging gently, and leading his friend towards the door. "I usually make a point of spending half an hour or so a day out there and it's a lovely morning. You never were one to be indoors if you didn't have to be."

Treize smiled at the thought. He'd caught glimpses of the grounds of the palace through the various windows he'd passed during the morning, and had seen enough to know that Zechs had restored the gardens as well as the palace itself. He nodded his agreement and followed willingly.

As they neared a heavy wooden door, Zechs straightened his posture a little, letting go of Treize's hand and running the other over his hair.

He stopped before the door and turned to look at the younger man. "Just a word of caution about one of the things that has changed since you were last a guest here," he started. "Sanc was in a bad way when I agreed to take the throne, and one of the ways we footed the bill for the restoration of the Palace and the Monarchy was to make ourselves a tourist attraction. We agreed to open the Palace and the grounds, as well as various other Crown Properties, to the public. The original plan was to discontinue it when we had the country's economy back on an even keel but that's never quite happened. Tourism has become a huge business again in the last fifteen years and a large part of Sanc's annual revenue has become dependant on it. We're perfect for it, I suppose, given the nature of the country itself, the history and the fact that we're one of only three fully functioning Monarchies left in the world, and the only one whose leaders also hold political positions, but it has meant some changes in how the Palace is run."

He gestured at the door. "You'll notice when you get more familiar with the place again that there are some odd things about the doors. They're all made of heavy wood, but some are stained and some are painted, and it has nothing to with the room or the corridor they're in."

Treize nodded, glancing back over his shoulder to the door they had just come through, and then back at the one in front of him. Sure enough, the first was stained and the second was painted, when it would have made far more sense from a decorator's perspective to have them match. Was there a reason for it, then?

"It's that way deliberately," Zechs confirmed. "It serves as a visual reminder for those of us who live here. Within the sections of the Palace that are strictly private, all the doors are whatever wood stain will suit the décor best; within the areas that are opened to the public most of the time, they're all painted. Any door painted white, like this one, signifies that you're about to cross from the private areas to the public. It's worth making a point of noticing them, if only so you aren't caught off guard by the pack of tourists that could be standing on the other side of it. I should also warn you that I expect a reasonable degree of decorum in any behaviour that could be on public show, and I've been known to be rather harsh with people who don't come up to snuff."

"That seems fair enough," Treize said, and Zechs nodded.

"I didn't think you'd be one to object. The same thing applies in the gardens – but with metal gates for the public areas and wooden ones for the private. A white gate marks a transition point. It is possible to get everywhere within the private areas of both without ever setting foot in the public ones, but – so you know, and don't complain at me later – it will often mean going quite some distance out of your way, and sometimes actually outside and back in again at a different entrance."

Treize shrugged. "I don't see why it would be a problem," he said, "if all I have to do is not make a show of myself."

Zechs gave him a small, impish smile. "Well, there's the rub, actually, and why some of the family will always take the detours. There's been something of an understanding between the family, the tour-operators, and the press for years now: Public areas must be public – completely so – if the Private ones are to be private. It boils down to an agreement between both sides that goes something like this – they will leave us alone in private, which includes not taking photo's through windows or trying to sneak through the transition doors, as long as we give them something in return. That something would be that if you walk into the public areas, you're fair game for anyone who may be around."

Treize raised an eyebrow. "In what sense?"

"That depends on who's about. Generally speaking, it means standing chatting to tourists for a few minutes, occasionally filling them in on some bit of history about the place and often posing for lots of photos with them. Some of the tour guides have been working the palace for years, and will stop and chat just to catch up with what's happening. They've become acquaintances over the years, and even friends. They leave anyone in Staff uniform alone, and they won't approach the younger children."

"What about the Press? Are they still as vulture-ish as I remember?"

"Some of them. The press expect the photos, especially in the lead up to some big event. They also expect you to answer any questions they ask, although we do have a protocol about what they can and can't ask, and you can 'no comment' to a point." Zechs shrugged. "It may seem odd, but it actually helps us to control what information gets to the media, and certainly the possibility that they may get to meet and talk to and have pictures taken with members of the Royal Family is a big part of the tourist draw."

Treize nodded. "I can see how it would be. It seems fair enough, certainly. I'll try not to embarrass you."

Zechs chuckled. "I'm sure you won't, but I wanted to warn you because I'm probably going to get pounced on by both groups the moment we step through this door. We're in the middle of the school half-term break, which means a fairly high level of tourism, and we're in the run-up to a big Social Function – our annual Halloween Fundraiser Ball."

"It's October, then?" Treize asked quietly after a moment, and Zechs blinked at him.

"Oh, damn!" he swore, as it dawned on him what Treize was asking. "I haven't told you the bloody date, have I? I'm so sorry! Yes, it's October – October 20th, to be precise. You are, of course, invited to the Ball, which is the end of next week. I'm sure we'll be able to find you a costume by then."

Treize smiled coolly. "Have my uniform cleaned and repaired," he said. "A bit of white face paint and talcum powder in my hair and I'll go as my own ghost."

His words were met with complete silence from the blond, the older man dropping his gaze and refusing to meet Treize's eyes. "I'd rather you didn't," he said softly.

Treize watched him, then bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he offered. "That was rather… tasteless of me, I suspect."

Zechs shook himself. "A shade close to the bone, perhaps. I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you're here. For me, you've been dead for the last twenty-five years," he confessed. "I wouldn't like to test my grip on reality by having you look like your own ghost, not yet. Maybe next year."

Treize shook his head. "Maybe not at all. I don't think anyone but myself would find it funny, and it might not be wise to advertise my identity that heavily."

"Dorothy, maybe, or Duo. The children probably would, but it's less of an issue for them, of course." Zechs broke off and smirked. "Felix definitely would. He actually dressed up as you once, a couple of years ago, blue contact lenses and all."

"Yes, I vaguely recall Aleks saying something about an 'outfit' when he still thought I was Dorothy's son. I got the impression that you didn't appreciate it much."

Zechs sighed. "I didn't, and I let him know it, too. As did his mother." He caught Treize's look of curiosity and tilted his head. "What? Were you expecting me to have? Put yourself in my shoes – what you have done?"

The redhead smiled. "Torn strips off of him for the nerve, and then given Aleks a copy of your uniform, just to complete the look. I always did have a twisted sense of humour."

Zechs looked a little taken aback. "Yes, you did." He shook his head ruefully. "Christ, the media frenzy that would cause – the press wouldn't know whether to love it or crucify us for it."

"'Loved or hated, but never ignored' – it's an old rule," Treize murmured. "The publicity would certainly be good for your tourism, and you could always pass it off as youthful stupidity and issue a formal apology if it really did offend anyone."

"Remind me to tell my press agent he's fired, will you?" Zechs replied, grinning suddenly. "I don't think I'll be needing him anymore. I'd forgotten how damn good you were at stuff like that."

"Necessity is the best teacher," Treize quipped dryly.

"Quite," the older man admitted. "Well, that idea aside, I'll inform our court dresser that she has another person to cater for and let her come up with something. If a hyperactive blonde accosts you with a tape measure in the next couple of days, it'll be her wanting your measurements. Do let her take them – she'll need to have them eventually anyway, for all the ceremonial stuff you're going to need."

Treize raised his eyebrows, but nodded his agreement, wondering silently what the older man meant by 'ceremonial stuff.' He didn't ask – recognising that it would probably mean another long explanation and knowing that he would be best to assimilate the information he would need in small doses.

He flicked a glance at the door and watched as Zechs picked up on the hint, reaching for the handle. "Brace yourself," the older man warned, and stepped into the corridor on the other side.

Treize took a deep breath and followed him, both eager for, and nervous of, this first exposure to a world he didn't know. The noise level in the corridor was the first thing he noticed, realising that the dividing door must be soundproofed somewhere under the white paint to have blocked the collection of voices rising from the crowd of people ambling around the hall.

He glanced around swiftly, trying to get his bearings as Zechs reached past him and closed the door firmly behind him. "Second floor portrait gallery," the older man murmured into Treize's ear, "and the code for the door is 1-2-1-7-1. I'm sure you'll be able to remember it."

The former general nodded slowly. Yes, he was sure he'd be able to recall his birth date. "Didn't that picture used to be in the dining room?" he asked, pointing discreetly to a portrait of Zechs's paternal grandmother.

The King glanced in the right direction, and then nodded. "Yes. It's mostly little things like the placement of pictures that you'll find have changed. We tried to restore as closely as possible, paintings and all, but it makes more sense – if one thinks of the tourism again – to have family portraits all collected together." He gestured at the room himself. "If you look more closely, you'll notice that the room has been arranged in a rough timeline to show the history of the Royal Family. The brass wires and plaques between the pictures give important dates and facts."

Treize let his eyes skim around the room, seeing what Zechs was describing. It was a clever bit of arrangement and a beautiful effect. The pictures, varied as they were in style and formality and even in condition, covered the upper half of the walls in the room, woven into a lovely tapestry by the connecting brass wires. Framed by the rich cream of the paint behind them and the golden tones of the wood panels of the lower halves of the walls, and lit by the sunlight flooding through the full-length windows at either end of the hall, the room was warm and peaceful – a fitting tribute to the people it commemorated.

"How much time do you spend in here?" Treize asked softly.

Zechs turned his head to look down at the smaller man again, smiling sadly. "Not as much as I used to. It took me five years to put this together, tracking down pictures and having them restored, or commissioning new ones to be painted from file images and as the children reached suitable ages. It was one of the most time consuming parts of the restoration – this and the Eve Wars exhibit around the corner. I'll let you see that some other time," he added as Treize opened his mouth to express his curiosity.

The redhead was prevented from asking directly by soft laughter from behind him. He turned his head to look for the source and came face to face with a small, neat woman dressed in a grey suit and holding a clipboard.

"You're doing my job for me, Your Majesty," she chirped, dropping Zechs a little bob of a curtsey.

Zechs smiled at her. "My apologies, Elaine. I don't mean to. I was just answering a question for my friend here."

The woman answered his smile with one of her own. "Oh, I don't think anyone will complain," she teased. "Would you mind?" she asked, gesturing at the crowd that was beginning to turn and notice the two men with much chattering and excitement.

Zechs looked at Treize for a moment, asking silently if the younger man would mind the delay and the former general just shook his head. "All right," Zechs told Elaine. "I have a few minutes, I suppose. Do you want me to answer questions or just to talk?"

The tour-guide – or, at least, that's what Treize was assuming she was – beamed up at Zechs. "If you could answer a few questions, I'm sure they'll be happy. I've already run through the standard talk with them. We were about to move on."

The blond nodded. "Ask them to stick to this room and the history of the Palace, please. I'm not answering questions about the Wars today."

"Fair enough. We haven't got to the War exhibit yet anyway." Quickly, raising her voice just enough to be heard above the general hum of conversation, she called her group together and explained what was about to happen.

Treize made to take a discreet step to one side, out of the direct focus of attention, and stopped when Zechs caught his wrist and held him in place. He gave the older man a questioning look and received a reassuring smile in response. "They've taken you for Felix, most likely, which means it'll look very odd if you keep out of the way. He's very co-operative with the tourists, normally, and makes a point of stopping to talk if he at all can. If you get asked anything directly that you can't answer just pass the question to me."

The younger man nodded, wondering why Zechs was under the impression he'd be able to answer any question.

He watched and listened as Zechs fielded half a dozen questions about various people and the Palace itself, learning that one of Zechs's great-great-grandfathers had been notorious for his extra-marital affairs, personally founding several cadet branches of the Peacecraft family that were still being traced, and that the Palace had been restored, as much as was possible, with materials and craftsmen from the Sanc Kingdom, with most of the suppliers to the household still being local.

He also learned that the Halloween Ball to which he'd been so recently invited really was a huge deal in Sanc, hotly anticipated for months before, mainly because the costume theme of the Ball and the Charity to which the proceeds would go were kept a secret until Zechs gave his opening speech at the Ball itself.

He was drifting into his own thoughts a little when someone caught his attention.

A man at the back of group had queried if Zechs would mind answering a more personal question, asking, "I was wondering, Your Majesty, if there was any truth to the rumours that a Royal Wedding might be in the offing?"

Treize blinked. A Royal Wedding? Who? Relena and Quatre were married, so it couldn't be her, and surely Aleks was too young. Was Zechs involved with someone?

Instantly, Treize found that he felt utterly sick. The idea that Zechs could have a partner, or a wife, hadn't really had time to occur to Treize yet, but as he stood there waiting for Zechs's answer, he realised that he'd been reacting for the most part as though things were still as they'd always been between himself and his oldest friend. It was a false conclusion, of course – Aleks proved that. Clearly, Zechs had moved on enough to father the boy with Noin and he'd had more than a decade since her death to move on again. It was likely, very likely, that he'd met someone else that he could care for to some degree. Until three days ago, there hadn't been a thing to stop him.

It was possible that there still wasn't.

Swallowing carefully, Treize forced himself to meet the sudden look that Zechs shot at him, hoping his sudden sense of loss and light-headedness wasn't showing on his face. If Zechs was involved, or even engaged, what did that mean for Treize's place in life? He'd been told several times that morning that Zechs had missed him, that he was happy to have him back, and he'd taken it at face value, never stopping to question it.

Duo had been right when he'd accused Treize of forgetting that his arrival affected more people than himself. For the first time, it was brutally clear to Treize that his being here could create all sorts of difficulties for his friends and family. They'd moved on, all of them; they'd grieved and healed and lived, and they'd done it without him. If it had been a few months, or a few years, then perhaps there would have still been a place for him, but a quarter of a century…!

"Those rumours are rather exaggerated, I'm afraid," Zechs said, a heartbeat later. "I promise you that if I had any intention of marrying, an announcement would be made."

"What about the fact that you've invited Lady Anna Une to the Halloween Ball as your personal guest? You've been seen with her a few times now and the two of you go back a long way. There's been a lot of speculation that you were waiting for your son to reach his majority before you began courting her formally."

Treize saw Zechs's face tighten, saw the little look he shot the tour guide, and it made him wince. Zechs and the Lady?

"The Lady and I are friends," Zechs countered coldly. "You're quite right when you say we've known each other a long time."

"But…"

"I'm sorry," the tour guide broke in, "but I think the King has somewhere he needs to be and we've kept him quite long enough."

There was chorus of thank yous, and she directed the group towards the end of the corridor. "I'm sorry about that, sir," she apologised to Zechs. "I suspect he's a reporter from one of the tabloids you've banned from the Palace. He's been asking me questions like that all day."

"Not your fault, Elaine. Thank you for the timely interruption."

The woman bobbed Zechs another curtsey and smiled. "You're welcome, sir," she chirped, and hurried after her group.

Zechs came back to Treize's side with a tight smile on his face. "Sorry about that," he murmured. "They would choose today to demonstrate the downside of our open-door policy." He ran an inspecting look over Treize. "Are you all right? You look a little…."

The former general took a deep breath and made himself nod. Duo's words firmly in mind, he answered, "I'm fine," and committed himself to remembering that he really wasn't the only person involved in this whole bizarre scenario.